#I just didn't bother to fix it because I was.... way too far into it...

[slumbergoblin]

3D modeled.... a Pointy Head....

#pmatga #my art #pointy heads #blender #oh I absolutely fucked up his crest (the thing that connects to the middle of his face) #I just didn't bother to fix it because I was.... way too far into it... #I'd also render a turnaround but last time I tried that it took 12 hours (and didn't even WORK) #so I'll have to look into that next time #I also didn't paint the shading on. which I probably should have but oh well #these are all notes for next time o7 #and yes this is supposed to be Gary. but he looks like an average Pointy Head so i'm not tagging it as him

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

#hands on knees #this is gonna have more than three parts fffffff #FAIR WARNING I do jump between Wayne and Eddie’s pov in this. #Everything Ive written so far while in parts for tumblr would basically be chapter 1 on A03 #Eddies POV change would be chapter two #Ugh Im gonna have to put this on A03. Dammit brain. #also I updated this very fast for me #no one get excited Idk the brain is doing #steddie #beat to shit Steve Harrington #wayne pov #outsider pov #wayne as a BAMF #I tried to get to the part where Eddie shows up but it just got too long for a tumblr post #pre steddie #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #tw injuries #0o0 fanfics #stranger things

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere drabble #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere cheater

[rosemaryshelluverse]

Alastor, Husk, and Angel with an S/O who can’t get out of bed/do certain basic functions because of depression/PTSD?

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃, 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔.

|| synopsis : They love you so much you silly ||

|| word count : 856 ||

[ CW: fluff :P, cursing obvi, thank you for the req anon i luv u <333 ]

[ NOT!!! PROOFREAD !!!]

Ａｌａｓｔｏｒ

✯ As of late, Alastor had been noticing the lack of your presence more throughout his days. ✯ He wasn't one to constantly check on you, but he had begun to show signs of worry. ✯ He had asked Charlie to check on you for him, but she just knocked and when she didn't hear and answer, decided not to bother you because she was polite. ✯ However, after almost two weeks with no signs of you, he let himself into your room.

"My dearest fawn! However are you doing this ever so lovely morning?" His voice was far too loud and far too energetic for you, causing a grumble to come from under your covers. He went over to a nearby window and opened the curtains with that ever charming grin of his. "Come now my dear! Surely you must be getting tired of doing absolutely nothing!" He chirps, his voice still covered by that layer of static as he stood by your bed now. "Not now, Alastor.." You'd grumble, not even bothering to turn over and look at him. When you heard nothing but silence, you figured he'd left and tried to resume your activities of nothing at all. It shouldn't have been hard, but your covers suddenly being pulled off of you, and you being pulled up to your feet. "Oh dear! You look, absolutely terrible! Lets fix you up!" Alastor would say, almost declaring it to the entirety of hell. With a snap of his fingers he would change your clothes, fix your hair and make you smell.. much much better. "See? Isn't that much better?" He would hum and pat your head almost condescendingly.

✯ Needless to say, he wouldn't be the best at comforting or caring, but he would at least make you look better before returning to the public eye with him.

Ｈｕｓｋｅｒ

✯ It would only take a day for him to notice your absence, though he could only check on you after his shift for the hotel.

✯ He would worry all day about you, and it was obvious in his work, spilling over shot glasses and sloppily cleaning his glasses.

✯ He already knew about your past struggles with your self upkeep, seeing as he did, practically the same thing.

✯ He would show up to your home, knocking on your door and waiting a few seconds. After he got no answer he'd make his way inside.

He'd call your name once or twice, the bags in his hands rustling a bit as he began to search for you. A slight pang started in his heart as he began to fear for the worst. He eventually got to your bedroom, knocking slightly before entering. "Doll-face? You in here?" He said, his voice low. His eyes landed on the shape of your body under the covers, his worries soften. "Darlin', you doing alright?" He'd ask, setting the bags down by your door and making his way to your bed, sitting on the edge. You could only give a mumble of an answer, but he knew well enough to tell how you were feeling. He would hoist you up and hold you against his chest, not minding the state you were in. His paw ran through your hair, giving a deep sigh. "I'm here, y'know. You aren't alone in this."

✯ He'd get in in full, wanting to be there for you as much as he possibly could. He didn't want to see anything bad happen to you.

Ａｎｇｅｌ Ｄｕｓｔ

✯ Angel would take no time to notice your disappearance. He knew that just by associating with him, you were at risk of getting hurt by Val.

✯ When he'd go to, 'work', his performance would lack, due to his worrying if you were somewhere in the same building, going through what he was.

✯ He'd learn a lesson or two from Valentino for this, but he considered it nothing to the guilt in his heart if he had truly gotten you into the same rut he was in.

✯ However, when he'd visit your room, and actually find you there in your bed, he would rush to your side, thinking you had either overdosed or been hurt all this time.

✯ When he found you just lying in bed, not really paying attention to the world around you, but still breathing, he would be so relieved.

"Oh my fuck, babes, you scared the tits offa me!" He would gasp, putting his second hands on his hips, crossing the other two underneath his chest fluff. When you could only mumble a tired little, 'sorry', out, he dropped his arms down to his side and kneels on your floor, making sure you could see him. His ungloved set of hands came up and cupped your face, rubbing the soft skin of your cheek before he offered a smile. "Rough week, toots? Wanna tell me about it?"

✯ After the long, peaceful talk you two had, he lifted you up out of your bed and carried you off to the bathroom, vowing to get you back to squeaky clean!

[ haiiii!! hope this is what you asked for, and i hope you like it!!!! ]

|| note: ​🇮​​🇫​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇾​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇳​​🇹​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​, ​🇧​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇺​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇷​​🇪​​🇧​​🇱​​🇴​​🇬​!! <3 ||

#hazbin hotel #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #husker x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #angel dust x reader #husker #husk #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust hazbin hotel #rosemaryfollows

[scribs-dibs]

i'm an orange moon...

(reflecting the light of the sun)

major spoilers for 2.1, gn reader, it got a bit angsty i didn't meaaaan itttt, aventurine is touch starved and you Know how i feel about touchsta💥

wc; ~ 1.6k

“Aventurine,” the false lights of Penacony dance in your eyes when you look at him, and something sickening and foreign twists in his chest. “May I hold your hand?”

Aventurine knows how to be an actor. He does so easily— his carefully crafted mask is more familiar than his own face. He is a performer first and a person second, because there is not a time or place on this or any planet where he can afford to lose anything more. The pieces of himself are barely put together, what is left of him seems to seep like sand between his very fingers. His family, his planet, himself, torn to ruin. And yet it is said that fate smiles upon him. The fractured pieces of himself are a blessing. What a funny thing fate must be, if his hell is said to be a heaven.

The mask must never slip, not even once— his life is a stage, corpses weighing heavy on his back, grasping hands chaining his feet, screams tearing his eardrums to shreds, and yet he must walk it anyway. And Aventurine will, and he will do it without missing a step. For this is what it means for him to live, his every breath a sin.

Aventurine knows how to keep a poker face. He does so easily— his smile is trained never to meet his eyes, it doesn’t know how to, and his hypnotic eyes are always trained on his next opponent, never leaving or faltering. He can’t afford to look away, to see what could possibly come next— to see what could hurt him, next. Aventurine could control nothing in his life. He couldn’t control the Katicans as they laughed as they took his father, or his mother, or his sister, and he couldn’t control when his swine of a master forced him to murder his fellow slaves, either. But he can control who he gets close to. He can control who he lets in, who is allowed to see what he looks like when his walls finally crumble.

Which, of course, is no one.

So it comes easily when he pushes well-meaning gestures away, or refuses a favor with that soft, styrofoam smile and a laugh. It’s not just second-nature, no. It’s the only one he has left.

Aventurine knows he doesn’t deserve the sanctity of being loved. This fact comes to him easily– all who have dared to try have been disappointed, and all who had mattered to him are gone. He knows it well, he is far too many pieces, far too broken, far too much of a mess for someone to come to try and fix. And this is fine, because he doesn’t have the experience to even fantasize about what he is supposedly missing. The closest semblance to friends that he has may as well be rivers or oceans away, with the amount of distance he has put between them and himself.

So you. You are strange to him.

Aventurine does not know what the hell your deal is. He doesn’t know how you got so close. He doesn’t know why you bother.

“Aventurine,” the false lights of Penacony dance in your eyes when you look at him, and something sickening and foreign twists in his chest. “May I hold your hand?”

That gives him pause. For a moment, his lips part, and his brows threaten to furrow under the weight of his pure bafflement. But, as always, his mask slips back on easily, a kind smile slotted into place.

“Oh? Afraid of getting lost?”

You walk beside him on the streets of Golden Hour, taking in the sequins disguised as stars and the specially-manufactured cool night air. He can’t tell if you’re naive or just easily impressed.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head, “Maybe I just…felt like it.”

Aventurine does not change anything in his face. There isn’t so much as a slow bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, or a look of conflict crossing his features. There is no hesitation in his face, his mask, at all. But even so, when you look at him, through him, your kind smile finds a way to become kinder, and the tenderness in your eyes somehow becomes more potent.

“We don’t have to,” you don’t look disappointed, or even expectant, at all, “We can keep walking. Just this is enough as it is.”

“Just this” is the oddly peaceful silence as the two of you walk together. Your presence is comparable to a sun he never got acquainted with— he’s used to the storms, to the rock and sand, to the unyielding weather he was forced to endure, but this is different. This is just a walk, and there’s no search for water while the taste of blood coats his tongue, or the threat of thunder or biting cold. It is just peace at its purest. He extends his hand.

“Far be it for me to argue. Be my guest.”

You light up immediately, elated. He's thankful for his shades— the brightness of you is blinding. And he isn't quite prepared for the feel of you. Even through his gloves he feels the warmth of your hands— it is everything he is not. His own are ruined; he was pried from his home, and forced to take a bloody, bloody climb back up to earn his own humanity again. Aventurine’s hands are ruined beyond repair— no amount of washing can cleanse them, but yours, yours are so different. They aren't fully soft, you have work and hardships of your own, but they are gentle. Taking your hand feels easy because there are no expectations or commands hidden in the grooves of your palms. There are no hidden weapons behind your back, there is nothing but the feeling of flesh against the dark smoothness of his glove, and for a moment, he almost finds himself staggering.

How long has it been, since he touched another with no expectations? To not force himself to be overly friendly, to not appease anyone for the sake of getting information, to just exist, with someone else's hand in his?

The last willing touch he remembers feeling came with his fingers dipped in blood, salty tears thick on his taste buds. This is different from that. This is worlds away from that.

And Aventurine does not know how to feel. He doesn't know how to arrange his mask in response. There is no light in his eyes, not anymore, at least, but for a moment they are so wide with shock that Golden Hour’s stars swirl in the mix of blue and purple— a complex, vulnerable galaxy. Aventurine does not know how to feel. And it bothers him.

The tips of your fingers slide from his palms to the tips of his own, raking tiny sparks across the fabric of his gloves. Your fingers are interlocked now, and his head is spinning. You're everywhere. Under his gloves, under his skin, everywhere, and it's troubling. Strangely, he doesn't want to let go. For a moment —one that is fleeting and miniscule, barely a blink of an eye— his mask softens, melting around symptoms of genuine comfort, but his wounded heart kicks in defiance. The mask clicks back into place when your gaze meets his again, a smooth, porcelain smile easily greets you. Just as it has been taught to.

(His hands are nice. You know he thinks differently, has been taught to think differently, but they are firm under your palms and quickly warm to your touch.)

“Shall we?”

Distantly, he is aware of the implications of holding hands on a busy city street, encircled by onlookers and gossiping figures— this is the behavior of lovers, friends, family, people who are much, much closer than the two of you are. But your touch is…pleasant. It could mean trouble for you, to be seen with him when so many people have him under such a careful watch, (He is never truly free of people's stares or of their suspicion, and this makes associating with him more than a hassle.) but you know this, and have yet to keep your distance. Experimentally, he flexes his fingers around yours. It's faint, and a gamble if nothing else, but you squeeze him back almost immediately.

Aventurine knows he is greedy. This is intertwined into his being almost as tightly as the hold of your hands. He knows that this is a rare, fleeting moment, one that he will never get to indulge in again —not when his plans to discover the truth of Penacony are sure to succeed— and he knows that he will long for it once it ends, the sweetness of it clinging to his teeth. But he wants it. He wants this singular moment of peace, of keeping the mask on but for once not needing to perform. The city is busy as ever, bustling crowds and cheerful chatter echo up into the walls of tall buildings. It would be nice, to continue your walk together like this, with your soft, sunny hand in his. It would satiate his greed, if only for a moment.

But Aventurine knows he is not worth your time.

“It's been lovely, really,” he almost slips— he almost winces when your face falls. You aren't as practiced as he is when it comes to keeping a poker face. “But I really must be going.” His hand slides out from underneath yours, but it is not as easy as he thought it’d be. The ghost of your touch already serves to haunt him. A few steps back, and your warmth still lingers.

“Take care out there, alright?” he says it with a tilt of his head, his best, practiced and perfect smile easing the tension from your shoulders. Performing again, this time for a private audience.

He only gets a few steps away before you call for him again.

Aventurine knows how to pretend not to hear and keep walking.

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rbs w/comments are appreciated!! <33

#aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #—stellaronhvnters. #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #☆.writing

[coveredinsweetpea]

not to be a whore........... but imagine making out with Eddie's buldge through his underwear 😩

🥴🥴🥴 tbh I think there are two different scenarios and I wanted to choose only one to elaborate on but I couldn't so here I go: you're both either too lazy to care and this evolves from a sleepy cuddling session OR you're being needy and clingy, begging for his attention - just a whiny mess basically, and this is all that he's willing to give you. Both detailed under the cut 🥴🥴 (the 2nd one is pure filth, humiliation, degradation etc 18+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

It's summer, Wayne's not in town and you have all the trailer to yourselves. But it's still early, no one's in the mood to party yet, it's hot and you're both too lazy to move. 

Eddie's starfish on the bed, a comic book having him completely under its spell, while you lay lazily with your head on his tummy, hoping sleep would envelop you. But it doesn't; Eddie's too caught up with a plot twist he didn't see coming, and ideas start coming to you. 

Your eyes fix the outline of his cock and without saying a word, you palm him in your hand, your fingers drawing random patterns on the material of his boxer briefs. 

Eddie doesn't react, at least not to your knowledge, but one eyebrow does pop up. You don't see it however and decide to keep going, moving your hand a bit to the side so you can rub the length of his cock. 

"Sweetheart?" Eddie lifts his comic book so he can look at you, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing"

You don't even look at him, just keep teasing him through his boxers, until he can't help but tense his thighs. "Love?"

"Yeah?" again, you answer without bothering to face him, but this time you do move. Just in the opposite direction, nonchalantly pressing your lips against his bulge. 

The gesture was light, not too sudden or too strong, but the reason he froze for a second is the pure confusion that washed over him. But he doesn't get a chance to ask, because when he feels what you're doing - understands that you're right now literally kissing the length of his cock, he can't help but chuckle. 

"Sweetheart, you know I can take those off for you, right?" Eddie teases, one hand on the top of your head as you keep going.

"Nah" you shrug and wrap your lips around his clothed tip. One of your hands slips lower, your fingers brushing against his balls as you start sucking. 

"Ah fuck" he gasps. But you don't budge.

You keep at it - licking, sucking, grabbing, your teeth lightly grazing the tip of his cock. 

"Baby, damn it" the comic book flies across the room, his attention now fully on you. "You wanna make me cum like that?"

But you don't answer. You just shove your hand up one of the legs of his boxer, cup his balls into your hand, and resume full on making out with his cock. 

The sheer feeling of him getting hard under your lips, the way he can barely control his breathing, how his thighs tense and how his abdomen clenches every time you apply just a little bit more pressure, makes you want to see just how far you can go. 

Brushing your thumb over the wet patches on his underwear, you look up at him, "Yeah, I wanna. Can I try?"

"Try?" he laughs and rubs your cheek with the back of his fingers, "Darling, you're halfway there"

You beam under his praise and resume your quest, eagerly sucking and tugging through the material as his cock visibly stiffens.

"But then you'll take yours off. You can play around all you want, but you know I can't stop until you've made a mess on my face, doll"

Fine by you.

OR

You being clingy isn't anything new. The planets sometimes settle so that some days the only thing you want is his attention and nothing else. And it's usually not a problem, Eddie being more than happy to oblige and give you what you so desperately crave, but there are also days when that is not possible. 

Like this one.

Busy with tasks Wayne left for him, the campaign needing some last minute fixes, Dustin asking for a ride and a Corroded Coffin concert late in the evening - this day is bound to suck for the both of you. 

You manage to compose yourself for as long as you can, but by the time you reach the venue for the show, you're almost out of your mind. Begging, teasing, whining, throwing yourself at other men to get his attention - you do everything in your power to get his attention. But you fail. Miserably. As once you finally get home, things don't play out the way you had hoped - at all. 

"So fucking desperate, like a fucking whore" Eddie scoffs, plopping down on the couch. He spreads his legs and nods, "Do your thing"

Normally, you'd whine and complain, but your brain isn't cooperating so you listen to his command. You kneel in front of him, undo his jeans, and then helplessly look up at him, bottom lip popping out. "Eddie…"

"Do you need help, kitten?"

You nod.

"Do you deserve it? You acted like a dumb slut all night. Why would I help you? You can't even take my dick out, why would I let you suck it?"

"Please, Eddie…" you cry.

"Look into my eyes, doll" he commands, his hand on your chin forcing you to face him. "Apologize for the way you've been tonight"

"I'm- I'm sorry" you sniffle, "Please-"

"Sorry for being such a cock thirsty whore that you can't even function unless you get to have my dick down your throat?"

"...yes"

"Say it, baby. You need to hear yourself saying it. And look into my eyes while you do it, love. Show me how bad you want it"

"Please, Eddie-" you blink, "I'm sorry for being such a whore, but I need it, please. Can I please, please, suck your cock, please?"

And your pleading might have been enough but you'll never know. Eddie doesn't even get a chance to fully strip before he sees the hungry look in your eyes. "Come here" he motions as he stands up, his jeans now pooling around his ankles. "Show me you want it"

For a second, you look up at him in confusion, but the way his cock stretches the material of his underwear has you feral all over again.

So you don't question it, don't complain, you just get to work. He's hard - throbbing almost, the wet patch of precum making your tongue tingle as you make out with his cock as best you can. 

"That's my girl" he grins, patting your head, "My good girl, keep going. Make me cum. If you can do it, you get to swallow it all, baby"

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie muson fanfic

[gtgbabie0]

A cold heart

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

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#cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fluff #cregan stark x you #cregan stark drabble #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd fanfic #hotd fluff #hotd imagine #hotd drabbles #hotd one shot #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan x y/n #cregan imagine #cregan fanfiction #cregan fanfic #hotd cregan

[reiderwriter]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen. 

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy. 

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you. 

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze. 

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer. 

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare. 

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself. 

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love. 

You accepted understanding from him, though. 

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage. 

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein. 

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before. 

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.” 

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down. 

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled. 

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?” 

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over. 

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess. 

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?” 

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.” 

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly. 

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did. 

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end. 

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left. 

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages. 

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there. 

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag. 

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours. 

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-” 

“What?” 

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first. 

“I live down the hall.” 

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall. 

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had. 

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing. 

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.  

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day. 

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying. 

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.” 

“I have three PhD's-” 

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?” 

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition. 

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work. 

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways. 

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe. 

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you. 

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back. 

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other. 

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered. 

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again. 

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway. 

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper. 

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind. 

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another. 

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be. 

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips. 

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights. 

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon. 

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world. 

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest. 

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you. 

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours. 

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right. 

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again. 

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch. 

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort

[descendant-of-truth]

Ohhh this scene. This one's a doozy

Nine is right to call this out about Sonic, of course. While he's definitely grown since the start of the show, he's never really been able to move past his tunnel vision and tendency to project onto the others.

He never thought to ask Nine what he wanted not because he doesn't care, but because he didn't think he needed to. He inherently assumes that the people he's working with are on the same page as him until told otherwise - in fact, it wasn't too long ago that he was similarly thrown off by Shadow in that very room.

(Love Shadow being used as a sort of "test run" for these kinds of conflicts by the way)

But here's the thing. While it's true that Sonic didn't really think about what Nine wanted and just assumed they were going to stick together no matter what... the same is true of Nine.

Look at how confused Nine looks when Sonic talks about coming back to Green Hill and restoring it:

Nine didn't ask what Sonic was wanting to do by repairing the Prism because he thought it was obvious that they were going back to the Grim together. I don't think it occurred to him that fixing Green Hill was even an option, or at least not one that he considered in favor of his original plans.

And just like Sonic, it's not that he only cares about himself - he went out of his way to engineer coconuts and (presumably) palm trees because he knew how much Sonic missed them. It was really sweet!

But, in what's becoming a pattern in this show, he doesn't understand why those trees matter to Sonic. They're not just cool plants, they're a reminder of home. And as Sonic aptly puts it at the start of the show, home is where your friends are.

I love that the conflict here is that both of them were convinced they knew what the other person wanted/would be okay with, because they think it'll naturally be the same thing they want, and then were both completely unprepared to handle a conflict of interest. It feels so natural and makes perfect sense with how they've been written up to this point.

But see, while I think it's pretty clear that Sonic and Nine fell into the exact same communication trap, I think it's going to take longer for Nine to realize his own fault in any of this.

Sonic spent the entire second half of that conversation looking devastated, and he's made it clear throughout the show that he's quick to feel remorse when he realizes he's hurt someone. In all likelihood, he's going to put all of the blame for that argument on himself, decide that Nine was right about everything, and leave it at that.

Nine, likewise, doesn't strike me as a particularly self-reflective type. He'd probably try to justify not needing Sonic to himself before anything else, and with that in mind, who else is there to make him see the situation with more nuance?

If I had to pick, I'd guess Shadow - our resident "smacking people in the face with their own flaws" extraordinaire.

Why would he bother with any sort of mediating between the two? Well, the funniest reason would be that he finds Sonic's self-pitying and Nine's self-righteousness equally annoying, but I'm inclined to assume any sort of confrontation between him and Nine would be a little more dramatic than that. (He might still use that reasoning as justification though)

Anyway I gotta cut this post short before I go too far into speculation territory or else I'll be here for another hour and this took long enough to write as is, case in point I love me a well-written and believable conflict

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic prime #sonic prime spoilers #nine the fox #shadow the hedgehog #analysis #meta

[girlgenius1111]

got love struck went straight to my head

alexia x reader smut :) 18+

alexia has been in a bad mood all week. she finally tells r what she needs to feel better. bottom alexia rights [literally thought i would die writing top alexia but i had a few requests, and this was fun].

Alexia was irritable, in a way you hadn't seen her since her injury. This time, though, you really weren't sure what the cause was. She was playing well, the team was playing well. The two of you weren't having any problems, as far as you could tell. Nothing had changed in the last week, except that Alexia was acting like she had a stick up her ass 24 hours a day. She barely spoke, opting instead to glare at everyone around her, and when she did speak, it was to snap at whoever was nearest.

You were tired of it and so was the team. Your teammates had been approaching you all week, asking what you'd done to piss Alexia off. You didn't have an answer, and you were just going to let it run it's course, sure her moodiness would pass. That was until Jona pulled you aside after practice, telling you that whatever was going, you had to fix it, because he couldn't take another day with grumpy Alexia.

She was clearly upset about something. The thing was that Alexia was very much the dominant one in the relationship. You weren't really used to having to strong arm her into talking to you; normally she had to do that with you. You'd give it your best shot, though, not really sure how it would go.

You made your move after practice that day, walking into the living room to find her on the couch, grumpy look on her face, scrolling on her phone. Deciding to be bold, you grabbed it out of her hand, and put it in your pocket. She looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, and wordlessly reaching her hand out for you to give it back. It was hard not to, honestly; Alexia could be incredibly intimidating when she wanted, and you weren't used to being on the receiving end of it.

"I want to talk."

"I do not." She responded bitingly, really glaring up at you now.

"Alexia," you sigh, taking a seat on the couch next to her outstretched legs. "What is going on with you?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." She said stubbornly, crossing her arms. She looked like the picture of defiance, like a child refusing to eat her vegetables.

"Love, you absolutely do. You've been mean to everyone this week, including me."

There was a flicker of insecurity across her face at that.

"Alexia, it's me. Tell me what's going on. If something is bothering you, I want to know, I want to help."

Alexia gazed up at you, weighing her options. She took a deep breath, but didn't speak. Instead she grabbed your hand, lacing her fingers with yours.

"I need you." She murmured. You weren't really sure what she meant, and you didn't want to read the situation wrong.

"What do you need from me, baby?"

Alexia squirmed slightly, a blush heating her cheeks.

"You" she responds. You thought you understood now, but it didn't make much sense. Obviously, you and Alexia hadn't had sex in the past week, because she'd been in a horrible mood, but you hadn't gone long without it. Certainly not long enough to warrant the desperate, pleading look in her eyes. Something else was going on, you were sure.

"You have me, Alexia, I don't understand." You figured playing dumb may get Alexia to get frustrated enough to tell you what she really wanted. It worked.

"No, amor, I need you. I need you to fuck me," she declared, looking somewhat unsure. Normally, she was the one that did the fucking. Of course, she got off too, but the way she said it seemed like she wanted you to be in charge. If anyone was a textbook top by definition it was Alexia. You hadn't considered that she wasn't entirely happy in this role.

You remove your hand from her grasp, instead resting it on her thigh. Her breath catches, and you know exactly what she wants.

"Are you needy, baby?" Alexia only nods her head in response, cheeks still flushed red. "Is that why you've been grouchy all week? Because you need me to fuck you?"

"Si, I need it so bad," she responds, almost breathless from your hand moving up and down her thigh.

"Alexia, why didn't you tell me that?"

You would fuck her. You just needed her to understand that she had to ask for the things she wanted, especially when they weren't the norm between you two. Alexia's eyes drop from yours as she shrugs.

"I know you like it when I am in charge. I did not know if you would be open to changing things up," she admits.

"I want what you want. If you want me to be in charge, I will. I need to hear you say it, though, Alexia. Tell me exactly what you want." You're fully teasing now, unashamed.

Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, summoning her nerve, before she opens her eyes again.

"I want you to tell me what to do, I will be good for you. I want you to fuck me, please, amor," she said, her voice quiet. You truly had been completely unaware that Alexia had a thing for praise. It was not something you'd be forgetting any time.

"With what?" You ask. The question takes a second to register. You can tell the second she understands, though, because her face turns even redder, which you didn't know was possible.

"Your cock," Alexia whispers, and you smile smugly down at her. You stand, and she rises quickly, a whine escaping her lips. You turn back to her, bringing her in for a heated kiss. She allows you you take complete control, one of your hands lacing into her hair, holding her securely against you. You pull back after a minute, not letting her get too far.

"Take your clothes off, and get on the bed." You tell her, your words not more than a whisper against her lips. You really are startled at how fast the midfielder follows your instructions.

You take your time, heading into the bedroom after her once you're sure she's had enough time. You find her sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, looking nervous. You don't want her nervous, though, not at all. You cross the room fast, gently taking her face in your hands.

"Take a breath, baby," you tell her. "We'll only do what you're comfortable with, and we can stop whenever you want, alright?"

Alexia nods, looking more reassured. She leans up, lips searching for yours. You kiss her softly, pouring your love into it, hoping to ease the rest of her anxiety. She looks dazed when you pull back, and you know you've succeeded.

"Lay down," you tell her, and she does. You allow your eyes to hungrily scan her body, taking in her full breasts, her rippling abs. Her thighs are parted slightly, and you're sure you're seeing wrong when you think you see wetness smeared along the insides. There's no way she was wet enough for that yet.

You take your time taking your own clothes off, stripping right in front of her, eyes not leaving hers. Her pupils are blown wide looking up at you, and her legs are pressed together. You move to the bedside drawer, pulling out the harness she normally wears, and the dildo you love taking the most. You step into it, fitting the cock into the harness, but struggling to tighten it around your hips.

You walk back over to her as you fight with it, and Alexia's fingers quickly replace yours, expertly tightening the straps around your body. Her eyes are stuck on the strap, her lips parting slightly, before she looks up at you.

"Can I suck it?" she asks. You try not to let your surprise show, as you tell her she can. Not a second later, she's taking your length into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down. She gets it nice and wet, before she takes it fully down her throat, gagging slightly.

You're sure your jaw is dropped at the filthy sight in front of you, and you can only watch as Alexia chokes on your cock, eyes shutting as she moves. You tangle your hand in her hair, gathering it in a makeshift ponytail, before tugging lightly on it. She moans in response, and you're encouraged, guiding her to move faster against the fake dick.

After a few minutes, Alexia has tears in her eyes, and spit dripping from her chin. You pull your strap out of her mouth, gently wiping her face off with a towel you always kept near the bed.

"Good?" you check, thumb moving softly back and forth across her cheek as she pants for breath.

"Si, soy tan buena" she replies breathlessly. You guide her to scoot back on the bed, climbing on top of her. Once again, you connect your lips with hers, pushing your tongue into her mouth, easily dominating the kiss. You nibble on her bottom lip, relishing in tiny whine she lets out into your mouth, feeling her hips move under you.

You move your leg to nudge her legs apart, not breaking the kiss, and press your thigh up against her core. You pull back from her face in shock, as she is completely drenched. Her eyes are closed, and she is completely focused on grinding against your leg. You leave it for now, pressing your lips back to hers, making out for several minutes as she moves against you.

When she begins to pant into your mouth, not able to keep up with your kisses, you pull back, removing your leg from in between hers. Her eyes fly open, looking up at you desperately. You climb off of her, spreading legs wide open, and taking in the sight in front of you. She is literally dripping, hole clenching and unclenching, clit peeking out of it's hood. You're sure you've never felt her this wet before.

"You're fucking soaking, baby," you whisper, and she nods. "Is this all for me?" you ask, gently running your index finger through her slick. Her hips buck up into your hand.

"Si, all for you, bonita. Please, I need you," she begs, eyes wide. Having heard enough, you push her legs farther apart, and bend down, running your tongue through her. She moans at the first contact, and you press a hand onto her abdomen, stopping her movements against you. You know what Alexia likes, and you know she is in no mood to be teased, so you set a fast past with your tongue, pushing in and out of her entrance.

You lick her wetness up, though it's quickly replaced, enjoying the salty tase of her on your tongue. You focus on her pussy for another minute, before moving up to flick your tongue across her clit. She cries out at this, hands tangling in your hair. You pull away.

"Play with your nipples," you instruct, and she complies instantly, bring her hands away from your hair, up to her sensitive chest. She rolls her nipples in between her fingers, and you reconnect your mouth with her core. She's been wet enough for a while, but only now do you ease a finger into her. It slides in easily, and soon, a second joins it. You keep your pace steady, wanting her to ask for more.

"Mas rapida, por favor," she gasps, body writhing on the mattress. You give in, beginning to pump your fingers in and out of her at a rapid pace. At the same time, you take her clit into your mouth, suckling hard on it, and Alexia comes hard, crying out your name. You work her through it, listening to her whimpers as she comes down, hips still moving in tandem with your hands.

You stand, pulling her to the edge of the bed, legs wrapping around your waist to keep you against her. You drag your strap over her center, enjoying the way she moves against you, desperate for more.

"Amor, no more teasing," she pleads. "Need your cock in me,"

"Okay, baby," you soothe. "You've been so good for me, gonna fuck you now," you tell her, watching, entranced, as she gasps at your words. You line up and push into her. Alexia lets out a guttural moan, and you almost do as well, struck with how tight you find her. She's soaked, though, and she doesn't seem to be uncomfortable at all as you drag your cock in and out of her at a slow pace.

Alexia is in a state of pure pleasure under you, hands fisted in the sheets, head thrown back. Your arms are wrapped around her legs, and you start to move faster, gripping her hard. You're pushing in deep, and she moves one of her hands down, desperate for more stimulation. Just as she's about to make contact with her swollen clit, you grab her hand and press it back into the mattress. Her eyes fly open, looking up at you desperately.

"No, no. I'll take care of you, pretty girl, you just relax," you state, moving your hand from where it held her thigh, moving her leg out of the way, and beginning to rub firm circles over her clit. Alexia is moaning with every thrust now, and you know she's close. Her hand comes down again, this time to grab your free one. She brings it up, guiding it to wrap around her throat. Your eyes search hers, needing to know that she is completely comfortable. You only see arousal in her eyes, and you squeeze lightly. That's all it takes, before she's falling over the edge, body spasming as she comes.

You let up for only a minute as she comes down, pulling out only to flip her onto her stomach. You pull her hips up, before sliding back in, and she whimpers at the stimulation.

"One more for me, beautiful, wanna come with you," you tell her. Alexia's back arches more, and her ass presses back into you. You palm it with one hand, feeling the harness press against your clit. Normally, you don't think it would be enough for you, but the sight of her under you, fucking back against your strap as she breaths hard, watching your strap disappear into her, coming out dripping, is more than enough.

Your groan as you pound into her, pressing in harder and faster than you were before.

"Are you going to come with me, Ale?" you ask.

"Si, estoy tan cerca, amor," she responds, words broken up by whines. You can see a sheen of sweat on her back, and take in how her legs shake under her, and know she is close.

"So good for me, Ale. My good girl. You like it when I fuck you, hmm?"

Alexia's hips stutter as she gets closer, your words dragging her towards the edge, fast.

"Si, si mi amor, soy tu buena chica," she gasps, apparently losing the ability to speak english.

"Come for me now Alexia, come on my cock," you grunt through gritted teeth, hips pressing in as you feel your orgasm begin to wash over you. Alexia screams out your name, neighbors completely forgotten, as you bury your cock deep inside her one last time, grinding against her as you work yourself through your orgasm. You collapse on top of her, resting her forehead on her back, panting.

Alexia is a mess beneath you, and you pull out slowly, maneuvering her onto her back, despite barely being able to move yourself. Alexia looks incredibly overstimulated, though, body still twitching. Once on her back, Alexia lets out a pitiful cry, reaching for you. You slide back onto the bed, pulling her into your side.

"Mi niña perfecta, te amo mucho, Ale," you tell her, pressing light kisses onto the side of her face. She's still silent, nuzzling her face into your body. You rub her back soothingly, waiting for her body to stop trembling.

"Thank you," she says quietly, the words mumbled into your neck.

"Of course, Alexia. Next time, tell me what you want, hmm? Don't make our whole team suffer because you need me to fuck you."

Alexia laughs against you. It will be enjoyable, tomorrow, to watch her try to explain to your teammates what was behind the sudden change in mood.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your writing. It's just the best. Seriously I check dc dp tags to see if you've written anything.

By the way, can you write anythng with another dc hero or maybe a villain? Maybe Superman or Captain Marvel(Shazam) or anything. You don't have to obviously, but it would be really cool if you did.

Oh gosh, thank you! I'm glad you like my rambles. I'm happy to write you a dabble! Hope you like!

Billy Batson was expecting a lot when the Wizard told him to only break the ice crystal in dire situations. He figured if the dying man had enough time to pass on thousands of years' worth of knowledge and store Old magical artifacts, then the Crystal had to be a last resort.

He also figured it wouldn't be so darn breakable. Billy felt they should have made the last resort a little steadier if it was so important.

But no, one accidental trip over his far too worn-out pants legs had the thing shattering like cheap glass.

Billy stares at the shimmering remains, his heart pounding in his chest as the soft green glow that had always come from the crystal fades away.

"Oh no. no, no, no. I can fix this. I can fix this. " He whispers to himself, falling to his knees and scooping up the pieces. He tries to reattach them, but the crystal melts in his palms. "I can't fix this."

All this because some jerk kicked him out of his old sleeping place, down by the docks. He had been squatting in Old Man's Jackson shed ever since the man finally bit the dust, and he had been so excited to have a building all to himself. Word must have gotten around somehow because he comes back from a Justice Leauge Meeting to find a sixteen-year-old rooting through his stuff.

As a homeless ten-year-old, Billy had scrambled to reclaim his possessions, including this critical crystal, jumping on the intruder with a war cry. He got a broken arm, a black eye, and a few bruised ribs for his troubles.

Thankfully he could walk away with most of his things as the teen sneered and screamed at him while he ran away.

It's not that Billy couldn't fight off the homeless teenager, but he didn't, and to go all Captain Marvel on some random citizen. Captain Marvel can go toe to toe with Superman, but plain old Billy Batson struggles to take kids his own age. He's always been smaller than his age group, not to mention hunger's damage to him.

He returned to the abandoned subway, stumbling down the dark tunnel. Billy didn't like the place- it was damp and cold and a little too open if someone else wandered in, but it was the only place he could go for the night on such short notice. He was thinking of asking Batman if he could take more shifts on monitor duty just so he could sleep at the watch tower.

Then his pants leg got stuck on a broken stair, and he fell, sending his dew earthly possessions into the air. Now he was, blinking away the spots from the beating the teenager gave him and a powerful artifact he promised the Wizard he keep safe, broken beyond repair.

Against his will, sobs start to shake his body. The more he fought to clear his eyes from the tears, the more he began to fall. He leans his forehead on the floor, uncaring how a piece of crystal cuts his skin, causing a trail of crimson to flow down his face. What's one more scar on his already broken body?

In a moment of weakness, he violently wishes he could run to his mom for comfort. It's a fantasy. She's long gone, buried next to his dad, and his uncle was somewhere warm spending their money.

The knowledge causes more despair, and he sobs harder.

Why does he have to be here hungry, without a home, when his father's brother didn't even bother to attend their funeral is living off of his inheritance? Living great, if all the zeros he saw on the check were any indication?

Life is genuinely unfair sometimes. That's why he took being Captain Marvel so seriously. Someone had to protect people from the cruelty of life.

A swirling green portal rips open underneath him just as the trailing thought of I wish someone out there wanted to protect me just as much.

His echoing scream, the swirling green, is the last thing Billy knows before everything goes black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Billy wakes to the sound of someone humming. He blinks open his eyes, fighting against the exhaustion and the siren call of slumber. The first thing he notices is the soft green of the walls, like the color of Easter eggs he used to paint with his Dad. He smiles at them.

It's his favorite color.

Then Billy notices his eyes getting heavy again as he slowly turns his head into the plush pillow and sinks into the warm blankets around him. His body is boneless in comfort, his eyes are closed, and he's just dropping off into dreamland when his mind finally notices that you're homeless and don't know this room. You're in danger!

Billy leaps off the bed like he's been shocked, throwing the two blankets on the ground. Glancing around, he's horrified to see he's in some kind of kid room- comics, toys, posters- all tailored to his tastes. He can even spot an archeology kit for kids sitting on a desk, just like the ones his parents used to buy him when he wanted to help out in their digs.

He always thought he actually found something in his little play rocks while waiting at one of the tents as his parents worked. They always beamed when he showed them the fake dinosaur bones he discovered in his kits.

He even has nice, fluffy pajamas. The kind that doesn't have buttons or zippers but is oversized, so they let him toss and turn in the night. His bottoms are a grey and black checker pattern, while the top has the Batman symbol proudly on the front.

Everything is perfect, from the decor, to his clothes to even the furniture placement.

It's the bedroom of his dreams.

Oh gosh, he has been Coraline-ed!

"Oh, Billy! You're up. Breakfast is ready and I just finished ironing your uniform." A man's voice says from the doorway. He swings his head around to see a man in his late twenties in an apron smiling at him. He's handsome, has fluffy black hair and baby-blue eyes, and practically embodies comforting vibes.

The other-mother.

"Who are you!?" Billy demands, fist raised. He can't go Captain Marvel with someone dead on staring at him- at least he risks his secret identity, but he has been on the streets long enough to put up a decent fight.

The man seems flabbergasted by his aggression which causes Billy to bristle until he slaps his own forehead.

"Right, forgot about the introduction. I'm Danny Fenton, and I will be your new guardian until you are old enough to care for yourself." Danny smiles, and the boy can't help but find it too pretty to be authentic. "As per your request as the champion of Magic."

Billy has been taken by someone who knows he's Captain Marvel. Which could be better on the one hand but on the other, it means he can do this.

"Shazam!" A bolt of lighting has him shifting into his adult form and flying a break neck speed towards the threat. He intends to punch Danny, but his fist is caught in Danny's palm like it's nothing.

Danny seems unimpressed. "Don't think you can Shazam yourself out of class, young man. Being a hero will cut your attendance, but I won't allow you to skip just because."

Calm yourself, child Batson Solomon says to Bill. King Phantom is here per your request for aid. He will not harm you.

What request!? I never called for him!

When you broke the Infinite Realms Crysta of distress, you called for someone to protect you like your caregivers once did. King Phantom is the most vigorous protective spirit in all the realms. He answered the call. Solomon replies. Billy can feel the god shift on his golden throne a sense of amusement. It's strange to know what the gods are doing without really seeing them He made a deal with the wizard to pose as your father until you are of age. You both are bonded by this Oath.

An oath. That made Billy feel a little better. He knows that once an Oath is made, no one in the parties involved can break it. If the Wizard had done one while borrowing Billy's body then Billy would be untouchable until the contract was done.

He has a new dad that would be bound by magic and the might of the six gods to protect him.

Billy was curious to know if that was a good thing or not. Being protected is not the same as being loved.

"Kid? You okay?" Danny asks.

"What is expected of me? What do you want me to do?" Billy counters, floating back a little now that he knows what's happening. An Oath is a two-way deal. If Danny had to pretend to be Bill's father, then Billy had to do something for Danny.

"Well, I expect you to have your teeth brushed and eat your breakfast before class, but something tells me that's not what you mean." Danny jokes with a chuckle. Billy frowns, which makes the humor on the man's face disappear. "In all honesty? You are my anchor. I haven't been in the material world for years. Not since my home dimension was destroyed by an asteroid. I missed it. I missed people."

Okay, nothing sinister. But he would never let this random stranger think he had the right to boss Billy around.

"You don't have to pretend to be my dad when we're alone. And you can't tell me what to do!" Billy hisses, expecting the man to get upset like other foster fathers had been before he ran.

Danny nods. "Sounds fair. Sorry for coming on like a fruitloop."

"A.....fruitloop?"

"A big fruitloop. One with a cat."

Right.

"You said my uniform. What uniform?" Billy asks to choose to come back to Danny's odd phrase later.

"Gotham Acadamy. I signed you up for classes-"

"We're in Gotham!? Why?!"

Danny tilts his head. "It's the only place with enough death to sustain me."

Billy is glad he is Captain Marvel right now. Otherwise, he thinks he would need more guts to ask. "Why do you need death?"

"Not death itself, more like the by-product. I need ectoplasm since I;;m a ghost." With a bright flash of twin rings, Danny shifts into a very obviously non-human form, and Billy's mouth drops.

"You're dead?!"

"So-and-so. I'm a halfa. A being dead and alive but at the same time neither" Danny rubs the back of his neck, twirling his small point tail nervously. "Yeah, it's a bit confusing. Sorry."

"It's fine....ugh so we just live in Gotham until I'm what eighteen?"

"Until your twenty." Danny winces at the glare Billy throws him. "Sorry, ghosts see adulthood as two decades for the living, two centuries for the dead. Since I'm both, I have to follow both and thus have to be your caregiver until you're twenty. I can portal you to Fawcett whenever you need to hero with the snap of my fingers. It'll be inconvenient, but I promise it will be better than the streets. And I will never, ever hurt you, Billy."

Billy crosses his arms, listening with half a ear as the gods start speaking at one, their voices and opinions a background noise he long learns to turn out until Atlas is louder than the rest.

I understand this might be a lot at once, young Batson, but accept King Phantom's help. You will no longer be alone. It is not easy carrying the world on your shoulders, trust me.

The god's words make Billy sure this is a good idea.

"Shazam!" With another burst of lighting, Billy is a kid again, stretching his neck back to make eye contact with the taller man. "Alright. You got yourself a deal .... again."

Danny grins, warm and delight dancing in his eyes. "Excellent! Lets's hurry then, we're supposed to arrive at your school early today to meet with a man in charge of your scholarship who is my new employer for computer software. That's our cover, by the way. We moved here after I got a job at the man's company."

"Who are we meeting?"

"Someone unimportant, I'm sure," Danny says, waving a hand. "My friend Clockwork set us up our background, we have the papers to prove everything."

Billy finds out that Danny really is from a different universe because how in the world could he claim Bruce Wayne as unimportant!

#dcxdpdabbles #Ghost Dad au #Danny adopts Billy #Then moves him to Gotham #Where he uses ghost magic to get a job with WE #Nothing sus here #HOPE YOU LIKE #I don't really know Billy's story line besides some comics so I blended the facts I do know about him for his backstory #Not Phantom Planet Canon

[tranquil-ivy]

Ballet Shoes and Bulletproof Vests

CW: Recovering from alcoholism (Leons just trying to better himself man

Words: 1k

A/N: 👛anon I've had brain rot because of you. But I still love you pookie.

Blue leotard... Gunmetal blue, his favorite shade. It was almost like you were trying to send a signal through the glass windows of the studio attached to the apartment building gym.

Every weekend for the past few months he'd come down and workout for a two hours without issue. Until you moved into the building a month ago. Walking through the gym in leotards and the same skin tone tights straight into the small studio space.

Leon picked up quickly that you don't seem to be doing mindless pirouettes, pliés or chassé. You practiced the same routine, which means you probably do this for a living. Or at the very least a hobby.

He tried his best to not come off creepy but sometimes he couldn't stop from staring. Leon rarely found beauty in life anymore, something he was trying to fix. His sponsor suggested that life could be worth living if you find something meaningful to live for.

Besides surviving or being a living breathing weapon.

At first, the staring was for more "primal" reasons, but it soon turned to him admiring how gracefully you could move. How sharp your movements were. The clean movements were mesmerizing and very distracting. It certainly didn't help that you were pretty either. But every time you stopped and turned back towards the windows, Leon would turn away immediately. Scared you'd think he was some kind of weirdo or worse...

A pervert.

You were probably way too prissy for him anyway. Why bother window shopping?

You're too pure, jumping around in white satin ballet slippers and him in bulletproof vests with tactical gear. Your worlds can never mix, you're too different. Far too different.

So, with his better judgment, Leon got into the habit of changing his routine and getting up at the crack of dawn like in his army days. Just to go workout first thing in the morning. Leaving the gym as you were coming in.

But one morning you didn't come in as he was leaving. And as usual, he stops at his mailbox, fishing in his jacket pocket as he walks into the main lobby.

And there you were. Stood in front of the mailboxes, sorting through a few envelopes with your tiny mailbox door hung open.

Shit... This is gonna be awkward.

Leon approaches slowly, walking up to his mailbox and ripping his keys out of his jacket pocket. Something round flies out of his pocket with a clatter as it hits the floor. You lift your head to see the green chip rolling across the floor, quickly you step past him and pin it under your shoe.

Leon stares, realizing he forgot to take his chip out of his pocket after his meeting last night. Too tired from a long day at work to remember before passing out in bed as soon as he got home. He can feel his neck heating up, he hasn't even said a single word to you, and now you'll know he's an alcoholic trying to get his life together.

And he's sweaty and gross?!

What a fantastic first meeting...

You bend down, grabbing the green chip from the floor as you walk back. Giving it a glance, you hold it out for him. Slowly he raises his hand, chest tightening as he nods a “Thank You” while taking it.

"90 days is a big accomplishment, you should be proud of yourself." He stared for a moment, fully expecting a dirty look or pity.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. I-I am." His lips drew to a line as you walked back around him, shutting your mailbox and locking it. He gives you a glance as you grab your bag from the floor and give him a small smile.

"You're from 3D, right?" You question, his eyes glance at his mailbox, his lips part slightly. Brain trying to process how you knew his apartment without even talking to him.

"Yes?" His eyebrows raised, your eyes fixed on his uneasy response.

"Hmm." She looks him up and down, almost like she's trying to size him up. Or even taken him in completely.

"A little scruffy for my taste, but you'll get the job done." His nose wrinkled as you stepped past him, and headed for the door.

"The hell do you mean by that?" You turned your attention back to him, smiling again.

"The old ladies in the building, they talk about everyone. Well, anyone interesting at least. And they said you're pretty cute. I'd have to agree." He feels his neck burning again, embarrassment of another kind seeping into his collarbone and rising to his cheeks as he smiles a tiny bit.

He was never great with women.

"Thank you..." He clutches the chip in his hand, running his thumb across the bumped out embossing of the metal.

"And um... I know we don't know each other," you step forward again, gesturing to his hands, "but I'm here if you ever need to be talked down... 3 years for me, still have my bad days, but it gets easier with time. I promise."

He looks a little surprised, not expecting you to know his struggles in some way. He just nods, watching you lean to the side, looking behind him and turning back to leave again.

"Congratulations again on 90 days, Leon." You smile, pushing the door open.

"Whoa, wait. What's your-"

"2B!" You yell back without turning around, watching you leave through the doors leading to the gym. His head swivels, looking at the mailboxes. Seeing your name printed a piece of tape stuck to your mailbox.

His mind wanders, thinking of you as he pulls his bills from his mailbox. A folded over flyer was wrapped around the envelopes. Pulling it off the envelope, he gave it a long look. Your face staring back at his as you're leaping in a beautiful flowing white dress and veil.

Giselle printed in fancy font under you pointed toes along with show times for next weekend.

Staring for a second, he thought, pondering over the words of his sponsor telling him to try new things.

Maybe he should try theater.

#🌿 ivy writes #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader

[steddieas-shegoes]

uh. what?

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is healing wounds'

rated m | 1,782 words | cw: injury recovery, mild blood, recreational drug use | tags: post s4, hurt/comfort, getting together, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

The stitches pulled and he couldn't get comfortable. He almost wished Robin hadn't made him get checked over, but anything that required this many stitches probably would've killed him if he hadn't. At least that's what Nancy said when he complained to her about it.

But now, Steve couldn't sleep, and sleep was apparently very important for healing.

The alarm clock next to his bed said 2:07 am, so calling someone was out. Going somewhere was also out, unless he wanted to go to the 24 hour diner alone.

Fresh air sounded good until he realized he'd have to either go for a walk in the middle of the night alone or sit by the pool alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

His phone started to ring just when he was considering taking a shower out of boredom.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve."

"So formal for two in the morning, Stevie," Eddie's laugh rang through the line and Steve couldn't help smiling. Something about Eddie's energy was contagious, a beacon of light when all he had was the darkness of his room.

"Didn't know if it was an international business partner for my parents. Happens sometimes when they forget time zones." Steve moved to the edge of his bed so the cord didn't have to stretch as far. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream about being eaten alive again. This time they managed to eat both of my nipples." Eddie scoffed. "Isn't one enough?"

Steve chuckled. "And you can't go back to sleep because you're scared they'll come take your other nipple?"

"It's a genuine concern, Steve! I have big dreams of piercing this thing and if they take it from me, what do I have left?"

"I think you'd probably just find something else to pierce," Steve shook thoughts of what that might be out of his head before they could take over. "So you can't sleep. You thought you'd call and wake me up to suffer with you?"

Eddie was silent for a moment before responding. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Steve said quickly, not wanting Eddie to feel bad. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

"No, stitches are bothering me."

"You wanna come over? I found my hidden stash. Might help with the stitches," Eddie offered.

Steve probably shouldn't. He was on some pain meds already and if he got too fucked up, he'd probably cry. That's what happened last time he had some of whatever Eddie was selling.

"I'll come over, but probably shouldn't have anything. Robin would kill me if I end up in the hospital," Steve gave a half-truth.

"Yeah, she's terrifying. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Before Steve could tell him that was a bad idea, he hung up.

********

When Steve got to Eddie's, he let out the breath he'd been holding the entire drive. Eddie was sitting on the porch, alone, his guitar by his side.

Maybe he'd been playing already, or maybe he planned to play to help distract Steve from the way his skin felt like it was too much.

He got out of the car and waved when Eddie looked over at him with a smile.

"Didn't think you'd get here so quick," Eddie didn't bother standing up, Steve just knew to go sit by him.

But the steps on the Munson's porch were rickety at best, "temporary" according to the government officials who had stuck them here because they didn't think it was worth putting them in a home across town, and Steve's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dull glow of the light by the front door. He missed the top step and immediately fell, barely catching himself on the wood of the porch.

Eddie was helping him up immediately, doing his best not to make his own injuries worse.

"Shit, you okay? Wayne tried fixing it, but it just keeps getting loose."

Steve felt a stinging pain on his side, and when his hand grazed over the worst of his bites, he felt something warm and wet on his fingers.

"Shit," without looking, he knew he'd torn his stitches. "Eddie, I need a towel or something."

"Shit, that's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood. It shouldn't be that much, right? Like even tearing your stitches, it shouldn't be-"

"Eddie." Steve poked his arm, stayed as calm as he could. He bled easy, so sometimes even small things looked worse than they were. "Towel."

"Right, yeah. Should you come with me?" Eddie shook his head. "I mean can you move? Should you stay here?"

"I'll sit here until I have a towel. Don't wanna get blood on the carpet."

"Got it."

Eddie still seemed unsure about leaving him, but must have noticed how much blood was soaking through Steve's shirt and rushed inside. He was back in less than a minute, a black towel in his hand.

"It's clean. It's the one I usually use for my hair, but I didn't get to fold it from the dryer yet. Um, just put pressure on it."

Steve knew what to do, was used to putting pressure on wounds, but appreciated Eddie trying to triage it anyway.

"You got a needle and thread, right?" Steve asked once he took his shirt off and put pressure on the bite. It was already bleeding much less, a positive sign that maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"I mean, I do. I don't have medical tools that have been sanitized properly."

"You have water to boil and vodka?"

"Steve. I'm not fucking performing a medical procedure on your stomach," Eddie shook his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I trust you."

The words hung heavy between them, despite the fact it wasn't exactly news to either of them. They'd been through it all together, why wouldn't he trust him?

"Okay, let's get inside and I'll get everything ready."

Getting inside was easier said than done. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain had really started to set in and every breath felt like knives stabbing into him.

"Deep breath, Stevie," Eddie said as he sat him down on the couch and helped him lay back. "I'll get you something for the pain."

"Something" was an edible, and Eddie seemed hesitant to give it to him, but all reservations Steve previously had went out the window as he felt his hands shaking from the pain.

Eddie prepared everything while the edible kicked in, checking in with Steve every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out or started bleeding again.

When the room started to feel blurry and his head felt light, Steve smiled over at Eddie, who looked nervous.

"Ready for your magic hands," Steve wiggled his brows.

Eddie made a strangled sound before leaning over the wound and wiping some of the blood away gently so he could see where to stitch him back up.

He worked as quickly as possible, humming softly to distract himself and Steve from what was happening.

Steve was high.

He was high and he was feeling good despite the needle in his skin.

He drifted for a bit, couldn't be sure how long, but eventually, Eddie was touching his cheek and making him open his eyes.

"Think you should stand up so I can wrap a bandage on it. Then you can try to shower off some of the blood if you want. Wayne got one of those removable showerheads. Feels fancy," Eddie said as he moved the hair off of Steve's face.

"Help?" Steve managed to ask.

"Yeah, I can help you with the wrap and start the shower for you," Eddie nodded.

"In the shower?" Steve asked.

Eddie paused. "I can keep us dressed?"

"But." Steve huffed. "Blood."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion, Steve's lips pouting out and his eyes squinting. "Okay, okay. If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. You're high as shit, man."

"I'm standing right on the ground," Steve waved his arms around him. "Or is the ground standing on me but the other way?"

"God, this is the best. Okay, let's go."

"Wait!" Steve grabbed Eddie's arms. "You should know something."

Eddie raised his brows in question. "Go on."

"I'm very in love with you. And also kinda hard."

Eddie blinked, not processing. Now he felt high.

"Uh. What?"

"I have an erection." Steve made a disgusted face. "Hate that word. Sounds so middle school sex ed."

"It is." Eddie shook his head. "I guess I meant more like, how and why and what the hell do you mean by it."

Steve giggled. "I said you had magic hands and I was right."

"Dude, I was literally giving you stitches. I am failing to see why that would make you hard."

"It's cuz you're so gentle and your tongue sticks out when you're trying to focus. And also I started thinking about what you'd do if I couldn't move," Steve sighed dreamily. "You have handcuffs."

"Okay. Let's pause." Eddie let out a small hysterical laugh. "You want me to help you in the shower because you love me? Do you even need help?"

"Probably. But I also want help. And also you're a helper for me."

"What does that even mean? Where's Robin when you need her to decode what the hell you're talking about?"

"You're a helper for me! Because you help me be better about asking for help! And then you help!"

"Okay, that's. Good. I'm still not sure what's happening."

"You're gonna help me shower. I'm gonna try very hard not to come. We sleep?" Steve looked around Eddie out the window, like he was checking if it was still night time. "And then in the morning I wake up and get yelled at by Robin."

"Why would she-"

"The stitches. And the telling you I love you thing. She's gonna be real mad about that."

"Why?" Eddie felt like he was losing it. What was even happening anymore? How had he completely lost control of the night?

"She wanted to help me do a speech thing."

This was just getting more wild.

Steve needed a shower, and he needed sleep. Eddie needed a minute to gather his own thoughts.

"Shower. Sleep. Talk in the morning." Eddie raised his hand to cup Steve's neck. "Robin murders you after we talk."

"Deal." Steve's face sank, but he quickly perked back up. "But shower?"

"Yes, shower. Go, horndog."

Steve laughed as he half-limped to the bathroom, clearly feeling some pain even with the drugs in his system. Eddie followed and resisted touching Steve as much as possible.

Which ended up being about two minutes.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is healing wounds #injury recovery #cw: mild blood #post s4 #hurt/comfort #getting to know you #tending to wounds

[lvlyghost]

I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH 😩❤️😍 the way you characterize ghost is so good I can't 😭❤️ I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something for me since your writing style is sooo good frfr

How about ghost and reader have an argument that was started by ghost and he goes a bit too far breaking the reader and making them cry and be just a shell of themselves how would he feel when he sees the readers state and how would he fix it with a happy end please

Broken Wings

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: After a night out, things seem to take a turn in your relationship with Ghost.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tw: angst, hurt/comfort, self doubt, jealousy, probably ooc!simon, curse words. lots of grammar mistakes, poorly edited you know the drill🐝

A/N: i loved this request sooo much, though i did have a lot of trouble when writing it since i wasn't feeling too inspired. also had two different stories but ended up deciding to post this one i might post the other one idk, hope you like this anon! I did try my best🫶🏻🤍🩷✨corrections are appreciated; remember english isn't my native language 🐸

Masterlist✨

"I like you." You said with big bright eyes.

"But no one can know about this. Just you and I. That's enough." He answered, hand tracing the side of your face.

You blink rapidly. You have always been daydreamer. It caused you tons of problems although you tried to do your best when you were out on missions. Ghost is walking ahead of you, boots sinking in the sand beneath your feet. The waves crashing on the shore is something you like listening to and seeing too but under different circumstances. Both of your gear clink with every step you take, it's the only sound as well as the sea that swallows the tense silence that falls between the two.

Things have been rather... strange since two days ago and you've tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't weird for Ghost to push you back every now and then, he was a complicated person and you couldn't be more different from one another.

You were the sun and he was the darkness that came at night or so he had said one night at the common room back at the compound. He was stoic, grumpy and hardly found himself enjoying somebody's company. You on the other hand, even though you wouldn't consider yourself the most outgoing person like Johnny, still you liked talking unlike him. You loved going out with the task force. And most importantly you loved when Ghost joined because you loved him, you loved having him around, despite his gruff responses or annoyed looks.

You jog though your legs shake and tiredness sets in your body.

"How much farther until we get there?" You ask, ignoring the fact that his frame goes rigid when you speak . He doesn't acknowledge you at first. All you hear is a small sigh leaving his lips. You kind of wish he wasn't wearing the damn sunglasses so you could see his eyes.

They always said a lot.

"Thirty minutes. Give or take." The answer is short and cold, breaking your heart a little more than before. Still, you decide to try again.

"Sir, is something bothering you?" Before he can stop it he scoffs, shaking his head. "What?" Brows furrowing on your features. "Simon..."

He stops all of the sudden, turning to face you with a tense stance.

"First of all don't bloody use my name out here. Secondly it's your own fault we've been walking for hours. So don't go asking if something's bothering me, Sergeant."

Taking a step back you open your mouth.

"My fault? I was doing my job!"

"Didn't know your job was to get your fucking head blown off!!" He seethes. "Fucking hell you can't be this reckless and expect me to clap at your poor acting on the field." Your heart begins to race, he had never said such things to you. Taking a small step back your grit your teeth, you hated that his words were making your eyes blurry. This was the Simon you never wanted to see. And yet there he was. "Now we lost the damn intel thanks to you." He spits. But something isn't adding up.

"It's not just that. You've been acting strange for a few days now, Ghost. Don't come and tell me it's just because I did what I was supposed to do!" He stiffs yet again. Jaw clenching so hard you fear he might break it. "Not missing the way you avoid me ever since..." you close your mouth shut. "The pub..." he shifts his weight from one foot to another. The waves are increasing and now reach your feet, dampening your boots. And then you remember him storming off the local pub before he even finished his own drink. Everyone had heard the hard slap to John's arm when he had tried to calm him down. God why didn't you pay more attention to that moment? Because you both had agreed to keep your distances? And going after him was out of discussion? Then the next day you'd barely seen him, just for a short moment during debriefs and that was it. The moment you had gotten up from your seat he was gone. And today you were supposed to go to a special op that had soon become a problem that eventually led to the two of you in the middle of a beach, it was a cloudy day and if it weren't for the heavy layers you wore you're certain you'd be shaking. Sometimes –and you were ashamed of it– you were oblivious to many things and it seemed that Ghost's anger toward you was one of them this time. "What happened?"

He inhales deeply.

"It's over. That's what happened."

Your heart sinks and you swallow hard. Your whole body loses color when he mutters those two words. Out of all the things, all the possibilities you thought he'd say to you, he decided to end everything. Shaking your head you try to touch his hand but he doesn't let you.

"Ghost where is all of this coming from I don't understand!" You choke out. "We were fine..."

"No. You were fine. If I wasn't enough you should've just said so."

"Stop... you... what the hell are you talking about???"

"Nothing that matters anymore. Keep walking and don't say another word. That's an order."

He turns and keeps walking as if nothing just happened. As if he didn't just completely broke your heart.

'You were fine'.

What was that supposed to mean? You think, walking a few meters behind him, scared to even say anything else; to even try to grab him by the arm and force him to talk. It would only make things worse right now.

By the time you reach the safe house it's started to rain the silence between the two is deafening and tense. Ghost's cold demeanor and hurtful words have left a scar. Never in a million years would you think you'd be here, with a broken, shattered heart and no explanation from his part.

Words that pierced through your soul.

That day something died inside you. And he was the reason.

-

Two weeks, three days and seven hours.

That's the time that's passed since that day at the beach. Two weeks since Simon broke you and gave you no reasons.

You're a disaster.

You barely eat or get any sleep. There's dark circles under your eyes and you're sure you've lost some weight too. Ghost has been gone on a mission alone with Johnny for a week now, which left you with a lot of spare time to think about the two of you.

More tears stream down your face when you remember that day. Had you missed something important? Was Ghost's mind somewhere dark? Somewhere it shouldn't be? God knows he was... difficult to say the least. But every single time you tried, tried to be there for him. Did those late nights at your home meant nothing? Had he not seen the way you looked at him? Had you not shown him enough of your affection? Everything you'd do for him if he simply asked?

Getting up from your bed you get ready for another day. Not bothering to lace your boots just shoving them inside your shoes you walk down the hallways until you get to the training room. Gaz is talking to John in the far corner, the Captain's arms are crossed over his chest while Kyle frowns and shakes his head. You don't to even go and salute them as you normally would do, instead you put your earphones on and hit the treadmill.

It doesn't last long though; after one minute someone stops it by pressing down the off button. Your brows knitted together as you stop, turning to look up at Gaz who smiles politely.

"Sorry for that, sweetheart. You okay?" You nod, but say nothing more. "Come here." He pats your shoulder and helps you down from the treadmill. If you could smile now you would. But no even the faintest, softest grin leaves your lips. Gaz takes a quick glimpse at your face and rubs the back of his neck. "You know, Soap and Ghost just got back. Heard Lt. was asking about you."

"Oh." You murmur. "Okay." You don't move nor dare to meet his eyes. "I'll just head back to my room."

"Uhmm. I- what I meant is he's looking for you..." Shaking your head you walk away, not having the energy to face Simon right now. And why did he need to see you? Made pretty clear that you two were done, therefore was no need to see each other unless it was work related.

-

"You really do like it here don't you." Your body goes rigid. This was supposed to be your safe place. The roof of the armory was rarely visited by anyone at this hour. Simon's voice seems softer than ever before but you don't answer. Not even turn to acknowledge him. You hear muttered words and then he crouches down to your level. "Price said you're not eating. Do we have to send you to the military counselor now?" How dare he? After all he caused this. You know he doesn't mean it in bad way, somehow he cares for you deep down. Your hands ball into fists, fighting the urge to snap at him, to push him down and just break him the way he broke you. But you don't because you still love him, and could never bring yourself to hurt him. Simon is staring intently at you, waiting, hoping for any sign. He knows he shouldn't be here. Bloody hell he knows you shouldn't even look his way never again. He deserves it. Every bit of it. "Talk to me, love. Please." It's a low whisper. A plea.

"What do you want Ghost?" You ask softly. Simon leans closer, sitting down with his legs propped up against his chest and arms resting on his knees. It's a funny look for someone his size.

"Jus' wanted to see you." You scoff playing with your hands, refusing to lock eyes with him because if you did you'd be done. "Wanted to explain..."

"Then just do it!" You sob. Your lower lip trembles. "And then leave."

"Fine." He agrees. "But I'm not leaving. I- I made a mistake, and took it out on you okay? I was scared."

"Scared?" Your head snaps to where he is sitting. It's painful just to look at him. "Why would you be scared Ghost?" You retaliate

He grumbles, never fancied when you called him that when you were alone. Quite the contradiction given the fact that he told you not to call him his name that day at the beach.

"Because I saw you." He points out. "That night. Everything you're missing for being with someone like me. Can't even show proper affection because it's not me... and you deserve more than that. More than me."

"Ghost..."

"No. Lemme finish, love." He swallows. It's always amusing how controlled he seems. "I lost it, yeah? You looked so happy. How on earth do I deserve you, on what universe do I deserve ya'?"

Sucking in a sharp breath you recall the moments that preceded the events. The sound of music blasting through the speakers, when you joined the rest of the soldiers on the other side of the pub. Private Miller had slung his arm over your shoulders in a friendly manner. You laughed and drank too much that night, it was joyful. Everyone was there, your team. You never thought he felt that way about it.

"Oh my... Simon." You cover your mouth and cry silently. He hesitated for a moment before pulling you close and into his lap. "Should've known something was wrong. Forgive me... I should've stayed with you, follow you after you left." You cry out.

You were scared too, for very different reasons. That he'd get tired of you eventually, that if you weren't cautious enough your secret would be known. Both would get suspended thus separated and discharged.

"No, love. You shouldn't have to go running after me. I should be running after you. Now forgive me, say you will. Or else I might just lose myself for good." You cradle his face in your hands lifting the balaclava just above the bridge of his nose. Thumb tracing his lower lip. Your tears have dried.

"I've missed you so much, Simon. All you gotta do is talk to me, always." He tightens his grip around you. "You think Price would let us go home tonight and not ask questions?"

His chuckle is short and soft.

"Yeah. I think he's known for a while now."

#cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost modern warfare #cod simon riley #call of duty ghost simon riley #cod mw ghost

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: A short fic/drabble in which Ace takes notice of how lenient his dorm leader is with you...

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Playing Favourites

Riddle Rosehearts was doing better. That was something Ace could definitely confirm. Since his overblot, he had been far more lax on the rules, even exempting the more ridiculous ones.

Of course, he was still strict. Rules, while not the be all end all anymore, were still important to him.

Ace knew it was because Riddle cared and wanted Heartslabyul to succeed, but it was annoying when he was often a victim of aforementioned strictness.

What annoyed him even more was that, for all of Riddle's sterness and nagging, it all completely fell apart when it came to you.

Whenever you got into trouble or broke the rules or did something that had him turning red in the face, Riddle's spine turned to jelly.

It was, in Ace's eyes, a blatantly obvious and- dare he say- shameless case of picking favourites. Riddle didn't let you just do whatever you wanted, but he was... softer with you. More lenient.

It was, to be perfectly honest, because he had a huge crush on you. Not that Riddle himself knew this of course. According to the redhead, all he knew was that his heart beats like mad and his brain turns to mush when he's around you for reasons be could not understand.

Ace was going through this in his head as he looked at you, the two of you (plus Deuce and Grim) making your way to class for the morning. He wasn't entirely sure what had his dorm leader so smitten with you. It really was something he never understood.

"Ace!"

Speak of the devil. Ace rolled his eyes as Riddle marched up to Deuce, Grim, you and him.

"Ace for the Queen of Hearts' sake fix your uniform!" The redhead sniped, voice bordering on a snarl.

Yes, he was getting better, but had yet to try out any anger management to curb that vile temper of his.

"Honestly, walking around with such shameless disregard for neatness that that! Disgraceful! And you-"

Riddle's gaze fell on you and almost immediately those harsh steel grey eyes softened.

"Your tie is a mess, prefect." He said carefully, voice dropping from a shout back to normal volume. His cheeks pinkened and he reached out and fixed it. "There. Much better."

Great Seven, seeing him being so painfully whipped made Ace nauseous. It was good that he had a passion for literally anything outside of studying, but really? Being all mushy while he's standing right there? Ew.

Riddle pulled back and cleared his throat before saying his goodbyes and leaving, face getting redder and redder by the second.

"Oh come on, now that's just unfair." Ace groaned once he was out of earshot. Deuce covered his mouth, but Grim didn't bother to stifle his laugh.

"Maybe if you weren't so terrible you would get special treatment too."

"Shut up, cat."

"I'm not a cat!"

"Whatever." Ace shoved his hands and his pockets and scowled. "Never thought having a crush would make him lenient."

You looked at him in confusion and he froze.

"Riddle has a crush on me?"

"Oh shit-"

-End

....................................

A/N: This is just a quick fic I wrote,I'm not too happy with it so I'll probably rewrite it sometime later, so forgive any errors and the shortness.

#ace trappola #riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #ace trappola x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #heartslabyul x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #writing #drabble

[littleeyesofpallas]

well... after a lot of regret and having to resist the urge to course correct and turn this into a whole different project... I've compiled what is more or less all of the clear-ish-ly visible, unnamed background shinigami in Bleach, plus a few weird inbetween types who aren't unnamed and/or aren't "background" characters per say, but appear so infrequently that they might as well be.

I was going to try and track recurring characters but that quickly became untenable...

I was going to group them by similar looks in order to smooth over the ones that I couldn't be sure were recurring or just similar looking, but that was too much trouble...

I was going to separate out the named from the unnamed but got lazy...

I was going to include a bunch of others for technicality's sake but most of them were basically faceless stickmen in the background...

I was also going to include actual characters but then debated with myself over whether or not to include each of their unique outfits as a point of reference, but that's a whole massive thing all by itself --and I considered it because the idea behind this is sort of to be able to get a sense of what an "average" shinigami looks like, as far as face shapes, hair styles, accessories, etc... so to that end more costume details might have been nice

I know I threw the LN characters at the end but the forgot the other old zaraki, I'm probably not gonna bother fixing it

Other than a lot of generic anime shounen spikes and a few pompadours, and some predictably samurai-like topknots/ponytails, there are actually a surprising number of frizzy hair styles? It's hard to tell if some are more like punch perms or afros at times. Also a lot more glasses than I'd have expected?

And although I didn't expect my passing observation to actually hold true, there are in fact no random women in combat specifically throughout the whole manga. There are girls walking around the seireitei and the gotei facilities. There are specifically a few girls seen in groups of 4th division field medics. And there is just one nurse??? unless they've got a Nurse Joy thing happening. And the background girls are almost all black hair, twin tails, or a bun, and blunt bangs --I can't even tell if some of them might even be the same girl showing back up across different scenes, but i have no way of telling....

#bleach #bleach meta #but is it tho?