#tf ice mirror

[cityzenshark]

Ice Mirror | Terrans Around the World

Ice Mirror | Kites | Kindle & Ember | Leaflet | Stardeep | Eggling

Cut off from any communication, Ice Mirror is the least liked Terran by the Malto Terrans due to his wild animalistic nature. Bringing him to Witwicky to meet Terratronus stresses him so much as he had just started to understand himself and learn how the world is more than an endless snow.

Thrash - Ice Mirror follows Thrash around because of his white paintjob, infuriating him because Thrash does not forgive him yet for attacking him and Jawbreaker when they first met. Unfortunately, due to Thrash being the first one to converse with him via the cyberlink, he has become Ice Mirror's mentor of sorts.

Jawbreaker - JB doesn't like him. Full stop. Even though he understands the reasons Ice Mirror is like so, he doesn't want to be anywhere within his vicinity unless if they have to butt heads again (literally). He hates how Ice Mirror "stole" his big brother from him.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

There's something about this sequence of figures that gives me pause.

Those old histories are full of kings who reigned for hundreds of years, and knights riding around a thousand years before there were knights. You know the tales, Brandon the Builder, Symeon Star-Eyes, Night’s King … we say that you’re the nine-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, but the oldest list I’ve found shows six hundred seventy-four commanders […] Jon II, ADWD

GRRM is such a meticulous writer that I’m inclined to think there’s a reason why these three figures, in particular, are mentioned. And there’s a reason why they seem to culminate in Jon.

Brandon the Builder

Though Jon does not carry the Stark name, he carries their legacy, one that dates back to the Long Night. For he now holds the combined titles of King of Winter...

Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North.  Catelyn V, ASoS

“I am the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon screamed. Jon XII, ADWD

...and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.  Jon XII, ASoS

Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those. Jon VII, ADWD

This combination of legacies—the Wall’s chief steward and a king in the north—coincidentally parallels the infamous Night’s King, who may or may not have been a Stark as well (but we’ll get to that later).

But more than leadership, Jon’s inheritance may lie in magic itself. The Wall, imbued with the magic that Brandon the Builder wove into its foundation, does more than stand as a barrier. It affects those who stay within its shadow, e.g., Maester Aemon and Melisandre. But no other character has as deep a connection to the Wall’s magical properties as Jon Snow:

“Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.”  Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall.  Jon VII, ADWD

The connection runs so deep that the Wall seems to reflect Jon himself, almost like a mirror:

Jon had given his chief captive the largest cell, a pail to shit in, enough furs to keep him from freezing, and a skin of wine. It took the guards some time to open his cell, as ice had formed inside the lock. Rusted hinges screamed like damned souls when Wick Whittlestick yanked the door wide enough for Jon to slip through. A faint fecal odor greeted him, though less overpowering than he'd expected. Even shit froze solid in such bitter cold. Jon Snow could see his own reflection dimly inside the icy walls. Jon X, ADWD

The Wall's dual properties—functioning as both a mirror and a shield—bring Serwyn of the Mirror Shield to mind, who is positioned as a narrative parallel to Symeon Star-Eyes.

Symeon Star Eyes

Like Brandon the Builder, Symeon Star-Eyes has been celebrated for thousands of years, even being co-opted by the Andals as a knight, despite living long before chivalry came to the Seven Kingdoms. This highlights a fascinating parallel with Jon, a knight who isn’t one in truth.

According to legend, Symeon lost his eyes (though we’re not told how), and afterwards, he placed star sapphires in the empty sockets.

“Symeon Star-Eyes,” Luwin said as he marked numbers in a book. “When he lost his eyes, he put star sapphires in the empty sockets, orso the singers claim. Bran, that is only a story, like the tales of Florian the Fool. A fable from the Age of Heroes.” The maester tsked. “You must put these dreams aside, they will only break your heart.”  Bran VII, AGoT

These sapphire eyes evoke creatures of ice, often distinguished by their blue eyes which shine as brightly as the stars. This includes the Others:

“What gods?” Jon was remembering that they’d seen no boys in Craster’s Keep, nor men either, save Craster himself.  “The cold gods,” she said. “The ones in the night. The white shadows.” […] “What color are their eyes?” he asked her. “Blue. As bright as blue stars, and as cold.” Jon III, ACoK

Their wights:

And suddenly Jon was back in the Lord Commander’s Tower again. A severed hand was climbing his calf and when he pried it off with the point of his longsword, it lay writhing, fingers opening and closing. The dead man rose to his feet, blue eyes shining in that gashed and swollen face. Ropes of torn flesh hung from the great wound in his belly, yet there was no blood. Jon III, ACoK

The corpse queen, who may or may not have been a female Other:

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Bran IV, ASoS

And, the legendary ice dragons:

Of all the queer and fabulous denizens of the Shivering Sea, however, the greatest are the ice dragons. These colossal beasts, many times larger than the dragons of Valyria, are said to be made of living ice, with eyes of pale blue crystal and vast translucent wings through which the moon and stars can be glimpsed as they wheel across the sky. Whereas common dragons (if any dragon can truly be said to be common) breathe flame, ice dragons supposedly breathe cold, a chill so terrible that it can freeze a man solid in half a heartbeat. The Shivering Sea, The World of Ice and Fire

Given the scant information about him, we don’t know who—or what—Symeon Star-Eyes was. Yet, through his eyes, he holds a connection to the North and its ice magic, a legacy Jon has a share in.

Both Jon and Symeon Star-Eyes are Other-adjacent; Symeon with his blue eyes which shine as stars and Jon with his black armor made of ice.

“Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice […] Jon XII, ADWD

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Prologue, AGoT

Holistically, Jon and Symeon’s associations with these creatures might be positioning them as figures with the ability to leverage northern magic—much like Bran the Builder and his ice Wall.

It’s quite intriguing how the Wall serves as a conduit through which Jon is linked to various elements of Northern mysticism. Symeon’s blue eyes are not only reminiscent of the Others but also share similarities with the Wall itself.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal [...] Bran III, AGoT

By the time Jon left the armory, it was almost midday. The sun had broken through the clouds. He turned his back on it and lifted his eyes to the Wall, blazing blue and crystalline in the sunlight. Even after all these weeks, the sight of it still gave him the shivers. Centuries of windblown dirt had pocked and scoured it, covering it like a film, and it often seemed a pale grey, the color of an overcast sky … but when the sun caught it fair on a bright day, it shone, alive with light, a colossal blue-white cliff that filled up half the sky.  Jon III, AGoT

Earlier, I noted that the Wall serves a dual function, acting as both a mirror and a shield for Jon. It was then that I referenced Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield.

Like Symeon Star-Eyes, Serwyn was a First Man whose legend was later co-opted by the Andals. Songs often portray him as a knight, though he existed long before knighthood came to Westeros. But Serwyn's legend goes even further, for later traditions cast him as a knight of the Kingsguard.

And besides the legendary kings and the hundreds of kingdoms from which the Seven Kingdoms were born, stories of such as Symeon Star-Eyes, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, and other heroes have become fodder for septons and singers alike. Did such heroes once exist? It may be so. But when the singers number Serwyn of the Mirror Shield as one of the Kingsguard—an institution that was only formed during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror—we can see why it is that few of these tales can ever be trusted.The septons who first wrote them down took what details suited them and added others, and the singers changed them—sometimes beyond all recognition—for the sake of a warm place in some lord's hall. In such a way does some longdead First Man become a knight who follows the Seven and guards the Targaryen kings thousands of years after he lived (if he ever did).The legion of boys and youths made ignorant of the past history of Westeros by these foolish tales cannot be numbered. Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

Serwyn of the Mirror Shield’s most significant act was the slaying of the dragon Urrax, which he accomplished by blinding the beast.

Legend has it that during the Age of Heroes, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield slew the dragon Urrax by crouching behind a shield so polished that the beast saw only his own reflection. By this ruse, the hero crept close enough to drive a spear through the dragon’s eye, earning the name by which we know him still. Fire & Blood

Since Serwyn was a First Man who lived during the Age of Heroes, I doubt that Urrax was one of the fire-breathing dragons from the Valyrian Empire, which came to be much later. I wonder, then, if Urrax was an ice dragon—and if Serwyn struck out its crystal-blue eye.

I find it fascinating that Serwyn used a spear to remove a dragon’s eye, while Symeon Star-Eyes was said to wield a point-tipped staff. These weapons, both tied to the theme of sight, suggest a deeper connection between these figures, even if we don’t know exactly when they lived or if their paths intersected. What’s particularly telling is that Sam is cut off—by Jon, no less—before he can finish his thoughts on the distortion of history, and how much of it has been lost, obscured, or inaccurate…

Until we know more, we can only speculate. But the thread spins back to Symeon, whose eyes were as blue as the ice dragons’, and Jon Snow, who often compares his blue ice Wall to those legendary creatures.

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. Jon VIII, ADWD

The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell.  Jon X, ADWD

This links back to Serwyn, whose mirror shield, used to slay what may have been an ice monster, parallels Jon’s Wall of ice.

But Serwyn of the Mirror Shield is not the only narrative parallel to Symeon Star-Eyes. Many times, Symeon is mentioned alongside another knight, one who actually bore the white cloak of the Kingsguard: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.  “True knights.” The queen seemed to find that wonderfully amusing. “No doubt you’re right. So why don’t you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I’m sure it won’t be very long now.” Sansa V, ACoK

“Wylla.” Lord Wyman smiled. “Did you see how brave she was? Even when I threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid. Wylla spoke from the heart, as did Lady Leona. Forgive her if you can, my lord. She is a foolish, frightened woman, and Wylis is her life. Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes, and not every woman can be as brave as my Wylla and her sister Wynafryd … who did know, yet played her own part fearlessly.  Davos IV, ADWD

There’s an intriguing duality of ice and fire in Symeon Star-Eyes being mentioned alongside the Dragonknight. Jon stands to inherit elements of both their legacies: as a First Man like Symeon, he has a connection to the ice magic of the North, and like Aemon the Dragonknight, he embodies the roles of Valyrian prince, a warrior of fire, and a commander of knights all at once.

This particular aspect of one hero having multiple faces, so to speak, lends itself to other fascinating groupings:

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I? Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall? The Hedge Knight

Through Aemon the Dragonknight and Ser Ryam Redwyne, we move beyond the mythical lone heroes of the Age of Heroes—such as Serwyn and Symeon Star-Eyes, who lived thousands of years ago—and into the more recent icons of Westeros’ history. As Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and in Ryam’s case, Hand of the King, we see a balance of legendary heroism told through songs and the real-world responsibility of leading men. They highlight the dual—and often difficult—nature of heroism that requires both valor and duty.

And Jon himself looked toward Ser Ryam and the Dragonknight, heroes who inspired his childhood games and shaped his earliest ideals of heroism and valor.

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. “I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” Or Robb would say, “I’m the Young Dragon,” and Jon would reply, “I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne.”  Jon XII, ASoS

This creates a fascinating roadmap for Jon, who right now needs to save the world as a warrior (Azor Ahai) and a commander (leader of the broader night’s watch—which encompasses all men, for all cloaks and banners turn black once darkness settles in). The way the individual legacies of Serwyn, Symeon Star-Eyes, Aemon the Dragonknight, and Ser Ryam Redwyne converge in Jon Snow suggests that his journey extends beyond mere physical labor in the coming mystical war from the North.

Ser Ryam’s reign was short-lived, and his abilities as a ruler are often questioned. While some may argue that his brief and flawed tenure mirrors Jon’s time as Lord Commander, this comparison feels misplaced. Context is key! Jon quickly follows in Ser Ryam’s footsteps as a leader, becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch within a chapter. Thus, his role as ruler of the realm may still lie ahead. And this naturally leads us to the final figure in Sam's sequence of legends: the infamous Night’s King.

The Night’s King

So far, we’ve explored the parallels Jon shares with figures celebrated for their valor. But in Martin’s world, nothing is black and white. While Brandon the Builder and Symeon Star-Eyes are remembered as heroes, the Night’s King introduces a grey area—showing that reputation, especially over time, exists on a spectrum.

I often hesitate to position Jon as a Night’s King figure, largely because the fandom tends to approach this idea from a one-dimensional lens, often portraying him as a tyrannical villain. Such a framing completely misses the complexity of Jon's arc. He has always been a hero, and while he may forsake certain vows, like the Night’s King of legend, he does so out of necessity, not selfish ambition. His journey has been about redefining what it means to protect the realm, even if that means stepping outside the bounds of traditional 'honor'.

In ASoS, Jon begins to grasp the idea of a ‘bastard’s honor’—a flexible moral code that defies society’s rigid expectations. Like his father, who stained his honor to save his sister’s son, or Jaime Lannister, who became a kingslayer to protect King's Landing, Jon learns that true honor sometimes means defying societal norms. Doing the right thing may force him to break from the Night’s Watch’s rigid vows, especially when they no longer serve the greater good.

Jon’s evolving understanding of honor reaches a new complexity in ADWD, as he navigates what it means to lead a ‘neutral’ institution that ultimately relies on the southern lords for resources—especially the Boltons and Lannisters. The Boltons, who now occupy Winterfell, have betrayed the true meaning of the castle as a protector of the North. Winterfell—'where winter fell'—is in enemy hands, with the Boltons as human monsters in the South, mirroring the mythical threats Jon faces from the North. Meanwhile, the Lannisters, still claiming to be 'Protector of the Realm', have done more harm than good.

This balancing act between neutrality and political involvement reaches its breaking point in Jon’s final ADWD chapter, when he makes the fateful decision to march south against Ramsay Bolton. The result is mutiny and his assassination. But this is not where his story ends—he will return, and his resurrection will force him to reflect on what it truly means to be a ‘defender of the realm'. Jon's choice—a rejection of neutrality—will kickstart a decisive shift in his arc, as he begins to involve himself in the affairs of his Stark family, further linking him to the legacy of the Night’s King, who was likely a son of Winterfell as well.

As Jon was resolute in marching south in part due to Arya, so too was the Night’s King enticed to break his vows for a daughter of the North.

As the sun began to set the shadows of the towers lengthened and the wind blew harder, sending gusts of dry dead leaves rattling through the yards. The gathering gloom put Bran in mind of another of Old Nan’s stories, the tale of Night’s King. He had been the thirteenth man to lead the Night’s Watch, she said; a warrior who knew no fear. “And that was the fault in him,” she would add, “for all men must know fear.” A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. Bran IV, ASoS

Jon’s 'corpse queen' can take many forms, but Arya is the strongest parallel if we see her as a catalyst for major change.

While Arya is no Other, she shares Jon’s Northern roots and strong magical ties. In many ways, she’s a reimagined 'corpse queen'—a 'bitch from the seventh hell' who is becoming an agent of death, bonded to a direwolf named after a witch-queen.

But the theme of a woman presenting temptation to this king of the night doesn’t end with Arya, for Melisandre tempts Jon time and time again.

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. […] Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. […] “You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand.” The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. “Take my hand,” she said again, “and let me save your sister.” Jon VI, ADWD

Melisandre, with her foreign magic and public sacrifices to her terrifying red god, is deeply mistrusted by the Night’s Watch brothers. And Jon’s growing association with her, as many suspect a sexual relationship, contributes to his rapidly declining reputation. Though he has thus far rejected Mel’s advances, Jon will come to realize through death that he should have leaned into her power. She warned him of 'daggers in the dark', but he ignored her and lost his life for it. Now, her blood magic may be the key to bringing him back, and it could be through this that Jon 'loses his soul'—just as the Night’s King did long ago—by becoming one of the undead.

But there is still a third woman who may take on the role of Jon’s 'corpse queen': Val, the wildling princess.

When they emerged north of the Wall, through a thick door made of freshly hewn green wood, the wildling princess paused for a moment to gaze out across the snow-covered field where King Stannis had won his battle. Beyond, the haunted forest waited, dark and silent. The light of the half-moon turned Val’s honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. “The air tastes sweet.” Jon VIII, ADWD

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. Jon XI, ADWD

Unlike his aversion to Melisandre, Jon is drawn to Val. While Mel represents temptation toward a foreign power, Val is Jon’s anchor to the North—icy and rooted in the old magic. Interestingly, both are linked to royalty: Mel, once a slave, is seen as Stannis' true queen, while Val, a wildling, is still called a princess. In this way, both evoke the idea of the corpse queen—a woman outside Westerosi norms, yet still recognized as a queen.

Beyond his relationships with these women, Jon’s arc in Dance is a delicate balance between his duties as Lord Commander and the actions of a King in the North. By letting the wildlings south of the Wall and arranging marriage alliances, Jon blurs the lines of a neutral institution, fueling the black brothers’ dissatisfaction and leading to their mutiny. This duality within him—blurring the lines between the Watch, Winterfell, and the wildlings—parallels his growing association with the Night's King.

But unlike the Night’s King, who aligned with the Others and forsook his vows, Jon’s prophetic dream (Jon XII, ADWD) suggests he may have to become king to save the realm. This once again highlights the need for a more flexible moral code.

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. “Snow,” the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom. The day had come. It was the hour of the wolf. Soon enough the sun would rise, and four thousand wildlings would come pouring through the Wall. Madness. Jon Snow ran his burned hand through his hair and wondered once again what he was doing. Once the gate was opened there would be no turning back. It should have been the Old Bear to treat with Tormund. It should have been Jaremy Rykker or Qhorin Halfhand or Denys Mallister or some other seasoned man. It should have been my uncle. It was too late for such misgivings, though. Every choice had its risks, every choice its consequences. He would play the game to its conclusion. He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont’s raven muttered across the room. “Corn,” the bird said, and, “King,” and, “Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow.” That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall. Jon XII, ADWD

Jon waking from this glimpse of destiny during the hour of the wolf speaks volumes. This period, marking the darkest part of the night before dawn, is a fitting symbol for Jon as he stands atop the Wall, battling the creatures of darkness. It also recalls Cregan Stark’s brief but pivotal tenure as Hand of the King, when he resettled the realm after a devastating war. How Jon’s own rule will unfold is uncertain—will he reign as King of Winter before stepping aside, in line with the Oak King and Holly King myth, or serve as regent to a young king, like Cregan and Ser Ryam did?

Whatever path he takes will redefine the legacy of the Night’s King. It will coincide with his role as a 'corn king'—a figure who symbolizes the cyclical turning of the seasons, from winter to spring, from death to life. Jon will be a force for good, a symbol of hope. This theme of renewal also connects him to Brandon the Builder, a figure defined by creation and the promise of new beginnings.

Jon’s journey could encompass many roles: the lone hero like Symeon Star-Eyes, the necessary but harsh leader during the Long Night like the Night’s King, or the creator of a new era like Brandon the Builder. His story will come full circle, and perhaps he will stand as the 1000th Lord Commander when it does, marking a new chapter in the legacy of the Watch—and the realm itself.

[bunnihearted]

📓🖊️🧸

[dualisume]

" People of Fontaine,

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[occamstfs]

Legacies Are Supposed To Change

Another fratification, This is one more of a prep to slob tf ! -Occam

My father was a member of Kappa Epsilon Gamma, and my grandfather before him was practically a founding member. I am going to be the third generation Astor to not only pledge but eventually become president. My family donates enough to the chapter to more than pave my way to the top. My only question now is, why are they making me pledge.

The current president, James, clearly didn’t care for me implying that I was getting in regardless, stopping just short of calling me out in front of the other pledges. That’s the only mistake he’s going to make though, when I’m in the frat I’ll completely clean house. That dunce will be lucky to even still be in the frat. I’m already old enough to be the president anyway, I’m sure my father will help the other alumni to agree.

Despite the president’s protests I have already secured a room in the house and I will say the room does seem to be exquisite. The only detail out of place is a pitcher of beer sitting on my desk. The head is still frothy so it must have been put there recently. Before I moved in my father warned me against partying too hard, we have a reputation to uphold after all, and I am not even a big drinker. 

The amber pitcher in front of me, ice cold without a piece of ice within, is more enticing than it ever should be though. The president must have done something to it. Absolutely. But, I  am awfully parched all of a sudden. I feel my mouth rapidly dry as I move closer to inspect the glass. A sip couldn’t hurt, it’s just beer after all. It’s probably that faux president admitting defeat already, no one can stand up to an Astor and prosper after all. 

I raise the pitcher to my mouth, struggling to raise it without spelling as it is heavier than I thought beer could be. The head spills over my face as I tilt the pitcher to drink. It runs down my cheeks and off my chin not that I could notice or care though. This beer is unlike anything I’ve tasted before. It's so, I need more right now. I force as much of it as I can down my throat before needing to take a break to breathe. The brief respite only gives me time to do something I thought unthinkable for a man of such poise as myself, I let out an impossibly loud burp.

I hear frat bros cheering outside my room in response “Yeah bro! Let’s go Tank!” I feel my face redden from the embarrassment of being heard doing something so profoundly basal. I scoff and roll my eyes as I notice how itchy my face suddenly is. It must be the beer starting to dry where I spilled it.

I go to wipe it off and notice it is far scratchier than it has any right to be. It burns even. I feel my face grow an even deeper shade of red as the beer must start to hit my system. I put the pitcher down and start to scratch my cheeks. I’ve never even had to shave before! Us Astor men don’t even grow peach fuzz! It  would be unbecoming to even try to grow a beard! I look in the mirror to assess whatever my situation and find an uncomfortable face staring back at me. That can’t be right. Thick brown hair is pushing out forming a chinstrap that must have taken months to grow! I lean in closer to inspect my face as another burp tries to force its way out of my throat.

Unwilling to embarrass myself once again I fight to keep it down. As I struggle against the gas in my esophagus I notice that my stomach is starting to bloat up. I see the thick brown hair in my beard start to seep up through my sideburns, staining my perfect blonde coifs into some dirty oafish brown. I gasp as my thin eyebrows rapidly burst into heavy caterpillars over my eyes which almost allows the burp to escape.

Clenching my jaw as I feel my stomach starts to press against my dress shirt. I audibly groan as I hear my bros outside start to cheer once more, something about me drinking the pitcher. They left it for me didn't they! What was I supposed to do! This burst of rage allows me to swallow the burp my neck thickening as it forces its way back down. I look down to see the button pop off of my suit jacket as my stomach starts to grumble. I feel woozy watching my torso start to barrel out, what happened to my lithe lacrosse build? My mind feels heavy as I inspect my growing body, I start to smell some vile body odor start to come from somewhere. One of these oafs absolutely needs to invest in cologne. I sniff around before my head finds itself in my own pit as I take a deep inhale and find the root of the stick. But that can’t be right?

My arms bloat out straining my dress shirt as I toss off my coat. I raise my arm behind my head to inspect my armpits further which creates a tear right on the seam, exposing my pit just in time for me to see my few blonde underarm hairs rapidly thicken to the same brown now covering my face. It’s almost funny? I can barely stop myself from laughing as I watch hair spread like a jungle in my pit, creating a haven for odor my body now apparently produces.

Is this because I burped? Is it some kind of sick joke? I’m struggling to find any reason for what is happening when I hear the zipper of my pants give out. Apparently my stomach isn't the only part of me bloating. I need to stop this. Maybe, maybe if I finish the beer without burping again I’ll go back to normal. That, that makes sense right?

I quickly grab the picture and do not notice how much thicker my hand is. Brown hairs sprouting on my hand and knuckles as my fingers grow hammy and lose the dexterity I have long honed. As I raise the glass to my face my stomach finally blows off the buttons as a thick treasure trail forms a peak halfway up my meaty torso. My body odor grows thicker in the air as I start to drink the rest of the glass. 

I feel my ass thicken as it forms a much weighter cushion in my seat, in the other side I feel as my balls rapidly grow to supply my body with the testosterone my body demands. My cock thickens but gets no longer as the beer dribbles down my face spilling all over my chest where curly dark hair spreads out from the center in a large diamond.

I finish the pitcher and shout to celebrate my conquest, “I did it fuckers! I passed the test,” as I shatter the pitcher on the floor of my bedroom, one of the pledges’ll clean that shit up anyway. 

I stand and rip the strained pants off my body as the shirt tears itself off of its own accord, no longer able to even try to hide my party bod. My bros burst into the room and start cheering “Tank, Tank, Tank!” Making me realize that duh, they’re talking about me. My bros have always called me that I burp again, now performativity as my body finishes changing. My eyes lose any pretentious sparkle they still held as they darken to a dull brown. My vocal chords grow visibly thicker, just showing from underneath the thick beard hanging off my face. A clear boner starts to grow in my shorts, not like my bros care.

I shake my package at them with my hand as I finish burping. Now that I’m in the frat I can show my bros that I’m not a fuckin’ prude like my dad and the other fuckin’ geezers. It’s gonna be a great year, now let’s go see which of these bitch pledges are Kappa material!

[velvetm00light]

Snowed In

photos: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The entire BAU team decides to take a vacation to snowy Vermont. After a day of traveling together and being the last of the team to show up to the cabin, Spencer and y/n are exhausted and in need of quality time with their friends. When alcohol and games are mixed, Spencer decides to get y/n worked up before sneaking into her room that night to show her what can happen when the sexual tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: smut, choking, alcohol consumption, others in the house, teasing, sneaking into her room, fingering, oral (female receiving), sexual tension, games (Twister).

A/N: I know it's freshly November but that's close enough to Christmas for me. This idea has been plaguing my brain for literal days now so I just couldn't resist the itch to write this. I also don't want to keep a masterpiece away from you guys especially since I probably won't be able to write for a week after this :(. But, as always, I hope ya'll eat this tf up like I did while I was writing it. <3 Also, I think I like the 3 pic banner so much better than the gifs so I might start doing that :)

THE ICE THAT COATED the sidewalk became a mirror, the concrete beneath twisting into the twin of the gloomy, gray sky above. Y/n's frost-bitten fingers tremble against the ebony wool coat she was wearing tightly wrapped as close to her body as she could possibly pull it. The unrelenting wind bit at her cheeks, her skin raw and burning.

She and Spencer had decided to walk through the cabin's yard rather than risk slipping on the glassy ice, which proved rather asinine as both of their boots and luggage wheels caked in packed snow and mud the deeper into the yard they hiked, slowing their pace. She peered ahead at Spencer under her heavy hood. His chestnut boots a bit more worse for wear than hers, considering he's worn the same ones probably every day of his life.

One hand shoved into his pockets, the other gripped onto the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles blanched. His head dipped against the sharp wind. If she had any energy left by the time they finally reached the cabin's wooden front door, she was going to one hundred percent rub it in his face. They had a negligible argument prior to arriving at the cabin - Spencer completely hellbent on not needing a winter coat, and y/n explaining that Vermont's climate is completely paradoxical to Virginia's at most times of this year.

When they had left Virginia, the sky had been a meager blue, and the wind had grown a bite to it, indicating the impending winter but not intense enough to warrant them to avoid being outside at all costs yet. Temperatures had called for slacks and the usual sweater under a proper coat during their last few cases prior to their very welcomed vacation time. She just wanted to laugh in his face at how right she had been proven in the 5 minutes since they'd parked their rental car in the snow-packed driveway.

When they finally reach the cabin door, Spencer fumbles with the brass knob, his frozen fingers barely able to grasp it enough to twist and open. The door opens without difficulty and y/n almost slams into Spencer's back in an attempt to flee the harsh cold of Vermont.

Y/n hastily shut the door behind her. She and Spencer didn't bother unwrapping any scarves or unbuttoning any coats until they could feel their extremities again as they made their way into the expansive living room, leaving their suitcases by the door. A fresh pine tree lay decorated in lights and garland in the far right corner, the smell of pine welcome in her nose, a large window hiding behind it, climbing halfway up the logged wall before stopping and becoming more logs, with a smaller window on top, shaped to a slope to match the cabin's sloping ceiling.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope sit perched on the chocolate-colored couch to the left of the pine tree turned Christmas tree, wooly sweater sleeves pulled over their hands as they gently hold warm mugs of hot cocoa, most likely.

"You're finally here!" Penelope calls, setting her chipped mug gently on the coffee table just a leg lengths away from the couch. Emily and JJ copy Penelope's actions as they rush over to greet the two latecomers.

"We thought you guys might've gotten stuck or frozen to death or something," Emily explained, engulfing y/n in a hug so tight she thought her lungs might have to escape her body entirely to relieve the pressure.

"With the way Spencer drives, I think we almost got stuck like 4 times," y/n teased, resulting in a malicious side eye from Spencer but giggles from the women in front of her.

"To be fair, we only actually got stuck once. We made it in one piece so I don't see the issue."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the rest of her energy spent on the single ridicule, her mind unable to continue the back and forth.

"The rest of them are in the kitchen," JJ explains, leading them through an archway embellished with fake leaves and fairy lights.

Rossi's back is to them as he pulls a steaming mug from the microwave. When he finally turns to spot y/n and Spencer, the last two team members to make it through the treacherous countryside of Vermont, he places the mug on the kitchen island. "I was just making you guys some cups of cocoa, but it's the packet kind. I would've made it from scratch if I thought I could survive another trip outside."

The team erupted in chuckles, "Yeah, I wouldn't suggest going out there, Rossi. You might freeze on the spot," Morgan laughed.

"Hey, I'm old, but I'm not that old."

Spencer reached delicately for the mug resting on the kitchen island, sliding his fingers through the handle and carefully lifting it as to not spill it over his hand. He turns to y/n and holds out the cup for her.

"I'll take the next one," he smiles. She gives him a sweet smile back as she takes the hot cocoa from him, "Thanks, Spence."

Y/n rose to sit upon a marbled counter, her hot cocoa clutched into her hands, greedy for the warmth it brought to her numbed fingers. Her legs swung, feeling restless despite the exhaustion that weighed her entire body down.

Vacation had began to seem like a myth considering serial killers never cease to kill and each and every person in the kitchen with her had the same mindset when it came to their work. People need us. She can't remember the last time one of her coworkers had taken a vacation or even just a day off as if they were avoiding it like a contagious disease.

She had to admit, it did almost make her feel uncomfortable to think about taking a vacation. She didn't hold much trust in others to do their jobs for them. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to finally have some time to spend with her favorite people doing nothing but watching cheesy Christmas movies and playing board and card games like she was a child again.

With all her might, she pushed down the lingering guilt she always seemed to feel when she wasn't working towards catching a bad guy. Villains always need their heroes, and she didn't like the idea of letting the villains run rampant for too long.

Her internal battle must have shown on her face because Spencer laid a secretive hand over hers as he leaned against the countertop she sat upon. He tilted his face upwards to look at her, silently asking her, what are you thinking about? Spencer seemed to be the one person who could read her like a book, despite y/n keeping the book of her life and emotions locked, shut, and completely hidden away from everyone else.

She shrugged, not important. She diverted her gaze from his, the weight of his causing her mouth to part slightly, wanting to spill everything running through her mind - but she clamped her mouth shut because that is definitely not something she wanted to do in front of her entire team.

She could feel his gaze still on her, reading the emotions on her face like a book, as if he looked long and hard enough, her thoughts would display themselves above her head. "Stop profiling me, weirdo," she whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He rolled his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"How was the drive, Spence? It seems like you guys got the worst of this incoming storm," JJ stated, her mug had been retrieved from the living room coffee table and now rested in her cupped hands as she rested her elbows on the kitchen island.

"Dangerous," y/n muttered. Spencer playfully elbowed her. "Hey! You can't tell me you didn't fear for our lives at least once during that drive."

Spencer didn't bother responding, knowing she was right. The drive hadn't been the worst it could've been, but the snow had began flurrying as they arrived to the airport, y/n's hood pulled so far over her head she kept her eyes locked on Spencer's boots in front of her to lead her. The roads were slick with snow and ice, and the winding strip of road leading up to the isolated cabin had not been the easiest or safest to navigate.

"It's a good thing you guys got here before it got too bad, we might have to really get comfortable with each other considering we'll most likely be stuck here longer than we want," Emily suggested. The team nodding in agreement. Y/n was grateful she had remembered to bring every card and board game she could get her little hands on - Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity, even Twister. She couldn't wait to get the team drunk and convince them to play Twister.

"Speaking of, I think it's time we whip out the alcohol and the games," Emily smiled, as if reading the thought directly from y/n's mind, taking a bottle of top-shelf Tequila by the neck and wiggling it in the air.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Rossi stated.

Y/n and her team made their way into the living room, spiked hot cocoa in hand. She relaxed in the middle of the couch after grabbing her Cards Against Humanity box from her suitcase by the door, Spencer to her right and JJ to her left. Rossi and Hotch taking the two reclining chairs and pulling them forward to reach the table. Emily gracefully sitting on a pillow on the floor, Morgan settling for sitting directly on the carpet, and when Spencer attempts to offer Emily his spot, she dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a suggestive glance towards y/n.

Spencer repositioned himself again on the couch, the meaning of Emily's glance fully understood.

Y/n takes the liberty of pulling the cards out of their designated box and separating them into piles scattered across the coffee table, making sure every has access to a pile of white cards. As she finishes, the conversation about who goes first and random rules to add immediately sparks. Considering the instructions clearly read that whoever pooped most recently was to be the one to start.

The conversation turned argument continued on longer than any thought necessary, laughter filling the cabin to the brim. "Well if we're really trying to have a good time, all the losers each round have to drink."

Once in agreement, the team finally quieted as Hotch reluctantly grabbed the black card on the top of the stack in the middle of the table and read it aloud.

Y/n's head began buzzing as they were a fourth of the way through the stack of black cards, the game no where within bounds of stopping. Her limbs finally felt loose from being curled up in a plane and car seat for hours, trying to avoid looking at the snowy danger they had to travel through.

The entire team shed their worries, stresses, and found it in themselves to be in the moment. Everyone had equal amounts of pain lacing their chests and stomaches from laughing too hard at cards played and also equal amounts of disgusted faces and a little bit of gagging after the rules began to increase the more alcohol consumed - they had began ranking everyone's answers by the fourth time around, the person in first being exempt from drinking anything, the person coming in last being required to take a shot instead of a sip of their drink. Y/n seemed to be on a losing streak.

Luckily, her team was too engrossed in the game to notice when she took smaller shots than she was supposed to. She didn't want to be totally inebriated in the first few hours of her first vacation in God knows how long.

Spencer's arm was outstretched on the couch behind her, his other hand holding his cards secretively, knowing that y/n would a hundred percent be trying to take peeks now and then.

Once they had almost completely blown through most of the black stack, y/n ceased the opportunity. "I brought Twister!"

The entire room cheered, and she stumbled over to her suitcase to grab it out. It was quickly set up within a minute and to her distress, they decided to make teams and compete, obviously.

The girls split into a group and the boys into another. Emily and Hotch started first, Emily easily more flexible than Hotch, his leg unable to twist towards the red dot in the corner, resulting in him falling over and a chorus of laughter echoing off the logged walls.

"Spencer, Y/n, you guys should do it next!" Penelope gasped. "You're both so lanky, it'll be a close match."

Y/n's heart beat against her throat and she felt the rush of heat bloom in her neck and rise towards her still raw cheeks. She took a deep breath, not willing to show how much of a reaction she had at the thought of being tangled up with Spencer.

JJ and Rossi finish their round, JJ sneakily leaning into Rossi enough to knock him over, giving the girls a 2 point lead. Y/n and Spencer stroll leisurely towards the edges of the Twister map. An arched brow climbs her forehead, "I hope you're ready to lose."

"In your dreams," he smirks, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

As Penelope spins the pointer, she begins to call out body parts and colors. Within minutes, y/n and Spencer are a heap of tangled limbs, her back resting against Spencer's chest as she's bent over to reach her left hand to yellow, Spencer's hand next to hers on green. Her hair obstructs some of the view of the colored circles beneath them but the look of Spencer's flexed, muscular forearm on the side of her head does little to ease her rapidly beating heart. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck, coiling a heat in her middle she desperately attempts to push down.

"I think I enjoy you being under me," he whispers onto the skin of her neck, sending shivers rattling down her spine. As Penelope calls out left hand blue, she racks her gaze around the mat beneath them.

She can practically hear the rush of blood in her ears when she finally sees the blue between her strands of hair. The closet blue dot is down towards her legs, considering her right hand was already on the blue next to her left, requiring her to bend her hips upward. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand to the spot, her ass rising upward into Spencer's hips.

She can hear the catch of his breath as she tilts upward to get into her position. The next color is called too soon after, resulting in Spencer's right leg moving to the left side of y/n's body, their bodies no longer touching in the way that spooled heat further into her center. Their limbs fight for purchase on different colored spots as the game continues, their teammates shouting at both of them, the game obviously riveting from above, but completely distracting between the two players.

After a few more minutes of twisting her body in ways she never knew she could, her arms trembled as she reached towards a yellow. Refusing to let a man who probably weighed the same as her beat her in a game of Twister, she fought through the shaking of her body and painful stretch of muscles she probably haven't used in years.

She could feel Spencer's body tremble underneath her, placed in almost the same position as before, just on the opposite side this time. "I think I enjoy being on top better," she whispered in the same way Spencer did to her.

His body tensed under hers before he dropped to the floor, crowning y/n the winner of quite literally a battle to exhaustion in a drunk game of Twister.

The women on her team cheered and hugged each other before reaching out a hand to pull her from her spot on the ground in which she collapsed onto right after Spencer did. "That was probably the longest game of Twister in the history of Twister games," Penelope laughed.

Y/n and Spencer plopped onto the couch together, content to watch Penelope and Morgan go against each other from their comfortable spots on the couch. As Emily called out colors and body parts and the teams cheering on their teammates, Spencer leaned over to y/n's ear. "If you're gonna be on top of me I think it'd rather be able to see you."

Her pulse quickened, the heat that as been building inside her since the start of their Twister match is beginning to come to an edge. Get a grip, she chastised herself. They were on vacation with their entire team for crying out loud, now was not the time for flirtatious advancements or sexual tension.

"In your dreams," she murmured, trying to keep the want in her voice caged down, but with the way that Spencer's lips lifted in a smirk told her she didn't do a very good job at it.

"Certainly."

She couldn't get her eyes to leave his face, lowering them to his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying anything stupid.

He noticed her do this and his expression turned hungry as he watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth. It was one of the things that always set him off without her even realizing. Her nervous tic could be taken as flirtatious by someone who doesn't know her. Even though Spencer knows better, it still causes tension inside his pants every damn time she does it.

"If you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he growled lowly.

The sexual tension between y/n and Spencer was almost palpable as the team said their drunken goodnights and stumbled to their respective rooms. Y/n climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt atop her closer to her face. Her thoughts swam, unable to stop them from completely consuming her with thoughts of Spencer - of his body on hers, his breath on her neck, and god damn the stupid comments he made, knowing they were working her up and torturing the hell out of her all night as they continued to play other games with their friends.

Her thoughts fell away, like birds falling out of the sky, as she heard a low sound. She sat up in her bed, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness swallowing her room, in attempt to see what the noise was. Her door opened gently and a figure quietly stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them, obviously trying not to wake anyone up.

"Hello?" Y/n called out softly, at first she thought it was Penelope, coming to tell her some new gossip she overheard somewhere. But, it wouldn't make any sense of her to sneak in if she thought y/n was asleep. It most definitely wouldn't have been Hotch, Rossi, or Morgan and the only reasonable explanation for any of them to be in her room is if they mistook her door for a bathroom, but she doesn't believe they'd be that quiet about it. Emily was so inebriated she almost didn't make it to her bed by herself.

A nervousness began in her chest as the figure stalked closer to her bed and didn't answer her. Before she could react, lips met hers hungrily. She gasped into their mouth, an opening they took to their advantage as they slipped their tongue between her lips and battled hers for dominance. She supposed that if this was someone trying to kill her, they wouldn't have kissed her first and damn it was a good kiss.

She allowed the kiss to overtake her senses, small moans rising out of her throat as her bottom lip was taken in between teeth and tugged. When her bedroom intruder finally broke their kiss, they were both panting. "I did warn you I wouldn't be able to control myself," the voice growled. Oh.

"Spencer?" Y/n whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait for you to come to me," he murmured, dipping his head to her neck, trailing sloppy kisses downward to her collarbones. Her fingers tangled into his soft curls, a moan slipping from her lips as he teased her sensitive skin.

"Shh," he shushes her, his voice vibrating through her entire body. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"Spence..." she whimpered.

His fingers played with the hem of her tank top, only the thin fabric separating him from her breasts.

"I can't get you out of my head and it's been driving me insane," he muttered against her bare skin, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed lower abdomen, sending goosebumps over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around me, or the sound of your moans that I coax out of you in every possible way I can, or the sound of you screaming my name as you come."

Y/n feels breathless at his touch, the skin beneath his lips burning with heat. "Are you okay with this?" He asks after y/n's silence.

"Absolutely," she whimpers. "Don't stop, please."

As if that was his undoing, he tears her tank top from her skin, y/n almost unable to raise her arms up in time to get it over. As soon as her tank top is thrown to the floor, his lips latch onto her peaked nipple and a cry of pleasure gathers in her throat but she clamps her lips shut, not wanting to let anyone hear. He continues to work her nipple in his mouth, using tongue and teeth, mixing pain and pleasure.

Her fingers grip his hair tighter, her back arching to bring his mouth as close as it could possibly get to her exposed breasts. Without budging from her nipple, he removes her pants swiftly, gripping her hips with his hands to swing her under him.

Her eyes can just barely make out his face in the dark hovering above her, her body begging for more. She squirms underneath him, hardly able to contain the desire coursing through her blood. His smile turns feral as he realizes just how badly she wants him to keep going.

He lowers himself antagonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses along her naked body until he reaches her inner thighs. He settles himself comfortably in between her legs as she widens them to give him complete access.

He slides his tongue gracefully through her folds and she lets out a gasp. "I've been aching to taste you," he groans against her center, gliding his tongue from the bottom up again. "You taste fucking delicious."

His pace starts out tame as he saviors every whimper that leaves her mouth and the taste of her on his tongue. Another gasp escapes her as he slips a finger in, wasting no time in gently sliding it in and out, curling it upwards to hit her sweet spot just right. She bucks her hips, riding his tongue and finger as her pleasure builds in intensity, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, his tongue and finger abandon her and she lets out a whine of disappointment. "Someone's needy," he chuckles lowly. "I'd rather make you come with me buried deep inside you."

Spencer quickly undresses himself and gently lines up with her center. He slides the tip through her folds, making her arch her back towards him, her silent plea.

Without hesitation, he slips inside her and releases a groan. "You're so wet for me," he smirks. She can barely see his face, but she knows he has a smug look on it. It's as if he's known how crazy he makes her, how she has fantasized about this very moment before.

His thrust starts out delicate, like he's afraid he's going to break her apart. She wraps her legs around his waist, an attempt to pull him as deep as possible. "Careful," he growls against her neck as he teases her skin once more. "I don't want to let loose just yet and hurt you."

"What if I like it rough?"

"Tell me how you want it, then." A challenge.

"I want you to fuck me dumb."

"Your wish is my command," he smiles against her skin and immediately latches onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her delicate skin. His hands grip her waist to keep her steady as he pounds into her, the sound of his bare thighs hitting hers. He places a hand on her throat and gently squeezes, as if he knows exactly how she likes it.

"Fuck.." Spencer growls, unhooking her legs from his waist with his available hand and using his weight to lift her legs above her head and driving in deep. Y/n claps a hand over her mouth to keep her screams in, her other hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white. "You're taking me like such a good girl."

"Fuck, Spencer," she whimpers under her palm.

"Say my name again."

"Spencer..."

"Louder."

"Fuck, Spencer!" She cries as he hits home, her pleasure reaching it's breaking point hastily.

"Open your mouth," he demands. She releases her palm from over her mouth and opens wide, Spencer wasting no time in sticking two fingers on her tongue. She closes her lips around his fingers and slides her tongue over their length. He groans in pleasure as she continues to tease his fingers.

"Come for me."

Those words were her undoing as she falls over the edge, Spencer following her over and her body releasing the pent up desire. Her entire body trembles as ecstasy floods her.

He releases her legs but stays positioned inside her, face hovering just inches above hers. Their panting breaths tangle with each other in the air between them. "You took me like such a good girl," he coos, cupping her cheek gently and rubbing her heated skin with his thumb.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Y/n whispers, trying to control her wildly racing heart.

"Of course."

"I've thought the same things," she confesses, pulling him by the hair to meet her lips again. "And I hope you're not too tired for another round."

An animalistic smile grows on his face as he pauses their kiss, "I'm going to tear you apart."

[thewulf]

Through Your Eyes || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I'm thinking a military TF 141 reader where she and Ghost are tiptoeing the line between friendship and something more (you write it soooo well!) and maybe one night she's just feeling lonely/homesick - she really only sees the guys anymore since they're always working - so she decides to get a lil tipsy in her room... Read Rest Here

A/N: Probably the most OOC Ghost we'll see but idc he's soft and I love it. Enjoy!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 9.5k + (They keep getting longer lmao)

TW: Drinking our issues away

In the quiet confines of your room on base the night stretches out like a silent, unending void. England, with its overcast skies and endless drizzle, feels worlds away from the sun-drenched horizons of your hometown in America. Here the walls are a dull grey. The only decoration a faded photograph of your family, smiling. A stark reminder of what you’ve left behind.

You sit on the edge of your narrow bed with a glass of whiskey cradled in your hands. The ice was slowly melting, mirroring the monotonous drip of time passing. The soft buzz of the base’s nighttime activities filters through your closed door. It was a constant reminder that life goes on even when parts of you have stalled.

Loneliness clings to you like a second skin. Homesickness gnaws at your insides. The jokes shared and the meals eaten together are supposed to bring comfort, but tonight they're not enough. The laughter feels distant. The smiles seem forced through your filter of sadness. You miss the ease of being understood in your own home. The comfort of familiar streets. The casual meetups with friends who knew you before you were a soldier.

Most of all you miss the simple, irreplaceable connections that once filled your days. You long for the nights out with your girlfriends, their laughter and stories echoing in your ears. A drastic difference to the tactical discussions that now dominate your evenings. The absence of your mother's voice, once a daily comfort, now feels like a missing chord in the symphony of your life. It’s not like you didn’t try and talk with her but the time difference made it nearly impossible.

The loneliness is compounded by the intimacy you crave but lack. You longed for a partner to share quiet moments with. Someone whose mere presence could turn the coldest nights warm. Here, among soldiers, your vulnerability remains hidden. Your longing for tenderness a silent scream in the night.

Lately you’ve found yourself envying Captain Price. Whenever he talks about going home to his family, a pang of jealousy tightens your chest. He returns to love, to embraces, to conversations that have nothing to do with war. His normalcy seems like a distant dream, and you crave it with every fiber of your being.

As the whiskey warms your throat it brings a slight haze to your thoughts. A part of you wonders if you made the right decision. Did you trade your past and your peace for a purpose that now feels too heavy to shoulder alone? The drink wasn’t soothing like you craved. Instead, it sharpened the edges of your solitude. It highlighted the deep yearning for something, or someone, to call home.

As the evening stretches into the deeper hours of the night your thoughts begin to swirl as much as the whiskey in your glass. Desperate for a distraction from the creeping melancholy you find yourself reaching for your phone. A dangerous idea forming amidst the softening edges of your loneliness.

The glow of your phone screen seems harsh against the dim lighting of your room. Scrolling through your contacts your thumb hovers over Ghost's name. He’s always been solid, dependable. Perhaps too much so, you think, a slight smile playing at the edges of your lips. With a reckless flicker of courage fueled by the whiskey warming your veins you tap out a somewhat flirty message. A far cry from your usual sober texts. Evening, Ghosty. Bet you can't guess what I’m up to right now…

You hit send before you can second guess yourself.

Seconds tick by, morphing into the longest minute as you stare at the screen. Your heart racing as you wait for a reply. Instead of a text though your phone starts buzzing underneath your fingertips. Ghost is calling you! Panic and excitement flutter in your chest. This isn't what you expected. You decline the call without a second though setting it face down as if it could hide your sudden nerves.

But the phone buzzes again almost immediately, Ghost’s name flashing insistently. He’s not giving up. He’d never give up if you didn’t answer now. That just wasn’t his nature. Taking a deep breath, you flip the phone back over and press answer before bringing it up to your ear. "Hey," your voice is more playful than intended, the alcohol lending you a bubbly tone.

"Everything alright?" Ghost's voice is laced with concern. His usual calm edged with tension.

"Yeah, just couldn’t sleep," you giggle not realizing how tipsy you actually were. It was a sound that feels both foreign and delightful to your ears.

"You sure? It’s not like you to text like this... this late." His probing is gentle. But you can sense him on edge trying to read the situation.

"I’m perfectly fine, Ghosty," you drawl out the nickname only he would let you use with a teasing lilt, stretching the words playfully.

"Are you drunk?" His tone a tinge worried mixed with a faint amusement.

"No!” You reply immediately but after silence on the other side of the line you continue. “Maybe just a smidge tipsy," you admit. You heard him exhale sharply on the other end—part relief, part exasperation.

There's a brief pause before his laughter filters through, easing the tension on his side of the line. "Alright then, I’m coming over. Don’t move."

"Oh no! you don’t have to! I’m just enjoying a bit of liquid courage," you protest him. Your words dancing with mock seriousness.

"I think I better check on you in person. Stay put," he commands softly. A firm undercurrent in his voice that brooks no argument.

"Okay," you acquiesce with your tone still light, teasing. As you hang up a smile tugs at your lips. Maybe what you really needed wasn’t to dull the ache of loneliness but to stir a bit of excitement. And who better than Ghost to share that with?

When you first joined Task Force 141 the transition was expected to be challenging, especially with the unit's tight-knit and often closed-off nature. However, what no one anticipated was the immediate and inexplicable closeness that formed between you and Simon Riley, your Ghosty.

From the outset, Ghost, known for his stoic demeanor and laser-focused professionalism took an uncharacteristically soft approach with you. It was as if he sensed you needed a mentor, or perhaps something within him responded to your arrival on a level he hadn't anticipated. His usual reserve melted somewhat in your presence. His guidance more patient and his words often tinged with a protective tone. This shift in him didn't go unnoticed. It raised eyebrows among the rest of TF 141, sparking whispers and speculation. Even Ghost himself seemed taken aback by his own behavior as if he was watching himself from a distance unable to reconcile this newfound softness with his hardened warrior persona.

You brought something different to the team. You brought a warmth and a kindness that radiated naturally. Your approach to handling both the missions and interpersonal relationships within the unit was refreshingly human. Where others respected Ghost for his tactical brilliance and saw him as a near-unflappable soldier. You engaged with him as a person first and foremost. You asked him questions about his day, showed interest in the small details. And sometimes you just offered a quiet presence when words were too cumbersome.

This human connection was something Ghost hadn't realized he was missing until you arrived. Your sweetness, your unguarded way of interacting not just with him but with everyone, gradually broke down the walls he had built around himself. You saw beyond the mask—both literal and metaphorical—to the complex man beneath. It was this genuine understanding and acceptance from you that deepened his affection and protectiveness. It fostered a friendship that was both surprising and profoundly meaningful.

In your interactions Ghost found a sanctuary in you. Each dialogue, each shared silence, reinforced something vital between the two of you. A sense of belonging and mutual respect that neither of you had anticipated but both secretly yearned for. Ghost's initial decision to take you under his wing, driven by an instinctive pull, blossomed into a relationship where both of you found solace, understanding, and ultimately a love that neither the harshness of your environment nor the specter of past wounds could diminish.

The wait for Ghost to come to your room feels almost interminable. Each minute ticking by slower than the last as the shadows in your room seem to deepen, mirroring your mood. Just as you start to second-guess your impulsive invitation a soft knock at the door jolts you from your somber thoughts. It's a sound too gentle for someone like Ghost whose presence is usually more commanding. But then again, he's always full of surprises.

You pad over to the door, your steps hesitant, and open it to find him there. His posture rigid, familiar balaclava in place, his eyes immediately searching yours for signs of distress. "Hey, Tex," he greets with a softness that belies the hardness of his profession. Using the nickname that feels like a balm and a sting all at once.

It was cute, the origin of the nickname only he used on you. One evening after a long day of training with TF 141 you and Ghost found yourselves alone tasked with checking and maintaining equipment. The work was meticulous and quiet offering a rare opportunity for more personal conversation. A rarity given the usual intensity of your environment.

As you both worked the conversation naturally drifted to lighter topics and you shared a humorous story about a road trip mishap you had years ago. You ended up mistakenly driving into Texas instead of your intended destination due to a mix-up with GPS directions. You recounted the events with such animated detail and humor. Making sure to mention how you ended up enjoying some of the best barbecue and meeting some incredibly friendly locals that it left a lasting impression on you.

Ghost listened intently with a rare smile playing on his lips as he worked. When you jokingly concluded that you might have been a Texan in another life because of how seamlessly you blended into the culture during your unintended visit, Ghost chuckled. It was a sound so scarce it marked the significance of the moment.

From then on he started calling you "Tex" in a teasing yet affectionate manner. It was his way of referencing that story which had not only entertained him but also revealed your ability to adapt and find joy in unexpected situations. The nickname stuck between the two of you as it became a symbol of your resilience and the easy friensdship that had developed between the two of you.

Each time Ghost called you "Tex” it was with a tone that mixed fondness and a hint of admiration reminding both of you of that shared moment of laughter and your storytelling prowess. This private joke between you became a subtle yet constant affirmation of the bond you were building. A bond based on shared stories, mutual respect, and an emerging deep, personal connection.

"Hi, Ghosty," you manage with your voice barely above a whisper. You step aside to let him in, but as you do, the use of 'Tex' makes your heart clench painfully. Your smile falters, a frown etching itself across your face as you're vividly reminded of what you're missing.

He notices the shift in your demeanor immediately. The way your eyes dart away from his gaze. "What's going on?" he asks as he steps inside making sure to close the door behind him with a quiet click. His voice is low, laced with a concern that makes your heart ache even more. "It's not like you to drink alone, without us," he adds. His tone soft but probing. This observation hits a nerve. Highlighting how out of character your actions seem tonight.

You can't meet his eyes, not yet, not when they're so filled with worry and understanding. "It’s my brother's birthday today," you confess with your voice cracking slightly. "I got a picture from my family. They're all there, celebrating... and I’m here." The words hang heavy in the air laden with a sadness that feels too big to contain.

Ghost steps back a little giving you space. "Let's sit down," he suggests gently nodding towards your bed. You move to sit on the edge, and he joins you. He maintained a respectful distance with his posture open and inviting you to continue.

You finally glance over at him and the tears that you've been holding back start to blur your vision. "I miss them, Ghost. I miss being part of those moments. It feels like I’m losing time, losing them..."

He listens in silence, but his presence was steady. "You’re not losing them, Tex. Not really. But I get it… it’s hard to miss out. You belong here with us though. It’s okay to wish you were there too."

At his words a ripple of uncertainty courses through you. "Do I really belong?" you find yourself questioning aloud. The words spilling out before you can hold them back. Your voice is tinged with an unusual vulnerability you’re so good at hiding, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a world away, like I don't quite fit anywhere anymore."

Ghost turns to look at you completely. His gaze intense even through the shadows cast by his balaclava. Noticing the sadness deepening in your eyes he softens his tone further addressing you more personally. "I know it feels that way sometimes, Y/N," he acknowledges using your first name in a rare break from nicknames signaling his serious concern. "But you've made a place for yourself here, with us. It’s not just about the missions. It’s about the moments we share, the tough days we get through together. You’re as much a part of this team as anyone is."

His reassurance carries weight, but the hollow feeling doesn’t dissipate completely. You nod, appreciating his effort to make you feel included. Yet part of you still wrestles with the feeling of displacement. It's comforting to have someone who understands, who sees the struggle and still stands by your side affirming your place even when you doubt it yourself. Tonight, Ghost isn't just a shadowy figure or a call sign. He's the anchor you didn't realize you needed.

The room grows quieter, the only sound the distant hum of the base's nocturnal life. You reach for the whiskey glass that had been forgotten during the initial turmoil of Ghost's arrival. Tilting the glass, you take a long, deliberate drink seeking the false courage it offers. The burn a temporary distraction from the ache inside.

Ghost watches you for a moment. His expression is unreadable behind the balaclava, yet his eyes—a deep well of understanding—never leave your face. “It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Y/N. It doesn’t mean you’re alone,” he finally says with a soft but firm voice.

You nod, feeling the alcohol loosen your tongue and the tightness in your chest. "I just feel so guilty all the time, Ghost," you admit before setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "Everyone here has been nothing but supportive, and here I am upset because I missed a birthday party across the ocean."

He shifts slightly turning to face you more directly. There’s a pause, a breath of a moment where he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N. And it’s a familiar one to me too. We've all had moments when we felt like we're not giving enough. Not present enough for those we left behind."

Seeing him open up about his own struggles is unexpectedly comforting. It's rare for Ghost to talk about his feelings and even rarer still to admit any weakness. His willingness to share that with you now tightens something in your throat.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it," you whisper unsure if you actually wanted him to hear your admission.

He reaches out to you. His hand hesitating in the air before gently landing on your shoulder. It was a small, uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. "We chose this life because we believed in something greater than ourselves," he starts. His voice steady. "Doesn't make the personal sacrifices any lighter, but it does give them meaning. And Y/N, you bring your own meaning to this team. More than you know."

Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over despite your best efforts. You're not usually this open, this raw, but with him, it feels safe, necessary even. "I just miss being sure of things, you know? Being sure of where I belong, sure of who needs me..."

Ghost nods, his hand squeezing your shoulder slightly. "I get that. But here’s what I’m sure of—you're needed here, more than you might see. Not just as a soldier, but as you, Y/N. Just by being here you make things better for everyone. For me."

Your breath hiccups at his words, at the honesty and the raw edge in his voice. In this quiet, vulnerable space, you both share more than just words. You share understanding, burdens, and silently, the beginning of something deeper, something neither of you might fully grasp yet. As the conversation drifts into a comfortable silence, you realize that tonight you didn't just find a confidant in Ghost. You found a mirror for your own vulnerabilities, and perhaps, a reason to keep fighting. Not just for the missions but for these moments of unexpected connection.

Tears trickle down your cheeks, unchecked and unbidden as Ghost's words sink deep. His affirmation, his understanding, it hits a part of you that's been raw and exposed for far too long. He looks at you. His eyes softening under the rim of his balaclava and it's as if he sees right through to the heart of your pain.

"Come here, love," he murmurs. His voice a gentle command that stirs something deep within you. He opens his arms and it's an invitation you can't resist—not tonight. You move almost instinctively. Your body responding before your mind can catch up. You find yourself climbing into his lap without so much as a second thought. His arms encircle you, strong and sure, and you melt into him. His chest is a solid wall against your cheek, you breathe him in, the faint scent of gunpowder and mint somehow reassuring and exactly what you needed.

He's so much bigger and stronger than you. An immovable presence that you've only ever admired from a distance. And he's Ghost—your not-so-secret crush, the man behind the mask, whose face you've never seen but whose soul you felt like you completely understood. As his arms tighten around you, holding you close, it's more than comfort. It's a need fulfilled. The simple yet profound need to be held, to feel wanted, to have someone not just willing but wanting to hold you.

You let yourself be held by him. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear a soothing rhythm in the chaos of your emotions. His hand strokes your back gently. A soothing contrast to the strength of his arms, and you feel safe, protected in a way that goes beyond physical safety. Ghost isn't just a teammate, or a mysterious figure shrouded in intrigue. He's the person who understands your loneliness, your longing, and meets it with his own kind of longing. A connection that perhaps he's been craving too.

The weight of everything—the base, the missions, the distance from home—seems to lift slightly making room for something new, something hopeful. As you nestle closer, letting yourself sink into the warmth and strength of his embrace. You realize that this closeness is something you've been missing. Something you've been needing without even knowing it. And maybe, just maybe, he needed it too.

Cuddled securely in Ghost's embrace you find a moment of peace amidst the swirl of emotions. Slowly, you tilt your head up to look at him with a small smile blossoming across your face. The intimacy of the moment, the rare closeness with someone you've both feared and admired from afar ignites a warmth that had been absent for too long.

"What, love?" Ghost asks after noticing your gentle smile. His voice is tender yet tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

You shake your head with the smile still playing on your lips ever so reluctant to break the comfortable silence that's settled between you. But he's persistent, definitely not satisfied with your silent amusement. "Come on, what is it?" he presses. His tone gentle yet insistent, coaxing you to share the secret of your smile.

When you answer him it’s the last thing he expected. "You have blonde eyelashes," you murmur, almost to yourself. The observation slipping out before you can think better of it. "You're a blondie, Ghosty."

He shakes his head at you with a subtle chuckle barely audible, his gaze holding a flicker of amusement that surprises you. "Blondie, huh?" he remarks. The words dry but with an underlying warmth that feels rare and genuine. "Never figured that'd be the thing to get noticed," he adds, his tone maintaining that typical Ghost edge—cool, composed, yet unexpectedly tender.

The playful comment, light and teasing, helps to bridge the gap between your roles within TF 141 and who you are beneath the surface. His chuckle fills you with an inexplicable joy, lightening the emotional weight of the night.

Encouraged by this lighter moment, he shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, making sure you're more comfortable in his lap. "You know," he starts again in a thoughtful tone, "I find it interesting what people notice when they really look."

This new dynamic in your conversation allows both of you to explore this newfound closeness without the heavier undertones of your earlier emotions. It's a welcome reprieve, a chance to see each other in a new light. And perhaps to start building something uniquely personal and intimate from the shared vulnerabilities and now your shared laughter. Relishing the warmth of his embrace and buoyed by the lightness of the moment there’s a playful boldness that's unlike you but feels just right for now. With a mischievous tilt of your head, you look up at him once more. Your eyes were sparkling with a mix of flirtation and genuine curiosity.

"Should've paid more attention to you, huh?" you tease. Your voice soft yet audacious. "Bet you're real pretty under that mask Ghosty."

The words hang in the air, utterly bold and flirtatious, marking a departure from your usual reserve. Ghost pauses at that. The slight tension in his posture the only sign that your comment has caught him off guard. Yet there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. A spark that suggests your boldness might not be unwelcome.

His response is slow, deliberate, as if measuring the weight of your words and his next move. "Maybe one day you'll find out love," he replies, his voice low, a tease laced with a promise that sends a thrill through you.

The exchange was daring and filled with undercurrents of mutual interest. It adds a new layer to the atmosphere, thick with potential and unspoken possibilities. As you nestle even closer to him you feel the solid certainty of his arms around you. You can't help but feel that tonight might just be the beginning of something unexpected and exhilarating. A far departure from how you were feeling even just an hour prior.

As you rest your head against his chest, feeling the thrum of his quickening heartbeat, Ghost finds himself at a crossroads of vulnerability and longing. The playful flirtation, the warmth of your body against his… it's stirring emotions within him that he usually keeps locked away under layers of discipline and duty.

"A girl can dream, hmm?" Your words were light yet laden with unspoken wishes. They echo in his heart. He tightens his hold on you further. A protective gesture that also serves to reassure himself. You're trusting him in a way that no one else does, reaching out for comfort and perhaps more.

Ghost takes a deep breath, the fabric of his balaclava stretching slightly with the movement. The thought of removing the mask, of showing you the scars that mar his face, the physical reminders of battles fought and narrowly survived, suddenly feels less daunting. He adores you, more than he's willing to admit aloud. And that adoration mixed with trust makes him consider revealing his true self.

In this moment Ghost's internal conflict is palpable. He's been grappling with the idea of showing you his face for some time. A gesture that holds significant weight given the secretive and guarded nature of his life. The scars, which he typically regards as badges of survival and resilience, suddenly morph into vulnerabilities when he thinks about revealing them to you. This is not just about physical appearance. It's about letting someone into the most guarded parts of his existence.

Ghost's decision to consider this step now isn't just a spur-of-the-moment choice. It's been building up. You represent a safe haven for him. Someone who might understand and accept his past and the physical evidence of it without judgment. It's this trust and the depth of his feelings for you that push him toward vulnerability. The act of removing the balaclava would symbolize his willingness to lower his defenses and invite you into a more intimate, authentic part of his life. A significant leap for someone whose identity is so closely tied to his role as an elite operative.

In essence, the potential unveiling is more than revealing his face; it's an invitation into his deeper self, a crucial step in any meaningful relationship, intensified here by the layers of his hidden world.

"You know," he starts, his voice a delicate blend of resolve and hesitation, "sometimes, what we dream of isn't as far out of reach as we think." His statement was laden with vulnerability and causes your heart to swell with empathy and affection for this man who has faced so much yet stands so strong before you.

As Ghost's hands hover tentatively at the edge of his mask, the weight of his decision palpable in the air, your eyes meet his with a depth of understanding and gentleness. His fingers, curled around the fabric, pause as he seems to search your face for the reassurance he needs to move forward.

He continues, his voice lowering further, almost unsure by his bold actions. "If I show you, promise me something. Promise me you'll see beyond the scars." The sincerity and slight fear in his voice tug at you, compelling you to act. To reassure him in any way you can.

You reach out slowly, your hand moving to cover his where it still grips the mask. Your touch is light but firm, grounding, a physical manifestation of your support. "You don't have to do this," you whisper back. Your voice gentle but earnest. "I never want to push you if you're uncomfortable."

As you speak your other hand moves up instinctively giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. A silent message of reassurance and strength. "Whatever you’re ready to share, whenever you’re ready, that’s okay with me. I just want you to feel safe, not just with me but for yourself too."

Your words and the warm pressure of your hands convey everything you feel—your respect for his boundaries, your readiness to accept him as he is, and your desire to ensure his comfort above all. You smile softly hoping to convey a sense of peace and acceptance, wanting him to feel the depth of your care without any pressure.

Ghost looks down at your hands. Your much smaller fingers were intertwined with his, feeling the warmth and strength from your touch. The physical connection seems to bolster him, providing a tangible sense of support and acceptance. After a moment, he gives a small nod. An acknowledgment of your words and the comfort they bring. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Ghosty.” You assure him.

Before you can continue Ghost places a finger over your lips silencing your gentle flood of reassurances. His touch is light but there’s a decisiveness in his gesture that catches your attention. Looking into your eyes with a newfound intensity, he tilts his head slightly with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "But what if I want to?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

His question hangs in the air loaded with possibilities and the promise of a deeper connection. His eyes search yours, looking for an answer, permission, understanding. “If you’re sure.” You looked into his eyes searching for any sort of doubt, but you couldn’t seem to find any.

Ghost's hand reaches up slowly, the weight of the decision evident in every measured movement. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of wielding weapons and facing harsh conditions. They tremble slightly as they hook around the edge of the balaclava. There's a moment's hesitation. A silent plea in his eyes as they lock onto yours, seeking reassurance. Your nod is gentle but firm, encouraging.

With a deep, steadying breath that lifts his chest and fills the air with anticipation, he pulls the fabric up and away from his face. The mask slides over his nose, past scars, and weathered skin, and finally clears his sharp jawline. The reveal is gradual with each inch of skin exposed adding layers to the man you've come to know. His scars map out a history of survival and silent battles.

As the balaclava comes off completely he allows it to drop from his fingers. His gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, he stands bare—not just physically but emotionally too. The vulnerability displayed in this act deepens everything between you profoundly. Ghost, the soldier fades into the background allowing the man behind the mask, marked by life but standing resilient, to shine through.

You see him clearly now. Not just as the formidable operative known as Ghost, but Simon, marked by his past but not defined by it. This shared moment of vulnerability cements a deeper connection. A space where truths are acknowledged without words and where your understanding and acceptance begin to kindle something far more profound than either of you had anticipated.

"Simon," you whisper. His name a gentle caress in the quiet of the room. The air between you thickens with vulnerability and you notice a slight tension in his posture. The uncertainty in his eyes. It's clear he's nervous, unaccustomed to such openness, to being seen so completely.

"May I?" you ask softly requesting permission not just to touch him but to bridge the final gap between your mutual vulnerabilities. At his hesitant nod you move closer. In a bold move you straddle his lap to minimize the distance. Your hands rise to his face, gentle and reassuring. As your fingers trace the texture of his scars you watch each reaction flicker across his features. Fleeting moments of surprise, of relief, of something tender blooming underneath.

As you study Simon’s unmasked face your heart surges with a deep and profound respect. The air between you feels charged with the significance of this moment as he allows himself to be seen, truly seen, perhaps for the first time in too long.

"Look at you," you whisper to him. Your voice laced with warmth and awe. You gaze at him more lovingly than even he could have anticipated. Your fingers gently trace the contours of his face. Your touch light but filled with intent, meant to comfort, and reassure him in his vulnerability. "You're so incredibly strong, Simon."

As your thumbs smooth over his cheeks, you can feel him relax slightly under your touch. His usual guardedness giving way to a tentative acceptance of your care. "And you’re beautiful. So handsome." you continue, each word deliberate and sincere. "Not despite these scars but because of them. They're not just marks. They're medals of your courage. Symbols of your endurance."

Simon's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed your words. No one had ever looked at him this way before. Seen him so completely and accepted him so fully. The barriers he had meticulously built around himself seemed to crumble under the gentle touch of your fingers and the sincere love in your voice. In this moment, stripped of his mask and the persona of Ghost, Simon felt truly seen. The fear that had knotted in his chest began to dissolve instead replaced by a warmth that spread through him, kindling a connection that went beyond the physical, touching something deep within his soul.

"Every line," you continued tracing one gently with your fingertip, "tells a story of survival, of fights bravely fought, of a life fiercely lived. They make you... uniquely you." Your voice is thick with admiration. Your eyes were locked in on his ensuring he feels the weight of your words.

Simon looks back at you, visibly moved. His eyes, usually a fortress of stoic resolve, now shimmer slightly with unshed tears. The walls he's built around himself seem to tremble under the warmth of your gaze and the sincerity in your voice. At your words, Simon's eyes hold yours. A mixture of awe and something that looks a lot like relief. You lean in with your forehead resting against his, sharing a breath, sharing a moment of profound connection.

Simon finds himself at the mercy of a cascade of emotions with feelings he's tightly regulated and kept at bay through years of training and harsh realities. As he looks into your eyes—eyes filled with genuine care and admiration—he experiences a vulnerability that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Inside, Simon is grappling with a mix of disbelief and wonder. The walls he's constructed around his heart, built to protect, and isolate, are wavering under the gentle but persistent tide of your compassion. Each word you speak, each tender touch, challenges his long-held beliefs about himself and his worth. The fortress of stoic resolve that has always been his shield is now nearly crumbled by the warmth of your gaze. In the understanding in your voice.

Can she truly see something in me that I've failed to recognize? he wonders silently baffled by the idea that his scars and battles, which he has always viewed as disfigurements and burdens, could be seen as marks of beauty and strength. Your touch of tracing his face with such intimate loving care doesn't just map the physical contours of his scars but also traces the deeper emotional wounds he's carried silently for so long.

As your forehead rests against his, sharing this profound moment of connection, Simon feels a shift within himself. A melting of ice that he didn't realize had encased his heart. The feeling of being understood, truly and deeply, without the need for masks or defenses is profoundly disarming. It stirs something in him that feels dangerously close to hope, to love.

In the quiet of this shared moment Simon begins to accept the possibility that he may not only be capable of loving but that he is already deep in the throes of it especially after witnessing the care and devotion with which you regard him. It's a realization that brings both fear and a surprising relief. The kind of relief that comes from finally settling down a heavy burden he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying.

Amidst these revelations he feels a gratitude that tightens his throat. An overwhelming appreciation for the woman before him who sees beyond the surface, who sees him not as a collection of scars and stories, but as a whole person worthy of love and affection. This connection, this acceptance, it's something he's longed for without even realizing it. And now faced with its reality he's both humbled and profoundly moved.

"You see all this in me?" he finally managed to ask with his voice barely above a whisper. As if speaking louder might break the spell of this intimate exchange.

"It breaks my heart that you don't, Si," you respond softly. Your voice laced with both sadness and affection. It's rare for you to use that nickname, but in this moment it feels just right. Intimate and genuine.

As your fingers maintain their gentle contact on his face Simon feels a surge of emotions that almost overwhelms him. Your words were so full of sincerity and depth and pierce through the layers of self-doubt and isolation he has wrapped around himself for so long. "You should see yourself the way I see you. Not just for what you’ve been through but for who you are because of it. You’re remarkable, Simon. And yes, I see all of this and so much more." Each word resonates within him, echoing in the spaces he's kept guarded and hidden from the world.

As he absorbs the weight of your affirmation Simon's heart feels like it could burst from the sheer intensity of what he's experiencing. It's as if your words have unlocked something within him. A floodgate opening to reveal depths of emotion he had long disregarded as unreachable. The shock of realizing that he can feel so deeply that he might indeed love and be loved in return washes over him with an almost palpable force.

For years Simon has compartmentalized his emotions viewing them as potential weaknesses in the unforgiving environments he's navigated. But now being held by your gaze and touched by your understanding he finds himself reconsidering everything he thought he knew about his capacity for emotion. The realization that he does love you and that he has perhaps loved you in ways he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge comes as both a shock and a beautiful revelation.

As he exhales softly, releasing the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a mix of relief and wonder fills him. The connection you share seems to solidify into something tangible, something real and powerful. Your ability to see him—not just the soldier, not just the scars, but Simon, the man behind the mask—instills in him a newfound sense of worthiness and belonging. In the warmth of your touch and the earnestness of your words Simon finds a new perspective on himself and his place in the world. It's as if your belief in him has lent him the strength to believe in himself. To accept the possibility of a future shaped not by solitude and sacrifice but by love and mutual understanding.

This emotional turning point is not just a revelation of his feelings for you but an awakening to the idea that he can be loved for all that he is, scars and strengths alike. As he looks into your eyes filled with appreciation and a dawning recognition of his worth. Simon knows that whatever the future holds it has been irrevocably altered by the truth and beauty of this moment.

As the emotional weight of the moment hangs between you, you sense the intensity overwhelming Simon in the wake of his newfound realizations. To lighten the mood and bring a touch of levity back into the exchange you offer him a radiant, genuine smile. Your eyes sparkle with affection and a playful teasing tone colors your voice as you look into his eyes which are now more open and vulnerable than ever.

“I was right though,” you say with a quiet giggle as your smile broadened “You are real pretty under that mask.”

Simon's eyes light up at your playful remark. A spark of joy dancing in them as he absorbs the lighter mood you've introduced. His smile spreads across his face softening the lines and scars that mark his experiences. The laughter you share serves as a reminder of the normalcy and comfort that can exist even in moments filled with deep emotional revelations.

After the laughter subsides Simon's expression turns tender. His eyes still holding yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. Leaning in slightly, the proximity bridging any remaining space between you. He mirrors your intimate gesture with one of his own. His hand, previously resting cautiously at his side, now reaches up to gently cup your face. The touch is soft but deliberate. Filled with affection and a newfound confidence.

"You've always seen more than most," Simon says. His voice low and filled with emotion. "Not just the surface, but the stories and the scars beneath. For that, I’m more grateful than I can express."

He pauses, his thumb now tracing the contour of your cheek in a slow, affectionate caress. "And you," Simon continues with his voice softening further. Softer than you’ve ever heard with a gentle sincerity underscoring his words, "are truly beautiful. In ways that go beyond what's visible. Your strength, your compassion… it shines through in everything you do."

The intimacy of his touch and his words draw you even closer, knitting your connection tighter. Simon's actions reveal his comfort and trust in you. Showcasing his willingness to not only accept the love and acceptance offered but to return it in kind. In this shared space, filled with genuine smiles and soft touches, the foundation of your relationship deepens. It promised a future where both laughter and earnest declarations have a place.

Your heart now feels as if it might burst right out of your chest. Simon’s words, laden with genuine admiration for who you are beyond the surface, touch you profoundly. You've always felt a strong connection with him but hearing him articulate his appreciation for your inner qualities. It's overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

A single tear escapes without your permission tracing a path down your cheek, not out of sadness but from the sheer intensity of emotion swirling within you. Simon notices the tear and his expression softens further. Gently, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His touch tender and filled with utmost concern.

As Simon's gentle fingers brush away the tear from your cheek the sweet gesture triggers something deep within you. The floodgates open and a rush of emotions surge forward. You feel an overwhelming mix of relief, gratitude, and a profound connection that you've never experienced so intensely before. Each tear that falls feels like a release of feelings too long held back.

Noticing your distress Simon acts with instinctive care. He gently guides you back into his lap wrapping his strong arms around you. The closeness of his embrace feels like a sanctuary as you nestle into his chest, letting your tears flow freely. Simon rocks you gently. His presence a calming force in the storm of your emotions. "It's okay, it'll all be okay," he murmurs soothingly, his voice a steady, comforting rumble against your ear. Each word he whispers is a balm, helping to steady your shaking breaths as you cry it all out. The built-up emotions washing over you.

After a few moments as the tide of your tears begins to subside, you lift your head to look up at him. Simon meets your gaze with a gentle smile. The softness in his eyes reflecting his deep care for you. "You alright, love?" he asks full of concern and affection for you.

You nod slowly, still nestled in the safety of Simon's embrace. The warmth from his body lending you calm. "I'm sorry, I just got overwhelmed," you explain with your voice barely above a whisper. The flood of emotions was unexpected yet not unwelcome. "It's just... all of this, hearing how you see me. Being this close to you," you continue as your eyes searched his for understanding. "It means so much to me, Simon. More than I can really express."

Simon's smile is genuine as he watches you. Understanding flickering in his eyes as he gently rocks you, keeping you close. "There's nothing to apologize for, love," he reassures you. His voice a steady presence. "It’s okay to feel this deeply. It's okay to let it show. I don’t mind a bit."

His words, affirming and gentle, help to steady the last remnants of your emotional whirlwind. As you slowly pull back to look at him again his hand remains comforting on your back, always reassuring.

"You alright now?" he asks after a moment of watching you closely. His voice low and husky.

Nodding, you manage a more composed smile this time, touched by his patience and care. "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you, Simon. For being here. For understanding," you say with gratitude coloring your tone.

Simon’s response is a tender squeeze of his arms around you. A nonverbal promise of his continued support. "Always," he murmurs. The simplicity of that single word carries with it the weight of his commitment.

In this quiet space held in Simon's arms you realize the strength that lies in vulnerability and the beauty of being seen and accepted. It’s a profound moment between the two of you. One that you both will cherish as a cornerstone of your relationship, built on understanding, respect, and heartfelt emotion.

As you rest quietly in Simon's embrace, comforted by his gentle rocking and the soothing timbre of his voice, you notice a subtle shift in his demeanor. His gaze usually so guarded and controlled now holds an unmistakable depth of emotion. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the rawness of your tears seems to have broken down the last barriers he had in place.

Simon takes a deep breath as if steeling himself to cross a threshold he's been guarding for too long. "Seeing you like this, feeling so much right alongside you... it's made me realize something," he starts. His voice thick with emotion. His eyes lock onto yours deciding not to hold anything back. "I… I need you to know."

He pauses ensuring he has your full attention. His hands still gently cradling you. "I want to be there for you, not just now but always. I want to be the one you lean on, the one who gets to see all the sides of you, the beautiful, the tough, the vulnerable." His words pour out, fervent and sincere. "I want to be your person, love. If you'll have me."

The confession hangs in the air, bold and heartfelt. Simon's face is open, hopeful yet anxious, as he gauges your reaction. It's clear this isn't just a sudden admission but something he's been grappling with. The intensity of the current situation pushing his feelings to the surface.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears, not from sadness, but from a bewildering mix of joy and doubt. His words are everything you wanted to hear yet they also echo in the corners of your mind where you harbor insecurities. You see him—Simon, so confident, so capable. The embodiment of everything you admire. And then there’s you, the ‘inexperienced little American girl’ as you harshly label yourself, suddenly feeling all the more plain and unworthy beside him.

“Simon,” you start. Your voice wavering not just with emotion but with the weight of your own self-doubt. “Why me? You’re… you’re incredible, and I’m just… I don’t know, I always feel like I’m just stumbling around you. I’m not sure what you see in someone like me.”

As your insecurities surface, revealing the depth of your unsureness, Simon's expression shifts into one of immediate concern and gentle reproof. "Love, you can't be serious…" he begins. His voice imbued with a firm conviction that makes you pause. "You're everything and more. You don’t see that?"

He makes sure you're looking directly at him with his hands tenderly cradling your face, ensuring that you feel the weight and sincerity of his words. "You see inexperience, but I see a woman who bravely faces every new challenge. Who learns and adapts, who grows stronger every day. You’re not just someone trying to keep up. You're someone who enhances our team with your unique strengths and perspective."

Simon's voice softens even further as he continues. Each word carefully chosen to convey his deep admiration and affection. "Every time you think you're just scrambling to catch up, I see someone gracefully navigating through obstacles. What you call inexperience, I call a journey of growth and courage. And that’s what draws me to you. Not just your resilience but your authenticity. The realness you bring to every situation is unguarded and genuine."

He leans in closer reducing the space between you, his gaze locked with yours in an intense, heartfelt connection. "To me, you are a woman who has taught me more about heart and perseverance than anyone else. You bring laughter, support, and challenge to my life in ways you don’t even realize."

Simon shakes his head slightly, a smile tinged with affection and a hint of awe breaking through. "You being you, with all your doubts, your laughs, your dreams—that's what I want and need. You might feel like you're just keeping pace, but love, in my eyes, you're flying. And I want to be there to support you. To celebrate every victory and help you through every challenge."

Simon's words not only offer reassurance but also begin to dismantle the walls of doubt you've built around yourself just as he had. His belief in you, his unwavering support, resonates deeply, perhaps starting to shift how you view yourself. No longer as a mere participant trying to keep up but as an invaluable member of the team whose journey and contributions are deeply cherished.

Overwhelmed by Simon's heartfelt words you find yourself momentarily speechless. His deep belief in your worth and his unwavering support pierce through the layers of your self-doubt, striking a chord deep within you. It's as if his words have not only reached your ears but also wrapped around your heart, offering both solace and a profound reassurance.

Without a word you lean forward, burying your face in the warmth of Simon's chest. The sturdy beat of his heart under your ear is comforting. A steady rhythm in the storm of emotions you're navigating. As you inhale deeply, you're enveloped by his familiar scent, a mixture that's uniquely Simon—part strength, part safety. It's grounding, helping you anchor yourself in the reality of his presence. In the truth of his words.

Simon's arms encircle you gently once more. His hand finding its way to your back where he begins to rub soothing circles. The simple gesture is nurturing, allowing you the space and comfort to collect your thoughts. To let the emotional turbulence settle into a sense of peace. His patience is palpable. There's no rush, no urgency, just a steady presence as he holds you. Affirming that he's there for you, not just in moments of strength but also in moments of vulnerability.

In the sanctuary of Simon's embrace, you feel a deep gratitude washing over you. His support not only uplifts you but also starts to reshape the way you view yourself. The doubts that once loomed large now begin to shrink, overshadowed by the new perspective he's given you—one where you are valued, capable, and cherished.

As you slowly lift your head to meet his gaze your eyes are reflective of the emotions still swirling within you but also shining with a newfound confidence. The connection you share has deepened, strengthened by vulnerability and honesty. You're ready to voice your thoughts, to respond to his openness with your own. “Simon,” you begin. Your voice a whisper that carries all the depth of your emotions, “Can I kiss you?”

The moment hangs suspended. Your question lingering between you, filled with anticipation. Simon’s response is not in words but actions. A reflection of the straightforward, decisive man you know him to be. With a swift, gentle motion, he cups your face in his hands once more. His touch reassuring and intent. Before you can react further he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is a surge of warmth and tenderness. Deepening as if to make up for all the unspoken times you both held back. It's a kiss that communicates more than any words could. Filled with all the emotions that have been steadily brewing—a mixture of relief, affection, and undisguised longing.

When you finally come up for air Simon's eyes twinkle with a mixture of delight and affection. A sweet smirk playing on his lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love,” he teases gently. His voice a soft rumble that sends a thrill through you. The playfulness in his tone lightens the intensity of the moment adding a layer of joy to the emotional depth you've shared.

Amidst the deep embrace, as Simon's arms encircle you, creating a world that consists only of the two of you, his question still lingers in the air. A soft echo amidst the intensity of your mutual connection. "Is that a yes?" His voice, though light and teasing, carries an undercurrent of earnest desire for affirmation, a confirmation of the bond you both feel.

Your body is pressed against his feeling the reassuring strength of his chest. The protective circle of his arms and the gentle touch of his hands tracing soothing patterns on your back. The physical closeness amplifies the emotional intimacy of the moment making the space between heartbeats seem significant filled with unspoken promises and shared dreams.

You lift your head from the sanctuary of his chest meeting his gaze which is alight with anticipation and warmth. His eyes, so often a bastion of resolve, now hold a tender vulnerability, waiting for your words, your confirmation.

"Yes, Simon," you respond, your voice soft but filled with conviction, the words flowing effortlessly in the safety of his hold. "Absolutely it's a yes. I can't imagine being with anyone else but you." The smile that spreads across your face mirrors the joy and sincerity in your heart.

As you speak your hand gently caresses his cheek feeling the slight roughness of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding the moment in the tactile reality of his presence. Simon's reaction is immediate as a deep, relieved breath. And his eyes close for a brief moment, savoring the words that have sealed the understanding between you.

When he opens his eyes again there's a new light in them, one of deep contentment and resolve. He leans in to capture your lips with his once more. This kiss infused with the joy of mutual acceptance and the excitement of a future together. It's a kiss that reaffirms everything that has been shared, a tender seal on the promises made.

Pulling back slightly, Simon's forehead rests against yours. A contented sigh escaping him. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs, his voice a low hum filled with happiness. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

In the cocoon of Simon's embrace, the air around you pulses with a newfound joy, each moment intensifying the connection that binds you together. With each word, each touch, Simon showers you with the love and affection that he's held back for so long. His lips find yours again, this time more eagerly, conveying emotions too powerful for words.

As Simon deepens the kiss, he pauses briefly, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes with an expression brimming with tenderness. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. The warmth of his breath caressing your face as he plants soft kisses along your jawline. Each kiss seems to say what words cannot fully express, marking a trail of affection that sends tingles through your body.

Trailing kisses down your neck, he murmurs, "The prettiest girl I've ever seen," his voice a velvety whisper that wraps around you like a soothing blanket. The sincerity in his tone, coupled with the gentle press of his lips against your skin, makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken.

He then moves back up to meet your gaze again, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that makes you feel cherished in ways you'd only imagined. "And you're not just beautiful, you're the smartest woman I know," he adds. His admiration for your intellect just as palpable as his physical attraction. His thumbs gently stroke your cheeks as he continues, "Watching you solve problems that stump everyone else—it's incredible."

Simon's compliments flow seamlessly as he explores your face with his kisses. Each touch a testament to his deepening feelings. With every word, every gentle caress, you feel more seen and appreciated than ever before. The connection deepens, wrapping both of you in a tender intimacy that feels both exhilarating and profoundly right.

As you lie there, enveloped in Simon's love and adoration, a giggle escapes you. A sound of pure happiness and contentment. You've never felt so loved, so valued. In Simon's arms, with his voice whispering sweet affirmations, you feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. He's not just a partner. He's your person in every sense, and in this perfect heartfelt moment you trust him completely and utterly.

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[nectardaddy]

'88 Ford | Kita Shinsuke

chapter seven | stupid

masterlist

no smau parts in this one, she's long

track seven . . . tourniquet

cw/notes: hurt/comfort (it's zach bryan's fault blame him), shit gets real country too oof, excuse me while I write a self indulgent blurb of how a father should be :'), nostalgic feelings, I proofread to the best of my ability

a very, very, very special shout out: thank you @mollyrolls @causenessus @froyaoya for listening to me talk about this WAY too much and letting me bother tf out of you guys over it. not to get sappy on main but genuinely thank you for all the comments, tags, and loving it as much as I do!!! I am forever in your favor for this

"Because you're important to me." "You're just saying that, Shinsuke. There's nothing important about me at all." "Everything about you is important to me."

Three days ago - without a word since.

The woman sighed as she looked in the mirror, smudged with finger prints and specks of dust. Taking in her reflection with blurry eyes; the image of a woman with black and blue staining her right eye staring back at her. Swelling gone down from a bag of frozen peas, god forbid they had a real ice pack, still left on the kitchen table and forgotten about entirely.

It was stupid. A worker started something, she finished it. They swung first, though being thoroughly provoked, and she ended it. Winding herself up so tight from the conversation days prior, she found herself more standoffish than normal. Constantly thinking about it, never a waking moment without the words "you're important to me" haunting her. Racking her brain so much as to why he stopped talking to her since, her head hurt from the thoughts that pounded her skull.

So, it truly wasn't her fault the skin of her knuckles were bruised and busted, and her eye tender and discolored. It was his - goddamn Kita Shinsuke. At least that's what she told herself, shifting blame because it felt better. Because it ate her alive every glance he still gave her, despite his lack of words; always locking eyes for a fraction a second before he broke it with a nervous air about him.

Anger was easier to swallow than dejection. It was hot and fluid, boiling through shallow veins easily and bubbling over; while sadness was the lack there of, uncomfortable, and made her stomach turn. She'd rather feel the singe of rage than the emptiness of sorrow.

A door slam caught her attention, gaze snapping towards the sound; thoughts ceased as she watched the figure of her father near the bathroom door. Propping herself up by her hands on the sink, she closed her eyes and sighed once more; expecting the inevitable scolding.

"Did they deserve it?" An unexpected question that made her reopen her eyes, seeing him in the doorway with a ghost of a frown.

"Yeah."

"Did you win?"

"Of course I did."

There was a pause. A length that lingered a bit too long, hearing the sink faucet drip water into the old porcelain, until he let out a sigh. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his work jacket, he turned. Stepping away from the bathroom door and into the small hallway; she followed.

"You gonna' tell me what's going on? Or are you gonna' keep skulking around here with a stick up your ass?"

"Rude," rolling her eyes at his words. "Nothing's goin' on." She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to guard herself, to keep the thoughts that wanted to flow out of her locked deep within. Unfortunately for her, he saw right through it. A bad habit of picking up more twang in her words when she lied, always becoming defensive to the point her accent was the focal point of discussion.

"You never were a good liar," he nearly chuckled at the woman in front of him. "You sound like a hick." He added, "so are you gonna' fess up? Or keep pickin' fights with workers?"

"They had it coming." A snarkiness shining through as she huffed out a breath; moving past him in the hallway as to further herself from the conversation. "And pickin' fights sounds pretty fun to me, honestly."

"Yeah? Well it ain't fun seeing my daughter with a black eye." His comment made her falter, stopping mid step just before the quant living area. Another sigh left her lips. It wasn't as if she didn't want to tell her father, it was bringing up the sickly feelings that came along with it. Admitting that it hurt, caused an emptiness, and made her ill to think about it.

"It's stupid."

"It ain't stupid if it has you out here raising hell."

Another pause, and feeling her father's worry made her want to wretch. To heave and slink right back into her skin; feeling all the more worse that she caused him panic in the slightest. She turned back to look at him a moment - she frowned, crumbling right there on the spot. Maybe it was her father's eyes swimming with concern, or maybe she just couldn't keep it in anymore. Which ever it was, she felt her heart fall to the pits of her stomach and she swallowed hard to fight the lump in her throat.

"Shinsuke said I was important to him and now he won't talk to me anymore, dad," voice cracking as she took a step towards him. She watched as his features fell through blurry eyes, and for a moment she believed she said the wrong thing. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she stood in front of him; he sighed.

"C'mere," holding out his arms to which she wholeheartedly obliged. Hugging him like her life depended on it - crying. Haven't shed a single tear in years, refusing to feel such hollow and empty emotions, it poured out of her. Shaking, clinging to her father, as she finally let her emotions swallow her completely.

"I'm in love with him. And I feel so fucking stupid because he doesn't even love me back; he won't even speak to me."

"I remember when he first got here," conflicting the tone of the conversation all together. "I never in my life thought you'd fall for someone so quiet." A seemingly random thought, but he continued all the same. "But then I saw how he looked at you and I realized why you liked him so much."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Maybe you don't see it, through that black eye and angst you have goin' on, but that boy is in love with you."

"He's not in love with me."

He pulled away from the woman slowly, looking in her eyes with a care that was meant for only her, but a seriousness that was as deadly as a heart attack. Holding her gently by her shoulders, he gave her a sad smile. "I don't like arguin' with you, you give me hell for it every time. But you're wrong."

She stood there a moment, looking at her father through foggy eyes. Features wet and tear stained, a numbing pain singing the right side of her face; irritating her bruised eye further. "Well, if you're so smart, why isn't he talkin' to me?"

He saw the puzzled expression on her face and couldn't help but laugh. "Because men are stupid." A statement he told her often, one she always laughed about, but held onto like a lifeline now. After every fight, every argument, and every failed past relationship; always telling her 'men are stupid. Don't let their stupidity stop you from doing shit.'

"So what should I do about it?" Breath stopped in her throat at the thought of the man actually being in love with her. A sickly sensation swirling in her stomach that didn't feel like the cliché butterflies, it felt like spiders. The feeling slowly caught up to her as her tears leisurely stopped. Eating away at her until she caught herself being frustrated all over again.

"Don't let it stop you from doing shit," he chuckled. "Tell him to stop being stupid."

taglist under cut

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[rockyteriyaki]

TEAM BUILDING ACTIVITIES 👯

s/o to @powerful-owl for starting this meme and @disarmd for the insanely funny contribution, it’s such a delightful thought exercise! here’s my attempt:

MASCOTS!

american sports have hella mascots, so every team is tasked to create a marketable mascot that could represent them for u.s fans. they also have to build a little model to pitch the concept. there’s the williams whale sharks. the aston martin martinis. lando and oscar devise a walking papaya named penny who looks so much like a vulva oscar backs out almost instantly.

GUESS THE GRID based on clothing choices: drivers assemble an outfit they’d wear and then everyone else tries to guess who picked what. the catch is that the f1a girls did the same challenge and their answers are mixed in as well. everybody thinks doriane’s mercedes-themed picks are george’s and maya gets confused for charles even though there’s no ferrari branding to be seen. chloe’s picked a haas cap with a black skirt and we watch nico hulkenberg go through every emotion known to man trying to figure out why kevin would—???

(meanwhile the academy grid is absolutely ripping everybody’s style choices to shreds, accusing hamda of being the most basic bitch on the planet bc max chose to wear basketball shorts, etc)

PADDOCK SCAVENGER HUNT

5 teams are in on it and the other 5 can’t know what’s going on, otherwise they lose points. charles pretends that he’s too tired to walk when pierre catches him searching the top of a cabinet on carlos’ shoulders. oscar distracts williams while lando tries to get a picture of logan with red, white and blue objects in the background. yuki gets stranded on top of the rbr motorhome because daniel won’t stop using him for reconnaissance and the whole thing gets called off because max sees them squabbling on the roof and thinks the rapture has arrived.

GEORGE AND ALEX MAKE GRAPHICS

ib george’s natural talent for graphic design. the audience gets to see what a communications team actually does in motorsport (educational!) and george and alex get free reign of the entire library of press photos of eachother. george is hunting for a terrible picture of alex to edit onto a podium but ends up having a very verbal crisis about how none of the pap shots are appropriately bad and then spends the next half an hour digging himself into theeee deepest hole talking about how it’s just not as FUNNY if alex looks TOO GOOD on the podium! it would be UNFAIR! alex is squirming and trying to remember where tf he was planning on going with this zoomed-in great-gatsby-esque picture of george’s eyelids on his screen right now. george silently edits alex’s teeth out of his mouth and tries to erase the fact that he just called alex handsome like 47 times.

MARIO KART SIM RACING

im talking full immersion. sherbet land is ice fucking cold. every time they drive over some kind of giant clock or railroad or something the sim porpoises like a jackhammer. someone is standing behind them with a full tank of water for the splash sections. there’s a legitimate epilepsy warning at the start of the video. bowser puts the fear of god into lando norris.

MAX AND DANIEL DO TEMPORARY TATTOOS

i’m hesitant to allow them access to a bowl of water but i have an extremely clear vision of daniel slapping tats all over the blank spaces on his skin to the point where they overlap and he’s just got shiny plasticky tattoo skin everywhere. max would find this unappealing and also stupid until he realizes all the fake tattoos on his side of the table are replicas of daniel’s actual ones. cut to: daniel with a snake tattoo stuck in his eyebrow hairs hiking his shorts up so max can mirror the placement on his own inner thigh. daniel resembling a concussed post malone, watching max’s careful application of the ‘3’ tattoo. max does a horrible aussie accent and daniel looks like a chimpanzee seeing its own reflection for the first time. cinema.

[anurst]

What He Likes

Summary: Natasha makes an observation about the girls that Jake hits on, and you jump to conclusions about his type. Let's just say you make the irrational decision to cut your hair after.

A/N: sorry this isn't a Girl Bradshaw update :( ik a lot of people have been waiting for an update. I've been lowkey spiraling but I'm feeling better now! college has been stressing me tf out but I'm starting to take better care of myself! if you haven't noticed there's a tip option now so if you want maybe tip? i don't wanna pressure anyone at all!! i figured that maybe I could get paid while writing since it's something that I love to do ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ anyway enjoy! this has been sitting in my drafts for a while

Pairing(s): Jake Seresin x (fem) reader

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol, language, inaccurate military cause I said so, reader is described with long hair

"Have you ever noticed how Hangman only goes after girls with short hair?" Natasha says beside you, and you stop mid-sip. Your eyes shift from Bradley and Bob's pool game towards Jake and a short-haired brunette.

They're both standing near the bar, and the woman gives Jake a bright smile as she laughs at something he says. The moment her hand brushes against his arm, jealousy fills you. It wasn't a secret between you and Natasha that you had a crush on Jake. Being the only woman in the dagger squad meant that the two of you spent a lot of time together.

"Nope," you respond to her, and a finger wraps itself in a strand of your hair. It's an understatement to say you have long hair. After seeing Rapunzel as a little girl, you committed to having long hair like her. It's been your pride and joy since you were young, the reason many girls have showered you in compliments about how long and luscious it is. But now, looking at Jake and the short-haired girl heading towards the door of the Hard Deck, you curse your decision to keep your hair so long.

"Hey, Princess!" Mickey calls out, and you turn to look at him. "You up for some pool?" You force a smile and stand from your seat beside Natasha.

"Only if you're up for losing again."

'Oh God, this was a terrible idea,' you think as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Your fingers run through your shoulder-length hair, and you groan. The memories from last night are a little hazy as you try to think about how you ended up in this situation.

After having one too many drinks, Bradley gave you a ride home, and you ended up in your bathroom with a pair of scissors. Natasha's words from hours earlier seemed to echo in your head as you frowned. "If Jake likes girls with short hair, I can be a girl with short hair," you mumbled as you cut inches of your hair off. Hair strands fell to the ground as you measured the ends with your fingers. Looking into the mirror, you smiled at your new hair, and a yawn slipped out of your lips as you looked down at your phone resting on the sink. "I really gotta sleep."

'This is so so so so so very bad' You squint at the uneven portions of your hair and grimace as you try to fix them. The sound of your phone ringing draws your attention away from your hair. Running out the bathroom and into your room, you answer the phone to hear Natasha's voice.

"Hey! I'm outside! Oh, and I got you an iced coffee and bagel for breakfast."

"Nat..."

"Yeah?"

"I really need your help right now..."

"What'd you do now?"

"Holy shit," Bradley gawks at you, and you groan as you cover your face with your hands. Natasha glares from beside you before she hits Bradley in the stomach. The brunette groans as he doubles over slightly before forcing a smile onto his face. "It's not that bad," he tries to reassure you.

Momentarily, you look up at him. With one glimpse of his, you already know he's lying, and you try to muffle a cry. "Idiot!" Natasha seethes as she rubs your back. Bradley raises his hands in mock surrender.

"Sorry!"

"(y/n), it's really not that bad."

"Yeah! It's just, uh, different. You still look beautiful," Bradley says as he smiles at you. Your eyes shift between his face and Natasha's before you give them a weak nod.

"We should get going," you say with a deep breath as you puff your chest out in fake confidence. Fake it until you make it, you know? You'd try to act confident with your new hair, even if you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and hide. Natasha and Bradley let you lead the way towards the classroom.

Eyes are all you feel as you walk into the classroom and sit beside Javy. You try to shy away from his gaze by placing your chin into your palm, but eventually, you turn to him with your eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"Your hair..."

"I wanted to try something new," you mumble before burying your head into your arms. Maybe you should have called in sick. That'd be better than feeling like everyone's staring at you.

"Princess?" Jake's voice calls from behind you, and your head whips up and around to look at Jake. His usual cocky look is replaced with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. "You...your hair...you..."

You can't help but giggle at his words, "Yeah, I cut it last night when I was a little drunk. Kinda a bad decision," you say, your hand nervously tucking a strand behind your ear. Jake doesn't reply, his jaw still dropped and staring straight at you. Self-conscious, you huff. "If you don't like it, then just say it. I can take it."

"No! I just- uh- well-"

"Okay, let's get started," Pete says as he walks in. "Hangman, quit your drooling and sit down. You can stare at Princess some other time."

"You know, I like you more with the short hair!" Mickey says while handing you a beer. You snort and toast your beers before cheering on Bradley and Bob as they take on Javy and Reuben in pool.

A cough from behind you makes you turn around. Jake is standing there, his cheeks flushed red, and embarrassment is clear on his face. "I wanted to say that I like it— your hair."

Nodding, you lick your lips. "Sorry if I was a little mean in the morning. I just was trying to get used to it."

Jake chuckles and dismisses your apologies. "It definitely will take some time to get used to."

"I thought you'd be thrilled about it."

"Huh?" Confusion spreads all over Jake's face. Seeing him confused, you all raise a brow.

"I mean, you like girls with short hair, right? I figured you'd like my new hair, too."

"Who told you that?"

As you remember the conversation between you and Natasha, your cheeks flush. "Well, no one told me that. I just, like, kinda assumed."

"Assumed?"

"Yeah, I mean, all the girls you take home all have short hair, so I just thought you were into those kinda girls, ya know?"

"So, you've been watching me?" Jake grins, and you realize what your words have implied.

"What?! No! I just—" You're cut off when Jake starts laughing. Groaning, you put your beer down and cover your face. Jake's laughter slowly dies as he reaches for your hands to pull them away from your face.

"For the record, darlin'. I'm into you."

"Huh?"

Jake chuckles before smiling, "I'm not into girls with short hair. I'm into you," his face then looks a little embarrassed, "I thought you were so out of my league that I went after girls that didn't look like you. 'Sides, I never really took any of them back to my place."

A smile starts to grow on your face as you giggle. "You're into me? No jokes?"

"No jokes, darlin'." Without another second passing, you rush forward and press your lips to Jake's, his eagerly molding with yours. Fireworks go off in your belly as Jake's fingers brush against your short strands of hair. You both pull away, and Jake frowns.

"Can you grow your hair back out? You're always beautiful, but the Rapunzel hair was just so you."

[cityzenshark]

I'm writing a chart to keep track of relationships between the canon Terrans and my Oc Terrans. Aftermath/Ice Mirror made me laugh loudly XD

[jannythewriter-pt2]

Collage Feels Pt.3

It’s the week after the party and you and Connie have been texting for a minute, both liking when the other text first, but of course Connie texted first. At this moment, you were getting ready for Connie to come over to your dorm so he could help you with one of your stupid class assignments 😟.

Right now you’re in the shower and you hear your phone buzz…it’s from Connie. “Hey I’ll be there in 5” the text said, you replied with a simple “ok, I’m so excited” and finished your shower. You got out and put on an oversized shirt, your silk black bonnet and some short shorts. You touched up in the mirror, applying one more coat of lipgloss and a spray of strawberry pound cake perfume and just then you heard a Knock at your door. “He’s mf’n here” you said in your head nervously.

You open the door and GAH DAMN Connie was looking so mf’n fine 😫. He was wearing a black under armour compression shirt with gray sweatpants, black cats, an iced out Cuban link chain, and you could see the waist band of his underwear and you could see his print. (And y’all that dick was dickin 😫) You were staring hard and he caught onto this, “you see sum you like ma” he says in a flirtatious tone “nigga get in here” you say in a sarcastic tone.

“Your dorm is nice asf, and it smells like vanilla in here” he says admirably. “Thank you hun, I like keeping a clean space, making sure my shit is mf’n organized cause don’t nobody want a nasty ass bitch” I said with confidence. “Nah cause you’re right about that shit” Connie said laughing as he put his Luis Vitton bag down on the floor. “Sophia what you need help on ma” he said in his deep voice, “I can’t figure out the formula for this equation” I show Connie the problems. “Yeh we’re gonna be here for a mf’n while” Connie says defeated.

It’s been 2 hours and you finally finished your work and you actually get what’s going on. “I should prolly go, ik you got other things you gotta do so imma get out of your hair” Connie said “Nah nigga you ain’t going nowhere. I did not just call you over to help me with my work. We finna order takeout and watch Baddies tf” you said pissed off that this mf was thinking you just wanted him for help and that’s it.

“Deadass, like fr?!” Connie says surprised, “Yes Connie I’m not that typa girl who’s just gon use you for her benefit, know that” this makes Connie smile to himself, he’s never met any girl who doesn’t just want to use him for his smarts, or who doesn’t want to fuck him, your different. “What you wanna eat ma?” Connie ask and you say “Def Chinese, I want orange chicken and white rice” “aight I’ll put the order in” Connie says “I’ll go get my ca-“ your cut off when Connie says “fuck no, sit yo pretty ass down somewhere, I’m paying ma” this makes you feel hot and bothered, this more dominant side of him, the sexy side of him…. “ o-ok” you stutter out shook.

It was a few hours later and y’all were watching baddies, and Connie was being real cuddly, not only that but he was being a lil…..touchy. “Please ma just come here, I wanna hold you, I promise I’ll take you out just come here” in your head your so nervous to make a move, but you a bad bitch so you do your big one. “Fine Constance” you take the blanket off of you and instead of cuddling up to him, you do something unexpected to Connie, you climb on his lap, wrap your arms around his neck, and you sat there, looking into his hazel eyes. You notice a slight pink dusted over his cheeks. “I ain’t even gon lie, your to fine for me to leave you without making you mine” Connie said quietly “you gon treat me right baby?” You said in a serious tone, “I promise ma, I promise” Connie says sincerely “ok pa, I’ll give you a chance”

Yall the next part gon be a lil bit of smutt 😫

[reesespeanutbutterfuck]

mon ange analogique

long list of headcanons of YJH with an s/o who radiates the same energy as him and reciprocates his evilness

pairing: jeonghan x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: VERY SUGGESTIVE, goofy ahhhh writing, fem!reader, reader is implied to be masc and more dominant towards jh lol, established relationship, intentional lowercase, messy keyboard core, cursing, implied smut, mentions of svt members as extras, TOUCHY JEONGHAN, JH AND READER ARE CHAOTIC EVILS

heheheh so you're dating THE yoon jeonghan? good for you

so you alr know this man is annoying but in like, a very charming way

the members totally were on ur side everytime you banter coz they've had enough of jh terrorizing them that they were so glad he finally got a taste of his own medicine

KARMA IS A BITCH

"jEoNgHAnNie, nUgU aEgi?"

ಠ_ʖಠ

tf did u just say

dw he gives you the response you want :D

you once played mafia together in a group, with u as a mafia (unbeknownst to him) and him as a citizen much to his dissapointment

as lovers, of course you instinctively trusted and tagged along with each other

BUT WHAT HE WASN'T EXPECTING IS FOR U TO KILL HIM FIRST

his jaw drops to his feet with the turn of events

BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE, CRIMINAL OFFENSIVE–

HE TRUSTED YOU.

HE ACTUALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE TOGETHER IN THIS HOW COULD YOU

like i said, karma is a bitch

it all came back to bite him in the bum

he knew you were something else, your personality that mirrors his own is very amusing in his eyes, he was enamoured by how you acted

very head-over-heels for you

whenever you bully or prank him, all the times when he pranked his members flash before his eyes as he finally gets a taste of what it's like on the receiving end

he looks at you like you just committed a horrendous crime in front of his eyes

oh you're bullying HIM now? how dare you

of course his competitive ass gets revenge on you afterwards bcs THIS IS WAR

of course your banters and pranks on each other are always lighthearted, he wouldn't do or say anything out of the line purposely to hurt you, and you wouldn't do the same either

however if it somehow happens that you hurt each other, which is a very rare occurence, it would always come to healthy resolve because you both talk it out immediately

you value each other's boundaries

he would pull your wrist and wrap your arm over his waist as he settles you on his chest

"there, there, i'm sorry jagi, i won't do it again." he gazes down on you and gives you a soft smile, his long hair framing his face beautifully

even if he's usually frolic, he knows when to take things seriously

besides, he'll never do anything he knows you wouldn't like (!!!)

humiliation for the sake of pranks is a big NO. that's just horrible

having ideas for dates and what to do while spending time w/ each other were never a problem, considering the fact that both of you have the same hobbies and tastes!

you want to try this ice cream bar downtown? he's been eyeing the same shop too!

he wants to build legos? sure, you're sitting beside him in an instant while reading the instruction manual

you're bored and you want to play chess? he immediately whips out a chessboard

your habits are very similar

he cackled when he found out you also keep plastic knives in your bag

and you like taking care of each other and the ppl around you

everybody loves mom mode jeonghan and fears mom mode y/n

this also results to the both of you thinking the other is prettier than each other

he doesn't just think you're prettier than him, he KNOWS you're prettier than him

whilst you also think he's the prettiest. you would always tell him he's prettier than you

while the members also say all say you're a lot prettier than hannie (in which hannie wholeheartedly agrees on), you're actually equal in terms of this

he will throw himself at your feet if you're fem

but jeonghan also loves it when you express your masc side

he will call you "handsome" if you're masc

you don't have to worry if ever you're insecure about how you're too masc or too fem or both

because he knows what it's like ;)

he believes everyone is free to express themselves

bcs he embraces his feminine side too <3

in conclusion, it doesn't matter if you're masc or fem or BOTH he is in LOVE with YOU

jeonghan is WHIPPED whipped

sometimes he's like a female friend when you're in dates lol this is so fukin cute

he'll clasp your arms together like besties while you're recommending each other skincare products inside the mall

and bribe shopkeepers tgt for discounts while you're at it

he'll ask someone to take your picture while he poses like the female lead in kdramas

he closes his eyes and intertwines your hands and leans his cheek comfortably on your shoulder

it's cute

when he's feeling a little more giddy he either latches on your arm and basically climbs on you to make you his human monkey bar while he howls in laughter

or HE'LL STRAIGHT UP WRAP YOU IN EVERY LIMB OF HIS

you do these to him a lot too LOL

when it's him in the receiving end he welcomes and accepts your coddling you with open arms

he'll even willingly submit to you and offer himself if only you asked

e.g when you suddenly corner him and close all possible distance while backing him against the wall, wrapping your leg around his waist and burying your face on his neck

he isn't even fazed because he's alr used to it he just resumes what he was doing before (like fiddling on his phone) for a few moments before he turns it off and completely focuses on you

instead of being shocked he pulls you even closer with an arm on your back as he smirks in satisfaction

anyway

in public places, you alone can already make men AND women's heads turn

then jh comes in

he's behind you in a poker face while he protectively wraps his arm around your shoulder as he towers over you

"THAT'S HER BOYFRIEND?!"

it's either in shock

bcs THE BOTH OF YOU R SO HOT TOGETHER WHAT THE FUCK

or dissapointment bcs you're taken

BUT THEY CAN NEVER RLLY FIGHT HIM TO GET TO YOU BCS OH NO HE'S HOT TOO

BI PANIC ALERT 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

and they see how much you were alike in the littlest things

u two are so versatile and expressive

although having said all these, you never clash personalities

u two r so compatible

jh would clown you for literally anything

but he would also absolutely trade anything for your affection with 0 hesitation

he even claimed that he would sacrifice shua and cheol's lives for him to have your hand in marriage, to you also because you're the devil

NO, U

"you dumbass" but affectionately

in games when you're in the opposing teams, when you're playing against each other, you're mistaken if you thought he would go easy on you

he knows what you're capable of and it'll take the same amount of plotting to take you down

however when his teammates accuse you of sinistrous intentions, he will defend you

he'll even encourage your cheating lol

"SEE THAT? MY JAGI TOTALLY WHOOPED YOUR ASSES"

minghao who was in the same team looked at his hyung, (who was fkn CHEERING for YOU. YOU, FROM THE OPPOSING TEAM) in disbelief, as if hannie was an embarrassment to nature

he'd be like like "dude, which side are u really on ????"

he would let you cahoot with '95 liners cheol and shua against him

the three of you would gang up against him tgt bcs it's payback time for how many times he's wronged y'all

it's comedic how he can manage to stay calm under a lot of pressure and come at you like it's nothing, but he gets agitated when the members r stealing your attention from him LMAO

sk caught hannie pouting and slacking off while looking at your figure from afar

"how dare they ??!#?#@!?!" insert comical shouting text bubbles on the top of his head

cue angry snowball face

he would straight up walk to your side of the team nearing you with the intention of retrieving what's rightfully his.

he throws his arms around you and drags you away to his post on the other side, and you're like "hannie why are you dragging me here my teammates are on the opposite side"

you're only opponents but you're still his

squishing your cheek with his own while his arms were wrapped all around your waist and shoulders, smothering you with kisses

you're very competitive yourself. so when the game gets heated and you're in your serious mode, the two of you get worked up going against each other

y/n: "let's do this instead. jeonghan would think we wouldn't go for the simplest way, so that's exactly what we're going for."

y/n: "jeonghan would try to ambush us from the other side because he knows the way around this course. let's go this way and corner him from behind and use his own dirty trick against him 👹"

what adds more to the challenge is the fact that you thought you both know how each other thinks

but you actually DON'T.

you two are very unpredictable

you're good at reading his tactics tho so he almost never escapes from you.

taunt and mock him when he loses and watch him FOLD

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

watch out tho bcs he'd be coming for your ass on the next game/round

you once betrayed your team just to face him head on

at the same time, jh did the same to his team cs he won't back away from you challenging him

ending, it turned to a match between the two of you

you both love mind games, which is why as much as it's hard for him to defeat you, it's hard for you to defeat him too

he gets scared of u sometimes lol

he thinks he's not the biggest enemy there exists in society, YOU are.

you're the alas of the team you're in. they know they're covered when they have you

altho it's funny when you think about how you're rivals in games but you sleep by each others head at night with limbs tangled LOLOL

BUT IF IT SO HAPPENS THAT URE IN THE SAME TEAM IN GAMES

OH NO NO NO NO NO EVERYONE HIDE AND SAVE YOURSELVES

💥💥

jeonghan jumps in joy when he found out he's teamed up with you

everyone makes a commotion

"oH NO NOT THE TWO THEM TOGETHER–"

everyone knows they're doomed the moment it's set

yk how in gose svt purposely keeps mingyu, cheol, and hannie away from each other in separate teams?

they do the same thing to you two, forcing you away from each other

bcs everyone also wants you in their team/s

i mean who wouldn't ???

"JEONGHAN-HYUNG GET AWAY FROM Y/N-NOONA! IT'S NOT FAIR!"

cue dino and jun pulling your arm but your body is being coddled by hannie at the same time, as he hoarded you to himself

dk get on his knees and clasps his hands as he practically BEGS you two to at least have one of you in the other team

"no can do 😚" jh wraps a leg around your hip while he shields you from his members

you're insufferable together

CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS

they all call you "the devil duo" 😈

bcs HELL unleashes when you're working together

very partners in crime type of rs

you're like the chuuya to his daza–

ahem

with both of your analytical sense and strategic thinking merged together, you're invincible

you can defeat multiple member teams with only you and hannie's alliance

jokes of "let's dominate the world together, jagi 👹👹" every now and then

yes you two go and RULE THE WORLD

DON'T BE SHY SET THE WHOLE CITY ON FIRE–

he calls you the queen and labels himself as the king

roles can be reversed tho, the both of you don't mind

"jagi, i'm the queen and you're the king, okay? 😏😏😏" he leans to your ear and gently whispers while tauntingly looking at the glaring members from the other side as you two were sitting tgt

be careful tho, bcs there are still circumstances wherein he turns his back from you in games

in short, he might betray you to win

i mean he's still jeonghan after all

the key is to betray him first before he betrays you :D

or just strangle him

W option

the members are always very hooked on watching how you beat hannie in his own game

bcs he totally deserves that

everytime the scene unfolds they immediately "😎🍿"

let me tell u this,

hannie fkn loves when you outsmart him

he'll look at you with heart eyes, flabbergasted, yet at the same time astounded when you do

heart eyes heart eyes

you might have had unknowingly turned him on a little tho–

he has a lot of respect for your ability and intelligence

and INTELLIGENCE IS HOT AS FUCK

but then that loving smile slowly turns into a sly smirk as he is in the middle plotting a new strategy to outsmart your outsmarting

which results to you outsmarting his outsmarting to your outsmarting

a cycle that never ends

*/inserts "finally, a worthy opponent"

he loves how intelligent you are. you're even most likely to be more intelligent than him

he loves his plotting smart-mouthed little devil, y/n

he's very thrilled, there wasn't single boring moment in his life since the moment he met you

PILLOW FIGHTS !!!!!!!!!

he cheated once and used a blanket to capture and immobilize you, and you fought the urge to slam his head on the headboard

"you– you cheating freak!" you wiggled out of his arms as he squeezes you in a hug

"oh but you love this cheating freak 😏😏" he wiggles his eyebrows

the members openly babbles about how you were their "sacrificial lamb"

bcs hannie's annoying mischievous ass gradually toned down thanks to you, because most of his pranks were all darted to you now

and so the "let's sacrifice y/n [to jeonghan]" became an inside joke between you and the members

everytime han's evil tendencies dart to the members, they whip you out and place you in front of hannie as a human shield

THESE LIL SHITS

because ure the only one who can take hannie's bs and u actually fight back

jeonghan would galdly accept their sacrificial lamb tho 😏😏

from his own words, just who is he to refuse you?

we all know how clingy hannie is

lingering touches here and there, your touchy, affectionate nature applies when you're together

but not in a overexaggerating or overwhelming way (always rmmbr that it's ok to be clingy as long as u still respect your partner's space dawg)

he can and WILL bite your fingers when you're off guard

one moment he's fidgeting with your hands

and then he CHOMPS on your long fingers

you jumped in your seat and glared at him the first time he did this and the brat only laughed at your reaction

very funny

when u make out, expect a lot of biting

will bite your lips, your jaw, the plush part of your neck, your collarbone, EVERYWHERE

and i tell you when he bites, he bites HARD

mHmmm

he loves it when you do it to him too

pls DO IT TO HIM

there was a time while you were hovering on top of him and kissing his neck, you look up to see his disheveled state with his mouth agape and half lidded eyes, an arm holding your waist while the other covers his mouth with the back of his hand as he huffs in pleasure

😳😳😳

*blushes like a sl–*

I'M ABOUT TO COMBUST INTO FLAMES 🚒🚒

hannie's clingy ass can never keep his handsy handsies away from you

everytime he sits beside you he chooses to scoot to you as close as possible on purpose, even if the sofa had more room and space for him to need not to squeeze you in the corner

he sprawls his limbs everywhere on you on purpose. on your thighs, stomach and face

sometimes he even pretends to "accidentally" sit on your lap, putting all of his weight on you like you were a part of the fuckin sofa

"oh, sorry, it's your lap's fault for looking a little too comfortable 😏😏" unapologetically

there was one time you had enough of him doing this everytime so you kinda just accepted him sitting on u

you leaned forward and hugged his waist in place on your lap while he hummed in satisfaction

what he didn't expect was when he was off-guard, you leaned toward his neck and pecked a kiss on the exposed skin and BOY

HE JOLTS LIKE A HOT KETTLE WHISTLING FROM SUPPRESSING HOW HOT HE FELT, HIS FACE TURNING REDDER THAN A TOMATO BECAUSE THAT WAS SO ???????? 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳

his little friend immediately went ↗️↗️↗️ iykwim

he's shinggi banggi boong boong banggi'ing his way out of there and shutting himself alone in a room somewhere🚪🏃

he couldn't sleep for NIGHTS

he also felt something shift in him the first time you meaningfully called him "hannie"

"you're such a wuss, hannie~" you looked up at him while exchanging banters and

his grin grew wider, grazing his hand on your jaw, "that's the first time you called me that. say that again."

he tends to miss u a lot

one time in a beach somewhere in jeju during a summer vacation with svt, he was quietly chilling on a lounger seat with his dark, almost black shades on, while the members were noisily playing beach volley not very far from where he's sitting

he can hear sk and soonyoung's distant yowling everytime they miss the ball

he's not interested in playing because there's no "you" as his opponent

there's just 0 thrill when you're not there

he snorts as he imagines you intentionally spiking the ball at his face

hannie wondered what you're up to at that exact moment

he loudly sighed, "i miss y/n..."

"you'll see her again soon when you go home, hyung."

"you're right." he props himself from the lounge chair and grabs his phone while putting on his beach slippers

"where are you going?"

"i'm going home 👹"

"what?! jeonghan-hyung, NO–"

"jeonghan-hyung, YES."

the members held him down and almost tied him up on the lounger chair

that night in the hotel room, he fills the void of longing for you by facetiming you

the members wanted so bad to stuff both your mouths with pillows from how noisy you are while laughing with each other late at night on screen

of course it's done as a joke they love seeing you and jh having fun together

and the both of you are only doing it on purpose just to piss them off, you stopped immediately and let them sleep in peace after

the two of you are still mindful when and when not to fool around after all <3

they can never really get mad at u two

coz how could they? you two r literally their parents

hannie labels you as second mom of svt, the first one being himself

"make sure drink your meds, wonu-ya ^^" hannie gives wonwoo his medication "thanks, jeonghan-hyung."

cue you walking past them, your attention somewhere else, casually handing wons a bottle of water to help him with downing the medicine, while your eyes were on dino, nodding while listening to the story he's enthusiastically telling you

dino is obviously your favourite child

"dino, nugu aegi?" and he'll willingly answer "y/n-noona's baby <3"

"how about me, dino? u don't love me anymore? only y/n? 🥺" hannie asks with a pout

all the svt members grew very attached to you that they can't even imagine hannie without u anymore

u and hannie are a package deal ^^ so cute

you're rlly made for each other

hannie gives you weird ass compliments that you would've found endearing if only it made sense

he would leave you confused as fuck

while he's in his pajamas sitting on the sofa beside you with one of his knees folded to his chest, the tv remote on his hand, he turns to you with a flat expression

"y/n if you were a dinosaur, you would be a velociraptor."

you respond with a perplexed "why is that?" and he turns away from you to go back to watching tv without another word like nothing happened, and without further elaboration following his statement.

he wasn't even watching a show related to dinosaurs

ಠ_ʖಠ ????

that's an oddly random hell of a compliment

was that even a compliment?

"yes" -hannie

one time on his birthday party somewhere in paris, after the bustling party ended, you spoke to him in private in your shared hotel room to finally give your birthday present

still bejeweled and dolled up in your black dress, you put on a blindfold on his eyes as you led him inside the dim-lit hotel room

the blindfold you put on him covered the entirety of his vision steadily

"i didn't know you were into this kind of thing." he teases you

you narrowed your eyes and glared down at him despite knowing well he can't see you

when he took off the blindfold to open his eyes, he was welcomed by the sight of a whole life sized figurine lego set of iron man

he was in awe, he thanked you and asked you to help him build it together, which you agreed on

"this is the second possible best birthday gift for me, love."

"what's the first?"

"you." he grinned meaningfully, it's the same mischievous grin he usually displays when he's plotting something

you sensually ran your hand through his silky hair and responded to his suggestive comment

"i'm sure you'll eventually get that second birthday gift of yours later." while fondling his necktie from the button-down shirt under his tux that he wore at the party.

he contained his laughter and once again latched himself to you, "i love you."

you hugged him back, "no. i love you."

hannie always likes adding a spice of a little mischief to every situation, so he used that opportunity to catch you off guard and dip his finger on the frosting of the vanilla cake on the coffee table behind you to smear it on the tip of your nose

you widened your eyes and chased him all over and around the hotel room

"YOU'RE DEAD, YOON JEONGHAN!" you chased him acting like a vixen trying to catch a rabbit, jumping over furniture

pls manhandle him

hannie likes strong women

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

yoon "i want a woman to kiss me and hug me😚🥰but at the same time, like in the bedroom... just ROCK MY SHIT U KNOW🏋️‍♀️just BEAT THE FUCK OUTTA ME👹U KNOW🤯coz i deserve it😇" jeonghan

you wanted so badly to punish him

an idea he wasn't against at all—in discreet

after wiping your nose, you tackled him on the floor when you caught him

he looks up at you, taking in your beautiful features, not missing the evil grin on your lips non-verbally saying "i got u now 😏"

he tucks your unkempt hairstrands behind your ear

"can i claim my second birthday gift now, y/n?" he tilted his head, looking up at you and staring at your lips, his eyes shining from the dim light

you wanted to punish him, you say?

let's just say... you did get what you want that night, with the help of his tie, and the flimsy blindfold you left lying on the floor.

napipopetake him to heaven 🔝

:D

best bday ever

hanniehae <33

[klance-headcanons-official]

Trans Keith headcannnons 🤗 (I’m not trans so I really hope this isn’t like disrespectful or anything)

The other paladins, minus shiro, and coran have noticed Keith will have a few days every month were he’s in an even worse mood then usual. They, ofc, care about him! They wanna know what’s wrong with him. But Keith refuses to tell! He’ll just say ‘nothing’ or ‘just in a bad mood’ or an overall shit excuse

But bc they are in space, Keith doesn’t have access to T. And he hates it. He was okay-ish for the first month or so, but it got worse and worse. He was constantly avoiding mirrors, avoiding the others as much as he could, moody, outbursts, and just overall bad

He had eventually tried to tell coran. Even though apparently Altea didn’t have trans people? They could just change into whatever tf they wanted and others would be like ‘ok, dude now, cool’ or something. Keith wasn’t really listening. He tried his best to explain, he really did. Thankfully coran made something that worked just like T! He was so happy he actually started crying (he swears it was from not having T for months)

The others noticed he was better, and they asked coran. Keith told coran not to tell anyone. So he didn’t. “I don’t know! But I’m glad number four is feeling better!”

And they kinda just go like “??? Okay..Glad he’s better!”

Then Keith passes out during training due to his binder being to tight and him wearing it for FAR too long. Effectively scaring the everlasting fuck out of everyone. But then he tells them he’s trans and they’re like “okay?? But yk.. are you okay?? You hit your head really hard when you passed out-“ they don’t care. He’s still Keith. They still love him the same

- Vee 💜

In addition to this,

Adding some little Trans!Lance headcanons to balance it out a bit

Lance totally brags about how cute his binder is cuz it's probably fucking hatsune miku or something

And Keith is over there like "ITS NOT A COMPETITION!!"

And of course Lance just gives him that silly little grin of his and walks past with a flick of his hair.

I also like to think that Lance gets HELLA dysphoria, even after fully transitioning, he has moments where he wonders if he made the right choice, even if he feels comfortable, and he never let's his hair grow out because it makes him feel too feminine, hence the really bad haircut.

So I also also like to think that they buy Dysphoria Hoodies™️ for each other, (this is inspired by the time my friend Greyson, we stan, gave me a hoodie and told me to wear it whenever I feel dysphoric. It works wonders.) Anyways but they do that, and they have nights where both of them are in theor Dysphoria Hoodies™️ eating ice cream and watching shitty movies.

And thanks Vee!! Your headcanon is awesome per the usual!!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hey, can I request RoR characters react to being called by teen!Reader teacher who tell them reader got in trouble for beating up the school bullies with her friends? True story, did this with my friends group after they try to pick on us and I have a black eye 😂

-It started with a phone call home, “Your child was involved in an altercation. We need to you come to pick them up at once.”

-News had spread quickly that you had been in a fight, there was only a bit of concern if you were hurt, but others were beaming with pride, hearing about you being in a fight, curious to know if you had won or not.

-After some debate only one of your guardians went to pick you up as well as to find out what had happened to cause the fight.

-Lu Bu- The first thing he noticed was you had a shiner over your right eye, a busted lip, your knuckles were bandaged and a grin on your face. He couldn’t help but mirror your grin, ruffling your hair as he approached your meek principal who was terrified to be looking up at such an intimidating man. Lu Bu folded his arms but said nothing, allowing the other man to speak, “Y/N and her friends were involved in an incident, there was a group of bullies who attacked another student, four on one, and she and her friends were quick to jump in.” Lu Bu seemed to swell with pride, hearing of your actions before your principal swallowed, “However, we have a no fighting policy at our school. The bullies have been suspended for two full weeks, but since Y/N defended another student, she’s only suspended the rest of this week and can return on Monday.” Lu Bu nodded and the two of you headed home. His hand came to your head again, ruffling your hair, “I knew teaching you how to fight would come in handy!” you grinned up at him, wearing your injuries like badges of honor.

-Raiden- He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, seeing the shiner over your left eye, busted knuckles, and a red spot on your forehead, telling him you had headbutted someone. Your principal was a stern, intimidating woman, but she always gave second chances, but never third chances. She presented Raiden with the video footage, seeing four boys approach F/N and jumped him, four on one, the next thing he saw was you leaping in and immediately headbutting one of the bullies before punching another, rescuing your friend. Your principal fixed her glasses and spoke, “Y/N is to be suspended for the rest of the week, not two weeks like those four boys. I don’t tolerate fighting in my school, but I don’t tolerate bullies more and she showed bravery by stepping in to help her friend.” Raiden was proud of you, ruffling your hair as he praised you for stepping in for your friend, “That headbutt was awesome! Who knew that teaching you how to do that when you were young would come back to help you!” he bought you some ice cream on the way home, telling you about some of the most memorable injuries he had growing up when he was in fights and sumo bouts.

-Hercules- Your black eye, busted lip, and grin on your lips took him by surprise as he ducked under the doorway to enter, seeing your principal waiting for him, a kind older man but had a no nonsense attitude about bullying. Hercules took a seat, seeing your knuckles were pretty banged up as the principal turned his monitor around, showing the demi-god the footage of the fight. Four boys, ones Hercules didn’t know, approached you while you were at your locker, and his blood boiled as they started to attack. However you quickly gained the upper hand, knocking TF out of one of the bullies before grabbing another by his head, delivering a knee to his gut to knock him back. Once the video ended your principal spoke, sending you a small nod, “We inquired with several witnesses and this attack was deliberate, but they were not expecting Y/N to fight back. Unlike those four boys, who have been suspended for the next two weeks, Y/N will not face any repercussions as she was only defending herself. However, I will suggest she take the next few days off and come back Monday, since she did take a couple of blows to her head and ribs.” Hercules agreed and he took your hand to lead you out. You enjoyed getting carried piggy back style, grinning as Hercules was complimenting you on your moves, especially that right hook of yours, “And Aphrodite said you didn’t need to learn how to fight! This will show her!” you laughed warmly, hugging him around his neck.

-Hades- His hands were instantly cupping your face, inspecting the shiner appearing around your left eye, the scrape on your right cheek, your busted lip, and your bloody knuckles. He turned on your principal, a warm looking woman who could be quiet stern, “What happened?” she could tell he was mad, and she motioned to a seat for him to sit so she could show him her computer screen, “Y/N and F/N were attacked by a group of older boys, specifically targeting these two. However, they weren’t expecting these two to fight back.”  Hades watched with focused eyes, seeing the four older boys approach you and your friend and his jaw clenched, seeing one of them get a cheap shot at you, the reason behind the shiner on your face, but his eyes widened, seeing you immediately come back, tackling the one who hit you to the ground before throwing a punch at another while F/N started to throw punches as well. As she returned her monitor to the proper place, he reached over and ruffled your hair, giving you a proud look before his eyes narrowed, turning to your principal, “What happened to those four vermin?” her coughed into her hand, a bit annoyed at his description of her students, bullies or not, “Those four were suspended and have to perform community service for the next month. F/N and Y/N will not be suspended as they were just defending themselves, but I would like them both to take tomorrow off, to rest, as they had gone down hard a few times.” Hades agreed with her, and they shook hands before he pulled you out after him. He bought you your favorite drink from Starbucks, as a reward, watching you drink it with a smile on your face as his thumb brushed gently over your face, “They’ll pay for touching you and marring your beautiful face.” You couldn’t help but smile, not willing to argue with him while he was mad, but he made you laugh when he gave you props for that tackle, as it was impressive and well earned.

[quinnonimp]

whatre ur thoughts on canto 5 (so far) i need to hear it

OKAY SO gathering my thoughts on it is difficult unfortunately since i focus on getting through all the gameplay first, theeen go back to reread the canto to fully focus on whats going on u_u but !!

the intervallo was fun !!!! lowkey wish it was a real beach episode but obviously that would never happen in limbus (made me want to draw a real one though) . the 3 scrapyarders have a fun dynamic w the team & it was as cute as intervallos usually are (i really love intervallos .. & just general side content . i eat that shit up)

as a splatoon fan ofc ill like the sea aesthetic of it all .. rip ishmael she wouldve loved splatoon . plus fish ice cream is a funny idea im glad charon enjoyed it lmao, was nice to know that her & verg hung out in town

fun to hear saude is alive ! im not particularly attached to any of the npcs but im glad she got promoted . the lccb guy w brown curly hair looks like me and i was surprised when he showed up

i found ishmaels behavior & mindset pretty interesting ! to me shes sort of in the middle tier of characters-i-like - but so far this canto has written her in a very effective way, and i appreciate characters that have an extreme sense of determination & care, and her quest for revenge is compelling

yi sang being seasick is terribly relatable it made me like him more LMAO . i enjoy how much more talkative he is rn even if i dont have a deep connection to his character . my feelings on him after canto 4 have definitely improved (he used to be at the bottom tier together w 2 others 💀), & also bc i got his walpurgisnacht ID and im a huge funeral of the dead butterflies fan ..

I HATE RICARDO 😭😭😭😭 yes its a skill issue . but i also dont rly like his character i dont think hes that funny . being stuck on his stage was genuinely frustrating esp with the thought that the final boss of the canto is gonna be even more difficult . sorry . i know a lot of ppl love him and im sure his stage was fun mechanically to someone

the scene where we learn dante has a self destruct button was so much less sad to me than it shouldve been bc when it was explained i got mega distracted thinking abt barbwire (my oc) ..... woops .. still really liked that scene though . dante holds the number one fave spot together w don for me so im always invested when we get focus on them, and this in particular was impactful, especially with faust being clear about their chances of survival in that moment and the indigo elder telling them to "get used to the idea that not everything can be brought back" . themes of permanence & temporariness are super appealing to me and i love extracting that out of dante

when the indigo elder got revealed i was immediately like "oh yeah dons gonna freak tf out with 2 whole color fixers on the same bus" . i was right . she shouldve been allowed to have a way bigger reaction though i mean this is a huge deal .. anywho i like him ! he might be the npc i find most intriguing so far, and im very interested in seeing him & ishmael interact more

so yeah uhmmmmmmm thats what ive got so far while doing a mirror dungeon . im at 5-32 (shoutout to my friends list for getting me past 5-30), so once ive finished the canto i might add onto this post if u wanna hear more or ask specific things !