#brief mention of panic

[a-literal-toaster-wtf]

Rimmer couldn’t sleep.

It was nothing new to him, really. He’d carried it over from his childhood - nights spent tossing and turning due to hunger, starved as a punishment for getting astronavigation questions wrong at dinner. Perhaps his body had learned from these experiences; “ah yes, bedtime. That’s when you lie in bed, thinking about everything you’ve ever done wrong and will continue to do wrong. Sleep? What’s that?”

Rimmer sighed, rolling into a more comfortable position. Thinking about his childhood in the wee hours of the night was never a good idea, though unfortunately inevitable. It always sent him down a dark path - if only he’d been better. Maybe, just maybe, if he’d tried - and I mean, really tried - he’d have gotten somewhere, instead of being a dead hologram three million years into deep space with about zero chance of ever getting home.

But, the thing is - he did try. Young Rimmer had poured over his study books until his eyes stung, wrote out formulas and excerpts until his fingers bled. But it was never enough. Not for his teachers, not for his peers.

Not for his parents.

Rimmer squeezed his eyes shut tight. He desperately tried to will the thoughts away, make them disappear to the dark crevices of his mind and never return. But it was never that easy. No - nothing could ever go right for ol’ A. J. Rimmer.

Maybe I just need to walk this off. With an exasperated (and shaky - when had his breathing become shaky?) sigh, he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. However the all-to quick shift from horizontal to vertical triggered a sudden dizzy spell, causing him to grip the side of the bed with such force his knuckles went white.

Rimmer could feel his breath quickening. Bringing his hands into eye level, he saw just what he didn’t want to see - he was trembling. Oh god, not now. Not here. What if Lister wakes up? God, I’d never hear the end of it. He’d mock me forever.

He quickly realised he could no longer regulate his breathing. Still sitting on the edge of the bed he doubled over, holding his head in his hands. His fingers gripped hopelessly at his hair in a pathetic attempt at grounding himself. No matter how much he repeated that damned “you’re not in danger, everything is okay” mantra he’d taught himself, he couldn’t calm down. Nothing felt real anymore. The room was closing in on him, and yet felt all too big, and all the while spinning. He felt he might faint, and yet was all too alert and aware of the situation.

“Rimmer?”

No. Smeg, no. God, please don’t let this be smegging happening.

“Go back to sleep, Lister.” was what he tried to say, but the words got caught in his throat - and instead, he let out a sort of strangled gasp. This only made Lister more worried.

“Rimmer man, what’s wrong?” Lister asked, voice thick with worry. With a bit of effort (he had only woken up less than thirty seconds ago, in all fairness), Lister swung himself off his own bunk and carefully sat down next to Rimmer, trying not to startle him.

God, Rimmer tried to stay strong. He tried to put on a brave face, tell Lister to get back in his own bed and “I’ll be fine, it’ll pass in a few minutes.” But he knew all too well the minutes ticked by like hours when he was like this, and Lister’s tone was so soft, so caring - like warm rays of sunshine to the hailstorm in his mind. It was enough to make him cave.

“I can’t- I can’t breathe.” he managed to gasp out, the words coming out strangled and unintelligible. But Lister understood. Of course he understood, he always understood. His breath hitched as Lister placed a hand on his back. It was all too much.

“Hey, hey, It’s alright. I’m here, okay? I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Lister cooed, rubbing circles on Rimmer’s back. “D’ya think you can look at me?”

Rimmer shook his head furiously. He couldn’t bare seeing Lister’s face right now. The way his eyes softened with that look he gave him in these situations. Just thinking about it was enough to make Rimmer’s lip quiver.

“Hey, that’s okay. Just focus on ye breathin’, yeah? Try and slow down. You’re okay, Arn.” Lister changed from rubbing Rimmer’s back to squeezing his shoulder gently, ever so slightly pulling his trembling body closer to his own.

Rimmer didn’t understand. Why did Lister care so much? It would’ve been easier if he’d just rolled over in bed and tried to ignore his panicked hyperventilating. Or, better yet, told him to smeg off and have his panic attack somewhere else, because “some of us are tryin’ to get some sleep here.” But that wasn’t Lister. Lister was caring, empathetic. He always tried to help however he could - even when the person needing help was a stuck-up, cowardly smeghead such as Rimmer. It didn’t make sense.

As per Lister’s instructions, he sucked in a long breath through his teeth. It was a struggle, when your own lungs were staging a mutiny against you - but Lister’s encouragement seemed to make them let off a bit. One painful, long breath turned into two, and three, and four. With every new breath the tightness in his chest and throat eased a little, his trembling subsided, and the room seemed to adjust itself back to how it’s supposed to be: still.

In no time he was back to… well, not normal, but a much less panicked state. He still felt like complete and utter shit, but at least he didn’t feel like he was dying (despite already being dead, har har) anymore. Lister still had his arm wrapped around him, keeping him grounded like a lifeline. Rimmer finally felt safe enough to remove his hands from his face, slowly pulling himself upright.

Lister took one look at his haggard features - even in the dark, he could make out the dark eyebags and furrowed brow that seemed permanently tattooed on in recent times - and felt his heart ache for the man. “Are you alright now?”

“Yeah- Yes, I’m alright now. Thank you.” Rimmer managed to croak out, clearing his throat. He shook his head. “God, how embarrassing. You shouldn’t have had to witness that.”

Lister sighed. “Rimmer, how many times have I told ya? I’m not just ‘putting up with you’ or anything. I care about ya, man. I wanna make sure you’re okay.” When this elicited no response out of Rimmer - save for making him decide the floor was so interesting it deserved his full attention - Lister changed the point of conversation.

“So, what brought it on? Did something trigger it, or was it just.. a surprise?” Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking about how much of a terrible smeg-up I am. It’s part of my nightly routine, don’t you know. Of course Rimmer couldn’t tell him the truth.

“It was completely random. I was just trying to sleep! Honestly, I don’t know what came over me.”

Lister clicked his tongue. “Well, Kryten did diagnose ya with a panic disorder. He said these attacks can just happen at random. It’s not like it’s something you have very much control over.” Rimmer sighed.

“Oh, I know all that. It’s just… what’s the right way to put it? Annoying? Childish? It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Then let’s try to get some shut-eye, yeah?” When Lister made a move to get up, Rimmer felt his heart jump into his mouth - a kind of primal fear gripping at his chest, not unlike how he felt a mere five minutes ago. Oh, no. I’m not letting a round two happen. “Wait!” He reached out to grab Lister’s arm.

Lister quickly returned to sitting beside him, worry etched into his features. “Please. I..” Rimmer glanced away, the words dying on his tongue. He took a breath to steady himself before continuing.

“Do you think.. you could stay here for a bit? I just.. Don’t think I’ll be getting to sleep anytime soon. I’d prefer you to stay with me.” He avoided eye contact at all cost. God, how embarrassing. Like a child who needs his teddy-bear.

Lister’s gaze softened, and returned his arm to it’s post on Rimmer’s shoulder. “Of course, man. Whatever you need. I’ll be right here beside ya.” Despite how crummy he was feeling, Rimmer felt a smile tug at his lips.

And as he sat in that bunkroom, warm in Lister’s embrace, all his troubles seemed to melt away. It didn’t matter that he was dead, or a hologram, or three million years away from home.

No, actually. He wasn’t three million years away from home. The definition of ‘home’ had changed drastically for him over the years. Now, ‘home’ was Red Dwarf - in the dingy, falling-apart bunkroom that he and Lister shared.

God, that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever thought.

Rimmer smiled. A genuine, albeit tired, smile. He allowed his eyes to slip closed. Just this once he’d indulge himself in the pleasure of falling asleep on Lister’s shoulder. Sure, he said that the last three times this happened - but really, who’s counting?

In no time, Rimmer was fast asleep. It was the best sleep he’d had in weeks…

…save for the neck pain he experienced the next day due to the unfortunate position.

#red dwarf #red dwarf fanfic #arnold rimmer #dave lister #rimster #cw panic attacks #cw brief mentions of child abuse #there’s not really a set time that this takes place but it’s some time after legion #because rimmer is hard-light in this #mainly for convenience #it is nearly one in the morning so apologies if this is ooc or anything #eat up my friends

[laneynoir]

Last minute desicions will be the death of me. But here, have a crappy fic I wrote really quickly.

No really, First off, I apologize for the quality, I just decided to do this challenge earlier today 😅 second, it's not a major plot point or anything but Legolas is transmasc in this so.

Legolas x reader, no specific pronouns :)

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

In. Out. In. Out. Out.Out. You shake as you try to draw another breath, lungs empty you wrench your mouth open and force a gasp of air. Half regestering the knock at the door, you lift your head from your knees, resting it agaist the wall, if indeed you could be so generous as to call the movement resulting in an obvious thump 'resting'.

The knock sounds again, this time more urgent. Rubbing at your eyes and gathering the discarded shoes, you call out, "One moment please!" The chipper tone giving naught away, or so you hope.

All hope of this is thrown aside when a familiar voice calls back. "It's me, Legolas, open the door. Please."

Not half a minute passes, though it still feels far to long, yet not long enough, before your knees pop as you scoot yourself up the wall, and slide the lock away.

When Legolas' face comes into view, it already wears the expression of worry. Grief imeadiatly joins when he sees you propped heavily against the wall, chest visibly shaking, and struggling to control yourself. You make an attempt to walk toward him, to reasure that you're ok amd he need mot worry, but you've hardly pushed away from the wall when. Your vision begins to swim and strange dots seem to begin floating around you. You knock back against the wall and slump again to the floor.

He whispers your name, dropping to his knees beside you. "May I touch you?" At your jerking nod he places his hands over yours, stilling the scratching movement from causing more harm to your arms.

He draws you to your feet, and into an embrace. Taking his cloak away from his shoulders and warping it around you, Legolas leads you through the doorway and down the hall.

A soldier -not one of the Rohiram, more of a gatekeeper really- stops your progress by moving in front of the door. "Dreadfully sorry Lady," He says to Legolas. "You two need to move along. These chambers are for the visitors of the King only."

"It is entirely regrettable for you then," Legolas voice as cold as you've heard it, and that coupled with the obviously unfeminenity of it, has the guard's eyes going wide. "That we are both visitors of King Theoden."

"Well- I cant really just take your word-"

"Legolas Thranduillion, of Greenwood. I should like to pass by you peacefully, but you are testing my patience."

Whatever may have been the man's response, you would not know. As Aragorn opens the door, quickly glances at each person, doubling back to you at your pale expression. "Y/n?" He turns to the guard. "Can I ask what's wrong, sir?"

Suddenly respectful he shifts on his feet nervously. "I was just explaining that only the King's guests are allowed past."

"And you have other elves stashed away? I should certainly like to meet them, however if you would kindly let the prince past I would much appreciate it." Aragorn is altogether to amused, and the Guard has gone bright red.

Apparently deciding not to further embarrass himself, the man waves you and Legolas past, looking not a little afraid of the threatening glance your elf spares him.

By the time the darkness of the inner room swallows you, your breathing has steadied slightly, and you are content to ball up in Legolas embrace.

"Is there more that I can do, Meleth?"

You shale your head quickly, and ball fists into his tunic. "No there's just... So much. Everywhere. Nothing seems to stop and breath a moment. It all so fast, and I cannot breath. It seems that we are surrounded by death, and yet here there is feasting, children, children have died, yet we are still so loud. Would it be so awful if we just had but a moment of silence?"

His arms tighten around you and he begins softly singing in his mother tongue, you stay this way until again the horns are rung, ams again you must go to battle.

#whumptober 2023 #swooning #fic #my fic #lotr #legolas/reader #legolas x you #legolas/you #short fic #and i mean SHORT #panic attak #its very brief but #self harm #self harm mention

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

#hc; kaeya #//Mentioned before; but am Elaborating on other aspects since Aven get brain juices flowing for this #//Unlike Aven; he's FAR more tolerable of people who touch him unprompted. & more willing to indulge for himself outside his comfort people #//Unless he himself had actively given the indication he doesn't want it; in that case THEN he's likely to anger & retaliate #//But yeah; his response is usually Discomfort & trying to get away from it one way or another. Can tolerate it to appear friendly; sure #//But would rather not want people to touch him so easily. Is decently okay with brief touches tho; like shoulder pats or the like #//Will actively lean into it & encourage further touching ONLY as a means to an end; adjusting any wandering hands only when going too far #//Esp if he can use that like a carrot on a string–if they concede to what he wants; they can touch him more. Maybe MORE than just that too #//He won't initiate any touch unless he deems it Absolutely Necessary; WILL internally scream if they Immediately reciprocate the contact #//Uses it as a 'reward' sometimes; a little pinch of the cheek; a hug; getting right into their space; if he sees they'll react favorably #//Maybe more if they have connection enough; like Huffman or one of his longer-running liaisons. Is p ok w/ sleeping w/ them as reward #//Sometimes he forgets some people don't like that he does this; like Rosie. Tries the tactic to get a favor then Remembers #//Absolutely apologizes; feels mortified when she scrutinizes him for it. Esp since she'd be one of few ppl who KNOWS just how Averse he is #to it in the first place. Him slipping up like that in front of HER is smth he'd STRESS over. She could hold over his head for all he knows #//How can he even joke abt it? Worse if she asks abt his way of doing things or indicate she doesnt Like that he uses himself as bait #//Has absolutely accidentally tried to seduce/bait sb like that who he absolutely should Not have. Like Jean. Ended up playing it off like #a joke between friends; but damn near had a panic attack from the guilt the moment he was safely in his office. bc Jean is SPECIAL to him #could he treat her like THAT? How could he almost let her SEE that side of him? His casual charm and facade are ONE thing #//But him actively doing something like THAT; esp for Jean of all people; is COMPLETELY off-limits; no matter his feelings #//Actually; especially BC he harbors feelings for her. Ppl like Lisa on the other hand; he is VERY comfortable doing this with/to #//She GETS the flirty habit & dishes it back without losing image of him in the way someone he regards at Jean's level possibly could #//And as far as Lisa knows; it's Only a playful habit; not a means to an end. The ones who prolly Know might be certain folks in the church #//But that's just bc he gets frequent checkups after every lil Rendezvous of his. Which is why he's got dirt on Every Single Person There #//Except Barbara; but he absolutely makes SURE she's not the one he's dealing with whenever he goes. Wants to spare her his messes #//Damn; veered a little but it's alright. 'A little'; HA. Nah; my tags are but the cluttered corkboard of my thoughts jhdbfjdf #//Diluc; Addie & Jean are the people he most Fears finding out abt his methods. Doesnt wanna THINK abt how they'd feel/regard him after tha #//Knows for SURE it'd be painful if the way they treat him changes even a SLIGHT. ESP Addie; he can bear the other two; but Addie??? #//Nah; he'd be fucken DEVASTATED. That's the ONE person he knows hold true unwavering unconditional love for him; no matter what #//To do anything to damage that? He'd be so fucken GUTTED. He expects everyone to get fed up with/disdain him at some point. But not HER #//Keeps this shit on the down low by always having dirt on the people he gets Involved with; if not using keeping it up as an incentive

[skullgirls]

today my best friend came over and we sat on the couch for five hours discussing particular types of therapy and how strange they sound until you try them, broke people food, college friend drama, our ever-evolving respective tastes in music, witchcraft, twenty one pilots’ soon to be released album, and grad school woes. we ate sandwiches from the good italian deli and sat in near silence because omg-so-good

we have both had a rough couple of weeks so it was a slightly more low energy event than usual but a nice time nonetheless

this friend lived with us for a couple of months a little while ago and now he lives 56 miles away, which isn’t a lot but between work and school and Life means that we don’t see him very often so we (including the cats who Don’t Like Many People) were very happy to see him. it was a nice afternoon

#we have known each other for nearly 15 years now #and have approximately two (2) pictures together #which is true friendship if i know anything at all #i panic cleaned my already clean apartment for three hours #no matter how many times people comment on how clean my home is i will never Trust it #a brief mention of the upcoming election before we quickly moved on #because fugk that #obscure jazz #slothrust #story telling while consuming our preferred types of nicotine #and so much more

[heysatanitsyourgirl]

Chapter three of ‘For the Hollywood Dream’ is up !!

#in which Courtney just panics for an entire chapter !! #total drama au #fthd #for the hollywood dream #td courtney #td duncan #td dj #td gwen #td cody #td lindsay #brief Heather mention because I can’t wait for that plot point to arise #duncney

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖

Chapter 44d - Too old for fist fights.

Episode 3.

Akin: He smiled soft at Andy and Kris, as he collected his bag and stood up, ready to leave the room I'll head to the living room. If you need anything, just call, alright? I still offer to give you more for the pain if you want, but there's a good chance it will simply knock you out then, you already had more than enough for your size.

Kris: He nodded softly It's okay, thank you.

Akin: He nodded confirming The lotion should speed up the healing, and the bandages are water proof, in case you still want a bath. I'll change them tomorrow, if you're still here.

Kris: *He nodded a bit quicker this time, and it was easy for anyone in the room, to see the fear that suddenly shot up in his eyes.

Andy: Are you okay? He asked softly

Kris: Nodding even faster

Akin: … he observed Kris closely

Kris: Full on panic painting his face

Akin: Is there something wrong?

Kris: He shook his head fiercely, trying a little too hard to deny

Akin: He frowned soft and stepped a little closer Breathe slow he spoke in a calming voice

Kris: Panicking even more, starting to lock up in his shoulders

Andy: Kris

Kris: His face instantly turned towards Andy, tears gathering in his eyes

Andy: He smiled soft what's going on? quickly grabbing his hand, squeezing it tight talk to us, please.

Kris: He turned to look at Akin with anxious eyes and trembling lips You said… if I'm still here….

Akin: Yes?

Kris: ………… am I going to die?!

Akin: A soft understanding smile formed on his lips no, that's not what I meant. I meant if you are here in this house, which you are more than welcome to. I just didn't want to assume, since you are by no means a prisoner.

Kris: …………..

Akin: You're going to be perfectly fine, Kris. I wouldn't lie about something like that.

Kris: Hyperventilating, digging his fingers into Andy's arms I can't take any more! Please tell me I'll be okay!!! I don't want to die!!!

Andy: You're not going to die, it was just a bit of glass in your foot.

Kris: But!!! Germs and stuff like that and….

Akin: It's perfectly fine, I cleaned the wounds well, and the ointment…

Kris: I'm scared!!! He looked at Andy with pleading eyes

Andy: He looked concerned at Akin

Akin: ….. I have a suggestion, I didn't suggest it earlier, since he as clearly already had more than enough to digest the past days but how about we contact Raven?

Andy: He looked a Kris, who only seemed to panic more by the second, then back at Akin with a soft nod I think that would be the best.

Kris: What's going to happen?!? He dug his fingers deeper into Andy's arms as if he was desperately trying to hang onto life

Andy: He nodded confirming to Akin You call him. And tell him to come to my room, but use a door this time.

Akin: He nodded confirming and left the room quick

Kris: Bursting out into a shaky sobbing, starting to tremble

Andy: It's okay he tried his best to to keep calm, but Kris's panic attack was triggering to say the least, and he felt his own pulse starting to rise Kris it's okay, nothing bad is going to happen, but we know someone who can heal you instantly, okay? That way you don't have to worry about anything, alright?

Kris: He nodded eagerly Is it dangerous?!

Andy: No, not at all. I promise. But let's go to my bedroom, not down the ladder, just right in here, and let's get comfortable, alright?

Kris; Why?!??! He seemed to panic further

Andy: Cause you're shaking… and kinda hurting my arms a bit he chuckled lightly

Kris: He looked at Andy with flickering eyes, not quite understanding how strong he was holding onto the larger man

Andy: it's okay, do you think you can walk in there?

Kris: He nodded lightly and slowly stood up

Andy: Good, just hold onto me, we will take it slow he smiled soft and encouraging

Kris: He sniffled his nose lightly and nodded, tears still streaming down his cheeks I'm so sorry!

Andy: Why?

Kris: Cause… I'm such a fucking mess!! He quickly covered his face with his hands

Andy: He quickly wrapped his arms around Kris, embracing him tight and comforting You're not.

Dalton: Malou?

Malou: Mhh? she smiled soft at him as they both stood in front of the sink, brushing their teeth

Dalton: Are you sure you don't have anything against the age difference?…. like really sure?

Malou: she quickly spat in the sink and washed her tooth brush Yes, I'm really sure I have absolutely nothing against the age gap, but now I'm starting to worry that you might have, since you bring it to the table?

Dalton: No. He quickly spat in the sink as well and washed his tooth brush, putting it back in his closet no not at all. I just he sighed soft sorry, it's just once again me wondering why someone like you, would be interested in someone like me? It seems like you could get so many, better men, your own age, and you just sorta get stuck, or settle with me.

Malou: That's funny, cause from where I stand, I see no one better than you she smiled soft and placed her tooth brush back in the mug Dalton, consider the fact that I don't want anyone else, please. I simply have no interest in anyone else. Beside age never was of much importance to me anyway. I like people for their souls, not age, skin color, sexual orientation or anything else like that. To me it's about the soul…. mind and heart. What comes after that really isn't that important to me. She paused for a couple seconds, then grabbed his hand, caressing the back of it with her thumb beside, I think you're the most fucking magical thing I've ever come across… how am I supposed to find more value in someone else? She smiled soft and shy

Dalton: Trying his best to hold back yet another grin, then slowly yanked her arm in the direction of his bedroom

Kris: He sat on the bed by now, Andy by his side, as the door suddenly knocked

Andy: He's safe…. I promise… he's a boyfriend of mine, you can trust him.

Kris: He nodded soft

Andy: Okay… He spoke louder as he answered Raven Come in!

Raven: He slowly opened the door and stepped in, quickly closing it behind him Hey He smiled friendly at the two of them as he walked up to the bed I'm Raven he reached a hand to Kris

Kris: He hesitated just a second, then grabbed Ravens hand, instantly moaning soft, then let go what was that? He looked a bit suspicious at Andy and dried his eyes

Andy: He's uhm…

Raven: A demon, and what you felt was a tiny taste of my healing power.

Kris: He frowned suspicious as he looked back at Raven Demon?

Raven: Yes.

Andy: He's not bad, it's a long explanation. But he can completely heal you, in just a matter of seconds, or minutes, depending on how much healing you need.

Kris: He studied Raven closely, feeling extremely attracted to the man in front of him How do we?

Raven: However you want it. You can lay down if you want to relax, or you can sit there, stand… it's all up to you, though I recommend you sit or lay, you might get a bit weak in your knees towards the end. My power has this certain… effect…

Kris: effect?

Raven: He smirked lightly I'm going to make you cum.

Dalton: As they laid under his blankets, he scooted closer, snuggling his head against her upper chest/collar bone I love the scent of you.

Malou: It's just me…

Dalton: I know… and I love it.

Malou: She smiled happily and dug her nose into his hair, planting a soft kiss on his head I love the scent of you too.

Dalton: It's just me.

Malou: She smiled bright I know. And I love it.

#Trigger warning: #brief mentioning of panic attack #and fear of death #Akin Lupei #Andycorn #Andy Shaw-Thompson #Kris Bradford #Kristopher Bradford #Malou Jensen #Dalton Red #unicorntales

[lupismaris]

Realizing the one random downside to top surgery - chest numbness means Vicks vapor rub is no longer as effective in helping my bronchitis nor canceling out middle of the night anxiety fits oh no

#i have an incredible amount of feeling compared to some of my friends and others ive spoken to but deeo tissue is still mostly numb #so instead of the deep cold relief that ahocks my system out of panic and allows me to brief again #which was life saving when id wake up mid panic attack or during bronchitis flares #i get mild tingling chills and vague relief #this is.... not ideal #also turns out i 100% have a deviated septum?? which was apparently obvious? #i mentioned that the nose strips help me sleep better and breathe easier to my BF and he just shrugs like #well yeah obvs with the crooked airways it probably opens everything up and straightens it out a bit for you #like we're talking about the weather and its fuckin obvious #not a single doctor has looked at my face and noticed it not one NOT ONE #and we wonder why im so frustrated

[deepseamuse]

Hana usually just has microwave dinners or has something delivered. She’s god-awful at cooking, and rarely wants to make the time for something nice, so she’ll almost always go for whatever’s fast.

Mathilda likes to make herself small, home-cooked meals. She has a surprising amount of recipe books she’s collected over the ages, rewriting them every now and again so that nothing gets lost. She eventually gets everything on a computer, but she loves holding onto those books too much to let them go. Most of the recipes she likes involve pasta or rice.

Takeo doesn’t need to eat, but he is always hungry. He’s gotten fairly decent at cooking, but it doesn’t really matter; unless he wants a specific flavor, he tends to just eat something random (including things that 100% are not food) that he won’t miss, because he’ll never really be full. He’s only satisfied for a while after he eats someone’s existence. While he doesn’t care for any of the significance behind human holidays, he does like Christmas and especially Thanksgiving because he can prepare a massive feast for himself without people questioning it.

Alexander, unsurprisingly given that he is a prince, quite often has very large and fancy meals. Of course, he isn’t responsible for any of it. He isn’t able to have an opinion on the food, either. Besides, he’s a bit more focused on the constant orders telling him exactly how he needs to behave, even with how he eats.

Matthias, on the other hand, rarely ever eats with his family. They wouldn’t want him around anyways, and having his parents judging him both in person and through Alexander is too much for him. He has a few friends outside of the castle that he likes to stay with instead. They may have much simpler and not as tasty meals, but they are his friends, and it is so much better than feeling like he’s going to have a panic attack being around his parents.

#original character #tw panic attack mention #It’s brief but just in case

[waltenfiled]

WIP WEDNESDAY ( because it's not wip tuesday yet and I'm getting impatient ) ; a fic for a half-assed made au that i wanted to write completely, maybe even publish it on ao3, but i got really really tired with it very quickly . so here it is. my very first clownzy fic, albeit unfinished, dedicated to felt! @branzypierce

—— THE DELIGHT IN FEAR | 1,205 words

he reminds himself ‘You have to follow orders.‘ as he watched the menace’s back from his spot in the open trail. ‘It'll be fine.’ he thinks desperately, because it felt impossibly intrusive, the act of watching over an enemy in order to gain an upper hand, yet sure Branzy gets it but ...

There was an almost odd melachony to Clown’ while he strolled into the forest, the trees bending towards him like a plead to his attention, as he skipped deeper into the forest in an almost wistful manner. The richness of the night wafted along his voice to be heard from far more greater distances, and from what the wind carried; Clown was enjoying himself a tiny little tune.

It was almost like he was unaware that he was there. That it was just an average night. And Really, It made Branzy feel odd; angry, annoyed, sad, disrespected——no, none of those felt right. Maybe confused, baited, anxious.

He just couldn't place what that strange ache in his sternum was, maybe he secretly got arrowed and he was just oblivious to it.

That had happened before, Branzy recalls, so he doubles over to look down at his chest and sees that there was nothing there.

Or maybe it was his conciousness screaming at him to look away, run away, hide behind the trees. So much so that he was physically hurting, so much so that his heart drummed against his ribs and that blood started rushing to his face, so much so that he was frozen out in the open, watching dear ol’ clownpierce wandering about with no shame.

That last part made him burn.

‘You're making yourself an easy target,’ he thinks to himself as his heart thrumed deeper. ‘hide Branzy, you stupid fool!’ and really it would have been an almost welcome sensation—he liked the feeling, whatever it was—only if it weren't so overwhelming to exist within. ‘damnit!’

He felt his pulse beat in his ears, Maybe it was the shame, and he tried to soothingly caress the little bundle of nerves as he continued to focus on the way his body suddenly started to thrum in the rhythm of his heart. Whatever thing he was in right now, he needed out of it and fast.

‘oh man,’ he panics at the sudden and new sensations. ‘come on Branzy snap out of it!’

And He didn't know when, but his eyes had closed shut. Squeazing painfully as he screamed in his head to do something, run away, whatever he needed to not die from the basically-killer-clown of the server. He didn't have his eyes on the other now, he was dead fish.

‘Come on, ldi–’. Silence. Branzy sucks in a breath.

A twig snaps. “Woah, you alright hit murdering, heart-eating sensation Branzycraft?” a voice echoes to him teasingly, and his brain stalls for a moment to connect the voice to their person—his person, him being the person he was trying to avoid being caught by—Clownpierce, his brain connects, after slow seconds spent blinking nervously up at him.

“Oh.” he plainly said, his tongue feeling heavy through the haze of whatever trip he was surfing in. The world was a colourful mess, blurred and unashamed, aswwll as filled with overwhelming panic and unbearable heat that spaced his body completely in quick flashes; never in his life, has Branzy felt such emense and sudden fear. It was chilling.

A monotone and even hum echoes through him again, taking away the silence. “Just ‘Oh’?” Clown observes—tiredly, Branzy thinks to himself, ‘No shit’—as he took a step forward, wherever direction he was.

Branzy ignores the retort with a scoff, knuckling at his left eye sluggishly. “Can I– just not be here for a minute. Leave me alone, yadayada, I just don't wanna epic fight right now, I want to hit the hay, not ..” he fumbles, taking weak steps back from where he stood hunched. “not, kick the bucket.”

Branzy finds himself confused. He wasn't tired before.

“Yeah no one really wants that,” Clown replied instantaneously, tone deceptively mild, as leaves crunched and swept along the path.

He could only hope that Clown was kicking against the leaves, because the alternative of him walking directly at him was an entirely unpleasant ending. “but you kinda deserve it since you've been following me around, like some creep or something.” Clown jokes at the end, a deadbeat remnant of a laugh coursing through the air and at him.

Branzy realizes that his heart was still beating. “Yeah– uh, nope.” he mutters dumbly and he punches himself mentally; did he have a death wish?

Clowns’ voice pitched in question. “Nope?” he retorts, an obvious lilt of confusion present.

Branzy only nodded, his eyes still firmly squeezed shut. “I don't believe– that, that you.” he responds intellectually. “because.”

There was an empty, awkward, silence after that. Only the beating of his heart and his heavy breathing—he should really open his eyes, but Branzy surprisingly finds himself not wanting to—echoing through the forest. The silence was eerie, and set alarm bells off in his head but he couldn't get himself to care. He was going to die.

“Because?” Clown asks expectantly, obviously wanting a continuation of the what-was-supposed-to-be sentence.

Branzy stays quiet, and his breath hitched at the following. “You weren't making sense before and you're definitely not making sense now.” from his heart, to his very core, Branzy knew that.

He just wasn't the best at unplanned interactions, especially when his body was making him feel odd. “Answer me.” Clown demands, Branzy lets the silence take over for his voice; he finds that he couldn't speak, he sighs to himself, he couldn't see either.

It's not everyday that he finds himself in every disadvantage point at once. “Yoohoo, anyone there?” Clown pushes, and he gulped thickly as he heard footsteps near. “Dude you're freaking me out, honestly.” and nearer. “I barely did anything!”

His eyes snap open to see himself staring directly at Clown, face almost pressed against each other and Branzy bit his tongue in surprise. “Oh there he is.” Clown notes, like a scientist making an interesting observation. And Branzy was sure, in a moment, that if he spun around wildly, or something equally astounding and outlandish in the moment, Clown would simply nod and write in an observation book.

Really, he might as well have been in the moment already, from how intense he was being stared at. “Why were you following me.” Clown asks his first question again, but it wasn't a question this time, it was more like an underlying threat that promised something in return if he didn't answer.

Branzy averted his eyes, scowering his mind for possibilities if he were to lie, and possibilities if he were to tell the truth. He finds that he's in an interesting position; each posibility ends up in him dying, at least that's what his mind says.

Clown sighs at him, and even though he couldn't see his face, he was sure that he was getting impatient. “I'll ask again, Why were you following me?” he presses further.

Branzy finds himself answering this time, mouth moving without his knowledge. "I was following you by orders."

"Who's orders."

#clownzy #fanfic giga bites #canibalism #<- just a very brief mention of heart-eater branzy #near panic attack #i'm so sorry this was supposed to be romantic #but the TWO people that wrote it are aro #and it went waay out of hand #in noahs' words; 'rather get overwhelmed than be romantic with someone' <- thanks king

[infameous]

👫 <3

send a 👫and i’ll write four headcanons i have about our muse’s relationship

for  the  five  years  that  sam  and  tara  were  apart  after  sam  had  left  home,  sam  wrote  letters  for  tara  for  every  special  occasion  she  had  missed.  for  every  birthday,  for  every  holiday,  every  new  grade  she  would  be  going  into,  school  dances  she  had  no  clue  if  tara  would  even  be  attending.  she  wrote  her  first  letter,  one  for  tara’s  birthday,  with  the  intention  on  mailing  them  to  her  —  but  just  couldn’t.  so  instead  she  kept  them  all  safe  &  stored  away  in  a  box,  the  act  of  writing  them  becoming  therapeutic,  and  never  losing  hope  that  one  day,  she’d  be  able  to  face  tara  and  give  them  to  her.  when  tara’s  birthday  comes  up  after  the  killings  they’d  survived,  the  first  one  they’d  celebrated  together  in  years,  one  of  sam’s  presents  to  her  is  that  box  —  gift  wrapped,  with  the  letters  inside  organized  from  first  written  to  last. 

every  saturday  night  is  sisters  night.  it’s  become  tradition,  with  sam  picking  up  greasy  take - out  on  her  way  home  from  work  (  always  getting  extra  for  chad  &  mindy  whilst  they  do  their  own  thing  )  ,  and  tara  in  charge  of  the  movie  selection.  they’ll  watch  two  movies  at  the  least,  with  sam  making  quips  about  the  movie  and  the  characters  in  attempt  to  make  tara  laugh.  it’s  become  sam’s  favorite  thing,  and  despite  it  being  a  weekly  occurrence,  sam  looks  forward  to  each  sisters  night  as  though  it’s  been  ages  since  the  last.

sam  went  into  purchasing  and  reading  gale  weathers’  new  book  〝  requel  :  terror  returns  to  woodsboro  〞  with  hesitancy.  she  has  some  resentment  after  gale  had  told  her  she  wouldn’t  write  a  book  about  the  murders,  but  wants  to  give  gale  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  considering  she  did  play  a  part  in  saving  her  and  tara’s  lives.  when  she  reads  how  gale  describes  her  (  insinuating  what  the  conspiracy  theorists  believe  )  sam  has  a  complete  breakdown.  grabbing  whatever’s  closest  and  hurling  it  at  the  wall  as  she  sobs.  it’s  tara  who  rushes  to  her,  who  holds  her  and  tells  her  that  it’s  all  bullshit,  who  rips  the  page  that  describes  sam  from  out  the  book  and  tears  it  up.  sam  would’ve  drowned  in  that  sea  of  despair  if  it  wasn’t  for  tara  being  her  life  preserver.

sam’s  overprotective  nature  over  tara  did  not  start  the  day  she  got  that  phone  call  from  wes,  but  the  day  their  ( now estranged ) father  placed  the  newborn  tara  into  five  year  old  sam’s  eagerly  awaiting  arms.  as  soon  as  she  was  placed  in  her  arms,  sam  booped  her  little  nose  and  swore  to  her,   chest  puffed  out  with  all  the  bravado  a  five  year  old  could  muster,  that  she’d  never  let  anything  hurt  her  :  not  ghosts,  nor  bugs  or  boogeymen.  and  to  this  day  sam  berates  herself  that  she  wasn’t  able  to  keep  that  promise  she  made  to  that  little  cooing  bundle  all  those  years  ago.

#✆ 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . . 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . . ❛ 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙖 ( answered. ) #hi hello i have many feelings over these sisters #not like its obvious or anything pshhh #but anyways i adore them as well as your take on tara & appreciate you sending this in !! <3 #panic attack mention tw #brief food mention tw

[paymechildsupport]

"You're not my Husband..." // Doppel!Francis x Reader 🐄🩸

@cassanderasblog --> Thanks for the request <3

-!! CW: Dubcon (in a sense), – Brief mention of murder, – Very slight body horror

-!! Very brief size kink 

Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis  

▷ —--------------------

▷ —--------------------

▷ —-------------------- (s-s-s-sma-smash)

“You’re not Francis.” The words are sharp, punctuated, your glare burning straight through the mimic of a man in your living room

“No, I’m not,” The creature grins- if you could even call it that–, mouth a waning black chasm, no teeth, no tongue, nothing. How this thing managed to bypass the doormen you had no clue,-- how could someone fuck up this bad? 

“Francis’s” eyes darken, – literally. The whites turn into an inky black, eery small spheres of light peeking out where his pupils should be. 

Oh dear. 

The wired phone you keep on the kitchen counter goes off behind you. Glancing once more at your “husband” you slowly back track, hand inching to the phone. 

He just watches as you hesitantly pick up the ringing phone, making a click when it’s pulled from its cover. 

“Attention, this is the D.D.D, – we detected an unknown life force near your residency. Please, do not panic. Keep your door locked and do not approach anyone of suspicion. If you see anything weird, do not investigate. Dispatchers are coming to your location to liquidate the threat”   – Well, it was a little late for that. 

“... cancel dispatch” your lips form the words slowly. There’s silence on the other end, 

“Excuse me?... you want dispatch–” 

“Discharged. Threat neutralized.” 

Even “Francis” is stunned, – staring at you, unblinking, – flabbergasted. 

“‘Got it under control, thanks,” You hang up before they can answer, placing the phone back in its place. 

“Francis” just stares.

-

“You’re a doppelgänger , right?” 

“Perhaps.” His eyes narrow

“Alrighty then, prove it.” 

Unzips. 

—-------------

“Francis” stares, wide eyed, gaze fixed upon the water stains on your ceiling. Even with all the lights off, he can still see your snoozing frame tangled in the sheets beside him, (perks of being non-human). 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, the movement captivating whatever posed as your husband. 

Your body looked serene, the faint light emitted from his glowing pupils illuminating your chest. 

“Ahah-!” You were practically in hysterics, tears flowing down your rosy cheeks, nails raking into the headboard of your bed. “Francis” could only lie there, enamored by your blissful expression as unfamiliar sparks of pure pleasure coiled inside, heating everything up until it was practically molten. 

“Mmph-!” you choke off your moans, slapping a hand to your mouth lest your neighbors hear you impaling yourself on your husband’s doppelgänger 's cock. 

You swivel your hips, his eyes widening; no one’s ever ridden him like you are, – no one’s ridden him period. You were surprised the doppelgänger  even had a dick, – let alone it being almost twice the size of the actual Francis’. You had stuffed yourself full of him, bouncing mercilessly. Your husband had neglected you horribly in the past,-- never coming home, always giving you the cold shoulder, even when you had gotten down and begged for him to look at you, just once –your thirst for intimate touch was at an all time high. 

“Francis” grunted, surprised at how wonderful this new sensation was. The delicious heat in his stomach bubbled over, bottoming out through his cock. Your eyes widened at the warm sensation of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You had to bend down, biting deeply into his shoulder to stifle the screams lodged in your throat. 

You inhaled deeply, desperately trying to catch your breath as “Francis” could only glance over, the slight pain in his shoulder from your teeth barely bothering him, (because, well, one, you were the only one who could breathe and two, he wasn’t human). Your head turns, sloppily kissing him on the cheek, to his absolute shock. 

“Francis” brings his right arm to his left shoulder, fingers gingerly grazing the marks left by your teeth. It still tingled. 

He looks over at your slumbering frame again, now tentatively reaching the same arm in your direction, hesitantly touching your peaceful face. You do not stir, so he continues downward, fingers carefully glazing over your nose, your mouth, your jaw, and finally stopping at your neck, your pulse vibrating through his hand. Humans were so interesting, he thought, – and you had just grabbed his interest by the throat with a viselike grip. 

He gently tucks a stray piece of hair plastered to your sweat slicked forehead behind your ear, grinning in that creepily endearing way of his. How the original Francis lucked out, – he almost felt bad about killing and devouring his corpse, – almost. How could he have fumbled so badly, – you were an absolute treasure, and “Francis” was now determined to keep you all to himself. 

Such a greedy little creature. 

… You’re never going to be able to get rid of him after this. 

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

(requests for more Francis, -- doppelgänger or no, -- are open and very much appreciated !)

I love him a normal amount I swear 🙏🙏🙏

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses #francis mosses x you #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #that's not my neighbor #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman that's not my neighbor #i love him #doppelganger #doppelganger francis mosses #thats not my neighbour milkman #milkman doppelganger #smut #tnmn milkman #tnmn smut

[appropriatelystupid]

oh my god the first officer on this flight is very attractive and was sitting with her foot on the dash i don’t have enough sleep for this

#why does this only happen when i’ve already been traveling for like 10 hours and haven’t slept in like 20 and feel and look gross #the universe really not looking out for me this morning #not to mention the brief panic i just had that lego went mia again #smdh #appropriatelyrandom

[lovebugism]

Shy!reader who has never had a valentine and Steve who pulls out alllll the stops to make up for this—flowers, chocolate, jewelry, candles, a nice dinner, even stuff like a teddy bear and those cheesy kid valentines

happy love day <3 — steve helps his shy gf celebrate her very first valentine's day (shy!reader, established relationship, cw for brief mentions of anxiety, 1k)

Valentine’s Day afternoon is grey and gloomy, but your beaming makes up for it. You’re smiling wide and sparkling with it the second you see Steve waiting for you in the parking lot outside your work. He’d promised to pick you up, yes, but you’re always giddy at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” the boy greets with his own grin, crooked and perfectly pink. 

He looks all cool, leaning against the driver’s side of his car. Pristine sneakers crossed over one another, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, strands of cinnamon hair draping his forehead — how are you supposed to do anything but melt for him?

“Hi,” you respond in a tinier voice, walking closer to him now. You duck your chin to your chest and peer at him through your lashes, always so painfully shy.

“Did you have a good day?”

“It was alright,” you shrug and plant yourself in front of him. The deep scent of cologne staining his shirt combines with the earthy scent of impending rain. The concoction makes you dizzy. “Kept thinking about seeing you the whole time, though.”

Your confession makes the bridge of his chiseled nose scrunch. 

“Well, that makes two of us,” he quips before revealing the bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. A small thing wrapped in pale pink tissue paper — pastel lavenders and pale baby’s breath — as pretty and delicate as you are.

You light up instantly, eyes glittering as they flit from the bushel of flowers to Steve’s proud grin. “You got me flowers?” you wonder, quiet with disbelief. You take them with a soft, trembling hand.

Steve shrugs. “‘Course I did.”

You bury your nose in the perfumed florals and flash a sheepish look over them. “No boy’s ever gotten me flowers before…”

Steve knows this. He knows you’ve never had a valentine before him — that you’ve never been with anyone the way you’ve been with him. It’s why he’s always so soft and perfectly patient with you.

“‘Cause other boys are stupid,” he says, grinning when it makes you giggle. He takes another step closer to you and smooths his warm palms over your arms. His thumbs rub gently along the outsides of your elbow. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” you insist, smiling so wide it hurts. “They’re gonna look so pretty in my room.”

“Want me to take you home then? So you can get ready for tonight?”

Your brows pinch at his mischievous tone. “What’s tonight?”

“Dinner. I wanna take you to that fancy, new Italian place in the city.”

“Oh.” Your panic is subtle but still written all over your face. You’re not good at going out — you’re worse at trying new things. Steve’s certainly made you braver, but you’re always a little timid at heart. 

Steve knows this and assures with a soft smile, “But we don’t have to if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion.”

“I want to,” you hear yourself say.

His brows raise, visibly shocked. “You do?”

There’s something about the way he looks at you, with a glimmer in his deep brown eyes, that makes you bold. You nod once, firm and foreignly confident. “Yeah.”

Steve tries not to be too obvious about his smiling, but he wears his love for you all over his face without trying. “Then let’s go.”

—————

Rain beats heavy against the window of the candle-lit restaurant, a wild and delicate cadence. The flickering flame paints Steve’s smile golden while his eyes glow a shining amber. He tries to woo you like you’re not wearing the pretty dress he bought you — like you’re not wearing his initial in a pendant dangling between your breasts.

“You’re the Obi-Wan for me,” he jokes before taking a hearty bite of his steak. He chews through the mouthful and gestures with his fork. “You know. Like only one—”

“I get it,” you assure with a sickly sweet smile.

He’s been doing this for a better part of an hour. The Valentine’s Day crowd rushed in, and your waiter got your order wrong, and the whole thing spun you into a tizzy. Steve’s been trying to distract you from your nerves ever since. And it’s worked. Mostly.

“Well, you’re not laughing!” he retorts, playful in his solemnity. “That one was good— you gotta give me some credit.”

“It was,” you assure with a quiet nod. You don’t say it like you mean it, but more like you’re trying to appease him.

“Are you saying you can come up with a better one?” he teases.

You think for a moment, doe eyes flitting across the droplets sliding down the window beside you. Your glossed lips purse all pretty to the side with the weight of your pondering. A smile tugs slow at your lips when you turn back to him. “Obi-Wan Ke-bone-me.”

A laugh sputters from Steve’s mouth. As pure and innocent as sunshine. He nods with a proud, lopsided smile. “You’re right. That was way better.”

“I Obi-Want you tonight,” you follow, giggling still.

“You are on fire tonight, you know that?”

You laugh again, louder this time. Steve beams at the pretty sound and waits until you’ve scooped a too-big bite of pasta in your mouth to compliment you. “You’re so pretty…” he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone. His eyes sparkle with amber, warm and visibly fond.

You stop mid-chew to scowl. You’re too cute to look threatening — especially when you’ve got spare sauce dotted on the corner of your mouth. “Stop…” you scold after you’ve swallowed down the mouthful.

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. “You are!”

“You’re being too nice…” you grouse with your nose scrunched.

“I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be nice.”

“But not this nice,” you insist, smiling despite yourself. You twirl noodles around your fork to busy your fidgeting hand. Your sheepish gaze flits from the half-empty plate to the beautiful boy in front of you. “I think you’re starting to ruin everyone else for me, Stevie…”

His chest sparkles with a warmer feeling. “Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That was kinda the plan here, babe.”

“Was it?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods and folds his arms over the white-clothed table. He grins wide and leans in close.  His cinnamon eyes sparkle with a mixture of adoration and mischief. “You fell right into my trap.”

You smile back at him, so happy that you did.

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

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part 5

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Stalking. Brief mention of domestic violence. Feelings of fear, self loathing, and anxiety. Vomiting. Panic attack/comfort. Medical inaccuracies, hospital setting. A little bit of praise. Johnny is a flirt and a menace.

“Ye’re off yer head.” 

“I’m not.” Johnny expects Simon to relent, to give it up, but when he doesn’t budge, something hot sizzles alive in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, desire roaring to life in his veins. 

“Jus’ like that? Ye’re goin’ let me see yer bonnie face finally?” He slurs, lifting the bottle to his lips, and Simon nods.

“Only if you win."

“And if ye win?” Simon moves closer, his chest brushing against Johnny’s, balaclava covered face dipping down, noses nudging against one another’s in a tentative, teasing way. 

“If I win, you’ll remove something of my choosing instead.” 

Your phone is ringing.

In your sleep, you hardly recognize it, but your subconscious is well trained, and your hand seeks the source of the noise effortlessly, dragging it from the nightstand and next to your face, to squint blearily at it, awareness coming quickly when you recognize the charge nurse’s work line.

“Hello?” You clear the cobwebs of sleep from your throat.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.”

“No, ‘s alright. What’s going on?”

“I know it’s your day off, but-“

“You’re short.” You fill in the blanks, and she huffs.

“We’ve got two out with flu like symptoms, and I’m floating another to-“

“It’s okay.” You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “I got you. Just give me like, an hour? I have to get ready and stuff.”

“Of course. Thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.” You zone out for a moment, plotting out the rest of your day, and mumble something like ‘don’t worry about it’, ending the call with your thumb.

The hotel carpet is plush. It’s cushioned and soft, and it gives a little when you stand and stretch, pulling your arms over your head, twisting and turning with tired bones, shaking loose the stupor that holds your neck too straight, too tightly.

OT isn’t the worst thing in the world right now, considering you’re paying for a long term stay in a hotel, you tell yourself more than a few times as you shower and dress. You should be grateful for it. Understaffing has it’s benefits, financially.

The only wrench about coming in on your day off this week is you’re supposed to be collecting more things from your flat. Particularly, clothing. You’ve only got a short rotation of outfits, scrubs, both in short supply, and… no clean underwear. You had planned to move large chunks of your wardrobe over today, probably at least two trips worth, but will now have to settle for stopping by fairly quick to grab what you can.

It will be fine, you think, casually checking your surroundings as you step off the platform. In and out and on with your day.

You were wrong.

You see it immediately, stepping through the door. The locks are in place, handle, deadbolt, extra one at the top, but you can tell, you can feel, that someone has been in here. Your blood thickens in your veins, freezing to a stop, sluggishly propelled by your frenzied heart. You can hear it in your ears, the thunder of your panic, can feel the fear twisting itself into a sailor’s knot and holding you hostage.

Your feeling is confirmed, rationalized, when you push your bedroom door ajar and see the carnage of what’s been left behind on top of your bed.

Shredded panties.

The entire underwear drawer has been spilled out across your sheets, lace and cotton and silk all ripped to pieces, torn edges clearly made by hands, not knives, not scissors, but the personal touch of fingers, of fists.

Your breath catches in your chest, oxygen in the room falling away, leaving you panting, gasping for your next inhale as you cautiously pick up a pair close to you. They’re grey cotton boy shorts, and your stomach flips up into your throat when they stand as stiff as a board, some sort of dried substance splattered across them, rendering the fabric firm and inflexible.

Not… not just some dried substance… you realize in horror, scanning the pile of panties, noticing the stains on most of them, a milky white color shining against black silk.

You can’t breathe. You stumble away, back slamming into your dresser, sinking down onto the floor, hands covering your ears.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. 

This is sick, even for him. An escalation of disturbing behavior that sends a chill down your spine, frightening you even more than you already were. You knew he’d get in, hoped he would buy your carefully crafted lie: the appearance of you still living there… but to act so brazenly, to do something like… this.

Does he know, does he realize, you’re not actually living in the flat now? 

He’s really going to kill you this time. 

You race to the toilet, heaving yourself over the seat as your breakfast rushes past your lips, a cup of coffee and half eaten muffin accentuated by the sting of bile, and you gag, spitting and hacking until you’re finished, flushing it all away.

You don’t look at the girl in the mirror. You don’t want to see her. Don’t want to tell her all the ways you’re letting her down. She thinks you’re smarter than this, stronger. Braver. She believes you’ve done it once before, you’ve escaped, you’ve hid, and you can do it again.

She doesn’t know you’re not sure you have the heart for it now. She doesn’t realize you’re tired, you’re afraid. She doesn’t understand that you like the life you’ve made, that running is exhausting, that sometimes, in the very darkest corners of your mind, you think that letting him win might be easiest.

So, you don’t look at her. You mourn your pile of panties for a too long second and lock the apartment up tight.

Get it together. Get yourself together. 

You coach yourself the entire way to work, trying to ignore the rubbing and bunching of your scrub pants, an unfortunate consequence of being forced to go commando.

Deep breath. You can do this. 

You still have your sanctuary. 

You had hoped, for a miniscule moment, that your day might improve once you step foot in the hospital, and you pushed away the inkling that suggested that optimism may be linked the fact that you’ll get to see Simon and Johnny, opting not to even acknowledge the strange sensations swirling about inside your heart whenever you think about the other day. The day when the world stood still and Johnny touched your hand so gently, stroking his fingers over your skin, or when the elevator doors parted to reveal Simon and their baby, a sweet baby girl safe in his arms, his eyes alight and adoring, your knees almost giving out at the sight.

Needless to say, you’re eager to badge in.

The day is quickly derailed, when within a half an hour of getting settled into your routine, an alarm goes off for two sixty-eight: thirty-nine degrees.

Your mind immediately somersaults to the pain in his upper right quadrant from your last shift, logical thought leaping all around as you jog down the hall.

You notated it. You passed it on in shift report. It’s only thirty-nine. You did everything right. No one here would just disregard something like that. Deep breath. 

Still… 

Bile leak. Abscess. Infection. Or worse… hepatic artery pseudoaneurysm, hemorrhaging. Big things that could lead to worse things, worse outcomes, worse- 

The door comes up quicker than you realize, and without hesitating, you slip inside.

“Hi.” You’re a little breathless, and Simon’s eyes snap to yours, taking you in, studying from head to toe, brow knitted together. Johnny’s asleep, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better, or worse.

“Everything alright?” Of course. He’s too perceptive. Get control of yourself, it could be nothing.

“Yeah, I ah… have to draw some blood.” You really do not want to wake your patient, or alarm Simon, but you refuse to lie. You fire off a text to the attending on call, advising him of Johnny’s temperature and reminding him of the upper right quadrant pain, letting him know he can expect labs as soon as you get them downstairs. You give Simon a nod, turning to slide the draw open quietly, pulling out everything you’ll need. His gaze burns a hole in your scrubs, the ever-present scrutiny impossible to escape, and sometimes you wonder if he’s reading your mind.

“What’s wrong? He just fell asleep, Pen was here all morning, tired him out.” His protest is husky, and you think he’s frowning behind the mask. You imagine a strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation; wide jaw gnashed tight with worry.

“He’s running just a bit of a fever.” He jolts, and you shake your head, hoping to soothe his fear. “It’s not too high. I’m not super worried, but we’ll need to check his white cell count, just in case, okay? And then we’ll go from there.” He nods.

“You said this could happen.” You smile. It feels unsteady, but you hope he can’t tell.

“I did. I promised, that if there was something to panic about, I would tell you. We’re not there yet.” It’s not a lie. Your wild spiral from a few minutes ago was an extreme, not reality, and you need to keep your head on.

“Okay.”

“Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what’s going on.” Simon shifts uncomfortably, and you carefully squeeze Johnny's arm, wrapping him with the tie and swabbing the inside of his elbow as fast as possible.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he realizes you’re leaning over him, and his gaze darts to Simon before landing back on you. “There’s our bunny.” He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction, and Simon coughs. Loudly. Bunny? 

“Such a flirt, MacTavish.” You playfully chastise him, relieved he’s feeling like himself. “I just need to get some blood and then I’ll leave you in peace to sleep.” He shrugs, but Simon rubs a thumb against his thigh in tiny little circles, too fast to be considered comfort, and Johnny clucks. “Ah, come on Si.”

“You’re runnin’ a fever, Johnny.”

“Ach. ‘s nothing.” He brushes it off, but his eyes are slow to track Simon’s movements, and you casually sneak a peek at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

“Could be.” You assure him, smoothing a hand over his shoulder and taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture. “But better safe than sorry, right?”

The labs are inconclusive. The attending hems and haws before finally asking you to schedule a stat ultrasound of his abdomen, and you manage to bump him to the front of the queue, pulling a few strings here and there by rattling off some bullshit about being higher priority.

In the time it takes for the tech to get to two sixty-eight with the machine, you get a new admission. Intubated, but awake, and getting them and their family squared away takes longer than you would have liked, the patient’s middle-aged husband a wreck of nerves and worry, the kind of anxiety that makes you sit with him in the room for a little while, patting his hand and promising that you’ll be there for them, every step of the way.

By the time you step out of that room, it’s been nearly an hour. You catch a glimpse of Simon in the chairs outside two sixty-eight, and you throw him one of your best work smiles, hoping to reassure him, soothe his nerves. You want to go to him, want to sit beside him and talk him through everything, the outcomes, the possibilities, but you still need to add the notes for your new admit, and-

Someone catches your eye from the end of the hall. It’s a man, white, with brown hair, in regular clothes, and he stands taller than the others around him, shoulders rolled back just- just like-

No. You force yourself to look, to truly see him, taking in his facial features, the slope of his nose, and it’s hardly a second before you’re realizing it’s not who you thought it was. It’s not him. 

The second doesn’t matter to your heart. It’s already racing, tripling it’s steady pace inside your chest. You’re shaking, trembling in the middle of the hall, frantically looking for the nearest closet, or empty room, or…

Stairwell. There’s a stairwell just beyond where Simon is anxiously waiting, and you beeline to it, nearly tripping over your own feet past him. You think you hear your name being called, but the blood rushing in your ears is too loud, and you can’t be sure. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right now is getting away. Hiding. Not letting yourself be noticed.

You take the first flight down, stopping on the landing to rest your face against the polished, cold wall, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air, encouraging yourself to breathe.

It wasn’t him. You’re safe. 

Deep breath. You can do this. 

Your fingers dig into your hips, squeezing through the numbness, through the overwhelming feeling of your impending doom, and your head swims, lightheadedness nearly knocking you off balance.

“It wasn’t him.” You whisper aloud. “It’s not him. You’re safe. Get it together.” You chant, eyes clenched tight. Your heart is still pounding, no sign of relenting, and your lungs burn, screaming inside you, desperate for air. The feeling of suffocating, of dying, grows stronger, gaining momentum, and your eyes slam shut, your mind and body locked in a tomb of panic and fear. 

You hear your name again. It’s sharper, authoritative, but you can’t open your eyes, too overwhelmed to even make sense of it. Deep breath, just breathe.  

Something touches your shoulder. It’s unexpected, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register it as gentle, but you’re too far gone, too far buried beneath your fear and your panic and your shame. It triggers you into a defensive posture, and you flinch so hard you jostle yourself into the wall, turning into the corner, hands out in front of your face.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Simon. Simon is standing in the stairwell with you, palms open, concern heavy in his eyes, and you vaguely realize he’s talking, soft, deep words washing over you. “-to breathe?” He comes closer, only half a step, but it’s enough to startle you back into the corner, and he stops short. “It’s alright. I’m not going to touch you.” He soothes, and you recognize the pitch, the calm, affectionate tone from Johnny’s bedside. Sour nausea surges in your stomach, and your lungs fight the invisible hand that tightens around them. “Can you take a deep breath?” You shake your head, and he huffs a soft chuckle. “You can do it, just try. Through your nose, like this.” His chest expands, eye contact never breaking, and you try to follow suit, getting halfway before your head spins, vision tunneling. “You’re alright.”

You’re not alright. None of this is alright. You’re having a panic attack, in the stairwell at your job, in front of a patient’s partner. 

You can’t speak, so you shake your head instead. No.

“Yes, you are.” He assures. “Everything’s okay. Focus on your breathing. Try another one for me.” His hand covers his heart, and you focus on the way it ebbs and flows with the movement of his diaphragm, the pace of his breaths.

You manage to get one full inhale and exhale. And then you get another. Then a third, a fourth, until it’s coming easier, and your head doesn’t feel as fuzzy.

“Good job, that’s it.” Your fingers twist together, the grating noise of your jagged breathing smoothing out even more, and Simon nods encouragingly. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” Sweetheart. The word is bright, boundless and sweet as honey, the sentiment settling in your belly and growing warm. The two of you stand there, just breathing, staring at one another, for what feels like an eternity, until you find the strength to summon words. 

“I-I’m sorry.” You finally choke once you’ve got a better handle on yourself, hands going lax at your thighs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” You’re about to brush it off, thorny lies starting to form in your mind, excuses and carefully crafted explanations fusing together when your work phone beeps, the low frequency different from the ones related to patient care. Shit. Already? Simon’s glances at it in your pocket and cocks his head.

“End of my shift.” You explain, moving towards the stairs, your hand trembling on the button to silence the alarm. The muscles in his neck flex, molars grinding together.

“Still feeling a little shaky?” He observes, and you look down to your feet, mortification crawling up your spine, blooming across your cheeks through heated blood vessels.

“Um…”

“Would you mind, maybe sitting with Johnny for a bit?” You do still have notes to do. “If his test is done? I have to run home, help the Prices' put Penny down. She’s been a bit fickle, lately. Missin’ her Da.” He rubs the back of his neck, chest flexing inside the charcoal grey hoodie, and for a weird, too long second, you wonder what it might be like to fall asleep there, or just close your eyes for a minute, even though it's something sweet and far away, unobtainable in every facet. Simon says your name, jogging your attention, and then takes the first step, partially turning like he wants to reach for you, but thinks better of it.

“Uh. Yeah, I… I can.”

You badge out and grab your stuff, keeping your tablet so you can complete your notes while you sit with Johnny. You’ve already checked his results, and when you slip inside the room, the attending is updating them, explaining how he has a very small bile leak, and will need an endoscopic procedure tomorrow morning.

The attending excuses himself, giving you a quick nod, and then Simon leans down, knocking their foreheads together tenderly. 

“Keep an eye on him, I hear he likes to make trouble.” Johnny smiles, pink-red color creeping up his neck into his cheeks, and Simon seems like he’s smiling, before he turns serious. “Behave. I won’t be too long.”

“I always behave.” He pats the side of the bed, beckoning you, and you shake your head, plopping down in the recliner to his right.

“I hear ye’re keepin’ me company, pretty girl?”

“I am. Got some notes to finish, heard this chair was pretty comfortable.” You quip back easily, and it feels natural, to be joking and laughing, to be hiding again.

“Well, I’ll try not to distract ye then.”

Your tablet clicks dark with a satisfying shutter, and when you place it face down, Johnny gives you one of his stupidly handsome smiles. “All finished?”

“Yeah, not too bad.” His phone vibrates against the tabletop, and with his good hand, he opens the message, turning it to show you the screen. It’s a picture of Penny, half asleep against Simon, clad in a pink onesie covered in little ducks. Her cheek is squished against him, long baby lashes fluttering on her skin. “She’s so cute.” You say, and he nods, flushed with pride. You glance at the contact name, Lou, and before you can stop yourself, a question bursts out: “Who’s Lou?”

“Our captain’s wife. She’s been helpin’ a lot, with Pen. Which is great, they’re getting a lot of girl time.”

“Your captain?”

“Aye.”

“Is that…” you want to ask but trail off. You don’t want to admit that you’ve heard gossip about them.

“Military. Simon an’ I work together, in a task force.” A task force. A task force sounds eerily close to special ops, and your nausea comes back with a vengeance.

“What… what kind of task force?”

“Global ops. Anti-terrorism, domestic threats, the lot. How I ended up here, with ye.” The image of your ex looms, his body tense in his gear, or the memory of his boots, sitting shiny by the door, one of them pulling back, swinging towards your stomach. “Bun?” Bun?

“Huh?” you blink. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

“That’s alright. Simon said ye had a bit of a scare earlier?”

“No I uh, just couldn’t catch my breath, but I was fine. It was fine.” You deflect, moving on as quick as you can manage. “Did you call me bun? And… didn’t you call me bunny, earlier?” He gives you a sheepish look.

“Aye. Is our nickname for ye.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Well… ye look a bit like a bunny, and ye had that sticker the other day that Penny noticed.” Your face heats. “I know ye’re probably real soft like a bun, too.” Real soft? Is he… does he mean- your eyes widen, and he smirks.

“Johnny.” You flounder, helplessly, confused by his attention, this flirtation that seems to have grown into real affection, and he shifts slightly, leaning forward, reaching for your hand.

“Ye dinnae need to be afraid.” He coos. The words are a moon above a tide, pulling and reaching, dragging the swell of the waves higher and higher, until they threaten to pull you under, overwhelm you and drown you.

“I…” I don’t understand? I thought you were gay? I don’t know what is happening here? Johnny grimaces, and you immediately forget about the conversation and leap into action, jumping to your feet. “What is it? Where’s your pain?” Your hands hover over his belly, and he points to where his liver currently sits, slowly leaking inside his body, spilling bile that could eventually kill him if it hadn’t been caught. You pull down the blanket, unsnapping his gown to push it aside, checking for anything physically observable, site swelling, a rash, anything. “Does this hurt?” You cautiously press down, tapping slightly, watching his face for a reaction.

“No.” he says, and when you reach over to his other side, turning to watch his facial expressions, he moves with you, barely leaning, chin pointed in your direction.

His face is suddenly incredibly close to your face. And he looks… so handsome. So pretty, with his bright blue eyes and perfect bones, soft lips that part with an inhale. He dazzles you. Distracts you.

This is your patient, get it together. You’re a professional, act like it. 

“Does that hurt?” You croak, and his lips quirk into a half smile, a warm palm gliding over the small of your back.

“It doesnae hurt, bun.” He winks.

“Oh my god, were you faking?” You try to stand up, but the pressure on your spine is firm, and he chuckles.

“Can I tell ye a secret?” He’s fully serious now, question whispered just above your ear, and you nod.

“Of course.”

“Ye’v been drivin’ me mad today, pretty girl. Walkin’ around here wit’ no panties on.” Oh. Oh… my god. You shoot upwards, hand covering your mouth in shock, and he laughs, raising an eyebrow before his gaze drifts over the curve of your hip.

“Johnny!” you hiss, scandalized, and then guilt hits you like a train, like two tons of rocks have been dropped on top of you. Simon. “Johnny, you… you and Simon, you’re-“

“We’re lucky ye’ve come into our lives.” He finishes, and you frown, confused. “We think ye’re really special.” We. We?

“What did I miss?” Simon says from the doorway, and you jerk, stepping back like Johnny’s bed is on fire and you’ve just been burnt, eyes wide and wild. You feel like a child, caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but Simon doesn’t look angry. Just curious.

“Jus’ talking.” Johnny replies, and he starts to lower his bed, watching you with heavy eyes.

“Well. I should get going. I’ve got a few trains to make.” You glance at the clock, and then give them both a polite smile. Simon crosses his arms.

“Looks like you tired him out.” He comments, and they glance at one another, some sort of communication happening silently before he shrugs. “Let me drive you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s not… you just got back, and I’m fine, really. It’s not that far, I-“

“If it’s not that far, let him drive ye.” Johnny pipes up, and Simon piles on easily. 

"He's not going to let this go, and neither am I. Let me get you home safely, please." You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. "It's the least we can do." Your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s just a ride. It’s not crossing a line.

“Okay, then.” Johnny smiles, and Simon moves to his side, brushing his mask covered mouth against his forehead.

“She go down okay?” Johnny murmurs, tenderly cupping his cheek. 

“Like a champ. Promised I’d bring her tomorrow morning. Think she understood me.”

“Aye. She’s smarter than ye, so probably.” He teases, and they share a lighthearted laugh before Johnny’s bidding you a goodbye, and Simon directs you out the door.

“Uh, right here is fine.” You point to the curb, and Simon slows the car to a stop, turning to face you with that ever-present scrutiny, brows shoved down above his eyes.

“A hotel?” You swallow.

“My um, my flat is being renovated. It’s a whole thing so I just figured I wo-would stay somewhere else.” You want to flee, run out of this car and away from him, but he holds you in place so easily with just his eyes, so you sit there, frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other splayed against your thigh.

“Is everything alright? Earlier-“

“I’m fine.” You rush out, cutting him off. It’s well practiced, the denial, the avoidance, these things that you normally excel out.

But nothing is normal with them. 

He cocks his head, and then nods, and you breathe a little easier, turning to push the door open.

“Wait.” A hand tugs at you, thick, warm fingers lightly touching your wrist, and you whip back around to face him, eyes wide. “If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” Why is your heart beating so fast? 

“Oh, I uh… I’m fine, I don’t need-“

“That doesn’t work on me. Johnny either, pretty girl.” He tells you, and it’s so firm, so strong backed, that your mouth goes dry, and you gape at him. What? What doesn’t work? Is he… is he saying he doesn’t buy it? Doesn’t believe you? He’s reading your mind, subtly raising an eyebrow, and then nodding. “Put my number in your phone.” He instructs, and like a robot, like a vampire’s Thrall, you pull it from your bag, swiping open the contact list and pressing each number in the order he gives it. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks once you’re finished, and you mumble a shaky yes, finally pushing the door open, and climbing out.

“Alright, well. Good night.” You bend at the waist, giving him a wave through the window, and his jaw moves beneath the mask, shifting to the side, eyes squinting at the corners. He's smiling. 

“Good night, bunny.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #soap x ghost

[mockerycrow]

UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #cod #mw2022 #mw2 2022 #modern warfare ii #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x gn!reader #ghost x gn reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #mw2 ghost #ghost angst #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖

Chapter 44 - Entering Kris.

Episode 5.

Andy: He sighed soft You can stay here for a couple days, if you need a break from everyone… we have a guest room…. or you're free to crash here as well… it's just an offer, no pressure. You can think about it.

Kris: And your partners wont think that's weird? he mumbled soft against Andy's shoulder, then sighed deep as he stepped out of the hug, wiping his face

Andy: Well he chuckled lightly we're used to weird around here, so please don't worry about that.

Kris: …. he shrugged lightly I don't know?… I think that might be a bit too weird even for me… he sighed soft looking a bit around Shit my cigs are in my pants, they are probably soaked!

Andy: Take one of mine! he quickly grabbed his cigs on the table, handing them to Kris, followed by a lighter Smoke as many as you want, I have more…

Kris: He nodded thankful and lit one, then handed the pack and lighter back to Andy thanks he slowly sat back down on the couch I'm sorry about the meltdown…

Andy: He chuckled soft as he sat down next to Kris Well… at least it wasn't me this time.

Kris: You have mental breakdowns as well? he looked at Andy surprised, and despite his cried out face, he was still quite handsome

Andy: He chuckled hoarsely At least a handful of times per day! which of course was an exaggeration, but he wanted to try to cheer Kris up a bit

Kris: He couldn't help but chuckle

Andy: He smiled softly, satisfied that his joke had worked

Kris: He took a big drag of his cig things are so fucked up…

Andy: He nodded understanding what do you need the most? Be honest? A place to stay? A friendly ear?

Kris: He scoffed lightly and took another drag, then pinned the cig between his lips as he reached for the last can of the six pack, popping it open, answering with his cig still dangling from his lips Dick?!

Andy: He snorted surprised …. okay…. well… at least you didn't try to wrap it with a bow and shit

Kris: … no seriously he took another drag of the cig followed by a sip of the beer I think I just need some sleep. This beer is really getting to me he snorted softly …. or maybe it's my fucking crying?!

Andy: He smiled softly You want me to leave you alone so you can get some sleep?

Kris: No… I definitely don't want to be alone.

Andy: I could take another couch he gestured at the couch right next to them

Kris: He shrugged lightly I don't mind sharing. He looked at the screen, getting lost in either the movie, or thoughts in his head, as he smoked the rest of his cig, drinking half the beer, then he laid down, pulling the blanket up around his neck, a deep sigh escaping him.

Andy: He observed him for a moment, but as he seemed to keep following the movie, he didn't say anything, thinking perhaps he needed some space… perhaps he was more than overwhelmed by the meeting and Andy's approach. So he laid down, quietly observing the movie as well, but once in a while casting a glimpse at Kris, to check if he would be sleeping, as he suddenly noticed tears streaming down Kris's cheeks again Kris?

Kris: He didn't answer

Andy: Kris? he sat up slow, observing the guy, wondering what he could do for him? What would be too much? Too little? Can you please tell me what you need? I'm kinda lost here, I really don't want to overstep any lines here…

Kris: There's no lines Andy he whimpered through his tears, a hollow sob escaping him Just make it fucking stop!

Andy: Make what stop??? He looked at Kris worried and felt his pulse rise, anxious to help Kris out, yet not knowing how to tackle the situation

Kris: This hollow emptiness that knocks the air out of me all the time!

Andy: Aah! A relatable feeling! He sighed soft and made a decision, crawling towards Kris, squeezing himself down between Kris's back and the couch, wrapping an arm tight around Kris Is this okay?

Kris: He nodded eagerly and pushed himself tighter against Andy I don't want to die…

Andy: I know, and you wont… I know it feels like that sometimes… I know all too well. But you're going to be fine, I promise. And you will get out of there, and start a new life… you'll be happy and find someone who will love you and not cheat on you… I promise it will all work out, you just have to hold on and be patient a bit longer… just a bit…

Kris: He sniffled his nose, nodding lightly, thankful for Andy's encouraging words, and how he seemed to do and say all the right things

Andy: They watched the rest of the movie quietly, and when the movie was over, and Kris to Andy's surprise, still hadn't dozed off, he quickly found another movie and started that as well. After they quickly had separate toilet visits, they laid down again, Andy once again spooning Kris… it sorta just seemed… Almost natural? They watched about 20 minutes of the movie, then Andy noticed Kris seemed to have dozed off, and out of reflex started stroking his hair gently, a thing he would usually do when any of his partners were sad and he would be spooning them like this. He laid like that at least 5 minutes, till suddenly he felt Kris gently grab his wrist

Kris: He hesitated just a moment, before he lifted Andy's wrist, and quickly dragged his hand down between Kris's legs, pressing it against his half boner

Andy: He swallowed hard and surprised but didn't dare to say anything

Kris: He pressed Andy's hand a little harder against his dick, then suddenly sat up quick I'm sorry! I… he blushed lightly It's the beer, I'm so sorry! I don't even know if you're into me or if you're allowed to, I mean I am fully aware you're taken and... shit! Now I'm trying to make you cheat and after what happened to me, I definitely don't want that for anyone else! I think it's best I leave, I'm sorry Andy, I fucked this up! I'm sorry! he stood up quick

Andy: Woah woah woah! He quickly got up and grabbed Kris by the wrist Not so fast please! Gawd I get you're tense, and you have all the rights to be, but MAN I wish you'd calm the fuck down a bit! He shook his head lightly, then pulled Kris hard enough so he bumped back down on the couch First of all, please look at me…

Kris: He looked shyly at Andy with a soft frown

Andy: I'm not cheating… it's an open relationship, at least on my end… I am allowed to have sex with others… so that's not any extra worry you should put on your already tense shoulders…. and for the record, I'm extremely attracted to you, and quite honestly I really do want to take some of that load off you… quite literally…. pun very much intended he smirked cheekily But I don't want to take advantage of you… I actually quite like you as I said, Kris… perhaps cause I see so much of myself in you… but that also means I am constantly worried I'll step over some line and end up being a choice you regret, cause you really don't need any more of that, right? And I really don't want to be that…

Kris: …. I'm sorry, I'm all over the place…. I'm just….

Andy: ….. tell me…. please….

Kris: …… I'm so fucking horny!!! I just really need some…. human contact… I'm so fucking lonely, you don't even understand… I feel like my skin is constantly crawling and I want to peel it all, cause I can't stand being so lonely any more!!! And I bet I really sound like a nutcase now… so now you definitely don't want me…

Andy: He sighed deep and tried his best to make the right decision, but as tears gathered in Kris's eyes again, he quickly let himself fall back down on the couch, dragging Kris after himself so they once again laid in the previous spoon position Top or bottom? He spoke in a deep, hoarse voice, feeling himself instantly get hard

Kris: Both! he let out a steamy sigh

Andy: Let me know if I need to stop at any point… if you change your mind….

Kris: I wont! he sighed soft and pressed his butt against Andy fuck me, Andy!

❌Short sex scene START - readers must be 18+❌ ❌ (To skip sex scene, scroll till next marking) ❌

Andy: He bit his bottom lip firmly and wrapped his arm over Kris, slipping a hand inside the sweatpants, gently grabbing Kris's dick, stroking it slowly

Kris: He gasped relieved and closed his eyes, tears pressing to get out as he was overwhelmed yet again, a soft moan escaping his lips

Andy: He observed Kris's positive reaction and slowly leaned in, brushing Kris's long shaggy hair off his neck, planting a couple gentle yet lingering kisses on the side of his pale skin

Kris: Another soft moan escaping him, his back arching lightly, and he quickly grabbed onto Andy's wrist again, following the movement of Andy stroking his dick, forcing Andy's hand to pick up speed, another more welcoming moan escaping him yes!

Andy: Now it was his turn to let a soft moan slip, tightening his hand lightly, pressing his own boner against Kris's butt cheek, to make sure he could feel he was hard, not wanting him to doubt it all again

Kris: Mmmhhh he sighed soft and longing, licking his lips sensually, a few tears rolling down his cheeks from his still closed eyes

Andy: He picked up a bit more speed, planting a few more kisses on Kris's neck, feeling incredible drawn to him, and aroused, almost about to grab his chin to turn his head so he could get to kiss him, as he felt Kris's body jerk strong and suddenly

Kris: He came with a deep instant moan and his eyes shut open, a light blush gathering on his cheeks I'm sorry! he chuckled awkwardly, panting lightly for air that was very fast, I'm not usually-

Andy: He chuckled warmly Well, you definitely needed it! He snuggled his nose against Kris's neck, enjoying the scent of him, as he slowed down his hand, gently wiping his hand over it beside I thought this was the whole point?

Kris: He nodded lightly and answered in a hoarse voice yeah… but not this fast…

Andy: Are you done?… I'm certsainly not… beside we have all this natural lube now, how about I use it?

Kris: He looked at Andy's hand, now full of his own cum, biting his own lip gently as he nodded quick

Andy: He licked his lips and quickly pulled his pants down, rubbing Kris's cum on his own dick, with a soft moan of pleasure and anticipation, then slowly pulled down Kris's pants You sure?

Kris: Yeah he answered in a steamy voice and turned his head, pressing his lips against Andy's meeting him in a eager, slightly sloppy and chaotic, heated French kiss

Andy: He moaned deep in Kris's mouth and gently rubbed his dick against Kris's hole, trying not to be too eager and fast, not wanting to hurt Kris…it had been a while as far as Andy had understood, so it would probably take a bit of patience to get him fully ready

Kris: He pressed his butt tighter against Andy, reaching backwards, grabbing Andy's dick, stroking it a couple times, then pressed it firmly against his hole, breathing shakily in Andy's mouth as Andy's dick slowly slipped inside him, a soft whimper before he whispered in Andy's mouth Just fuck me! Don't hold back!

Andy: His eyes got wide, but he gave Kris a quick bump, surprised how tight he was, almost as if he was working against Andy

Kris: A loud surprised whimper escaped him, breaking their kiss, and his head instantly rolled back on the pillow, facing the tv, his fingers digging into Andy's hips Uhhngghhh yessss

Andy: He gave Kris another harder bump this time

Kris: A louder almost surprised moan escaped him, now reaching forwards, digging his fingers into the couch instead to create some resistance, pressing himself tighter against Andy

Andy: He grabbed Kris's hip and gave in, starting to fuck him hard and fast ❌Short sex scene END - Readers must be 18+❌ ❌ (Congrats, you successfully skipped sex)❌

Kris: To Andy's surprise he yelped loudly and pulled away, gasping for air Ow ow ow ow ow!!!!

Andy: Kris!??! Did I do something wrong? he looked at him concerned as he raised his upper body to better get a look at the guy

Kris: He groaned soft from pain and frowned lightly as he turned to face Andy I just really wanted to finally try it and-

Andy: Hold on! he frowned a bit worried, yet slightly amused was this your first time… bottoming?

Kris: He nodded shyly and grabbed the blanket, covering his body as he suddenly felt more than awkward yeah…

Andy: But I thought you said you were both top and bo-

Kris: I mean… I guess…. I always really wanted it… but the closest I ever was… was…. a finger and a vibrator… smaller than

Andy: Than me he smiled wide okay… well… I wish I would have known that he chuckled lightly I would definitely have tackled this a lot differently… I can't just jack hammer you straight up front, Kris… and now you know why he chuckled hoarsely, and stroke Kris's hip below the blanket are you alright?

Kris: He nodded softly Yeah…

Andy: I'm sorry I hurt you he smiled softer now…. are you up for another try, or did I scare you away?

Kris: He nodded lightly I would like to try again….

Andy: He smiled happily great, but this time we take it slow, and make everything a bit more comfortable for you… and another position too, please… doesn't mean you wont get what you need…. do you trust me?

Kris: He nodded soft

Andy: Good… that's the best start he sat up with a soft sigh Try to just relax… I'll be right back he stood up, then grabbed the remote, lowering the volume a bit, quickly grabbing a few candles on the table, tempted to light them through his pyrochenetic abilities, but thought there were no reason to tip the poor guy further over the edge, so instead he grabbed a lighter and quickly lit them the old school way. He walked to a light switch and turned off the light in the room, instead turning on another switch, lighting some neons instead, bathing the room in a collored glow

Kris: He raised himself on his elbows, observing Andy closely, surprised and intrigued by the neons and candles, feeling himself growing hotter, observing Andy walking around, making the room cosier, then disappearing into the bathroom, only to return few second later with some sort of tube in his hands

Andy: he quickly returned to the couch, showing Kris the tube It's numbing lube

Kris: He frowned lightly

Andy: Trust me…

Kris: … but I want to feel my first-

Andy: You will he smiled warmly I guarantee you… it just makes it more comfortable… it just takes the top of the stingy feeling. I swear… I know what I'm talking about Kris… I wasn't kidding when I said sex addict! he chuckled cheekily and opened the tube smells and tastes like Raspberry as a bonus…. so if you don't mind… I'd really like to eat you out

Kris: Temporary blue screen, a bright blush spreading on his whole face, and all he could manage as a reply, was to fall back down on the couch with a soft whimper of anticipation, spreading his legs as much as the tight space on the couch would allow ❌Short sex scene START - readers must be 18+❌ ❌ (To skip sex scene, scroll till next marking) ❌

Andy: Thank you he grinned and quickly grabbed Kris's pants, slowly dragging them off him, so he laid below him, only wearing Andy's big hoodie. Kris was a good portion shorter than Andy… about 10 cm… slim framed, but not small… and his body was quite nice… surprisingly slightly toned… average dick… very straight…. mild body hair…. he moaned by the sight and licked his mouth, feeling a strong hunger rise. So he quickly squirted some lube in his hands and scooted closer so he sat planted between Kris's legs, then slowly reached out, rubbing his lubed hand down the shaft of Kris's dick, down over his balls, and ever so lightly circled Kris's hole with just his thumb, making sure to only stroke it for now

Kris: Oh fuck! he raised a hand to his mouth, biting the back of it, a soft moan of pleasure escaping him, this time keeping his eyes firmly planted on Andy, following every movement curiously.

Andy: He smiled softly at Kris, now gently massaging his hole, his free hand travelling up Kris's inner thigh, stroking his skin comforting with his thumb, trying to calm Kris down, make him relax, taking his time to make every movement soft and caring.

Kris: Overwhelmed by so many mixed emotions, his eyes filled with tears again. Here in front of him, the perfect stranger, showing him all this respect, understanding, patience and care, that he never received from anyone else in his life. And in an instant, he felt a strong urge to reach out, so he did, grabbing Andy's hand, squeezing it tight

Andy: He looked at Kris with a soft warm gaze, and squeezed back, understanding that it was overwhelming for Kris, yet mainly in a positive way, so he very slow and gentle proceeded to slip a finger inside Kris, letting his hole rest and adjust for a couple seconds, before Andy gently circled the finger inside him

Kris: He moaned deep and arched his back from pleasure

Andy: He took the chance and quickly grabbed a pillow, scooting it under Kris's ass, to lift it a bit, granting himself more access, at the same time as it would support Kris and hopefully make him lay more comfortable, and by that enjoy the experience more. He waited just a tiny moment for Kris's body to adjust to the new position, then he twirled his finger a couple times inside him

Kris: His moan was louder this time, surrendering, there were no doubt he liked it and wanted more

Andy: He grinned satisfied and nodded lightly Yeah? …. want me to take it up a nudge?

Kris: He nodded eagerly, his breath getting heavier, steamy, faster, heated panting escaping him

Andy: He grinned again and leaned in, planting a long lick up his balls and further up the shaft of his boner, fluttering his tongue lightly as he reached the very tip of Kris's dick

Kris: Oh fuck!!! he sighed a big load of steamy breath out, momentarily closing his eyes to feel the sweet sensations of pure pleasure streaming through his body. Then opened them again, as he felt Andy's mouth lock around his dick NNghhhh fuck! Oh gawd!!! he stared at Andy with partially open mouth, unable to close it again, as he felt like having an almost out of body experience, unable to think or speak

Andy: He slowly let half of Kris's dick slip inside his mouth gently massaging the shaft with his tongue, making sure to really give his all. Slowly starting to bob his head up and down, his finger flicking lightly inside Kris, once in a while reaching extra sensitive spots, poking them teasingly

Kris: By now it was hard for him to lay down, his body kept wanting to jerk him up in a sitting position. He had never felt something like this! And he wondered if he ever had a blowjob at all?! Sure sex had been good in his past, but not even half of what he was experiencing right now, and this was "only" foreplay!!!

Andy: He moaned deep and alluring around Kris's dick, well knowing the buzzy vibrations of his voice, would create a strong sensation for Kris, more than satisfied as Kris immediately came with a loud surprised moan

Kris: Sorry I! He half sat up in the couch, panting steamy air out between his slightly parted lips I didn't mean to

Andy: He swallowed the warm cum, only getting more turned on, then slowly let Kris's dick glide out his mouth, so he could answer. He smirked cheekily Don't ever apologize for cumming in my mouth he chuckled hoarsely… in fact… always cum in my mouth, I can literally never get enough cum… ever…not even joking!

Kris: He gasped a bit of extra steamy air out, feeling an arousal he had never felt before, so turned on by Andy's words, so needy for more of what Andy was providing! Wanting to spread his legs more, wanting Andy inside him, wanting to literally just get filled up and stuffed to the breaking point. He wiggled his butt impatiently Please!! I'm ready!!!

Andy: Not yet sugar cube he chuckled lightly No need to repeat what happened earlier!

Kris: He whimpered impatiently and let himself fall back down on the couch

Andy: He chuckled amused and grabbed the lube, squirting a good amount on Kris's hole, then dragged his finger out of him. He gently massaged the hole a couple times, then slowly pushed back not one, but two fingers this time

Kris: Mmmhhhhh he arched his back again, digging his fingers into the couch Yesssss!!!

Andy: He smirked satisfied and leaned in, fluttering his tongue over Kris's hole, slowly twirling the to fingers inside him

Kris: NNNGHHHHHHH!!! Oh gawd yes!!!! Yes!!!! he impatiently pressed his butt tighter against Andy's hand, a desperate attempt to force the two fingers to reach deeper inside him, but with no luck, they were already as deep as they could go

Andy: Hey hey… patience he chuckled hoarsely

Kris: I can't! he let out a large amount of steamy air, feeling his whole body burn and buzz, begging for Andy to take him!

Andy: Just a bit more, please! I promise it's worth it… he slowly dragged the fingers half out of Kris, then paused his movements, a few seconds later, slowly spreading the two fingers like a scissor, slowly stretching Kris's hole wide open Damnnn he licked his lips hungry and sat up in the couch, studying Kris's hole with hungry eyes, his own dick twitching from anticipation, sending a string of precum down his shaft

Kris: He stretched his arm as much as possible, barely able to reach as he locked his hand around Andy's dick and stroke it firmly I want you he whispered in a steamy voice

Andy: I want you too… gawd I want you!!! I could have fucked you right there on the snow pile!!!

Kris: He let out another large amount of steamy air and once again pressed his butt against Andy's fingers Please he whimpered I can't take any more! ❌Short sex scene START - readers must be 18+❌ ❌ (To skip sex scene, scroll till next marking) ❌

Andy: Just a bit more

Kris: No he shook his head as tears started rolling down his temples I can't take any more Andy, I'm desperate!

Andy: Hey… it will feel much better if we just-

Kris: Andy I can't! He looked at Andy with flickering eyes as he slowly started pulling away It's too much! I can't wait, I… you have to…. I feel like I'm gonna fucking throw up!

Andy: He frowned softly Maybe it's best if we don't do it then?

Kris: He gasped sharply for air as a panic attack took over, and he started hyperventilating Please just fuck me! Please! Fucking finish me, please! I can't take it any more! I can't take it!!!

Andy: Somehow seeing Kris like this, triggered certain aspects of himself, cause Andy had definitely been in this exact and all too familiar position many times before. Hey…. ssshh try to breathe slow, you're having a panic attack he spoke in a soft tone and let his fingers slip out of Kris, gently stroking his inner thigh

Kris: He looked at Andy with horrified eyes, full on panic kicking in, repeatedly gasping for air

Andy: Hey… look at me, please he quickly laid down next to Kris, stroking his hair soothingly What's going on right now? I mean I can guess… but then it's based on my own experiences, and although we seem to have quite the similarities, I'm sure we're also different in many ways, so please… rather than assuming what's wrong and how to fix it, please tell me what's going on with you and how we fix it.

Kris: I don't want to die!!!

Andy: You're not going to die, I promise, you'll be fine he smiled softly do you always feel like that when you get anxious or have a panic attack?

Kris: Yes!! He gasped for air I feel like I'm gonna pass out and lose control and then die!!!

Andy: No he shook his head lightly you wont die, trust me… but you might actually pass out if you don't slow down your breathing… that's actually a fact. So try to take a slow deep breath!

Kris: I can't! I can't breathe!!!

Andy: You can and you are… a lot… and fast.. you need to slow down, Kris. I get that this whole experience is a lot… so how do we fix it? What do you need?

Kris: I need it to just happen!

Andy: Okay… but I'm worried you might change your mind later, and regret it? Would it be better if we wait for another time, when we know each other a bit better and things aren't so sudden and emotional charged?

Kris: He shook his head fiercely Please don't push me away! I can't take it! please!!!

Andy: Hey he smiled soft and grabbed Kris's hand I am by no means pushing you away… but this is very intense, and trust me, I am by no means judging you, I have moments where I'm a fucking train wreck too… but I worry if you are overstimulated to a point where you just need satisfaction and then everything will calm down automatically, or if you are so overstimulated that if I give you what you think you need, things will completely explode. He sighed softly I don't know you, so I can't make a qualified guess here, Kris. I'd love to simply fuck you, but I don't want your first time to end up being something you regret.

Kris: Then please please fucking help me!

Andy:…. he nodded softly Okay… I will… if you can please take a couple deep slow breaths for me….

Kris: I can't Andy! His sobbing completely exploded now, pressing his face against Andy's chest as he cried his eyes out, digging his fingers into Andy's shirt, as if he was trying to crawl into him and disappear

Andy: Shit he quickly wrapped his arms around Kris, holding him tight

Kris: Just help me! Please just help me! I'm desperate!!! I'm so fucking exhausted, and so fucking close, and you're so fucking nice, and everything feels like a fucking dream!!! I'm so close to relief all the time and then you don't allow me to-

Andy: Ahhhhhhhhhh!!! It all made sense… Kris was starved from pleasant physical contact…. not to mention starved from sleep, and now it all exploded into an emotional frustration from not being able to get the relief his body would need after longing and after not even being able to find relief in form of sleep! He took a chance and reached for Kris's cheek, stroking his wet skin gently Hey… it's gonna be alright… I promise. He slowly rolled on top of Kris, planting a soft kiss on his lips Try to relax, and try to tell me if it's too much or too little, okay? I really want to help you, okay? So let's try to work together, please? Otherwise it will turn even more sour in the end…

Kris: He looked at Andy with flickering eyes but nodded soft and confirming Just please finish me… ❌Short sex scene START - readers must be 18+❌ ❌ (To skip sex scene, scroll till next marking) ❌

Andy: He nodded lightly and grabbed his own dick, stroking it a couple times till it was fully hard again, then gently pressed it against Kris's still slippery hole, more carefully gliding it inside this time

Kris: He let a relieved moan slip and nodded softly, wrapping his arms around Andy's neck

Andy: A soft moan slipped his lips as he leaned down, kissing Kris gently Is it okay if I kiss you? he spoke soft against Kris's lips

Kris: Yes he whispered softly I want it all.

Andy: He chuckled lightly against Kris's lips and leaned into a much deeper, more passionate kiss, yet keeping it on a slower more gentle side, not wanting things to heat up too quick again

Kris: He moaned soft in Andy's mouth, eagerly greeting his tongue with his own, trembling slightly beneath him

Andy: A soft moan slipping him, as he slowly started moving inside Kris. Not too deep yet, keeping it soft and simple for now, making sure this time Kris would get used to the impact, before he'd let go of control.

#Triggerwarning: #brief mentioning of panic attack #Kris Bradford #Kristopher Bradford #Andycorn #Andy Shaw-Thompson #unicorntales