#it feels less like I changed and more like my environment did

[zhalar]

hate that i have to come out. i hate that!!! i hate that if i want to experience a modicum of gender peace for these upcoming two years i have to tell my new teachers that im nonbinary and would like to use [this name] even though none of my official papers have it on them, and probably wont, cuz its not A Name that i can confidently believe will pass the naming convention.. laws... of this country. I HATE THAT I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO PLEAD MY CASE AND EXPLAIN MYSELF. im trying to construct this message that i’ve got no idea will even be read or noted just to have it in my student record somewhere that “hey im SOOOO sorry but if its not a problem to you i would love to feel like a human person even on a name-basis during my studies and im MORE than fine to be otherwise (mis)gendered as long as its not a problem to YOUUUUU also i know that my legal name is literally on show in every school email and profile so whatever i say here matters none cause everyone will only see that clearly gendered name and not give a flying fuck about this “”nickname”” im trying to get going since its not my LEEEGAAALL name but thats also so fine with me if i could Just get the clear to sign my emails and whatsapp messages with my preferred name thankyouuu :)” 

sorry im always complaining here it gets ANNOYING. im mostly trying to get my own brain straight about this matter. uhggh BUT ITS SO AWKWARD TO WRITE THAT MESSAGE. i dont want to explain myself but i also dont! want! to make a scene!!!! im so pissed off at myself for not opening my DAMN MOUTH when the group-wide introductions happened this week. shoulda just bit the bullet and said ive got [this] name in official papers but would prefer to be called särmä. literally could feel the nerve escaping my body when it came to my turn. fucking hell

(EDIT ive calmed down. i didnt send the message fuck this noise, im just gonna hope that i’ll get it out face to face this next week [biting through glass])

#i dont know man. im like 90% sure one of the classmates is a trans dude which. poggers as hell considering where we are #(hes got trans-flag color beads in his shoelaces and i may have seen a binder but genuinely none of my business its just smile to me) #so me coming out nonbinary shouldnt be a big deal . hopefully. but being binary trans and nonbinary are still kinda different things #for some 50yo man to wrap his mind around. clearly. when they keep referring to our group as boys and girls (men and women) exclusively #this would all be so much easier if i'd just changed my name legally and come clean to anyone in my daytoday life. bet id be more confident #introducing myself as särmä to strangers that way #särmäs sermons #its always this flavor with me lol #ALSO YEAH LMAO FUCK. FUUUCK picking my name i didnt foresee that särmä is a Work Word that people in this field Use <3 #did not fucking occur to me that o yeah woodworking = maths = geometry I FEEL SO SILLYYYYYY AND NOT IN THE FUN WAYYYYY #i could just use the regular ol finnish almanac name that ive got for situations like this one but its so clearly Male that im even LESS #confident trying to get near strangers call me that in a work/school environment #i love you trans people who take up space and are upfront and loud about your transness youre literally everything to me. #one day im gonna be like you.

[idanceuntilidie]

What about yandere prince over his favorite knight? Male reader ofc :)

I am done I deserve mac n cheese and almonds

Hope this was okay.

Yandere Prince x male reader

tw: yandere themes and being held against will

You were assigned to prince Charlie since you were little, so naturally you were very protective of him.

You two shared a very special bond of course, two best friends since childhood.

But for prince Charlie, it was oh, so much more. At first he didn’t understand it, you were there more often than not.

He remembers how often you clinged to him when you two were younger. You were supposed to be the one protecting him, he didn’t mind that.

As you two grew older, you got braver and stronger. You even spend less time with him. He noticed something was wrong with him.

An unknown feeling blossomed in his chest.

And you made it so much stronger.

It’s not really like you did anything special, you just,

existed.

He started to appreciate your existence more. How when you smiled your cheeks were dusted by pinkish colour and your eyes twinkled with such a happy flame.

How you wielded your sword and how brave you were.

He watched you, heart longing for you. For your little touches, your laughs.

Oh how he wishes you two were kids again, he would protect you from danger and you would cling to him and never let go.

You were so far away but at the same time so close. After a while, just watching wasn’t enough, he needed you back and he would do everything to make it happen.

You noticed a slight change in your environment.

It started small, maids, servants and other knights started to ignore you. They shook when they saw you and ran away.

You weren’t a violent person, so you didn’t understand what was wrong.

It hurt slightly, but you can’t just go around crying. You were a royal knight after all.

Then Prince Charlie requested you must be near him at all times, you expected that since you were his personal knight,

no more strolls through the castle and gardens. No more training. You can’t leave him, not even to eat or sleep.

You feared the last one. You feared you might grow weak, but you can’t let your prince that so you stayed silent.

You didn’t dare to eat, drink or sleep in his presence, much to his dismay. You thought it was disrespectful to even do these things in his presence, EVEN if you two knew each other all your lives.

After some time your body could in fact, not take it anymore so you fainted.

You woke up not long after, laying on the comfiest bed you had ever felt. Stripped from your armour and chained to the bed. Your first thought was that someone broke in and hurt your prince, naturally, you began to struggle. Your body was weak due to the lack of food or sleep.

You didn’t notice your Prince walking cheerfully through the door.

“Oh you are up, how wonderful”

He chirped happily. Your tired eyes followed his figure.

“Your.. highness? What is the meaning of this?”

You asked, voice raspy. Swallowing hurt so much.

“Oh you had fainted my dear knight”

he hummed as he placed something on the table. You tried to move your arms, you felt weak. Chains only rattled quietly because of your movement, it caught Charlies attention.

“Don’t you dare to move y/n”

“Just, just take me to the doctor I will be fine in few days and-“

His pale face turned cherry red in anger.

“No! You are only allowed to see me, only me! I AM taking care of you now!”

His voice boomed loudly in your ears. You winced.

He turned away from you, trying to calm down, then took something from the table, a plate. Charlie walked to the bed, and placed the plate on a nightstand, so he could uncuff your hands.

Your body felt weak, you let him sit you up.

“Now, let me feed you yeah? You must be oh so hungry, and then we can spend some time together.”

he smiled, you were too weak to argue so he took your silence as an agreement. You prayed silently that this was just a dream.

#yandere prince #prince yandere #yandere prince x male reader #yandere prince x reader #male yandere x male reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #male yan #yandere #male reader #x male reader #male yandere x male darling #tw yandere #yandere blog #oc yandere #yandere x darling

[aceofpatience]

🤍Love Messages from your soulmate🤍<- Pick-a-Pile reading

Hello, my little oysters!🐚

If you wish to know what your soulmate would like to say to you, you are in the right place 🍪. I will be channeling their energy, looking into their love language and seeing what they love the most about you, as well as any extra messages that might come through. If anything resonates, please leave me a comment below. It will bring me much more joy than any chocolate bar can (so you know it's serious). Hope you enjoy! Shall we SEA?🍫

Pile 1. -> The Tower

Your soulmate energy: Duality, twins. Your person chooses the hard way. They are the savior, rather in the shadows. Even though you are destined for each other, they still want to be the best option for you. If they have the inclination that you could be more secure by yourself, they would step back and love you from afar. They have strong energy, kinda stubborn - when they set their mind on something they see it to completion. And that’s how they feel about you. No doubt in their mind that they want you. For you they are the noble knight, but for your enemies? Not so much.

Their love language: Communication. A lot compliments. They just expres their feeling for you openly. You can see on their face how much they adore you. Quality time - always ready to choose you over other things. Providing space for you. Neck kisses. Playing your body like an instrument (love to hear you moans, being vocal). Playing with your hair.

What they adore about you: Your quirks. They really appreciates how you two perfectly completes each other in terms of who is the more dominant or submissive partner (quite effortlessly) - it can shift from time to time. They love that they can see themselves starting a family with you. Also your hair, figure, curves (whenever you have them or not).

The messages: They want to say A LOT to you. Very prominent throat chakra. They really want to protect you, take care of you and your needs, again knight vibes. Classical provider. „Even if right now I cannot take care of you, I will, when it’s time and nurture you. You, my love, deserve the best and I have to make sure I can give you exactly that, nothing less.” It’s all or nothing for them. Even if they are away from you, it’s in order to create a safe environment for you. „For now, I’m in the shadows, waiting for you to call for me.” They are so devoted to you, they want to eliminate any danger in your life. „I just need you to choose me, my dear.” -> It’s almost like you have someone else in your mind right now. It’s your call who you will choose.

Pile 2. -> The Death

Your soulmate energy: Intense, captivating gaze. They are alone right now. I see them sitting by themselves by the water, calmly smirking (??? Idk, dude). But the big change is incoming - the water turns it’s color. Longing in their heart. I think when you finally come together (lol), you will quickly commit. And it’s gonna heal them, with you they will be given a whole package (the family for example).

Their love language: Snake. Teasing. They love pulling you close to the edge (both sexually and not) and than withdrawing, keeping you on your toes. Might be into begging (big on oral sex). They observe you VERY closely but you might not even notice to what extend. It’s like out of the blue they bring you some gift you always wanted, but never told them about. And you like „How did you know???” And they just *smirk*. And they are kinda controlling, but let me explain! They give you the space to make your own decisions, but it’s like they knew from the begging what you will chose. Cos they know you.

What they adore about you: Equally pulling forces. They love you both are able to keep up with the other’s pace. It’s not about what they adore ABOUT you, they simply love how you are inside (It wasn’t supposed to be that dirty lol) - I mean your SOUL. To them you are strong and stubborn and invincible in your ways of being. You have so many faces and they love them all. Im getting the feeling you both knew each other in the past lives (one tribe energy). And you legs - they find them hot for sure.

The messages: Sleeping beauty vibes. „I know you’re sleeping now, *insert nickname*, but I will get to you as soon as I can, I promise. And I will bring some nice gifts.” *Winking.* Very cheeky energy, very flirty. I feel they might be using some corny nicknames for you, first as a joke to poke you, but you will (secretly) learn to love them. „I’m on my way to you, you are my most important MISSION. Wait for me, trust this connection. Don’t stres about it, darling.” They love your face, to them you are unbelievably beautiful, kind of like a fairytale princess/prince.

Pile 3. -> The Magician

Your soulmate energy: Powerful. Determined. Sooo smug. „Rich boy” vibes. I feel like they grew up in a very wealthy environment, surrounded by people who sometimes were ready to fulfill their every need as a child without any questions. But even though everything is going great for them, they are seekers, constantly chasing after something. When they want something they go after it, they love to chase. They appear more put-together and serious to the outside world but you see their more chaotic and emotional, even mischievous side.

Their love language: Even in relationship they will still act as if they want to win you over, still putting in the effort. They are your biggest supporter, they see the sides of you you don’t like and put them into the light, turning them into art. In this relationship you will reach your full potential.

What they adore about you: Your intellect. And maybe your more rational side. It’s like you’re the only one that gives it to them straight. Your harsher words might turn them on.  As a child they may have been coddled a lot and they love your honest approach, even if  it can be rough. They like to bargain and negotiate with you, even about small things. Your fight might evolve into something more steamy… heh. I feel you might have a lot of inside jokes.

The messages: „You’re so special.” They love the feeling of being in love with you. Being alone with you brings them emotional fulfillment. „I see how you have become more indhpentd and I’m so proud with you. You’re my queen and I can’t wait to find this solitude and peace with you.” Even when you are fighting they feel at peace. And again - kinda SMUG. Maybe for some of you - this connection may have started as a hookup that led them to the need to win you over just for satisfaction of winning AND THEN they actually feel in love. There is no doubt in their mind that they want you, they will reach you and claim you. hEH.

Pile 4. -> The Moon

Your soulmate energy: Solitude. Mysterious. Rich spiritual world. They might get cold feet when they think about you (more literally than metaphorically lol). Your connection is guarded form above (Angel protectors squad). They are very patient and mature individuals. They are not very verbal about their emotions, but it’s not like they are neglecting them, they ale calmly staying by your side.

Their love language: No grand dramatic gestures of love, but you will find yourself in this warm and beautiful atmosphere created by them. They are great listeners, offering you support and showing their care through simple everyday actions. You will feel seen, never neglected or alone.

What they adore about you: A LOT. Words aren’t their strongest suit, but their love for you is true. They love your youthful, enthusiastic or a bit overconfident energy. Compared to them you seem as a big ball of sunshine. They love emotions and especially how you express them. The joyful part of you make them come out of their shell. They love your body, I think they are actually quite kinky lol. It’s like they seem reserved, maybe innocent, but then this demon comes out to play. 

The messages: They want to take care of you, every day make sure you’re okay. If you will be apart they for sure will be texting you every second, checking up on you (gif and emojis). A little mermaid (without a voice!) „You are a completely new creature to me, but you’re my dream come true. I want to be a part of your world.” They leave their comfort zone for you, and even though it scares them, it’s SO worth it. Im getting that they have so many warm feelings about you, that it’s hard for them to put them into words.

#tarot #pick a card tarot #pick a card #love reading #tarot reading #tarot witch #pick a reading #love #pac reading #pac tarot #love messages #18+ content #18+ tarot #spotify #intuitive

[pandoraslxna]

ohh my!! \(°o°:)/ I loved "sharing is caring"! , I was wondering if u could do more spider smut, please!!(no rush tho! <3)

The Na‘vi way

adult Spider x female recom reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: To walk, eat, talk and even think like a Na‘vi, that was one thing. But to dress like one? That was a whole new level of commitment just to get this job done.

Warnings: explicit smut, just a small size difference, oral (f receiving), masturbating, fingering, praise kink, teasing, sexual tension, semi-public, hair pulling, tail pulling, Spider is a smug little bastard

Notes: I just realized that I completely forgot about Spiders mask so let’s just pretend he can breathe just fine without it… 🤦🏻‍♀️ Anyways, as you can see I‘m still not that confident in my ability to write for Spider and it somehow feels like he’s not as characteristically accurate as Id like him to be, but I still hope you guys will enjoy this! Let me know what you think pls I’d love to improve my spidey writing skills lmao 🥴

"This is ridiculous…", you mumbled as you peered down on yourself.

To walk, eat, talk and even think like a Na‘vi, that was one thing. To be fair, it was an easier said than done task for your squad. But to dress like one? This was a whole new level of commitment just to get this job done!

Spider thought it was amusing, watching the recoms get used to wearing loincloths and such, all in order to put themselves into their enemies position. That was, until it was your turn to get dressed. Or, well, get undressed.

Spider couldn’t help but stare at you for a good while, now wearing a loincloth and also a skimpy woven top that barely covered more than a few inches of skin. You were seemingly having a hard time getting comfortable with your new clothes, as you were trying your absolute most to hide yourself with your arms crossed over your chest.

He was used to seeing omatikaya women in less coverings than that, but still. There was just something about you showing that much amount of bare skin that had him feeling a little dizzy.

Snapping out of his thoughts before you could even realize that he was ogling at you, Spider cleared his throat, "It’s not ridiculous. Now you actually look like true Na‘vi."

"Lookin' good, buttercup", comes from beside you both, with a snickering laugh that made your cheeks light up bright red. "Fuck off, Wainfleet", you grumbled, "Let’s just get this over with…"

The idea was, to spend an entire day learning how to hunt, with nothing more than a bow and arrows, while also being dressed like a bunch of wannabe Na‘vi. Truth be told, Spider didn’t know if that would actually help them dealing with Jake, but it wasn’t like he was ever planning on actually helping them and betray his (more or less) adoptive family. After all, he was nothing more than a prisoner of war and maybe that was his payback for the way they had treated him so far. Couldn’t hurt to make a little fun out of a group of recoms that had no idea what they were even doing out here, right?

For someone who wasn’t even used to handling guns and such, you did pretty well with a bow.

As far as Quaritch had introduced his squad to him, Spider knew that you were some sort of combat medic, usually just jumping around to treat injuries and make sure nobody dies under your watch. You worked with the military, but you weren’t a soldier. You were also around an head or two smaller than the other woman, Zdinarsk or whatever her name was, which was a nice change, because for once Spider didn’t need to crane his neck entirely to talk to someone. You were pretty much eye level with him, in more than just one way. Compared to the others, you were friendly and kind, and at least you tried to be thoughtful of the environment out here.

When the eclipse neared, the recoms began to set up a small camp in the forest to rest for the night, finally done with todays 'lessons'. There was a river gurgling by and when the Colonel gave permission, you separated from the others to get washed up and redress.

"Oh, no. No. That’s not happening", Spider shakes his head at Lyle who was currently about to set up a small campfire. "What now, pinky?", the recom barks at him, haltering all movements to look at the human with painted on stripes.

"No fire in the forest, bro. That’s an unspoken rule. You’re gonna get us killed if—", Spider tried to warn him, but was cut off short, by the sound of someone calling his name in the distance. Turning to it’s direction and then back to Weinfleet, he points a warning finger at him and says, "no fire", before he’s off to whom had called him.

A little further away, down at the river, he finds you. Your brows are furrowed in what seems to be concentration and frustration at the same time. As he steps closer, he spots the source of your distress.

"Spider, oh thank god. Could you help me with this, please", you grumble, your hands busy fumbling with the tangled cords of your loincloth. "I can’t get this shit off…" The blonde can’t help but laugh when you groan in frustration.

"You have to untie it like this. No, no like—", he tries to verbally guide you, but you seemingly make things worse with the way you impatiently pull at each tiny knot, the strings now tangled between your legs and over your hips. It’s a mess.

"Here, let me help you", Spider then sighs and lowers himself onto one knee before you.

Normally, the woven cords that hold the cloth covering your crotch in place are supposed to be wrapped around your tail. Thanks to whatever you did, or tried to do here, they were now wrapped and tangled around one of your thighs.

"Open your legs a little", he tells you and you do as your told, making room so he could untangle you from this mess. One of his hands is firm on your thigh and you try to ignore the warmth of his palm and the way he unintentionally squeezes the soft of you flesh, while his other hand flips your loincloth up. "Hold this", Spider doesn’t wait for you to respond, already shoving the piece of fabric into your hands to hold it up and out of the way.

He’s entirely too close like this, you think.

You could feel his breath fan over your skin, his thumb on the inside of your thigh, while his other hand reached back and forth between your legs, slowly untangling you.

You had to admit, it’s been a while since the last time someone came this close to you, which made the whole situation so much… worse. Adverting your gaze from the man crouching in front of you, you tried to think of anything else than his hands so incredibly close to your private parts and the way it made you feel so on edge, that you had to concentrate on your breathing.

Meanwhile, Spider attempted to find something to focus on other than the textured rope holding the two halves of your loincloth together. It rode low. Pinching the flesh over your hipbones, like it was squeezing, teasing. There was also his hand, both of them entirely too close to your—

Glancing up, he found your eyebrows scrunched together as if you were concentrating very hard. You looked up at the sky and your chest raised and fell in deep breaths, seemingly trying to calm yourself.

You couldn’t have been more obvious if you tried.

With a hand still firm on your thigh, Spider gently squeezes the soft flesh to test the waters. A smug grin spreads on his face when you don’t immediately tell him to stop, your eyes still glued to anywhere but him. He knows it’s risky, knows it’s probably not the best idea, but he can’t help himself. His hand moves a little higher, until his thumb is barely an inch away from the thin cloth covering your sex. He traces the outline of your cunt, just a teasing touch that, if your senses weren’t on high alert already, you wouldn’t even have noticed.

A small gasp escapes you, when he adds a little more pressure on his thumb, but you still don’t tell him to stop. You only shift your stance slightly, your hands still holding the front of your loincloth in a tight grip. A task for which you were grateful for, otherwise you wouldn’t even know what to do with your hands.

Spider gently brushes his digit over the thin covering between your legs, feeling the delicate outline of your clit, until a small wet patch formed right there. A mouth watering sight. He watches intensely, how you let your head fall back, how you squeeze your eyes shut and a deep blush spreads on your blue cheeks that made them look a little purplish. He had to admit, you were adorable like this.

Dutiful to his task, he then pulls his hand away in order to untie the final string, and your loincloth slowly falls off of you.

"There, all done", the blonde says softly, smiling up at you. A beat passes in silence, with just the two of you looking at each other, and Spiders hands still firm on your thigh. Your lips are parted slightly, as if you were trying to say something, but your voice was nowhere to be found. His thumb rubs gentle circles over the soft blue skin of your inner thigh, and you exhale a shaky breath. The blush on your cheeks deepens, when his gaze falls to the glistening folds of your cunt, right in front of his face, and then back up at you.

"Can I?", he asks, to which you nod and whisper a breathless, "please."

It’s all he needs to hear to return his hand between your thighs, index finger swiping through your folds to locate your clit. His fingertip circles the tiny nub gently, while he pays close attention to the buckle of your knees when he touches it just right. Arousal begins to heat up your blood as he slides his digits from your clit to your entrance. Your breath hitches.

"You’re so wet", Spider murmurs, grinning, "Did you enjoy walking around like that today?"

"Shut up…", you whisper, although it sounds more like a whimper to him. With a chuckle, he continues his teasing touches, running a hand up and down your thigh while the other smears your slick back and forth.

His fingertips are featherlight as they tease the little nub of pleasure, drawing circles around it before he slides them back and dips them into you– just an inch, and your legs tremble. There’s a sound coming from deep within your chest as he repeats the same motion again, and it almost sounds like—

"Are you purring?", Spider snickers, "Fuck, that’s so cute." Before you can talk back however, his face inches closer and then his tongue darts out to give a kitten lick to your clit. Instantly, your hands fist into his locks to anchor yourself. A breathless moan slips past your lips once he flattens his tongue against you, groaning at the taste.

"Spider, the– the others…", you swallow thickly, trying to collect your rapid breathing, "they’re going to hear!"

"Hmh", he hums in agreement, glancing up to give you a teasing wink. "Guess you‘ll have to be more quiet then."

His mouth his back on you in a heartbeat, lips closing around your clit and then he sucks and your eyes flutter close in bliss. You have to bite down on your bottom lip, hard, in order to stay quiet, but it only gets worse when he finally inserts a finger into you.

"Oh, holy shit", you moan, quickly clasping a hand over your mouth.

Then, he wriggles a second finger in beside the first one, and starts to ease them out together, then back in, a slow, slick push. You squirm, high pitched moans falling from your lips, muffled against your palm, and then a choked and breathless noise as Spider settles into a slow rhythm, pushing in deep and curving to brush something inside you that has you clenching greedily around the digits.

Meanwhile his tongue continues to lap at your clit, rolling it over every inch of the wet, warm muscle before closing his lips around it again. He sucks, kisses and slurps and it’s so obscene, you can barely look.

It feels so good every time he curves his fingers into you, hooking and pressing at that special spot, that you don’t even realize how hard you had been pulling on his hair. But Spider doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s groaning into you like he enjoys this more than you do.

Your mind felt fuzzy, clouded with the squelching sounds he expertly worked out of your pussy until you were gasping and panting for air.

"S-Spider I‘m– wait, I‘m close, I’m gonna come", you half whisper, half whine, tugging his hair to make him stop for a second to look up at you.

His pupils are almost completely blown as his gaze meets yours, the bottom half of his face glistening in your slick and that smug little bastard has the nerve to smirk like a cat that got the cream.

"And?", he raises a brow, almost making a show out of licking his lips clean.

"You didn’t, I mean… you still haven’t–"

"That’s why you’re making me stop?", he chuckles like he can’t believe it, but then his eyes flash like an idea pops up in his mind.

The hand that had been resting on your thigh moves, slides down your leg before it finds the waistband of his own loincloth. With half lidded eyes you watch him pull his cock out, hard and leaking pre-cum in rich droplets that ooze from the slit of his tip, and you catch yourself swallowing at the sight.

Spiders hand closes tight around his shaft, giving himself a slow tug that makes him moan softly, and then his mouth is back on you. He’s stroking himself now, to the rhythm of his fingers that are pumping in and out of you. The low groans coming from him vibrates against your clit and you throw your head back at the pleasurable feeling.

He’s incredibly skilled with his mouth, you realize, aiming just right with the pointy tip of his tongue as he swipes over your clit in fast, tight circles. With the way he simultaneously scissors you open, it’s no surprise how quickly he can get you close again.

"F-Fuck, oh fucking hell", you moan in a whisper, "So good, feels so good! Oh– my god!"

Spiders cock throbs in his fist at the sound of your praise and he strokes himself faster, harder, teasing the slit with his thumb, imagining it’s your tongue instead. His eyes are shut and his brows are knit together in concentration as he makes out with your clit, feeling it twitch on his tongue and your walls spams around his digits.

He’s full on groaning, grinding his face between your thighs as he feels his own orgasm approach, he just needs a little more, just—

"C’mon, pretty. Come for me", he muffles almost desperately against you, fingers curling against your sweet spot at just the right angle and then you tug on his hair to get his lips back to your clit and that’s all it takes. With a hand clasped tight over your mouth to muffle your screams of pleasure, coming undone on his tongue, clamping down on his fingers and sending him clean over the edge with you.

Hips raising and pushing up into his fist, Spider comes with a choked off groan, sucking on your clit so hard it felt like you were going to collapse if he didn’t let up anytime soon.

"O-Okay, okay, fuck– Spider, s-stop", you half giggle, half moan, before he finally withdraws from between your thighs with a last kiss that makes your hips buck into it.

"Holy shit, where did you learn that?", you laugh breathlessly, genuinely impressed, as you watch him rearrange his loincloth and straighten back up.

But Spider just shrugs sheepishly and grins, "Well… it’s hard being the only one of the very few humans in the village. I had to find some way to impress, you know?"

"Hmh, I see", you giggle, nodding along. There’s a moment of comfortable silence that follows, and as you bend down to pick up your clothes. But then a warm hand settles on your hips.

A smiles tugs on your lips.

"I could show you what else I’ve learned", Spider murmurs, tilting his head to meet your eyes over your shoulder. You glance back at him, watching as he steps closer until his crotch makes contact with the curve of your ass. "Could show you the real Na’vi way." He smirks, then adds, "If you want."

His fingertips trace the arch of your spine until he reaches the base of your tail, where he closes his hand around it and tugs, firm but gentle. But it’s enough to send a full on body shiver through you, and your eyes widen in surprise as you feel a familiar tingle between your thighs.

Well. That’s new.

#tw: aged up #Avatar #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #Spider #spider x reader smut #miles socorro x reader #miles spider socorro #miles soccoro #miles socorro #neteyam #spider miles socorro #spider x reader #spider x y/n #Lo’ak #avatar spider x reader #avatar spider #Avatar Miles Spider #jack champion

[genderkoolaid]

Examples of transandrophobia: i've seen sections of Leslie Feinberg's piece "Sisterhood: Make it Real" passed around this site for literally years, and TODAY was the first time that I saw the whole thing and learned that ze called out cisfeminists in it for getting rid of trans men the second they started transitioning. Like I always thought it was a good piece but I had literally NO IDEA that it talked about trans men because that part was never included in posts about it, even when those posts were calling out cisfeminism for being transphobic. I'm just gobsmacked tbh

This is a great point!

Honestly more people need to read that full chapter. There's a lot of really good points.

Amongst other things, Leslie talks about how "women good men bad" is poor feminism:

Of course, as a result of the oppression women face growing up in such a violently anti-woman environment, some women draw a line between women as allies and men as enemies. While it’s understandable that an individual might do so out of fear, this approach fails as theory. It lumps John Brown and John D. Rockefeller together as enemies and Sojourner Truth and Margaret Thatcher together as allies. This view of who to trust and who to dread will not keep women safe or keep the movement on course.

How feminine men are victims of gender oppression:

The oppression of feminine men is an important one to me, since I consider drag queens to be my sisters. I’ve heard women criticize drag queens for “mocking women’s oppression” by imitating femininity to an extreme, just as I’ve been told that I am imitating men. Feminists are justifiably angry at women’s oppression - so am I! I believe, however, that those who denounce drag queens aim their criticism at the wrong people. This misunderstanding doesn’t take gender oppression into account. For instance, to criticize male-to-female drag performers, but leave out a discussion of gender oppression, lumps drag queen RuPaul together with men like actor John Wayne! RuPaul is a victim of gender oppression, as well as of racism.

How masculine women are assumed to know less about gender oppression:

But I grew up very masculine, so the complex and powerful set of skills that feminine girls developed to walk safely through the world were useless to me. I had to learn a very different set of skills, many of them martial. While we both grew up as girls, our experiences were dissimilar because our gender expressions were very different. Masculine girls and women face terrible condemnation and brutality including sexual violence - for crossing the boundary of what is “acceptable” female expression. But masculine women are not assumed to have a very high consciousness about fighting women’s oppression, since we are thought to be imitating men.

And as you said, how trans men deserve access to women's and lesbian's spaces without having their transmasculinity ignored or seen as being butch-in-denial:

And our female-to-male transsexual brothers have a right to feel welcome at women’s movement events or lesbian bars. However, that shouldn’t feed into to misconception that all female-to-male transsexuals were butches who just couldn’t deal with their oppression as lesbians. If that were true, then why does a large percentage of post-transition transsexual men identify as gay and bisexual, which may have placed them in a heterosexual or bisexual status before their transition? There are transsexual men who did help build the women’s and lesbian communities, and still have a large base of friends there. They should enjoy the support of women on their journey. Doesn’t everyone want their friends around them at a time of great change? And women could learn a great deal about what it means to be a man or a woman from sharing the lessons of transition.

Not that "trans women belong in feminism" wouldn't be a good point on its own, but people's selectivity with which parts of that chapter they share definitely warrant scrutiny.

#m. #ask box

[jacevelaryonswife]

Supermassive Black Hole

A duo project changes some perceptions about your classmate

pairing: Michael Gavey x fem!reader

warnings: smut, period tipical misoginy (2006 guys), loss of virginity, english is not my first language.

word count: 3,297

ewanverse masterlist

When a firm knock came from the door, a name automatically entered your mind.

Gavey.

Michael Gavey.

You imagined that he would come to your meeting eventually, you actually longed to, although you didn't admit it. That idiot deserved to be put in his proper place — which was necessarily below you.

It had all started when a duo project was designated by draw earlier that day, and for both luck and bad luck your partner was the awkward genius, and difficult to deal with Michael Gavey.

There was no shortage of adjectives to be used for the unstable dirty blonde, which was truly fascinating. He intrigued you with his sharp intellect and his eccentric personality to the same extent that he repelled you with his peculiar and almost aggressive way. He was quite a figure, although you didn't allow yourself to think much about it.

It was also not a mystery that he was a true Norman No Mates, which wasn’t difficult to understand since his social skills were disastrous. The memory of him screaming at Oliver Quick in O Week never left your mind, especially the sudden change of attitude when he lowered his head and responded to the sum that Felix's pet (as your friends called him) made. You watched the whole situation closely, with a lot of curiosity, since your tables were close.

After that, whenever he entered an environment, you wondered what he would do next. You never knew what to expect from Gavey.

He started fervent debates during classes, demonstrating unparalleled intelligence and self-confidence, in addition to a slight arrogance that made him look strangely hot. Obviously a dispute of nervous male egos originated from these discussions, which made you watch with veiled fun and irritation while remaining silent. You admired the way his brain worked for math, but you didn't understand how he could be so bad at dealing with other people.

Because of this, you chose to keep a considerable distance from the horizon of events that involved Michael and his complexity, and for a long time this worked perfectly well. Until that damn moment.

Feeling humiliated by the way that insolent worm acted when trying to take responsibility for the whole activity for yourself, as if you were incompetent and incapable, you immediately confronted him about such behavior when he went to your meeting at the end of the class while you collected your material.

"Excuse me?" You asked.

"I'll finish this by Saturday, no need to worry," he repeated condescendingly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you think I won't participate? Or did you just choose to pretend that I don't exist?" You asked with your eyebrows furrowed, posture becoming more imposing.

He remained silent for a short moment, seeming to analyze the situation (or the best answer to it, you couldn't tell). He wasn't used to being so reluctant to say what he thought, so it was a surprise to see him using time to devise something.

"I don't like working in group, I thought it would be faster if I did everything," he looked down quickly, running away from your gaze.

"I also don't like working with other people and I didn't even think about excluding you," you replied.

“Of course you don't.” There it was. The veiled arrogance that you so hated, present in most of your classmates.

Few were your STEM classmates, since your class was mostly composed of resentful boys who did not know how to deal with a woman without seeing her as a less intelligent object. Luckily not everyone was like that and you managed to put together a really cool group.

When all you did was send a cold and angry look, Michael cleared his throat and tried to speak again, but you cut him off impatiently. "When you're less asshole look for me again, I think you have my Myspace."

Who did that little shit think it was to treat you like that? 'Of course you don't' He was so fucking pretentious! And that's because he almost couldn't keep eye contact for a long time.

Pathetic.

That skinny nerd tormented your thoughts for the rest of the afternoon and served as gossip between your friends. Predictable. The way he acted was not very different from what you imagined about his annoying self-sufficiency. And even so, there he was, stopping in front of your door (more nerdy than ever) with his laptop and notebook in hand, wearing a blue button striped shirt, black belt and cream pants. He had a terrible taste in clothes, although they totally reflected his personality, he was curious.

“I'd like to apologize for my behavior earlier, it wasn't cool,” he started as soon as you leaned carelessly against the door.

Interesting.

You considered it for a moment, looking at him before turning his back and clearing the way for him to enter your space. "It wasn't that hard, was it?" You pulled a chair for him and threw yourself dramatically on the bed before sitting down to face him, already well established and looking closely at your figure. "So... I assume you've already thought about the structure of the project."

Of course he had thought.

He opened the laptop and exposed his idea while showing some calculations in his notebook, and you made an effort to pay attention to what was said and what was sketched. Obviously his idea was good, great actually, incredibly structured and cohesive with what the professor wanted. But you also had some ideas and would like them to be taken into account, telling you what you had planned. Surprisingly, he showed to consider your suggestions, even praising them — you knew they were good, but not that his ego allowed you to visualize this. You suggested a division of parts that would be meticulously checked in a future meeting.

"As you have already started, I thought about staying with the second part, what do you think?" You asked.

"It's okay, I intend to finish tomorrow maybe, I'll forward some references by email to you."

“Sure.” It was all very bureaucratic and direct. You sneaked up to look at his laptop screen before looking at what he was typing. "I have some of these books here, but I'll look for the others."

And without realizing it, you got into a big problem.

The freshness that radiated from him flooded your senses gradually, looking too long at his neck and jaw...

He had such beautiful features and aquiline dirty blonde hair that it looked so soft. And those hands... those long fingers... no, no, no and no. You (your body) couldn't be heating up to Michael Gavey.

But it's been a while since some fun... and you were at a suggestive time of the month. Maybe... just maybe... It wasn't a bad idea. As you returned to sitting on the bed, specifically next to where his chair was, you analyzed him as he typed the references in the email. He was not bad looking, no, quite the opposite in fact.

He was handsome, really handsome. And you wanted him. You wanted Michael Gavey.

You wanted to fuck him.

Fuck that attitude.

But how? How would you approach that nervous nerd?

Your mind struggled to develop an effective approach. You didn't want to waste time, not with the heat that spread high between your legs. You just waited for him to send the damn email and close the laptop. "Do you want anything to drink?"

“I'm good. I think we ended up here, I'll try to finish my part quickly," he looked at the notebook that was on the pillow, which you anticipated to pick up and deliver it, standing up in a false farewell.

"Sure," and as soon as Michael got up with the notebook and laptop, you held his arms, gently removing the objects while placing them on your study table. "But I don't think you should go now," you used without a more seductive tone while holding his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" He asked still, tense, looking directly into your eyes.

“Are you dating someone?” You asked softly, getting closer, leaning your breasts against his chest.

"No, I'm not," he answered the obvious, but you wanted to hear the obvious with all the lyrics.

Stretching a short distance from his lips, you asked: "So can I kiss you?"

That same look seen earlier was present again, as if his mind worked hard to find a solution to the problem presented. His mouth opened minimally when he took a deep breath, this time his gaze fell on your lips. "Why do you want to kiss me?"

"Because I fucking want it."

And then you collided your lips with his in a demanding kiss that took a long time to be reciprocated, but when it was... oh boy. Michael held your waist and tried to keep up with your rhythm. He wasn’t so experienced, but his lips were soft and pleasant against yours, kissing you with so much enthusiasm that it made you dizzy.

It made you both dizzy.

He couldn't believe was happening — and that it was happening to you. You... gorgeous, sexy and intelligent. You with a nice and phenomenal ass, who he believed would never look at him twice. You, who kissed him on the tongue and moved his hands to your chest and ass and smoothed the back of his neck and massaged his shoulder. He'd never been kissed like that before. Had never touched a girl like that.

What the fuck was going on?

With the deepening of the kiss you felt a hardness to press against your belly, inhibiting a conscious smile while Michael struggled between apologizing or pretending that it was not happening. Fortunately, you didn't intend to let that be ignored. Your hand slid from the nape of his neck until it reached the increasing bulge, gently squeezing over his pants, making him moan against your lips. You squeezed again before breaking the kiss.

"I don’t wanna just kiss tonight."

Fuck. He couldn't believe what was going on.

He felt that he would cum right there if your hand kept rubbing his cock.

"Are you sure?" He asked uncertainty, still not convinced that you really wanted him that way. It was so fucking sudden, one minute he was collecting his things to leave and the next he was kissing you.

"All the certainty in the world, and you?" You sang against his lips.

"I-" that would be fucking embarrassing, you would laugh at him, "I want to but- I never-"

Oh. It wasn’t different from what you expected.

"It's okay, seriously, there's no reason to worry about it."

“... are you fucking me or something?” He asked weakly, looking at your beautiful face with lust, seriousness and insecurity. You've never seen him so vulnerable.

"Of course not, I want you Michael, I want that, but if you feel you're not comfortable we don't n-"

"I want that."

“Are you sure?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

He felt a chain of confidence run through his body and leaned over to kiss you. You wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt, groping his newly exposed soft torso. Michael almost sighed when receiving your soft touch, pulling the blouse out of your body and coming across exposed and already hardened breasts.

Fuck.

He almost moaned. They were the first tits he saw in person, it was more than exciting. He held them immediately, massaging, squeezing, experiencing...

"Not like that," you held his hands gently.

"Sorry, I never-"

“It's okay.”

Your hands landed on the belt and unbuttoned it, continuing to unbutton the pants that were urgently removed by him while you discarded your own and hovered only in panties, watching him get rid of the shoes as well. Michael had little time to get used to your half-naked figure, since with a mischievous smile, you slowly lowered your panties and left it accumulated on the floor. He felt his neck and face burn and cock pulse with your vision, contemplating for too long.

You touched him over his black underwear, feeling him hard and big, making him moan.

"I won't last long if you keep fucking touching me like that," he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"So why haven't you taken that off yet?" You shook his head, teasing him, watching him almost tear off his underwear and show off his cock in all splendor. He was packing, bigger than you expected, all pink, beautiful and anxious. “You have such a nice body,” you kissed him lazily, anticipation thrumming through you.

Michael felt himself in the clouds with your body pressed to his without any layer of fabric, but a big wave of anxiety hit him when you walked away to get a condom before gently guiding him to bed. “Relax, let me take control,” no foreplay would be necessary when you were already wet enough to receive it. "Take a deep breath and calm down, it's quite intense, try to be distracted by something else," you adjusted the condom to its length and saw it almost shake. That boy wouldn't last a minute.

He followed your instructions and concentrated as much as possible not to cum fast, holding firmly on your hips but nothing prepared him for your wet and hot folds.

Fuck, not even the best handjobs compare to your tight pussy going down on his cock. He moaned loudly when you rested against his groin, staring at where your bodies connected.

You bit your lips and closed your eyes, feeling deliciously full. He was bigger than average and had a delicious thickness that you would love to squeeze on your walls just to see him have a spasm, but I knew it would be too much for the beginning.

"When you want me to move, just say it."

Oh no, no! He was sure he would end up there even if you moved. "Don't move yet," he replied quickly, "Fuck," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was terribly satisfying to see him all vulnerable and red, without the usual arrogance and weirdness, and even better to have him inside you (albeit for a short time presumably). He thought about all the things he heard about sex all his life in those long seconds, filtering out what seemed more credible and useful. Think of something less sexy. It was fucking hard.

“Move.”

“Enjoy baby,” you slid gently up, resting your hands on his chest as you started an experimental and slow rhythm. “Mmm.”

So damn good.

Your juices made the movements easy and smooth, leaving him breathless whenever he was balls deep. The friction generated by the constancy of the movements made you two moan and the tightness on your waist increased. He was a fucking vision with disheveled hair, half-open mouth and crooked glasses, all docile while he was fucked dumb. The feeling of power over such an intelligent man was as exciting as sex, causing a presumptuous smile on your lips when you leaned over to kiss his milky neck, rubbing your body against his.

“Are you enjoying it?” You purred against his skin, kissing him superficially on the lips.

He was in the fucking clouds. And you knew that. Little shit.

He wrapped your body to move his hips against yours. He couldn't hold it anymore, he needed to cum. "I won't last long."

“It's okay, baby.”

Your tits jumped when you started riding it hard at a terrifying pace. He closed his eyes and felt his balls weigh every time you sat on his cock, holding your waist, your tits, your ass, everything you could while you allowed it.

"Fuck- I'm-" he moaned loudly and released his load on the condom, feeling a mind-blowing pleasure that paralyzed his senses and one pulled into a supermassive black hole. A thin layer of sweat covered his body, illuminating the reddish tone that covered it.

So beautiful.

Coming out of the top, you lay comfortably next to him, supporting a part of your peso on his chest while watching him struggling to stabilize his breathing. He still couldn't believe that it had finally happened, and especially with a girl like you.

“Are you here?” You asked after a while with a fun smile, although warm between his legs. He didn't know if he was, but he replied with a panting 'yes'. "Well, because we're not done yet."

What?

“What?” He asked.

“Sex is a two-way street baby, and I haven't come yet,” you purred softly against his ear, biting the lobe.

"I don't know when I'm going to get hard again," he confessed. Well, his brain was working again.

"You don't have these long fingers for nothing, Michael, and if you want it again you'll fuck me with them."

As much as he was affected by a sudden one, his sharp senses were awakened in the implication of a next time. He faithfully believed that hard work would lead him to maximum success in his life, he could not imagine otherwise in this situation. "How should I do that?"

You purred, taking his right hand and guiding it to your wet center. "Always start here if you want to make a girl cum," you circled your bud with his fingers, enjoying the delicious feeling, showing him the place before going down to your entrance. "Start with one finger, then add another."

He followed your instructions firmly, sticking a long finger and pumping slowly. "Not so slow," you bit your lower lip, somewhat impatiently waiting for the development of a slow orgasm. You needed to cum hard. Taking his hand, you held your middle finger and attached it to your index finger. “Faster.”

And although inexperienced and a little strong sometimes, his fingers felt fucking good on your walls, reaching the sweet point that made your feet's fingers curl. “Keep going, mm.”

"Can I kiss you?"

“Yes.”

Michael collided his lips on yours in a kiss full of tongue and teeth, staying on top while he fucked you with his fingers. He was hypnotized by the sounds you were making, by the warmth of your body, by the taste of your mouth...

“I'm close!”

You couldn't believe that that sleeky nerd of all people was giving you such pleasure.

Michael got up abruptly and used the hand that held his weight to circle your clitoris, making your eyes close with the construction of an abrasive orgasm. He pumped faster, watching your body squirm and your back arch.

“Michael- I'm gonna-" your whole body trembled when the coil burst and a hot pleasure flooded your senses, holding the sheets and closing your legs with the strong spasms.

It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life. And he did that. He made you cum. Michael was still very stunned with everything that happened, watching your figure before being pulled to lie next to you. You rested your head on his chest with a satisfied and tired smile, giving light kisses on his skin, relaxed with the post-orgasm fog.

“Did you like it?” You asked to break the ice.

"You've already asked better questions," he joked with a hoarse laugh, "Of course I fucking liked it."

“Mmm, I like to make sure,” you replied, facing his beautiful blue eyes behind the slightly blurred lenses.

Having your body so close (and with everything that happened) Michael felt his cock contract and a new electric current run through his body. "So there's going to be a next time?"

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taglists

general: @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

ewanverse: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess @arcielee

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thank you smm @solisarium for the help with this ❤️

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x fem!reader #smut #saltburn #ewan mitchell #ewanverse

[railingsofsorrow]

hiii could i request a cute lil fic of the origin of spencer’s purple scarf? maybe reader is in the bau too and they’re secretly dating and maybe for their one month she gives him the purple scarf cuz she notices turtle necks bother him so she opted to get something that warms him up, is his favorite color, and reminds him of her if there’s ever a change they’re apart ….

he loves it ofc and starts wearing it to work and the team realizes it’s his thing now to wear the scarf if he’s cold and the reader feels all happy cuz he likes it but maybe during a tough case reader gets hurt protecting the team and in the hospital he’s like fidgeting with the scarf and morgan asks what’s up and he’s like “y/n gave me this scarf she said it would remind me of her if we’re ever apart but i don’t ever want to be away from her” AND IT ENDSS IN FLUFF PLS TJANK UUUU

maybe a cute lil recovery scene where the reader is cold and he gives her the scarf to wrap around her neck mwahhahaha and some team comments mwahahhhaha

Purple Scarf

[spencer reid x reader]

A/N: can I just say how in love with this request I was when I saw it my heart BURST. hope I granted your wishes anon <3

summary: in which yours and spencer's secret relationship is not as secret as you thought it was.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: allusions to sexual content (you blink and you miss it); cm usual violence and confrontation; mentions of blood, hospitals and injuries; angst; teasing; fluff fluff fluff.

navi

masterpost

[requested]

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐

September 8 of 2007.

Day 30.

It's officially a month that you and Spencer are dating. More specifically 720,000 hours, 43,200 minutes and 2,592,000 seconds — Yes, he counted. It's not that surprising, his brain never stops.

“Did you finish Dandelion Wine last night again?”

Unless it's your voice. That angelic sound slipping out from your throat that resembled the A Major key in a piano; a warm blanket draping over him that soothed his mind to a less frantic place.

The way your lips curl in a smile tells him you're not phased by his nod of affirmation. Leaning on his desk with your hip, you place down his mug in front of him, coffee vapor fluttering out.

“I'm not surprised.”

His grin is hidden by sipping on the hot liquid. “Why would you be?”

“Right.”

Spencer wanted to kiss you. He'd be bashful and red at the mere thought of it a few months ago, a complete mess if your gaze so much as crossed. But he's known you for two years now, you've been friends since you entered the BAU, and he's been in love with you for half of that time. He's allowed to think that in a work environment. He's just not allowed to do it.

He's very inclined to break the rules when he feels cold fingers running through the nape of his neck. Spencer's instinctive reaction is to shrink his shoulders but he quickly relaxes.

“Don't know how you can even think about cutting it,” you say, pulling softly at his strands.

He gave you a look. “It's too long.”

“So?” you shrug. “It's pretty,” you traced her thumb across his jaw, halting on his cheek. “You're pretty.”

He doesn't know how to react to compliments first thing in the morning. Scratch that, he doesn't know how to react to compliments at all.

“You're prettier.”

“That's not possible.”

And he's about to shut you up with a kiss because frantically? How could you disagree with him on this. But you retract your hands and pull some space between you. His hurt expression isn't present for long until he notices where your gaze falls.

Derek is talking to someone behind the glass doors, his hand wavering over the entrance announcing that the conversation is ending.

Your relationship being a secret was a mutual decision. None of you wanted the attention or the teasing that would eventually come from your friends — not that that didn't occurred before. Less alone the issues with the Fraternization Policy, they'd rather leave that to the fine line in Morgan and Garcia's work calls.

“Don't cut it.” She nudges his arm. “How am I supposed to pull it?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, inciting a chuckle out of you as you rubbed his back gently. He blinked up at you in shock.

“What?”

“Great scarf. Love the color.”

He officially hates you. Yes.

Except that he doesn't. Not even a little bit.

Your menacing smile is the last thing he sees before you walk off to Penelope's office. Of course you love it, you gave it to him as one month anniversary gift that morning, while he had given you a book you've been mentioning for a while and a necklace with your birthstone in the pendant.

“I know turtlenecks bother you but I know you get cold easily so I thought you'd like it.” Spencer hadn't given you a reaction. From the moment he opened your gift box, he sat emotionless on the sofa, staring at it as his fingers stroked the soft fabric.

It was a handknit purple scarf. Spencer couldn't believe it. You made it yourself. He vaguely remembers you always knitting something in the jet when a case was over, he thought you had adopted a new hobby, not that you were doing this for him.

And in his favorite color.

He felt like crying upon seeing the S.W.R on one of the extremities. His initials.

“You didn't like it.”

His head snapped up and he's met with your uneasy gaze. He hadn't said anything.

Spencer crossed the room in a sprint and crashes your lips to his, you respond with a ooof! in surprise but quickly kisses him back just as fervently.

“I love it.” He says after you split apart. “It's the best gift I've ever gotten.” He keeps peppering your face with kisses which makes giggles to erupt out of you. “Thank you, thank you, sweetheart.”

“It's for you to remember me when we're apart.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “That was cheesy but I knitted it that so I get to be cheesy.”

Spencer fiddled with the soft fabric of his scarf, loosening it slightly. It was suddenly too warm.

He blames you for it.

The two of you were supposed to spend the rest of the day in a Contemporary Art Museum after your paperwork was done. You weren't called in for a case, so it was a last minute decision because of your hectic schedule.

“Why are you all flushed?” He turns to Derek with widened eyes.

“What?”

Derek narrowed him down suspiciously. Hotch interrupts them by calling them in for the conference room. Spencer inwardly groans but he takes it to slip away from Derek's pestering.

“Oh, that's beautiful.” JJ points at your neck as you meet in the roundtable. “Where did you get it?” Your fingers brushed against the necklace mindlessly, the edge of your lips quirking up slightly.

“It's a gift.”

JJ silently studied your features as you say down beside one another, waiting for Garcia to present the new case. That fond gaze, the sparkle in your eyes and the way your body demeanor instantly relaxed was the indication she needed to understand what you weren't saying.

“Oh,” her grin widened and she leans closer. “Who's the lucky someone?”

Your eyes lowered to your lap and you tried to pretend you were interested in your shoes. She could see you getting flustered and that made her shook her head in disbelief. JJ has never seen you that shy or even blushing. That was new.

Spencer walked in with Derek and Emily on his trail. They started discussing the case when Rossi arrived. You didn't spend ten minutes in the room before Hotch announced wheels up in thirty.

“Did you know that poor sleeping habits can interfere in your sleep quality? A study showed that daily coffee consumption and using the cellphone in bed are two of the largest factors associated with poor sleep quality. Besides stress, anxiety, depression, sleep apnea, and chronic health conditions.”

Spencer rambles on before you can settle down in one of the seats, covering a yawn with your hand.

“I'm glad you know too much caffeine is bad for your health, baby. Maybe you should follow your own advice.” You heard his snicker as he sits down with a smug smile. You chose the window seat, Emily takes your side and Derek sits across from you. Rossi and Hotch are in the seats beside yours while JJ takes the couch.

The air shifts. You feel it. It's sudden, out of nowhere and you can't figure out the reason. All eyes are set on you which makes you shift uncomfortably, sleepiness vanishing.

“What?”

“Baby?” Derek lifts a brow questioningly and you cast him a confused look. But Spencer buried his face in the file and all is clear.

“You have petnames now?” Emily teases, nudging your feet with her shoe. “That's sickening.”

“That's cute!” Penelope yells from the computer scream.

You clear your throat in a foolish attempt for cover your embarrassment. You called him baby in front of the whole team? Nice. Very nice. You stupid idiot.

“It's manner of speaking,” You shrug, grabbing the crime scene photo haphazardly.

Emily quips back a comment and Derek follows her on it. Fortunately, Hotch begins to detail what everyone else will do as they land. JJ and Reid are going to the morgue to analyse Victmology, Rossi and Emily are going to the police station and that leaves you Hotch to the crime scenes.

It took a while for you to grasp the UnSub's intentions. You spent the entire afternoon with the wrong profile to then figure out he was hunting people that had a certain face shape and visible scars. Nothing related to gender, contrary to what you believed.

When you found him, he had a knife to a woman's neck, the last victim that had disappeared two days ago. Apparently you got there exactly on time because he kept his victims for two days to bury them alive in the last one.

But he didn't want to let her go, despite the ensuing confrontation. Either he surrendered or he died, there was no in between. You wouldn't let him hurt anybody else.

“Let her go.”

Aaron's assertive tone reverberated through the warehouse. The SWAT team was blocking every exit possible, at least twenty firearms aimed at him but he still wouldn't budge.

“Can't do that,” the UnSub lowered the knife closer to the victim's neck. He seemed too calm for someone that cornered. No. You could see the slight shake in his hand that he was trying to cover. “You get back from where you came from or I'll slash her throat.”

“You won't do that.”

For some reason, you thought it was Emily speaking, attempting to get into his head. Until Derek hissed for you to stay back and you realized the voice belonged to you.

“You can get out of this, just let her go and surrender. No harm has to be done.”

“Right. So that I can spend the rest of my life tossed up behind bars? I don't think so, Agent.”

The smugness in his tone was betrayed by the twitch in his left eye and that's when you knew you were almost there.

“We can make a deal. One that'll be comfortable for you,” you promised, stowing your weapon in your holster as your eyes kept locked on his. You didn't want to find out what would happen if you even breath the wrong way. “There's twenty people with you in their line of fire. Only one way out. Let her go, we'll figure this out.” You finally reached a position close enough to the victim but not at all safe for you. You were right at his aim if he wanted to shoot you, his gun right behind the woman's head.

“Only one way out?” He scoffed, cocking the weapon to the side.

Emily said his name in a warning. Everyone yelling for him to drop the weapon. He didn't.

You should've known better.

Your ears rang with Spencer calling out your name before you were thrown on the floor roughly without a single warning. The feeling of dread crippling in your chest when you felt something wet between your fingers.

“Hey, hey,” Derek forced you to look at him. “You okay?”

You blinked down at your arm, the bullet grazed the skin, it barely touched you. A breath of relief escaped you and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You're insane,” he uttered, hugging you to which you let out a groan. Your shoulder hurt, you couldn't move it.

At least it wasn't a bullet. Derek had pushed you away on time.

•°. *࿐

The thing you hated the most about hospitals was the fluorescent lights. Your eyes were sensitive to light which was the reason you used sunglasses anywhere you went — reading glasses as well, but you didn't bother with those. No matter how many times Spencer would list the permanent harm done to your sight every time he saw you squinting at a book.

You were stubborn. To say the least.

He thought it was cute, for the most part. You listened to him although you liked to do things you own way. Okay, he respected that. Spencer loves every part of you, from the scrunch of your nose when you laughed to the rare times you'd forget the wet towel on the bed.

Sometimes, however, he wants to crawl out of his skin. How could you let your guard down in front of a madman that was ready to lose it all? Why couldn't you just stay back like Derek had asked and waited patiently on how it would play out?

But no, you wouldn't do that. You were as stubborn as a mule. And that's how you got shot in the arm and dislocated a shoulder.

“It grazed her forearm, Spence.” JJ explained for the tenth time. “She just needed some stitches.”

“But it wasn't just the grazed arm, though was it? There's also the dislocated shoulder and the almost concussion she gained as she fell on the floor.”

JJ sighed and turned to him. “You're concerned, but she's fine. It wasn't exactly wise what she did,” she said with a wince. “But it's done and thankfully didn't evolved to anything serious.”

“She reminds me of you.”

Both heads snapped around to see Derek approaching with his coffee. He pointed the plastic spoon he was stirring the coffee with directly at Spencer's face.

“What does that mean?” Spencer pulls away from the threatening spoon, the pitch of his voice raising.

Derek looks at JJ with a pointed look, she seems to understand and chuckles, nodding shortly.

Oh, they're communicating through telepathy now?

“You're both reckless.” Derek pats his shoulder, mentioning for something behind him. Just as Spencer is about to retort, he sees you through the transparent doors of your room, chuckling at something the doctor said. “See? She's awake.”

Spencer can't tell how long he stood there, staring at you until JJ nudged him.

“I've never seen you wearing scarves. Is that new?” She eyes the purple fabric around his neck with a little smile. His fingers brush against it absentmindedly.

“Uh, yeah. It's a gift. She gave it to me.” JJ blinks up at him in surprise, she was not expecting Spencer to just blurt it out like that. “... said it was something to remember her when we're apart.” His lips spread into a soft grin. He didn't even notice he was speaking out loud. “As if I can ever forget her.”

“Go see your girl, pretty boy. Stop staring.” Derek walked back towards them, pushing Spencer towards your room with a slight shove. Safe to say he hadn't heard anything Spencer said.

At first, JJ tries not to demonstrate her excitement too much. She thought that when Penelope told her they were seeing each other out of work it was a big fantasy created in her head. Everyone knew they had feelings for one another but nobody would dare think they were already past the friends phase. Oh, but JJ was so wrong. That fondness in Spencer was something new. A good something. And she couldn't be happier for the two of you.

“Hi,” you beam at the sight of your boyfriend entering the room.

“Hi.” Spencer kisses the top of your head and wraps an arm around your back as to not touch your injured arm. “How do you feel?”

“Ready to enter the jet and sleep the two hours we have until we land in Quantico.”

He cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You're unbelievable.”

You let out a half laugh, when your eyes met you saw a pinch of concern between his brows as he scanned you over.

“Spencer, I'm fine.”

“Can you maybe try and be more careful next time?” He says. “Don't lower your weapon while being on the aim of a serial killer?”

You hummed softly, adjusting the collar of his shirt behind the vest he was wearing. “Okay. Can you promise to do the same then? Cause you're just as reckless as me.”

He gaped at you. “I am not—”

“Spencer.”

He clips his mouth shut, blinking. “Fine? Okay. Yeah, fine.” He breathes out. “Just don't scare me like that again, please?” He pointedly says, brushing a stray strand behind your ear.

Your line of work was tough, especially if someone you deeply cared about was in the field with you. You couldn't just disconnect work and personal life in these kind of situations, as hard as you tried. Your heart leaped in your chest every time anyone from the team so much as got a minimum scratch. They're your family through and through.

And Spencer... Spencer was the love of your life. No doubt in that.

That's why it wasn't worth it to dwell on what happened in the field but focus on the after. Night outs to a bar, karaoke night, dinner at Rossi's — he makes a killer pasta — or, in this case, an Art Museum date with your boyfriend. Those moments made everything worth it.

The air shifts again. You study the room as you sit beside Spencer, trying to find any hints from what it might have caused that feeling. But everyone is paying attention to their own things and things seems normal. Or your profile skills are clouded by your exhaustion.

Something fuzzy wraps around your neck and the smell of amber and cinnamon took you to a familiar place.

“You forgot to bring a coat,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ears gently, adjusting the scarf on you. “It looks good on you too.” He shrugs, lips curling in a pout.

Can you blame yourself for wanting to kiss him so badly?

You don't do it, aware you were under profilers’ watchful eyes. Spencer lifted the arm of the seat so you could rest your head on his shoulder as he read — one time you revealed you liked the sound of page turning as he read and he made sure you always could rest against him. You might have missed the collective cooing around the jet as soon as you fell asleep but Spencer didn't and he tried to hide the tinge of red in his cheeks behind the book.

“Pay up.” Derek ordered with his hand outstreched to Emily, who promptly slapped it.

“You don't know how long.”

“My bet was that they were already seeing each other.”

“That's not fair,” Rossi chipped in. “We didn't established a period of time.”

Derek shrugs, “Not my problem. I won either way.”

“Penelope said the same thing.”

“Well, then babygirl and I won—”

“We still need a time.” Emily said thoughtfully, giving Derek his money with a huff. “This is extortion, Morgan.”

He chuckled, waving the twenty dollar bill in front of her. JJ rolled her eyes at the childishness. At the end, Derek had earned sixty bucks between grumblings of unfairness.

“When do you think?” Hotch broke the conversation, eyes not even lifting from his reports. Emily asked him what he was talking about. “I'd say that it became official in about a month.” He hadn't participated in the bet, but he could share a thing or two on the topic. God knows how long you you two have been pinning over each other.

Rossi narrowed his eyes at him, suspiciously, “You know something we don't, Aaron?”

“Just mere assumptions.”

It didn't take long for another bet to ensue. When the jet landed, each one stretched their limbs and prepared to go home, before anyone could move towards the exit, however, Spencer broke the silence.

“Hotch is right.” He said, grabbing both of your go-bags and following you out of the door.

“Did he just?” Emily froze half way standing up.

“That little shit.”

He didn't hold back the chuckle as a faint argument started.

“What are you laughing at?” You glance at him at the corner of your eye. He brushes you off, pulling you at his side by wrapping a hand around your waist. “Are you aware they can see us or...?” You queried, confused at his actions.

Spencer shrugs, kissing your temple. “They know.”

You bury your nose in the scarf and lean into his side, not even daring to ask what he means by that and neither do you look back at your friends. You'd rather face the teasing in the morning anyway.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #requested #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff

[cannellee]

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ★

୨୧ alpha! tokyo revengers x omega! reader (pairing: mikey, draken, baji, chifuyu, mitsuya, kokonoi, kakucho, taiju)

— how they act around their pregnant s/o.

tw : mention of sex in chifuyu's, possessive behaviour.

my masterlist : ☆

(this one is probably not the best I did, that's a 2nd version here😭 I actually finished it the day before and went to sleep, turns out I didn't save it so I had to rewrite everything from the start! I was less motivated, hope you don't mind the quality😭)

MIKEY

mikey is constantly on edge, you'll need to calm him down yourself because he sometimes can't control his reactions.

he's just anxious something might happen to you or your baby, he wants to be at your side all the time.

he is a bit nervous about being a dad but wants to support you with his whole being and show you that he can will take care of you and your future pup.

he is always trying to make you stay in bed : you don't need to do anything when your alpha can think and do things for you!

all you have to do is rest and stay safe inside the nest he scented for you.

rarely goes out too, and if for some reasons he does, he's spreading his pheromones like crazy outside of your home.

now that you're pregnant, your smell is even sweeter, he can't let anyone know there's a vulnerable omega without her alpha in this house while he's gone.

but everyone who even catches the smell of mikey knows not to mess with him. his scent is enough to send other alphas trembling.

if you thought mikey was clingy before, just imagine him when you're pregnant... absolute violation of privacy, this man is not letting you breath you have to blackmail him to make him wait outside of the bathroom.

he's sulky when he explains that he's just worried about you, so you make compromises and set rules.

but mikey is overall 10x softer now that you're pregnant, his scent has changed to fit your needs. it's more calming and he's constantly burying his nose at your scent glands.

DRAKEN

so so careful with you :(

if you think draken was sweet before, just imagine him during your pregnancy.

he is the perfect alpha and has every quality you would expect in an alpha, it's only natural he looks after you the best way someone can.

spoon feeds you!

now those 9 months are just more time for you to bond with your alpha ; you do everything together and draken assures you a healthy and stress free environment.

he's a really good listener and extremely attentive to your needs, he knows you so well he'll comfort you exactly how you need it.

and when your hormones are tormenting you and you take it out on a loving draken, you can't help but feel bad about your actions. so you leave the nest where you both were resting and put yourself in timeout.

as funny as it might sound, draken doesn't like it one bit and wastes no time going after you. he will scent you and reassure you that everything's fine, your alpha's here and he understands so don't worry <3

he will gently tuck you back inside your nest and prevent you from leaving once again by positioning you in a way that makes it impossible for you to get up on your own (especially with your big stomach).

wakes up first so he can make breakfast for you everyday and doesn't let you overwork yourself : he takes your health very seriously.

CHIFUYU

his pregant omega is probably the most well catered for omega ever.

chifuyu is just anxious about doing anything wrong that he studied every videos, magazines and books he could get his hands on.

now there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong.

always brings you new nest items, the softest and cutest plushies, comfortable pillows along with warm blankets.

everything has been scented of course. chifuyu loves your pregant smell, it's even sweeter than usual, but he can't stop himself from spreading and covering you with his pheromones.

he just doesn't want anyone coming too close to you, he has to put some sort of warning.

chifuyu keeps track of your meal and what you had for dinner. he's not the best but he tries and cook for you. he wants you to rest.

he makes the healthiest lunches, saying you and your baby need veggies to stay healthy and prepare yourself for the d-day.

chifuyu is in total bliss, he's always scenting you and cuddling with you inside your nest.

his alpha makes it his duty to have you satisfied. if you're feeling stressed chifuyu is quick enough to make the source of your anxiety disappear.

he's fast to catch on stuff like that.

if you want sweets or any snacks, he will bring them to you unless you don't have it at home. then he will run to the nearest store and come back with more than you asked.

if you ever feel horny, chifuyu is burying his nose in your pussy and won't let you rest until you're passed out from pleasure.

he's always gently reminding you of how proud of you he is. chifuyu's just so in love like that <3

alpha chifuyu is all about making his omega happy and showing how well he can provide. his omega didn't make a bad decision mating with him!

BAJI

if you thought mikey was on edge, baji is 10x worse.

baji's overprotective and doubting everybody's intentions, you could say he's a bit delusional at times.

and you can say whatever to make him chill out, he won't.

he is now your shadow and follows you everywhere. he doesn't understand why you would want some alone time when he only wants to protect you and make you feel safe.

absolutely forbids you from using perfume or any foreign fragrance : he will be scenting you every minute. that's just his instincts talking.

will try and do some cooking or cleaning to lessen your work but is honestly not that great in those fields.

this is why you softly tell him to give up and that you're happy to make both of your lunches<3

won't insist and instead you'll have guard dog baji sitting not far from you and watching you close just in case you need him to do something or to prevent you from accidentally hurting yourself.

he will also tone down his usual teasing. he doesn't fully grasp what pregnancy does to you, but he notices that you get tired more easily and that you're quickly carried away by your emotions.

he doesn't want to become an external source of stress for his already sensitive omega.

belly kisses!! baji is in love with your round tummy and can't help but fall to his knees and place gentle wet kisses all over your skin.

loves seeing you waddle around with you belly round of his pup. he's full of pride and you swear you can see stars in his eyes when he looks at you...

KOKONOI

another reliable alpha.

everything is on standby after you announced your pregnancy.

you're his #1 priority (not that you weren't already).

kokonoi and you are now attached to the hip.

he is a bit anxious about doing anything wrong but he doesn't let it show, he can't let his emotions contaminate you or the baby.

he is very strict with himself and doesn't allow himself to display a single sign of weakness: he wants to be strong and reassuring during your pregnancy. kokonoi knows it's not easy and wants you to rely on him as much as possible.

also, anything you want is yours in a minute. be it a massage, food, nest supplies and anything you ask.

kokonoi can't let his perfect omega needy, as her alpha he has to fulfill every one of her wishes.

understands if you want to go out for a bit, you can't stay inside for 9 months... but kokonoi is watching everyone walking past you with a death stare.

only lets his guard down when you're back inside, the only place he deems safe enough for you to be.

he is so dedicated to you, nothing's too much when it comes to you.

he's spending without counting and wishes to make the both of you the happiest people on earth.

now kokonoi will have to protect and care for 2 persons, his past makes him extra aware of the unfairness of the world, this is why he'll work even more. he doesn't want any of you to lack anything.

thus you could say he's a bit more overprotective than usual.

his hand is always on your belly, would let his hand fusion with your stomach if he could.

he just loves your round belly so much! and you scent... kokonoi isn't sure when he has smelled something that good, he's constantly burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

KAKUCHO

can something even go wrong when kakucho is your alpha?

he's so thoughtful you thank god every day he's your alpha. will bring you everything you need before you even ask for it.

if you need fresh air, kakucho is immediately wrapping you up and checking on his phone which places are the calmest and most pleasant. he knows the importance of your mental health during those months and won't prevent you from doing anything.

those dirty alphas eyeing you up during you daily walks better beware! alpha kakucho is the definition of "don't worry love, I can fight".

will take down anybody who tries to spoil your stroll. his omega should be able to do anything without being disturbed.

kakucho is the best at dealing with your mood swings : never complains and never brings it up again once it's over. he won't make fun of you ever and will instead try his best to appease you.

often does it by showering you with his pheromones. otherwise he has you tucked in his arms, pressing your head to his scent gland at the crook of his neck.

he knows his smell calms you down and you're so grateful to your alpha for being so understanding <3

kisses everywhere and anywhere!

grabs you by the waist and makes you turn, makes you laugh and brings you flowers and others gifts everytime he comes home : his only goal is to see you smile.

seeing you pregant reminds him of just how much he loves you and how happy he is to have his own little family with you.

MITSUYA

mitsuya is ready.

nothing can go wrong when mitsuya is your alpha.

probably has the biggest breeding kink out of all the list here. he loved seeing you take care of his sisters like a good omega would, so your pregnancy was a dream come true.

goes to parenting lessons with you and reads ton of magazines about the subject.

mitsuya can't and won't fail as a father.

you can rest assured when mitsuya is here, he's not leaving anytime soon.

has temporarily changed his work place, he's now doing everything at home and won't hesitate to drop everything if you call for him.

he wanted to be able to satisfy any of your cravings without delay. plus, his instincts have been going crazy since you got pregnant and he can't focus at all if he isn't sure you're doing perfectly well.

he has to keep an eye on you.

you can't go out, mitsuya is here for that. he can't put you in any danger, that's why he will quickly do any errands or buy anything you ask.

everything is homemade with mitsuya. the massages, the delicious and healthy meal he cooks for you along with the clothes he's been sewing are all from your lovely alpha mitsuya.

that's his way of showing you he can and will take care of the both of you without any doubt.

alpha mitsuya with a pregant mate is more possessive than usual.

he is currently working on plushies that he can scent and put in your nest.

he knows your nest is even more of a sacred place now, that's why he takes great care of it and vows to make it the most comfortable and familiar nest for you and your future pup.

constantly tells you how proud he is that you're carrying his pup and that you're doing so well.

will start purring a bit as well as scenting your scent glands any time you're cuddling, he knows how stressed you can get :(

TAIJU

if you thought taiju was a menace to society before, your pregnancy triggered something in him.

he's now a danger for anyone whom you crosses path with.

that's why you'd rather stay inside with him, he just sees everyone as a potential threat that you both can't go out like a normal couple.

but that's fine though, taiju considerably softened and is at your beck and call. all of black dragon is yours to use, whatever the reason.

kokonoi & inupi were ordered to keep and eye on you and secure the area around your house so that nobody suspicious can even come close.

it's not that taiju can't defend you himself, he just doesn't want to put you through unnecessary stress.

that would mean he has to leave your side for a bit and he can't do that in your state. you need proper care at all time.

taiju feels a great sense of pride and accomplishment watching you walk around full of his pup.

he's always dreamed about growing his family, nothing matters more in his eyes.

you are what has the most importance for him, and now that his cute little omega is pregant he's in complete bliss.

his behaviour has considerably changed to fit your needs. he can't let any negative emotions go past your radar, he knows how emotional pregnancy is making you and he doesn't want to make you anxious.

isn't a fan of pda but it's the only thing he's been doing since you announced your pregnancy.

lets you do anything to him. he's like a gentle bear who is threatening only to others.

taiju is just so in love. his omega is so perfect, all sweet and docile. your pregnant body seals the deal and you won't ever leave him now. this thought alone puts his mind at ease.

#a/b/o tokyo revengers #alpha tokyo revengers #cannelle★ #hybrid tokyo revengers #omegaverse tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers a/b/o #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers hybrid #tokyo revengers omegaverse #tokyo revengers x reader #alpha mikey #alpha draken #alpha baji #alpha chifuyu #alpha kokonoi #alpha kakucho #alpha taiju #mikey x reader #draken imagine #chifuyu omegaverse #taiju x reader #baji headcanons #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcanon #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x reader #yandere tokyorevengers #tr omegaverse #omegaverse tr #tokyorev omegaverse

[klaunee]

Edit 2/12/2024: I wanted to add a disclaimer to my redesigns! I really appreciate all of the likes and comments that these have garnered, but I just want to add that these aren't intended to be "improvements" or "fixes" of the original designs in any way and were done as a character design exercise for my own entertainment. Looking back on them there's a lot I'd like to change about them and I'd never claim to be anything more than an amateur/hobbyist character designer messing around with these character concepts.

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

Alright I wasn't really feeling the other one I just did. I wanted to diverge a bit from it to better fit the other redesigns I did and do my own take on Al, which is why I made this one that's more shamelessly inspired by Cab Calloway.

I based him on Cab Calloway because I want him to have Mr. Calloway's charisma and showmanship to accentuate his role as a radio host. I feel like the canon Alastor is too subdued in terms of expressiveness, and of course this is part of what makes him unnerving, but I wanted to subvert that. This rendition would still be a gentleman, but he's much more animated in terms of his body movements and facial expressions. He's witty and has a great sense of humor. A big man with a big smile and a larger than life personality. Constantly schmoozing and sweet-talking other people. And yet there's just something off about him...

Copying my design notes from the other post and adding a few more.

Premise: A man who was born in a semi-rural part of the United States but moved to the big city at a young age. Became infatuated with the music and entertainment scenes of the city and idolized performers of the Jazz age, Vaudeville actors, and comedians. Decided to become a radio host himself after working at a local station and became renowned for his humor and wit. However, despite loving several parts of the big city, Alastor was disdainful of the rapid industrialization taking place and its effect on the environment he'd grown up in. In an attempt to make his broadcasts, which increasingly gained a more serious and environmentalist bent, reach more viewers, he delved into the occult and made pacts with demons. Unfortunately, his meddling with the occult drove him insane. Fortunately, however, his familiarity with black magic granted him increased powers when he showed up in Hell. Overall, a gentlemanly character with a suppressed madness that seeps out from time to time.

He's very tall. I wanted to make him uncanny looking while still retaining the gentlemanly appearance of the canon version and to do this I tried to give him an elongated silhouette. He's as tall as Angel Dust, if not taller when standing up, but he's constantly bending over either due to poor posture or to ingratiate himself to the shorter masses.

No more sexyman hourglass figure, I made him a bit broader to give him a bigger presence.

Cab's signature pencil moustache. I see a lot of people giving him one and I'm not sure if we share the same inspiration, but it's a cool look!

Overall a more desaturated, sepia palette than the rest of the cast for an old-timey look (I mean Angel Dust is old-timey too but... forget about it). Also to contrast with the red of Charlie's suit.

The black line parts of his antlers are meant to look like the velvet shedding deer undergo as well as power lines, with an eye in the center which resembles the flame between Baphomet's horns. This eye is where his "power" emanates from so to speak, like a radio signal.

Waveform design on his suit.

Design on his shirt meant to resemble a ribcage.

BIG ANTLERS! (less so in this version, more manageable)

Diamond design on the pants to indicate he is a trickster.

A long, deer-like neck and a deer-like yet human-like face to give him an uncanny look.

His right eye is a radio dial and he has a speaker in his mouth to produce that radio quality when he speaks.

I tried to make his suit look like a zoot suit for historical relevance, particularly the broad-shouldered ones worn by such performers as Cab Calloway. I made his pants high-waisted and pegged.

His staff is based on antique carbon microphones with the center modified to look like an inverted pentagram.

He practices black magic.

His entire body is covered in fur save for his face and ears, like a werewolf.

Thanks for reading!

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #redesign #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #cod x you #cod mw22 #cod smut #cod x reader #cod #mw2 fanfic #mw2 2022 #mw2 #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x you #ghost mw2 #captain johnathan price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod fanfic #x reader smut #x fem!reader #x female reader

[feyascorner]

Hi! So i got a small idea. Playing durge rn, and i keep hearing the narrator calling durge a “unlovable carcass” and they probably never felt a comforting touch nor reassuring words. So how would Astarion reassure durge? If possible could Tav be a male tiefling?

Have a good night/day❤️

a/n. thank you for the request! I only exclusively play durge so i love this prompt <3 redemption durge and spawn astarion are literally meant for each other and we need to talk about this more. I only write for GN!reader/tav at the moment, so I hope that's not a bother!

Your father has never been the loving type.

As the Lord of Murder, he lived up to his name, and since your very existence, you drowned in the blood of innocents and were expected to revel in such environments. But murder does not have time for love. It consumes you whole, leaving nothing behind but a hollow husk of a person that once was. And during your carnage, it seemed to be the norm.

Seeing Shadowheart reunite with her parents was a different experience than you'd been expecting. They wept, for hours, holding one another as if they'd known each other for decades despite being apart for so long. Her mother had kissed her forehead, holding her close as Shadowheart herself could do nothing but tighten her arms around her.

You wonder how comfort comes so easily to them. Years of nothing but destruction and blood have left you raw, with nobody to provide you with an ounce of their own care but the dead bodies of your victims.

An unlovable carcass. Affection is too foreign to you---too good for you.

"Why do you stick beside me?"

Astarion looks up from his wine glass, the moonlight illuminating one side of his face as he turns to you. "What?"

"I'm a bhaalspawn," you frown. "I nearly killed you once."

"Oh, please, darling, that's nothing to dwell on. We got through it, did we not?"

Your eyes fall onto your hands. "That doesn't change my past."

"You're different, now."

"Am I? Am I not still the same unlovable person whose urges call on them for bloody murder?"

He stills, then sets down his cup, his hand reaching for yours. You let him it, and you find yourself staring into the crimson eyes you've come to love dearly. You only wish yours were lovable in return.

There's a comfortable silence.

"I'm not accustomed to having to console you. It's usually the other way around."

You stifle a laugh, and he inches closer, lacing his fingers with your own.

"You are magnificent. Whether you're fighting battles or drenched in blood, you are one of the few things left in this world that I care for," he says. "I could not care less if you are a bhaalspawn or a bloody crocodile. You may think of yourself as unlovable, but you don't get to make my choices for me. And I, for one, choose to love you."

You're taken aback at first, but you manage to recover quickly enough, squeezing his hand. "Some might think of you as foolish."

"Perhaps. I couldn't care less what they think," he shrugs, leaning back on his palms. "When we do inevitably face your father, regardless of whatever choice you make, I am with you, my love."

The warm fuzzy feeling in your chest is one you're unfamiliar with. It's nothing like the erratic thumping of your heart as your blade plunges into a corpse. It's lifting as if you're floating on water, and if you're being completely honest, it scares you. But as he presses his lips against your forehead, you think it's not so bad.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Writing this on my phone at work so a lil jumbled but one of the things that really does make Macdennis one of the greatest will-they-won't-theys in tv history and why it doesn't annoy me they haven't gotten together yet even this far in when I would usually be pulling out my hair in other cases much earlier on is that it doesn't fall into a lot of the common pitfalls of the genre because in most shows, you *know* the characters are going to be together from the start and they don't actually have a solid reason why it can't happen sooner, other than they need to drag it out for the show, so rather than use the tools they have and naturally play off the existing tension between characters, they almost always feel the need to throw in arbitrary, extraneous, and often frustrating external obstacles instead, like a series of random cardboard cutout boyfriends/girlfriends/wrong place/wrong times that last entire arcs over and over again for the *sole purpose* of keeping them apart and being like not yet tee hee, to the point where you're just like okay, okay, get on with it, already, but with Sunny, almost every obstacle is *internal* (or based on already built in external factors that affect them internally and haven't just been fabricated on the spot to create problems in the relationship): Mac's struggles with his sexuality and religion, both their parents' intense homophobia and neglect, Dennis' past experience of being sexually assaulted, and his fear of being perceived as anything less than perfect in a society he's learned he has to hide from/always be stealthy in, lest you be taken advantage of or hurt, in general that societal expectation, you will get married to a woman (Maureen), start a family, live a "normal" nuclear life, that's how the story goes, etc. etc. not to mention the culture of the time the show itself first aired, network tv of 2005, they didn't start with this endgame in mind, practically unheard of that they would ever get together in any official capacity even if they did, so they were able to grow separately from each other before starting to grow together, naturally inclined toward each other, yet just as naturally held back by themselves and the world that made them this way. But eventually... they outlived that world, and after being so used to standing still, now they're struggling to keep up, to find themselves, to find their place in an environment they no longer recognize, and to reconcile the fact that maybe they don't have to hide anymore, maybe they don't have to be miserable, to run away, it's okay it's okay, but it was not okay for so long, they need time. And I'll get into the parallels more another time because I'm obsessed with them, but in Waiting for Godot (and in turn Big Mo), there's the theme of "The whole world changes, only we can't," but Mac comes out, Dennis claims back his heart, Big Mo shows up, so maybe they can maybe they can, and that change is necessary before anything else can move forward. And god, do I have a lot more to say on *that* topic and theme of change, but I'm saving it for a full essay, god willing🤞

#iasip #text #it's always sunny in philadelphia #macdennis #anmmbposts #macden #was gonna toss this in the queue but i think ill scare myself out of posting so gonna post then run away and actually do my work #oh wow after i posted i realized i just gave y'all a wall of text lol my bad

[judysxnd]

Hi it's me again

I have an idea for pedro×reader

The reader is an actress and she is going on tour for her new movie so the videos came out of the two of them joking around and her Co star putting his hands on her waist so pedro gets jealous and call her or maybe show up to her hotel

I debated a long time to find a co-star. I didn't want someone too young, but not too close to Pedro, I wasn't happy. So I ended up putting Y/c/n (your co-star's name) Y/c/l/n (your co-star's last name).

I wrote this a long time ago, and I re read it before publishing it. I saw I rushed the end a lot, so I had to write more. I don’t really think I did more but it really felt rush. ANYWAY. Enjoy.

PS: I do not forget about the requests, I already said before that I was taking my time writing them, and that I would write them by the inspirations and ideas, not by date. Also, this past month I was trying to write most of them before publishing progressively because I didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the requests, but it’s really hard, I still have like 6 requests! Don’t worry I’m on it! The requests are still open. Thank you for everything!!

———————————————————————————

"Today we're in the company of Y/n L/n and Y/c/n Y/c/l/n for their latest movie coming out on the 1st of August." The interviewer said to the camera. "Hi" she said this time to the both of you.

"Hey" you said in unison

"How are you doing today?"

"We're great" you said with a big smile "How are you doing?"

"I'm great thank you!" She looked at her papers. "So.." she looked up at the both of you. "Pretty excited about the premiere?"

"Oh yes!" you enthusiastically said, moving your arms up, almost hitting your co-star, making him laugh

"A little too much, I am scared for my life" he joked, pretending to be scared and moving a bit away from you

"Oh come on" you laughed, hugging him from the side "why are you acting like I hit you" you were both laughing. You pretended to hold his neck

"She is very nice and gentle with people" your co-star said to the camera. Everyone was laughing

"Okay let's be serious for a second" you said, sitting straight on your chair

"So yeah you seem pretty excited" the lady said laughing

"Yeah" you chuckled "yeah" you said again more seriously

"The story is set in strong environments, was it hard to film in those different places?"

"For me it was in Egypt." Your co-star started to answer. "It was too hot"

"Too hot?" You asked confused "like the negative temperatures we had in Canada were nothing?" you chuckled

"all of them were challenging, but it was better in Canada then in Egypt"

"oh hell no, it was better in Egypt, living in the cold out there, no thank you"

"It's easier to get warm than to get cold"

"true, but it's too cold outside you can't do anything but stay inside"

"Same with both" you co-star kept going

"We're having a huge debate" the interviewer added in between

"no, you can do things outside, also you wear less clothes, you can tan, eat outside and swim, you know, just little pleasures" you listed "I can add more things if you want" you said, turning a bit towards your co-star.

"no no I think we get it" he laughed "you win"

"as usual" he tilted his head

"sure sure" he said patting your thigh "what makes you feel better"

"oh shut up" you both laughed

"You seem to have a great chemistry, did you hit it off right away?" your co-star put his harm on the back of your chair, making him turn a bit towards you. You looked at each other.

"Yeah I think so" he said

"What do you mean 'I think so'?" you laughed

"Well, we met at the read-through, we had to get into our characters right away, at first we mostly filmed during the time"

"oh yeah yeah"

"and we were simply like filming-eating-sleeping" you chuckled "so we didn't have time like to really know each other at first"

"yes that's true"

"I see" the interviewer said "but it didn't change anything for the chemistry in the movie?"

"no not really" you said" we're professionals" you joked. Your co-star was looking at you, eyeing your face. And that's when he couldn't take it anymore. Pedro closed his computer, rolling on the bed to get up. He sighed, then left the bedroom.

He missed you like crazy. You left two weeks ago on tour for your new movie and he was struggling. While you were filming the movie, he was at home, and while you were finally home, he had to leave to film too. You were both busy, and the only thing that kept you in touch was mostly texting and some phone calls here and there. When you both got back, three days later you were already gone on tour.

And now Pedro was home alone, missing you, and seeing you being close to your co-star like that made him pretty jealous to say the least. He isn't able to make you laugh, to touch you, and he can? That's the perks of being actors you might say, and yes that's true. But sometimes it doesn't make it easier.

Once Pedro was in the living room, he grabbed his phone, and tried to call you. It was ringing for a long time, he didn't think he would get you, but you finally picked up.

"Hi baby" your soft voice made his heart beat fast. He wasn't thinking rationally anymore, he had to do something, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Where are you staying for the week?" he quickly said, hoping he could join you, but fearing the answer, like you would be moving in another country for the next interviews, or that you would just say no.

"hum, wait I don't know the name of the hotel" he could hear you get up. You were probably in bed. "It's the Hestia hotel, actually not far from the airport" you paused "why? are you planning to come?" Pedro heard the excitement in your voice, reassuring him a bit.

"Yes, I don't have anything planned for the next week and I miss you so I wanted to join you, if you want to"

"of course I want to! I miss you too much" your voice gave a hint of sadness. "It's been some hectic days here, and it's been too long without you"

"tomorrow I'm here"

"good" there was a pause

"I'll see you tomorrow cariño"

"can't wait" he knew you were smiling "I love you"

"I love you too" you both hang up, going back onto your lives. Pedro already felt better after the call. He was getting very excited. The next hours were going to pass slowly as he couldn't wait to finally be with you.

Hours went by and Pedro managed to fall asleep pretty quickly, but moved a lot during the night. He woke up at 6am and left to the airport around 7:30am to get on his plane an hour later. He arrived a few hours later. As he was walking towards the exit, he noticed someone he knew. It was you. Neither of you said anything about picking him up at the airport, but you couldn't wait, even for just a few minutes more.

He stopped when he saw you, relieved. You were there, standing in front of him. He dropped his luggage when you ran to him. He picked you up in his arms and held you tight.

"finally" he muttered. Once he decided to let go, he kissed you passionately, his hands on your cheeks. It felt surreal. You saw it in his eyes when he looked at every detail on your face, as he still held it. Your hands were on his waist, and you brought him closer to hug him again. You left the airport hand in hand, feeling nothing but happiness. You were finally reunited, and it was going to be at least longer than before.

“What made you come so suddenly anyway?” You asked as you both entered the car.

“Hum, I just missed you a lot” he half-lied. It was true, he missed you too much, it was unbearable, but he also couldn’t stand having someone else touch you and be close to you like your co-star did.

Pedro thought he got away with it, but when he turned to look at you, you were eyeing him. You do know him too well.

“I appreciate it but I can feel that’s not the only reason” you stared at each other

“How’s Y/C/N?” He tried to change the subject

“Oh he’s fine, we were about to have a little dinner together”

“Just the two of you?” He shyly asked, feeling his confidence running away. You started to drive back to the hotel.

“Yes, and then we were thinking about heading to bed you know to have a little fun” he looked at you with big wide eyes. “So that’s the other reason” you joked

“What?”

“My big jealous man” you said caressing his chin for a second

“You weren’t really going to go to bed with him, yeah okay I see the sarcasm” he rolled he eyes, looking at the road, avoiding you.

“I’m not cheating on you Pedro”

“I am not doubting you”

“But you flew to another country because you trust me so much”

“I trust you” he immediately looked at you “it’s the others that I don’t trust”

“Like who?”

“Like Y/c/n? I saw the interview, hands on your thighs, the way he looked at you”

“He doesn’t even stand a chance” you joked

“That’s not the problem, he won’t stop”

“He is just being friendly” you looked at him from time to time

“I’m sorry, it’s just- I didn’t get to see you a lot, I really missed you and it drove me crazy seeing this” you put your hand on his thigh

“I know I know, and I missed you more” his heart was beating fast because of nervousness. He hated feeling vulnerable, but especially showing it to you. Jealousy can be perceived badly, like not trusting the person and such, but it’s not true.

Once you arrived at the hotel, you were met with your co-star on your way to your bedroom. He did seem confused and a little sad when you cancelled the dinner with him. But none of you talked about it and decided to move on about that. If he was interested he definitely knew he had no chance now.

The next few days have been perfect. It was getting calmer, and the fact that Pedro was here helped you a lot. You didn't have this anxiety of being away anymore. Pedro wasn’t feeling jealous anymore but he was still watching your co-star from a distance. At the end of the week you were getting nervous because Pedro was about to leave again. But, as a surprise (not really you discussed it), he actually stayed longer. He had nothing to do that couldn't be done on the phone or on the computer, so he stayed for the rest of the tour.

Being in each other’s presence was helping you. He calmed your anxiety, and he was reassured and not jealous anymore.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #oneshot #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal preferences #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x famous!reader #Pedro pascal x actress!reader

[screeblees]

Hello!! Can I ask what the Angry Yandere would be like with a darling who is /completely/ in on the idea of being his darling? They love his devotion to them, how far he'll go for them, and become totally love-struck and slightly obsessive with him as well, even wants to makeover his house into "our home", etc. I think it's funny when Yanderes get thrown for a loop haha.

Hii!! Yesss I absolutely love Willing ! Reader!! I really hope I did this justice <3

Angry ! Yandere Headcanons here !

I'm getting around to all my asks as soon as I can! Also this is my 10th post :3

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!!<33

Well, I imagine you would be rather passive until the point of being kidnapped, maybe finding Angry! Yandere’s recordings flattering but not thinking much of it.

That is, until you wake up with an absence of senses; blindfolded and bound, which would make it safe to say that that changes things.

Just as an Unwilling ! Darling, you would be terrified at first, frightened and shaky, but unlike Unwilling ! Darling, once you realise A) just who has kidnapped you and B) the intense devotion and obsession Angry ! Yandere has for you; the fearfulness dissolves and instead awe, appreciation and utter romanticism comes (which quickly grows into fierce love and what could be considered mutual obsession).

Your calmness (and even more so your smiling, delighted expression) confuses him. Angry ! Yandere knew to expect you to feel a little distressed in your new environment, so the complete acceptance and relaxation you presented was perplexing to him, although he completely welcomed and rewarded this behavior.

Due to the obedience shown he is extremely suspicious of you, on especially furious nights he may yell his frustrations of how he knows you’re planning something but he won’t punish you, you have done nothing wrong, the most he’ll do is throw something at a wall on the opposite side of the room from you. And despite the fact that Angry ! Yandere is lenient with you, his security is almost as heavy as if you had escaped.

But through late night conversations where you cuddle in bed or on the couch, he’ll come to realise your reciprocation and feel far more comfortable - but don’t expect him to become any less demanding of your comfort, affection or attention. Your escape will be one less worry for him and your love is one more comfort for him to carry with him throughout the day.

If there’s something you want, he’ll get it, someone you want dead, he’ll kill them, someone you want tortured, they’ll be tormented for the rest of their life. Albeit, when you ask to come out of the basement it takes weeks to convince Angry ! Yandere, even now that he sees your affection, he still holds concerns deep in his mind (and also the idea of anyone else experiencing your comforting atmosphere makes his fury bubble to the forefront) and even then, he wants the majority of your time to be in the basement, that is your and his home.

You want to redecorate and make it like a real home? Sure, of course, anything you want includes changing the basement (and upstairs if you’d like) to be however you want. He feels like you really, truly love him and that - although it confuses him immensely - alleviates most anger from him, the only thing to change that being when he has to go out. 

When Angry ! Yandere comes home from work and you meet him at the basement door like an excited puppy, he feels relief and comfort flood through him as he welcomes you into his arms, already taking off any uncomfortable outerwear or accessories such as a tie and dumping them in a nearby chair for later. He revels in your voice, completely focused on him, his day and what he’d been doing (and vis-versa, of course), your words filling his head and your body in his embrace, snuggling in closer.

Angry ! Yandere doesn’t need you to do anything at all for him except what you already readily do; hug him, kiss him, cuddle with him, talk to him, greet him when he comes home, love him, accept him, be with him forever and ever, etc. And when you do do a little more such as cooking for him, he’ll smother you in kisses cause he cannot contain himself and the little things you do to show your love make him feel like he’ll explode - but not in anger, not at all, but pure unbridled love. He’s never been happier in his life and he’ll make sure you feel the very same way…

#cw yandere #yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #angry yandere #angry yandere x reader #yandere x comforting reader #comfort darling #willing reader #yandere x willing reader #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yandere x reader headcanons #yandere hcs #yandere drabble #yandere drabbles #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere writing #lovesick #obsessive love #screeblees writing #10

[gingerjolover]

been in my naomi vibes as of late, would luv to see a smut of naomi for v-day 🎀 possibly involving a lingerie fashion show as you’ve discussed on your page before. luv ur writing 🫶

oh haiiii

so i had this as a whole fic and it.. got deleted

so i shall summarize

RPF smut under da cut, minors gtfo<3 (im so srs)

okay so a long time ago i mentioned that (canonically) naomi calls soft!gf "babydoll" bc of their obsession with buying soft!gf lingerie

and we shall divulge in this however it should be known that naomi did not start buying you lingerie right out the gate okay?

it all started when you and naomi started dating, you didn't uhaul honestly, i feel like naomi is really into their space and environment and it takes a lot of effort for nomi to either move or allow big changes in their space

it starts because naomi bought you a bunch of pajama sets for their apartment

and this just became a thing like naomi would see a cute set online or even on the road and just get it and mail it home for you or whatever

and eventually after a little bit you find out naomi's love for you in lingerie (im thinking it was a lace top and jeans situation that naomi just could not keep it in their pants) and thats when the babydoll thing starts

not the naomi starts off conservatively, but it's really the act of taking it off of you that excites them

but eventually they realize that you find some confidence when they worship you in it so they start to put more effort into what the color is, the type of material, the fit of the set, how easy is it to put on and take off, can the top be worn with jeans in public, and so on and so forth

and this isn't a weekly or even monthly thing, it really is only for special occasions or when naomi wants to spice things up

it's pretty much expected on either of your birthdays, valentines day, and your anniversary to find a big black box with a ribbon tied around it on your bed waiting for you

and maybe because muna has been so busy, naomi hasn't bought any in a while so there's like three or four boxes the night before valentines day

and naomi has the cockiest shit-eating grin on their face, probably in a pair of loose cargos or joggers, a grey crewneck on as they lounge on the bed, hands behind their head

"go on babydoll, show me what ya got," comes out of their mouth, and if you didn't love them sm you'd roll your eyes

and naomi carefully curated the lingerie for valentines this year, like there's a style you really like, a color that compliments your skin, one that is unique and you haven't tried before, and maybe a risky one that naomi didn't know if you'd be interested in

"need help?" naomi would call, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, manspreading with their hands clasped

"no, give me a sec," you'd reply, slipping on the first one

and one by one you'd come out of the bathroom, naomi letting out a low whistle or pretending to faint or fanning themselves, trying to hype you up

they always hold a hand above you, spinning you gently before kissing your hand, rough hands running up and down your sides

naomi is rubbing your hips, groaning softly, "look at you baby doll, goddamn," before pulling you between their legs kissing you softly

naomi ushers you back to the bathroom with a sweet tap on your ass, pushing you softly

but the last one, it's probably a babydoll style but has a bunch of cut outs or is like completely see through

and it's less about the lingerie like i said before, there is something so intimate about this experience for the two of you, both getting some type of boost from it

but this one is like... intensely horny, like you gasp pulling it out of the box bc its almost unholy

and it's probably in a soft pink or dark red or white, one that would compliment your skin tone well (but there's not a ton of fabric to begin with like its mostly frills and sheer)

and you walk out of the bathroom, a tiny bit insecure because it's just SO different than the usual ones

and naomi's reaction is new, its a full jaw drop, absolute shock to the system as naomi literally stutters

there's no witty comment, no annoying whistle or anything, they just stare at you jaw slack

"oh- no, no, don't cover up, get your cute ass over here... holy shit," naomi says, still shocked but noticing your nervousness. and you walk over gently, and even for the room thats literally vibrating in sexual tension and insanely horny energy, naomi just brushes some hair out of your face and cups your cheek, "you look so pretty babydoll," and it's so tender and affectionate you could sob

and honestly, kinda a blur but it takes naomi approximately .5 seconds to rip it off of you before they are buried between your legs

like never ate a meal before/drinking from the fountain of youth shit naomi is literally devouring you

and by the second orgasm (from their tongue alone) naomi's sweating bro, ripping off their crewneck and then laying on the bed, pulling down their pants just enough bc of fucking course they were packing all day in preparation

and look if naomi is using a strap, you're bouncing okay? they call you bunny for a reason

but it's almost frenzied, like you both know what you need to do

small glances and shy smiles are exchanged, both speaking with your eyes to make sure that everything is still good between you both and everything is consensual and chill and feeling good

one of naomi's hands grips your hip as they help guide you down onto the strap, the other rubbing your ass softly

"good job bunny, that's my girl," they whisper, a proud cocky smirk on their face as yours contorts

and naomi is so calm the whole time, letting you move around how you need to so you can get off

right as your about to cum again, naomi has a hand in your hair, bringing your face to theirs

"good job bunny, what do you have to say? hm?" naomi asks, breathy and whispery as your legs shake

"thank you for- the clothes," you mumble, your nose rubbing against theirs sweetly, but your panting as their fingers tug a little harder at the root of your hair

"good job bunny, let go," naomi whispers, letting you release, your face in their neck as they rub your back gently

also naomi is the king of aftercare i said it once i'll say it again

and yes they tore that last set to pieces! what did you expect! you're hot!

#anon cutie #boygenius x reader #naomi mcpherson x reader #naomi mcpherson smut #the way i type is... so annoying? #dont take a shot everytime i say literally or like or kinda or capitalize a random word bc youll die #ugh #gingy's cupid shuffle #gingy's blurb night #SHUT UP GINGY #i need therapy and a cold shower #goodnight everyone <3

[ladymelisande]

My problem with this implication that Crowley is the Selfish One™ for panicking and wanting to run instead of going with Aziraphale to Heaven and Aziraphale being a supposed saint that wants to save humanity (or fix Heaven just for love of Crowley, which is quite reductive and I will to that in a minute) is that it just acts as ir Aziraphale knew that the Second Coming was happening all along (which he didn't) and that once again just ignores that 1) he was pretty excited at the idea of coming back there, 2) that he did imply he misses reporting to Heaven AKA he is struggling to be part of The Company™ - Michael Sheen also mentioned this before the season started - and 3) Aziraphale was spiraling and in denial of the situations happening around him all season.

There are some points I disagree with so much and they are just... Not in the show?

'That Aziraphale didn't know that Heaven tried to kill him.' Yes, he did, he didn't know the whole dialogue word for word, but Crowley says in the first episode that Gabriel tried to cast him into hellfire.

'That Heaven has good angels and that's why Aziraphale was doing the right thing by going.' Okay, I hate this point with passion. Heaven having nice, innocent angels like Muriel doesn't make it less of a cult/totalitarian environment/dystopia/you pick your metaphor. Just because some angels are good doesn't mean the system is not broken. In any case, those angels deserve to get the fuck out too.

Crowley can't let go of his hate of Heaven and that's bad for some reason. This point is so... victim blamy. Why in the hell should Crowley feel anything but hate for Heaven or God by the matter? Huh?!

The point that argues that Aziraphale only wanted to go back to Heaven because of Crowley and to keep him safe deserves a paragraph of his own because I think it's such a 'reduce into shipping' reading. Aziraphale has been struggling with letting go of Heaven, he hasn't been eating, he is playing humans like fiddles during that ball and denying the danger around him, he accepted Gabriel in his home when anyone with some self-preservation would have thrown him out of in the street. All of this, plus his line in Season 1 when he still hesitated about 'his side' not liking him staying with Crowley, all of this is a build up that goes up to the moment where he presents Metatron's offer to Crowley.

Because as much as I ship them and I do think Crowley going was a mayor factor on making him accept, I don't think it's only about Crowley, it's about Aziraphale's inability to let go of his perception of Heaven as the side of goodness.

Crowley going back to Heaven is how Aziraphale thinks he can have his cake and eat it. Crowley is safe from Hell (because he thinks in terms of Hell being more harmful to Crowley than Heaven) and Aziraphale gets to 'fix' Heaven and never, ever confront the fact that Heaven is not the side of good, most importantly, never confront the fact that God is not a force of good.

Aziraphale's acceptance of the offer is not just doing Good and Save Earth™ (because remember he didn't know about the Second Coming when he accepted), it's him regressing (in the psychological term, not in the character term) and not wanting to accept real change, which sort of goes with his character being the sort of slow and frozen previous eras (contrasting with Crowley 'going too fast'). It's the same thing with him just believing Crowley is a good person because he is fundamentally an angel Deep Down™, and not because he developed his own moral compass.

Like, I'm sorry, but I don't think him accepting that offer had anything to do with some super mega selfless impulse to save Earth. He doesn't mention Earth in his whole speech. He goes around how Heaven is 'the side of truth, of light, of good' and he looks at Crowley confused as if he doesn't get why Crowley wouldn't want to go back to The Side of Truth, Light and Good™. I don't see Earth and humans mentioned there. It's not about them and deep down is not even about Crowley.

It's about Aziraphale and Heaven. It's about how he, as much as he loves Crowley, he still wants Heaven, he still wants their praise, he wants to be needed by them and how he can't and (in that moment) doesn't want to accept what they truly are.

This is why he will fail in Season 3. There won't be growth if he suddenly manages to change an unchangeable system. He needs to fail, he needs to have this view of them and God broken or he will never grow out of it.

#go ahead call me a hater now 🙄 #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens #I swear this relationship therapy speech rubbish applying to fictional characters is just ruining storytelling #fandom always wants to twist situations in 'they are both wrong' #because weirdly they think that if only one of the characters are wrong then that character... Becomes an abuser I guess? #because that's totally how it works I guess! #one person can't be wrong in a relationship ever #it's has to be the two of them exactly in the same level or the relationship is Doomed™ #but even then is not about that is about character progression