Blueperry:)

Hi lol 18 | she/her

[blueperry123]

I have quite a few followers now so I thought I’d make a post like this…idk if I’m doing it right cause well idk a lot things.

I’m me.. idk you can call me anything. I’m 18! I’ve decided imma post freaky shit so if you're a minor just be careful ig, not a lot of freak but it'll be there.

Master list is actually in the works I have lot of post apparently and fat thumbs 😭.

alevels are here. wish me luck, pay an etsy witch, whatever yall can do.

[blueperry123]

Omg, which fucking nutcase decided to put that much content in biology alevel. I’m not even kidding I haven’t done any revision.

It’s biology, we are humans, shouldn’t my brain know the answers????

I do chem and physics as my other options, biology is meant to be the easier one.

Wish me luck yall

[blueperry123]

[blueperry123]

Omg, which fucking nutcase decided to put that much content in biology alevel. I’m not even kidding I haven’t done any revision.

It’s biology, we are humans, shouldn’t my brain know the answers????

I do chem and physics as my other options, biology is meant to be the easier one.

Wish me luck yall

[blueperry123]

Holy fuck yall. I drank a red bull, but it was like those massive cans. I’m pretty sure 400ml+ and now my head is hurting, and I have physics paper 2 in the morning. And I lowkey haven’t revised quite a bit of the content, but like I’ll be fine, I can’t not be fine.

I never drink energy drinks, I think my capillaries are bursting in my head?? Like my eyes and body are tired but my brain isn’t now…

Wish me luck. I have chemistry after tmr 😔

[nottsnymph]

contains; boot humping, humiliation, degradation mixed with praise

You love teasing Ghost while he's at work on your days off—sending him filthy messages, describing exactly how your fingers slid through your slick folds, how you imagined his cock filling you. You knew exactly what you were doing. And fuck do you regret it now.

The rough polyester of his uniform trousers scratches against your cheek as you while you look up at him with teary eyes, searching for any scrap of mercy. The scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, that sharp masculine musk that clings to his skin after a long shift—fills your lungs with every desperate breath. Your knees ache against the hardwood floor, the pressure a dull throb that punctuates each frantic rock of your hips. His boot is slick with your arousal now, the black leather darkened and glistening where you've been riding it like a desperate animal in heat—the need is a living thing inside you, clawing at your insides, demanding release.

Simon's eyes are dark pools of amusement as he watches you descend into ruin. He's tilted back in his chair, legs spread wide, the outline of his cock straining against the metal zipper of his trousers. You can see the damp spot where precum has beaded at the tip, darkening the fabric. He's hard—so fucking hard—but he shows no sign of easing your torment. His hand rests on your head, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies his cruelty.

"Si... please” the words tear from your throat, ragged and broken. Tears blur your vision, hot tracks carving paths down your flushed cheeks. Some drip from your chin, splattering onto the leather of his boot. You're a mess—makeup ruined, hair a tangled disaster, body shaking uncontrollably.

"Is it too much?" The question drips with faux sympathy, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your skull as his thumb brushes a tear away with mock tenderness. You nod frantically, more tears spilling free, your lips parting to beg again—

"Good. Keep going."

The command drops an octave, deep and final. The sound of it settles in your bones like a warning. A whine escapes you, high and pathetic, as your hips stutter against his boot. You're so close. So fucking close. The edge is a razor's breadth away, a precipice you've been dangling over for what feels like hours. Every time you think you'll tip over, the pressure shifts, the angle changes, and the wave recedes, leaving you gasping and empty.

"I can't," you sob, your movements halting completely. Your arms wrap around his calf, hugging it like a lifeline, your forehead pressing against his knee. "Please, I can't—"

His fingers find the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your hair, and he yanks your head back with brutal precision. Your spine arches, a gasp punched from your lungs. Through tear-blurred eyes, you meet his gaze—those cold, calculating eyes that see right through you. "Should've thought about that before being a fucking tease." His voice is a low growl, vibrating with restrained dominance. "Sending me those texts, huh? Thinking you could wind me up and I'd forget about it when I got home?"

You can't respond. Your throat is too tight, your breath coming in ragged pants. The tears flow freely now, a silent admission of guilt. Sensing your need, your submission, he tilts his boot upward. The leather toe catches your clit through the soaked fabric, a sharp, deliberate tap that sends a jolt of electricity straight through your pelvis. Your body convulses, a broken moan tearing from your chest. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once.

"Move," he orders.

Your whimper of protest is swallowed by instinct. Your hips roll forward, grinding desperately against the boot, chasing that spark of pleasure-pain. You hate yourself for how easily you obey, how your body responds before your mind can catch up. But the need is overwhelming, a primal force that strips away all dignity.

Simon watches with hungry satisfaction. Your fucked-out, tear-streaked, utterly broken face, how you look up at him with those glossy, hazy eyes. The way you hug his calf, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, as you hump his foot like a bitch in heat—only his to admire, to humiliate.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand moving from your hair to cup your jaw. He tilts your face up, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you continue your frantic movements. "Fucking desperate. Is this what you wanted?" He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. "To be begging for permission to come on my boot?"

A sob escapes you, but you can't answer. Your hips only move faster, your breath coming in sharp, frantic gasps. The pressure is building again, that coiled heat in your belly tightening, threatening to snap. But you know he won't let you. Not yet. Not until he's extracted every ounce of punishment for your earlier teasing.

His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing inside, and you instinctively suck, tasting the salt of your own tears mingled with his skin. "Good. That's it," he praises, the words a venomous caress. "Show me how sorry you are." And you do. Because there's nothing else you can do. Because this is exactly where he wants you—on your knees, shattered and desperate, your pleasure dangling just out of reach, his to give or withhold as he sees fit. And as you continue to grind against his boot, you know that it's going to be a long night.

[blueperry123]

holy fuck yall

[blueperry123]

It’s 4am heading pounding, cold is colding and all I can think about is bratty reader who’s been teasing Price about mommy/daddy when he off handedly said he wouldn’t mind being called it.

“Come on, just once! Please John, if you call me mommy even once I’ll be over the moon.” You had been bothering Price for a while now, poking at him, using that same sing song voice you know irritated him, just being a total distraction.

He had enough, before you even noticed him move he was behind you. Standing too close; you could feel the warmth of his breath on your nape, smell that woody aftershave he always wore. It was all too much.

Bringing his hand up to your hips, he kissed the back of your neck, the sensation of his beard making heat pool in your stomach. “You want to be a mummy that bad? Want me to fuck a baby into you hmm?” He asked squeezing the meat at your hips.

“You’d be perfect for it, all round and plump. Walking around full of me. Everyone would know who owns this cunt” Price said as his hand made its way down to your cunt, groping it.

You has started panting, the feeling of him being too much, all of it was too much, the warmth of his hands on your cunt, even through your clothes, him pressing into your back, straining against his pants.

Resting your head back against him, you let out a needy whine. “Please, I need it”

“Need what? Come on, I want to hear you say it”

“Fuck, I need you John, please”

“Need me to do what?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Answer properly or I’ll stop touching”

“Please breed me” it came out as a whine more than anything, but you couldn’t take it anymore, you’d started grinding against his hand, hips working hard to chase what wouldn’t come (cum lol)

With a chuckle he pushed you onto the bed(or whatever surface you’re imagining… idk actually) fingers making quick work of your trousers.

“So needy, what happened to all that bravado, you sure you ready to be a mummy?” He asked as he ran a finger through you folds.

He gave a quick spank to your ass, watching the ripple go through your body “you always moaned like such a slut, my perfect slut” Another spank.

Freeing his cock from his trousers, he lined up with your entrance and waited there.

He was being a tease, without thinking you pushed your ass back to meet him “please just fuck me already” all you could manage was a mumble blood rushing to your face.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you. You’re always havin a go at me for being ancient” he was now running his cock head along your slit, making sure to tap your clit with it too.

“Please, I need to be bred daddy” Finally hearing it, he entered all at once, knocking the air out of you, vice like grip on your hips. He was using you, moving your body to meet his thrusts. “Such a needy cunt, Swallowing my cock whole”

It didn’t take long until he was cumming with a loud grunt, he made sure he was buried to the hilt as he came. That feeling; being pumped, hot and heavy. You couldn’t stop, you came with a loud moan. (How the helly does on describe people finishing 😭😭)

“Good girl, feeling better? This was what you needed after all. A good fucking” As he pulled out, he quickly replaced his cock with his fingers. Shoving the cum back into you he said “I want you to finger this back into yourself, can’t let any of it go to waste now can we?”

Whenever I write things don’t go the way I start of thinking they will.

[blueperry123]

Rereading this makes me wanna gouge out my eyeballs, wtf was I on?

[blueperry123]

I found the most toe curling smut, I’m reading and the rest is on patreon. Actually fuck me yall, I got edged physically and mentally.

Also apparently I’m “loud” 😧😧😧 from not knowing how to, to this… I’m a little embarrassed. Find yourself a dude who encourages it ig.

Was this tmi? Idk lol

[blueperry123]

(based on a fond memory featuring my big sister)

your teammates tease you for being so specific about colors. you make art as a hobby so you have to know these things and it’s not just you being pretentious. god forbid you ever say “blood orange” or “cerulean” around them.

it’s all in good fun tho.

"It's Cerulean, Sergeant."

The argument started, as most arguments in the 141 did, because Soap opened his mouth.

"It's blue," he said, looking over your shoulder at the canvas. "Just blue."

"It's not just blue."

"It's very blue."

"It's cerulean." You didn't look up from the brush. "Cerulean is a specific blue. It has more green in it than cobalt, more grey than sky blue, it's the colour of -"

"Of blue," Soap interuptted.

"Of the Mediterranean in the morning when the light hasn't fully -"

"Blue."

You put the brush down with the careful energy of someone choosing not to punch him, "stop interrupting me"

This had been happening for three weeks. Ever since the team had discovered your sketchbooks during a particularly boring stretch of downtime in some forgettable safehouse, they'd appointed themselves critics of both your art and your vocabulary. Ghost had looked at your supply list, the one that included "burnt sienna," "raw umber," and "yellow ochre" and passed it silently to Gaz, who had read it with the expression of a man encountering a new form of warfare.

"What's wrong with brown," Ghost had said.

"There's no such thing as just brown," you'd explained, "there's brown that leans red and brown that leans gold and brown that's almost green in certain light and they're not interchangeable!"

"Brown," Ghost said.

You'd given up that day. You were not giving up today.

"Cerulean," you repeated. "Say it."

"Blue," Soap said cheerfully.

"Cerulean!"

"What's all this then." Price appeared in the doorway with a mug and the expression of a man who had, had enough of the petty arguments that arose in the 141.

"She's doing the color thing again," Soap said.

"I'm doing the correct thing," you said. "Tell him, Captain. Tell him cerulean is not the same as blue."

Price looked at the canvas. Looked at the paint. Looked at you with the expression he used when he was deciding whether to engage.

"It's blue," he said.

You picked up the brush again and turned back to the canvas with great dignity.

"Get out of my workspace."

"It's the kitchen table," Soap said.

"Get out!"

[blueperry123]

Best friend gaz finally had free time so he decided to take you out! Except the entire day you were being a brat; whining about the lack of selection at the super market even though he knows for a fact he saw your favourite snacks.

Then being a proper tease when he took you clothes shopping! Bikinis in March, the audacity! Sure.. you didn't need him to help you with the clothes but having him in the changing room definitely helped, you did make sure to wear the pink underwear he chose the last time you went shopping...

Oh! and at dinner too, sure you were flirting with the server the whole time, making sure to be just a touch too friendly with the poor guy. He was probably melting under Gaz's death stare which you tried to de-escalate by turning your attention to Gaz! How else can you bother a man already at his wits end?

By playing footsie with him! you made sure he was well aware of... you, as you kicked this foot lightly, the cold leather of your heels made you foot incredibly hard to ignore especially as you went higher and higher.

To end the night off you decided to go home and watch a movie; classic, just what you both needed.

That was until you both got in the car, you just couldn't seem to stop, stop the complaining or the toying, or the grinding..

"you think I don't see you squeezing your thighs together?" he was looking at you through the corner of his eyes, still focused on the road.

"What?! I'm just - just uncomfortable in this shitty car kyle" but it was too late you'd been caught in the act, the blush spread across your face was more than enough proof.

"So if I put my hand under your skirt, I won't feel your drenched panties, hmm? I've known you long enough to know you love being put in your place. That's why you've been so... sassy today. Isn't that right?"

"What?! No, you just haven't been able to do anything right. And who says I'm even wearing underwear, huh? I took it off for the hot server from earlier, he probably using it to jerk off(EW what else does one say..) right now."

GUYS YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO WRITE AFTER THIS POINT AHHHH, I NEVER EVEN SEEN A PENIS IRL HOW AM I MEANT TO ACCURATELY DESCRIBE A MAN??????clearly need to goon so i can be inspired. ive been very ill so havent been partaking in selfcare...

KEEP YOUR EYES OUT FOR THE EDIT I NEED TO POST SOMETHING OR ill die of guilt 💔

[blueperry123]

It’s 4am heading pounding, cold is colding and all I can think about is bratty reader who’s been teasing Price about mommy/daddy when he off handedly said he wouldn’t mind being called it.

“Come on, just once! Please John, if you call me mommy even once I’ll be over the moon.” You had been bothering Price for a while now, poking at him, using that same sing song voice you know irritated him, just being a total distraction.

He had enough, before you even noticed him move he was behind you. Standing too close; you could feel the warmth of his breath on your nape, smell that woody aftershave he always wore. It was all too much.

Bringing his hand up to your hips, he kissed the back of your neck, the sensation of his beard making heat pool in your stomach. “You want to be a mummy that bad? Want me to fuck a baby into you hmm?” He asked squeezing the meat at your hips.

“You’d be perfect for it, all round and plump. Walking around full of me. Everyone would know who owns this cunt” Price said as his hand made its way down to your cunt, groping it.

You has started panting, the feeling of him being too much, all of it was too much, the warmth of his hands on your cunt, even through your clothes, him pressing into your back, straining against his pants.

Resting your head back against him, you let out a needy whine. “Please, I need it”

“Need what? Come on, I want to hear you say it”

“Fuck, I need you John, please”

“Need me to do what?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Answer properly or I’ll stop touching”

“Please breed me” it came out as a whine more than anything, but you couldn’t take it anymore, you’d started grinding against his hand, hips working hard to chase what wouldn’t come (cum lol)

With a chuckle he pushed you onto the bed(or whatever surface you’re imagining… idk actually) fingers making quick work of your trousers.

“So needy, what happened to all that bravado, you sure you ready to be a mummy?” He asked as he ran a finger through you folds.

He gave a quick spank to your ass, watching the ripple go through your body “you always moaned like such a slut, my perfect slut” Another spank.

Freeing his cock from his trousers, he lined up with your entrance and waited there.

He was being a tease, without thinking you pushed your ass back to meet him “please just fuck me already” all you could manage was a mumble blood rushing to your face.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you. You’re always havin a go at me for being ancient” he was now running his cock head along your slit, making sure to tap your clit with it too.

“Please, I need to be bred daddy” Finally hearing it, he entered all at once, knocking the air out of you, vice like grip on your hips. He was using you, moving your body to meet his thrusts. “Such a needy cunt, Swallowing my cock whole”

It didn’t take long until he was cumming with a loud grunt, he made sure he was buried to the hilt as he came. That feeling; being pumped, hot and heavy. You couldn’t stop, you came with a loud moan. (How the helly does on describe people finishing 😭😭)

“Good girl, feeling better? This was what you needed after all. A good fucking” As he pulled out, he quickly replaced his cock with his fingers. Shoving the cum back into you he said “I want you to finger this back into yourself, can’t let any of it go to waste now can we?”

Whenever I write things don’t go the way I start of thinking they will.

[blueperry123]

The one i wrote before this was meant to be about one of the guys having you play with yourself while you stuffed your cunt with you underwear... so this is that now!

Price had barely even taken his shoes off when he heard it, that same needy whine, the little pants you did when you were frustrated. It made him stop in his tracks, hearing how desperate and frustrated you sounded. Slowly, with that practiced ease he made his way over to the bedroom. You didn't notice him, you were way too preoccupied with yourself. 

One hand groping your tits, slowly working the sensitive bud between your index and thumb. The other was between your legs, Price couldn't exactly see what you were doing but whatever it was didn't seem to be working. He could see it in your face, brows knit, forehead wrinkled in focus. They way your hand was working.. It seemed like you were prodding yourself? (lol)

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” asked Price, the amusement evident in his voice. 

“Er- You’re home early?! I just… I couldn’t wait any longer. You’re always gone for so long and you know a girl has needs…” you mumbled avoiding eye contact

“Is that what you call this? A pathetic little attempt at getting off?” Price said as he walked around to the other side of the bed. “You know, I really thought you were smarter. You should know someone as pathetic as you wouldn't be able to do it properly. Spread your legs for me” 

“Don’t say it like that! I know how to do it… Usually you’re doing it for me so I’ve never had to bother!” 

“I know, you’re my needy slut. Who couldn’t wait for me? Where’s the underwear you’ve been wearing today?”

You gestured with your head to the edge of the bed words weren’t working especially when all you could feel was the blood rushing to your face. 

Following your gaze, his eyes landed on it, a pink thong discarded haphazardly. “Cute, Good girl. I like you putting in the effort for me” 

He moved closer, spreading your legs further and started stuffing it in your cunt. (😳) “Since you clearly don’t know how to use it, why don’t we keep this needy hole stuffed for now. You dont mind, do you?” 

Your legs automatically closed at the sensation, which earned you a sharp spank on your cunt. “Keep your legs open, I saw how desperately you were shoving your fingers in there, no need to be shy now.” 

After he finished putting the underwear in you, he moved up to your clit, thumb rubbing the bundle of nerves, in tight little circles. “I want you to pinch your nipples, you seemed to be doing that pretty well… go on, now’s your chance” 

With hesitant movements you pinched it, it was a weak little thing. “Thats what you call a pinch? I know you can do better, you’re a strong girl! If you want to cum tonight youre going to play with your nipples until you can’t focus on anything but them. Dumb girls like you need to be taught slowly”

[blueperry123]

No thoughts just delirium

Since they're gone so often they can only really rely on videos and pictures you send them. Which is how you ended up face down ass up fucking yourself with a dildo you and johnny had chosen the last time he came to visit.

Even though your face wasn't visible in the camera, you were red as a tomato. Sure you were used to being this exposed when they guys played with you, they had fucked you in any and every position imaginable.

But this... they had all told you about how much they missed looking at your pretty little cunt, and how it moulded perfectly around their cocks. Hearing them sound so desperate is what gave you thr courage to be doing any of this.

So you made sure that your ass was in the centre of the screen, made sure that the pretty little heart shaped plug Price and Gaz had picked out for you was visible and fucked yourself even harder.

That isn't to say you weren't desperate, every time the dildo rubbed against your gummy walls you moaned louder, felt yourself get a little bit more lost in their memory, you could almost feel their hands on your hips, their lips on your neck. You were just as needy for them as they for you, if not more.

Just as you reached the edge you stopped, pulled it out, showed off your needy hole, clenching around nothing. You had made sure to edge yourself daily, making sure you were ready for when they came back. This isn't for you.

[blueperry123]

guys i really wanna write something but have like no motivation for anything, also have just got a cold, also have exams in less than 9 weeks. so help a girl procrastinate and give me ideas! please :)

[blueperry123]

I’m so annoyed yall, my phones broken nd cant use a lot my keyboard 😔. Idk what else to say. Until money grows on teees wait for me 🫰 lol

[blueperry123]

Thinking way too much about internalised homophobia, after watching The Summer Hikaru died and it hitting a little too close to home.

Johnny knew what he was meant for all his life, it had been drilled into him from the beginning. Wife. Children. Steady work. A good man.

Good men don’t—

He swallows.

Across the room Simon’s claimed the desk by the window sleeves pushed up, mask discarded, surrounded by a pile of paper work. He’s working steadily, he’s always so steady, so sturdy.

Johnny can’t help but stare. Stare at the way Simon’s fingers adjust their grip, the faint scar on his knuckles, at how the light from the window catches the tendons as he moves the pencil across the paper.

Things he’s not meant to notice. Why is he noticing them? It’s just tactical awareness. Things everyone notices about their teammate.

This stupid.

He shouldn’t be staring.

This is nothing to stare at.

Just Simon, his superior doing paperwork… but the quiet focus on Simon’s face does something to his chest. It’s makes his heart sink, it makes the air feel thicker, like the rooms shrinking, like the weight of the feelings he won’t admit is going to crush him.

What the hell is wrong with him?

It’s nothing, just admiration, respect, nothing else.

“You ok, Sergeant?” Simon asks, not even looking up.

His spine straightens, eyes again fixed on Simon.

“Yea, just tired Lt”

“Why don’t you get freshened up, the meetings about to start”

That burned, he didn’t even look at him. He doesn’t see Soap, hasn’t tried to look back at him like that. The dismissal burns.

Johnny hates that it burns.

He stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. The sound is a terrible one, sharp, loud. Almost as loud as his heart beat. It’s pounding in his head.

He needs water. That’ll fix it.

His knuckles are pale from his grip on the sink, breath uneven, as he stares at his reflection.

Cold water runs over his hands but it doesn’t cool anything. It just makes him feel more awake. More aware. Of himself. Of it.

Wife.

Children.

Steady work.

A good man.

Good men don’t look at other men like that.

He stares at his reflection like it’s someone else. Like maybe he’ll see the flaw written across his forehead. Like maybe it’ll explain why his chest felt tight just watching Simon hold a bloody pencil.

Good men don’t feel their chest cave in over a pair of hands and a stupid pencil.

Then why did it hurt when Simon didn’t look up?

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Get a grip,” he mutters, anger rising hot and mean.

Not at Simon.

At himself.

…I broke my fucking phone 😑 so until that’s fixed and I can type and see off of it, I’ll probably be posting way less…

[blueperry123]

Based off me learning what pancake day was when I moved here lol.

Pancake Day sneaks up on them somewhere cold and very much not home.

Soap’s the one who notices.

He goes quiet when he sees the date, then suddenly he’s on his feet like he’s been activated. “We’re making pancakes.”

Gaz blinks. “We’re what?”

“Shrove Tuesday,” Soap says, already rummaging through cupboards like this is a sacred military operation. “Before Lent. You use up all the good stuff. Sugar. Flour. Proper pancakes.”

Price sighs but doesn’t stop him. Simon just leans back in his chair, watching the chaos unfold with that long suffering look.

You hover by the counter, confused. “Wait. Pancake Day is a thing?”

All four of them stare at you.

“You don’t have it?” Soap demands.

“I mean… we have pancakes. Just not, like, a holy pancake.

That earns a laugh from Gaz.

Soap whisks batter aggressively. Too aggressively. Flour puffs into the air. Gaz tries to “help” and somehow makes it worse. Price critiques from the side like a disappointed judge. Simon eventually takes over the pan when the first one comes out looking like a tactical error.

You watch the batter hit the pan.

It spreads thick. Puffy.

You blink. “Those are American.”

Soap pauses mid flip. “Pancakes are pancakes.”

“In England they’re thin,” you insist.

Price nods. “More like crepes.”

Soap looks betrayed. “Since when?”

Simon flips one perfectly, landing it clean. “Since always.”

The debate spirals from there.

“Sugar and lemon’s the only way,” Soap argues.

“Golden syrup,” Gaz shoots back.

“Bit of fruit,” Price adds.

You quietly pour maple syrup over your stack.

They all gasp like you’ve committed a crime.

You take a bite anyway.

It’s fluffy. Warm. Comforting in a way that sneaks up on you.

Soap’s talking about racing his sisters to flip them when he was a kid. Gaz’s arguing that sweet is superior. Price mutters something about tradition. Simon’s quieter, but you catch the way his shoulders loosen when the kitchen fills with butter and sugar.

For a few minutes, it doesn’t feel like deployment.

It feels like noise. And laughter. And home.

You bump Simon’s arm lightly. “Next year we’ll do the thin ones.”

He glances at you, faint smile barely there. “Yeah. Proper ones.”

Outside it’s still cold.

Inside, it’s syrup sticky and messy and loud.

And somehow, that’s enough.

Yall im crocheting a bag, lowkey hate it. I’ll decide if i wanna show it later.

[blueperry123]

Pt 1

It’s a couple of days later and the weather is still terrible. The wind sounds angry, scraping along the building, throwing rain at the windows.

You’re in the kitchen, barely standing. Pasta on the stove. Steam fogging up your glasses. Your cheeks are warm and your sleeves are damp at the wrists because you keep forgetting you’re too close to the pot.

Then a knock, sharp and steady like a warning.

You frown, wiping your hands on your hoodie, wondering who would be outside in weather like this. You lean toward the door and look through the peephole.

A tall figure in dark clothes, and then he shifts and the light catches his eyes.

Simon.

Your stomach drops, it’s stupid really, almost like instinct.

You rush to fix your hair, carding your fingers through it, tugging your hoodie, praying to look even a little presentable as you open the door.

He’s standing there in a black surgical mask, a tool bag in his hand, expression unreadable.

“I figured I’d come fix the washer you know, so you don’t end up stuck at the laundromat again.”

“You remembered?” you say, sounding more surprised than anything.

He shrugs, turning his head to the side, as if that will hide that he’s been caught caring. “Told you I would.”

That’s how Simon Riley ends up kneeling in your kitchen, boots discarded, sleeves pushed up. You try not to hover, you really do… but you can’t help it. What if he’s judging every single stylistic choice you’ve ever made?

Now and again he’ll ask a question, and every time you stare back at him, a little dumbfounded, because who really knows all that about their washing machine?

After a while, seeing him get increasingly irritated, you decide it’s time for a break. “Would you like some tea?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

“If you’re having one.”

You make tea in silence. It’s oddly comforting. The only sounds are the water from the kettle and the pitter patter of the rain. You can feel his gaze on you as you move about the kitchen. He’s watching you with the same gentle curiosity he usually has in the laundromat.

You even pull out the good mugs, the ones your mother insisted you buy. You don’t know why. Maybe because something about him makes you want to act like you’re more put together than you are.

He doesn’t really talk much, just looks at you every time he goes for a sip of his tea. He drinks slowly. You don’t know if he’s savouring the taste or savouring looking at you. Still, the silence gets unbearable. So you fill it.

Complaining about your landlord. Gossip about the rest of the tenants. The cats you’re trying to domesticate. You make sure to ask him questions too, about what he does for work, which he answers with a vague “military” response.

In all your talking, you don’t even realise how long it’s been until his stomach growls.

Not subtle. Definitely not ignorable.

He goes still, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, a smile spreading across your face. “You have to stay for dinner. I know you’ve noticed the pasta.”

You turn back to the stove before he can protest. He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “shouldn’t,” but he doesn’t move to leave.

While he goes back to the washer, you cooks and the rhythm settles easily, you stir sauce, as he tightens bolts adjusts something beneath the machine. Every so often he glances up to make sure you’re not too close to the flame. You slide a spoon toward him at one point without thinking, holding it out so he can taste the sauce.

He hesitates only a second before leaning in, that’s when you notice them, the little scars he has; his jaw, his hands, calloused knuckles.

It feels strangely… natural. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve shared a kitchen. Like it won’t be the last.

Then he finishes it.

Apparently it was “a clogged filter and poor maintenance,” again who even knows how to clean a filter.

You invite him to sit with you, warm pasta and warmer hearts.

Yes I rewrote it, fuck ai yall.