#it’s really sad when you just sit and think about it

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR★彡PART 2

Previously. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing, tension ;)

Summary: you’re hungover and need a break from the media attention, but it’s hard to get breaks with Paige Bueckers, who seems to be wherever you are and makes a point to make sure you feel her presence.

A/n: thanku to the anon who gave me sum inspo for this chap. Keep the ideas rollin! Also I loveee this pic of Paige

___________________________________________________________

“MY HEAD hurts so fucking bad.” You whine, leaning your head back against the headrest of Elaine’s car. Your night at the bar had been a little too exciting, and the evening of hundreds of comments and questions concerning you and a certain blonde point guard did not help.

“Have you checked your inbox?” She says, glancing at you as she drives through the city.

“Fuck no.” You grumble out. “Everyone is trying to be all up in my business cus of Paige.”

“That’s how it is for her, like, all the time.” Elaine sighs. “It’s actually sad to think about how careful she has to be.”

You shake your head. “Everyone has to be careful, that’s how it is when you’re an athlete. It’s not just her.”

“But it’s especially her.” She insists. “Girl I love you, but you’re like just getting popular. Paige? People have been up her ass since she was freshman.”

“Big Paige fan are we?” You quip, giving your friend a playfully annoyed glare. “Do me a favour and don’t talk for a bit.”

She laughs, and it’s comfortable silence until the car pulls into the parking lot of a local coffee shop. It’s pretty busy with students either working, with friends or sitting around and studying. The air feels refreshing against your skin, and the shop is undeniably cute. Somehow you still feel uneasy as you walk in.

You and Elaine stand in line, scoping out the menu. She’s telling you about the best mushroom melt sandwich she’s ever had when you hear the someone clear their throat behind you.

“Long time no see.”

Paige’s presence is overwhelming, her hair Dutch braided close to her head, making it easier for you to be mutilated by her aggressive staring. You were so tired it didn’t even occur to you that you shouldn’t check her out, noting her black ripped jeans that hugged her like a second skin and her pink Overtime hoodie.

“Could’ve been longer.” You eventually mutter, tearing your eyes from her body and meeting her face, which is bearing a slightly bashful, slightly proud look.

“Obviously not, since you seem to have good tabs on me.” Paige smiles. “You look a little different the morning after. What’d you say yesterday? Not tryna get white-girl wasted?” She scoffs. She didn’t have to check you out like you did, she’d been looking at you since you walked in the coffee shop. She’d noticed your slightly messed up hair and lazy outfit. Somehow it didn’t seem to deter her from licking her lips between her words, as if her thoughts were less than coffee-shop-friendly.

You rub your face in hopes of erasing anymore distracting thoughts of her. “I didn’t get white girl wasted.” Is the best comeback you come up with.

“You look white-girl wasted.” Paige smirks.

“Aren’t you just a boss at making conversation.” You roll your eyes. “Ditch the skinny jeans then come back to me.”

“Um, (Name)? Do you want me to order for you?” Elaine sheepishly interrupts, eyes darting between you and Paige. “I can get you the sandwich I told you about.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You say, not really paying attention. Paige however is, because her eyes shift to Elaine. “The mushroom sandwich?”

“That’s the one.” She nods.

Paige’s eyes meet yours again. “Don’t get that one. It’s actual shit. This place isn’t good for food, just get a coffee.”

Elaine scoffs at this, and Paige shoots her a look. “So,” Elaine says, putting a hand on your shoulder while staring pointedly at Paige. “What’ll it be?”

You honestly can’t understand why everyone is complicating shit for you. “I dunno. Get the sandwich. I can have a coffee too.”

“Caramel Macchiato. Get that.” Paige smiles. Elaine’s expression gets more and more annoyed by the second, but she orders the sandwich and coffee before dragging you off to sit.

-

“She’s such a dick.” Elaine huffs, her back to Paige and her friends.

You’re watching her as discreetly as possible. Paige, KK and Ice were all on live. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you could tell they seemed to be having fun, and also making a big ruckus.

“What’s with the focus on Paige today, Elaine?” You ask, forcing yourself to take a bite of the sandwich she ordered you. “I thought you didn’t pay much attention to all them.”

“It’s nothing, seriously.” She shuts you down with no hesitation. “I mean, everyone knows of Paige. She’s just…”

“She’s just…?” You raise your eyebrow.

“I mean you get it! She’s full of herself.” Your friend rolls her eyes.

“Right.” You simply say. Elaine was acting odd, but you don’t think much further of it. “I’m gonna get a napkin.”

You didn’t really need a napkin, but the table that had them was just close enough to Paige that you could hear what was going on without being too in shot. You just had to be calm and position yourself a certain way. It wasn’t much issue, you stalled by the table while drinking in the conversation.

“If Paige was a fruit she’d be likeee a banana.”

“Why, cus I’m blonde?” The girl responds incredulously.

“Now why are we comparing Paige to fruits…” Ice mutters to KK, prompting the two to burst out into hearty laughter while Paige shakes her head and walks away.

Before you know it, there’s someone beside you grabbing a napkin. You mentally curse yourself for feeling slightly delighted to see the tall blonde staring back at you with a slight smile.

“How bad is the sandwich?”

“So fuckin’ bad.” You shake your head, hating how good it felt to see a proud look spread across Paige’s face.

“And the coffee?” She asks, leaning against the table, her head slightly tilted.

“S’ alright.” You tut, noting her furrowed eyebrows at your response.

“Alright? You’re trippin. I put you on the best coffee in Storrs right here.”

“I’ve had better.” You shrug. “I can tell you guys are only here cus they don’t kick you out while you’re on live.”

Paige’s eyes widen as if you’ve just personally threatened her and her choice of coffee. With eyes that blue it almost blows you away how electrical her gaze can be. With every new expression you unlock it’s another zap to your brain.

“And why exactly are you here?” She licks her lips. “One hell of a coincidence, huh.”

“Don’t get too excited.” You smile and gesture to Elaine, who’s watching the exchange with an interested look. “All thanks to my lovely friend over there, she always seems to know just where you are.”

At this Paige scoffs, and it comes off a little differently then her previous tone. “You got that right.”

Before you can register her comment, her friends gesture to her that they’re leaving. Paige looks at you for a moment before you say “Go on, Bueckers. Mama’s calling.”

“Something like that.” She smirks, pulling out a pen from her pocket and scribbling something onto one of your napkins. “I’ll be expecting another call tonight.”

Paige leaves in a hurry, tossing her hair from her shoulder and leaving you in a slight daze. The napkin has her number on it.

#fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #rpf #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #x reader #usc wbb

[r0ttenhearts]

as we’re meant to be

scaramouche x reader (high school au))

sypnosis: scaramouche reminisces on the last conversation he had with you

warnings: angst, no comfort, mean scara, mentions of drugs, nsfw themes mentioned

“stupid fucking girl.” scaramouche seethed, his hands pushing against your shoulders, back hitting the cool concrete wall behind you. you sat quietly under his gaze, his anger flickering in his eyes.

“you don’t want to talk now? hm?” cold fingers gripped your chin as you stared up at him blankly.

“there’s nothing to say.” you mumbled as he loosened his grip on you.

anxiety bubbled in the pit of scaramouche’s stomach. no, this wasn’t how it went. this didn’t happen. you didn’t react this way before:

scaramouche took a step back, staring at your? form.

“this isn’t what happened.”

“you’re right, it’s not.” you replied stoically.

memories of what really happened flashed in his mind. your tears, his angry words, the look of defeat you gave him as he left you sitting there.

“you love me? how fucking sad. i don’t even think about you.” scaramouche spat as you wept in front of him.

your fists were balling up the sundress you had decided to wear that hot summer day, gripping the soft fabric tightly beneath your fingers.

“i said i’d always wait for you scaramouche, i meant that. i know it’s not your thing to be close to people but, we’re different. we click, you even told me that yourself!” you cried out.

scaramouche grit his teeth, remembering the words he had told you when you were both on a substance and not completely yourselves.

“i lied. i don’t feel anything for you. you’re more of a pest, if anything.” he sneered.

“but you said-“

“STUPID fucking girl!” your back hit the wall so suddenly, you stared up at him in shock, and fear? it was an expression scaramouche had never seen before.

“you’re fucking nothing to me. everything we’ve had together was because i was using you, don’t you get that? i was bored. i didn’t feel anything, i didn’t mean anything i said. i only said it to get you on your knees.”

shame bubbled in the pit of your stomach as you remembered the things you had done with him. you had given him many of your firsts, while he was experienced.

as he shook your shoulders, rambling about how much he never felt anything for the intimate moments you shared, you felt something inside of you break.

like a glass table that was always on the verge of breaking. the glass had now shattered, every hope in it staying together was on the floor with the shards of glass.

something in you dulled, your expression now blank as tears rolled down your cheeks. you had made yourself ugly for a boy that never thought of holding you in a way he truly meant. you had ruined yourself for a boy that wouldn’t even hold your hand.

“you don’t want to talk now? hm?” cold fingers gripped your chin as you stared up at him blankly.

“you’re right.” you said stoically.

scaramouche scoffed, “i’m right? of course i know i’m right.”

“as we’re meant to be..” you mumbled.

“speak up!” scaramouche shouted, his nails now digging into your shoulders.

“i’ll leave you alone. let’s just go back to how we were meant to be. i’ll never speak to you again.”

scaramouche laughed loudly at this, his head thrown back as he cackled in front of you.

“we’ll see about that. i’m sure you’ll come running right back.” he spoke, his back now to you as he reached for his backpack that was previously discarded on the floor.

he left you sitting there in your sundress, only looking back once he was sure you couldn’t see him. that same expression was still on your face as you gently picked your bag up, walking the opposite way of his direction.

that would be the last time he ever saw you. and now you haunted his dreams. that white sundress, that conversation.

your face that seemed to distort more and more as the years went on. it had been five summers since he’d seen you. but sometimes he swore he saw you in passing.

taglist: @samarill @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @beriiov @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @magica-ren @scara6 @Maxineslair @jihyuniepark @atanukileaf @kenmabfasf @somatchajade

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #scaramouche x reader angst #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #genshin scara #scara x reader #scaramouche

[larcenywrites]

For Love, We Sin the Most

Nightcrawler x Reader

Technically spoilers if you read any x-men anthology and haven't made it through second coming/ haven't read quest for nightcrawler. I don't get into many details or stay very canon anyway lol

Warnings: 18+ | no pronouns or assignments used for reader | unprotected sex | sex in a church | kinda public sex? | an established relationship of some kind ;) | sad | but happy ending! sort of | lots of plot with some porn | comfort/fluff | a little foreplay, a little aftercare | light bondage? sorry I really love his tail

Word count: 2,650

Summary: The resident catholic is having a hard time settling with the terms of his resurrection and just trying to feel again.

When Rachel frantically called on you to find Nightcrawler, you probably preferred to find him in battle, fighting demons. Luckily, on a Sunday morning, you knew exactly where to look first, creaking open the large wooden door just enough to pass through into the small lobby. The lights were off, but there was low singing from further inside. You would have proceeded to peek past that second set of doors, but the quick flick of blue that curled out from the sunlight and into the shadows nearby finished your investigation for you. 

Well, you did, in fact, find him fighting demons.

This would normally be the part where you'd tease him about being terrible at hiding, but you didn't need to see his face to hold your tongue. Instead, you found a nearby panel of switches, flooding his side of the room in low light. Without the darkness, he could no longer blend and hide, but he didn't recoil. Hunched over, his hands were clasped together on his knees, and his tail tightly curled over his feet. You approached him wordlessly. You could tell he was focused but not on you, proven when he crossed himself right on cue. A cue you hardly heard yourself. 

He continued to sit still for a few minutes. Obviously, he knew who stood before him. Otherwise he would have hid. Taking a deep breath, you placed a hand on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be attending the service?" You asked softly. 

"I," he finally choked out after several moments. "I'm not sure I am allowed to anymore." His words, although quiet, dripped with despair. For him, this welcoming foyer was his ancient narthex, created for those who weren't allowed into the sanctuary but still wished to listen to its sermon. 

"Have you spoken to a Father about it?" Without further knowledge, you can only suggest a priest. 

"And what would I say?" Kurt raised his voice in his anguish and grimaced at his own volume. "What would he say?" He tagged on, much quieter this time. He practically curled into himself as if he were cold. You sighed sadly at the sight, looking away. A small staircase in the corner caught your interest and gave you another idea. Reaching your hands down to his, you unfurled his hands from one another and took them into yours. At the gesture, he finally lifted his head to look at you. It took all you could not to take his sad face in your hands instead. 

"I think he would tell you to come in," you reply in a gentle whisper. You smile down at him as you barely tug him towards you, convincing him to stand. When he finally does, you study him. His black blazer and black slacks, his white button-up shirt. A few top buttons were messily undone, but it only made him more handsome. Silently, with a hand in his, you led him up those wooden steps. Your intuition was right when they opened into a high balcony overlooking the inner room. That narrow gallery stretched against the wall was mostly dark, with only the tops of stained glass windows bleeding in light over the single row of benches. There was a reason someone like him chose such a dark, unpopulated church. 

As you began to leave the doorway, deadweight stopped you in your tracks. Looking back, a pair of downcast yellow eyes glowed under the wooden arch. Naturally, he blended into the shadow. You came back to him, taking his other hand and settling between him and the wall. At the very least, maybe it would help for him to see this place again, you figured. You let him listen, watching him closely as he watched the floor. 

And what a horrible day for a sermon about heaven. 

"I saw it, you know," he barely spoke up, accent whispering like a snake. "Paradise." He said the word hauntingly, not with any grandeur nor remorse. He turned his head as he spoke, looking down at the alter, but he seemed distant. Perhaps in memory. The light of the window caught his eye and reflected brilliant pale yellow. In the darkness, the other was like fire. 

"And yet you came back," you whispered back. Even you weren't quite sure what you meant by it, but he knew it wasn't merely an observation. Contemplating, he stared down into the room. The priest below continued, but you only wanted to hear whatever else Kurt had to say. 

"There were many reasons I did what I did," he soon continued, still not looking at you. "Did it the way I did." He never told you the full story, not even Logan knew. You waited for more, but he didn't respond. He probably didn't want to talk about it—at least, not for another few minutes.

"I never thought that love would be my greatest sin," he finally said. "I wanted so badly to come back," he nearly sobbed, quickly putting his hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting the service below. He gathered himself for a few moments. 

"To this place," he continued, "to my friends," he sighs before turning towards you, his fiery orbs still refusing to meet your gaze, "to you." Even when you cupped his cheek in your hand, his hand you left behind followed, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "That it would be greater than my love for God," he started but didn't finish when his voice began to rise again. By now he was rambling about things you hardly understood, but you hung on to every word. 

"You said it yourself," you gently tease, more loving than lighthearted. "There is no love without sin." With a soft smile, your touch on his cheek stroked over the fur on his neck and drifted over what bare upper chest those undone buttons revealed. You knew you shouldn't, not here, but as his expression only grew more somber, you found yourself sliding your hand further, reaching the space above his heart for only a second before frantic yet gentle fingers pulled you away, afraid of what you'd find.

Or the lack thereof. 

You couldn't stand to see him so sad, not even willing to look at you. As the preaching continued somewhere down below, something about fulfillment, there was really only one thing on your mind as you continued to watch his pained eyes. "Do you miss it?" You didn't mean to let your emotion ring in your tone as you whispered— doubt, disappointment, sadness. He picked up on it, raising his face once more to meet your gaze. Solemn eyes panicked, realizing his mistake. With a change of posture, he stepped closer, grasping your arm and placing your palm over his chest again. "Not in the same way I missed here," he reassured you. His eyes were still sad, but so earnest. You could feel the metal cross hanging from his pendant with how hard he pressed your palm into his chest. You both stared at one another in silence, but understanding. 

Something about the word doom was quietly uttered through the archway.  

"I realize now that I had already found Paradise," he proclaimed longingly, leaning in slightly. Though flattered, you only half-smiled. 

"You shouldn't talk like that here," you whispered, cupping his jaw. "Surely it's a sin." 

And he'd already cut his path of redemption short enough. 

"And yet it would be a sin not to." His tone was almost desperate. He leaned in closer, head tilted dangerously close to a kiss. You began to protest, but his grip on your arm tightened in defiance. "My soul is already adrift elsewhere," he hissed in a hurried whisper, "and He has no use for my body." He shook his head in defeat, tilting his chin to kiss the hand that held him before looking back up. "So if it's all I have left, I will use it to worship who does." His voice cracked against your lips, and he practically fell into you. 

Your back hit the wall with a thud that made you panic, but any protest of his name was muffled and lost between his lips. He could only follow what made him feel at the moment, and he'd come to his senses later, but right now, he was desperate to atone for his sins in a different way. It was a long, suffocating kiss that was touch-starved, hardly focused on any particular pleasure other than the need for your warmth. Despite knowing your current circumstances, you relaxed into him, taking your hand from his face and gripping the soft, indigo curls on the back of his head. He took that as his cue to press into you impossibly more, knees knocking with yours as you both nearly buckled from his weight. 

Finally, he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, warm breath fanning against your cheek a few times before eagerly diving back in. This time, he moved with you. Your noses knocked each time he rolled his head to find his favorite angle, and, in annoyance, you tried to hold him still with your hand on his neck and your grip on his hair. In response, his lips parted, tongue lapping at your top lip and tentatively touching yours when you let him in. 

His grip on your waist was harsh, almost as if he was scared that if he let go even a little, he might lose this moment forever. As if he couldn't hold you enough, his tail joined in, wrapping itself beneath your ass and tightly snaking around your waist. You felt him smile into the kiss when you pet over the peach fuzz of his tail before he abruptly pulled away from your lips, tongue sliding over your bottom lip as he withdrew into your neck. Sweetly, he kisses your pulse. And you know where he's going. 

"We should 'port somewhere else," you suggest softly. The light kisses on your neck become open-mouthed and wet, showing you just what he thinks about your suggestion. You catch the words reunion with God bouncing off the wall, and you weren't sure if the devil himself said it or the clergyman was sermonizing below. You tilted your head back for him at the prickling feeling of his fangs. 

With a mind of their own, your hands worked down the rest of the button on his shirt, splaying your fingers through the velvety fluff of his chest, barely able to feel the warm beating of his heart. At least you knew that he was alive, in some way or another. 

Making sure you could feel all of him, you pushed his blazer and shirt off his shoulders, feeling him down and scratching over his abs just the way he used to like it, and he tensed them just the way you remember. 

When his hands left your hips to slide off his clothes, they came back to do the same to you, sliding under your top and over your bare skin. You let him undress you, and eventually, you both stood nude. 

Even after being… gone for so long, he remembered just where to touch you. He held your hips flush with his while licked over your nipple, pawed between your legs, and tickled your inner thigh with the curling of his fuzzy tail. Feeling boneless, the wall helped him to hold you up while you focused on covering your mouth to muffle your pleasured moans and sighs. 

You were suddenly spun around, strong arms wrapped tightly around you as they swiftly lowered you to the wooden floor. Kurt's lithe form settled between your legs, back bowed as he bent down to mouth over your stomach. On his knees, he worshiped you carnally, hands gripping over-excitedly at your thighs and waist. 

Fingers around your wrist pulled your hand from your mouth, quickly replaced with that crushing pair of full lips again. Some would say he was desecrating holy ground, but Kurt would say quite the opposite. In a nest of clothes, right there in the dark loft of his place of faith, he took you. Whether it was because he was most comforted here or because he was angry at the circumstances, his hips pumped into you with a fervor that had you clawing into his back and biting his shoulder to muffle your whines. 

The floor was cold and hard and uncomfortable as he rocked you back and forth, but he was the opposite— warm and soft and lovingly fucking you into the ground. Luckily, the pious music drifting through the doorway covered up the sound of his cock slapping into you and his hissing moans as you bit and carved the punishment of love into his skin. 

You were ripped from his shoulder when he sat up, not even bothering to cover your gasping moan at the change in angle. Blunt nails dug into your skin as he held your hips, making your legs squirm and draw up behind him with the overstimulated pleasure. 

It was like a perverse religious painting, with his cross pendant wildly swinging above you and fangs gleaming along with his eyes; his tail, pointed like a devil's, bound your legs around his waist. This was heaven to him right now, watching you arch your back off the ground and eyes fluttering heavily as you both found that perfect sweet spot. 

It was when you came on him that his glowing eyes beheld the glorious sight he was searching for. He kept going, desperate to keep the image of your moaning, parted lips in his mind, and keep the feeling of your warm cream that dripped over his cock. "Oh~ mein gott," he growled at the way you tightened around him. You could almost laugh at the way he said it if you weren't busy trying to recover. "(Y/N)," he panted and spoke your name like gospel. "My dearest."

Your only response could be a meek whimper of his name, but it was enough when you weakly rolled your head to look up at him. If you couldn't tell by the way his brows raised and furrowed, you knew that he was right on the edge by the constriction of his tail around your ankles, keeping you bound around him while he came, throbbing, deep inside you. 

It was quiet now, aside from panting and the sounds of the congregation conversing and slowly departing that same creaking door that got you here in the first place. You felt you could finally relax and close your eyes when the last of the noise was shut out with the door, and you could finally stretch out your legs again as you felt his tail unravel. He had the same idea, stretching out his legs when he fell into your side. He let you have your space, but that sneaky tail laid loosely over your thigh. 

You felt a sort of regret for him as you turned to take in the proper view of his nude form lying elegantly in your bed of disheveled clothes, wishing to know what this meant for him… but you weren't going to ask, letting him bask in release— whatever kind it was. You reached for his pendant, twirling the chain between your fingers and observing the discoloration of the metal cross. Without even opening an eye, he took your attention away from it with a touch, making you hold his hand against his chest instead. 

"I-" You eventually break the silence but pause, unsure what excerpt you should say. It gets his attention, eyes lifting to look into yours. You muster a smile. "I'm glad you're back," you say softly, simply. Despite the circumstances, despite what it meant, despite what it's already done to you, you wanted to add, but his own bittersweet smile already knew what you meant. 

"Me too," he whispered and brought your hand up from his chest to kiss your knuckles. "Me too, my dear." 

#nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler smut #nightcrawler x reader smut #nightcrawler fic #nightcrawler oneshot #nightcrawler one shot #nightcrawler imagine #nightcrawler headcanons #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner smut #kurt wagner x reader smut #kurt wagner imagine #kurt wagner one shot #kurt wagner oneshot #kurt wagner headcanon #marvel #marvel smut #marvel headcanons #marvel fic #x men x reader

[rustedhearts]

every corner (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: it's been 7 months since you said goodbye to steve. most exes that fell out of love move on and never speak. but you never really fell out of love, did you?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ everytime (part one) ♡ the library ♡ the record store

tags: mention of past substance abuse; angst; hurt/not much comfort; pining and yearning; smut.

a/n: here we are, an entire year later. hope you enjoy. love you (and soft, sad everytime steve) forever!

ko-fi (because i graduated from college recently if you wanted to leave a tip!)

"nothing happened in the way I wanted, every corner of this house haunted. and I know you said that we're not talking...but I miss you."

— i miss you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams

halloween night, 1999

The familiar tune of Michael Myers' entrance has you clutching the knitted blanket closer to your chest, cowering behind your knees to shield the tv. The grainy picture glows through the living room, illuminating half-eaten Chinese takeout and four cherry Pepsi cans. You had a bucket of popcorn on the cushion beside you and a bag of Red Vines near your feet. A party for one, completely alcohol free.

It's been four months since you've had even a sip, and it pained you to say that maybe your friends were right. You did have a problem.

You were still gaining their trust and friendship back, tiptoeing around past mistakes and attempting to right them.

After that drunken night at Eddie's house over the summer—when Steve rescued you from stupor and tucked you into bed—your friends had an intervention. Sat you down—sober, grumpy, and lashing out—and fixed you with some tough love.

"Clinging to Steve isn't gonna help either of you move on," Robin said. "It's not gonna help you get better. And you need to get better."

You sat back on Eddie's couch with your arms crossed and your legs tucked up, glaring at the wall above her head. Back then, you took their stern attitudes as hatred. You thought they were being mean, coming down on you for your own heartbreak.

But they were ten steps ahead of you. They saw the spiral before you could even recognize it happening.

"You're not in it alone, Steve has some fault in this, too. But...I think you guys need some time apart. Real time, no contact. It's the only way I think you'll get sober."

You moved your eyes to Eddie, who was wringing his hands together and tossing you a furrow-browed look. Gwen massaged his bicep lovingly, and you turned your eyes away again.

"We love you," Gwen added. "But when you're drunk, or high...you're harder to love."

So you stopped drinking. Stopped smoking anything that wasn't nicotine, started sublimating with caffeine. It wasn't a complete cold break, but you had to start somewhere.

The only downside to sober life was the distance you felt from your friends. The parties and get-togethers didn't stop, but you had to stop attending most of them. Of course, you didn't expect your friends to stop drinking or smoking just because you did. Eddie Munson would always be a pothead—but he wasn't an addict. He didn't have to keep himself away from it, because he knew when to stop. That was the difference between you and your friends.

Your lack of control.

Which is why, when your phone rang every few weeks and Steve's voice came through the other side, you just...didn't tell anyone about it.

You figured they must've sat him down and had a similar conversation to yours. Told him to stay away, move on, find some other way to cope that didn't involve bothering you.

But they didn't get it. You grew up together. You can't just forget your first love.

And right now, you're sitting on the couch cushion closest to the end table where your phone waits. You find your eyes meeting the still and silent cradle every few scenes, and every time you get up to get another snack or use the bathroom, you're on high alert. Waiting for the shrill ring. Waiting for the call you know is coming.

Because Eddie and Gwen host a Halloween costume party every year, and Steve is always in attendance. Despite his distaste for getting drunk and stupid, he loves a competition—and he always wins best costume.

And right now Steve is 20 minutes away, sitting on a couch much like you are, nursing a lukewarm beer and staring at a couple cuddled in the armchair. He watches the man tuck her hair behind her ear, watches the girl kiss his jaw and nuzzle her nose in his neck. You used to do that. Used to tell him how good he smelled after working up a sweat, licking it from his skin without apology.

Steve pinches his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. He needs to stop thinking about you. He needs to stop remembering the way you touched his body, the way you loved him with your mouth and hands because you never knew how to use your words.

The blunt edge of his nail rips the soggy paper wrapped around his beer bottle. He's itching to call you. He quite literally feels sick about the thought of forgetting the way you pronounce his name, the way your voice wraps around words in their own special way. He can't remember which version of 'either' you used, and it's killing him.

He's forgetting you.

He can't forget you.

Eddie and Gwen are in the kitchen laughing and mingling with other couples. Robin's flirting with a girl in the corner, hand pressed against the wall above her head. They'll go home together, and Steve will go home alone.

No one's watching. So, he picks up the phone.

He dials your number with quick and eager fingers, gripping the phone with antsy hunger. His heel bounces on the carpet, fingers drumming his knee.

Your eyes slide to the phone a split second before it rings. Every nerve in your body began to buzz in anticipation before that first trill, and you almost knock over the popcorn in your hurried rush to receive the phone.

But you pull back. Sit back on the couch and retract your hand. You watch the phone shake on the cradle stand, rattle the lamp behind it on the table. It rings once, twice, three times. At Eddie's, Steve thinks about hanging up and grows sicker.

You pick up the phone before it stops.

"Hello?"

Steve exhales, lets a smile touch his face. He focuses on the beer bottle wedged between his thighs to avoid seeming too giddy.

"Hey."

You slide back against the couch, turning the tv down. You fondle a sticky Red Vine mindlessly as silence passes between the pair of you. It's been two weeks since you last spoke—the longest you'd gone. Pathetic, isn't it? You haven't been together in almost seven months, yet you can't go more than two weeks without talking.

You tried not to let the thick, sick feeling in your throat at the thought mean much.

"You at home?"

You try not to giggle at the obvious. But he was just filling the space. He just wanted to hear you speak again.

"Yeah."

Steve tears another rip in the beer label. "Which Halloween are you on?"

Your gaze moves to the tv again, where you grin at the movie playing. "The third."

"Blech," Steve groans. "That one sucks."

"I know," you giggle at his playful distaste. "But I don't like skipping through a series."

Steve waits a beat. He rotates the bottle between his legs to peel the back. The beer sloshes around, and he knows the next swig of it will be disgustingly warm.

"All the lights on, too?"

Your eyes bounce around the room at the various lamps glowing soft yellow light through the room. The light filtering through the hall from your bedroom, the one clicked on above the sink in the kitchen. Your lip turns upward.

"Yeah."

Your chest squeezes at the thought of Steve knowing you so well. It wasn't that long ago that he was curled up next to you during a Halloween movie marathon, soothing you when you'd shriek, chuckling when you hid your face in his chest. He always took scary movies as an opportunity to cradle and baby you, because it wasn't often you let him.

Maybe that's why they were his favorite now.

Steve tugs the beer free from his legs and tipped back a swig. He winces as the warm liquid slid down his throat, face soured with disgust. His eyes slide toward the corner of the room where Robin and her current infatuation are giggling. He can hear Eddie's voice squawking in the kitchen, but it's growing closer.

He runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, knowing the next words to leave his mouth will be stupid and another space filler. "You scared?"

You snicker through your nose. He hears a soft snap when your teeth tear at a Red Vine. "Maybe a little."

He gnaws on his bottom lip a moment, gripping the neck of his beer bottle tightly. His stomach is in the knot of all knots, sitting somewhere between his chest and his throat. The next words are weighing him down and he spits them out before he loses the gall.

"Want me to come over?"

The line buzzes. Your living room vignettes, the top layer of skin under your sweatshirt littered with goosebumps. Swallowing down the candy comes with difficulty. You can only seem to stare at the bright light of the television, switching between pictures.

At Eddie's, Steve drops his head into his hands and tugs hard at the top of his hair, tapping the phone against his forehead in self-reprimand.

"Steve?"

He puts the phone back to his ear quickly. "Yeah?" His voice is so much smaller, croaked.

"Is that...is that a good idea?" You trust his judgement more than yours.

Steve cranes his head over his shoulder, peering around the corner into the kitchen. Eddie and Gwen are leaning against the kitchen sink, the latter tucked under his arm. He has a polaroid at the bottom of his sock drawer of all four of you in that very spot when Eddie first moved into the apartment. It was July and you did all the heavy lifting yourselves.

"I don't know," Steve sighs. His hand is still in his hair, twisting at the roots until it hurts.

But it still doesn't hurt as much as the squeezing in his chest.

"I don't think it is," you whisper.

Steve lets go of his hair and scratches at his stinging scalp. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, you're right."

He taps his finger on the other side of the phone. He tightens his grip on the beer bottle and it creaks under the weight. He imagines himself throwing it across the room just to hear the shatter, but he would never do such a thing. Not in his best friend's home.

"Would it be the last time?"

Steve perks up, lifting his head from where it's drooped toward his lap. His cheeks suddenly hold a heat that burns, and it's traveling down his neck.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, it...it can be," he fumbles, swallowing thickly. He doesn't want it to be the last time.

You pluck a piece of stray popcorn from your sweater and toss it back into the bowl. You eye the mess on your coffee table and wonder how long it would take you to clean up and light a candle to mask the fact that you haven't cleaned in over a week.

Steve hasn't seen your new place. He hasn't seen how well you've been doing.

If anyone asks, you were just showing him.

"Okay...grab some more cherry Pepsi on your way over?"

Steve leaps from the couch, tugging the phone cord with him and dragging the tablecloth askew. He curses under his breath, jolting to grab the cradle before it falls off the end table.

"Ye-yeah—yes! I will. I'll...I'll be there."

Your lips press into a smile. "Okay."

He can barely contain his grin as he slams the phone down and clumsily fixes the end table back into its original state. He snatches his jacket thrown on the back of the couch and rushes out of the room, toward the kitchen where his keys are sitting near the stove.

"Hey, buddy," Eddie coos as Steve scrambles for his belongings. "Where ya been?"

Steve shoves his keys into his pocket, jacket balled in his fist. He barely spares Eddie or Gwen a glance as he pushes past the bodies blocking the door.

"Uh...I gotta go. Gotta, um..."

Steve pauses, shoe squeaking on the kitchen tile when he turns on his heel to face his friends. Heat rushes to his face again, cheeks coloring a deep red. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the door.

When Eddie and Gwen blink at him, Steve sighs defeatedly and drops his hands. He neglects any attempt at an excuse in his eagerness to see you.

"I gotta go, guys."

Before either can interrogate his vagueness, Steve is spinning around and rushing the door, nearly knocking everyone else over along the way. He fumbles over his feet down the stairs to the lobby, where he flings the front doors open to the parking lot. The BMW clicks open easily, and he's thankful for her reliability as he starts the engine and screeches toward the street.

At home, you're throwing all trash into the bin and spraying perfume to hide the smell. You rake through your appearance to throw it into something more presentable, but you know Steve likes a frazzled, "lazy" look more than anything. He always said he preferred you in your pajamas or one of his faded t-shirts.

You're bent over grabbing a piece of crust from this morning's toast under the kitchen table when the door rattles under a heavy fist. You jerk up, hurriedly tossing the toast into the bin before pushing it back under the sink. You stand in front of the door for a moment, fussing with your hair and adjusting the hem of your sweater. You can hear Steve's shuffling behind the door, and when you peek through the peep-hole, he's anxiously running his hand through the front of his hair.

It's shorter, a little lighter—but always handsome.

The door swings open just as Steve lifts his fist to knock again. He's holding a single can of cherry Pepsi in one hand and his keys in the other.

You realize as your eyes roam his appearance, that he isn't even wearing a costume.

"Hi," he breathes.

You smile, pushing the door open all the way. "Hi."

One foot enters the doorway, sneaker thumping on the linoleum tile. It crunches under his weight when he steps all the way in, keys clattering on the doorframe when he presses his hand there. He hasn't changed his cologne since sophomore year of high school and it sends you spiraling back to homecoming football games and prom night in his backseat.

Your teeth dig into your cheek, gnawing down the swirling in your stomach as Steve's eyes mimic yours and trace your body. They start at your shoulders, roaming down to your feet where your toes curl under a pair of fuzzy pink socks. In the other room, the television shrieks with a horrific scream. Neither of you even flinch.

Instead, Steve pushes off the doorway and takes another step into the kitchen. He swings the door shut behind him and you jump when it slams. He doesn't even move. But his keys skate over the countertop when he throws them, and the cherry Pepsi can hisses on its roll toward the other side of the kitchen when it falls from his hand.

And then they're on your face—those big, warm hands. Cupping your cheeks and propping your jaw, pulling you in with a familiar, firm grip. They're squeezing the back of your neck when he slants his mouth over yours and inhales sharply. Breathing you in—because finally, finally he can breathe again.

You whimper against his teeth when your back bumps into the counter, and he's pulling you off by the back of your neck to move his hold down to your hips, cushioning them from the hard surface. Always the giver.

When you pop away from his mouth, you bring your fingers to your own, slick with saliva and pulsing with bitten soreness.

"What if we made a mistake?" Steve rushes out, eyes wild and settled on your face.

"W-what?"

"What if we made a mistake? We were kids, and maybe...maybe things would be better now—"

"Steve—"

"Don't say anything. Not yet. We can talk tomorrow. Just...if this our last night, I don't wanna spend it talking."

You meet his eyes, softening once more. One hand leaves your hip to brush your cheek and trail down your neck. He ghosts them over the spot below your ear, where you shiver and giggle when he breathes hot air.

"Okay." You nod.

And then his mouth is back on yours. His hands are moving and squeezing and grabbing, and his throat is thick with moans and uneasy breaths.

This is the last night, you think, as he lays you down in bed.

The last time, you promise, when he leaves every inch of your body covered in spit-soaked kisses.

And when the phone rings as he's sucking on your neck and digging bruises into your hips, you let it go. You know it isn't him on the other line, because he's finally in your arms again.

For the very last time.

#rolly! #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader smut

[042502]

a shitty friend // c. sturniolo x reader ft. nate

synopsis : you cheat on your boyfriend Chris with his best friend Nate.

warnings : verbal violence, insults, infidelity, anguish, pain, screaming, crying, betrayal, bad friends, unfaithful reader, unfaithful Nate, Chris the real deer.

notes : it doesn't have obscene scenes, but it is loaded with emotions. This is so real.

masterlist !

Nate was kneeling on the ground while holding his head in his hands, His face was red with tears spilling from his eyes.

"Stand up! Come on! Just like you went and stole my girlfriend!" Chris was yelling at Nate. “Now take it all!” Chris's hands were pointing at him aggressively.

Nate stands in front of who was his friend at one time.

"I'm not going to fight with you..." Nate's words come painfully from his lips.

"You hugged me... You hugged me!" Chris shakes his head trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. “You heard me cry for her!” It reminds you every moment. “You hugged me! You told me that everything was going to be okay, that we were going to get better. You told me that Nate…!” Chris clutches his head in disbelief of what he was thinking.

How was it possible that he betrayed him like this with his girlfriend, the two people he loves most in this world after his brothers.

"I trusted you! And while you're hugging me, what?! You were looking at my girlfriend's butt?! That's what you were doing?!"

Nate shakes his head, his face completely drenched in tears.

"You're a fucking son of a bitch." Chris looks at the ceiling, covering his face with both hands.

"I did not want to do it…"

"Yes, you wanted to" Chris looks at him again. “You're not going to deceive me, don't lie to me, if you wanted to. All the time you wanted to, everything, all the time. I asked you three million times, I asked you." Nate sits on the couch just silently shaking his head as he listens to his friend yell at him.. “You made me look like the worst friend in the world in front of everyone, saying that I was a traitor because I distrusted you, son of a bitch.”

That's when you get to the room and run to Nate's aid, yelling at Chris to stop.

"Stop me!?" You place your hands on your boyfriend's arm, but he rejects you. "Do not touch me!" He yells at you angrily, raising his index finger right in front of your face as he shakes it. “Don't ever touch me again in your life” He looked you straight in the eyes. “You are dead to me. you ruined my life" Chris points his finger at you, his face was frowning and full of pain. “¿You appeared in my life for what the fuck? To get inside my head and make me shit?” Chris points at his head repeatedly and then runs his hands through his long hair pulling out his locks of hair angrily. “I gave you everything I had, I loved you!” The words left his lips with his heart in his throat. “We were going to be together, I bet everything on you!” Chris yells at you in annoyance. “Why the fuck did I bet on you?” Tears are present in Chris's eyes, tears of pain, of sadness, tears of hate. "So that? So that you can then throw everything away overnight.”

"It just happened…”

"It just happened? "Is that the only thing you're going to tell me?" Chris smiled wryly, he really was heartbroken. He sat on the couch and held his head in his hands while looking at the floor. “I trusted you, and you screwed up everything…” He looked up at you, his eyes were red from crying so much, but his expression was hateful. “Now that you shit on me and everything we built, I hope you're at least happy with what you did." Chris got up and you didn't try to stop him, he left the house slamming the door.

notes : hey! If you want to be part of the taglist, write a comment about it and I will add you. Remember to hit the heart and share it with your friends! Thanks for reading^^

taglist : @luverboychris @l34n @prisciliin @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @adirtylittleheart @ilovechrisssturniolo-deactivate @melonjollyranche @ecliphttlunar @jetaimevous

#sturniolo triplets #﹙𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬. 𝐒﹚🦌 ， #੭ 🤍 ! 𝓈 #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo soft #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets smut

[tac-the-unseen]

What the Lost Boys think of vampire related media pt.2

After your last vamp media talk you had more questions you absolutely needed the answers to. Some of those answers came more naturally than you thought.

What we do in the Shadows:

-This is their absolute favorite show. It's just something they can all sit down to watch and get a nice laugh.

-David was actually the one that suggested it to the group

-He thinks it's about as close to what being a really vampire is like.

-You brought up your last conversation about why no vampire media could be so close to the real thing and he quickly responded with “Vampires are made up to be these gross demon creatures with no self control, when in fact most vampires were just normal humans going about their life.”

-He knew that no one in this show actually knows any vampires because of inconsistencies, but it's as close to it as they can all get without having to kill anyone for it.

-”Are you off your tits, boy?” “He is.”

-Paul quotes the show all the damn time (And so do the others but he is the main culprit.)

-you actually can't get him to stop

-”I became a vampire to suck blood and to fuck forever.”

-”No fuck off. Can't be side tracked with cheap sex potions.”

-Need an answer to any questions? Paul will respond with “Coprophilia.”

-Marko is giggling at Paul's quotes and answers with his own

-”Pizza pie” :D

-”He's my sweet cheese!”

-”She speaks the bullshit.”

-His favorite character is Nadja of course

-You have to pry him away from the T.V if you need him to do something else

-Dwayne will stop whatever he's doing if you offer to watch WWDITS with him

-He loves the historical references and gags

-He relates to Guillermo most of the time, being one of the voices of reason in his Chaos Coven

-”i was thinking w-” “we should finish each other off and tell no one?” “I’m game if you are.” ✨Spooky music✨

•This show is permanently engraved into their brain

•You can take the boys out of WWDITS but you can not take the WWDITS out of the boys

Hotel Transylvania:

-Paul squints at the T.V “This has to be a crime to watch.”

-Dwayne without turning away from the T.V “Dracula is going to go ape shit when he sees this “

-David eats his popcorn slowly “at least there is other monsters in this movie.”

-Marko is giggling at the Blob and Scream Cheese “I fucking love kids movies.”

-All of them hated the village scene though.

Kid vampire:

-They all watch it because Laddie wanted them too

-All you can hear for the next few days is “Kid Vampire!” in that accent

-David and Dwayne thought the bogger nose bleed drink was absolutely disgusting.

-Like to the point the both gagged.

-Paul thinks it a cute little project

-Marko likes how they say ‘blood’

-Dwayne uses the song “Vampire brush” to get Laddie to brush his teeth

Monster High:

-Marko and Paul sing the theme song semi consistently

-”Monster-monster high! monster high! monster-monster high! Freaky, sheek, and fly, monster high, where student bodies lay.”

-”We got spirits, yes we do! We got spirits, how bout you!?”

-This is another show they all watch with Laddie

-David isn't a raving fan, but he can stand it

-”Draculaura is a bit of a lazy name.” “Clawdeen wolf? Lagona blue? Cleo De Nile? Everyone has a lazy name because it's a kids show!”

-Dwayne is secretly into it and asks Laddie to watch it with him so he has an excuse

Thanks for reading <3

Yes I saw the comment you wanted me to see. Don't think I was ignoring you, I just had to find other media to talk about. (I stalk my own page like a Hyena. It's a little sad tbh lmao)

#slashers #the lost boys #fluff #fanfic #x reader #tlb 1987 #david tlb #dwayne tlb #paul tlb #marko tlb #the lost boys x reader #tlb headcanons #vampire #vampcore #laddie the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys x reader #dwayne the lost boys x reader #paul the lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader

[chuchuchurch]

✮⋆˙ Chigiri Hyouma ˙⋆✮

gn!reader, fluff/comfort, you comfort him after a long day <3

Chigiri sat on the bathroom counter, almost sitting in the sink if not for the fact he was curled in on himself, leaning against the wall and watching you do your skincare routine. He watched wordlessly, hugging his knees to his chest, his eyes were filled with a sad, nothing feeling and the remains of tears he'd shed a few minutes prior.

You didn't speak as you rubbed moisturiser into your cheeks. You were worried though, Chigiri had come home with the kind of aura you just knew meant that he was upset but he'd refused to tell you what was wrong no matter how much you tried to gently coaxed him into spilling his guts. It's been almost four hours since, dinner had been made and eaten in silence and despite trying to think of a way to make things better the whole time, you'd come up empty.

You went to brush your teeth, hands reaching for the brush and Chigiri's eyes followed your every move despite the awkward way his neck was craned. The bathroom light was just the wrong kind of dull, too yellow and too bright and too flicker-y all at once but he couldn't find it in himself to leave your side.

He couldn't summon a single word, he'd cried at least three times when you were away for a few moments or weren't listening and annoyingly his nose still hadn't cleared up from the last time he cried, you were like a sedative. You made him feel deliciously tired, and he felt distantly irritated he couldn't just tell you.

You spat and rinsed the sink down and he took comfort in the predictable way you wiped your hands on your shirt instead of the hand towel. Unpredictably, you hoisted yourself onto the counter as well, sitting on the other side of the sink to him with your feet in the still-wet basin.

A small smile found its way onto his face as he watched the way your face scrunched at the feeling but didn't move to take them out. You leaned on your knees, hunched forwards at him with firm eyes locked on him.

"I want to know what's wrong, I want to help. Please tell me?" You asked bluntly and Chigiri could appreciate the no-nonsense approach after a long day. It had been hours since he last spoke, since he started following you around aimlessly, he supposed he should just bite and push through the fog of sleepiness to at least make sure you know he's alright...

But still, it was just a small thing... a missed goal in practice wasn't really something worth crying over and well, he didn't want to look silly in front of you. It was such a disproportionate response, it made him feel embarrassed. How was he supposed to say anything?

"It wasn't much, really, I'm just being emotional." Was what he said, but really he meant something quite different. It was a quiet beg for you not to see him in a light he was ashamed of.

It's always been like that, he'd always been too much, too emotional, too angry, sad or happy. He doesn't want to seem like too much and he doesn't want you to probe any further because he could never really lie to you, and when you would ask the right questions he would inevitably end up with his whole heart bared to you, he loved you. If you rejected him like that, god only knows what he would do.

"And? I think it's still worth talking about if it's making you this sad..." You mumbled, a cheek smushed by that hand it leaned on. You were so cute in every moment you shared with him, but the quiet, small ones like this made you look heavenly. Chigiri's heart skipped a beat, how was he ever meant to admit something so embarrassing to you?

"No, I'm just making it out to be worse than it was."

"So what? It means nothing?"

"No- it... just makes me look stupid..." He could admit that much at least. You'd been dating for a while now, he really loved you so there was really only so much he could dodge. Sometimes being around you felt like a very dangerous game though, one slip up and his biggest flaw would be waved in your face immediately.

"I don't care if it's stupid, 'Ouma, what I care about is you." It's like you want to make him cry again. He huffs and looks away from your eyes.

"Missed a goal..." Chigiri mumbled, staring intently at the shampoo bottles lined up on the shower shelves. He was loathe to look at your face and see what expression you were making. "It's stupid, I know..."

He sighs and wipes at his eyes, "I just feel too much."

You don't say anything but he can hear you hop down from the counter, watching as you slowly adjust yourself and your wet feet on the tiled bathroom floor so you don't slip. Chigiri unfurled, if you were leaving he was going to follow you regardless, he just wanted to be near you.

To his surprise you walked over to him, crossing the few steps between you as he looked up at you and meeting your eyes again. Your expression wasn't mocking like he'd expected to find, instead a gentle smile graced your face and he couldn't help but feel quiet again.

You slotted yourself between his legs, one hand drifting over his right knee. "I don't think it's stupid to be sad about that, and I don't think it's bad to feel too much."

"Huh?" He uttered almost silently, more out of a need for a response than confusion, but no matter how long he had loved you the way you got so close never failed to turn his brain to mush.

"You love football so obviously you're going to feel bad when you don't live up to your own expectations, doesn't mean you're doing bad though." Your other hand comes up to delicately swept some hair from his face and tucked behind his ear. If someone told Chigiri that small constellations were left on whatever you touched, the way you handled him so sweetly would only make him inclined to agree with them wholeheartedly. His eyes watched as yours, sparkling in the shitty bathroom lighting, traced the movement . "I... don't mind the way you feel so much? No... I think I love you all the more for it, it's part of you and I love you, all of you."

"Isn't it hard to deal with me though?" His deepest anxieties spoke for him in that moment, taking the risk his conscious self never would have and he'd want to cram the words back down his throat if it wasn't for the fact you had so much love for him in your eyes.

"No, even if your emotions were really that strong it still wouldn't matter."

"It wouldn't?"

"No."

"...Why?"

"Because I love you." The world outside of the bathroom ceased to exist to Chigiri, to be more specific, the world outside of you ceased to exist to him. It didn't matter, none of it mattered, what mattered was that you were here and you loved him even though he wasn't perfect. You loved him even though he'd revealed his biggest weakness to you. It left him as speechless as he was before.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then ritualistically kissed each of his eyelids. You giggled when he closed each eyelid as you went to lightly kiss it, he had such a cute smile when you messed around with each other. You kissed both of his cheeks and the tip of his nose before you finally sweetly kissed him on the lips.

His eyes closed and he chased you as you pulled away, blushing terrifically. Chigiri opened his eyes and stared at you through his thick lashes, you didn't speak and neither did he, but in the bathroom under the awful lighting you looked so soft and he couldn't help but let his eyes meander over your face. He loved you and he would never get enough or reach any sort of peak of loving you that he could ever come down from.

"I love you too." He said with wobbly lips. Oh you really were going to make him cry again, you loved him so much and he loved you and he would never stop crying about it. You pulled him into a hug that he returned gladly, burying his face into your shoulder, you swayed back and forth and he gave himself to following you move.

"Wanna go to bed now?" You whispered into the hair on his temple.

"Mhm."

yay another post!! (sorry I neglect this account) and no I'm not projecting what are you talking about..... definitely not....

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #chigiri hyoma #bllk chigiri #chigiri x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader

[babygirl-diaz]

Can't stop thinking about an omega tommy being lonely all those years thinking maybe he's just too unloveable to be mated and not good enough because he doesn't have the typical omega physique that every alpha want in an omega and that until he met Evan😌

Oh my god, anon, now I can't stop thinking about it either. My hand slipped and I wrote it as a fic 😅

Also a special thanks to @sarastars for also giving me the ideas for this fic!

Also, sorry for making Tommy so out of character.

***

Tommy knew he would never find an alpha. He wasn't built like a typical omega. In fact, he was reminded of that every day at the 118 firehouse.

"Hey, Tommy!"

Tommy sighed, stopped loading the dishwasher, and got up. "Yeah, Deluca?"

"Bet you're used to bending, huh?" Deluca teased and made crude thrusting motions with his hips, but then he stopped and pouted at him. "Oh wait, you don't have anyone to bend for! How sad is that?" And then Deluca and his pals were laughing while high-fiving each other.

Tommy gritted his teeth and walked away without saying a word. He just wanted to leave this place. Go somewhere where he is actually respected.

"Don't let them get to you."

Tommy looked up from where he was sitting on the bench outside and saw Hen giving him a sympathetic look.

"They treat you worse and you're an alpha," Tommy pointed out and moved to make space for Hen.

"Yeah, that's true," Hen agreed and sat down. "They just want people to fit in a certain mold and when they don't-"

"-they make their lives a living hell," Tommy finished her sentence for her. "Do you ever wish you could work somewhere else?"

"I don't think it's any better anywhere else," Hen shrugged.

"I am more optimistic and think there is someplace out there where no matter who you are, you are treated right," Tommy replied.

***

"Hey, handsome."

Someone greeted Tommy and he looked up from his drink to see a beautiful brunette with gray eyes standing next to him giving him a flirtatious look.

He was currently having drinks at the bar with his teammates and to have a beautiful woman's attention on him in front of them flustered him.

"Do you mind if we talk in private? Away from your friends?" The woman asked biting her bottom lip. "I bet an alpha like you could show me a good time."

Laughter suddenly rang through the table, making Tommy cringe.

"Sweetheart, if you're looking for alpha then he ain't it," one of his teammates, Andy, told the woman.

The woman looked confused for a second before her eyes widened. "Ew! You're an omega?"

Tommy felt his heart shatter in a million pieces.

"You look so deceptive. Maybe stop taking steroids to make yourself look like an alpha," the woman huffed and walked away.

And then Tommy was left with his laughing teammates.

"She really thought you were an alpha!" Deluca teased.

"Yeah, maybe stop taking steroids, Tommy," another teammate, Gary, teased him as well and laughed.

Tommy wanted the Earth to swallow him whole but he had no such luck.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Howard giving him a sympathetic look.

***

When Tommy could finally transfer to the 217, he felt like he could breathe. The 217 were a lot better. There were a few who teased him but it wasn't as bad as it was in the 118.

But then, years down the line, he was forced to transfer back to the 118. It wasn't his choice, but their firehouse ironically caught fire and the place had to be shut down, with everyone transferred to different stations. Since Tommy had a history there, they transferred him back to the 118.

Things had changed at the 118, though. Many of the alphas that he worked with were gone but Deluca was still there, much to Tommy's chagrin.

There were a few fresh faces there but one in particular piqued Tommy's interest: Evan Buckley.

Evan was a young, cocky guy, who seemed like he was a bit of an asshole but Tommy kind of dug that. Evan mostly stayed to himself but sometimes Tommy found him giving him looks he couldn't quite decipher.

But then something happened one day that made Tommy realize Evan wasn't any better either.

Tommy was about to go home and he had parked his car next to Evan's jeep. So when Evan approached him, Tommy thought nothing of it. That is until Evan cornered Tommy against his car.

"Hey, whoa, I don't want any trouble, okay?" The words left Tommy's mouth before he could stop himself. He was always so used to being defensive.

Evan smirked and said, "You're so hot, Tommy. I've been admiring you from day one."

Tommy frowned when he heard that. So Evan was even more cruel than the others. At least they didn't play with his feelings.

Evan pressed Tommy further against his car and Tommy felt his heart racing. "You're such a pretty omega. So fucking breedable." Evan's breath ghosted next to Tommy's ear, making him shiver. "Can't believe you're not already taken but maybe that's because you were waiting for me."

Tommy felt like crying. He hated being toyed with like this. "Please stop."

"Why?" Evan whispered breathlessly in his ear.

Instead of answering Tommy pushed Evan away and got into the car and left.

***

Tommy knew he was close to his next heat. But it was a few days away so he went to work anyway.

Before work, as he changed his clothes in the locker room, he felt a presence behind him.

"Hey, Tommy." It was Deluca.

Tommy sighed, put on his shirt, and turned around to face him. "Yeah, Deluca?"

There was something different about Deluca today. He had a small smile, and his features were soft. "Listen, I just- I wanted to apologize for treating you like trash for all these years."

Tommy was taken aback by that. "Uh what?"

"Yeah, but I was mean to you for a reason," Deluca said rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I have feelings for you."

Tommy thought he heard wrong. Because there is no way Deluca of all people just admitted that he had feelings for him. "What?"

Deluca stepped closer to him. "I've had feelings for you for the longest time. But I was in a relationship. I couldn't do anything about it so I treated you horribly instead."

Tommy's heart started racing. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Deluca took a few more steps towards Tommy, trapping him against the lockers. He reached out to touch Tommy's cheek, who flinched at the gesture.

"You're so beautiful," Deluca continued to say.

The omega in Tommy was giving in to the touch. He couldn't help the whimper he let out.

Deluca put one hand on Tommy's waist and leaned in to bury his face in Tommy's neck.

Tommy's heart threatened to burst out of his chest. "W-what about your wife?"

"We're separated," Deluca replied and kissed Tommy's scent gland.

Tommy suddenly felt warm all over and slick started running down his thighs.

"Shit, you're in a heat," Deluca said and squeezed Tommy's waist.

Shit, having an alpha so close sent him into a premature heat.

"Sal," Tommy whispered when Deluca nuzzled his neck.

And then Deluca started laughing. He pulled away from Tommy and let out a full belly laugh. "Oh my god, that- I can't believe I held out for so long- I should get a damn Oscar."

Tommy stood there stunned as he watched the other man in confusion. But deep down he knew what was going on.

"I sent you in a premature heat with all that bullshit!" Deluca laughed even louder. "Jesus, Tommy, you're so pathetic." He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and made a disgusted face. "Gross, I actually kissed your neck."

Tommy felt his eyes fill with tears but he refused to cry in front of this bastard and he looked away.

"Aw, are you gonna cry now, little baby?" Deluca teased. "You're so desperate that you were gonna spread your legs for me and beg me to fuck you, weren't you? God, Tommy, can you be any more of a slu- "

Before Deluca could finish his sentence, someone grabbed him and slammed him into the lockers next to Tommy.

Evan snarled and his eyes flashed gold. "You fucking asshole!" He growled and slammed Deluca against the lockers again.

"Evan stop!" Tommy said weakly. He couldn't focus on anything. The alpha pheromones from Evan were too strong and the omega in Tommy was whining for the alpha despite Tommy's protests.

Evan immediately stopped. "You mess with him again and I will end you, Deluca," he warned Sal and let him go, immediately coming to Tommy's side.

"Tommy, you okay?" Evan asked him worriedly and touched his shoulder.

"Oh, you two deserve each other. The broken omega and the broken alpha!" Deluca spat out.

Tommy ignored him and instead focused on Evan's touch which made him whimper.

"What's going on here?"

Tommy heard the captain's voice and gulped.

"Buck attacked me!" Deluca complained.

"And I'll do it again if you treat Tommy like shit!" Evan growled.

"Tommy, are you okay?" Bobby asked him gently.

"No, I'm in a heat," Tommy whimpered again.

"Yeah, thanks to that asshole!" Evan pointed at Deluca. "He was messing around with Tommy and sent him into a heat."

"Is that true?" Bobby asked Tommy.

Tommy could barely speak. He was sweating profusely and slicking up. So instead, he just nodded.

"He's a lying who-"

Bobby glared at Deluca and flashed his eyes at him before he could finish his thought. "You're suspended. I want you out of my firehouse right now."

"Are you serious?! You're suspending me for that omega bitch?" Deluca growled and got up in Bobby's face.

"You want that to turn into a termination?" Bobby asked.

"Well, fuck this firehouse, and fuck you. Your house of misfits won't last long," Deluca kept on going.

"I'll take that as a yes. Take your stuff and get out. Right. Now," Bobby angrily told him.

Deluca huffed and left. Once he was gone, Tommy felt like he could breathe again. "Th- thank you," he said to Bobby. He couldn't think. Evan's proximity and his scent were too overpowering.

"I'm taking him home," Evan said taking Tommy's hand.

"I can't let you do that, Buck," Bobby got in Evan's way before Evan could pull him along.

"Bobby-"

"Buck, you are not Tommy's alpha and he is not in the right frame of mind to give you consent right now," Bobby told him.

"I am capable of consenting and I want Evan," Tommy replied. He hated being treated like he wasn't even there.

"You heard Tommy, Bobby," Evan told the other alpha and pulled Tommy along, taking him to his jeep.

Once they were inside, Evan put a hand on Tommy's cheek and pulled him close but kissed his forehead. "I know what you said back there, but I want you to consent to this when you're not in a heat," Evan said pressing their foreheads together. "Do you have toys at home?"

Tommy felt his cheeks heat up at that. "Y-yeah," he replied.

"Good. So we're gonna go back to yours. I'm gonna help you build your nest and then I'll stick around while you do your thing. Is that okay?" Evan gently stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"You- you can help me if you want. Like I told Bobby, I am capable of consenting," Tommy whispered and closed his eyes.

"I know, babyboy," Evan kissed his forehead again. "But until yesterday, you didn't even like me." He smirked.

"That was yesterday," Tommy replied. "This is today."

Evan let out a breathy laugh and kissed Tommy's eyelids. "Come on, let's get you home. You wanna give me your address?"

Tommy put his address in Evan's phone and Evan held his hand as he drove them back to Tommy's place.

Once there, Evan helped Tommy build his nest. Tommy directed him to where the additional comforters and pillows were and Evan came back with them and set them up on the bed. He finally took off his hoodie and gave it to Tommy.

"You might need this," Evan told him.

Tommy took the hoodie and took in Evan's smell. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

Evan leaned in and kissed Tommy's cheek. "I'm right outside. If you need anything, just call me."

"And what if I just need you?" Tommy asked.

Evan chuckled at that. "You're gonna be fine," he told him and pulled away.

Tommy immediately missed his touch and whined. "Alpha, come on. I know you want me. So just take me."

Evan clicked his tongue and shook his head. "That's just your heat talking, babyboy."

Tommy huffed and climbed into his nest. "Do you wanna at least cuddle with me?"

"I don't think I'll be able to stop myself, if I touched you right now, babyboy. I can smell your slick and I can feel the heat radiating off your body," Evan told him.

"Then don't stop yourself. Do what you want to me," Tommy insisted.

"No," Evan replied resolutely.

"Do you not want me because I'm not your typical omega?" Tommy asked sadly.

"What's that even supposed to mean?" Evan asked. "You're a beautiful fucking omega whom I want to knock up so bad."

"You're lying. You want a pretty. dainty omega. Not someone like me."

" I don't know if you're trying to reverse psychology me but I can see myself mating with you, Tommy. I want to mate with you. But just not today. I want us to talk when you're not in a heat and then I want to make you mine."

Tommy felt a smile play across his lips and nodded. "Okay," he said.

"Okay," Evan replied and kissed Tommy's forehead one more time before leaving, letting the door stay slightly ajar.

Tommy took off his clothes but pulled on Evan's hoodie. He took out his purple dildo from the side drawer and lay back, circling his hole with it. He slowly pushed it inside and moaned. "Evan."

He slipped his hand under the hoodie and played with his nipples with his other hand while he started fucking himself with the dildo. "Evan, Evan, Evan," a litany of his coworker's name escaped his lips. He was loud enough that he knew Evan could hear him outside. "Please, Evan. Knock me up. Need your baby in me," he groaned as he started fucking himself faster with the dildo.

He imagined Evan on top of him, penetrating him over and over again, making him scream. Tommy stopped playing with his nipple and wrapped his other hand around his cock. He stroked it only a few times, imagining Evan's hand on it before coming, loudly screaming out Evan's name. He lazily fucked himself with the dildo as he came down from the high. If Evan would not fuck him, then Tommy wasn't about to make it easy on him.

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #sal deluca #bobby nash #hen wilson #911 abc #911 fic #911 fanfiction #bucktommy #kinley #tevan #omegaverse #ask

[desceros]

Hi, you probably don't remember me, but I'm the 🪻 anon that sent asks once or twice. Still very much a nervous fan! Your work and the way you write about your experiences and feelings still positively stun me every time I read your posts.

I've been thinking about writing for the tmnt and rottmnt universes for a while now, but I'm still very uncertain about my own interpretation of these characters. If it isn't too much to ask, I'd like to know how you do it??

Your work has such fluidity and... sense?? I don't really quite know how to put it into words, but it inspires me very much! Anyway, I guess I'm asking for writing tips?? I know each interpretation is unique and our own, but I can't help but adore yours! I hope you're having a good day/night, Ms. Desceros!

Ps: English is not my first language, so sorry if my rambling aren't really coherent. (〒 u 〒⁠)

– 🪻

i do very much remember! and i'm so sorry i had this sitting in my inbox for forever and a day lmfaoooo i didn't want to rush the answer and instead give it proper thought/answer for you! :D

so it sounds like you're asking two different things here, which is 1) how do i establish strong characters, and 2) how do i construct flow in a fic.

characterization

for characters, it starts pretty simply with just consuming a lot of the character. for example, with the turtles, i've watched rise and bayverse both a lot. like, a lot a lot. enough that i can hear their voices in my head when i'm writing, because i've heard them so much.

specifically, i've watched it not just casually, but also with the ears of a writer. what words do each of the turtles use? how do they phrase things? when one of them gets annoyed, how does he communicate it? when they're scared, what do they say? how do they move their bodies? what do they do in the background of scenes where they aren't the focus?

once you feel like you kind of know the answers to those questions, the next step is just to write! i probably have about... hm... 30-50k of fic in my icloud that i wrote before i started posting things. the purpose of it was just to figure out how i liked the turtles to sound. because i write them as older adults, they sound just a little different than they do in the show. i inject my headcanons into their voices. these things change how they act, and i fiddled with it until i was happy with it. knowing i wasn't going to publish these made it really easy for me to get creative and push things, until i found the boundaries that i like and that feel good for me.

flow

so good flow is something that really comes with a lot of experience writing. it's one of those things you... pick up as you write a lot, so this part is going to be a bit more. hm. disconnected. nuanced. how you like things paced, how things feel good under your fingers; these are things you'll get better at as you go on. that said, it's something i've very consciously worked on myself, so i do have a few tips for you that'll hopefully speed up that process for you!

my biggest tip is to READ. find authors (fiction and fanfiction!) you like, and READ them. but again, we're not doing it recreationally, we're doing it as a writer.

read your favorite authors and think. think about the things they include and what they don't. what information do they convey in great detail? what information do they convey in exposition? what information do they leave for you to garner on your own? why do you like how they include things? why do you like what they don't? do you miss certain things? do you wish they wouldn't bother with others?

for example, i really love brining in the emotions of a scene. how something makes a character feel. basking in that is something i really love reading, so i have a lot of it in my writing. and i enjoy doing it without Telling you how someone feels. i don't say "donnie is sad." i tell you how his shoulders slump. how he gazes off to the side with a listless expression. how his eyes cloud over with uncertainty. these are things i've enjoyed reading, and so i've incorporated into my writing. i will slow down the flow of my fic, putting a bit of rubato on these moments, because i like how it feels.

i personally enjoy things to be very fluid, connecting from one scene to the next with as little a break as possible. think of french vs english. french is very fluid, english is very percussive. they're both languages, both good, they just sound different to the ear. part of constructing that, for me, means i write from beginning to end without skipping around. it's a style that has its pros and cons, but it allows me to have a single thread, unbroken, though the entire work.

ultimately, your writing is a stained glass of everything you love. the words you think are pretty, the turns of phrase that catch your eye, the verbs that bring action to life. this is the foundation of what people will call your "voice," and a large part of that is your flow, or pacing. i can't really... tell you how to create your stained glass. but this is how you can create your own, and make it something you find beautiful.

#ask tag #writing tag #hope that helps!!!

[thewulf]

Through Your Eyes || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I'm thinking a military TF 141 reader where she and Ghost are tiptoeing the line between friendship and something more (you write it soooo well!) and maybe one night she's just feeling lonely/homesick - she really only sees the guys anymore since they're always working - so she decides to get a lil tipsy in her room... Read Rest Here

A/N: Probably the most OOC Ghost we'll see but idc he's soft and I love it. Enjoy!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 9.5k + (They keep getting longer lmao)

TW: Drinking our issues away

In the quiet confines of your room on base the night stretches out like a silent, unending void. England, with its overcast skies and endless drizzle, feels worlds away from the sun-drenched horizons of your hometown in America. Here the walls are a dull grey. The only decoration a faded photograph of your family, smiling. A stark reminder of what you’ve left behind.

You sit on the edge of your narrow bed with a glass of whiskey cradled in your hands. The ice was slowly melting, mirroring the monotonous drip of time passing. The soft buzz of the base’s nighttime activities filters through your closed door. It was a constant reminder that life goes on even when parts of you have stalled.

Loneliness clings to you like a second skin. Homesickness gnaws at your insides. The jokes shared and the meals eaten together are supposed to bring comfort, but tonight they're not enough. The laughter feels distant. The smiles seem forced through your filter of sadness. You miss the ease of being understood in your own home. The comfort of familiar streets. The casual meetups with friends who knew you before you were a soldier.

Most of all you miss the simple, irreplaceable connections that once filled your days. You long for the nights out with your girlfriends, their laughter and stories echoing in your ears. A drastic difference to the tactical discussions that now dominate your evenings. The absence of your mother's voice, once a daily comfort, now feels like a missing chord in the symphony of your life. It’s not like you didn’t try and talk with her but the time difference made it nearly impossible.

The loneliness is compounded by the intimacy you crave but lack. You longed for a partner to share quiet moments with. Someone whose mere presence could turn the coldest nights warm. Here, among soldiers, your vulnerability remains hidden. Your longing for tenderness a silent scream in the night.

Lately you’ve found yourself envying Captain Price. Whenever he talks about going home to his family, a pang of jealousy tightens your chest. He returns to love, to embraces, to conversations that have nothing to do with war. His normalcy seems like a distant dream, and you crave it with every fiber of your being.

As the whiskey warms your throat it brings a slight haze to your thoughts. A part of you wonders if you made the right decision. Did you trade your past and your peace for a purpose that now feels too heavy to shoulder alone? The drink wasn’t soothing like you craved. Instead, it sharpened the edges of your solitude. It highlighted the deep yearning for something, or someone, to call home.

As the evening stretches into the deeper hours of the night your thoughts begin to swirl as much as the whiskey in your glass. Desperate for a distraction from the creeping melancholy you find yourself reaching for your phone. A dangerous idea forming amidst the softening edges of your loneliness.

The glow of your phone screen seems harsh against the dim lighting of your room. Scrolling through your contacts your thumb hovers over Ghost's name. He’s always been solid, dependable. Perhaps too much so, you think, a slight smile playing at the edges of your lips. With a reckless flicker of courage fueled by the whiskey warming your veins you tap out a somewhat flirty message. A far cry from your usual sober texts. Evening, Ghosty. Bet you can't guess what I’m up to right now…

You hit send before you can second guess yourself.

Seconds tick by, morphing into the longest minute as you stare at the screen. Your heart racing as you wait for a reply. Instead of a text though your phone starts buzzing underneath your fingertips. Ghost is calling you! Panic and excitement flutter in your chest. This isn't what you expected. You decline the call without a second though setting it face down as if it could hide your sudden nerves.

But the phone buzzes again almost immediately, Ghost’s name flashing insistently. He’s not giving up. He’d never give up if you didn’t answer now. That just wasn’t his nature. Taking a deep breath, you flip the phone back over and press answer before bringing it up to your ear. "Hey," your voice is more playful than intended, the alcohol lending you a bubbly tone.

"Everything alright?" Ghost's voice is laced with concern. His usual calm edged with tension.

"Yeah, just couldn’t sleep," you giggle not realizing how tipsy you actually were. It was a sound that feels both foreign and delightful to your ears.

"You sure? It’s not like you to text like this... this late." His probing is gentle. But you can sense him on edge trying to read the situation.

"I’m perfectly fine, Ghosty," you drawl out the nickname only he would let you use with a teasing lilt, stretching the words playfully.

"Are you drunk?" His tone a tinge worried mixed with a faint amusement.

"No!” You reply immediately but after silence on the other side of the line you continue. “Maybe just a smidge tipsy," you admit. You heard him exhale sharply on the other end—part relief, part exasperation.

There's a brief pause before his laughter filters through, easing the tension on his side of the line. "Alright then, I’m coming over. Don’t move."

"Oh no! you don’t have to! I’m just enjoying a bit of liquid courage," you protest him. Your words dancing with mock seriousness.

"I think I better check on you in person. Stay put," he commands softly. A firm undercurrent in his voice that brooks no argument.

"Okay," you acquiesce with your tone still light, teasing. As you hang up a smile tugs at your lips. Maybe what you really needed wasn’t to dull the ache of loneliness but to stir a bit of excitement. And who better than Ghost to share that with?

When you first joined Task Force 141 the transition was expected to be challenging, especially with the unit's tight-knit and often closed-off nature. However, what no one anticipated was the immediate and inexplicable closeness that formed between you and Simon Riley, your Ghosty.

From the outset, Ghost, known for his stoic demeanor and laser-focused professionalism took an uncharacteristically soft approach with you. It was as if he sensed you needed a mentor, or perhaps something within him responded to your arrival on a level he hadn't anticipated. His usual reserve melted somewhat in your presence. His guidance more patient and his words often tinged with a protective tone. This shift in him didn't go unnoticed. It raised eyebrows among the rest of TF 141, sparking whispers and speculation. Even Ghost himself seemed taken aback by his own behavior as if he was watching himself from a distance unable to reconcile this newfound softness with his hardened warrior persona.

You brought something different to the team. You brought a warmth and a kindness that radiated naturally. Your approach to handling both the missions and interpersonal relationships within the unit was refreshingly human. Where others respected Ghost for his tactical brilliance and saw him as a near-unflappable soldier. You engaged with him as a person first and foremost. You asked him questions about his day, showed interest in the small details. And sometimes you just offered a quiet presence when words were too cumbersome.

This human connection was something Ghost hadn't realized he was missing until you arrived. Your sweetness, your unguarded way of interacting not just with him but with everyone, gradually broke down the walls he had built around himself. You saw beyond the mask—both literal and metaphorical—to the complex man beneath. It was this genuine understanding and acceptance from you that deepened his affection and protectiveness. It fostered a friendship that was both surprising and profoundly meaningful.

In your interactions Ghost found a sanctuary in you. Each dialogue, each shared silence, reinforced something vital between the two of you. A sense of belonging and mutual respect that neither of you had anticipated but both secretly yearned for. Ghost's initial decision to take you under his wing, driven by an instinctive pull, blossomed into a relationship where both of you found solace, understanding, and ultimately a love that neither the harshness of your environment nor the specter of past wounds could diminish.

The wait for Ghost to come to your room feels almost interminable. Each minute ticking by slower than the last as the shadows in your room seem to deepen, mirroring your mood. Just as you start to second-guess your impulsive invitation a soft knock at the door jolts you from your somber thoughts. It's a sound too gentle for someone like Ghost whose presence is usually more commanding. But then again, he's always full of surprises.

You pad over to the door, your steps hesitant, and open it to find him there. His posture rigid, familiar balaclava in place, his eyes immediately searching yours for signs of distress. "Hey, Tex," he greets with a softness that belies the hardness of his profession. Using the nickname that feels like a balm and a sting all at once.

It was cute, the origin of the nickname only he used on you. One evening after a long day of training with TF 141 you and Ghost found yourselves alone tasked with checking and maintaining equipment. The work was meticulous and quiet offering a rare opportunity for more personal conversation. A rarity given the usual intensity of your environment.

As you both worked the conversation naturally drifted to lighter topics and you shared a humorous story about a road trip mishap you had years ago. You ended up mistakenly driving into Texas instead of your intended destination due to a mix-up with GPS directions. You recounted the events with such animated detail and humor. Making sure to mention how you ended up enjoying some of the best barbecue and meeting some incredibly friendly locals that it left a lasting impression on you.

Ghost listened intently with a rare smile playing on his lips as he worked. When you jokingly concluded that you might have been a Texan in another life because of how seamlessly you blended into the culture during your unintended visit, Ghost chuckled. It was a sound so scarce it marked the significance of the moment.

From then on he started calling you "Tex" in a teasing yet affectionate manner. It was his way of referencing that story which had not only entertained him but also revealed your ability to adapt and find joy in unexpected situations. The nickname stuck between the two of you as it became a symbol of your resilience and the easy friensdship that had developed between the two of you.

Each time Ghost called you "Tex” it was with a tone that mixed fondness and a hint of admiration reminding both of you of that shared moment of laughter and your storytelling prowess. This private joke between you became a subtle yet constant affirmation of the bond you were building. A bond based on shared stories, mutual respect, and an emerging deep, personal connection.

"Hi, Ghosty," you manage with your voice barely above a whisper. You step aside to let him in, but as you do, the use of 'Tex' makes your heart clench painfully. Your smile falters, a frown etching itself across your face as you're vividly reminded of what you're missing.

He notices the shift in your demeanor immediately. The way your eyes dart away from his gaze. "What's going on?" he asks as he steps inside making sure to close the door behind him with a quiet click. His voice is low, laced with a concern that makes your heart ache even more. "It's not like you to drink alone, without us," he adds. His tone soft but probing. This observation hits a nerve. Highlighting how out of character your actions seem tonight.

You can't meet his eyes, not yet, not when they're so filled with worry and understanding. "It’s my brother's birthday today," you confess with your voice cracking slightly. "I got a picture from my family. They're all there, celebrating... and I’m here." The words hang heavy in the air laden with a sadness that feels too big to contain.

Ghost steps back a little giving you space. "Let's sit down," he suggests gently nodding towards your bed. You move to sit on the edge, and he joins you. He maintained a respectful distance with his posture open and inviting you to continue.

You finally glance over at him and the tears that you've been holding back start to blur your vision. "I miss them, Ghost. I miss being part of those moments. It feels like I’m losing time, losing them..."

He listens in silence, but his presence was steady. "You’re not losing them, Tex. Not really. But I get it… it’s hard to miss out. You belong here with us though. It’s okay to wish you were there too."

At his words a ripple of uncertainty courses through you. "Do I really belong?" you find yourself questioning aloud. The words spilling out before you can hold them back. Your voice is tinged with an unusual vulnerability you’re so good at hiding, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a world away, like I don't quite fit anywhere anymore."

Ghost turns to look at you completely. His gaze intense even through the shadows cast by his balaclava. Noticing the sadness deepening in your eyes he softens his tone further addressing you more personally. "I know it feels that way sometimes, Y/N," he acknowledges using your first name in a rare break from nicknames signaling his serious concern. "But you've made a place for yourself here, with us. It’s not just about the missions. It’s about the moments we share, the tough days we get through together. You’re as much a part of this team as anyone is."

His reassurance carries weight, but the hollow feeling doesn’t dissipate completely. You nod, appreciating his effort to make you feel included. Yet part of you still wrestles with the feeling of displacement. It's comforting to have someone who understands, who sees the struggle and still stands by your side affirming your place even when you doubt it yourself. Tonight, Ghost isn't just a shadowy figure or a call sign. He's the anchor you didn't realize you needed.

The room grows quieter, the only sound the distant hum of the base's nocturnal life. You reach for the whiskey glass that had been forgotten during the initial turmoil of Ghost's arrival. Tilting the glass, you take a long, deliberate drink seeking the false courage it offers. The burn a temporary distraction from the ache inside.

Ghost watches you for a moment. His expression is unreadable behind the balaclava, yet his eyes—a deep well of understanding—never leave your face. “It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Y/N. It doesn’t mean you’re alone,” he finally says with a soft but firm voice.

You nod, feeling the alcohol loosen your tongue and the tightness in your chest. "I just feel so guilty all the time, Ghost," you admit before setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "Everyone here has been nothing but supportive, and here I am upset because I missed a birthday party across the ocean."

He shifts slightly turning to face you more directly. There’s a pause, a breath of a moment where he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N. And it’s a familiar one to me too. We've all had moments when we felt like we're not giving enough. Not present enough for those we left behind."

Seeing him open up about his own struggles is unexpectedly comforting. It's rare for Ghost to talk about his feelings and even rarer still to admit any weakness. His willingness to share that with you now tightens something in your throat.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it," you whisper unsure if you actually wanted him to hear your admission.

He reaches out to you. His hand hesitating in the air before gently landing on your shoulder. It was a small, uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. "We chose this life because we believed in something greater than ourselves," he starts. His voice steady. "Doesn't make the personal sacrifices any lighter, but it does give them meaning. And Y/N, you bring your own meaning to this team. More than you know."

Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over despite your best efforts. You're not usually this open, this raw, but with him, it feels safe, necessary even. "I just miss being sure of things, you know? Being sure of where I belong, sure of who needs me..."

Ghost nods, his hand squeezing your shoulder slightly. "I get that. But here’s what I’m sure of—you're needed here, more than you might see. Not just as a soldier, but as you, Y/N. Just by being here you make things better for everyone. For me."

Your breath hiccups at his words, at the honesty and the raw edge in his voice. In this quiet, vulnerable space, you both share more than just words. You share understanding, burdens, and silently, the beginning of something deeper, something neither of you might fully grasp yet. As the conversation drifts into a comfortable silence, you realize that tonight you didn't just find a confidant in Ghost. You found a mirror for your own vulnerabilities, and perhaps, a reason to keep fighting. Not just for the missions but for these moments of unexpected connection.

Tears trickle down your cheeks, unchecked and unbidden as Ghost's words sink deep. His affirmation, his understanding, it hits a part of you that's been raw and exposed for far too long. He looks at you. His eyes softening under the rim of his balaclava and it's as if he sees right through to the heart of your pain.

"Come here, love," he murmurs. His voice a gentle command that stirs something deep within you. He opens his arms and it's an invitation you can't resist—not tonight. You move almost instinctively. Your body responding before your mind can catch up. You find yourself climbing into his lap without so much as a second thought. His arms encircle you, strong and sure, and you melt into him. His chest is a solid wall against your cheek, you breathe him in, the faint scent of gunpowder and mint somehow reassuring and exactly what you needed.

He's so much bigger and stronger than you. An immovable presence that you've only ever admired from a distance. And he's Ghost—your not-so-secret crush, the man behind the mask, whose face you've never seen but whose soul you felt like you completely understood. As his arms tighten around you, holding you close, it's more than comfort. It's a need fulfilled. The simple yet profound need to be held, to feel wanted, to have someone not just willing but wanting to hold you.

You let yourself be held by him. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear a soothing rhythm in the chaos of your emotions. His hand strokes your back gently. A soothing contrast to the strength of his arms, and you feel safe, protected in a way that goes beyond physical safety. Ghost isn't just a teammate, or a mysterious figure shrouded in intrigue. He's the person who understands your loneliness, your longing, and meets it with his own kind of longing. A connection that perhaps he's been craving too.

The weight of everything—the base, the missions, the distance from home—seems to lift slightly making room for something new, something hopeful. As you nestle closer, letting yourself sink into the warmth and strength of his embrace. You realize that this closeness is something you've been missing. Something you've been needing without even knowing it. And maybe, just maybe, he needed it too.

Cuddled securely in Ghost's embrace you find a moment of peace amidst the swirl of emotions. Slowly, you tilt your head up to look at him with a small smile blossoming across your face. The intimacy of the moment, the rare closeness with someone you've both feared and admired from afar ignites a warmth that had been absent for too long.

"What, love?" Ghost asks after noticing your gentle smile. His voice is tender yet tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

You shake your head with the smile still playing on your lips ever so reluctant to break the comfortable silence that's settled between you. But he's persistent, definitely not satisfied with your silent amusement. "Come on, what is it?" he presses. His tone gentle yet insistent, coaxing you to share the secret of your smile.

When you answer him it’s the last thing he expected. "You have blonde eyelashes," you murmur, almost to yourself. The observation slipping out before you can think better of it. "You're a blondie, Ghosty."

He shakes his head at you with a subtle chuckle barely audible, his gaze holding a flicker of amusement that surprises you. "Blondie, huh?" he remarks. The words dry but with an underlying warmth that feels rare and genuine. "Never figured that'd be the thing to get noticed," he adds, his tone maintaining that typical Ghost edge—cool, composed, yet unexpectedly tender.

The playful comment, light and teasing, helps to bridge the gap between your roles within TF 141 and who you are beneath the surface. His chuckle fills you with an inexplicable joy, lightening the emotional weight of the night.

Encouraged by this lighter moment, he shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, making sure you're more comfortable in his lap. "You know," he starts again in a thoughtful tone, "I find it interesting what people notice when they really look."

This new dynamic in your conversation allows both of you to explore this newfound closeness without the heavier undertones of your earlier emotions. It's a welcome reprieve, a chance to see each other in a new light. And perhaps to start building something uniquely personal and intimate from the shared vulnerabilities and now your shared laughter. Relishing the warmth of his embrace and buoyed by the lightness of the moment there’s a playful boldness that's unlike you but feels just right for now. With a mischievous tilt of your head, you look up at him once more. Your eyes were sparkling with a mix of flirtation and genuine curiosity.

"Should've paid more attention to you, huh?" you tease. Your voice soft yet audacious. "Bet you're real pretty under that mask Ghosty."

The words hang in the air, utterly bold and flirtatious, marking a departure from your usual reserve. Ghost pauses at that. The slight tension in his posture the only sign that your comment has caught him off guard. Yet there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. A spark that suggests your boldness might not be unwelcome.

His response is slow, deliberate, as if measuring the weight of your words and his next move. "Maybe one day you'll find out love," he replies, his voice low, a tease laced with a promise that sends a thrill through you.

The exchange was daring and filled with undercurrents of mutual interest. It adds a new layer to the atmosphere, thick with potential and unspoken possibilities. As you nestle even closer to him you feel the solid certainty of his arms around you. You can't help but feel that tonight might just be the beginning of something unexpected and exhilarating. A far departure from how you were feeling even just an hour prior.

As you rest your head against his chest, feeling the thrum of his quickening heartbeat, Ghost finds himself at a crossroads of vulnerability and longing. The playful flirtation, the warmth of your body against his… it's stirring emotions within him that he usually keeps locked away under layers of discipline and duty.

"A girl can dream, hmm?" Your words were light yet laden with unspoken wishes. They echo in his heart. He tightens his hold on you further. A protective gesture that also serves to reassure himself. You're trusting him in a way that no one else does, reaching out for comfort and perhaps more.

Ghost takes a deep breath, the fabric of his balaclava stretching slightly with the movement. The thought of removing the mask, of showing you the scars that mar his face, the physical reminders of battles fought and narrowly survived, suddenly feels less daunting. He adores you, more than he's willing to admit aloud. And that adoration mixed with trust makes him consider revealing his true self.

In this moment Ghost's internal conflict is palpable. He's been grappling with the idea of showing you his face for some time. A gesture that holds significant weight given the secretive and guarded nature of his life. The scars, which he typically regards as badges of survival and resilience, suddenly morph into vulnerabilities when he thinks about revealing them to you. This is not just about physical appearance. It's about letting someone into the most guarded parts of his existence.

Ghost's decision to consider this step now isn't just a spur-of-the-moment choice. It's been building up. You represent a safe haven for him. Someone who might understand and accept his past and the physical evidence of it without judgment. It's this trust and the depth of his feelings for you that push him toward vulnerability. The act of removing the balaclava would symbolize his willingness to lower his defenses and invite you into a more intimate, authentic part of his life. A significant leap for someone whose identity is so closely tied to his role as an elite operative.

In essence, the potential unveiling is more than revealing his face; it's an invitation into his deeper self, a crucial step in any meaningful relationship, intensified here by the layers of his hidden world.

"You know," he starts, his voice a delicate blend of resolve and hesitation, "sometimes, what we dream of isn't as far out of reach as we think." His statement was laden with vulnerability and causes your heart to swell with empathy and affection for this man who has faced so much yet stands so strong before you.

As Ghost's hands hover tentatively at the edge of his mask, the weight of his decision palpable in the air, your eyes meet his with a depth of understanding and gentleness. His fingers, curled around the fabric, pause as he seems to search your face for the reassurance he needs to move forward.

He continues, his voice lowering further, almost unsure by his bold actions. "If I show you, promise me something. Promise me you'll see beyond the scars." The sincerity and slight fear in his voice tug at you, compelling you to act. To reassure him in any way you can.

You reach out slowly, your hand moving to cover his where it still grips the mask. Your touch is light but firm, grounding, a physical manifestation of your support. "You don't have to do this," you whisper back. Your voice gentle but earnest. "I never want to push you if you're uncomfortable."

As you speak your other hand moves up instinctively giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. A silent message of reassurance and strength. "Whatever you’re ready to share, whenever you’re ready, that’s okay with me. I just want you to feel safe, not just with me but for yourself too."

Your words and the warm pressure of your hands convey everything you feel—your respect for his boundaries, your readiness to accept him as he is, and your desire to ensure his comfort above all. You smile softly hoping to convey a sense of peace and acceptance, wanting him to feel the depth of your care without any pressure.

Ghost looks down at your hands. Your much smaller fingers were intertwined with his, feeling the warmth and strength from your touch. The physical connection seems to bolster him, providing a tangible sense of support and acceptance. After a moment, he gives a small nod. An acknowledgment of your words and the comfort they bring. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Ghosty.” You assure him.

Before you can continue Ghost places a finger over your lips silencing your gentle flood of reassurances. His touch is light but there’s a decisiveness in his gesture that catches your attention. Looking into your eyes with a newfound intensity, he tilts his head slightly with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "But what if I want to?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

His question hangs in the air loaded with possibilities and the promise of a deeper connection. His eyes search yours, looking for an answer, permission, understanding. “If you’re sure.” You looked into his eyes searching for any sort of doubt, but you couldn’t seem to find any.

Ghost's hand reaches up slowly, the weight of the decision evident in every measured movement. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of wielding weapons and facing harsh conditions. They tremble slightly as they hook around the edge of the balaclava. There's a moment's hesitation. A silent plea in his eyes as they lock onto yours, seeking reassurance. Your nod is gentle but firm, encouraging.

With a deep, steadying breath that lifts his chest and fills the air with anticipation, he pulls the fabric up and away from his face. The mask slides over his nose, past scars, and weathered skin, and finally clears his sharp jawline. The reveal is gradual with each inch of skin exposed adding layers to the man you've come to know. His scars map out a history of survival and silent battles.

As the balaclava comes off completely he allows it to drop from his fingers. His gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, he stands bare—not just physically but emotionally too. The vulnerability displayed in this act deepens everything between you profoundly. Ghost, the soldier fades into the background allowing the man behind the mask, marked by life but standing resilient, to shine through.

You see him clearly now. Not just as the formidable operative known as Ghost, but Simon, marked by his past but not defined by it. This shared moment of vulnerability cements a deeper connection. A space where truths are acknowledged without words and where your understanding and acceptance begin to kindle something far more profound than either of you had anticipated.

"Simon," you whisper. His name a gentle caress in the quiet of the room. The air between you thickens with vulnerability and you notice a slight tension in his posture. The uncertainty in his eyes. It's clear he's nervous, unaccustomed to such openness, to being seen so completely.

"May I?" you ask softly requesting permission not just to touch him but to bridge the final gap between your mutual vulnerabilities. At his hesitant nod you move closer. In a bold move you straddle his lap to minimize the distance. Your hands rise to his face, gentle and reassuring. As your fingers trace the texture of his scars you watch each reaction flicker across his features. Fleeting moments of surprise, of relief, of something tender blooming underneath.

As you study Simon’s unmasked face your heart surges with a deep and profound respect. The air between you feels charged with the significance of this moment as he allows himself to be seen, truly seen, perhaps for the first time in too long.

"Look at you," you whisper to him. Your voice laced with warmth and awe. You gaze at him more lovingly than even he could have anticipated. Your fingers gently trace the contours of his face. Your touch light but filled with intent, meant to comfort, and reassure him in his vulnerability. "You're so incredibly strong, Simon."

As your thumbs smooth over his cheeks, you can feel him relax slightly under your touch. His usual guardedness giving way to a tentative acceptance of your care. "And you’re beautiful. So handsome." you continue, each word deliberate and sincere. "Not despite these scars but because of them. They're not just marks. They're medals of your courage. Symbols of your endurance."

Simon's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed your words. No one had ever looked at him this way before. Seen him so completely and accepted him so fully. The barriers he had meticulously built around himself seemed to crumble under the gentle touch of your fingers and the sincere love in your voice. In this moment, stripped of his mask and the persona of Ghost, Simon felt truly seen. The fear that had knotted in his chest began to dissolve instead replaced by a warmth that spread through him, kindling a connection that went beyond the physical, touching something deep within his soul.

"Every line," you continued tracing one gently with your fingertip, "tells a story of survival, of fights bravely fought, of a life fiercely lived. They make you... uniquely you." Your voice is thick with admiration. Your eyes were locked in on his ensuring he feels the weight of your words.

Simon looks back at you, visibly moved. His eyes, usually a fortress of stoic resolve, now shimmer slightly with unshed tears. The walls he's built around himself seem to tremble under the warmth of your gaze and the sincerity in your voice. At your words, Simon's eyes hold yours. A mixture of awe and something that looks a lot like relief. You lean in with your forehead resting against his, sharing a breath, sharing a moment of profound connection.

Simon finds himself at the mercy of a cascade of emotions with feelings he's tightly regulated and kept at bay through years of training and harsh realities. As he looks into your eyes—eyes filled with genuine care and admiration—he experiences a vulnerability that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Inside, Simon is grappling with a mix of disbelief and wonder. The walls he's constructed around his heart, built to protect, and isolate, are wavering under the gentle but persistent tide of your compassion. Each word you speak, each tender touch, challenges his long-held beliefs about himself and his worth. The fortress of stoic resolve that has always been his shield is now nearly crumbled by the warmth of your gaze. In the understanding in your voice.

Can she truly see something in me that I've failed to recognize? he wonders silently baffled by the idea that his scars and battles, which he has always viewed as disfigurements and burdens, could be seen as marks of beauty and strength. Your touch of tracing his face with such intimate loving care doesn't just map the physical contours of his scars but also traces the deeper emotional wounds he's carried silently for so long.

As your forehead rests against his, sharing this profound moment of connection, Simon feels a shift within himself. A melting of ice that he didn't realize had encased his heart. The feeling of being understood, truly and deeply, without the need for masks or defenses is profoundly disarming. It stirs something in him that feels dangerously close to hope, to love.

In the quiet of this shared moment Simon begins to accept the possibility that he may not only be capable of loving but that he is already deep in the throes of it especially after witnessing the care and devotion with which you regard him. It's a realization that brings both fear and a surprising relief. The kind of relief that comes from finally settling down a heavy burden he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying.

Amidst these revelations he feels a gratitude that tightens his throat. An overwhelming appreciation for the woman before him who sees beyond the surface, who sees him not as a collection of scars and stories, but as a whole person worthy of love and affection. This connection, this acceptance, it's something he's longed for without even realizing it. And now faced with its reality he's both humbled and profoundly moved.

"You see all this in me?" he finally managed to ask with his voice barely above a whisper. As if speaking louder might break the spell of this intimate exchange.

"It breaks my heart that you don't, Si," you respond softly. Your voice laced with both sadness and affection. It's rare for you to use that nickname, but in this moment it feels just right. Intimate and genuine.

As your fingers maintain their gentle contact on his face Simon feels a surge of emotions that almost overwhelms him. Your words were so full of sincerity and depth and pierce through the layers of self-doubt and isolation he has wrapped around himself for so long. "You should see yourself the way I see you. Not just for what you’ve been through but for who you are because of it. You’re remarkable, Simon. And yes, I see all of this and so much more." Each word resonates within him, echoing in the spaces he's kept guarded and hidden from the world.

As he absorbs the weight of your affirmation Simon's heart feels like it could burst from the sheer intensity of what he's experiencing. It's as if your words have unlocked something within him. A floodgate opening to reveal depths of emotion he had long disregarded as unreachable. The shock of realizing that he can feel so deeply that he might indeed love and be loved in return washes over him with an almost palpable force.

For years Simon has compartmentalized his emotions viewing them as potential weaknesses in the unforgiving environments he's navigated. But now being held by your gaze and touched by your understanding he finds himself reconsidering everything he thought he knew about his capacity for emotion. The realization that he does love you and that he has perhaps loved you in ways he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge comes as both a shock and a beautiful revelation.

As he exhales softly, releasing the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a mix of relief and wonder fills him. The connection you share seems to solidify into something tangible, something real and powerful. Your ability to see him—not just the soldier, not just the scars, but Simon, the man behind the mask—instills in him a newfound sense of worthiness and belonging. In the warmth of your touch and the earnestness of your words Simon finds a new perspective on himself and his place in the world. It's as if your belief in him has lent him the strength to believe in himself. To accept the possibility of a future shaped not by solitude and sacrifice but by love and mutual understanding.

This emotional turning point is not just a revelation of his feelings for you but an awakening to the idea that he can be loved for all that he is, scars and strengths alike. As he looks into your eyes filled with appreciation and a dawning recognition of his worth. Simon knows that whatever the future holds it has been irrevocably altered by the truth and beauty of this moment.

As the emotional weight of the moment hangs between you, you sense the intensity overwhelming Simon in the wake of his newfound realizations. To lighten the mood and bring a touch of levity back into the exchange you offer him a radiant, genuine smile. Your eyes sparkle with affection and a playful teasing tone colors your voice as you look into his eyes which are now more open and vulnerable than ever.

“I was right though,” you say with a quiet giggle as your smile broadened “You are real pretty under that mask.”

Simon's eyes light up at your playful remark. A spark of joy dancing in them as he absorbs the lighter mood you've introduced. His smile spreads across his face softening the lines and scars that mark his experiences. The laughter you share serves as a reminder of the normalcy and comfort that can exist even in moments filled with deep emotional revelations.

After the laughter subsides Simon's expression turns tender. His eyes still holding yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. Leaning in slightly, the proximity bridging any remaining space between you. He mirrors your intimate gesture with one of his own. His hand, previously resting cautiously at his side, now reaches up to gently cup your face. The touch is soft but deliberate. Filled with affection and a newfound confidence.

"You've always seen more than most," Simon says. His voice low and filled with emotion. "Not just the surface, but the stories and the scars beneath. For that, I’m more grateful than I can express."

He pauses, his thumb now tracing the contour of your cheek in a slow, affectionate caress. "And you," Simon continues with his voice softening further. Softer than you’ve ever heard with a gentle sincerity underscoring his words, "are truly beautiful. In ways that go beyond what's visible. Your strength, your compassion… it shines through in everything you do."

The intimacy of his touch and his words draw you even closer, knitting your connection tighter. Simon's actions reveal his comfort and trust in you. Showcasing his willingness to not only accept the love and acceptance offered but to return it in kind. In this shared space, filled with genuine smiles and soft touches, the foundation of your relationship deepens. It promised a future where both laughter and earnest declarations have a place.

Your heart now feels as if it might burst right out of your chest. Simon’s words, laden with genuine admiration for who you are beyond the surface, touch you profoundly. You've always felt a strong connection with him but hearing him articulate his appreciation for your inner qualities. It's overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

A single tear escapes without your permission tracing a path down your cheek, not out of sadness but from the sheer intensity of emotion swirling within you. Simon notices the tear and his expression softens further. Gently, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His touch tender and filled with utmost concern.

As Simon's gentle fingers brush away the tear from your cheek the sweet gesture triggers something deep within you. The floodgates open and a rush of emotions surge forward. You feel an overwhelming mix of relief, gratitude, and a profound connection that you've never experienced so intensely before. Each tear that falls feels like a release of feelings too long held back.

Noticing your distress Simon acts with instinctive care. He gently guides you back into his lap wrapping his strong arms around you. The closeness of his embrace feels like a sanctuary as you nestle into his chest, letting your tears flow freely. Simon rocks you gently. His presence a calming force in the storm of your emotions. "It's okay, it'll all be okay," he murmurs soothingly, his voice a steady, comforting rumble against your ear. Each word he whispers is a balm, helping to steady your shaking breaths as you cry it all out. The built-up emotions washing over you.

After a few moments as the tide of your tears begins to subside, you lift your head to look up at him. Simon meets your gaze with a gentle smile. The softness in his eyes reflecting his deep care for you. "You alright, love?" he asks full of concern and affection for you.

You nod slowly, still nestled in the safety of Simon's embrace. The warmth from his body lending you calm. "I'm sorry, I just got overwhelmed," you explain with your voice barely above a whisper. The flood of emotions was unexpected yet not unwelcome. "It's just... all of this, hearing how you see me. Being this close to you," you continue as your eyes searched his for understanding. "It means so much to me, Simon. More than I can really express."

Simon's smile is genuine as he watches you. Understanding flickering in his eyes as he gently rocks you, keeping you close. "There's nothing to apologize for, love," he reassures you. His voice a steady presence. "It’s okay to feel this deeply. It's okay to let it show. I don’t mind a bit."

His words, affirming and gentle, help to steady the last remnants of your emotional whirlwind. As you slowly pull back to look at him again his hand remains comforting on your back, always reassuring.

"You alright now?" he asks after a moment of watching you closely. His voice low and husky.

Nodding, you manage a more composed smile this time, touched by his patience and care. "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you, Simon. For being here. For understanding," you say with gratitude coloring your tone.

Simon’s response is a tender squeeze of his arms around you. A nonverbal promise of his continued support. "Always," he murmurs. The simplicity of that single word carries with it the weight of his commitment.

In this quiet space held in Simon's arms you realize the strength that lies in vulnerability and the beauty of being seen and accepted. It’s a profound moment between the two of you. One that you both will cherish as a cornerstone of your relationship, built on understanding, respect, and heartfelt emotion.

As you rest quietly in Simon's embrace, comforted by his gentle rocking and the soothing timbre of his voice, you notice a subtle shift in his demeanor. His gaze usually so guarded and controlled now holds an unmistakable depth of emotion. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the rawness of your tears seems to have broken down the last barriers he had in place.

Simon takes a deep breath as if steeling himself to cross a threshold he's been guarding for too long. "Seeing you like this, feeling so much right alongside you... it's made me realize something," he starts. His voice thick with emotion. His eyes lock onto yours deciding not to hold anything back. "I… I need you to know."

He pauses ensuring he has your full attention. His hands still gently cradling you. "I want to be there for you, not just now but always. I want to be the one you lean on, the one who gets to see all the sides of you, the beautiful, the tough, the vulnerable." His words pour out, fervent and sincere. "I want to be your person, love. If you'll have me."

The confession hangs in the air, bold and heartfelt. Simon's face is open, hopeful yet anxious, as he gauges your reaction. It's clear this isn't just a sudden admission but something he's been grappling with. The intensity of the current situation pushing his feelings to the surface.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears, not from sadness, but from a bewildering mix of joy and doubt. His words are everything you wanted to hear yet they also echo in the corners of your mind where you harbor insecurities. You see him—Simon, so confident, so capable. The embodiment of everything you admire. And then there’s you, the ‘inexperienced little American girl’ as you harshly label yourself, suddenly feeling all the more plain and unworthy beside him.

“Simon,” you start. Your voice wavering not just with emotion but with the weight of your own self-doubt. “Why me? You’re… you’re incredible, and I’m just… I don’t know, I always feel like I’m just stumbling around you. I’m not sure what you see in someone like me.”

As your insecurities surface, revealing the depth of your unsureness, Simon's expression shifts into one of immediate concern and gentle reproof. "Love, you can't be serious…" he begins. His voice imbued with a firm conviction that makes you pause. "You're everything and more. You don’t see that?"

He makes sure you're looking directly at him with his hands tenderly cradling your face, ensuring that you feel the weight and sincerity of his words. "You see inexperience, but I see a woman who bravely faces every new challenge. Who learns and adapts, who grows stronger every day. You’re not just someone trying to keep up. You're someone who enhances our team with your unique strengths and perspective."

Simon's voice softens even further as he continues. Each word carefully chosen to convey his deep admiration and affection. "Every time you think you're just scrambling to catch up, I see someone gracefully navigating through obstacles. What you call inexperience, I call a journey of growth and courage. And that’s what draws me to you. Not just your resilience but your authenticity. The realness you bring to every situation is unguarded and genuine."

He leans in closer reducing the space between you, his gaze locked with yours in an intense, heartfelt connection. "To me, you are a woman who has taught me more about heart and perseverance than anyone else. You bring laughter, support, and challenge to my life in ways you don’t even realize."

Simon shakes his head slightly, a smile tinged with affection and a hint of awe breaking through. "You being you, with all your doubts, your laughs, your dreams—that's what I want and need. You might feel like you're just keeping pace, but love, in my eyes, you're flying. And I want to be there to support you. To celebrate every victory and help you through every challenge."

Simon's words not only offer reassurance but also begin to dismantle the walls of doubt you've built around yourself just as he had. His belief in you, his unwavering support, resonates deeply, perhaps starting to shift how you view yourself. No longer as a mere participant trying to keep up but as an invaluable member of the team whose journey and contributions are deeply cherished.

Overwhelmed by Simon's heartfelt words you find yourself momentarily speechless. His deep belief in your worth and his unwavering support pierce through the layers of your self-doubt, striking a chord deep within you. It's as if his words have not only reached your ears but also wrapped around your heart, offering both solace and a profound reassurance.

Without a word you lean forward, burying your face in the warmth of Simon's chest. The sturdy beat of his heart under your ear is comforting. A steady rhythm in the storm of emotions you're navigating. As you inhale deeply, you're enveloped by his familiar scent, a mixture that's uniquely Simon—part strength, part safety. It's grounding, helping you anchor yourself in the reality of his presence. In the truth of his words.

Simon's arms encircle you gently once more. His hand finding its way to your back where he begins to rub soothing circles. The simple gesture is nurturing, allowing you the space and comfort to collect your thoughts. To let the emotional turbulence settle into a sense of peace. His patience is palpable. There's no rush, no urgency, just a steady presence as he holds you. Affirming that he's there for you, not just in moments of strength but also in moments of vulnerability.

In the sanctuary of Simon's embrace, you feel a deep gratitude washing over you. His support not only uplifts you but also starts to reshape the way you view yourself. The doubts that once loomed large now begin to shrink, overshadowed by the new perspective he's given you—one where you are valued, capable, and cherished.

As you slowly lift your head to meet his gaze your eyes are reflective of the emotions still swirling within you but also shining with a newfound confidence. The connection you share has deepened, strengthened by vulnerability and honesty. You're ready to voice your thoughts, to respond to his openness with your own. “Simon,” you begin. Your voice a whisper that carries all the depth of your emotions, “Can I kiss you?”

The moment hangs suspended. Your question lingering between you, filled with anticipation. Simon’s response is not in words but actions. A reflection of the straightforward, decisive man you know him to be. With a swift, gentle motion, he cups your face in his hands once more. His touch reassuring and intent. Before you can react further he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is a surge of warmth and tenderness. Deepening as if to make up for all the unspoken times you both held back. It's a kiss that communicates more than any words could. Filled with all the emotions that have been steadily brewing—a mixture of relief, affection, and undisguised longing.

When you finally come up for air Simon's eyes twinkle with a mixture of delight and affection. A sweet smirk playing on his lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love,” he teases gently. His voice a soft rumble that sends a thrill through you. The playfulness in his tone lightens the intensity of the moment adding a layer of joy to the emotional depth you've shared.

Amidst the deep embrace, as Simon's arms encircle you, creating a world that consists only of the two of you, his question still lingers in the air. A soft echo amidst the intensity of your mutual connection. "Is that a yes?" His voice, though light and teasing, carries an undercurrent of earnest desire for affirmation, a confirmation of the bond you both feel.

Your body is pressed against his feeling the reassuring strength of his chest. The protective circle of his arms and the gentle touch of his hands tracing soothing patterns on your back. The physical closeness amplifies the emotional intimacy of the moment making the space between heartbeats seem significant filled with unspoken promises and shared dreams.

You lift your head from the sanctuary of his chest meeting his gaze which is alight with anticipation and warmth. His eyes, so often a bastion of resolve, now hold a tender vulnerability, waiting for your words, your confirmation.

"Yes, Simon," you respond, your voice soft but filled with conviction, the words flowing effortlessly in the safety of his hold. "Absolutely it's a yes. I can't imagine being with anyone else but you." The smile that spreads across your face mirrors the joy and sincerity in your heart.

As you speak your hand gently caresses his cheek feeling the slight roughness of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding the moment in the tactile reality of his presence. Simon's reaction is immediate as a deep, relieved breath. And his eyes close for a brief moment, savoring the words that have sealed the understanding between you.

When he opens his eyes again there's a new light in them, one of deep contentment and resolve. He leans in to capture your lips with his once more. This kiss infused with the joy of mutual acceptance and the excitement of a future together. It's a kiss that reaffirms everything that has been shared, a tender seal on the promises made.

Pulling back slightly, Simon's forehead rests against yours. A contented sigh escaping him. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs, his voice a low hum filled with happiness. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

In the cocoon of Simon's embrace, the air around you pulses with a newfound joy, each moment intensifying the connection that binds you together. With each word, each touch, Simon showers you with the love and affection that he's held back for so long. His lips find yours again, this time more eagerly, conveying emotions too powerful for words.

As Simon deepens the kiss, he pauses briefly, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes with an expression brimming with tenderness. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. The warmth of his breath caressing your face as he plants soft kisses along your jawline. Each kiss seems to say what words cannot fully express, marking a trail of affection that sends tingles through your body.

Trailing kisses down your neck, he murmurs, "The prettiest girl I've ever seen," his voice a velvety whisper that wraps around you like a soothing blanket. The sincerity in his tone, coupled with the gentle press of his lips against your skin, makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken.

He then moves back up to meet your gaze again, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that makes you feel cherished in ways you'd only imagined. "And you're not just beautiful, you're the smartest woman I know," he adds. His admiration for your intellect just as palpable as his physical attraction. His thumbs gently stroke your cheeks as he continues, "Watching you solve problems that stump everyone else—it's incredible."

Simon's compliments flow seamlessly as he explores your face with his kisses. Each touch a testament to his deepening feelings. With every word, every gentle caress, you feel more seen and appreciated than ever before. The connection deepens, wrapping both of you in a tender intimacy that feels both exhilarating and profoundly right.

As you lie there, enveloped in Simon's love and adoration, a giggle escapes you. A sound of pure happiness and contentment. You've never felt so loved, so valued. In Simon's arms, with his voice whispering sweet affirmations, you feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. He's not just a partner. He's your person in every sense, and in this perfect heartfelt moment you trust him completely and utterly.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

#simon riley cod #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon x reader #simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon riley x y/n #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost riley #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x oc #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost angst #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #simon riley imagine #simon riley oneshot #ghost imagine

[leasstories]

We are just friends

Eddie Munson x best!friend reader

No trigger warnings

WC:  1.3K

You and Eddie met during Eddie’s second senior year and your junior year. You met in detention where Eddie sat right next to you. That is how the two of you started talking. You realized that you had many interests in common. The teacher kept shushing you during the entirety of the detention hour but the two of you never stopped talking.

When you and Eddie left detention, Eddie puts his hand on your arm to get your attention, which works as you turn around.

“Yeah?” you ask, curious.

“Wanna hang out?” Eddie asks.

“YES!” you answer, a little too loud for your liking.

“Is the pic-nick table behind the football field fine by you?” Eddie asks, bracing himself for a potential “no”.

“Yeah, sure” you answer.

On the short walk to the pic-nick table Eddie tells you all about his next D&D campaign.

You sit across from each other, and Eddie looks a little sad so you put your hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly.

“Nothing is wrong per say. I really enjoy spending time with you, really. You are easy to talk t.” Eddie says.

You smile at his compliment before tilting your head to look at him in the eyes.

“But?” you ask.

“Uh?” Eddie answers, confusion etched on his face.

“There is a but, right? You ask before adding “I know we’ve never talked before today but I won’t judge you, you can trust me.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, because as you mentioned, we’ve never talked before today. But talking with you is so easy, I feel so comfortable.” Eddie sighs. “Talking with you reminded me talking to my best friend, Ronnie. She just left Hawkins for college and I, uh, I kinda miss her.”

“Eddie…” you coo. “You are allowed to miss her. I won’t replace her and that’s not what I want anyways. But I can be there for you. I want to be there for you.” You tell him.

Eddie surprises you when he jumps from the bench and throws himself at you, engulfing you in a bear hug.

--

After the day you met, Eddie and you kept getting closer. You both want to spend every waking moment together.

You became attached at the hip really quickly and anyone who doesn’t know you think that you’ve known each other your whole lives. You and Eddie are both touchy people. You always touch, hand holding, hugs, you name it.  Which led to the current conversation with your friend Nancy Wheeler.

“So you and Eddie are a thing?” she asks casually.

At her words, you choke on your own saliva before bursting out laughing.

“What?” Nancy asks.

“Sorry, sorry!” you say, still laughing. “Eddie and I are friends! Best friends at most.” You tell her.

“You don’t have feelings for him?” she asks suspiciously.

“Only platonic ones!” you say putting your hands up in surrender.

“But the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other!” she protests.

You shrug. “I guess we are both touchy people.”

--

Little did you know that Eddie is having the same conversation with his bandmates.

“Eddie, come on! You know that you can tell us everything!” Jeff pesters him.

“We are not a thing. They are like, my best friend.” Eddie says casually.

Gareth groans, always the jealous one.

“You jealous Gareth?” Eddie asks, smirking.

“No! Nothing to be jealous of.” Gareth answers crossing his arms over his chest.

Jeff clears his throat. “Eddie, you and they are literally attached at the hip! And you are always touching each other!”

Eddie shrugs. “Guess we both are touchy people.”

--

You knock on Eddie’s trailer door. You both decided to spend your Saturday together, hanging out at his place. Eddie opens the door, squinting his eyes. You suspect that he just woke up. He lets you in and walk towards the counter.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“You read my mind!” you exclaim.

Eddie pours two cups of black coffee and hands one out to you. You gladly take it and sit on a stool.

“So,” Eddie starts.

“So?”, you ask, mimicking him.

“The guys and I are going to play an original Corroded Coffin song, wanna come see us play?”

“YES!” you exclaim. “But first I want a sneak peak. You know, to know if it worth it.” You say, smirking.

Eddie chuckles at that. “Consider it done!

You both finish your coffees and head to Eddie’s bedroom.

Eddie takes Sweetheart, his guitar, out of its stand while you plop down on Eddie’s bed. He sists crisscross at the feet of the bed while you lay on your side.

Eddie plays you the instrumental of the beginning of the song and smiles at himself when he sees you head banging.

He stops and nervously look at you. “What did ya think?” he asks.

“That’s so good Eddie! I can’t wait to hear the lyric and see you on the shitty Hideout stage. You should record this on tape, seriously.”

Eddie laugh. “You haven’t heard the whole song yet!” he says, tackling you on the bed and tickling you.

You laugh. “Stop it, Eddie!”

At the same time, Wayne comes back from his shift, he comes into Eddie’s bedroom and greet the both of you before saying.

“Quiet down lovebirds, I am going to bed.”

Eddie and you both look at Wayne in shock, you part and say at the same time.

“We are just friends!”

“Best friends even.” Eddie adds.

“Whatever you say.” Wayne says, waving his hand and retreating in the bedroom.

Eddie drags his hand down his face exasperated when you say.

“Why does everyone thinks we are dating!” you say, throwing your hands in the air.

“Everyone?” Eddie asks.

“Nancy asked me if we were dating.” You confess.

“Wait, Jeff asked me the same thing.” Eddie says sighing.

“Is it too hard to understand that we are touchy people…” you say sighing as well.

“Don’t know, people always assume that if you are too close, you are dating.” Eddie says.

“Did people think you were dating Ronnie. Eddie blushes at that, remembering how he almost messed his friendship with her up for a stupid crush.

“Nope.” He says popping the “p”.

“Why are you blushing? Wait- did you date Ronnie?” you ask.

“No and why I’m blushing is a story for another time Sweets.” Eddie says brushing the topic off?

“But I wanna know!” you whine.

“People thought we were siblings.” Eddie continues, ignoring your pleas.

“Were you touchy?” you ask.

“Yeah, but not the way I am with you.” Eddie confesses.

“What’s different?” you ask.

“Even if I consider the two of you my best friends, they are two completely different friendships. I consider you like my little sibling, hence why I am touchy and protective. Ronnie, she was more like one of the guys you know. She was taller than me, and tough. Doesn’t need protection.” Eddie shrugs.

“Edward, are you saying I need protection?” you ask.

“Maybe. But not in a bad way. Like a brotherly love and protection.” He answers seriously.

You giggle and kiss Eddie on the cheek. “Love you!” You speak.

“Love you too!” he says patting your back.

“So now we are officially non-related siblings?” you ask.

“Guess we could say that.” Eddie answers, smiling.

And yeah, people keep assuming you and Eddie are dating but you both know it is not the case. You and him are just best friends. Non blood related siblings who loves each other, banter a lot and love hugging and being close to each other. You both love each other really deeply but it is not romantic love, it is platonic with a capital P. It took some time for Wayne as well as your family to understand but they finally stopped pestering you with that.

#eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x best friend reader

[dadsbongos]

megumi x airhead fluff please don’t let gege get u again 😔

iehjejeueueh

GASP this has been in my drafts so long and i totally forgot about it, i am sooo sorry nonny :')

761 words no big warnings just fluff n idiots pining, not super proofread

the ghost of gege has been cleansed from my soul!!! ~~~

“Do you really think that?”

Megumi stiffly avoids your gaze, soon after shrugging, “Yeah. What of it?”

You frown, and it could be how attuned he is to your mood but Megumi swears the sudden shift actually overhauls the entire room’s energy. Something morose and slithering around the darkness, somehow the gloominess only thickens in the areas sparsely lit by Megumi’s lamp.

“That’s sad,” you lean up from your sit and onto your knees, fingertips just barely pressing into the springs below, “You’re not a bad person, ‘gumi.”

“I don’t think I’m the devil,” he turns his whole head to avoid your piercing stare, “Just not a good person.”

“That’s sad!” now you’ve flung your hands up on his shoulders, squeezing down his arms as if a heartbroken widow clutching her poor, dead husband, “‘gumi you’re the best guy I know!”

Scrunching away from you, Megumi presses his back into the headboard of his bed, swallowing harshly and continuously dodging your stare, “Yeah, sure.”

“Hey,” you whine, now squishing his hands between yours, “You are! You’re super nice all the time, and you’re way smart.”

The accusation of kindness pulls a little chuckle from Megumi, especially considering how often Yuuji and Nobara curse his nasty attitude. He cannot comprehend why you’d marvel over him this way, or in any other way for that fact. Megumi’s eyes flutter shut, he soaks up the warmth of your hands on his, and your face by his cheek. If he dared lean up, he’d easily be able to kiss you (he’s not so bold, he thinks he’d rather die actually).

“And you’re so pretty,” you tack on, as if you can sense the worst possible thing to say right now.

Though, Megumi knows better -- you’re soft and mellow, his opposite if anything. The knowledge of your earnesty in the compliment does nothing to calm his racing heart, or the raging red slathering his face.

“Whatever…” Megumi sinks down until he’s laid back on his mattress. He sucks in air slowly, boring holes into the ceiling rather than your face, “You’re pretty, too. And you’re nicer than me,” he cringes, “If you’re still sure I’m nice.”

“You are,” you lay beside him, petting a hand over the bunches and wrinkles in his sleep shirt, “You’re being nice now! You let me come over after my nightmare.”

“You sounded scared,” he tries to shrug off the praise, but your words are clinging to his brain stubbornly, “Why would I make you sleep alone after that?”

“Exactly,” you’re bolder than Megumi, bold enough to spike your chin onto his chest, “You’d be a great boyfriend.”

“You don’t say,” he chokes out, heat clogging his cheeks and red burning into a deep crimson. He prays the dim light emitting from his nightstand doesn’t expose the sight to you. 

A melodic knock on Megumi’s door makes the duo flinch, and despite logic telling him nothing is wrong Megumi lets his arm come around your waist protectively. When its Satoru that pokes his head in, the boy grumbles.

“Hey, problem children,” Satoru coos, “if you’re gonna break rules, at least move apart when your teacher comes to scold you.”

“They had a nightmare,” Megumi’s hold on you tightens, “they didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Is that right?” Satoru’s blindfold is still snug around his face, but Megumi can feel his teacher’s stare pointed at where your head lays on his chest.

You nod viciously, “It was so scary! I thought I died for real, so ‘gumi let me stay with him so I don’t have another one.”

“Well how sweet,” Satoru taps the doorframe, “But c’mon, time for everyone to go to their own rooms.”

“Huh, no way!” you cry in protest, rocketing up straight.

“No way,” Megumi parrots.

Raising a brow, Satoru grins at his student’s sudden audacity, “You want me to stay in here with you both, then?”

“You want me to tell Yaga about the secret number in your phone?” Megumi glares, “The one you know by heart.”

Satoru grimaces down at the boy, then sighing and back out of the room, “Don’t do anything to make Yaga yell at me.”

“Wow, ‘gumi, you really got him.”

“He’s easy to wrangle, like training a big, stupid dog,” Megumi feels his heart thundering in his chest the longer you go without saying anything, simply sitting there and grinning at him, “What?”

“You stood up for me.”

“Duh.”

“That was really nice of you.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back onto him, “Yeah, whatever.”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #airhead reader #airhead regen

[michellemisfit]

Weekly Tag Wednesday Thursday

Thanks for the game @jrooc and thanks for the tag @blue-disco-lights @deedala @energievie @lingy910y @creepkinginc @crestfallercanyon

Name: Mys

What is the most listened to artist in your music app of choice this month?

The Libertines - They’ve just released a new album

What song do you know all the lyrics to?

Erm… most? Well, at least most songs I regularly listen to. Back in the day when we’d still buy CDs I would get a new album and sit in my bedroom listening to it beginning to end, while reading along to the lyrics in the booklet. And oooooh, I would get so furious when bands had a booklet that did not include song lyrics. Wtf is wrong with you?? SO ANGRY! haha

What song do you pretend to know all the lyrics to and sing along to even though you don't?

It’s the End of the World As We Know It by R.E.M. I get to ‘eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn’ and then I’m lost until we hit the chorus lol But it’s such a fun song to pretend to sing along to, and really just making vaguely appropriate noises at the right time, until the chorus kicks in again… and of course we’re all ready to shout LEONARD BERNSTEIN! Hahaha

If you were to be crowned Queen/King/Royalty of listening to a band or artist, who would that be?

That would have to be Dirty Pretty Things. I fell in love with The Libertines just as they were falling apart and a few weeks away from calling it quits for good, so when Carl Barât announced the first tour of his new band Dirty Pretty Things I wasn’t gonna miss out again. So I flew to Ireland and then to England and attended the first 5 gigs of their first tour. And that pretty much set the tone for the next couple of years of my life. I ended up flying to the UK so much and meeting so many people that in the end it only made sense to move to London. Dirty Pretty Things had a tour booked starting two days after my moving day and we were gonna go to a few of the gigs. Then the day before I got on a plane they announced it would be their farewell tour, so we bought tickets for every single gig, which meant that I moved to the UK and then spent all of October, November, and half of December on tour… I didn’t start job hunting and thinking about real life until January lol

So yeah. Them. They’re my boys. As coined by the NME in their ‘sad to see them go’ article… “They were well fit and nice!”

What band/artist surprises you the most on your frequently listened to artists?

I’m ongoingly surprised by how much I managed to trick myself into liking Taylor Swift

Favourite line from a song (or one you have been thinking about lately?

Fame and Fortune by The Libertines

The deal was done, the trade was rough, Doubloons down for a double bluff, Dip your quill in your bleeding heart, Sign there and there and there

Guilty pleasure band or song?

I don’t believe in guilty pleasures.

Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.

Okay let's talk fandom music:

Fave band or song you've discovered from a Fan Fic?

The Libertines lol My friend really wanted me to get into this band she liked, and I just wasn’t massively into music at the time, so she sent me a Libertines fanfic, and that, as they say, was that. Oh, she knew me very well… hahah

Fave Fanfic Playlist?

Right now I’m REALLY into The Menagerie playlist!

Fave Gallavich song?

Do you listen to music recommended by the writer or an included playlist? 

Almost always, yeah. Though sometimes that can go terribly wrong. When someone’s like OMG THIS SONG!!! and you’re just like ‘eh, I don’t see it’ lol

What song do you think is Gallavich coded?

Well, thanks to @deedala this will never not be Season 5 Gallavich

What’s a bop you want to share with your mutuals today? 

Love the original, but I also love Darren Criss

And this, because I’m dying for the next season of The Bear!!!!

Oooookay… I’m late and I’ve been way too busy, so if you’ve already played and I didn’t see please tag me in yours so I can check it out!! If not, and you’d like to do it, I’m tagging @heymacy @heymrspatel @darlingian @too-schoolforcool @palepinkgoat @vintagelacerosette @crossmydna @captainjowl @mikhailoisbaby @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @loftec @sickness-health-all-that-shit @deathclassic @rutherinahobbit @faejilly (you can skip the Gallavich questions!!! Hahahahah)

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game #Spotify #Mys stuff #music #why are my tag games always 4 times as long as anyone else’s??? #I’m so sorry for everyone who bothers to read all the words 🤦🤦

[theorionissystem]

You know it's been really weird lately.

A lot of our parts that were active communicators all kinda started blending out in like the healing kinda way. So it's fairly quiet internally. Sure there's occasional back and forth when I'm thinking about certain things or debating something, making decisions and all. But like it's been very quiet and I feel like I've been more or less distracting myself from it rather than sitting with it and coming to terms with the silence.

Like, everyone's still here but, they haven't really anything to say more than what's already known. Things progress without direction communication. It's not like bad or anything it's just different. I'm not really one for change so it's a bit difficult to process. So I haven't really been engaging in system spaces or thinking too much about alters and part related portions of having this disorder.

Like yes, I am still a work in progress but like, I made literal leaps and bounds I really wasn't expecting to have.

Hell, I just went through the grieving process for a loved one and I didn't split. I didn't cry myself into a migraine. And I just felt at peace with it after a time.

I didn't know you could feel okay about something like this. Sure it's not great and I am sad about it, but, I don't feel like I've completely exhausted myself with overwhelming emotions like I've done in the past. Like I am actually capable of regulating my emotions in a healthy way. I didn't know that was even possible for me. Before now I was either I'm numb or I'm at 100% all the time.

Anyway I think this neurofeedback stuff really helped facilitate this.

Maybe I'll just have a breakdown somewhere down the line, but right now? I'm doing well, unexpectedly.

It gets better actually. It really does.

#dissociative identity disorder #did/osdd #actuallydid #did system #actually did #did positivity

[whiskeyswifty]

What’s your favorite thing about folklore?

oh my god what a question. I'm just gonna riff off the dome here because if i try to go at this in any kind of organized way, i'll write a deranged thesis paper. (this is about the album proper, sorry to the lakes. too bad she never released it and we'll never know what it sounded like)

Gut reaction to this question is just how complete it is. It's an idea and concept, a writing prompt if you will, compiled neatly and cohesively in a way that's the perfect digestible length for it's form (music/an album) and also all killer, no filler. All the vignettes are not a "story" (save for the love triangle which i largely ignore because it's shoehorned) but come off like an anthology; that is to say that they're a series of emotional vignettes across a range of life experiences, but explored through the motifs and styles of one writer. I cannot jump around with folklore, i must press play on the 1, which has never happened before with a taylor album. It has no skips, every single one flowing smoothly but efficiently with the ebb and flow pacing of a babbling brook. (i do skip mad woman occasionally cuz its not what i wanna hear at the moment or epiphany cuz it's too heavy and too soon to go back to that mental place, but they're both excellent and fit perfectly within the album when i'm casually listening)

The sound is also just so perfectly aligned with my tastes. I contain multitudes, but unfortunately one of those is being a sad indie white girl lol. I love soft rubber bridge guitars, and whining violins and piano and minimal but expertly layered textures. atmospheric ones that carry the mood and the fill the space like fog but let you feel close to the artist, as i've said once before, as if she were sitting next to you and talking directly to you. There's a lushness to live instruments played softly and as pieces of a whole, and it makes any additions from a moog softened and supplementary. It just, for me anyway, really helps to hear the tactile nature of the instruments and mistakes and the breaths and the pedals on the piano and all the rest. it's the perfect mix of what i love musically from that genre, akin to Sujfan or Lucy/Phoebe or imogen heap or the xx or lana at times. even as way back and like dashboard, which shows my age a bit. you know the vibes. And i love how jack leaned into his more orchestral side, which he doesn't often do with taylor, still to this day. august in particular is just outstanding and he's great at stuff like that and i wish they would do more like that together!

I think its the PERFECT use of her voice. it's not blasphemous to say of all her artistic talents, she does not have a voice that can stack up against her peers vocally. But, as i've also said a million times before so sorry to bring it up again, she has a very emotive voice when it comes to the tiniest and most nuanced of emotions. maybe because she's less focused on vocal runs or hitting notes, but this album has her voice really shine. it's textured and rough and soft and smooth at the same time, fully bringing you whatever raw emotion is on the page. its the voice of a scribbled journal entry if that makes sense, off the cuff, unpracticed (even though i'm sure it is), and so intimate. you can hear her smile and hear when her throat is thick, it's just a showcase of her voice like nothing else. the pared down sound really lets all those tiny moments rise to the surface.

visually, i mean what can i say. her second best album cover ever. Fully removing herself from the center of it, diminishing herself with the trees for scale. Trees that have existed before her and will outlive her, as if to say this, the act of making art and ultimately the art itself, is so much bigger than me. my life and my problems. but everything is bigger than me, and it's important to not lose sight of that. which, if you were an adult at that time, particularly of a similar age to her at least, you commiserate with that sentiment. the black and white isn't actually black, but more of a warm gray, which i also love. i also know it was mainly out of necessity, but embracing how dressed down and simple her styling was. wrinkled dresses and limp, unruly hair. really suited the look of someone who's going to spin you a tale. NO TEXT TOO LIKE YEAHHHHHHHH god it's perfect and so well designed.

rapid fire now, lets see. i love that peace was done in one take, and you can tell, in a good way! and it's her HEARTBEAT???? i'm a sucker for that, no matter how played out that trick is, and imo it's justified because they disguise it with a dissonant tone of sorts. i love the PERFECT knee jerk answer opening of "i'm doing good" and then proceeding to delve into some of her darkest emotions she'd explored thus far (and in some ways since). i love that illicit affairs is missing it's final chorus, a song that is structurally unfinished and just peters out, the way doomed affairs always do. the way she never mentions the location or even the event, but the soundscape and the lyrics of my tears ricochet paint a perfectly clear church and funeral in your mind!! i love the word ricochet and i love how easy it is to spew it with vitriol. as corny as it is in the context of the rest of this more subtle album lyrically, i love the swiftian turn in the bridge of tlgad like.... damnit it's always so delicious. that harmonica in betty is just like a glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer night, it's SO bright and fun and puts a smile on my face every time!

But all that to say I think my favorite thing is seven. seven is a perfect song. her best song. the best version of a taylor swift song. a song so emotionally poignant and transcendent it wins over, however begrudgingly, even the biggest haters of her and indie music as it pokes at that one spot that will always be soft, and it's blank space's spiritual successor and therefore foil in that way. incredible feat to use the motif of your childhood self and not come off trite, like most other attempts by other artists can be. the most opaque she's ever been lyrically, which is a huge risk to take. small in scale but massive in it's implications and intentions. a song where the meaning and gravity exist in your reaction to it and not the song itself. perfect art. an opus of a song on an opus of an album.

#it's after midnight so my brain is turning into a pumpkin so sorry if this got mushy and nonsensical but #don't ask me about folklore and expect brevity #it's just EXCEPTIONAL #my silly little essays

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

#my characters #waiting on some info on the next commission so i indulged in ocs today bc i doubt i will have as much time for lil comics for a bit #deacon is so devoted hes like yeah i would kill for a deity that could easily kill anything himself but yknow teehee #and fulj just did you tell him you needed therapy also does he even know youd murder in his name #deacon caught red handed haha no of course i havent told him it should be obvious enough haha.... and its in his defense not his name :c #man really does have some issues but i love him so much and hes so devoted but like. unhealthily after a while #he does in fact need a chill pill and therapy but to be fair #ymber has needed therapy for centuries and yet he just bottles it all up and suffers so #its pretty unhealthy until they yell at each other one (1) time bc they are so insecure about things and get mad over very valid reasons #but then theyre like you know what that was necessary and i still want to stay by your side if you let me #and then fulj is like dude hey sorry you seem really happy did you fu- and ymber is like no please stop there we have not #fulj just squinting cause have not is very different than will not but whatever she doesnt wanna think about that with deacon involved ew #and eventually fulj is like hey ymber im sorry to say but i really do hate deacon and i dont even know why but he makes me uncomfortable #while deacon is just. in the room. hearing this and thinking how he knows she thinks hes weird but wow that wording hurts #and ymber doesnt wanna fill in memories better forgotten by fulj which she had forcefully removed #so he just says oh well his hair and clothing are black and you had someone in the past that you might see in him and its not a pleasant en #so you know maybe its that idk #and fulj is then WHATST i was rude to him for someone i cant even remember? lame im gonna try SO HARD to be nice to him now #and deacon just still sitting there with some food like this is v awkward and i wish i could not be here for it #and later he asks ymber about who he resembled and as ymber is descibing her it clicks in deacons head and he gets really sad #that he might somehow remind fulj of the woman she loved before she was punished for loving a mortal #and he feels kinda bad pestering her so much with his curiosities about deities and he kinda gets it #the fact hes close to ymber might remind her at the core that she was once that close with a mortal if not closer #anyway story time in the tags again #im so obsessed with these peeps and i have made them suffer so much but they do all end on a happy note #its still funny and nice to me that while fulj is creeped out by deacon and doesnt like talking to him #he still expresses the most emotions to her - he tries hard to remain serious around ymber and collected and obedient at all times #and when out and about with ymber he has to be intimidating and refuses smiling but fulj?? all sunshine and smiles and emotions easy to rea #and she is just that is so weird go away i hate you