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rinbowaman · 6 months

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THE BUTLER

Warnings: Unprotected smut, slight voyeurism, secret smut, secret love, heart break, Y/N is a rich girl, not at all spoiled, slight Cinderella vibes, stepmom and sisters, they don't really like y/n, and death. MDNI content is for 18+ only.

Something for you guys as I finish the last chapter of DT. I started this a while ago but finally decided to finish it, as you can see, I was inspired by the release of "Criminal Love" so enjoy. I enjoyed this piece quite a bit. Part of this is proofread, so sorry if the ending of it seems a little sloppy.

“Oh! She’s here sir!”

The house nanny calls out, informing your father of your expectant arrival. Your mother and stepfather told you that this was a great opportunity to travel overseas, leave home, and expand your horizons as a prospective student. And lucky for you, your father’s work as the country’s Ambassador afforded you said opportunity, and you wish you could be just as excited about it as everyone else. Truth of the matter was, it devastated you to leave.

Of course, growing up in a proper household, one with many manners and strict etiquettes in place, only meant that naturally, you were groomed to put on a mask to conceal your true emotions, among other things.

You loved your family, and respected your father dearly, even when only seeing him every summer. Yet there was something back at home that caused this change of pace; something that you knew you had to get away from, even at the cost of your goals and happiness.

It was hard for anyone to understand, since you and your former companion had only known each other for a year. To others, it appeared only as a fling, a swift love that left as fast as it came, but for you, it was a whole other matter. Unbeknownst to everyone around you, promises of a tight future we’re made, all initiated by him. He told you he loved you, cherished you, and that you both would be together forever. So was it a surprise to you, or him, that you fell into the abyss of depression and had clammed up after he exposed how he didn’t think much of your relationship; that it was just something to look back on, as “experience” for real love.

“Real love?….”

How could he use those words put together? How dare he? After all the times that you gave up to be with him; the sacrifices you made, and not to mention, the countless hours you made up to maintain your grades while still being there for him whenever he needed you. Such as the time when he lost a beloved family member, and you were the only one there to console him. One thing led to another and in a blink of an eye, you were no longer a virgin. You never minded, after all, he did tell you that he saw a future with you as his wife, and you responded each time by giving him your flesh and sweat….you did all of that, yet he didn’t see it as real love.

Your mother and stepfather could never know the degree of your breakdown. How could they? They probably suspected it, but never confirmed that you lost your virginity to the man. After he told you that he no longer wanted you, he moved on to another girl, one that you used to call ‘friend’. How despicable. Guess that was college life for you, though you would have never braced for something so heartbreaking to happen, even at a prestigious university.

After all that, you stopped talking and dropped all of your classes. You fell lower than ever before, and perhaps your mothers words, “It's not a big deal, he’s not worth it. You’ve only known him for a year, forget about him.” Was said, only to try and bring you back from the ground you found yourself graveling on. You know your mother better than anyone else, she loved you more than the world and would do, and say, anything to bring you back to a sound mental state of mind. She always did before, only this time….it didn’t work.

That’s when the idea of sending you to live at your fathers estate came to discussion. Your father was a very noble man, not in a literal sense of course; the man had built himself up from nothing, growing up from such a poor family. Through his elaborate military career and his continued service in politics, he earned his lavish lifestyle. The driver opens the door and gives you a hand, helping you out of the backseat as you are immediately greeted by the house nanny, and your father following suit.

“Papa!”

“There’s my girl! Come here, it’s been too long since I last saw you. Look at you, just as pretty as always.”

Holding you in a warm embrace, you felt free from the pain of heartbreak as you hugged your father; you missed him so much and it was always good to see him. Aside from being with him, his estate was something that you always cherished. He had acres of land, manicured with a few guest homes on the property. There were large floral gardens and orchards that decorated the entire estate with the main house stationed at the center of the acreage. Maybe coming to live here for a while wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And who knows, if you had ever found a reason to go back, you could always get up and go ... .just as much as you could settle down and stay, so long as you had found meaning behind that decision.

During your embrace, you caught the eye of the trio that made their way over, though they seemed less excited in greeting you.

“Well, you could have called when you were nearby. We were just about to have lunch. It would have been embarrassing to begin eating and to take a pause because of your arrival.”

When it came to your father, mother, and stepfather, they were all a delight and you couldn’t have asked for better parents. However, when it came to your stepmother, that was an entirely different story. Of course, your fathers marriage to her wouldn’t be complete without your two stepsisters…

“Oh my gosh! Look at her hair! See mom! I want my extensions to be as long as her hair, the same length.”

“Y/n, where did you get your outfit? It’s so pretty, I want one just like it but in pink. Don’t I look good in pink?”

Your father takes a moment to jest, yet you had a feeling by the tone he took with your stepmom and sisters, that he was more on the serious side at hinting on their lack of manners. The ‘joke’ was him remaining tactful, as always.

“Well, usually it’s customary to say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ whenever you’re greeting family, but I guess talking about lunch, hair, and outfits is just as welcoming.”

Looking up at your father, he gives you a small wink before placing a kiss on your head, much to the obvious dismay of your stepmom. “I was only trying to point out that it would have been more considerate of her to call, that’s all. But, I guess you do have a point.”

Your stepmom quickly took the hint, and rendered obedience in her own manner, before ushering the girls to come up and greet you properly. Pushing boundaries with your father is never a smart idea, for anyone. The man was rich, had close connections with the government, and didn’t feel the ‘need’ to have a wife as much as he merely enjoyed having one for companionship. Your stepmom knew that, just needed a reminder from time to time that he would drop her quickly, along with your stepsisters. You’re not entirely sure what had gone wrong, you never did anything to your stepmom nor did you ever go out of your way to offend her. Yet somehow, she acted somewhat distasteful to you. As for your stepsiblings, it wasn’t quite their fault. They were spoiled, had everything beyond the world given to them, and only acted out based on the initiative of their mother. Nevertheless, you were always pleasant and did your best to make them feel welcomed. You even gave up your room, the largest suite of the household, all to accommodate their ‘needs’ shortly after your father married and brought them in. Since you previously had only come for long visits in the summer during your college breaks, it wasn’t a huge deal to give up your room, or your favorite guesthouse, which was once your getaway for whenever you wanted to paint and do pottery. What was once your soaring heaven had now become a playhouse for the girls…to depreciate and throw their large parties for whenever they wanted to have their friends over. Guess that is what it means to be the elder and the matured one out of the brunch.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you fed. I imagine you’re tired and hungry from that long flight, did you have any trouble finding Bitterman?”

“No Sir, I found her with no trouble. It’s quite easy to find a girl as pretty as her.” Bitterman, your fathers driver, chimes in, earning a chuckle from the latter. “Thank you my friend, be sure to get yourself fed as well, Louis has the kitchen smelling delightful.”

Your father was always admired and loved by the staff, and it wasn’t hard to see why. He wasn’t just wise, rational, and a thoughtful type, he was also benevolent and selfless. Indeed, he was just as good of a master as he was a father and husband.

“Oh, Bitterman, no need to get the bags, I’ll get them.” Your father exclaims as he goes to pick up one of your luggage. “Oh um….I can get that Papa, it’s actually kind of heavy—“

You were cut off when a shadowed figure appeared out of nowhere and grabbed hold of the leather strap, just before your father completed his reach for it. “I got it sir, please allow me.”

The tall figure was dressed in a black suit with a fitted designer trench coat to match, paired with fine leather gloves; the right one being fingerless. His hair was swiftly combed to the side, with a few pieces dangling above his eye and brow, yet it only enhanced his suave appeal. There was a slight bit of royal purple hue to his strands, yet it was tasteful and neat. He effortlessly picks up the luggage and swings it over a shoulder, and picks up another large carry-on before making his way inside the house. “The Nénuphar suite, correct?”

“Yes, thank you Ethan.”

Confused, you looked at your father as he took note that you hadn’t been properly introduced to his newly acquired staff member. “Oh! Ethan, this is y/n.” Turning back to you, your father completed the introduction as he took your hand and guided you closer to the mysterious man in black. “Y/n, this is Ethan. I’ve told him all about your arrival and if you need anything in my absence, come to him. He is the head of my household staff and is my personal butler, second to no one, except myself.”

“B-butler?” You were caught off guard at the label, the man did not carry the appearance of a butler. That was when your father somewhat clarified. “Well, butler in an abstruse sense. All you need to know is that he is my right hand man. So if you ever need anything, come to me or Ethan.”

‘Abstruse? What is that supposed to mean—‘

“It’s nice to meet you y/n.”

“Oh…it's nice to meet you too. Thank you...for taking my bags, I can get the rest of them.”

“No need, I’ll have it taken care of.” Turning his head to the side, he raises a hand and snaps his fingers. Upon the crisp sound echoing among the grand entrance of the estate, a series of maids and butlers come in and grab the remaining of your belongings. You raised a brow before peaking a questionable gaze at your father, in which he replied with…

“I told you, he is my right hand man.”

…………………………..

The next morning, you awoke in your beautifully furnished room. After carrying out your hygiene routine and dressing yourself, you walk down the lengthy staircase to find the girls at the base, dressed primply with jewels and broaches decorating their hair and outfits.

“I want to re-do my nails.”

“You just got yours done yesterday, it’s been three days since I got mine. I want to add more jewels.”

“I want more flowers.”

“I wanted them with a sharper point.”

“I wanted them longer.”

Walking through the foyer, Ethan takes stride with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he was taking a walk of leisure. Breaching the girls, they immediately dropped their topic of nail decor and called out to the handsome butler. “Oh Ethan!” One of the girls calls out. “I just got this dress yesterday, what do you think? Do you like it? Doesn’t pink look good on me?”

Ethan gave a faint, side smirk as he paused in his steps. His hands remained behind his stature as he stood comfortably, not responding. Your other sister butts in, trying to vye for the man’s attention as she shows off her manicure. Again, he remained silent, yet the girls seemed to be used to it.

“Oh, trying to be silent like always?”

“That’s so hot.”

“Come on, won’t you say anything about my outfit for once?”

“Or my nails?”

Pouting their faces rather flirtatiously, the girls flutter their lashes as they bite their lip, only to get nothing out of the man. You continued walking down during the entire entourage and once you reached the base, Ethan’s eyes sparked up. He glanced up and beyond their heads, watching as you made your way down. You pause as your sisters remained standing on the last step, seemingly oblivious to what the man was staring at.

“Ah, young lady, you’re just in time. Your dad wanted to see you first thing this morning.”

Extending his hand and shooting it between your sisters, the girls part ways as they watch you take Ethan’s hand as he guides you down the last step of the staircase. “I’ll take you to his study.” You felt his fingers subtly pinch your hand as he firmly established his grip. As he started to take you away, he suddenly paused with you remaining closely behind. His masculine scent was befitting with the dashing designer suit he had on; he looked more like a businessman than a butler, perhaps that was what your father meant from yesterday's conversation. Turning his head halfway, he glanced over to the girls and spoke in a low tone, all with a dashing smirk decorating his side profile.

“Oh…about your outfit and nails….it is not in my place or station to remark on such matters. Please consult your designers and seamstresses if you ever feel confused.” With a slight tug, he pulls your hand and leads you away while the girls stood confused with hurt feelings. There hadn’t been many interactions between Ethan and the girls, but from what you heard by the house nanny, the few times he did exchange words with the two, it was far from what they ever expected or trying to achieve. Aside from his laconic smirks, the man was stone cold towards the two.

Reaching the double doors of your father’s private office, another butler stands by. “Please inform the master that his daughter is here to see him.” Ethan calmly states. The other butler nods before knocking on the glazed wooden doors, before peeking in upon hearing your father responding from inside. The elder butler steps aside and gives a slight bow towards Ethan as the latter bars the doors wide open, gently dragging you behind.

“Sweetheart, did you sleep well?” Your father immediately speaks out, while Ethan takes you over to a tea table, surrounded by lounge seats. Pulling the seat back for you, he guides you over and pushes you in towards the table, where a lovely tea set and tiered tray filled with all sorts of snacks and finger sandwiches were nicely laid out as your father makes his way to join in. “I got all of your favorites.” Your father says proudly, shooting another wink over to you.

Ethan finishes scooting you into the table, his hands gently caressing the back of the seat. Before pulling away, his hands gently graze over your arms and shoulders as he walks out with one hand in his pocket. The man certainly walked with a sense of authority and carried out a superior presence, more so than even your father, even though he was the master.

“I am sorry for how your stepmom and sisters behaved yesterday, that shouldn’t have happened.”

Your fathers words caught your attention, causing you to turn your head away from Ethan’s backside, making eye contact with your sympathetic parent. “I had words with them yesterday and will make sure that doesn’t happen again, they need to be more mindful especially since you’re going to be here for a while.”

You shook your head and waved off his concern. “It’s fine, I’m not worried about it.”

Your father smiles at your reassurance and chuckles. “Good.” Adjusting in his seat, he takes a cup of tea and begins to sip on it while carrying the conversation to a different direction. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded as you took your own cup and delicately sipped from it. Your father kept adjusting in his seat, appearing to find it difficult to gain comfort within the chair, not that it wasn’t hard to see why. The chairs were beautiful and carried a regal vintage design, but were very much too stiff for someone like your father, who required more softness to accommodate his back. No doubt he had so many strains from all the years he served in the military.

Just as you were about to ask him if he needed something for his chair, you hear the doors from behind open. Turning halfway in your own seat, you watched as Ethan entered with a silk and plush pillow in hand; he didn't say a word, instead, he walked directly over to your father and handed it over to him, obviously flaring his familiar knowledge of your father and his routines.

“Oh thank you so much Ethan, you do know me too well.” your father chuckles out as Ethan smirks. “Sweetheart, you want a pillow for your chair?” Your father asks you while Ethan stands by his side. He crosses his arms and gives a slight tilt of his head, establishing a rather dominant and assertive stance, yet your father seemed to be quite used to and didn’t mind at all, in fact, he seemed to embrace that wholeheartedly. You shook your head and politely declined the offer, to which Ethan issued a slight nod before exiting the study, turning back once more to pull the doors shut.

“I like Ethan, he’s super cool. Good guy too.” Your father spoke rather comfortably. You furrowed your brows confusingly, while nodding in agreement, sort of. “Is he…really your butler?” You asked as your father took a finger sandwich from the tier stand.

“Mmhmm.” Your father issues his response as he bites into the sandwich, and chews it while sipping on his tea. Looking back up, he gives you another wink. You chuckle and take one of the finger snacks and enjoyed it, along with a conversation that took up the entire morning as you caught up with your father and told him about college, your mother, stepfather, and even the young man that broke your heart, though one day at your father’s estate seemed to have done a lot of healing, more than you expected. You didn’t know why, but that would unfold as the days continued to swing by.

………………………

A couple of weeks had passed, and you didn’t see much of your sisters or stepmom, they weren’t really around at the house so much, instead, they liked their constant outings and partook in continuous shopping trips. You laughed and cringed internally as you watched the girls make their attempts in gaining Ethan’s affection, much less his attention. Half the time, the man would ignore their teasing and flirting words, but the times when he did entertain small talk, it was always a major shutdown, at least that’s what it looked like to you. But to the girls, it was something else.

…….

‘Oh that’s just how he is, trust me, Ethan likes it when I talk to him.’

‘I think he likes talking with me more.’

‘Shut the fuck up! He likes me more, bitch!’

‘You’re the bitch! You fucking rude bitch, who the fuck do you think you are?’

……

Now you were by no means a saint, but for the most part, using vulgar language was something you considered to perform only when the situation called for it. An outburst of anger perhaps, or…when you had your heart broken. A flashback of when the man informed you that you were just ‘practice’ for his real and true love came to mind, and the image of you screaming out and lashing every cursing you could imagine in his direction. Yet the girls were using it so freely, over a man that didn’t seem to take interest in anything other than his duties.

You politely excuse yourself from the room, allowing for the girls to bicker in peace while the seamstresses customized their designer gowns for the upcoming event. You gently shut the doors behind as you take your stroll outside, loving the sound of the doves that hummed their tune in a nearby Magnolia tree. You walked over to the massive gazebo, lavished with wisteria vines and overlooking the flat fields that extended past the lines of the property. A stone rail surrounding the gazebo stands at chest height, it was perfect for you to rest your forearms on as you leaned in and took in the beautiful sight of nature and tranquility. You watched as the staff members from afar tended to the private livestock, and harvested the fruits from your father’s orchard. In a peaceful state, you stare off with nothing in mind other than the happiness you witnessed as the staff members conducted their duties from afar, not at all realizing that you were watching them with a smile on your face.

“Enjoying the view?”

You turned your head and saw Ethan entering through the hanging vines of purple flowers from the Wisteria plant. “Oh–yeah…sorry, you caught me off guard.” Chuckling, you turn your attention back to the staff members. Ethan comes by your side, and as you had done, he leans against the stone rail while resting his forearms on the smoothed top surface. “Yeah, I seem to have a habit of doing that from time to time.” He calmly tells you, it almost seemed like it was his way of joking, yet you didn't really know whether to laugh or stay silent, so you gave a delicate chuckle instead.

“How are you enjoying being back? It's been the previous summer since you’ve last visited, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, last summer was the last time I came over. At first, I’m not sure if I was thrilled about living here, not that I don't love my father, I do. I just…it was an abrupt decision and I didn’t really have a whole lot of say in the matter. But I’m glad I did…I miss my dad so much and I always did like this place.”

You confide as Ethan stares off at the orchard, nodding gently at your words. “When did you start working for my dad?”

Ethan lets out a light and airy chuckle of his own, dashing a side smirk as he continues to stare off at the fields. His hands were decorated with the leather gloves, with the right one being fingerless, as always. “Next week makes it six months.”

“You like it here too?”

“I do.” He pauses as he clasps his hands together before him. “Your dad is a good man.”

“Yeah he is.” you chuckle out, flattered by the compliment.

“Did you finish with the seamstresses?” he inquires. You turn to glance over to him with a faint, sweet smirk before looking back over to the distant orchard. “No, not yet. I figured I’d let my sisters do their thing and I’ll get my dress made after.”

“Hm. So you’re just wanting to get away and enjoy solitude in the meantime then.” his voice was deep, calm, and soothing. There was a tone in him that brought the image of a placid lake and gentle wind to mind. You could side with your father’s opinion on Ethan, he was a gentle and good man, and he was very fond of your father.

“Yeah…I love to get away.” you responded back, lifting your nose into the air as you relished the soothing wind blowing against your skin and through your hair. Ethan tilts his head over. “You love to get away?”

“Yeah.” you chuckle out as you flinch a quick glance over his way. He smiles in return.

“What do you like to get away from?”

“Everything. Sometimes I just like to get away from people, and be only in the presence of nature and wind.”

“What else?” Drawing your secrets out, he inquires for you to continue, and you confide fully without giving it a second thought. “I like to get away from responsibility and duties, and experience freedom, even if it's just for a second.”

Remaining in his leaned state, Ethan adjusts, shifting his weight over to one arm as he turns to fully face your direction. “So, you’re an escape artist, in a sense.” He smirks out.

“Yeah.” you chuckled, loving the feel of the wind picking up pace, roaring through your hair.

“You’re a runner?” his voice peaking a sense of interest as he remarks your habit of ‘running away’ or getting away from the things that burden you.

“I am.”

“You’re a runaway that likes to daydream?”

“I am.”

You both laugh in sync. He licks and bites his lip as he turns his face away and stares back off at the orchard. “Neat.” is all he says. Just as you were going to inquire about his unusual leather gloves, a dainty voice comes in from behind. “Y/N, we’re ready for you now.” You turn to see the personal seamstress. You smile and bid Ethan a goodbye before leaving him at the gazebo, not realizing that your smile flashed a charming sense that became permanently ingrained in the man’s memory.

……………………….

The night of the event, you sat in your room for a while before deciding to finally make your appearance at the ballroom. Your father’s residence was massive, with four floor levels and a grand ballroom on the main floor; despite frequently visiting every summer, it took you a while to remember your way around. Now, you know the entire house like the back of your hand.

You walk down the staircase, listening in on the laughter and small talk of the large crowd residing in the ballroom. The tail of your dress slinks down each step behind as you drag your hand against the smooth rail. You opted for a simple, plain and form fitting gown, with a high slit reaching your upper thigh; you’re not entirely too sure why you felt the need to look sexy, but why not? You only live once.

Your sisters also opted for a sexy look, though their plunging necklines screamed of desperation rather than seduction, but you kept your opinions to yourself. Tonight was a night for celebration, not for bickering.

You enter the grand room and earn a wave of stares. Your father stands at a distance and smiles proudly as he watches you make your way to one of the floor length windows. You gaze off at the moon, it looked so full and pretty tonight, shame you had to be inside.

The lights dim down, and the band plays a gentle piece that initiates the guest to slow dance. That was your que, one that you always looked out for, so you could…

“Get away…”

Snaking through the crowd, you make your way over to one of the outer doors that lead to a stone corridor that wraps around the entire base level of the mansion. You found solace in a secluded corner that overlooked the moon and stars, and was closed off to guests. The area wasn’t at all separated distinctively; it didn't have any walls, yet the four large pillars that surrounded it provided enough cover and seclusion for you to remain undisturbed, at least from the guests…

“Getting away again?” You turn to the side and notice Ethan entering the outdoor sitting area.

“Yeah…just for a little bit.”

He walks over and just as he did before, he stands by your side and admires the view of the full moon. His appearance wasn’t anything out of normal; he had on a fine black suit and tie, his leather gloves, and black shined shoes. His hair was styled just the same, and roared out a purple hue under the moonlight. In all actuality, he looked like one of the prestigious male guests inside the ballroom. Taking note of the privacy you both shared, you finally had the courage to ask him about his unusual choice of gloves.

“I was wanting to ask you…”

“Hmm?”

“Your gloves…I dont think I’ve ever seen anyone wear gloves like yours, especially a butler.”

“Oh, these? It’s just for comfort when I carry out some of my tasks.” He puts out nonchalantly, pretty much in the same manner as your father responded whenever you breached the topic of Ethan.

“Oh, I see. A butler that just likes to wear leather gloves then.” you chuckled out, with his own laughter following closely behind.

“Yeah, just a butler who likes to wear leather gloves.” he gently repeats as he switches his gaze from the moon, and looks over to you. Had you not been admiring the moon yourself, you would have taken notice of his unyielding stare. His eyes travel up and down, noting that this was the first time since your arrival to your father’s estate that he got to see the reality of your form. It was beautiful.

Admiring the curves of your body, the length of your hair traveling down your backside, and the complexion of your glowing skin, the man found himself in awe….again.

“So what made you want to get away this time? The people? The politics?”

“The moon.” you jest, slightly biting down on your lip, though you did so harmlessly. Yet Ethan couldn’t help but see the sultry beauty behind it. “I like the moon.” You claim.

“Oh yeah? What else do you like?” he punctures your way, unbeknownst to you, he takes a step closer by your side.

“I like animals. I like food, and the stars, and–”

“To run away…” he finishes, earning your sudden attention, allowing for you to see that he had migrated closer.

“...Yes. I like to run away.” You calmly state, issuing a faint nervous chuckle upon noticing the feasting hunger that glared in his eye. It scared you…but you were liking it….and you wanted more of it.

Reaching up, he takes a bit of your hair and glides his fingers through the length of it, allowing it to fall back on your spine. “Now tell me again…what else do you like, pretty girl.”

Your breathing was less steady and deep, you suddenly found the tone of his voice so alluring, and the way he ran his fingers through your hair brought out a tight feeling from within your gut. Tingling and numbness chimes in your womanhood, it was a sensation you were familiar with, yet this time it was much stronger and vivid. You whisper out your response, taking the plunge and the chance to tell him, without being so direct…

“I like….you…”

So much for not being too direct. At least you could say you tried to keep it somewhat discreet, which was much more than what you could say about your stepsisters.

“Yeeeah…I like you too…” his voice grew deeper and the shine in his eyes grew fierce as the hungry sense raged wildly, he looked different. He looked almost frightening, with how starving his eyes looked, yet the moment he gripped a handful of your hair while saying his piece, you could care less that he had the look of a hungry killer or a sadistic maniac, you were willing to feed him, and he sensed it.

With the grip of your silk strands, he pulls you in, sucking in your breath as he fully envelops your lips in a deep kiss. Oh to be kissed by this man….it was something else.

He explores your body and rubbed your hips, his fingers digging into your waist as a hand rides up your back and cradles the back of your scalp while taking in the sensation of your soft strands. The first moan you release against his tongue, he instantaneously rushes you against the pillar nearby, the force of his weight pushing you back until your shoulders meet the cold marble. Your rear and spine is plastered against the surface, yet he continues to push as his body melts into you. Without breaking the kiss, he keeps pushing, rubbing, and grinding, feeding off those sweet moans you let out.

Finally, he allows for the both of you to take a breath as he abruptly breaks his lips away. Softly gripping your neck, the fine leather squeezing against your skin, he whispers before placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, his eyes staring down at you and never breaking contact. “Be a good pretty thing…and try to stay quiet for me.”

“Mm..mmhmm…” you moaned.

“Yeah? Can you do that?”

“Y-yes….yes…”

“Yeah?” he lowers his head and buries his face into your neck, ravishing you with kisses as he smothers his saliva on your smooth skin. “Say you’ll be good for me.”

“I-I’ll….I’ll be good…I’ll try to be good…mmm…Ethan.”

“Heeseung.”

You moaned out of both, pleasure and confusion as you winced your eyes shut upon feeling his kisses becoming rougher, his teeth nibbling on your neck. “H-Heeseung?”

“Mmhmm…my real name.” He lets out just before he gives you a sharp bite. “Ah! Uggghhhhh!!’ you jerked up upon feeling the stinging sensation, with him easing it out as he licked over his teeth mark. “Shhhh….you gotta be good, remember?” he mocks as he gives you another bite.

“Ugh! Fffffffffuck….ugh!” you lengthen out your moans as you feel your body tremble. You really thought you could be quiet, that wasn’t hard to do with the last guy…but with Ethan…no, Heeseung….it was impossible.

“I…I can’t…I can’t….please…please let me scream….oh God I wanna scream…”

Looping his hand under your thigh, he lifts your weight as your back drags against the pillar, his lips sucking and kissing your breasts, which have now become exposed as he pulls the straps down from over your shoulders. With a mouthful of your plump areola, his free hand trails upwards and makes its way to gently cover your mouth. “Then scream baby.”

His finger digs into the skin of your upper leg as he sustains your weight, while his free hand shoots up and gently holds you by your neck. It was all happening so fast, you hadn’t realized that he had already snaked his member out from his trousers until you felt the warm skin of his hard bulge probing your clothed entrance. He fingers your panties and scoots them off to the side, where the probing became more intense as you felt his hips bucking upward. He enjoyed teasing you with it, poking you a few more times as he wasn't focusing on entering, until you let out a whine that indicates your desire for him to do it to you. “Please…..” you moaned out. He kisses you as he finds himself, slipping through your tight walls. The both of you breathed out deeply and simultaneously upon feeling the initial penetration. He breaks the distance just slightly between your lips, so that he could take a better look at you while he continued to thrust all the way in, slowly. Sloooooowly.

There was so much friction, roughness, and pressure, but it was all divine. He stared down at you, looking directly into your eyes with his feasting ones, while his grip on your neck tightened ever so slightly. His thumb reaches up, and grazes over our gasping lips as you pant out your moans.

“Shh…” he waves his index over your lips, hushing you tenderly before the base of his groin meets with yours. You felt full, stuffed, and complete. He gives a slight nudge, imploring for you to respond that you were ready, and you were. With a slight nod, your eyes glistened as you gave him his que, to which he took, along with a kiss on the tip of your nose before he started to pull out. He didn’t have to say it, you could hear it within his growl that you were tight. Your walls squeezed every ounce of precum out of his throbbing length as he drew it out from the immense pressure your cavity created for him. Your squelching walls squeezing him, cradling him with a tight ring of muscle that made it almost seemed impossible for him to penetrate a second time. His breathing escalates yet each exhale becomes prolonged as he groans out the pleasure he felt upon breaching you. He exits out fully, his bulbous tip barely lays nestled in your cavity, with only the very tip that carried his exit laying inside, but it wasn’t for long. You clenched uncontrollably when you felt him plunge back in, harder, deeper, and faster. He bellows out in the depths of your gut while shoving his nose and mouth against your skin, still holding you by the thigh and neck. His hips thrust, starting off at a slow tempo, but taking no time to pick up the pace. In just a few seconds, you found yourself being lunged upwards in a jolting motion, all at high tempo.

In and out, his thrusts were graceful yet demeaning as he goes in each time with the intent on tearing you apart, feeding you the immense thickness of his length and girth. The sound of the bustling guests exiting and mingling outside of the house could be heard, all unaware of what was happening behind the large pillar that Heeseung had you pinned against. You so badly wanted to scream, it all felt too good. The way he had you bouncing upwards at high momentum, your hair draping and decorating the marble backing as he continued to shove and lift you to accommodate each thrust. Biting your lip, you couldn’t take it anymore and yelp out in desperation, only for him to shoot his hand up and cover your mouth as he did before.

“Shh….that’s my good girl.” Whispering against your forehead, his thrusts become harder and tighter as he reaches the areas of your body that you never knew could be obtained by a man. His length repeatedly hits a spot that causes you to yell out into his palm in a repeated motion as he goes in with so much ferocity. Your body goes limp, and you could barely contain yourself. Sensing that, he flings your thigh upwards and catches it, adjusting his grip as he scoots in closer while penetrating deep inside, leaving absolutely no distance between your heated bodies.

“Good girl…good girl…take it….keep taking it…..fuck!”

Feeling your walls pulsate did him in. You felt his cock throb with violent twitches as he buried it deep inside, releasing his warm, silky seed into you. The way you felt his length bend and flicker against your muscles, with the hot temperature of his children entering invigorated you, causing you to experience your orgasm. Your walls leak, vibrating out your ecstasy while he stays put for a few minutes; leaning back, he stares down at you with fulfillment in his eyes, they are no longer hungry. Satisfied under heavy lids, he reaches up and takes from his internal breast pocket of his suit, a silkened handkerchief. He pinches the corner, before whiplashing it to unfold as he slides out, inch by inch. Once you felt hollow, you felt the warm ooze of his labor dripping down your thigh. It was thick and white, mixed with the clarity of your body’s own solution produced from your orgasmic high. Keeping your thigh elevated, he takes a knee and drags the smooth silk against your skin as he delicately wipes up the residue, leaving a trail of kisses against your inner thigh upon cleaning you up. Dragging his tongue upwards, he leaves your skin spotless before standing straight up, placing a tender kiss on your lips. No words were exchanged, just acts of affection and softness to conclude the lovemaking. Throughout the night, Heeseung danced and kept you company, flashing a smile your way every so often, much to the dismay of your sisters.

“Why is Ethan dancing with her? I want to dance with him too!”

“After me first.”

Your stepmom subtly scolds the girls under her breath, pressuring them to focus on the more eligible bachelors that roamed the ballroom, no doubt heirs with big money behind their names. Yet the girls had a hard time shaking off the handsome Ethan from their minds, and only grew more frustrated as they watched him court you. Your father sips from his fine glass, and reassures your sisters as he issues a firm look over to your stepmom. “I’m sure it’s nothing girls. Go and mingle with all these other handsome fellas, I’m sure they’d love to dance with you two.”

“But dad! I’ve been telling you how long I’ve had a crush on Ethan, it’s not fair!”

Your father slides his stern look over to the girls; “I’m sure Ethan is being polite, after all, it's the first time your sister attended this event, he’s more than likely trying to make her feel welcomed since she doesn’t know anyone here. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Glancing over to you and Ethan, your father smiles softly upon admiring the way you both flowed with the course of the musical piece being played. Whispering to himself, he quietly tells himself, “I’m sure it’s nothing…but love.”

…………………………….

The following week, you spent more time with Ethan. For a butler, he didn’t seem to be as busy as you would expect, especially considering the house was massive. Then again, your father did mention that he was the head of the house staff, and second to only him as the master of the household, so perhaps his duties were strictly supervisory with high authority. Either way, you didn’t mind that he was free to be with you the majority of the days, it was exactly what you had needed to recover from your previous partner. Ethan had heard about him, yet never brought him up, he never felt the need to. As far as he was concerned, you had him now, and that was all that mattered.

One day, you went out with your sisters to do some shopping. You took interest in the local food vendors that sold fresh produce, while your sisters were enchanted by the local boutique of their favorite designer brand and the release of the new collection. You interacted with the sellers, buying simple ingredients to prepare a nice meal tonight, for you and Ethan. You were surprised that your father hadn’t become curious as to your frequent absence at dinner, since you were spending each evening in private with Ethan, dining at the gazebo or at one of the guest houses. Perhaps he knew? Or maybe he just trusted you to care for yourself, after all, he never restricted you to a strict schedule, allowing you the freedom to provide for yourself whenever you needed.

As you walked the row of street vendors, a mysterious figure from afar eyeballs your movements. Stationed at the peak of a nearby tower, he aims and observes through a scope, attached to a sniper rifle. Being the only legitimate daughter of the Ambassador came with some ups and downs, and it would appear that your father had enemies that intended to cause you harm, perhaps as a warning for money or secured and private information that would affect national security. Blindly unaware, you continued on with your shopping, just seconds away from getting pierced through the chest with a stray bullet. A bullet…that was shot in silence, not a sound heard by the crowds.

Hunched over, bleeding, and choking out his last breath, the mysterious assassin slowly fades out over his rifle; a single hole in his chest leaks out the last of his vigor as his vision blackens. Across the tower, on the roof of a neighboring hotel, another rifleman kneels perched with his own weapon and silencer. Ejecting the casing out from the ejection port, a leather gloved hand catches the steaming hot brass; with his trigger finger is exposed, he releases and activates the safety switch on the weapon. Peeking through the scope, he watches the mysterious figure die out, then switches his aim over to you. Watching over you, his scope follows your every move, until Bittmerman pulls up.

“Miss y/n, it's time to get back. Your sisters are already in the car.”

You nod and smile happily. “Okay, thank you.”

Taking Bitterman’s hand, he guides you in the backseat where you are reunited with your spoiled sisters. He shuts the door and looks up to meet the eye of the scope, emitting a nod that implies your safety behind bullet proof glass and steel. Smirking, the rifleman lowers the gun and takes it apart. Chuckling to himself, he places the components of his rifle in a fine case before standing and watching Bitterman’s car drive off.

Taking his index, he bites the tip of the leather glove and pulls it off his left hand. Taking the brass casing, he flicks it up in the air before catching it with his strong hand, adorned with the fingerless leather glove. Rolling the brass in between his fingers, he admires it for a second before he preps to take his leave. Chuckling once more, he whispers under his breath, growing excited in seeing you upon his return home, knowing you'll be waiting for him.

“I’m just a butler… who likes to wear leather gloves, pretty girl.”

Taglist: aiden2001 , heeseung-min , lathan1510 , rayofsunshineeee

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

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feminist-space · 9 months

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Wear a mask (respirators like N95s or KN95s or KF94s), especially in healthcare settings, in public transportation, in crowded places. Long covid has severe consequences that, coupled with the dystopian nightmare that is everything else, can be devastating. It's worth it to at least try to take steps to stay safe by wearing a mask. For ourselves and for the people around us.

If you need help getting masks, there are mask blocs throughout the country that you can reach out to. And Project N95 also has resources for those who cannot afford N95 etc respirators.

Excerpts from article:

"About one in four Covid patients experience long-term symptoms weeks or months after getting infected, according to multiple studies published last year."

"A May study from the Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis found that both unvaccinated and vaccinated people are at risk of long Covid. The risk is higher for the unvaccinated, but the study suggested that vaccines only reduce the risk of long Covid by 15%."

"The report estimates that 2 million to 4 million of those people are currently out of work due to long Covid."

"If 4 million long Covid patients are out of work, the lost earnings could be as high as $230 billion, the report says.

That’s nearly 1% of the country’s current-dollar gross domestic product (GDP) of $24.88 trillion."

"The condition can undeniably impact a patient’s life, work and health. Last year, the Americans with Disabilities Act labeled long Covid a disability because of how it can limit the major life activities of patients.

A July 2021 study from the Patient-Led Research Collaborative measured the condition’s effect on patients’ work over the course of seven months. Only about 27% of long Covid patients worked as many hours as they did before failing ill. Roughly 23% weren’t working at all, as a direct result of long Covid. That included being on sick leave, disability leave, quitting, being fired or being unable to find a job that would accommodate them."

#wear a mask #long covid #please wear a mask #covid

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wxnheart · 1 year

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Hi I was hoping you take requests? There’s this song that I recently discovered and it made me think mostly of König but you can do the other boys if you’d like to.

I was going to ask for POV of König (or any of the boys) with a shy s/o and the song is this: https://youtu.be/COSahj2SZqQ

Thank you and Happy Holidays! 🎉

𝐒𝐡𝐲!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐒/𝐎 - 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩, 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

part two

Deeper than I've felt it before with you, baby I feel I'm falling in love with all my heart...

𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

You're so cute, Schatzi.

When you smile, there's always a hint of bashfulness there. It's bright, radiant, and makes his day every time. Never stop smiling for him.

König remembers those moments before you two became a couple. He remembers the longing in your glances. He remembers looking at you the same way. The mutual affection was there. It had always been there but you two were just too damn shy to act on it. Until now.

You were two peas in a pod, cheeks burning under each other's lovestruck gaze; your fingers tentatively touched and explored each other and for once, König didn't care who noticed. Time had slowed, his surroundings became a blur, and all he saw... was you.

Even now, all he sees is you.

And it is love. It burns brighter than his cheeks and comfortably shields him just like his mask. It invigorates him and there's nothing he looks forward to more than your smile, bright, radiant, and bashful, greeting him.

And for once, König didn't care who noticed.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 '𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩' 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡

Oh-ho, you're shy! Heh. Soap likes it. Likes it a lot, actually.

Shy wasn't something he encountered often. Not in his line of work. Couldn't afford to, really.

The same could be said for his personal life, too. And so when you came with your breathy laughter and coy gaze, Soap knew he was smitten.

Of course he was. He'd be a fool not to be crazy about you.

And if there's one adage Soap has learned to live by, it's to never judge a book by its cover. Shy didn't mean scared. It didn't mean weak. It didn't mean different or inefficient. It just meant SHY and fuck everyone who thought otherwise.

You proved it each and every day. You were strong where it counted. You were sharp and fucking brave. You held the fort down whenever Soap was away. You were his rock when he needed reassurance and grounding.

Yeah, he loved you. Loved you lots, really. Loved your breathy laughter and coy gaze. He loved your wit, your courage, and your earthy wisdom.

And Soap knew he'd be a fool not to.

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲

God, he felt like a kid with a crush when it came to you.

He couldn't stop staring at you and you usually wouldn't stare at him at all, and whenever he did manage to lock gazes with you, you'd quickly avert your eyes. What the fuck?

Simon would be lying if he said he didn't find it cute the way you'd look away and smile to yourself knowingly. No matter how shy you were, you weren't oblivious to the way he felt. You fucking glowed under the intensity of his stare and like hell would he stop. You were an enigma wrapped in a secret and smothered in riddles that he was intent on solving.

And whenever he thought he made progress, there you were to make him realize he was nowhere near close.

And yeah, that's what led to him making the first move. That's what led to you two falling in love, becoming a couple, and fuck if he isn't the happiest bastard alive.

Sometimes Ghost wonders if this is what his parents were like before their demons made fools of them both. Did his mother smile to herself all shy and reserved and did his father want her even more? Or, shit, was it doomed from the moment they first laid eyes on each other?

Sometimes he wonders if he's destined for the same thing. Sometimes...

But Simon was determined to be better than his father. He was determined to have a fulfilling relationship. You were an enigma wrapped in a secret smothered in riddles and if it took the rest of his life to figure you out then so be it. Like hell you're getting rid of him that easily, love.

#happy holidays anon!#simon 'ghost' riley #john 'soap' mactavish #konig #könig #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #task force 141 #just 141 things.#just ghostly things.#just kingly things.

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rookthorne · 6 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬

》 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝

Rumours and tales had been spread of a character at the local Halloween Park that painted them in such a haunting light — they were a predator that even the bravest spook and adrenaline seekers feared, always alluding that he was far too ‘hardcore’ to trifle with. Luckily for you, a target had been painted on your back, and you were about to experience one of the hardest escapes of your life.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 》 3.6k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 》 Fluff, consensual stalking, primal, knife play

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 》 I had way too much fun writing this, and I can't believe that I just typed that warning.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 》 @smutconnoisseur

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 》 @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

》 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

After weeks of research and scouring through social media for the best spooks of the season, you were led here. At the gates of the new Halloween park and attraction. The park was lively, loud with screams and cheers and the bass of music. It thrummed through your body like a current of electricity.

A building decked out in stereo-typical Halloween decorations was situated to the left of the entrance. The sign above the larger window read ‘Administration’, and with a shuddered gasp of anticipation, you gripped the bag strap over your shoulder and walked towards it to wait in line.

It was a shock at just how small the line was, however. No more than a handful of people, all adults, stood and trembled in place – whether from anxiety or excitement, you couldn’t tell.

The lack of people standing in line wasn’t so much of a surprise when you took into account that during your research you found out you had to sign a multitude of waivers to even set foot in the park bounds.

The waiver, you learned from the park’s website, had every possible scenario covered – by signing the documents, you understood and consented to having the metaphorical life scared out of you, whether that be by props, actors, or environments. There were even medical forms to fill out, they were that thorough.

During your research, you had also seen all of the actors on the park’s Instagram — each as intimidating at the last, but there was one that intrigued you the most. It was a given that each character had a backstory, a plot behind the madness, but this one seemed the most exhilarating.

Known only as the Soldat, his costume consisted entirely of black; leather and kevlar-esque clothes paired with holsters for weaponry everywhere. A mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only piercing grey eyes streaked with khol visible.

If you were honest with yourself, you were most excited for an encounter with him. He stalked the shadows and only revealed himself to very few — a walking and breathing myth that carried the same sense of lethality and mystery that his character afforded.

What interested you within the fine print for one of the waivers you eagerly signed was that the Soldat had his own warnings: stalking, use of Russian, and, unsurprisingly, use of knives. They were props, the document assured you as such, but if the thought didn’t make your heart race a little…

“Next,” a voice called, breaking you out of your reverie. You blinked and shook your head before stepping forward. The sign in process was like any other, and you passed through the entry gates only a few moments later.

Screams echoed through the night while the clashes and bangs of metal on metal sounded – the rides were in full swing. The entryway of the park was full of groups of young adults and couples, travelling in packs of two to even ten. It was only then you slightly regretted coming to the park alone, but there was less of a chance to make a fool of yourself, this way.

There were no children running amok, either, and for that, you were grateful, not only would there be no hysterical children, but that was the first sign that rules were enforced: no one under the age of twenty-one could step foot within the park.

A thick blanket of fog carpeted the ground as you stepped into a makeshift tunnel, the barely lit space had a lone flickering light bulb that gave very little visibility. You could still hear people walking around behind you, deep in the shadows.

Loud, deep music played as you considered what to do next while you walked towards the main area of the park. The bass rattled your chest and echoed in your bones, disorientating you in a way that made the adrenaline burn through your veins.

It was a general consensus that there would be no scaring until you reached the rides, or within the food court, but it didn’t soothe that prickle of apprehension that someone was there, just waiting for the opportunity.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself, looking left to right. To the left was a giant archway that led to a food court, and to the right, a looming tunnel in the shape of a mouth that led to rides. Hunger wasn’t an issue at that point, so you shrugged and turned towards the tunnel. “Here we go.”

The shadows seemed to warp and move as you walked, giving the illusion of figures stalking behind you. Blood curdling screams and shrieks bounced off the walls and through the night’s air, and you couldn’t tell whether they were the ambient recordings or if the actor’s were already working their craft.

It added a sense of urgency to your step; a sharp, keen sense of awareness for every flicker in your peripheral vision.

Lights beamed from the carnival-esque rides as you walked through the crowds – oranges, purples, and greens glowed over your skin and flickered over the pavement, painting an eerie picture in the darkness. People were flocking back and forth in groups while lone stragglers were singled out by the roaming actors.

You watched, amused, as one of the actors in a clown costume ran full pelt at a huddled group of young women. They screamed with fright and scattered before they converged again, huddling next to one another like that would be their saving grace.

You knew better.

The harrowing sense of being watched cascaded over you, the silent rise of the hair on your nape and your mind screamed danger, danger, danger. You looked around, subtly as you could, until you found the source: a straggler, dressed in a suit splattered with fake blood, was watching you with his head tilted to the side.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, staring straight back, when he winked. Inwardly, you grumbled over the fact that a simple wink should not have been that attractive; outwardly, you stuck your tongue out at the actor in retaliation.

He advanced and in the blink of an eye, he had skidded across the pavement on his knees, sending sparks from his knee pads as he stood up right in front of you. His height was an advantage, you guessed, because you couldn’t suppress the shiver of a personified murderer looming over you.

“Careful, darling,” he said, voice gravelly. You could see a set of prop vampire fangs fitted over his canines when he bared his teeth. “Don’t wanna lose that now, do you?”

“Nope,” you said nervously, taking a step back and shaking your head. “I need it to eat pizza.”

The actor, whether in or out of character, snorted derisively and wiggled his fingers, and you took the dismissal.

Fog still covered the ground as you walked through the rides, content to feel the spirit of Halloween in the air and watch everyone else have the life scared out of them. There was a chime of different music to your right, and you glanced over to find a claw machine – full to the brim with stuffies in different states of zombie decay, to skeletons with goofy faces.

You walked over, humming to the music playing over the loudspeakers. “I have to have one.”

The line to get to the front was just as short as the line to the administrative building, and you waited patiently, watching as men dressed in top hats or rags stalk past; looking for their next victim.

Laughter sounded from right behind you and you started, spinning around to find a woman wearing a mask and holding some sort of blade integrated with an aluminium bat. Dark red hair cascaded down her shoulders, contrasting against the black leather of her jacket.

She stared into your face, searching it with her green eyes, when she smirked – a wicked thing that sent a shiver down your spine; some people were just too good at their jobs, you thought privately.

“Aren’t you just a sweet little thing? Cute–innocent, even,” she drawled, tapping the end of her bat with a clawed nail. Her voice sounded smooth and velvety – not unlike that of a siren’s.

“You got me good,” you confessed, hand held over your pounding heart. She giggled and smiled at you. A flash of orange light passed over her and you pointed at her hair. “I love your hair–sets off your menacing vibe perfectly.”

“Why, thank you, lamb.” She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. The proximity made your heart race – even if you were well versed in the etiquette, having a stranger in costume so close made you nervous. “I think you’re one the Soldat would love…”

The hammering beat of your heart froze for a second with her words. Never had you imagined that you would hear a threat so enticing. You blinked and shook your head before you looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me,” she teased, winking slyly. It didn’t ease your nerves. “Don’t worry that sweet head of yours.” The weapon she brandished swayed in her grip as she stepped back and out of your space. “He’ll find you, and there won’t be anything left when he’s done with you.”

The encounter left you rattled; scared beyond wits. “What did she mean–?”

Bright lights filled your peripheral vision and you realised you were at the front of the line for the claw machine. The worker, who leaned heavily onto the glass and flipped a small knife in his hand, looked up at you as you stepped up to the controls.

“Huh,” he huffed, tilting his head. “Widow wasn’t wrong. You better watch your back, lamb.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?” His sandy blond hair was matted and streaked with congealed blood, stemming from a fake arrow through the side of his head and you had to fight the urge to wretch at the hyper-realistic, brutal costume.

The worker shrugged a shoulder and tapped his temple with the point of the knife. “The Soldat is on the hunt tonight, prowling the shadows–wouldn’t wanna cross him. Keep your wits about you.”

“You guys really know how to make a gal feel welcome,” you said slowly, looking around you. “It works–building Soldat up.”

The wink he sent you made your skin break out in goosebumps – there was something in his eyes, a glint of knowing that put you off and unsettled your senses. Loud screams and echoed maniacal laughter did not help the nerves that had begun to fray the longer you stood out in the open.

Shaking your head once, you deposited the money in the machine and grabbed the joystick, determined to win a stuffie for your trouble.

And if you gripped the soft toy tightly when you left, it was no one’s business.

Your venture through the park led you to a dark zone within the rides – people were interspersed in their little groups, but not a single person lingered. The shadows seemed to extend and grow as you walked, and that same feeling of being watched from someone unseen settled heavily in your stomach, a lead weight that made your leisurely pace increase.

The alleyway to your left gaped in size. With no other sounds except for the occasional yell or scream of fear from the other park patrons, you couldn’t hear footsteps nor the breathing of someone lurking there. But the inescapable instinct of fight or flight screamed at you to get out of there – to run, and to not look back.

You shuffled your feet and looked around as you muttered a quiet curse, thinking of where to go next, and the alleyway passed you by with little incident. “Well, that’s a relief,” you mumbled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

As you walked, just a few feet from the unnerving alleyway, people walking towards you stopped and stared – mouths and eyes wide, and when you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, a presence behind you, dark and shadowed from your peripheral vision, made your jaw click shut.

You tried to whirl around to see who it was, but a cold hand covered your mouth and chin. Whoever it was forced you to stumble backwards and you landed with a muffled huff against their chest – a solid mass of a person, and you could scent the leather of their costume.

A tutting sound emanated from where the person's mouth was, and cold plastic pressed against your ear – their hand still covered your mouth and every sound you made came out muffled. The ability to make noise or call for help being torn from you so easily made white static fill your mind in a panicked haze, while the sound of your pounding heart filled your ears.

“There you are,” a deep voice rasped – it was accented with the lilt of Russian. You froze in place and your eyes widened with terror; Soldat had found you. “A little bird told me that I would find the perfect prey tonight. They were not wrong.”

His voice was muffled and quiet behind the mask, but it filled you with an unparalleled need to flee, though you didn’t dare mov – not even when you felt something sharp dig into the side of your neck. “Such a pretty prize, little kotenok. And all for me.”

For a split second, you forgot you were in a park full of people. Not even the pounding bass of the music that never ceased or the screams of fear pulled you out of the reverie – it was just you, back to chest with a stranger who had a hand over your mouth, and what felt like a knife at your neck. You whimpered and shuddered in his hold.

“Do not fear, little one.” There was a deep chuckle, and the same smooth, cold plastic brushed against the shell of your ear, as though he was turning his head to look at your profile. “I could never hurt my trophies. Especially ones that are so pretty.”

The cold bite of metal left your mouth and the sharp tip of the knife vanished from your throat. “Oh-”

The hands that had held you captive then shoved you forward, and you yelped in shock before you spun around to face the Soldat, only, no one was there. “What the hell!”

“I told you, little lamb,” a familiar voice sang. You looked to the right and you were faced with the same red hair of Widow, not to mention the Cheshire's smile on blood red lips. “Soldat is on the hunt, and he’s prowling after you now.” She turned away and waved at you from over her shoulder. “Good luck, little one!”

You gulped and straightened up, watching the mouth of the alleyway with mounting fear. There was no glint of metal nor any sign of a person in waiting.

“I would run, if I were you,” a new voice cautioned. It was one of the stragglers that had spooked that group of women earlier, and he looked smug – a wide smirk pulled his lips up and contorted his makeup. “You’re in his sights now. Good fucking luck.” And he ran off, sparks flying from the pads on his knees as he skidded across the floor again.

“Shit,” you hissed. That waiver was not kidding – and with all the actors warning you to hightail it, you were inclined to believe them. You got your wish, you thought nervously as you looked around. The Soldat was paying attention to you, and you alone, it seemed. “Fuck it.”

Your shoes slapped over the pavement as you briskly walked towards the archway on the other side of the ride section of the park. People kept glancing at you and staring wide-eyed behind you, but every time you looked over your shoulder, you saw no one tailing behind you.

It was starting to mess with your bravado, and you couldn’t help but pant for air as you moved faster and faster, desperate to at least get to somewhere where there was light.

“Oh my god!” a woman cried, pointing behind you with wide eyes. You yelped on instinct and jumped, spinning on your heel.

This time there was someone there.

Clad in all black, his eyes intently stared at your face. Kohl covered the skin above his black mask and long, dark hair swayed as he walked, strutted towards you; flipping a knife with a shining, metal hand as though putting on a show for all to see.

Fear froze you in place for a split second, but adrenaline roared and pulsed like a wildfire through every fibre of your being. With little intervention, you turned back around and bolted from the scene, pushing past people to put distance between you and the Soldat.

Boots thumped behind you and you screamed as you felt a hand brush your shoulder. You turned sharply to the left and the hand disappeared, but you heard a rough voice yell, “Run, little kotenok, I will catch you–one way or another,” at your back.

Heavy metal music matched the pace of your frantic running as you dashed between crowds of people and other actors. You took a chance and glanced over your shoulder, searching for your tail, but he was gone once again. “Oh my god,” you gasped, heaving for air. “That was scary–holy shit.”

A plainly dressed worker walked up to you then, their expression taut and worried. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rushed, waving a hand. “I’m good. Had the shit scared out of me, but I’m good.”

They grinned and nodded. “Good luck then.”

You were left alone once again.

Music and the occasional scream filled the long silence and lack of terror-driven fleeing. There was another alleyway to your side, and there wasn’t much room for a person to appear behind you without you knowing, so you took a chance and leaned against the rough brick of the building as you took deep pulls of air to fill your constricting lungs. A stitch had formed in your side and you winced on every inhale. “Fuck–that was-”

A hand, cold and strong, covered your mouth and pulled you back against a chest. The shriek of fear was cut off by the pressure of his grip.

Soldat clicked his tongue and growled as a flash of metal danced across your vision. The same knife that had been against your throat before dug into your neck and dragged down to your collarbones, then back up to your jugular. “Should have never run from me,” he said lowly. “I am a ghost, kotenok. I see and hear it all. You’re in my world now, little one.”

“Please,” you whimpered, and it came out muffled behind his hand. “I- Oh my god, don’t-”

A deep, demonic laugh shook his chest and you felt him breathe in, the brush of leather on your back just as frightening as before. “You beg so pretty, kotenok.” He clicked his tongue again and pulled away the knife, but he held you fast to his chest. “Those same little birds told me you signed a waiver. The very same one that will allow me to do as I please with you.”

You recognised the consent check immediately; the pressure on your mouth didn’t tighten nor did he pull you back. He was giving you the chance to back out. “Yeah,” you rasped, lips brushing against the cold palm of his hand. “I did.”

“Mm,” he hummed. The knife returned to your throat, and you gasped as you were suddenly moved over to and pinned to the wall by your neck with his hand. His face was mere inches from yours, and you could see the dark kohl that framed his clear, calculating eyes as they darted between yours. “Umnaya devushka. You will be my trophy, then. And by the fall of the final night, you will know your place.”

“Oh,” you gasped, and you squirmed to gain some room, but he did not relent. Soldat narrowed his eyes and he tilted his head, considering you.

“You also will be a guest until the end of Halloween, da?”

Unable to speak, you just nodded.

The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly, as though he was smiling behind the mask. He leaned in close again, his breath hot over your lips as his hand tightened on the sides of your throat. You let out an undignified squeak that didn’t even seem to phase him, nor make him break character – if anything, he delved deeper. “Very good. I will find you, kotenok. You will not escape so easily next time.”

He pulled back and you stumbled forward – it felt like whiplash, losing his proximity so fast and without warning.

“Wait!” Slowly, he narrowed his eyes and took a knife from his holster, absentmindedly flipping it as he walked backwards towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Why me?”

His movements halted. The air from the alleyway was sucked from the space and you struggled to rein in the thought of him staring so thoughtfully at you – the need to know what he was thinking was almost overwhelming.

“You intrigue me,” he said simply.

Then, he turned and stalked out of the alleyway, leaving you in the shadows and considering just how insane this all was. You were alone, in a park full of the Halloween spirit, and here you were, wondering just how it would feel if you were chased by the Soldat again.

The thought alone convinced you to indeed come back the next night, and this time, you would wear trainers. You would outrun him, one way or another.

kotenok = kitten umnaya devushka = clever girl da = yes

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

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oceantornadoo · 5 months

Text

reunited at the yoga studio

simon left without a word three years ago, and now he was here at the yoga class you taught.

angsty, no smut (unfortunately), hurt and comfort, slightly fluffy.

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

“come on, l.t., it’ll be fun. plus, we’re already here.” soap urged ghost into the yoga studio with vigor, eager to make his lieutenant loosen up. “she’s a 70 years old lass with the flexibility of a damn olympian, you have to meet her.” for the past three weeks they had been on leave, soap had been ranting about his new favorite yoga teacher, a lady named marcia who taught a class on releasing physical trauma. finally, finally, he had convinced ghost to come with, who had relented only out of pure curiosity. they walked in, ghost wearing a clinical mask on the bottom half of his face. the teacher wasn’t there to greet them, uncommon but not unheard of, and ghost urged them to place their mats in the back, wanting a quick escape if needed. he followed soap’s routine, taking off his shoes and readying his water bottle. and then, you walked in.

“hi everyone! i’m covering for marcia, she had a last minute emergency, nothing to worry about. let’s get started, yeah?” ghost was reeling. you were here, and you were a yoga teacher? he hadn’t seen you in three years, memories of that terrible breakup coming to mind. his heart started pounding and his fingers itched to move, but that would only draw further attention to him. he resolved to be as quiet as a mouse, viewing this as a stealth mission instead of a yoga class. soap noticed immediately but said nothing, figuring it was because of the amount of people instead of a specific person.

you led the 45 minute class with confidence, noting ghost’s shyness but not noticing him. plenty of people were uncomfortable doing yoga, so you wrote it off as another shy participant and moved on. as the class ended, you had everyone stand facing you, and finally noticed. those dark brown eyes, that dark blonde-brown hair slightly grown out from his military buzzcut. the breadth of his shoulders, breathing slightly with exertion from the end of the class. he locked eyes with you as you whispered “namaste”, all the air rushing out of your lungs like a punch to the gut. people were moving, coming up to you as you thanked them robotically, your eyes locked on ghost’s form. the class cleared out but he was taking his time putting on his shoes on the ground, a man you figured was his friend waiting patiently beside him. you marched towards him like you were walking through water, each step harder and harder to take.

ghost knew he couldn’t ignore you any longer, couldn’t make a quick getaway as he had waited too long. he could have put his shoes on faster but had stayed, whether it was to self-flagellate or out of morbid curiosity, he didn’t know. he felt like he was watching himself from above, seeing you approach him like you would a wild animal. he readied himself for battle, muttering to soap that he would see him later. soap cleared the room, brows knitting in confusion at the scene. finally, ghost turned his head up at you, making peace with the pain that was sure to follow. he was always one step from death, but somehow this felt harder.

“since when are you a yoga teacher?” he spoke first, wanting to break the ice.

“a lot can change in three years, simon. you would know.” you said, all bark no bite. you took a seat in front of him on the floor, thankful that you were done with classes for the day. you’d need a lot of recovery time after this.

“no one’s called me that in a long time. good for you, dove.”

“no one has called me that in a long time too. you’re a blast from the past.” he was nervous, hands running through his hair as he tried to maintain eye contact. ghost didn’t get overwhelmed, couldn’t afford it on the battlefield, but simon did. you always did manage to bring simon to the surface, with your fleeting smiles and gentle words.

“i’m s-”

“what are-”

you both stopped and gave a short laugh. you gestured at him, wanting to hear what he had to say.

“i’m sorry for the way i left. you didn’t deserve that. you didn’t deserve anything i did, dove.” his comment took you off guard. the simon you knew, the simon you had dated for two years before he left in that night, never apologized. he had never taken accountability for the way he made you feel, with his gruff words and long silences.

“oh. thank you, that actually means a lot. what are you doing here?”

“soap’s tryin’ get me out of the house, kept going on and on about his teacher marcia. imagine my surprise when you walked through that door instead.” you laughed despite yourself, remembering how much of a homebody simon had been. you had always been pleading him to go out, take you on a date, anything. some things never changed. you fidgeted and, without meaning to, glanced at his left hand. bare.

“‘m not married. if you were wonderin’.” simon was gaining more courage now. you hadn’t yelled or hit him yet, so he figured time had healed some of your wounds. he took off his mask and slipped it into his pocket, never afraid to show his face around you, even years later. you gave him a shy smile, embarrassed you had been caught looking. he noticed your hand was bare as well, but he wanted to make sure before he got his hopes up.

“are you? attached?”

“no, i-, i’m not. i was dating this guy for a year but we broke up when i wanted to get married and he didn’t.”

“bastard. i should have been the only stupid guy to leave you.” he was trying to lighten the mood, but you still had a burning question you needed to know. you had moved on from the past, figuring he had his own reasons, but the hurt still lingered. the voice in the back of your head still told you you were unlovable, someone no one wanted to stay with forever.

“why did you? leave me, i mean.” the mood dropped, the air tense with anticipation. you had wanted to know for years as the nights of almost drunk texting him were too many to count. you straightened your spine, projecting confidence as his slowly faded, his eyes searching the ground. simon was a big man, huge even, but in that moment he looked so small.

“it was never about you, i want you to know that. that night, i-. it was too real. we had just had that date, and i almost asked you to marry me right there. i couldn’t do it. knew you’d be tied to me forever, and that some day i’d break your heart. turn into my father or go m.i.a., who knows. so i decided to do it then, when i still had control. worst decision of my life, love.” he locked eyes with you as he said his last sentence, emotion swimming behind his eyes. simon had never communicated with you like this, willingly telling you about his thoughts and feelings. you could sense the change in him, more mature and self-assured than he had been three years ago. unshed tears gathered in your eyes, bringing back all those feelings of hopelessness and abandonment that had haunted you in the months after. the sleepless nights wearing his t shirt, the smell of him slowly fading until you donated it.

simon was hurting, aching. he was trying so hard, using all of those tools the base psychiatrist had talked to him about over the years. the man he had been three years ago was fully ghost, consumed by fear and hiding it well, until he broke down and left. now he knew how to separate the two, how to take off the mask and let simon come out. now, he was some semblance of a real man, no longer broken by the crippling shadow of his father. there had been a few girls in the years after the breakup, barracks bunnies and friends with benefits, but no one as ever serious as you. seeing you here was a sign that all his hard work had been for something. and finding out you were single? he couldn’t let you get away again.

“let me take you out, on a real date. let me make everything up.” suddenly he was pleading, hand stroking your face as you shed tears at his words. “i’m not afraid anymore.” he said quietly, sacred words in the peace of the yoga studio. your head snapped up, anger clouding your judgement.

“how can you say that? how can you promise that? after what you did? i was distraught, simon. i thought you cheated, had a secret wife or something. something to explain how you just left, left us.”

“there’s no one else, dove. there never was. it was just me and my past. i haven’t loved anyone since i started loving you.” loving. as in present tense. you locked eyes with him, tears drying as you cleared your throat.

“loving?”

“loving. i’m a better man now. let me show you, please.” he stood up, offering his hand to you to help you up. you stood up and he didn’t drop your hand, instead giving it a short squeeze. simon was still as breathtaking as he was the day he left, even more now with more wrinkles and scars on him. he was cool and confident, and suddenly you wanted to know everything about this new man in front of you. the one who insinuated he still loved you. the one who shattered your heart and was here three years later, offering to mend it with bare hands and that damn british accent.

“coffee?” you waited, long enough to make him itch. just to get back a little.

“okay.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #angst #cod 141 #tornadothoughts

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corruptedcaps · 5 months

Text

Mallbrat

This story is based on this wonderful tweet by @shadow211e. Enjoy!

Despite Mel coming from a rich family, she had always seen herself as someone who was above the shallow, materialistic pursuits of the women who frequented the upscale mall in the neighboring town called Eden. She hated how bitchy and superficial the people were that frequented Eden, she was much more at home on the soccer field. Yet, today was different. She had come here with a pure intention: to find the perfect gift for her friend Katie.

Katie was a huge lover of fashion and followed all the latest trends but could barely afford the clothes she bought from the thrift store. Katie often told Mel that she was happy with her thrift store finds, that it made her more resourceful but Mel could see the sadness behind her best friend’s eyes.

Mel knew it would be hard, being a tomboy shopping for a dyed in the wool girly girl but she was determined to get her something perfect. It was just so overwhelming. The mall's glistening storefronts, adorned with designer labels, had always made her uncomfortable, but now she felt exhausted looking at a myriad of shoes, dresses and makeup, not knowing where to begin.

Taking a moment to sit down and gather her thoughts she watched as the bitchy girls of her school stride past flicking their hair and giggling at a joke she was sure she was the butt of.

As she was about to get up suddenly a perfume saleswoman appeared and sprayed something in her face. “Hello Miss, don’t you just love the smell of our new signature scent, ‘Entitled’. It’s such a hit that the mall will be pumping it through the air conditioning for today only. Make sure to buy your bottle before you leave today.” The saleswoman said to Mel who was coughing as she took the sweet fragrance in the face.

Before Mel could complain the woman had disappeared into thin air. Annoyed but undeterred from her task, Mel went back to walking the mall. As she strolled past boutique after boutique, something strange began to happen. Her posture straightened, and her steps became more deliberate, mimicking the confident strides of the women who were impeccably dressed around her. She pushed her chest out in front of her and walked with her chin high in a superior pose.

As she walked past store front after store front gazing at the opulent wears in the windows her mind started to drift from whether ‘Katie would like that’ to ‘I’d look good in that’. One outfit in particular caught her eye. It was a snakeskin style top that looked to have less fabric than her soccer shorts but she felt inexplicably drawn to it. She couldn’t stop picturing herself in its revealing curves.

She would have walked straight in to try it on only she got a look at herself in the windows reflection and nearly gagged. Her hair was messy, face dirty and her nails were chipped. She viewed her own reflection like the girls she saw earlier viewed her.

Mel sauntered into the upscale mall salon, her confidence preceding her. Locking eyes with a poised beautician, she snapped, "I need my hair cleaned and styled. My skin cleaned and moisturized, and my nails manicured. Make it quick." The beautician, catching the haughty undertone, nodded energetically and led her to an open chair.

As Mel settled into the plush seat, the beautician picked up the shampoo bottle labeled ‘Entitled’, the very same brand as the perfume that was spurted into Mel’s face earlier and worked diligently, washing away the remnants of soccer practice and transforming Mel's unruly hair into a sleek masterpiece. Meanwhile Mel found herself in a state of unexpected euphoria, a sensation induced by the intoxicating scent of the shampoo. The fragrance, like a veil of opulence, enveloped her senses, lulling her into a blissful reverie.

So enamoured with the aroma that Mel barely registered when the beautician put a facial mask on her as her hair dried. Her face tingled as she felt the dirt lift, bruises erase and her skin became smooth and imperfection less.

By the time her hair was dry Mel instinctively held out her hand, waiting for the beautician to start work on her nails. The beautician however was a pro and was manicuring Mel’s nails within seconds.

While the beautician worked, Mel’s internal dialogue shifted to a self-indulgent narrative. Thoughts of striving for success in soccer and excelling in academics seemed distant, replaced by a fixation on social standing and personal allure. "Who needs soccer? I'm destined for a life of extravagance," she thought, her mind now captivated by visions of high-society events and glamorous soirées.

Maybe it was how straight her posture was now and how she stuck out her chest and held her chin high but Mel absolutely adored how big her tits now looked. They were practically spilling out of her top and she knew her cleavage would have heads turning.

“Good,” she thought to herself. “It’s about time I caught the eye of a man who can treat me to the finer things in life and is my monetary equal. I’ve wasted so much time with the boys at school. I need a man.”

As the beautician skillfully completed her work, Mel, now adorned in the aftermath of pampering, gazed for the first time at her reflection with a sense of vain satisfaction. The sleek hair, the impeccable facial, the manicured nails, and her impressive breasts painted a portrait of indulgence she couldn't help but revel in.

The beautician, seemingly now intimidated by Mel, inquired cautiously, "Are you happy with the results miss?" Mel's eyes met her reflection once more, and with a dismissive wave, she retorted, "You didn't do much, darling. It's hard to improve upon perfection." The words hung in the air, leaving an awkward pause as the beautician grappled with the unexpected critique.

“But I suppose I better pay the ‘the help’. Here charge it to my black card.” Mel said coldly handing the beautician here matte steel credit card, the one her parents had given her but she refused to use but now could think of nothing more satisfying than maxing it out.

“Thank you miss, we hope to see you again.” The beautician said as she quickly disappeared out of sight as Mel stared at her with disdain. Mel liked how it felt to have someone fear her. It made her pussy tingle.

Mel, fully immersed in the conceited realm she had embraced, stood up out of the chair and sauntered out of the salon. As she expected and enjoyed, all eyes were on her as she walked the mall floor.

She strode confidently into the store that held the outfit that had caught her eye earlier and snapped at the shop assistant to get it for her. The shop assistant quickly leapt to attention and got the outfit for Mel who rolled her eyes at the shop assistant for taking so long.

In the dressing room Mel joyously slipped into the tight outfit perfectly, her body contouring to fabric as if it was made for her. As she gazed lovingly at her reflection, a far cry from the girl that had entered the mall a few hours ago, something began to nag in her mind. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t her. She had come her for Katie not for herself.

And yet the longer she stared at her magnificent body the more she didn’t care. The once happy thoughts about friendship and empathy gave way to daydreams of a luxurious lifestyle, filled with adoration and admiration. "Katie can fend for herself; It’s time she learned that this world can be cruel," Mel mused, her thoughts betraying a growing detachment from her former priorities.

Leaving the dressing room in the outfit she was about to pay for, she didn’t give a second thought to her old clothes laying on the floor until the shop assistant asked sheepishly what she should do with them.

“Burn them for all I care, they’re paupers rags as far as I’m concerned.” Mel said with cold detachment. She looked at the pile as a representation of her past life.

She spent the next few hours at the mall on a shopping spree. One outfit would not make up for years of neglect of her wardrobe. She needed clothes that reflected her station in life, one she had refused to embrace until now.

Along the way the same girls who had scoffed at her appearance earlier approached her cautiously but with new reverie. “You’re Mel right? You go to our school? We should hang out, girls like us need to stick together.” One of them had said.

Mel looked at them with a cold gaze, observing their demeanours. They were pretty and mean but Mel could see they feared her. She smirked knowing they’d be putty in her newly manicured hands. They would be perfect betas.

“If you must, but keep up I don’t have all day. Oh and it’s Mercedes.” She said with a turn on her expensive heels as she walked fast to make the girls try and keep up with her.

Before long the girls had filled her in on the most eligible men and the juiciest gossip. Their last leader had moved towns and they had a power vacuum that Mercedes was now only too happy to fill and they were only too happy to follow.

Mercedes was having such wicked fun that before she knew it the mall was closing. She had bought so much stuff that her new clique each held numerous bags for her as they followed her to the exit. Along the way Mercedes was sure to pick up several bottles of the perfume ‘Entitled’ as she left. She just loved its aroma.

Outside Katie stood waiting for Mel. Mel had told her at the beginning of the day that she had a surprise for Katie and to meet her at the mall. But now after waiting several hours Katie was beginning to worry.

Mercedes and her gang left the mall and made their way to the waiting limo Mercedes had ordered. Mercedes spotted Katie and with an evil smirk got close enough so her former friend could hear her say, “I really wish the mall would keep the riff raff further away from the property. They are ungodly eyesores.”

Katie went beet red at the cruel comment and quickly made herself scarce. She didn’t recognize this new girl that seemed to have her bully group ensnared but there was something so familiar about her.

The End

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #corrupted perfume

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badbatch-badfics · 2 months

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Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Part 2

Characters: The Bad Batch - Crosshair. Not much of Wrecker, mainly just meeting them.

Relationship: All platonic

POV: Mixture between 2nd (you/yours) and 3rd (he/him)

Pronouns: He/him, but referred to as they/them when identity is unknown to the Batch

Species: Unspecified, should be pretty neutral

Content: Angst?? Panic?? Introductions?? Beginning of found family??

Warnings: Panic attacks, minor injury description, thinking about your death (non-suicide), anything that would be in TBB normally. Possibly some lore inaccuracies. Cringe

Word count: 4,777

Notes: If you’re willing, please let me know if you think 2nd person or 3rd person POV is better, or if the combo is readable.

You balanced yourself on the beam, steadily walking across with eyes darting back and forth for anything that seemed of use. Or, at least, a new pathway, or bridge, or anything that could lead you somewhere new, where there was the possibility of supplies. Or food, or some type of communication device, or, quite literally, anything. You weren’t picky, given the circumstances- couldn’t afford to be. But in truth, there was little to no chance of finding anything new. You’d scavenged through the ship countless times, and for the past…however long, there’d been nothing new. You hadn’t missed anything from the previous ventures, no small creature had drug in anything from outside or from a part with limited access, nothing fell to reveal a hidden treasure of some sort. Absolutely nothing. But yet, each day you once again went out with a glimmer of hope- or denial- that there would be something. Or maybe it was just a feeble attempt to focus your mind away from the events. Not that it worked.

As the beam came across a body of water, you peered down to the pool, loathing at what was reflecting back- raggy, dirty, and bloody. Kriffing Hell, I could be mistaken for a Tusken Raider with this shit-job of a covering. Your normal Padawan robes, as well as ones from your Master, had been torn into several chunks, and wrapped around different limbs, as well as pieces of fabric from any corpses you’d stumble upon. Layered on top of those was a poncho-cloak, barely holding on by a thread. An oxygen mask hung limply around your neck, and was covered with a fine coating of dirt and grime, with splattered blood on top. Bandages, cloth, and even animal pelts wound loosely around your head, leaving only small holes and strips for the mouth, nose, and eyes. Your waist was adorned with a make-shift gear belt, holding a multitude of different bones- sharpened and shaped to become tools and methods of protection. Your Lightsaber bumped lightly with each step, an eternal reminder to what happened- and as many bad thoughts as it brought, it would be an absolutely idiotic move to ditch the weapon. Not wanting to look any longer, you pulled back your head and took a deep breath, continuing on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rex led the squad of modified clones through the dirty, deserted and desolate hallways, shining a light so nobody fell to their demise. The group talked about the war, inhibitor chips, and the like until they came across a large canyon, so to speak. Rex, Omega, Tech, Hunter, and Echo all shimmied their way across, leaving Wrecker to go last. “You can do it! Just keep your eyes on the table,” Omega yelled encouragingly. With a few grunts and a shake of his head, Wrecker began climbing the cable upside down. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it couldn’t hold his weight, plummeting him down to the murky water.

The collective panic from all six clones shot out an incredibly large Force ‘wave’ to the padawan, of which felt as though he was being hit by a speeder bike head-on and then ricocheted into a Bantha. The shock of realizing that someone- scratch that, multiple someones- were here, on the ship with him, at this exact moment was more than enough to cause (Y/N) to stumble backwards from where he was standing and trip over some debris, falling flat on his ass. Once (Y/N) could gather that he and the strangers had a decent amount of space in between them, his breathing calmed- but not enough to be normal.

(Y/N) carefully got up, watching his foot placement, before turning to where he had been sleeping and recouping for the past few months. His legs felt both stiff and shaky, his vision was blurry, and his breathing was ragged. Once (Y/N) was finally in the small space that contained his very few belongings, he fell to the floor, backed into the wall, and curled up into a tiny, and rather pathetic, ball. People were here. (Y/N) didn’t know if they were good, or bad- or if they weren't much of either. Didn’t know their motives, didn’t know anything. When (Y/N) had prayed to the Force to find new things, this is not what he meant. At all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Soon enough, and with several general or head-based injuries, all four men had their inhibitor chips removed. Omega and Hunter were walking around, exploring this and that and whatnot. Mainly because Omega would have done so anyway, but she most definitely needs supervision on the death-trap that is so humbly called a ship. Unfortunately for you, the pair was getting awfully close to his “hide-out.” Even worse, it seemed Hunter was aware of that as well.

“Omega…I think there’s someone here with us. Stay close,” he whispered, pulling out his blaster. Your breathing grew faster and more shaggy, and your vision clouded. What could I do? They’re in front of the only exit, and I haven't fought a person, or even touched my lightsaber in Force knows how long! Considering the only way out, other than direct confrontation, seemed to be a 100+ foot drop- the choice was more or less clear. You shakily stood up, grabbed the lightsaber which had been doing nothing else than collecting dust (and bad memories), and began to sprint as fast as possible, shoulder aimed at the door. Dank Farrik, please- don’t let me die like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter jumped back, quickly grabbing Omega’s arm and pulling her out of the way with him. And lucky he did, otherwise she may have been crushed by the metal plate that went flying as the cloaked figure stumbled and bolted. Immediately, Hunter reached up to his comm and reported, “There’s somebody else on the ship! His motive is unclear- just blasted through a door and ran- looks like he’s going for an escape.”

On the other end, Wrecker almost jumped out of his skin in excitement- “Finally! Some action!” Tech couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Wrecker’s interest in beating someone to hell and back. After some more information was passed through, Wrecker and Tech had an approximate idea of where they needed to head in order to intercept the stowaway. Since Hunter had said that the mystery person appeared to be running away, stealth was not an objective for the pair- running through loudly was acceptable.

(Y/N) was solely focused on getting out- not where the others could be. Which was a terrible mistake- if you’re running away from somebody, it’d generally be wise to know where they are. Tech could guess as much, and used it to his advantage. Although he hadn’t gotten a full map of the ship, based on Hunter’s location report, the mystery person’s motive, and the ship being heavily damaged, he could make a reasonable estimate as to where the person would be.

To no one’s surprise, Tech was absolutely correct. After instructing Wrecker where to go, they had each blocked the end of a hallway. Wrecker had cut in front and faced the mystery person head on, grinning as cracking his neck, while Tech had stealthily followed from a ways behind. By the time Tech caught up, the mystery person had already slammed to a stop and immediately turned around to exit the other end, but to no avail.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You ran as fast as you could, and you really did try paying attention to your surroundings, but it was all utterly useless. The intruders had pinned you. One giant guy to the front, and one smart guy to the back. Brains and brawn. Your heart beat far too fast, feeling the thump thump in your head, being far too hot, and your vision was rapidly becoming smaller and more tunneled.

It didn’t help when the big guy spoke, and you realized they were clones. Odd clones, granted, but clones, who, as far as you knew, executed Order 66, executed your Master, friends, your entire sense of familiarity and comfort.

You weren’t prepared for this- you hadn’t trained in months, or even used your lightsaber. There was no means of escape, considering the second either of them saw you reach for a weapon, it would be over. Running would do you no good, and if they had followed Order 66, talking wouldn’t do any good either. It seemed you’d join the other jedi in whatever afterlife awaited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The figure fell flat on their ass and scrambled half-way backwards and half-way to the nearest wall after hearing Wrecker’s voice- they were shaking, sweat drenching their clothes all the way through, and, all in all, resembling a caged animal who knew it was done for. A loud echo ran out as the figure roughly contacted the metal wall, and pulled their legs up, semi-resembling the fetal position, as their hands were still on the ground.

Wrecker and Tech slowly approached the figure, blasters balanced on their arms. Both took notice of the shaky and rapid breathing, the occasional twitching, and how the figure seemed to be ever-so-slightly rocking. This person was a very good actor, or nothing more than someone scared, who was in the very wrong place at the wrong time. They both assumed the latter.

As Tech walked forward, he used his scanner to find the general age and species of the subject, brows furrowing as results came forward. The figure was somewhere in between 15 and 18, was (chosen species), and, as more data was collected, Tech discovered that the figure was a Jedi. Or, at the very least, someone with a high midichlorian count. He stopped walking, lowered his blaster- not a lot, but just enough, and gestured to Wrecker to copy. Wrecker made a grunt in confusion, not understanding. Tech sighed and replied, “I do not believe they intend to harm us. If my data is correct, they are a teenager, and most likely a padawan. And it would seem they do not wish to engage through a fight, anyway. Put your weapons down.”

(Y/N)’s head darted back and forth between the two, confused- was he safe? They were clones- were they not going to execute Order 66, or at the very least, kill him as a simple intruder? Just then, a third clone appeared- one with half the helmet white, the other black, with a few more details and some large red stripes. He had a vibro-knife in one hand, extended outward with a curve, and his other hand, holding a blaster, rested on top of it. “Hunter, I do not think they are a threat- at least, at this moment. There has been no attempt to harm us as of yet, and they appear to be force sensitive, which would most certainly warrant an attempt to flee from a group of clones,” Tech informed. (Y/N) slowly reached his hand towards the lightsaber on his makeshift belt, but didn’t quite grab it- not yet. Hunter slowly put his weapons away and set down his helmet, a small hiss ringing out when he took it off.

He crouched just enough to seem smaller and slightly less intimidating, without looking like he was getting ready to spring up. He extended his hands, walking slowly towards (Y/N). “We’re not here to hurt you- we're not like the other clones– we’ve had our inhibitor chips removed. You’re safe,” he spoke slowly and clearly. Tech jumped in, “The inhibitor chips are what programmed the regs– the other clones– to execute Order 66. So we don’t want to hurt you.” Wrecker grunted something in agreement.

“Now, we have a functioning ship with us, and we can get you out of here- somewhere safe, or at least, more safe than here, okay? We have food, water, medical care, and we have a place to stay where the Empire won’t bother us. Let us help you.” By the time Hunter had finished his little speech, he was only a few feet away from (Y/N), crouching down, now eye-level with him. (Y/N)’s hand slowly came away from his saber. This felt safe- he could sense it, more or less. There wasn’t actually any danger, and the clone, who (Y/N) assumed was Hnuter, felt safe and honest– reminding him of the warmth and comfort the Jedi Temple, his fellow Padawans, his Master, all brought him.

(Y/N) tried to say something, but his voice caught and cracked horribly- a mixture of the panic, and having not talked to anyone in months. He felt his eyes water behind the terribly dirty rags, which stung more than it should have. “Let's start by getting those rags off you, okay? Tech, bring over some bacta-spray and clean bandages,” Hunter instructed. Tech did as he was told, fishing out some spray and bandages from one of his several pouches that lined his waist.

Tech passed the supplies to Hunter, who indicated for him and Wrecker to go report to the rest what was happening. He directed his attention back to (Y/N), calmly asking, “I’m gonna take off your face wrappings, alright?” (Y/N) mumbling what Hunter assumed was an ‘okay,’ and felt his body go heavy and almost limp. Hunter reached up, tenderly brushing against the Padawan’s face, swiftly untying the bounds of cloth. He quickly used his other hand to bring the rest of it down, now draped around (Y/N)’s neck. His face was dirty, caked in dirt, grime, and what appeared to be blood. The mixture of paste, so to speak, was cracked and chipping, looking like a desert’s mud-crack.

Whether or not he meant to, Hunter grimaced at the sorry state of the Padawan. He took his gloved hands to try and brush and scrape off the majority of the paste off, which was primarily successful. After the layer of muck was removed, Hunter found one long gash, following the curvature of (Y/N)’s jawline, from just below the eye to just above his mouth. It was inflamed and oozing, and was most certainly going to need stitches. He held up the bacta-spray, and lightly spritzed it onto the wound. A sharp hiss sounded out from (Y/N), who was now squinting his eyes. Hunter mumbled some sort of apology before taking out the bandage and delicately, yet firmly at the same time, placed it on the gash.

“Are there any more major injuries we should worry about? We can take care of the smaller ones on the ship, but still. Better safe than sorry.” (Y/N) shook his head no. Hunter slowly stood up, and extended a hand, but (Y/N) just seemed to stare at it. Slowly, though, the Padawan extended his own hand out, flinching and hesitating once his arm was half-way extended. After a few seconds, though, he fully reached out and tightly grabbed the man’s hand. Using the wall behind him, (Y/N) pushed himself up, legs shaky. As soon as he was steady, (Y/N) ripped his hand away, bringing it close and pinning it tightly against his own chest.

Hunter commed Tech, instructing him to get everyone on-board the Marauder, and to try and use any spare pieces of clothing or blanket to form some type of clean cover that would fit the Padawan. After what seemed to last forever, Hunter broke the silence- “So, what's' your name, kid?”

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled, quiet enough that only Hunter’s enhanced ears could make it out clearly. The pair continued their walk through the broken up ship, eventually coming up to the ramp that led out to the Marauder. (Y/N) brought his arm to his eyes, squinting at the sun- being far too bright, seeing as he hadn’t gone out of the ship in Maker knows how long. Hunter took notice and briefly stopped, turning his head back to the teenager.

“You alright? I’m sure I have something if you want to block out the sun for the walk,” he gently offered. (Y/N) silently shook his head no, while slowly taking his arm down, bringing it back down to his chest, head and eyes solidly trained on the ground. Hunter stared for a few seconds more, just to be sure, before continuing on towards the Marauder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your head was woozy, your heart beating out of your chest, and you were simultaneously shaking, yet felt numb. All in all, it felt terrible. And perhaps even worse, you knew there was no real reason to feel this way. You were finally safe. And there was no possible way that the clones would turn and execute you. They would have done so already, without a doubt! Why would anyone go against direct orders, and pure convenience, just to make someone suffer more? That would be beyond inadequate. And it just made you feel terrible for not trusting them, or at the very least, for being suspicious of them. And now your head hurt more than before.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was no more than a five minute walk, the pair came up on the Havoc Marauder, in all its battle worn glory. Echo was leaning on the frame to the entry ramp, draping a clean, albeit worn and torn, wool poncho over his scomp. From the time Echo had spent with them, he gathered that the Jedi seemed to really like their ponchos.

As you and Hunter finally came up to the ramp, you froze. Your heart got significantly louder, palms sweater, which, by the way, was never pleasant under the dirty rags, and your eyes began darting around. There was only one way out, it seemed. If the group did have ill intent, you’d be done for as soon as you set a single toe in the ship. That was not a comforting thought. Hunter could hear your heartbeat and smell your sweat (or rather, the reaction it has with your skin) from a mile away.

Alerted by this change in demeanor, he turned back to look at you- who was completely frozen stiff, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and pulled downwards. He may have been prepared for any mission the Republic gave him, but there certainly wasn’t any briefing on traumatized teenagers- let alone force sensitive teens. Kriff, he barely knew how to socialize with the Regs, and it was a miracle he could bond as much as he did with Omega.

Echo, even with his lack of enhanced senses, could easily see Hunter’s predicament. “How about you get the rest of the squad together, keep it calm for the kid. I’ll go take care of this.” Hunter silently nodded in thanks, brushing past his brother to head inside and start giving orders. That he was good at, no matter the topic.

Echo slowly, but not too slowly, as that would seem like a predator circling its prey, walked down the ramp and stood just in arm’s reach of the Padawan. You seemed to stare at each other for an eternity before he slowly handed you the poncho. “Here… seems you Jedi like ponchos, and we had one lying about. Hope it works. Got some more fabrics up on the ship, if you need any. And better med-kits, stuff to find infections or fevers. In case.” He spoke both in a calm and precise manner, and continued on, “Name’s Echo, by the way. Yours? If you don’t mind, anyway.”

You didn’t respond for a few more seconds, taking it all in. Finally, you mustered up a small response, “(Y/N)... and thank you.” Echo smiled lightly, extending the poncho out a bit further. Quickly, you threw off the old poncho, which wouldn't have lasted another week, and put on the fresh new one. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, at least around the arms and face, yeah? We’ll be on another planet soon, and then you can get some proper fitting clothes.”

Echo turned and walked back up the ramp, making sure he could hear your footsteps following him. A few steps after you had gotten in, and the ramp seemed to slam shut. Realstickly, it was probably shutting for a while, but you hadn’t noticed it until it registered that there was no way out now. And everything seemed so tight. Sure, you had just been in a wrecked ship for Maker knows how long, but it was a big one. Now, you were stuck on a much smaller ship, with however many clones. Before the claustrophobia and feeling of complete despair could kick in, a small blond girl tugged at your burnt, calloused, and wrapped up hands, attempting to pull you somewhere. Of course, given your larger mass, as well as training, you didn’t budge, not one bit. You stared down at the young girl, eyes wide, yet blank. To say it disturbed her would be an understatement.

“Omega! I’m Omega, and this is Lula- Wrecker’s tooka doll!” she exclaimed, bringing your attention to a large stuffed…rabbit? Or… loth cat? It was hard to say. It had a black body, with red sock paws, similar to the red tips on its ears. The tooka doll sported some pattern of white, clearly resembling a face, with two red dots for eyes. Distracted by the stuffed creature, she could successfully pull you, where she then disposed of you in someone's bunk. She all but slammed Lula into your chest before running off, what, or who she was looking for, a complete mystery.

She came back with a collection of blankets, pillows, and snacks, and most certainly more than she could carry. Immediately, Omega got to work, bundling you like a baby in a blizzard. You were too stunned to do anything, really. What could you do, anyway? After about two or so minutes of her layering, she paused, and frowned. “How are you going to eat if your hands and arms are covered! Agh!”

She quickly began undoing her work, until your arms could be brought out, and then resumed the stacking of blankets. All you could do was blink repeatedly, ever confused. After another five or so minutes, she smiled triumphantly at her work. “Perfect! Here, have some mantell mix!” she said as she shoved a fist full of some clunky substance into your palm. Looking down at it, mouth watering, you slowly reached down and plucked one of the misshapen balls, and popped it into your mouth. And by the Maker, was it delicious. Your eyes widened, and without a second thought, your hand flew to your mouth, sending the entire pile of mantell mix down your throat. After eating random rodents, insects, and food that was quite possibly expired from the ship, this mantell mix was a blessing to your senses.

As you continued chewing and swallowing the treat, you leaned back against the hard wall of the ship, a quiet, content sigh escaping. While it certainly wasn’t the most comfortable, it was ten thousand times better than anywhere you had slept on the Venator. Lula was still resting across your chest, and Omega smiled proudly at your comfort before running off again. Although it was muffled, you could hear her talking to one of the clones, before grabbing something and running back towards you.

“I was training with Nala Se and the medical equipment at the Kaminoan facilities, so I can fix you up! Now, where does it hurt the most?” She was a bit too excited about her ‘patient’ needing help, you thought. It was cute, though. The younglings and other Padawan at the Jedi Temple were like that, too– always eager to be the first to help, even in situations where most would never be joyous. You supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in humoring the girl, even if she was, by all means, a possible threat, with everyone else on the ship. I mean, if they did plan to harm or kill you, there’d be no chance of survival, so you might as well play along with the little girl. Either your last moments wouldn’t be too bad, or you’d start bonding with your saviors. Either version was a win, in one way or another.

Cocking one eyebrow, you raised a question– “How are you supposed to take care of me if I can’t move under all these layers? That seems rather counter-productive, no?” Her face molded into one of thought and consideration, nodding her head in agreement. Before you could register her next move, she essentially lunged, quickly stripping you of the layers for the second time within the hour. Now, the blankets all strewn around you resembled a porg’s nest, without the sticks and twigs, anyway. Omega yanked your arm forward, a tad too eager, considering you should always be gentle with your patients. Your eyes squinted, brows furrowed in a smidge of pain- Omega immediately noticed, and gave you a sheepish smile before apologizing and bringing it towards her more gently.

She carefully wrapped the bandages off of your arm, eyes widening at the…state of it. Burn spots, blisters, scratches, bruises, and more littered the entirety of it, looking like it came out of a horror holo-film. You stared at it rather intensely. You had no clue it was this bad. I mean, it hurt, obviously- you were in a crashed ship and had no proper care for however long. Of course it was going to hurt. But seeing it, that was still a shock.

“Umm… I should probably get Tech. I’m not this good, I don’t think…” Omega whispered, frowning. She scurried off, but you just kept staring. How could you have let it get this bad? Was all the training useless? Or was it you?

Tech, the one with goggles and a plethora of gear, came over, holding what Omega had given him, and more. His armor was still on, but the helmet had been discarded. He bent down on one knee, and scanned over your body, checking for any and all injuries. And, oh boy, did he have his work cut out for him. Tech carefully took your arm in his gloved hands, and stared for a little bit before spraying a lot of bacta on. You lurched forward, bringing your other hand to your side, in a feeble attempt to focus the pain elsewhere. Your brows scrunched, and cheeks pulled down, biting your tongue in every attempt to not bother him any more.

“Let me know when it stops stinging. Most of the bacteria should be gone, then. We’ll still clean it out routinely, as they’ve been untreated for so long,” he spoke precisely. After what felt like eternity, he was finally finished applying the spray. “Hold your arm out. Make it as level and steady as you can,” Tech instructed. Fingertips barely brushing your skin, he brought the clean cloth around, wrap after wrap, from your palm to your elbow. He took some smaller bandages and wrapped them around each of your fingers, leaving your entire arm covered.

You lifted up your other arm, and you both repeated the process. Bacta, wrap, done. He gestured at your legs, silently asking to both take off your shoes and life up your pants, to at least the knee. There was a much larger and deeper gash on your left shin, courtesy of a falling metal plate as you finally managed to get some sleep. “That…will need stitches. Wait here.” Not like you were going anywhere.

After what felt like hours upon hours, everything that was physically wrong with you had been fixed- or, at the very least, temporarily fixed. Obviously, there weren't the best medical supplies on a smaller ship that had long left the army, and thus left behind the blessing that was gift-wrapped med-kits. Finally, he gave you some type of liquid- not a lot, just a shot. He could see the quizzical look on your face, and quickly explained– “It’ll help you go to sleep, for quite a while, and it’ll help reduce the pain. By the time you wake up, we should be at Orl Mantell, where we’ve been staying. Or, at least, close to it.”

In a fraction of a heartbeat, you downed the small glass and handed it back to Tech. He ran one more scan on you, just to be sure, before getting up and heading to the cock-pit with his brothers and little older sister. Your heart slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy. That serum worked fast. Half involuntarily, you fell face first onto the bed and drifted into the best sleep you’d had in countless rotations.

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skepsiss · 7 months

Text

Modern problem, Modern solutions - pt4

This is the part where it hurts. I'm a sucker for miscommunication. Just teens being dumb and bad at talking. Having fun with what was pop-culture in 2015, god it made me feel old though.

TW: Underage drinking/drugs (weed), slight suggestion of sexual harassment (misstep that is corrected), suggested sexual language/intimacy.

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5

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Eddie's frustration with himself had grown over the course of the last few weeks; they were well into October and Halloween was fast approaching–his favourite holiday. Despite it being his favourite, he never did much on Halloween and hadn't since he was 13. It sort of sucked actually. He had moved to Hawkins when he was 12 to live with Wayne and he hadn't known anyone to go out trick-or-treating with at the time so he had awkwardly stayed at the trailer and only half dressed up to go to school that day. Previously, when he lived with his dad he hadn't lived anywhere populated enough to make trick-or-treating worth it or been allowed to go. So, he had always missed out on walking door to door in costume–he hadn't even been able to afford a costume, and putting in the effort to make something was sneered at or condemned as a waste of time and money. He had only gotten 1 good year of trick-or-treating in when he was 13 and then that was it. After that, well... having fun on Halloween was pretty dependent on whether or not you got invited to a party.

Beyond that, everything Halloween-related made him think about horror and then vampires and consequentially Steve. It was kind of frustrating actually. Everything he thought of led back to Steve and it was becoming harder and harder to be in his presence without acting like an idiot. Time spent together was still sparse and only really happened at Pride Club or when Steve popped in briefly at Hellfire. Still, every interaction was painted in anxiety for Eddie and at the end of the day he often flopped onto his bed and cringed at himself over what he had said or how he had acted. Steve was nice, but it was obvious that there was nothing deeper than that. He could see how Robin and Steve interacted and how different Steve was around people he actually considered his friends. He gave them a hard time, poked fun, joked, smiled, and scolded them like a sibling. He wasn't really like that at all with Eddie, or if he was it was short-lived and felt surface-level to Eddie. It was frustrating and Eddie wondered constantly why he was trying so hard. He just so badly wanted Steve to like him, as a friend or otherwise....

Otherwise.

Otherwise was the thing that was annoying Eddie more than anything. He was 17 and there was no way he was going to be able to ignore this forever: Steve was a handsome guy and he was friendly. Eddie was not immune to the effects a good-looking guy could have on him–a good-looking guy that was queer and talked to him, at that. So, he had let himself fantasize once or twice when he was home alone, blending the images of porn, celebrities, and people he found hot together to get relief. He had felt horribly awkward after the fact and that was only doubled when he had interacted with Steve the next day. He had been downright ashamed and couldn't even look him in the eye. Even now, he felt awkward when his brain reminded him that he'd done that–and then went and did it again half a week later. Shameful, really.

Eddie's tact to dealing with his awkwardness had been to act a bit aloof and put out when Steve and him had talked after that, masking his shame with quiet indifference. He still tried to be friendly, but he didn't want to tip Steve off to the fact that he found him attractive. Still, there was a small part of him that liked when Steve paid attention to him....

Eddie and everyone else in Hawkins–who was he? Jesus Christ.

That was why it had been surprising when Eddie had received a message from Steve on Instagram a few days leading up to Halloween. It had been simple, and though he and Steve had communicated sparingly, Eddie hadn't wanted to change his behaviour in order to use the app more often just because Steve was on it. The message had been simple and impossible to misinterpret.

Having a Halloween party Saturday, want to come?

Eddie had stared for a beat before the next message came through, not able to process all of that right away.

Robin said she'd come, costumes required.

Steve's texting was painfully bad: the message was riddled with vowel drops and squashed letters without a sign of punctuation in there; still, it was easy enough to get his meaning.

Where? Eddie messaged back, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he realized what this meant. Was this a party-party? Or was it a hang-out-with-friends kind of party? What was he supposed to prepare for?

My place, Steve answered, 8 on Saturday. BYOB.

Oh, bring your own bottle, classy. So, it was probably a party-party. That meant there was likely to be a lot of people going–a lot of 16-year-olds. Well, at least then Eddie could stand out as a little cool for being an older guy who showed up... that or the lamest one there to be hanging out with people younger than him. Shit. He was overthinking it already.

I'll think about it, Eddie lied, already resigning himself to going as his heart beat out of his chest, nothing to wear.

What should he wear? How hard did you go for a costume party like this? He didn't want to be lame and not dress up at all, but if he went too hard that would make him a laughing-stock.

Girl problems, Steve messaged back, followed by a quick j/k. Eddie had been able to tell he was being sarcastic, but he vaguely appreciated the clarification. He forgot to reply either way.

Every girl there was going to be dressed as Harley Quinn–Eddie was sure–and everyone else was going to be some version of Captain America or Left-Shark. Eddie didn't want to be pedestrian about his costume choices, but if he did something too obscure–ugh. He was going to go insane if he thought too hard about it. He was already going insane, honestly.

Eventually, after much deliberation, Eddie decided to just go as a pirate. He had attempted to make something of a Captain Jack Sparrow costume but hadn't had access to the funds to buy anything new. His hair was long enough already though, and he opted not to knot it to make it more 'authentic' even if he had twisted yarn and tied trinkets to his hair like Jack had. White shirt, eyeliner, vest, belts, and simple black pants. It was passable and if people gave him a hard time he was just some pirate or whatever. He had quietly been bitter that he couldn't find a hat or a coat that would work.

Eddie had purposefully shown up late to Steve's party and had quietly stolen some of the beers Wayne kept in the fridge before going. It wasn't a secret, Wayne knew he took his alcohol sometimes, but they had never talked about it. Sometimes, quietly, Wayne had made a sideways attempt at reminding Eddie to be safe, but he had never really... put his foot down. Eddie appreciated that, and he silently recognized that he'd probably drink more if he was told not to.

Eddie arrived at Steve's place through his backyard: the Harrington property backed onto the forest that connected to the surrounding area of the trailer park. It was still a good 20-minute walk and it had been spooky as shit walking it in the dark, but it was easier than trekking out onto the road and taking an indirect path to get to Steve's. He knew where Steve lived–most people at school did–and Eddie had to admit that when he was younger he had scoffed openly at the Harrington house. It was ostentatious and too large for a family of three, but Eddie had reconsidered as of late. Sure, he could hate the house, but it wasn't like Steve chose it himself.

It had been impossible to mistake Steve's house from the back, too. Eddie had been able to hear the party before he broke the tree line and despite the party not being "out of control" the sound of teenage laughter and pop music were unmistakable.

Eddie slouched as he made his way up the lawn and tried not to make eye contact with anyone there. He was a good hour late, but that was to be expected. People here didn't seem that drunk yet at least, so Eddie walked to the house before just stepping in through one of the many open doors. He scanned the room for anyone he recognized, coming up empty. Most of the people here he knew were on the local sports teams Steve was a part of, some people Eddie himself only had a vague knowledge of. He couldn't see Steve or Robin anywhere–or anyone else that might have known that would have been invited to this. Great.

Eddie swallowed and mentally buckled in as he walked towards the kitchen to find a bottle opener. There were more than a few out of the counter and he helped himself as he cracked open one of his beers.

"Munson–" someone was saying as Eddie took his first sip of beer, the flavour neither here nor there for him.

Eddie turned, seeing some guy he was sure was part of the basketball team. Or he thought he was, whatever, he was dressed up in some kind of orange jumpsuit, probably meant to be a prisoner.

"You uh..." the guy asked, raising his hand to his lips and making a smoking gesture.

Eddie snorted, taking another drink from his beer. Cool, well, at least if he didn't know anyone here he could pass off his attendance as just the guy ready to sell weed.

It wasn't a secret that Eddie smoked and it wasn't exactly a secret that he smoked more than just cigarettes. A lot of the kids in the alternative program did and Eddie had spent a couple of years in those special classes. He had been bumped out to just needing a "teacher's aid" for grade 12, and he hadn't minded so much. A lot of the burnouts were worse to talk to than the jocks, only because if you pissed them off the grudge would be held for years. At least the jocks forgot you existed.

"Yeah," Eddie said, fishing in his pocket for his cigarette box. He had stashed some joints in there, not having actually prepared to sell tonight. He really didn't sell all that often, only when things were extra tight at home, and Wayne had been somewhat consistently working as of late.

"How much?" The guy was asking, his speech a little slurred. That was one thing too, jocks like this never knew what weed was worth.

"Thirty," Eddie said, plucking the joint out of the box and twirling it between his fingers.

"Thirty?" The guy asked incredulously, patting himself down for his wallet.

"Inflation," Eddie answered, taking another sip from his bottle, "supply and demand and all that."

He could tell his comment was going over this guy's head and he wasn't sure if it was the booze or just his brain.

"More people at the party. More people want it. It costs more," Eddie lied, only keen on keeping at least one of his pre-rolled joints for himself.

Jumpsuit nodded at him and fished money out of his pocket, only coming up with 23 dollars which Eddie shrugged and accepted if Jumpsuit was willing to get him a beer too. He wasn't sure if the guy was going to come back, but a surprise beer later tonight would be nice.

Eddie toted his own pack outside, still looking at the partygoers to see if he recognized anyone before eventually–finally–spotting Steve on the back patio. He must have missed him when he walked in, but he wasn't sure how. Steve sort of stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone was dressed in these store-bought, weird costumes, and Steve–from the best Eddie could tell–was dressed like Robin Hood. And not some cartoony version of him either; he looked almost like the Cary Elwes version of Robin Hood: white billowy shirt, a jerkin, tights, and a quiver slung over his shoulder. Either Steve had shelled out to get the goods, or someone very enthusiastic had hooked him up. The other thing that stood out was Steve had a... goddamn bottle taped to his hand like some kind of frat bro. Actually, now that Eddie looked, a few guys had bottles taped to their hands.

Steve noticed him and Eddie tensed as Steve touched the guy's shoulder by him and then excused himself. He was smiling, and he didn't look all that drunk, but as he got closer Eddie could see that Steve straight up had a bottle of 'On the Rocks' taped to his hand. Vodka and Triple Sec? Oh, Steve was planning to go hard.

"Hey, you been here long?" Steve asked, grinning as he made his way over to Eddie.

"Uh, not really," Eddie replied, fishing in his pocket for his cigarettes as he pointedly stared at Steve's hand. He seemed to notice and then waggled it a bit at Eddie, laughing.

"You know, have to finish it before I'm allowed a different drink," he explained. Eddie knew how that worked, but he wasn't sure how he felt about the bottle being an expensive pre-mixed cocktail.

"Uh-huh..." Eddie offered as a reply, taking a swig from his own beer and sticking a smoke between his lips.

"It wasn't full when I started," Steve explained, which was... kind of funny to hear. It sounded like he was defending himself from seeming 'too intense' or something. Or, it wasn't defensive, more apologetic.

"The guys thought it would be funny because it's a pink cocktail," he explained further which made Eddie snort and pinch his brows in. Fun. Just some casual homophobia at their queer teammate. Wear the pink thing, and drink the cocktail.

"Charming," Eddie retorted, half stepping away but not in an attempt to block Steve out. The irony of the whole thing seemed to be a bit lost on Steve, or maybe he didn't care enough.

"Munson," someone said and Eddie looked to see Jumpsuit coming back with a beer in hand. It was just a Blue Ribbon, but whatever.

"Here," Jumpsuit offered and Eddie lifted his case of beer for the guy to put it in the empty slot.

"Cheers," Eddie offered, flicking his lighter on and lighting his cigarette as the stranger trotted off. He glanced at Steve who was looking at him for some kind of explanation before Eddie took a drag and then motioned for Steve to follow him. He wasn't going to be that kind of ass that smoke in a heavily trafficked area. He knew most people hated the smell.

"What was that?" Steve asked anyway as Eddie leaned back against the pool house a few meters away from the action.

"Owed me," Eddie half explained, not sure why the fact that Steve was being a frat boy was making him feel less awkward. Probably because Eddie thought the behaviour was cringey and pathetic, so it made him feel a bit superior for once.

"I sold him some weed and he didn't have enough so he owed me a beer," Eddie explained in full, putting his cigarette and beer in the same hand so he could drink and smoke.

Steve made a knowing sound, leaning back against the wall beside Eddie and drinking from his own bottle.

"You selling drugs to people at my party?" He asked and Eddie felt his blood run cold. Oh. Maybe that wasn't cool. He hadn't thought about how that could affect Steve.

He looked at Steve only to have that worry melt away as he saw the smile on his face.

"Why, you want some?" Eddie retorted, his pride bruised just a little for thinking Steve was serious.

Steve half laughed, still smiling like some goddamn movie star.

"Sure, how much?"

Eddie wasn't really sure what to say to that as he swallowed a mouthful of smoke and then started coughing incessantly.

"You okay?" Steve asked as Eddie ducked to the side, coughing and trying to drink a mouthful of beer to help settle his lungs.

"Sorry–" Eddie wheezed, "inhaled weird–" He wasn't sure how that explanation was going to save face, but he straightened up anyways, nursing the small coughs that came afterward.

"On the–on the house man," Eddie explained, coughing some more as he waved Steve off a bit, "for hosting or whatever. Unless you're buying for everyone–I can spare 1 joint."

"You sure?" Steve asked, sounding a bit concerned as he reached over and patted Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie shook his head and rolled his shoulder to get Steve's hand off, pulling away to cough a bit more. His lungs were settling, but he sounded like an idiot gagging on his own smoke.

"Just gimme a second," Eddie offered, hands full as he took a healthy swig of his beer, "they're in my pack. Just lemme smoke this."

Great, he was already making an idiot of himself and he'd been here for like 20 minutes.

"I can grab it," Steve offered, not even waiting for a reply as he half gestured towards Eddie's pocket. He had moved with his taped hand at first and then corrected, shamelessly turning his back to the party so he could stick his hand into Eddie's pocket.

Eddie felt his blood run cold at that, rendered speechless as Steve squared their shoulders up and just started fishing in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Eddie felt a bit helpless, standing there with a case of beer in one hand and his bottle and smoke in the other, arms out to the side as he just watched Steve's fingers disappear into his jeans pocket.

"Woah uh..." Eddie started, swallowing again as he felt Steve get hold of the top of the pack, "you can just... wait a second."

Steve was already pulling the smokes out by the time he finished talking and he moved back to Eddie's side to lean against the wall.

"It's not a big deal," Steve shrugged, seeming to think the issue was that he had 'inconvenienced himself' doing a favour for Eddie, and not sticking his goddamn hands in Eddie's pants. Maybe Steve was a bit more drunk than Eddie realized.

Eddie took a deep swig of his beer before dragging so hard on his cigarette that he almost finished it in one pull. He watched as Steve tried to open the carton one-handed, awkwardly trying to push the flap open with his thumb. He was chuckling at himself a bit which made Eddie laugh in return, his nerves on fire as he watched Steve.

"Shit–" he was muttering in good humour, before putting the carton in his mouth and opening it with his teeth, "there."

Eddie snorted, needing to hide his delight and horror with humour in order to cope with whatever was happening right now.

"You really want to get high, huh?" Eddie asked, ashing his cigarette and watching as Steve mouthed at the top of his smokes before managing to get one of the blunts between his lips.

"Now what, genius?" Eddie asked, indicating towards both of Steve's hands being full without the ability to light the damn thing.

Steve snorted again, looking around and at his hands as he held the joint between his lips. That earned a proper laugh from Eddie as he put his own cigarette to his lips.

"Here–" Steve slurred as he tried to keep the joint steady. Eddie had no idea what he was doing, but Steve turned towards him again and leaned in, pressing the end of the joint against Eddie's cigarette.

He couldn't be certain, but Eddie swore he could feel his fucking soul escape his body as Steve stayed tucked in close, puffing on the joint to try and get it to light. Eddie's mind was drawing a complete blank as he stood there, pulling a little harder on his smoke and making it ember. He was staring intently at Steve, heart racing, while Steve's attention was purely on the smoke as he tried to get it to light.

It felt like it took ages, but eventually, he did get the damn thing to light and he pulled away, puffing once and then glancing at Eddie. He snorted and then fumbled to stick the carton back in Eddie's front pocket.

"Success," he said as he took the joint out of his mouth and exhaled. Eddie was still staring at him despite his hand having dropped from his own mouth so he was no longer smoking his cigarette.

"Professional," Eddie said finally, forcing himself to look away from Steve. He wasn't sure what to say or think of that but it felt like he needed to dive into the goddamn pool to cool off.

"You think?" Steve asked, taking a swig from his own bottle as he stood there.

"No," Eddie replied, finishing off his own cigarette and flicking it onto the ground to crush with his foot.

"Hmm," Steve hummed, taking another hit, "grab that, huh? My folks will be pissed to find butts out here."

Eddie glanced at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or not before bending down to pick up his smoke.

"Sure, sorry," he replied, holding the butt kind of awkwardly and looking around for somewhere to toss it.

"There's a trash can inside," Steve offered, nodding his head towards the pool house they were leaning up against.

"Right," Eddie swallowed, shifting a bit awkwardly as he tried to decide what to do before stepping away and looking at the door beside him. Steve laughed and walked over, holding the blunt between his lips again and then opening the door for Eddie. He bowed a bit foolishly, putting on a 'show.'

Eddie nodded his thanks and stepped in, letting the door close behind him. He sighed heavily now that he was alone, looking at the little room and noting that it was just a bathroom. There was a little shower and then a sink and a toilet, nothing fancy. It was probably just to wash the chlorine off yourself before going inside.

Eddie looked at himself in the mirror and frowned, unsatisfied with how he looked. He could hear the party raging outside still and he felt weird about ditching now. Maybe he should just go and try and find Robin who was supposed to be here too. How she was surviving this scene he had no idea, but he was barely holding on.

Eddie chucked what remained of his smoke and chugged his beer before stepping back out into the yard. Steve's company had multiplied and he was leaning against the wall with some other guys now as they shared the joint. Eddie felt himself tense, standing there awkwardly for a beat before Steve looked at him and offered him the joint. He hesitated and then put his empty bottle down, needing something to calm his nerves. He offered it back after a long hit and Steve gestured to one of his friends to take it.

Everyone seemed nonplused by Eddie's presence and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. It at least left Eddie's hands-free as he reached for a beer out of his case and then held it for a beat too long. How was he supposed to get this opened one-handed?

"Here," one of the guys said and Eddie glanced up to see him reaching for his bottle. He wasn't really sure what to do but didn't resist as the guy took the bottle from him and then fished his keys out of his pocket. He popped the cap off and flicked it at the guy beside him who cursed at him lightly before handing the bottle back over to Eddie.

He thanked him quietly, and the conversation around him continued, no one really paying that much attention to him. He wasn't a disruption in the flow of the conversation either, but Eddie felt too anxious to follow along with what was being said.

Eventually, the joint made its way back around to him and Eddie accepted the hit happily before passing it off. He worked his way through his beer slowly, chugging it a bit at times, and starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. He had drunk both his beers pretty quickly, and at this rate, he was going to be more than a little loose in the next hour.

"--more?" Eddie heard and he refocused his attention as he finished off the last of his beer.

"Do you have more?" The guy repeated and Eddie took a beat to realize what he was being asked.

"Oh, yeah," Eddie replied, putting his empty bottle down and fishing for his carton of cigarettes, "thirty."

He got much the same answer from this guy as he had the last and Steve laughed at him before giving Eddie a wry look. He wasn't exactly sure what that was for, but he'd take it.

"I only have forty," the guy said, grumbling. Eddie motioned to take it from him anyway only to have him reel back.

"I'm not overpaying," he retorted and Eddie chuckled at that, shrugging as he put the carton away. There was a small chorus of complaints before Steve chimed in.

"Okay, calm down, Lord," he sighed, holding his hand up in a 'wait a moment' gesture before chugging what was left of his drink. One of the guys whooped at Steve finishing his bottle and Steve stuck his tongue out in the most basic-bitch-way possible before finishing his sentence.

"I've got some change, I'll break your 20. Just give me the 40, and I'll give you 10 in a sec," Steve explained, sticking his hand out.

There was a half-begrudging agreement, but honestly, everyone sort of knew that the last thing Steve Harrington needed to do was steal money from you. So it was agreed on, and Eddie handed the joint over before falling in behind Steve and walking back towards the house when he gestured for him to follow.

"Don't walk away with my thirty," Eddie half threatened, weaving his way through people after Steve.

"Chill out," Steve snorted, walking towards the stairs. Eddie hesitated and watched as Steve toed his shoes off and ducked under the tape that had been pulled across the stairs.

Obviously, he didn't want people going this way, and Eddie could tell why. The stairs were carpeted and a pristine white, a bunch of teens barfing or trekking dirt all over the carpet probably wasn't going to bode well.

Eddie followed suit awkwardly kicking his shoes off and trailing after Steve.

"Where are we going?" He asked, hearing the hint of anxiety in his own voice.

"My room," Steve explained without turning around, "what? You think I can fit a wallet in these pants?"

He flashed Eddie a smile and Eddie laughed a bit forced at the joke. Really, his attention fell directly to Steve's ass and the tights he was wearing. Yeah... not fitting a wallet in those, too tight. Skin tight. Lord....

Steve turned down the hall as they got to the top of the stairs; Eddie felt meek as he followed, watching as Steve opened one of the doors and stepped in. Eddie lingered before going in after Steve, taking in the space. It wasn't a very big room, and the walls were a boring off white without much personality anywhere. The furniture was sleek and modern, and it was tidy despite it looking lived in. The only hint of Steve Eddie could see in the space were the trophies and ribbons displayed on one of the bookshelves in the corner.

Eddie felt his skin crawl as he stood there, watching Steve go to his desk and struggle with his drawer.

"Shit–" he muttered, the bottle in his hand bumping up against the desk. He lifted his hand to his mouth, biting at the tape until Eddie eventually snorted and walked over. Really, despite being such a cool guy, Steve was a dork sometimes. Maybe he was just drunk, but there was something unquestionably dorky about him.

"Here," Eddie offered, putting his case of beer down on the desk and taking Steve's hand. He struggled for a moment, trying to find the end of the tape before starting to unravel him.

"You guys are idiots for doing this, what if you have to piss?" Eddie joked, the sound of the ripping tape filling the room.

"Didn't think about it," Steve admitted, not struggling at all as Eddie pulled the tape off, "probably would have been a disaster."

"Yeah," Eddie replied sarcastically, getting to the bottom layer of tape and looking at it stuck to Steve's skin, "did you at least shave?"

"Shave?" Steve asked, confused by the question. Eddie tisked, and lifted Steve's hand up for him to see.

"Your arm, dumbass. Taking this tape off is going to hurt like a bitch. It's going to stick to your arm hair," he explained, shaking Steve's arm a bit and earning a laugh for the action. Steve was pretty drunk it seemed, but Eddie hadn't been able to tell how much alcohol was in that bottle when he had started.

"Just be careful," Steve explained, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

"Oh, just be careful," Eddie repeated in a mocking tone as he started to pull the tape off slowly, trying not to make it hurt too much.

Steve cringed, but stayed still, eventually hissing and causing Eddie to click his tongue at him.

"Baby," Eddie teased, his focus on Steve's arm as he peeled the last of the adhesive off.

He sighed as he wadded the tape a bit and stuck it to the bottle Steve was still holding before looking up at him.

Eddie's stomach dropped as he looked up at Steve who was just... staring at him. He looked a little distant, but he wasn't unfocused, drunk but not blasted. He also looked incredibly dashing with his perfectly quaffed hair and his stupid poet's shirt open just enough at the top that Eddie could see a hint of chest hair.

Eddie swallowed and then turned his head, laughing awkwardly and hoping Steve was drunk enough not to remember this. Eddie opened his mouth to speak, ready to say something stupid to make the conversation continue. _There, you're free, so about that thirty dollars, or I gotta go, I think my house is on fire, anything to make the moment end.

"I uh," Steve started saying as he shifted and put the bottle down on the desk beside Eddie's beers, "I think I prefer babe."

Eddie froze, confusion washing over him as he turned back to look at Steve who shifted to place his hands on either side of the desk behind Eddie, effectively boxing him in. He stared in wild shock and awe as Steve leaned towards him, close enough to touch but still respectfully distant.

I think I prefer babe. The line bounced around in Eddie's head as he tried to figure out what it meant and what the hell was going on. His brain wasn't working and he was just staring at Steve as if he had sprung a second head.

"W-what?" Eddie asked, swallowing as he put his hands on the desk as well, leaning back a bit to increase the distance between himself and Steve. He could feel his butt pressing into the lip of the desk, nowhere really to go, but not panicking from being 'trapped.' No, that wasn't bothering him at all. What was bothering him was how close Steve was and the expression on his face. He had dropped that charming, soft smile, the open friendliness he seemed to display with everyone, and instead, there was a gentle determination there. Not intimidating, but fixated, as if he was being serious.

"Babe," Steve repeated, close enough that Eddie could smell the Triple Sec on his breath. Oh, Steve was very drunk. He had to think Eddie was someone else right now.

"Alright, Steve..." Eddie replied, locking his feelings away once more as he reached up to pat Steve's shoulder. "You're drunk, man."

Steve seemed to waver before dropping his head to the side and looking down. He didn't move his hands away from the desk, still keeping Eddie where he was.

"Shit..." he mumbled and Eddie smiled a bit sympathetically. He'd seen a bathroom walking in here, maybe he'd grab Steve some water and make him sit down.

"It's okay, big guy–" Eddie started to say, patting Steve's shoulder again, wanting to keep this friendly. But Steve let out a bark of a laugh that caught Eddie off guard. He jumped a bit, watching as Steve stared at the floor. He looked almost... sad.

Silence drew out between them and Eddie tried to breathe even to help his heart from pounding out of his chest. Steve was drunk. He was drunk and high and probably past his limit. At least they were already in his room so Eddie could get him to lie down.

Slowly Steve pulled back, removing his hand and wiping his palm over his face. He was still pointedly not looking at Eddie and that made Eddie feel off.

"You... okay?" Eddie asked, wondering if Steve was far gone enough that he needed to go get a bin for him to puke into.

"Great–" Steve replied, his tone a bit clipped. Eddie swallowed thickly at that, feeling his hackles raise a bit. He had no idea what kind of drunk Steve was, and he quietly hoped he wasn't a mean drunk. What if Steve ended up wanting to pick a fight or something? Well, Eddie would leave his shoes behind if he had to run out of here....

Eddie watched as Steve put his hands on his hips and turned away from him, just breathing for a moment as the filtered sound of music came in from the hallway. Maybe Eddie should just leave. Maybe he should go find one of Steve's friends and tell them to check up on him. This wasn't really Eddie's realm of expertise.

"Okay, well..." Eddie started, pushing away from the desk, moving slowly as he started towards the door, "I guess I'll just... head out."

Steve turned and looked at him then, looking pained before he frowned deeply at Eddie.

"No, it's okay. Sorry, I'm sorry, it's alright. You don't have to leave."

The words had been rushed and they sounded extremely apologetic, but Eddie had no clue what he was apologizing for. He was a bit taken aback actually, offering a weak smile in response.

"It's okay, man..." Eddie tried, glancing at his beers on the desk and wondering if he should grab them, "everyone gets drunk sometimes. It's not a big deal."

Steve huffed at that, chewing his bottom lip and looking away again.

"No, I'm... I shouldn't have done that, sorry," he repeated and Eddie stared at him, his own alcohol and weed-riddled brain trying to make head or tails of this conversation. He didn't say anything which only seemed to spur Steve on to speak more.

"Sorry, man–God, that was super fucking creepy, huh? Shit, uh, I'm really sorry. Like... uh, trapping you like that," he sounded properly bothered, his voice wavering a little which didn't make sense to Eddie. For trapping him? For trapping him where? At the party?

"What?" Eddie asked, speaking quietly, swallowing again. Who did Steve think he was right now? Why hadn't he left yet?

"I just thought..." Steve offered, laughing bitterly in a way that sent a chill down Eddie's spine. It sounded so forlorn... it sounded like Steve was impossibly disappointed.

What did Steve think? Who did he think Eddie was? Eddie wanted to know, he wanted to know for maybe no other reason than to torture himself. What lucky bastard had Steve mistaken him for?

"Nothing, it's fine," Steve finished and Eddie frowned. He had done the same thing when Eddie had asked him about his parents. He had started to say something and then shut down when he started to communicate real emotions. Closing off and acting as if he was a bother.

"It's not a problem," Eddie offered after a long silence, not sure why he was still there. He really should go. "You can say what you need to say."

That weird calm was coming over him again, replacing his anxiety as he watched Steve. He didn't exactly feel superior this time, but he was disconnected. Something about this was letting Eddie bury his feelings for Steve and his need for him to like him. Steve was upset and the very least Eddie could do was listen to him. To let his drunk emotions out even if they hurt to hear.

Steve wavered though, finally looking at him again with those sad eyes. He laughed bitterly, this one much quieter than that last.

"That's kind of mean... Eddie," Steve replied, smiling but the motion was obviously fake. He didn't know what Steve meant though. How was he being mean? Was it really such a bad thing to let him talk?

"I don't mean it... meanly," Eddie tried, at the very least wanting to leave here with Steve knowing he hadn't intended to be cruel.

"What then?" Steve asked, his tone a bit tighter, but nonetheless sad, "how else am I supposed to take it? Making me... say it. For your amusement or something?"

Eddie felt his hackles go up again, shame pouring into him at being called out like that. He had been curious and this was Steve's business, he had just been asking out of morbid curiosity. What a shit thing to do.

Eddie flushed deeply, wrapping his arms around his torso and turning away. He felt horribly on the spot all of a sudden, ashamed to have asked and even come here.

"Whatever, man," Eddie mumbled in reply, walking over to the desk and grabbing the case of beer, "can I at least get my thirty bucks?"

He wasn't looking at Steve as he kept his head down, walking close enough to him so he could stick his hand out towards Steve. There was another long pause and Eddie looked up at Steve, making sure he looked annoyed instead of embarrassed. But Steve was just staring at him, brows pinched in as if the loose gears in his head were turning.

"What?" Eddie asked, his temper short as the shame roiled in him. Was he being made fun of now for asking for his money? For thinking he was going to get paid? He was just getting ripped off now or what? Or was he being teased for caring about 30 bucks?

"Eddie," Steve started, turning properly to look at Eddie which made Eddie shrink away a bit, "what are we talking about?"

The question wasn't funny or even hinting at faux disbelief, there was something genuine there that threw Eddie off a bit. What were they talking about? How was he supposed to answer that? What did that mean?

"I-I don't know, man," Eddie offered, taking half a step back, feeling that emotional whiplash plow into him as confusion roiled with his frustration and shame. "You're drunk and rambling about... I don't fucking know."

Eddie felt the flush enter his cheeks this time, looking away from Steve as he dropped his hand. Maybe he should just cut his losses and miss out on the 30 bucks... even if 30 bucks wasn't anything to sniff at in the Munson household.

"What..." Steve tried, sounding completely off his game, verbally puzzling through what was going on, "I was... I was apologizing to you."

"Yeah... I get that," Eddie replied, frowning deeply, still not following.

"Because I... because I came on to you," Steve continued, making Eddie flush deeper. He felt so lost and so emotional. Maybe it was the booze or the weed or something, but Steve saying it like that as if he was going to make a big joke of it all felt horrible. Like he was about to say because I thought you were this chick I like or something like that. Make Eddie hear the humorous disappointment of discovering he wasn't someone else.

"Okay..." Eddie replied defensively, looking away again, "so what?"

"So what...." Steve repeated slowly, sounding more than a little confused, "so what?"

Eddie didn't say anything to that, feeling annoyed more than anything now. He should just leave.

"So–Eddie, I–... do you not want an apology? I'd like to try and stay friends–”

It was Eddie's turn this time to laugh bitterly, gripping his hands into fists.

"Friends? Are we friends?"

It had been a harsh response, but Eddie couldn't help it as he looked back at Steve with fierce determination. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he come to this party? He didn't fit into this world, or Steve's perfectly clean bedroom, his jock life, friend group, Pride Club–those weren't Eddie's spaces. Who were they kidding? They weren't friends. The only thing they had in common was that they were both guys that liked dick.

Still, his response had Steve looking like he had just been slapped, which gave Eddie a sense of accomplishment. It was an ugly, bitter side of him that felt bad to dwell in despite how it swelled his courage right now.

Steve obviously didn't know what to say to that, his brows pinching in again as he stood up straighter, looking much more defensive all of a sudden.

"I guess not..." he replied cooly which made Eddie's throat close up a bit. He had never seen Steve act this way before and it felt bad to be on the receiving end of it.

"Sorry for assuming."

Eddie swallowed, hurt shaking his anger loose as he cruelly felt tears starting to prick his eyes. Fuck–why was he a cryer? Why when he got emotional in any way–anger or otherwise–did his body make him cry?

Eddie hastily wiped at his cheeks, seeing his hands coming away black from the eyeliner. Fuck. There was no way he was hiding the fact that he was crying.

"Yeah, me too," Eddie replied bitterly, still wiping his cheeks. What was the fastest way out of here? The best way to get out of Steve's place without a dozen people seeing that he had been crying?

Suddenly, that didn't matter anymore as Eddie's flight instinct kicked in and he stormed out of Steve's room. If he just moved fast enough, maybe he'd be fine.

He hustled down Steve's stairs to the front door, scooping his boots up without putting them on and running into his front yard. His socks instantly got wet from the moisture in the grass, but that didn't stop Eddie as he all but sprinted down the block. There were people out in the streets still, but it was dark enough Eddie hoped they couldn't really tell who he was.

He managed to stop and pull his boots on, the wet fabric feeling disguising against his feet but better than staying here. He didn't bother taking the long way home, instead ducking towards someone's house and gracelessly climbing over their fence into their yard. One of his beer bottles slipped out of the case and smashed on the ground, causing a racket. But Eddie didn't stop to even curse at his luck, he was already jogging through this person's yard towards the tree line so he could disappear into the night. All he wanted was to crawl into his shit bed, in his shit trailer, and drown in his shit life to try and forget about Steve Harrington's shit party.

PT5

#me 🤝 the Duffer brothers breaking Steve's heart on Halloween #to the ppl who wanted Robin to intervene in my Tooth and Nail foc #I'm probably going to do that here instead #my_writing #my writing #steddie #eddie munson #steddie fic #steve harrington

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bluebird325 · 1 year

Text

A Brief Summary of Scotland's Anger

Some of you may have heard that England has blocked Scotland's gender reform bill. Others may have seen the demands for dissolution of the union as a result. Please allow me to sum up the anger as impartially as I can:

Historically, the Scottish hate the English for a variety of reasons: see the Jacobite Uprisings and the Clearings. But this is about modern politics, so let's start there.

Essentially the SNP, the ruling political party in Scotland, have been trying for YEARS to get a referendum result where the Scottish people vote to leave the United Kingdom. In 2014, David Cameron (the then prime minister of the UK) gave permission for a referendum to be held, and 55% of the population voted to remain in the UK. Some of the reasons for staying was the economic stability from using the pound sterling currency and being able to stay in the EU, as well as access to funding from the rest of the UK (the arguement being that Scotland could not afford to support itself without help from Westminster).

Since then, the SNP and some of the other, smaller parties have argued that the initial result of the 2014 referendum was not strong enough, and that the initial promises made to the Scottish people are no longer valid (see Brexit and the recent economic crisis for the big examples, but there are others). Recently, the SNP has even taken the matter of the right to hold a second referendum to the Supreme Court, the highest court in the UK and one that deals mostly with English cases. The court ruled that, based on the current laws and treaties, Scotland needed permission from Westminster to hold another referendum. This has angered many people, regardless of if they want to stay or remain, and this latest action against Trans Rights could put more pressure on Parliament.

Scotland, as a country, has always been slightly more to the left of the political spectrum than England, which has led to many political conflicts where England just pulls rank to 'resolve' the issue. For example, Scotland HATES having nuclear weapons, and the UK's nuclear submarines are based on the west coast of Scotland. Another example is in the NHS, where prescriptions are free in Scotland but a flat rate in England. Nicola Sturgeon (leader of the SNP) had wanted to put Scotland in lockdown earlier than England and had even set up a different way out of lockdowns that was more gradual, but it ended up being watered down into 'Scotland had to wear masks for longer than England'.

Now, the Gender Recognition Bill removes many barriers for trans healthcare, such as how long an individual has to self-identify as a different gender to the one they were assigned at birth, lowering the age at which an individual can change the gender on their birth certificate to 16, and removing the need for a gender disphoria diagnosis. The gender disphoria diagnosis is one of the biggest barriers for trans healthcare in the UK at the moment, as a referal to even get the chance to be diagnosed can take years, and people have died on the waitlist just for a first appointment. For a more in-depth look at the issues surrounding trans healthcare in the UK, I recommend Abigail Thorn's video essay titled 'I Emailed My Doctor 133 Times: The Crisis In the British Healthcare System' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1eWIshUzr8). Fair warning, it will make you furious.

The Gender Recognition Bill was passed by the Scottish Parliament, also known as Holyrood, by 86 votes to 39. That's pretty good for a bill like this, but the UK Parliament has prevented this bill from receiving 'royal assent', which is required to make the bill enforcable. This has angered a lot of people, as it could be seen as England blocking the will of the Scottish people. Unfortunately, Scotland cannot leave the UK without permission. This is why there has been so much emphasis on a referendum, as the result could put pressure on the UK Parliament. England is reluctant to give permission, and one of the main reasons floated for this are the oil fields in Scottish waters.

TLDR: Scotland has always been annoyed at England, and the latest action to block this bill could tip those bad feelings over into full on anger, revolt and revolution.

#scotland #england #uk politics #transgender rights #trans rights #dissolution #revolution #scottish independence #Brexit #uk #parliament #holyrood #westminster #Honestly it was hard not to get angry writing this #The current system for trans care in the uk is broken #lives are being lost #and england is throwing a tantrum because they dont want to change #tell me this isnt about control #long post

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n0cturna1-m3 · 1 year

Text

Stupid Bastard | Bottom Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Top Male Reader | Smut

Fem/Minors DNI

Warnings; Very heated makeout session, dry humping, anal fingering, little big of degradation, kinda dumbification? its implied. anal sex, bareback, lube, rough sex, soft preperation though, no aftercare but they cuddle so, Ghost is probably OOC

Request; "Can you write a ghost x himbo male reader? The reader is in 141 and acts like a himbo always throwing flirty comments at ghosts and teasing him... maybe Simon like goes to their room and smut ensues?"

A/N; Sorry this came out later than expected, i cut off the tip of my thumb lol. ALEJANDRO FIC COMING SOON (hopefully)

About 3.1k words (much longer than expected LMAO

It seemed that Y/N was always fucking with Ghost. That’s how he saw it, at least. Whether it be flirting with him unknowingly or giving him “friendly” remarks over comms, getting handsy with him without understanding the underlying message that was sent to the Lieutenant when he did so.

When he would grab onto the hem of Ghost's shirt, holding it in his fingers, or when he would slide his hand in between his vest and back, the stark difference between their body temperature caused chills to run through his body. It was as if Y/N always had to have some sort of contact with Ghost when they were in the vicinity of one another, but the constant toying was driving the dirty blonde mad. It was starting to affect his performance on the field, and mistakes while in combat were something that he couldn’t afford.

All of this led to Ghost’s failed attempts at talking to Y/N about his touchy nature. It went nowhere.

“You don’t see the problem?” Ghost questioned, leaning forward and borderline glaring at the H/C. “You're joking.”

“No, I’m not!” He threw his hands into the air in defence, shaking his head as if to say ‘I’m being honest.’

“How do you have your position,” He scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before placing his hands flat on the counter, glowering at Y/N. “You need to stop with the touching. And the flirting”

Y/N cocked his head at him, quirking an eyebrow and looking at him in confusion. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? It’s weird.”

“But I like you.” Ghost stared at him and hung his head, slumping his shoulders and groaning.

“Nevermind,” He said before walking away. Y/N watched him leave as if he expected him to turn around and explain his frustration.

The “intervention” had gotten Ghost nowhere. Y/N had sat next to Ghost at the briefing later in the day, and it allowed him to absentmindedly rest his hand on Ghost's thigh the whole time. It left Ghost standing outside Y/N’s room after showering, unfathomably pissed off and unbearably hard. He knocked twice.

“Uh, give me a minute!” He yelled. Ghost opened and closed his hands that rested at his sides as he waited. He could hear him fumble around behind the door before opening it. He looked dishevelled. His H/C hair was damp from a recent shower and the sweatpants he wore rode down on him, sitting low on his hips, paired with a dark shirt that didn’t fit him well.

“Ghost! What can I do for you?” He asked, opening the door wider and leaning on the frame. Ghost didn’t respond, grabbing his throat instead and walking him back into his room, shutting the door and locking it. He pinned the man against it and leaned into his face, staring at him.

“You know what you’re doing,” Ghost said, tilting his head at him. Y/N blinked at him, saying nothing. “Act as dumb as you want, I don't give a shit. Just-” He eyed Y/N’s body up, stopping at his groyne before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “I knew it.”

Y/N moaned as Ghost ground his erection on Y/N’s, the H/C’s hands moving to hold Ghost’s hips. Ghost squeezed his throat and grabbed onto Y/N’s forearm with his other hand, his jaw slackening behind his mask.

“Please,” Y/N whimpered, rocking his hips against Ghost. “Simon…”

Ghost let go of Y/N’s throat to lift his balaclava to his nose, promptly pressing his lips to Y/N’s jaw and kissing it. He trailed up to Y/N’s lips and connected them, starting it off sweet and tender, their lips moving in sync with one another, but quickly turned into biting and sucking on the poor H/C’s lips.

He tasted like strawberry chapstick, and it was tearing Ghost apart from the taste. He could eat him alive. Y/N pulled away, huffing slightly to try to catch his breath, and looked down at Ghost who was staring at him with a look that Y/N had only ever seen him wear when a mission went foul. His eyes were dark and half-lidded, eyebrows furrowed and creasing his skin.

Y/N leaned in and kissed Ghost again, snaking his hands back from holding the blonde’s hips to the back of his thighs. He squeezed them tightly and then picked Ghost up, hoisting him onto his hips.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, Y/N!” Ghost exclaimed, his hands shooting up to hold Y/N’s shoulders in a death grip, wrapping his legs around Y/N tightly.

“Sorry,” He replied, walking deeper into his room. Ghost busied himself by sucking on Y/N’s neck, biting and kissing the S/C skin. He wanted to leave as many marks as he could. Not even a turtleneck would cover his handiwork, that much he was certain of. Y/N placed Ghost on the bed, the blonde yanking him down. Y/N barely managed to put his hands out to stop himself from crushing Ghost who had pulled his face in again, biting at his lips while his hands worked on removing Y/N’s shirt. Y/N pulled back to aid in Simon’s efforts, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it elsewhere in the room.

Ghost cupped the back of his neck and jerked him down, kissing him quickly before flipping them both over, and straddling Y/N. He grabbed at Simon’s thighs again, hands shaking slightly as he ground down on Y/N’s clothed erection. Ghost removed his shirt and threw it behind him, his balaclava still covering his face. Oh, how Y/N wished he could gawk at his face again, but he hadn’t shown his face again since the ‘Ghost’ mission.

Y/N ran his hands up Simon’s torso, occasionally pinching at the soft skin. He admired every feature on his body, every curve of muscles and fat, the numerous scars from knives and bullets. His face heated up when he started groping Simon’s chest. Y/N thumbed at his nipples, squeezing his hairy pecs and watching the skin dip beneath his fingers. Ghost let out a breathy groan at the feeling of being fondled, the sound going straight to Y/N’s cock. Ghost sat back a bit, grinding his ass on the man beneath him. His eyes were boring holes into the H/C’s body.

Leaning forward to grab the bottle of lube he spotted on the side table, Ghost struggled to reach it but managed to snatch it. He sat back again, Y/N having moved his hands to hold his waist, and looked down at his face. He was looking up at him with a worried face, his eyebrows furrowed, and his bottom lip bit between his teeth, chewing on it gently. His E/C eyes are almost unnoticeably glossy.

“I don’t-” He started before turning away from Simon, deciding that the wall beside the bed was far more interesting. “Want this to be a one-time thing…”

Simon’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for words while Y/N continued to glare at the wall. His hands had fallen from holding Simon, instead resting with his fingers intertwined over his stomach. The blonde took in a sharp breath.

“Good, I don’t want it to be either,” He said, pulling off his mask and setting it and the lube beside him before cupping Y/N’s face in his hands. “So take me out for lunch tomorrow, yeah?” Y/N looked up at him, his eyes darting around his face in search of a lie, nodding his head upon finding none. Ghost patted his cheek and leaned down to kiss him softly. He hummed in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist again.

He let one of his hands trail down to cup Simon’s ass, loathing the sweats that covered him. Ghost caught on and got off of Y/N and started to remove his pants and boxers, Y/N followed suit and sat up, propping himself on his forearm and reaching out to Ghost with his other arm. Ghost climbed back onto the bed, straddling Y/N’s hips once more.

Popping off the cap to the lube, Ghost poured a generous amount onto his fingers, closing it and tossing it aside as he coated them in the viscous liquid. Y/N watched him with a look that Sumon couldn’t describe quite right. A mix of both adoration and admiration. It had Ghost feeling a little embarrassed, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Quite the opposite.

He brought his hand behind him, the other planting itself firmly on Y/N’s lower stomach, and rubbed his fingers over his entrance.

“Wait,” Y/N said, Ghost looking down at him. He was squeezing his waist tightly. “I wanna do it. Can I?”

Simon’s breath hitched, but he nodded and grabbed the bottle of lube again, handing it to Y/N who eagerly opened it and poured it into his hand, not bothering to close it before tossing it aside. He sat up, forcing Ghost to sit in his lap, and snaked his hand underneath the blonde, pressing the pads of his fingers against his entrance. He slid in his middle finger easily, Ghost sighing at the pressure inside of him and gripping Y/N’s shoulders tightly. Y/N pushed his finger in and out of Ghost slowly, adding a second finger soon after.

At this point, Ghost had his hand covering his mouth. Y/N was spreading him open so carefully, slowly scraping his soft insides with his rough fingers and blunt nails. Y/N didn’t pick up on the impatience that was growing in the man before him. He was enthralled with the tight heat that was enveloping his fingers, entrance squeezing him as he added another. Ghost craned his neck, resting his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder as he curled his fingers and spread them again. He held Y/N’s bicep in a vice grip, digging his fingernails into the flesh as he panted against Y/N’s hot skin.

The little breathy moans that were barely audible fueled Y/N. His cock twitched from lack of stimulation, but his pleasure was not a priority. He was focused solely on Simon, who had begun rocking his hips back on Y/N’s fingers slowly.

He picked up the pace of his gentle movements, opting to thrust into him harder, curling his fingers as he went, subsequently massaging his prostate. Ghost was grunting quietly and buried his mouth into the crook of Y/N’s neck, biting to silence himself while the other held his upper back to keep him stable. Ghost closed his eyes tight, letting go of the H/C’s neck and turning to kissing and sucking hickeys onto the S/C skin again. Y/N was working him open so well, every button in him being pressed, every switch pulled. It was intoxicating.

Ghost bit Y/N’s Adam's apple lightly, sucking a hickey on it after. He dug his fingers into Y/N’s H/C hair and pulled his head back, the latter pausing his movements and looking into Simon’s eyes.

“Stop fucking with me. Put it in,” He demanded, pulling the (Hair Type) tight to assert his point. Y/N moaned at the tension and nodded, sliding his fingers out of the man on top of him. He groaned at the feeling of being empty, but he pushed it aside and reached for the discarded bottle, sitting back and squirting a large amount of it onto Y/N’s aching cock. He gasped at the feeling, huffing as Ghost jerked him off a couple of times to spread it evenly.

Laying back again, Y/N placed his hands on Simon’s thighs and glanced up at him through his eyelashes, E/C eyes meeting Simon’s own. He held the base of Y/N’s dick and adjusted himself to press the tip to his entrance. He slowly lowered himself, pausing after about two inches were inside him. He spread his hands over Y/N’s stomach and hung his head as he sank further onto Y/N’s dick. His hair fell over his face, mouth agape, and his chest heaving with deep, raggedy breaths.

Y/N reached up and cupped Simon’s jaw, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. He trailed back to grasp the back of his neck, carefully pulling him down to connect their lips again. The action caused Ghost to take Y/N into him completely, bottoming out while their chests pressed together. The blonde let out a hearty moan from deep in his chest, it is swallowed by Y/N’s mouth promptly after. Y/N’s hands moved down Simon’s body slowly, resting on either of his asscheeks and gripping them tightly, spreading them and adjusting himself to carefully thrust up into Simon’s tight hole.

“Ah, fuck!” He groaned, pulling away from Y/N to sit up again, grinding against Y/N. He carefully lifted himself up and down, panting quietly with his eyes shut tight.

The way he rocked his hips allowed Y/N’s cock to brush his prostate. The lack of a condom allowed Ghost to feel every inch of Y/N scraping inside of him. Every vein, the burning heat, the little twitches when he clenched around him.

Y/N was looking at him hazily, his eyes drifting around Simon’s body and eventually stopping upon meeting his gaze.

Ghost grunted as Y/N pulled him to his chest and flipped them over, still very much inside of him. Y/N kissed his collarbone.

“Oh, fuck! Not even a warning?!” Ghost moaned and slapped the back of Y/N’s head, pulling his hair to view his face. He bottomed out as Simon’s legs wrapped around him loosely.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” He whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth and cheek, burying his face in his neck again. Ghost grunted in response, running his hands over Y/N’s sweaty back and enjoying the feeling of his muscles under his fingertips.

“Keep going hard like that…” He muttered. It was just barely loud enough for Y/N to hear, immediately sat back and pulled out, flipping Ghost onto his stomach and lifting his lower half.

“Bear with me a moment,” Y/N said, reaching something that Ghost couldn’t see. He had his face buried in a pillow to hide his embarrassment of having his ass on display for the other man. Y/N squirted more lube onto Simon’s twitching entrance, shoving his cock in after. Ghost dug his fingers into the pillow and moaned deeply. The new angle allowed Y/N to fuck him deeper and harder, his prostate being stimulated while his own cock rubbed between his stomach and the bedsheets.

Y/N had Ghost laid flat on the bed, ass angled up with his legs spread while he thrusted into him with fervour. Y/N sat back a little and pulled Ghost somewhat into his lap, his face still buried in the pillow with his chest to the bed. Y/N held his hips tight in his hands as his hips slapped against Simon’s thick ass.

Ghost was nearly screaming into the pillow, tears brewing in his brown eyes as he bit the fabric between his teeth. It became wet with his saliva quickly, soon with a few tears that shed from the overwhelming pleasure he was receiving. Y/N snaked his hand around Simon’s front, grabbing his cock that was weeping pre-cum and began stroking it quickly.

“Aug!- Fuck, Y/N!” He cried, fisting the sheets and pillow as his legs shook.

“Ah, don’t squeeze too tight, I’ll cum,” Y/N said, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. Ghost moaned in response, bucking his hips into Y/N’s hand. He leaned forward and began planting kisses along Simon’s shoulders and upper back, engraving every sound he made into his mind.

“Cum- cumming!” Ghost moaned, muffled by the pillow between his teeth. Y/N let go of his hip and reached for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him up onto his knees. Y/N tilted his head and kissed him, holding his jaw while keeping up the pace of his thrusts and hand movements. Ghost dug his nails into Y/N’s skin as he came, his eyes rolling back and mouth opening in a silent scream. He jerked him off a few more times, slowing his thrusts until he stopped.

Cum coated Y/N’s hand, placing Ghost back on the bed and pulling out of him. Ghost turned over and looked at Y/N who was licking his hand clean of his cum.

“You’re disgusting,” He said, reaching for Y/N’s dick and holding it. Y/N moaned as Ghost stroked him a few times before sitting up slightly and moving to be in front of it.

Y/N watched in awe as Ghost took him into his mouth, sucking on the tip and slowly taking more down his throat while his hands fondled his balls and stroked what he couldn’t take inside his mouth. Y/N came quickly, coating Simon’s tongue in the bitter liquid. He pulled off of him with a sour face.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Y/N said, cupping his hand in front of Simon’s face so he could spit out his semen. He did so, glaring at Y/N in the process. “I really am! I forgot to tell you.”

“I’m never sucking you off again.” Y/N whined at Simon’s statement, wiping his hand off on the sheets and working it off, leaving the fitted sheet and a thick blanket. Ghost laid down, turning away from Y/N and stealing most of the blanket.

Throwing the disgusting mess of sheets onto the floor, Y/N turned off the light and crawled under the blanket and pressed his chest against Simon’s back. He wrapped his arms around him, one hand resting over his heart.

“Goodnight, Simon,” Y/N whispered, kissing the back of his neck and staying there.

He hummed, taking Y/N’s hand in his and choosing to ignore the feeling of Y/N smiling against his skin.

#x male reader #cod x male reader #ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #bottom ghost #bottom simon riley #top male reader #x top male reader #ghost x top male reader #cod smut

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ecofaceplatinum · 1 year

Link

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#Best Fda-Approved Led Face Mask #Led face mask #Affordable Led Face Mask #Led Red Light Therapy

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vague-humanoid · 1 year

Text

Just a few days before our interview, Jill’s (Ed: not her real name) immunologist sent her to the hospital to rule out pulmonary embolism, which happens when a blood clot gets stuck in an artery of the lung. In Jill’s case it would be a Long COVID symptom amongst many others she had been battling over the last year: including swelling around the tissue of her heart, memory deficits, sudden heart-rate surges, fatigue and abnormal kidney test results.

By that point, she’d had COVID four times, despite taking stringent precautions. She was born with a primary immune deficiency. And, without a fully functioning immune system she needs weekly injections of human immunoglobulins from plasma donations. A very small viral load can make her sick and she’s at a much higher risk of severe outcomes from COVID than most people.

“Every time I catch it, it adds new layers to my disabilities,” she says. “COVID is slowly killing me.” Her haematologist believes the past COVID infections have further damaged her immune system. She is looking at a possible lupus diagnosis.

Her voice is raspy and soft over the phone. She pauses when I ask how she is doing.

“Well, I got COVID,” she says. “Again.”

At the hospital appointment several nurses were not wearing their masks properly, and one kept pulling it down to talk with Jill, who had to remove hers to get her lungs checked. As someone who is very isolated with her family — everyone works and goes to school from home — Jill believes that the appointment led to her most recent infection.

She’s always been careful with her health but in the past, she worked in the school system. By 2020 she moved to a remote position and at that time still had many options for safely connecting with those around her and she could attend health-care appointments without concern. About a year ago, nearly all restrictions were lifted in Alberta and that’s when she got her first COVID infection.

Three years in, nearly everyone she knows has moved on including — most bafflingly to her — many of the medical professionals she sees. But, Jill says, moving on is not a privilege afforded to people like her.

Recently, PCR testing became inaccessible to health-care providers, who, in the past, were able to test regularly. And while Alberta Health Services (AHS) still requires masks, any health-care settings outside AHS can make their own rules. So, once masking was no longer mandated in public settings, many dropped requirements — this includes many of the specialists seeing immunocompromised people, including those Jill now sees due to Long COVID.

“The variants have been left to run rampant and I have really become more and more scared,” she says.

“Governments are saying: Oh we can re-open because we have all these tools. But they are not available to the immunocompromised population. So, the monoclonal antibodies are no longer effective against the current variants. Because the variants are so immune-based, the vaccines were never particularly effective for immunocompromised people because of the nature of our immune systems.”

As well, Jill says that there are many contraindicated drugs that cannot be taken with Paxlovid, the drug which is used to treat COVID patients in specific circumstances. According to Health Canada, Paxlovid “is used in adults to treat mild to moderate coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) in patients who have a positive result from a severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2 viral test and who have a high risk of getting severe COVID-19, including hospitalization or death.”

She still takes the vaccines with hopes they will help, and while she believes Paxlovid is saving her life with this current infection, she says it is not a guarantee against more Long COVID symptoms. And, for the infection prior to the current one, the drug was not available due to a kidney infection caused by the virus.

“I have to access my medication, my health care. And by people not masking around me, I have no way to protect myself,” she says. “If you don’t want to wear masks as a society then you are going to leave the immunocompromised people behind.” And she says many high risk people are not able to work from home, or have their kids in online classes or maybe struggle to afford masks or air purifiers — many social and financial issues make individual protections far more challenging or impossible. She is currently in a court battle with her ex.

“He wants increased access, in-person school and group extracurricular activities. All things that put me at higher risk of infection,” says Jill.

Recently, she went to her cardiologist to find that no patients or staff were masking.

“I really realize now I have to be my own advocate,” she says.

She has to constantly think ahead. So, she now calls beforehand to see if the appointment can be done remotely or if the staff can mask. She’s also decided to start carrying around a laminated sheet that explains her medical condition as it is often something she needs to repeat at each appointment or in the emergency room.   Like many others, she’s found ways to navigate her way around a harrowing array of risks. And yet, even with all these precautions, she can not control the actions of others which can directly affect her health.

Holly (Ed: not her real name), is retired and lives in a small community just outside Edmonton. She’s currently thinking about her next visit to her doctor, who hasn’t been taking precautions from the beginning.

“It’s exhausting always trying to get around how there is no protection for us anymore,” she says. “I’m thinking why am I made to feel crazy when my own doctor won’t wear a mask? Won’t acknowledge that it’s airborne?”

But the worst part, she claims, was that he minimized the effects of COVID, saying it was rarely an issue and only affects a certain demographic. Holly does not believe that is true, but regardless it is of little comfort when her husband, who’s in his 70s, has chronic health complications.

“I think patients are rightfully concerned, particularly when they go in for health care,” says physician Neeja Bakshi. “I think the medical community should be doing whatever we can to protect those who are coming in.”

It’s true, she says, that hospitals are no longer overwhelmed, and fewer people are dying; there is less of an acute emergency. But COVID is still circulating, people are still dying, and Long COVID (aka post COVID-19 condition) should be on everyone’s radar.

Recently, the World Health Organization announced an end to the global health emergency. But it also said earlier that “one in 10 infections result in post COVID-19 condition suggesting that hundreds of millions of people will need longer term care.”

COVID can cause organ damage — particularly affecting the heart, kidneys, skin. Plus, there’s risk of brain and immune damage, along with increased risks for cancer and autoimmune disease.

And, while no one knows yet how long that damage could persist, a study published in the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine says 59 per cent of Long COVID patients had organ damage a year later.

In 2022, Bakshi started a Long COVID clinic at her health facility Park Integrative Health, treating patients from across Canada. Every week she completes upwards of 20 disability forms for people who need to take time off work due to the debilitating effects of Long COVID.

While certain health complications make Long COVID more likely, anyone can be affected regardless of the severity of their infection or the state of their health. The indiscriminate nature of COVID is one of the things that’s been most shocking to Bakshi. She’s treated a number of elite athletes who went from performing at a professional level to struggling to have enough energy to brush their teeth.

Many patients struggle with stigma not just from medical professionals but from family, friends and employers. It’s an invisible illness, says Bakshi, so patients may look fine and are often misdiagnosed as something psychosomatic.

“I’m immersed in the world. But I don’t feel like you can deny it exists. And I think it’s a bit of ignorance on the medical community’s part if they say they don’t know anything about Long COVID. There are very specific disease patterns and symptoms,” says Bakshi.

There is also a lack of support. The most proven management strategy for Long COVID or even any COVID infection is recovery and rest, says Bakshi. But that’s not possible for many people. Initially, in 2020, there was forced rest through quarantine periods, but that time off has become shorter, as employers don’t have to pay for employees to be off at all.

“We are not a society that is built on support. We’ve already set ourselves up to fail from a recovery perspective,” says Bakshi.

Jill has found validation in Bakshi’s clinic as one of her patients. But that experience stands out amongst a sea of specialists who have given up on precautions.

“Instead of recommending upgraded masks, air cleaners and UV, or working from home, immunologists that manage my condition recommend wearing a mask if you want and enjoying your life—as short as that may be. I am not sure if this is complacency, or giving up… Either way, education and change need to happen or far too many valuable lives will be lost and disabled unnecessarily,” says Jill.

Savvy AF. Blunt AF. Edmonton AF.

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bridgetotheskyyy · 9 months

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chapter two.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Gaara gives you a tour of Suna and Temari takes you shopping with ulterior motives . . .

Chapter warnings: hints of parental abuse, mentions of death and violence, threats

Word count: 12.9k

A/N: I truly hope this chapter exceeded your expectations. But, if not, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Next chapter (which I will try and drop mid-September, think September 15th. I'll let y'all know if there are any delays; I'm in the process of moving from the shithole I live in to somewhere hopefully nice, so fingers crossed!) we get our anime beach episode! Embrace yourselves!

Read on ao3 here

Your empty stare fixed on the equally empty stage. Shinobi dispersed into the crowd to initiate calm.

To no avail.

“It’s an attack!”

“Oh, our poor Lord Kazekage …”

“What’s happening?”

You didn’t dare take your eyes off the stage, now serving as your judge, jury, and executioner. If Gaara didn’t return, who else would be blamed? Who could blame them for blaming you? You had been the last to touch him.

In your periphery, Chuuyou inched toward you. An apex predator ready to defend his cub. He would shed blood here tonight if it came to that.

You swallowed a scream.

Had your father not trusted you after all and taken matters into his own hands? Did he have your innocuous gift swapped with something more deadly? The minutes ticked on. Oasis ninja clotted around you.

Your heart drummed in your ears as Baki reappeared. Silence fell, attention rapt as he took the microphone.

“Everything is all right!” he announced. “Lord Kazekage is not normally fond of alcohol and accidentally had the strongest liquor available tonight! He is completely fine.”

An universal sigh of relief; murmurs sounded, coated in a new tone as Baki’s words sank in.

“Our Kazekage is so responsible!”

“Not like his brother … you see how he was chugging those glasses earlier?”

“Oh, of course, yes …”

Your ninja relaxed as well, affording you space to breathe.

Tension wiped the strength in your legs; you collapsed into your seat. You were in the clear.

And … and Gaara was all right.

… Why did you care about that?

Baki abandoned the stage and joined the soothed crowd. You raced to compose yourself as he came toward you, the static of your nerves revving up in anticipation of what he would say.

“Are you all right —?”

“Yes,” You said with too much haste. You ironed out the fabric of your kimono to occupy your hands. “Is … is Gaara all right? Really?”

“He is.”

“… May I see him?”

You hung your head. You feared Baki’s face, the possibility of finding suspicion there, but when you lifted your gaze, his uncharacteristic smile had returned.

“Of course,” he said.

“So irresponsible!”

They had moved Gaara to the Suna Hospital for emergency analysis. Baki led you to his room. Gaara was bedridden, a wet towel on his head. Medical ninja fretted over him, plumping pillows and measuring his temperature, but they dispersed when they saw you coming. Temari was haranguing Kankuro in the corner.

“Gaara.” You came to the foot of his bed. “Are you all right?”

He opened a charcoal-ringed eye. “Yes. I apologize; I wasn’t thinking.”

“Lord Kazekage just needs some water and he’ll be right as rain,” came the soothing voice of a masked nurse.

Baki squeezed the space between his eyes; Temari was still berating Kankuro.

“I knew we should’ve been more careful!” she yelled. “You didn’t even try to help —!”

She beat him over the head with her fan.

“Ow! Temari —! Ah!”

“That’s enough, Temari.” Gaara raised from bed. He removed his towel and looped it over his wrist. “I would like to return to the party.”

Temari paused. “But … but Gaara …”

“There’s still one more thing that needs to be done,” he said, “and I must ensure it happens.”

“Yeah, Temari,” Kankuro said, rubbing his head. “Stop embarrassing him in front of his future wife —“

He recoiled as Temari growled at him.

She relaxed. “Well, If you’re feeling well enough …”

“I am.” Gaara was on his feet, approaching the door. He stopped to nod at the nurses. “Thank you for your care.”

The nurses had hearts in their eyes. “Ye — yes, of course, Lord Kazekage!”

The four of you returned to the halls of the party. The tension had left the party as it had your body. Warm applause greeted Gaara upon his reappearance. Cordial conversations flowed like unblocked rivers . The sky darkened enough to invite the blinking of stars.

Gaara glanced over his shoulder to Baki. “It’s time.”

Baki nodded and hurried away.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

Gaara turned to you. “I was meant to present a gift to you as well.”

What? You blinked. “Oh …”

“I didn’t know what you would want,” Gaara went on. “And … I’ve been told I can give out rather strange gifts. I didn’t want to give you anything useless. I’ve prepared something nice instead.”

He led you to a tower, and the two of you climbed stairs to the top. At the top, a winged roof hooded over the reigning stars.

Gaara grasped the railing. “Come …”

You obeyed and stood beside him, waiting.

Pop. A whistle. A white tip shot into the air. You tipped your neck skyward — an explosion of lights and color.

Fireworks …!

More scurried into the air to become sparkles of green, orange, red, and purple. The light of fireworks descended to illuminate the space between the two of you.

“Gaara …” You stared in awe as fireworks mingled with the stars before tumbling into the desert.

You were speechless. Had anyone ever done something so nice for you? No one. Not even Father. Especially not Father.

You grazed the necklace — that evil necklace — still swung around your neck, along with your mission culminating in its use. You lowered your gaze as crimson light cast on your skin.

“(Y/n)?”

You turned to Gaara. His small smile tipped the edges of his mouth. Your silence tempered it.

“Is this …all right?” he asked tentatively. “Do you like them?”

Green replaced crimson, but you were immersed in the turquoise of Gaara’s eyes.

Your mission became white noise as you smiled to assure him. “I … I love it … Thank you.”

Gaara nodded. “I’m glad. I … hoped you would.”

When he seemed content enough, you resumed marveling at the show, where fireworks of pure white blazed into the sky to rival the dazzle of stars.

Dear Father,

I’m all settled in now. They’ve made things very comfortable for me. Your daughter is well. I want you to know that. They threw a party to honor my arrival — isn’t that nice? It’s been two days since — it went well. I don’t think anyone suspects anything. I haven’t seen much of the Kazekage, though; he’s been so busy since the party.

I have a question to ask.

You never shared the full details of Hideo’s death with me. I suppose you thought I was simply too young when it happened and didn’t wish to traumatize me, but I need to know. Are you sure the Kazekage was responsible for it? I’m only asking because he is not what I expected. He is very kind to me and to his siblings. They seem to love him immensely.

If you’re not sure, is it really necessary to go through with this plan? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to let things carry on as they are? Wouldn’t it be better for both of our villages if we let this marriage come to pass?

Despite the warm welcomes, I miss home, and I miss you.

Much love, (Y/n)

Baki had taken it upon himself to become your official caretaker, escorting you wherever and whenever you wanted to go. He led you to the Kazekage’s office. You looked forward to seeing Gaara, though you knew you shouldn’t.

Baki opened the door for you. You grinned; the cactus you had given Gaara now sat on his desk. One among many plants decorating the room. They livened up the place while circular windows ventilated the small space, granting all a shorthanded view of the village underneath. Towering buildings stood nearby. The windstorm had subsided, only a slight breeze trembling the lines of utility poles.

Temari stood beside the Kazekage’s desk, looking unimpressed. At the sight of you, she managed a smile.

“Good morning, (Y/n). Hope you slept well.”

“I slept great, actually!” You said. “Gaara’s put his gift on his table, I see.”

The desk chair swiveled to reveal Kankuro flinging his hands out.

“Surprise!”

You blinked, confused.

Silence.

“What’s happened?” You asked.

“Nothing good, I promise,” Temari deadpanned.

Kankuro’s enthusiasm deflated with a sigh. “There’s been a new arrangement.”

“Kankuro’s decided to step in and substitute as Kazekage for a few days,” Baki said, “so you and Lord Kazekage can get to know each other.”

“That’s a great idea!” You said.

Free time with Gaara? One thought collided with another: would this give you time to accomplish your mission? Anxiety coupled with dread became acutely aware of your necklace sitting against your chest.

You wanted word from your father first before you proceeded. And still … It was much too soon to try to make a move.

“Um, where is Gaara?” His name sat sacred on your tongue, blasphemous to utter aloud.

“He’s in a meeting right now,” Baki said as the door opened and a servant entered, “as he won’t be taking part in them for a while.”

“What —“

“Here are the papers for today — uh, Lord Kazekage.” The servant dropped a stack of paperwork on the desk, now belonging to Kankuro.

He smirked. “Heh, thanks, but I’ll need my morning coffee as well. How am I supposed to work without my coffee?”

The servant gulped. “Yes, right away!” He scurried out the door.

Kankuro leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Temari huffed. “It’s only temporary.”

You chuckled. You had grown to like the Sand siblings tremendously. Being sequestered in the sand palace with them was not as miserable as you had imagined; the stories, the bickering, the atmosphere of a home lived in. It was like having a sibling of your own again …

You returned to your inquiry. “What is the council concerned with?”

“Oh.” Baki cleared his throat. “It’s concerning … the festivities a few days ago. Gaara’s incident.”

“Oh.” Bad news. What had caused Gaara to drink so much in the first place, you wondered? Was it you? Had you distracted him? Would the council blame you for what happened, though Gaara hadn’t?

Kankuro winked. “Afterward, he’ll be giving you a tour of the village.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“There’s just one thing.” Temari faced Baki. “Why weren’t you chosen to serve as a substitute for Gaara?”

“Gaara recommended Kankuro personally,” Baki explained. “He trusts Kankuro — he’s also very good with people, should the need for such a skill arise.”

“What?” Temari placed her hands on her hips. “And I’m not?”

“You are marrying a Leaf shinobi in a matter of months,” Baki replied. “We believed that would cause some … issues.”

Temari’s cheeks reddened. She wilted into herself. “Oh, right, well …

“In the meantime,” Baki turned to you, “I will be chaperoning you and Gaara during your tour.”

“I see,” you said.

Kankuro scoffed. “Like my little brother needs a chaperon.” He raised his head proudly. “My gentlemanly little bro.”

“You’re completely right, though …” Temari giggled into her hand. “You probably need one more than he does.”

“Maybe so … Hey!”

More time passed, during which Kankuro made more demands, sending servants out as quickly as they came in.

You giggled into your sleeve as an anger mark sprouted on Temari’s forehead, growing ever larger by the second.

“What’s next, Kankuro?” Temari gritted her teeth. “Free ice cream?”

“You read my mind!” Kankuro shot a finger into the air. “For everyone! And the Suna library’ll have an Icha section! We’ll keep Jiraiya-sensei’s memory alive by —“

Temari hit him over the head, and Kankuro fell over the desk.

“Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

Your perked, interest piqued. “Hm? Did you say the Icha Icha series?”

Their heads turned to you in mortified silence.

“How …” Baki looked like he had seen a ghost. “How do you know about those books, Lady (Y/n)?”

“Oh, I love them! All the ladies read them in court! And you know the author? How amazing —!“

“You’re allowed to read them?” Temari said.

You tilted your head, confused. “Of course. My father recommended it … why are you all looking at me like that?”

They all stared at you, wide-eyed and in horror.

“Did I … say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t.”

A fresh voice. Gaara entered, wearing a faint smile.

“And yes,” he said. “We did.”

“Gaara,” You grinned. “Long time no see.”

You were genuinely happy to see him and, maybe, it was all right to be — for the time being. Until your father returned your letter, you would let yourself be.

“Yes. I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

Hope laced your fingers together. “Are you saying you’ve read the books, too?”

Temari gawked with horror. Baki sighed over Kankuro’s snicker.

“Yes.” Gaara tilted his head, considering. “But I didn’t understand them. Perhaps you can —“

Baki cleared his throat unusually loudly. “Perhaps we should get a move on. You both have a big day ahead of you.”

“Right,” Gaara said. “I meant to tell you about what I had planned today. If that appeals to you.”

“Of course it does!” You strode to him. “I’m looking forward to it!”

“Have fun, you two!” Kankuro waved you off beside a facepalming Temari as Gaara led you, like a gentleman, out the door.

Sunagakure made you eat your words.

The village sat in its giant crater, nestled away from wandering eyes, a maze of stucco and rough sand. The buildings shouldered the responsibility of weathering the sandstorms. The orderly streets and marketplaces left you feeling guilty about the footprints you left underfoot. Domed buildings stood squat and quaint. Come nightfall, the gift box windows would cast yellow gazes on you in the dark.

“It’s beautiful …” You said.

“You’re a long way from home, so this must be strange for you,” Gaara said.

In truth, you had always been under your father’s thumb. This mission had taken you out from under it and now you could breathe. No one stood analyzing your every move, ready to correct or chastise or worse.

“It’s …” You trailed as the three of you turned a corner. “Different, to say the least.”

“I apologize for being away,” Gaara said. “I hope you’ve been able to settle in without any problems.”

His courtesy flattered you. “Thank you, but I was fine, really!” You debated sharing your next point. “I even sent a letter to my father telling him I arrived safely.”

“Hello, Lord Kazekage!”

You, Gaara, and Baki stopped to entertain the woman approaching, waving and smiling.

“Oh, hello, Yen,” Gaara said. “It’s been a while. Is the baby all right?”

Your head snapped to him. Yen. He knows her name? Your mouth hung agape; your father would never know the name of a villager, let alone the servants conditioned to scrub his palace.

“Yes, she just started teething!” the woman — Yen — giggled. She noticed you. “Oh, and who is this?”

Another girl crept toward you. “That’s Lord Kazekage and Lady (Y/n)!” she squealed.

Villagers crowded the three of you; déjà vu of the party nights before started you chuckling to yourself.

“Oh!” Yen said. “Your fiancée! A pleasure to meet you!”

“The pleasure’s all mine, surely …” You mumbled.

“Lord Kazekage,” another girl whined. “You said you’d come to my rehearsal!”

“No way! He said he’s coming to our picnic!”

“I’ve got him Sunday —“

“No, I do!”

“Please, please, everyone.” Gaara raised placating hands, albeit with a smile. “I will honor all of my agreements, I swear it!”

“You’re so pretty,” one girl cooed to you.

“What’s the Oasis village like?” asked a man.

Baki hung over your shoulder. “I’m going to have to get the two of you out of here,” he whispered. “I’ll find a quieter street for the two of you to walk.”

You nodded, though you had no idea how he would manage this, what with the villagers ready to carry your fiancée away like some sort of handsome singer. “Understood.”

“What are you doing —?”

Temari squealed, shooting up from the side of your bed.

“Oh.” She relaxed as Kankuro entered. “You scared the shit out of me. Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.” Kankuro crossed his arms. “Twice.”

“Well, don’t!” she said before ignoring him to flip pillows and pop her head through the bed curtains.

Kankuro’s eyebrow twitched. “Temari. What are you doing?”

“Looking for clues.”

“Wha—?” Kankuro gawked. “Clues?”

“Yes, Kankuro. Clues. Hints, evidence — anything that could indicate a plot.” Temari rummaged through drawers. “I just know something’s up.”

“You think (Y/n)’d have something where we could easily find it?” Kankuro asked rhetorically. “You think she has some assassination diary laying around that says ‘April 5th. The plan to kill Gaara’s going well. The onigiri was great last night, too’?”

Temari paused. “A diary … I didn’t think of that.” She closed the drawer in favor of the bed. “Kankuro, help me flip this mattress over —“

“Temari,” Kankuro stepped forward, resigned to the fact he had been talking to himself to take Temari’s hand. “Stop. This is insane.”

She drew her hand away. “You know that man has it in for Gaara!”

“No, Temari, I don’t know that,” Kankuro said, blocking her access to your bed. “Stop shoving — ngh! — You’ve gotta let the past be the past —“

“Kankuro, move —“

“As sub Kazekage, I order you to stop!” Kankuro said.

Temari paused, surprised.

“That’s right.” Kankuro grinned, victorious. “You know you have to do as I say.”

Temari sighed. “Fine.” She thrust a finger in his face. “But this. Isn’t. Over.”

She stalked from the room. Kankuro watched her go.

“Yeah, I know it’s not,” Kankuro said.

Not fooling anyone, Temari; I know what this is really about …

Baki did the impossible and secured a vacant street where the two of you could traverse unmolested. But the villagers still took it upon themselves to wave at Gaara from their windows before retreating behind curtains. Baki fell behind to give you some alone time and, though you couldn’t see him, you knew Chuuyou was nearby, foreseeing everything.

“They love you,” You said as he waved back. “They absolutely love you.”

Color blossomed on Gaara’s face. “It’s quite a change … from when I was a child.”

“Did they all know you, then?”

Gaara lowered his hand. “Yes … albeit for a very different reason. I was a very lonely child. The Fourth Kazekage kept me … away from others.”

“I understand.” You chuckled. “I think being the child of a village head always leaves so much to be desired. My father wouldn’t let me have any friends growing up; he always feared plots against our family.”

Gaara lowered his gaze. He said nothing as the two of you came to a bridge. And for a second, you began to think you had misjudged his meaning when he continued —

“I was a very different person then, like I told you before,” Gaara said. “I had my uncle, Yashamaru, but I was feared by everyone else.”

You weren’t stupid. Gaara of the Sand Waterfall. The Beast of Suna. He must be alluding his savage reputation. Oasis shinobi spoke of the terrors of facing him if they were blessed enough to return to tell the tale. When the Fourth Kazekage sent Gaara out on missions to ravage his opponents, opposing villages, yours along with many others.

But still, wouldn’t he have been a little boy then? How could he have been so feared, even then? You were tempted to ask for more, but, fearful of overstepping your bounds, kept your mouth closed.

“There is a reason they treat me this way; I’ve worked hard to redeem myself in their eyes,” Gaara said.

You came to rest beside the railing of the bridge, head tilted in interest. “What changed?”

A long beat before Gaara spoke again.

“I met someone who showed me a different way of living. That … I could be precious to others.” Gaara squeezed the rail as if to ground himself, though you pretended not to notice. “After that, I wanted nothing more than to make the people of this village love me.”

His words set in as you studied his face. This was a man who took it upon himself to know the name of his villagers, who was gentle, kind …

Respect bloomed in your chest. You … you admired him.

But how could you when …

“Lord Kazekage!”

A little boy ran up the bridge, stopping at the hill of it. He leaned on his knees to catch his breath.

Gaara stood upright, commanding. Kazekage. “What is it?”

The boy perked. Something crumpled in his little fist. Something yellow …

He offered it to Gaara. A flower.

“It’s for you!” he said. “My friends told me you were around the village, so I picked it myself!”

Gaara took the flower and inspected it thoughtfully, as did you; a few of the petals lay bent and crinkled from the boy’s well-intentioned hassling, but the creases increased the flower’s beauty. Gaara looked down and smiled.

“Flowers are rare in this village,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it always.”

The boy’s laugh was music as you approached Gaara.

“Whatever you did to make them love you, I think it worked,” You whispered over his shoulder with a wink.

Color had returned to Gaara’s cheeks. He faced the boy. “Is it all right if I place it in her hair? I think it would look nice on a woman.”

“Sure thing!” the boy said.

You froze, stunned as Gaara fixed it in your hair.

“You look beautiful, Lady (Y/n)!” the boy said. He scratched his head sheepishly. “I wanted to find one for you, too, but I couldn’t, hehe …”

“I’m sure she appreciates it,” Gaara said.

You touched your hand to the flower, gingerly feeling its soft petals against your hair.

Another voice, feminine, called a name.

“That’s my mom,” the boy said. “Bye, Lord Kazekage!”

The boy waved at the two of you as you said your goodbyes. Gaara turned to you.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

The grumble of your stomach gave away your ladylike position. “Hehe. Starving.”

“I know just the place.”

Kankuro tossed a page in his book as Temari opened the door with her back, carrying a new stack of papers.

He looked up — and groaned, sinking into the chair. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! More papers? Ugh, my first day and I’m already exhausted …”

Temari steadied the stack on the desk. “You should read more, anyway … Wait.” She went bug-eyed. “Are you actually reading?”

“Yeah,” Kankuro sighed, returning to his book.

“It’s a miracle!” Temari cried. She nudged closer to sneak a peek at the pages. “What’s the book?”

“I sent for some books about the Oasis village,” Kankuro said. “I figured it’d be a good idea; maybe it’d help us bridge the gap between our villages if we knew more about each other. But …” Kankuro closed the book. “They’re so secretive. They’ve clearly gone to great lengths to hide the secrets of their oasis. Not that I blame them. But there’s nothing on it, really. Just historiographies of the village and some legends. Do you know any?”

“Uh, no?” Temari crossed her legs and leaned against Kankuro’s arm. “Just that they think the oasis was graced by some water spirit a hundred years ago.”

“That’s not all.” Kankuro flipped to the pages at the back of the book to inspect its index. “Apparently, that water spirit blessed the village with an oasis after he defeated some beast who’d gone rogue.”

“Charming,” Temari deadpanned. “I was never much for fairy tales, though. What are you getting at?”

“The oasis is said to have special powers,” Kankuro said.

“I thought you couldn’t find anything concrete?”

“If you read between the lines, that’s really what they’re getting at.” Kankuro leaned back after having found nothing substantial in the index. “What if (Y/n) knows about it? Who knows what we might gain access to?”

Temari snorted. “Now you sound like you’re on the council.”

Kankuro stiffened. “Not what I meant. I don’t want to play their game; I’m not looking to use her or anything. Just … who knows? Maybe it has healing abilities or something? Maybe it can bring back the dead? The possibilities are endless. Aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”

“Sure.” Temari looked out one of the windows. “But, Kankuro, even if it’s real and —“ She cut him with a pointed stare. “— there isn’t some plot we’re unaware of. We’re not just enemies to (Y/n)’s village — we’d considered blasphemous to them. I don’t know how friendly they’d be to us poking around.”

“I don’t know …” Kankuro closed the book but eyed it still, interest lingering. “I’m going to see if I can find anything else, though.”

“Understood,” Temari said. “But let’s tackle the paperwork first. Promise?”

Kankuro’s eyes roved over the stack. He sighed. He abandoned his book for the first sheet in the stack. “Promise.”

The restaurant was placed in a canyon on the outskirts of Sunagakure. The place held intimacy, as it was sparsely occupied with a few lone couples. You could hear their excited murmurings from afar as the two of you ordered food. The icing on the cake was poor Baki, trying to pass off as a simple bystander while so obviously a guard meant to protect Gaara. The man looked so out of place, shuffling his feet on the sidelines, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe you should tell him to go back to the office,” You whispered to Gaara.

“He … insisted,” Gaara said.

Baki awkwardly crossed his arms and looked down the path of the canyon, playing as cool as he could.

“Kankuro told me about this place,” Gaara said, ostensibly to get your attention away from his uncomfortable former sensei. “He took a date here once.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Gaara flattened a napkin. “Only, I don’t think it ended well … he said something about the girl pouring hot soup all over him.”

“Popular with the ladies, I see.” You giggled into your hand.

“This is a nostalgic place for our family, Gaara said. “My father took my mother here to propose. My uncle, Yashamaru, recommended it.”

You smiled. “You mention him often.”

“He taught me a great deal about love.”

You leaned toward him. “He must be so nice.”

Gaara grew quiet.

“… he was.”

Your shoulders fell. “Oh. I see. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Gaara picked up his glass to immediately put it down — perhaps wary of its contents. “He taught me love is … the heart’s desire to serve someone closest to you.”

A FAMILY of orators, then.

“The heart’s desire …” You ruminated. “That’s beautiful.”

“So when Kankuro showed me this place …” Gaara looked up at the canyon’s ledge; the lights strewn from one side to the other, while umbrella roofs shielded them from the heat. A blade of light whet the side of Gaara’s face. “And told me about how Yashamaru had my father bring my mother here, I couldn’t help but think of his words again.”

“I look forward to learning more about your village and your family,” You said, transfixed. “The other things I know have been enforced by the rivalry between our villages.” Something occurred to you. “I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble.”

Gaara frowned, clearly in need of clarification.

“With the council, I mean,” You elaborated. “I know you had to meet with them today.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” Gaara said.

A smile tugged your lips. Was he bragging?

“They feared the incident could make the Sand look foolish,” Gaara continued, and when you tensed with memory, he added, “but I was quick to remind them the party seemed much livelier after what happened. It would have been rude if I had chosen not to engage in the festivities.”

You fiddled with your glass. The idea of playing even a minor role in the reproachment Gaara received needled you with guilt.

“I agreed there wouldn’t be a repeat incident,” Gaara said. “They were also concerned about what could happen if your father heard. Lady Ikanago said he could take it as an insult.”

The mention of Father cast an extra shadow over the two of you, doubling with the umbrellas above your heads. “What did you say?”

“I told them this is only a problem because the Sand has built up a reputation for terrorizing smaller territories around it,” Gaara replied. He cast his gaze down. “I do not deny my part in that terrorization. It is why I keep Joseki on the council.”

Joseki. Memories of the man flooded your mind.

“He doesn’t like you at all.” You said it as though it were not obvious, intrigued by what Gaara’s reply would be.

“No, he doesn’t.” Gaara’s gaze remained on the table. “I do not want to forget about my previous sins, nor the pain I’ve caused. Joseki’s disapproval serves as a frequent reminder of both.”

You tilted your head, stupefied. He kept a man on his council who despised him; was he so dedicated to making amends?

Gaara lifted his gaze at last. “Kankuro has questioned my methods, but this is what I’m comfortable doing.”

“Did they — did they say anything else?”

“There was talk of securing important bloodlines — yours,” Gaara said. “To ensure the Sand is strengthened.” Gaara paused; he suddenly seemed so tired, like an article of clothing excessively worn. “I have to admit: With each passing year, I become more disgusted with the council and their asinine power plays … For years, we have accused Konoha of terrorizing smaller villages, involving them in bigger wars, meanwhile we do the same in secret.”

“Such is politics,” You quipped.

Gaara was not swayed by your show of cynicism. “Despite what you told me before, about you coming here willingly …” He grimaced. “I’m sorry you have been involved in all of this.”

You were silent, too stunned to reply. When all had been said and done, no one had asked you about how you felt to be shipped off to another village. You did what was expected of you. Why did he, of all people, care so much for your well-being?

He is your fiancée, is he not?

Gaara tried for a reassuring smile. “Enough about this. Tell me about your village, your family.”

Chills ran over your skin despite the heat of the day. You? What could you say? What could you safely share that wouldn’t incriminate you? You considered speaking about Hideo, but would you be able to keep your cool? And nevermind your mission — you were a sheltered daughter of a village head. You had no stories, nothing worth sharing.

You gripped the side of your glass, hyper-aware of Gaara’s expectant stare. “I’m afraid I can only tell you stories about other people I’ve known. Your love for your uncle has reminded me a bit of my love for my maid, Hahaoya.”

“Your maid?” Gaara parroted.

“I don’t mean it like that,” You implored. “She was like a mother to me. She was all I had after my mother had died. After we buried my mother, I had nightmare after nightmare. Her death destroyed my father. He said he had no sympathy for me … He said I should get used to having nightmares, to living without her. He would have to. So would I.” You pinched the tablecloth. “But Hahaoya was always there; she would sneak into my bedroom once everyone else had fallen asleep to sing me songs and tell me stories. She was my everything.”

Gaara stared. “… Was?”

Misery creased your face; you did nothing to conceal it. “Was. One day, she was serving me soup, and I got so sick off of it. It was a few weeks after my mother had died and I wasn’t eating regularly, so I’m sure I was only having trouble digesting it. But my father threw a fit, ranting and raving about how Hahaoya had sided with ‘the’ enemy and had tried to kill me. He had her banished from our village and when I confronted him about it, he said she’s lucky he didn’t have her killed.”

Your trained eyes on the table, now too afraid to look up at Gaara. You had said too much; you were sure, but you hadn’t been able to help it. Reliving the memory, you remembered how upset you were with your father when it happened. Hahaoya, your only source of peace in those times … Your brother had been there, too, but as a fully fledged ninja with missions stacked atop each other, not as much as he may have wanted.

Then he died, and you were left truly alone with your crazy father …

Gaara’s hand squeezing yours bore you away from your thoughts. You looked up.

“I’m sorry.” Gaara’s face brightened. “Perhaps, when we’re married, we can find her for you.”

You froze. “Rea — Really?”

“Yes.” Gaara cupped your hand with two hands now. “I can dispatch a team to go looking for her.”

Your lips parted in awe. “Gaara …”

Gaara studied you, and for a second it looked like he would inquire further into your past —

“Here you are!”

A waiter came bearing plates.

You withdrew from Gaara’s touch as the waiter presented dishes.

“Tell me if you need anything else, all right?”

“Okay …” You replied weakly.

The waiter left you two to eat.

“Once you’re full, there’s something else I’d like to share with you,” Gaara said.

You gave him an are you kidding expression. “No more fireworks, Gaara.”

“No.” Gaara leaned from the shade and sunlight brightened his eyes. “Something I’ve been hoping to share with you since you came. Something very precious to me.”

“Kankuro — oh, for gods’ sake — wake UP!”

Kankuro shot from the desk, a sheet stuck to his face.

“Jeez!” Temari cried. “Gaara never fell asleep at his work!”

“Doubt it.” Kankuro plucked the paper from his cheek, now smeared in purple paint. “’Tis the kind of work that could even put an insomniac to sleep. I — wait, whose drool is this … Oh, it’s mine —“

“I’ve had just enough of your lack of concern. You have no sense of urgency for anything!” Temari said. “Show some initiative for once, would you?”

“Fine!” Kankuro snapped. “From now on, it’s your job to get close to (Y/n) and see if she can tell us anything about the oasis. Happy? How’s that for initiative?”

Temari blinked. “That’s … that’s a brilliant idea!”

“Happy to hear it.” Kankuro plopped into his seat.

“In fact …” Temari continued, thumbing her chin. “I know just the thing! A girl’s day out! She won’t suspect a thing. I’ll have it all planned out. I’ll have us go …”

Kankuro zoned out, happy to know Temari was now distracted enough leaving the office, allowing him to go back to sleep.

Gaara’s greenhouse burst with green, plants sprouting from every corner and orifice. A mahogany desk and chair sat in one aisle where you assumed he did his work cultivating. Butterflies fluttered past while ladybugs crawled across the face of leaves. You giggled as butterflies neared, curious about the flower placed in your hair.

“It’s beautiful, Gaara!” You cried out.

“Thank you,” he said from behind you. “We have another greenhouse where we grow plants to counteract poisons and other undesirable things,”

You admired a succulent on his table to deter your nerves. “Really?”

“Yes,” Gaara said. “I prefer only to grow harmless things here.”

You heard him take a step and chose to change the subject. “Where’s the cactus I gave you? Oh, I remember, in the office!”

Gaara came to your side. “I enjoyed it so much I wanted it somewhere I would be sure to admire it every day.”

Baki swatted a butterfly away. “Cacti have been Lord Kazekage’s main hobbyhorse for a while now.”

You inspected the cactus he had propitiated. Verdant green cacti complimented the desk, lined up perfectly. “You’re so good with them. I can’t grow anything!”

“I’m only a beginner,” Gaara said. “I’ve read books on different plants from around the world. I’m not even aware of all the cacti yet …”

You chuckled. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“One day, I’d like to know about every cactus,” Gaara said earnestly.

An image of a wizened Gaara, surrounded by a museum of cacti, flared in your mind. You giggled.

“I don’t know much about them,” You said, grazing the petal of a succulent, “but maybe there are specimens which grow back home I can have sent to you!”

Gaara’s eyes brightened. “You would do that?”

“Why not!” You smiled at him. “Why cactus, though? Is it because they’re easy to find in the desert?”

Gaara’s eyes followed the fingers you had ghosting the succulent petals. “I thought it a nice change. To grow and allow things to prosper, as opposed to destroy, was humbling for me. It is very soothing. Though not much grows in the desert … I came to love planting and watering things.”

“Apologies to the earth,” You remarked.

Gaara considered you. “Apologies to the … earth. I like that.”

Baki caught your eye; he was considering you as if you had materialized anew.

“It’s a beautiful hobby you have,” You said. And adding, due to your respect for him, “Lord Kazekage.”

He blushed, shied into a collection of leaves.

He’s so cute — he really is handsome.

A half an hour passed as Gaara showed you more of his plants — prickly pear (turned out this was the class of cacti you had gifted him), golden barrels, barbary figs, the darling peyotes reminding you of dumplings. He set you in his working chair and let you review the spreadsheets he kept to remember which plants needed watering and when (cacti were not desperate for water, so the schedules were spaced out through a period of days and weeks) as well as the books he read for research.

“(Y/n) …?” Gaara’s voice was tentative behind you as you inspected an index.

You lowered the book. You knew what he would ask. “Yes?”

“You mentioned a brother,” he said cautiously. “A brother who died.”

You smiled in defeat. Did you think you could avoid the topic forever? How stupid.

“If you don’t want to talk —“

“No.” You turned to Gaara. “It’s okay. I can talk about it …”

Concern creased Gaara’s face, looking ready to accommodate your comfort. In your periphery, Baki’s face echoed the sentiment.

You toyed with the corner of a page. “He was older than me, and a great shinobi …” Hideo’s smile came to life in your mind’s eye, behind your eyes as you closed them. “My father’s favorite, obviously. But that was all right; Hideo always said I was his favorite.”

You fought to maintain your composure; Gaara would come to your side if you curled over in pain.

“There was a mission — it was meant to be incredibly dangerous. I don’t know the details. I was never told …” Your hand abandoned the page to fold in your lap with the other. “Even my father wasn’t sure if he should go, but eventually let him. Hideo insisted. He wasn’t afraid — he wasn’t afraid of anything …”

You shoved a tear away from your cheek. The skin reddened and ached there.

“I don’t know what happened after that,” You said. “He never came home. There was — there was nothing to bring back —“ Your voice clipped and broke.

“Enough,” Gaara muttered, a hand slipping to your shoulder. “It’s all right. You don’t have to go on.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was wet. You sniffed. “I’m okay, really.”

Gaara’s gentle touches helped you to put your emotions back where they belonged.

“Your brother sounds like he was a great man,” Gaara said. “We are lesser for having lost him.”

Your feelings gnawed and clawed for the surface. Did I forget to tell you my father thinks you killed him? And the only reason I’m here is to —?

You banished the thoughts with a jerk of your head.

“He was,” You said. “Thank you.”

An awkward silence, clogged with pain, followed.

“It’s getting late,” Baki remarked after a few seconds, studying the sky.

You followed his gaze. He wasn’t wrong; the heavens burned a deep orange, the blue of the sky retreating to darken into a near-black. You were no fool; Baki was saving the two of you from the suffocating silence. You caught his glance toward you before he quickly looked away.

Correction: Saving you especially.

“He’s right.” Gaara’s hand lingered at your shoulder before withdrawing. “We should be heading back for dinner. The others will be expecting us.”

You nodded. “Okay.” You managed a laugh. “I’m sor —“

“Don’t ever apologize for having feelings,” Gaara interrupted, eyes soft on you.

You smiled as Baki opened the door to the greenhouse. Whether it was from the new source of air, or Gaara’s warmth, or both, the place was easier to breathe in.

At the threshold, Gaara looked over his shoulder at you. “(Y/n)?”

“Yes?”

“You said you were a fan of the Icha Icha series,” Gaara replied, oblivious to Baki stiffening in front of him. “Would you mind explaining the books to me?”

Baki blanched with horror.

You fought a giggle. “I’d be delighted!”

“Well,” Kankuro’s voice piqued with interest, “it seems you two had a fun and eventful evening!”

“Yes …!” Gaara said. “First we …”

You let him summarize the day. You were content to be off your feet; the walking had murdered your feet, and they screamed in salvation as you sat at dinner. Later, you hoped to run a bath so you could soak before bed.

You wondered how long it would take for your father to reply. Hopefully soon, because … you were losing your resolve. You were never alone with Gaara, nor did you share his bed. How were you meant to do this? You knew Father would either tell you something to push you over the edge and solidify your resolve or the whole thing would be called off. Secretly, you hoped for the latter. You had never been allowed to date before, and if this is what it was like for everyone, you understood why people raved about it so much.

You hoped nothing would be waiting for you tonight; you were tired.

“That’s all wonderful,” Temari said hastily. “Wonderful, wonderful. (Y/n), how would you like to spend the day with me tomorrow?”

The boys lowered their forks to stare, Kankuro looking more in the know than Gaara.

“I’d be delighted, future sister-in-law!”

Temari giggled, waving you off. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Gaara said, turning to Kankuro. “And what about you? How was your first day as Kazekage?”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Kankuro leaned back and rubbed a balled fist in his eyes. “Thought the day was never gonna end.”

“It is grueling work,” Gaara said. “But it’s necessary work in order for the village to run smoothly.”

“Hopefully, I’ll never have to do it,” Kankuro peeked at you. “You — you better give him lots and lots of kids.”

“Kankuro!” Temari cried.

You went red. You had never even thought of having children with Gaara. You looked his way briefly before lowering your gaze to your meal.

“Speaking of which.” Gaara cleared his throat. “(Y/n) has been helping me understand Icha a lot more —“

Temari spit out her water.

“I still have questions about —“

“Mm, Gaara!” You interrupted with a hand on his. “Maybe not at the dinner table, okay?”

“Oh,” Gaara said innocently. “All right.”

Four days later. No letter came for you.

It was the morning after last and every moment you spent holed up in your room was murder; you lay in wake for a hawk to come and throw a curve in your world.

Temari hadn’t taken you out yet, too tired after the dinner the night before last; the four of you had stayed up playing shogi, and she had been so excited about winning nearly every match she forgot about a curfew and fell asleep at the last moment, drooling over the carpet while the rest of you enjoyed yourselves.

So, mostly, you stayed away from your room and spent time with Gaara and his siblings.

You liked them. You really, really liked them.

You frequently lost yourself in the beautiful turquoise of Gaara’s eyes, and when that wasn’t happening, Temari and Kankuro were pampering you or making you laugh, as much your siblings as Gaara’s, and when that wasn’t happening, Baki was treating you like a daughter, knocking on your door to ask you if you needed water or an extra blanket or helping you navigate your way through the palace or to the office. It all left you wondering if Father wasn’t … him. If this is what it was like to have a normal, sane man protecting you.

Friendship was alien to you. But this was even worse: this was a family. Despite their relation to the Kazekage and the responsibilities befalling them, they were a normal, loving family.

Still, you waited with chattering teeth and moist palms for the hawk you were beginning to hope would never come.

“What do you actually plan on doing with (Y/n)?” Kankuro asked, leaning against the door frame of her old bedroom.

“Shopping, of course,” Temari answered absentmindedly, making her bed.

“You don’t even like clothes,” Kankuro noted. “Come to think of it, I’ve never even seen you shop.”

“No, I don’t, but I suspect (Y/n) does,” Temari said. “She’s always wearing the loveliest yukatas around the place. Have you noticed? And anyway, it doesn’t matter; this gives me the perfect time to get her to let her guard down and let something slip.”

Kankuro sighed. “We’re still on that, huh …? Just forget about the oasis, okay? Don’t mention it to her. I’ve had no luck at the library.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Temari said. “I’m sure I can get her to spill something about Lord Boutoku’s plans —“

“What’s this?” Baki said at the door.

Kankuro jumped from the door frame. “Oh, h — hey, Baki, We were just —“

“What are you two up to?” Baki frowned. “This better not have anything to do with (Y/n). Just what’re you planning?”

“Nothing!” they said in unison.

Baki paused to pinch the space between his eyes. “Fine, I relent. Kankuro, you’re needed in the office.”

“What’s happening?” Kankuro asked gravely.

“It seems there was an egregious error in one of the documents you signed a day ago,” Baki explained droningly. “You promised those contractors two-thousand yen, not two-hundred-thousand yen. Now, they think they’ve struck gold and have taken to the streets —“

“Oh, for gods’ sake!” Temari threw her cover to the side. “This is exactly why you should’ve chosen me as sub-Kazekage or appointed yourself! I can’t believe this! Now, I’ve got to go talk to them and explain all this and —“ She pointed to Kankuro as she walked to the door, “ — fix your mistake! I can’t believe —!”

Temari sprinted out the door, lecturing absolutely no one, leaving Kankuro and Baki alone.

“This is why I’ll never get married,” Kankuro said. “Shikamaru’s really a man to be envied.”

And he abandoned the room as well.

“I think I need to up my migraine medication …” Baki spoke under his breath before following them.

Temari was late. You slipped into your sandals —

Squawk.

You froze.

You faced the window: a hawk, a curled letter attached to its leg.

You raced to the window. You untied the letter with trembling fingers. The hawk, unperturbed by your panic, flew away.

You sank against your windowsill. The letter unfurled. You began reading.

You SELFISH girl!

What have I done to vex the gods so that I was cursed with you? That beast masquerading as your betrothed is an absolute MENACE who has killed hundreds of people from our village and beyond. Perhaps I was wrong to trust you — how could you ever understand the complexities of this situation. If you have a shred of dignity left, you will commit yourself to silence and do what you’re told for once! The demise of the Kazekage will lead to the prosperity of our village and others for decades, possibly even centuries, to come! Are you in such desperate need of a reminder? I have entrusted our ninja to protect you and wait until you complete your mission, which you WILL do. After which they will go to work wiping out the Suna council and his disgusting siblings AFTER you are done with the job of killing him, which you WIL do . What is wrong with you? You would ally with the people who killed your brother in cold blood, simply because they smiled at you and gave you a place to sleep? What kind of street rat are you? Are you not my daughter? Well, since you need so much convincing to resist the temptation of allying with the people who have MURDERED members of your family, let alone your precious elder brother — who was the second to hold you after your disgraceful birth — let me enlighten you on how your brother died —

“(Y/n)?” Temari’s voice came down the hallway.

Quickly, you hid the letter under your pillow. You slapped a false smile on, given no time to process the ire of the letter as Temari appeared.

“Hey,” she said, all smiles. “Are you ready? Let’s get a move on!”

“Yes,” You said, your voice shaking from your father’s lashing. “Let’s.”

The shopping centers were bustling. Temari had clearly taken you to one of the more expensive areas of the village; it was not like when Gaara had taken you out; no one stopped to say hello or noticed Lady Temari or you out and about, so transfixed the shoppers were with their vibrant kimonos and embroidered cloths, their jewels and sparkling jades.

The excitement dizzied you. “You didn’t have to take me somewhere so decadent, Temari …” You muttered, looking around at the ornate sand buildings. Their signs would blare to life with neon colors come nightfall.

“Nonsense!” Temari nuzzled closer to you. “Only the best for my future sister-in-law!”

You nodded furiously out of fear of seeming ungrateful. The letter numbed her flattering sentiment. You walked with legs made of cotton, immaterial and ready to buckle any moment. You fought to get a hold of yourself. You had been sure Father would come through the letter to strangle you; his fury had messied his handwriting. If he was that mad in the letter, what was it like to behold him in real life …?

Will do. What would happen if you didn’t do as he said?

What would happen to you?

… Would he … kill you? Could he?

No … no, he couldn’t —

“Something seems to be on your mind,” Temari said, studying you.

Fear shrank you. You faced her. His disgusting siblings. “Just a little — uh — overwhelmed, is all.”

Temari chuckled. “I understand. Perhaps I was a bit too hasty to show off?”

A woman walked past with a layer of fabric slung over her arm.

Temari watched her walk away. “It’s funny … My father, the Fourth Kazekage, was so resentful of the Oasis village he had any and all items branded with scorpions banned.”

You swung your head, taken aback by the vitriol of the past. “What?”

Temari resumed walking. You tailed behind her. “He told me he came to despise the symbol of the scorpion so much he couldn’t bear the idea of people in his village donning it. It couldn’t be on bags or purses, or shirts or even rings. I didn’t totally believe him at the time and went looking — It’s in the records. Can you believe it?”

You suspected you were not being called to answer. Your mouth bobbed.

“I …”

“It was such a dark time.”

You aligned your steps with hers. Temari was taller than you and, judging from the look of her arms and legs, stronger. Her blouse exposed her back and you could detect the lean muscles molded there. You hid behind her, hoping, in your panicked state, she would protect you from …

She glanced over her shoulder at you. “I’m sure your father is still angry about the way the Sand has treated him, despite this arrangement.”

A bitter laugh quivered from your mouth. “He’s always angry.”

“I bet.” Temari spotted a store and beelined toward it. “Let’s go in there! It’s one of my favorites.”

You obediently followed.

Temari stopped abruptly, facing you. “I’ve been meaning to ask you … What even made Lord Boutoku set this up between you and my brother? After all, there were other villages in the Wind country he could have chosen.”

You paused. You met her eye. She’s grilling me.

Father’s voice thundered in your head: I trained you for this, do NOT ruin the plan, selfish girl …

A group of teenage girls brushed past to enter the store. Temari was not deterred.

You straightened and forced your voice airy and polite. “The truth is, the Oasis is willing to share their secrets if it means they and the Sand can be allies.”

Temari was silent. Clearly, you had thrown her.

“But,” You continued, “while we’re on the subject, why did the Sand agree at all? I’m not a ninja after all, so I’m not privy to any hidden techniques or anything the Sand may want. The Sand could have had us offer anything else. It didn’t have to be my hand.”

Silence. Temari stared —

The door flung open.

“Can it be?” A woman stood at the door with huge white hair and pink cheeks. “Lady Temari! What a blessing to have you come to my store!”

Temari blinked. “I —“

“Come in, come in!”

She ushered the two of you inside. Several girls lingered behind the counter with the same rosy cheeks as her.

“Ohhh!” The shopkeeper leaned uncomfortably close to your face. “And who is this?”

“That’s Lady (Y/n), mama!” One of the girls behind the counter said, holding her face. “The Kazekage’s fiancée!”

Galaxies erupted in the shopkeeper’s eyes. “OHH! What a blessing! What a blessing!”

“We — “ Temari struggled. “We were just looking —“

“Well then, I must show you my most prized section,” the shopkeeper said. “Only the finest apparel for the Kazekage’s family.”

She forced the two of you into a section separate from the front of the store. The shopkeeper thrust you into a private mall with floors and stairs to higher ones. Racks upon racks of clothes filled your eyes, along with the most divinely embroidered fabrics for crafting kimonos. Two other women there with you, apparently high class enough to be bestowed the same honor, but were too engrossed in their potential purchases to notice your appearances.

“Really, ma’am!” Temari pressed. “We’re — really not looking to —“

“Oh, don’t be modest, my lady!” said the shopkeeper. “Spend as much time as you want looking! Oh! And don’t be afraid to call me!”

She waved and shut the door, leaving the two of you in the museum of outfits.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind buying a few outfits since we’re out,” You told Temari. “If you don’t mind?”

Temari blinked, defeated. “Not … Not at all …”

You investigated the nearest racks while she got her bearings.

After a few minutes, she started again. “So, I was right to take you shopping?”

“Oh, yes.” You surveyed the racks. “Clothes … they’re really the only way I’ve ever been able to express myself as the daughter of a village head.”

“I can imagine it’s been very stifling for you.”

“Mhm …” You feigned interest in a glittering dress. Temari’s attention spidered up your back and you braced yourself for another set of incoming questions.

“You know,” she began. “Gaara’s kept his promise to your village; the first set of resources has been sent out already.”

You turned to her with a grateful smile. “Really? That’s fantastic news!”

“It is …” Temari leaned against a rack. “But I wonder … if your village is willing to spill its precious secrets, they must expect something truly invaluable in return.”

You knelt down to admire some shoes.

“The basics — water, weapons — that’s all fine, but … Your oasis is sacred, isn’t it?”

“The friendship of a previous enemy is plenty valuable.” You looked at her over your shoulder. “Don’t you think so? You were there for Gaara’s speech. He has such a way with words …”

“He does,” Temari said. “He’s done so much reading the past few years, absorbs words like a sponge. I’m proud of him. We all are.”

“I can imagine.”

“When he fainted on stage, I could’ve sworn you must’ve slipped something into his drink!”

Your heart drummed, but you willed your body still.

“Isn’t that funny?”

You rose with your most charming smile. “It’s hilarious! I can’t imagine what would make you think such a thing.”

Temari stared. Clearly, she was studying your face. The two women in the room exited, leaving you at Temari’s mercy. You collected some dresses, hoping your trembling arms would go unnoticed.

“Oh.” Temari bobbed her head. “I just remembered … Our fathers have only met once, I think.”

“Oh?” You passed her with a few dresses hung over your arm. You were sure of her eyes following you. You climbed the steps. Temari stalked behind you.

“Yes,” Temari said. “I must have been about ten when that meeting took place. If I remember correctly, there wasn’t much rapport after our father was confirmed dead.”

There’s no reason for the Oasis and Sand to become allies — unless one had ulterior motives …

You nodded, crossing into a new aisle. “Orochi … maru, was it? Horrible creature. I apologize on behalf of my father; he can be so classless sometimes. But …” You faced a new rack as Temari sharked toward you. “But … I imagine Konoha wasn’t shedding too many tears over the Fourth’s death, either. I think they should apologize for their silence as well. If they haven’t already. Don’t you?”

You shifted clothes on the rack — Temari’s hand blocked the hangers transferring.

“The Oasis would have much to gain from Gaara being removed. Or otherwise disposed of.”

You froze.

Shit.

You thanked whatever god you had to you were not facing her at that moment, for you were sure you would have blown it.

Think. Think. Have to throw her off.

You wracked your brain, thinking of what you knew about Temari so far.

You faced her after a beat. “Not at all.”

Temari stuttered. “What?”

“If Suna were to fall for whatever reason, it would throw the entire Wind country in disarray!” You said, as though the idea were ridiculous. “Suna is the seat of power on this side of the world. We would all suffer from it. The world of politics is so messy and pedantic as it is without bringing murder into the mix.”

It frightened you how true your words rang. The image of Father loomed in your mind, eager to deliver disapproval.

Authenticity proved your savior; Temari seemed to consider your words, leaving an opportunity open.

“Temari,” You began, feigning bashfulness. “I’ve been meaning to ask … what’s it like to be in love?”

“What?” Her face grew red, throwing hands in front of her face.

You toyed with the hem of one shirt. “I only wondered … I know I’ve only known Gaara for a few days, but I’ve grown to like him so much.”

None of it was a lie. You were growing to like Gaara a lot, a dangerous amount. You only knew romance from books, and a part of you did wonder if this fluttering in your chest was …

Temari recovered inchmeal to answer you. “It feels … good. To have someone understand you on that level.”

You smiled. “It must …!”

“I never thought I’d ever find someone I loved as much as my brothers,” Temari said, facing you again. “It would be a shame if anything happened to either of them.”

Oh no. You kept the guilt from your face.

“If anyone threatened them in any way,” she said, voice low, “I’d tear them apart.”

You would drown in the dark of her eyes. You stood, rooted beside her, silent.

She meant it. Temari crowded her brothers under her wings. If she discovered you, you would be torn apart and by her personally. There would be no excuse, no sob story you could bestow on her to make her reconsider. She would kill you.

But, if you failed, would Father?

Who were you more afraid of?

You swallowed —

The door burst open.

“How’s everything going?” the shopkeeper said. Her daughters’ heads peeked from behind. She spotted where you two stood on the second floor. “Hm? Finding everything okay?”

“Lady (Y/n), what’s the Kazekage like in private?”

“Is he charming? Oh, I bet!”

“Girls!” the shopkeeper barked.

Temari sighed before turning to you. “I’ll pay for everything. Let’s just go.”

Yes, please!

As though the past few moments hadn’t happened, Temari led you out of the section and to the cash register to pay.

It was strange for Gaara to watch someone else do his work. Kankuro sat on the other side of the Kazekage’s desk, his lips as he stamped another document and shuffled it into the done pile.

Anxiety gnawed at him; he of all people knew Temari could be … daunting.

“You don’t think Temari is scaring (Y/n) too much, do you?” Gaara asked.

“Yep,” Kankuro said, stamping another. “She’ll be calling this whole thing off and heading back to the Oasis tonight. Let’s not forget what she did to Tenten — and she wasn’t even trying to marry you or anything.”

Gaara imagined your back broken over the tip of Temari’s folding fan, lifeless and bleeding. He didn’t like the image at all and shook his head blank.

“Kankuro?”

“Hm?”

“What do men … do with women?” Gaara asked, hands in his lap. “I want to be a good host to (Y/n), but I’ve never done this before. I’m running out of ideas.”

Kankuro snorted. “What? Icha Icha didn’t give you any ideas?”

“It definitely plugged up some holes.” Gaara heard his brother snickering but, unable to understand why, returned to thinking. “But there’s much that seems so complicated. How do you date a girl …? And why would a mother pursue her son-in-law?”

Kankuro nearly fell over. “She … she really did explain those books to you, didn’t she?”

Gaara looked to his brother for help.

Kankuro sighed. “All right, well, you’re doing fine as it is, Gaara. Girls like being wined and dined, and they like surprises and gifts. You know, fun things.”

“Fun things …”

“Just take some time to brainstorm,” Kankuro said. “You can bounce some ideas off of me. I’m …” He looked up at his stack of paperwork. “I’m not going anywhere …”

Gaara thought to himself. He and you were both people of the desert. Surely there were more things you could share with one another?

What could he do … What —

It came to him.

“Kankuro, I think I have an idea!”

Pride shone in Kankuro’s eyes. “I’m all ears.”

For the rest of the evening, Temari was noticeably defanged. You had passed whatever test Temari had put you through. Now the two of you were finally having a normal day out.

You wanted to be proud of yourself, but you didn’t know how to be, or if you were allowed. For what? Your assassination plot having not been found out?

“I’ll order us lunch,” Temari said as she placed the menu on the table.

“Thank you.”

“I was thinking about what you said,” Temari said.

You grew nervous, fidgeted in your seat. “Hm?”

“About being in love,” Temari clarified. “I’ve spent time with my fiancée’s family — the Naras — and it was nice. Being around an ordinary family. As opposed to what our families are like, you know?”

You blinked. From your perspective, the Sand siblings were an ordinary family.

“I — Yes, I get you.”

Temari laughed to herself. “It’s rough being the only girl, isn’t it? All the bullshit we have to take from the men. The constant threat of political marriages.”

You perked. This you could understand. “And you’re the oldest, aren’t you?”

“Ugh!” Temari flew back in her chair. “Don’t remind me. You know, my father tried to marry me off once?”

“No.”

“Yes!” Temari leaned in, excited. She twirled a finger to jog her memory. “Some boy from the Land of Rivers — don’t even remember his name.”

“What happened to him?”

“He said something about my ass and I nearly broke his neck.”

The two of you exploded into giggles. You adjusted one of the shopping bags at your feet so as to not knock it over.

“Not for lack of trying. Suffice to say, that ended things and he went home,” Temari said.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “I can imagine!”

“So, Lord Boutoku really lets you read Icha Icha?” Temari said, disbelieving.

“He insists,” You pressed. “He thinks it’s the only thing ladies should read so they know how to please men.”

Temari shook her head. “No offense, but I’m liking the man less and less.”

“None taken. But I started liking them quite a lot on my own.”

Food came at last, a myriad of different dishes — miso soup, fish, steaming rice — and the two of you dove in.

You sipped your jasmine tea to wash your throat. “Mmm …”

“Good?”

“So good.” You inhaled the steam warming your nose.

“So,” Temari began. “You really like Gaara, don’t you?”

You set your tea down. “I do. He’s … nothing I expected.”

“Has he … told you anything?”

You caught her meaning. “He’s told me he’s had a difficult past.”

“Ah.” Temari preoccupied herself with the removal of onions from her salad. “So … no details, then?”

You paused. “No.”

You remembered your father’s letter and how you hadn’t had the chance to finish it. His words rang in your head still, and you hadn’t even endured the full torrent of his ire. Chills snaked over your skin despite the heat of the tea trickling down your throat. Temari sobered up as she minded her meal. You frowned.

“Temari?”

She looked up. “Oh, Nevermind me! We should keep things light!”

“Yes.” Relief replaced the chills. “Let’s.”

“I’ll tell you about the time Shikamaru’s father walked in on my changing and swallowed one of his cigarettes.”

“Oh, gods,” You leaned in. “Shoot.”

Dusk overran evening once the two of you returned to the Suna palace, barring shopping bags and giggling over anecdotes. Gaara and Kankuro loitered around the entrance.

They must have been waiting for us. So cute!

Gaara scanned the myriad of bags with a smile. “You must have had a good time, since it’s so late out,” he surmised.

“We did!” Temari chirped before facing Kankuro. “Hope you didn’t pass any more asinine orders in our absence, Kankuro.”

Kankuro hmphed and crossed defiant arms. “I’ll have you know I finished all the work early today.”

“Good, so you can help us carry bags inside —“

Temari swung bags in Kankuro’s face and he yelped.

The four of you hurried into the living room. Servants relieved you of your bags and moved to leave them in your respective rooms. The four of you piled into the dining room for dinner, for it was not long before varying plates of food — fish platters, potatoes, red wine (you gulped; Gaara fidgeted), figs — were brought to the table.

“The onigiri is immaculate,” You said, admiring the cute rice pyramids. “I have to send compliments to the chef.”

Kankuro shot Temari a look you couldn’t interpret. You returned to your meal.

Kankuro nudged Gaara’s arm with a mouthful of biscuit. “Gaara, don’t you have something to tell (Y/n)?”

“Yes, about that …” Gaara turned to you proudly.

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Temari said. “Spill it!”

“I’ve prepared some things so all of us can take a vacation to the beach.”

You shot up from your chair. “The beach?”

Gaara paused, clearly startled. “Y—Yes,” he said. “Is … is that all right?”

“Are you kidding?” You laughed. “That’s … oh my — it’s fantastic! I’ve never been to a beach! A beach in the desert?”

“You’d be surprised,” Kankuro said. “Weirder things are out there.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, but, Gaara.” Temari faced her brother. “What about the office?”

“Baki will take over for Kankuro for the weekend we’re gone so we can enjoy ourselves,” Gaara explained. “He offered; he thinks it’s a good idea for us to bond, as we’ll all be family soon —“

You flew over the table and enveloped Gaara in a hug.

“Oh, thank you!” You squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you —!“

Temari and Kankuro giggled while Gaara pet you on the shoulder.

“I’ve only ever read about beaches in books!” You leaned away, one arm still wrapped around Gaara’s shoulder. “I wish you had told me — I don’t even have a bathing suit!”

“That can be arranged,” Temari quipped. “Another quick shopping trip will fix that, I think.”

“It’ll be like a pre-honeymoon!” Kankuro shrugged. “But, you know, with us.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Gaara said. “I want us all to enjoy ourselves as (Y/n) and I get to know each other.”

“I agree!” You said.

You smiled at him — only to realize your hug had left you situated in his lap. You leaped away.

“S — Sorry, Gaara.” You bowed, your voice a squeak. “I —“

But Gaara took your hand and kissed it lightly, causing you to blush.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Kankuro cornered Temari as she prepared for bed, organizing papers on her desk.

“So,” he said.

Temari dimmed her lamp, leaving them in semidarkness. “So what?”

“So. C’mon,” Kankuro said. “Just admit you like (Y/n).”

“All right, fine,” Temari sighed. “Despite how horrible Lord Boutoku is. She’s … nice.”

“Finally. Told you she’s not up to anything.” Kankuro tilted his head.

“Why are you grilling me, anyway?” Temari asked.

“Because I know what this is really about,” Kankuro said, leaning against the door frame as he had done before.

Temari sat on the edge of her bed, crossed her legs and arms. “Well, go ahead. Enlighten me.”

“You don’t want to let go of Gaara,” Kankuro said matter-of-factly. “He’s your little baby brother and now he’s all grown up, but you’ve mothered him for so long you can’t accept that he doesn’t need you like he used to.”

Temari rose with a scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And,” Kankuro continued. “I had hoped that you would realize all on your own, but alas, I have to save the day — again. Sucks being the only sane one around here.”

“That’s just silly!”

“And,” Kankuro went on, “Now, I’m gonna have to call Shikamaru to come get you because —“

Temari held an arm akimbo. “How dare you insinuate I need a man to reign me in —”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Baki entered the room. “What is it now?”

Kankuro and Temari rounded on each other.

“Temari’s being silly —“

“Kankuro’s the silly one!” Temari bit back. “With all his crazy Kazekage orders and —“

“Okay. Enough.” Baki said. “The two of you have done nothing but bicker and fight over Lord Kazekage’s happiness from the moment Lady (Y/n) arrived.”

“That’s …” Temari deflated. “That’s not …”

“The two of you will stop scheming — both of you.” Baki narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care who started what. Kankuro, stop antagonizing your sister. And Temari, let your brothers breathe for once? You’re both too old for this. If you love your brother as much as you say you do, you will band together to help ensure this arrangement goes well, and he has fewer enemies to worry about in the future. Understand?”

Kankuro and Temari faced each other.

“I’m … sorry,” Temari relented.

“So am I,” Kankuro said.

Baki sighed. “Good, that’s a start. Now, get some rest. We have to begin planning your trip in the morning.”

Baki gave them a lingering stare before leaving the room.

Temari retook her seat on the bed. “Gaara … does seem very happy. With her. So far.” She lowered her head, as though considering other things coming to mind. “And I guess it is really something to be set up to marry someone you could actually grow to love.”

Kankuro nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t happen every day, does it?”

Temari shook her head. “No …” She lent Kankuro her hand. “Truce?”

Kankuro smiled, approached her, and shook her hand. “Truce.”

Your head had snuggled against the pillow when you realized —

The letter.

You rivaled the part of yourself desiring to drift off to sleep and forget the entire wretched correspondence. But you knew you couldn’t, not with the way your chest grew to ache with anxiety, come to reunite with you like an old friend. You hooked a hand under the pillow. Paper crinkled under your palm. You pulled it out and sat up.

With dread cemented in your chest, you continued to read:

That boy is a scourge upon the earth who killed his mother to come into this world. My precious Hideo got caught in his wretched jutsu. His Sand Burial, I’m told. The damage done to Hideo’s body was so egregious we could never collect his body —

You dropped the paper as though burned by it. You stared at it, wide-eyed.

It was a moment or two before you reclaimed it to continue. You read the passage several times to convince yourself the words were real. Teardrops splattered near the edge of the paper, expanding like watercolor suns. Nausea whirled your stomach, but your eyes ran over the words anyway:

You disgrace us. If you do not do this, I will personally have you put you to death once the coup begins. Do not test me again.

The letter abruptly ended, exacerbating the chill of it, the finality. You let it fall away to the side before you could add more tears to its face. Bile rose in your throat, threatening vomit, but your legs would not move; you were too weak to move them.

Hideo’s beautiful face came to your mind, his beautiful smile and eyes — only to drown in blood.

You clutched your head, sunk into your lap. Your two realities sat between you, forever at odds.

No, no. It couldn’t be true. Gaara and his siblings — they had been so nice to you. He had been so nice to you. He would never … could never be capable of such things.

Hideo kept flaring in your mind to die horrid deaths. Again and again, his mangled body reached out to you, begging for help —

“No!”

You knocked the letter over.

You refused to believe it — believe Father. Gaara would never, and even if he had — he would have told you … he would have remembered and called things off.

If he even remembered or knew Hideo’s name. If he hadn’t killed so many, your brother joined a nameless herd —

You shoved your father’s voice aside like a real thing, rejecting it.

A burst of energy had you leaving your bed, letter in hand. You started a fire in the fireplace.

Gaara had been nicer to you than anyone you had ever met. Save for Hideo, who would never stand for this, you knew. You were happier than you had ever been with him and his siblings.

Gaara was kind.

Your father had never been kind.

Corrupt, cruel, capricious. His crimes were stacked up by the dozens as you determined to recall them all. He had yelled at you, assaulted you, called you a disgrace, called you selfish. In what way were you selfish? What had he ever asked of you that you hadn’t given? I’m here because he asked!

No.

You tore the letter in two. Threes. Fours. If only you had a fire, you would thrust it in the flames and let them eat the corners away before disposing of the thing. Your father was insane, you knew. None of it could be true. Gaara was kind and gentle and — and the two of you were to be married soon. He was taking you to the beach.

I don’t believe you, Father.

You collected the letter’s pieces and went to the window, letting the pieces flee from your hands and scatter to the wind like snow. You wrestled with the necklace around your neck, its poisonous contents, and clutched a hand around its pendant.

I’ll keep it. And if Father comes, I’ll use what’s inside to protect Gaara. Or myself .

The rest of the thick of the night was spent sorting out your thoughts. You wouldn’t tell them about your father’s plot yet, and it was entirely due to your cowardice. You remembered Temari’s words and the look she’d given you. If you couldn’t convince them you were on their side, you were sure you would be jailed — or killed. Regardless of your reasons.

No, you would wait after the trip, then you would tell them. The coup could only begin once you gave the word to the other Oasis nin meant to protect you. Father couldn’t do anything until then. And, if your father chose to be impulsive and come, he wouldn’t find Gaara or his siblings here — all of you would be miles away … His plan would fail.

With your thoughts ironed out, you settled in for bed, but it would be long before sleep would claim you. Due to the horrific imagery your father had given you — and what your mind chose to torture you with.

Gaps, endless voids, sprouted in between the horror, and you let daydreams of Gaara and the beach fill those gaps.

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara smut #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you

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privateanxieties · 2 years

Text

Peter Parker goes to the dentist

Summary: Going to the dentist when he has superpowers is enough of a hassle, but when he can’t explain the origin of his injuries it becomes an entire situation. Luckily, the doctor he picked is trustworthy. And competent. And pretty.

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x Reader (she/her); fluff, flirting.

Words: 5.1K

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It's the most ordinary of Wednesdays: no one schedules appointments bright and early in the middle of the week, freeing her to relax with tea and the book that took ages to pluck from the library's shelves. The mistake of thinking a private practice would afford more leisure has led to an existence defined by work and sleep, and she isn't even sure she remembers how to enjoy reading as an activity. The chance to figure it out passes by quickly, however, when a knock is heard at her office door. Her assistant, Stephanie, announces a walk-in patient with an emergency. Professionalism keeps her from grumbling her way to the front desk, tea abandoned and book stuffed back into a random drawer that she suspects will become its permanent resting place.

Her disappointment doesn't matter very much when her eyes fall upon the man in the waiting area - someone else is having a worse time than she is. Jaw and mouth abundantly bloody, the only parts of his face left visible are his eyes and forehead. The bundle of napkins he's holding up serves only to mask the disaster she'll be entrusted to fix.

Stephanie provides little detail of his condition other than constant twitching and a concerning level of secrecy as to the origin of the injury.

"He said he'll speak to you.", is what she whispers none-too-discreetly. The waiting room is too small and her assistant too freaked out.

Along with a warning she'll stand by in case of anything, Stephanie mouths a 'good luck' and retreats to her tasks.

Turning on her heel with focused intent, she approaches the brown-haired man slouching in one of the chairs, noticing his disheveled appearance and overall sulking demeanor. Maybe he got into a fight.

"Sir? If you'll follow me?", she requests gently, surprised by the speed of his reaction. At once he looks up, standing with no difficulty and pinning her with his eyes: slightly wild and off-kilter, but attentive. At least he's not concussed.

Once inside the privacy of the office, she motions for him to have a seat in the examination chair while she scrubs in, expecting that he'll divulge the nature of his injury; yet he doesn't so much as remove the soaked napkins from his face. She decides on a different approach.

Taking a seat herself, she pushes the tool tray aside and removes the surgical mask, a small smile forming once she notices just how nervous he looks.

"What's your name?"

What he mumbles from beneath the napkins sounds too much like Peter to be anything else, and he confirms with a nod when she double checks.

"Hi Peter. Can you show me what hurts?"

He doesn't move to oblige the request, instead staring into her eyes with remarkable intensity before he replies with a question of his own.

"Does doctor-patient confidentiality apply to dentists?"

The way he says it, muffled and broken, beckons laughter forward and it's only reigned in by decorum and practiced solemnity. Still, smiling is unavoidable.

"All medical providers have to follow HIPAA. If you're asking whether you can trust me, then the answer is yes."

Moments later, the hand he's holding to his face moves away, tissues bunched up between bloody fingers. Come to think of it, there's blood running down his neck as well, staining the collar of the unluckily white henley. He must've taken quite a tumble, she thinks, but the assumption is cut short by the sight revealed to her.

The state of his face clues her in to two things: the injury is internal, as there are no marks or cuts she can see on his face, and his mouth must be in pretty bad shape for so much blood to be produced. She has no idea how he appears unbothered. He must be in tremendous pain. Her lips press together subtly.

"What happened to you?"

"Is that strictly necessary to answer?", he returns quietly, and she isn't sure she likes the suspicion he regards her with.

"Hey, I'm not asking to judge. I'm asking so I know how to help you. I need to know how this happened, so I can watch out for things like nerve damage, sinus infection, damaged blood vessels - it's not just teeth I look at.", she explains calmly.

He seems persuaded, but remains guarded in the story he offers.

"Let's just say I uh - approached the ground with accelerated velocity and now… I think I might be a few teeth short of a full set."

"How did you fall?"

Again, he says nothing. A statue might provide better cooperation.

"And this… sudden inertia - it targeted your mouth specifically? You don't have any other injuries on your face."

Repeated silence and the avoidance of eye contact prompt a deep sigh to leave her chest. She could refuse him treatment if he doesn't provide the details of his condition, under the very reasonable concern that he's putting them both at risk of improper treatment.

But, he doesn't seem like a sketchy person. Overly avoidant and weary? Sure. Involved with nefarious people or dealings? Not really, if her instincts serve her.

"Ok. Lie back in the seat and let me have a look?"

Thankfully, he stops resisting and does as asked, handing her the ball of soaked napkins when she holds her hand out for them. Disposing of them and scrubbing in once more, she turns on the overhead light and the small flat screen TV fixed on the ceiling for the patients' comfort. Taking a seat herself, she grabs the small mirror tool and leans forward. Peter doesn't open his mouth right away.

"Just - I need you to know. If you see some weird stuff, could you try your best to ignore it?", he mumbles, visibly trying to move his lips minimally.

She pauses but does not lean back.

"I've seen a lot of weird stuff. Won't even phase me - promise."

Well.

Perhaps she has seen some weird stuff in her time, but nothing quite like this. He is indeed missing one molar and two incisors, among other damaged teeth that have either been chipped or severed in half. She wants to ask whether someone put his head through a wall, or if he's been in some kind of freak accident that only targeted his mouth, but she holds off on account of wanting him to relax.

She continues her examination, on the lookout for weird stuff as he put it. It's several minutes later that she pulls away, having cleaned up as much blood as possible and come to a conclusion on what needs to be done to fix the damage.

"Well, Peter… I won't sugarcoat this. You're looking at quite a few procedures. You have three missing teeth: two incisors on your mandibular arch and a molar on your maxillary. Your lower left canine has a nerve exposed - which, frankly, I'm not sure how you're not howling in pain right now. And there's secondary damage to four other teeth; chips, cracks, nerve damage from mechanical shock, but I'll need an X-ray to know for sure. And you have a cavity, but I don't think you got that today."

The silence that follows is normal in her line of work, especially when the news is this bad. She's been on the receiving end of some terrible information of the medical variety herself. She knows what people's first thoughts usually are.

"That's - that sounds pretty bad. Right? It is bad, isn't it?", he asks, likely to soothe himself by hoping she'll say no.

"It's nothing that can't be fixed, so that's a positive. But there is a lot of damage that I can't fix in one go. The best I can do right now is take care of the exposed nerve and make sure the other problems don't get worse before treatment. I can seal the cracks in your teeth and make sure the nerve damage isn't unmanageable until a future appointment."

Peter appears to consider her words carefully for a few moments, and she finds herself feeling a sliver of what he must be feeling. It's the part of the job that sucks the most, watching people weigh their options against their possibilities.

"And uh, this is going to cost how much to fix?"

Yes, exactly the part she hates. Despite not having gone into dentistry to get rich, she's been struggling since the beginning to keep costs to what they now are - more affordable than other clinics in the borough, yet still outside the range of what people can afford on an average wage. She thought having a private practice would enable her to make financial choices that others didn't want to make, and to a degree, that was true. There's no reason that an extraction should cost several hundred dollars, but she never realized cement would be this exorbitantly priced. They were all a cartel - the manufacturers and distributors of medical equipment were the real decision makers in this business, and cutting costs would always have to come from her own earnings. She's cut just about all she could, and still the cost for Peter's medical bills would be…

"For this session, I reckon around eight hundred and thirty dollars. I need to extract the nerve from your canine, reconstruct the tooth so it's not exposed anymore, seal 5 cracks in four teeth - that's fillings for each one - and immobilize the ones that have nerve damage so they don't worsen until they're treated. With the anaesthesia, that'll come up to just around nine hundred.", she explained.

It's a few seconds before Peter says something that baffles her.

"Well, I guess we can do without that last one."

"I'm sorry?"

"It won't do much good on me."

"The anaesthetic? Peter, these procedures are not a walk in the park and I need you to be still and calm. I can't pull out a nerve with you writhing in the chair.", she tries reasoning, assuming he's trying to either be brave or cut back on the total cost and possibly a bit of both.

Yet when he meets her eyes, the brown-haired man seems to have found a resolve that escaped him until now.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?"

She nods once, uncertain.

"Well, doc - unless you have some sort of elephant tranquilizer, which would be great if you did, then it won't be much help. The gas makes me dizzy and nauseous but it doesn't take away the pain, and the shot just kinda stops working after a minute of two. So unless you wanna stop every two minutes to give me a new one, I guess we're in a bit of a pickle. The wonders of superpowers.", he speaks candidly yet grimly.

Oh.

So that's why he was so cagey and weird. And why there's no outer damage on his face. And why he wouldn't say how he ended up like this. And - and - maybe she's freaking out a little bit.

"Did I lose you?"

His questions snaps her attention like a wire and she blinks heavily to refocus. He seems amused, but the grimace on his face cuts into what might be a humorous moment.

"Uh - no. No, that's… that's fine. Superpowers.", she breathes out.

"Yeah."

"What - what kind of…?"

"The kind that get me in trouble.", he answers curtly. It's obvious he won't offer more information, and to be completely fair, he doesn't have to. It's up to her to be professional and do her job, and that includes reigning in obnoxious curiosity.

"Right. Well. I don't have any - elephant tranquilizer, was it? But there is the possibility of giving you a general anaesthetic. You'll be completely under, like surgery. Have you tried that before?"

"Haven't had to, if I'm honest. Things just kind of… fix themselves. Or they did. Apparently I can heal a broken bone but not a broken tooth, which is weird 'cause teeth are also bones.", he jokes.

"Your medical knowledge is impressive.", she gives it right back.

A small pained chuckle is Peter's response, and after that, he nods with a sigh, saying that he wants to give it a go. She gets up from the chair and turns off the overhead light, announcing that she'll go get the nurse, but Peter stops her with a hand around her wrist.

"No, no. She can't - I can't have anyone else know. Please. Can you do it yourself?"

"I can, but I'd really be more comfortable if there was someone else in here to monitor you while you're under. I only have one pair of eyes."

His hesitation persists, and she tries for compromise.

"She doesn't have to know anything. I just need her to assist me. It'll be like any other patient."

"Ok. Ok, I trust you.", he relents, letting go of her wrist and mumbling a quick apology for getting handsy.

With a reassuring smile, she asks him to relax and leaves the room in search of Stephanie, updating her on the situation and getting herself ready. Taking a seat in the waiting area, she calms her nerves with a few deep breaths.

This is new and different, and not entirely lacking difficulty. She's never tended to a superpowered individual, but she isn't completely unfamiliar with them. To be fair, everyone in the city has had some contact with the extraordinary. Living in New York comes with its own interesting challenges, sometimes of the life-threatening kind. Making it to work in this city is more of a conundrum than it is in other places, not least of all because of the regular clashes of superhumans.

Chaotic and random, her own experience saw the ground underneath simply disappearing on the way to work one morning. An explosion had gone off underneath the intersection at 38th St. and Sixth Avenue, when she was barely two minutes away from her building.

It's been two years and change, and the memory is no less vivid; neither is the striking red and blue of the material she was clinging to mid-air, uncertain whether she was dead. She still feels the motion of the glide in her dreams sometimes, a jolt and swing that took her breath away. It was only upon landing on solid ground that she realized her breathing was labored from blood loss and traumatic injury. It had almost been the end.

There is a person in her office whom she knows nothing about other than what he's been willing to reveal. Superpowers.

No, no - the odds are astronomical.

Deciding on going through with the proposed treatment, she returns to the room to see her assistant preparing for the procedure, and Peter tapping away at the edge of the chair in a broken rhythm. She notices him tense up as she approaches silently, despite having his back to her.

Superpowers.

"Ready?", she tries with a smile. She wants to appear as composed as possible and transmit that confidence to him, but it feels like he sees through it.

"I am. Are you?", Peter returns quietly.

She glances briefly at Stephanie's turned back, and for a moment thinks that maybe she should've handled this without her aid.

"Yep. Let's run through some questions first before we get started."

He hums inquisitively.

"Do you have any allergies I should be aware of?"

"No, no allergies."

"Are you on any medication right now?"

"I wish."

"Any chronic or acute illnesses?"

"Is being a dumbass acute or chronic?"

She fixes him with a look that falls just a little short of stern, but then she notices that Stephanie is ready with the general anaesthesia and decides to lighten the atmosphere.

"Depends. Has this condition lasted longer than three months?" she asks to humor him.

"Considerably longer, doc."

"Then I'm afraid it falls under chronic. Requires prolonged medical attention and treatment."

"Or just a good smack upside the head.", he suggests, and from his tone and overall body language, she notices how nervous he really is. He's trying to distract himself, but he's also distracting her, and that is not good.

"From personal experience, I think kindness might go a longer way in terms of helping someone get back on the right track.", she says with finality.

It's funny - she's never gotten this wordy with a patient before, and she's pretty sure she's never gotten a look like that from one either. Peter has fallen silent, but he hasn't stopped fidgeting, and as her gaze drifts to his hands, she realizes they're still covered in blood. That's not good. Twitching hands covered in blood summon unwelcome memories, but instead of reaching for a napkin to offer him, instinct has her reaching out to place her palm over his.

The words come out of nowhere, like it isn't her saying them.

"You'll be ok. I've got you."

His fingers barely close around her own before Stephanie clears her throat and the moment shatters into a million pieces. Thank God someone kept their wits about them, because that was the most unprofessional she's ever been in her entire life. Her hand burns as she pulls it back, and the back of her neck feels cold.

She's so stunned she doesn't speak again until Peter is successfully under anaesthesia and Stephanie is looking too closely at what she's doing. Not her fault - it is the very thing an assistant is supposed to do, but she made a promise she'd keep his secret.

"Steph, would you please turn the news on? Haven't watched them in forever.", she asks without looking up.

A few moments later the volume on the television is turned up and she starts to feel even more relaxed, her mind now completely devoted to only one thing. She comes to regret her request some twenty minutes later, when Stephanie makes a comment that gives her pause.

"Damn, look at that. Poor guy got slammed with a bulldozer."

"What?" she asks, not completely registering the meaning.

"Spidey. They just showed him get wrecked, square in the face. They're playing it on repeat, look - ", Stephanie says, turning the volume up even louder.

A controlled exhale leaves her lips. The footage shown on the news is so brutal it's almost unwatchable. He goes flying and is out for the count for who knows how long, really? One second feels like forever, seeing him like that.

"That's not a bulldozer.", she remarks, somewhat dazed.

"Huh?"

"The thing that hit him. It was an asphalt compactor."

"Well, whatever it was, that must've sucked. Happened like, two hours ago. Do you think he's dead?" Stephanie asks.

Hm. No. No, she doesn't think so. Otherwise she'd get her license revoked for operating on dead people.

Jesus fucking Christ. Spider-Man is in her office, out cold, and she has her fingers in his mouth. The thing she does every day is suddenly weird, like an entity deconstructed it and put it back together on a smoke break. Superpowers.

"I'm sure he's fine.", she finally answers Stephanie's question, pulling herself together.

"Just horribly disfigured probably.", her assistant frowns.

Hm. No, not disfigured either. Quite pretty actually. Fuck. It's surreal to know what he looks like. It's surreal to be the one to help him now. Granted, what she's doing is hardly comparable. Anyone could fix his teeth, while she would've died if not for him.

She's too affected to say anything else for the rest of the procedure. More than two hours later, everything is done, and she leans back in her chair with a sigh. There's some pain in her lower back that reminds her she's got physio tonight, but most of all it reminds her that all of this is a strange turn of fate. It's been a year - she hasn't seen him since and she thought she'd never see him again, especially not like this.

"Do you want me to wake him up?" Stephanie asks.

"No. No, I'm ok to do that. Thank you, Steph."

"I'll go get the papers ready."

"No. That's not necessary. I mean, the patient file, yes. But no invoice."

"Uhh… are we doing things off the books now?" Stephanie jokes, but there is an edge of nervousness to her tone.

"Yeah, I figured I'd turn to a life of crime just now. No - I'm just not charging him.", she explains while cutting off the anaesthesia.

"Ok? I mean, you're the boss."

With that, the other woman leaves the room, and she's left to wonder how long it'll be before he wakes up. The average recovery time for this type of sedation is around thirty minutes. Keeping an eye on the clock, she remembers that his fingers are still covered in dried blood and wonders if she'd overstep.

He did it for you, she thinks.

The memories surface involuntarily, and this time she doesn't shake the images away, letting herself be lost to the sights and sounds of 38th Street, over a year ago. The ground disappeared, and she was falling before she had time to scream. Something stopped her descent none-too-gently, dislocating her shoulder and making pain bloom violently all along her spine. She hadn't yet felt the gash in her thigh that severed an artery, and even once back on solid ground, she kept staring at it without feeling anything. Another pair of hands wrapped the wound tightly, the sticky and white material getting soaked red in moments. The clock was running on her life, and she couldn't even focus. She was entirely elsewhere.

The blood on her hands was hard to think of as her own, and seeing it running down her leg and onto concrete in such quantities made it even harder. She saw blood every day, and yet she was paralyzed. Not a sound left her mouth.

And then those hands that worked so hard to keep her alive caught her own shaking ones, squeezing them firmly and breaking through the haze.

You'll be ok. I've got you.

By the time everything poured in and overwhelmed her, she was already in the back of the ambulance. She never even got to thank him.

Peter begins to stir only seven minutes in. His lashes flutter about delicately, brushing over the tiniest white scar just above the apple of his cheek. Was it from that day, or any of the million other days he put his life on the line for complete strangers? She's too in her head while wiping his fingers with a damp cloth to notice exactly when he opens his eyes, but when she looks up next, he's staring right into her soul. It's him who breaks the tension only she appears to be feeling.

"Think that might be the best nap I've ever had.", he mumbles somewhat adorably, but also… attractively? His voice is considerably deeper than it was before and Jesus Christ, she's hitting on a patient and needs to stop right now.

"Everything went well.", she announces. It's clipped and awkward, and she trailed off with no further explanation as if that was any sort of acceptable bedside manner. She rushes to supply the rest of the information, but Peter beats her to it.

"Knew it would."

"How?"

God - was she stammering now?

"Cause you said it would. Said you have me."

It's clear that while he seems to have an easier time talking than the average person, he's still a little out of it and she doesn't want to hear what else he might say under the influence of drugs or she might burst into tears. Some medical professional.

"You should rest a little - mandatory recovery time, superpowers or not."

"How long?" he whines, head lulling back against the seat and eyes closing slowly.

"Let's say, until we get someone here to bring you home. Do you have anyone we can call?"

"Mmm… my aunt. Aunt May. But you don't need to call her, I can get home fine. She worries a lot."

She can imagine. Although, if he won't call her to come pick him up from the dentist, she likely doesn't know about anything worse.

"Ok. But if you're not recovered in half an hour, I'm taking you home myself."

"Bossy."

"Alright, you're still out of it. I won't hold that against you. This one time.", she warns without malice, getting up from her seat and heading towards the door. His voice stops her before she can leave.

"Hope there's multiple times. You're really nice."

Yeah. Definitely out of it.

"Well, if you get into trouble again, you'll know where to find me. Stephanie will be in to check on you shortly."

That's it. That's all she can say before she really has to leave. She makes a beeline for the bathroom and gets there just in time for the first tears to fall, and she feels more than ridiculous for reacting this way. This past year she's thought of him and that day whenever her mind drifted, and each time she ended up more guilty. Grateful, but guilty. There were others who needed his help that day. She's seen the footage more times than she can count. It was chaos everywhere, more than one person could ever handle, and people were crying out for help from all directions. But he stayed with her. He stayed with her for longer than he reasonably should have, because she was unable to help herself in any capacity. His words of reassurance have been playing in her head ever since.

Splashing cold water on her face helps, but now she looks a mess because of all the days a week to wear more makeup than usual, she had to pick today. Who could've thought a boring Wednesday would turn out like this? Fixing herself up as much as possible, she looks at her watch and realizes fifteen minutes have passed in a blink. She needs to check on him if Stephanie hasn't already.

When she returns, Peter is nowhere to be found. She goes in search of her assistant, and it's just then that she hears another voice at the front desk. An argument between Stephanie and her missing patient is ongoing, and the few details she makes out immediately clue her in as to the issue.

"Steph, I got this. Why don't you go prep the office for the next appointment?" she asks quickly, not missing the relief on the blonde woman's face.

She avoids looking at Peter until Stephanie has left the room. It's quiet. Awkward.

"She won't let me pay. Why wouldn't she let me pay?" he asks, sounding much more focused and looking like he didn't just wake up from general anaesthesia.

"Because I told her not to.", she answers evenly.

"Why? Because I was worried about money? I'm not a charity case."

She thought he might be that type of person. Of course the selfless hero who risks everything and battles monsters every other week would think this way. It's insane that people like him exist. She weighs the words she wants to say for a moment or two, but there is no way around it. The look in his eyes is too intense to get away with anything but the truth.

"It's not charity. You saved my life.", she says quietly.

It's somewhat amusing that his first reaction is to get ready to pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about, and she'd like to see what he comes up with, but it's almost noon and enough emotion has scattered her brain. A meat tenderizer might've done less damage.

"You don't have to say anything. I saw you on the news. You got hit in the face with an asphalt compactor."

It's a few seconds before he replies, but this time, he's the one averting his eyes.

"Is that what it's called?"

"Mmhm."

"I'll remember that next time. Wouldn't want to get killed by something and not know what it's called."

"Please don’t.", she interjects before she can stop herself.

"Don't what?"

"Please don't get killed."

"Can't make any promises.", he says with a smile. Then, maybe to break the tension or maybe to be stubborn, he continues. "But I do have to insist. I have to pay you for this."

"Well, I have to insist too. I wouldn't be here to help anyone if you hadn't helped me. This is the least I can do. And don't try to argue, because I went to med school. You won't win."

"I was right. You are bossy.", he quips back, smiling a little too wide and wincing from the likely still sore jaw.

Did he call her that again to see what she would do? Because she isn't one to back down from a challenge.

"Only with mouthy patients."

"Yeah? What about with non-patients?", he volleys back easily.

Is he - ? The look on his face certainly seems to suggest it.

"Depends. Are you asking what I think you're asking, or are you still a little dizzy?" she teases lightly.

"You know the answer to that."

"Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."

Peter sighs like he's been told he has to empty out a swimming pool with a bowl.

"You won't let me pay you for your services. Will you at least let me take you out for dinner?"

Her face falls like she's just been told the same thing. Why would she ever think he’d -

"Fuck. That was - it's not a quid pro quo. That's not what I meant. You're uh… you're really pretty, and obviously smart, and maybe this is uh - inappropriate - but I'd like it if you said yes. But you don't have to, and I wouldn't blame you. I always put my foot in my mouth.", he fumbles adorably.

No. Not adorably. Ugh. This is the third time she's thought he was adorable. Saying no at this point would be a loss for them both, if he really means what he said. Shit. Spider-Man just called her pretty.

"Please don't put any more things in your mouth. I just fixed everything.", she says, watching him sigh again, though much more subtly this time.

"Hey, it's ok. I understand, it's not like -"

"You can pick me up after seven."

That he lights up like a Christmas tree is just another thing. Another thing to think about on this day of endless swarming thoughts and conflicting emotions, and another one to add to a small but promising list of qualities under the name Peter. Next to his name, after she gives him her phone, is a spider web emoji and a…

"This is a tractor.", she says with a raised brow.

His boyish smile immediately gets moved to the top of the list.

"Yeah, they didn't have an asphalt compactor. Probably low demand for them."

"Probably more now that people know you're vulnerable to them.", she half-jokes, but he shrugs it off lightly.

On his way out the door, he pauses once, mouth already upturned in a sly smirk.

"For what it's worth, maybe getting hit with that thing wasn't so bad after all."

- fin -

A/N: Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. Also, this isn’t proofread, so apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes you may have noticed.

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