#stirling x reader

[pale-petal-swallowtail]

Hi! It's me again. Can I have some headcanons for Poe, Scale and Stirling with a witch S/O?

Hey again! I can do this! Stirling is another favourite of mine. I don't know which witch you wanted so I did the most well known one😂

For the laughs, you have a raven as a familiar. (R/n) = Raven name

Poe, Scale and Stirling with a Witch!S/O

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poe-

Poe is perfect with a witch!S/o!

He loves your dark aesthetic

Since he has turned into a magpie, he now believes in magic.

Walks through cemeteries are always fun and romantic in a way with him.

For some reason, your raven grew attached to Poe. Sometimes you'd see them rested beside your boyfriend, or even in his lap. You found them on his head once.

Poe stays over at your house more than he should (but that's because he loves how gloomy it is)

He's happy with just watching you fly around on your broom. He likes how the moonlight shines on you.

Scale-

He's interested in what kind of magic you can do. He'll ask if you can show him. If you refuse, he won't press any further.

Low-key jealous of you having magic, but doesn't say anything.

(R/n) hated his guts at first since he tried to kill you, their master. They still has a grudge against the boy, but they're less aggressive.

He did feel a bit nervous on your broom, and tried not to show it. He's used to it now.

Float above him and kiss him Spiderman style. His face is red now.

There are times when he wonders what you put in that cauldron of yours. But something in him tells him not to.

Stirling-

I'm certain he has met witches in his immortal life, so you didn't surprise him.

Like Scale, he's interested in your magic.

He loves your sadistic side when it comes out. He enjoys watching you scare people for whatever reason you may have.

(R/n) felt neutral about him and often tried to peck him when you weren't looking the first few times.

All your potions got him intrigued. He knows what kind of ingredients you put the cauldron.

Enjoys your floaty kisses.

[hauntedfictionland]

Everyone who's disappointed or mad about changing Francesca's love story of Michael to a woman's version, argues that the show—writers shouldn't have changed the books so drastically. What they don't know is that the show ALWAYS has drastically changed the story and lines in every season compared to the books. And trust me they've changed it for the better. Kate and Anthony in the books got caught sucking the venom out of Kate's chest and forced to marry and then, did they have their enemies to lovers. Now tell me, which version did you like more.

Also, I agree Francesca may have loved John in the books truly and madly, but that's not the case in the show and they've changed the relationship accordingly. She sees him as a companion, not a partner. She feels peace with him, not butterflies. She feels he really understands her, and those are the sole purposes of wanting to marry him. Now when she meets Michaela, her breathing stops, she feels the swooning and butterflies her mother always talked about and wishes for her to feel the way Violet felt with Edmund. And the thing is, by the interaction, Michaela seems an extrovert and far from quietness. And yet Francesca still fell in love with her, because in love, as shown in Bridgerton, you love them not because it benefits you, but because your heart calls for their soul, whatever that may be.

[nightingale2004]

OK, bridgerton people, I finished up the last season, and I have a LOT to say

First off, I think it's COMPLETELY UNREALISTIC that Daphne and Simon, along with their beautiful children, are not with the other Bridgertons soaking up all this drama and scandals that's been going on in ther family. SERIOUSLY WHAT HAPPENED?! was there a problem with the actors? Or something? Like what happened that made the actors and the children NOT MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN THE SEASON OF BRIDGERTON?!

Secondly, I also find it unrealistic that Anthony and Kate literally missed out ON PENELOPE'S LADY WHISTLEDOWN REVEAL?! LIKE, SERIOUSLY?! I get that Anthony wants to be with Kate and get to know her culture, but Anthony and his amazing Goddess wife Kate have missed out on the biggest reveal and scandal to hit their family! I so badly wanted to know what their reaction was going to be and their thoughts that Anthony's little brother is F*cking married to a gossip writer. Including Benedict.

I need to know! I can literally already imagine both Kate and Anthony reading the letter that Penelope is Whistedown and their reactions (to me) are hilarious 😂

Thirdly, I kind of wanted the secret identity of Lady Whistledown to be a secret a little while longer. Like maybe after Benedicts season. That's just my personal opinion. But I did want the queen to still find out and have Penelope and Charlotte have a private alliance. Penelope still gets to write under the approval of the queen as long as the queen looks at it first and maybe becomes the queens eyes and ears.

Lastly, I would like to acknowledge the haters here who don't like the change of gender of Michael Stirling, aka Michaela Stirling, and are fearing for their lives that Sophie Beckett will become Stephen Beckett.

Firstly, we are not the creators of this fantastic world. OK? The author is, Netflix is making this show into a reality, and those of us that actually like the show are actually OK and loving with how things are going especially the reveal that not just one but THREE bridgerton siblings ARE a part of LGBTQ+ community. Can we all just take a moment and not go backward to the "Annabeth shouldn't be black" incident. I know these two incidents don't relate because one has to do with race and the other has to do with gender but can the haters just stop. I believe the authors and creators of this AMAZING show know what they are doing, and the bridgertons along with Queen Charlotte are one of the few shows I like that haven't been canceled yet. So consider this a freaking win people.

If the creators want to change a few things, then let them change a few things, we are fans, and we have something called fanfics to which we read and write if there's something we don't like or can't live with when it comes to a fandom series. As long as the creators of the show keep giving us our daily dose of drama and do the bridgerton books justice than I for one am going to keep on watching and being invested in this fandom.

And haters one final message to you, if you don't like the shows, THEN STOP WATCHING THE SHOWS!!!!!!!

I have said my peace. And there is plenty more to come

[lovechar]

A Tender Touch.

pairing; James Farrow x Stirling!Reader

summary; after you get injured, james helps clean you up.

warnings; friends to lovers, violence, making out, grinding, fluff

notes; fem!reader but can be read as other, since the start, callum turner had been my main fancast for james idk why, i know james sleeps in the tower but shh, idk if anyone will even read this there’s like no iwwv x reader stuff, not much dialogue, no use of y/n, wouldn’t rly say any spoilers

As always, Richard got different, when he’d start drinking. He was always violent, since childhood, even—you remember back to when he’d accidentally hit you too hard with a pillow or shove you too hard playing tag. But the real violence, the real Richard, came out when he was blackout drunk, unaware of his actions and their consequences in the later moments.

Being his sister, you always tended to keep an eye out for him at parties, sipping slowly at your drink in an attempt to not get drunk and keep a clear mind. Occasionally, you’d let go and enjoy yourself, but the one time every couple months where he drank too much made you constantly paranoid.

You poured yourself another drink from one of the many bottles that stood shoulder-to-shoulder on your kitchen countertop. “Hey,” a slightly deep voice rung out from behind me. You turned, pressing you back against the counter. “Hi. Where are the others?” You smiled at James. He stood beside you, looking over with a fond grin till his attention turned to the drink selection. “Don’t know. We all split off and now the only one I can find is you.” He poured himself a drink as he replied; vodka with some random mixer he found.

You sipped slowly at your drink—feeling a slight burn slide past your throat—as you watched the on-goers of the party. James turned back from the counter and leaned against it beside you, mimicking your position. The both of you watched as people chattered, drank and slowly swayed to the music. You could feel the buzz from the alcohol taking its time to kick in.

Talk filled the air till it slowly was hushed and replaced by shouting from outside the Castle. With furrowed eyebrows, you looked up to James and he looked down on you with a similar, confused expression. His hand slid into yours as you tugged him along, heading for the door.

Once you reached the soft garden grass, the chilled breeze attacked you in every place your navy dress hadn’t adorned, bringing goosebumps along your arms and legs. There was a crowd circled around the center of the yard. James moved ahead of you, pushing through the crowd and dragging you along till you both reached the front. “Come on, Oliver. Man to man, let’s see who gets her.” Richard was yelling at Oliver, inching forward while the smaller boy crept backwards with each step. Meredith, who you assumed Richard was getting thick over, stood slightly further back in the middle, watching them and screaming at Richard to leave Oliver alone.

Your jaw hung slightly as Richard shoved Oliver who was obviously fidgeting to apologise and attempt to calm Richard down. On impulse, you discarded James’s hand from yours, running over to Richard and pushing him away from Oliver slightly.

“Rich, what the fuck are you doing?” Your tone was harsh and stern—as if you were taking the place of your mother. His gaze turned to you and he snarled, “get out of my way. This has nothing to do with you.” His breath reeked of liquor. “You’re drunk, stop this now, you’ll regret it in the morning.”

A small thwack sounded out; a stinging feeling humming in your cheek and you stumbled back a bit, eyes looking up to glare at Richard. He had slapped you with the back of his hand. He never hit you before and you were left with a shocked expression, not fully realising what he just did.

Your cheek felt strange so you reached your hand up to feel it, being met with a crimson liquid dripping into your fingers. The ring that embellished your brother’s finger had made such impact, it had split your cheek. An iron-like taste lingered on your tongue but you ignored it as Richard wasted no time after the hit.

“You wanna get involved, huh?” The cruelty of his sardonic intonation brought an unease in your chest. A wicked grin was plastered across his face and you knew you weren’t looking at your brother in this moment—more of a dark shadow that cast over him like a dull cloud. “It’s none of your fucking business what I do.” He shoved you again, this time hard enough to make you fall back.

From the corner of your eye, you saw James spring forward towards you as you made impact with the ground, a sharp pain slicing through the back of your calf. Your leg had landed on a jagged rock, carving a narrow cut through your calf.

Two arms hooked under your arms from behind, lifting you up; you looked behind to see who it was, just to be met with James’s soft stare. You stood up on your feet, the cut on your leg throbbing gently. Richard’s gaze burned into you but you avoided it like the plague, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you upset, although you knew he would feel guilty throughout his hangover the next morning. That didn’t mean you had to forgive him.

During this whole encounter, you had completely forgot that there was a crowd around you all watching and your cheeks grew hot as tears pricked your eyes. You crossed your arms over each other. The humiliation kicked in as people watched you walk back inside, James hot on your tail, holding both your forearms and guiding you through the people. The party was now filled with tension and you noticed people starting to leave.

James led you upstairs and you followed him aimlessly. He brought you into the bathroom, lifting you tenderly by the waist to sit on the counter next to the sink. You focused on levelling your breathing but all you could think about was the fact that Richard had actually hit you, and in front of all those strangers too.

“Hey, you okay?” James spoke delicately as he searched through the cabinet beneath you. He pulled out a cloth and a couple bandages and some gauze. “I’m ok.” His careful fingers wrapped around the damaged leg, lifting it up slightly to take a look at the cut. “‘s it okay if I clean this?” His eyes gleamed up at you, waiting for an answer; you just nodded silently.

James moved over to the sink, dampening the cloth with cold water before bringing it to your leg. He carefully cleared the blood from your leg, handling you as if you were porcelain. The wet pat against your calf stung, and you pulled your bottom lip under your teeth, trying to ignore the light sting.

Once he was done cleansing the wound, he moved back to the sink, grabbing the gauze. You turned your head behind you to take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was slightly ruffled and your bottom lip graced a red slit, the blood starting to crackle and dry. Unintentionally, you licked your lips to moisturise them and tasted the metallic flavour of blood.

James still stood at the sink and your eyes flickered over to him. He’s gorgeous, you thought, then tried to shake away your thoughts. The awareness of being half-drunk made you convince yourself that you were just being affectionate and flirty with everyone, and James just happened to be the only one in the room.

You ripped your view away from the mirror and looked to the ground tiles. The silence in the room wasn’t tense, and you felt as if you could relax in it. As James came back to stand in front of you, he started to wrap the gauze tightly around your calf and your head fell back against the mirror, eyes closing and lips parting into a sigh.

It didn’t take long for him to bandage the cut. Your eyes flitted open and you were met with him standing infront of you, looking at your face. He steadily brought his hand—which gripped the wet cloth—up to your cheek, smoothly wiping the small gash from Richard’s ring.

His hand lingered, even when the slice was washed out, and your eyes couldn’t tear away from each other. If your legs hadn’t been stretched out from sitting on the counter, forcing him to maintain a distance, you mulled over how far from your face he really would be. The eye contact drew on—aside from the broken moments where you strained from the temptation of looking at his plump lips but failed—, the silence turning to a deafening tension. You hauled your eyes from his, moving your face to glance at your lap and clearing your throat.

“We should get you to bed,” he said. You could hear the stiffness in his voice, as if he was forcing himself to break the silence. “Yeah,” you replied. James wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you down from the counter. It seemed he was reluctant to let you go, only sliding his hands off when you moved to the door.

The mahogany knob turned and you both stepped out from the bathroom. Your body felt exhausted but your brain still buzzed happily from your previous few drinks. “Do you want me to take you up to the tower?” James’s voice was quiet although there wasn’t anyone in the hall. Oliver and you both stayed up in the tower, while everyone else’s bedrooms were scattered around the Castle.

“‘m too tired to go up there, can I stay with you?” Your question had caught him off guard and you pulled back a smirk upon seeing the strawberry blush hinted across his cheeks. “Yeah . . sure, of course.” He held onto your hand as you headed down the hall to his room. Pushing the door open, James led you inside his room. Your eyes darted around—as if it were your first time in here.

The warmth from his hand faded as he let go and went to sit on the small couch he had in the middle of the room. You followed, taking a seat beside him, maybe too close. You sat, one leg dangling off the couch; the other, bent at the knee and tucked under you. James’s arms were stretched out, resting on the channel back of the sofa.

“Thanks,” you murmured out, looking over into his eyes; they looked blue from afar, but really they were silvery-gray, even with a hint of gold-hazel splatted through them. You could see yourself in the reflection. He didn’t say anything, just gazed back at you with a longing look etched into his features.

James really was beautiful. You’d always known it, just never really had time to dwell on it. But now you felt like you had all the time in the world and couldn’t help keeping your eyes from flickering between his and his lips. It was as if you were contemplating which were more endearing, and right now his lips were in the lead. The heat in your cheeks tingled and you silently wished he couldn’t see your blush in the darkness.

Even if he did register your blush, he didn’t make it known to you. He did, however, seem to notice your quivering gaze. You weren’t sure if you were just imagining it, or if he really was leaning closer, but you subconsciously mirrored him. The tension and silence felt suffocating but all you could focus on was his lips.

The two of you leaned in painstakingly slowly. Your nose brushed his and it tickled you, mouth curling into a slight smile. Eventually after what seemed to be ages, his lips grazed against yours. He didn’t push them to meet yours any further, just letting them skim past as if to tease you, or maybe just to be gentle, you didn’t know.

After that ghost of a kiss—if you could even call it that—you leaned back slightly, noses barely an inch away, and smiled at him softly as he returned the smile. You pushed forward, kissing him again but this time deeper and more controlling. James’s hand drew up to hold your jaw between his fingers. His lips were pleasant and velvety under yours, his touch gentle and caring.

Taking your sweet time, you pushed against him and he to you. His head tilted back a little as the kissing grew passionate and needy. Your lips slot together like a perfect puzzle. You bit his lip gingerly, prodding your tongue at the crease and sliding it across his lips, asking and waiting for access.

Without hesitation, his mouth curved open more and allowed for you to slide your tongue in. They danced together, roaming every inch of each other’s mouths as if searching for missing treasure. Before you knew it, you were throwing your leg across him and straddling his hips, holding him by his chest and pushing him further into the couch with your kisses. His hands fell to your waist, caressing the slope.

Every now and then you’d pull back to catch up on your rapid breathing. The tiredness you’d felt earlier was quick to disperse and allow for the adrenaline of the moment to kick in, leaving a buzzing feeling in your stomach, like butterflies.

Your temptation to grind down on his hips caved and when you did, his mouth parted and he drawled out a low, deep groan. His hands went from resting along your waist to grabbing down on your hips, helping you move against him. Warmth spread throughout and you couldn’t help but smile and continue pressing kisses to his lips.

He moved his head downwards, kissing along your jaw, then suckling on your neck. You gasped as his teeth plucked at the sensitive skin and tilted your head further upwards to grant him a larger canvas. Hips moving against his, your stomach fluttered in the best way possible.

His hands that held onto your hips tightened and held you in place, refraining you from moving any further. You frowned and pulled back from him with a whine. “What’s wrong?” You asked, breaking the silence that had encased the room long ago. James shook his head. “Nothing, nothing,” he assured you. “But we can’t do this right now, you’re drunk.” You smiled, then let out an airy scoff, “I’m barely tipsy, James.” You didn’t want anything other in this moment but him.

Still, you felt the fatigue come back and slowly got off him, sitting down beside him again. Begrudgingly for you, his decision was probably for the best so you just complied. You pressed a kiss to his nose then stood from the couch, making your way to his bed that rested behind the sofa.

“You need some clothes?” James asked, now also standing but making his way towards his drawers. “Yeah, please.” You pealed your dress down, slipping the navy straps from your shoulder as James threw a large shirt over to your direction. You threw it over your head, then slipped on the pair of shorts he gave to you. You crawled under the patterned covers of his bed. Your arms sprawled out above the covers as you waited for him.

Glancing in James’s direction, he still stood at his drawer. He was now wearing loose, green pajama pants. Unaware of your attention being on him, he lifted his shirt up, tugging it over his head and throwing it somewhere random, thinking he’d deal it with tomorrow. Breath hitching, stomach fluttering; you admired his slim but not so toned figure. You stared with no shame, as if it were your first time seeing his bare chest. Sadly for you, he tugged a grey shirt over his head, and you looked away as he approached the bed.

He climbed under the covers beside you and you felt his arm brush up against you. Turning on your side to face him, he was already facing you, seemingly staring at your face. The pale moonlight shone down from the window, illuminating one side of his face. God, he’s so kissable, you thought. Leaning forward in a sluggish, drowsy move, you pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. Moving one hand to rest under his head and cheek, your eyes were still shut when you placed another kiss on the corner of his lips.

Finally, your eyes opened to be met with his metallic ones looking back at you. In that moment you wished you could lay there forever, placing kisses along his angelic features. Had it not been the slight shine of the moonlight, you’d barely be able to make out his flushed cheeks in the dimness of the room.

James opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then continued. “You’re so beautiful; breathtaking.” His cheek was still cradled against your palm and your fingers curved along it, caressing it gently. You smiled, a breathy laugh coming out along with it. “So are you,” you replied and kissed the tip of his nose.

He shuffled closer to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. A kiss was placed on the skin just behind your ear and you draped one arm across his shoulder, around his neck and let it lie behind his head. A warm but dainty hand crept up your waist, tugging you impossibly closer. And you both lay there, breaths mixing together in the darkness. It wasn’t long before your breathing evened out, and when James noticed that it did, he allowed himself to fall asleep.

[fallingfavourites]

this will probably be changing a lot, and again feel free to request anything (no smut) but again i make no promise i'll write it so sorry!! I almost always write x fem!reader but sometimes its gender neutral!

i write for all these characters romantic (not clementine from twdg) and plantonic fics ! also always feel free to ask about characters that aren't on this list !

masterlist - nav

fandoms/characters I write for <3 (aka i have written for these or have some drafts of these fandoms)

bridgerton (Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Micheala Stirling)

criminal minds (Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, JJ, Elle Greenaway)

marvel (Matt Murdock, Peter Parker - tom/andrew, Steve Rogers, might also dabble with some x-men characters)

the hunger games (Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Finnick Odair)

the walking dead (Rick Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Maggie Greene-Rhee / Lee Everett, Clementine)

top gun (Jake Seresin, Bradley Bradshaw)

stuff I might write for :3

9-1-1 (Evan Buckley)

daisy jones & the six (Daisy Jones, Billy Dunne)

outer bank (JJ Maybank, Kiara Carrera, Sarah Cameron, Pope Hayward)

the bear (Carmy Berzatto, Mikey Berzatto)

the boys (Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher, Kimiko Miyashiro)

the last of us (Joel Miller)

twisters (Tyler Owens)

[imgondeletedis]

OH MY GOD.

i just finished s3 pt1 of bridgerton (i had exams' season and i was taking my time) and oh my god???????? I AM SO FUCKING UGH????? I AM MINDBLOWN, HAPPY, NERVOUS, MAD, JEALOUS, EVERYTHING‼️‼️ my mind is blank i cant process it all, shonda fucking rhimes did it again y'all- omg also spoilers coming guys⚠️⚠️❗❗

everything about this season drives me insane, POLIN AAAAA LIKE AJSKWKWKSOEOWKWi love my babies sm, the angst between eloise and pen????☹️☹️☹️ i miss my babies, and the freaking manwhore (benedict) cheating on me with that widow🙄🙄 (she's literally so fine and so real im so jealous lmao) AND JOHN AND FRANCESCA OMG MY BABIES I AM NOT PREPARED FOR THE HEARTBREAK. also the lack of kathony???🤨🤨. overall i cant wait for pt2 and how's pen gonna tell colin ab lady whisledown in the show omg???😭😭 that's it thanks for listening to my tedtalk.

[thingsthatneedtobesaidsblog]

Now I don't really have a problem with the gender change. The problem is how some of the LGBTQ fans are acting towards people who are disappointed and angry about the change because their feelings are valid its not homophoic because nothing but Francesca being stunned by Michaela has happened further then that.

Now I very much enjoy Francesca and John and really would like to enjoy them. And idk if in the future I might be sold on the whole Francesca and Michaela thing because with some ships it just takes one scene, one fix and I'm sold but if I'm already so deeply invested in one paring for that person I'm sold on that one. But I'm sure it will grow on me, but for right now, Fran is still madly in love with John, but she was definitely stunned by his cousins beauty.

I also like to add that the fans who are being widely disrespectful to the fran x John and ppl who were expecting a Micheal and not a Michaela stop, you guys season will come but just let other people enjoy Fran and John and let the other people be disappointed there's nothing worng with that. Is the same feeling all the bridgerton book lovers get when something in the show is changed.

I have never read the books but have seen many sopliers. I definitely do want to see what the hell will happen especially considering that during that time period society was not kind to Queen ppl no matter the gender. Like even Benedict knows he can't be his true self because he would be shunned and him being a bridgerton would not save him. So I definitely want to see what will happen when we get to that part because it will be messy, they can't get married, they can't be seen in public being to affectionate, and they'll want to be seen together and do married couple things.

And at least one of them will stop being content with living in seceracy it always happens.

But honestly I wouldn't rule out the shonda coming in and bringing in a Micheal Sterling as Michaela twin brother considering how she was unsatisfied with what the new show runner did this season I definitely think she'll be more hands on and change stuff cuz that woman loves an interracial love story.

[alcanceress]

If there is no Blaise Zabini fancast, I will make it myself. ladies and gentlemen, Jackson Marchetti (Kedar Williams Stirling) from sex education. did it for 2 hours. I NEED YOUR FEEDBACK

[blushblushheadcanons]

Most to least likely to enjoy physical touch?

Most likely to least likely to enjoy physical touch ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎˚୨

⟶ ELI is all about it, baby! He basks in your affection like there's no tomorrow and he can't get enough of it. Expect lots of PDA with this guy.

⟶ GARRET seems like a pretty cuddly guy to me, so he definitely enjoys the affection you give him. Bear hugs connoisseur.

⟶ COLE is a little shy about it at first but as he falls for you more and more he can't get enough of your touch.

⟶ ANON is kind of in between. He's touch starved, but generally doesn't like people touching him. He's like a cat, really. Either he wants attention now or he doesn't and there's no telling which one is going to be which.

⟶ STIRLING is more about grand demonstrations of love rather than straight up snuggles. Doesn't mean he can't enjoy it every now and then though, especially if he knows it'll make you happy.

[daliain]

hello! I saw that you were taking headcannon requests, and I was wondering if by chance, if that you could make Stirling or Scale headcannons of being a father? As in how they would take care of y/n’s child, and how they would be around their kid?

Oh no-

I don't know how to write this kind of thing but I'll try. This may be a little complicated but i guess a bit fun?

Sorry if one of the two characters are out of character. And I'll be doing both of them

◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀◇◆❀

Stirling and Scale as a father

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◇◖🐍Stirling🐍◗ ◆

>He will be very careful around the child and trying not to scare to poor child of his if his child was a human just like his Spouse. He loves his child dearly just like he loves you.

>If the child is just like him, a small little vampire. He will be thrilled and would teach a few tricks of being a vampire. You probably need to keep on eye of them.

>imagine their father, child relationship is like Vlad(Dracula) and Mavis kind of platonic relationship.

>He will be very protective of you both but not to the point he will be overbearing. But he need to keep an eye out to make sure no one will take advantage of you both. He does not like it when others use you as a weapon to get him killed since others still hunts for Vampires after all.

>he will always be there for you both. As a good father and a husband should.

>overall 10/0.

"Well aren't mischievous little monster. Now c'mon let me teach you how you fly just like a real Vampire. Don't worry, Daddy's here to catch you"

[It's normal for kids to call their dads daddy. Pls don't think about anything else from that word. There's nothing weird about it]

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

❃◖🐲Scale🐲◗❃

>Oh boy.

>Pls somebody help this poor guy.

>his not sure what to do but he will try to be good father to the kid.

>He will hides his blades? From the child so that they won't play with it nor will get hurt from it.

>Don't worry he will arrange his schedule and will make sure to be there for you and for the kid as well.

>He knows what its like to have a absent father and he didn't want to be like that. That's why he'll always be there for you to take care both his and your child. [No his not fatherless-He just saw a few kids who does not have a father who is either left them or died and he probably saw other assassins who is like that too- pls don't kill me]

>This man will be very very protective. No one will mess or hurt both of you. This Boi will protect you and the kid. He will not let them use you both as weapon to be used as a weapon. He will not let that happen.

>if anyone mess with you or the child or both. They gonna have to mess with him.

>overall 8/10 if he knows a little a bit of parenting.

"No you are not gonna play with them. Just wait until you get olde- Oh no, OH NO YOU DON'T-"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I have fun actually-

Now on to the next request!

Oh and a enjoy reading this. I tried.

Oh be prepared for the next one. This will get a bit angsty. Though important im not sure how write it-

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[dearlovedone]

This is a BlushBlush blog, where I’ll post my own personal writings and also write any suggested content when requests are available. I am halfway through my own play through of the game, so a lot of my content will make the characters OOC a tad bit. But I’ll do my best with what resources there are out there and my own gameplay.

Also noted, this blog will mainly just be the main guys in the game as the phone-flings aren’t that interesting to me and that would just be too many guys. Yes, Cashew, Poe, Seth, and Logan will count but all other phone flings will not. 

REQUESTS + CONVERSATIONS : CLOSED

Before I post anything, I’ll list a couple of rules and info here for all you to see as it’ll be the pinned post :

✦   Slow Updates 

✦ Max of 3-4 Characters

✦   There will be some NSFW Content on this blog and it will be properly tagged

✦  I have the right to refuse any requests, don’t resend an ask or come at me in DMs.

✦   I’m not a consistent writer, so sometimes it might be good something it might be shit.

✦  If not specified, the reader’s gender will be neutral. So always specified what you want in your requests

✦ Since the boys are ‘Manimals’, there will be prompts where they either shift between all three forms, or follow the game where once they shift to hybrid and human, they can no longer revert to animal forms. It will depend on my posts.

For my writings, You’ll see :

✦   Sfw 

✦   Nsfw (Will be tagged)

✦   Character x Reader

✦   Angst

✦   Fluff

Noted: If you don’t see it on the list, most likely I don’t know of the subject or aren’t comfortable with writing about it. That said, feel free to ask and I’ll respond to it accordingly and maybe add to the list. 

Tags:

# AdmirersThoughts - rambles / shit post

# LoveLetters - writings / prompts

# DeepestFantasies - NSFW writings / Minors DNI

Masterlist will be created later

[50calmadeuce]

Bonus: Christmas, Jake, and You

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

I am also not associated with Lindsey Stirling in any way. I just love her music.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x you

Summary: You're a violinist who got hired to play for the Christmas party Penny is having at The Hard Deck. During rehearsal, you get walked in on by a handsome Jake 'Hangman' Seresin. By the end of the night, you may be something more to him.

Warnings: None! This is just Christmas fluff that, literally, just popped into my head, so I'm giving you guys a bonus story for the holidays! Enjoy!

"The piano is right over there," Penny Benjamin said as you and your piano accompanier, Nate, followed her into her bar The Hard Deck.

You looked around at all the Christmas decorations that decorated the place.

"This is perfect!" You say as you look at Nate and then back to Penny. "Can we rehearse right now?"

"Of course! I'll be in the back if you need anything." She walked through a set of double doors.

"Let's get set up." You take out your violin and Nate sets up his electronic keyboard. "Ready for tuning." You say and Nate presses the 'A' key on the piano, and you start tuning. When you finish, you look at him. "What should we warm up with?

"How about Snow Waltz?"

You smile. "Oh, you're really trying to warm me up, aren't you?"

Nate grins. "I know it's your favorite."

"Let's do it!"

Lieutenant Jake 'Hangman' Seresin parked outside of The Hard Deck and started walking towards the entrance door. He was just about to open the door when he heard violin music. A puzzled look came over his face.

It was beautiful. He'd never heard such music played like that before. He opened the door and quietly walked in. A man sat behind an electric piano and a young woman played a violin as she danced around the open floor. Jake stopped and leaned against the wall and watched as she danced around: beautifully, gracefully. How she managed to dance as well as play her violin amazed him.

When she finished, she ended gracefully, and Jake couldn't help but applaud.

The applause took you out of your music zone and you looked at where it was coming from.

A man in a Navy khaki uniform, with dirty blond hair and piercing green eyes, stood at the entrance you had just walked in only ten minutes before.

"I didn't mean to startle you. That was magnificent," he said with a sexy southern drawl as he walked towards you.

"Thank you," you said, awkwardly shyly, which wasn't like you.

Nate stood up. "I'm going to run to the bathroom real quick."

You looked at him. "Okay."

Nate left and you were left with the blond.

He put out his hand. "I'm Hangman."

You took it. "Hangman?"

"It's my call sign."

"Oh." You said with a confused look.

"I'm a fighter pilot. A naval aviator."

"Oh! You fly Navy planes."

He smiles. "Yeah." He continues looking at you as your hands still awkwardly shake.

You pull your hand away. "I'm Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you."

The doors to the back of the bar open and Penny comes out. "Oh, Hangman! You're here."

Jake finally broke his gaze from you and looked at Penny. "Mav asked if this should be enough." He handed her a list and she looked at it.

"This should be plenty. Thank you." Penny looked at you. "I see you met, Y/N. She's playing for the party tonight."

"I did. Even got a bit of her performance."

You blushed slightly. "That's not the performance. That was just how I warm up."

Jake smiled. "Well, Y/N. It was nice to meet you. I'll see you later."

You watch him leave as Nate comes back and you turn to him. "Ready for the next one?"

Later that night, Jake walked into the bar with his best friend Javy 'Coyote' Machado.

"Wait until you hear her play!" Jake said excitedly.

Coyote smiled. "You never get this excited over a person, let alone, music."

"And the way she danced and played at the same time," he explained as he opened the door.

You stood next to the piano playing Sleigh Ride when you saw him walk in with another guy in a Navy khaki uniform. You saw him glance at you, but you quickly put yourself back into your music. When you finished, you looked at Nate.

"Break?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Ladies and gentlemen. We're going to take a quick 15-minute break." You announce to the crowd. You set your violin in the case and walk over to the bar where Penny is serving.

"You are wonderfully talented, Y/N," she says as she hands you a glass of water.

"Thank you," you respond and drink the water. You feel someone walk up behind you.

"Do you take requests?" a southern male voice you recognized asks.

You turn and look at Hangman who's with the guy he walked in with drinking a beer.

"Sure. What song do you have in mind?"

"I don't know the name of it. The one you played when I saw you earlier."

You grin. "That's my warmup Christmas song. It's called Snow Waltz."

He takes a sip of his beer and grins at you. "Snow Waltz. With your dancing."

"I normally don't dance."

"You should."

"What's in it for me?"

His eyes twinkled as he grinned this time and he pulls out his wallet. "Here's fifty bucks from me." He hands it to Penny.

The pilot behind him does the same. "Me too." He also hands Penny some money and then some other pilots do the same.

"Is this it?" Penny asks. A few more pilots who heard the conversation handed Penny some money. "Anymore?" No one else handed Penny any so she counted it. "There's one thousand dollars here."

You look directly into Hangman's green eyes. "You're on." You walk back over to the piano where Nate sat back down and looked at him. "We'll be doing Snow Waltz."

Nate looked at you surprised. "Really?"

"Yup. We've got a thousand dollars riding on this."

"So, just the song?"

"Nope. Like I always rehearse."

Nate straightened up. "Alrighty then."

"Ladies and gentlemen. If I may have your attention!" You yell over the noise. "A Christmas song that a friend of mine created is going to be played next." You look at the people to the left of you. "I just need a little room please."

The crowed cleared a nice sized space for you.

"That's perfect. Thank you." You turn back to the room. "The song I'll be playing is called Snow Waltz. I usually only play it as a warmup, but it has been requested. I hope you enjoy it." You looked at Nate and you started to play and dance.

After the bar cleared out around 2 am, you and Nate packed up and Penny walked up to you.

"You need to play that Snow Waltz more often. You were the talk of the night." She handed you a check and the money from Hangman's bet. "Here you go."

You took it. "Thank you." You looked at Nate. "You ready?"

"Whenever you are."

You walked to the front door of the bar and walked out. When you did, you saw Hangman leaning against a Jeep looking at you as soon as you walked out.

Nate looks at you. "You going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Thanks, Nate. Have a good night."

Nate walks away and you walk towards Hangman. "You been waiting long?"

He smiles. "Long enough."

You smile. "So, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

He grins. "Oh. You're catching on now?"

"I learned a bit in the bar tonight."

There was brief silence as he looks at you. "I have two more holiday request," he states.

"What is that?"

"The first one is go out on a date with me."

You smile. "I would, but I don't know your name. Just your call sign."

"My name is Jake. Jake 'Hangman' Seresin."

"Nice to meet you, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin. I'm Y/F/N."

He steps closer to you. Just inches away.

"And your second request, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You grin. "Yes, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin. You can kiss me."

He reaches out, placing his hand on the side of your face and pulls you to him as he crashes his mouth onto yours.

Hope you enjoyed this story!!

[nightingale2004]

DEAREST GENTLE READERS

First off to the haters of the fandom and Micaela

WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?! HAVE WE AS A FANDOM SERIOUSLY TAKEN TWO STEPS BACKWARDS HERE?!

I HAVE SEEN SO MANY PEOPLE HATE ON MICAELA SO BADLY BECAUSE OF THE CREATORS OF THIS BEAUTIFUL SHOW DECIDED TO CHANGE THE GENDER OF MICHAEL STIRLING!!!!

I just-I can't. LIKE WTF?!?!?!

WE GET ONE SCENE! ONE SCENE! WITH MICAELA AND ALL OF A SUDDEN MOST PEOPLE HATE HER!!

I get that a lot of people aren't fans of change, especially when it comes to books, our favorite fandoms, and stuff, but this is getting ridiculous. I've seen literal TikToks of people fancast Micaela to Michael with male actors saying, "It's not too late."

CAN WE NOT AS A FANDOM FOR A SOLID SECOND, NOT BE TOXIC SEXIST TRADITIONALISTS HERE?! AND ACCEPT THE CHANGE GIVEN?!

The new season bridgerton is not even OUT YET, and people are already believing the worst. I get the last season had a poor ending, and we're hoping this new season is redemption, but this DOES NOT EXCUSE FOR a LOT OF PEOPLE ACTING SEXIST TO FRANCESCA'S FUTURE WIFEY!!!!

ACCEPT IT AND MOVE ON! CAN WE JUST WATCH THE NEW SEASON AND THEN CAST OUR JUDGMENT LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE???!!!!

THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!!!

Can we also stop putting hate Michaela and see where it goes from here. BECAUSE LIKE FRANCESCA, EVEN I LOST MY VOICE SEEING HER FOR THE FIRST TIME!

[sarawritestories]

Serenity Found

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: A quiet night in, causes the General of the Night Court to Reveal his true feelings to you.

Content Warning: None

Word count: 592

A/N: I'm sorry I keep promising things and not delivering. I'm juggling a lot and writing has been put to the back burner so much so I cried about it today. So here is a cute fluffy drabble for you. If you see any mistakes...no you didn't.

Dividers by the beautiful @tsunami-of-tears

ACOTAR MASTERLIST Taglist Request

The warmth from the flames in the library fought against the winter chill that had blanketed Velaris. Tucked into a blanket, your head finding purchase in the lap of your best friend, The General of the Night Court’s Armies. His fingers were idly gliding through your hair as he read his novel. Looking up at him for a moment; you were entranced by Cassian’s rugged beauty.

Illuminated by the fire crackling in the hearth, his face had a golden glow, his hair up in a bun, a few stray pieces framing his face that now held stubble after going days without shaving. His wings were relaxed against the couch. You fought the urge to press your thumb against the crease between his eyebrows as his Hazel irises focused on his book.  Unable to resist the urge much longer you reached up to do just that when his free hand gripped your wrist. “Knock it off.” His tone was light, and a smile appeared causing your heart to flutter. He resembled one of the old gods that Rhys’ mom would tell you about, handsome, kind and exudes raw power off his body. All those attributes describe your best friend of centuries. You were the moment he smiled at you and remained his when he had rescued you from the cruel fate of servitude. If only he realized he had your heart in the palm of his hands.

He remained unaware and you were left with a void in your heart the size of an Illyrian warrior.

The Mother was a cruel vixen.

“Sweetheart?” You blinked and noticed his smile had disappeared, replaced with a look of concern. “Where did you go?”

You smiled, “No where, I just missed you,” You turned back to your own book.

His hand grazed your arm, the soft scrap of his callouses against your skin, causing a shiver to race down your spine. “I promise to not be away for so long. I missed our reading nights. Being near you brings me such…”

“Serenity?” You glanced back to see him give a curt nod. Heat crept to your face at his admission, “Me too.”

Cassian’ lightly pulled your arm so you were facing him once more, “I have a confession to make.”

“Okay?” I rose from my spot to give him my full attention.

“Can I show you?” My head tilted, “Its better if I show you.”

You weren’t sure if your heart was beating, “Of course, Cassian. I trust you.”

Cassian’s Hazel’s eyes held your gaze with an intensity that wasn’t there a moment previously. “Good.” He cupped your face, and, in a moment, his lips were on yours. Quickly grip his waist in your hands he pulled you close. Pulling away before you could deepen the kiss, Cassian wraps a muscled arm around your waist and places his forehead to yours. “I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

“Cassian.” You whispered your chest warming as the gold thread tethered your soul to his. You pushed him slightly as if you could see the thing tethering you two together. “You’re my-

You looked up to find the General’s face morph from shock to pure happiness, “Mate. You’re mine.”

No longer fighting your urge you slid into his lap and peppered his stubbled face with kisses. “Yours. I’ve always been yours.”

And as the night went on you two sat in the library, in each other’s arms fast asleep. As two lonely souls morphed into one. Calmness falling between them as sleep consumed them.

Finding Serenity at last.

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

@ninthcircleofprythian @thelov3lybookworm @riddlesb1tch @lilah-asteria

@kylaisra @nickishadow139 @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover @demirunner

@marvelbros-oneshots @lanea-1 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[cheriladycl01]

Fast Cars on the Island - Oscar Piastri x LoveIslandContestant! Reader Part 3

Plot: Your an engineer for Mclaren and you were asked as a PR stunt to go onto Love Island. You would keep your job of course but Mclaren wanted some more media traction.

A/N: I know they would never do this, and that's why its fiction!

Ian Stirling Intro:

"And its a bright and sunny morning here in Love Island, birds are chirping, the skies are blue... and there's one eager islander already looking at the view - OH! Look at that I'm rhyming" the voice says as it shows the different camera angles in the bedroom until it settles on your bed, showing that only Charlie is in it.

"Seems like our engineer, is an early bird herself... and is cooking the others a nice breakfast. Are we sure she's not part of the McLaren Catering because that looks delicious!" Ian exclaims as it pans to you laying out the scrambled eggs.

"Time to wake up those other islanders!" he says and the footage pans back to the bedroom where the lights turn on and everyone is woken up.

The First Morning:

You waited as all the other islanders come down and you smile as they enter.

"Babes? Whats this?" Auriela asks looking at the stuff you'd cooked and laid out for breakfast.

"I'm an early riser because of my job, so I just thought I'd make a start on breakfast for us!" you smile as they all cheer happily. Charlie comes up behind you, holding your waist before kissing your cheek.

"Thanks sweetheart!" he grins taking a seat next to you and taking an slice of mango from the fruit platter you'd cut up.

"Thank you" Aaron says softly and you smile at him.

You guys spend the morning chatting, exploring the villa, sunbathing, working out and swimming around. It wasn't until about 11.30 that Chris got a text come though.

"I GOT A TEXT!" he shouts from over in the gym and everyone starts gasping, the boys who were in the gym with him - Charlie and Jai start to jump on him excitedly slapping his back acting like little school kids.

"Read it out!" Millie shouts from next to you and Aaron in the pool.

"Islanders, it's time to get to know each other more in todays Challenge 'Kiss and Pie' your positions are fighting for the choice at the next coupling up" Chris reads out and you all look around in shock before getting ready to go to the challenge.

Lando and Oscar:

They boys were watching gearing up for episode 2.

But it was hard, Oscar was struggling seeing you cooking in the bikini and in the gym with the boys and then swimming around with Aaron it was killing him, but when the challenge came around he didn't know what hit him.

The Challenge:

The way the challenge basically worked was a fact about an islander was said out loud and the person who chose it had to kiss the person they thought it was about and then shove pie in the person you thought least likely. Pie being literally whipped cream.

"Okay, who has broken up with their boyfriend of 5 years after he proposed to her..." Chris says in shock before all the boys huddle round and start discussing.

He goes up, kissing Zavi making her blush a little.

"I'm so-so sorry Y/N!" he cringes before shoving the plate of whipped cream in your face, it falling down in between your cleavage.

"CHRIS!" you exclaim and look at him while wiping the excess cream off your face.

"Sorry... but all the boys agreed your marriage material..." he shurgs before running back off to the boys group.

"Okay, who has had three girlfriends at the same time... oooooo you WHAT?" Millie reads out in shock before coming over to the other girls.

"Who do we think it is?" Millie asks.

"It's got to be Charlie?" Auriela exclaims.

"I agree!" Zavi laughs and Millie walks over kissing Charlie full force making you just laugh. It wasn't like you were threatened anyway. She then goes to put the cream in Aaron's face, he was clearly the most loyal in the villa right now.

"Okay, who owns a Mclaren...!" Aaron reads out and before he can even discuss it with the boys he's walking up to you and kissing you. Both of his hands were on either side of your face tilting it to the side to kiss deeper. It was a really really nice kiss despite you both being covered in cream from the last two rounds.

He grabs the plate of cream before lightly smacking it on Auriela's face.

"YOU OWN A MCLAREN?" Daniel shouts looking over at you and you nod.

"I work for them, in a way!" you grin and all the boys look impressed with this new found information.

The games continue, more getting unleashed as you have a kiss with Daniel and another one with Aaron.

It was a fun afternoon but the sun was starting to set and you guys were due to go back to the villa.

Lando and Oscar:

Oscar's eyes were glued to you, he was having the most perverted thoughts about you and honesty he hated it. He was now sat in Lando's hotel room with a blanket around him and a pillow covering his lower half.

"Mate, you are drooling!" Lando laughs looking over at his friend.

"No... I'm not!" he cries looking over at his friend.

"Yes, you so are! My god, I saw you leaning in when you watched them kiss!" Lando grins looking over at his friend who sits back awkwardly.

"Come on dude. It's fine to admit you have the hots for her!" Lando exclaims and Oscar blushes a beetroot red.

"Fuck off man!" he groans holding the pillow down a little tighter to his body.

"Dude come on, maybe you should go in there and claim your girl... she's getting close to Aaron!" Lando jokes, and misses the look in Oscar's eyes as he watches you and Aaron kiss again, and he cant help but want it to be him.

Back in the Villa:

All the girls had gotten ready and were looking super cute, they were currently sat round the firepit with a glass a wine talking about their day out.

"God, I already miss home. And the job!" you groan looking between all the girls and their heads snapped up in shock.

"WHAT?" they cry out looking up, you'd all only been here two days... how on earth were you missing home already.

"I just... it's nothing!" you giggle.

Just then someone's phone pings ... it's Zavi's.

"I got a TEXT!" she exclaims and you all look at her.

All the boys come rushing over to the firepit to hear what it is.

"Islanders, please get ready to welcome your two new islanders!"

...

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[delightfultheoristfox]

Some type of skin (and two keys)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Currently crossposting previous works from AO3.

Inspired by "Some type of skin" by AURORA (I have an obsession and it's a Norwegian pale lady)

CW: talk of grief, death and loss, angst, broken promises, hurt/comfort, soft Simon Riley but also angry Simon Riley. Mention of pharmacological drugs.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

The air felt clogged; thickened and uncomfortably warm. You tried to blame it on the closed window and the unrelenting sun that reflected against the glass, but the truth was that you felt awkward in your own skin. The uniform clung to your body like a prison. Once, it had been your armor: the breathable dark green cotton of the tee, the black leather of the belt cinching your waist, until the thick camo trousers. They all felt bulletproof.

Yet, ever since you’d witnessed that bullet tearing a hole into Johnny’s head, each piece of clothing had turned into something akin to a goddamn straitjacket. It replayed in your head ad nauseam until it turned into a living nightmare. Until you saw his bloodless face in everyone around you, until you felt a hole in your own skull, as if his death were an omen of your end, as well.

For the first time in the years you had worked with the task force, you were the one who called for a meeting. Well, it was an informal encounter more than anything. A text you had sent simultaneously to all of them.

“We have to talk. Room 4A in HQ 10AM?”

By mere habit, you’d also sent it to Soap; it wrecked your heart to see the red alert on the right side of your bubble, the small Not Delivered right below it. The cracks shattered further when you received the automated response telling you that the number didn’t exist.

How could it not, when you had accumulated thousands of hours on phone calls? How could it not, when you could scroll for days on the chat and never find the first text he’d ever sent you?

You had tried, one of many sleepless evenings: your thumb almost ached due to the mere motion. Fingertip up. Swipe down. Fingertip up. Swipe down. You found it, then. Something old, ancient. The bubbles were green because iPhones still didn’t have the feature that allowed you to text using internet between Apple devices.

“glad to have you on the team. big boss gave me your number. this is soap anything you need im a text awya.”

“aywa*”

“away !!!!”

You'd laughed and it quickly morphed into strangled cries, until your vision got foggy, and your lids yielded. You fell asleep clutching the phone to your cheek.

After having spread his ashes on the Scottish Highlands, everyone had made the sensible decision of taking time off – a sort of unsanctioned compassionate leave. On the other hand, you stayed buried in the tight office you had in Stirling Lines. You couldn't handle the silence that your empty flat would bring. Granted, that didn’t mean you spent much time talking to passersby here at the headquarters, strangers and colleagues alike.

You hovered around the hallways like a specter – paled and depleted. Utterly unavailable to anyone who decided, for reasons unknown to you, to waste their breath on your person. You’d hear grieving words tossed your way, and you'd nod warmly at those. Polite. Affable. Like you’ve always been, even now that the light had been sapped out of you.

Johnny brought it with him - the light. The sun of the team: beautiful yet deadly. Necessary, but dangerous. Lethal only to those who tried to unravel his equilibrium, warm and inviting to the ones who embraced his person.

Now that he was gone, there was darkness – the world dimmed to pay its respects.

It had been eight months. During those, you had worked tirelessly to concoct a plan to have your revenge. Price sometimes knocked on your door only to find you hunched over blueprints and notes. The look he gave you each time was nothing short of pitiful. He didn’t try to stop you, but you could feel the disappointment seeping through your bones and grating them to dust.

Gaz brought you coffee, sometimes. He often came to your office, knocked softer than Price – a knuckle against wood, compared to all four of them incessantly rapping against the door. Sometimes, it wasn't coffee. Sometimes, despite how bad it might have looked, Gaz spilled a few drops of Rozerem in your chamomile tea, hoping it would force your eyes closed for some rest.

All of them, drove from their respective homes only to come and check on you. You wondered if they had an unofficial shift schedule, shared between them both.

Ghost, though. Ghost stayed. 

Angrier than you. Insatiable. Raging. Went for runs at ungodly hours, when the sun wasn’t even about to peek from the horizon. He monopolized the gym of the headquarters; an easy task for him, all he needed to do was use his thousand-yard stare against the unlucky lad who dared cross the threshold. When he felt like the punching bag had taken enough of his gauzed fists, he would come to your office – sweaty and bruised. He rarely bothered to shower. He’d sit next to you, and he’d help.

Everyday.

Ever the detached bastard he'd always been, he grew closer against his better judgment. Albeit it had been years since you had joined the task force under Price’s will, Ghost had always stood several steps away from you. Yet, lately, he’d woven himself to you like a spider spinning an intricate web. He wrapped you in a cocoon, and differently from the eight-legged creature, Simon didn’t want to drain the nectar of life.

He wanted to be your armor. A panoply of rustproof iron: encasing you in chainmail, helmet, and all.

It’s why, now, as you sat on your own at the briefing room table with the increasing temperature in the room, guilt ate you from the inside. Termites feasting on wood.

The first one to enter was Kyle. Pretty brown eyes looked at you fondly, as if they were taking in a long-lost friend. He sat next to you, exchanged a few tentative words, and smoothed the hair away from your forehead. He didn't care about the grease clinging to them, instead, he grazed short nails against your scalp as he told you about his week.

You were eternally grateful for him and his tactful ability to make you feel normal when life seemed to have turned askew.

Price walked in a few minutes later. Stoic as ever, but with kindness in his blues. He held a tray in his hands, four paper cups of steaming coffee balanced on it. He set it on the table and slumped on the chair in front of you. He asked you how you were doing. You answered that you were fine. You asked it back. He answered the same. No one believed a single word.

Ghost made you all wait. You explained that he was probably at the gym, or having a late-morning run around the training grounds. If they were worried about you, the concern for Ghost was something even greater. While only Price knew of the intricacies of his past, it didn’t take a doctorate in psychology to understand that whatever had forced him to wear the skull mask was something that still haunted him in the present.

────────────

You remembered it vividly, that one evening. Life had battered you both, kindred spirits in what seemed to be the inability to grieve properly.

You, with your head propped on the armrest of the narrow couch in your office. He, slumped on the cushions as he cradled your calves in his lap. A hand absently brushed the thick cotton of your work trousers. His eyes were to the ceiling. His empty stomach growled incessantly, much like yours – both running on fumes, caffeine, and nicotine, or the occasional shared bite stolen from the cafeteria after its closing time.

As your eyelids were about to flutter closed, you heard the rumble of his voice vibrating in his diaphragm, close to where he held your feet.

“Hooked by the ribs,” he said.

The inquisitive look you sent him was missed because he didn't divert his eyes from the ceiling.

“Buried alive,” he strained, “Crawled outta my own grave.”

It hit you later, that he was sharing. You slowly sat up, pushing your torso with your tired arms. You moved gingerly, afraid a mere shift in the air would cause him to sew his mouth shut. While you had an inkling that whatever happened to him must have been gruesome and cruel, those few words (which you were sure, merely scratched the surface) already caused your stomach to churn.

“They used me, tried to break me and they did.”

Your jaw worked. Propped on your elbows, you gulped down the stone in your throat. Eyes glued to the unmasked profile – to the crooked nose, flattened by punches and butts of guns, to the divot between his lips, to the absent brown eyes with their halo of pale lashes. His fingers curled around your ankle and his thumb brushed over your sock.

“Killed my family,” he went on, and you wondered if he was talking to you at all, “Killed my nephew, too.”

Barely noticing how your eyes glazed over with treacherous tears, you bent your knees over his thighs and scooted closer. The only indication that he had acknowledged your presence and wasn’t simply musing out loud was how his palms shifted: from your ankles, up to your calves. He furled his fingers around the meaty part, while his other hand blindly went to look for your neck. He rested his palm against the side of it, let his thumb trace the outline of your jaw.

“Took everything from me, turned me into this,” he muttered, and his brows furrowed while his pupils danced over the chipped paint of the ceiling.

Half of the times you were given the luxury to gaze at the face beneath the mask, you’ve wondered where those scars came from. What kind of heroic deed had he carried out that caused each mark, or what awful act he must have committed that ended up leaving perpetual memories of it, etched in his flesh.

Never, not once, you thought someone else purposefully did it to him. Someone so cruel, so brutal, that made him regrow his skin – like a snake, shedding his frail past to build a thicker armor.

“The army left me to rot, y’know," he whispered, and although you weren't answering (truthfully, you were barely breathing) he knew you were listening.

“But not Price,” his thumb pressed into your cheek, “Not Price, nor Garrick, or you – or Soap.”

It was grimly ironic how such an idiotic callsign could bring this remarkable heaviness on your heart. The silence lingered after he uttered it, either a way to pay respect or a simple inability to continue right afterwards. Because that’s how it felt like.

Months ago, when his body flattened against the concrete of a forgotten underground tunnel, the word Soap met an end. Forever, there will be nothing else to add right after it, if not things you already knew, or heavy silence.

“Can’t lose any more people in this life,” he sighed, “Johnny must be the goddamn last, y’hear?”

You heard.

You craned your neck to the side so your cheek would slot in his palm. Saltwater dampened your skin and moistened his calluses.

“Deal,” you croaked.

He nodded, taking in your word, digesting it. A stupid promise, really. No one can pledge such a thing, but at that moment he cared very little for it. Especially when he felt your lips press against his palm.

“Deal.”

────────────

You bit your thumbnail in silence, then brought it in front of your eyes to look at the red indent around it. A droplet of blood seeped through the crack, and you suckled on it to soothe it.

Ghost abruptly walked in, the door almost flying off its hinges. He closed it behind him but didn’t take a seat. Instead, he rested his back against the shut threshold and folded his arms in front of his chest. A nod of his jaw that shifted the fabric of the balaclava was all he offered.

Now that everyone was in, the moment you had been dreading the most arrived. Albeit you had been planning this for weeks, your stomach still felt like it had swallowed a rock.

You stood up, wonky on your feet. The chair screeched as it slid back.

“I’m retiring.”

If the silence was thick before, now it felt like a boulder.

When volcanos erupt, it’s rare for lava to burst into the air and fall like sizzling rain over the landscape below it. What kills every living creature, it’s the dust that settles afterwards: it's scorching hot, stops life in its tracks.

The moment the words bubbled from your throat like molten lava, the residues puffed out of your crater and deposited on everything surrounding you. The room now felt like a ghost town, with each breathing soul inside turned into a forever statue.

The only thing that moved was Simon, who wrenched the door open and left.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

It had been weeks since you last saw him. Well, you did see him: Stirling Lines wasn't that big. But he didn't see you. He didn't knock on your door anymore and barely acknowledged your presence if he found you in his vicinity.

It felt pointless to continue your search for attribution if he wasn’t looking for it with you, so with a quick swipe of your arm, you trashed every blueprint, every post-it note, every map, and leaflet. Maybe that would grant Soap some rest as well.

A signature away from your departure, you were lying in your bed, ready to knock yourself out with a few droplets of benzodiazepine. The route to the comatose dreamless night that awaited you, though, was interrupted by a series of raps against your door.

After years in the military, you had developed quite the remarkable hearing – if one was willing to exclude the tinnitus. It meant you could recognize whose footsteps belonged to whom, whose breathing was coming from whose mouth, and which knock pertained to which hands. You knew these knuckles, indeed. Hastily tossing your legs over the edge of the bed, you padded your socked feet against the linoleum of your private quarters. Fingers shakily curled around the doorknob, and you yanked the door open.

It wasn’t like in movies, when after such a long absence time slows down when your eyes touch, no.

It was raw, irate, and spiteful.

Simon placed a thick hand on your shoulder and shoved you aside to barge in. You barely managed to recollect your balance when he slammed the door closed behind him. He looked around the room as if searching for something but not being quite sure of what. Habit, you thought.

Brown eyes that never showed much of the constant turmoil brewing in his head now landed on you sizzling with hatred.

He yanked the mask off. It fell limply to the ground.

His cheeks were flushed, whether from the warmth that had been building behind the cheap fabric of the mask or from hot anger, you couldn’t tell.

"We had a deal.”

It ripped the air from your lungs, vacuumed them clean, and ironed them flat. Your hand flew at the base of your throat, fingers nervously rubbing against your collarbone.

His voice was clouded by an unbreachable fog of anger. You felt as if you were sailing through the ocean on a moonless night, only darkness ahead of you and a single oar in your hands. That’s how it felt to navigate through Simon Riley, even now that you had managed to have a grasp on the person he was.

Your pupils traveled along his person to settle on his face, not jaded like usual but contorted in a scowl. The strain at the junction of his jaw wasn’t a new sight, nor were the taut tendons of his neck.

Sometimes, he’d fall asleep on the couch in your office; your head on his shoulder or cradled in his lap. You’d wake up then, at the sound of teeth grinding. Bruxism in his sleep, jagged sounds that made your hair stand on end. Gingerly, you used to lift your hands and press the tips of your fingers at his jaw hinge, massaging the spot until he stopped.

You wished you could do it now.

"I’m sorry," you replied calmly, trying to quell his spirits and failing spectacularly.

He took hasty steps around the room, pacing like a lunatic. You didn’t have the guts to walk closer to stop him, not yet. What left his lips next, though, made you want to crumble to the floor like a house of cards.

“Leaving ‘cause I told you all tha’?” he snapped, “’cause you can’t handle another broken case to add to your file?”

Fear of approaching him left your body like steam from a cup, indeed that’s what you did. As he relentlessly paced around the cramped space of a military-issued room, you stopped him with a gentle hand on his bicep.

He froze and yanked his arm away. Your palm like blistering coal against his skin.

You knew he was as hulking as they come, you knew he was built like a goddamned brick house, and you knew he towered over you (he towered over most, in your defense). Yet, nothing could have prepared you for the way he languidly turned to face you, looking down. You craned your neck back, otherwise your eyes would only meet his collarbones, peeking through the loose black tee he was wearing – casual comfort clothes he wore to sleep at night, those few times he did.

"Never think that,” you stated, stressing the adverb, “Never think that.”

You swallowed thickly, yet your eyes never wavered, "I – It’s complicated,” but it truly wasn’t.

Your expression softened, but you knew it would do little to smother the flames in his eyes, ready to flatten the entirety of the room.

"After Johnny, I couldn’t anymore,” you whispered, “I can’t, Simon.”

The defeated tone of yours had the bite of a skillfully honed blade. It cracked his ribcage open and stabbed the heart he didn't think he owned anymore.

He murmured then, eyes narrowed, “The fuck you mean you can’t?”

Your mouth curled down and you rolled your lips between your teeth. The tip of your tongue soothed a crack in the skin.

"I'm scared," you wheezed as if the words were difficult to utter. Scared of loss, scared of death, scared of pain, scared of scars, both physical and mental. Scared of the future, scared of your past and his, scared it would haunt you until you'd turn cold and stiff - all the people you've killed and those who survived. Fear, in its unfettered, most gut-wrenching form.

He tongued his cheek, somewhat irritated by the statement. He let the words stick like molasses to his eardrums, muffling each sound. Simon wasn’t a stranger to fear; he walked with it hand-in-hand, a faithful companion that never left his shadow. Yet, he hated that you were feeling it because in his mind you didn't deserve it.

He would have liked to tell you that, but words always failed him when he needed them the most.

"Thought you’d have grown thick skin by now," his voice was low, controlled, and deadly. Meant to hurt, meant not to graze but to cut. It was all he knew, how to hurt – especially when he was aching as well.

You looked up at him through the furrow of your brows, brief anger flashing in your eyes. You set it aside, instead opting to cast your gaze sideways. You cupped your elbows in a sort of self-reassuring hug, thumbs indenting in the flesh of your biceps.

"I wish I did,” you murmured, “Can’t grow that type of skin, it seems.”

He wanted to rebuild the cocoon he had so carefully crafted around you. He wanted to go back being the shield that kept you from any harm. The chainmail that prevented each stab.

He wanted to be that skin you didn’t seem to grow, like a reptile losing its inborn ability to replenish its flesh.

Johnny’s passing took his cold heart and thrashed it. The bond he deepened with you afterwards made it regrow. He wondered, when he'd look at you during those days, as you leeched your brain dry over blueprints and notes, if you were aware of it.

You scared him most delightfully, and he thought whether his heart should reveal itself to be more than a muscle, or a fist covered in blood.

That's why the resentful look in your eyes felt like fresh water on the fire in his chest. How could he let you drain yourself dry over this, when you had been the only light the moment his world blew out each candle.

So, his anger took the backseat, and he sighed. Drawn-out, long, and tortuous.

“Where you goin’, then?” he said, softer.

You felt it, the sorrow of his tone. It made your head swivel in his direction. You blinked, opened your mouth to answer, and hesitated.

“Bury,” you breathed, “Bury St. Edmunds.”

His eyes narrowed in thought: you could almost see the map of England he had cast in front of him reflected in his pupils.

“’s about a four-hour drive from here," his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," you mused, slightly confused by the abrupt switch in his behavior. But you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, were you?

Instead, your hands slid up your arms soothingly, "Found a nice flat there, in the city center.”

You shrugged, trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal, although Simon could tell it was by the way your eyes twinkled at the mention. Something new, something fresh that promised a new beginning, away from bloodshed and loss, closer to warmth and familiarity.

Closer to home.

"It’s nice. It has a small balcony that faces the cathedral,” you went on, sounding almost bashful, “Was thinkin’ about growing my own herbs? Like basil, and such.”

He didn’t reply or move. Barely breathed.

Just stared.

Stared at the soft expression on your face, at the way your lashes framed your eyes. Stared at the way your lip trembled, ever so slightly, as you blabbered about such ordinary things like balconies, and churches and bloody herbs.

He could already picture you with dirt under your bitten fingernails as you dug into brown, ceramic vases, refusing to wear gardening gloves.

He could hear your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you went on to brew your tea. Or the squeaking sound of the cushions of a leather couch as you dropped on it, without a care in the world, holding a book by its spine.

You truly disarmed him in that simplicity – a dress he realized he would’ve loved to see you wear more often.

You seemed unaware of the subtle awe that glinted in his pupils, since you went on to add how the flat had a guest room – although it completely flew over his thick head. What did reach his eardrums, though, was what you said next, "And it has two keys."

He snapped out of his reverie and swallowed.

"Two keys," he echoed.

His willpower felt as thin as an ice slab under the blistering sun. It melted pitifully and turned into a warm puddle in his chest. Nothing could’ve stopped him as his feet marched to you, closing both physical and emotional gaps.

He palmed your cheek and whispered with certain hoarseness in his voice, "Two damn keys.”

Your heart swelled three times its size. You swore you felt the indents left against it by each rib. Leaning your cheek against his hand, like you’d done many nights before, the most subtle of smiles graced your features.

Simon vowed he’d fight tooth and nail to see it grow.

You whispered, then, "If you want, you can just drive those four hours 'n pop in. I'll make you a cuppa, maybe take you for a tour around Bury.”

His eyes softened – crinkles at the corners and brows twitching in the middle.

"Four fuckin' hours for a cuppa and a tour,” he mumbled, "What are you, the Queen of England?"

You huffed a chuckle, pretending to find his sarcasm annoying by adding a roll of your eyes. Truthfully, you’d pay good fucking money to hear it daily.

"I'm gonna need the spare key, though" he whispered, his thumb brushed your cheek reverently.

You lifted your hand to trace his often-cracked knuckles with the pads of your fingers, “Not a spare key – your key.”

Simon swallowed thickly again. He ran his tongue over his teeth, clamping his jaw shut. His gaze hardened, his pupils danced about your face, awfully concentrated, as if he were refraining from doing something.

His sudden silence made your resolve waver. You removed your hand from the back of his, curling your fingers as if you were touching some hot surface. It stayed there, furled in a loose fist in the space between your chests.

“You could come and spend your leaves there," you whispered tentatively, "Leave your things at my flat, so each time you come over they're already there."

It took all your courage to speak, but you knew the die had been cast already. The only thing left for you to do was to simply go for it and take the damage, or leave victorious.

"Until it's full of you,” you released a shaky breath, “Until it's your little flat, too."

Simon’s breath suddenly shortened. He'd never felt at home, not even when he was supposed to have one. He'd come close to it when his brother got clean and managed to build a family for himself, or when the task force was tight-knit, with Johnny chatting his ear off with his incomprehensible Scottish lilt. But it was never his.

This, though.

He’d be damned if he let it slip through the cracks of his fingers.

"Until it's our flat," he breathed.

His other hand reached out as well, and he placed it on your opposite cheek, "Until it’s our little flat.”

You’d be lying if you said those weren’t words you had been reciting in your head ever since you put in your retirement request. Ever since you started looking for a flat that could host two people instead of one.

Indeed, you’d naively thought that the moment they would be uttered (if ever) you would have been ready for them. But you weren't, not at all – they felt like a gut punch.

You had to bite your lip to repress tears that had treacherously made their way into your eyes, now glossy and a little wide. To think that you were able, somehow, to give him some reprieve from a life that seemed to not want him, gave you incommensurable joy.

"Our home," you croaked.

"Our home," he echoed languidly, with a thick voice, as if it hurt to speak, "Our bed. And our bloody balcony on the cathedral, and our sofa, our kitchen, and – “

He paused. Swallowed, seemingly torn. Words seemed to fail him again, but he didn’t let them – not this time. He’d fight through the fear of it all being the umpteenth joke life was taunting him with. Not you, never you – his one good hand in a lifetime of poor draws.

"And every – fucking – thing in between."

You chuckled. It’s wet with tears and disbelief.

Oh, to see him thrive in anticipation for something, instead of dreading what life has in store for him.

Your hand left the gentle grip it had on his knuckles, and you cupped his face as well – mimicking how he was holding yours.

"Every," you whispered, "Bloody, fucking thing," and nudged your nose with his, "In between."

Your lips landed on his instantly.

It was stupidly clumsy at first because you were both torn in half between what felt good and what was right. His tongue slipped between your lips as soon as you parted them for air; your teeth clacked together. You chuckled against his lips; he drank it like an oasis. His life parched of what you could give him, what you were giving him.

It took him a moment to get used to the sensation, to adjust to you. But when he finally did, he kissed you back ravenously, nothing shy from desperate. He craved your touch so fiercely. A push and pull of wandering hands, tangled in your hair and yours in his.

You were finally back where he wanted you, in the cocoon he crafted just for you, made with his flesh. He held you to his chest as if his ribcage could open and like bony fingers wrap around you and keep you safe.

He placed his foot between your legs, pushing them open. You complied when he gently nudged your knee so you’d fall back against the mattress.

Eventually, your lips parted, yielding to his, to a shared breath.

You were positively flushed, breathless, and limp in his grasp. He thought he'd never seen anything this breathtaking.

You smiled, all teeth and creases at the corners of your eyes, cheeks tipped pink as they pushed against your eyes – little crescents he’d look at for days on end.

Simon was left a little dumbfounded, though, when you squirmed under his weight to extend an arm. He followed it with his eyes and saw your hand struggling to fumble with the drawer of your nightstand. You pulled out a key and held it in the space between your faces. 

"Your key," you whispered bashfully, as if unaware that the mere sight sent Simon's heart into arrhythmia.

You placed a soft peck to his lips, "To our home."

Simon let out a staggered exhale. He wrapped his fingers around the key, closed his fist around it.

A symbol of a new beginning, one that Simon finally didn’t dread. Something good rippling through his life like fresh water, even amidst the mud of shared grief and loss.

We're good people,

And we both deserve peace.

"To our home," he whispered back, "To our home."

And let breath be air, 

And love the things I know might disappear.

And the last light of the sun

I let it slow me down

I'll crawl where everybody runs.