#<- the tag you all want to mute for the next 3 months

[kuschelkissen]

Going to bed now. See you all tomorrow to scream together about the new opening.

[nectardaddy]

B.I.L.L.S , t. hanamaki

american hero. . . b.i.l.l.s. by towa bird

If I had a dollar then I wouldn't have to bother 'bout the bills. I'm so tired of paying rent.

pairing : hanamaki takahiro x f!reader

cw/notes : poverty/financial insecurity, conversation about/wishing for "what could be" (and a deep dive into the feeling of wanting), use of the pet name "sweetheart," humor as a coping mechanism, language, eating used as a metaphor, lots of metaphors in general, established long-term relationship, I am genuinely very proud of this fic so if you got tagged out of the blue that's why <3

word count : 2.6k

The apartment was dingy and run down, a muted tone of gray that submerged the entire cramped space into desolace. A desolace that bled into the other rooms, through the floorboards, through every nook and cranny of the compact unit - through the bones of the pair that inhabited it. Pictures and posters littered the drab walls. Old developed pictures and various music flyers stuck to drywall with bits and pieces of scotch tape - real frames were far too expensive - as they tried desperately to combat the dreary aura of the space. 

But it was difficult to fight against such longing; around every corner being yet another issue that would only ever be resolved with the one thing the pair didn’t have: funds. Air conditioning that went out every other month, as the landlord was too stingy to really fix it and complained with every call and maintenance request about the issue. Mold in the air vents, water pressure that was just short of a small stream, a lock on the door that barely bolted with a small chain lock that was used as a "replacement" that didn't really do anything. It reeked of dust and mildew, a musty smell that lingered no matter how many candles were lit and blown out. And trial and error to shut the, horribly painted, bedroom room; over the months they learned to turn the knob and slam rather than just slam. 

It was a constricted, at times uncomfortable; limited space meaning old cardboard boxes stayed within the living area or bedroom - mementos gathered dust that all but covered the unit entirely. Memories shoved in a box that would barely ever see the light of day, or simply, didn’t want to. Such a place didn’t deserve such warmth. A god forsaken space didn’t deserve the radiant coziness that came with trinkets and baubles, didn’t deserve the framed pictures - that would crash to the ground anyway, as the drywall often crumbled and fragmented - and surely didn’t deserve the mellow residents who resided in it. 

Both home from work, and both exhausted beyond belief, they sat together on an old, thrifted loveseat. A gaudy flower pattern that was stained and smelled of cigarettes from the latter owners, but a place to sit nonetheless. The man shuffled through a slew of mail, the woman, with her eyes closed and trying not to fall asleep right then and there, sat next to him. 

“I’m so fucking tired of paying this shit,” he grumbled before throwing the envelopes onto the rickety coffee table. A table that was discounted, dirt cheap, as one leg was cracked and wobbly. Oftentimes, it broke when too much weight was put on it, duct tape lined the connection between the leg and table itself. All it held was other envelopes - bills, an array of clipped coupons, and a long forgotten coffee cup, that’s rim was chipped and the handle cracked. 

“Then don’t,” the woman hummed in response, a cheeky reply to a serious notion. An exhaustion riddled in her voice that made him look over and sigh, heart strings pulled taut at seeing her weary form. “We can run away together and never have to see this shit hole again.” 

He stayed quiet for a moment, letting a pause settle between them. Allowed the sound of the fan in the far corner of the room to take over the silence he offered, the hum of it engulfed the room as it rotated to cool the entire apartment. “Maybe we should,” he sighed before a small smile pulled at his lips. “We can go off grid and everything, y’know they make shows about people that live like that, right? We could be famous.”

A breath of air passed through the woman’s nose as she chuckled, and she opened her eyes to look over at him. “You’re an idiot.” Even as she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but notice just how tired she looked. Her eyes were dark and hazy, unfocused even, as it seemed like all she wanted to do was close them again - to sleep. Her work uniform crumbled and wrinkled as she sat with her legs up on the small couch, too worn out to change upon coming, to what they reluctantly called, home. 

Home, to them, was coming back at odd hours. Never fully holding each other as the other had to whisk themselves away - to provide, to work. Times were fleeting, just as much as the money that came in. Gone within a second and drained from responsibilities. Every second together was taken with an ironclad grip, and sewn together with cups upon cups of coffee just to try and enjoy it all.

“Where would you want to go if we had the money to leave?” The off kilter question left his lips easily, without much thought put behind it. Because to him, that's all he ever thought about - leaving. He hoped one day he was able to scrape up enough funds, pack everything up, and leave the cramped unit all together with her by his side.

“Anywhere, honestly, this place sucks ass.” She groaned as she stretched her legs off the loveseat. A series of pops from overworked limbs hit his ears and made him frown - she didn't deserve to be this tired, not for this piece of shit apartment. Not for anything.

“I’m serious.” His normal, almost whimsical, tone went with the wind as he sat up a little straighter. He looked over to her with red tinged eyes, fatigued and strained, that swirled with an unforeseen worry.

“So am I.” A curt reply as she locked eyes with him. A realist, maybe a bit pessimistic to some, but the woman grounded herself in reality more than he. Didn't want to waste herself away with thoughts of what could be than what is. What could be was a sham, a figment of imagination she couldn't bear herself to think about often; as the thought of what is yanked her to the very pits of longing that she would later have to tear herself out of. 

“I know where I’d want to go.” A dream he hadn’t told her before, he wished he had the money to surprise her with it. But that day was far off in the distance, a mere glimmer of a memory, and he cracked under the pressure of wanting to share. At least this way, they could experience the dream together.

“Yeah? Where?” She closed her eyes again and let her head fall to his shoulder. 

“I’d want to go to Tokyo.”

She snorted at the thought, “spare me, Hiro, not this shit again.” A half hearted joke that landed a bit on edge, toed the line of snappy through drowsy laced words. A former wish she had heard before from him, a joke to only go to Tokyo to get piss drunk with friends. 

“No, not the bar hopping thing.” He assured and waved off the remark with a small chuckle. 

“Good, because you do that shit with Mattsun here anyway. You don’t need to drag me to Tokyo just for me to babysit you two idiots there.” Babysitting, truly, was an understatement to the woman. The thought made her cringe as she recalled past memories of his dear friend passed out in their bathroom, head in the toilet and completely out cold. 

“I want to take you to Ueno Park to see the cherry blossoms one day.” His voice was a twinge quieter than before, a bit breathless as he couldn’t believe himself for finally saying the dream aloud. Deep brown eyes shifted over to look at the woman, whose head still rested on his shoulder - completely silent.

The comment had her at a lack of words, letting another silence pass by them once more; but it lingered far too long. A silence that, as moments passed, began to have a weight to it and started to suffocate her. Every inhale became shallower than the last, and she couldn’t find it within herself to take a single breath more of the humid, musky air the apartment provided. She felt herself tumble into the gaping hole of wanting, needing, craving - pure, unbridled hunger for more than what is. A ravishing feeling that took her by the shoulders and shoved, falling head first into the empty, hollow feeling of what could be.

What could be was far from reality, what could be couldn’t happen.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked over at him, eyes a bit wider than before and lips parted through means to say something - nothing ever came. “You told me three years ago you wanted to do that.” Quiet words answered her unspoken question and she sucked in a breath. She remembered telling him that vividly, could recall the day to a tee as it held importance to her.

It rained that day, poured down onto the street as they ran back to their shared apartment - a better one than what they had now. Steps taken hastily, hand in hand, as he practically dragged her through the downpour with a laugh. Both forgot an umbrella, so they ran through the rain getting more and more soaked with every step. It wasn’t far from their unit, the pair only went down the street to a convenience store. But the storm they tried to outrun inevitability caught up with them, so the leisurely walk back home turned to a sprint.

Upon their return, they found themselves sprawled out on their bedroom floor. Their clothes drenched from rain and water puddled onto the hardwood underneath them. A silly action, to lay on the floor wet. But neither minded as they giggled and laughed with one another, enjoying the other’s company. 

Strawberry blonde hair stuck to his forehead and he raked a hand through it. A chuckle left his lips from an earlier conversation before he looked over at her once more, “if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?”

“What kind of question is that, Hiro?” A teasing tone laced within her cadence as she locked eyes with him. Bright and hopeful, full of love, and not an ounce of exhaustion swirling within them.

“One that I’m curious about, obviously, so indulge me.” The whimsy in his words was easily apparent, one of which she got used to quickly. And there was a sass in the timbre of his voice that muddled with care, a juxtaposition to his usual standalone brassiness. 

“What’s yours?”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

He watched the woman smile before she averted her eyes to the ceiling, scrunched her brows in thought a moment before she looked at him once more. “Probably Ueno Park, in April, to see the cherry blossoms.”

“Are you serious? Anywhere in the world, and you want Tokyo?” He never looked away from the woman throughout the conversation, and when she met his gaze once more he smiled. 

“Did you ask just to make fun of me, asshole?”

“No, god no.” He laughed, lips pulling into a silly smile before he took her hand in his own. “I’m just trying to figure out where I should ask you to marry me one day.”

The inescapable feeling of want consumed her, leaving nothing left behind as she was swallowed whole. A swirling sensation in her stomach that sickened her, made her ill to think about too long as all she could do was stare at him. “Takahiro.” Her words fell to a whisper as eyes flickered between his own, desperately trying to gauge the situation but to no avail. “You can’t be serious?”

“As a heart attack, sweetheart.” The smile he had started to falter, and the concern that saturated her eyes made his heart sink. But through that concern, the smallest, most miniscule, glimmer of need shone through. Even through tired, bloodshot eyes and a tinge of cynicism, she wanted the dream just as much as he, if not more.

“Hanamaki,” she breathed. “Be real for a second-” But she was cut off as he turned to face her, the old loveseat squeaking under the shift of weight, and he took her hands in his own

“I am being real, so put that name away.” Erring on defensive, put a care behind it that she couldn't ignore. A rare seriousness in his voice that made her swallow hard. “I’m taking you to see those damn cherry blossoms at some point, and when I do I'm asking you to marry me.” 

She opened her mouth to say something but promptly shut it, not knowing what to say to the man. But she felt as the ravenous feeling turned to a starved, almost primal, one. Felt her stomach twist into knots at the thought - she wanted to swallow the notion completely. Needed to feel the crunch and snap of it in her mouth, wanted her teeth caught in it, needed it to be consumed until nothing was left. She abstained from could be for too long and needed to devour the concept entirely. 

But could be wasn’t what is. What is left a bruise, tender and raw, that left a rotten taste in her mouth. She felt the urge to spit out the thought as it circled within her mind like a vulture, ready to dive within a split second. “But-”

“We will, I swear.” He cut off her protest and squeezed her hand. But to no avail, as she only looked at him with a sense of apprehension.

“But we're-” 

“I know, I know,” he sighed. Brown eyes slid over to the envelopes on the coffee table, bold red letters catching his attention that made him close his eyes. “Believe me, I know.” A disheartening belief that caused him to take a deep breath before opening his eyes again to look at her. He brought a hand to her cheek, pale fingers gently brushed over her skin with a warmth that was inviting, loving, and selfless. He gave her a small, out of sorts, smile, “but I want to do this. For you. For us. Hell, because we deserve to do something nice. I want us to have something to look forward to other than the same, shit ass, walls everyday.” 

She paused a moment, let his words sink in, before she bit down hard on the concept and refused to let go. “Ok,” she nodded carefully. “Alright, we’ll go to Ueno Park one day.” Could be tasted sweet and savory, mouth watering to think about. It eased a craving that deflected from what is - so just this once, she let herself free fall into it. “Do you even have a ring to ask me with?” 

His smile pulled into a grin at her question, and he chuckled. “Would you say yes to a ring pop?”

With a paltry laugh, she leaned into his hand that was still on his cheek. “As long as it's strawberry, then absolutely, you dumbass.”

“Strawberry it is, sweetheart.” 

However, he didn’t really need the sweet, confectionary ring. In one of the many old cardboard boxes within the living area and bedroom that collected dust - a particularly well kept, small box hidden in the back of their tiny, shared closet - was a ring he bought three years ago. Bought shortly after the conversation was had, when he still had the money to stretch. Stuffed between memories that would barely ever see the light of day, because a place like this didn't deserve such warmth.

But the warmth was willingly given anyway, whether the pair knew it or not.

series taglist (open, send an ASK) + a few moots bc I am genuinely very very very proud of this

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

@wyrcan @honeekyuu @wakashudou @wolffmaiden @eggyrocks

@dailyakira @cupidsblonde @mollyrolls @wolffmaiden @zumicho

@jadeoru @sandwhitches

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type part 5!

Only took me over a month but we're so back! I took a break to plan the rest of this shit out, hopefully chapters will be a bit more steady after this (fingers crossed)

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

I wasn't sure if I should tag these lovely people again, but please let me know if you don't want to tagged!

@imjustheretofightforlove / @life-as-a-gamergirl / @pieckyghost

Exhausted but too hyper to sleep was the worst feeling in existence, Ghost had officially decided.

Battles always had a special way of tiring him; They ended in him being drained but with too much adrenaline to rest. Sitting against a tree on the edge of a meadow, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep but he still wanted to try. 

His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, cold but too proud to huddle in on himself. Fall firmly declared its arrival by the temperature dropping further; What had once been a nightly respite from the oppressive summer heat was now a permanent fixture of the day. Most people would be happy with the change, enjoying the breeze and grabbing their sweaters and coats. 

Ghost was much more accustomed to the warmth, growing up near the southern coastline where winter never truly took hold. He tried not to think about the fact that the slight breeze that had him shivering was only to worsen in the following weeks as they marched further north.

The flora that populated the meadow held up to the change in temperature better than he did. Various flowering weeds dominated the grasses, reaching high and trying so hard to be mistaken for wildflowers. Ragwort, fleabane, and dandelions all littered the dull tallgrass with color.

Light yellows, muted greens, soft whites — missing just one color, the dark red blood showered across the meadow completed the color palette pleasantly. The splatters clinging to empty stalks looked like dainty little red flowers, a misnomer of the tragedy that had caused them.

His halberd was responsible for most of that bloodshed. It was innocuously leaning against the tree to his right, sitting there like it hadn’t been used to kill gods alone know how many just a few hours prior. His smallsword had been cast aside as well, scabbard un-clipped from his belt and only barely within reach. Most of his armor had been removed, laying next to him in a heap from where he’d halfheartedly thrown it off. 

The battle had ended hours ago, his fellow soldiers resting at camp, congratulating themselves for the easy victory. After the last kerfuffle over Ghost not returning when he’d been told, the general had tightened Ghost’s leash but couldn’t stand to be around them as they cheered their victory. Besides, what the general didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

(Wouldn’t hurt the general, that is. It would hurt Ghost, but that was no different than normal.)

His greatest joy in life was being a minor thorn in the general’s side any and every chance he got. If asked, Ghost would just lie and claim that he never left the battlefield and that the horse he’d taken to get there just so happened to get left behind as well. A lie that would be torn apart immediately, but it didn’t matter.

The ardennes was ornery enough to make it believable, at least. She had been tied up, but the stubborn bastard managed to pull free and was happily roaming the area without a care in the world. She thankfully didn’t seem interested in the weeds, instead content with terrorizing the woodland creatures with her presence.

Unarmed and exposed, he was more worried about falling asleep than he was about any potential attackers. Ghost trusted his instincts enough to relax, knowing he would hear if someone tried to sneak up on him.

“You look cold,” Soap noted. 

“Fuck!” Ghost shouted, his soul almost leaving his body. “Stop doing that!” He demanded as he clutched his chest like an heiress who just heard a swear for the first time. Three meetings and he was already tired of the god popping up out of nowhere.

“Sorry,” he said with a smug tone and smile that said he wasn’t very sorry. Ghost just huffed and shook his head, slowly leaning back against the tree. He closed his eyes and tried to convince his adrenaline response that he wasn’t in danger.

He could feel Soap staring at him. He tried to ignore it but neither the feeling nor the god went away. 

Ghost reluctantly opened his eyes and stared back, annoyed to find the god had no shame in being caught staring. The longer their contest continued, the bigger Soap’s smile got. 

Accepting defeat, Ghost sighed and stood, mood only slightly improving at seeing the god was still significantly shorter than him. It didn’t mean much, but it did mean that Ghost could glare down at Soap. 

Of course, Soap wasn’t bothered by this in the least and didn’t falter. Failing the second round of the staring contest, Ghost sighed pointedly again, not that Soap seemed to care. 

“Is this what you did back then?” Ghost asked, starting the annoyingly slow task of putting his armor back on as he looked around to see where the hell his horse was, “Appear in front of people and stare at them until they leave?”

“Something like that,” he responded, pretending it was an answer. 

“Taxes!” Ghost called out, whistling for her to come back. He bounced between fastening the straps of his arm guards and trying to catch a glimpse of the big bastard through the trees.

“Did you name your horse Taxes?” Soap asked bewildered, finally breaking the creepy/smug facade. 

“She’s not my horse, I didn’t name her,” Ghost answered absently, wondering if he was about to have to go stomping through the woods to find her. 

Sure, he was the only one she let brush her mane and the only rider she hadn’t bucked, but she was still just one of the horses in the stables. He doesn’t know why she was named Taxes, but it was what she answered to (when she felt like it) so Ghost had to stick with it.

“Why is she—?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t name her,” Ghost repeated himself firmly, not in the mood to play 20 questions over things he didn’t have control over. Ghost whistled again louder, stood perfectly still, and tried to listen out for any sign of her. Nothing.

“I think I heard her over that way,” Soap said after dead silence, pointing further into the woods. 

“Really?” he asked sarcastically, wondering what devious scheme the god had cooking up.

“Aye,” Soap responded without the smug inflection from earlier. Ghost took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose and mourn the loss of his sanity. He knew that if he didn’t follow Soap’s directions, the god would make him comply one way or another. He might as well go with the least painful option.

Ghost picked up his neglected helmet and handed it to Soap. He walked a few steps forward before turning around, pointing at the armor piece and clarifying, “That is not an offering.”

Soap’s face went from passive to mischievous. “Aww, Ghost you shouldn’t have!” he said in a saccharine voice, looking at the helm like it was some great gift.

“You’re not special, you’re a coat rack,” he corrected, hoping to nip whatever that was in the bud. It didn’t work.

“I’m honored,” the god replied, ignoring Ghost’s words. Now mourning the potential loss of his helmet as well as his sanity, Ghost headed in the direction Soap had pointed, dreading whatever trap he was strolling into.

It wasn’t much walking, but with every step Ghost felt like he was dooming himself by blindly following Soap’s directions. Not once did he hear the hoofbeats or whinnying that Soap claimed to. 

He justified the stupid decision by reminding himself of all the horrendous torture the god could inflict if he defied instruction. Like being forced to talk to him. Ghost shuddered at the thought.

Surprisingly, he soon heard Taxes snorting in frustration… As well as a whispered voice.

“Shh! No, go away! Please shoo!”

Ghost looked back to Soap but he just had that dumb, empty, passive smile. On instinct he drew his halberd and quietened his steps. There were too many dead leaves and crackling sticks on the ground to be silent, but with whoever the voice belonged to being distracted, they would likely dismiss the noise as the footsteps of some other animal.

He had no idea who this stranger was, only knowing that he didn’t recognize their voice and that his horse was interested in bothering them. Approaching with his polearm drawn may have been overkill, but if the person was dangerous, it would give him more distance and possibly discourage them from attacking.

The noise was coming from a small, rocky dell with a few scattered boulders. Ghost could see the tail end of his stupid horse messing with something behind one of the boulders. The voice continued shushing the animal, trying in vain to get her to go away.

Taxes was stomping around in annoyed frustration when she noticed her rider slowly approaching. She shook her head in a way that seemed to say, “Oh, good, you take it from here,��� before casually walking towards them.

The voice sighed in relief at the horse leaving, not noticing the extra pair of footsteps. Soap took her reins, unnaturally silent as he walked her to the side. Ghost inched closer and rounded the boulder, coming face to face with the stranger.

A kid. The stranger was a kid. 

They were covered in blood, they were scared, and they wore the enemy’s insignia on their tunic.

The kid was frozen like a deer staring down its hunter. Their eyes widened seeing the weapon pointed at them, somehow getting wider when they saw who was wielding it. They scrambled up, having to leverage themselves by pushing with their leg and pulling themselves up the rock with their hands. 

It was only when they were “standing” that Ghost found the source of the blood. They had a few small cuts and a gash on their arm that looked like it hurt, but the blood covering them was mostly from the poorly wrapped wound on their leg. They held the leg up and off the ground, barely keeping themselves balanced.

The startled deer was gone and replaced by a feral animal, one ready to claw and maim its way to safety if it had to. They were still scared, but they didn’t care to hide it, brandishing the small dagger they had with shaky, bloodsoaked hands and a readiness to kill. Glancing between him and Soap, it was like they didn’t know who to focus their threat on, eyes lingering on Soap despite Ghost being the one armed.

“I’m not being taken prisoner.”

He was surprised by the conviction in the kid's voice, especially given the way they were wheezing. Ghost glanced over to Soap but he still had that look on his face, like he was trying to be an impartial third party but was too invested to pull it off.

Ghost was too much of a bloodthirsty monster to have any level of mercy left. At least, that’s what the rumors claimed. That he’d have no problem striking the kid down where they stood or tying their hands and presenting them to the general as a prisoner of war, a potential source of information. 

To have someone in his grasp who could spill any and every secret would make the general very happy. So happy in fact, that Ghost might receive praise for the first time in years, might get a better cot, might get a warmer blanket, might get his first taste of freedom that he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for.

Ghost lowered his polearm.

The kid didn’t waiver, or they didn’t drop their guard at least. They were still shaking so much, likely from an awful combination of fear, adrenaline, and blood loss. He looked back to Soap again, who now had a small smile. Bastard.

Ghost clenched his teeth and turned to the kid. “Alright, sit down.” 

It wasn’t a request, but the kid still didn’t listen.

“Fuck no!” they shouted with enough vitriol and venom to put a snake to shame, “You stay the hell away from me!”

Ghost stepped to the side to set down his weapon out of reach from the other but they thought it was an attack and tried to respond in kind. They made a wide, defensive slash but Ghost wasn’t close enough for their limited range of motion and they stumbled, falling forward. 

He dropped his weapon, grabbing their arms and almost pushing them to one side to keep their injured leg from bearing any weight. They didn’t take kindly to that and fought hard, trying their damndest to give him a new hole in his chest but the exhaustion was catching up to them.

It was child’s play to disarm them and throw the knife to the ground. They fell and Ghost tried to slow their descent as much as he could, but it didn’t change much. Wheezing heavier, they wore an expression Ghost knew very well.

Resignation.

He knew there was nothing he could say to calm them even if his social skills weren’t mediocre at best. They looked up through the trees like this would be their last chance to see the sky and refused to look at Ghost.

“Soap, can you get my canteen and br—” Ghost turned and cut himself off, Soap standing right next to him holding the canteen. He didn’t know what godly fuckery that was and he didn’t care to ask.

“Do you have any clean bandages?” he asked the kid. He was not expecting an answer, but to his surprise, the kid pointed over to his right to something Ghost couldn’t see. Soap took the initiative and grabbed what turned out to be a bag, sorting through it and pulling out the medical supplies. 

Ghost went through the motions, setting up bandages and rope, preparing to stop the bleeding if need be. He glanced up and saw Death holding their hand, soothing them, and he once more thought back to the mural. 

Gods, please don’t let this kid die.

For all the rumors, Ghost wasn’t completely heartless. He had seen hundreds of kids exactly like this one, had slain a lot of them himself. He wasn’t proud of it, it was horrid, but sometimes the only nicety he could offer was to make sure they didn’t suffer. In the world he lived in, a quick death was the closest thing to mercy a person could get.

The kid could very well be in their twenties, what most would consider a young adult, but they were still too young for this, for warfare, for the resignation of knowing that Death was kind. Soap sent him a jagged look that cut through his spiraling thoughts. 

Then do something.

He carefully pulled the dirty bandage away but as he expected, there was too much blood to see anything. With his thumb over the opening to control the flow, Ghost poured some of the water onto the site, just enough to get a visual.

A deep gash lay under all of the dirt and debris, resting at a diagonal across the shin, being deepest towards the knee. He could see where the bone fractured, the white sat starkly prominent amongst the blood.

Ghost was very well acquainted with emergency medicine, but this was the first time in a while that he wasn’t performing it on himself. The kid was staring at the wound, shaking and looking like they were on the verge of tears. Whether it was from fear, pain, or both, Ghost didn’t know.

“What’s your name, kid?” Ghost asked, attempting to be nice and help them calm down. 

“Not a fucking kid, asshole,” the kid huffed out. Ghost took a second to grieve that this was how the interaction was going to go. 

“Well ‘Not-A-Fucking-Kid-Asshole,’ what’s your position?” Keep them distracted and don’t let them panic. That was all he really remembered about performing first aid on someone else. 

He didn’t have anything that would be needed to fix an open fracture out in the woods and even if he did, Ghost wouldn’t trust himself with a more advanced procedure. He needed to get them moved, to find a town that had someone capable of helping them. 

���Laying on the ground,” they answered. He couldn’t tell if they were doing it intentionally or not.

Giving them the benefit of the doubt, he prompted, “Archer, foot soldier, cavalry…?” The bleeding seemed to have slowed a good bit and he began carefully wrapping their leg. It wasn’t sterile, neither the wound nor the bandages, but he didn’t have any other choice. He’d just have to hope that the town had a reliable source of clean water.

“Medic.”

That would explain the bag and the lack of armor. And made everything worse. If it were someone without medical knowledge, he could feed them whatever lies they needed to hear and be done with it. Instead, they both knew that an open fracture in the middle of nowhere could easily prove fatal.

“What happened?” Mechanism of injury wouldn’t help much here, but it might give him another topic to springboard off of.

They took a moment to parse through everything that happened, eventually landing on a simple explanation. “Someone swung at me. Didn’t crawl away fast enough.”

Hoping to keep the string of questions, Ghost asked, “Why were you on the field?” 

“I was trying to save people!” they shouted with vigor, the venom that had poisoned their tone earlier coming back in droves. 

Ghost internally winced; In hindsight, that definitely was not the innocent, distracting question he was going for. He tied off the bandage and waited until after he was sure it wasn’t too tight to speak again.

“What’s your name?” Ghost asked again, this time with a softer tone. 

All of that energy left them with a quickness and they slumped like their fight was gone. No no no, keep them up, keep them talking.

The resigned look was back as they answered, “My friends call me Badger.”

“Why?” He splinted their leg, keeping the supports away from the wound.

The kid sighed like it was a story they were tired of repeating, “I got bit by a badger.” They held up their left arm where there was indeed a bite scar just above their wrist.

“That’ll do it,” he responded sympathetically. Ghost knew the horror of being stuck with a stupid nickname. “Do you know if you’re hurt anywhere else?” 

Waiting on an answer, Ghost cleaned up and wrapped the smaller cut on their arm. It wasn’t as threatening as the leg wound, but he had no doubt it stung with a fury.

“I… don’t think so?”

“Good,” he still checked them over himself, making sure nothing major had been missed. “Come on. You still need a proper medic.”

He whistled for Taxes to come closer and helped the kid stand, going to their uninjured side and supporting them. He put their arm around his shoulder and held onto their wrist, hoping to keep them up and steady. 

The absurdity of the situation got too much and the kid asked, baffled, “Who the hell are either of you?” 

It was a fair question, but one that still made Ghost chuckle as he answered, copying their earlier reply, “My… ‘fellow soldiers’ call me Ghost,” He turned slightly, freeing a hand to point to the god of death, “And that thing there is Soap.” 

Soap gave him a look. He wasn’t sure if it was over getting called a thing or giving them his name, but Ghost sure as hell wasn’t introducing him as Death itself. He tried walking forward but the kid had stopped in their tracks and he turned to check on them.

The look of fear was back. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have told them Soap’s name.

They hesitantly asked, “Ghost?” 

“Yes?”

“Like, THE Ghost?”

He just looked at them, confused. He glanced at Soap but, with the god being a bastard, he didn’t offer any help. Ghost prompted them to walk forward and they thankfully did, as distracted as they were.

“Big, scary, murderer-y motherfucker? Shit, you are, aren’t you!” 

“…I suppose?” Ghost wasn’t aware that his name lived in infamy amongst the opposing army. 

He practically carried them for the few steps it took to get from where they had been sitting to his horse. He made sure Taxes was still calm and began thinking about what would be the least painful way to get them up.

Gods, how the hell did he get here?

“Ah shiiit.”

That was all they had to add. He heard Soap snort behind him. Ghost wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to their savior being identified or them realizing that they’d have to mount a horse with a busted leg.

Deliberating for only a moment more, and seeing the remnants of fear in their eyes, Ghost asked Soap, “Can you ride a horse?”

“Yeah,” Soap replied with too much confidence and bravado to take his word for it. 

Instead of outwardly calling his bluff, Ghost just gestured to the horse. Soap walked up and stared for a moment, wearing the face of someone who just realized they would have to face the consequences of their lie but was still unwilling to admit defeat.

To his credit, he mounted with only minor issues and only looked a little awkward. Ghost was ready to chalk it up to not being used to being human or Taxes just being too damn tall, but Soap accidentally called himself on the lie.

“Oh I actually do,” Soap muttered to himself in surprise. 

Ghost wanted to put his head through a wall, be it his own or Soap’s, he didn’t care.

Instead of thinking about that, he turned the kid so their back was to the horse. Ghost didn’t sugarcoat his words, keeping it straightforward, “I’m going to pick you up and put you on the horse. It’s going to hurt. A lot. When you’re up, I need you to grab Soap so you don’t fall.”

They nodded. They still looked scared, but at least they seemed to trust him enough to follow his directions.

“Deep breath,” he told them, waiting for the order to be followed. When they did, Ghost hoisted them up on the horse. Their eyes scrunched closed and they only just remembered to grab on, clinging to Soap’s tunic with both hands in a white knuckled grip.

With both of their legs on one side, they were barely able to stay up, somewhat leaning back to counterbalance themselves. Their head was down like they wanted to curl in on themselves but were in too much pain to even do that.

Intentionally choosing not to think about how much pain the kid must have been in, he grabbed the kid’s discarded knife, holstered his halberd and made his way out of the forest. He wasn’t familiar with the area, but he wanted to avoid walking the kid back through the meadow-turned-battleground if he could. 

He glanced back occasionally, making sure both riders were still there and that the kid wasn’t getting worse. Soap, thankfully, wasn’t in a vanishing mood and even made sure to hold off obtrusive branches so they wouldn’t hit the kid. 

It didn’t take long before the two riders got bored of the silence and began idly chatting. Ghost just carried on, trudging through the bush and making an active effort to appreciate the background noise instead of getting annoyed. After several minutes of walking in one direction, a clearing gave way and an unpaved road appeared before them.

Ghost looked back and forth, hesitant on which direction to take. Unsure of what else to do, Ghost walked them to the road and did a little soul searching before deciding to lead them west. Three steps in, Soap wordlessly reached forward and tugged the reins to the side, silently telling him to go east. Once again, he didn’t bother asking.

Maybe the closest town was east. Maybe he didn’t want the sun in his eyes. Either direction had to lead somewhere eventually, he just hoped Soap wasn’t leading them astray.

When the chattering began to peter off, Ghost checked on the others once more, a bolt of fear going through him when he saw the kid had their eyes closed and was wobbling in place. 

“Kid,” he called, stopping the horse. He got no response. He called louder, “Badger!”

His panic fizzled out quickly when they yawned and rubbed one of their eyes, slowly looking at Ghost with a confused expression. He sighed.

Ghost’s guard shot back up with a fury when he heard two horses approaching from behind. Hand drifting to his sword, he knew there was no way they hadn’t been spotted and even if they hadn’t, there was nothing around to use for cover. 

He stood casually and waited. Two men on horseback slowed as they approached. They made no move for weapons and preemptively gave the trio a wide berth. When they were close enough for a proper visual, Ghost saw they were simple couriers and nothing more.

The one on the left called out, “Are you alright?”

It seemed more curious than concerned. Ghost didn’t answer the question, instead asking his own when they got closer, “Are you headed into town?”

Lefty looked between Ghost and his partner, eventually answering with a slight scoff, “I don’t know if I’d call it a town, but yeah, we are. ‘You need something?”

Ghost bristled at the way he asked the second part, like he was excited, like he was hoping they could fleece some money out of three weary travelers. They stopped next to them; Their horses looked haggard and antsy, shifting in place and unable to stand still.

Soap didn’t share Ghost’s sudden disdain, or at least chose to converse in spite of it. “Yes, we do. Could ye’ tell whatever medic is in town to expect a patient with a broken leg soon?” 

Ghost’s mistrust was justified as the one on the right chose to speak up. Righty looked between the two soldiers, likely noting that they were from warring factions and chuckled, “Sure, but it’ll cost ya.”

Ghost reflected on Soap’s words from what felt like ages ago, about being kind, but not pacifistic. Ghost didn’t want to resort to violence, he wanted to willingly choose it. The obvious neglect of their horses and the way they were excited about possibly getting to scam money out of people who needed help was justification enough to have his sword hand twitching.

There was a sniffle behind him as the kid spoke, “I think I need help.” 

Ghost and the two couriers were surprised to see them crying with their bottom lip wobbling and everything. The two looked very uncomfortable, but not quite convinced. 

The kid choked out while shaking their head, “Please, I jus’ wanna go home— I want to see my mom.” They looked ashamed of the way their voice broke, ducking to hide behind Soap’s back.

That did it. 

Lefty grumbled, “Fine.” And that was that. 

They first picked up a trot, but then a canter, wanting to get away from the scared, crying child as fast as they could. He watched the dirt they kicked up in their wake, confused, before he turned back to check on the kid.

The kid, who with tear tracks smearing the dirt on their face, quietly smirked, “Ha, fucking suckers!”

Ghost had to take a moment to process what just happened. Soap processed it faster than he did, covering his mouth to quiet his surprised snickers. 

The kid, scared and bleeding with an open fracture — and half-asleep — heard two scammers trying to weasel money out of the trio and decided to scam them back harder.

Once he got over his own shock, Ghost was genuinely impressed, telling the kid as much. He’d never seen a guilt trip be so successful before.

With none of the prior sadness, the kid enthused with only slight traces of sleepiness in their voice, “Thanks, I don’t even have a mom!”

Ghost was disappointed in himself for almost laughing at the grim joke and shook his head. He stared off into space, the kid making him take yet another moment to process the new bit of information. 

His processing of the last few minutes complete, he tugged the reins, urging Taxes further down the dirt road. Hopefully the guilt trip was not just a success at scaring the two con-artists away but also procuring them an appointment.

…

It was only an hour and a half of walking before they arrived.

As much of an asshole as he may have been, Lefty was right about it not being a town; It was more a village that took a few too many years to remember that it needed proper buildings.

It wasn’t long before they found the “medical center.” It looked like it had once been a home, but repurposed as the area and demand for treatment grew. There were a few people standing outside, apparently awaiting their arrival with a cot at the ready. 

Ghost hitched Taxes and walked to her side. The kid had been in and out of sleep the entire journey and Ghost told himself they were just tired from everything that had happened and nothing more, to just not think about it.

“Kid, Badger, wake up,” he said, patting their uninjured leg. They didn’t, still wobbling in place, their forehead resting on Soap’s shoulder. Soap said nothing when Ghost looked to him for an answer, like the god would have told him if the kid was going to make it. 

Ghost was thinking about it.

He shook his head like he could shake off the cynical thoughts and carefully grabbed the kid. He made sure to move them as gently as possible, not wanting to wake them up with a spike of pain.

They did not wake.

Ghost set them on the cot and the people nodded.

He watched as they moved the kid inside, not turning away until the door closed. Soap had dismounted at some point and was feeding Taxes an apple he likely took from Ghost’s bag, his helmet still under Soap’s arm.

Wordlessly, Ghost grabbed her reins and got on, holding out his hand for Soap to pass over his helm. Soap did not move, staring at him.

“I think you did the right thing.” Soap said it like it was a statement of fact, not trying to reassure either of them, but just pointing out the obvious.

Ghost stayed silent, still holding out his hand and waiting for the last piece of his armor to be handed over. After far too long (less than 15 seconds), Soap relented, having to reach up to give it back. Ghost did not leave.

“You knew the kid was there,” Ghost stated, not asking, because he already knew the answer.

“Aye,” Soap confirmed, for once being completely candid.

“And you wanted me to save him.” 

Soap gave a non-committal hum, “Something like that.” 

“Why?” Ghost asked, knowing he wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer.

“You tell me,” the god replied, like he was a teacher asking if he learned his lesson in morality for the day.

“No,” Ghost responded, refusing to join the verbal dance the other tried to initiate, “I’m done, you got your entertainment. Good day, Soap.” 

Before he could direct Taxes out of town, he saw Soap smile, some aggravating mix between victorious, smug, and genuine. He ignored the rude and abrupt exit, answering to Ghost’s back, “Yes, good day, Ghost.” 

Ghost rode out of town, only barely resisting the urge to curse out the god for having the audacity to be better at being a thorn in someone’s side than he was. 

Fuck, he needed a nap.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Hello! i was wondering if you could write me a req bc i saw your reqs r open (bc I ✨respectfully✨ suck booty at writing)

basically, reader made friends with Ghost while working together on deployment, and became friends, they hang out sometimes bc they live kinda close, blah blah blah. then, Ghost doesn't hear from reader in months (which isn't normal, bc they text like once a month, just to make sure one another is okay when they can). then, one day, in the middle of a meeting Ghost gets a call from an unfamiliar number and almost ignores it until he sees that the area code is the one reader lives in, so he decides to answer it. boom, guess what? the reader is in the hospital, sustained r/srs injuries, and is in need of emergency surgery, and the reader made Ghost the emergency contact (lets also say they traded dog tags bc fluff?)

homie gets all sad bc Reader might die and is in a mini coma, blah blah blah, realized he r in love w the reader, and uh

you can decide whether or not the reader dies and what happens next

i fr scream YIPEEE when i saw your req open, i adore your writing, like top tear, makes me cry but laugh and scream bc how are you so good?! srs, im so jelly of your writing! okay anyways, hope you have a lovely day, you dont have to do this is you dont want or if im jus a silly fucker and mis read and your reqs r closed or sum

Hellloooo! Thank you SO MUCH for the beautiful compliments and for this request <3 I loved it so much I started writing the day you sent it to me. But since it's very emotionally charged, it took me a little while to finish and I'm sorry bout that, and I rly hope you're still around and eager to read it!!! Well, there it is, my take on ur req, hope you like it.

Take me back (to the night we met) | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

✦Word count: 2.1k ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley xf!reader ✦Summary: Simon gets a call from the hospital saying that you are hospitalized, in a coma and in great life risk. ✦ TW and general warnings: sensitive topics, lots of angst, fluff though, death implications, open ending, sad af read at ur own risks cuz i'm crying in my room rn;

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

“Johnny and I make our entrances fast. I clear the way, he goes front, three of you get in by the back and we surround the site to get enough space for the hostages to come out. Any questions?” Ghost asks sternly, as is the usual of his tone especially coming down to work. He was being brutally professional at the moment - if there was rather a sign of an existing Simon, it was gone the moment he got inside the briefing room. Silence follows for the next seconds while the crew seems to be pondering over what he said, analyzing the map over the big round table sticking to the center of the room.

As it is expected, no questions. He nods with his head assuming by the silence that they’re all understood.

“Our orders are to neutralize any individual we find on the site whose face doesn’t match with our hostages, which means we do it fast before they get the chance to call for reinforcements. We don’t wanna make a mess out of this.” Price then continues his own talking, marking X’s over the tactic map and giving the next orders to every one of them. It is when Gaz opens his mouth to say something, that Simon’s phone rings for the third time in a row. He curses mentally - he muted his phone the first time; now, it was vibrating in his pocket. Awkwardly, the vibration itself is heard by everyone in the room and they turn their eyes on him almost instantly.

“Hell.” He curses out in a low voice before shaking his head. “My apologies, Captain.” His voice tries its best not to come out too annoyed, but he fails and it does; despite the timing being inconvenient, no one seems to be bothered. Johnny furrows his brows in concern, and looks over at Price, who seems to have the same, perhaps even more intense, look on his face.

Ghost mentions to pull out and turn off his phone once again, but Price is quick to intervene.

“Riley.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Third time in a row; seems like somethin’ serious, get out and pick up.” He states comprehensively.

Despite being slightly reluctant, Ghost agrees - it must be something serious. What, he couldn't come to imagine - but if for a moment in his life he had something close to a hunch, it was now, and it said he should take that call.

“Alright, one minute. Move on without me.” He nods and leaves the room, phone in hand and a worried sigh leaving his nostrils. When the door closes behind him and he walks a bit further down the hallway, he picks up.

“Yes?”

“Is this Lieutenant Simon Riley?” A feminine voice asks from the other side. Sounds in the background, beeps and small, muffled voices.

“Affirmative, who’s this?” He frowns.

“This is from the Special Forces Manchester Hospital, are you familiar with the name- hmm…” She seems to be taking a couple seconds to read, and continues saying your name. 

He freezes in place.

How long has it been since he last heard this name? How long has it been since you vanished like thin air, disappeared, stopped calling or answering? Busy. That’s what he thought. Busy with work, busy with anything. The two of you had always been two busy people, in a desperate need for time.

For a moment, in those torturous seconds of silence, Simon found himself praying to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, that this nurse wouldn't tell him you’re dead.

“Yes.” It’s all he manages to say, with his eyes running down to the ground in a dead stare. Dead eyes. He gulps, after the despair in his chest makes him speak once again, “Why?”

“Well- sir, you’re her emergency number, we’re calling because we couldn’t manage any family members… She’s in a coma. She was severely injured in combat, and [...]”

His heart stops, like it never did before. He doesn't react, his eyes look around as if he's searching for something - as if searching for his own reaction hidden somewhere within that empty hallway. The weight of your dog tag around his neck seems to be suffocating him now. 

To his silence, the woman continues.

“[...] it’s… currently sort of impossible to predict her state within the next few days, she’s fighting but struggling lots; can you come over?” 

“Yes.” He sharply replies, immediately. His eyes are still on the ground as he closes his eyes, and nods. “I’ll be on my way, yes.” 

“Good.” She replies, and he turns off.

For a moment, he stops to breathe; Ghost wipes his hand over his mouth in a somewhat guilty expression, he should have reached for you. He should have reached you the instant he missed you, your calls. 

“Hell…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, his heart stings like he’s poisoned, it hurts - some sort of pain he swears to god, he probably never felt before. Not when he lost his training dog, nor when he lost friends before - maybe because there were always a lingering possibility between the two of you. It was nothing but a friendship, never had been - but every word, every phrase was full of underlines of sentiment, an immense desire to reveal his interior and spit out the fears he refused to speak about to anyone else.

It's the possibility that kills him now. Even after all this time, not for a second did you cease to exist in his troubled and saddened mind. Suppressed by all the worries and feelings he thought were more important than you.

Not for a moment did he stop thinking about that pleasant end to his career, the retirement he knew he deserved, a house at least isolated from the rest of the world with trees and streams, the snow falling when winter comes and the sun scorching the land. land when summer finally arrived. You, on the front porch. 

You.  You.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

You were leaning back on the sofa, your legs stretched out by the small table that marked the space between you and the balcony railing of his apartment.

The rain fell calmly, some thunder, but few drops. The sound of them falling against the roofs of the houses below the level where you were was echoing in your ears, and he seemed busy drawing patterns among the heavy clouds that covered the sky. 

He gave up trying to find any stars in that rainy sky and found comfort in finding your eyes instead. They were already watching him, almost expecting him to say something, even though the silence between two of you usually speaks volumes more than words itself; you’ve never been good with them, much less him. 

Simon looked down at your dog tag, lying brightly on your bust exposed by the tank top you wore. 

“What do you want to do after retiring?” He asked, his voice calm, his eyes almost closed. He took your necklace between his fingers calmly, and watched your shiny name exposed on the icy metal.

“Gotta be honest with you, can’t see myself retiring.” You replied, with your usual brutal honesty - something he particularly always liked so much about you. “What about you?” 

You don’t mind him, you allow.

“Don’t know.” He was, too, brutally honest. “Seek fuckin’ forgiveness for my sins before I die and end up in hell, I suppose.” 

You laughed.

“Oh, fuck. Gonna die trying to find that, mate.” You admit, raising your eyebrows in another big sip of your beer. “We’re all going to hell… At least we’ll all party there together.” You sounded fun, and your eyes turned into little lines with the genuine smile you let out when noticed that he too laughed at your joke. 

“We’re partyin’? Tell me Johnny isn’t going…”

“He’s my first guest.” You laugh harder.

“Thought that’d be me.” 

“You hate parties.” You raised your eyebrows.

“I don’t hate you.”

You silently smiled and looked away. 

“Fair enough.”

When it came to the two of you, there was nothing but connotation.

You could spend hours in that apartment alone with him - and you did. Did plenty of times, and yet, among subtle touches and heartfelt conversations, the end would be the same. Not in his bed, not in yours: by the door, with a rueful look and smile on your face. 

With a held back hug you never gave, a held back kiss you never allowed and an uncertain goodbye before departing on a mission that could take your or his life.

There was a phone call, once.

He called you late in the night. He was drunk. Too drunk. 

“I’m scared.” His voice was low, fluttering, like those cold days he’d be waiting for his dad’s arrival in his bed, under the covers, terrified and alone. “I’m scared. Can- can I see you? Can I come over, please?” 

As you hugged him on the couch in your own apartment now - that huge, strong, self-sufficient man collapsing in your lap like a baby in need of comfort, your heart was never right about anything like it was right about loving him. In that moment you knew it, you were fucking lost, taken, desperately in love.

You departed; you gave him your dog tag, he gave you his. A memory, an attempt. Do not forget me, you said. Don’t you dare forget me if I die, Simon Riley.

“I didn’t.” 

He looks at you with regret. The devices that help you breathe keep him from seeing you fully, whole - but still behind all those hospital beeps and sounds, you're still as beautiful as the first time he saw you.

He wants to go back to the past. Reverse everything he did, redo it from scratch; the first time he saw you, the first time he felt his heart ache listening to you talk about another man, all the times he repressed his feelings and swore not to love you.

“I want to be with you.” He mutters, his eyes emptily stare down your almost lifeless hand resting over his. “After I retire. I want to be with you.” He says again, closing his eyes, shutting them tight like he’s trying his very best to repress the tears he wants so bad to let fall. 

“I fuckin’ need you- I- how did this happen, how did you…” He gasps as the clock ticks, low, the sound of the hands ringing like doomsday inside his head. Every second that passed was one less with you. There are twenty minutes left for you to enter that operating room, and maybe you’ll never leave it again.

His eyes water and his legs give out, he kneels beside the bed, his suppressed voice sounding like a low, painful moan. The cry of a child who lost everything he had; of a confused teenager who would become a soldier, cold, dead inside, incapable of love - who loved you. Who loves you. “I’m scared. I’m scared- I love you.” He’d mutter, praying to all known gods to not take you. Take anything, anything from me; anything but her.

When the doctors came into the room and hurriedly moved your gurney to the ward in a desperate attempt to get your heart working again with the transplant, Simon sat in the waiting room with his face buried in his hands, his legs trembling. and the false hope that you would come back.

That you’ll be on that front porch, resting ever so happily, a bottle of beer in your hand and the dogs running around. He will have gotten rid of the mask and the habit of wearing it and you’ll be happy. You’ll be happy. You’ll be alive.

“God, please.” He mutters. “You’ve taken so much from me, now please, not this.”

He stands up as the doctor calls his name, with his heart on his hand and regret flashing his face off, he just wants another minute with you, another second with you, enough seconds so he can tell you he love you - he had, for most of his life and now, and he will, for the rest of his days with or without you.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met.

[superstaridolstart]

I feel like I should talk more about the mysterious Pokémorpher that's been a part of my account since the very beginning: Shiftry Mask

Hello Idolstart followers, this is Professor Parasol. My current study is in the Pokémorpher phenomenon, and I'm currently helping oversee the Pokémorph Tag Team Tournament here in Morpho Island.

I'm currently here to share the current info about Shiftry Mask and hopefully answer some questions you might have about this thorn in our side.

It's worth noting that the way that Shiftry Mask acts is very odd, and I want to tell you why. I have also provided a picture for reference.

First off, they like to get into fights with Pokémorphers on Morpho Island by ambushing the target. It has worked every time. When Wally asked why they do this some time ago, they simply put "To become stronger." There also appears to be a pattern in who they target, but we can't exactly what the pattern is, other than youngish. We'll let you know if we figure out this pattern

Next is that they don't speak, we don't know if this muteness is by choice or not, but every time they'd get asked a question, they'd answer by ether using gestures or writing their response down with pencil and paper. Wally has noted that they left a note after their battle with the aforementioned answer.

Then there's the fact that they don't have a fan weapon. That may have sounded silly, at least to me. But every other Shiftry Morpher has had a fan weapon, and according to my assistant, this means something important, but I'm not inclined to believe him just yet, especially if we can't explain why this is of note.

And finally, Shiftry Masks' fighting style appears to be a mix of different eastern and western fighting styles. Although it mainly appears to have influences from fighting styles from the United West Regions (that's where the US regions are) and the Yamato Province. (Where all the JP regions are) We couldn't figure out which fighting styles specifically, but at least we know that the fighting styles they took inspiration from appear to come from these particular region collections.

Now, I want to end this post with results from our q&a attempt for Shiftry Mask. They allowed us 1 question each. It was me and 3 others, so we had 4 questions in total.

My Question: Who gave you your Pokémorph Watch? SMs' answer: I don't want to say

My Assistants' question: When did you get your Watch? SMs' answer: About 7 months after they first appeared in galar

Research partner 1s' question: Where do you live? SMs' answer: In the ocean (We don't know what they mean by this)

Research partner 2s' question: umm... Shoot, I forgot, umm... What's your favorite food? SMs answer: I don't know anymore, Peach mochi, I guess.

After that, they wrote down, "That's all you get. I need to get back to training." and then took off before we could get another word in.

And I guess that's it for now. Once again, this has been Professor Parasol, and if you need clarifications or still have questions, you may ask, and my team and I will answer to the best of my ability.

[domesticated-feral]

thank you @rhyslahey for the tag!!!

last movie: i went to the local cinema to watch a film that recently came out. it's titled މީ އިޝްޤް (written from right to left in my native language, in dhivehi latin it would be mee ishq) which translates to 'this reality'. It was a directorial debut, I think. Was okay, not too bad, not great either. Too much crying and three plot twists being brought out back to back in the second half of the film got me bored. First half of the film and the premise was cute and romantic!

last show: disney lab rats, i revisted a few episodes from season 1.

last song: be quiet and drive (far away) by deftones

song stuck in my head: bero 02 by anar and montagem mysterious game by lxngvx

favourite colour: dark muted blue :D

currently reading: okay, third time's the try, i'm reading red, white, & royal blue. this time i'm not gonna abandon it.

currently watching: b99, i'm on the second to last season i think, i haven't watched in a month or so though.

next on your watchlist: i wanna watch manchester by the sea once i get the time/urge to watch a movie.

currently consuming: nothing. although it's 4pm so i might be heading down to the kitchen soon for a little evening snack…those chocolate biscuits that i bought the other day because i was craving some 😋😋

currently craving: i wanna eat waffles so baddddd

sweet/spicy/savoury: all of it.

relationship status: i could get into one, but im also fine being the way i am rn so interested, but not tempted enough to put a whole lot of effort into being in one.

current obsession: making collages for my sketchbook and trainspotting

3 favourite foods: sandwiches, roshi (roti/chapati) rolled up and cut into thin slices and mixed with fish curry and creme jehi banas (sweet buns with cream made from rose syrup and condensed milk spread on with vertical cuts made on the bun) (pictured below, pure delicious goodness)

last thing you googled: porsche panamera

dream trip: been seeing a lot of aesthetic snowy videos on instagram and like, i wanna see snow so bad, i wanna touch snow, make a snowball and throw it!! i've never seen or experienced snow so yeah i hope someday i do!

anything i want right now: chapter 13 of my stackson cowboys wip please make yourself present in my google docs right now!!!

i'm gonna tag @scribeoffate and @slice-of-magenta !!

[thesandsofelsweyr]

WIP Wednesday

Just some snippets from some stories I've got in the works! If you see this post, consider yourself tagged (and be sure to tag me if you share your WIPs!)

Mmm... scars 😋 From Part 2 of The Sus Boy Next Door (ao3):

That’s when you notice the scars. You’d never been close enough to him to see that his face is absolutely covered in them. Faint white lines that cut through his features: his dark brows, his full lips, his freckle-dusted cheeks, the bent bridge of his nose. The worst one (aside from the J on his cheek, that is) is a deep gash that slashes across his right cheek and his nose, all the way up to his forehead. Another knife wound? Is this guy a masochist with a knife fetish or is there some freak out there who gets off on slicing up this poor guy’s face? Those marks on his neck imply the latter—the more sinister of the two—and that sends a cold chill shuddering up your spine.

Some Joker / Jason dialogue from His (ao3), Chapter 3:

“Oh, I get it. You think you have a future outside these walls.”

“No sir I swear, please!”

“You think that maybe someday you’ll find yourself a Mrs. Todders, and if the missus wants a couple a’ Jason Juniors running around… well, you’ll need the right equipment for the job.

“Hate to break it to you kid, but even if you did manage to escape from me... no one’s going to want you. Batman didn't want you. Ol’ Daddy Warbucks didn’t want you, either. And those junkie parents of yours? Couldn’t even give you away—yeah, I heard that story.

“How long have we been playmates now, hmm? Eight months, give or take? You’d think after all that time someone would come looking for you, but it doesn’t look like anyone even noticed you were gone. 

“Face it, kid. I’m all you have now. I’m the only person who cares about you. The only person who’ll ever care about you.”

“I know, sir. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

An Arkhamverse Jason kid-fic one-shot I started for the Touch-Starved & Flinching Febuwhump prompts:

Jason didn’t understand what he did wrong. 

When the bad men came they beat his dad up. They were punching him and kicking him, and one of them even had a gun! The long-haired man put the gun beside his dad’s head, and his dad was crying and begging the long-haired man not to kill him, while the other two men laughed. Jason was so scared that he was gonna shoot! His dad kept swearing that he’d get them the rest of their money. That made Jason’s heart do a flip in his chest. He knew his parents didn’t have much money. His dad always said it was Jason’s fault, that if he hadn’t been born then they wouldn’t have to pay to feed him and put clothes on him and stuff like that. His dad even said that he and mom tried to sell him when he was a baby but no one wanted him because he was a loser. Was it his fault that these men were hurting his dad then? He had to do something!

From a dark & smutty reader-insert fic 👀:

His men had followed his orders to the letter. The girl was bound to a wooden chair with heavy ropes. Handcuffs encircled her tiny wrists. A black canvas hood was pulled down over her head. Muted, muffled whimpers echoed off the concrete walls of the cavernous hall—sweet music to his ears. They were in one of the many safehouses he’d established across Gotham. This one was hidden deep within an abandoned subway tunnel, deep in the bowels of this godforsaken city. No one would hear her screams, not even Hanover and Lopez, two of his most trusted lieutenants that he’d stationed outside the heavy steel door that soundproofed the room.

[userblaney]

do Not read this im just so disgustingly overstimulated im going to crash out

that was the worst fireworks display i have EVER seen and im so fucking overstimulated and my brother is actually the worst fucking cunt ive ever had the displeasure of meeting and some how I am the only bilingual among my siblings. which isnt saying anything because they straight up dont even fucking talk except for when they are playing dress to impress next to my head when i try to do my homework since i have to share a room with them at eighteen .and i havent gad a productive conversation with them in genuinely 3 years and my mum is blaming ME. for the traffic because i broight up the idea of going to the fireworks display in the first place wirh friends but my uncle wanted to tag along and i might snap in a bit because i have not been not in host mode for a month now. these are my blood relatives nothing is gonna happen if i speak english in front of them or if i wear jeans instead of a traditional dress oh my fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk . i fucking hate my siblings ANDDDDDD MY SISTERS JUST COME INTO THE ROOM AND LEFT THE FUCKING DOOR OPEN AND WENT BACK DOWNSTAIRSSSSSS IM GOING TO THROW A BRICK AT HER HEAD. and i have so much fucking homework to do and i still need to write a cover letter because any "spare" (when im not in skl or outside. but im never outside bexause imnot fucking . ALLOWEDDDDDD) time that i have i have to be in the kitchen helping out because "that is my duty as a hostess" but my soblings havent lifted a FINGER and they are being praisdfor mediocrity. how the fuck do you want me to be a good student and a feminine person while treaatinf me like a fucking BITCH when i wear makeup and then also want me to ALWAYYYYYSSSSSS entertain my family and cook and clean for them AND my siblings . and you want me to get out of the jouse and get a job but you freak the fuck out when i actually attempt to do those things then you tell me i cant borrow money for a bus or taxi in the event where i actually do because i should have my own but you arent letting me and you keep all my bank statement and you read them and make me justify each purchase and. UGHHHHĤHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHi have a guy friend whos also bangladeshi brown and he said that he wouldnt wish being the eldest child And daughter in the bangla household on his worst enemy he was sooooo rigjt for that . and im not even a girl and the evil of jt . aka dysphoriais getting to me and eating me up but thats another issue . i fuvking hate my brother he doesnt attemp6 yo speak and my mum SCREAMED at me on the way home because i forgot the guy fawkes bullshit and i should tell my uncle the story of it in bangla but . idek it ib english . and then i told her that they arent mute . andthen shesaid . she doesnt expect them to know bangla they are too young . they are 14 and 10 or somthinf btw . at that age i had to take care of my siblings while we were home alone for weeks at a time and also take care of the house and cook for them because my parents were too busy having life threatening health problems or atte fing to those witj . that . and ive been sooòooooo nice about it . so nice about it . im nice to everyone even in school and online and at home but im literally going die and they are all calling me to eat the rice that . i made the Moment i got home from skl . along side the tea . wjen my fanily had just woken up and it was 12. and then they complain about the lack of time and MY laziness when i DARE to sleep in until 9am on a saturday 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱 . yes i know my dad works with uber lare into the night and my uncle misses hisr jids and so does my grandma and my mum is struggling with her mum seeting such harsh expectations and balancing uni and i soumd like a brat but its doing by fucking head in my brain is soooo fucking tured. and i have mocks coming up and im not allowdd to tell my siblings to leave the room because theyll just tell my dad whow jll be mad at me . becasue i have no gokd qualities to excerise why am i even studying . im s ooooooo done bye

[1kook]

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu​ 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates. 

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens. 

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class. 

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him. 

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all. 

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly. 

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months. 

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got. 

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career. 

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course. 

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.” 

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you. 

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen. 

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.) 

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side. 

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly. 

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester. 

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness. 

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you. 

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face. 

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!” 

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things. 

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone. 

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought. 

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you. 

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news. 

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward. 

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason. 

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away. 

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom. 

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same. 

Apparently not. 

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed. 

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile. 

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.” 

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck. 

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot. 

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi. 

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.” 

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.  

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face. 

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments. 

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.” 

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.” 

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character. 

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester. 

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right. 

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile.  He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.” 

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?” 

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh. 

This man was dangerous for your heart. 

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.” 

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you. 

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well. 

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook. 

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 9: Body Mod/Day 2 of @tootiredmotel follower celebration<3 : secret and "I need it"

wc:952 tags: dean mourning cas, selective mute!dean

It’s his last session at the shop, and Dean’s feet drag along the pavement. He sends another prayer out for Jack, asking him if he’s okay at least, before rolling his shoulders back to prepare himself to enter the shop.

It’s been a few months since Cas was taken, and no progress has been made on the rescue. Every time he thinks he’s close to finding a way to bring him back, he is thrown another curveball.

He’s been to parts of the world he never thought he’d go and see--shit, he never thought he’d be on a plane again--but he never stayed long enough to enjoy it. So just get the ingredient and head back home. Nothing else mattered.

The bell dinged over his head as he opened the glass door.

“Hey, Dean. Give me a sec, and I’ll bring you out back to finish you off.” Chris gives him a wink before he heads over to his section to clean up. Dean falls back against the chair and lets his head hit the wall behind him.

He didn’t know how he ended up here in the first place. But then, one night, he was just walking by, feeling lost. Alone. He didn’t even realize when he walked into the shop until Chris greeted him--Dean didn’t hear the first few greetings--and asked if he was okay. The shop was filled with tattoo sketches, and art hung on the wall. When Dean pointed at them, Chris started talking about the tattoos he had created. He mentioned he specialized in back tattoos, especially wings.

And that’s how Dean ended up back here. Every day, six hours a day, for the past week.

“I’m ready for you!”

Dean stood up when he heard Chris and walked right over, already tugging his layers of clothes off as he walked.

“You ready to finish off this beauty.” Chris cheerfully says as Dean lays down on his stomach. His left arm resting out so that could be finished as well.

Dean didn’t respond. Instead, he gave a slight nod and a thumbs up, which was enough for Chris to continue.

For the next few hours, Dean closed his eyes, thinking of nothing but the sharp point of the needle and blue eyes. Both of them causing pain and relaxing him all at once.

“Okay, break time! I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna need some grub in me soon if we’re gonna finish today.”

The buzz of the tattoo gun shuts off, and all Dean can hear is the voices in the shop. A couple of friends getting excited about getting matching tattoos, a man trying to explain this image he had in his head, some lady yelping in pain before a sigh of relief was heard from her piercing, and then finally a familiar voice.

Dean looked over at the waiting area, and there sat his overly stretched-out little bother--brother, but Sam has been breathing down his neck ever since Chuck was defeated.

“Oh, he came in after the first hour. Didn’t wanna wake you, but he said he’ll wait. Your brother, right?”

Dean nodded, not bothering to put on his shirt as he walked over to Sam. He made eye contact with his brother before walking past him and headed out of the shop; Sam understood to follow.

They only walked a couple of steps into an alley when Dean turned around, waiting for answers on how his brother found him. He hasn’t been telling Sam about this. It was just a secret between himself, Chris, and Cas if he could hear his prayers.

“I followed you.” Sam looked guilty but not sorry as he talked. “I’m sorry. But I was worried.”

Dean didn’t use his voice; instead, he signed, “I’m fine.”

“Dean, how can I believe that when you’re still not talking? You have been running on empty for months, and now you’re disappearing for hours with no explanation. Course I was gonna worry, Dean!”

“I’m fine.” Dean presses his thumb to his chest again to repeat himself. Then he holds his hand to sign, “Leave.”

“No.” Sam signs back out of habit, but he talks as he does so. “What are you even doing? Since when did you want a tattoo?”

Dean didn’t know how to sign a whole explanation, so instead, he glares at him in response.

Sam sighs and asks a shorter question. Not simpler but shorter. “Why?”

Dean knew why and he could quickly answer the question with one sign. He spells out a name. Quickly. With practice.

“C-A-S”

He didn’t know how to explain his feelings, his thought process, to Sam, but he figured maybe that would be enough. Maybe Sam won’t know that he felt like getting the tattoo meant that Cas would always be remembered, always be a part of him, in another physical way.

He is not giving up on Cas, but he just, “I need it.”

Dean wondered if he said it out loud, would his voice sound as low and defeated as he felt?

Sam looked at him with a smile, maybe it was filled with pity and sympathy, but Dean chose to ignore that part. Instead, smiling back the best he could.

“Okay,” Sam let out a sigh, doing that awkward little feet shuffle he does before motioning for Dean to go. “Guess you better head back and finish. It’s looking...it’s looking great, by the way.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother before leaving the alley and headed back to the shop with Sam on his heels.

“Really! The wings look so cool. You think if you flap your arms hard enough, you’ll fly away?”

Dean gave Sam the bird.

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don’t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.

[bigwhispersbluebird]

Goodbyes with BTS (Maknae Line)

Warnings: Mentions of covid-19, implied smut

 Jimin

“Honey, I am home”, Jimin announced dramatically as he entered his apartment, quickly taking off his shoes and slipping into the home slippers- his heart still thumping in his ear from running all the way to you. 

He had almost screamed in frustration when the group was called for some urgent recordings for the new album that morning. He had looked at you curled up around his body, your big brown eyes staring up at him quizzically and he almost said no because you would be going back the next day and Jimin did not want to spend a single second away from you. 

From the moment you had announced that you would finally be visiting him after being apart for over 6 months, he had been on his toes making calls and plans to assure that nothing would disturb him. But you insisted that he go to work, “At least, I will be able to pack my stuff without you clinging on to my body”, you had joked and he left hurriedly so that he could be back soon. 

But as soon as he walked into the bedroom, his eyes caught sight of the suitcases neatly lined at the farthest corner of the wall, ready to be tagged and carried- Jimin suddenly felt like somebody was plucking his heart out of his chest and without uttering another word, he quietly walked towards you, standing in front of the closet and folding your shirts neatly, and engulfed you in a warm hug; his arms wrapped around your waist and his face deeply snuggled in the crook of your neck. 

Jimin inhaled the sweet scent of lavender mixed with your body musk and realized that it was home to him. Your hands gently carressed his arms as he gently placed kisses on your neck and you understood every word he couldn’t say. 

“I wish I could ask you to stay”, Jimin whispered slowly and you wished you could take away all the pain he was feeling. It was not easy to part over and over again but your studies were important for you and it was just a matter of a few years, then you both would be in the same city. Until then, this was the choice you both had made. 

Turning around, you looked him in the eye before pulling him in for a passionate kiss, growing fervent and rough with all the goodbyes between you two. 

That night, as you both lay in a tangled mess of limbs and rushed hands, you both silently promised each other to wait, no matter how long it took.

Taehyung or V

“5 am tomorrow. Be there till 3 30″.

Taehyung read the message from the notification bar and slid it across the screen, making it disappear. Then, he turned the ring on mute and pocketed his phone, he did not want to be disturbed tonight. 

Standing at the door of the art gallery, for the first time, his eyes did not linger on the beautiful pieces of art that decorated the wall. Instead, he searched for a familiar figure and the same silky locks of hair that were tangled around his long slender fingers all those years ago. 

Granted, he had not seen you since the time you both met in Italy, even then surrounded by art and music- he had searched desperately for you ever since. And it seemed like fate had decided to have mercy on him when he heard about a musical art exhibition at Prague and remembered the way you had laid your head on his chest, your hair spilling on his bare body, and talked about that particular idea being your dream. 

You stood in front of a massive painting in the far end of the room, still as awestruck by the strokes and colors on the canvas as you were the first time a boy with a boxy smile had watched you unwrap it. You remember holding onto this giant board of colors through years of remote silence and wondering if it was just a mirage or the boy that had left without a goodbye had once promised that he would come back. 

“Is this one for sale?”, a voice broke you out of your reverie and if it wasn’t for the fact that you had watched him on social media like an addict, you would have forced your brain to consider it all a cause of sleepless nights and alcohol in your system. But it was him, it was Kim Taehyung and suddenly you were 22 again with small dreams and a boy you were irrecoverably in love with. 

Without even glancing at his way again you replied as calmly as you could muster, “No. You cannot make a home out of this one”. 

Taehyung almost flinched at your words but he reminded himself that he deserved it. 

“Home only demands love”, he spoke only audible enough for your ears. 

“It demands the presence of that love at least, not the promise of one. Not words or music or stupid paintings, Mr. Kim Taehyung”, you had now turned towards him, your eyes boring into his and even though your angry eyes met his remorseful ones, the only thing you both could recognize in them was the love that had been there all those years ago. 

“I missed you, Y/N”, he whispered as he suddenly pulled you into him. His arms holding you tight and you almost stood their motionless until a lone tear slipped down your cheeks and you returned the hug. 

“You’re too late, Tae. Too late”.

He did not reply for a while, not wanting to let the moment slip away until it had to. 

But when he had finally memorized your scent and the familiar contours of your body and how it fit in his like pieces of a puzzle, he pulled back. His hand slid down your arms until they held your slender fingers in his, his thumb gently grazing the big diamond on your ring finger, “I know”.

Jungkook

Jungkook loves being surrounded with familiarity. Familiar faces that he loves and trusts, a bowl of ramyeon in a foreign city, loud cheers from fans that had been there all along, a ticket always back home and you. Perhaps, that is a reason why he hated things that disturbed the peace he had found in his life. 

But when Covid-19 hit the world, it was like his world tilted on its axes and all that was familiar was lost. Already reeling from the shock of the tour being cancelled, Jungkook had held the phone in his hand and couldn’t help but breakdown as you told him that you had no idea when you could fly to Korea. 

You had expanded your business to Korea as well which made it easier for you to spend plenty of time with your boyfriend and you both had gotten used to the travelling if it meant being together for most part of the year. 

Jungkook was not taking it well. He would spend hours at the gym then hours dancing till he could not feel anything other than the excruciating pain in his body. He would barely talk to you, only giving one word answers and never answering video calls- his heart knowing well that it could not bear looking at you and being unable to touch you or feel you. 

However, he loved you and as days passed on and the unfamiliarity of Covid-19 became familiar, Jungkook could finally see how much he had hurt you. Even through all that, you had maintained a brave face and been normal with him in the moments he would actually talk to you. You knew Jungkook and perhaps that is why you could not blame him for acting that way. You knew that this boy is made of love and purity and it would not be long till he finds his way back to you, like he always did. 

So, when one night you prepared to go to bed, a message popped up on your phone. 

“Thank you for making me realize that we can get through anything”

And along with it was an acoustic version of a song Jungkook had recently written and was yet to be released. 

As still with you played in your empty dark apartment, Jungkook’s sweet voice bouncing off the walls and hugging you, you finally let your tears fall as you whispered the words that you both craved to hold each and say:

“I miss you”.

[pillow-anime-talk]

his talented baby. {pt.1}

synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a girl who really surprises your boyfriend.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; fluff; some PDA; sfw

includes: female reader ft. ken kaneki & nishiki nishio {tokyo ghoul} + yuuma isogai & itona horibe {assclass}

— KEN (ft. singing)

Your closest friends invited you to a popular karaoke bar on one Friday night to celebrate a successfully passed semester in college. Of course, you couldn’t forget about your lovely boyfriend, who was at the same university, but in a different field (i.e. Japanese literature) and always supported you with all his might, knowing how much you want to do your dream job in the future.

So you went to the meeting together, and on the way to the designated place you talked all the time about what the next year of study would bring you. As soon as you reached the room where your three closest besties and one male friend were waiting for you, you both greeted them warmly, immediately taking off your thick coats and taking your seats on a soft, leather couch next to a table filled with tasty-looking snacks and colorful drinks.

Long minutes of conversations between the six of you resulted in drunk plenty of alcohol and blushes on the faces. After drinking, you always got more talkative and more self-confident, so you suggested using the TV and the karaoke machine. Of course, you first offered your friends and Ken to sing something, but they all declined, saying that you should start as an initiator. One of the girls, blonde-haired Minami, smiled at you with a sparkle in her pretty golden eyes, adding that you are the best in this and you should show how to do it correctly. You chuckled in response, waving your hand at her to dismiss compliment.

Kaneki, on the other hand, frowned as he looked at the boy who was sitting on his right.

“... Oh, you don’t know? Y/N-san hasn’t yet praised herself to you that she has a wonderful voice? Huh, huh.” The black-haired boy shook his head, reaching for the glass filled with blue something again. “Hmmm, well. Normally Y/N’s very shy, but she always sings at trips when she’s drunk.” He chuckled while you picked one of your favorite songs in the meantime. So everyone looked at your standing figure, then heard the characteristic sounds from one of Selena Gomez’s songs coming from the gray speakers.

“My dear, I dedicate it to you~!” You looked with joy on your face towards the eighteen-year-old, giving him a quick wink, and then you started your little performance with ‘Love you like a love song’ from the above-mentioned artist.

Your friends didn’t seem surprised and instead started clapping to the beat of the music... but Ken’s eyes widened and he spat out his high-percentage drink, not knowing how to react to the fact that for nine, long months of your relationship, you concealed the fact that you could sing so well and so beautifully. Your voice was perfect for the song that was playing now, and you seemed to be having a great time – there was a huge smile on your lips, your eyelids were slightly closed and your hand was over your heart. If it weren’t for the fact that you were at a karaoke bar, everyone would definitely think you are playing a concert on the biggest stage in Tokyo city.

After the song was over, another girl got up to present a completely different choice, and you handed her the dark microphone, bowing in the process.

Kaneki still seemed speechless and as soon as you sat down next to him, he immediately kissed you on the warm forehead, asking you to sing more to him, especially when you two are going to be alone, because he probably fell in love with you once again and just wanted to experience that love every day thereafter.

— NISHIKI (ft. ballet)

Nishiki, as a pharmacy student, didn’t have much time for extra-curricular activities or unnecessary meetings; in addition, the fact that he was a bloodthirsty ghoul and had to watch over himself made it difficult for him to function normally in the life of Kamii University. However, the brown-haired man always found time for you, for his beloved girlfriend.

You had been dating for over three, long years, and the man definitely couldn’t imagine his own life without you by his side. You knew each other better than anyone else in this world, but sometimes some tiny things of your ordinary day eluded Nishio; of course you understood it perfectly and you weren’t angry or disappointed with him. After all, he had to protect himself, you, take care of his specific menu, be vigilant at every step, and additionally he had to pretend to be the perfect student, senpai (or kouhai) and friend of other people.

So you weren’t surprised when one day you handed him a silverish ticket for probably the most important show of your life and he just looked at you in wonderment. At the beginning, the twenty-year-old asked if it was a performance related to singing or playing an instrument due to the fact that the colorful paper didn’t tell him too much, but you just smirked as you tweaked the unruly, soft hair on his head.

“Hmm. If you don’t remember what I do in my free time, it’s even better, I guess. Come and see it for yourself, honey. I think that thanks to this you will even calm down a little and rest due to the recent weeks.” You announced in a light tone of voice, and the young man sighed under his breath.

“So... I’ll find out in three days, am I right?” He made sure by correcting his glasses and you nodded, then grabbing his rough hand and kissing his cool cheek. A short while later you suggested going to your apartment and catching up on a few episodes of your favorite series that you started quite recently.

The anticipation of your important day passed very quickly and on Saturday, at 6 p.m., when everyone took their seats (with your boyfriend sitting on one of the balconies with the best view of the stage), delicate music was played in the theater, which made everyone shiver on the whole body. Until then, the brown-eyed boy somewhere in the back of his head had the impression that it was a theater performance or an opera, but when he saw your person appear on stage in a beautifully tailored dress and ballet shoes, all the questions that flickered in his mind disappeared in literally one second.

‘Well, yeah. I remember now. She always told me about ballet classes and new shoes.’ A huge, proud smirk came on his pale face and you glanced out of the corner of your eye towards his VIP seat.

Though your expression was cold and composed, you felt an enormous heat in your small heart as the man waved at you, showing two thumbs up. His lips moved even slightly, and although Nishiki tried to hide it, you knew perfectly well that the pink blush and mute ‘I love you’ was sincere and even better than being able to play Odetta, the White Swan, in a ballet spectacle.

— YUUMA (ft. songwriting and guitar playing)

Christmas at school was never what you enjoyed; maybe due to the fact that before, your classmates on main campus were quite specific and you definitely didn’t fit with their strange ‘ideals’. It was only in the class E that you felt that you could find real friends or people who would share your ideas.

But, hmm. Still, you seemed to stand out from the rest of the girls in the class who had more... down-to-earth hobbies or characters than you; Okuda liked chemistry and was really excellent at it, Kirara loved reading, Rio was the best at English and had a great sense of fashion, and Toka was pretty good at cooking. Contrary to them, you preferred to... do more ‘intimate’ things. Writing short poems filled your heart with peace and prevented you from being as critical of yourself as usual. And when you wrote the lyrics of the songs, made notes or melodies to them and sang quietly, you could feel like a real artist that everyone wanted to admire and imitate.

Therefore, when your first and last class holidays with the rest of the 3-E students were fast approaching, Koro-sensei was the one who asked you for a short talk. You weren’t sure what this was about, but moments later your uncertainties were dispelled.

“Y/N-san, I think you mistook your notebooks today and instead of giving me your homework, you gave to me... this.” He said in his as always happy voice, and seeing the black notebook in which you always wrote songs and notes, you blushed all over your face, apologizing profusely for the mistake. “Huh? But this is no mistake, my dear. If it weren’t for this, I would never even think that we have such a talented soul in Class 3-E. So would you like to perform in front of the rest of the students and teachers during the holidays?” The easy question made you widen your eyes and sighed.

“I-I’ve never played in front of anyone, so...” You admitted shyly, and the tall, yellow octopus just chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure they will love it. We can practice together.”

Well, you couldn’t refuse (especially when Koro-sensei offered to bring your favorite, foreign snacks...) and on class Christmas day you showed up with your acoustic guitar and a notebook full of chords and songs. Everyone was surprised and curious at how well you play guitar. After all, you’ve never even mentioned that you can play any instrument before. On the other hand, the class representative, and your boyfriend at the same time, immediately came up to you, asking if you were really okay; better than anyone else, Isogai knew that you didn’t like too much attention and big crowds. But you reassured him it was okay and promised your teacher you would do it, so you smiled at him and then took your seat under the blackboard with a wooden guitar on your lap.

The song you chose for the day was a song you wrote quite recently. It had a little bit of magic, and at the same moment it seemed very romantic and delicate. Even Karma seemed delighted with your beautiful play and soft voice that echoed from time to time between the walls of huge classroom.

At the end of the song, you decided to raise your gaze and simultaneously look at your all friends, three teachers and other half; everyone was really happy and positively speechless. So you gave Yuuma a slight wink, making him blush sweetly.

The young teenager definitely hoped you would show him more of your songs someday, not necessarily the happy Christmas carols Kaede and Ritsu asked for.

— ITONA (ft. dancing)

“... You never mentioned that you can dance.” He admitted softly, and you squeezed his smooth hand tighter.

“So... I mention it right now. It’s not a big deal, baby. I just ... like it and enjoy it a lot.” You giggled as you correcting the black sports bag over your shoulder, then opened the heavy door to the training room, immediately jumping up at the sound of loud squeals and greetings from your closest friends. “Guys, this is Itona Horibe, my boyfriend that I told to you before! Love, it’s Aki-chan, Yui-chan, Kazuya-kun, Saburo-kun, and our cameraman and editor Ryuu senpai. Most often, the five of us cooperate with each other when it comes to dance in groups of five people. And... today we are going to cover a song so I hope you’ll like it. I’ll go change and you all, please, don’t scare my boyfriend and give him something to drink!”

As a group leader, you often came up with choreographies and warm-ups for yourself and others. So, it couldn’t be otherwise this time. For the last week and a half you have been practicing the choreo you came up with and today you were supposed to record material for the video on your quite popular YouTube account. You were extremely excited, not only with the new content, but most of all with the fact that your beloved one would be able to watch it live and evaluate your skills that have been refined over the years. So as soon as you got back to the teens waiting for you, you kissed the light-blue-haired quickly on the right cheek and told him that he could sit against the wall, close to the table full of snacks and the contact for charging the phone.

Then you talked with everyone for a while, doing a short warm-up and reminding the cameraman about how to move the cam. A few short minutes later, you lined up in the middle of a huge white room with Ryuu in front of you. You knelt down in the center, of course, gently moving your shoulders to calm your rapidly pounding heart and heavy breathing, and when a song by Ariana Grande started playing all over the bright room, you all looked at the already activated camera, shaking your heads and then you got up from the wooden floor.

Itona... was speechless. He has never seen people dancing before, he has never even been interested in others, only you and what you like. Today he got to know your little passion, which turned out to be a breathtaking talent, and the boy wondered if you could do anything else; are you good at one specific dance genre or are you able to move your body in a completely different rhythm than he currently saw?

From Koro-sensei’s history lessons, when you two were in junior high, the eighteen-year-old remembered perfectly well that there is also classical dance, tango and breakdance. So could you also do that? He had to ask you about it later.

But now his curious gaze was focused on you and your huge, radiant smile, and the sound of feet hitting the ground. He also looked at your legs, tiny hands, stomach, and hair, while he wondered if he might learn to dance too, to be even closer to you and your hobby. After all, you looked so beautiful and so joyful... He wanted to share these emotions.

[cow-smells]

Jealousy Games [Part 2] ( Demetri x reader )

Request: Hi can u do prompt #3 from ur prompt list with demetri ? (anon)

Prompt: 3.  “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?”

A/N: fully intended this to be shameless smut, but alas, the plot took over. smut will be in the next part ;)

Words: 1536

Warnings: nothing really, suggestive themes at most.

Part 1

Summary: A storm forces the reader to stay at Demetri's; unfortunately, he's not the only one after her company.

Read this on AO3

    “Thanks for letting me stay for dinner,” you gracefully thank Demetri's mom. You had gotten to know her once you started coming over to Demetri's a couple of months ago to “study” and it was clear she liked you, always inviting you to stay for dinner and urging you to come visit more often. “I should be getting home.”

    “In this weather?” she peered out the dining room window; it had begun to hail. It had begun raining earlier that day but you couldn't be bothered by it, much too busy with Demetri to even consider the weather outside or how you were to navigate home in it. “Certainly not. Call your mother, tell her you're staying here for the night. She'll understand, no parent would want their child driving on that ice. You can stay in Demetri's room and Demetri can take the couch.”

You gave Demetri a passing look so quick it almost didn't happen; you didn't want to show his mom just how eager you were to stay. “Okay,” you agreed. “Yeah, I'll go call her real quick.”

You took to the privacy of Demetri's room to notify your mum about your plans, to which she agreed, not willing to let you risk the dangerous ride home.

    “So?” Demetri asks as her enters his room a few minutes after you did, shutting the door behind himself. You grinned, pleased.

    “All clear.” you wrap your arms around Demetri's neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss. You shiver in to him, enjoying the way his hands glide down to the small of your back, holding you close. After a minute he pulls away, clearing his throat.

    “This is... really great, but I actually came to fetch you. My mom wondered if we want to see a movie all together, and... You know my mom. It's not much of a question.”

You grinned cheekily, assuming this was her way of keeping tabs on you both. “Sure,” you agreed. “I'd love that.”

    It's nearly an hour in to the movie when Hawk starts blowing up your phone. The living room's lights were off, supposed to immerse you further in to the movie you were watching, but inevitably emphasizing the brightness of your phone screen to an unignorable point.

You picked up your phone when it began to ring. Seeing it was just Hawk, you silenced the call and put your phone back down on the coffee table, assuming that would be it. You didn't notice Demetri's eyes darting to your phone when you had picked it up before, you leaning a little further in to him as you leaned your back back on to the sofa.

It was two minutes later that your phone lit up again with Hawk's name, your ringtone blaring. “Sorry,” you apologized to no one in particular, silencing the call one more, this time putting your phone on mute and leaving it by your side so you could monitor it quicker.

Demetri tensed by your side, agitation creeping up in him. He knew you were friendly with the Cobra Kai's, but he didn't know to what extent your friendship with Eli went. He bit his plump bottom lip, trying and failing not to think about what might be going on between you two. Eli already had everything Demetri wanted; friends, confidence, courage. He didn't know what he'd do if he'd get you too.

Your phone keeps lighting up until the movie is finished, texts from your friends coloring the screen.

    (20:45) Hawk👊: Where the fuck are you? Pick up.

   (20:52) Hawk👊: We're all going to Aisha's to hang until the storm's over.

                              Send me your location, I'll come pick you up.

    (21:07) Aisha💕: Whats up? Hawk said you aren't answering him.

                                Come overrrrrrr!

    (21:15) Hawk👊: Y/N!

    (21:23) Tory: Wya?

   (21:35) Aisha💕: For the love of God, please answer Hawk

                            He's driving us all mad

   (22:01) Hawk👊 : I'm coming over

The final text came as credits started rolling, much to your relief. You took your phone in your hands to answer when Demetri's mom rose, stretching her arms up high with a yawn. “Well, I'm calling it a night. I expect you two to do the same soon, yes?” You both agreed – and with that, She left.

You typed a reply.

   To: Hawk 👊

   (22:03)     You're drunk. Don't come over. I'll talk to you Monday :)

Demetri looked away, trying to decide what he was to do. He couldn't help overseeing your texts, you were right beside him after all; and if he was to be completely honest, his insecurity was rising beyond levels he was comfortable with. It was one thing swaying you away from your fantasies about Sensei Lawrence; that was schoolgirl wishful thinking, at best. But Hawk? Hawk was readily available, practically in your hands already.

And you – you were going to “talk to him on Monday”. What about? Demetri's anxiety pestered him. Would you rather be with Hawk right now, only with him because you were stuck there?

    As if to solidify the thought, Hawk called you once more right after he read your text – and this time, you answered.

    “Hey.” Demetri grew restless in his seat, seeing you smile to yourself as you heard the other boys voice. “No, no, no... No, I'm serious!” despite your words, you chuckled. Demetri felt sick. “You're obviously drunk. I can hear it in your voice! Don't worry about me. Just stay at Aisha's. Promise?” you cooed at Hawk through the phone, as though he were a child. “Okay. Yeah. I'll text you tomorrow. Give Aisha a kiss from me.” You roared laughing at something Hawk said. Demetri rose, not finding the comfort to be able to stay still any longer. “Have fun... Bye.” with that, you hung up the call, a smile still gracing your features.

    “You guys are really close, huh?” Demetri asked, halting his pacing.

    “Um, I wouldn't say close. Friends, I guess.”

    “You -” Demetri stopped himself, reconsidering his words. “He obviously wants you.”

    “Um -” you began, disbelief on your face. “I – don't think so. Besides, what's that even matter? I'm here with you.”

With a grin, you reach out to pull Demetri to you, looking up at him. His brow was still furrowed with concern; you wanted to kiss it all away. How could he still not tell how you felt about him, only him?

    “Is this even where you want to be?”

Your smile widens before you plant a gentle kiss on Demetri's hipbone. “No where else.”

With that, you rise to stand too. “So, are you gonna offer me pajamas or do you expect me to sleep in a skirt?”

Demetri's eyes widened, at what thought exactly you weren't sure. “Uhh - Of course. You can choose out anything you want from my closet, I'll wait here. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

    “Okay,” you agree cheerfully and turn on your heel to his room, amused by the privacy Demetri was granting you so gentlemanly-like, as though he hadn't experienced much more of you just hours prior.

You closed the door after yourself, leaving you all alone in Demetri's room for the very first time. You trailed a finger along his desk until you reached his closet, ready to dig through until you'd find his comfiest-looking hoodie. But then, seeing one of your favorite t-shirts of his, a different idea came to mind.

Rummaging through piles of neatly folded clothes to get it, your hand scratched itself on something when you retracted it, shirt in hand.

Curiosity spiked, you burrowed through the piles to find a golden line of condoms hidden.

    It would seem as though Demetri remembered what he was hiding too, as a sudden knock on the door startled you, prompting you to hide the condoms where you found them.

    “Y/n?” Demetri's voice called from the other side of the door, loud enough for you to hear but hushed enough to not wake his mom up. “Are you – um – finding everything alright?”

You giggled to yourself, the nervous undertone to Demetri's words obvious; he wanted to know if you found what you had without asking directly.

    “Yeah,” you gleefully replied. “Give me a minute.”

Quickly stripping off all of your clothes, you toss on a green shirt adorned with a large pai sign splayed on its front. The hem of the shirt reached the middle of your thighs, with Demetri being so much taller than you. You took a deep breath, stepping to stand in front of the bed before calling, “You can come in now.”

Tentatively, Demetri opened the door. His eyes couldn't help but rake over your body, from your bare legs all the way up to his t-shirt. He swallowed hard, trying to burn the image of you in to his mind.

He suddenly noticed the pile of clothes you left on the floor; notedly, the pair of panties peeking beneath your discarded skirt.

    “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” Demetri asked, his big blue-green eyes widening in awe.

    You smile michevously. “No.”

---

Tag list: @lllyyysss02  @deadpvet lmk if you want on :)

[honey-coloured-passion]

Surprise! (Sapnap x Reader)

Request: “Sapnap X Reader where he surprises the reader while she’s streaming”

Words: 1.5k

“Hello chat how are your days going? Good, bad? Finals!? Oh my gosh I hate finals dude I’m so sorry f to pay respects,” you paused to stretch and adjust your headset as you had just started your stream. “I’m kinda just bored today chat so what should we do? Mods can you all run a poll or something?” You glanced at your discord and saw messages from Sap.

“Hey angel!”

“Oh you’re streaming!”

“You look cute on stream” 

You rolled your eyes but chat caught you blushing and saw that Sapnap was viewing the stream, and immediately lost it. They’d been shipping the two of you for months, but little did they know you guys had been dating for three months, since you met up in person for the first time. It hadn’t felt like the right time to announce to the world and you’d wanted to establish your relationship privately before telling the fans, but that didn’t mean you’d had a couple slip ups leading the fans to theorize. 

This included you calling Sapnap various forms of babe, bubs, Nick, love etc. Same went for Sap who gets teased for endlessly rushing to your defense on the SMP and responding casually when you call him a pet name, almost like he does it all the time... yeah, chat was on to the two of you. 

“Shut up guys and tell me what we’re doing today! We could go grind netherite tools and chill? How does that sound?” the SMP always got a resounding yes, and just like that you were off, the SMP had won the poll anyways. 

You messaged Sap in discord, “wanna call for the stream?” and quickly he was on the call with you. 

“Hello Mr. Sapitus Napitus, how’s your day going on this fine Friday?” you laughed as you ran through the nether, having just collected enough wool and planks to make beds. “It’s going, I was bored as heck so I wound up here, what about you?” You knew the longer end to that story, his family was out and he thought editing would take longer but now he was stuck at home. “Same same, I’m chillin and got bored after scrolling on Tiktok for like two hours so now I’m here!” You moved on, blowing up the nether hunting for netherite scrap while talking with chat.

A familiar notification went off, “water check from, um ,GogySupremacy420,000, oh my god what a username. Alright everyone drink some water! This is good I haven’t drank water since like breakfast.” you heard Sap pipe up, “you’ve eaten since breakfast right?” you rolled your eyes, “nope I’ll eat after stream don’t worry Simpnap” tacking on the nickname earned a scoff from the simp himself. “Not a simp,” he answered, giving you a punch in the game making you hit him back. After a mini fight ending in you threatening to place a bed and effectively kill the both of you, you were back to mining. 

“Hey I’ve gotta go drive and grab something want me to stay on call though?” your head whipped to discord to look for another message, knowing Sap didn’t have anywhere to be tonight. But there was nothing. “Oh I don’t mind, chat and I enjoy your company!” you said with a grin. You’d made it to enchanting now, having found all the netherite you needed.

As you sat on the spider spawner you heard Sap get in the car, the familiar beep of him unlocking his car and the revving of the engine making you laugh, “you’re car is literally so old I’m surprised it starts,” you heard Sapnap scoff, “old?! don’t you dare speak to her like that, she’s beautiful,” you rolled your eyes, Callahan who must’ve been on your stream quickly piped up in the game chat “Y/n is jealousss!” now it was your turn to be offended, “you think I’d be jealous of a bucket of rusty bolts and oil? No chance,” you laughed, checking chat as they were spamming JealousChamp. “Whatever you say ba- Y/n,” Sapnap played it off with a cough and you quickly changed the subject to how much XP you would need for all your tools. 

“Hey I’ve gotta go on deafen real quick be back soon!” Sap’s voice flooded your mic, he must’ve brough the mic close to his mouth because his smooth and deep voice curled around the mic perfectly, sending shivers down your spine as his warm tone filled your headphones. “B-bye” you choked out, pretending to adjust your headset as you continued killing mobs. “So chat, got any questions to pass this alone time?” you watched the chat speed up, hoping your mods would filter out poor questions. “Favorite. color? Easy who knows? Yup! You guys know me too well. Ooh favorite fast food place? This is hard cuz I don’t wanna say something you all don’t know but I can tell you guys my McDonalds order because it’s immaculate. Do I know Sapnap’s order? This is a good test you guys, I’m pretty sure it’s like an ungodly amount of spicy McChickens and a Dr. Pepper but I swear he changes it like every day.” you laughed, reading out other people’s orders then moved to debating if the icecream machine is actually broken or if the workers are just lazy. They’re lazy, confirmed by workers in chat apparently. 

“I’m back but I have to go in like five minutes, did you miss me?” Sap’s voice flooded your headphones again. As you adjusted his volume you teased, “hmm nope!” to which he began pouting making you laugh at his “baby rage”. Just as you were finishing with enchants on your axe he had to go. “Don’t miss me too much I’ll talk to you later, chat behave yourself I know you all will miss me but just leave y/n open in a muted tab,” he teased making you roll your eyes, “whatever we’re gonna have a super secret conversation after you’re gone about how we only let you on the stream out of pity right chat?” you couldn’t stop smiling and laughing through the teasing. “Okay okay, I actually gotta go, see you soon,” you bid Sapnap farewell and returned to joking with chat, turning on media share to pass some time as you reacted to animatics, hilarious compilations, and the occasional y/n x sapnap video making chat light up as you laughed through the videos. 

As you watched the videos and killed cave spiders you got a text from Sapnap. 

You still streaming?

Yup! Where’d you end up going? you replied.

Open your door and find out

Your breath hitched. “One- one minute chat,” you pulled your headset off and heard a small rustling in your hallway. As soon as you tabbed out of the game you stood up, rushing off camera to fling your door open and,

There he was. His smile was infectious and you couldn’t help yourself from screaming and running into his open arms. As he held you, rocking back and forth, you heard him mumbled. “I missed you”  Into your ear while you clung to him. “I missed you more,” you whispered back, Finally, you released him enough to peck his lips, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “I got food cuz you said you didn’t eat and I figured if I had time I wanted to spend it with you!” your heart practically melted, taking a bag of food in one hand and holding Sapnap’s hand with your other you realized you forgot to mute or end stream.

“Um, so I’m still streaming... what do we do?” you glanced up nervously but Sapnap just started laughing, “oh my god I guess I can say hi so chat doesn’t lose it’s mind,” you swallowed nervously, glancing down at your phone you had been tagged in endless clips of you running off camera then screaming about 15 seconds later. “Yeah better give them an answer,” you giggled.

Rushing back to your setup you saw chat blowing up as you put your headset back on. “Heyyy guys! So yeah, um I guess I can just show you that, we have a special guest!” You gestured to Sapnap to come into frame, pulling up a chair as he sat down next to you. “Yeah I gave y/n a visit cuz I was bored. Hi chat, hello, hello! You guys are going really fast dang,” Sapnap gripped your hand under the table, you squeezed back, leaning into his embrace. “So um, I think Sap and I are gonna hangout, right?” you glanced at him and he nodded, he really hadn’t stopped smiling since he got to your place. “Yup! Maybe if there’s time we’ll go live again I’m not sure! Kinda spur of the moment yeah?” you finished your thought. Saying goodbye to chat you ended stream just a few minutes later.

“We’ve really gotta tell people soon, I wanna be able to hold your hand on camera not just off,” Sapnap said between bites of food. “Yeah, I think it’ll be okay right?” You had always been nervous about stans hating you or people trying to get in between your relationship. “As long as I’ve got you I’m more than fine, I’m- I don’t know I guess I’m pogchamp,” you shook your head, “god you are such a dork,” Sapnap scrunched his nose with a laugh, “I’m your dork though so I’m so special!” and you couldn’t agree more. <3

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: The Day Off (a post-series part 7)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: E for so Explicit lmao

Summary: Remember when Javi wondered if you heard him masturbate through the wall? 👀

Tags: SMUT; f masturbation; voyeurism?; fingering; oral (f receiving); dom-ish!Javi but he’s soft at the end

Word Count: 3,309

A/N: I’m so sorry that this is not part 6, but uh have some alternative smut? <3

Also known as the masturbation scene I’ve been talking about, this scene takes place post-series because I just can’t get these two out of my head.

Masterlist

--

It’s a cloudy day in the city and the air is thick, crackling with energy, a slow-building storm borne in on a mischievous breeze. Despite this, you have the windows thrown open to hear the distant rumbles of thunder. The twisting air makes you restless, and you glance at your bed, wishing Javi were here.

You have the day off, but as it’s a weekday, you’re not expecting to see him until well after business hours. A giddy bubble still swells in your chest at the idea that you can indeed now expect to see him, rather than just hope to run into him in the hall. 

You and Javier have been “together” for several months now. He is infuriating and fascinating and above all, careful- so while you’re both prone to wandering over to each other’s apartments when you’re bored, you’re also perfectly content to take things as slowly as he prefers. 

Your gaze wanders over to the bed again. Biting your lip, you think of how Javi often uses ‘slow’ to mean ‘thorough’. When he has the energy, that man can work on you for hours, taking you apart piece by methodological piece. Nothing escapes his attention- not the slightest tremor of interest in something he hasn’t done to you yet.

Your breathing deepens as you stand there in your bedroom, thoughts steadily spiraling around Javier. You didn’t have any serious plans for the day, you’d just been puttering about doing some cleaning- 

You give in.

You set aside what you’d been doing and go to wash your hands. When you return, you strip off your pants and flounce into bed. Warm air wraps around you from the open window. A closer roll of thunder makes you look to the sky, and you feel an electric, taboo shiver wash over you at the idea that you’re about to masturbate in broad daylight, with the window wide open.

But you grin as you nestle into your comforter. And why shouldn’t you? Better to do it now, while everyone nearby is out at work, than force yourself to be quiet at night.

Not that Javier is very helpful in that regard, you reflect wryly. Plus, you’d hardly had need to touch yourself since you’d started sleeping together. But sometimes a little you-time is nice, even if you have a regular partner, so you run your hands up your thighs and belly, intending to take your time…

--

Unbeknownst to you, Javier isn’t at work either. He’s at home, in fact- rifling through his closet, bedroom window flung open at this rare opportunity to air the place out. Rainy days make him edgy, but with things on standby at the office, they’d sent him home.

He’s just considering taking a smoke break when he hears it: muted and soft, but unmistakably a moan. His head whips toward the wall.

He remains frozen in place, ears straining, until the next thing he hears. “Fuck, Javier.” Slightly louder, and his head turns to the window.

Are you…home right now? Thinking of him while you-? Weather forgotten, Javi silently scrambles closer to the window, heart pounding as hard as if he were out on a bust. Now that he’s listening, he hears more: the faint but utterly recognizable creak of your bed frame, the rustle of sheets. The vocal sighs you make that usually tell him he’s successfully seduced you.

Before Javier evens registers what he’s doing he’s crept into the hall and is retrieving your spare key from where you’d mentioned you keep it. He moves as quietly as he can- which, given his DEA training (and the fact that putting on shoes hadn’t even crossed his mind), is damn near silent. Especially to anyone not anticipating visitors.

The way to your bedroom is one he’s traveled countless times now. Drawn by the alluring sounds you’re making, he has to remind himself that you don’t know he’s coming, that he can’t just barge in.

Finally Javi reaches your half-open door- and the breath leaves his lungs at the sight before him.

He almost doesn’t want to stop you. Legs splayed, hips rocking steadily into your own hand, the other clutching the hem of the t-shirt you still wear. Your head is thrown back against the pillow.

“Javi, please,” you pant dreamily, eyes closed, lost in your fantasy.

Well, he can hardly deny such a request. Javier licks his lips. “Yes, Vecinita?”

Your eyes fly open and you squeak in shock at the sight of him, your body instinctively retreating from the unexpected presence in your doorway. Your thighs snap shut, but not before he’s caught a glimpse of what was between them. The evidence of your activities gleams on your fingers where they yank the t-shirt down.

“Javi!” You swallow hard. Your muscles relax as you recognize him, but you maintain your expression of wary confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His own posture is as casual as they come. Hands in his pockets, he strolls just a few steps further into the room.

“Heard you say my name,” Javier murmurs. He runs his gaze over you, languidly, like he’s got all the time in the world. Which he does, he supposes- it’s the middle of the day, and it would appear that neither of you have anywhere to be.

“Thought you might want some help.” When he looks back at your face, a subtle intrigue has joined the surprise there. Your eyes track him up and down in contemplation as he moves closer.

At last you lapse your protective position, stretching yourself out again and parting your legs slightly. You look at him from under your lashes. “I love having your help, Javier.” 

You still use his full name sometimes. He usually prefers his friends call him ‘Javi' (or ‘Penita’ if they must)- it’s the farthest thing from the curt ‘Peña’ he’s forced to be at work- but he finds himself unwilling to say anything every time he gets a tiny jolt at the affectionate way your mouth curls around ‘Javier’.

“Then why…” he stalks up to you on the bed, his movements decidedly predatory. “…did you start without me? Hmm, preciosa?”

The mattress dips beneath his hand as he leans over you, while the other gently cradles your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. You can’t help but turn your cheek into his palm; but Javi loves the way you shift further onto your back as he approaches, your whole body stilling under his commanding presence. He knows it’s not fear- it’s pure instinct, the way you arrange yourself for him, every muscle quivering in anticipation.

“I didn’t think you were home.” An excuse delivered with honest innocence. But your pupils dilate; your chin tips infinitesimally upward, your body’s every message communicating submission.

“Well then.” Javier leans down further so he can press his lips to yours, teasing them open with his tongue. Your limbs loosen, melting into the mattress the longer he draws out the kiss. You’re both breathless by the time he pulls away.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he whispers. Turning away from you, Javi grabs your desk chair and perches at the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“…what?” All he’s done is kiss you and you already look consumed, eyes hazy with desire, lips parted expectantly.

Javi feels a prickle of pride at the effect he has on you, the curve of his lips revealing a hint of smugness. “You heard me.” He jerks his chin to the apex of your thighs, where only a tantalizing peek of what he wants is visible. “I want to know what you were thinking about. What you were begging me to do.” 

Almost of its own accord, his voice deepens to the gravely rumble it takes on during interrogations.

He’s pleased to see the quickening rise and fall of your chest, the not-quite-trepidation in your wide eyes. He reaches out to rest his his palm on your ankle.

Once you’d gotten over the shock of Javi’s unexpected appearance in your bedroom, you’d been excited. Coyly responding to what you thought had been an offer of assistance.

But then.

Then you’d heard that voice- that husky rasp, like his control was already half-gone. Which was also incorrect, you realize now, as you stare at him seated at the foot of your bed. Waiting. Watching you with those dark, penetrating eyes, half-shrouded by the turbulent light coming through the window behind him.

You shift slightly, aligning your body toward him. Still processing, but by no means saying no.

“You alright, Vecinita? Sounded like you were pretty close before I walked in.” Javier tips his head in a taunting smirk.

Your cheeks flame. You had been close, it’s true, and under his scrutiny now your body burns even hotter. It’s mortifying, electrifying, entirely more than you’ve ever experienced all at once.

You’ve never done this with him before. You’d guided his touch, yes, shown him what you liked, but never blatantly put on a show like he’s suggesting.

But you swear the heat of Javi's caress on your ankle crawls all the way up to your core. Possibly you should be embarrassed that such a tiny touch from him can provoke such a reaction, but all you feel is exhilarated, impossibly aroused by what you’re about to do.

Holding his gaze, you part your legs. Javier’s focus immediately drops. His attention is excruciating, but you slide one hand down and then back up your inner thigh, teasing. Your free hand grips your shirt again as you glide your fingers into your folds.

You think both of you might moan. Your head drops back on the pillow. “Javier,” you gasp, circling your clit.

“Tell me, Vecinita.” It sounds like the chair shifts.

“Fuck, Javi, wish it was your fingers.” You can barely get the words out, despite that he’s heard you say far filthier things under his influence. Already you’re even closer than before Javi’s arrival had stopped you, the muscles of your abdomen almost painfully tense.

If Javi responds to your cries, you don’t hear it. But you don’t need to. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you’re aware of him, a smoldering presence mere feet away from you. Fueling your own fire, an inferno burning brighter and brighter until-

You keen helplessly as the tension implodes, hips bucking, blissful relief rippling through you. You know that just Javier’s presence makes it better than if you’d still been alone, but your own fingers don’t feel nearly as effective after having his taking care of you for so long.

As you come down, you dare to look at him.

“Feel better, preciosa?” Javi is still smirking at you, but there’s something hollow in it now. His eyes rake over you with barely concealed hunger, his hand on your ankle gripping tightly.

When his gaze lands between your spread legs, you feel it as viscerally as any physical touch. Your floor muscles clench.

Abruptly Javi stands. “Take that off,” he orders, jerking his chin toward where your nipples are peaked beneath your stretched taut t-shirt.

Agitated air currents billow over you at his movement, raising shivery goosebumps on your naked flesh. But the feeling of exposure only lasts until the bed dips at your feet, and then Javier is crawling up your body, still fully clothed. The purposeful intent on his face makes your breath catch. He kisses you hard, but when your hands go to the buttons of his shirt he snarls.

He takes your wrists in one broad hand and pins them above your head. His hips crowd into the space between your thighs, and the weight of him settling against your body makes you whine high in your throat.

“I’m not done with you yet, Vecinita.” Javi's voice is deceptively soft. “Now that I know what you imagine me doing to you…” his hand releases your wrists and slides slowly down your skin, over every curve and contour of you. “…I intend to make it a reality.”

Javier shimmies to the side just far enough to slip his fingers between your legs.

Pleasure erupts at the press of his callused fingers, tearing a moan from your chest. 

Javi groans in satisfaction at the slickness he finds, greedily working it from its source up to your clit, following the same path your own fingers had taken mere moments earlier. Sweat prickles your hairline. You shudder as he flaunts his intimate familiarity with your body.

“Vecinita.” Javi’s face is as close to yours as possible for him to still be able to watch your expressions. You look up at his insistent tone- just as he sinks two fingers into you.

The breath punches out of you as your muscles seize. 

“My job now,” Javier tells you.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning like his bedroom eyes. Brown locks fall over his forehead as he unconsciously ruts into you in time with his ministrations. You tilt your hips into his hand, and only Javi’s mouth on yours muffles your moans as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. He murmurs, hushed and awestruck, as you fuck yourself against his hand.

“That’s it, preciosa.” Bliss rolls through you, unwavering as a rising tide. You’re helpless against the force of it, tingling and surging up your legs, pressure expanding between your hips- 

You come. Devastatingly hard, the weight of Javier’s body the only thing keeping you steady as you lose all sense of self to the blinding pleasure wracking your limbs. He works you through it, wringing every last spasm out of you until your cries fade.

But his movements don’t quite stop. His fingers still achingly slowly, his palm remaining an exquisitely careful pressure on your clit. You can’t seem to catch your breath- you’re so acutely aware of it, like you’re an engine left idling and Javi is keeping his hand on the throttle.

He brushes kisses over your face. His lips place softly on your brow, your nose, your cheek- until lingering at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“What else do you think of me doing to you?” The words seem to strike sparks along your bones. You inhale sharply at his implications. “Hmm? I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

God, what has gotten into him today? Simultaneously demanding and acquiescent, Javier’s voice is an insidious echo in your head. He twists his torso back and forth so his shirt scrapes against your nipples. You almost yelp as your reply bursts out of you.

“Your mouth! Your tongue. On my…” you trail off as he drags said tongue down your neck, doubtless tasting the sweat he’s worked you into. 

“On your…?” Javi exhales on the damp streak he leaves, and goosebumps spring up at the cool sensation. 

“You know where.” It’s a near-whisper. The place where you’re still stretched around him. Where the slightest shift of his wrist makes you tense.

You feel his smile as Javi plants a last kiss on your collarbone. He makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and growl as he works his way down your body, pausing only to nuzzle and nip at your breasts.

Thunder rumbles outside, closer and louder than it had been. You close your eyes at the sound, letting it wash over you like your partner's leisurely devotions. You can only relax so much, however, as your anticipation grows the further south Javier travels…until the flat of his tongue envelopes your clit.

You can sense his satisfaction at your choked whimper. Immediately he has to hold your hips in place to prevent them lifting off the bed as everything in you tightens again. Torturous slowly, his tongue moves, tracing every ridge and fold of your heat with meticulous care. Your thighs tremble.

“Fuuuuck.” It’s nearly a sob, your breathing ragged.

You swear Javi laughs, a smug wheeze in the back of his throat, and it’s as his tongue probes your entrance that you remember his fingers are still inside you. He spreads them so his tongue can slip into the gap, and the complementary sensations all in one place have stars wheeling behind your eyes. Javi definitely chuckles then, a vibration you can feel against your sex, and then his mouth returns to your clit. 

His lips, tongue, and fingers move with a single-minded purpose. There’s no holding back any of the sounds you’re making now, salacious moans spilling out of you, an obscene babble of pleas and praise. Javier breathes encouragement between your thighs. You glance down briefly while his eyes are closed in concentration, wholly focused on his task.

Your head spins. Already familiar tremors pull your muscles taut, Javi’s sweet, relentless attention breaking you down more rapidly than you thought possible. You’re going to come again, you know, long before it’s about to occur. You tell him, beg him not to stop, your release bearing down on you from across an endless distance.

This one shatters you. Your spine bows with the contraction of your muscles, pieces of you scattering far and wide as you splay back against the mattress. You surrender to the ecstasy barreling through you, barely noticing Javi’s wide brown eyes watching with rapt attention.

He brings you down properly this time, gradually, until the aftershocks fade and you’re squirming away from him. You remain sprawled how you are, limp and sated, as Javier crawls back up to you.

His lips touch your cheek. “Preciosa? Vecinita. You okay?” He sounds almost worried.

A breathless laugh huffs out of you. You lazily turn your head toward him, finally opening your eyes.

“I’m fine, Javi. More than.” You smile warmly, gratefully at him.

His eyes crinkle in response. “C’mere,” he says, relieved, gathering you into his arms.

You snuggle up to him willingly, humming in contentment. The thought drifts through your mind that now it would be nice for him to be wearing less clothing. But it doesn’t stop you from drowsing into his warmth as he strokes a soothing hand over you hair and back. After several long minutes, you find the energy to speak. 

“So…what was that?”

Javi doesn’t respond for several more moments, pressing his lips to your forehead as he thinks. Or maybe stalls.

“I…don’t know,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “…was it okay?”

“Mmm,” you affirm. You lift your head just enough to plant a kiss between Javi’s rumpled, parted lapels. “Very okay.” You can't help the faint heat in your cheeks, even though it's silly to blush at the admittance given everything you had just let him do.

“Good.” Javier squeezes you tighter. “because I meant it. Your pleasure is my pleasure, Vecinita.” 

Surprised, you look up at him. He returns your gaze steadily, his sincerity clearly visible even as he watches carefully for your reaction.

You may be talking about sex, but this is a declaration of sorts, for Javi. Hauling yourself up onto one elbow, you place your other hand on his cheek and press your lips to his. You let your affection surge forth, kissing him deeply and insistently, trying to convey without words how dearly you regard him.

You think he understands. He cradles the back of your neck, clutching you to him as the urgency of the embrace crests. 

Both of your grips relax naturally after that. He sighs into your mouth as you release him, but doesn’t let you move from where you’re half laying across him. 

“Stay,” Javi murmurs, draping his arms over your back. His eyes drift closed.

Happily, you indulge. You tuck your nose into his neck and breathe him in, already feeling sleep cloud your mind.

Soft as a shush, rain begins to fall.

--

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