#nice little doodle to try and clear the mind

[greenflowerceo]

pros of a rooftop date: cute and sappy moment with boyfriend

con: slipper at risk of falling off

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[daisymbin]

46. "you doodled hearts in my notebook again." with woozi :’)

ah!!!! so cute!!! thank you for requesting!! 🥰

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jihoon’s m.list

fluff prompt #46: "you doodled hearts in my notebook again."

jihoon flipped open his notebook, ready to show the boys the new lyrics he'd been working on. the practice room was its usual chaos—mingyu rummaging through snack bags, chan tapping out a beat on his knee—but they quieted when jihoon cleared his throat.

“alright, listen to this,” he began, but the words caught in his throat when he looked down.

his notebook, usually filled with meticulous handwriting and carefully crafted lyrics, was now decorated with tiny hearts scattered across the margins.

“oh my god,” mingyu gasped, leaning over before jihoon could close the notebook. “again?”

chan burst into laughter, craning his neck to look. “that’s the third time this month, isn’t it? your notebook’s turning into a scrapbook.”

“it’s cute,” mingyu teased, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “you know she does it because she loves you, right?”

jihoon sighed, snapping the notebook shut. “can we focus on the lyrics?”

chan grinned, nudging mingyu. “i think he likes it, though. look at him blushing.”

“i’m not blushing,” jihoon shot back, his ears burning as he stuffed the notebook into his bag.

mingyu waved him off with a laugh. “whatever you say, loverboy. now, are you going to play us the song, or are we just here for show-and-tell?”

“the song,” jihoon muttered, trying to suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. no matter how much they teased him, he couldn’t deny how those little hearts made him feel.

later that evening, jihoon walked through the front door of your shared apartment, the soft glow of the living room lights welcoming him home. you were on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, flipping through a book. you looked up when you heard him, your face lighting up.

“you’re home,” you light up, setting the book aside. “how was work today?”

jihoon shrugged off his bag and walked over to join you on the couch. he sat beside you, leaning his head against your shoulder as the rest of his body melts against you. he let out a tired sigh, but there was something warm and soft in his expression.

“it was fine,” he said, glancing up at you. after a beat, a small smile crept onto his face. “you doodled hearts in my notebook again.”

your eyes widened, and you immediately covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “oh no. did the guys see?”

jihoon nodded, the memory still fresh in his mind. “mingyu wouldn’t shut up about it. chan either.”

“i’m sorry,” you said, though you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “i didn’t think they’d notice.”

jihoon shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “they notice everything. but it’s fine.”

you raised an eyebrow. “fine? you didn’t hate it?”

he let out a soft chuckle, leaning his head back against the couch. “hate it? no. i mean... it’s a tiny bit embarrassing, sure, but...”

“but what?” you pressed, leaning closer to him.

he glanced at you, his expression softening. “but it’s nice. it makes me think of you while i’m working.”

your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “so you do like it.”

jihoon rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “don’t push it.”

“you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you teased, poking his cheek. “maybe i should add more next time.”

“just don’t cover up my lyrics,” he muttered, though his tone was light.

you let out a laugh, holding out your pinky.

he stared at your pinky for a moment before linking it with his, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“you know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, “those little things you do... they mean a lot. even if mingyu and chan make it their mission to humiliate me over it.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder, your smile softening. “you really think so? i can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

jihoon’s eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head quickly. “no, don’t stop. i like it.”

you tilted your head to look at him, surprised by how earnest he sounded. “even if the guys keep teasing you about it?”

he let out a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing against yours. “let them. they can say whatever they want. it doesn’t matter.”

“why not?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jihoon turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression warm and sincere. “because it’s you. and i love everything about you. even your silly little doodles.”

your heart skipped at his words, the quiet affection in his voice making your chest ache in the best way. you smiled, letting your hand slip into his, your fingers intertwining.

“okay,” you murmured, your voice teasing but soft. “i won’t stop, then.”

jihoon smiled back, pressing a light kiss to your temple. “good. because, i dont want you to. & honestly, i think i’d miss them if you did.”

and for a moment, the teasing and chaos of the day faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet comfort of home. the hearts you doodled might have been small, but to jihoon, they were reminders of everything he cherished about you—your love, your care, and the way you always managed to brighten his day.

[leighsartworks216]

You Have A Type, Don't You?

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Based on this post

I wrote this instead of doing any of the work I need to do! I'm gonna go do that now lol

Warnings: innuendos, minor references to sex, the barest hints of jealousy

Word Count: 1,601

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your pencil scratched across the paper, drawing Astarion over and over again on a single page. This wasn’t anything surprising; you drew all of your companions. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel - they all had pages of their own, but it was usually only one drawing. Some had even posed for it. It was just a way to relax, and their faces always lit up when you showed them, even if they tried not to show it.

Everyone needed a break from fighting and exploring day in day out, so you decided one more day here wouldn’t hurt. As such, you’ve spent the better half of the day just drawing. At first it was little doodles of Scratch, but then you realized you hadn’t drawn the vampire spawn yet.

Most of the expressions you captured came from memory. You’d occasionally sneak a glance for quick reference, pretending to stretch or get distracted by some birds. But at some point, he’d disappeared from camp. You just assumed he’d gone off hunting.

That assumption was proved quite wrong when a voice tsked over your shoulder, almost directly in your ear.

Startling away from the sound, you whipped around to see Astarion crouched down. He wore a self-satisfied smirk and settled down into a full sit on the ground.

“It seems someone is infatuated,” he teased. “So who is it? Someone we saved from peril, perhaps?”

Oh. Right. It had completely slipped your mind.

You cleared your throat as your cheeks warmed and smiled. “Y-Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckled. “Come on, darling, there’s nothing to be shy about. Spare none of the juicy details. What’s he like?”

“He’s, well,” you stammer, “he’s interesting.”

He scoffed. “That’s hardly juicy or a detail. Or is he just another pretty face?” He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at your drawings. You wanted to pull them away and hide them, but why? All the others had drawings done of them, and you loved showing it off when they were done. Why was this any different?

“No, he’s a lot more than that,” you admit quietly. You weren’t good at lying - usually Astarion took the lead any time you had to - but maybe if you didn’t tell a complete lie… “He’s funny, charming. His laugh lights up my world. He’s had a rough go of it, but he doesn’t like it to show.”

“He must like you if you know,” he hummed. Your heart leapt into your throat as he pointed to the pin pricks drawn on the neck. “Is he a vampire, too?” He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “You have a type, don’t you?”

You scoffed even as warmth flooded to your cheeks. “No! I do not have a type.”

“No, of course not,” he played along. “Certainly not for creatures of the night who bite into that pretty little neck of yours.” Despite his smile, there was a tension in his eyes. “I don’t mind, dear. I’d be more than happy to scrounge around some nights so you may indulge your new lover.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Astarion,” you assured. “He’s not… We’re not together.”

“No?” You shook your head again. He opened his mouth to give you advice or console you, but you cut him off. It was better to end this fantasy now, before it began to hurt too much.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you shouldn’t be sneaking around so you can look over my shoulder. I could have been drawing something terrible.”

He laughed. “All the more reason to risk a peek. You’re so good, it would be nice to know you can be tempted.” Then he scowled. “Unless it’s something terribly dull. You deserve much more than missionary.”

If your cheeks weren’t already blazing hot…

“In any case, I was only wondering when you’d draw my portrait. You seemed more than happy to provide the others with a likeness. And…” He looked past you, seemingly far away. “I haven’t seen myself in two centuries. One gets curious, especially when you’re as vain as me.”

If he heard your heart start racing, he didn’t comment on it. Drawing him would make him realize it wasn’t some other vampire crush you were drawing. But, it had been a while since your adventure began, and you’d drawn everyone else. You swallowed down your anxiety. “Yeah! Of course! Did you wanna pose, or anything?”

He blinked and suddenly he was back in the present. A sly smirk covered up whatever emotions could be lingering on his face. “If your little vampire friend doesn’t get too jealous. I would actually like if you could draw me just,” he paused, “smiling. It would be nice to know what everyone else sees. Make sure I’m not off-putting, you know how it is.”

Once he was sitting comfortably, you turned to a fresh page and began drawing. The paper was hidden from his view, but he watched as your hand, wrist, and arm all moved in tandem like a clock’s gears to create an image. Your eyes moved between the sketch and him multiple times. Sometimes you’d glance up and draw for almost a minute. Then other times you kept going back and forth, constantly checking for reference.

Watching you work was fascinating. All your surroundings faded away. Karlach being her usual loud self, Wyll dancing, Gale cooking, Lae’zel sharpening weapons - nothing could turn your attention from him. He almost felt subconscious with the intensity of it. Your eyes studied him, taking in every single feature, and translated it to your journal. What did you see when you looked at him, he wondered. What did the world see? It had been so long, he couldn’t even remember his face. All he knew was he was attractive.

With a final few marks, brushed away to blend them into the rest, you looked down at your masterpiece. You were so caught up in the drawing you forgot why you were hesitant before, but now that Astarion stared at you from two different angles, your anxiety came back full force. There was no way out of this.

“All done, dear?”

You smiled shakily up at him and turned the journal around. His face scrunched up in confusion. When he met your eyes, he was decidedly unamused. “Darling, if you’re going to draw your fleeting fancy, don’t trick me first. I know it’s hard to see past the depraved bloodlust, but we don’t all look alike, you know.”

“No, Astarion, it’s not- I-”

While you fought to find words, Karlach picked up the slack. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted across the camp, “IT’S YOU, FANGS!”

Dread washed over you. You closed your eyes. If a merciful god was going to kill you and rid you of this embarrassment, now would be the time. A bolt of lightning, perhaps. You’d even welcome decapitation.

You risked a glance when you felt your book being tugged carefully from your hands. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as he tried to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. Gods, now he was going to leave camp. You buried your face in your hands. He was going to pack everything up and leave before the sun even touched the horizon. And you’d never see him again. Maybe you’d go find Cazador yourself, just to kill the bastard.

“All these drawings… are me? Darling?”

You inhaled deeply and lowered your hands, but you couldn’t bear looking at him. He could stab you with his dagger and you’d apologize to him for it all. Hell, you’d let him drink you dry if it meant leaving this all behind you. “You’re very pretty,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to ask, and just- You can rip the pages out, burn them, whatever makes you feel better. And if you leave, I won’t blame you or chase after you or-”

“I’m not upset.” Your head never shot up so fast. “Well, a little. You’re not subtle when you stare, you know. I thought you were just uncomfortable being around a vampire, but this…” He turned back to the portrait you’d just finished. “This is really what I look like?”

You swallowed away a small portion of the shame. At least he wasn’t running away. “As best as I can capture you, anyway. Y-You’ve got these sharp eyes, and your hair curls around your ears, and you get little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you laugh - and I just like drawing you.”

The page flipped over again. The page of expressions, capturing everything you described. When he smiled full and bright his fangs were on full display, accented by the laugh lines on either side of his mouth. And the puncture wounds on his neck…

“Ah, so when I said you had a type…” He chuckled, but it didn’t hold as much warmth as usual.

“Your laugh does light up my world,” you admit. His red eyes were on you in an instant, flickering over your whole face. “Just, for the record.”

He glanced at the drawings once more, contemplative. Then, he held the book back out to you. “I wouldn’t be… opposed to trying this. Whatever this is.”

You reached out to take it, but he pulled it away. “But, no more sneaking glances across camp when you want to draw me. I would be delighted to model for you again, in any pose your sweet heart can concoct.” He held the book out again. “Deal?”

You grabbed onto the book, finally relaxing as you smiled. “Deal.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @mjmygd @flsalazar @thedevilssinner @marina-and-the-memes @softempest @rebeccasship @pinkishredlemonade @faeoran

[goldengroovy]

have some of the step 4 qiu design predictions i doodled!! yapping down below

okay okay so!! i think in terms of fashion, qiu would stay somewhat similar maybe? experimenting with different styles here and there but like.. i think i can only pry away that puffer jacket from their cold dead hands

their fashion is pretty consistent over all, actually!! dark jeans + sweater (in step 2 + step three, its a white sweater with a pattern thrown on) and that bomber jacket once more

i think the factor of their appearance that they experiment with the most is with their accessories and hair!!

their hair is very, very important to them. in all steps, it's never goes above their jaw. and in step 3, it even goes somewhat down to their stomach!! most of their hairstyles however are very low effort, something you can do quickly (high pony, low pony, half up half down)

i imagine in step 4, they'd try to change it up with something that takes a little more time. maybe pins, claw clips (inspired by this). i think it wouldn't be too far to say that maybe they'd dye it a lighter color, or add some highlights!!

honestly, their accessories seem pretty consistent too. fingerless gloves, chokers / necklaces, earrings! maybe they would borrow some of their mom's jewelries (she's seen wearing rings and earrings!!) her accessories are gold, which is nice because its their favourite, but i can see them leaning towards silver jewelry as time goes on!!

i can also imagine that they would try out riding a motorbike instead of their usual bike (inspired by this). black or grey helmet with accents of gold!! it just makes sense to me -- its a way for them to clear their mind without having to use their phone and its something they can do alone!

although gold is their favourite color, i thought it'd make more sense to add it little by little instead of putting it everywhere. less is more yadda yadda

i wanted to do tammy in the same post but honestly she is not as predictable as qiu </3 but i love her and i will struggle for her

[cottonlemonade]

Omg i always love your fic events!! You put so much effort into them and they're so creative! Can I get a small pineapple lemonade with pomegranate seeds for Kita? Thank u! ❤️🌾🧑‍🌾🦊

Accidental Confession

word count: 814 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy accidental confession with pining Kita

In hindsight maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But then again, confessing your feelings to someone wasn’t an everyday occurrence so of course he didn’t have a routine for it.

Nothing about you was ordinary or predictable. Except that little smile you got when you doodled in your planner or you offering your help when you saw someone struggle or the absolute determination with which you would first push a door that was clearly marked pull. Those things he could count on and his heart jumped every time.

“Kita-san?”

He snapped back to the present, meeting your curious gaze. “Yes?”

“You wanted to ask something and then… well, you haven’t said anything yet.”

“Oh! Right.” His face grew a little warmer and he cleared his throat. Kita looked around the courtyard of the school for a moment, trying to remember how he wanted to start his question. It was on the tip of his tongue until he got tripped up by the sun hitting your eyes and all thought had vanished from his mind. Somewhere off to the right he spotted Aran and the twins blatantly staring in his direction. The ace gave him two encouraging thumbs up, Osamu managed to nod while getting lost in the taste of his lunch and Atsumu said something and then pretended to throw up, earning himself a smack over the head from Aran.

He never should have told them about his crush.

“I wanted to ask for yer help.”, he finally began and you sat up a little straighter to show you were listening.

“There’s someone I really like and I want to confess to her but I don’t know how. I was hopin’ ya’d have some insights.”

“Me?”, you said perplexed, “Why me?”

“Because yer really pretty and interestin’, ya must get confessions every other week.”

He frowned when you burst out into laughter.

But when he didn’t join in, you stopped. “Oh, wait. You were serious.”

“Was tryin’ to be. Yea.”

You cocked a brow and looked down at your pudgy tummy, barely hidden by the school’s jacket, and tucked at the hem of your skirt that always felt too short because your butt required so much fabric to cover.

“Uhm, I hate to break it to you, but I think you got the wrong girl. Why not try Kotoha? She is very popular and sweet - unless she is the one you want to confess to.”

“Who?”

“Ko- nevermind. - I can try to help you, sure. But I need a bit more info. Tell me about her.”

Kita pondered. It was the whole point of asking for your advice so he’d have the best possible set up for success. He wanted it to be tailored to your taste. What if you liked a public announcement and meanwhile he would have only handed you a private letter? He needed to be sure.

“She is quite outgoing.”, he began, putting a hand to his chin in thought.

“Outgoing from your point of view or outgoing like Atsumu?”

“Not like Atsumu.”, he said quickly, “More … confident and less…”

“Obnoxious?”, you offered with a chuckle and he pretended to cough to hide his snort.

“Yes. She is also really smart and funny. She knows how to make people comfortable and …”, he looked at his shoes, “has a beautiful smile.”

“Oh you’re down bad, I see.“

“She is beautiful in general.”, he went on, not noticing your comment because he wasn’t close to being done listing everything, “She loves to read and I also know she knits. And when she thinks no one can hear her, she starts humming while she is knitting and that sounds really nice.”

You frowned. You were part of the Knitting Club so you mentally flipped through the members of said club to figure out who he was talking about.

“One time,”, he said and gave a slow, low laugh, remembering the scene, his eyes still fixed on the ground, “she was knitting in the classroom and she was so proud, showing off a little thing she made and I asked her what it was and ya said it was obviously a frog.”

Kita’s shoulders shook and a few seconds later he was doubling over with laughter. He didn’t realize what he had just done.

“But it was just so round and wonky and had tiny stringy legs.” He gasped for air, trying to stop laughing.

Your heart hammered in your ears and your cheeks threatened to cook under the heat rising in them continuously. “H-hey, I’m still proud of my frog!” It was the only thing you could think of to say.

He started coughing from laughing so much, “As ya should be.” Raising his index finger to his eyes he wiped away the tears.

“So, uhm. I think as far as confessions go this was unconventional but… it definitely worked.”

“What?”

art: @cookiechochop on Twitter

a/n: thank you so much for the request, I’m sorry it’s taking so long for me to get to them all!

I didn’t make it post-time skip (like your emojis suggested ✨) because I already have him accidentally confess in A Simpler Life ^^ I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless and thank you so much for your kind words!

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven not Forgotten | Prompt

Steve Harrington was eleven years old when he learned what Homophobia was. It wasn’t through other people making jokes, it wasn’t his parents, who actually found Steve’s little crushes cute as all hell, his mother joking around about how he’d make the perfect little housewife someday as she had him helping with dinner, Steve wearing his own adorable little ‘head chef’ apron as he struggled with the garlic press, her comments made much to his father’s exasperated amusement.

Nobody ever made him feel bad about it. The crushes. Nobody ever put him down or made him feel like it was wrong. Kids didn’t care until close minded grown ups made it a thing. Kids minds were wide open ready to be shaped. It wasn’t a bad thing...

Until Eddie.

Eddie was one of the bigger kids on the playground. Quiet and mysterious, he came to Hawkins halfway through the year from places unknown, his hair buzzed close to his scalp, now growing back thick, brown, and soft enough for Steve to crave touching it. He’d never seen Eddie up close, they didn’t share any classes but… from a distance he was clearly very pretty. With big dark eyes, soft cheeks, and a cute nose, he was perfect.

Steve was sure he’d caught sight of dimples once. DIMPLES.

Lynda Harrington was about five minutes away from being done with dimples, Steve talked about them that much.

Eddie didn’t talk much, he had no friends to speak of, kept to himself in the playground, either reading an impossibly thick book with a pretty picture on the front that Steve couldn’t quite make out, sat under the jungle gym, or laid under the jungle gym scribbling things into a black notebook covered in stickers and scribbled paint marker marks.

He carried a big guitar case sometimes, and Steve occasionally caught him coming from the music rooms, but he’d never heard him play. He wanted too, but hadn’t quite worked out how to make that happen without being forced to talk to him.

And that. That was just far too scary.

He was an older kid from seventh grade, and from what little he’d heard him speak, he had a nice southern twang to his accent that made Steve’s hands all clammy and his chest feel so full of butterflies that he feared he’d float away.

Too scary basically. But he could watch from afar! Afar was safe. Afar was—

“Hey trailer park FREAK!” Oh boy. The biggest kids. Eighth graders. Eddie was just going to the jungle gym, notebook in hand to get a little light doodling in, when they descended upon him. The sporty kids that dominated in dodgeball, the mean ones that picked on the nerds, the popular ones his parents had told him to steer clear of.

“They’re bad influences” his father would say. “Just focus on your classes and keep your distance from those troublemakers.” Steve was happy to do just that. He had a couple of friends but… he kept to his studies and steered clear.

Eddie was quiet, he had no friends, he hung out in the same place every day doing the same thing, he was an easy target. Steve looked for the teachers, any teachers, any grown-ups, but they were all busy elsewhere, Eddie didn’t have any friends to stand up for him, anyone to back him up as the big kids descended, shoving him against the jungle gym’s climbing net, he barely even complained, just told them to leave him alone, which obviously they weren’t going to do, leaving Steve with a choice to make.

He could stay there, where he was, and keep watch from a far as his crushes notebook was stolen, the panic kicking up a notch from Eddie as he rushed forward to try and get it back, demanding “Not my notebook!! Give it back! Please give it back!” To no avail, the two flanking the main bully just shoving him back against the netting while the main bully roughly ransacked through the pages, uncaring as to the damage he was doing despite Eddie’s continued cries for him to stop, he looked again, any adult, any adult would do.

How had no adult noticed yet?!

Steve found himself crossing the distance before he could even think about it, just in time to watch Eddie be thumped in the gut by the biggest of the three, “trailer trash nerd” spat down at him, his torn notebook thrown to the floor, papers torn free from the seam falling out across the woodchip floor, Steve was too late to stop the worse of it but— he could do something.

“Hey!” All three eyes were on him, Eddies not included, he was too busy clutching his gut and trying to reach for his book at the same time “U-uh… uhm” Steve turned his head and holy shit hallelujah “teachers coming! Better scram before she catches you!” She wasn’t even coming, she was just there, close enough that it made a difference.

The boys got out of there, each one pushing the other to move faster to get out of dodge before the teacher came. At least Steve hadn’t had to stand up to them, just… make them leave. They were probably about to go anyway, given they’d already done enough damage to put their point across.

Eddie was right there, nursing his wounds, trying to gather his papers up, so close, Steve could feel his palms clam up, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute. He pushed through, bending down to pick up a scrunched up ball of paper, he gently began unfolding it. It was nerve wracking, every second he spent in Eddies presence, the boy watching him hesitantly, big dark eyes rimmed red with unshed tears, brown. His eyes were brown. Steve gulped down his own saliva.

“You should uh… you should ignore those guys.” WORDS! He managed words. Okay. He could do this.

“Yeah? What’s it to you?” Eddie was upset, he probably didn’t mean the bite to his tone, it was okay, it’d be okay.

“I just… I mean, it’s not bad, y’know. To be like… nerdy and stuff, you shouldn’t listen to them. They’re just jealous cause you’re… y’know, creative and uhm… an smart, an really talented at drawing and—and people really like that.” He offered the creased paper back as Eddie rose to his feet, wrecked notebook tightly clutched in his arms, he took it back, not quite snatched but… it wasn’t taken gently.

“Yeah, what people? So far things ain’t exactly been makin me feel welcome here.” He shoved the paper full of… god Steve didn’t even know, but Steve knew they were doodles of some kind, winged things, and skeleton monsters, they were cool! Eddie could draw! Steve couldn’t draw, he could barely make stickmen work, the legs were always mismatched lengths, and the arms were never coming from the same point of the stickman’s stick body.

“I mean…” Steve fumbled with his own fingers, warmth decorating his cheeks, pinking the tips of his ears this was it! He could do it, he could tell him, and it’d be fine, and maybe they could hold hands or something, that’d be neat “people… people like me… I—I like you, I mean… I like you a lot and—and I just… I was just wondering if—if maybe—”

“Ew” Steve stopped dead, eyes snapping to the other boy, the other boy who looked at him with an icy disgust that wrapped its frozen claws around Steve’s heart and clenched “that’s gross. Boys can’t like other boys, that’s so fuckin weird!” Weird? It was weird? Steve looked around him, panic filling his very being, from his head to his toes every inch of him felt wrong all of a sudden, his heart beating faster and faster only this time it wasn’t good “and they call me a freak, freak.”

His small fist connected with Eddie’s face without thought, right in the nose. Instinct to fight rearing its head for the first time in his life, panic replaced so swiftly by an anger so unlike him he was consumed by it, and the resulting pained cries filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction that he enjoyed far more than the panic, than the sense of wrong in himself at Eddie’s words.

He didn’t say anything else to Eddie, he just, left him there by the jungle gym, crying in pain holding a bleeding nose. His book dropped to the floor, ruined papers strewn across the woodchip.

And his dimples?

Never to be thought of again.

��Until the boathouse in '86 when everything went to shit for the fourth time in a row.

Part 2

[machveil]

the stuff you’ve written for gaz 🤩

I used to wish for times like these :,)

welcome to me slowly caving for all the CoD characters, I’ll be here all night⭐️✨

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is the type to slowly fall in love with you, only realizing the click when he looks back through his camera roll. it used to be a little sporadic - photos of documents for work, a snapshot he took of his homemade dinner to send to his mom (he always says hers tastes better), a couple selfies with Johnny, Simon and Price side-eyeing them from the background. but after meeting you? he didn’t realize how packed his gallery had become

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick who lounges in his bed, cheeks pleasantly warm, holding the back of his hand to his lips. he browses through all the photos he’s taken with you, of you. scrunching his nose while looks over you doodling on a napkin, swiping right and biting back a grin, you holding up a silly little sketch of him. his heart beating a little quicker when he remembers he put that napkin in one of his tote bags, how it’s still in there. snorting when he sees a photo of you drenched from a sudden downpour, miserable scowl on your face. “Garrick, this isn’t funny! I was having a good hair day!”, he vividly remembers you pouting, telling him off when he laughed

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick whose pupils dilate when he watches a short video of you, a measly seven second clip of you trying to tie your shoelaces, hands fumbling as you laugh at he something he said. swipe right, a blurry photo of you standing up while giggling. biting his lip to hold in a laugh. his breathing evening out, smile gentler when he looks at the next photo. he can hear your voice so clearly, a scrape to his knee after taking a tumble in the field. he was so adamant he didn’t need to get it checked out, how, “It’s fine, I can still walk.”. he had mentioned it to his mom while calling her, just needed to send a photo to her so she’d stop worrying. of course you photobombed him, nearly falling backwards from squatting down too fast - trying to get into frame too quickly

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick who remembers it crystal clear, the both of you laughing afterwards. “Need me to kiss it better?”, looking back, maybe that’s when all the pieces fell into place. the last puzzle piece to his heart clicking in, it was a joke, but you sounded so genuine. Kyle who turns his phone off, pauses before chucking it somewhere into his bedsheets. staring up at the ceiling, mind swirling with you. maybe one of these days he’ll take you to a photo booth, something cheesy to make your eyes roll. maybe, someday soon, he’ll confess while timer ticks down, four sweet photos of you printed - one with your surprised expression, one of you hugging him with a dopey smile on your lips, and two of you kissing. maybe, he thinks, that’d be nice

[dark-and-kawaii]

Ok, so I was mostly joking about the whole 'bunny-boy Zevlor doodle' thing but... Hmmm...

*awkwardly clears throat while fanning myself*

👀 He looks very nice. Very nice indeed.

Pardon, I think I need to process what you have awoken in me.

‎‧₊˚✧ [ Don’t Be Shy ] ✧˚₊‧

Summary: You ask Zevlor to try on the cute latex bunny outfit ♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ — Notes: Don’t mind me, just going to casually drop a little Drabble about him trying on the bunny outfit in front of you ♡ ♡!!! Thank you so much for the love on the drawing!!! It’s honestly one of my favorites, and I’m grateful you recommended it!!! He’s so freaking precious in it in my opinion hahaha pink latex suits him well (>ᴗ•)!!!

Doodle

You sat on the bed while holding a fur pillow, a playful smile dancing on your lips as you watched Zevlor fumble with the bunny outfit you had teasingly suggested he try on.

The outfit was made of gorgeous pink latex, the cuffs embroidered with a silver lining, and Zevlor, well… you giggle at how the commander- a dignified soldier, was now a blushing mess.

His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, contrasting sharply with his usual composed demeanor… And his tail, “Awhh Zevy~” it instinctively curled around his waist, the sharp end of it attempting to shield the rather obvious bulge that the snug outfit accentuated. Meanwhile, Zevlor’s hand covered half his face, as if trying to hide from the world- or perhaps from your amused gaze.

“Dear, must I really?” He mumbled from behind his fingers.

You chuckled softly, hopping off the bed so that you could saunter over to the love of your life. And with a playful grin, you reach out and gently take his tail in your hand to unwrap it from his muscular waist. “Don’t be shy now,” you purr before giving his tail a light, teasing lick, your eyes never leaving his, “let me see what you’re hiding~”

Zevlor's breath caught in his throat, his blush deepening as he met your gaze... Your playful confidence was infectious, and despite his initial embarrassment and discomfort, he found himself relaxing under your touch- the warmth of your gaze melting away his embarrassment, if only just a little.

[sprunkimortality]

Uhh Black, was it really a good idea to leave a kid home alone-

Black: "See, I...realized that a little later than I should."

[Black was hurrying back to Saves' home, carrying the old Sprunki in question in his arms. Saves remained still in his hold, smiling innocently as he rested his cheek on Black's chest.]

Saves: "Oh, Black, what are we hurrying for?"

Black: "Sprinkles. She's by herself."

Saves: "O-Oh, goodness me."

.

.

.

[When Black arrived back home, the first thing he saw was Sprinkles lying on her belly, humming a tune as she scribbled on a piece of paper. There were more pieces of paper lying about, each with her mark of art on them.]

Black: "Sprinkles, I am SO sorry."

Sprinkles: "For what?"

[Sprinkles looks up. Upon seeing Saves, she beams up, scrambling to what would be her feet, if she had any.]

Sprinkles: "Grandpapa Saves! You're back!"

Saves: "Back?...did I leave?"

Black: "Well, yes, you wandered off, actually."

[Black gently sets Saves on the floor, helping him stand. Sprinkles rushes to the lavender Sprunki, embracing him firmly, wrapping her arms around his sweater-covered body.]

Saves: "Oh, Sparkle! Love to see you too, my dear."

Sprinkles: "Grandpapa, I made us some pictures while you were away! I was gonna use them to cheer you up, but it looks like you already did!"

Black: "Yes, a friend helped."

Sprinkles: "Who?"

Black: "..."

Saves: "I believe it was...Samuel? Or was that his name..."

Sprinkles: "Who's Samuel?"

[Black clears his throat, a hesitant look on his face.]

Black: "S-Simon."

Sprinkles: "Oh- Oooh! Heehee!"

Saves: "Simon! Yes, I remember now. Anyhow...may I see your drawings?"

[Sprinkles nodded eagerly as she gathered the pieces of paper, showing them one by one.]

(credits to @soarinsworld for the drawings!)

Sprinkles: "See? This was when you took us to eat outside as a treat! And this was when we made flower crowns! And this is when you gave me my necklace, Grandpapa! Do you remember? Any of them?"

[Saves stared quietly at the drawings. While they were cute and heartwarming, he struggled to recall the events they were based on. He can't quite remember what happened, only that they did, and that they were events that felt good.

His smile faltered a little as he continued to dig through his mind, though all he was met with was the fog that never seemed to go away. Perhaps, he felt, he should stop trying. The air was too quiet.]

Saves: "I...can't say, my dear. But these are nice. Perhaps...we could hang these on the walls."

[Sprinkles seemed a little disappointed that Saves had forgotten, again, but nevertheless happy that he enjoyed her artwork.]

Sprinkles: "Thank you!"

[She turned towards Black.]

Sprinkles: "Grandpa Black?"

Black: "Hm?"

Sprinkles: "Is the grown-up problem solved now?"

Black: "..."

[Black turned towards Saves, who had started wandering off into the kitchen, perhaps to make some tea again.]

Black: "...I don't know, Sprinkles. I really don't."

[Sprinkles frowns.]

Black: "...but...you know, I do agree with him when he said that those doodles are nice."

[Sprinkles smiles a little again.]

Sprinkles: "Will Grandpapa be okay?"

Black: "Ah, the old geezer has his ways of standing strong."

Sprinkles: "You're an old geezer too, Grandpa Black!"

Black: "I don't count, kid. I have the face of a youthful supermodel."

Sprinkles: "Heeheehee!"

Black: "C'mon, let's get those drawings up on the walls. And not with tape this time, okay?"

Sprinkles: "O-kay~!"

[As the two trudged away, Saves was, momentarily, left to his own thoughts again. He grabbed a cup and a teabag from the shelves; it was like muscle memory at this point when he began to prepare the tea.

He stared into the cup as he filled it with hot water, the teabag sitting comfortably inside. The reflection in the water stared back.]

Saves: "...my name..."

[Saves breathed in, before letting out a heavy exhale.]

Saves: "...my name...is Saves. Whew..."

[A faint smile quirked his lips.]

Saves: "Almost forgot there, haha."

[The tea was delightful.]

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi first of all I'd like to say that I love your writing style and can't get enough of reading you. Could I make a request for a slightly older Jake Kim? As it's the end of the crews, Allied has won and neither Charles Choi nor Eugene are a threat anymore. Jake is a little bored despite his love for big deal and his friends and/or his mother is urging him to go back to school and he thinks it might be a good idea. At first he's a little scared and unsure, thinking that with his gangster looks and scars, he might scare off the other students, but Jake is Jake and his charisma is incredible. Anyway, he notices this girl who's a foreign student (if she could be French, I'd love you for the rest of my life), quite popular and he just has a crush on her but doesn't dare approach her because she's so popular. Well he watches her as she sit just in front of him and he is just so into her. The 2 of them could get close at a party or an event, maybe he could save her from a molka or a Zeus-like student or something like that too.

Sorry if it is not clear, english isn't my native language.

Besides, if my request doesn't inspire you, feel free to ignore it. I'll keep on reading you because you're incredible.

Anon, this is EXTREMELY clear. Ty for being so kind!! Sorry for the delay and as always, only half hitting the request points. Also French???

Jake Kim x French!Reader: Lecture

Leans F!Reader. Sort of college AU.

Jake sits at the back of the lecture hall. 

He always sits at the back. It was his seat before Big Deal, and makes sense that it's his seat after Big Deal too.

Picked in his middle school days as the perfect spot for taking naps and causing trouble. Not that Jake was ever a trouble maker, at least to teachers. He preferred to waste the hours by catching up on his sleep.

So used to being front and centre all his life. Thrust, sometimes willingly, sometimes not, into the centre of attention that it's quite nice to literally take a back seat. 

Except. It's out of an awkwardness, discomfort, that he chooses to sit at the back today. 

Hidden from most of the other students. Feeling out of place with his thuggish appearance, his scars and his tattoos.

Can't help but be a little self conscious, even if his bias should be grossly outdated.

"This seat taken?" You don't wait for his answer, missing his look of surprise, slamming yourself down on the seat. Hugging your backpack to your body and slouching with relief. 

"I got lost," you give a grin that comes out as more of a grimace, and wipe your brow, having worked up a sweat from trying to figure out this labyrinth they call a school.

Jake's eyes follow your fingers running through your hair. Absentmindedly notes how soft and shiny it looks.

You tell him your name, half distracted with setting up your laptop to take notes. He has your full attention when his low, husky timbre introduces himself as Jake Kim. 

You also notice he has dimples when he smiles.

.

.

He sees you again a couple days later, and you walk towards your lecture together.

Following your lead and taking a seat much closer to the front. Where Jake doesn't need to strain so much to see and hear.

He feels less self conscious today. Maybe that's because you're by his side.

He chooses not to dwell on it. Focusing on whatever the professor is talking about.

Somewhere between the droning voice and the overwarm room, his mind starts to wander. Begins to doodle on his notepad instead of taking notes.

You peek over at his paper, "What is that?"

"Jerry." Jake says it like it's obvious. Like you should know.

"Who?"

"My best friend."

You squint down at the doodle a bit more, "Cute. What breed is he?"

Jake holds back his grin and deadpans, "Human."

"Huh?!"

Jake chuckles. Points out the bald head and the attempt at human anatomy in a hushed voice as you inspect further, peering so close your foreheads are almost touching.

When finally,the image clicks, you burst out laughing, earning shushes from the students around you.

 .

.

Jake is shy. 

All his natural leadership quality completely leaves him when after the lecture, you introduce him to his friends.

A mix of students that grew up overseas. Seems worldly and experienced compared to himself who has barely left Seoul. Having lived a lifetime fighting and running a gang instead.

You introduce everyone. Give him more details about yourself, mention growing up in France.

"Paris?" he ventures, the only place he can recall off the top of his head.

You pull a little face at that. No, the South. Grew up swimming in the Mediterranean Sea. 

"Here," you lean in to show him on your phone the town you spent your childhood years.

Leaning in close enough that he can count each of your freckles, if he so chooses. Can pick out the scent of your shampoo

And Jake, for maybe the first time ever, is hit with a fluttering in his stomach.

.

.

It's a role reversal.

Everyone seems to know you. You remember the little details about them. Asking how their trip was, how their mom is doing.

You're popular, and Jake feels a little like an outcast. No one has given him a reason to feel that way. Not really, but he couldn't help feeling misplaced. Like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

Until you took him under your wing. Making him feel comfortable in this strange environment. 

Like many others, his face now brightens when you shine your light on him.

He remembers a little more, a lot more, about himself. Finds ease in his words and his body again.

Charisma and confidence once more rising to the surface. It always does with someone like Jake Kim. It’s embedded in his nature, fundamentally a part of who he is.

Being with you is uncomplicated, easy. Like how everyone always says it should be. He draws smiles and laughter from your lips, feeding on them like a lifestream.  Cracking cheesy jokes and puns that make you groan and lightly slap his arm with affection.

Jake thinks you're sweet and kind and all sorts of wonderful. Maybe funnier than he is, which is the greatest compliment he can give.

He's started to count your freckles every chance he gets.

.

.

You're doodling on his pad again. He's admiring your lashes.

Long and thick and luscious. But it's the way they frame your eyes, when you peer up at him with a softness, that makes his chest ache.

"I drew us," you whisper, and his eyes follow your pen. Two stick figures. One much taller than the others.

Maybe he's a bit too crazy about you, but he thinks that even these few lines are the essence of you two.

"What are we doing?" he whispers back. Your eyes drop to his lips, tracing the shape of them, the scar, words almost on the tip of your tongue-

Then it dissipates. 

You stare back at the drawing and give a shrug.

"Maybe this?" He draws what he hopes you can make out to be a bowl and some chopsticks.

"Food?"

"Sure." Jake musters up all his charm and gives you a grin, hoping it hides his nervousness. "Or dinner. A date."

He's trying for nonchalance. Like it wouldn't mean anything if you turned him down, preferring to stay friends or whatever this is-

"This Saturday?" you smile, and Jake nods, gives you a toothy grin back, dimples on full display.

You pick up your pen again and draw a little symbol over the figures. 

It’s a small heart, and his own soars.

[child0feden]

RAINY DAYS

- just sharing a little thought i had whilst it rained today!

pelle would probably really like the rain, he does not so much like being in the rain because i think he would get slightly irritated at the feeling of his denim jeans sticking to his already cold and pale skin but inside the house? he likes it a whole lot

he likes cuddling up with you when it rains, big spooning you from the side so that his eyes can stare out of the one small window in your shared bedroom, his blue eyes reflecting the image of small water droplets rapidly hitting the glass and trickling down as his cold hands trace your hips, not helping much to warm you up but you do not say anything, you just let him rest and push your body further into his front, trying to create some body warmth which works well enough… occasionally his blue eyes will drift away from the window and down to your resting face, watching as your nose twitches lightly in your sleep or your soft lips part to breathe, admiring you in your most vulnerable and serene state, watching as the orange, fiery glow from a nearby pine scented candle lights up your face in the dark room…

rain often helps him fall asleep, helped even more by the feeling of your body pressed up against his, the sound of steady water drops hitting the roof and glass windows soothing his mind and clearing it almost entirely of the fog that lurks, his hand grabbing yours and holding it tightly as his tired eyes droop and he buries his pale face further into your neck from behind, his chin still resting just atop your shoulder as your warm fingers draw soft circles on the back of his cold hand

when it rains, pelle does not really like to do much except relax the best he know how and admire the cold, gloomy weather… to him, it is not gloomy or even depressing as it may be to some, pelle finds it to be so beyond relaxing and calming! it is one of the few things aside from you that helps soothe his mind, put his mind to rest for just a while…

pelle just likes to sit and watch the rain with you, listen to it as it falls from the pale sky as if it is natural music to his ears, the softest and most beautiful music he thinks he will ever hear and it inspires him, it inspires him to make art or write lyrics, doodling randomly at his desk as shadowy rain drops are reflected onto the paper through the window

and when the rain stops, pelle is the first one out of the house, looking at you blankly for a couple seconds before leaving without a jacket, as if silently telling you to follow him, which you do! though he does not do anything crazy outside, no, pelle just stands and breathes through his nose… tilting his head back ever so slightly, long blonde hair draped over his face as he inhales quietly, breathing in the fresh dewey air and the signature smell of rain… he might purposely walk through or even stand still in some murky water puddles, staring down at his rippled reflection before walking off to another one and doing the same, not caring in the slightest about the water now soaking through his shoes and dampening his cotton socks… you think it might be some kind of childlike wonder still in pelle, some kind of playfulness and curiosity very obviously still left inside the man that so many claim to be heartless and cold…

you will probably have to convince him to just put a damn jacket on as he walks around the front of the house, not wanting his weak immune system to fall victim to a nasty cold, he will probably comply if just to please you! and when you finally wrangle him inside, he certainly will not say no to you making him a nice hot drink, his tall and lanky stature standing in the kitchen and watching you as you make the drink for him, watching you with a gaze many would assume to be blank and uncaring but you can see more than that, anyone could see more than that if they really looked…

anyways, it just kind of came to me whilst it was raining today! still love sharing my random little thoughts and always remember, i welcome your thoughts into my ask box with open arms :)

[saksukei]

ushijima love letters au

masterlist | suna love letters au

you laughed as you read the crinkled letter with messy writing, in your hands,, how long had it been? eight or nine years? time had gone by so quickly,,,

you distinctly remember the first time you ever received ushijima’s cute little notes.

you had come back from the chemistry lab,, and found a piece of paper on your desk saying “i hope you had breakfast.”

assuming that it was a silly prank, you just tossed the little note alongside some papers in the depths of your school bag,,,

till you received another one the next day,, saying “morning runs are healthy. so maybe go on one sometime?”

and you were like (─.─||) is this person trying to say that I've put on weight??!!! DO THEY KNOW IM HUMAN AND ITS NORMAL TO PUT ON WEIGHT

you threw the note in your bag again

and then, the same happened the next day

except this note said,,, “sorry about the last chit. my friend told me I sounded rude. how was your day?”

you were like ??? can this person not make their mind up??? hello??

and so you kept on receiving them,, they ranged from “hope you did your math homework” to “carry a spare water bottle” to “stay safe when going back home”

and you got so used to receiving these notes that your day sort of felt incomplete without them,,, and you thought that you wanted to find the culprit behind them

and so,, you hid behind your class door,, to check who would come in to leave the little notes on your desk,,,

someone did come into class and it was not the person you expected. it was tendou. you figured you should confront him, it was now or never.

“so you're the one that's been sending me chits?!” you ask, and tendou jumps, not expecting you to be there.

“uhh–” he trails off, scratching the back of his head.

“sorry, I don't mean to put you in an awkward spot but I wanted to thank you for–”

“it’s not me, I'm only the messenger,” tendou interrupts. “he’s going to kill me if I tell you this–but it's ushijima,” tendou explains. “he likes you but he doesn't know how to say it so I suggested this way would be more better.”

and you were like (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

“yOU MEAN USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI THE VOLLEYBALL TEAM CAPTAIN AND ACE LIKES ME????”

“sheesh no need to yell,” tendou retorted,,

“sorry, force of habit,” you smile sheepishly. “is there any chance you could get me to talk to ushijima?”

“as long as you don't reject him too harshly–then yes.”

tendou leads you to the captain who is practicing his spikes in the gym.

ushijima stares blankly when he sees you entering, despite his heart going fifty miles per hour. why were you here? you never visited the gymnasium.

he had in fact first seen you in his math class when you sat near the window and he was sitting behind you, watching you draw doodles on your textbook. eventually, it became a routine, where he'd chuckle at your little drawings of your math teacher.

he started looking for you during lunch hour, just having your presence around was enough for him. he never found it within himself to have the courage to talk to you. you were so nice, so kind and so out of his league.

it wasn't until tendou suggested this little idea that ushijima thought he might finally get to interact with you.

“hi, ushijima can I talk to you?” you ask, shyly and tendou nudges ushijima towards you, who manages to stutter out “yes you may,” following you outside.

“i saw tendou leaving the small chit on my desk,” you confess, and while ushijima has never been hit by a volleyball on the face, he sure feels like it would hurt less.

“i–i don't mean to embarrass you or anything!” you clear out, witnessing his spiral. “i wanted to say thank you, the notes were really sweet. And I was actually wondering if you'd like to go out on a date.”

youve never seen such a stoic man get red so fast. “i’d like that a lot yes.”

and while it's been years since school ended and you two have been together forever, he still leaves you the cutest notes.

[hannahssimblr]

That evening after I drive home the house is a battlefield. As soon as I let myself into the hallway the sounds of some escalating conflict are sweeping through from the kitchen, but it doesn’t surprise me. It’s been this way for months. I just toss my car keys onto the table and head upstairs. 

“Think about the way you make me live!” My mother shrieks as I shuffle through my desk drawer to retrieve my iPod and the noise cancelling headphones I use for my laptop. My dad says something in response, his rumbling tones infuriatingly calm, unfazed. He always speaks to her with such a patronising air of reasonableness, so honestly it’s no wonder she’s going insane.

“Ivy?” I knock on her bedroom door, “I’m back. Can I come in?”

Her voice is quiet within, “Yeah.”

“Hey, what’s up?” The noise from downstairs is louder I come inside, but Ivy’s room is right above the kitchen. I know she has been listening. She is perched on her bed kneading a corner of her blanket in her little hands, body tense and static like a startled cat. 

Mom raises her voice even further in shocked outrage, “What are you saying? Do you regret our children?”

“I just bought a cool new album,” I say, “do you want to hear it?”

“What’s it called?”

“Contra. You remember Vampire Weekend, right?”

“Um...”

“You liked their last album.”

“Did I?”

“Here,” I climb to my knees in front of her and plop the headphones onto her head. They’re big on her and want to slip down towards her jaw until i carefully adjust them while she watches me with interest. Everything I do is interesting to Ivy, even my thumb circling the dial on my iPod as I navigate to the first song on the album. I grin into her face, “can you hear me?”

She nods, so I crank it up, “how about now?”

She gasps, “It’s so loud! I can’t hear you!” 

“Good,” and I sit right by her, on the floor by her bed while she lays back and tries to hum along to songs she's never heard before. She does it in mom's car every time the radio comes on, which is apparently irritating, but I don't think so. She's a musical kid who is just trying to work something out in her head.

As I listen to her weird little melodies I doodle with a ballpoint pen I found in the pocket of my jacket. I've flipped to the back page of one of her school copy books, and I know she doesn’t mind, she can bring them into school and tell her classmates that she did them if she likes. 

Every now and again pieces of the argument are clear enough to understand, mostly mom’s side. “You do nothing around here, what are you talking about?” She screams, “You just sit in your office all night and-” some muffled aggression. Then at one point she brings up Fergal from work, which is a poor choice, because it really sets dad off. I know this because I finally hear a shocked “how dare you!” from him, which seems fair, actually. 

Fergal from work is her boyfriend. Or was, maybe, I don’t ask. All I know is that Fergal from work exists and that my mother was having an affair with him for, like, two years or something. I googled him when I first started hearing his name thrown around like daggers through the rooms of this house, and he’s pretty much how you might imagine a Fergal. He’s older, weedier and less good looking than my father, with hair so fine and light that his eyebrows are hardly visible and a hairline like the tide has gone out on it, but his smile is sort of kind. His LinkedIn picture has him smiling broadly and the lines on his face and around his eyes suggest that he’s spent a good chunk of his life doing just that. Smiling. Aside from likely being nice, he’s probably ten times more interesting than Christopher too, which has to be the real selling point. I bet that listens to her when she talks to him and makes her laugh, if she’s still capable of that, so I can’t really be angry with her about Fergal. I might have done the same thing as she did if I ever felt so trapped.  

I must be listening too obviously because Ivy slips the headphones off. “What are they saying?”

“Stupid shit, Ives, it’s not interesting.”

She pauses and says in a very small voice, “Do you think they’ll get a divorce?”

I turn to her, “They might. But I don’t think it’d be such a bad idea. Do you?”

She shrugs. 

“At least if they divorced they’d stop fighting.” At least eventually.

“They fight a lot,” she whispers, “I hate it.”

“Yeah, same.”

“What will happen to us? What if neither of them wants us?”

This surprises a laugh right out of me, “It's not like they'll have a choice. Did you think we’d get thrown into an orphanage or something?”

“Maybe.”

“I think you’ve been reading too many of those Jacqueline Wilson books about the kids from broken homes. Next time we go to the library we’ll get you something a bit less sad and tragic, do you think?”

She shrugs, but I'll get her into Goosebumps yet. I am determined.

“You want to know what I think?”

 A nod.

“I think them being divorced would actually be fine, because at least they wouldn’t be doing this all the time,” I tilt my head toward the floor, shaking with the reverberation of the slamming patio door, “And also we probably wouldn’t have to be around dad half as often.”

Ivy looks conflicted, “Well I don’t not want a dad.”

I almost tell her that Christopher isn’t that interested in his role as her father and the way that he interacts, or more accurately fails to interact with her, is not normal, even if it’s what she’s used to, and that I bet Fergal would be a better dad, but I figure it’s probably not the wisest to mention any of that. 

“He’ll still always be your dad, just like how mom will always be your mom and I’ll always be your brother, you know? No matter what happens or how things change. You're made from him, you know? That doesn't just go away.”

“I don’t want change.”

“Everything changes, all of the time.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. Things move on whether you like it or not, and you have to accept it.”

Her eyes fill with tears, “I don’t want you to move away either.”

“No, c’mon,” I scramble onto her bed and pull her into my chest, “I know, but I can’t stay here forever, I’m an adult now, I’m going to have to go, but it’s not right away…” 

“Yes, but soon.”

I hesitate, “Oh, Ivy, it’s, like-”

“And then it’ll be just me, and everything will be different,” as tears overflow I understand that it’s not just about this, it’s about everything, all of the chaos and the disruption that I cannot fix. I just shush her and rock her side to side. It’s hard for her, but I refuse to lie to her about what might happen. 

“I need to move away, I feel like I don’t have another option.”

“But why?”

“I- I think you’ll get it when you’re older, maybe. It's just very important to me.”

“I won’t see you anymore.”

“Yes you will, maybe not as much, but you’ll get used to it really quickly. And imagine if I went to college somewhere really exciting, you could come and see me and we could do all kinds of fun stuff, yeah? Like if I’m in Paris, imagine, I could take you to Disneyland.”

She sniffles, “Paris?”

“Yeah, you loved Paris a couple of years ago, right?”

She nods and rubs her eyes, “Could we try and go up the Eiffel Tower again?”

“Duh, and you’d be old enough not to be so scared.”

“Maybe-” a thick swallow “maybe even your new house would have a balcony and we could see it from there.”

“Oh, for sure, and we’d get pastries from the bakery downstairs in the mornings, they'd just so happen to be best ones ever, and there’d be a man playing the accordion outside- no, everywhere, like, no matter where we go, he’s there with his swirly little French Guy moustache...”

She giggles, “Is he following us around?”

“Oh, yeah, a total stalker, actually. Maybe we’d have to call the French police on him.” 

We both laugh as she dries her face with her sleeves. Coming up with all the very French things we would do in Paris, every detail down to the layout of my beautiful Haussmann style apartment overlooking the Seine is nice.

I'm not stupid, of course, I know perfectly well that the reality of a move to Paris would involve me and Michelle stuffed into a Chambre de Bonne tiny enough to touch both walls at the same time, tripping over half baked art projects and every possession we own, our pent up frustration causing us to have screaming matches that would wake up the whole arrondissement, but it’s nice to be an idealist for a minute or two. 

“Where else could you live?” she asks me once we’ve exhausted all of the parisian stereotypes and run out of hypotheticals. 

“Hmm, how about Amsterdam?”

“Oh! Anne Frank lived there, we read the book at school last year.”

I tell her that yes, if I lived there I’d take her to see the house with that stairway hidden behind the bookcase, and then we would... cycle around the place and annoy everyone because she’s so unsteady on her bike. I make up a story about how she keeps swerving out of her lane and getting in everybody's way, eventually causing a giant bike pile up along the canal like some sort of rat king of Dutch cyclists.

“Where else!”

“Um, Berlin...” and I purse my lips and try to think of things to do in Berlin that are appropriate for a nine year old, but for some reason all I can think of is a surly line of leather clad druggies in front of a techno club. “They like going to nightclubs, I guess…”

“I can go to a nightclub.”

“Yeah, as if! You’d hate it, it’s just loud music and everyone bumping into you. Hey, you know there’s one nightclub in Berlin that’s so exclusive that they only let the coolest people in Europe inside? You have to wait in line for hours and if they think you’re even a little bit uncool then they send you home.”

Her eyes get wide, “Really? Hm. I think I could get in.”

The idea of Ivy being let into Berghain makes me guffaw, “Oh, you think so, do you?”

“Yeah I’m cool enough!”

“No you aren’t.”

“I am,” she leaps up and pretends to strangle me while I hold her at arm's length, “there’s no such thing as a cool nine year old.”

“There’s no such thing as a cool eighteen year old either.”

“Uh! There is, you're looking at one. I would get into that club, no doubt.”

“No you wouldn’t, they wouldn’t even let you in the line.”

“Nah, they’d beg me to come in because I’d make it cooler.”

“They’d see you coming and pretend to be closed.”

As we laugh and make stupid, childish jokes at one another I’m aware of an acceptance I feel with her that I don’t around other people. I’m never really so blatantly stupid and goofy in public, but Ivy, who has become my favourite person in the world, no matter what I do or say it’s funny, and she never thinks I’m weird, at least not in a bad way. I can fully let my guard down. Even though the fighting has stopped I don't really want to leave, but the moon has risen now, and the grasshoppers are chirping. Ivy has to sleep.

I gather up my headphones and iPod and get up, despite her protests and attempts to come up with more funny things we might do as we galivant through fictional Europe.

“You're stalling,” I say, “you know well you have to go to sleep now.”

“No, no! Just one more thing!”

“Nope! Sorry! And don’t forget to brush your teeth, or I’ll tell dad.”

She pulls her ugliest face. She knows I’d never, but it’s funny, like telling a christian kid that Satan is watching.

I shut the door very gently. It's not particularly late, maybe ten, but the house is morgue quiet, almost eerie, like the aftermath of a hurricane. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[prismaticfaery]

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost has rules for himself to follow, that much is clear. But with you around, he can't seem to follow them.

TW: Some cursing, jealousy from Ghost if you squint, injuries, blood, typical Call of Duty stuff.

Rating: Mature, for safety!

Requested by: simonsdoll ❤️

A/N: I had gotten nearly halfway done when I realized you wanted headcanons, I am so sorry! Let me know if you want me to do something different for you.

There were certain precautions Ghost liked to take, one: trust no one. Two: don’t get too personal. Three: don’t fall in love, because it’s going to hurt like hell and what if they end up like his entire family? He could keep going down the list but it would take a while. 

You joined Task Force 141 as a sniper— a sharp shooter to be exact. You had great skill, and were disciplined. Price selected you himself after seeing your skills in action on the field when you accompanied himself and Gaz on a mission.  

The first time Simon questioned himself on his “list of precautions”, was when you had been introduced to the Task Force. Being the person he was, Simon took a spot in the very back of the room, Gaz being right in front of him. The briefing room door opened, revealing a very new face on base. You were small but most people compared to himself were small, and had a friendly disposition, your hands clasped together in front of you, your lips turned up in a slight smile as you stood next to Price. You seemed to be quite popular already as people showed their interest in you the moment you walked through the briefing room door, their backs straightening and their attention on you. 

“I’d like for you all to meet Y/N, she’ll be our newest Task Force member,” Price’s arm stretched out, his hand motioning for you to come forth, ”Gaz, show her around base.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nodded, then motioned for her to sit next to him during the briefing. 

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Simon crosses his arms, slumping down. He could have shown you around, he was higher up after all. Quickly realizing that he was acting like a toddler, he straightened his spine, listening to Price’s speech about contraband being high lately on base and how it needs to be cracked down on. Bloody hell, Simon thought, this is tedious.

As the briefing went on, Simon caught your quick shift in your seat, the briefing packet you had gotten was across your lap, your pen in hand, and your head tilted down. You were taking notes from what it looked like, until he heard an unbearable amount of scratching from your pen suddenly. Leaning in his seat a little, he could see black ink splotches on your packet of paper, no doubt small doodles that you were creating. Gaz was looking down at your packet, a smile on his face, quietly mentioning how nicely you draw. Moving your head to face Gaz, Simon could see your lovely smile, genuine and with little creases in the corners, and Simon couldn’t help but think about how adorable it was seeing your smile, even though it was from the side. 

From that moment on, Simon was struck by your very presence— something drew him to you. He would steal glances whenever he could, try to choose the spot next to you during briefings, riding in vehicles, anything. 

He was a fool to think this was going to get anywhere, he was your superior and he wasn’t ready for the possible heartbreak and rejection. 

Then his mind brought him back to his rules and he’d slink back into his hole of refusing to get close to anyone out of fear and previous trauma. He couldn’t save his family, but he could save you. 

The second time Ghost questioned himself was when you were invited to sit with everyone in the mess hall weeks later, Gaz waving quite fervently for you to come over to the table. Beside Simon, sat Soap, Gaz in front of them, with Price settled next to Gaz. Taking the free spot next to Gaz, you placed your tray of breakfast down, then swung your legs over the bench seat to finally relax in the seat. You and Simon had already gone on two missions together, and he wanted to consider you at least an acquaintance. 

You had taken to sitting alone or with the friends you had made over your short time on base, eating quietly with a book or your phone placed on the table, so it was quite shocking to have Gaz ask for you to sit with him and the other superiors. Never getting along with the other superiors at your last base, it was strange having such friendly comrades who never pulled rank or degraded you for being a woman even though you just so happened to be a better shot than them. 

Gaz was bringing up a new TV show he had started as you had silently taken a drink of your orange juice. It was strange, but you could feel a chill make its way down your neck, and then your spine. It was almost as if someone was watching you and you were correct, Ghost’s hazel eyes were stalking your every move. You had noticed over time that this was something Ghost did a lot, and not just to you. He was analytical and mistrusting of everyone he didn’t consider a friend or close comrade. This was alluring to you– his mysterious shroud, and you found yourself wanting to squeeze into his close circle. 

Being quite the silent and stern one, Ghost had put you on edge a few times and you had even yelled at him to wear a bell or something so he wouldn’t scare the crap out of you anymore when he entered the room you were in. But during one of your last missions together, he had opened up a bit and asked you some simple “break the ice” questions as you had set up for the night in a safe house with your squad. It was clear how much he cared for his team and for the Task Force’s purpose by the different ways he performed on the field. 

“Everything okay, sir?” You finally ask, placing your glass of half finished orange juice back down on the table. 

Snapping out of his strange daze, Simon nodded, blond lashes downturned now as he picked up his cup of hot tea, lifting up his black balaclava to take a sip. He was always calculated with how he ate and drank, his arm always sneakily covering his exposed chin and mouth. You had asked Gaz about why he hid his face, to which he replied: “he just does.”

Throughout the rest of breakfast, Simon sneaks small peeks at you, and he was absolutely sure that you had no idea, but you knew. It made your heart pound, and your cheeks heat up knowing that he seemed to have found interest in you. You felt like a highschooler with a crush. 

And boy did Simon feel the same, but he had his rules. 

The third time was when the Task Force had an important mission, you stayed stationed on top of a roof, your head covered with a sniper hood as you lay prone, watching your team sneak through the building ahead of you. With the building’s lights on, you could see clearly through the large windows, sniping anyone that came into your field of view. 

“Gaz, help me breach this door,” Price says through the comms. 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz replies. 

You could see Price and Gaz huddle to the sides of the door, readying their weapons as they kick the door down. Once they clear the room, they begin searching for intel, searching through all of the computers. 

You then move your rifle to watch Ghost through your scope, his large form taking down a smaller male, his pistol smacking the man straight on the nose before squeezing the trigger and letting a bullet embed into the man’s skull. 

“Nice moves, L.t.,” you switch comms channels quickly to speak through to Ghost’s channel, your voice sounding quite flirtatious in your Lieutenant’s ear. 

“You like that, eh?” Ghost sounded amused, a giddiness floating through his body. 

Ghost’s weapon is brought up at the ready suddenly, and you soon notice why. Two men come through the hallway, inching in on Ghost’s position. You position your sniper rifle to hover over one of the men’s heads, pulling the trigger and hitting him right through the skull, his body tumbling to the floor. His partner begins to panic, his knees bending so he could duck away from another possible shot from the shadows. Quickly positioning the scope to hover above him and waiting for the gust of wind to die down, you dispose of him before Ghost can. 

Watching Ghost peek his head out of the door and into the hall was like birthday gift and you start snickering when he visually shrugs his shoulders, “woman after my own heart,” Ghost says into his comms. 

“You’re welcome, L.t.,” you muse, voice dripping with pride. 

Fucking hell, you’re going to be the death of him. 

The fourth time, months later while in the desert of Al Mazrah, Ghost was the one to notice you had taken a hit to your leg. You hid your pain well but as you rode in the backseat of a truck, thigh to thigh with him, he felt the warm and wet sensation of your blood staining his own cargo pants. Your eyes pleaded with him– begging him to not tell any of the men in your squad that you took a hit. 

You made the stupid decision to snipe another sniper, and he happened to see the glint of your scope and take his shot before you could. The bullet grazed your leg, gashing it open. You choke on a gasp as you clutch your leg and roll over onto your back to hide away from the other sniper. Thankfully, the roof had good cover. 

“Couldn’t get the sniper on the roof, he saw me,” you conceal your voice, sounding as normal as you can, but the need to wail and scream from the pain was heavy. 

“I’ve got him in my sight,” you hear Ghost over comms, he was in his own sniping position on another roof. 

As you sit with your leg gashed open and your wound bleeding still, you grit your teeth, your bottom sat on the side of the bathtub of the safe house, the cold from the porcelain gnawing at your bare legs and underwear covered bum. You had a trauma kit sitting on the floor, bloody gauze discarded all around your feet, you nearly cried, knowing damn well that you’d need to stitch yourself up with no pain management. You hold a new sheet of gauze to your leg, pressing down to keep bleeding minimal, your other hand fiddling with a needle already threaded and ready to use. 

Someone barges through the door, scaring the life out of you as you scramble to cover yourself, “nothing I haven’t seen before, calm yourself,” Ghost’s deep voice brings you out of your tizzy, your eyes settling on him as he crouches down in front of you. 

“Is the door locked?” You ask hurriedly. 

Nodding, Ghost takes his skeleton hand gloves off, handing them to you, “I can’t promise you that those aren’t filthy but they’ll come in use if you need to scream.”

There was no way in hell those gloves were going in your mouth. 

Spraying his hands with antiseptic, he grabs the needle and thread from you, placing his other hand gingerly on your thigh. Looking up into your eyes, you nod and give him permission to start. As he pushes the needle through your skin, you grit your teeth and hiss, a low groan rumbling in your throat. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, Ghost’s eyes narrowing from the very random question you asked, and soon he realizes it was your way of distracting yourself, “surely your name isn’t Ghost.”

“It’s Simon,” your Lieutenant answers quickly, his hand squeezing your thigh to get the needle through your flesh quicker. 

“Hm, very nice,” Simon huffs a quiet chuckle at your comment and how it sounded so monotone suddenly.

As Simon continues stitching up your wound, you begin to breathe heavily, squeezing Simon’s gloves. He wipes away a small trail of blood flowing down your thigh with a gauze before it lands on the floor, his fingers nimble and firm. Simon’s hand then grips your thigh harder to avert your attention away from the stinging and pulling from the needle and thread. 

“You know, you could tell me that you like me,” you smirk. 

“What the hell are you going on about?” Simon is unamused, flipping the bottle of antiseptic over, the gauze on the opening soaking through; he’d be lying if he said his cheeks weren’t on fire from your last sentence. 

“Cut the shit, L.t., it’s just us right now.”

“Yeah well, you’re bleeding and this is hardly the place,” the cold sting of the antiseptic soaked gauze makes you flinch. 

“I think this is the perfect place,” you look around the bathroom, then back at Simon. 

Once the antiseptic is wiped onto your skin, Simon then covers your wound with a gauze, making sure the adhesive sticks along the borders. He then sighs and sits back on his heels, looking straight at you. 

“I told myself that I wouldn’t get attached to anyone, but I find myself not sticking to my word,” Simon confesses, and you find yourself watching your features soften in the reflection of his hazel pools. 

“And what if I felt the same?” You state, watching his eyes soften now, his long blond lashes were giving you butterflies. 

“Then let me take you out when we get back home and we can go from there.”

[helluvasinsxhazbinoverlords]

Satan would open the door to Yogirt's apartment, carrying a big bag of groceries in one arm. "Snicker-doodle, I'm back from today's court session, and I did some shopping," the sin said, closed the door and locking it behind him. He was only met with silence as he set the bag on the counter. "You here?" He asked, stepping into the living room portion and walking over to a the bedroom door that was slightly open.

Satan would open it a bit more to pop his head in, seeing Yogirt sitting on a yoga mat and meditating. "Hey, I bought everything I need to my Lava Som Tam Thai." The Sin would step in the room.

"That's nice." Yogirt spoke in a neutral tone, followed by taking another deep breath in and out. "Anything else?"

Satan frowns hearing Yogirt speak, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, I'm sorry about losing my temper and grabbing you the way I did yesterday. I should've taken deep breaths when Stolas showed up."

"Yes, you should've." Yogirt continued to have a neutral tone. "You should get started on dinner before it gets too late." The imp would take another deep breath.

Satan's frown deepens, decided to get closer. "I mean it, I'm really sorry. Just, keeping a handle on my temper can be hard sometimes." He would place a hand on Yogirt's shoulder who stood up in response, followed by floating up to be on eye level with him, though still didn't face him. "You have every right to be angry with me, though I would-" The Sin cut his sentence short when they turned and got in his face with an angry glare.

"You bet your ass I have every right to be angry with you, and now I'm even more pissed that you were about to say you'd never hurt me. I know that, and would NEVER think you'd hurt me. I wasn't even that mad, just wanted to clear my head. Now I'm seriously pissed off." Yogirt would turn around, crossing their arms with a huff.

Satan found himself rubbing the back of his neck again having made Yogirt's mood even worse than it already was. "Okay, that's my fault too. I'm sorry, it's just- Its always something I worry about. With my powers and strength having a temper like mine makes me worried for those I care about. That why I took up meditation in the first place, which turned out to be the best decision of my life, though also the scariest. Because now I have someone I can do more than just hurt if I lose my cool." The Sin would look away and close his eyes.

Yogirt could feel their anger starting to wash away hearing Satan speak, finally take a deep breath before turning around and floating over to him. "Hey, we talked about this. Clear your mind of all negative thoughts, even the one's about yourself." They would take his hands, holding them in their own. "Take a couple of long and deep breaths. Focus on a nice and calm mind temple. With me now." The imp would start taking some long deep breaths.

Satan would follow Yogirt in taking the deep breaths, making sure they were long and slow before he finally opened his eyes again to look at Yogirt. "You know, I've been all over Hell, every single ring and you're still the most beautiful person down here."

"Are you trying to use sweet words to win me over? Because it's working," Yogirt said and followed it up by giving Satan a small kiss on the lips, they're arms wrapping around his neck.

"What can I say, I have my moments. Though I am sorry about what happened at court. That was the first time I've had a Goetia of all demons act out of line." Satan couldn't say he was pleased with the sudden interruption. The Sin would wrap his arms around Yogirt's waist.

"Though what about Andrealphus? You aren't just going to let him get away with this? Even I could tell he set this all up." Yogirt was silenced by a kiss from Satan.

"I've already got some of the others on that, so you let me worry about him my little snicker-doodle." Satan would kiss Yogirt again, though didn't pull away and it wasn't long before things started to get intense.

Yogirt ended up having to pull back after about a minute, though Satan didn't let up and was kissing at their neck. "Okay, settle down there. You promised me some of your Lava Som Tam Thai. Besides, I think I'll save you for dessert~" The imp giving the Sin a small kiss on the lips again.

"Well, you'll get a cavity at this rate because I got you these." Satan would snap his fingers as a container of snicker-doodles would appear in the air. "Called in a favor to Beelzebub. Freshly made and straight from Earth."

"Oh, you're pulling out all the stops today. That's the spicy Firecracker I know and love." Yogirt gave Satan a final kiss before starting to pull him along out of the room. "Now come on. I'm sure you're as starving as I am after court today. I have the newest episode of Hell-a-Novela recorded, and this time I don't expect to hear any complaining."

"Alright, that's fair." Satan chuckled as he was dragged off to the kitchen. "Though I reserve my right to eye roll and sign at the cheesy parts."