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roseandgold137 · 4 months

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Sorry there are so many but i am sooo curious 👀👀👀

For the fanfic writer emoji asks:

😅🤡😈✍️🎢🎶⛔🌞❌🧐🏆📈🦅👀💞🧠(<- for Tim)🤩🤲🎉⌛🤯

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

hmmm none come to mind immediately bc I mean I’m pretty chill with everything I’ve made existing, but I suppose if I were to write Meet the Family again I’d definitely change a few bits that kinda make me :/ now lol

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

“… Janet had money. And Helena’s birthday was soon… though a summer home seemed a bit extreme. Perhaps just a holiday would be enough.”

every so often I think of this line again and realise I’ll never actually live up to it

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

hmmm if nothing else I think I do plan to be lmao

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

not in the slightest everyone is just lucky if I even give it a second look before posting, that’s why I have to constantly go back and fix misspellings bc I never double check 😅

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Definitely Every Good Gold Digger, I mean it has the most going on (pretty sure it makes up over half of my total word count on ao3) and if you actually stop to consider the premise it’s literally two people that never meet in canon going through the most frustrating speed dating slow burn I can create while also being interspersed with random time jumps so I can tell a story that takes place over several years. So I’d say the rest is pretty tame haha

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Not often actually bc most of my writing actually happens in classes where my background sound is the teacher I should be listening to lol

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Wire Bird was supposed to get a chapter two but it was frustrating me to no end so I just abandoned it

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

No, just whenever I have the time and motivation I suppose

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Bad parents Jack and Janet drake my beloathed. I can’t even read it without having a physical reaction like literally I get completely thrown out of the story and just need to like cool off 😭 drake defender til I die

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

I start writing and then the research happens on the go 💪💪 I didn’t even know Brassempouy existed before chapter three of EGGD

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

Based on hits, Every Good Gold Digger. Based on kudos, Meet the Family. But considering EGGD has far more subscriptions by far and also it’s definitely the one I’m more well known for so I’m going to give it the crown

📈 How many fics do you have?

On ao3, 24, and then there’s another from an ask I’ve been meaning to upload, and then there’s various half-finished wips that may or may not turn into anything lol

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

TECHNICALLY some of them have had outlines but very few of them remain true to them so mostly I make it up so long as I have the main story beats in mind

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

still working on the dick kidnapping one, so far he’s on patrol with Bruce and living his best reckless life. In version one anyways. Version two has him already caught and he is a significantly grumpier teen lmao we’ll see which version wins out

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Probably Tim or Janet I’m very partial to them, though Bart definitely appears as my art blorbo he’s everywhere in my sketchbooks so I suppose the three of them. I’m not very good at narrowing things down

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (Tim)

Ooooo. You know considering how often I think about him this question should probably be far easier but alas. He’s a total mama’s boy, but that’s basically canon, so I won’t count that. I think he ate crayons as a kid, but that’s not a favourite headcanon. I like to imagine him as an animal lover, because I genuinely can’t really imagine someone not like that, so I suppose that would be my favourite, bc it’s the trait I always give him even if I never say it

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Tim definitely I never stop thinking about him which makes the whole process very streamlined

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

of course I would

“ “We didn’t do much golf, to be honest,” Jack murmured, dropping his head into his hands suddenly. “Janet. Janny. I made out with Bruce Wayne in the golf range bathrooms.” He peeked at her through his fingers. “Stop laughing at me.” ”

I’m just going to leave you all with that 👍👍

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

When I link it to here and everyone gets excited in the notes 💪💪💪 those first five minutes after posting is like ambrosia to me

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

It varies so widely, some chapters get done in a matter of hours meanwhile I’m on like two weeks for this one lmao

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I mean before I would have said romance but I actually think I’m doing pretty well at it, so maybe action honestly? My strength is definitely slice of life and fluff so sometimes I feel like my action can feel a bit off pace yknow

Thank you so much for the ask <3 it was very fun going through them all :)

#ask game #I won’t clog any tags with this

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buffaluff · 2 months

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a very special long-haired eddie alternate version of this for my very dearest weewoo friend @travellingdragon 😌💖

#i won’t clog up the tag but i’m hoping it reaches any other long-haired eddie enthusiasts spiritually #EDIT OK FINE i’m being bullied into tagging #buddie #buddie fanart #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #buddie supremacy #buff art #oh no i’m gonna make a 9-1-1 tag now aren’t i

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itsyaboyredacted · 11 months

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I have issues LMAO

Omori brainrot strong

#omori #omori headcanons #omori suntan #omori sunnyxkel #I won’t tag all the characters so there isn’t any tag clogging #but feel free to do so if you want to rb #love love love these sillies #suntan in my brain forever #brain rotting so hard

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emily-mooon · 1 month

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As of right now, my Nordegrim WIPs are (figuratively) on fire and it’s been awhile since I seriously wrote something so send me some fluffy (as in the fic type) Nordegrim drabble requests in my ask box!

Since I’m a VERY slow writer, they could take some time so be patient! I’ll get them done eventually :]

#i know I probably won’t get any but hey it’s worth a shot!#we must not speak of the multiple wips i have for other pairings #Stacey x neil is in some desperate need of fics on ao3 #and so I must pick up the torch and write something #but first I’ll do some drabbles to get me back into the swing of writing for tea this time that I’ll probably post on ao3 in one big fic #*real (not tea I don’t drink tea)#as to not clog the tag #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim comic #nordegrim #stacey pilgrim x neil nordegraf #i guess I’ll tag the character tags #lmk if I should remove them ok?#young neil #neil nordegraf #stacey pilgrim

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kimtaegis · 1 year

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highly encouraging everyone who doesn’t want to see discussions about heavier topics on this blog to filter/ blacklist the tag #discourse or even my ask tag #annie’s mail if necessary

#weird post to make but maybe not everyone’s aware of that option yet #I’ll answer some more asks now so if you don’t want your dashboard to be clogged up by them –#you can find the option under General Settings -> content you see -> then enter the tag(s)#or use the xkit extension on desktop to blacklist #also filter your trigger warnings!!! in form of tw: (trigger)#I don’t have these serious discussions every day it’s mostly visual content on my blog #but I get it if you don’t want to see it anyway #if you can’t bear what I’m saying content-wise though unfollow by any means lol #won’t mourn your loss then

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mrsmiroir · 2 years

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bat-meet-hornets-nest moment but. even if you view darklina through rose tinted lenses and convince yourself that it is a totally balanced and healthy relationship, even if you can somehow convince yourself that his brutal campaigns were solely for a good cause and not greatly motivated by a desire for power… even if you can somehow convince yourself that he is a good PERSON (not the same as thinking he’s a good character)… how can you possibly justify oh uh idk literally everything that happened with genya. i have yet to see a hashtag darkling defender sit with and unpack just how fucked up her situation was (the situation HE put her in. knowingly).

#this isn’t anti d*rklina btw i think u can enjoy a dynamic that is objectively Terrible #and this isn’t against the d*rkling as a character. this is specifically abt ppl who act like ultimately he did nothing wrong #don’t come for me idk any of these characters i haven’t read the books #but i cannot. i cannot stop thinking about genya. fucking hell.#they’re censored only so this post won’t clog tags and also bc im a coward lol #s&b #shadow and bone #delete later #maybe

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cactuscoolerr · 10 months

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pls stop clogging up the blue lock fic tags if youre only giving one sentence 😭🙏🏻 no hate at all, but it’s not right to do that when it’s barely of any substance and just one sentence or thought

suck my nutz lol

anyway here’s pt 2 of ‘my roommates hot girlfriend’

(also.. i still barely know how tumblr works so mb if i’m doing it wrong)

⋆｡˚. itoshi rin - my hot girlfriend (ft. isagi yoichi)

rin shows isagi that you’re his girl (nsfw)

“you’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” rin asked softly while caressing your cheek in his large hand. as you stared up at him with absolute love in your eyes, isagi watched from a chair that sat in the corner of the room. he watched as you nodded and closed your eyes in desperation when rin’s lips pressed against your forehead. “that’s good, baby” rin smiled tenderly at you- something isagi has only seen when you were around.

“and you,” rin muttered in his usual annoyed tone while turning to isagi. “sit there like the sick fuck you are. if you move, i’ll kill you”

rin’s words made you squirm as you felt your wet cunt clench around nothing. you absolutely loved it when he was like that to people, especially knowing that he was always sweet and gentle with you and you only. “rin rin..” you whined softly and gently tugged at the string of his sweatpants.

“give me a second,” rin said before pressing another sweet kiss to your forehead. “be a good girl like i’ve taught you and sit patiently, ok?”

without a response from you, rin walked towards the bathroom, leaving you with isagi. he was still sitting on the chair like when you first walked in and it even seemed like he hasn’t moved and inch since then. it was like he was frozen in place. maybe it was out of fear- or excitement. you couldn’t really tell.

rin came back in, condom in his hand and walking over to isagi. you watched curiously as your boyfriend flicked it at him and leaned down to tell him something. and when he was done, rin walked back over to you with that usual softness in his eyes, moving to gently caress your cheek again.

“you ready, baby?”

the warm breath from rin’s words hitting your ear made you shiver slightly but you nodded, looking up at him through your eyelashes when he pulled away from you. “yeah..”

right away, rin reached towards the ends of your shirt and carefully pulled it up over your head. he even made sure to smooth your hair down before pushing you back against the headrest. “so pretty” he muttered while leaning in to press gentle kisses to the tops of your breasts. one hand was brought up to knead at your tits while the other gently caressed your hip, occasionally rubbing small circles into your skin to ease you when he bit into your neck.

a small whine sounded from you but you still angled your head upwards to give rin more room as he nipped at various spots until he focused on your collarbones.

your eyes wandered from the ceiling over towards isagi, who had his pants and his boxers pooled at his ankles with his cock in his hand. he was slowly stroking himself as he gaze stayed fixated on you, his eyes glancing up to meet yours for a second before moving back to where your tits were exposed. you then noticed the condom on his cock, realizing that was the one that your boyfriend had given him. it made you wonder if he’d be letting isagi join in.

while you were deep in thought, rin muttered a few complaints before slipping his hand into your shorts and pressed against your clit through your panties. a soft moan fell through your parted lips as rin continued his attack on your neck.

his strong fingers rubbed gently against your clit as you moaned softly, threading your fingers through his hair, often tugging when it felt a little too good.

rin’s grunts as you pulled on his hair didn’t do much to ease the aching for his cock, only making you more desperate to have him fuck into you. “rin..” you sighed softly and tried your best to pry him away from your neck, which didn’t work as well as you thought it would’ve. “need you inside of me.. please”

your pleading went straight to rin’s cock and he pulled away to look at you, breathless. “you want it?” he asked through pants before pressing a gently kiss to the corner of your mouth. “want my cock in your tight cunt? that what you want?” rin pressed another kiss to the other corner of your mouth before leaning down to lick a stripe up your neck. “wanna feel me deep inside of you? that it, baby?”

“yes!” you whined and desperately pulled at his hair.

“please, rin rin..” you said softly, making rin look at you. “i need you so bad. please fuck me..” the tears in your eyes were enough to break rin as he was already shoving your shorts and panties down your legs and spreading your legs apart. a soft gasp sounded from you and you watched as rin glanced over at isagi with a cocky expression before pulling his cock out and aligning it with your hole.

isagi still sat patiently, though there was cum leaking from the condom that he still wore. you almost forgot that he was even there. it amazed you that you didn’t hear him when he came and how he managed to stay in the same position for so long. still, you watched isagi as rin pushed his cock through your folds and into your tight cunt. you whimpered at the slight stretch but relaxed when rin leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead before thrusting completely into you.

you moaned at the same time rin did, reaching up to hold onto his shoulders as his thrusts got harder and faster than usual. it was almost like he was trying to prove something.

and he was. he was trying to prove to isagi that he was better than him and the only one that was right for you was rin. he needed isagi to know that he would never have a chance with you. and this was how he was gonna show him. by fucking you and letting isagi watch as his cum spilled out of your pussy.

something about being watched while he fucked you was a huge turn in for rin. it made him feel more possessive than usual, making his thrusts more eager and brutal to ease out more sounds from you.

it didn’t take long for rin to feel his oncoming orgasm. knowing that isagi - who had been crushing on you forever now - and listening to your moans and whimpers was enough to have his cock ache, desperate to cum inside of you and mark you all over so everyone would know that you were his and his only.

you and rin came at the same time, moaning each others names and grabbing desperately at each other. the feeling of rin cumming inside of you made you clench around him, making rin groan into your neck and thrust shakily to ride out his and your orgasm.

rin was quick to pull out of you, sitting up to make sure you were ok. he was more rough with you than usual, so he was a bit worried about your state afterwards. at the sight of your fucked out face and faint smile, rin visibly relaxed and glanced down at your ruined cunt, rin’s cum seeping through your fold. he couldn’t help but groan at the sight, wanting to take your picture and keep it forever to remember how beautiful you looked.

instead, rin kissed your knee and glanced back at isagi, looking at how he stroked himself faster and faster until he came with a quiet whimper. just the sight of his friend getting off to his girlfriend made his mind buzz with a sense of possession over you.

“here,” rin breathed out while swiping his finger through his and your cum. you watched as he made his way over to isagi and held his cum coated finger to his lips, gently pressing into them to get his mouth to pry apart. “have a taste of us, you fucking pervert” he said and shoved his finger down isagi’s throat.

you saw isagi gag but savor the taste, moaning as he sucked roughly on your boyfriends finger. it was a lewd sight and it made you press your legs together, trying your best not to reach down and rub at your clit.

with a disgusted face, rin pulled his fingers out of isagi’s mouth and walked back over towards you. a hint of disgust was still present on his face as he gently picked you up, but he still smiled lovingly at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“you better be gone by the time i come back in here,” rin said, stopping in the doorway. “this is the first and only time you’ll ever see her like this. do you understand?”

and without another word, rin kicked the door closed as he walked inside of the bathroom with you in his arms, leaving isagi to catch his breath and try his best to relieve the ache in his cock.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk headcanons #bllk smut #blue lock smut #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin smut #rin itoshi smut #isagi yoichi smut

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barrenclan · 11 months

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“Issue #22: A Favor for a Favor”

Here it finally is! You can sort of think of this issue as the mid-season finale, if the whole of PATFW was a one-season show. I have been waiting to do this one for a very long time, and I wanted to make sure it was exactly how I pictured it. There are a ton of reveals and plot progressions in this issue, so keep it all in mind as we move forward!

Also, with this issue, PATFW is officially halfway over. Can you believe that? It feels like just yesterday that I started this project.

So much to talk about, but I won’t clog up this description. I’ll at least say that Ranger and Hacksaw are some of my absolute favorite characters from this story, and I love them dearly. For clarification’s sake, Ranger is a coyote and Hacksaw is a peregrine falcon. You can now view their tags for posts I’ve made about them in the past, along with Saturn.

Dustfeather was previously completely buried, as you can see in Issue 17, but winds combined with Saturn’s burrowing exposed her body to the open, where any remaining choice meat was picked off by crows (and Saturn).

In the last panel, the flowers surrounding Deepdark are wisteria, oleander, and black lilies. All of them are poisonous to animals.

Previous < > Next

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momodita · 1 month

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snapshots. [—dazai osamu]

TAGS / WARNINGS: male reader, specific clothing (suit), dazai being dazai, barely suggestive WC: 1,000 NOTE: even though this was written with male readers in mind, there are no pronouns used and can read as gender neutral!

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“Need some help?”

You muffle the swear, but not the pained noise that escapes as your leg smacks the counter. Teeth clenched, you hunch over the sink, clutching your throbbing knee before gathering yourself to glare at the intruder.

“Where’s Atsushi.”

“Surprised?” Dazai trills, volume surprisingly controlled for how loud you know him to be. His lofty hum echoes—you grimace as he fills the precious little space left in the bathroom. “Atsushi-kun got sent on an assignment. He’ll be gone for a while.”

“And he entrusted you to help me instead?” you snark, a touch mean knowing the thickness of his skin. Turning your back on him never feels safe—at least with the mirror, you’re not completely vulnerable. “I would’ve thought he’d ask someone a little more reliable. Like Kunikida-san.”

“Oh! You wound me!” Dazai exclaims, hand flying up to press against his forehead. He saunters forward with a dramatic lean. “And here I thought you might need me to lend you a hand,” he says, flourishes with a grin, gaze lingering meaningfully on your tie.

Your nose wrinkles. “No thanks.”

Dazai merely tuts—undeterred by the blatant dismissal—leaning on the counter to watch you fumble.

“If it were Kunikida-kun here,” he says, low and amused, stoking the burn of irritation at the back of your throat, “He would’ve made you start over. In seiza to boot.”

You shudder imagining it. “No one will notice if it’s bad. It’s just a stupid tie.” The excuse doesn’t burn nearly as much as his huffing laugh, something quiet that makes the muscle under your eye twitch. Maybe you should forgo the tie, after all.

“Now, now, don’t say that,” he sings—gleeful, like he’s sitting on the punchline of a joke. “It won’t take long.” His hand opens for you, expectant. “Besides,” Dazai says, “seems like you really want this meeting to go well.” He speaks plainly enough, but you’ve no confidence to decipher any double entendre while operating under several layers yourself.

Against the sticky apprehension licking your ribs, you let him: slipping the tie from your shoulders and lowering it onto his palm. Not for the first time, his presence raises the fine hairs on your nape.

He’s an indomitable presence behind you. You’re sure he can’t see the goosebumps erupting along your arms, but the little quiet chuckle by your ear makes you think he knows of their existence.

Dazai lays the tie across your nape. Drapes it down your front and adjusts the two ends with an impish, plucking touch. You watch his hands in the mirror. It occurs to you, now, that as you are—trapped between him and his mirror image—there’s nowhere to run. In the silence, your mouth purses, twitching with the pressure to break the tension—anything to release the buzz of adrenaline clogging your throat.

“Don’t tie it too tight,” you say haltingly, blood rushing to your face. “I’ll choke.”

Dazai, humming, merely smiles. You watch his eyes narrow with it in the mirror, how he loops and pulls and twists the fabric—almost mesmerized by the knot coming neatly together in his fingers: long and pale—a sharp contrast to the matte black of your suit and dress shirt.

His expression drops as he works. It’s a rare moment where it holds no fallacies, no comedic lilt of his brow or mouth. Your chin twitches when he wiggles the knot to a tight finish, uses both hands to slide it up against the base of your throat.

You swallow, then—not meaning to—and drop your eyes to the faucet. Dazai drags the tie between his fingers, smoothing the fabric with a slow motion of his arm. You can’t stop the tightness in your chest—as if his hands were sliding all over you.

“Dazai-san.” His name gets pulled from your throat like teeth, hand twitching, wanting to snatch the tie from his fingers. His presence is a weight on your shoulders—heat at your back, crawling up your throat all the way down your calves, the tips of your fingers, as you tease the idea of shoving him away. Forcibly relaxing your aching jaw.

Your eyes dart up to meet his in the mirror. It’s a mistake. For one dizzying breath, his head tips—just a fraction, small enough that you blink and are no long sure it even happened—and the gleam in his eyes is gone, swallowed by the shadow of his fringe. You don’t need the subtle press of his thumb to know your skin has gone clammy.

But then he blinks, and the moment passes. He splays his hands out as if revealing a surprise, grin full of teeth.

“See? Not too bad, wouldn’t you agree? Kunikida-kun would’ve had you make one hundred knots.” Despite the obvious playfulness of his voice, it does little to quell the blood rushing in your ears. His hands descend upon your shoulders, a gesture somehow more threatening than when his fingers had been kissing distance from your throat. “And his lectures take forever.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because you’re the one he lectures the most?” you ask. “That’s why no one takes you seriously, Dazai-san.”

His eyes narrow with a smile—the familiar stretch of it triggering your flight impulse. You manually reset your footing to rid yourself of the feeling.

“Maybe they should,” he suggests, and reaches for your throat. Your blood freezes, but all he does is flip down your collar, tucking the tie under the starched fabric. “I’m quite the hidden gem.”

Muffled laughter outside the door is just the remedy you need to reset.

“How egotistical of you,” you reply flatly, and sigh. “Are you done?”

“Of course, of course.” Dazai waves. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. He ducks out of the bathroom to engage with Kunikida, putting himself directly into the blond’s verbal line of fire.

And you, alone, dip fingers inside your suit pocket to find a familiar plastic lump.

#dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs fic #bsd x reader #bsd fic #reader insert #snapshot fic #male reader #sorry for the character to those who are #unfamiliar w bsd SJKDHFKHSJ #also this fic could've so easily turned into nsft but i was GOOD and i RESTRAINED MYSELF #momodita fic

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toshidou · 1 year

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Let Me Be Your Lifeline

Pairing // Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!Reader

Word Count // 2.2k

Tags // gender neutral reader, descriptions of injury, blood, Simon has a panic attack/ptsd attack, hurt/comfort, soap gets mad but lowkey understandably pls don't hate him, reader's alias is Siren, swearing, you help Simon when he needs you most (because you're amazing like that), established relationship

AN // you ever just have the thought of simon just Losing it because you get hurt, and the idea of him just. shutting down spurs you to write just over 2 thousand words about it? no? just me? cool. also this has barely been re-read, so if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn't <3

Wrong

It’s all gone so hideously wrong.

It was never a simple mission to begin with, retrieving stolen information from people who would die to keep it in their possession. But it was something you had all done before, something you should have been more than capable of pulling off without so much as minor injuries.

The horrifying reality is setting in quickly though, your hand clutched to the left side of your collarbone, shuddering breaths pushed through gritted teeth as Soap attempts to shout something over deafening gunfire for merely two buildings over.

“We’ve got two down, Gaz is working his way to us, Ghost isn’t answering comms. Price is fine, the bullet passed through his leg, but Siren got hit below the left shoulder, they’re losing blood fast, the bullet made a clean entry through the back.” You’re barely listening to the reply from the evac squad, all you catch is an approximate time to pick up, 5 minutes. Apparently, there’s a medic on board. Every cloud and all that, you think, your head lolling down to assess the damage for the 4th time in 10 minutes.

Blood runs in nauseating streams between shaking fingers, soaking your uniform through to the skin underneath, the rough material sticking painfully to your wound, coaxing a hiss from bitten raw lips. Johnny’s eyes don’t leave you, worry etching itself into every fibre of his being, from his tense posture to anxiety ridden eyes, darting over various parts of your body as if examining for more wounds.

“Fuckin’ Christ L.T., how fucking copy,” He grits out, fingers holding his transmitter-receiver so hard that even in your shock ridden state, you worry it might just crumble in his hands. After another few seconds of tense silence, he speaks again, “Captain and Siren are down, evac is in T-4 minutes, and you need to get your ass down here right now, I don’t know where the fuck you are or what you’re doing, but if you miss the deadline, we’re leaving without you.”

For the first time since being shot, tears well against your lashline, unable to tell if your head is shaking as ferociously as you want it to in your weakened state. They can’t leave him behind, they can’t do that. He’s their squad member, their Lieutenant, your partner, the love of your life. You refuse to ever leave him behind, would rather they let you bleed out on this manky floor before you ever let that happen.

And then, a crackle.

“This is Ghost, package received.”

It’s relief that floods your system initially, pure unadulterated elation that he’s alive, he’s alive and he’ll be back, he won’t leave you.

But then his words sink through the cottonwool that seemingly clogs your mind, the gears turning enough to figure out that despite being compromised only a few minutes into the start of the mission, he still went for the stolen information.

In retrospect, that shouldn’t have been so shocking, but after months of domestic bliss with Simon Riley, you had almost forgotten about the Ghost. Neglected the memories of a man who was driven by a near suicidal need to complete missions handed to him. And it fucking hurts, more than the bullet hole through your shoulder ever could.

“What the fuck do you mean package fuckin’ received, we called for a retreat 20 minutes ago Ghost, you were meant to be here, not fucking around trying to find something we could have–,”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The interruption comes from Price, somehow looking as composed as ever despite his injury, the only sign he had been hurt at all were the slight tremors to his hands as he reaches up to his own transceiver.

“Just get yourself back here son, in one piece, preferably.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

You close your eyes, willing away the tears that threaten to roll down dirtied cheeks, because if you cry, it makes this real, and not some twisted nightmare you’ll surely awaken from, safe in the strong arms of your love.

“Siren, come on, I need you to keep your eyes open, stay in the room with us, okay?”

Gaz? That’s new. Gathering enough strength, you lift your chin, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you try to focus your gaze on him.

“There we go, we’re not done with you yet, Sergeant.” Gaz pins you with a reassuring smile, his hand coming to pat your knee as he crouches next to you.

“Ah, I knew you were all just using me for my impeccable combat skills and wicked charm,” you drawl, your lips turning up into a hint of a smile.

“Impeccable combat skills that got you shot in the shoulder, no less.” Despite feeling weak, and slightly woozy from bloodloss, you still don’t miss the opportunity to lightly shove at Gaz’s torso.

“Soap, we’re half a klick out from your location, be ready to extract in 30 seconds."

The momentary light-hearted banter is immediately quashed by a terse silence, the dawning realisation that Simon still isn’t here.

He still isn’t there when you hear the sound of a Humvee tearing down the road to the derelict building you’re all hiding in.

He still isn’t there when Soap creaks the door open, only to be met with a medic and two soldiers carrying stretchers.

He still isn’t there when both you and Price, much to the Captain’s chagrin, are assisted onto thick green gurneys, and carried into the back of the vehicle.

It’s only when your nerves have been frayed to their very core, until you’re mere seconds away from diving out through the small car window when you finally catch a glimpse of someone tall, someone familiar, your Simon. Euphoria surges through your bloodstream, all feelings of pain as the medic begins to assist with your wound numbed by the knowledge that he’s okay, he’s safe, he came back to you.

You seem to be the only one even remotely excited to see him, however. From the moment he near dives into the side door, barely able to sit before the truck wheels spin against gravel and take off down an endless dirt path to supposed safety, a suffocating hush envelops the entirety of the squad. The atmosphere so thick, it suspends you in it, makes your limbs feel like lead where they fall limp at your sides.

Though no one dares speak, unwilling to risk the release of pent-up anger, frustration and fear that crackles through the air akin to static energy, wild and unpredictable, Simon’s eyes hold nothing but utter worry. Dark, frenzied irises flickering from your shoulder where the medic continues to care for your injuries, to your face, though never meeting your gaze head on.

You can already sense the guilt setting in, more than used to how his mind works, lost in a constant battle of morals he can never seem to win. It’s frustrating to watch the way he reprimands himself, shoulders hunched to his ears, hands curled into tight fists against his thighs. The once towering, formidable force reduced to someone human. Someone struggling.

But still, you daren’t say a word, now is neither the time nor the place.

30 agonising minutes later, and the truck finally pulls up outside a safehouse. An old, abandoned factory building, if you had to make a guess. The roof looks like it’s one strong breeze from falling off, but what else is new?

Simon doesn’t take his eyes off you as you’re assisted out of the truck. Doesn’t dare blink when you shoo the medic away and towards a grumbling Price. You try to shoot him your best reassuring smile, the gesture rendered meaningless when you nearly trip over a rock after your first step, only saved by Soap darting forward and steadying you with an arm hooked around your waist.

Simon doesn’t move a muscle. His feet remain planted to the floor below him, and you can’t help but get the sickening feeling that something is very fucking wrong. In all the years you’ve known Simon, you’ve never seen him like this, near paralysed, painted black eyes ridiculously wide, so childlike in their fear. He looks nothing like the man you’ve grown to love, strong and steady in his emotions. And it chills you to the bone.

It's only once the door creaks shut that the silence is broken.

“What the fuck was that, Ghost.” Harsh syllables highlighted by a Glaswegian accent sound from next to your ear, your head twisting to the side only to be met with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

You barely have the time to process the way that electricity sparks dangerously in the dusty atmosphere before all hell seemingly breaks loose.

“That was me doing my fucking job, Sergeant.”

“Your job is to put every member of the taskforce at risk? When the fuck did you receive that order, Riley? Because I sure as shit don’t remember it.”

Ugly, torrid rage lashes out across the room like strikes of a whip, so powerful it sends you stumbling away from Johnny’s grip and towards more neutral ground, your eyes briefly locking with Gaz’s equally perturbed stare.

“I wasn’t endangering any of your lives by doing what I was trained to do MacTavish, you were all gonna make it out fine whether I completed the mission or not.” There’s something about him that feels entirely too off, though the mask is extending much further than the one that resides on his face. Except this one is splintered, it’s flawed, split edges giving away to insurmountable pressure until it has no other option than to disintegrate, raw, unfiltered emotions left exposed, completely vulnerable.

And all it takes to break down the wall that is Simon Riley comes from the other man opposite you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Simon? What sort of fucked up person lets his team, his fucking partner, nearly bleed out on the floor? Look at them,” A lone, shaking finger points towards you, “They could have died and where the fuck were you?”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The syllables scratch your throat with the force you spew them, but the damage has already been done.

You know that the second you glance at Simon and see nothing but the broken shell of a man, that you were too late. His body is vibrating with the force of his shakes, tremors wracking his body from head to toe, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, like a fish starved of oxygen. He’s having a panic attack. Or a flashback. Or something worse.

“Simon,” You call, keeping your voice calm as you swiftly approach him, ignoring the harsh twinge of pain as you lift both your arms up to curl your fingers around either side of his face, guiding his empty eyes down to you, “I’m right here, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

He gives you no sign that he’s even processing your touch, let alone your words, but you expect about as much. You may never have dealt with Simon’s trauma, but that doesn’t mean it’s new to you.

You keep talking to him, hushed, soothing reassurance along with sweeping fingers against masked cheekbones, physical and verbal reminders that no matter the size of the internal battle he faces, you’re right there with him, guiding him through. It’s only when large hands encircle your wrists do you feel any form of relief, brought nearly to tears as hollow brown eyes slowly ebb to life, pupils shining in the low light of the safehouse.

“You’re here.” His voice sounds scratchy, as though his inner cries were so visceral, they tore at his vocal cords, begging to be released. You’re not sure if you could ever handle hearing such noises from him, not without them plaguing your dreams for years to come

“Always.”

Your response has him crumbling, knees sinking to the cracked concrete floor with a resounding thump; strong arms come to wrap around your waist, near crushing you in his desperate grasp. You say nothing, simply cradling his head to your sternum, fingers soothing over the top of his mask as through they were threading through familiar strands of soft hazel.

You don’t have to look around to know that you and Simon are alone. That it’s safe for him to fall apart here, so you can tenderly piece him back together without prying eyes. You don’t care how long it takes, all you know is that you’ll be there to search through the rubble of his mind and find a new foundation, together.

It’s only after you’ve guided him to sit, swiftly placing yourself in his lap and pushing your bodies together until not a single space exists between you both, do you finally feel him settle against you. Your fingers hooking under his mask, lifting up, up, up, until you’re met with the face of your love, your Simon; the Ghost long forgotten as you place the mask on the ground beside your intertwined bodies.

Surprisingly, it’s him that brings your lips together, eyelids fluttering shut as you sigh against his mouth, following his hesitant lead, a kiss with the only intention of reassuring him that you’re still here, you’re still his.

And hours later, when you both lay on uncomfortable stone floor, arms and legs indistinguishable where they tangle together, you know it to be an irrefutable fact that despite his own beliefs, Simon Riley is by far the strongest man you’ve ever met.

But for those moments when he can’t be strong for himself, you will always be there to catch him, to piece him back together and remind him that he’s still whole, still human, and still yours.

Always yours.

#did i cry writing this #no one needs to know #but anyway i love him #he is tender and fragile pls treat him with care #also #soap and ghost immediately made up after this #have no fear #they are still best friends (/gay lovers but u didn't hear that from me)#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod mw22 #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #soft simon riley #cod x reader #☁︎⋅writing

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hajiimes · 7 months

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purple hydrangeas

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki au warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, and hospitals word count: 1.4k author's note: if this looks familiar at all that's cuz it's a repost from my previous blog (also hajiimes) from like 2-3 years ago lolol !! i revamped it and am reposting it here :D i'm sorry i was gone for so long it's been a wild time lol

masterlist

There’s a tickle in your throat and pain in your lungs. It’s been there for quite a while, so long that you’ve already forgotten what it felt like without the petals clogging up your lungs. You look at him, so unreadable, so unreachable . No one had told you that falling in love would hurt so much.

It’s silly, you tell yourself. Childish. Dumb. Foolish. First love, a deadly fate.

Suna Rintarou sits to your left in school and you cast glances at him whenever you’re sure that he’s paying more attention to doodling in his notebook than you. In your observations, you learn that Suna Rintarou dog-ears the pages of his textbooks to save his spot. You learn that he chews on the eraser at the end of his pencil when he thinks, leaving small indents in it when he pulls away to write. You learn that more often than not, Suna spends class time drumming his fingers on his desk, idly staring out the window instead of paying attention to the board.

Suna isn’t the type to forget any pens or pencils, but he always forgets to bring extra paper. You couldn’t count the number of times he’d leaned over the aisle separating the two of you to ask for a sheet of paper, to which you’d happily obliged every time—always willing to lend a helping hand. Those reluctant smiles he sent you out of gratitude always seemed to brighten your day.

Honestly, it’s no surprise that you developed Hanahaki.

He makes small jokes under his breath about classwork, little quips he doesn’t think anyone can hear. He offers you a pen whenever you forget one, accompanied with a small note stating ‘Give it back when you’re done’ wrapped around it. You end up keeping those notes, stuffing them between spare pages of your textbooks and notebooks.

Suna is a boy of few words, but when he speaks you find yourself hooked on every one of them. Your friends call it puppy love. They call it a little kid’s crush. They tell you that in a month you’ll forget all about it and move on to some other guy.

You don’t tell them that you probably won’t make it another month.

The coughing fits become more and more frequent, each one right after the other. They get worse during school, during those hours when you’re near him. Purple petals litter your desk and pile into your hands, but you just discard them into your school bag with reckless abandon.

Your friends approach you to ask if you’re okay. An easy, practiced smile stretches across your face and you wave them off like nothing is wrong. You tell them as much, you just have bad allergies! Nobody mentions that it’s not allergy season. You think it’s either out of mercy or pity that they leave you alone after that.

Sometimes you think you can see Suna looking at you during class when you’re trying to discretely spit petals in cupped hands, but you always brush it off as a trick of the light. You think you can feel his eyes on you when you’re talking to your friends, watching as you carefully place your hands over the stray petals you forgot to brush off the desk. You smile and wave off your friends’ concerns like you always do.

He never speaks up, never says anything about how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Suna goes on with his life like nothing is wrong, pretending he doesn’t see you cough up purple petals into your hands out of the corner of his eye during third-period math. He pretends that he doesn’t see you each day in his peripherals, too preoccupied with your own impending demise to worry about the functions written out on the whiteboard.

Even though things have changed so drastically for you, Suna stays the same.

You learn that he mumbles out the words when he’s reading something. You learns that he bounces his leg underneath the desk when you’re taking a test. You learns that he’s quiet, but that doesn’t mean he’s shy. When his friend—Miya Osamu, from the volleyball team—is around, he’s much more talkative than usual. You learn that he drops his bag on his desk loudly every day to wake himself up in the morning, the slamming of the books in the bag waking you up in turn.

It’s cruel, you think to yourself in those selfish moments you allow yourself to consider him between the last toll of the school bell and the beginning of club activities, watching as Suna packs his schoolbag and slings it carelessly over his shoulder. He spares you one single glance, his lips a flat line as he makes a beeline past his peers lingering at their desks and heads out the classroom door. You watch Suna walk away like he always does, sparing you a single merciful glance as you dump the last of the school day’s purple hydrangeas into the trash. It’s cruel that he doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

It’s getting worse.

Your parents beg you to tell them who it is, and how they can stop it from happening. They offer to switch your school, to pull you from club activities, to move prefectures if it helps. Your mom begs you to consider surgery; she pleads that you’re too young to die like this. You don’t care—you would rather die in love than live without it.

Each day you live with the disease is a day your body grows weaker and weaker. Your body runs cold and your head feels heavy every moment you has to hold it up. Your teachers, luckily, are merciful. They don’t say anything when you rest your head in class—they know your situation all too well. You can feel the pitying glances they send you during breaks and passing periods, their stares burning into the back of your head.

It comes upon you suddenly, like a summer storm, during history class. Bile and flowers rest in your throat and, without a word, you excuse youself to the bathroom—just barely making it there in time.

Flowers bloom in your lungs, growing more and more until the petals fill your throat and spill out of your mouth. It hurts, you want to scream out, It hurts so much, but when you opens your mouth to speak, petals fall out in red, bloody clumps in lieu of words. You clutch at your throat and squeeze, hard, in a futile attempt to force the flowers out.

It doesn’t work.

They find you in the second-floor school bathroom three minutes later. Petals surround you like a halo and, if it weren’t for the blood on your lips and the odd placement, one might think it’s some sort of art project.

You remember what happened in flashes. You’re rushed to the hospital. The doctors call your parents. You’re rushed into the operating room. You fall asleep, Suna’s name on his lips.

The flowers inside of your lungs are gone when you wakes, but a dull throbbing sits in their place. There are no flowers in the hospital room, no bouquets—something you find yourself grateful for. It’s funny somehow, the caution in which the people around you treat those silly little blossoms. It’s almost laughable, the way your family acts like you’ll break at the mere sight of a petal. Like you’re fragile.

It’s not long before you’re cleared to return to school, cleared to return to your fifth-row seat. People crowd you before class, each one asking if you’re okay, how the surgery was, and what it was like to have the disease. You wave them off with an easy smile, only saying that you’re glad to be back.

There’s a boy who sits to your left. He holds his pencil tightly in his hand, plump pink lips wrapped around the end as he chews lightly on the eraser. His leg bounces with deep-rooted anxiety whenever you glance over at him.

In the transition between second and third period, he passes a note with the words ‘Welcome Back’ written on it in hurried chicken scratch. You think it’s meant to be a joke.

When you look up at the boy, you finally notice that his gray-brown eyes are watching you. You raise your eyebrows, watching as the corners of his lips turn upwards—an offering of the smallest of smiles. This classmate is familiar somehow, a creeping presence in the back of your mind. A gap in memory that should be filled, a cavity in your heart. You know that you’ve met before—it’s obvious in the way he’s looking at you.

For some reason, you can’t remember his name.

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader

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aidaronan · 5 months

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24 for the Steddie/Spotify wrapped prompt!

Welp. This one got away from me and is less a ficlet and more of just... a fic, but here we go! 24 - Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Watch Me Bleed

Lucky Number 42

Tags & Warnings: Blood, Time Loop, MCD but it’s a time loop so…, maybe it's supernatural or maybe it's maybelline It’s March 27th for the 41st time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sickly colors of the Other Sky. He won’t forget the blood either, the way it stains Eddie’s shirt and mats up his pretty hair. The way it gushes through Steve’s fingers as he tries to hold it all in yet again, as though if he just squeezes tight enough, it’ll finally—finally—work this time around.

“Guess we’ll try again, huh?” Eddie smiles, red pooling in the cracks between his teeth. “Fuck, Stevie, why’s it always so cold?” Nearby, Dustin sobs uncontrollably. Steve won’t forget that sound either. It’s seared into his brain, all of it. The same day over and over and over again, both of them stuck in it together. Changing everything, changing nothing.

“What is it you told me, Eds? 42 is the answer, right?” Steve squeezes his hand tight, his heart so full of love and yearning and clogged-up grief that he can feel it all spilling painfully into his chest. “That’s gonna be it for us. Lucky number 42.”

But whether he heard him or not, Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s gone again, his eyes empty, his hand limp. Steve sinks into the dirt and hugs his knees, letting his forehead fall against his folded arms.

He has a mental tally running, everything that’s worked, everything that hasn’t.

There’s really only one direction left, the one direction Eddie wouldn’t entertain when Steve suggested it 28 days ago, 24 days ago, 15 days ago, 7... The more they fell for each other, the more vehement Eddie got about how that particular avenue was off limits, ‘un-fucking-entertainable, actually.’

It’s the only way though, has to be. There isn’t any other way left.

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve raises his head and crawls for Dustin, still crying, completely unaware of how many times they’ve been here before.

“I love you, Dustin. I love you and I’m sorry your childhood got absolutely shit on, and I hope you know you deserve better than all this.” Steve will say it again on the next loop, too, when it’ll actually (hopefully) count. But he needs to say it now. For himself.

“This can’t be happening,” is Dustin’s choked-out reply.

Steve wants to say that it’s okay, that he’ll fix it. But he and Eddie have also talked about how maybe all of it’s some kind of personal hell built just for them. So maybe there is no fixing it.

All Steve knows is he can’t watch Eddie die again, and he can’t watch anyone else die in Eddie’s place.

So…

So.

“I know.” Steve holds onto Dustin’s arm, waiting for the girls to make their way back to them so they can get out together, so Steve can shower and fall into bed and do what needs to be done. “I know,” he says again. And he does know. Fuck, he knows 41 times over.

It’s exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes later—it always is, give or take five minutes—when Steve finally lays his head on his pillow., curled protectively around Robin’s back. It’s another half hour or so before she cries herself to sleep.

Then countless unquantified minutes before Steve manages to drop off. On the edge of consciousness, he dreams a voice quietly speaking the number, “two.”

When Eddie asks the plan for the day, Steve lies. They sneak into the woods near the clearing and they have each other wholly, primally, sex forged from bonding in a way that only they could ever understand. And then they plan.

And Steve lies.

He suggests they rehash Day 13 with Day 42’s knowledge, plus Day 17’s solution for saving Max. He talks Eddie through the hang-ups, through the objections, feeling a sickening mix of resignation and guilt with every inch of ground he gains in convincing him.

In the end, Eddie nods. “Let’s do this then. Lucky number 42.”

“The answer to the universe, life, and, uh, all the other stuff.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and looks at Steve fondly, cupping his cheek. “How many roads must a man walk down indeed.”

When they kiss for luck, Steve focuses on every single millisecond, on the way Eddie’s lips feel, on the hands on him—small of his back, back of his neck—and on the feeling of Eddie’s hair sliding hairspray-rough through his fingers. Every little breathy sound, every note of birds calling, bugs flitting.

Life.

It may not have been everything Steve wanted, but he got to have this. For one fleeting moment, he got to fall in love and to be part of a small family of misfits. Some people never got that lucky.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too.”

It feels like a blink before they’re outside of the trailer, Dustin locked in the bathroom in Right-side-up Hawkins. It’s just them and their makeshift armor—spear and nail bat against the swarm.

Eddie looks at him and nods.

Steve looks back and chokes down a sob, summoning all the bravery he possesses. “Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

This is the easy part, years of sports and fighting all culminating in this moment. At full speed, Steve plows into Eddie, tackling him to the ground, covering his body with his own.

They’re already biting by the time Eddie reacts, fighting like hell, pushing with all the strength of someone who spent years hauling around band equipment and theater props. Eddie’s strength is mostly in his thighs though, a force he uses to drive the rest of him. If Steve keeps him on the ground long enough…

“You motherfucker. You motherfucking fuck! You fucking son of a goddamned…” A feral scream, a shove that Steve counters by squeezing Eddie’s arms tight against him. Eddie growls, broken and desperate, “Stevie, please.”

They’re both fighting hard and with all the love in their bones. Apologizing over and over, Steve forces his fingers deep into the dirt, gripping the roots of rotten hell-vines hard even while the bats chew, even while he cracks his fingernails, and his hands bleed along with his body.

He’s halfway dead by the time the bats drop, and he knows it.

Eddie pushes him off and gets onto his knees and Steve can’t help but smile because Eddie is gloriously and beautifully okay. There’s a bite on his arm along with a few scratches from their tussle, but that’s it. He’ll make it this time. He’ll make it.

“I did it,” Steve says, falling onto his back despite the fact that it’s nothing but open wounds. “I did it. You’re alive and no one else is gonna…”

Eddie replies with a broken scream, with hands that reach for the bloodied hole on the side of Steve’s neck, that try to turn him over to see where else they need to press.

“Don’t.” Steve grabs weakly at his wrists. “Please, just… Let me. See if it works.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Eddie blinks out several tears. “Fuck you. I said not this. Not this.”

“It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, Eddie. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to go, you know. Why we couldn’t break—” Steve coughs wetly. “God, it really is cold, huh?”

“Just… Just stay, okay, Stevie. Be stronger than me. Hold on, and that’s how we’ll break it, yeah? With you living.”

In the distance, Steve can hear Dustin finally bursting out of the trailer, crying his name.

He blinks up at Eddie’s brown eyes and smiles at the warmth of his hands on him.

Somewhere else, he can hear voices, unfamiliar and new.

“Oh,” Steve says, the edges of his vision going black, swallowing up Eddie’s face. “So there really is something else after all.”

Death, it seems, is darkness. Not terrifying but restful. Not cold, not warm either.

Just floating, quiet and peaceful.

“Two.”

A voice flows out of the void, a voice Steve thinks he may have dreamed once or even more than once. It’s quickly followed by more, all speaking rapidly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Four in cold blood. Undoing.”

“Two from love’s sacrifice. Healing.”

“And so it is. See how it all knits back into one.”

“Then it is done. Send him back.”

Steve tries to open his mouth. “Where—?”

He never finishes the question.

Steve blinks awake to the rhythmic sounds of a machine beeping.

He slowly turns his head to find Robin curled up in a chair next to him, snoring softly with a book steepled open in her lap.

“Rob?”

She startles awake and locks eyes on him before exclaiming with a smile that goes instantly tearful, “Holy shit. Steve.”

From a lumpy bag by her feet, she unearths a walkie-talkie, nearly flinging it at him in her haste to use it. Her hands are shaking when she brings it to her face.

“Hey, uh, everyone. We’re… We’re having a good hair day.”

There’s a chorus of voices, all of them expressing some kind of joy and relief, all of them saying they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“Already in the van. Munson over and out.”

He’s there within five minutes, hair in a messy bun that implies he might have genuinely thrown it up while steering with his knees.

Standing in the doorway, he pauses, eyes on Steve. Steve feels like his entire stomach might drop out under the weight of that gaze. If he’d had any reason to wonder if Eddie remembered all the loops, he’d have no doubt now.

“Hey Rob, can I have a minute with Stevie boy here before the entire Scooby Gang shows up?”

“Uh…” Robin looks back and forth between them, furrowing her brow at Steve before getting up. “Yeah, sure.”

She softly closes the door on the way out, and just like that they’re alone.

“I should kill you all over again for what you pulled, you know?” Eddie says, sitting down and reaching for Steve’s hand.

“You should.”

“But then again, here we are.”

“Here we are. How long was I…?”

“Dead? Or here? Because you did die. I checked your pulse, listened for a breath, fucking everything. And then the girls showed up and out of the blue, you twitched a fucking finger, so Nance and I… You’ve been in the hospital for a week.”

“I had a dream. Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I don’t know.” Steve thinks about it again, the infinite peace of the void. “There were, uh, voices, and I think they were saying you and I both had to be willing to die for each other. Like specifically two people in love. To undo Vecna. Are the gates…?”

“Closed, but that could be because Nance and Robin flambéed him alive.”

“Yeah.”

“More things in heaven and Earth though, Stevie. We did just repeat March 27 for a month and a half. Maybe someone was looking out for us. Or they just really fucking hate Vecna. There are many options for motive here.”

Steve rubs at Eddie’s knuckles with his thumb. He hadn’t even taken the time to put his rings on. “So many.”

“It’s over though,” Eddie says. “All of it. The suits cleared my name in five minutes and Hopper ripped the local PD a new asshole. Only question now is…” Eddie gives the spot where they’re holding hands a pointed look. “Now what?”

Steve thinks for a second, mouth twitching at every stolen happy moment in those 42 days of hell. Every smile, every kiss, every sneaky sweaty fuck. Every little conversation that made him laugh, made him feel, made him fall. “Do you remember Day 19 when I asked where you’d go if you ever left Hawkins?”

“I do. By then we’d already given each other hand jobs so I had exactly zero qualms about saying I’d go to San Francisco where I could be gay as hell and also make the heaviest of metal.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I’m assuming I have to stay in this hospital for a little longer and probably sign, like, another pile of papers that say I won’t tell anyone the government broke Hawkins because they were experimenting on little kids. But after that, why not?”

“Why not? Just like that? ‘Eddie, let’s move in together and also let’s do that in California.’ That easy, huh?”

“We just lived through the end of the world 42 times, Eds. Why the hell can’t it be?”

Eddie laughs quietly and looks down at his lap, shaking his head, a few tendrils falling out of the bun as he does.

Outside of the room, Steve hears a series of sneakers squeaking on linoleum. The door bursts open and Eddie quietly pulls his hand away. But he’s smiling ear to ear when he leans back to let a gaggle of teens throw themselves semi-gently onto Steve for half-hugs.

“Well okay then, Stevie,” Eddie says over the sound of six other people talking at once. “If that’s what you want.”

#steddie #fanfic #mine #spotify wrapped but make it fics #time loop

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rodolfoparras · 23 days

Text

I know you know that you accidentally revealed yourself but dw sugar I got you!

I’m not sure I understand you well though sugar is it that you feel that the writer has a fem audience in mind but uses gn pronouns or are you saying that fem insert writers tag something as gn when the piece uses fem pronouns?

I’ve come across a lot of pieces that are advertised as gn but cater to a fem aligned audience and by that I man you’ll read a piece and it’ll say “you were drowning in his clothes” or “you looked up at him” now I’m not saying men can’t be shorter than their partners ( matter of fact a lot of us are ok😞) and I’m sure a lot of men have a much smaller build which would result in them drowning in characters clothes

The issue here is that these descriptions are commonly found in fem insert fics so by attempting to write a gn piece and include these descriptions you’re just making another fem reader piece but advertising it as gn reader

Not to mention those descriptions are problematic because where are the tall fem reader? The fem reader who wouldn’t drown in character’s clothes?

When I see something advertised as gn I except the reader to be blank as a canvas and by that I mean I don’t want any descriptions of the reader if you’re a writer who loves to write detailed descriptions write them for the character in question let me build the reader myself

It’s also a way to ensure you include every and any reader. Do not write “your cheeks turned bright red” do not write “he ran his hand through your hair” be mindful that not everyone will look bright red in the face when they blush be mindful that different hair types and hair styles won’t allow the character to run their hand through readers hair

Another thing is if you write gn pieces let reader be the one to ask character on a date let reader be a possessive bastard over character let reader be the protective guard dog a lot of fem insert fics center around the idea that character should ask reader out character should be possessive over reader character should be the guard dog and it’s obviously because of heteronormativity. When you decide to write a gn fics you have to leave the idea behind that reader will be the stereotypical cis straight woman that’s usually depicted in fem insert fics

Also fem insert writers who tag anything in their work are just trying to stand out among all fem insert writers but they’re clogging up the wrong type of tags by doing that so yes please do tag your work correctly

#not writing #🧊 anon

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koqabear · 8 months

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2K Event | Celebrate with me!

event status: closed. // masterlist

Thank you all so much for all the love and support you’ve given me for my stories; for following along with all the insane ideas I come up with, and anticipating fics even if they take forever to come out. This has been an amazing experience, and I’ve been able to grow both as a person and with my writing thanks to all those who leave feedback and interact with me. I’m so grateful that I’ve been given this platform to share ideas I’m passionate about, so I’d like to give back with this small event I’ve made :)

Have fun with this, but make sure to read and follow the rules!

Rules:

-I am no longer accepting submissions!

-please indicate if the ask you’re sending in is related to the event and what you’ve chosen!

-i have the right to deny requests, whether i find myself uncomfortable with them or simply am not inspired by them; that doesn’t mean i won’t try though, and i am pretty flexible with topics! [if necessary, i will make a won’t write list.]

-i will accept up to two members per request.

-i can accept up to two asks per person/anon.

-if doing the mic is yours, i can accept ot5 reactions.

-all requests are expected to be under 2K, unless your ask is just so genius that I can’t help myself and get carried away hehe

-i will be using the tags for the general event and different asks, so block tags if you don’t want your feed clogged/don’t want to see certain posts.

-all submissions will be placed onto a separate masterlist.

-if requesting smut/sending nsfw links, you must be 18+; i trust that anons who request smut/send links follow these rules and respect my boundaries.

-Tags for the event:

[2K event!] // [revisiting stories] // [song equations] // [q&a] // [the mic is yours] // [nsfw]

✩ Revisiting stories

This is for those who just have a certain au they just can’t get enough of; can range from full fics like Only You, Darling to small drabbles like Pay Attention. Just give me a fic, an idea/trope, and genre, and I’ll write what would happen!

Examples:

-Stuck with You Taehyun reacting to the mc falling in love with him? hurt + comfort

-Killer Instinct but with a Beomgyu focus? smut + action

✩ song equations!

You all (hopefully) know by now that music is a big inspiration to me when it comes to writing. So, this is a chance for you to get a hold of the aux and sneak in your own songs! Send me a song, what member(s), and genre(s)! I’ll listen to it and give you a short drabble inspired by it :)

Examples:

-new jeans, super shy + soobin + smut and fluff = nerd!soobin x popular!mc

-childish gambino, sober + yeonjun + angst and smut = ex!jjun who you’re not over and still hookup with TT

✩ q&a with sol :)

ask me about myself, my wips, my fics, what song I listened to last— I ofc will not be answering anything too personal, but feel free to shoot your shot and I will answer what I'm comfortable with!

✩ The mic is yours! [hard + soft hours are open]

send me any thoughts u may have of the boys and i’ll indulge with u 😋 i will be accepting nsfw links, so make sure to block any nsfw tags if you are a minor/uncomfortable with it.

✩ get creative with it, i can’t wait to see what you all send in! ✩

#[2k event!]#[revisiting stories]#[song equations]#[q&a]#[the mic is yours]#[nsfw]#<< tags for the event :3 #txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt x reader #txt smut

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thecuriousquest · 8 months

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Hello!! So I just read … and I was wondering if you’d wanna do a part 2? Maybe of like the reader ignoring him after cause she really was telling the truth and him trying to get the reader to forgive him? Only if you want to! ❤️

https://www.tumblr.com/thecuriousquest/719858233829965824/what-happened-to-your-tag

What Happened to Your Tag? Part Two

Tag List: @issamomma

Checkout my Master List here.

Part One of What Happened to Your Tag?

Warnings: Yandere themes, SFW, manipulation, mentions of abuse, I didn’t have a lot to work with, don’t come at me with plot holes, Kakashi is doing his best

—————————————————————————

Kakashi walks into your bedroom to check on you. He feels so guilty for assuming that you had tried to run away after he found the tag on the floor.

You hear his footsteps grow closer to you before they stop a few feet from your bed. With your eyes focused on the ceiling, you silently pray for him to leave.

“I…Y/N, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to makeup for what happened? I could make you something special for dinner? Would you like that?”

As if food could keep you from relieving those electric currents over and over again. You still shiver at the thought of convulsing.

You answer him by turning your back to the silver haired man.

“How much longer are you going to keep this up for? How many more times do I have to apologize? I messed up. I didn’t think you were telling the truth. The thought of you leaving…you can’t leave me.”

When the pregnant pause turns into an uncomfortable stretch of silence, he places a hand on your shoulder. Of course you flinching makes him feel even worse, but he is determined to look you in the eyes.

Taking a place on the bed next to you, he helps you sit up so that you’re facing him.

“I hate myself so much for what I did to you. Believe me, it will never happen again. I promise you. Please, you need to understand that. I didn’t enjoy doing that to you. I just couldn’t bare the thought of you leaving me. I was alone for so long before I met you. You make me see the best in the world again.”

Placing a hand on his masked cheek, you let tears fall from your eyes. “Kakashi, I asked you to believe me too. I told you that I wasn’t trying to run, but you didn’t believe me. You didn’t even look at my room to make sure I wasn’t lying.”

Clutching your hand as if it’s his lifeline, Kakashi sinks into your palm. “I know. I was completely wrong to do that.”

“It was hard at first, but I really have grown to love you, and then you did that to me. I’m scared of you. You terrify me. How can I ever trust you again when you electrocuted me within an inch of my life?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as thick tears clog your throat.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. What can I do to regain your trust?”

Taking your hand away from him, you fold your hands and place them on your lap. All you can offer is a shrug. “That’s for you to decide. I don’t have any answers for how you can make this better, Kakashi. You abused me. I don’t even know if I can forgive you for that.”

You can’t console him. You won’t console him. He’s the monster who left burns and bruises on you with his Chidori. He’s the one who slapped you across the face and called you a liar.

He’s the one who won’t let you step foot outside without him.

You never thought you would see this hardened man with tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away rapidly. His mask hides what is probably a bitten lip, but even if you could see it, you wouldn’t care. You just can’t bring yourself to care anymore.

“Get out, Kakashi. I want to sleep.”

You turn back towards the wall, facing away from the ninja. It isn’t until several seconds later that he sighs and leaves with dejection weighing down his heart.

He closes the door behind him and slides down it. He looks up at the ceiling and wonders if things will ever go back to the way they were before the incident.

Kakashi begins to fabricate an idea. It takes a while for the details to play out, but he’s sure it will work. It has to if he ever wants you to look at him with love again in his eyes.

———

The jonin didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve given him no other choice. With his Sharingan, he places you in such a deep sleep while he dissects your mind. He overrides your memories, making it as if he was never mad at you in the first place. Kakashi makes sure you remember the events differently.

He congratulated you on a job well done with your room. He lifted you up and gave you a kiss on the cheek even though his mask hid his lips. He even made you a special dinner, telling you that hard work makes for a big appetite. The burn scars are from you practicing a fire style jutsu without Kakashi’s supervision. A harsh scolding was all you received, however.

When you wake up, you feel groggy and a little disoriented. Placing a hand on your head, you walk down the hall to the kitchen. “Honey, I had the weirdest dream.”

As Kakashi is making tamagoyaki, he looks at you with a raised brow. “What did you dream about, my love?”

“Well, don’t get upset, but we had this huge fight over me moving that bookshelf in my room. You hit me, yelled at me, and you even used your Chidori on me. The shocks felt so real. Anyway, I’m just glad it was all a dream. That smells really good by the way.“

“Thanks. Yeah, I can see why you’re a little shaken up. That sounds like more of a nightmare than a dream. Let’s hope you have better dreams tomorrow night,” he sympathizes while handing you a plate.

“Thanks for the food, sweetie.”

He gives you a kiss on the head, a kiss that you find yourself leaning into.

“It’s not problem, my love. It’s no problem at all.”

#triggering content #triggering themes #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #naruto shippuden #Naruto Shippuden Kakashi Hatake #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi #yandere kakashi #yandere kakashi hatake #yandere kakashi hatake x reader #yandere kakashi hatake x darling #kakashi x reader #the copy ninja #sharingan

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