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senanatheskenana · 1 year ago

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The Sinclair Twins With Baby Fever

This contains smut so minors do not engage thank you. Contains graphic depictions of sex/ sexual acts.

(Also i havent written smut in a while so im sorry if its bad lmao)

Bo Sinclair

Bo never thought he'd want kids.

He thought they were sort of like inconveniences from how his parents acted when they were kids.

But that idea slowly began to change after meeting you

For one, it takes two people to make one, and in a ghost town, there isn't an abundance of living women.

And Bo didn't really believe he would be a good parent.

However, it all flipped rather suddenly for Bo.

You had been showing him photos from an old vacation you went on with family and he stumbled across one of you and your niece.

A tiny one-year-old, in cute pink dungarees, all swaddled up in your arms with big blue eyes and one of her chunky hands in her mouth on an exploration.

Bo admitted that it was rather cute and you started to ramble about the times you've looked after family and children.

And it occurs to Bo that while he may not be wonderful with children, you certainly were.

The thought comes along all too suddenly for his liking and before he knows what he's doing, he's imagining you with your baby- his baby.

It makes his chest flutter, the image of your swollen belly and milk-filled chest burning into his eyes.

He tries to give it some serious thought, weighing up the pros and cons of such an important choice.

Bo of course brought it up to you. He wasn't going to just grin and bear the need he was now experiencing.

~~~~~

"Oh my god," you grin up at him. He scowls and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What? I don't see what the big deal is." he's still pouting and you have to admit he looks pretty cute like that, with blushy cheeks.

"Bo, you've got baby fever!" you giggle and him as he huffs again.

Bo throws his arms up in the air and sighs. He knows he isn't going to win that battle. "Look did you want to have a baby or not, sugar?"

You give him a long drawn-out silence, leaving him in anticipation for what he deems to be far too long, however, he doesn't want to push his luck on the situation.

You finally give him a smile and a wink, "Of course I do, Bo." he fights back a smile and slinks closer to you to give you a peck on the cheek but lets out a chuckle when you pull him back again for a proper kiss.

He smirks and practically throws you into the bedroom, not wasting a moment to take off his shirt and throw it to the side. He tugs down his jeans and you both begin to shed clothing as fast as possible. You can hear the clink of your husband's belt hitting the floor over the sound of your loud heartbeat. He finally moves to slot himself between your thighs, grinding against your clothed heat.

Bo hasn't felt this nervous in a long time. Normally, sex is rough and teasing with Bo, but every little touch against him feels like fire and it has him moaning into your chest like a virgin. The image of your swollen belly ingrains itself into his mind again, and he feels himself becoming too needy to pace himself. Before he can fully grasp what he's doing, he's already rutting into you with quick deep thrusts. He doesn't bother pulling out and wasting time on long thrusts, choosing to just chase the pleasure you both want so badly.

Bo loves the way you look under him like this, eyes nearly closed and rolling back with your mouth agape from the breathless moans you're making after every rub of his cock against your g-spot. He can feel you tightening around him, and he honestly can't recall a better feeling than this. He can tell you're going to cum soon with how loud you are and how your hips try to chase his.

Bo slips a hand between you both and plants it on your folds. He'll be damned if he was going to cum this soon without you. You let out a moan that sounds like it was straight out of a porno, and Bo feels it travel like electricity down to his groin. You can feel him twitch deep inside you, kissing against your internal ridges. You're so tight that Bo can barely move without moaning like a bitch.

He comes close to your face, watching your fucked out expression closely. His fingers speed up, deftly finding your clit and circling it like he's begging for you to cum around him. "'Gonna cum, sugar?" his southern drawl drags you out of your fever dream state and you nod up at him, failing to find words anymore. You grip his shoulders and you wrap your thighs around his waist. He laughs at the idea that you're stopping him from pulling out. You cum and he can feel you completely spasm around his cock. Bo knows he can't take another second of that intense pleasure before he's cumming so hard he's seeing coloured patches in his vision, moaning as he stills inside of you. Hot ropes of his cum spurt out into you, making you gasp from the new feeling.

Bo nearly collapses on top of you after, head laying on your comfortable chest while your fingers rake through his wet hair. He can't bring himself to pull out of you just yet, and he's still breathless from finishing inside you for the first time. He can feel your thighs rocking still with the aftershocks of the experience. He kisses your chest lightly and looks up at you.

"I love you, Sugar," he murmurs softly against your skin, "I love you so much."

You don't miss how one of his hands rubs gentle circles into your tummy.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent's biggest problem is his lack of communication. He can't simply speak about how he's feeling most of the time.

If he could, you may have found out about this sooner.

Vincent has always been more tolerant of children than Bo was so he experienced this quite early on but didn't know how to approach you about it.

He was worried that you would think he was weird or that you wouldn't want kids and then leave him.

So for months, he suffered in silence, fighting the urge to paint your insides with himself, and fantasising about what life would be like if you had a baby.

He's touched himself to the thought of you swollen and glowing, and imagining it's you he's coming in before the reality sets in again and he feels disgusted with himself once more.

You've started to notice his hesitance in intimate moments and you finally confront him, asking if he doesn't think you're attractive anymore.

He moves his hand to different parts of the basement, all filled with paintings and sculptures of you. It was a stupid thing to ask, of course, he thought you were gorgeous.

~~~~~

So you finally ask him what the problem was, and why he was suddenly not willing to touch you.

Vincent is of course quiet. He, in all honesty, was trying to hold off sex because he didn't feel he could trust himself to pull out anymore. He was worried that the temptation would be too great and he wouldn't be able to help himself. He's not really sure how he can say that and not come off as a huge pervert.

So he just comes close to you and embraces you momentarily, before placing a hand on your abdomen. It's just barely present but you can feel the touch. Then he takes his hands and makes a cradling motion.

For a moment you're confused. What does he mean by 'baby'? until it clicks in your mind. Did Vincent think you were pregnant? Was that why he was being so careful?

"Vinny, sweetheart, I'm not pregnant you dont need to worry about hurting me or anything-" Before you can finish, Vincent shakes his head and begins to sign.

'I know he looks at you to make sure you're following him, 'I think that's the problem'

Some sort of realisation becomes apparent to you and you ask the question he's been wanting to ask for months.

"Do you... Want a baby?"

He waits a moment and then nods before looking down. He begins signing again but doesn't look up, he doesn't want to see your grossed-out face.

'I was scared to force something on you but I wasn't sure how to say it. I didn't think I could trust my body during sex anymore.'

Your heart swells a little bit at the confession. Had Vincent been beating himself up for wanting to get you pregnant?

"I think I want a baby too, Vince" you giggle when his head shoots up from looking down at the floor. He signs too quickly for you to follow but you can just about catch the words 'Angel' and 'love'.

He stops signing and abruptly picks you up, spinning you before holding you bridal style in his arms. He hasn't said but you have an idea of where he's taking you. Vincent kicks the door to your shared bedroom open and gently places you on the covers. He removes his own clothing- save for his mask- and then patiently removes your own, kissing the skin that is revealed.

Usually, Vincent gets quite needy during these moments, and his touch is feverish. He's painfully hard at this point, but he wants to savour you. He doesn't want to lose himself just yet.

You're the one who removes his mask, taking in his flushed face and pulling him closer for a kiss. He can't begin to describe how much he loves you at this moment. He puts little weight on you as he traps you on the bed between his arms.

You make a noise of surprise when he pulls back from you to lean on his feet. You're about to ask what he's doing but he's already sliding down your body to slot his head between your thighs. He gives the left of a small nip before kissing it again. Your core floods with anticipation when he gazes up at you like that. He waits for you to push his face closer to your folds to make sure you're okay. As soon as you do, he pushes his whole face against you, breathing you in and flattening his large tongue against your pussy. He lets out a raspy moan before he truly begins to lick. You know what's coming and the anticipation makes your thighs shudder around his head.

He looks up through his hair to see you throw your head back in pleasure. He's always loved how you look like this, with his head between your thighs and your hands in his hair. The sight is so hot that he knows he could probably finish from it alone.

Your breath hitches when you feel his hand travel from your hip to your folds. He uses his hand to part them before he gives a few kitten licks to your clit. His own eyes roll back as you spasm, and he continues that motion, fingers sliding into your wet core. He moves his two fingers slow and deep inside you, crooking them upwards halfway through each languid thrust. And just like that he can feel you tightening on his fingers with each lick and movement. Your moans get louder but he continues, spurred on by the look of pleasure you give him.

Your hips rut against his face and he moans against your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking it. Just like that his fingers bring you over the edge, moaning and shaking as you wrap your legs around his face. Vincent removes his fingers and pushes his face into you again, licking up your juice before rising once more to be above you. You still look fucked out and he takes pride it in. You pull him in and kiss him deeply.

Vincent's hands travel down your thighs and stop at your knees. You briefly wonder what he's doing before he pushes them up and pins your legs against your chest. He's never tried this angle before.

But he likes it. A lot.

You can see from his expression that he's enjoying the view and briefly his eyes flicker between you and a sketchbook. You grab his face gently and make him look at you.

"You can draw later. Right now I want you to fuck me, Vincent"

His one good eye widens as if to say 'Yes ma'am' and before you know it, he's slotting himself into you, using his body weight to keep your legs pinned against your chest. Already he's so deep inside you that he's pushing against your sweet spot without trying. Vincent takes a moment to gather himself- he doesn't think he's ever been this deep inside you and suddenly he loves this position even more. He begins to roll his hips against you slowly, teasingly. He knows you want more so he begins to move, throwing a fair amount of his body weight into each deep thrust. Vincent can hear your breathless moan with each slap of his hips against your backside. He leans down on his strong left arm and uses his right to fondle your bouncing chest, making eye contact with you. It's your half-lidded hazy expression that makes his heart hammer in his chest. Vincent mouths the words 'I love you' and 'so pretty' over and over like a chant.

He's sure you can feel every little twitch and pulse of his cock with how tight you are around him. Fuck, he thinks, you feel so good. He's missed your pretty cunt so much and he's certain you've realised by how desperate his movement is becoming- degrading from measured, long, strong thrusts to irregular, quick jabs accompanied by crackly whimpers of pleasure. He's worried that he'll cum first now so he pulls his hand from your chest and pushes it between your folds to play with your clit.

A low, fractured murmur of "G-Gon' cu-um" falls from his open mouth and you're shocked for a moment.

Vincent stills against you and you feel your insides flood with warmth. The feeling along with his fingers still rubbing you tenderly, makes your own orgasm wash over you and he moans again as your pussy sucks him in further. He waits until you both finish before slowly pulling out of you, globs of excess cum seeping out of you. He uses his fingers to scoop the leaking cum up and fingers it back inside of you, humming when he sees that it isn't leaking anymore.

"I love you, Vinny," he looks at you and smiles, placing a pillow under your hips. He comes back to you with a flannel and washes the sweat from you and places a kiss on your forehead. Vincent lays beside you on the bed, placing his head against your chest and running his palm over the soft part of your tummy.

#xreader #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #house of wax x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #slasher x reader #slashers #slasher fucker

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nymphomatique · 3 months ago

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special affair

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

art credit: _insomniac_red_ on ig. pictures are for mood setting, reader has no specific race or physical descriptions.

cw: a lil angsty, this is just shameless smut im sorry guys i don’t know what came over me, daddy kink, dbf!miguel <3, unspecified age gap but reader is legal, rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex, miguel is not a good man, conflicted reader, creampie, lowkey breeding kink, degrading language, choking/breath play, face slapping, spitting, mentions of oral (m), overstimulation, crying/dacryphillia, pubic hair grinding? lmao idk, reader is alluded to being in sub space. not proofread lol. 18+ only.

wc: ~1.5k

❤︎ an: hi my loves!! this is a sorta part two to this drabble, but can be read as a stand alone one shot. tbh i wrote this w my pussy.. i’m ovulating rn i’m so ashamed of myself 😔 nevertheless, enjoy! if you guys want more don’t hesitate to lmk!!

from that first night he fucked you from behind, you knew you strayed too far from the status quo in your life, you’re at the point of no return. that night, when he finished pounding you from behind and defiling you further with his seed all over your back and ass, you had laid in that position— spent and on your stomach- for the rest of the night, silently sobbing. you had betrayed your father, that much you were aware of the day you started rubbing at yourself meekly in the dead of the night thinking about his best friend.

you had long come to terms with that guilt, accepting whatever image of a burning inferno there is in the afterlife. what you cannot come to terms with, is the fact that he- miguel- had actually fucked you, indulged in what you considered your own taboo thoughts, ripping them from page and making your crude thoughts a sick reality. the worst part of this all is that amidst it all, the mental beratement, the nights you spent crying, the sick feeling the memories of miguel’s cock stretching you absolutely thin, showing you a climax like no other— you want to hate yourself for it, for being weak. for being such a bad girl. but you didn’t know why your body decided to betray your brain, the physical craving for the older man’s body possessing you whole. you can’t bear this feeling, holding it up inside you and trying to keep it at bay. fuck- you needed to talk to someone, you had to, even if it’s the last person you want to speak to.

nevertheless, you end up two houses down, sniffling and heaving in the dead of the night, knocking the door as hard as your trembling hands would let you. the door swings open and at the sight of him you keen, your body aching at the sight of the burly muscles covered in sun kissed skin. dark brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. a slight five o’clock shadow, he must not have shaved this morning. and then you look into those eyes, swallowing you up whole and you begin to tear up again. miguel is silent, leaning against the door with messy hair, glazed eyes and clad in boxers, and boxers only. fuck, you shouldn’t have come here.

“I-.. Miguel, it hurts,” you sob quietly, aflame with shame and embarrassment at how little resolve you had. He grabs your face with his warm hands and you’re trembling now, ready for him. your lips ghost for a moment before he breathes out. “i’m not a good man, sweetheart. if you don’t say no, i’m gonna break you.” he sounds sincere with his words and his eyes go stern. you wish you had some self of self control, or maybe having better discernment. but the only thing you say to him only confirms what you already knew about yourself; you’re a terrible fucking person.

“violate me.”

your lips are smashed against each other, tongues dancing and it feels so good to be in his embrace again. your tears fall down your cheeks, meeting at the junction of your mouths in a pool of saliva. miguel groans and you know why, remembering what he had said to you the last time.

“i like when you cry.”

you’re grabbed up at the hips, legs wrapped around a thick torso, pressed up against a firm chest and a heavy cock. the moments up to the bedroom are cloudy, drunk off his lips against yours. you come to slightly when cold plush sheets hit your back and a pair of lips leave yours. you whine, yearning for his touch again. he looks down at you, bringing your right foot to his mouth, he licks lightly up the sole- kissing the ball of your foot before he leans down, caging your between his elbows, face to face.

“you gonna be good for your daddy?” he asks softly, kissing between the bridge of your nose once.

“y-yes,” you breathe out with a slow nod.

“mmm. gonna let me violate this tight little body too?” he asks, still soft in tone and you think you’re gonna go crazy by the end of the night. “yes, daddy,” you murmur, lost in his eyes.

“sick fucking little girl. but that’s how i like it,” he chuckles, kissing you softly before getting up stripping you bare.

“letting your daddy undress you like a good girl. so obedient f’me,” he coos at you, touching you softly and you’re almost in tears. you need him. and you let it be known. a lone tear falls down your cheek and you mewl, “n-need you to make it better down there, daddy.”

his large hand engulfs you cheek, thumb wiping your tear softly before squishing your face, putting his tear stained thumb in your mouth. “you think you’re a big girl now, hmm? telling your daddy what to do?” you look up at him teary eyed, suckling his thick finger.

“you take what i give you, when i give it to you.” he squeezes you cheek a little harder before softly slapping your cheek and you squeak at the contact. a rough laugh leaves miguel’s mouth at your reaction. “you have no idea how bad i’m gonna treat you, baby.”

you’re non verbal at this point, mouth agape and leaking saliva down your jaw seeping into the sheets and the junction of your neck and chest. a hand slaps your cheek again, you’ve lost how many that is now. “i fucked you stupid already?” miguel laughs, hard thrusts sending you flying up the bed. his hands on your hips bring you down back to him each time, poking you right in that sweet spot in your pussy. you’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve head, body wracked and numb with pleasure. throat hoarse from the near-violent throat fuck he gave you.

a glob of spit hits your forehead and you groan a bit. the one thing you’re sure of is that you look a goddamned mess. a crude picture of the activity you’ve been partaking in for the past two hours. a hand leaves your hip to wrap around your neck and squeeze roughly, making you gasp for air, your body finally moving.

“there we go, got you moving now. thought i fucked you to sleep for a second.”

your eyes are glossy, at the lack of air and building pressure. your hand meekly wraps around his wrist as he fucks into you. you know you shouldn’t like the way he toys with you like this, waking the line of torment and pleasure with no care in the world. but you do. and you can’t deny it anymore.

“you’re tightening up on me again. you gonna cum for me again?” miguel asks you, and he laughs after knowing you can’t even answer him. “sick little girl. you like it when i choke you? make you feel weak? worthless?”

it’s barely audible, but the moan you let out vibrates in your neck and miguel can feel it with the hand pressed against your throat. he throws his head back with a groan. “nasty, naughty girl. fuck baby, gonna cum in that little pussy.”

you’re almost there, and quite frankly impressed that you haven’t fully passed out yet. your head feels light, and you begin to tremble violently, gushing out spurts of liquid as your head falls to the side. if this is hell, you’re not so sure you could give this up for heaven. your eyes close and you feel so close to falling asleep when he removes his hand from your neck, grabbing your head by the nape of your neck, craning you up to where you can see his thick cock slip and slide between your thighs. you groan at the image.

“need you awake to see me cum in you, don’t i?” miguel groans. “you like watching me fuck you, like letting me dirty you.”

his tuft of black pubic hair rubs against yours as his thrusts become increasingly sporadic and intense, and it has you trembling at the stimulation it gives your clit. you weakly squirt each time his pelvis brushes against your clit, your body letting you know you have only so much left in you before you’re drained empty.

“fuck, love it when you wet the bed. my pissy little girl. daddy loves the messes you make.” he’s nearly breathless and you pray he’s going to cum in the next minute, the ache in your neck and dull sensation in your pussy building slowly.

“c-cum in me. wanna give you a baby,” you moan, looking up from the fast thrusts and into miguel’s eyes.

“fuck! so n-naughty, baby. gonna give me another one, huh? fucking take it, then.” with a final thrust, you feel the warmth of his cum shoot and blossom somewhere deep within you. you moan weakly, one final weak spurt of squirt coming out of you. miguel pulls out and you watch him look at the mess he made of you and your pussy, covered in spit, cum and the beginnings of handprint bruises blossoming on your hips and ass from how hard he gripped and spanked you.

you can feel his cum slowly trickle out of you, and your body feels like it’s no longer your own. after so many orgasms, your limbs are on fire, and you can do nothing but breathe and weakly murmur a “d-daddy..” while your eyes close.

tags: @realhotgirlshitah @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @maxiethestrange

message me to be removed!

#miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara smut #dbf!miguel #dbf!miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel atsv smut #atsv miguel smut #miguel atsv #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #feature films💌

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hxlxnaaa · 1 month ago

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𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: haunted by your own loneliness, it seems the only cure is to create an imaginary friend

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: xavier

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first-person POV, angst if you squint, real world au, maybe ooc xavier? not really

★ 𝐰𝐜: 1.6k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: inspired by maladaptive daydreaming! strays so far from canon storyline obviously so this is hella HELLA au, but MC still has her heart problems lmao

When it comes to children, it isn’t surprising when you find out they have an imaginary friend. They’ll giggle, and their eyes will light up as they tell you about their talking dog, who has tea parties with them and rides on the back of their bike. Or the teddy bear that comes to life at night to tell them bedtime stories and help them count sheep.

Yet, eventually, the time comes where they grow up. No longer do talking dogs and dancing dolls follow them around, and the child won’t talk about their little friend anymore, leaving them behind. They fade from one’s memory, a ghost long forgotten…

But what if they don't?

What if they never grow out of their ‘imaginary friend’? What if it follows them all throughout their life? A schizo diagnosis would be in order, and years of therapy.

Sadly, that’s how it is for me; well, not the “seeing things and copious amounts of therapy” part.

He’s just… a coping mechanism.

A world to go to in my head when everything feels as if it’s crashing down. I don’t know where I’d be without him.

When I was small, no one seemed to enjoy my presence. I was always considered a nuisance with all of my heart problems. Making real friends was hard; people would up and leave after a few months, and I’d be alone again. I was a bother, in and out of doctors offices and never able to hang out. Texts would go ignored because I was too busy having tests run in cold hospital beds, hooked up to machines.

The nurses would joke with me, braid my hair and tell me gossip since I was in there so much – but it wasn’t the same as having friends my age that I can go to the movies with. So, when I finally came to the conclusion I’d be alone forever, I made a friend.

Yes, I made a friend.

I put all the qualities of my ideal friend in him; He was straight out of a cool, teen indie movie — the perfect boy next door. He would be the best friend you could go on long road trips with, get donuts with at ungodly hours in the morning. Quiet enough that I could talk for hours and he would just listen, but could still make me laugh with little remarks.

Since nobody else would talk to me, and I had far too much time on my hands, I would travel into my own little world in my head where he existed. I’d talk to him everyday, hang out with him for hours. Whether I was in class, the car, or laying in my bed staring at my ceiling, I’d dissociate into a world where someone truly, really cared about me.

This went on for years. No matter my problem, he’d always have a solution, no matter my opinion, he’d always listen. He was my knight in shining armor from bad dreams and boring moments.

Eventually, I put so much detail into him, it felt as if he was real.

I could practically reach out and touch his hair, know what it would feel like to run my fingers through his messy platinum hair. Pointing out every emotion in his blue eyes, from the joy that sparkled in them when I would tell him jokes that only he would understand, or when they clouded over with worry when I would come to him crying after a stressful day. The moments his angelic smile would let out his signature laugh that would ring in my ears for hours, and I could practically hear it in reality. Or the way I could cringe at him when he would act like an awkward dork, but his giggles made me grin, and I always put up with him. It’s almost as if I could smell the soft fresh laundry scent of him, feel his warm skin from sleep.

Sometimes, I could go months without thinking about the truth;

but sometimes, there were days it would hit me like a truck.

“You’re not real!” I’d cry. He’d be sitting on my bed with me. Reaching out his hand, I’d flinch away. “None of this is real Xavier! You’re not real, this world isn’t real. I’m stuck in this reality where everything is hell, and I have nothing.”

“Hey, I need you to breathe-” This would be one of those moments where I could read his eyes. They’re always so alive, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was all a dream I created in my mind. His electric eyes that would go dark with a whirl-wind of emotions. Sadness, worry, disappointment. It would always be like I could actually see him in front of me, and not like I would be staring at my ceiling sobbing in my bed;

Alone.

No matter what, I’d always forget reality again, and he always came crawling back. We’d pretend like none of it ever happened. Of course it worked, why wouldn’t it? I controlled everything. All of his moves, all of his words, every laugh that came out of his beautiful mouth. He was my puppet and this was my play, just an actor in this devastating work of theatre.

I’d find myself mentioning him without realizing.

“My brother nearly burned down the kitchen yesterday!” One of the girls in my classes had said, groaning and throwing her face in her hands.

I smiled, “I have a friend like that. His cooking skills are… well let's just say calling it ‘cooking’ might be a bit generous.”

They all wiggled their eyebrows, ‘Ooo,’ they’d say, ‘he? Come on, are you holding out on us!’ Laughter erupted around the table, and my cheeks flushed. My whole body lit up with embarrassment, turning red from head to toe.

That night I went home and threw myself into my room, locking my door and screaming at the top of my lungs. Choking out sobs, throwing whatever my frail, shaking hands could grab.

“He’s not real! He’s! Not! Real!” I chanted like a prayer, a prayer that he would just disappear from my mind and I could just be normal. I felt defeated; while my heart struggled, my mind was strained too. My whole world, my entire life revolved around a boy that didn’t exist.

After my breakdown and a shattering ego death, I came to the heart wrenching conclusion that it was time I got over all of this. I needed to grow up, focus on the life ahead of me. I was going to graduate highschool, I was going to go to school to achieve my dreams, I was chasing the life I always wanted.

All by myself.

I couldn’t live the rest of my life tucking myself away everytime life got hard, talking to someone that I made in my head.

I grieved him, mourning as if I had suffered the death of someone so close to me I couldn't bear to go on without him. Yet, with time, the wounds began to heal and the chronic, plaguing thoughts of him fleeted my head. I tucked him deep into a pocket of my mind I couldn’t access if I tried, just to keep myself safe from my own thoughts.

Thanks to all the attention I poured into my studies to distract myself from the emptiness of him being gone, I graduated with excellent grades and got into my first choice, the university of my dreams.

Walking down the campus sidewalk, I took a deep breath of the brand newness of everything. The cold fall air was putting hustle in everyone's strides on the first day of classes, and I mumbled a prayer that things would be different. Life would be different. Things wouldn’t be so lonely or empty anymore.

Trying to navigate my way around, someone bumped into me, almost knocking the both of us down.

They stumbled back, revealing a boy's shy smile, and a quiet chuckle that sounded like an angel's song you’d want to replay on repeat for the rest of your life; one I was all too familiar with.

“Oh, I should have looked where I was going, sorry-”

The boy trailed off and I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe.

The sparkling blue eyes, and his fluffy hair tousled around from the fall wind. The smile that could light a room, and a face that could melt thousands of hearts. He shone bright like a star. I thought if I breathed, or even blinked, he would disappear.

“Anyways, It’s my first day. Well, it’s everyone's first day, but it’s my first…first day. Does that make sense?” He frowned and his ears turned red, as met my eyes for the first time during the whole interaction.

I blinked, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, as he didn’t disappear, “Uh, yeah. It’s my first-first day too.”

The boy laughed, his shyness fading. He could laugh a million times, and I’d keep saying things to keep it going. I never wanted it to stop, I wanted to hear it until the moment I took my last breath.

“Well since it’s both of our first-first day, I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus a lot…” he paused, waiting for my name.

I whispered it so quietly, like it was a curse to speak it out loud. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me, yet he nodded and softly smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’m Xavier.”

(divider by cafekitsune)

#xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #l&ds xavier #lnds xavier #lads xavier #lads #lnds #lnds smut #lnds fluff #lnds angst #xavier love and deepspace #xavier fluff #xavier x mc #love and deepspace

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hazymoonlinh · 1 month ago

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Lost n Found

Lighter x reader

Part2

This is fking long

(Inspiration went crazy lmao)

The first thing you felt when you drifted back to consciousness was pain—sharp and relentless, like fire licking through every nerve in your body. It weighed you down, made your limbs feel like lead, and each shallow breath brought another wave of agony. For a moment, you wondered if this was hell, and if so, it was far more mundane than you imagined.

You cracked your eyes open, vision blurring, and darted them around the room. A hospital. The faint beeping of machines echoed softly, the sterile scent of antiseptic stinging your nose. You shifted slightly, only to regret it immediately when pain jolted through you.

I’m still alive.

A bitter thought, but you barely had the strength to hold onto it before something else caught your attention—someone else.

Slumped beside your bed, head resting heavily on his crossed arms, was Lighter Lorenz. The sight startled you—messy dark green hair falling carelessly over his face, his red scarf crumpled on the floor as if he’d thrown it off without care. He was completely still, his breathing deep but strained, like he hadn’t been fully at peace even in his sleep.

The faintest of groans slipped from your throat as you tried to move again, and that was all it took.

“—Hey.”

The chair scraped loudly as Lighter jolted upright, his eyes wide, raw with disbelief as he stared at you. For a moment, he froze, like he thought you were a figment of his imagination. Then his breath hitched, and you swore you saw his whole body sag in relief.

“You’re—” He choked on his words, a shaky, disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You’re awake.”

You barely managed a sound, a quiet hum that could’ve been confirmation or just pain. Even that effort had you wincing, but it didn’t matter. Lighter had already pushed himself closer, nearly trembling as he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his hands hovering near yours as if he didn’t know whether he could touch you. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze drifting toward him, and with what little strength you had, you moved your hand—barely lifting it from the bed—just enough to brush weakly against his. A feeble attempt, but you could feel his hand instantly catch yours, holding it carefully like it might shatter.

His grip trembled.

“Hey, don’t…” he whispered, his voice rough, pleading. “Don’t do that—don’t move, don’t—” His words cut off as if his throat closed around them.

You felt his hands shift, hesitating for only a second before he brought your limp fingers up, gently pressing them to his face. His skin was warm, rough with faint stubble, but you felt how his breath hitched against your palm, like the reality of your touch had broken something in him.

“You’re here,” he whispered, more to himself than you, eyes squeezing shut.

You stared weakly at him, trying to focus on his expression through the haze of exhaustion. His brows were furrowed, his mouth pulled into a tremble of a smile that couldn’t quite form, and his hands still shook as he held yours against his face. You couldn’t remember ever seeing him so undone.

His voice cracked again as he breathed out, “I thought I lost you. I thought I lost you.”

With what little strength you had, you shifted your fingers against his cheek, the movement so faint it was barely more than a twitch, but it was enough. Lighter stilled. His eyes fluttered open, and the look he gave you—relief and anguish and something deeply tender—almost made your chest ache more than the wounds.

“Don’t look so miserable,” you croaked weakly, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a good look.”

Lighter let out a broken laugh, half-choked, as he shook his head and pressed your hand a little closer to his face, like he couldn’t bear to let go. “You’re….unbelievable, you know that?”

Your eyelids felt heavy again, the exhaustion pulling you back under, but before you drifted off, you gathered just enough strength to move your fingers—barely brushing against his hair. It wasn’t much, but you could feel him freeze for just a second before his head dipped, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“…Don’t cry, Lighter,” you murmured faintly, your voice almost lost to the sound of the machines.

He said nothing, but his hand tightened around yours just slightly, steady and reassuring as your vision dimmed again. The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you was the warmth of him, anchoring you there, refusing to let you slip away again.

____

The days that followed were a blur of discomfort, frustration, and exhaustion. Recovery wasn’t the smooth, quiet process you imagined—every moment was heavy with dull aches and sharp stabs of pain that seemed determined to remind you of the fragile state you were in. The smallest movements felt monumental. Sitting up? Agony. Walking? A torment. And the worst part? You had to do it.

Lighter made sure of that.

“I’m not moving,” you grumbled, staring at the ceiling with all the stubbornness of someone who’d resigned themselves to becoming one with the hospital bed.

“You are.” Lighter’s voice was steady—calm, but firm. He stood by the side of the bed, arms crossed, his red pupils narrowing ever so slightly behind his sunglasses. “I’ve seen statues with more energy than you.”

You shot him a glare, one that would’ve been far more effective if you weren’t half-buried under blankets like a miserable, oversized cocoon. “I can’t feel my everything. Walking isn’t happening today.”

He huffed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he shook his head. “Come on now, don’t be impossible.”

“And you’re annoying.”

“Good,” he shot back without missing a beat. “At least you’re talking. It’s an improvement over yesterday.”

He was right, and that only made you grumble more.

Before you could retreat further into your blanket fortress, you felt Lighter’s warm hand on your shoulder—gentle, but unyielding. When you looked up, his expression had softened, those green eyes of his visible over the rim of his sunglasses, their red pupils burning with something that looked far too much like care.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “One step. That’s all I’m asking for today.”

You sighed deeply, the ache in your body somehow amplifying your exhaustion. “Why do you care so much?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a moment, Lighter didn’t respond. He just looked at you—really looked at you—and there was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice when he finally spoke.

“Because I’m not giving up on you,” he said softly, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

The weight of his words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, and it was enough to shut you up—at least for the moment. You seem to have zero resistance when it’s coming to him, and you’re not so happy about it.

With great reluctance, you let him ease the blankets off of you, though you shot him the occasional withering look as he gently slipped an arm under your back to help you sit upright.

“Careful—”

“I know,” you snapped, hating how pathetic your voice sounded. The motion sent fresh ripples of pain through you, and your face scrunched instinctively as you bit back a groan.

Lighter didn’t flinch. He didn’t complain. He just stayed beside you, his hold steady and careful. “Deep breaths. You’ve got this.”

You exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut. “I hate this.”

“Good. Hate’s motivating,” he replied smoothly, earning a scowl from you.

Slowly, he shifted his grip, easing your legs over the edge of the bed. You grimaced at the movement, feeling every ounce of weight in your body as if you’d suddenly been dropped into it for the first time.

“I’m dying,” you muttered dramatically.

“You’re not dying.”

“I might as well be.”

“You’re not. I promise.” Lighter’s voice was firm, but his touch remained impossibly gentle as he helped you to your feet. The moment your weight shifted, your knees wobbled dangerously, and you swore you would’ve crumpled straight to the floor if not for the steady hands gripping your waist.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his presence holding you upright when you couldn’t.

You frowned at the floor, breathing through the dull ache spreading through your limbs. “For god’s sake. I’m a disaster.”

“You’re alive,” he corrected gently. “Which means you’ve already won the hardest fight.”

You wanted to snap back, to say something sharp and sarcastic, but the words lodged in your throat as you looked up at him. He was staring at you with that same, infuriating patience—the kind that made you feel seen, whether you wanted to be or not.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mumbled.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m someone worth saving.”

Lighter’s grip on you didn’t waver. “That’s because you are.”

You looked away, cheeks warming faintly, too tired to argue anymore. Instead, you focused on taking a single, shaky step forward, feeling like a newborn deer. It was slow and awful, and you hissed through your teeth at the pain—but you did it.

“There you go,” Lighter murmured, his voice softer now, like he was proud of you without needing to say it outright.

“Ugh, you’re annoying,” you grumbled again, your hands weakly gripping his arms for balance.

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back easily. “But I can work with that.”

You let out a heavy sigh, too worn out to keep up the banter, but when you risked a glance at him, you saw something rare—Lighter’s smile. Not his usual teasing grin or smirk, but something softer, more genuine. It almost made the pain worth it.

Almost.

“Fine,” you muttered. “One step. But don’t expect me to run a marathon anytime soon.”

Lighter chuckled, his hands still steady on you as he helped you back to the bed. “One step at a time, sweetheart. That’s all I need from you.”

_____

“Don’t you have mission to do? The red scarf of the Sons of Calydon, abandoning his work and his boss didn’t say a thing?”

You tries to push him away with the lamest thing you could think of.

Lighter let out a quiet, amused huff at your attempt, though there was no humor in his eyes. He leaned against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, the signature red scarf draped over the chair like a constant reminder of the duty outside. But now, it can wait.

“You really think Big Daddy wouldn’t know exactly where I am?” he replied, voice low and steady, as if he were humoring you. “The old man sent me himself.”

Your frown deepened as you looked away, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Still… you have better things to do than babysit someone who can barely walk.”

“Wrong,” he said softly, cutting through your defenses. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You shot him a glare, but it wasn’t sharp enough to cut. It lacked the fire you’d once had. “Stop that. Stop acting like you’re—”

“Like I care?” Lighter finished for you, his red pupils flickering in the low light as he studied you. He tilted his head slightly, almost as though challenging you to fight him on it. “I thought we were done pretending.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to. You stared down at your bandaged hands, hands that still felt too weak to do anything, and tried to swallow the lump rising in your throat.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered, quieter now. “Staying here. Taking care of me. I don’t have anything to repay you. ”

Lighter shifted, pushing himself off the edge of the bed. He crouched down beside you, close enough that you couldn’t avoid looking at him. When he spoke, his voice was softer, gentler, but the weight of it was impossible to ignore.

“Stop saying that.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. He wasn’t teasing you now, or brushing you off like he sometimes did to lighten the mood. His gaze held yours, steady and unwavering.

“If you’re pitying me, just say-”

“You think I’m here because I feel sorry for you?” Lighter shook his head slightly, a faint, almost bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because you matter. Whether you like it or not.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The sincerity in his voice left you speechless, pinned under the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Lighter exhaled softly and sat back down in the chair beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You can push me away all you want,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, “but I’m not leaving. So go ahead, throw the worst you’ve got at me. You won’t shake me off that easily.”

You watched him for a long moment, trying to find cracks in his resolve—something to prove he was just saying what you wanted to hear. But there was nothing. Only patience. Only Lighter, sitting there like he’d already decided he was staying, no matter how hard you tried to shove him out.

“That stubbornness of yours is going to get you into trouble,” you murmured finally, trying to sound annoyed, though it came out weaker than you wanted.

Lighter smirked faintly, leaning back in the chair with a casual shrug. “I’ve been through worse.”

You let out a slow breath, your body too tired to keep fighting him off—at least for now. As much as you hated to admit it, his presence was steady, grounding. Something about having him there—unshakable and stubborn as ever—made the exhaustion in your chest feel just a little lighter.

“Fine,” you muttered, shifting deeper into the blankets. “Stay. But don’t expect me to be nice about it.”

Lighter’s grin softened into something warmer, quieter, as he settled into his seat again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_____

“Eat,” Lighter said, sliding the bowl of soup onto the small tray table in front of you. His tone was firm, but the way he angled the spoon toward your hand betrayed his gentler intentions.

You scowled, glaring at the soup as though it had personally wronged you. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten anything all day,” he shot back, nudging the tray closer. “I don’t care if you’re hungry. Your body needs it, and you’re not skipping this.”

You crossed your arms, slumping further into the hospital bed. “I’ll eat later.”

“You said that three meals ago.” Lighter leaned against the chair beside you, his green-black hair falling across his face, though the sharpness of his red pupils still burned through. “At this rate, you’re going to waste away before I can even teach you how to walk again.”

You rolled your eyes, the ache in your body making you even more irritable than usual. “I don’t need a lecture, Lighter.”

“And I don’t need to babysit a grown adult,” he countered, though his smirk didn’t quite hide the worry etched into his features. He straightened, his red scarf shifting as he crossed his arms. “But here we are. So, what’s it going to take? You want me to spoon-feed you?”

“Try it, and I’ll throw it at you,” you snapped, shooting him a withering glare.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “There’s the fire. Glad to know you’re not entirely gone.”

The back-and-forth continued for what felt like hours—over food, over water, over walking down the hallway. He tried everything to cajole, tease, or outright push you into doing the smallest things to take care of yourself. But you resisted at every turn, too worn out to summon the strength or will to comply.

Eventually, Lighter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood from the chair beside you. “Fine. Be stubborn. But I’m not giving up, so don’t think you’ve won.”

He turned his back to you, walking over to the small couch in the corner of the room and collapsing onto it with a groan. He pulled his scarf loose, tossing it onto the armrest before leaning back and resting his head against the cushion.

For the first time, you noticed how tired he looked—how the shadows under his eyes seemed deeper, the usual energy in his movements subdued. You frowned, guilt prickling at the edges of your stubbornness.

The minutes passed in silence, the faint rhythm of his breathing filling the room as he seemed to drift off. Your chest tightened as you watched him, his face soft and unguarded in the dim light.

Slowly, carefully, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Every movement felt like an uphill battle, but you bit back the groan of pain as you made your way toward him. You stopped just shy of the couch, your hands clutching the edge for balance as you gazed down at him.

“Idiot,” you muttered softly, though your tone lacked any real bite. “You’re working harder than I am. What are you trying to prove?”

He didn’t stir, his chest rising and falling steadily. For a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you should even be doing this. But the guilt wouldn’t let you leave it alone.

With a shaking hand, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For being so difficult. For… for making you worry so much.”

Your hand lingered for a moment before you leaned down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to his forehead. The warmth of his skin against your lips made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You straightened, gripping the couch again as you prepared to shuffle back to bed. But the sound of his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Lighter murmured, his tone teasing despite the hoarseness of his voice.

Your eyes widened as you turned back to him, catching the faint smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes were half-open now, those green eyes glinting faintly in the low light.

“Y-You were awake?” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“Barely,” he admitted, his smirk softening into something quieter as he sat up slowly. “But I’m glad I didn’t miss that.”

You glared at him, though the embarrassment in your expression dulled its edge. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he said, his voice laced with warmth as he leaned back against the couch. “But it’s nice to know you care, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, already shuffling back toward the bed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, his smirk growing. “Guess that makes us even.”

As much as you hated to admit it, there was something comforting about the teasing lilt in his voice—something steady, unshakable. And despite the exhaustion weighing on you, you felt the faintest spark of warmth in your chest as you settled back into bed, his words still lingering in the quiet of the room.

#zenless zone zero #lighter zenless zone zero #lighter x reader #please don’t flop #mihoyo #fluff #healing

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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Your vegas wedding! Ghost did something to me fr. It gave me something I didn't know I needed hahah

Now I need to know more! How did they end up getting married? What will reader do now? And how are the boys going to react?? I need answers 😭

Anyways, your writing is amazing! I found you through your bear shifter! Price fic and I've been hooked ever since ♡

awww thank you so much 😭😭 i'm surprised by how many people enjoyed that au - i never really know which ones are going to hit and which are going to kind of fall by the wayside.

i didn't flesh out the idea very much because i never intended it to be an actual fic, i just really enjoyed the idea of the reader waking up the next day with the deed already done lol. i looooveee writing moments of revelation or first encounters.

but the vague idea in my head was that Ghost was some heavy in between jobs (like a hitman/bounty hunter type of guy; even more of a lone wolf than in canon, but maybe still works as a sort of "collective" with the rest of the 141) who'd just finished up a job in vegas. I imagine he was probably getting a drink in the same bar as you and your friends, though a lot less inebriated lmao (i really struggle to picture Ghost ever getting drunk?? there's a really popular Ghoap fic called Poison Apple where the author describes Ghost as this very controlled, disciplined man who will only have one drink and that's it, because he's the one in control, and wooowww that's soooo how i see him).

i feel like reader probably got pretty drunk, yknow typical for a night out with friends, and caught his eye and actually approached him instead of the other way around and maybe spent the next hour flirting and talking to him (like. TO him lmao, like just chatting chatting chatting while Ghost is content to hang back and just listen, vaguely amused) before finally giggling something like "wouldn't it be funny if we just got, yknow, married? in vegas and all?" and i think it's the first time in awhile that Ghost just does something on a whim lol.

i'm so glad you enjoyed the bear shifter price fic!!!! i'll have more coming soon whenever i get my ass in gear and finish up part 3 of the ikea soap idea lmao!!!

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brandwhorestarscream · 4 months ago

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Do you have Headcanons about the omega decepticon high command?

Hmmmmm

Starscream is the KING of nest building. Out of all the Matriarchs, he's the one that puts the most effort into his nest. Just a giant Vosian bowl-shaped bed, overflowing with pillows and blankets and various soft things he's collected. If anything disrupts the delicate harmony he's created prepare for him to go ballistic. He's extremely possessive of his trine and, to a lesser extent, his seekers as a whole. They're all incredibly stupid idiots, but they're his idiots, and if they do smthn dumb he expects to hear about it so he can straighten them out himself. No one else is allowed to discipline the seekers, they're his. Star's special omega smell is that lovely after-rain smell combined with a twist of ozone. Don't ask me about the other two cuz idk yet lmao. Megatron definitely smells like gunpowder but I feel like that's every Megatron, yk?

Omega Soundwave is still the spymaster that knows everything about everyone, and not just because he's constantly linked up the warship systems. He has the most sensitive hearing and sense of smell of any recorded mecha, ever: even away from the ship, he knows exactly where you are and what mood you're in before you even see him. He can hear other's sparkpulses and their thoughts, and he can read any situation with ease. He catches heats and ruts before they happen, always knows when the sparklings are getting hungry, and he's the only one of high command that is any kind of tactile with Megatron. It's rare and does not happen where anyone can see, but every so often he'll nuzzle up under Megatron's chin, against the underside of his throat. They'll just stay like that for a bit, the Head Matriarch's arms ghosting over his bare and undefended front while he purrs. Moments of weakness and trust are rare in their circumstances, but very important 😌

As for Megatron... I think the reason he started the war was still the same, a shit load of class inequality and systemic abuse, and is determined come hell or highwater that everyone in the universe is going to fear him. Let them see a so-called tender, delicate lifegiver tearing the universe asunder, let them see that something as unimportant as presentation does not have any bearing on a person's capabilities. They want to call him evil and wicked and broken, a failure of an omega? Excellent. He relishes in it.

#omegaverse #hope this is smthn along the lines of what you were after lol #megatron #Starscream #Soundwave

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abrcmswrld · 1 year ago

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Treacherous | Mike Schmidt x Reader

Summary: Reader and Mike have been best friends since childhood. After a fight, Reader is given a surprise visit.

Warnings: General Angst, General Fluff, a suggestive make out scene in the nude but nothing too crazy, mentions of feminine clothing in one part but overall gender neutral

Author's Note: IM EDITING THIS RN SO PLEASE JUST IGNORE THE MISTAKES AND LIKE DUMB STUFF This is my first fic for Mike so bear with me! I tried so hard to adhere to the movie timeline but if it seems shaky please just ignore it lmao. I'm also bad at pacing sorry. I’d love to make this a series cause I’m in love with a good friends to lovers trope.

Mike had always been a bit of a mess. All of the time that you've known him, this has never changed. You can recall times on the playground of boys calling him names for his sensitivities. How were they to know the gravity of his situation? How were you to know? But you always felt called to stand up for him either way.

So you'd hound them off. You'd grab his hand and pull him off the dirt and to a quiet corner of the playground. The two of you would sit on the wooden border, picking at the grass and watching the other kids play.

His sensitivities would quickly turn to a certain hardness that you'd never fully come to understand, even in your late twenties. He'd open up the tiniest bit in high school, after his mother had passed away. He was only 17 years old. You were still children.

You have memories of standing uncomfortably in the dress your mother had insisted you wear to the funeral. You didn't know how to approach him then. He sat alone in a chair on the far side of the funeral home, a blank expression on his face. You couldn't say a word as you took tiny footsteps towards him. And he didn't say a word either, just looked up with bloodshot eyes. You'd hugged him then, feeling his shoulders shakes against you.

Soon it was time for the two of you to start thinking about college and your lives outside of the scope of small town high school. Talks of plans to find something new and excited were quickly stomped out by the failures of his father. You can recall a 23 year old Mike begging for your company on late nights when his father's drinking had reached a climax.

And you'd gladly show up for him. Abby was only six by that time, and Mike was all she had. Mike spoke about his father with disdain to you. Never crying the way he had as child, but you could see a sad anger within the conversations. And really, you couldn't blame him.

You can remember a night on the roof of your childhood home. It wasn’t your first time sneaking Mike through the window of your bedroom. It was a cold December night, and you were home for the holidays.

“I don’t think my dad’s coming back.”

Your knees were pulled up and under your chin as you rest your head and listened to his worries. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I mean, he hasn’t been back for three days and I think this might finally be it.”

You furrowed your brows and met his gaze.

“I’ll move back here.”

In that moment he had begged you not to. You were so close to finishing your degree and he insisted that he could not be the reason you didn’t finish. So you heeded to his wishes. You finished your final semester.

In the 6 months that you were gone after that night, his dad had not returned. Mike had stepped up to be a guardian for his sister. Family court would later assure this in legal documentation.

You had hugged him tightly the first night you were home and assured him that you would be there, for the both of them.

━━━

You would prove that to him when his original babysitter had ghosted him.

“Probably got tired of not being paid.” He had said when you asked why.

You don’t ask for pay. You had a day job that kept you stable enough to live. And as Mike’s hours were night shift, there was really no problem with the arrangement.

It would go on for a few weeks. You hadn’t seen pay, but you didn’t mind. Mike would cook you breakfast when he got home. That was payment enough for you.

But you could notice he wasn’t doing well. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. He had confided in you about the actions of his Aunt Jane. He showed you the papers with bold letters proclaiming a request for a change of custody. His stress and worry made sense to you now.

He would have to prove he was fit, a big ask in a court setting, especially for someone like Mike. You had encouraged him the best you could.

But everything had come to a head on a night when Mike had intended to actually pay you.

He woke you from your light sleep on his couch, alerting you that he was home. He sat his tired body on the recliner.

“There’s a 20 dollar bill in my jacket pocket.”

His eyes are closed as he speaks. It seems the night has been a rough one for him. “You don’t have to, but thank you.” You find the jacket lying on the kitchen table. You feel slightly bad as you reach your hand in to find the bill, but your guilt falls into confusion as your fingers brush the tiny bottle inside.

You let your eyes travel over the orange bottle in your hands. You furrow your brows. You turn to face the recliner he sits in.

"Mike."

He turns his head to face you, tired eyes falling on yours. He sees the bottle in your hands and you can see a sense of uncertainty and dread fall across his features.

"What are these? Sleeping pills?"

He immediately tenses, as if he had been avoiding this topic with everyone. But he responds quietly, “Yes.”

You fall silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. Realistically, there was nothing wrong with sleeping pills. People use them all of the time to sleep. But Mike seems hesitant to cover the topic of these pills and why he uses them.

An additional concern comes up in the way he had stuffed them in his jacket pocket. Why was he taking them to work? You hate the way your thoughts sound like the micromanagement of a mother, but all you can see is the bright yellow of the custody papers and Abby’s sweet face in your mind.

“Have you been taking these at work?”

He’s silent. It’s enough of an answer for you. You sigh as you sit the bottle down on the kitchen counter. You’ve known he wasn’t well. The incident that had gotten him fired from his last job, the dark circles under his eyes, the hardness about him, it all worried you. But you had always chose to let him live. Let him make his mistakes.

“Mike, talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

He lets out a spiteful scoff as if the conversation is beneath his worries at the moment. He lets out a shaky sigh. “I feel connected to him there. I don’t know why, but I do.”

There’s no doubt in your mind who he is referring to. His baby brother. The one he couldn’t save. You let him continue.

“If I can put myself into the right state of mind, I can see it. I can watch it over and over. And if I try hard enough maybe I might see who took him.”

He voice drifts off to a quiet and weak tone, “That’s all that matters to me.”

You can tell he’s hurt by the way that his voice comes out strained and weak, and it hurts you too. It’s not as if you couldn’t understand the pain of the situation. He’d cried to you all those years back when it first occurred. What you can’t understand is how he could let it ruin his relationship with Abby. Abby who is alive and well. Abby who, even if discreet, sees Mike as the moon and stars.

“And what about that little girl who sits around and draws you all day long?”

It makes you feel like a bitch to even say such a thing to him, but if it gives him a shake maybe it’d be worth it. “What about her?”

He stands still as a statue, emotions shifting across his face as he processes the words you’ve shot at him. You’re sure they strike like a bullet. His mouth opens and closes again, so you speak again.

“I know how badly you want to bring him back, Mike. To bring him back and be able to pretend none of that ever happened.”

He furrows his brows and you can the see the hurt flood his expression.

“But you’re going to lose them both if you don’t get your shit together.”

You sigh. You hate the way you sound like a mother scolding a child. You take a shaky breath. “Do you think that this job is really good for you? I mean-“ He cuts you off with a scoff and a laugh.

His tense attitude has you uncomfortable and defensive. You hate the way your voice becomes strained as you speak. “I just think it’s taking a toll on you.”

“I need this job, otherwise I’m never gonna see her again.”

And of course you know that. He needs a job to look good for a court that’s supposed to be able to decide if he’s right to take care of his sister. But what good does a job do on paper if the court can clearly see the way his mental stability is shaky? He hesitates and meets your eyes with a tense look as he speaks,

“You’re here to babysit Abby, not me.”

You stand silently in front of him for a moment before grabbing your coat. You turn toward him. You can see the quirk of regret on his expression, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t take it back.

“It’s gonna take more than a shitty job that drives you crazy to keep her. I think you should find somebody else to babysit Abby.”

There’s malice in your tone and you hate it. But you can’t make excuses for him. You ignore his voice as he says your name quietly. You just let the door close behind you a you walk to your car. You wait for the door to open again behind your back. It doesn’t.

He doesn’t text you either. In fact, you don’t hear from him for another week and you wonder if he’s already replaced you and plans on holding the grudge.

You assume he must have. He must have found another babysitter for Abby. It seemed he was saving money to actually pay whoever took that role.

You can’t stop yourself from becoming more and more sad as the week goes on. You find yourself worrying more and more about Mike. And Abby. There’s no doubt in your mind that Jane was still adamant on proving in court that Mike was an unfit guardian.

You don’t know why you feel as though your presence could somehow remedy that. You don’t know why you feel an ache so deep in your heart. Friendship breakups are common. But Mike was different.

You still don’t let yourself text him. You would give him the power to choose that route. To choose you and the friendship you had given him since you were both children. And by the end of the week you have to force yourself to sleep.

And by the end of the week you get what you had secretly hoped for.

━━━

The knock on your door is urgent. You're half asleep as you rise out of the comfort of your bed. Your feet press against the cold floor as you rush to see who it could be. As you glance through the peephole you're met with those familiar black curls.

You open the door swiftly, shivering at the cool breeze that flows in. He looks like hell. Abby stands at his side. You're stunned, "Oh my God." You open the door wider and usher the two of them in.

Abby seems to be physically uninjured, while Mike's face is bloodied and bruised. You whisper to Mike,

"What the hell happened?"

He looks to Abby before he answers. "Abby should get some rest while we talk." You nod immediately. "Of course. She can sleep in my bed while I patch you up."

You lead the young girl to the bed and ensure she's tucked in. She thanks you quietly before you leave the room. You grab some first aid supplies from the bathroom cabinet on your way back.

"Sit."

You point Mike in the direction of the couch. He winces as you wipe the open cuts with alcohol wipes. You raise an eyebrow, “ You look like hell, Mike.” He scoffs in response.

“So you gonna tell me who did this to you, or am I just gonna have to keep wondering?”

Mike hesitates. You stop your movements to look at him with concern. He shakes his head, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.” You sigh,

“Mike, I know you. Just tell me.”

And so he does. He explains everything down to the little details he can remember. It sounds crazy, it absolutely does. But you can’t bring yourself to think he’s faking it.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw. She knows what she saw.” He points in the direction of the room Abby was soundly sleeping in.

“I believe you.”

He closes his eyes and exhales a large breath. You continue to clean the cuts along his face and head. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” He nods. There’s still an awkward tension between the two of you. He’s upset with himself for letting you leave the way you had, and you’re ashamed of yourself for letting him push you away. You break the silence at the same time,

“You know-“

“I’m sorry-“

You can’t help but laugh a little, and he smiles weakly back at you.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.” You continue.

He shrugs. “You were just looking out for me. I understand that now.” It means a lot coming from Mike. He’s stubborn, not usually one to admit when he’s wrong. It makes the moment all the more sincere. You smile slightly, letting a hand brush his cheek where a bruise is blossoming under the skin.

“I wouldn’t have said what I did if I didn’t care about you.”

He nods slowly and leans his cheek into your caress. You can feel the warmth of his hand as he lets it fall to your hip. His voice falls to a whisper.

“I care about you too.”

You smile and swipe a thumb over his bottom lip, where the plush skin has split from impact and smeared blood across his pale chin. He groans as he leans up, it’s only then that you notice the large gash on his side.

He attempts to stand, hobbling on his injured leg. “Mike,” He turns toward your bedroom, ready to grab Abby and get out of your hair. When he turns his back, you can see the blood seeping through his shirt and the large tear across his back. You grab his hand,

“Mike.”

He faces you again, letting a quick glance fall to your now connected hands. “Let her sleep, she’s alright. Let me help you.”

He stands awkwardly in front of your bathroom counter. His muscles flex with each touch of your fingers around his wounds, his fingers gripping the counter until his knuckles are white.

“I think it’d be best if you took this off.”

You’re awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his long sleeve shirt. He meets your gaze in the mirror and you feel small. Your voice is nearly a whisper, “I- I just can’t see.”

You stare at the floor as he pulls the shirt over his head. The gash is messy, but not deep enough to require stitches. Regardless, it’s covered in a thick layer of blood and sweat. You usher him to turn, and you see that the cut on his side is not better.

He can see the way your eyebrows screw together. “Is it that bad?” His voice has a touch of dread hidden in its tone. “I mean,” You glance at him.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you need to clean them or they’re gonna get infected.”

He swallows and nods. You walk to the shower, turning the knobs and adjusting the water to an appropriate and comfortable temperature. You clear your throat, “Here. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you…do your thing.”

You turn on your heels to give him privacy. As soon as your fingers touch the metallic surface of the doorknob, his hand catches your free hand, pulling gently. You turn toward him, meeting his eye. He pulls you closer and carefully pulls you into an embrace. You’re worried you’ll catch his wounds with your hands so you let them hover above his skin, not actually touching. But you want to.

You can feel his breath on your neck where he’s buried his face. He speaks into the sensitive skin, “Thank you. I don’t thank you enough.” That’s the moment you finally let your hands rest on his skin.

“You don’t have to thank me, Mike. I do it because I care about you.” You gently brush your fingers across his upper back, avoiding his cut. “Besides, you’d do it for me.”

He pulls himself from your neck, and you drop your hands from his back gently, expecting him to pull out of the embrace. But he stays close to you and only pulls back enough to see your face. Your cheeks are so hot. You can feel it and you know he can probably see it. He keeps his hands at your sides, just above your hips in a way that feels respectful. You allow yourself to put your hands on his forearms, thumbs resting in the bend of his elbows.

“Your water is gonna get cold.”

It’s a whisper as it comes out. He simply nods but doesn’t drop his hands from your sides. You smile shyly at him.

“Come with me.”

Your face is instantly hot and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the steam that’s building in the room and around the two of you. With your eyes wide and your mouth opening but no words coming out, he looks at you with hesitation, like he can’t believe the words actually left his mouth.

You can see the fear building on his expression the longer the silence drags on. Thoughts are racing through your head. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of this. You loved him. There’d always been a flutter in your stomach and a heat in your cheeks that let you know that perhaps it could be more than a friendship. You want that. But is this really how it’s going to happen?

You imagine the two of you going from childhood friends to becoming well acquainted with each other’s bodies in the span of one stressful night after not speaking for nearly a week. But there are no alarm bells going off in your head. You can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

So you kiss him. With his arms still around you and the heat from his bare chest creating a sense of protection from everything. With the whirl of water hitting the tub filling your ears. With the image of Abby sleeping soundly in your bedroom in your mind.

When you pull away, he looks at you with a sense of longing you’ve not seen on him before. You don’t want to say a word, not right now. It’ll be complicated. You know it will be. And you’ll have to have that conversation eventually, but right now the only thing you want is the heat of the water and the silk of his skin against yours.

So you finally unwrap yourself from him to begin working the buttons on your shirt. You’ve turned your brain off momentarily. Your fingers are on autopilot as they remove each article of clothing. If you allowed yourself to think, you’d surely turn in on yourself from the shame.

But when you’re finally bare and displayed in front of him, he doesn’t speak. He only looks with a fondness in his eyes that goes beyond a lustful stare. He slowly works his pants off his injured figure, wincing in the process, and soon he’s just as bare as you.

You’re shaking and cursing yourself internally for doing so. God, why were you shaking? You know he notices as he reaches his hand out to touch your arm lightly, grounding you in reality, and speaks, “Are you okay?”

You nod. More than okay.

The water feels heavenly as it beats against the skin of your back. Mike hobbles into the shower after you. He’s hesitant as you usher him to switch with you. It’s gonna hurt, but it’s necessary.

Your fingers lightly brush the wound on his back. He'd already been wincing slightly from the sting of the water, but your touch has him tensing immediately. You grab a cloth and dampen it enough to be effective in cleaning the general blood and grime from the afflicted wound.

The moment your cloth cover hand touches the wound, he cries out through closed teeth, "Fucking- fuck!" His hands are planted against the shower wall in front of him. He bites his lip, holding in the whimpers of pain, trying his hardest not to wake Abby.

"Shh. It's okay, Mikey."

You let a gentle hand fall to his non injured side, brushing his skin. You're trying to sooth his tense and pained form as much as possible.

Soon enough you have both gashes cleaned up and ready to be bandaged. Mike turns to face you in the shower. His face still has a slight touch of discomfort to it, but he smiles weakly at you.

“Thank you.”

You smile back and nod. You’ve hardly said a word outside of attempting to sooth his pain with sweet words. The cold is starting to seep in from the tiny crack in the shower curtain. You can feel tiny goosebumps beginning to form on your skin. He frowns slightly and breaks the silence again.

“Did I cross a line…with this?”

Your head is already shaking before you can even comprehend the question. Like your body knows the answer before your mind does. “No, Mike.” He hesitates in his response, standing still and quiet before stepping towards you.

He seems to be able to move around a little better. You’re not sure if it’s the water cleaning the previously irritated wounds or if it’s the adrenaline pumping through his body. Either way you’re thankful as his hands are grabbing at your face and pulling you into another kiss.

It’s sloppier than the previous kiss you had shared, and he’s pushed you back so far that your back is hitting the cold tile of the shower wall. A fog has taken over your mind as you reach around his shoulders, digging your fingers into the plush muscle of his back.

The feeling of his tongue swiping into your mouth has sent you entirely mad. You’re whining slightly at the feeling and your eyes are half lidded. You can’t even think of the fact that this is your childhood best friend kissing you. Making you shudder. You can’t find it in you to care, you want him.

“Mikey…”

It’s a whispered moan as you let your head fall back against the tile, exposing the delicate skin of your neck to his wandering mouth.

Despite his injured form, his hands are tight around you. You'd thought of this before, in the heat of the night alone in your high school bedroom, hormones taking over completely.

You'd imagined the strong grip of his hands and the contrast of his plush lips. The bite of white teeth and soothing warmth of the hot water.

It’s absolutely divine, you think. He is divine. You know you’ll have dark bruises on your neck from the way he bites. You can’t help but run a hand through the hair on the back of his head and tug slightly. The moan is elicits rumbles through your neck and you want more.

You’re absolutely drunk off of the feeling of his body being this close to yours, nearly intertwined. You don’t even think when your nails swipe the cut on his back. That is until he lets out a yelp in the crook of your neck and promptly jump back.

You’re wide eyed immediately, realizing what you’d just done.

“I’m- I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mike.”

You can still see the remnants of a wince on his face but he laughs. And you find yourself letting out a nervous laugh with him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

You laugh again, holding the palm of your head to your forehead.

“We should probably get out. It’s getting cold.”

You nod.

━━━

You manage to sneak past Abby’s sleeping figure long enough to grab old clothes from your room. You find yourself thanking the universe than Abby is a heavy sleeper.

You’re also thankful that you hadn’t given Mike back an old t-shirt that he had left in your home years ago. He smiles at you when you hand it to him. He puts it on and examines the familiar print on the front.

“You’ve been holding this one hostage, huh?”

You gently nudge his shoulder and let out a chuckle. “Shut up.”

You’ve layered blankets in the middle of your living room floor. You speak as you lay pillows down on the makeshift palette. “Abby is sleeping peacefully, I’m not letting you drive home tonight, and there’s no way I’m letting you sleep on my tiny couch.”

You point exaggeratedly at the “bed” you’ve created for the two of you. “Ta-da.” You let yourself fall back onto the layers of pillows and blankets. It’s surprisingly cushioned. You sigh. “Actually not that bad, Mikey.”

He watches you with a smile from his seat on your couch. “You’ve really out done yourself.” He slides off the couch and into the layers of blankets and pillows next to you. He turns to rest on his uninjured side, facing you. It’s dark in the room, but you’ve left one lamp on. You can see his features glow under the warm light. You brush a hand on his cheek lightly.

“I’m glad you didn’t die tonight, Mike.”

He snickers, but you’re serious. The thought of his face on the news, just another tragedy at Freddy’s, haunts you. “I’m serious.”

He simply stares at you. “You’re not gonna go back there, right?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna take care of her. I can’t keep a job.”

Your thumb brushes at his cheek, soothing his tension. “I’ll help you. When have I ever left you alone in this?” You shiver as you think of the only time you’d walked out on him after that heated argument. You push the thought away and close your eyes.

“Really love you, Mike. You’re my best friend.”

You open your eyes hesitantly and you can see the shine of moisture in his. “Love you too.”

You place a kiss on his lips. It’s chaste, but full of a deep warmth. It leaves you wondering what comes next.

You tuck yourself in close to him.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt fluff

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perotovar · 2 days ago

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get to know your moots

tagged by angels @guiltyasdave @kedsandtubesocks and @morallyinept ty bbs <3

what's the origin of your blog title?: my title is only visible on my desktop theme, but it's "white roses, black doves" which is a lyric from "take me back to eden" by sleep token

OTP(s) + shipname: halsin/astarion, frankie/santiago, thorin/bilbo, shane/tim, river/frankie, joel/tess, i have a lot lmao

favorite color: dark green

favorite game: baldur's gate 3 (no one is surprised)

song stuck in your head: "take me back to eden" because i started singing it when i read my blog title lmao

weirdest habit/trait?: biting my nails. i've tried stopping for years. fuck anxiety.

hobbies: playing video games, making gifs, making bracelets

if you work, what's your profession?: not currently! i'm a student.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: something in the film industry. cinematography, film editing, music, anything

something you're good at: i think i'm pretty good at being creative. not in any particular way, someone else would have to tell me lol

something you're bad at: at the moment, writing LMAO i can't get the words out, maaannn

something you love: i love a lot of things lol i'm having some arnold palmer tea/lemonade rn so i'll say that

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: metal bands and pedro lol

something you hate: a lot lmao but right now, it's homework

something you collect: so much................. it's a problem. little figurines/funko pops, d&d dice, plushies, stationery, etc

something you forget: SO MUCH. it's the depression/anxiety i think

what's your love language?: acts of service/words of affirmation

favorite movie/show: narcos and lotr

favorite food: ramen

favorite animal: bison and bears!

what were you like as a child?: i was a relatively good kid, but i was a little shit too lol

favorite subject at school?: english, american sign language, and orchestra

least favorite subject?: math/science, but i appreciate these a LOT more in college

what's your best character trait?: i think i'm a good friend? again, someone else would have to tell me lol

what's your worst character trait?: i hold myself back a lot out of fear

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: today? i'm skipping class to do homework, so i guess i'd change that i'd have to do homework LOL

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: jrr tolkien

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): literally any of the frith fics people wrote 🥹 they're all SO amazing

np tags: @sp00kymulderr @for-a-longlongtime @quinnnfabrgay-writes @ozarkthedog @chronically-ghosted

@moonlitbirdie @userparamore @iero @morallyinept @sin-djarin

@covetyou @arthurhowlett @reedrchards @lotusbxtch @wolvieispunk

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @djarinmuse @almostfoxglove @schnarfer @missredherring

@agentmarcuspike @ghostofaboy @bonezone44 @yopossum and anyone else that wants to <3

#admin

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qoldenskies · 29 days ago

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Wowwee killing Kitsune is kinda funny because you think that things will be irreconcilably different after!! And the trick is that nothing changes except yourself! It’s hard to see the differences between her ichor and Donnie’s blood because to you both are something sacred!!! And killing her hasn’t changed anything because your hands are already coated in your brother’s blood when you add Kitsune’s on top of it :3 but it feels good and you want to be selfish one more time before you give your life up trying to fix what you broke

its so fascinating that leo says "we're almost done" like this is the final fix. like this is the final loose end to tie up that will make things right again. donnie doesnt even know kitsune exists yet and leo treats her death like a part of his recovery process, when its not. its him masking selfish intentions with selfless ones.

in the end, although killing kitsune will ensure safety for donnie going forward if/when he goes into the hidden city again, they're unable to admit its not REALLY about him. i mean it is in the way that all of this trauma theyve been left with is, but i think killing kitsune is something they yearn for in order to right themselves. to take out all the anger and agony they've just endured; its vengeance for their lost childhood.

and its not going to work, and itll only feel good in the moment. nothing they do will make a vengeful god scream and beg and cry, nothing will make her regret it, nothing will make her feel the kind of helplessness they do, and that donnie did. they cant take that power back from her, she will always hold it over them, even in her banishment. it will never feel like justice.

all they've done is bloodied their hands and made a powerful enemy of witch town. kitsune is not the ghost that haunts donnie; that's their burden to bear. donnie's a little busy being haunted by the ghost of himself lmao

#ask #canary continuity #like witch town was a big deal to donnie but in the end that is his brothers' problem now #its a bigger deal to them. it haunts them. they gleefully make an enemy out of them #its something they can point their fingers at and HATE HATE HATE #it feels terrible to hate anything else. not after what happened #but hating them will never ever make them feel better. no matter how much they want it to

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solivagantshenanigans · 2 months ago

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(Spoilers for TBHK Chapter 120) analysis but bear with me because whenever I write suddenly my vocabulary turns to one of a 6th grader

This page is after nene shouts out his name, nonono not the living one (amane) the one whos been living in bathrooms for 50 years as a ghost (hanako) (also she prob said that out of habit aww)

Then amane seems to snap out of his "KILL YASHIRO NENE!!!!" haze and LOOK HOW HE DESTROYED A DOOR SO KOU AND YASHIRO CAN ESCAPE????????

THAT WAS FUCKING CRAZY ehem anyways i have a hunch possessed amane was the one who recovered his memories from the old timeline. You can differentiate between the two by the eyes

Possessed amane- black, dead eyes

Not possessed amane- light/ not colored except he has his pupils

Not possessed amane doesn't remember yashiro but after yashiro had called for hanako, it seems to have clicked in his mind and caused him to not only let them escape, create a way for them to do so.

Amane is part of the dead, but I think hes the main catalyst?? (He wouldve looked badass holding an axe if he didnt look so clueless lmao) with the way hes on the centered and oh my fucking god theres ALOT OF DEAD BODIES

And with the way the background centers him it kinda makes him look like a god??? Or like a saviour to them considering how the entity always thinks of itself or the well as 'paradise'

(The tentacle around his body kinda makes it look like a robe, and yknow who else wear robes? Jesus Chris–)

Also "the dead can never go against the house's will. Ever." Lets assume hypothetically the house wanted yashiro to be killed, but amane lets her go. Why? Maybe since he 'owns' the house it kinda considers him as part of the house? Maybe because hes kind of the one mainly doing all those murders, he managed to snap out of it to let them go for a moment?

Even Kou was snapped out all because of Yashiro??? He was just standing there until he heard the name? Why particularly the name that halts both Amane and Kou from the entity possessing them?

Maybe because 'Hanako' doesn't exist in that timeline anymore and only from the old one. So when they were reminded even of a fraction of the old timeline cue the name it made them stop? I mean, it doesnt take a lot for yashiro to get her memories back (she literally got it all on her own; remembering about hers and hanako's promise from her own inner monologue)

Im still sad and mad that kou fucking died. Im in the arcane fandom so the angst from different series both punching me in the guts together like it was teaming up on me is great

This is a mess im sorry, im probably gonna edit later but yeah have this word vomit

#Tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #amane yugi #nene yashiro

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fazgoo-connoiseur-1987 · 2 months ago

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the noble Ralph Phoneguy

PROMPTS !

First impression

I can't really remember what Wren-10-years-ago thought about the guy but I think it was vaguely sympathetic. I probably woobified him cus I was like 11. I think i gave him blond fluffy hair and an eyepatch?

Impression now

Really sympathetic. Generally very pleased with his characterisation in the week before. Downtrodden employee who's way too invested in his job. Sweet guy who doesn't know he can stand up for himself. I like him.

Favorite moment

Favourite RALPH MOMENT is the thing from the book where he quotes this one advert every day at work. I like it.

Idea for a story

I have been writing a second person Ralph pov thing with him and Dave about sensing something's off without being able to put your finger on what. Also bowling.

Unpopular opinion

I'm really unsure of what the wider ralph consensus is tbh. I've seen it mentioned that his memory problems might be ghost related and like... no. He's just traumatised and dissociative lmao. I've been concidering making younger him a tad shady too (like maybe he did some dirtywork for fazbears when he first joined) but that definatly mellows out as he gets older. Now he just endangers people by accident and negligence.

Favorite relationship

I think him and Dave are funny. I don't necesserally ship them or anything i just like the idea that they hung out at all. Also his relationship with his daughter is very sweet and makes me sad.

Favorite headcanon

He possess Helpy. It makes me giggle. He's stuck in the little plastic bear and now Henry ACTUALLY doesn't have to pay him instead of coming up with excuses not to.

#i lik ehim #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #yelling about the bear #asks #phone guy #blackplaaague

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ghcstao3 · 2 years ago

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For some reason all I can think of is Sleep talker!Soap and just:

Civilian AU where Ghost is a burglar and breaks onto. Soap's apartment only for a sleep talking Soap to say something incredibly coherent but also terrifying for someone who's just broken in to bear

Soap, passed out in a deep sleep, back to Ghost

Ghost trying to sneak through his bedroom to find good shit to steal when suddenly the person he thought was sleeping seemingly addresses him.

Soap: Stop.

Ghost, freezes, terrified.

Soap, back still to Ghost: it's dangerous for you to come any further. He hears everything.

Ghost, shitting himself while thinking: Who? A guard dog? A roommate? GOD?

Soap, suddenly sits up and stares at his closet before pointing at it, muttering something in Gaelic, and crashes back into bed, snoring loudly.

Simon, in the moment not recognizing the words as Gaelic but rather assumes the statement to be the forgotten name of an ancient eldritch demon, suddenly decides this house isn't worth breaking into

On the way back home, empty handed, he tries coming up with a story to tell Roach as to why he doesn't have anything. He thinks telling the truth will get him laughed at, so he settles on it being a guard dog

Hope tjay made sense, I'm typing on s phone with a fever so 🤷🏻‍♀️

oh noo i hope your fever has gotten better 😭 and don’t worry!! you made complete sense lmao

It’s not honest work, but it is work.

At least, that’s what Ghost tells himself. It’s what he tells himself, and it’s what he tells Roach, and that’s just enough to matter.

But like hell does he deserve this psychological torture for it.

He’s hit homes like this before—resident still sound asleep as he creeps in through the only apartment window that he knew would budge. It’s unfortunate to be a bedroom, but Ghost is fortunate enough to be good at what he does.

Which maybe isn’t something to boast—but c’est la vie.

At any rate, from casing to a general sense of what he’s getting into, Ghost had suspected this apartment wouldn’t be any different. He had expected to break in, take the valuables hidden in places people often think to be secure but aren’t, and get out before he’s ever noticed.

What he hadn’t expected was the apartment’s sole tenant to start muttering things in his sleep, fully comprehensible sentences that are just a little worrying to an intruder like Ghost, like, It’s dangerous for you to come any further, or, You can’t escape once he hears you.

And what he hadn’t expected was the apartment’s sole tenant to sit up while Ghost is going through the man’s things, slowly raise an arm to point at nothing but shadows and utter some unintelligible curse or something, only to linger a moment before laying back down and snoring loudly.

After a very short moment of deliberation, it’s safe to say Ghost would prefer to cut his losses before he gets to find out what the fuck is up with this guy if he ever wakes up.

Ghost doesn’t care that he can see on Roach’s face that he doesn’t believe when he’s told the cause for empty hands was an unaccounted-for guard dog, just so long as he never has to deal with that creepy shit ever again.

Which is just a bit too bad—the guy had had a pretty nice place.

#ask #ghost sees soap in public sometime following and freaks the fuck out #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #writing #alternate universe #ghostsoap

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iifishizzleii · 8 months ago

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könig & gaz - first meet

rare ship alert lmao. unedited :]

könig, who’s sent by kortac (much to his displeasure) on a co-op with task force 141.

he doesn’t like how they work, how their attention will divert from the mission the moment it comes to protecting civilians.

if there’s a chance that innocent lives can be saved, könig will do what he can. but, he won’t compromise a mission over a few lives, because what’s war without sacrifice? (not that their sacrifice means anything in the end, but to be fair, if you see a group of military men rushing one way, why wouldn’t you run the other way?) he has a job, and it’s a job that pays him to take lives. not save them.

the 141, on the other hand, work like they are. and it’s fucking annoying because they suddenly have a conscious for the lives they’re taking, as if the soldiers they’d killed in the field weren’t civilians in gear— as if they weren’t men who were someone’s husband, son, or father. but what does könig know? he’s just a colonel who’s been on the field longer than even price.

(the truth is, könig wasn’t raised knowing the value of human life. his father hated his mother, and his mother hated that he looked like his father. when he was diagnosed with social anxiety, it was just a label to the skin-crawling feeling he got whenever somebody stared at him for too long, the fraying to his nerves when the voices around him made the ones in his head scream louder. people had never done könig any good in his life. so, what did they deserve from him?)

he was forced to a briefing with the 141, and they were as insufferable as he remembered. price, with his unintelligible bear grunting that had könig leaning left because the hearing in his right ear had dulled, and the odor of cigarettes and stress that always followed him. ghost, who‘s staring was like a dissection he felt tugging at every nerve, dull eyes watching könig from across the table in a way that made the taller man want to peel out his eyes. soap, the blabbering bastard that never knew how to sit still without brushing up cozy against the masked lieutenant. all three of them were ripe for early retirement by könig’s hand, testing him with every indirect jab and comment made at the expense of their former enemy. then, a fourth man könig hadn’t bothered sparing any attention for asks price and question, and he turns.

his name was gaz. that’s what könig was told, at least, though he doubted it was the brit’s real name. not that he gave a shit. and ‘gaz’ was no older than thirty five.

he stood to price’s right, staring down at the map on the table with a sharp focus könig noticed. and while they weren’t many things on this Earth he enjoyed, one thing könig could appreciate was a weapon that was as lethal as it was transfixing.

he has big, brown eyes that swam with emotion, something könig’s bitter heart wouldn’t know a thing about. full, tanned cupid bow lips twisted into a thoughtful frown as price and laswell discussed their plans for the mission. his skin was copper, unlike the pale complexions könig was accustomed to seeing on Al Mazrah and Ashika Island. he has thick brows and sharp nose, and when he folds his arms across his chest, his biceps bulge under the grey-blue button up shirt he wears. the curve of his ass and muscled thighs are hugged by his tactical cargo pants.

he wasn’t stocky like soap, nor was he as intimidatingly huge as price or ghost. it was anything larger in size, after all, that people’s attention naturally gravitated to. könig would know. and between the four of them, gaz sits directly in the middle of being physically dominating. and it’s that which interests könig, because while any other less experienced man would chalk gaz’s size up to his skill, he knew better. gaz had every good of a chance of killing him as the rest of the men did. maybe even more, now that könig was aware of how his presence effected the group, and how easily gaz could use to his advantage.

“hübsche klinge,” könig muttered under his breath.

but, awareness seemed to lose meaning as he watched the young man across the room, dark eyes trailing up the thin fabric stretched across gaz’s stomach before lowering to watch his narrow hips as shifts to face price.

then soap cracks a joke and könig would have condemned him for it, unused to such easy going attitude while prepping for a mission, but the sight of gaz’s lips uncurling into a the barest hints of grin make könig freeze. he’s a grown man for christ’s sake, a force of nature feared by enemies and revered by allies. not even the sight of a his own family’s mangled corpses could sway him.

yet, watching that small grin on gaz’s face bloom into a full smile, an exasperated but amused laugh escaping plush lips at soap’s joke, has könig tightening his fists at his side, tracking the way gaz’s eyes crinkle in the corner from the stretch of his smile, his arms unfolding just to refold them oppositely.

könig decides at that moment that out of all the 141, gaz would be the biggest hindrance.

#cod #call of duty #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #konig #konig cod #gaz cod #RARE SHIP #konig x gaz #trying this out #sunny x grumpy #sunshine x grumpy #gaz is sunshine #konig is grumpy

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