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peachesofteal · 6 months

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Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths.

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds.

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping.

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.”

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner.

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute.

“Pretty banged up.”

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.”

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else.

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?”

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym.

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm.

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause.

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.”

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more.

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home.

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise.

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not awake.”

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see.

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion.

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.”

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision.

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation.

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go.

She's not wrong.

You need to go to bed.

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him.

Simon asked you stay with him.

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back?

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap?

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all.

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs.

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery.

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return.

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients.

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment.

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh?

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here?

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested.

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath.

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown.

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job.

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck.

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway.

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

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silent-stories · 9 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Your friends, like the whole school, don't like Eddie Munson. You, on the other hand, think you'd like to get to know him but that's probably never going to happen. Until you find yourself locked up with him in the school library.

The parking lot was crowded, filled with students arriving and getting ready for another day at Hawkings Highschool as you walked alongside your two friends through the sea of people.

"Is this jacket new?" Debby asked as she approached you with her nose, as if to sniff it, with an almost disgusted expression painted on her face.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, it wasn't the first time Debby complained about the way you dressed, among the many faults she seemed to find in you every time.

"Um, yeah." You raised your eyebrows not understanding what she was getting at.

"It's leather." She stated as if the fact were a crime. "Leather stinks."

"Debby, it's not even real leather, it can't stink. I bought it for ten dollars at the flea market."

"Oh. So that's why it stinks."

"Debby, I swear I-"

"Hey, hey" Jess interrupted you "no one stinks in here, okay? Look, Y/N... Debbs and I were planning on going out tomorrow night. Maybe to the movies or something?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Ugh, what you have to do again?" Jess rolled her eyes, smoothing her perfect cheerleading skirt with her hands.

Jess was one of the most popular girls in school, perhaps second only to Chrissy Cunningham and a few other cheerleaders who became known through their jocks boyfriends.

"You know I work almost every day after school. Does the new record store sound familiar?"

"Oh c'mon, why do you have to work so much?" Jess snorted.

"Because I need money?" It was something between an answer and a question, you had never thought anyone would ask you why you decided making your own money was a good idea.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll do it another time okay?" Debby concluded, as you finally entered the school and Jess saw her boyfriend in the distance, talking to other jocks, all in their sparkly green and white school uniforms.

"Hey Beck!" She raised a hand to get the boy's attention and waved at him at the same time, trotting towards him and instantly forgetting you.

"God, she's so in love with him." Debby commented dreamily still by your side, looking at her friend from afar.

You saw the possessive way Beck kissed his girlfriend and then put his arm around her and held her close as he continued to talk to his friends, his hand was basically on her ass. "Mh, i guess she is. I really don't like that guy, anyway."

"How couldn't you? The whole school is as in love with Beck as they are with Jason." She waved at the blond boy who was now laughing at something a member of the basketball team had just said.

"Yeah, I don't like Jason either." You shrugged.

"That's impossible. He's one of the hottest guys I've ever seen."

"Debs, I'm not talking about his physical appearance. I don't like him as a person. I don't like how he behaves and how he treats people around him."

Debby looked at you for a moment with a slight smile on her lips as if she expected me to suddenly tell her you were joking.

"See you later in class, okay?"

You shook your head, thinking it was almost pointless to voice your opinion to people like her.

"Sure, see you later."

Biology class was silent as the teacher explained the reproduction of cells through mitosis.

From your desk almost at the back of the room, you could see that Jess and Beck had no idea what the the tracher was talking about and kept exchanging notes probably filled with hearts and written in pink marker, you could see that the quiet boy at the first desk was just pretending to listen and that his gaze often fell on the window, probably fantasizing about what he saw outside, and finally, to your surprise, you could see that Eddie Munson, for the first time, had a pen in his hand he seemed to be writing.

Eddie Munson was a guy you never quite understood, both before you had a few classes together and after.

He didn't seem to be very interested in school, his grades or the way he responded to the teachers but it was already the second time he was repeating his last year of high school, proving that deep down, maybe, he didn't want to dropout.

He seemed to like to make all Hawkings think he was the mean and scary cultist people already thought he was yet he spent his free time playing a fantasy board game with freshmen, making them feel accepted in a school in which if you were considered even remotely different you could consider yourself doomed.

Eddie Munson was unusual and one of those people you wanted to get to know and understand what he was really like just because seen from an outside point of view, he seemed like an enigma.

"Well well well, what do we have here, Mr Munson?"

Mr. Walker's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your head, like that of all your classmates, snapped towards Eddie.

That was the moment you realized that the whole time, Eddie wasn't taking notes but he was drawing something that you couldn't quite see from where you were.

"Oh-oh, someone's in trouble." You heard someone chuckle.

The teacher took the paper from Eddie's hands and looked at it with a wicked smile on his lips. "And what is this supposed to be?"

A slight smirk appeared on Eddie's lips. "Shouldn't you know? You studied animals and that stuff, right?"

The teacher chuckled as he crumpled up the paper and walked over to the bin next to his desk, dropping it among the day's other rubbish.

"I bet the freak will repeat the year for the third time." You hear Beck whisper and Jess laugh right after.

"I won't send you to detention again because I really want this year to be your last." The teacher continued, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Eddie with a severe look. "But if you still don't pay attention to the lessons, you won't give us any other choice. Okay?"

"Okay." Eddie replied after a moment of silence, the way he said it vaguely recalled the professor's tone and you were sure he did it to make fun of him, the smirk on his lips was still there.

After one last glare Mr.Walker sat down again behind his desk and continued reading from the book.

The last laughs faded and the last gazes on Eddie returned to the notebooks, except yours.

You saw how his cocky expression gave way in less than a second when he thought no one was paying attention to him anymore, you saw how he closed his eyes for a moment, huffing as if the existence of the possibility of repeating the year for the third time suddently hit him, while passing a hand over his face with a tired expression.

The look in his eyes was far from the one they had when he teased jocks or made speeches on top of the cafeteria tables.

He had just dropped his facade and no one had even noticed.

You can't deny that for the rest of the lesson you kept eyeing him, only to find him propped up on his elbows on his desk, playing with the rings on his fingers.

When the bell rang Eddie was the first to get up, he grabbed his jacket and darted out of the classroom without once looking back.

You, on the other hand, were the last to leave, after placing your books back in your bag, but as soon as you stepped out the door an idea crossed your mind.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was even useless. You didn't even know why you were doing it.

You went back to class for a brief moment, grabbed Eddie's drawing from the bin, folded it quickly without even having time to look at it, stuffed it in your pocket and headed off to the next class.

You told yourself you'd probably never even get the chance to give it back to him.

"You'll be at the match later, right?" Jess asked as she walked down the hallway next to you after the last bell of the day had rung.

"Mh, maybe." You murmured, thinking of a possible excuse to come up with.

"What do you mean with 'maybe'? What do you have to do this time? Debby said she'll be there."

"Actually, not much, I just gotta go the library to get some books."

"Okay, it won't take a lot. The game starts in half an hour so you have plenty of time." She smiled.

"Yeah, sure. Then I guess I'll be there." You said as you stopped in front of the school library.

"Kay, see you later!" She waved at you before heading towards the gym.

"Good morning Miss Cooper." You greeted the lady behind the desk as soon as you entered the library.

"Hi dear, I close in about fifteen minutes. You know, with the match and everything I don't think many students will come here."

You looked around, the only people who seemed to be there were two girls sitting in the corner and a teacher putting down some books he had borrowed.

"Then I'll try to make it quick." You said before disappearing among the shelves.

The school library was bigger than any student who had never set foot inside could have imagined. You often had found the right books to complete a history or literature honework, and many more times you found books that you enjoyed reading in your spare time, while waiting for customers at the record store where you worked or during boring classes.

Yeah, Eddie Munson wasn't the only one who didn't always pay attention to what the teachers were saying.

While you were there, between the fantasy and horror sections (which were right at the back of the library, almost in the dark, as if whoever had put those books there had wanted to hide them) your thoughts returned to Eddie and you remembered that his drawing was still in your jeans back pocket and you hadn't seen it yet.

You put your bag down on the floor and took the paper out of your back pocket.

It was an animal, that was why he had made that joke to the biology teacher.

The creature looked like a lion but it had a second head that looked like a goat and its tail was a snake. You knew what a chimera was and that drawing looked like it came straight out of a mythology book.

You didn't know Eddie could draw so well and you were sorry Mr. Walker hadn't thought before crumpling it up and throwing him in the bin like it was trash.

Boom.

A sudden noise made you jump.

Boom. Again.

You quickly put the drawing in your bag and walked towards the source of the noise but what you saw was one of the last things you ever expected.

You peeped over a shelf to observe the scene.

Eddie Munson slammed his fists on the closed library door before trying to pull the handle down and failing to open.

"Hello? Is anyone out there? Is this a prank or what?" He asked to whoever was on the other side of the door.

He slammed his hands on the door one last time. "Awesome, really, really awesome." He snorted talking to himself and probably thinking he was alone, then he turned around.

His gaze fell on you. "Jesus Christ." He put a hand to his chest like you scared the shit out of him and you couldn't help but chuckle. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone was kinder.

"What people usually do in libraries. I was looking for books."

"Oh, I think you'll have enough time to read a lot of books, we're stuck here."

You walked to the door as Eddie took off his jacket and left it on Miss. Cooper's desk, revealing his Metallica shirt. Then he sat on it, after moving a pen holder, dangling his legs.

You tried to open the door three times and when you realized there was no hope to go out you gave up and sat down in one of the chairs, facing Eddie.

"Oh my god." You whispered.

"It's okay, don't panic. Someone will notice you're missing and they'll come looking for you." You noticed the way he said "you" as if there was no way anyone would notice he was missing.

"I'm not panicking. I just found an excuse not to go to the game!" You smiled a little too enthusiastically.

"Excuse me, what?" Eddie shook his head as if he was sure he had misunderstood ehat you had said and his curls bounced on his shoulders.

"I've been trying to find an excuse not to go to that stupid match all day. Now I can say I've been stuck in the library."

Eddie made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh, amazed at your reaction. "You know, not to judge, but it's really weird that you're happy to be locked in a room with Eddie "the freak" Munson."

"Well... are you gonna sacrifice me to the devil?" You asked with a slight raise of your eyebrows and the ghost of a smile on your lips; Eddie was surprised for the second time: you were joking with him.

"Mh, no?"

"Okay, then we're good."

Eddie chuckled, ducking his head as if to hide his smile and you found yourself wishing he didn't do it anymore.

"What did you come for?" You asked then.

"For what people usually do in libraries. I was looking for books." He repeated your words with a smirk.

"Ah-ah" your laugh was far from genuine but the corners of Eddie's lips curled up anyway. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really funny?" You asked ironically.

"It may surprise you, but I think you have the honor of being the first." Eddie followed your movements with his eyes as you stood up from your chair and took a few steps between the shelves. Soon the sun would go down and you wouldn't even see the titles of books anymore without the sunbeams filtering through the windows.

"Are you coming or not?" You turned back to him, as if it was obvious you wanted him to come with you.

"Where?" He asked as he jumped off the desk reluctantly.

"To find the perfect book for you."

"Oh, I don't think that-"

"Fantasy and horror are in the back."

The smile you were starting to like returned on his lips. "Lead the way."

"Where the fuck is she?" Jess asked Debby during the first break of the game, placing her pom-poms on the bench next to her.

"I don't know, she said she would come. You were the last one to see her."

"She said she had to do something really quick and then she'd come. Tomorrow she will come up with a stupid excuse like always."

"She's been getting a lot weird lately, I don't know what's going on with her."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

Your laughter once again filled the library as the patter of the incessant rain that had been falling for almost an hour continued.

You never thought you'd spend so much time with Eddie one day, but apparently you were wrong. You enjoyed staying there with him.

"I swear it's a good one."

Eddie put all the books you convinced him to take on Miss Cooper's desk.

"It talks about a girl." He commented, as if that was all it took to not be a good book.

"Who has superpowers! Trust me, it's a good book. Near the end there's a lot of blood and stuff."

"Oh well, if 'there's a lot of blood and stuff' then I really should read it."

"Stop making fun me!" You hit his shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"I didn't hurt you."

"Yes, you did."

You rolled your eyes. "Read that damn book. Then tell me if you liked it."

"Well well well, do you wanna keep talking to me when we'll get out of here? Won't you pretend you don't know me?" He questioned, trying to figure out if you were lying.

"Why should I? Are you..." You hesitated "You're cool, I like you."

Eddie studied you for a moment. "You know, Y/N, I think you're a bit of a freak too."

You laughed, glancing at the books leaning on the desk. A weird creature caught your eye and you remembered Eddie's drawing.

"God, I almost forgot!" You took your bag in your hands, looking for the page. "I hope you don't think it's weird. I…I saved your drawing from the bin."

You handed him the paper, it was still a lot wrinkled but it was certainly in a better condition than when the teacher had thrown it in the trash.

Eddie stared at you.

He always had that way of looking at you with his big brown eyes that looked a lot like an animal that doesn't want to show that it's scared but is still reluctant to approach anyone.

He grabbed it slowly. "Why did you save it?"

"I wanted to see what you were drawing. It turned out to be worth it. It's really good."

"It turned out I was right."

You looked at him questioningly.

"You're a bit of a freak too. You put your hands in the trash to get a drawing of someone you didn't even know." He laughed again and you did the same.

You realized you liked the dimples that formed on his face when he smiled.

He took one last look at the drawing before carefully folding it and putting it in his pocket.

"Thank you." He finally said, sincere.

"Anytime."

Eddie's gaze fell on something behind you.

You turned around but didn't see anything different from moments before.

"What?"

"The window, Y/N, the window!" The excitement in his voice didn't even let you realize it was the first time he'd called you by your name.

"The window what?"

"We can get out through the window!" It seemed that at any moment he might start jumping from one side of the room to another.

You walked to the window where the rain continued to beat while Eddie looked behind you for something. "Looks quite high."

"And that's why we're going to need this." When you turned around Eddie was already setting up the ladder under the window after quickly putting on his jacket again.

"God, where did you find that?"

"I saw it earlier in the romance section."

"Were you checking the romance section?" You smirked.

"I walked past it, okay?" He rolled her eyes as he climbed the first rung of the ladder.

"Wait, should I go first?" He asked before going up.

"Go. Don't kill yourself when you jump to the other side."

"Who would care if I die?" He joked. Or you hoped he was.

"I would care! If they found me with your corpse who would they think sacrificed to the devil who?"

Eddie laughed again, shaking his head then opened the window. Lots of raindrops started falling on the library floor.

He sat on the edge before jumping over to the other side.

"Agh!"

"Shit, are you okay?" Your words left your mouth too quickly, your tone far too concerned about someone you've only known for a few hours.

No reply.

"Eddie, I swear-" You said starting up the ladder, the raindrops that passed through the open window falling on your face and in your hair.

"I'm fine!" He laughed.

"Thanks for your quick response." You commented ironically, not before breathing a sigh of relief.

"Aw, were you scared I was hurt?" You sat on the edge, now you could see his smirk as he looked up at you.

Most of his curls had gotten wet and stuck to his forehead and neck.

He was still pretty.

"Shut up."

"You were scared I was hurt!" He exclaimed, laughing, this time he was sure.

"Are you going to keep teasing me or are you going to help me get down from here?"

"Right, sorry." He reached out a hand and helped you jump. His fingers were warm, and having his palm against yours, even if only for a moment, gave you an indescribable feeling of security and safety.

"You okay?" He asked when you both finally got your feet on the ground.

"Yeah." His hand was still holding yours.

"Good."

"STAY FUCKING AWAY FROM HER!" Voices from behind you instantly made you turn around and before you know it Beck and Jason were pushing Eddie away from you. His hand slipped away from yours.

It seemed like the game was over.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Jess and Debby asked you, claiming you by the arm. "Did he hurt you?" Their tone was concerned and almost frightened.

"Hey, hey okay!" You tried to calm everyone down. "Eddie and I got locked in the library and went out the window, that's all."

You noticed that Jason's hands were still gripping Eddie's shirt, like he was ready to bail on him and beat him until he couldn't even remember his name at any moment.

The rain continued to fall incessantly on you, somewhere in the distance a thunder rumbled.

"Jason, leave him."

"Did he-"

"NO! STOP FUCKING ASKING!" You placed a hand on Jason's chest and pushed him away.

For a moment no one spoke. Like everyone was amazed that you didn't seem bothered by Eddie or that he hadn't done you anything wrong in the hours you'd spent locked in the library with him.

They were all looking at you with shocked expressions painted on their faces.

"Could you give me a lift home, please?" You turned to Eddie and this time he seemed to be the shocked one.

He pushed a strand of wet hair away from his eyes. "Yeah. Yes, of course I can."

"Okay, thank you." You kindly placed a hand on his back, as if urging him to leave. "Let's go."

You didn't say goodbye to any of the four students who watched you leave with Eddie "the freak" Munson and you didn't turn once as you walked beside him to his van.

You didn't know exactly how many friends you had just lost but you certainly knew you had a new one.

Part 2

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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chososdiscordkitten · 4 months

Text

Obsessive!Choso♡2

pt 1 here

Obsessive!Choso whose heart was beating harder than usual, standing outside hoping to see you so you could walk in together. Standing against the wall next to the door. The winter weather made it early enough for the campus lights to not be turned on yet, but late enough to be dark outside. Seeing you walk up the steps that led to the doors, looking down at your phone that lit up your face enough for him to see you. Smiling as his eyebrows pinched together when he saw you bundled up in your coat. “Be careful, you don't know that weirdo.” He heard who he assumed was one of your friend's on facetime with you. Seeing your eyebrows furrow towards the phone, “I gotta go- I'll call you later.” he heard you say, hanging up the phone and muttering, ‘bitch’ before pulling open one of the heavy doors of the library. His cheeks felt warm at the thought that you didn't even notice him, making a mental note that you don't pay attention to your surroundings.

Obsessive!Choso who walked in a few minutes after you, making sure his shoe laces were tied and his shirt wasn't wrinkled. Fiddling with one of the many rings on his hands when he scanned the open library. Trying to find you in the sea of students. Spotting you behind a glass door of the study rooms. Mind making him see a halo around you. Whos heart almost burst in seeing that you had reserved a study room just for him. Who was so sure, that the only reason you reserved it was to be alone with him.

Obsessive!Choso whose feet felt numb in his heavy shoes as he walked across the library, a small smile on his lips when he saw you with your head on your hand while writing something down. His hand connecting with the steel door handle with a small ‘clink’. Making you flinch at the sound and look over at the door with a smile. Whos hand was clenched tightly into a fist at seeing your warm smile greet him, taking a seat across the table from you. Setting his worn out backpack onto the chair next to him. Looking at the wall behind you, seeing you shifting in your seat from the corner of his eye. You spoke up, asking if he understood anything that was being taught. “The TA always confuses me- Starting a sentence and then going back to the topic from before.” You laughed, trying to ease the tension in the air, seeing his face go unchanged as he looked to the door. “S’not that hard to understand.” He mumbled, placing his hands atop his thighs, his shoulders going stiff when he realized how rude that sounded coming out of his mouth. Looking over to see your face of embarrassment. “I didn't mean-” he started, sitting up straight and leaning onto the table. “No, it's okay!” You assured, seeing his face finally change from stoic to showing you some kind of emotion. “I do that a lot too.” you smiled, opening your laptop and scrolling to the assignment requirements. His fingers scratching at the chipping black nail polish on his nails that he needed to redo soon. Choso’s eyes scanning the back of your laptop, seeing the many band stickers and comic book strips cover the silver back. ‘Are you a nerd?’ he thought in adoration, the corners of his mouth hesitating to smile. Recognizing some of the stickers he saw. Making sure to remember the name ‘Destroy Boys’ to look it up later. Wanting to desperately take a picture so he could research every single one, desperately wanting to know where the other stickers were from.

Obsessive!Choso who scanned the entire screen of your laptop when you turned it so you could both see. Seeing if you had any tabs open that he could see. Noticing you had streaming sites pinned to the top of safari. Seeing your fingers fiddle with the pen in your hand as you started speaking about what you had in mind for the project. Only replying with, ‘That's fine.’ and ‘Okay’ making sure to shut himself up to hear you speak longer. You excused his dry replies with, ‘maybe he's just not the talking type.’ it didn't bother you, but you wished he would form some kind of opinion on what you were suggesting.

Obsessive!Choso who heard you ask, “Would it be okay if you wrote the Summary? I hate that part of these projects-” almost immediately saying “Yes.” before you could finish. Seeing you write a list of the things that had to be done and splitting it in half. Seeing your perfectly manicured hands slide the paper over to him. “Sorry if my writing is a little messy.” you smiled, pulling your computer over to face you and typing. Seeing that you were focused on the screen, he grazed his fingers onto the purple ink from your pen. It was messy, but Choso didn't care, if he couldn't make out the words he'd spend the next hour trying to understand them. Almost clenching his heart when he saw the little scribbles of flowers adorn the top of the lined page. “I'll send you the link to the doc-” your voice trailed off, scanning the screen with your eyes. Oblivious to how Choso was admiring the page you gave him. This was finally his chance, he finally had an opportunity to ask you-“Do you have an instagram?” he asked, looking down at his hands when he heard your fingers stop typing. “I don't really like social media.” you smiled, looking up from your screen to look at him.

Obsessive!Choso who felt like his heart could shatter at your words ‘Liar.’ Choso thought, ‘Why would you lie to me?’ his thoughts were interrupted when he heard you speak up again. “I could give you my phone number? I find it alot easier to talk to people through messages or calls.” You spoke, your words mending the cracks in his heart from your lie. In truth, you didn't like lying to people, but the mere thought of giving him your instagram and letting him see the bullshit you spam onto your story was humiliating enough. Choso pulled his phone out quickly, fingers gliding across his screen as he pressed the ‘add contact’ button. Sliding his phone over to you. Seeing you do the same, his heart fluttered at the sight of trading phones. Seeing small charms jingle at the corner of your phone when he picked it up, noticing it was a newer model of his phone, and a lot smaller.

Obsessive!Choso who almost let out a choked sigh when he looked over and saw how big his phone was compared to your hand. Taking a mental picture as you struggled to hold it. Seeing you slide it back to him, his eyes looking over your name in his phone. Sliding yours back to you. Immediately memorizing your phone number in case he ever lost it. Your eyes scan the screen before looking at the top right corner and seeing the time. ‘6:45 PM’ it read. Hearing you close your laptop and gather your things, “I gotta get goin’ now-” You muttered, standing from your chair and placing your laptop into your bag. “I'll see you in class.” you smiled, looking at his face that finally cracked a small smile back to you. “Bye!” you said as you waved goodbye to him, stepping out of the room. Seeing him give you a small wave in return.

Obsessive!Choso whose breath hitched when he saw you left behind the same purple pen you used to write the list you gave him. He looked up to call out to you, but he didn't say anything. Reaching down to grab it, his fingers grazed the smooth plastic as he pictured your hand around it. ‘Did you leave this just for me?’ he thought, a smile creeping onto his face. Hearing a harsh knock onto the door, snapping his head to see a student holding the sheet that showed his reserved time was over. Gathering his pencil and notebook, delicately placing the stray paper you had given him in between a red folder from his backpack. And putting your pen into his pocket before walking out. Choso couldn't see himself, but he felt like his cheeks were warm, and he was sure his ears were red.

Obsessive!Choso who almost ran back to his studio apartment near the school's campus. Sitting at his desk as he digitally scanned the list you wrote, his eyes almost glimmering when he saw the image on his laptop showing that the scan was complete. Rummaging through his discarded school supplies and finding a plastic paper sleeve, gently sliding the page inside. Smiling while he cleared a space in his closet. Gently placing a small stool inside and taping the sleeved page onto the wall. Reaching into his pocket and placing the pen in the center. Thinking, ‘I'll just leave it here so it won't get ruined.’ while he centered the pen onto the stool. ‘I'll give it back next time I see them.’ he assured himself. Walking back to his computer and zooming in on the words you wrote. Remembering the name of a band on the back of your laptop, he opened a new tab. His fingers typing in ‘Destroy Boys’ into the search bar, seeing a picture of the band. Scrolling down and clicking the link that opened spotify. Clicking on the song that was #1 on their page. His eyes slightly widening when he heard the loud music blare through his laptop speakers. Clicking the button that showed him the lyrics. ‘This is what you listen to?’ surprised that you'd listen to music so similar to what he listened to.

Obsessive!Choso who was so tempted to scroll through the thousands of monthly listeners in hopes to find you. Instead, settling on changing your name in his phone from your first and last name, to your first name with a small ‘♡’ next to it, hoping you'd do the same. Scrolling through his camera roll, before choosing a picture he stole from your friend's story, one where you were caught off guard and smiling. One of his favorite pictures of you he had screenshotted. The same picture he used as his wallpaper, pretending he was the one who took it. Making sure he changed it to a black screen before he went to the library earlier, in case you saw it. Looking back up to his laptop and playing the band's entire discography. Listening to the lyrics and adding the ones he thought you'd listen to into a playlist. Going to stand up when his phone dinged, looking down to see your name pop up. His hands shaking taking a screenshot of the first text message you had ever sent him. ‘Hey! Here's the link to the doc :) in case you wanna change something about it.’ he read, almost hearing your voice in his head. His hands went clammy when he saw you had sent him a smiley face. ‘Are you...No. Are you flirting with me?’ he thought to himself. Going to his computer and opening the message, clicking onto the link and seeing that you were looking at it too.

Obsessive!Choso who smiled so hard at the idea that you were looking at the google doc at the same time. Taking his fingers and moving his cursor to hover above yours. Letting out a quiet laugh when he thought about how technically he was holding your hand right now. Hoping that you were looking at what he was doing, but the chances of you just leaving your computer open while doing something in your bedroom were higher than his hopes. Opening the notification on his phone and replying, ‘thank you:)’ before turning off his phone and looking back to his computer. His hands in between his knees as he stared, hearing the music you listened to blare through his laptop.

pt 3 here

..... mm I luv him sm, im gettin to the actual stalking soon, could you tell? wrote this while listening to 'Tear You Apart- She Wants Revenge'

#jjk #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso my beloved #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #college au #non course au #emo choso #choso x you #sfw jjk

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bumblebeesfromvenus · 4 months

Text

Red Ribbon ❣️

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

A/N: The end of Fi's Christmas Market ☃️ is here! A bittersweet goodbye 😞 I hope you enjoyed my lil festive event! I had lots of fun doing it. There's much more planned for the new year! I hope you like this smutty parting gift!

~Fi 🐝

Warnings: NSFW CONTENT 17+. proceed with caution. Oral (m and f receiving), slight bondage, orgasm denial, PiV, creampie (don't be like them), very needy lovers, this is so soft and sappy.

Word count: 3.0k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

It all started innocently, you were just wrapping presents with Leon. You were seated on the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper, ribbons and gift bags. Humming along to the music in the background, you finished another bow on a present, handing it over to Leon so he could write the name on the little tag you'd attached.

"Who is this one for?" Your boyfriend asked, gold pen in hand. You glanced at the gift and narrowed your eyes at it for a second before answering.

"That one's for Jill." He nodded with a hum and went to write the name on it before you quickly stopped him.

"No, wait-" you took the present from his hands leaving him with his brows furrowed. You gave the box a small shake and listened closely before giving it back to him.

"Yep, it's for Jill."

"How do you- it didn't even make a sound." Leon said, his face contorted into utter confusion.

"Exactly." You gave him a proud smile, going back to wrapping the remaining gifts.

"You're a mystery to me, baby." He slightly shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well," you began, leaning in his direction and placing a hand on his thigh, "solve me, then."

He didn't miss the sultry tone in your voice or that playful and seductive glint in your eyes. A smirk settled on his lips, and there was a lustful glow in his sparkling blue irises.

Leon almost pounced on you, he'd never say no to an opportunity to ravish you. But, to his dismay, before his heated lips could even touch yours, you stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

"After we get the presents done, of course." You smiled sweetly as you went back to wrapping up gifts like nothing ever happened. Leon slumped back into his previous position and grumbled quietly under his breath. He respected your decision, of course, but did you have to tease and rile him up?

Even the slight touch of your hand on his thigh had his cock throbbing in his pants. And the way your voice was so silky and suggestive made him want to rip your clothes to shreds.

Nonetheless, he continued being the good boy he was and tried his best to put all the names on the designated presents in his best handwriting.

You clapped your hands together as you finished the last wrapping job.

"That's the last of it! They look quite nice, huh?" You smiled proudly, admiring the wrapping skills you had painfully acquired over many years.

"Good job, baby," Leon said with an equally as proud smile, placing a big kiss on your cheek, "now, about solving that mystery-"

You broke into a giggle.

"Patience, sweetheart, patience." You scolded playfully, waving your finger in the air. You leaned to one side and grabbed one of the many ribbons you had splayed out, along with a little festive tag. Shuffling over to Leon, you sat down on his thighs and began to tie it around his neck.

"What're you planning?" He smirked, his hands kneading at your hips.

"Just wrapping the last present." You smirked, finishing up the red bow. You had to stop yourself from drooling, the crimson satin band sat so nicely against his pale skin. The bow was peeking out from under his chin as the tag dangled from the ribbon.

"Hm.. and what does the tag say, huh, baby?" Leon grinned. The way his arms completely encased your middle and pulled you flush against his chest made your breath speed up, but hopefully, not enough for him to notice. With nimble fingers, you took hold of the tag and turned it over.

"Mine." You said quietly, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth to try and hide your smile as his jaw slacked slightly and his eyes widened. He squeezed you just a little tighter, and you

could feel his dick getting painfully hard as you were seated on his lap. The pressure of his hard on nestled perfectly against your pussy made your breath hitch in your throat. No matter how many times you would do this dance, he would always have this effect on you. All the blood rushed to your cheeks and to your cunt, leaving you light headed.

"S'only fair that I get to add a little bow to my present, too, right?" He breathed out. Even in his breathless state, there was nothing stopping that cocky smirk from creeping onto his face.

After you'd undressed, although it was actually more like tearing the clothes off one another, you'd dropped to your knees and decorated the base of his cock with a ruby band. You trailed kisses up his shaft, all the way to his tip. You gave it a gentle suck and Leon let out a small gasp, his head slightly tipping back as his hand found your hair.

It was so gentle, the way you dragged your lips up and down his dick, holding onto his thigh with one hand, and lacing your fingers together with the other. Your movements were slow, but calculated. Leon knew he wouldn't last long when you took him in your mouth as far as you could, and rubbed along the veins with your tongue.

"S-Shit, Baby... you really know how to make me fall apart, huh?" He chuckled breathlessly, which was quickly cut off by a groan when he felt your lips stretch into a smile around his cock. The hand that was tangled in your hair tightened its grip, but not to hurt. Never to hurt.

You gave his hand a loving squeeze as you moved up and down on his length, the bow at the base occasionally brushing against the tip of your nose. You pulled away for air, your chest slightly heaving as your spit dripped from his dick.

"I love you.. I love you so much. Want you to come in my mouth, Baby, please." You breathed out, pressing kisses to his trembling thighs.

"Y-Yeah? What my girl wants, she gets." Leon grinned, still breathless and all the love he held in his eyes for you never wavering for a second. He sheathed himself back into your mouth and gently began fucking your throat.

You hollowed out your cheeks and looked up at him with glazed eyes. His head was thrown back, his mouth was agape as whimpers and moans fell from him. The ribbon around his neck was being stretched slightly and the tag swayed with each thrust of his hips.

When the muscles in his stomach tensed and his moans became deeper you focused on his tip, swiping your tongue over it and sucking on it.

"I'm.. f-fuck, I'm gonna come.." Leon groaned, the sound being raspy and hoarse. He held onto your hand for dear life, grounding himself as the euphoria you brought him made his head spin. You gently stroked your thumb over his thigh, reminding him that you were here with him.

He came in your mouth with a strained cry of your name, stilling his movements as spurt after spurt of his warm cum trickled down your throat. You pulled away and swallowed all he had to give you, pressing one last gentle kiss to the tip of his cock before getting up from your knees and wrapping your arms around him.

"Are you okay, my love? Do you need to sit down?" You asked softly, stroking along his spine.

Leon chuckled.

"Fucking hell, woman. I don't need to sit down, I need a new pair of legs."

"Sorry." You giggled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're in for something, pretty girl," he leaned down and spoke lowly into your ear, "because I won't stop feasting on you until you need a new pair, too. Who knows, maybe we'll get a couples discount." With that and a sinister grin, you were dragged off to the bedroom.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

And that's how you ended up like this. Writhing, with purple and pink marks littering your skin all while Leon had his head buried between your thighs. Shuddering breaths tore through you as he lapped at your sopping cunt.

The red satin tied around your throat started to feel more suffocating by the second, the sharp edges of the tag poking into your flesh. The sting melded so deliciously with the sensation of Leon dragging his tongue through your folds, making you moan and whine.

The second ribbon he had decorated you with was tied just underneath your soft tits, stretching across your ribcage as the satin brushed against the underside of your breasts. Everything felt so overwhelming, there were too many sensations at once, making your skin raise in goosebumps.

The band around Leon's neck brushed against the back of your thighs and your ass. The last ribbon was tightly tied around your left thigh, some of your pudgy flesh spilling from the bound string. Leon was eating your pussy like it was his purpose, like it was the sole reason he was created; to bring you bliss with such carnal adoration that you'd melt before him.

"F-Fuck, Lee... slow down, I can't... oh God!" You cried out when he took your sensitive clit between his lips and started sucking. Your thighs clamped down around his head and you tried to push him away in a pathetic attempt. Leon growled into your pussy in a displeased manner.

He wanted nothing more than to pin down your arms by your side and knead at your chubby tummy while he was fucking his tongue into your hole. Unfortunately for him, you'd tied his hands behind his back and he was straining against the ribbon. He wanted to touch you more than he'd ever wanted to touch you in his life and he couldn't.

He couldn't, and it was making the determination to make you come undone without his touch grow even more. Leon ceased his struggling against his restraints when a particularly cute moan fell from your lips and your eyes squeezed shut. His cock twitched and he moaned into your cunt, bucking his hips up in the air in hope for some friction.

The tip of his dick was flushed and had a pearl of pre-cum running down the underside of it, meeting the red ribbon tied around at the base. Leon pulled away from between your thighs, his hair disheveled and his lips glistening with your slick. You whined and cried at the loss of his tongue on your pussy, having been so impossibly close to the edge.

"Let me touch you. Please, I need to touch you so bad." He begged with a heaving chest. You'd do anything he asked, but fuck if he didn't look divine like this. That whole growly attitude about feasting on you went out the window the second your taste hit his tongue.

"I'll.. I'll let you touch, I promise, just- please go back to what you were doing." You pleaded breathlessly, fisting the sheets both in frustration and anticipation. Leon would've made a smug remark or gave you that cocky smirk but he was so drunk on you, and on the lack of touching you, that all he did was nod dumbly and went right back to lapping at your poor cunt.

A shiver ran through you at your approaching climax, your ruined orgasm from before having you dangle on a string above a raging hot fire of love and lust.

"Don't stop, don't stop..." you moaned, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and your back arching. Leon circled your clit with his tongue and with one last flick against your sensitive bud, the coil inside you snapped. Your thighs shook and shuddered breaths tore through you as you were riding out your blissful high.

"Holy shit.." you breathed out, one of your arms falling over your eyes.

"Was that good?" Leon asked, kissing and sucking at your thighs that were drenched with your release. You could hear the smirk in his voice; he already knew the answer to that question.

"That was more than good. I might need to tie you up more often." You smirked, getting up on your elbows.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, pretty girl?"

"Very much so. But, I believe I promised you something." You said softly, shuffling over to undo the string keeping his hands behind his back. His hands found your thighs and he gently caressed the marks he'd left, brushing his thumb over the ribbon around your thigh in the process. You took his hands and pulled him up from his knees, pulling him on top of you.

"I've not gotten a single kiss, can you believe that?" You teased, bumping your nose against his playfully.

"We can't have that, can we?" Leon smirked, capturing your lips in a kiss that overflowed with so much desire and passion it almost made you melt. His hands that were finally free to touch you gently slid over your body, stroking and kneading at your flesh. His cock lay heavy against your pussy, making the fire in your veins ignite once more.

One hand toyed with your tits, groping them, while the other cradled your cheek so delicately as if you were made from porcelain.

"Can I fuck you? Please, I need you. Need t'be inside you.." Leon breathed against your lips. You nodded eagerly before stealing a kiss from him once more.

"Yeah. Wan' you inside of me, Lee."

He continued to kiss your breath away, reaching a hand between your bodies to line himself up with you.

"You.. are you gonna leave that on?" You questioned with your lips puffy, glancing down at the ribbon around his cock.

"Yeah, I was gonna leave it." He said breathlessly, going back to your lips again. You sucked in a sharp breath.

"God, that's hot." You whispered as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" He chuckled against your lips, slowly starting to push inside your sopping cunt. You whined with a nod as he stretched you out.

"Fuck, Baby... you fit around me so perfectly... s'like you were made for me."

"I was." You whimpered, Leon's hips beginning to move slowly after he fully sheathed himself inside of you.

"Yeah, you were. My pretty, beautiful, perfect girl... all for me, all mine. For me to hold, to kiss, to love."

He groaned when you clenched down on him at his words.

He was stroking your hair while his other arm was around your back, pressing you close against his chest. His thrust became harder and you mewled when you felt the ribbon brush against your clit.

"Oh, fuck.. I love you, I love you, I love you." You cried as the tip of his dick rubbed against that spongy spot inside of you. Your lips were almost glued together, only ever coming apart to mumble sweet words to one another. He swallowed your every moan and whine, just as you did his.

"I love you too, sweetheart. M-My.. shit... my angel, my princess.."

"Oh my god.. I'm so close, please..." you panted, your eyes falling shut at the feeling of Leon inside of you. He moved his hips just a little faster and trailed one of his hands between your thighs to rub at your clit.

"Come f'me, Baby... you can be good for me, can't you?" He breathed, cut off by a whimper when you tightened around him.

"Mhm, I'll be good for you.." you babbled mindlessly, the only thing in your head was how good he made you feel and how much you loved him.

His hand searched for yours, grasping it just in time as you came around him with his name falling from your lips. Leon spilled inside of you with a moan muffled by your lips. His cum flooded your walls, making a delightful and fuzzy feeling creep up your spine. His cock twitched inside of you, making you gasp softly.

Leon stayed inside of you for a minute to catch his breath. You were all hazy and smiles when he finally pulled out and situated himself next to you. He pulled you close to his chest and you kissed along his jaw.

"Are you alright, pretty girl?" Leon asked softly, running his fingers through your hair.

"Always when I'm with you. How are you feeling?" You smiled drowsily, ready to pass out for the next two hours.

"I'm okay, Baby. More than okay." He replied quietly with a smile on his lips. There was a comfortable silence, your synchronized breathing slowed and your eyelids began to flutter shut.

"We should take a shower." Leon mumbled against your hair, not wanting to let you go.

"I know... jus' gimme 20 minutes and I'll wash your hair."

"I love it when you do that. But I think we need a nap first." He yawned, snuggling closer together and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

"Agreed." You sighed comfortably.

"Is your neck itchy too?" You mumbled into his chest.

"Yeah, I don't-" Leon reached up to his neck but stopped when he felt the ribbon against his fingertips. You opened one eye to see why he stopped.

"We forget about the ribbon, didn't we?"

"Yep."

The two of you broke into a fit of tired giggles, and you helped each other from your bounds, kissing the skin in your wake.

The crimson bands were tossed out the bed, and now you were content, cuddled up with each other. The world was left behind as you were enveloped by the warm and pleasant tug of sleep, drifting into shared dreams.

And just like your bodies were a minute ago, so were your hearts; bound with a Red Ribbon.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

This might be my last fic for 2023! It definitely won't be the last you hear of me, though.

My plan for the new year is to focus on the requests sitting in my inbox, maybe accept some more and throw in my own ideas here and there!

<3 🐝

#bumblebeesfromvenus #FI'S CHRISTMAS MARKET ☆#christmas 2023 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil leon #leon smut #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy comfort

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comatosebunny09 · 10 months

Text

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is.

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one.

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint.

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is.

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears.

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.”

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye.

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.”

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window.

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.”

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite.

“Says who?”

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder.

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship.

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?”

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?”

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space.

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell.

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.

<< part 1

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon x reader #resident evil 4 x reader #re4 x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #tw: language #cw: reader insert #kindle series

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orcinus-veterinarius · 2 years

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Can you elaborate the story of the ”Free Willy” orca (forgot his name). From my understanding the orca couldn’t survive in the wild and imprinted on hunans to the point that he seeked out human compaionship

Oh Keiko. His is a sad story. In 1979, he was tragically captured from his native Icelandic waters as a calf and, after bouncing around for several years, was sold to an amusement park in Mexico City that would eventually become Six Flags Mexico. It was here that he found fame as the star of Free Willy, a very sweet and very fictional story (a favorite of mine as a child!) that later spawned a trilogy, all while convincing the public that it’s easy to free a whale.

The tank you see in the movie is the same tank Keiko lived in during his time in Mexico. Intended to house dolphins, it was incredibly undersized, and the water was far too warm for an orca. Worst of all, he was isolated from others of his kind, with only the companionship of his human caregivers and a few bottlenose dolphins. The years of poor husbandry took their toll on poor Keiko, and he was lethargic and in ill health when his story because known throughout the world.

Although many parties were involved in what happened next, Warner Bros. studios (the filmmakers behind Free Willy) and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS, my beloathed) were at the forefront. Once it became public knowledge that the real Willy was not, in fact, returned to the wild to live with his family and was still living in that too-tiny pool, many of Keiko’s fans (mainly children) began writing letters asking for their favorite cetacean movie star to be released.

Doesn’t that warm your heart? *she says sarcastically*

Some time—and an incident in which Michael Jackson (yes, that Michael Jackson) tried to purchase the whale for his personal collection—later, Keiko’s owners relented. It was decided by the newly formed Free Willy-Keiko Foundation, founded by Warner Bros. and cell phone mogul Craig McCaw (and still in operation to this day, unfortunately), that it was time to make fantasy a reality and set Keiko free. In 1996, Keiko was transferred to the Oregon Coast Aquarium for rehabilitation, where he would spend two years.

Under the quality husbandry and veterinary care Keiko received in Oregon, his health began to improve. In my opinion, this beautiful habitat, with trainers who loved and cared for him, should’ve been his forever home. One would think this was the plan all along, considering his trainers were still doing waterwork with him. That doesn’t exactly scream “this animal is a candidate for release!”

But the HSUS and Free Willy-Keiko Foundation had promised the children of the world that Keiko would return to the wild. Think of the children, people.

In 1998, Keiko tasted the crisp saltwater of the Icelandic seas for the first time in nearly two decades. For the next four or so years, Keiko lived in a sea pen, with the intentions of gradually habituating him back to his native environment. Over time, his trainers took him on longer and longer “walks” in the open ocean. One day in 2002, the walk didn’t end.

Keiko was free.

15 months later, he was dead.

The cause of death was pneumonia, the most common disease of cetaceans both in the wild and in human care. He was 27 years old (average life expectancy of a male orca is about 30 years).

Perhaps it would’ve been worth it, had Keiko spent those last 15 months with his long-lost family. But he didn’t. Though he was occasionally observed trailing pods of orcas, Keiko never rejoined a wild pod. Instead, he spent those 15 months traveling the coasts of Iceland and Norway seeking out the only family he knew. Humans.

Keiko would approach swimming children, allowing them to ride on his back as he had with his trainers over the years. He would follow boats in search of food and companionship, as his caregivers had interacted with him from boats during his ocean walks. These escapades became so frequent that the local government passed ordinances to stop its citizens from interacting with the whale. Although the HSUS claimed otherwise, Keiko was never again a truly wild whale. He was a whale dependent on humans, humans who ignored the advice of experts and tried to bring fiction to life. In 2009, the journal Marine Mammal Science did a retrospective review of Keiko’s rehabilitation and release. They determined it was a failure.

Despite this, Keiko remains a poster child for anti-zoo activists. The still-hypothetical Whale Sanctuary Project (my even more beloathed) uses Keiko as an example of why their experiment is a good idea, tugging at heartstrings of well-meaning animal lovers like HSUS did all those years ago.

In reality, Keiko was quite possibly the worst candidate imaginable for release. He was a fully mature male, with a history of poor health, who had spent decades in the care of humans with absolutely no contact with others of his kind since he was basically a toddler. The decision to release him was made entirely on emotion and carried out by movie executives and animal rights activists. For further insight into the political and financial woes of the release, I highly recommend Killing Keiko by Mark Simmons, one of Keiko’s caregivers throughout the rehabilitation process.

RIP Keiko. You were a beautiful, sweet man who inspired millions 🐳

#keiko #free willy #orcas #killer whales #cetaceans #marine mammals #killing keiko #humane society of the united states #whale sanctuary project #answered asks

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mydearlybeloathed · 5 months

Text

𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you, now a successful singer, and sanji, now a pirate, reunite unexpectedly when you return to baratie for a one night only performance.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: opla!sanji x fem!singer!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: use Y/N, zeff is a meddler, mild angst

When Sanji woke up that morning, he hadn’t expected a song would be the one to bruise his ego.

It was a relatively normal morning, filled with shuffling around the Going Merry with a pen and pad asking for special grocery requests. It was the usual, for the most part; Zoro wanted alcohol, Luffy asked for lamb, Nami needed brown sugar for something she wanted to make, and Usopp requested chocolate chips.

All a routine order to convince Zeff to hand over, Sanji mused, flipping shut his notepad as the Merry docked at Baratie. Another supply run was nothing out of the ordinary. They’d be out by the next morning if he had any say in it.

Then he saw the mischievous glint in Zeff’s eyes, and suddenly, Sanji was nervous.

“What?” He tried to laugh it off. When all Zeff did was clap a hand on Sanji’s shoulder, the Strawhat cook’s curiosity turned to panic. “Zeff, you’ve got that look. What is it?”

Zeff shrugged and led the way further into the kitchen. It was early in the morning, breakfast being prepared as the two spoke. “Ah, nothin’.” He smirked to himself. “I’m just debating whether I should tell you, or let you find out.”

Sanji blinked, now very, very concerned for his own wellbeing. “You should definitely tell me.”

The old man let out a laugh and completely ruined Sanji’s day with just two simple words: “She’s back.”

There was no need for elaboration; Sanji knew exactly who she was. His heart dropped and all color drained from his face, jaw effectively slack. The sight had Zeff’s chest hurting with how hard he laughed.

“I—Why in the seven hells would she be comin’ here, Zeff?” Sanji clawed at his hair, sitting back against a counter and stumbling for his senses. “Last I checked she wanted nothing to do with this place.”

Zeff tutted. “Last I checked she wanted nothing to do with you, little eggplant. She left Baratie with nothing but fond memories of me.”

“That’s—!” Sanji faltered, lips pursed. “That’s fair, actually.”

“Just thought I’d warn you,” sadi Zeff as he moved to shoo a younger cook away from some vegetables and started to chop them himself. Sanji took his place beside him and found himself a knife, mincing some carrots to speed the process along.

Zeff smiled warmly. “She offered to come sing for the guests. I wasn’t about to turn her away. I raised you both. It’s natural I miss her. Then you said your crew needed more supplies the same week she’s here, and well… Would it be wrong to admit this is turning out really well for me?”

“No,” Sanji snapped back. His neck ached and his shoulders were tense, but he just kept on chopping away with practiced ease. “How in hell is any of this good?”

“You two used to be fine as friends,” Zeff reasoned. “It’s only when ya’ tried bein’ more that things went south.”

Sanji didn’t need Zeff to remind him that he’d completely, utterly, definitely screwed up any chance of being at least friends with you again. He knew that. He’d accepted it long ago. It didn’t mean Sanji was any less heartbroken about it.

“Relax,” said Zeff after he had enough of the suffocating silence. “She’s over you. You’re over her.” He finished up the vegetables and called back over the nervous little cook. “I’m sure you know her career took off. She came back to sing for Baratie before her tour ‘round the seas.”

He clapped Sanji on his shoulder and shook him a bit. “One night only. It’s sure to be great.”

Sure, except everything that Zeff had just said was entirely wrong. Sanji was in no way over you.

And Lord knew you weren’t over him either.

Across the sea-top restaurant was you, face pale, eyes wide and glaring daggers into Patty and Carne. The pair stood exchanging worried glances as you sputtered out words they could hardly understand.

“Bastards!” That they could gather. “Why didn’t Zeff tell me Sanji would be here? The only reason I accepted the invitation was because I knew Sanji was off playing pirates.” You tugged at your hair. “Or he’s supposed to be.”

“Don’t look at us!” Patty said, hands raised in surrender. The burly man offered a consoling smile. “Zeff didn’t know.”

You pointed a finger at him, a wild look in your eyes. “So you think! So you think! I bet he arranged this whole thing behind our backs!”

You knew you sounded crazy. Hell, you felt erratic at this point. Seeing Sanji was not something you were mentally prepared for just yet. You rubbed at your temples. “God, I haven’t seen him since I left.”

“It’ll be fine,” Carne siad, his hands settling on your shoulders and giving you a little shake. “Just fine.”

Patty nodded and caught sight of your agent peering around the corner she was eavesdropping from, tapping her watch with a pointed look on her face. Patty mimed rushed assurances and turned back to you. “I doubt he’ll even have the nerve to show up. Not after everything.”

You wiped a stressed tear from your eyes. “You think?”

Patty started to guide you down the hall toward the room your panicky agent was now awaiting in. “Yep. He’s a wimp like that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, slowly nodding your head. “He won’t even show up. I’ll go out there, do my set, talk to Zeff again, and book it outta here.”

Your steps were more confident as you headed for your room. Carne rolled his eyes at you, in a fond kind of way of course. “Atta girl.”

You pumped a fist as you disappeared around the corner, and the two men could breathe easy now that they were free of your scathing eyes.

જ⁀➴

Ever since you and Sanji first met, it’d been complicated.

Zeff didn’t believe in letting women work in his restaurant. He knew what type of guest his establishment attracted; from the sleazy rich to the sketchy pirates, Zeff didn’t believe it was necessarily safe for women to work there.

But then there was you, some scrappy ten year-old from the docks of some port he couldn't recall the name of.

You’d been playing a guitar far too big for you, an upturned hat before you. Zeff was bartering for a fair price on some radishes not too far away. He caught the tailend of a song as you finished, the only word to describe the sound being angelic. But Zeff didn’t have time to listen to street urchins play guitar.

Hours passed and he was back in Baratie's kitchen, sitting at the table eating some soup he’d prepared the day before. All was well and all was quiet. The ship was back at sea. The storage was fully stocked. The little eggplant was out of the way for once. He had a moment to breathe.

“AGH–AAAAH! ZEEEEFF!”

A moment short lived, and he was back to adolescent induced suffocation. The old man’s brows pinched, a migraine on the horizon. Maybe if he ignored it…

The kitchen doors swung open to reveal none other than the eggplant—Sanji’s face was all red, his hair a mess, and he was dragging a girl behind him with a fist in her hair.

Zeff jumped to his feet, this being the last thing he expected when he heard Sanji’s whistle note scream. “Sanji—!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” The girl—you—offered a swift kick to Sanji’s groin. You massaged at your scalp while the boy keeled and flopped over in agony. “Bitch, you ripped out some of my hair!”

Sanji groaned, practically writhing. Zeff nearly felt bad, until he recognized you. “You’re the kid from the docks!”

Before you could offer your quippy reply, Sanji had sent a kick to your shin that had you joining him on the ground. Idiots, the both of you.

Zeff had meant to kick you off when they docked at a port the next month… but, well, you had nowhere to go, and he’d grown used to how you and Sanji bickered back and forth so seamlessly.

(He’d known before anyone else that you and Sanji had something special, even if the pair of you were too stubborn to admit it.)

Zeff didn’t think he’d ever make an exception to his rules, but then there was you, and there wasn’t much use in saying no to you.

It started as being a hostess, guiding guests to their tables, and then it was bussing tables. You even tried your hand in the kitchen and were swiftly kicked out after the first fire scare. Then, you’d asked to sing, and Zeff had no objections.

But even as he grew to think of you as part of his odd excuse for a family, itt was obvious to him that you had no wish to dedicate your life to the restaurant.

You’d had to abandon your guitar when you stowed away on Baratie, but your voice had no hindering. He heard you when you thought no one else cared to listen—Sanji did too, and Zeff always thought the eggplant realized he loved you the first time he heard you sing.

Sanji wouldn’t try to disagree. He knew there was a point in the timeline of him knowing you where his annoyance at your existence turned into a kind of reverence he had no power to stop. He swore you were a siren, sent from the depths to torment his every waking moment.

As he grew older his affections only grew worse and worse, until he couldn’t help but kiss you—his very first mistake.

Sanji knew he was far from perfect, and he was far from ever deserving such a sweet love as the one you offered, but God, how he tried.

He failed, always, and that was a torture he tried not to dwell on.

Every time he fell for you, you seemed to fall harder, and he was never good at keeping up. You had dreams and so did he, and as the years drew on, it just… didn’t work, and the on-again-off-again romance was draining you both of any chance for fixing what was left of your friendship.

He tried to blame it on wrong place and wrong time, because he hoped it wasn’t simply wrong person. Sanji promised himself he would keep trying to be good for you until the day he died—but he kept failing. He kept disappointing you, breaking things off only to start them up again, he kept charming other women right in front of you.

Nobody’s perfect, but he could’ve at least tried a little harder.

Then came the day you’d left, finally having enough of his indecision and going out to fulfill all your dreams… With barely a goodbye to him. You’d left a note, of course, but it was short and cold and heartbreaking: “Dear Sanji, don’t miss me. Sincerely, Y/N.”

Sincerely. How was he ever supposed to recover from that?

As far as Sanji knew, you were doing well. There were posters and radio announcements about you, this up and coming star with the voice of an angel.

And now to the present, where he stood taking a smoke outside the Baratie’s entrance. The moon was high and the stars peaked out from the clouds. The long trail of guests filing into the restaurant for dinner was thinning.

Sanji took a drag and imagined you, in your room having last minute jitters before heading out to sing.

“Sanji?” It was Nami, stepping out into the chill night air, concern written all over her face. “You coming?”

His pause was a bit too long, and Nami tried again, “You don’t have to…”

“I…” He wanted to. God, how he wanted to hear you sing again. “I think I’ll stay out here.”

She stood there a moment longer like she wanted to argue, to snap some sense into him and get him to at least try to speak to you. There was so much history, after all, even if Nami didn’t know the half of it. But she went back inside with a hefty sigh, leaving Sanji alone with his tendrils of smoke and wallowing self-pity.

જ⁀➴

Your agent, Flora, was messing with your curls, pulling them over your shoulders as you tapped your thumb on the wood of the guitar hung around your shoulders.

“Now,” she fussed. “There’s a platform set up at the center of the room. I tested the acoustics at dawn before anybody else could get inside and it's perfect. Just right.”

Her little smile faded when she caught your eye. “Hun, what’s wrong?” She raised a brow. “Is this about that boy?”

You tried to evade the conversation with a roll of your eyes. “Flora…”

“Because I wasn’t going to tell you this,” said Flora. “But he’s been wandering around all day trying to catch a glimpse of you. Ran away every time I caught him. Had to get that Zoro guy to get him to knock it off.”

You aren’t sure why you felt surprised. You yourself had been wandering Baratie hoping you’d catch sight of that familiar mop of blond, but alas. “Do you… think he’ll show up?”

Flora took your hand. “Do you want him to?”

“No.” Yes. You wanted to see him. You wanted to know if he was doing better, if he was better, if all the bad of the past had shaped him into the Sanji you knew he could be.

“Then go out there and sing.” She had an aura of comfort and calm you often envied. “You know what song’s first, right?”

You thought of the setlist your drummer had brought to you that morning and felt your stomach drop. “Flora, I can’t sing that song to him—”

“You’re not singing it to him,” she cut in, starting to lead you out of the little room and down the hall to the grand staircase leading into the dining room. “You’re singing for all those people waiting to hear the songbird incarnate, Y/N L/N.”

You grinned tightly. “No pressure.”

Descending the stairs was the easy part. People clapped as you glided down as light as a feather, guitar around you and a light shining down from somewhere. True to Flora’s word a round platform awaited at the center of the dining room. It was small, but you had a bit of moving room. You accepted the hand of your drummer and stood up on the platform, shooting him a smile as he went back up the stairs to where the rest of your small band was ready to play.

You turned and suddenly there was a microphone to your right. Had that always been there?

“Hello, Baratie!” The applause met you at full force, easing some of your tension. Sanji was nowhere to be seen, and you weren’t sure if you liked that. “Look at your beautiful faces tonight. Oh, and there’s Chef Zeff too!”

That got you a couple of laughs before it died down again. “I’m so happy to be back here. Baratie was a home of mine once, and it’ll always have a place in my heart.” Your hand brushed your guitar strings and sent an unpleasant sound into the mic. “All right, enough sappiness. You all want some music, right?”

You cast a glance up at your band, felt a rush of familiarity, and nodded. A steady beat began and you began to strum a practiced tune on your guitar, the callousess on your fingers straining under the pressure.

“I remember when we broke up—the first time. Saying ‘This is it, I’ve had enough, ‘cause like…’”

“This isn’t working out,” he said, not a pinch of the light you'd come to love in his eyes. He looked cold and unkind, but the frown he was giving you betrayed his own heartbreak.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re… better as friends. I just need some space to think.”

“What? Then you come around again and say, ‘Baby, I miss you and I swear I’m gonna change, trust me…’”

He chased you relentlessly until his hand caught your wrist and spun you around. All his words fell short at the sight of your tears. “Y/N…”

“You said it would be different,” you reminded him. Bitterness flooded your senses. “What was her name? Did you even catch it before you unzipped her dress?”

Anger boiled in his eyes. “I didn’t—I just kissed her!”

“Just,” you laughed mirthlessly, shaking your head as you ripped yourself from his presence and stormed away.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t, Sanji!”

“I’ll do better! I promise.”

“Remember how that lasted for a day? I say I hate you, we break, you call me, I love you.”

You tried not to search for familiar faces in the crowd, instead shutting your eyes and letting the music take over, and not the lyrics.

But you were a weak woman, and your eyes pried themselves free to scan the room.

It was dark around the dining room, and the lights Flora had managed to set up were blinding, but there he was. Sanji was by the door to the lower decks, his icy eyes bearing into you with such an intensity you stumbled over your guitar strings. You picked the melody back up before it was too noticeable, but he was smirking, that son of a bitch.

Sanji noticed. He always noticed everything about you, annoyingly.

“I’m really gonna miss you picking fights, and me falling for it, screaming that I’m right, and you would hide away in your peace of mind…”

“I never said I didn’t want you to go!” Sanji screamed back at you. “I think it's the chance of a lifetime and if you want to, you should go.”

That’s not what you wanted him to say. You took your ground, staring him right in the eyes. “Do you want me to go, Sanji?”

“That’s not—”

“No, I mean…” You took a breath. “Say the word and I’ll stay. I won’t go. I’ll stay here and sing my silly songs on a crate covered in a tablecloth. Just tell me you want me.”

“I…” Sanji wanted to, you knew, but he was too kind. He wasn’t going to trap you here. You could see him choosing to be mean right before your very eyes. “I don’t care if you stay or go, Y/N. Go if you want to. I don’t care.”

You didn’t go in the morning, and the rich patron sailed away with the offer of a lifetime.

“I used to think, that we were forever—ever. And I used to think, never say never…”

Sanji hadn’t realized Nami and Zoro were beside him till the jeering began.

“Damn,” Nami laughed into his ear. “When you said you broke her heart I didn’t think you meant it.”

Zoro cast him a teasing look. “You were a douche.”

Sanji’s cheeks burned. “We were kids! I…”

“Relax, we’re joking.” Nami nudged his shoulder before she turned back to you. “She’s watching you, by the way.”

“She is?” Sanji snapped his head back up a little too quickly, but he didn't care. Nami dragged Zoro back to their table, leaving Sanji to stare absolutely starstruck at you. You really were watching, an odd kind of look in your eyes.

It wasn’t angry or sad or happy… but Sanji was sure he had a similar look in his eyes.

“So he calls me up and he’s like, ‘I still love you’...”

Your eyes locked with his and a burning sensation filled your chest. He hadn't changed much. More handsome you supposed, if you let yourself think it.

“And I’m like… I’m just… I mean, this is exhausting, you know? Like we are never getting back together…”

He tried a grin and a little wave, and memories flooded back in an instant, both the good and bad. You somehow found it in yourself to offer a smile back, and you knew then, the song was probably a lie.

“Like ever.”

જ⁀➴

“Hi…” He found you on the back terrace of the Baratie, where the fish mouth of the restaurant opened up the starry night sky.

You weren’t pretending to not be waiting, a glass of your mutually favorite wine across from you waiting for him.

He sat down, mostly because the smile you offered him was enough to buckle his knees.

“Hey,” you replied, averting your eyes to your glass.

Sanji wasn’t exactly sure where to begin, but he started with, “I think Zeff set us up.”

You snorted. “Oh, definitely.”

“Uhm…” He looked out at the sea, then at his wine, then at you, and settled on keeping his eyes there. “You were wonderful. Radiant, really.” The stars faded from his eyes as mischief replaced it. “I liked your opener.”

You rolled your eyes and flushed from your neck to your nose. “Thank you. I had good inspiration.”

“I’d say my bad, but it was a good song.” Sanji felt as breathless as he used to, when he was sixteen and just learning how much he cared about you. “You were perfect. Are perfect. Can I still say that?”

You chuckled. “I—I guess so.”

Silence filled the space between you, clicking glasses and chatter from the bar feeling very far away.

“The drummer was good—”

“I think I still love you—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, watching Sanji’s mouth open and close like a confused fish. His ears burnt pink and a spark of opportunity filled his beautiful blue eyes. You locked eyes, and Sanji started to laugh.

The sound was better than any music and flowed from his lips like honey. Chuckles bubbled up and out of your chest till you were gripping the sides of the chair you were in as you joined in on his uncontained and unending cackles.

He wiped at a tear and tried to get a hold of himself as your laughter died down as well, and he found himself admiring how you looked under the golden lighting of the terrace. “Would it be bad if I said same here?”

There was a brief pause before you threw your head back again and laughed over and over, drawing closer to Sanji till you were side by side, knee to knee, laughing loud enough to warrant a noise complaint.

“We’re hopeless,” you mused.

Sanji shrugged. “Yeah, but what’s new?”

A lot of things, actually. Things felt different, but the same, and it was odd for you both. The same love was there along with the bad memories tagged along with it, but you and Sanji had more experience behind you now. You were older and wiser and good God, you were no longer teenagers.

Some years ago it had been wrong place, wrong time, wrong… wrong everything.

But now you looked at him and instead of seeing the boy who used to break your heart, you saw Sanji. Your childhood best friend. The man who you once thought could be the love of your life.

Maybe… perhaps… it wouldn’t hurt to give it just one more go. All right, maybe you were getting back together. You could see the pair of you meeting back at Baratie a year later, your tour long over and his crew docked for the week. You’re lovers despite distance, awaiting a someday where your dreams finally align.

Sanji pressed a tentative kiss to your forehead, testing the waters in the wake of your laughter, and asked if you wanted to meet his crew. You nodded, meaning to stand when a boy in a straw hat vaulted over the back of the seat across from you and sat down. Then a girl with orange hair and boy with green, closely followed by a dark skinned boy with tinted glasses over his eyes.

You took Sanji’s hand in your own and blushed at how he admired your profile like you’d hung the very stars in the sky. Yeah, you could see it.

#sanji #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #one piece live action sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji vinsmoke x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece live action x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla x reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader

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dragonthusiast · 1 year

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Merman Cozy Fantasy WIP Snippet

this book is turning very meta, I get why people make their MCs writers now, it's fun, though i won't do it often. It would lose its charm

“So, what did you think of my pornography?”

Ramos finally, finally, rolled his eyes, letting Kai take a deep breath. Back to normal for a bit at least.

“I…didn’t expect the characters to be so well developed.”

Kai immediately thought of turning this into a sex joke, but Rami would probably not appreciate that.

“Oh?”

Ramos nodded, his ears twitching as he frowned in thought. “I especially liked Lonriel.”

Kai tried not to chuckle at that. Yeah, a grumpy, moody merman who prefers to keep his own company does sound like someone Ramos would like, Kai would bet.

“And of course, your self-insert was very accurate to the real thing.”

Kai choked, not having expected that, especially not when paired with a little smirk on Rami’s face, but as soon as he recovered, he burst out laughing. “Hey now,” he said as he gasped for breath, “just because Teri is happy-go-lucky, incredibly good-looking, and infinitely charming, doesn’t mean he’s me.”

#writeblr #amwriting #original writing #creative writing #my writing #writers of tumblr #penned sea hearts #im just now realizing that i havent made an intro post for this book #i should get on that

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pigeonpeach · 4 months

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Mother and Father moments.

Aka more mommy reader x Arlecchino! This time with comfort!

Perhaps you sometimes forget your husband is a harbinger. She’s just so kind to the chikdren at times. Your presence has helped her become more patient and gentle with them. You had been with her for awhile now. Lynette and Lyney had grown up into full on adults, going on missions leaving you to worry. But they came back each time. As your original set of kids grew so did the dangers. You knew they were raised for this yet your heart still hurts at the thought. Unfortunately some didn’t make it. Some may think its hard to care for so many children emotionally but it didn’t matter to you, you felt hurt when they were. Each and every one of them you raised and cared for became your child in their eyes. Lucky your husband despite not being the most emotional vulnerable still let you cry over each. Her gentle whispers reassuring that it was not your fault.

She knows your heart, she knows its that empathy and vulnerability that strengthens your bond with the children, sometimes she envies that. But she still tries to make up for it to the best she can.

So when The twins and Freminet were imprisoned you became worrisome. She with held that it was for a mission because she knew you would demand to join them. Still she held you.

“Could I send tea bags to Lynette? Letters? Oh god poor Freminet he always loves diving! He can’t dive anywhere!” You paced as you were planning a gift to be sent. She watched you with a smile.

“I assure you they will be fine. They’re barely serving a few months for a petty crime that likely won’t end up on their record. They have each other afterall. You know Lyney, he will not let any of them get hurt.” She said calmly,

“Still he’s my boy and I worry about him!” You say panicked.

“And the prophecy! Oh god they’re so far down underwater they wouldn’t have a way out!” You paced even more as her smile faded.

“My love,” she held you in her arms making you still, “I assure you, everything will be okay. They’ll be back when their sentence is over, and they’ll have all sorts of stories to tell. Freminet can handle himself, and Lyney is a good protector of the two. They will be fine. As for the prophecy, I have my own methods ready.” She said kissing the back of your neck. You sighed as you finally calmed down.

“You’re right. I need to relax..” you say melting into her touch. “I just… oh I can’t help it. Lyney was the first to call me mom.” Arlecchino smiled as you looked at one of the baby pictures of the twins.

“You’re always their mother. With you waiting here I’m sure they’ll strive to make it back.” She says calmly.

“They better.” You huff. “That Wriothesley better be kind to my kids otherwise-“

“Relax dear. Don’t think anymore about the impossible. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be treated as any other prisoner is. Afterall, Fontaine is currently under alot of pressure, I’m sure he wouldn’t be confident enough to pull a stunt like that.” She says. “And if he did, then I’ll handle it.” You sigh in relief as she holds you closer to herself.

“You’re right I know I know.”

“If you would like you can send them a letter. Of course you can’t send any gifts but you’re more than welcome to wri-“ Arlecchino stopped as she watched you pick up a pen and looked for a piece of paper. “Here.” She handed you a piece. Quickly you started to write down your thoughts as she smiled behind you. “You should slow down. They might not be able to read your writing otherwise.”

“You’re sure i can’t send gifts? Not even a blanket? Oh Lynette hates being cold! That place must be so cold too, so far down under the sea.. oh my poor baby.” You moped.

“I’m certain there’s accomdations for such. I doubt they’d let their staff down their freeze. Besides I hear it can actually get too hot down there.”

“But what about Freminet then! He isn’t good handling intense heat. He burnt his hand on the kettle once and he’s never trusted them since. He always uses a oven mitt or glove even when its not necessary.” Your fingers tapped worriedly.

“Darling please try to not assume the worst. Our children are not hostages right now. They simply are being disciplined for a small amount of time. Their sentences are only two or so months.” She repeated trying to soothe you. You pouted even more.

“Still I’ll miss them. I even bought a new dessert book to try and make some for Lynette. She always comes by to visit when I even imply there’s new desserts. She’s become my little taste tester.” You smile. “She doesn’t smile but her tail wags impatiently when she sees me preparing a new sweet.”

“You know them so well.” She smiles and brushes your hair, helping to alleviate some tension held within your shoulders. “I’m sure they miss you too. You know they wouldn’t want you to worry so much about them.”

“I’m aware. Still I love them all so much.. it hurts that I cannot protect them all from everything in life.” You lift your head to look at her as her arm rests on your waist.

“I know my dear. Its why you’re the finest choice for me.” She kisses you. “Now just relax and I’ll write the letter for you.”

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #domestic fluff #comfort #slight death but not of named characters #arlecchino is so hot please step on me #arlecchino x y/n #alrecchino #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x reader #pls come home now arlecchino #arlechinno genshin #wlw x reader

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memory-of-deross · 3 months

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how would your muse draw themselves??? :33

Truth be told, when it comes to that of the DeRosses and their evermore Novelist; never has Orpheus been much of a visual artist within his lifetime, more confident in the pen than he is a brush and curving lines into letters than sketches. Though, that’s not to say they’ve not tried or lack interest at all.

Homesick’s art style is often simplistic in nature, the lines carefree and breezing about; its more cartoonish than making much attempt at realism, with the head and hands more emphasized and the face always lacking much detail than little marks of expression, as well as gentle coloring with crayons— something that his daughter had gifted him before he’d went out on sea, exchanging little drawings throughout the countless letters that were bound, and occasionally, he uses it to color in his experiences for Aging to behold, having once found himself idly scribbling by the upper part of the boat as the sun rose (even long after, his own sunshine still asks him to carry her up onto his shoulders, as they tried to look through the early mornings for that sight together). Generally, his art is often something to be paired with or reminiscent to that of a children’s own style, something stemming from how often that when he’d draw, it’d be with none other than one.

Hollow doesn’t draw much, if at all, nowadays. When he attempts to, his lines come out more jagged, sharpened around random edges, or scrambling off from the initial sketch entirely— disordered and chaotic, only vaguely depicting anything, all a result of how unsteady his hands have become, likely from the ice that’s overtaken his form, the hand within the ice shifting little so, as well as an overwhelming intensity in how he carries himself and how he is, the lines darkened with the force that he draws with, near tearing the page. The activity doesn’t particularly please him to begin with, and although there’d been many instances where he’d cause bias for actions of his that were hardly more special than any other persons within the ruined islands, this lacks to be one, making others do it for him.

Immortalpheus depicts himself in an almost… unsettling realism compared to the rest, who’d not often focus on such matters. The shading and proportions are often just right; it’s as if he understands himself more than the others do, in a sense.

#✦ (the pen lifts yet again. ask answered)#🗝️ (sea bound folds of the heart. homesick)#❄️ (borealis of eden. hollow)#♾️ (venomous cycles of ouroboros. immortalpheus)

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yuphoric · 4 months

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STOCKHOLM SYNDROME ❥ yuuta okkotsu (m) | part 1

➵ summary: Yuuta Okkotsu is head over heels (read: pathetically) in love with a girl who wouldn’t even spare him a second glance. When the opportunity to call her “his” arrives on a silver platter—that is, when she loses all her memories—without thinking, he grabs the opportunity to claim himself as her husband.

➵ pairing: obsessive stalker!yuuta okkotsu x f!reader ➵ word count: 1,163 ➵ warnings: MINORS DNI – stalking & obsession (for future drabbles? chapters? smut)

author’s note: ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! <3 inspired by the 1D fanfic i read 9 years ago (“illegally yours” by _DaniMoon_)… ALSO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS……….. the yuuta brainrot was just sooo... bad i wrote all of this in one sitting SCREAMINGGGG

Yuuta Okkotsu is a well-calculated man; he’s a “mastermind” as Taylor Swift would say. He’s smart, and he’s careful. He’s everything but stupid.

However, when it comes to you, he becomes stupid. Stupidly in love. All thoughts of intellect trashed at the deepest corner of his mind, all reasons of rationality ignored. Even back in high school, he’d admire you from afar—too insecure to even place himself in your world. He never deemed his world worthy to accommodate you; you who he defines as perfection, you who shines brighter than any of the constellations combined.

When this seemingly perfect chance to have you, to love you, falls beneath his feet; he takes it—he grabs it.

His day started like his usual routine. He greeted the kind barista named ‘Yuuji’ behind the counter and bought his usual coffee order from the small café he frequents at. He sat at the plush chair (technically, could be labeled as his own by how much his ass sat on it) near the window, catching sight of the beautiful morning scenery—

You.

You, at exactly eight in the morning, arrive with the usual twinkle in your eye. Yuuta falls in love more every day with the sight of perfection. In these typical mornings, you always carry a digital camera, taking pictures of your usual subjects; like the shop’s designs that change weekly (Last week, he recalled it was designed with cute little balloons to celebrate the owner’s birthday), the baristas which have become your friends, and the pastries layed out inside the glass display. He always wondered when he could be the subject of your pictures.

Once Yuuta hears the soft jingle of the shop’s bells, you dash over the counter and greet Yuuji. If someone would ask Yuuta what you usually order, he could easily recite it: “One sea salt latte and a banana muffin, please.” On days you feel like ‘experimenting,’ he knows that you would instead order a double shot of espresso and a puff pastry.

While he tries to not seem obvious stalking—admiring—you, he couldn’t help himself to let his eyes wander on your body. Especially when today, you wore the pink miniskirt he loved seeing on you, how it perfectly hugs your waist down to your thighs. After you pay, you walk to your designated seat: the one near the counter, just beneath the air conditioner. He shakes his head, turning back to his table; his hand grasping the ballpoint pen he brought to messily sketch the you of today on his journal. His ordered drink is neglected at the side, his focus on your sketch and his view of you by the corner of his eye.

Today seems like any other day.

Until it wasn’t.

The bells ring once again at the entry of another man with dark hair bunched in a top knot. Yuuta watches as your eyes light up at the sight of this man, and he could swear he feels his stomach lurch. Who is this man and why is she so happy to see him? The grip Yuuta had on his pen tightened, similar to the feeling of his vulnerable heart. Do you have a boyfriend he never knew of?

For the next couple of minutes, he watches the sequence of events play out. First, Yuuji delivers a tray of two different drinks and two different pastries on your shared table. Second, the sweet conversation you introduced to this ‘top knot’ (read: ‘top one asshole,’ as Yuuta conjured in his head) seemingly turned sour instantaneously. Then currently, Yuuta watches the back and forth of free flowing arguments between the two of you.

How dare this man hurt you?

Someone as perfect as you?

The chatter in the shop couldn’t mask the heated conversation you shared with the man across your seat. Yuuta desperately wanted to intervene; to say something, to wipe the leaking tears away from your face—but he stayed still. He remains unmoved. What else could he do, anyway? He watches as your emotions get the best of you; your face displaying emotions of frustration and anguish. Yuuta vowed to himself not to make you feel the way you do right now because of the asshole you were with, to not see these expressions on your pretty face.

You stand up, and Yuuta hears the loud screech your chair evokes as you trudge your way out. The ‘top one asshole’ remains seated, his back turned against Yuuta. With no other thought passing through his head but you, he follows your lead outside the shop. His coffee remains untouched, pen now bashed in his jean’s pockets and his journal pinched between his fingers.

He, himself, couldn’t calculate his next few actions.

Yuuta follows the blue sedan car you drive; he strikes closely behind you, not too near, but not too far either. His eyes zero in your form, maintaining the pace of his motorcycle. He hopes you don’t notice him following him for the past couple of minutes already; of course, he just wanted to ensure that you were safe—that you were okay. He was just worried, that’s all.

After the three alternating turns and the two highways you drove, the road the two were driving at started to get steeper. The cars and other transportation devices started to lessen and lessen. Yuuta feels the sweat start to drip down his neck, the helmet he wears starts to loosen, while he continues to push down all the weight of his body on his seat to control himself. He sees your car get faster than a lightning speed, your car evoking a loud screeching sound.

What the actual fuck were you trying to do?

You seemed frantic, displayed through your driving. In a matter of seconds, you started to lose control of your car. Yuuta watches your car fishtail like a wild animal, spinning repeatedly until you hit a light post.

He feels the adrenaline rush through his veins, as he pushes his motorcycle behind you. The exhilaration overcame his body’s fatigue from the extensive, one-sided pursuit. The reverberation of the screeching continued to pierce the tranquility of the road, resonating in the middle of almost nowhere. Yuuta feels his heart race, but not because he's in love with you; rather, it’s because he worries you got seriously hurt.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yuuta mutters to himself as he sees dust erupt from your car’s tires, casting a cloud that obscured his view of you. He catches up to your swerved car, him haphazardly pushing down on his rear brake pedal. “What the fuck happened?”

He cautiously approached your car, his heart stuttering against his ribs. Yuuta peers through your car’s cracked window, only to see head laid on your headrest with your eyes closed. His gut wrenches at the sight of the blood seeping through the wound on your forehead; fortunately, the cut wasn’t too big, but it was deep.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

a/n: will post other parts to this!! planning to make this multichaptered?? I JUST LOVE YUTAAAAAA.....the brainrot is so bad imnfdndsbhjhbascdhjdajchhjajksjkjsdkdnwkejkdjw pls lmk what u think <33

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my-love-is-sunlight · 12 days

Text

Turmoil

Law x gn reader

Warnings: little fight between Law and reader but nothing crazy, sfw and fluff at the end, good ending, FEELINGS

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: In which you save Law’s life and he gets mad at you

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The moonlight danced with the dark sea water, accompanying you in your office as your eyes struggled to stay focus on the paper work in front of you, it was hard to tell the time when you lived in a submarine, but your body knows its well past 2 am, begging for you to snuggle into bed and drift away

From the shadows behind your door emerged your Captain, looking as tired as you did, a brow arching in confusion

“What are you doing?” His low raspy tone makes you jump on your seat as your eyes open wide in his direction, before they roll in annoyance and your eyebrows furrow

“Doing the work that YOU assigned me, Captain” the tone of your answer lets Law know that you’re still mad at him

“Should’ve thought better before-“ suddenly, and surprisingly you interrupt his so re-used speech he had given you a million times over since that evening

“Oh give me a break!” You trow your pen on the table, slamming your hands before gifting him the nastiest look he had ever witness painted on your face

Some days ago, the Heart Pirates found themselves in yet another fight were things weren’t going well for their Captain. You were the crews strategists and whenever you were caught in situations like these you were always by Laws side, but this time he had made you promise to stay out of trouble for this one, which in all honesty had struck your pride. Everyone knew how relentless of a fighter you were, that’s why you had gained such a position in the crew, so being told to back up was like a punch in the stomach, specially coming from your trusted Captain

Trafalgar Law was a stubborn, stubborn man, and that sometimes got him in more trouble that he could handle, as the enemies arrow flew trough his direction and a sword was drawn to his heart, in a blink of an eye you jumped in to protect him, without a second thought

Nothing bad had happened to you, you had came out victorious with a couple of scars nothing out of the ordinary, so when you were met by Laws angry eyes, a long speech on why what you had done was absolutely stupid and a punishment, you were left puzzled, and humiliated in front of all of your crew mates

Since then, you had been locked in your office, getting the extra work the doctor had assigned you so that ‘you learn how to listen’ done, and avoiding any words and looks of his

“I saved you” you got up of your chair as you walked towards the frame of your Captain, he may tower over you, but that would not stop you

“You put your life on the line y/n-ya, that I don’t tolerate” he answers you with a stern voice, eyes examining your every expression

“I did what I did because I wanted to, you may be the one giving orders around here, but you do not get dictate when or how I die”

As you get closer, Trafalgar cannot help but start to feel that maybe he was being selfish, after all, you had given him the greatest of gifts

Knowing there’s someone out there that is willing to die for you, no questions asks

But at the same time, the mere thought of losing you because he couldn’t be up to the task of protecting you boiled his blood and made his stomach turn a million times over

“Then maybe, you shouldn’t have joined my crew in the first place” he blurts out, every single word hitting you like a venomous snake bite, your heart clenching at the thought of being unwanted

Your greatest fear

Suddenly your body language does a 180, your anger being replaced with what could only be perfectly described as heartache. Almost immediately the doctor regrets even stepping foot in your office, before he can say anything you’re already back on your seat

“Sorry Captain” the pain in both your voice and your face makes Law hurt, and panic, and regret, yet words fail to come out of his mouth… just when he needed them most

“Don’t stay up too late” is all he can say before closing the door behind him

Next days in the Polar Tang were a pain, Law had been quite more irritable around everyone, even snapping on poor Bepo. You were either locked away working or in your room and sometimes even skipping dinner just to not cross paths with the damn surgeon, and if you were unlucky enough to do so, you would turn away immediately

Everyone knew something was up between the two of you, Ikkaku and Penguin had showed up at your office asking if everything was ok. You decided to keep it to yourself, you knew if Law found out you’re talking about him behind his back, about personal matters? Yeah, you would be dead to him, and even when mad, you respected him

Shachi was send to dig around Law, but when your name crossed his lips the doctor immediately shot down the conversation, this confirming their suspicions

But then, you finished the damn paper work, and guess who was the one you needed to hand it to?

You tried to convince anyone else to deliver the papers to Laws office, but it seemed like everyone had catch up and found this as an opportunity for you to make up with him, frustrating you beyond comprehension. They had even got to Bepo first

“Sorry y/n, I was told to tell you to deliver it yourself” he offered you a sympathetic smile, afraid of your answer, you just sighed defeated and thanked him anyways

“Just go in and hand him the papers! That easy” Ikkakus voice rings in your head as you try to wash your nervousness away in front of Laws office. Hesitantly you knock on the door, feeling lightheaded at the mere touch of it

“Go away Shachi” the doctors muffled voice meets your ears, confused you answer with the tiniest “It’s me, Captain” After a pause that felt like it lasted a decade, thinking he may had shambles himself out of the office, you hear a “Come in” so you do

You enter the office slowly, almost as if you made any sudden moves you’ll get caught like a pray in the wild. Trafalgar is sitting at his desk, his hands fidgeting and eyes following your form

“I have the paper work you asked for” you stay pretty far away from the desk, fear written all over you making Law feel twice as worse as he had been feeling this past few days

“Thank you y/n-ya, just leave them here” his voice sounded softer, but this didn’t made you feel any less scared as you approached the desk, gaze fixated on the papers in your hand. As you positioned your hard wok on the desk Law makes the uncharacteristic decision to hold your wrist before you retrieved, a shock running through your whole body at the action

Law’s heart beats a million times per second as he finds the right words to approach the matter, maybe he should’ve thought about them before taking your hand, your soft skin touching his freezing him. You lock eyes for a second and finally Law understands everything he had done wrong, from being ungrateful, rude, harsh and just overall mistreating the person he cares for the most

He would rather being shot than admit he was in the wrong, but he knew if he didn’t he’ll lose you, which was the reason he had caused this mess in the first place, so he swallows his pride

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed at you in front of everyone, or made you do all this work and… saying those awful things”

The fear washes from your body as you hear his apology, something you never thought you’d witness in your life, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding since you stepped foot on the door, offering Law a genuine smile that made his heart fall to his feet

“It’s ok Captain”

“Law” he says, letting your hand go as his own insecurities disappear, thinking you were gonna bash at him after his apology

“Law” you parrot back, earning him another sweet smile of yours

“I just… didn’t wanted to lose you, I was so lost in that thought that I didn’t realize that’s exactly what I was doing” you had seemed to have pushed a button because he just couldn’t stop the thoughts that just fell directly to his tongue and overflow like a cascade out of his mouth

Laws eyes open wide as he sees you approach the other side of the desk, your arms wrap around his wide form like the softest blanket, hugging him while he still sits on the chair, your head resting in top of his. The surgeon stays completely still, taken aback

“Thank you for apologizing Law, I really appreciate it” you whisper making his face bright red and his hands shake, the way your body weights over his makes his brain malfunction and his heart go wild

You let go and approach the door of the office, Law remaining completely broken and flushed in his seat

“See ya’ at dinner.. Law” you say his name mischievously, giggling after before you disappear

The Captain stays still for a while, alone in his office, thinking about everything being open about his thoughts and feelings had gained him, and how addicting his name sounded falling from your sweet lips

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

This came to me in a dream and wrote it in almost one sitting lmao, feel free to request anything you wanna read I am having so much fun writing his emo ass

Reblogs are appreciated ;)

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vetteltea · 4 months

Text

Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

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