#i mean i never really pay attention to it anyway bc it's usually not really indicative the driver's actual skills

[rockethorse]

The basegame wedding dress has a pregnancy morph??

[revcuse]

the more i look at the f1 2023 game ratings the more in realise how silly these ratings are, like they really just put some statistics in a beanie and drew them out for each driver and called it a day

[bananami]

STFUATTDLAGG

character/s: choso kamo x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: meangirl!reader x loser!choso is a pairing that lives in my head rent free so when you all voted for choso to be the next hot man i wrote for i knew this was what would come out of it so let’s get into it whores

WARNINGS: this is college based bc u know why. 18+, nsfw, mdni, the whole shebang, kiddos avert ur eyes IT'S ALL SMUT / also just be aware i did use fem language for reader. as always, i did not proof read xxx

A/N: delusion is like drugs for simps, and i am the crackhead

Choso isn't like a nerdy loser, more like he’s just an emo boy, he’s got that alternative look going on and in a school full of preppy rich kids he stands out like a sore thumb. Of course this leads to some not so nice kids being not so nice to him, to which like he literally could not care less. He pays no mind to what anyone thinks of him beyond of course what his brothers think of him.

And as much as people aren’t nice to him, they do not fuck with him directly, lowkey scared of his reactions. Especially following a specfic incident in which someone tried to pick a fight with him. At first he was going to just let it slide but then they said something rude about Yuuji and this man laid them out. People were sent to urgent care and everything. Choso was put on suspension and almost kicked out, but their family friend is a lawyer and threatened to sue the school and anyways (if you know who you know who) so he was allowed back at school and everyone’s a little weary of him. This doesn’t stop the mean comments from coming.

And you. You’re no exception. You made fun of him every chance you got. The way he always did his hair in that weird double bun updo, or how he had his nails painted black, his various piercings and tattoos, the way he dressed so much different, was so much different, than any of the other guys you knew at school.

And you were so disgustingly attracted to him. While everyone would sneer and make fun of him and you played along, in reality you were internally berating yourself.

Choso did his best to ignore you but to be honest in the end you were just too fun to mess with. He thought it was cute how you thought you could hurt his feelings, how you really tried, and didn’t realize that he had a thing for brats and that’s just what you were. Everyone else was too afraid to say it straight to his face ever since the fight except for you.

One time he caught you staring at him and he couldn’t help himself, leaning over with a careless smirk. "If you spent less time staring at me and more time paying attention to the lecture maybe you wouldn’t be failing the class."

"Fuck you, Choso.”

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hoped he’d mistake your embarrassment for anger. He didn’t. You snapped back, as usual. "Maybe if you didn’t dress like such a freak, you’d actually have some friends.”

"Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch your boyfriends would actually stick around for longer than a few months."

The one stung, and you tried not to let it show. Thrown off your game, all you could bring yourself to reply back was: “don’t call me a bitch.”

He shrugged, as though he were bored with the conversation already. "I never said it was a bad thing, just that you keep dating dudes who can’t handle you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn't answer though, and you spend way too much time thinking about what he could've meant. Was he implying that he could handle you? Was that why he constantly found ways to poke at you? Did he like when you were a brat? Did it matter if he liked it? It led your fantasies down a deep and dark rabbit hole that you spent weeks harping on.

Things get even worse after you realize that Choso might’ve been right about your grades slipping and staring at him in class and whatnot. And (for plot reasons of course) that would mean your professor paired you up with him for the final project so that you’d stand a better chance at passing the class.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside of his apartment door, debating how much you need to actually pass the course for your degree. You kept coming to the same conclusion. You definitely needed to.

"You just gonna stand at my door like a creep or can you move so i can let you inside?” He stood at the top of the staircase up to his apartment, watching you with another bored expression.

You're reaction is second nature. "I’m the creep? How long were you just standing there watching me? Maybe I’d already knocked and you didn’t answer so I was waiting. Let’s get on with it, I don’t need anyone seeing me hanging around-”

"Alright relax, princess. No one’s around to hear you act like you hate me. Come inside and I’ll grab us something to drink.” He opened the door to let you both inside, holding it open for you to enter first.

"First off, I do hate you. And second, how do I know you’re not going to poison me?”

"Don’t worry, I wouldn’t poison you. The plan was going more in the direction of choking.”

"Choked to death? Good to know.”

"You implied killing. All i said was choking.”

"Oh, gross.” You groaned. You pushed away the images that were brought to your mind. Choso's hand around your throat, fingers in your mouth, his breathy whispers telling you what else he'd have you choking on by the end of the night.

It's not too bad for the first few hours. You start out working on the project in the living room, but Choso’s neighbors are loud as all hell and you eventually ask if you guys can move into a room away from that shared wall. And (of course for plot purposes) that would be his bedroom.

"Your bedroom is exactly as I pictured it would be."

"This is the part where I make fun of you for picturing what my bedroom looks like."

"Yeah weird and creepy, just like you.”

"Your insults are getting less and less creative.”

"Yeah well….shut up.”

He’s surprised at that, usually you’d come back at him with something witty and clever and he actually enjoyed it.

It’s quiet and he’s sitting at his desk while you lay casually on his bed when he decides now’s as good a time as ever, and he might never actually get you alone again to say it.

"You ever gonna admit that you find me attractive or keep lying to the both of us?"

You wince. "I don't find you attractive. Stop flattering yourself."

"You flatter me enough with all the staring and drooling you do over me in class."

"You're obsessive," you snap at him.

"At least i can admit it."

You're caught off guard, stuck between wanting to ask what he means and not wanting to give in to the obvious baiting he's doing. When he throws the study material down on to his desk and plops down in front of you on his bed, it seems like he's resigned to not giving you that choice.

"Tell you what, I'll tell you all of the dirty and depraved things I think about on a daily basis, and you can decide after whether you'd like to share those same thoughts of yours with me or not."

"Why would I want to hear any of the thoughts in your head?"

"Because a lot of them revolve directly around you." He's leaned so close you're almost touching one another. Your silence is enough to spur him on. "I think you've never been fucked properly before."

You can't contain the look that falls on your face. "Seriously? This what you think about? My sex life is none of your business, but I'm doing just fine in that department, thank you very much."

He ignores you. "I don't think you've ever been told to shut the fuck up and take it like the good girl I know you can be." That shut you up real quick. Choso is on his knees in front of you, hands cupping around your neck, his thumbs running across your cheeks. "You're whiney little fucking attitude not do it for your boyfriends?" He teased. "They not know how to deal with you when you're being a brat, huh?"

You're head moves without conscious effort, nodding to agree with him.

"You just want some attention, don't you?"

Another nod.

"You want my attention, don't you?"

Hesitation. But you can't help yourself, his presence looming heavy over you, pushing you to admit what you'd kept in the dark for so long.

One of his hands slithers from your throat, down your chest, under the sweats you threw on in a rush to get to his apartment. You're so distracted by his fingers that you don't notice his face moving closer until his mouth is prying yours open. That's all it takes from him to have you stroking your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of the buns they typically are held in.

"Such a little brat." He's hovering over you, pushing your hips into the soft cushion of his bed with his. "Feel how hard it makes me?" He teases as he grinds his hips down, his clothed cock sliding against your center. Your eyes flutter and he grips onto your face with one hand, squeezing firmly. "You're gonna fuck me tonight. Nod if you understand."

You can't believe how quick your head moves up and down. "You're gonna take off those pretty little panties you wore hoping I'd get to see and slide up and down my dick until I tell you to stop. I don't want you cumming until I feel you've begged enough."

It takes no time at all for him to flip the two of you and prop himself up on his forearms. His pants are shimmied off and thrown to his bedroom floor alongside yours.

Your hands are desperate to line him up, anticipation building to have him deep inside of you, but his shoot out to pull them up and place them against his chest. "No, no, no. You don't get me inside you yet, not until you prove to me you deserve it." He urges you along his shaft, flat against his stomach. "That's right, be a good little slut for me and let me feel that pussy slide against my dick."

You watch him from above, his face contorting from concentration to pleasure to near desperation. You've never felt as powerful as you did riding him. Not a single one of your boyfriends ever turning you on as much as Choso was right now. He made you work for it, praising you when you did what he asked, and you chased that praise.

"Shit, look at that baby," he grabbed your hair and yanked your face down to watch yourself slide against him. "Need to feel you squeeze that pussy around me. Fuck, slide me in, slide me in-" his loud groans matched your high pitched sound of relief at having him seated inside you. "Fuck this."

He flipped the two of you back over, gripping each of your legs and forcing them up. "Hold right under your knees for me. Good girl, keep yourself open for me, let me just use you." He fell to his forearms as he plowed into you, giving you no time to get used to any sort of pace.

You tried your best to hold your legs, but you wanted so badly to touch him. One of your hands wandered back up into his lose hair.

He could barely keep his eyes open, mumbling all kinds of truths you were sure he would've kept locked inside had he not been so drunk on the feel of being inside you. "So fucking pretty," he kissed you sloppily, "such a stupid fucking brat, just needed my cock inside you. Feel like heaven, baby. Gonna let me cum inside your little cunt, right? Made me wait so fucking long to have you, I deserve it. Don't I deserve it?"

You can barely form any coherent words, setting for nodding and breathy uh huhs.

"So fucking mean to me, and look how good I'm being to you, huh?" You feel the light slap of his head against your cheek. "Say your sorry, beg me to cum inside your pussy."

You do beg, your apology comes out in between the stuttering and slurring of your words, but you beg and plead with him until he concedes. It his own orgasm that pushes you over, his groans and relentlessness that follow, pushing himself passed the point of no return. You can see the beginning of what looks like tears in his eyes, and he has to force himself to stop, his hips jerking from the overstimulation.

He kisses you ruthlessly, letting his tongue claim your mouth in a manner more harsh than it is anything else. And when he pulls away and his eyes settle back on yours they're equally as harsh.

"No more shitty little boyfriends that can't handle you. I'll handle you. You want my cock, you ask nicely. Understand?"

"Yes," you let your lips peck his, surprising him, "what if I don't wanna be nice about it?"

He smirks, "try it and find out. Now get on your knees and suck my cock like the good girl I know you can be."

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞. 

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JAMIE DRYSDALE x reader (est. relationship) wc — 1.5k synopsis — jamie can’t keep his hands to himself, and neither can his girlfriend. (prompted on this ask)

note — title’s from summertime by bon jovi + yes, this is a re-upload from the main blog (@holy-pucks) since nothing of mine posted there shows up in the tags. if you’ve already liked or shared that post, i would really appreciate you doing the same with this new one :) thx a million in advance! xx 

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — alcohol consumption/tipsy!reader x tipsy!jamie, accidental exhibitionism (jamie getting handsy at a bonfire bc he just can't resist lol), suggestive lang + innuendo, + general fluffy filth but nothing super explicit really, pretty tame for me tbh 

jamie drysdale has never been so pleased to have lost a fight in his entire life.

he didn't think it'd get cold enough to warrant lugging around an extra blanket (meaning him, not you—he's a gentleman). you thought otherwise, and pestered him until there was one neatly folded in the backseat.

objectively speaking, jamie was right; it wasn't even chilly. he was actually a little warm, if he was being honest, but that had a lot more to do with his wandering, beer-soaked mind than the weather or a superfluous layer.

—and he had a tent in his pants to prove it.

it's his own fault. he pulled you into his lap when there were more than enough lawn chairs scattered around the blazing fire, knowing full-well you fidget when you're tipsy. jamie knows you can't sit still to save your life, yet he sat you across his thighs anyway. and now he—and his raging hard-on—are paying the price.

he isn't embarrassed he's turned on, that's not the problem. that's never the problem. you've been dating for years, and anyone who's shocked by the effect you have on him has bigger problems than jamie's attraction to his own girlfriend.

it's the fact that he's about ten seconds away from pulling your suit to the side and rutting into you in the middle of a public beach with his friends not even a foot away.

someone across the half-moon crowd says something that makes you laugh—makes you wiggle. jamie's hands tighten on your hips to keep you still, but, by this point in the night, his body is too lax to be of much help. if anything, the impassioned touch eggs you on, and it isn't long before his hips are moving to match your mostly-involuntary movements.

jamie hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. "baby, quit it—please."

fluttering half-lidded eyes meet his, clock his internal struggle, and immediately twinkle with mischief. under the guise of shifting your attention, you rub the outside of your thigh against the bulge threatening to tear his trunks.

"quit what?" you ask with a demure smile, your hands looping themselves around his neck. warm fingertips play with the feathered locks tickling his sunburnt neck, making him shiver.

"you know what," he glares. "i don't know when we'll get back home, and you're driving me insane."

"touch me here."

blinking in disbelief, he balks. "w-what?"

"touch. me. here."

each word is punctuated with a chaste peck to his ever-reddening cheek. the succinct affection bounces you in his lap, and jamie can't help but slide his hands further beneath the sandy blanket. at first, to halt the infuriating friction but, like usual, once his hands wander he just can't stop. consequences—and shyness—be damned.

"s'not a good idea." jamie nips your jaw, dotting a line of warm kisses along your neck, stopping once his nose brushes your ear. "my baby's loud as shit, and i'd rather not have an audience."

you swat his chest in offense, but giggle nonetheless. "am not!"

"are too." he smiles up at you.

"i can be quiet," you huff, determination furrowing your brow.

jamie reaches up to smooth the crease with his thumb. you catch his arm and press a sweet peck to the inside of his wrist. he shudders.

you hum into his skin, "i think you're projecting."

"that right?" your boyfriend feigns ignorance, amused.

"let me prove it," you whisper before leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. with your forehead flush to his, you try again. "please, jamie. i can't wait anymore—and i certainly can't wait until t strikes out with whoever he's obsessed with this week."

jamie snorts.

you make a solid point; it could be another ten minutes or upwards of two hours. his guess was as good as any—trevor himself included. jamie's really starting to hate that him finally fucking his own girlfriend hinges on his best friend's ability—or inability—to seal the deal.

"you make even a peep, and i stop. got it?"

what's the worst that could happen if he indulges you a bit? no one's even paying attention to either of you, anyway.

you nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth. jamie tugs it free, fingertip dancing over the fresh indentations. your tongue slips out to tease his sun-soaked skin, and it isn't long before the digit is flush to your hot tongue.

jamie's eyes are almost black with lust as they watch your lips welcome and release his finger over and over again. your eyelids fall as he slips into a trance, mesmerized by your mouth.

"words, baby. gimme words," he prods, the words barely audible.

you surrender his hand with a faint pop, blinking down at him like you're already teetering on the precipice. "no sounds or you stop—i got it," you parrot. "now are you going to touch me?"

"needy, needy, baby," jamie teases after stealing a kiss. "i've spoiled you rotten, haven't i? can't even go a couple hours without begging me to touch you... s'alright, i can barely keep my hands of you. 'specially when i've got you sittin' all pretty in my lap like this."

"—jamie, please, just... just touch me already—need t'feel you."

chuckling to himself, jamie mercifully pushes the sodden material out of the way. he nearly moans at what he finds.

how much of it is from the evening dip you took with a couple of the other girlfriends, it's hard to tell, but he'd put good money on it being little to none. no, the damp patch growing in his lap is all you. sweet and warm, and perfectly you.

you gasp when he collects some of the escaped arousal with a few of his fingers. jamie raises a brow in your direction and you cover your mouth apologetically. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. you're trying so hard to keep quiet, it's adorable.

"—haven't even done anything and you're already breaking your promise," he chides. "how am i supposed to give you what you want when you're already misbehaving?"

"the other one," you breathe. confused, jamie hesitates. "give me your other hand."

you fish his free hand out from between your bodies and bring it up to your mouth. his eyes bulge out of their sockets once your intentions become obvious; you mean to silence yourself by sucking on his middle and marriage as he fucks you with the other hand. your back is mostly to the group, but he's still paranoid as all hell.

yet, jamie can't bring himself to deny you—or himself.

"you're gonna be the death of me," he groans as your head dips.

too turned on to care, jamie relents and slips a gentle finger into you. your eyes pinch shut, teeth catching on his other hand, but no sound leaves you. as a reward for your good behavior, he sinks in even further, until he's knuckle-deep at both ends.

his movements are much slower than normal, but, somehow, it doesn't matter. jamie's thumb seeks out your clit, sensitive and swollen despite its neglect, and he traces lazy circles between deep, measured thrusts. all the while, he mouths at your neck with little concern for what evidence he might leave behind. jamie's sole focus is making you feel as good as he does right now with his half-naked, hot-as-hell girlfriend writhing in his lap, her pretty pussy clenching around his lucky fingers.

"—j-jamie," you warble around his drenched hand, hips bucking into the other with what little leverage you have positioned like this. "—close, s'close."

oh, he knows. he can tell. jamie knows your body better than you do; he's a diligent student.

"are you, baby?" jamie can't resist a bit of taunting. you're too far gone to push back. "poor thing, what do you need from me? tell me what you need to get there."

you're slow to answer, overwhelmed by the sensations attacking your mind from all angles. somewhere along the line, a second finger was added... and then a third. the burning stretch aches so good your vision blurs.

jamie, jamie, jamie—the beginning, middle, and end of your thoughts—jamie, through and though. he's everywhere, but it's still not enough.

"my n-neck," you eventually gasp. "please—kiss my neck again."

your boyfriend is more than happy to oblige. lips latched to the tender spot just below your ear, jamie lets his hand take control of the pace; he's no longer content to drag this out. it's been a long day, and all he wants is to watch his pretty girlfriend fall to pieces in his lap.

your peak is ushered in by a series of pitiful little whines and whimpers, mostly muffled by his spit-stained hand, but jamie doesn't have the heart—or the sanity—to chastise you for it. if he had it his way, his mind would play those beautiful, broken sounds on a loop.

but the reverie is too good to last. it always is.

"get a room, you two!"

a chorus of laughter and vulgar remarks succeed trevor's call-out. and, hot under the collar, jamie's cheeks burn pink as he buries his face in the safety of your neck.

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[lonely-cowboy]

without you

pairing: connor (rk800) x gn!reader

summary: it's been almost three days since you last saw connor. with the ongoing revolution, you're concerned about his whereabouts. and if you'll ever see him again.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: occasional cursing but that's it

author's note: let me paint a little picture for y'all. it's currently 1am and i'm sitting on the couch in the dark sobbing like a baby bc i just finished my very first playthrough of dbh and didn't even realize i was near the end and i hate that it's over (i'm just gonna play again). anyway! my solution to stop (worsen) my sad lonely thoughts was to write this! yippee! healthy coping!

masterlist ⟡ requests

You were never a fan of staying home all day and lounging around in your pajamas doing absolutely nothing. You felt unproductive, like you were wasting time. And if there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was wasting time.

But– like anything– there were some exceptions. The most common exceptions were the days after an intense investigation, mostly those involving considerable physical exertion (which really just meant any form of running). Those days, your body was so unbelievably sore that it was almost necessary for you to stay in bed and do nothing all day. Besides that, the only other exception was the occasional rainy day. 

And now. Now was an exception too.

It was nearing three days since you had last seen Connor. Usually, that wouldn’t have bothered you. Three days was nothing. It was always possible that the two of you were just far too overwhelmed with work to see each other. But with the rising android revolution that threatened Connor’s life– and that of any android– you immediately assumed the worst.

Huddled on your couch, you stared blankly at the muted television as it flashed between news stations. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, too consumed by thoughts of Connor. You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

Truthfully, you hadn’t known Connor that long. Sure, you worked with him frequently to investigate the sudden rise in deviants, but in the grand scheme of things, it felt like you had just met him. Of course, that didn’t stop Connor from burrowing his way into your heart with those soft doe eyes and that gentle, slightly confused smile. You had a soft spot for him now, so it was perfectly reasonable that you couldn’t help but worry for his safety. 

You released a heavy sigh as you turned off the television, trying to shake away any negative thoughts. With narrowed eyes, you glanced at the other end of the couch where Hank had been sitting almost three hours ago. He had been checking in on you frequently the last few days to make sure you were– at the very least– living, though he would never admit it. Whenever he did stop by, it was always because he “forgot his jacket” or “couldn’t watch the Detroit Gears game at home.” Whatever lame excuse he came up with, it was always intended to ensure you were okay. 

Today’s lame excuse was that he ran out of beer and didn’t want to go to the store during such a “crazy fucking time.” That ended with the two of you sitting in silence on your couch, watching the television for any sign that Connor might be okay. In your book, that just meant he wasn’t dead.

But eventually, Hank had been pulled away to the precinct for whatever reason. He promised he’d make it short. He was reluctant to go anyway, so he wouldn’t be gone long. Three hours felt pretty fucking long to you.

You pursed your lips worriedly, forgetting Connor for a moment as your mind was now focused on Hank’s safety. What if he somehow got himself tangled up in this revolution? What if he managed to get caught in some wild crossfire with no means of telling you?

No, that was crazy. You were being irrational. Surely he just decided to brave going to the store to get some more beer once he left the precinct, right? That made so much sense. Obviously, he was outside your apartment building right now struggling to get in because he didn’t have a key and was too preoccupied carrying his mountains of beer. Obviously…

Without thinking, you scurried into your closet and pulled on your warmest clothes. You threw your thickest jacket over your pajamas, not bothering to hide your snowflake pajama pants. You pulled on your shoes and a beanie, ignoring the way it matted your hair. Then, you were out the door and rushing downstairs with the belief that you could miraculously manifest Hank’s presence.

There was no other explanation. You were blessed with some magical powers that you were yet to understand because as you marched into the snow, Hank suddenly appeared. You didn’t stop until you were jabbing a finger into his chest, glaring up at his towering figure.

“What is wrong with you?” you seethed. “You can’t just leave like that!”

Hank sighed with what sounded like irritation, though you knew he could never be irritated with you. He raised his hands in mock surrender as he grumbled, “Sorry, kid, I–”

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m not done!” you growled, choosing to ignore that maybe you were being a little overdramatic. What’s life without a little drama anyway? “You had me fucking worried, Hank! I’m already worried sick about Connor, I don’t have the energy to worry about both of you!”

Hank said your name in an attempt to stop you, but it was no use. Now that you had an outlet to channel your jumble of emotions, you were going to let them all out.

“I mean, you’ve seen me, Hank! I can barely get out of bed because of that goddamn android!” you shouted. “His safety is the only thing on my–”

Hank rolled his eyes as he grumbled something about how he was “tired of this shit” that didn’t involve him. That only seemed to fuel your fire, the crease between your brows deepening with anger and worry. You opened your mouth again to yell at Hank as he stepped aside, but you quickly shut it once you noticed the figure standing bashfully behind him.  

Connor stood a few feet away having clearly been told to stay put once Hank saw your angry self storming out of the apartment building. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, standing tall against the harsh winter winds. His eyes were already on you, watching you with a warm glint. When you met his gaze, the corners of his lips turned upwards into a small, unsure smile. 

Compared to him, you were sure you looked absolutely stupid. No, no matter what you looked completely stupid. You stared at Connor with absurdly wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish. You were so baffled by his appearance that you couldn’t even move, no wonder the poor man was confused. All this while wearing your stupid fucking snowflake pajamas.

Neither of you made any effort to close the uncomfortable distance between the two of you. You were thankful that Hank managed to find his way back into your apartment building because you would be a doubly flustered mess if he saw how awkward the two of you were. At least Connor made some effort to communicate. He raised a hand in an awkward wave, his soft voice barely heard over the din of the wind. 

“Hello.”

Your feet were moving before your brain could catch up. You sprinted towards Connor– though it was more of a fast waddle if anything– and pulled him into a tight hug. A heavy sigh of relief left your lips as you felt his firm body against you, inhaling his scent slowly. He was real.

You squeezed him a little tighter, burying your head into his chest. It was as if you didn’t want to let him go, and truthfully, you didn’t. You couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

Connor’s arms wrapped lightly around your body. He leaned into your touch, relaxing in your arms with a comforted grin. Until you, he had no idea what it was like to be cared for. Perhaps the greatest gift of consciousness was your affection.

Connor murmured your name in a quiet rasp, his lips moving against your hair. He reared back to catch your eyes, but you refused to let him. You just held him closer and allowed yourself to calm in his presence. When you finally did pull away, you glanced at him with a confusing look of joy, sadness, and anger.

“I didn’t think you were ever coming back,” you mumbled, letting the words spill out. “I was so scared… Connor, I… God, I missed you…”

There was a beat of silence as Connor’s LED spiraled yellow, his head tilted to the slightest degree. It seemed as if he was struggling to find the right words out.

“I…,” Connor started hoarsely. “I think… I missed you too.”

Despite the whirlwind of emotions you felt, you couldn’t help but laugh at Connor’s words. A small smile traced your lips as you studied him with furrowed brows.

“You think?” you repeated with another quiet laugh, your breath pluming in the cold air.

Connor paused again, his LED flashing yellow once more. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it as he considered his words a moment longer. He was looking into the distance, but when he glanced back down to you it was as if all the right words suddenly came to him.

“I don’t know what it feels like to miss someone,” he explained softly. “But I think… I think this is what it would feel like. I felt… I don’t know… there was a tightness inside of me when I thought I would never see you again. Is that what it’s like to miss someone?”

Your grin widened as Connor spoke. A tinge of pink coated your cheeks, and you were sure it wasn’t just from the cold.

“Maybe I’m biased, but yeah, I think so,” you answered sweetly.

“Oh,” Connor muttered as he took a moment to process that information. “Then, yes. It appears I did miss you.”

Your chest felt light from the joy of having Connor back. You were so giddy, in fact, that you didn’t even think before you were leaning forward and pressing a delicate kiss to Connor’s cheek. It was only when you pulled away that you realized what you had done, your face heating with embarrassment.

You glanced at Connor worriedly and noticed the faint blue coloring along his cheeks. It almost made you laugh seeing such a confident android turned into such a poor, flustered mess. Well, you took his silence to mean his was flustered, but his silence lasted so long that you weren’t so sure anymore.

“Connor?” you asked. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Connor replied immediately. “I was searching my database for the best way to greet someone you missed.”

It was your turn to be flustered again, eyes going wide with surprise as you murmured, “Oh. And… what did you find?”

Connor’s gaze finally focused back on you, his expression neutral aside from his fading blush. The corner of his lip quirked up slightly as his eyes searched your face like he was memorizing every little detail.

“I found that the best way to convey you missed someone is by kissing them, as you’ve done to me,” he answered in his typical matter-of-fact tone. “However, whereas you kissed my cheek, I noticed that most people kiss on the lips. I’d like to do the same if that’s alright with you.”

Your stunned silence must’ve been enough of an answer for Connor because he leaned forward with a grin. His warm hands moved to hold your cheeks, fighting off the evening chill. Your hands immediately moved to rest over top his, seeking out his warmth while his soft lips moved against yours. He pulled away far too soon for your liking, but he rested his forehead against yours as he whispered sweet words against your skin. 

“I missed you too.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

author's note: i hope you enjoyed! this is my very first post ever, so i'm a little nervous! if you have any constructive (and kind) criticism, please lmk! and if you have any requests i'd love to hear those too :)

[bingoboingobongo]

the right thing to do (i)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.

He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.

For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.

So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.

He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.

It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.

For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.

The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.

And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.

Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you. 

Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.

Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.

The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.

At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have. 

The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.

The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.

He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.

Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal. 

He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.

“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.

“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.

“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”

“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”

“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”

Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”

You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”

You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”

Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.

That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.

Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.

You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up. 

“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”

“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”

You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”

He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”

You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”

“You sure it was Fishers?”

“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”

Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost. 

Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places. 

“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”

“Or get hypothermia,” you said.

“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.

“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”

He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.

“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”

He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”

Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.

Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.

Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.

But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”

You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”

“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.” 

“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”

Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.

The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.

“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.

He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand. 

The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.

There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.

The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.

Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.

“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.

“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle. 

“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.

He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.

He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll. 

You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”

“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”

“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?

“If they see me, they’re already dead.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”

He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”

You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.

“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice. 

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.

“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”

He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”

You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off. 

The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers. 

Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—

“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you. 

“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.

He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”

“Lonely?”

“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.

“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”

“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”

“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”

You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.

He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”

“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.

Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket. 

“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.

It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.

Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him. 

Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.

He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.

Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.

He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.

This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.

[nemkero]

its the same anon as before-

Can I just say I love the way you add depth to the skin tones and I also love your color line art?

The textures and expressions ahahghjdbhjdgjdfbdf <3 not to mention the lighting on some of these are just great!

uh if you don't mind can you tell me how you do your colors? Like the base ones I don't mean all the lighting stuff

im still fairly new to digital art so how do you color inside the character instead of just each individual shape?

jfbdskjbjksfbdf thank you ^v^

THANK YOU SO MUCHH!!!! much appreciated c:

im pretty bad at explaining it but usually i just use much more saturated and warm colors in my art since im biased (i like warm tones a lot) and i also think it more eyecatching!

heres an example-- i make the values generally similar with mainly the darker colors (hair, shoulder thingy) being lightened slightly to reduce contrast so its more easy on the eye & makes it look softer ig? i also like to choose one color in particular to "base" all the other colors around, and that color is usually some sort of primary color and the most saturated. in this case, its a red/orange color, so i had all of my other colors shift closer to it (in reference to the color wheel)

heres another (really crappy LOL) example based around a more orange tone (though looking at it i think i made sokka a little too orange... whoops) and if you look at the values themselves...

basically the same! most of this is just preference too so its not like you need to REALLY stick to the original values or anything, but all that id look out for is that you pay most attention to stuff like skin tones just to make sure youre not like whitewashing by accident lol

im overcomplicating things but its kinda just something i think you learn over time? the way i figured colors out was by abandoning any and all reliance on blending layers (stuff like multiply, add, overlay, etc.) and just eyeballing literally everything and it kinda forced me to figure out how to make colors look good without relying on filters!

as for blocking in colors in general... i forget how to draw sometimes so im never really consistent with it LOL but lasso fill is your best friend! i either just use a random color and lasso fill the whole character manually (left) and set that layer to alpha lock/protect alpha, or i just lasso fill each color individually (right) bc im a freak sometimes

what i recommend doing/the fastest way is using the magic wand to select outside of your lines, invert the selection and then fill in the selection with a color and setting that to alpha lock.

i dont use it as much anymore mostly because i dont line so my stuff is really sketchy (so stuff like on the right happens) and i kinda like messy coloring anyways soooo... but yeah!!! i dont really recommend using the fill bucket that much unless the situation calls for it c:

(and if you do struggle with this and ur results look like whats on the right, try just manually closing your lines or seeing if your wand has an option for automatically closing gaps!)

[kenlvry]

"you like me??!!!"

s, in which you ask mysterion if he knows a kid by the name kenny mccormick and then proceeds to say you have a crush on this kid kenny. f!reader, kenny is unhooded, 16-17.

you always hung out with stan and craigs gang. you weren't in anyone's cliques,, you were just inbetween. sometimes with stans gang sometimes with craigs.

but you still couldn't befriend kenny mccormick. he was usually quiet around you, even though you two were always together you couldn't muster up anything to him. he was really attractive and you had the biggest crush on him. he never paid you any attention though, and you too didn't. you thought he hated you so you try to avoid him to make his life easier.

"dude he doesn't hate you," "idk stan, its like he doesn't even acknowledge me, he only ever talks to me if im with you guys" you sigh "maybe he does hates you lol" "cartman shut up. look y/n take your time, he can be hard to open up to, he's really nice dw" "yeah i guess youre right kyle, well see you tmr" you waved at he three of them as you part ways. arriving home you sighed, you wonder why kenny hates you so much.

it was around 10 pm now and you smile with anticipation as you open your window wide. usually at this time mysterion visits you, it started happening two weeks after you moved here but you aren't complaining. you talk to him about your frustrations and he just listens ,hes your bestfriend despite you not knowing his identity. you scrolled on your phone while waiting for him and heard him climbing up a secret entry you put for him. "HII" you greet him "hey" he says smiling.

you two talk mindlessly for hours and you decided to bring up your crush to him for advice. "hey can i ask you a question" you stood up from laying down looking at him, he hummed in response. "i have this like huge crush and i dont know what to do, he always ignores me and i know i should move on but I can't get him off my mind its like something or someone is constantly reminding me of him" you rambled.

he raised his eyebrow and his eyes seemed dull when you said you had a crush, growing silent as you complained and just felt jealousy take over. "you should move on, if he ignores you it means he hates you, end of discussion" "dude rude, cmon you dont even know who it is" he stood up from your bed and put his hands on his waist "well if he ignores you he definitely is a bitch, he shouldn't ignore someone without a reasoning. who is this man anyways???" whoever it was kenny was sure to pay a visit at his house to see if he was so handsome that you could fall head over heels for him. "oh its kenny mccormick" "oh him y- WHAT" "idk if you know him though hes like quiet most of the time" "YOU LIKE ME???" "what" he coughs and felt his face flush red "um no i mean continue" "no no i heard that loud and clear wdym you like me??"

kenny was nervously avoiding eye contact now. he didn't know you were trying your best to be his friend, he thought you two were already good friends and thought that you didn't care if he didn't talk to you during school. "i.. ummm..." "wait.. are you kenny!?" you gasp and stood up from your bed covering your mouth "OMG YOU ARE KENNY HOLY SHIT" he was now panicking, he didn't know how you're gonna react.

he sighs "y-yes im sorry i didn't know you were trying to befriend me at school and yk bc i see you at night i didn't really care but i guess i never saw it from your point of view" you were still shocked and continued to cover your mouth, he thought you were so mad at him and that you hated him for lying and ignoring you, he looks down waiting for you to curse at him . "this is so embarrassing omg" huh? he looked up in confusion to you covering your face "can't believe i literally just confessed to you" you were groaning with your ears red. "wait.. you don't care??" "I WOULD IF I DIDN'T JUST CONFESS I NEVER CONFESSED TO ANYONE BEFORE." "uh well.. sorry??? i.." "just leave." "what huh??" "leave myster- kenny i mean" he just leave you to process your thoughts.

the next day at school was so embarrassing you two avoided each other, and when met eye contact you both blush. "i like you too" you turned your head to kenny slouching in his seat hands in his pocket, he turned to face you meeting his eye "i like you too idiot" you slowly smile and blush you two turning away from each other internally blushing not looking over at the other person.

"tf is their problem" "dont know don't wanna know" stan and kyle look at each other confused. looks like theres a new couple in class

[softspiderling]

but i need your lips on mine | d.h.

summary: derek hale is a mystery you have yet to solve

pairing: derek hale x reader

warnings: none

word count: 1,9k

author's note: hello guys the teaser for the long awaited college au is finally here. i hope you guys like it :) tagging @stilinskiderek bc i’ve been annoying charlotte about this fic for ages and i know she’s been waiting for a derek fic😭 side note: this is a teaser/accompanying fic to the actual fic boy, you write your name (I can do the same) which will be out on thursday! meaning this is NOT an excerpt of the fic, but offers more background of the relationship derek and the reader have, and also where the nickname CJ comes from

“Are you actually washing the car or are you just waiting for someone to pay attention to you?”

“Oh ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Derek said dryly, wringing out the sponge and tossing it in one of the soapy buckets. You grinned at him, tossing him a water bottle, which he easily caught, drinking quickly as you leaned your hands into your waist.

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” you replied, looking around. It was quite busy, every single member of the frat seemed hard at work. “Pretty nice turnout, huh?”

Derek shrugged in a way that meant he was agreeing with you, but he didn’t want to look like he was bragging. He was humble like that. You scoffed, brushing your hair back over your shoulder, and Derek zeroed in on the bikini strap under your top, a grin forming on his face.

“You come here to lend a hand?”

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes at him with a snicker. “I was thinking ahead. With you standing in the sun for the whole day and Isaac around buckets full of water? I was bound to end up soaked, thought I’d save me a trip to the laundromat.”

“Now you’re basically begging me to drench you,” Derek drawled, picking up the sponge soaked full of water, advancing on you.

“Don’t you dare!” You hissed at him, giving him a shove.

“Are you doing a special?”

While you and Derek were wrestling around, ending up with both of you getting a soak, you hadn’t noticed the Mini pulled up next to you, windows down, a pretty girl smirking at yoi.

“Nah, I’m just here to support my friends,” you said, gesturing to Derek, wiping your wet forehead with a laugh. “It’s his frat that’s organizing this car wash. Derek, this is Amanda, she’s in my Women’s Writing class. Just transferred from Palomar.”

“Hey,” Derek said, leaning against her car. “You here for a full wash?”

“Sure am.”

Derek nodded, leaning back. “Isaac! Grab some boys and a couple of buckets, we got another one.”

Isaac saluted Derek, his wet curls hanging in his face. Glancing over to you, he grinned, wagging his eyebrows when he caught you staring at his bare chest, turning on his heel to grab the buckets, but not without teasing you.

“Take a picture, CJ, it’ll last longer.”

“CJ?” Amanda asked, raising a brow. You groaned internally when Derek only smirked at her, clearly ecstatic that he got to tell the story again.

“Right, you’re a transfer, so you don’t know where her nickname comes from. Well, let me tell you, you’re in for a treat. It was a really nice summer day-”

“Derek, I’m not letting you tell the story again with the exaggerations,” you scowled at him, though in jest, shoving him gently. You turned back to Amanda, sighing softly. “Anyways. It all started when I was a freshman, a couple of weeks into the semester. I was taking Deucalion’s class for Intro to Ancient History….”

An incessant ringing pulled you out of your deep slumber, but your head barely rose from the pillow as you poked the screen of your phone until the alarm stopped, leaving you to your slumber again. You had fallen asleep around 4:30 because it had taken you that long to finish your paper on Caesar. Usually, you never left your assignments for the last minute, and to be fair, you didn’t really. Leave it to the last minute, that is. The assignment was done, sitting in your folders waiting to be printed for about a week or so. But then you caught up with your study group, where you found out that Deucalion always knocked you down a letter grade if he didn’t agree with your opinion. And he loved Caesar. You didn’t. Which you made exceptionally clear in your essay. So being the freshman that you were, wanting to get good grades in your first semester, you decided to rewrite all 8 pages with the deadline looming in less than 10 hours, because he insisted on collecting the assignments right at the beginning of the class. Not the smartest thing you’ve done. Around one am, the library had closed, in the middle of your hot streak, and by the time you reached your dorm, you lost your train of thought and it took you two hours to find it again. And it was not because you fell asleep for 20 minutes. When the alarm blares up again, you groaned loudly, reaching for your phone to silence it, stilling when the phone pinged, announcing the arrival of a text. You narrowed your eyes at the screen, your eyes bleary as your vision slowly cleared.

[Stevie]: where r u???

Your heart plummeted when you read the text, and while you checked the time, you had to resist the urge to throw yourself out of the window.

08:13. Deucalion’s class started at 08:15.

“FUCK!”

Scrambling up from your bed, your legs tangled in the blankets and you nearly brained yourself when you fell to the floor. Getting up, you located your paper on your desk, making sure it was still where you left it, before you headed to the bathroom, quickly brushing your teeth. With your toothbrush in your mouth, you tugged some jeans and a shirt out of the closet, laying it on the bed to get changed when there was another ping.

[Stevie]: hes l8 if u hurry up u mite make it in time

Your eyes widened, the gods must’ve heard your silent prayers and you rushed to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste, and splashing some water in your face for good measure before you grabbed your stuff, backpack on your arm, phone and paper in your hand, running across campus to get to the lecture hall. When you finally skidded to a halt in front of the doors of the lecture hall, you slowly opened the door, peeking into it. There were two lines down the stairs, so the other students must be in line to drop off their papers at the front. Sighing a deep breath of relief, you squeezed yourself through the gap in the door and inconspicuously walked behind the last person in line. As the line moved forward, you dropped your backpack in between the seated rows, making it seem like you’d been in the class from the beginning. As the line slowly moved forward, you caught a glimpse of Professor Deucalion at the front. Only, it wasn’t him… Narrowing your eyes, you eyed the guy that was standing by the desk, his arms crossed. He had dark hair, a faint stubble and a scowl on his face. Must be Deucalion’s TA, though you didn’t remember ever seeing him during lectures, though he did look quite familiar. By the time you reached the front desk, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting the TA’s. He raised an eyebrow at you as you dropped your assignment on the stack and the way the corners of his mouth curled up made you furrow your brows.

“What?” you asked defensively and he uncrossed his arms, leaning his hands on the desk.

“Nothing… Just. Cute jammies.”

You heard the class let out laughter as you stared at him before glancing down at yourself, flushing when you realized you were still wearing your pj’s, which was just a tank top and arguably your worst pyjama pants: Teal and pink Hello Kitty pants. Snapping your head up, you glared at him, but before you could say another word, the side door opened, and Professor Deucalion walked in.

“You better take a seat, CJ,” the TA said with a smirk, collecting the assignments in his hand and you bit back a retort, finding an empty in the back row as Professor Deucalion started the lecture. As he droned on, your eyes kept flitting over to the TA in the first row, glaring at the back of his head. Even hours later, when you were at some fresher party a frat was throwing, the incident was a topic with your friends.

“It was crazy. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Stevie nodded as you only rolled your eyes, taking another sip of your drink. “Seriously, she was staring with her mouth open and everything. Which I get. I just have more self-control.”

“You guys are ridiculous. He was making fun of me,” you pointed out and Audrey stared at you, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

“Dude. He wants to bang you.”

With a snort, you shook your head at your friends and their crazy conspiracy theories.

“Come on, I didn’t come here to talk about our lecture. Let’s go find something to do. I think they’re playing beer pong in the backyard,” you suggested, dragging your friends through the house and out into the backyard, which seemed to be just as crowded as inside. Walking over to the beer pong table, it looked like they were in the middle of the game, so you just tapped on the shoulder of one guy.

“Hey, is it possible for me and my friends to play a round?”

“Sure,” he replied without turning around, throwing the ball and scoring. “You guys can just- oh hey, CJ!”

Of course it was fucking him*. The TA from Deucalion’s lecture was standing in front of you, an amused grin on his face.*

“My name is-” you started, but he waved you off snickering.

“I know what your name is. But CJ is fitting, isn’t it?” He took a sip from his drink, giving you a brief once over and you ignored how Stevie’s grip around your arm tightened for a second. “I see you changed, though I must say I did like the pants.” You gave him a look and he offered you his hand.

“Derek Hale.”

“There were a lot of people at that party. And I guess the name just stuck.”

“Huh. So everyone just calls you CJ?”

You shrugged. You didn’t really mind the nickname, it was cute. At this point, it was odd to hear someone call you by your government name unless it was a professor or someone from the faculty. Everyone addressed you as CJ. It was just the story that bothered you, mostly because Derek liked to add details that were unimportant. Also because he cracked up all the time telling the story like it was the funniest thing he’d ever experienced, that jerk.

“You have to admit it’s a cool nickname,” Derek cut in, and Amanda laughed.

“Guess so… So how does that work with you being a TA and you two dating?”

“We’re not dating.” “He’s not actually a TA.”

Really? That was what he chose to correct? You side-eyed Derek but he just gave you a subtle wink as Amanda perked up, looking at you curiously.

“So, you’re single?”

Even before you replied, you noticed how Derek clinked himself out of the conversation, walking over to the waiting cars leaning against the door. Every time you thought you had figured him out, he went ahead and did something that confused you even more. Sometimes you thought back to what Audrey and Stevie had said to you about Derek before you even really knew him. You glanced over to him as you handed Amanda your phone so she could put her number in, and it was as if Derek could feel your eyes on him, he turned his head in your direction, giving you a small smile, flashing his teeth at you. Some day you will just flat out ask him.

But not today.

[suneeater]

bnha guys + jealousy 

➳tamaki, bakugou, kirishima

✎a/n: uuuauahhhgh these r way shorter than usual bc im tired but i wanted to post smth! i rlly rlly wanted to include todoroki but i honestly dont see him getting super jealous. at least not enough to write hcs about. anywa,s,. enjoy

✰warnings: profanity

𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢. 

He doesn’t get jealous really, he just gets scared. He trusts you but at the same time he’s constantly so worried that you’ll grow tired of him. He’s so convinced you’d be better off with someone else and kind of projects that insecurity

So when he gets ‘jealous’ he just gets kind of sad. He doesn’t wanna bring it up because he’s pretty sure it’s just his head messing with him and that saying anything will be unnecessary but oh my gosh he’s so down in the dumps thinking that he’s not good enough for you

You have to approach him about it and pry it out of him before he finally admits he’s feeling jealous and scared. Do you still love him?? Are you tired of him?? Is he too much to deal with; oh my god he shouldn’t have said anything, that probably why you’re annoyed by him–

He just needs some reassurance is all. He’s not the jealous type to remove you from a situation or start getting handsy to prove a point to someone; the last thing he wants to do is interfere with a situation in which you’re happy. It’s just, he’d rather be the reason you’re happy

Just bring him with you sometimes and problem solved, just like that. He’s really just a sad little puppy with abandonment issues

He’ll start feeling a little more confident eventually as long as you help him out dw he’s getting there :)

𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮. 

 He is the definition of insecure and he is going to make it everyone’s problem. Getting jealous is just a regular occurrence, except he doesn’t really learn how to tackle it. 

When he gets jealous he is not subtle about it. If there wasn’t trouble before there is going to be now because he is inserting himself into the conversation, shooing the person off, or just removing you from the situation entirely after making a couple off colored remarks to the person stealing your attention away from him

He always gets a feel for what’s going on before he intervenes though. But if he detects a potential threat? Game over, you’re done, let’s go home, I don’t wanna be here anymore blah blah blah

He’s constantly got his arm wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you closer and closer until there’s hardly an inch between you. Even in the most innocent of conversations he’s shooting glares and trying to let everybody know who you belong to

He would never objectify you but honestly, he’s a little possessive. You’re his and he is not going to let a single person forget that, and god forbid they try and do anything about it because he is not afraid to start a scene. ESPECIALLY when you’re involved

𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚.

Kiri gets SO pouty when he’s jealous. He’s not insecure like the other two; he isn’t afraid of someone taking you away from him or anything, he’s just upset he’s not getting your attention instead

I mean, how dare this mystery person interfere with his romantic fantasies?! You should be smiling for him and laughing at his jokes instead :( 

He’s not possessive like Bakugou either, he’s just absolutely infatuated with you. This man is your number one fan and your number one clown, he’ll do anything to make you smile. Plus, you smile the prettiest when it’s just for him

He gets so touchy when he’s jealous. He’s constantly slinking up behind you and snaking his muscular arms around you, nuzzling against you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His goal is to make it absolutely impossible to ignore him any longer

He is absolutely not afraid of PDA. In fact, he has zero regard for it. He’s got too much love to show you to contain it to four walls and a door, and who cares if everyone sees? They should all know how lucky he is anyways

Oh, and also that he’s yours to pay attention to :)

[avatar-anna]

Hey I've had a rly rly bad day :( I'm about to breakdown down n trying to do things to distract myself.. would you mind writing a little fluffy blurb about h comforting reader ??? You don't hve to if you're busy :))

hey! i'm sorry you're having a bad day. here is the fluffiest blurb (w a little bit of angst bc reader has to be crying for some reason) enjoy! 💕💕💕

.

You never knew how little you put yourself first until today.

All your life you considered yourself a compassionate person. Reliable. Dependable. Someone friends and family could count on. And you liked being that person, you liked that you had a prominent role in the lives of the people you loved and cared for most.

And if carried over into your work life too. You were constantly working overtime, saying yes to projects that your boss or co-workers prefaced with, “I knew just the person to come to for this!” And that made you feel valued. Important.

Until today.

You were already behind on a project because one of your co-workers asked you for help with theirs, and without asking why, you agreed as usual. But your own was already kind of kicking your ass and you had a million other things going on outside of work that needed your attention. You really weren’t sure why you couldn’t say no this time. You had valid reasons, yet you still tacked on more work, more stress (and not more pay, either).

“Hey, Y/n, how we doing in here?” your boss said, knocking on the open door of your office.

“A little stressed, but what else is knew?” you said with a smile. It was your normal response, but this time there was a little edge to it you hadn’t expected.

Not even noticing, your boss moved on. “Good, good. I was wondering if I could ask a favor? Our partner office from Hong Kong is coming next week, and I thought who better to show them around than our hardest worker bee?”

He said it with a smile, like it was an honor to be asked such a thing, but all you could say in reply was, “Both of my projects are due next week.”

With a quick look around the room, you saw that you were one of the last ones in the big office space. Either your co-workers took their work home or didn’t have as much to do as you did, and for the first time, that irked you. Why couldn’t your boss ask any of them when you were clearly drowning in meetings and phone calls and spreadsheets and ten minute lunches?

“I know you’ll make it work,” he said, as if he hardly even heard your response. “So you’ll do it?”

“I...”

Tears sprung out of nowhere, perhaps the stress of a task you hadn’t even accepted already weighing down on you. There would be no time, no time for yourself, or anything or anyone other than work.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, hoping that your boss would ask someone else in the meantime.

“Well, I kind of need an answer now—”

“Then no, my answer is no,” you blurted, standing up from your desk to pack your things. “Not only can I not do it, I don’t want to do it. You have so many people that work here that could do this for you, and even though you knew I was up to my ears in work, you asked me anyway. So no. I will not be able to help you next week.”

Your boss floundered a bit. At your outburst, or that you said no, you weren’t sure. He probably hadn’t thought to ask anyone else, had just expected you to say yes. And that once would’ve made you proud, but now you absolutely despised that.

“Well, I mean, this might affect your promotion,” he said, a last stitch effort to get you to say yes.

Could he really not see you were on the verge of tears? Or that you were in the same clothes as yesterday because you fell asleep in your office last night? Or did he just not care?

That promotion was dangled over every project, every favor, every little thing you did at work. It was the reason you did so much. You worked hard, and you wanted a paycheck that validated that. But if your boss took one refusal as a reason for you to not get a promotion, when so many of your co-workers turned things down left and right, then...

“Fuck your promotion,” you said before you could filter your words, then hastily left your office, not bothering to look your boss in the eye.

Tears wanted to fall as you rode the elevator, as you got behind the wheel of your car, but you swallowed them down, pushing them away for later.

A minute into driving, your phone rang, your cousin’s name popping up on the screen on your car’s dash.

“Hey! How’s it going?”

You didn’t have it in you to be chipper. “I think I just lost my job.”

“Oh...Well that’s—Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug.

“Great! Well, I was just calling to ask if you and H have locked down a date for the wedding,” your cousin asked.

With a raised brow, you said, “We sent out save the dates three weeks ago.”

“Right, but my wife and I booked a cruise before you and Harry even got engaged, and our flight to get to port is on the same day as the wedding. You see where I’m going with this, right?”

You did, but you were so furious that you said, “I don’t, actually.” You needed him to say it, to admit what he was asking for.

“Well, you know, since we booked this cruise before you and H got engaged, we were wondering if you could change the date. Move it up or something.”

“Or something,” you said, voice completely devoid of emotion. What would that even mean?

Did you really accommodate so much that a family member was asking to move your literal wedding day for them? Did people really expect you to bend over backwards like that?

The answer was yes. You put so many people first, that you’d become the default, friends, families, co-workers were practically on autopilot when asking for favors, you doubted they even tried to come up with solutions themselves at this point.

“So tou’ll do it?”

You were surprised when you started laughing. Not a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the ludicrous favor your cousin just asked you, or maybe you’d finally snapped. Your cousin was still on the other line waiting. Because despite what clearly was a nervous breakdown, he was still expecting you to do this for him.

“Shove it up your ass and don’t bother coming to the wedding,” you said when your laughter subsided, then promptly hung up the phone.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry was on the couch when you got home, watching one of his crime shows he loved so much. He smiled when he saw you, the reaction almost involuntary, but it faltered when he got a better look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning the TV off and coming over to you.

“Bad day. Really bad day,” was all you said, voice empty.

“I’m sorry, lovie. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, and Harry took that as his cue to pull you in for a hug. He was much taller than you were, so you were completely engulfed in his soft sweater and the fresh scent of his cologne. You sighed, your shoulders sagging as he squeezed you, as if he was trying to wring all the stress and sadness out of you.

After a couple minutes, Harry let go, but only to look down at you. “So I’m thinking that as your fiance, I need to make you feel better.”

“Yeah?” you said, a small smile forming on your face. Harry seemed to be the only one who put you first, or realized when you needed a break.

“Yeah, which is great because I bought stuff at the store to make that dish you really love. The one with chicken and the red sauce? I just need a little help with—”

“You need help?” you asked, smile immediately turning into a frown. “Like a favor?”

Confused, Harry said, “Well, it’s not really a favor, I just need—”

“And I just need people to stop needing me! Why can’t anyone understand that? I give, and I give, and I give, and I never ask for anything in return, so people keep expecting me to give. Well, I have nothing to give anymore. I‘m—I’m...”

You pulled away from your fiance and stormed upstairs, locking yourself in the bathroom the two of you shared. Your were breathing as if you’d just run a marathon, unable to get a sob out before the next one came over you. Tears were hot on your cheeks, and you knew if you looked in the mirror your face would be an angry shade of red. Sliding down to the cool tile floor, you curled in on yourself and just cried.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting like that, how long you stormed away from Harry. If you had the ability to think rationally for a moment, you would’ve realized that he wasn’t trying to use you or take advantage of your kindness. He didn’t even know that asking for help would’ve triggered you like this (you didn’t either, to be fair). But he just happened to be the person you blew up at, and while it wasn’t fair, you couldn’t exactly take it back.

Not that you could, at the moment. You couldn’t stop crying. No matter how much you tried to steady your breathing, or how much you thought you got out of your system, you just kept crying. So much so that you didn’t even hear Harry knock on the door the first time.

“Lovie? Can you unlock the door? Please?”

You didn’t answer, hoping that would be answer enough.

But he persisted. “I hate hearing you cry all by yourself. Will you please let me in? Let me help you, lovie.”

The sobbing stilled for just a moment, long enough to stand up and unlock the door for Harry. He opened it immediately, but you didn’t see his face before he pulled you against him again.

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, how long you cried in Harry’s arms while he smoothed his hand down your hair soothingly and kissed the top of your head, waiting patiently until you let it all out. When you finally did, he wiped the remaining tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. You knew you had to do something, explain, apologize, change out of day-old clothes, something, but Harry thankfully spoke first.

“I think you need a long, hot shower.”

While you got undressed, Harry turned the water on and made sure it was the right temperature. You thought he would leave after that, but he began shedding his clothes too. You wanted to ask what he was up to, but you couldn’t find the words.

He led you to the shower and stepped in behind you. Once you were under the stream of hot water, he leaned down to kiss you, his fingers delicate as the held the side of your face. “Just relax,” he breathed, kissing the top of your cheekbone before turning you around.

Something like excitement stirred in you, even though you were much too exhausted for sex currently. But that wasn’t Harry’s intention. You heard the familiar squirt of the shampoo bottle behind you, and before you could utter a single word, Harry’s fingers were in your hair, massaging your scalp and working the shampoo into a nice lather on your head.

It was the greatest feeling, your fiance’s hands applying the right amount of pressure to make it feel soothing. Your eyes closed involuntarily, a small sigh leaving your lips as he combed through the ends of your hair. Harry repeated the process for conditioner, then body wash, and even a body scrub and the hair oil you applied after getting out of the shower. He did it all himself. You didn’t lift a finger.

At some point, as the steam and Harry’s fingers and the lovely scents of all the products used on you, you managed to find your voice. “I...I think I lost my job today,” you said, then proceeded to tell him everything. You left nothing out, not a single detail, and Harry didn’t say a word, just listened to you recount your day, and all the frustrations that came with it.

You were in a fluffy pink robe by the time you finished. Harry stood behind you while he combed your hair, careful not to hurt you with each knot he de-tangled. Only when you were obviously done talking did he say something.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, moving your hair aside to kiss your jaw.

“Really?”

He nodded. “I...I’ve noticed that you go...above and beyond for people, but family can be a touchy subject for you, and I didn’t want to upset you by implying that your family relies on you a little too much. But after hearing all of that, I can’t help but think I should’ve said something sooner. Why didn’t you tell me about work?”

“I just thought I was working hard,” you said.

It was true. You never really complained to Harry about work or let on how much you were actually doing. And maybe it was subconsciously because you knew he felt a certain way about how your family treated you. If you looked back, you could see moments where his caution manifested. Cancelling a date or two to pick someone up at the airport, running late because a family member called you at the last minute asking for a favor. It was almost like your life wasn’t yours anymore, it was everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a long stretch of silence while Harry finished combing your hair. “For letting all of that affect our relationship and for earlier. I wasn’t mad at you, I promise.”

“I know,” he said. He kissed your jaw again, letting his lips linger this time. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

You felt like there was, but Harry didn’t seemed concerned about it, just concerned about you.

He went through your skincare routine, applying everything to your face with gentle fingers. With each cream and serum, he kissed you. On your nose, your cheeks, your eyelids, the corners of your mouth. Every inch of your skin was sealed with a kiss and the mumbling of, “I love you.”

Harry helped you dress in cozy clothes—your favorite sweatshirt of his and your softest sweatpants. And when he was done he led you downstairs where a pot of something was waiting on the stove.

“I didn’t know how to make the red sauce,” he admitted. And you blushed at the way you exploded at him for that. He wasn’t asking just because he was lazy or wanted you to make dinner for him, he just needed a little help.

As if he could read all the thoughts swirling in your mind, he kissed your rouged cheek. “But no matter. I made macaroni and cheese for us. Straight from the box.”

“Sounds delicious,” you said. And you meant it, just appreciative that he did so much for you.

Harry served you and poured you wine. He talked about his day and the cute dog he saw while stopping for coffee, all the while holding your hand. And when you were both done, he sent you upstairs to relax while he cleaned the kitchen, threatening to haul you up himself when you tried to take your bowl to the sink.

It was weird to lay in your bed and do nothing. Usually you worked or tried to get some things done for the wedding, but tonight, you just laid in bed and watched some reality show on the television mounted on the wall that faced your bed.

Harry came up a little while later, two mugs with something steaming in them in his hands. He handed on to you and kissed your forehead before setting his down on the night table on his side of the bed and sliding in next to you. You set yours down too, cuddling into his inviting warmth.

You immediately found a comfortable position, tangled in a way that said he wasn’t letting you stand up for a single thing, except for maybe using the restroom. Harry’s cheek was squished against yours, his hand tracing delicate patterns on your stomach while he kissed you whenever he felt like it. It was the most relaxed you’d ever been, you thought. The most at peace.

“I love you,” you whispered, his hands and warmth and endless supply of kisses lulling you to sleep.

“I love you too. Now go to sleep, lovie.

To be taken care of. To hear the promise of Harry doting on you now and the rest of your life in his voice was enough to put a smile on your face as you did just as he said.

[inchidentally]

this is so stupid and overthought and pointless but lol it's me sooooo

like I literally got into f1blr through videos of Lando following Carlos and Daniel around and finding them absolutely hilarious and just being their personal squealing little chew toy/satellite. so believe me I LOVE that. and god knows I've written enough about how Lando needed/sometimes still needs to hide behind these big bold alpha personalities.

but I think the ??? that transpired for some of us over the gradual blossoming of Lando's dynamic with Oscar had a lot to do with how much Lando opened up in front of our eyes bc of his new position w Oscar and how that developed. he literally said how much it felt weird for him to imagine himself in the older/more experienced position and you can see in the super early content how much Lando couldn't get a read on Oscar bc there wasn't the usual bromance stuff he's so used to. but Oscar also was so mature and calm that he didn't need Lando to do for him what Carlos and Daniel were for him.

and it seems so stupid but it's almost like Oscar hitting that growth spurt and his voice getting a little deeper sort of clicked things into place for Lando?? bc Oscar had been living alone and cooking for himself and in a serious relationship for years and he didn't need anyone to raise him or protect him like Lando needed as a rookie. and he had lived away from his family or a support system from around 14/15 so he was fully used to finding his way around and navigating new places largely alone.

but him getting taller and broader suddenly fit with his personality so much better. he didn't have his cherub Prema face clashing with how cool and confident he was anymore.

and obv Oscar has always said how much he learned just from observing Lando as one of the fastest guys on the grid, but also Lando has emphasized how much he has learned from Oscar about mentality and staying true to yourself. so again there wasn't any need for Lando to try and be big brother/mother hen.

but!! you know what Lando got to teach Oscar? and what Oscar had trained for years to be the most apt pupil about?

Lando!

bc we never really got to 'learn' Lando as a person before now unless it was on his streams, his content with Max F or his own social media content. his friendships with the other F1 guys are all a variation of bromance since they all love him - but all of them are based on Lando being the introvert among extroverts and bonding over shared activities and interests. not a lot of Lando personality stuff gets revealed around those guys bc he's Just Baby.

but w Oscar Lando came to realize he could roll whatever Mood he was in at him and Oscar would smile and laugh or make feeble resistance and give in anyway - and Oscar took all of it in. he literally already had a fairly encyclopedic Lando knowledge as we well know now but he just ?? never got bored of watching and learning Lando! whether it's Lando's music blaring through the shared wall or Lando not being able to open things or pronounce words or Lando specifically not liking something or not wanting to do something or Lando wanting Oscar to give a different answer or wanting Oscar to agree with him instead - Oscar smiles and patiently files it away.

which is exactly what Max does with Lando. at some point he clearly realized that the best way to get Lando to open up and trust - not unlike an outdoor cat - was to be part anthologist and part nature documentary narrator. Lando only opens up when he knows he has the space to. he gets so genuinely upset at how often the media or fans won't follow his original meaning or look past awkward wording or misuse his original tone. it's why he said he often loves being around people who will lead the conversation and not put pressure on him to talk.

bc for example, Carlos was only joking when he said that Lando needs to mature or how he'd "scold" Lando for being too silly and not paying attention, but to some people it's used as confirmation that Lando's immature. Daniel loved when he'd get Lando to laugh so hard that Lando couldn't do his to-camera work or require millions of takes, but to some people it's seen as Lando not taking anything seriously. it's so easy to take someone as vulnerable and unedited as Lando and slice out one video or one moment and create a false narrative around him. you can see the times when Lando has slunk away from social media and gone a bit mum or dull in his media work when that happens.

but Max and Oscar are there to act as interpreters for the audience at home! Lando drops off to sleep during a Quadrant shoot? Max explains that this is standard procedure wherever he is. Lando is far too hyper for a challenge and won't let Oscar breathe without giving him a hard time? Oscar laughs and gently ribs him back to let people know that it's all in good fun and Lando isn't actually on a tear. Lando winds Max up mercilessly or accidentally reveals that Max has a gf? Max makes sure everyone knows he's joking when he gets "mad" and later on says how much Lando looks out for him. Lando won't let Oscar make his own choices in a silly F1 quiz? Oscar feigns being hard done by but he also says how good Lando's answers are. they do this all the time with him and we see Lando more vocal and more loudly himself with them bc they translate what he can't.

it clearly isn't easy being someone bursting with about fifty different personality traits at once and just as many passionate interests all vying with dyslexia and hyperactivity mixed with introversion and sometimes crippling shyness. it's very easy to love that person - which is why the entire grid does - but it's not easy to understand them or what they need in any given moment.

so I feel like that's what we've gotten out of the Lando/Oscar dynamic that we haven't seen before with Carlos or Daniel. Oscar isn't ever going to be a big personality and he's self-described as "low frequency" - he won't be winding Lando up for fun or bringing energy that makes Lando bounce off the walls. he's also found Lando fascinating almost from his first year moving to the UK. so as fans we love seeing Lando get to have a teammate who loves the business of observing Lando - but we also love getting to see so much more of Lando as a result if that makes sense??

[macgyvermedical]

I have a question about sitters as well. Hopefully all this is okay to answer, its not... im sorry. This is mostly a questiondump bc i read your thing and now my brain is sparking with loads of questions. Is it bad to say that sounds kinda fun being that intense.... anyway do people ever try and manipulate the sitter to let them do something or escape, or when they turn thier back do they try. And do the patients ever say its a little weird being watched all the time even if they are sleeping or does it make them feel safer? Also you mentioned people both trying to pull out tubes and cables and escape... how does a sitter actually stop them? Do they have to do it all by themselves or get security or a doctor to put a tube back in.... do they restrain them if they're hurting themselves. Just genuinely how do they do it. And while they pee do they get another person to watch em for 5 minutes. Is most sitters one on one or like the room you described with 3 or 4 patients? Thank you (: hope your doing better lovely!

I'll go one at a time here:

I've never had a patient attempt to manipulate beyond asking repeatedly to do something. It doesn't mean it can't happen, but most people who need a sitter aren't mentally organized enough to be successful manipulators. As for trying to escape yes they absolutely do but they're usually pretty obvious about it. Even if for some reason the sitter isn't paying attention, the bed alarm will go off.

Some of them do, but for people who are there for suicidal ideation most of them are fine with it. The people there because they're manic and on a writ of detention sometimes take issue with it. The people with dementia usually either forget who we are and ask a bunch of times or decide they do or don't like us and that's just how the rest of the day goes.

It depends on the hospital whether a sitter can actually touch a patient. Where I was we definitely could because we were also doing all the patient care. But a lot of it is verbal redirection. You generally can't physically prevent someone from doing something because that is considered a restraint. But you can talk to them, distract them, find them something else to do, it's a lot of verbal gymnastics. If they're going for something like a PICC line (a line that's difficult to replace), I'd move their hand away to give them some time to really think about what they are doing, but not everyone's comfortable with that.

If someone's in danger or physically leaving and they can't stop them with verbal redirection they'll call security. For people with dementia/confusion who are pulling at lines or tubes sometimes you can get a doctor's order for soft restraints, which are really easy to squirm out of, but buy time for the sitter to intervene. Security are the only ones who can place hard restraints and those require a doctor's order as well, and usually a new one every 4 hours. Someone in hard restraints requires a sitter at all times.

Yes, if the sitter has to leave for any reason they get someone to cover.

Most hospitals it's 1:1 sitter to patient. I was just at the redheaded stepchild of the hospital system I worked for, and they had some questionable staffing practices.

[toxycodone]

What is ur ideal dunmeshi polycule.. or your nightmare polycule, what is the worst combo of your fictional crushes that could all live in one big house together with you.

Oh God. I….okay.

Oxy’s Modern AU! Ship Lore. (Dungeon Meshi Edition)

It’s complicated. Me and Laios have the only semblance of a normal relationship (besides all the biting each other and puppy play shit.) On the outside you’d see us together a lot and be under the assumption that we are boyfriends maybe a little weird. But cute and harmless nonetheless.

Well then there’s Kabru. He’s there mainly for Laios at first (wants to understand his freak) and then comes across me and cannot decide if he wants to hate me or fuck me. Kabru gets constantly cockblocked because Laios always shuts him down and never assumes anything romantic (despite me encouraging Kabru to do it bc I’m okay w it). This leads to hate sex. Or something. We have a weird polycule type beat. Kabru has a constant migraine (but in the best way possible.) Labru canon.

Then we have Thistle. He makes it really clear he doesn’t like Laios or Kabru. But he VERY much so likes me (my whimsy but obvious self awareness has captivated him). Laios tries his damn hardest to get on Thistle’s good side. Kabru thinks this guy should eat shit, but tries to act polite. Kabru’s convinced Thistle is a one time hookup for me or something. Then starts gnawing at the bars of his enclosure the longer the dude sticks around. He’s really hoping I drop Thistle when he outgrows being a boy toy.

Lastly, Mr. Winged Lion/Demon comes into play. I’m hooked because usually I’m never down bad for anyone but I’m down sincerely for this guy. He’s kinda a creep. Thistle refuses to be in the same room as this man. For once, Laios doesn’t like someone. He and Thistle bond over this. Kabru is entranced because 1. This dude is a major freak and he wants to know his deal/how much of a threat he is to me 2. Cannot resist the case study here at play. Just why is Oxy so down bad? Especially for a man who barely graces it with attention? What is happening here? IS OXY WESRINF A FUCKINF CHASTITY BELT?

Anyways it goes like this:

Laios/Oxy: Established relationship. Almost normal boyfriends. Almost

Laios/Oxy/Kabru: The Big Three. Perfect Trio. There is banter. There’s autism. There’s everything. It’s perfect. Established relationship in a comfortable multi bedroom apartment/penthouse.

Oxy/Thistle + Labru: Thistle becomes a side piece but for some reason stays. Laios is okay with this. Kabru is not convinced to let this barely legal guy stay despite how much I preach about how he’s just a little meow meow wet cat. There is a slight begrudging agreement to allow Thistle to sleep in my office. It becomes his room. Awwww.

Oxy/Lion + Thistle + Labru: Messy. Obvious abuser has captivated me (I’m witnessing the horrors but I just do not get them.) There’s obvious history between Lion and Thistle and that just makes it worse because Thistle is like. Only 19. And Lion is probably in his mid to late 40s. I’m being manipulated out of my mind but my dick is so hard idc

Meanwhile Labru is deciding how they’re gonna free me from this prison. Thistle helps. Kabru and Thistle kinda stop hating each other and form a truce (however they never really get romantic. Thistle is an Oxy simp through and through.)

Anyways it’s crazy. It makes it even more difficult because Lion starts to paying rent for me (“as a gift”, but it’s just another means of control) and Labru, being two 20s losers (Laios is a retail worker and Kabru is a student) are weighing the pros and cons of being financially stable versus having their partner basically. Under some guys thumb.

Thistle isn’t paying rent but he should (literally comes from a rich fam). We make him cover groceries (he indulges in my need for fancy ice cream. He’s swiping Daddy Delgal’s card without even thinking).

[strawbrygashez]

soapshipping hcs?? :))

AAAA okay! I’m worried these r ooc but UHM oh well 😈 under a cut bc it’s kinda long

•They both love listening to the other talk about anything. Well like, the narrator could listen to Tyler talk about how he stubbed his toe this morning and this man will still be like “mhm go on 😍” but I mean like how Tyler goes on long rants & randomly lists off things he knows. The narrator listens to every word like God is talking to him/giving him orders. Tyler likes listening to the narrator ramble too even tho the narrator probably doesn’t often unless he’s stressed from work and wants to talk about it. But I think every now and then he does ramble on about things he likes & random things he knows too.

Sometimes Tyler doesn’t look like he’s interested but he IS! He stores like literally any information the narrator tells him away in his head somewhere so he can do something with that info later. Be it like, learn more so he can show off, bond with him more or just is lowkey trying to show he does care about literally everything abt him.

•Tyler loves when narrator sits in his lap! The narrator is almost always embarrassed about doing so but after a while of Tyler just basically yanking him into his lap, he gets more used to it. Tyler will wrap his arms around him and rest his head on his back. He mostly only makes him sit in his lap at home but I think maybe a couple times he tries to get him to in public when no one is really paying them any attention anyways.

• AAA… okay sorry for this one but, Marla would watch them get it on ONCE I’m sorry but I can so see her just smoking and boredly watching them. She doesn’t join in but she’s like throwing in swears at the shit they do..maybe tries to give Tyler some advice on what to do next 💀 I don’t what would lead up to this situation but yeah.

•Obviously it’s so easy to tell when the narrator is jealous but I think Tyler can be just as jealous but won’t show it. He’ll smile thru whatever it is that has him feeling that way but kinda have a vaguely threatening aura but not enough to where the narrator or the other person will feel like brining it up. Usually his jealous feelings are solved in bed later but sometimes he will just be all silent and off until the narrator somehow manages him to tell him what’s wrong (yknow without the sex. This would probably be later down the road tho LOL)

Adding on to this, If the narrator makes it clear he doesn’t give a shit about certain people or a majority ppl knowing he’s with Tyler, Tyler will just be all over him while talking to other people. (Jealous or not) like his hand is in the narrators back pock, he has a arm around him, he kisses him or he really just starts a makeout session in front of whoever.

•The narrator feels like he doesn’t look anything special himself and is kinda confused why Tyler calls him pretty and etc but it’s not really a huge thing that bothers him. All the complements he gets from Tyler does help him gain a little confidence every day :)

• I think the narrator would assume Tyler is a dog person but in reality, Tyler would take home a little abandoned kitten if he felt like it :,) he lovesssss cats. If he believed in getting things that he doesn’t really need he would have that one cat poster that says “hang in there!”

They bring up getting a cat together every now and then but it’s always never a good time for some reason or another. Unless like what a said where Tyler would feel bad enough for a abandoned cat and just takes it home without warning lol.

•Tyler knows the narrator doesn’t eat much as it already is so eventually, he will go out of his way to buy more plain food that he personally wouldn’t get bc he likes foods with a lot of different things in it or on it. Like before he really started caring a lot for the narrator, he’d just shrug and be like “your loss” if he won’t eat what Tyler cooked but once he learns that the narrator has a lot of food aversions, he will get and cook the ‘simple’ things he likes with only a little bit of teasing, if any at all.

•Tyler uses sooooo many different nicknames and whatnot for the narrator but the narrator is only comfortable with calling him Ty. He will jokingly call him honey tho when he gets home or if Tyler is doing some house wife or ‘man of the house’ stuff.

Speaking of, if Tyler is doing some building or handy work around their house, the narrator finds it super hard to stop watching. The way Tyler sweats, his muscles flex, and the occasional grunts he lets out has the narrator about to pass out!!

[stinkyturd]

Funniest date you've ever been on? I'll go first.

I've got this bad habit of just randomly approaching people and striking up conversation. I'd seen this cute guy around who looks like the dollar store version of a movie director in the early 2000s but anyway I chatted him up and he gave me his number.

We agree to catch up at a cafe.

I stress to my sister and all my friends "it's not a date" because you can't be too presumptuous in this environment, I go for casual coffees with friends and even professors all the time.

But I dressed nice cause I like the guy, right? He's really sweet, he literally insists on paying for my drink (peppermint tea that day, and it was a bloody lovely one too, I've been meaning to return to that cafe on my own) and ik I'm showing my inexperience here but no one's ever paid for me like that before without wanting something in return or being weird about it.

We get to talking and by this point I've realised, shit, this might actually be a date. But how do I bring that up when suddenly he reveals he's a Christian and he's asking what I value most and how I feel about family 😭 um, and then further religion talk happened and he is Very Clearly Devout and I am uh not. That's not usually a problem, I'm open to embracing others' religion in a relationship if it's important to them and it's not going against my morals or ethics, but he didn't seem to like my lack of knowledge about, well, everything. Or my general superstitious nature and belief in my culture's folklore.

So, at the end of the not-date-but-totally-date, I say we should do this again sometime, I enjoyed myself (darling, I enjoyed the attention and admiring looks, I Did Not enjoy the job interview like way we were talking 💀).

My brother in Christ smiles and tells me he'll have to pray about it first, ask God for advice, and then maybe ask his parents before he decides we should "do this again".

Guuurl, I am never approaching random guys again. That was months ago when I still had foolish courage and a nothing-to-lose attitude. By far the funniest dating experience I've had though in retrospect. I didn't even realise I was on a date for most of it.

P.S. in the end, he said we're just not meant to be 🤷‍♀️ and if you ask me? Thank God for that.

LMFAOOOOOOOO, YO THAT'S SO AWKWARD. Me if I was asked about religion:

BUT HONESTLY... I don't really go on dates with people I don't already know, so I actually don't have any awkward or crazy experiences, bahaha. I've always played it safe bc at least for me, most people I run into in everyday life are probably not gonna vibe w/ me fr. 🙂‍↕️

I hope that guy found him a nice god fearing lady 🙏 🙌 (Inshallah 🥴)