#so I’ve been trying to hide that I’ve been struggling in general | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

azrielhours · 2 months

Text

Tight Enough

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel.

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

“Shit,” you breathed, pulling at the laces awkwardly around your waist, trying and failing to tighten your corset. You shifted them around your shoulders, hoping it’d provide sufficient pulleying. You bowed forward, yanking.

Still not enough.

You huffed. You’d been at this for upwards of twenty minutes, hauling and tugging in all kinds of positions til your hands shook.

For all the gentlemanliness and compassion in Rhys and Cassian, you entirely refused to ask mated men to assist you.

Tying the laces onto the doorknob, you tried letting your body fall in the opposite direction. Your feet slid against the tile as you pivoted, nearly tripping. “Shit.”

This was so fucked.

A gentle knock on the door startled you. “Y/N?”

Azriel.

Fuck.

You scrambled to untie the laces from the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Cass and Rhys stepped out for a bit. Are you alright?”

Fuck.

You scrubbed at your face. This was the outcome you’d been avoiding above all. Worse than the mated men. Mated my ass. You should’ve bit your tongue and asked Cass for help.

“Y/N?” he asked again at your silence.

“Sorry,” you breathed, heart racing.

You cracked open the bathroom door, peering up at him. He searched your eyes patiently as you searched for your courage. “I can’t get my corset on,” you admitted quietly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, eyes marginally widening.

You shook your head. “It’s fine,” you said quickly, voice tight. “I’ll just—I’ll try—”

“I can help,” he offered softly.

You looked up at him again, eyes pleading. Turn him down. “I—” you swallowed. Turn him down. A glance at the wall behind him with a clock revealed you were even later than you thought. Turn him down. You bit your lip and steeled your spine. Fuck. You were really doing this. “Okay,” you whispered, like you could hide the admission from even yourself.

He gave a slight nod of encouragement, stepping aside to let you come out.

“I—let me—one second,” you stammered, closing the door.

You were still undressed.

Right.

Another huff of indignation as you yanked on a slip to cover your bare legs. This was fine, right? It was just help he was offering. Necessary help.

You took a steadying breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Azriel had moved to stand near the fireplace, watching it with his back to you, like it would offer you privacy. He could surely see your panicked mortification.

You padded to him, placing a hand softly on his elbow to let him know you were ready.

He turned, face carefully neutral as he took in the sight of you.

Where corsets were typically worn over shifts, this one was fashioned to sit directly upon your skin. So you stood before Azriel, flushed cheeks and fidgeting fingers in just your corset and a skirt.

Azriel focused his gaze strictly on your face, didn’t dare let it fall to where the flesh of your breasts generously spilled over the delicate lace trim adorning the hem. Didn’t allow a glance at the thin shift mercifully—barely—covering your legs.

He’d never seen you so undressed.

You shifted your weight between feet beneath his hefty gaze. “Usually, Nuala or Ceridwen or Mor help me,” your voice was still tight. “I’ve never had to do it by myself.”

Azriel nodded. Your skin had a slight sheen to it in the light of the fire. A few pieces of hair had fallen out of your intricate upswept style, curling at the nape of your neck. Azriel might have bitten back a laugh at the endearing sight, at the physical evidence of your struggle—had you not struck him dumb with how beautiful you looked.

How you allowed him to bear witness to your exposed skin, to this intimacy.

He was no stranger to corsets—hell, he’d taken women wearing lingerie that made your attire look like a priestess’s robe, and yet—

He shook his head. This was just help. No matter how lovely you were.

He cleared his throat. He needed you to turn. “Would you—” He twisted a finger in the air, unsure how to ask.

“Oh,” you breathed, still donning that pretty blush on your cheeks. You took another step toward him, turning at last.

With the absence of your imploring gaze—one he’d scarcely forget—Azriel exhaled, allowed himself an assessing glimpse down your form presented before him. He bit back a curse. The laces across the length of the corset were haphazardly pulled. He wondered how Rhys overlooked something like this that clearly required assistance. The spaces between the undone laces revealed your bare back, curving all the way down to the slip resting on your backside.

He didn’t know how to begin touching you.

“Az?” you asked, voice still thin, your nervousness anything but subtle. But you’d been comfortable enough to ask him for help, and that made his heart soar.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat again. Raised his hands hesitantly; a silent deep breath, and he began.

He carefully pulled at the laces starting from the top of your corset, loosening them to correctly adjust their security. Azriel keenly tried his best to pick up each lace without touching your skin. Tried not to consider how creamy it felt when he did graze skin, how warm and perfect. When he’d finished working his way down, he began tugging at the string to tighten it properly.

At the first firm tug, you gasped, stumbling backwards into him. “Oh,” you stepped away hastily. You’d landed directly onto his abdomen, trapping his hands between your bodies. Your own hands had landed on his thighs, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry, Azriel.”

“It’s alright.” Azriel tried not to think about how your softness felt. “It’s my fault.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d helped a female with her corset.

You looked at him over your shoulder, doing funny things to his heart again with your eyes. “We need a bedpost.” There was sheepish mirth lighting your eyes, displacing the anxiety from before. He managed a reassuring smile back and nodded.

You walked to Cassian’s bed in the inn room you were sharing, gripping the post for stability. Azriel dutifully returned to your back, and you tried not to think about how the warmth from his body radiated so easily into yours from your proximity. How careful he was being with his hands, doing everything to make you more comfortable.

He yanked gently in warning. When you remained sturdily in your spot, his pulling grew stronger, working his way down. When he neared the base of your spine, he began tying the lace. Your hands moved to your waist, feeling snug but not quite as tight-laced as you’d wanted.

You turned to peer at him over your shoulder again. He met your eye in question. “Um, I was hoping to wear it a little tighter,” you admitted.

“Tighter than this?” His brows rose.

You nodded.

He undid the knot, pulling the laces tighter as per your request, waiting for approval.

Once again, you caressed your waist, pushing the corset to feel its give.

“Is it tight enough?” he asked, voice gravely.

“Can I have one more inch?” you asked, and he internally composed himself.

“I don’t know if it would work,” he said.

“Here,” you released your waist, reaching behind, wiggling your fingers for his hands. Azriel extended his hands to hover on either side of your waist, allowing you to guide them on your waist. You pushed onto his hands, making him squeeze your waist. “Can you hold it there?” you asked.

Azriel swallowed, holding your waist tightly, pressing the corset tighter to your body as you reached behind, pulling the untied lace. He tracked your every move, every careful twist of your fingers, how your arms brushed against his hands. Your hands worked dangerously close to his body as you worked to secure the ties at last.

When you finished, he regretfully released you, allowing you to turn, standing between him and the bedpost. He braced himself for the onslaught of your stare, the way he knew you’d look up at him.

Where there’d previously been jittery nervousness, there was something in your eyes now that set his nervousness off. A sense of open depth that swallowed him whole as you took him in. “Thank you,” you breathed. A small smile tugged your lips up.

He wanted to admit something stupidly vulnerable, like thank you for trusting me. So instead, he took a step back, ducked his head, and said, “You’re welcome.”

That pretty, trustful look returned to your eyes, a look he’d do anything to keep others from seeing. “Maybe you can help me zip up my dress too?” Your playful glint had him smiling back.

“Of course.”

You hurried to the bathroom and rustled for a bit before returning to him with the top half of a floor-length, black evening gown hanging off your torso. You stood before him, more confidently than before, and Azriel took his time zipping it up, tucking away the corset. Tucking away the knowledge, the memory of it. It was all his to cherish.

As you put your heels on, a knock sounded on the door. Azriel opened it to find Rhys and Cassian conveniently ready to go, all smug smirks.

“Sorry for making us late,” you said, rushing up behind Azriel. “I had a hard time getting dressed.” Azriel stepped aside, allowing you to exit, taking Cassian’s arm.

Rhys mockingly tsked. “Sorry to hear that. How’d you manage?”

“Azriel helped,” you said over your shoulder.

“Well, thank goodness for Azriel,” Rhys winked at him.

Azriel stood stunned, staring in disbelief at Rhys until you looked back at him blushing, a shy smile knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Yes. Thank goodness for Azriel.”

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @riddlesb1tch @cullenswifezz222 @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @lilah-asteria

(lmk if your urls changed, sorry some of them don't work!)

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel/reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel spymaster #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azrielhours #azriel fluff

2K notes · View notes

biceratops7 · 9 months

Text

I’m gonna SCREAM-

We’ve already established as a fandom that Metatron could teach a masterclass on gas lighting, but I wanna talk about how he specifically validates the things Aziraphale cares for while simultaneously devaluing them under the surface.

First off, this moment?

Tells us everything we need to know. It sets the scene for exactly the games Metatron is playing. He makes Muriel feel important while openly insulting them (flat out calling them stupid), aka seamlessly reinforcing the idea that they’re less than to both them and anyone else in the room. He knows he can get away with this easily, he knows that Muriel, lonely, overlooked little Muriel, will be completely distracted by the fact that someone so important is taking an interest in them.

This is already horribly clever, but then later on you realize it’s doing even MORE heavy lifting when he appoints Muriel to run the bookshop. “See? What’s important to you is what’s important to me! I’ve graciously taken the time to ensure your beloved shop is looked after by Muriel. You know, the dim one!” …let’s suffice it to say he’s ensnared too birds with one net for this one, and that a pattern is already starting to arise.

So when Metatron says Gabriel came to Aziraphale because he’s a “natural leader” and “doesn’t just tell people what they wanna hear”? Yah he’s full of shit. Aziraphale struggles with his sense of purpose when he doesn’t have someone or something guiding him, and for thousands of years he’s been terrified of sharing his true feelings and opinions to 90% of people he’s known. Completely just trying to butter him up. Wanna know the real reason Gabriel seeks asylum with Aziraphale?

Exactly this. Gabriel just says so point blank. It’s not because Aziraphale is this person for him, it’s because despite knowing nothing, he has this instinct that Aziraphale is the only one who can possibly understand why Gabriel did what he did. He is, I mean as far as we know, the only other angel who has fallen in love. (In general, let alone with a demon.)

But nope, can’t have that. We can throw the promise of restoring Crowley in the mix to sweeten the pot, but we can’t acknowledge why he’d want that so badly in the first place. So now it’s cause they work so well together. We can praise the angel for the fallen archangel Gabriel himself coming to him protection and guidance, give him a gold star. But we couldn’t DARE imply that it was by virtue of Aziraphale’s courage to choose earthly love over heavenly. How Gabriel didn’t need a leader, but a friend who’s truly known the joys of adoring that “particular person” and the pain of needing to hide it.

Cause then Aziraphale would start getting crazy ideas, like that his silly little human feelings have a great deal of worth. That they have the power to inspire, form cracks in the institution, fundamentally weaken what has controlled and harmed him. We wouldn’t want him to know the true value of the cards he holds when he has the ace in a match against you, now would we? After all…

Metatron uses this ingeniously sinister tactic of taking away Aziraphale’s choice while giving the illusion that he’s actually opening up doors. Notice how he tells Aziraphale he would have the authority to do something as extraordinary as turn a demon into an angel, yet he never once puts the much simpler alternative of just working with a demon on the table? The sleight of hand here is that he’s being offered the opportunity to freely be with Crowley… but he’s already freely with him as is, no bargain to be made. In fact he fought to be. Metatron disappears this accomplishment right before our eyes, while seamlessly maintaining the illusion to Aziraphale that he (Zira) is in control.

He sets Aziraphale up for failure by only providing the option he knows Crowley will not only decline but be deeply hurt by. It’s all so cleverly planned. Once this plays out exactly how he wants, he delivers the finishing blow by diminishing Crowley and his “damned fool questions”. Suddenly doing a complete 180 and emphasizing how foolish and troublesome he is. Metatron was offering Crowley by Aziraphale’s side as The Carrot. Now he’s telling Aziraphale it was stupid of him to want The Carrot, un-heavenly.

Aziraphale’s life, love, happiness, it’s all not only a massive inconvenience for Metatron but a liability. He has successfully taken a weapon from Aziraphale’s hands he didn’t even know he had. Metatron sees the writing on the wall, and he wants it contained.

#THE southern pansy doesn’t even realize he’s about to start a jod damn revolution #quick! annihilate his self esteem so he doesn’t start making people sniff out the bullshit on PURPOSE #good omens #ineffable husbands #season 2 #2x06 #meta #analysis #aziraphale #crowley #Muriel #metatron #Renew good omens #biceratops #Gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy

2K notes · View notes

thehmn · 3 months

Text

I’m currently listening to Maren Uthaug’s book 11% about a world where most men have died. I should probably wait until I’ve finished the book but I’m so fascinated by the world building.

As of now it’s still unclear why the men died but when the story takes place there’s a mix of older women who fucking hates men and young women who have only met drugged up men at “breeding centers” and imagine “males” as violent boogeymen but otherwise don’t really care and just want to live in the new seemingly perfect society their grandmothers fought for. The only people who still fight for men’s rights are witches who believe masculine energies are as natural and Of Nature as feminine energies, but even they sound more like animal rights activists, standing outside breeding centers with signs every Friday. Their most provocative sign is a picture of a man with Human written on it.

Christianity has been completely transformed and is now run by priests (they don’t call themselves priestess) who can only hold ceremonies when they have their periods and snakes are their most sacred symbol because they gave knowledge to Eva and God is called The Mother.

Trans men exist but are referred to as Man Women and they all seem to be sex workers who have functional silicone penises, though I’m not far enough into the story to know if they have other jobs. They generally also still have breasts because working as a wet nurse is another source of income for them. Testosterone treatments is not an option because it would make them too masculine and dangerous to be allowed into society but they all have male names and everyone use male pronouns for them.

A really fascinating aspect of the world is how people want to get rid of the old “patriarchal architecture” of straight lines and boxes but refuse to tear it down with machines, instead insisting on letting Mother Nature reclaim it. Only Rat Girls are actively trying to destroy the old buildings by releasing hoards of rats into them and planting bamboo to break up the concrete. New buildings have round shapes and are build in ways that make them blend in with cultivated nature and inside they’re painting in beautiful colors with no hard edges. They sound a lot like colorful hobbit homes. Also, locks are considered uncivilized and of a time when violent men roamed the earth and made life unsafe so nothing, from front doors to bathrooms, have locks. For a while after most men died women would go for Night Walks to relish in the fact that they no longer had to be afraid, though they liked to visit the witches at night because it felt a little spooky, which the witches thought was good fun.

The story is naturally about a middle aged witch who is hiding a young boy illegally and gets milk from one of the trans men in the red district while also sleeping with a Christian priest who struggles with her sacred job because her periods are irregular.

I’ll come back with follow up thoughts once I’ve finished it. Unlike what you might think, Maren Uthau isn’t a scary man hater. I’ve listened to most of her other books and this isn’t a recurring trope so clearly she has something to say specifically with this story and it’s rated pretty highly by both male and female readers. I think I’m in for quite the ride.

#humontalks #books and reading #Maren Uthaug

688 notes · View notes

wonderlandwalker · 5 months

Text

Cherished Moments | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick is trying to get you to relax and, well, it works maybe a bit too much.

Content Warnings/Tags: Mostly fluff, small injury, lovesick Finnick, grumpy!reader x sunshine!Finnick, insinuations of violence, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.2k

Requested by Anon: I love your writing!!! What do you think a grumpy reader × sunshine finnick would be like? Love the back cat gf golden retriever bf trope haha and I feel like finnick would be obsessed with someone who was mean to everyone BUT him! Feel free to ignore if you don't feel inspired, I'll read everything you write anyway!!

A/N: Can someone pls let me know if they actually manage to find the request after I've posted them I have no clue if these are getting through. Ngl this one was a struggle for me but once I found the right idea it came pouring out. Do they even have darts in the Hunger Games universe? Well, they do now. Keep sending me requests I genuinely love doing them!!

“Come on, I know you can do it! I’ve seen you throw knives, this is pretty much the same thing, only smaller.” Finnick was trying to encourage you, but you weren’t easy to win over.

“I’m telling you, I can’t. This is just different. The darts are so much smaller and lighter, it throws me off balance.” You were at a party in District 13, well, calling it a party would be generous.

“Just try. I’ll help you come on. I promise it’ll be fun.” He couldn't hide his smile at your antics, but he also knew if anyone was able to convince you, it was him.

“Fine, but if something goes wrong it's on you.” You looked him in the eyes, and could see a spark of light inside them, and you wouldn't admit it, not with all the other people in the room, but it warmed your heart a little.

“It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen” He asked you, and you almost scoffed at the question.

“I could hit someone, and then everyone will hate me even more than they already do”

“They don't hate you, they just don't know you the way I do.” Whenever someone would ask him what he saw in you, he would always be dumbfounded. Sure, you had a hard exterior, but when someone has gone through as much in their life as you did, were you really to blame? No, he didn't understand the question, because, to him, you were perfect. Whether you were sulking at breakfast for having to leave the bed or smiling at him because they were serving your favourite dish for dinner, he would take anything you gave him.

“Are you telling me that you, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, are afraid of hurting someone with a tiny dart?” He was challenging you, and it was working.

“I'm not afraid, I just don't want anything to go wrong.” The way your voice softened around him made his heart beat faster for you and sometimes, he swore you knew and were doing it on purpose.

“You won’t, just throw it straight into the board.”

Finnick is standing behind you, grinning like he’s just won some sort of lottery while he guides your arm up for you, you can feel his breath on your neck before he whispers “Come on love, do it for me.” You’ve never been able to deny him, to your own annoyance at times, so you do as he says.

The dart flies through the air, and it doesn't hit the board, but it comes relatively close. So you throw a second dart and it hits the board, but you don’t manage to score any points just yet. As you throw another one, it manages to hit the board, but only for a little while before it falls to the floor. You throw your hands up in defeat before saying “See, told you I couldn't do it.” But Finnick hasn't given up, in you, he would never give up.

“That’s nonsense, you just have to try again, be patient.” He walks over to collect your darts and hands them back to you. He steps behind you again, guiding you into the right position before speaking.

“Just close your eyes, imagine you’re throwing them at Snow.” It makes you laugh and he can feel your muscles relax. He would always feel so proud of himself when he made you laugh, he didn't mind that you don't do it often, it would only feel like so much more of an achievement.

You do as he says, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath right before you throw the dart, hitting it right in the bullseye. You throw another, hitting the bullseye again. But you miss the board with the next one when Finnick leaves a small kiss on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. You can feel his body moving from behind you, and focus to throw another dart. It’s only when you hear an exclamation of pain coming from right in front of you that you snap open your eyes, you would recognize it anywhere. In front of you was Finnick, standing right next to the board with one of his hands clutched in the other, and when you take a closer look, you can see the dart that is stuck in the back of Finnick's hand.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry are you okay.” He would never tell you this, but he doesn't even mind that it happened, seeing you being sweet on him so openly, it makes him forget anything even happened in the first place.

“I'm fine sweetheart.” there is a strain in his voice, and he knows you can hear it too from the way your brows furrow in regret. You knew he wasn't trying to be tough for you, no, you had moved past that years ago. he was trying to not make you worry, it was something he would always do no matter how much pain he was in. But you were worried, because in contrast to all those other times, this time it was your fault that he was hurt. It never phased you much when someone would get shot, it never phased you much as you heard the canons each night in the arena signalling another death, not in the way it phased other people, but this, this broke you.

“Finnick you are not fine, there is a fucking dart inside your hand and it's my fault.”

“Well, most people don’t throw a fourth dart sweetheart." He says, and he chuckles a little, but you don't hear it in your state of worry.

“I am so sorry I-” You were choking up over your guilt, and while he loved getting to see your raw emotions, this one he didn't enjoy.

“Hey, no, I'm sorry too, don't get yourself worked up over this. It's just a dart, I will be fine. Why don’t you go get me a first aid kit?” He really was fine, and he could have gotten it himself, but he knew how much you would get in your own head when you didn't have anything to do in these kinds of situations.

Once you come back and help patch him up, he looks up at you and you catch his gaze. A smile crosses his face in a way he knows his cheeks are going to hurt.

“Why are you smiling” you ask, confused at his glee in a situation like this.

“Because I know you care about me. You don’t always show it, and you don’t have to, because moments like these I’ll cherish forever.” His eyes are sparkling as he looks into yours, he swears he could just stand here and look at you for the rest of his life.

“Oh, would you shut up already” you tell him while swatting his hand away from your face and rolling your eyes.

“You can’t tell me to shut up, you threw a dart into my hand.” He’s still grinning like an idiot, and it's infecting you. One of the corners of your mouth lifts up, and it's subtle, but he catches it, how could he not with how intently he is watching you. You’re back to your old dynamic, but he loves it just as much.

723 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 3 months

Text

A message.

I’d like to start by saying once more (due to it being the cause of so many hateful messages) that I support Palestine.

I donate to charities that fund several of the organisations that help and I use my business in the best way I can to give my services for free to fundraisers that also raise money for these causes. Shy of showing you my personal bank statements and private emails between myself and my clients, I don’t have any ways of showing this on tumblr.

I have several social media platforms, I have a business that I run, I have friends and family I talk to, I have an entire life off of this website. I choose to use tumblr to post my writing and for the most part, it’s become a really important space for me. Writing is one of the few things I truly do for myself. I enjoy it immensely and it can really bring me a lot of peace.

I choose not to blog anything other my writing, other people’s writing and general fandom related things on my blog because I like to keep it as that small space for myself and one of the things I love most. I understand wholly that that is a privilege in itself and I will not shy away from that fact.

However, I will not condone being hunted for the choices I make. For the vast majority of you, I am a stranger online and no one, absolutely no one, knows what I do off of this website. I won’t allow anyone to judge me on what they don’t see and don’t understand.

The size of my following was not a choice I made, it was not something I deliberately aimed for and it was not something I tried hard to make sure I achieved. It wasn’t the goal of this blog. I don’t deem myself capable of “influencing” anyone in anyway. I’m a fanfiction writer. I’m not a politician, I don’t claim to be the most educated person on political and worldwide matters. I simply would like to believe that everyone tries to help in anyway they can. I know not everyone has the financial means to donate and instead they choose to raise awareness in other ways - that’s absolutely okay.

But I - and others - do not have to follow the rule book someone else deemed law. You see, I gave my views and reasons and it wasn’t good enough. And now, if I chose to reblog certain things, I’m pretty sure I’d be dragged for being performative, or “back tracking.” I fear that with some people, who like to hide behind an anonymous button, I cannot win. Despite an argument revolving around real life issues, I think I can safely say it came across as a very personal attack.

As other people have mentioned before, I also don’t enjoy the idea of writing smut and happy ever after’s about our favourite fictional men and then reblogging the death of others in real life straight after. I know that’s the world right now. I’m aware. I read articles, I watch the news, I follow accounts on Twitter, on Instagram and I try and keep myself as up to date and as educated as possible. I just don’t show that on this one platform.

As many of you know, I do run my own business. I’m also five months pregnant. I’m definitely experiencing more stress than I usually do. I’m very happy and enjoying my pregnancy immensely but I struggled with sickness and tiredness for the majority of it so far. Whats to come in the next four months and beyond fills me with excitement and anxiety and nerves. Coming onto tumblr and writing about fiction is a little reprieve from that - again, a privilege I am so aware of.

But I won’t be tolerating any more hateful messages, I won’t be arguing with anyone. I’m not lowering myself to it. You can talk about me passively aggressively, you can choose to hate me, that’s fine. I’m happy blocking people and moving on. Anons will be off indefinitely, it’s been proven that too many people are willing to hide behind them. After the messages regarding myself and my unborn child, quite frankly, there’s not a lot of trust left when it comes to knowing how far people will sink.

I’ve said all I’d like to say on the matter, I’ve told people where I stand, my views on the genocide that is occurring, what I’m able to do about it in my personal life and why I choose to keep this particular space the way I do.

I hope everyone can try to understand and respect that. If you don’t, that’s fine, that’s your prerogative. I don’t go out of my way to challenge, or police, or demand things from people I do not know. I hope that no one thinks that they have the right to do that to myself and others. I’m under no obligation to follow someone else’s rules.

I don’t know what the future holds for this blog, pregnancy and real life is very much taking priority over writing at the moment, but I do like to try when I can. I can’t lie either, the messages and their content that I received really left me feeling dejected and frustrated, this fandom really has turned into something rather poisonous. I’d like to be able to rise above it and in the mean time, even if I’m not always present, I’d like people to be able to access the stories I worked really hard on.

Thank you for reading,

Emmy 🧡

176 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 10 months

Text

Recovery

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

◆

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Trauma, physical therapy, some reader descriptions (strong/muscles), dirty talk, size kink, grinding/dry humping, mentions of male masturbation, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking, tattoos.

◆

A/N: Hope y’all aren’t getting sick of Ghost x Bones because they’re not leaving anytime soon lol. Also this gif has my HEART, baby has some makeup in his eye lol

ALSO also, thank you to @thesleepingmusicneek for honestly just being an amazing fucking friend but for helping me SO much with my writing 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

Nothing but scribbles stumble across the page, now disfigured with angry wrinkles. And the writer, no more frustrated than he is stubborn, sitting with the pencil’s tip just at the paper’s edge. What’s worse than watching him struggle, is knowing there’s little to nothing you can do about it. This journey is up to him; his progress, his growth, his recovery, it’s all in his hands.

“This is bullocks.” Finally, he tosses the pencil down with an aggressive huff. “Never even was a lefty.”

“That’s not the point.”

Looking away with a frown, he mumbles, “I know.”

Simon’s physical therapist tries his best, he really does, but his patient is stubborn, and these injuries are unforgiving. Having you here is the main thing that keeps Simon going, out of both pride and general encouragement. In the therapist’s eyes, your open sass doesn’t help. But hey, it’s how the two of you bond.

“Try it this way, Ghost.” He then offers, speaking into the growing silence.

“I’ve already tried it that way. Fuckin’ hurts!” His left hand wasn’t ever his strongest or most favored out of the two, but practicing his writing skills is a step in the right direction in regard to his healing.

Sometimes, this was embarrassing for him, having you watch him struggle. But even through the bad days, and the really bad days, he insisted that you come. Your support meant more to him than anything, and you were glad to tag along. He found great offense in the mere offer of you leaving, which was suggested many times by his therapist. They claimed he’d focus better without you there. A fucking distraction.

“She’s my doctor,” He’d state firmly, eyes burning holes into his PT. “Not you.”

And this was true. Price had allowed you to be Simon’s main physician, figuring there really wasn’t anyone better. You had both personal and professional reason to be here. So, Simon’s physical therapist can suck it.

“Perhaps if we had some privacy, maybe -”

“This again?!” Ghost shouts, and you try your best to hide your chuckle. He should’ve known better than to bring this up now, when Simon is most frustrated. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Hey,” Laying a hand on his forearm, you request gently, “Take a breath.”

Regardless of his deep inhale, Simon’s dark eyes continue to glare at the physician. Though, as irritated as he may seem now, Ghost truly has come a long way. He’s gotten a lot of feeling back in his feet and legs, and can even wiggle his toes and feel pain. On this area of his body, the therapist has moved onto moving his entire foot.

“Why don’t we try the lower extremities?”

“‘S difficult, too.” Glancing away, Simon focuses on the view past the windowpane. It’s a sunny day, soon to rain but nice enough now.

The soft rub of your thumb on his forearm is what pulls him back, nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine.”

Redirecting his focus to his feet, Simon concentrates, determined to do… something. He’s been instructed to wiggle his toes, which he does successfully. And the gentle squeeze you give him offers the slightest bit of encouragement.

“Alright, now let’s try your ankle. Start with the right one.”

“Rotate it fully?” Scoffing, he raises a brow.

His therapist shrugs. “Any movement at all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Simon zones in on his right foot, doing anything he can to make it move. A twitch, a wiggle, anything. But by his quick yet shallow breaths, his small grunts, you can tell he’s becoming agitated again.

“Be patient with your body.”

“My body can do so much more than this.” He spits out in return.

“Yeah?” You return, not one to take his sass. “Then show me.”

There was nothing more motivating than your snarky remarks, always ready to challenge the man you love. And wouldn't you know it, a small shudder runs through his ankle. The way Simon’s head immediately snaps up toward you makes you grin, his eyes wide with little crinkles on the side, evidence of his eager smile. It's like he himself was surprised by it, and to say you’re proud of him would be an understatement.

“Way to go, big boy.” With the widest grin, you congratulate him. “You’re making progress.”

And even though he doesn’t respond, he keeps his smile. He’s proud of himself, too.

Subtle glances, small brushes or touches, cheeky grins and flirtatious laughs, that’s what accounts for your interactions. And while your exchanges have been sweet, they’ve also been dulled, in a way. The fire doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Your love still grows, is still everlasting, but the desire you had for one another, it’s faded.

Or at least, it seems that way.

The first few months of Simon’s recovery were the most difficult. Getting him stable was more important than anything, and you were by his side through it all. You weren’t thinking sexually, those thoughts weren’t anywhere near your headspace, not when you were so worried. But the more Simon healed, the more touchy he should be, right? It makes sense in your head. Going so long without so much as kissing or even hugging you, you’d assumed he’d want to put his hands on you as soon as he got the chance.

The injuries on Ghost’s face and head have healed, externally, at least. So, he’s been lifting his mask more around you, but only to the tip of his nose. And you wonder if he regrets showing himself to you. But even with that thought lingering heavily in your head, you also wonder, why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Why hasn’t he initiated anything? A small hug? A peck on the lips? Anything? Honestly, it feels like you’re losing him all over again.

Simon has shown his love for you through his actions and words. The two of you don’t often say it, but it comes up every now and then. His physical intentions, though, those were much more prominent. They came in the form of voicing his requests for you to stay, whether it be at his therapy sessions or just throughout the day. He wasn’t shy about that. Occasionally, he’d compliment you, call you smart and sweet, call you his doctor, his girl. But nothing more, nothing even remotely sexual. And it’s strange because Simon used to be so sexual. Even when he couldn't do much with you, couldn't he have said something to express his physical interest?

On the other end, Ghost’s worrying about this topic just as much as you. While you’ve been waiting for him to make a move, he’s been waiting on you. His body has always been scarred, mutilated with cuts that ran deep and marred with burns over his flesh. But he wasn’t insecure about any of that, not until these recent injuries. He knows he looks different, especially on his left arm and legs, even his face a little bit. Simon hasn’t felt truly insecure in decades, but that rotten feeling has now been clawing at the insides of his chest, breaking free and wreaking havoc on his mind.

Simon wanted to give you space, give you the option of turning away. He wouldn’t blame you, this wasn’t exactly part of the package. Besides, you can’t help it if you’re not attracted to him anymore because of these injuries. He’d understand it. It’d crush his entire being, but he’d understand.

And so, he waits, wondering if the day will come where you’ll make a move, where you’ll show him that you’re still attracted to him. But he refuses to bring it up to you, he doesn’t want to push.

“‘M sorry,” Simon grumbles quietly, somberly.

“You don’t have to be.” His regret is obvious, and you appreciate the gesture of him apologizing. But you’re used to his attitude during those sessions, and you honestly don’t blame him one bit. You can’t imagine how frustrating this situation would be if it were you personally.

Moving about the room, you clean up your station, sorting notes into files and wiping down the desk. And Simon watches you with thoughtful eyes, hoping for a chance to reconnect. You’re the most precious and special thing he’s ever had the pleasure of possessing. But not possess in a way of dominance, possess in a way like his own soul possesses his body. Natural, connected, at peace.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice low and muddled by the rain tapping against the windowpane.

Without turning, you respond with, “Normal. Nothing too crazy.”

“What was your favorite part?” Simon pries gently, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now, you do turn. Leaning back against the edge of your desk, you grin. “Spending it with you.”

And it’s true. Regardless of the worries slowly but surely consuming you, it was nice to be with him.

Swallowing, his pulse becomes thunderous in his ears, heart beating against his chest. He wants you, wants to feel you next to him. So, with great hesitancy, he requests, “C’mere.”

Excitement shoots through your limbs as you all too quickly prance over to him, ecstatic that he’s even asked. And your eagerness makes him smirk beneath the mask. Sitting yourself down on one of those round, swiveling chairs, you rest beside his left arm. Out of curiosity, you look down, eyeing his decorated forearm. His tattoos no longer look the same, some of them having changed with the healing of his stitches.

“Bunch of bullshit.” Ghost murmurs, glancing down, too. “Paid good money for those.”

Laughing, you give your head a single shake. “They still look hot as hell.”

Eyes widening, he speaks before he can stop himself. “Really?”

With you being so close to him again, and now complimenting him, he feels like he’s soaring.

“Fuck yeah.” You respond, as if it were obvious. To you, it is.

Impulsively, you lay a hand over his forearm, fingers brushing the black and white ink. And for a split second, it feels electric on his skin. But you’re quick to flinch away, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m so sorry, did that hurt?”

But all he does is shrug. “Not at all. Stitches are healed, love.”

Love. You swoon.

“So, I can touch you?” It obviously isn’t meant to come off dirty, but Ghost’s brain registers it as that, anyway.

“Of course you can.” He nearly blurts out, his tone hopeful and welcoming. And immediately, you’re wrapping both hands around his sleeve. The small hum he exudes prompts you to glance up, grinning at the sight. Ghost has closed his eyes, chest releasing a relaxing breath.

“Feels nice.”

“Just this?” Humored doubt laces your tone.

“Feels like ages since you’ve touched me.”

His words twist the thoughts collecting in your head into something new. Has he… he’s wanted me to touch him?

“I know…” The way you say it expresses your sadness, your regret. “Just need you to heal, ya know?”

Because of what he’s now said, you feel the need to explain yourself, explain why you haven’t fulfilled his expectations. Throughout this entire healing process, you focused mostly on his physical health. You never once thought to tend to his emotional wellbeing. It’s a failure, on your end.

“Does it,” Inhaling a motivating breath, he finishes with, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he gestures to himself. “These stitches, the injuries.”

Twisting your face in confusion, you lean back a bit. “Um… no? Why would they?”

“Just… missed your touch, is all.” He’s mumbling, quiet and very obviously insecure. “Missed you.”

“Baby… I’m so sorry.” All at once, regret hits you like a truck. He’s been suffering, and you’ve done nothing. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you.”

“You’ve done everything you needed to.”

“No, I haven’t. How could I let you feel this way?”

An abrupt knock on the door dissipates your conversation into seemingly nothing. Instantly, you pull your hands away from him, turning in your chair to greet whoever’s about to approach. And to your delight, it’s Johnny.

“Hey Lt.” He grins, walking in and giving you a nod. “Lovely Bones.”

There’s that flirtatious nature again. As always, Ghost knew it meant nothing, not really. But now that he feels like you’re falling through his fingers, he wants to tighten his grasp now more than ever, wants to pull you back into his chest and never let you go, whisper all the sweet things he’s been dying to tell you. Especially when another man compliments you.

“How’ve ya been?” Striding forward, Johnny takes a seat opposite of Ghost’s bed. Spreading his legs and leaning in on his knees, he flashes that cheeky smile, giving Simon his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Johnny. Nothing new.” Simon answers simply, almost in a kind of brain fog. Switching conversations so quickly is difficult for him, still trying to regain his focus from the incident.

“See your scars are healin’ up nicely.” Pointing to his forearm, he nods. “That’s good to see.”

“Yeah, messed up my bloody ink, though.”

“Ah,” Soap waves a hand, “Looks better that way.”

The team visited Simon fairly frequently. And since you’re by his side for ninety-five percent of the day, you get to see the guys every time they come by. Oftentimes, they’d bring him little treats, a snack from the cafeteria or his favorite energy drink. And while Ghost knew they had the best intentions, their pity disgusted him. Sometimes he wished they would just leave him alone. Especially now, considering the two of you were in the middle of a rather important discussion.

“Oh!” Johnny then says, startling you. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves a small package. Tossing it Simon’s way, Soap says, “Know you like these.”

Catching it easily, Simon reads the wrapping. A Snickers, he can’t remember the last time he had one of these. And that was mainly due to his brain injury.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I know all this can’t be easy, Si. I’m for you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ghost sighs, staring down at the candy bar. Johnny rarely called him Si, and it tugs at his heartstrings.

Soap can feel something is off in the room, the energy is just weird. He’s been wanting to ask about your relationship, but hasn’t had the balls to. He doesn’t want to make either of you uncomfortable and hasn’t had the chance to be alone with Simon or you.

“Well, I’ll let you lovebirds be.” Smiling cheekily, he stands. “I’ll visit again soon, yeah, Lt.?”

“‘Course, Johnny.”

Before Johnny leaves, he offers you a hug, strong arms embracing you fully. And you rest against him, leaning into his sturdy frame. He’s been a great part of your support system since all of this happened; Simon’s injuries have only brought you and Johnny closer together.

“It’ll be alright, yeah, sweetheart?” He sighs quietly against your head. Nodding, you take in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright.”

Another knock, another groan from your end. “Come in.”

Opening the door is the other half of the medical team assigned to Ghost, making their way in so they can clean. Their tasks were to change the sheets, wash Simon and his clothes, wipe down surfaces and mop the floor, the list goes on. And while you were more than happy to do these things, Simon wouldn't allow it. Ghost’s recovery prompted new boundaries to arise in your relationship, lines that he was firm on setting. The first regarding this exact circumstance; you already cared for him medically and he refused for you to do anymore, he didn’t want you to be his full time caregiver. He would never want to burden you with that, and he knows it would cause nothing but strife in your relationship. Besides, the mere thought of you changing his bedpan and regularly washing his sheets was humiliating. So, whenever it was time for those types of tasks, you left, fulfilling other duties.

But why did they have to come now?

“I’ll, um…” Turning back to Simon, you see he’s already looking toward you with a pleading gaze. Stay.

All you want to do is stay.

But at the same time, Simon doesn’t want you to see him this way.

“I’ll… see you later, Si.”

Swallowing, Simon’s rough voice then appears. “Babe,”

Immediately, your eyes widen, if only ever so slightly. For him to call you that in the presence of others speaks volumes. Sure, Price had you sign those HR papers about workplace relationships, but you hadn’t exactly made it known to others after that. The two of you favored your privacy. But right now, that simple word is speaking louder than anything else he could’ve said.

“C’mere for a sec.” Grunting, he does his best to reach out to you, using his left arm. And as soon as he does it, Johnny is letting you go, wanting you to meet Simon’s gentle plea.

Leaving the sergeant’s arms, you do just that, stepping over to Simon’s bedside. Placing both of your hands in his left, you grin, looking into those deep, warm eyes of his.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly, your team beginning to work around him.

“Of course, I will.”

“Eh, won’t be long.” Johnny chimes in, “She can come hangout with me and the boys, get a game of pool in.”

“Sounds lovely.” You return with a murmur, eyes not leaving Simon’s. “I’ll be back later, baby.” And that, coupled with the kiss you give his palm, is shocking to your team. Though it sends waves of butterflies through Simon’s stomach.

These public displays of affection are entirely foreign to your relationship, but you’re both basking in the sweetness of it. And maybe this is the perfect time for you to explore it, for you to outwardly show your love and attraction for him just when he needs it most.

On your way out, Johnny doesn’t mention the way every single person’s eyes widen in the room when your affectionate nicknames are exchanged, or the way a few heads turn. He chooses to stay silent, smiling to himself while leading you out of the room.

Returning to a sleeping Simon is bittersweet. You’re glad he’s resting, but you’d do anything to finish your earlier conversation. But it’s late, and you figure at this point, you’ll have to wait until morning.

The rainfall makes you tired, too, yawning as you walk further in. It was only three days into Simon’s recovery that you started sleeping in his room, bringing a small, foldable cot for you to curl up on. His bed wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and besides, you’re pretty sure Price would light a fire up both your asses if he caught you snoozing next to him.

As quietly as you can, you unfold your small bed and bring it to the side of his. It sits lower, but Simon often made up for that by dropping his arm, letting you hold onto his hand throughout the night. But with him asleep, you don’t think you’ll get that luxury tonight. Nevertheless, you curl up in your blanket, resting only in your underclothes as you doze off beside him.

“Miss you.”

That rumbling voice almost scares you in the near silence, your body jolting ever so slightly. When did he wake up? Still, those two simple words make your insides burn bright.

Lips curling happily, you mutter, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Quietly, you then ask, “Want me to come up there?” It’s happened once or twice before, but only for some cuddles. Simon’s grown quite accustomed to your touch.

With a heavy sigh, he gives in. “You know I do.”

Absolutely thrilled with his request, you pop right up, situating yourself on the right side of his bed. Simon likes it best when you curl up on this side, allowing him to wrap his good arm around you. Cuddling into him, you revel in the closeness - you haven’t done this in weeks. He’s resting on his back, the same position he always sleeps in. And with you by his side, he turns his head in your direction, releasing a contented breath.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He says to you sweetly, fondly, covered lips pressing to the top of your head.

“Hm…” Sighing happily, you twine your legs between his much bulkier appendages, draping an arm across his abdomen. You’re so happy he still wants this, wants you and this relationship.

“Cozy?” He chuckles, eyes closed as he grins.

“Mhm,” Snuggling further into him, he can feel your smile press against his bare skin. Ghost usually slept nearly naked, only black boxers hugging his body. And you liked it best this way, for multiple reasons. One being that you’re able to see more of his tattoos. He has some on his chest, one reaching up to his collarbones and neck. And you just love them, found them incredibly interesting and undeniably sexy.

“Love this…” Tracing a particularly larger tat, your smile becomes brighter than ever. “Love the way you feel.”

“Yeah? Even when I’m like this?” His tone expresses the dry humor he’s far too familiar with, the same dry humor that covers up his emotions.

“Big teddy bear.” And that makes him fully laugh. “Strong.”

“Don’t feel too strong.”

Simon was never one to be insecure of his body, of the multitude of scars on it. Cuts that dug deep, burns that marred his skin, none of it bothered him, not even when he showed himself to you like this. What did bother him, though, was the fact that he looked weak. He couldn't stand it, and to say his ego was taking a hit would be an understatement.

“Baby,” With a heavy breath, you shake your head lightly beneath him. “You’re so fucking hard on yourself.”

All he does is grunt in response, becoming quite pensive. Though, he tries not to be. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t something Simon liked doing. Lucky for him, your hand serves as a distraction. Running your palm down his torso, you take this opportunity to feel the muscles along his stomach and ribs, the v-line leading down to his pelvis. And it makes him shiver with anticipation.

You’re not sure how to start this conversation again, mainly because of how distracted you’ve become. Feeling Simon’s naked body always made you feel excited inside, always made you feel eager and lustful. But you want to care for him emotionally, too.

“I hope you know how much I still love you.” Continuing to lower your hand, you suddenly feel Simon’s chest dip, releasing a heated breath. “How much I love your body…”

“Hm…” The further you get, the more interested he becomes. The fact that you still find him appealing, even like this, it’s repairing his ego bit by bit. Truthfully, it’s everything he’s needed. “Miss you touchin’ me…”

“Do you miss this, too?” Lightly, ever so lightly, you cup him over his clothes. And the gentle stimulation is more than enough to arouse him.

The intimacy you share with Simon is addicting, and the withdrawal has been a bitch. But just like that, as soon as you get the tiniest taste, you’re hooked all over again.

“Fuck, yes.” Groaning in frustration, he forces out a breath. And fuck you’ve missed that, hearing the eager roughness to his tone. “Been so long since I’ve had you.”

Feeling your hand on his crotch like that, it lights a fire inside him. All over again, he wants you, wants to throw you down on this bed and take you. Shove himself inside until you’re fluttering, spurting with cum before he releases his own. Hold you down and make you take it, for however long he likes. Rub his face over your chest, down the valley between your breasts, sucking on their soft flesh. Haul your leg up over his waist and grab a fistful of your ass, spanking it until the pain turns into something irresistibly sweet.

But he can’t. He physically can’t.

The arm holding you tightens against your body, against your own strong muscles. Irritation courses through his veins, knowing he can’t do much but god damn if he won’t try to do what he can. Turning his head, he ducks down, pressing his covered lips to your own with a forceful breath. Easily, wholeheartedly, you embrace him, hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your mouth presses to the shape of his lips, the covered kiss far too teasing for the current moment.

“Baby, can we? Please?” Sliding down ever so slightly, your fingertips graze the edge of his mask, wanting desperately to see him; any part of him.

“I… I want to, B.” The hesitancy in his voice is worrying. “But it just… it won’t be the same.”

Even through the mask, you can feel his breath, experiencing the humid touch of it against your face.

“I don’t care how it is, I just want it. I want you, Simon. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Impatiently, you tug on his mask, leaning up against to press your mouth to his skull covering. It’s needy, it’s wanting, so openly throwing yourself at him he honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t seen you like this in far too long, and he’d be an idiot to let this opportunity go, especially when it’s all he’s fucking thought about.

The way your tongue slides out, pressing against the white and black fabric, it makes him growl with passion. Quickly, yet shakily, his left hand rises, flipping the edge of his mask up before grabbing onto your jaw. Squishing your cheeks a bit he brings you in, bare lips crashing into your own. Open mouths press together, wet and warm and familiar. And those thick fingers dig into the fabric along your hip, wishing it were bare skin.

“Baby,” With your fingernails scraping down his chest, you have to stop yourself from digging in too deeply. But it’s difficult when he’s kissing you like this, when he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth so he can map it out all over again. “How could you ever think I’m not attracted to you?”

The air leaving your chest is instantly sucked back in, your chest rising and falling as you feel Simon’s hand glide down your waist. He’s bringing you in even closer, pressing your body to his, feeling your warmth.

“Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are, Simon?”

“Get up here,” That gruff voice suddenly demands, “On my lap, B.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice, your eager movements are evidence of that. Slipping your shorts and panties down your legs, you leave them on the cot as you slide easily on top of him. Your thighs encase his hips as you make yourself comfortable on him, center lowered right onto his. And your lips don’t even leave, he wouldn’t allow it.

“That’s so good…” Both of Simon’s hands now fall to your hips, holding onto you firmly.

The way his teeth nip at your lips makes you sigh, little whines spilling from your mouth when they turn into bites. And all at once, his hands are roaming your body, sliding up beneath your shirt to feel your bare stomach, the skin of your hips and sides. The way you’re embracing each other is so lustful, so impassioned and fervent. It’s like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His words make you laugh, but he’s insistent. “Every goddamn day, whether you’re working or not, even on that bloody mission, you’re stunning, B.”

“Simon,” You begin to protest, but he continues, mouthing at your lips as he bursts with praise for you.

“Such a pretty girl for me,” Your lover says, hips beginning to grind up against you. “Always so pretty…”

“Ugh, I fucking missed you. I need you, Si. I need this.” Holding his face with both hands, you lean in, resting your forehead over his own as you begin to meet his gentle thrusts. “I don’t give a shit how many scars you have, how many injuries I have to see through. I’m here, Simon. I’m here and I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurts out, as if he’d been dying to say it this entire time. “I can’t lose you, B. Never opened myself up to anyone but you.”

“I know, baby. I know… and I love everything you’ve given me. Everything you are.”

“Not everything.” Giving his head a quick shake, hands guiding the sway of your hips over him.

“Everything.”

Your correction prompts Simon’s direct eye contact, a small pause in this heated moment. Flickering between your irises, Ghost’s own pupils widen, filled with something akin to adoration, something made of lust and absolute devotion.

“Simon,” Whining quietly, you resume your subtle shifts over his lap, his own hips easily resuming their pace, too. “Please, I need you again, baby.”

“I, I just… it won’t be the same, Bones.” But he’s still kissing you, still grinding up against your sensitive core and breathing the air puffing past your lips. And you can feel him, having fully hardened and sitting firm between your legs.

“I don’t fucking care, Simon. If you want this, tell me. And I’ll make it happen.”

“Yeah? And what’ll you do?” He asks, grinning while lifting his good hand to the back of your head.

“Ride you,” Panting, you grind yourself over the thickness of the erection rising steadily in his briefs. “Just like I used to.”

Betraying his rotten inner emotions, the ones that had convinced him you no longer saw him with the same desire in your eyes, a smirk forms on those smooth lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Devouring him, your tongue slides into his mouth, swallowing his moan while dragging the wet muscle over his own. But he quickly takes the lead, using the hand on your head to move you how he likes. He takes great pleasure in this, in having some semblance of control while you’re like this.

“Fuck, do it.” He finally decides, his entire body shuddering with desire. “Fucking do it.”

Instantly, you’re dropping one hand from his face and reaching for his boxers. You find him easily, pulling aside the fabric and watching as he practically jumps into your hand.

“Christ,” Red and leaking, throbbing, Simon’s cock weighs heavy in your hand.

“Excited?” Grinning wildly, you lean in, running the tip of your nose over his cheek.

“Very.” Evidenced by the liquid warmth drooling from his cockhead, he’s correct.

Running your thumb over his slit, you take great pride in watching him twitch. “Don - Don’t tease. Just put it in.”

It’s too damn easy for you to listen to him, to follow his every command. Lifting yourself, your eyes fall to the sight you’ve so dearly missed. And with both of you watching, you line him up with your entrance, licking your lower lip with anticipation.

“C’mon, come down now…” His hands are pulling on your hips, becoming impatient. “Put the tip of my cock against that pretty little hole.”

Fuck, you missed this, the way he talked to you during times like this. He was always so good with it.

“Mm…” Slowly, you sink down, inch by thick inch. The whine that slips past your lips is shrill, feeling his head spread you open. But Simon is quick to hush you, bringing you in for a bruising kiss.

“You can do it, just like before.” He says to you through sweet, wet kisses.

“Simon…”

“Just like that, just like that, princess.” His hands continue to urge you on, pulling you down onto him. “What happened, huh? Get a little tighter without me around?”

“F-Fuck,” Dropping your head onto his shoulder boosts his confidence incredibly; your submissive side is coming out again, and it’s making him feel dominant.

“Oh, just look at the way it stretches for me, Christ…” Feeling your velvety inside envelope his tip, it’s almost too much for him. “Such a good pussy.”

“Baby…” Turning your head, you press a flurry of fervent kisses to his mask. “I’ve needed you for so long, you don’t know how bad I’ve missed this.”

“I know, trust me.” Releasing a dry laugh, Simon’s eyes raise with awareness.

Clinging to his shoulders, you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside you, sitting entirely over his pelvis. And with your ass flush against his lap, he throbs violently against your walls, every thick vein pulsing beneath your core’s hot squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” Taking in a lungful of air, he says, “You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Thought about fuckin’ you again? Thought about this sweet ass on my lap, about the way this pretty pussy grips me…”

“Tell me,” Clinging to his shoulders, your nails dig into him once again, lips pressing to his neck. “Please tell me.”

Wrapping his right arm around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest. The sudden movement knocks you away from his neck, with Simon’s lips returning to yours all over again. The embrace is sweet and smooth, his talented lips captivating your attention.

“Whenever you weren’t here… I took every goddamn opportunity. Fucked my fist to the thought of you, B. But, ngh…” Feeling you wiggle over his lap, he grunts. “It’s never the same. Not even bloody close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Using those broad shoulders as leverage, you lift yourself, setting a steady pace over him.

“Christ,” Head lolling back, his eyes follow. “Didn’t, fuck… didn’t want to pressure you.”

“I like when you do that to me. Make me feel small, and needed.”

The stride you continue with over Simon’s lap is baffling to him, riddling his body with overstimulation. Every time you meet his pelvis, you grind down onto him, onto the grown-out hairs surrounding his base.

“You’re always needed.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek as it rests beside him. “Fucking hell, princess, I can feel you dripping down my shaft.”

The sound your wetness creates resonates throughout the room, prompting a bashfulness to rise hotly in your cheeks. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you moan openly into his ear, feeling both of those broad hands lower to your cheeks. Summoning every ounce of strength he has, he bounces you down onto his lap, punching himself into your depths. And every thrust he gives shoves him even deeper inside, his tip nudging your most sensitive skin.

“No,” He then seethes, moving his head in your direction. “Don’t hide yourself from me, not now. Not when I finally have you again.”

But when he turns his head to the side, his mask shifts, a bout of frustration rising within him. “Fucking, ngh.”

It’s a quick decision, one he makes out of genuine love for you.

Reaching up, Simon tears his mask from his head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing your face again. Before you can get a good look at him, his mouth is on you, the hand he used on his mask now pawing at your breasts.

“Take it off, love. Take this off for me.”

But you’re still processing the fact that he just took off his mask, and you want to see him. He doesn’t let you, though, he’s too busy tugging at the ends of your shirt. So, you oblige him, leaning back to lift it from your torso. Just as it leaves your head, Simon is lifting his chin up to your chest, mouth enveloping your left nipple.

“Baby, let me,” Hands holding his head, your own tips back, mouth falling agape with a graceful moan.

Ghost’s mouth sucks on you fervently, tongue flicking over the delicate peak before biting at it ever so gently.

“Please let me see you.”

Insecurity overtakes him then, now that you’ve fully asked. And you can tell - he practically curls in on himself.

“You don’t want me to?” And with that gentle inquiry, he’s taking in a steadying breath, eyes beginning to lift.

From beneath his brow, those dark eyes lift to yours, chin following soon after. And for the first time since this horrid incident, you’re seeing him, fully seeing him.

“No,” Giving his head a light shake, he stares into your dazzling orbs. “Don’t stop, babe. Please, don’t.”

And you want to listen, want to give him what he wants but it’s hard when you’re witnessing the beauty of Simon’s face. The scars, the cuts and curves, his nose and jawline, all of his features coming together as one, once again. The memory of his face was once a painful thought, but now… it can be replaced.

“It’s so nice to see you again, baby.”

The strength of his arms and hands continues your movement, pushing you forward onto his chest. Here, he nuzzles into you, arms securing themselves around your midsection. Simon’s nose rubs against your neck, committing your scent, your feel, to memory.

“Only for you.” He murmurs, placing a tender kiss. “Can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re everything I need.” Grinding up into your center, he forces a gasp from your chest, spreading your cheeks until slight pain begins to bloom. “Christ, I’m not going to last long like this, not with these gorgeous fucking tits pressed against me like this.”

“Baby, we need this more… can we please? Please?”

“Every chance we get.” Nipping at your ear, the low groan he exudes sends a shiver right through you.

The pleasurable waves flowing through your hips are nothing compared to the sharp jolts of ecstasy every thrust of his hips gives. At times, you think about how foolish he is to think that his strength has left him, what with the way his muscles bend and ripple with every firm grab, every harsh slap he now delivers.

“Look at me.” Ghost demands in that deep, rough tone. “Look at me, and listen well.”

Lifting your head, you do just that, memorizing every feature of his face. Subconsciously, your hand lifts, cupping his clean jawline with your thumb stroking his cheek.

“You’re mine, understand? Mine to fucking keep. And there’ll be no more misunderstandings between us.”

“No more,” Shaking your head, you hold his gaze, lips parting from his continued movements. “F-Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me, huh? Just like you used to? Back when you first cared for me, back when we’d smoke in the Jeep…”

“Yes,” You don’t want to look away from him, but your head drops regardless. The pleasure flowing through your thighs turns every muscle you have to jelly, the wetness growing beneath you evidence of this. “I miss it.”

“Then give it to me, before I give mine to you.”

The way he phrases it has you falling apart in his arms, still strong enough to keep you together on his chest. His body, thick and bulky, holds you tightly against him, feeling your limbs quiver above him. His fingers continue to dig into the softness of your cheeks before landing another harsh smack, listening to your shrill cry while you shake on his lap. It’s all-consuming, blinding, the euphoria bursting inside your body.

“Goddamn,” Simon huffs out, his voice tense and strained.

The grip he has on you turns bruising, his body curling around you as he releases. And his teeth bite into your shoulder as he does, the muscles in his abdomen flinching with every milky rope that leaves him.

You can feel it, the evidence of his pleasure washing your insides white. The way he throbs against your walls, swollen and pulsing, his entire body releasing. Every ounce of worry and stress, any bit of anxiety, it’s flushed away with the help of your reassurance, of your devotion and unwavering passion.

Fully wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest flush against him, mouth pressing to his stubbled cheek over and over again. And the next sound to delight your ears is Simon’s laugh.

“Mm…” His groan sounds… content, relaxed. “You make me happy, B. Happier than I’ve been in… a long time.”

“Happier than you’ve ever been,” You correct him cheekily, shuddering slightly as you come down from the pleasure he so wonderfully brings. “You can say it, baby.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives your backside a light tap. “Don’t get cocky with it, now.”

“Simon,” Inhaling a deep breath, you allow yourself to be fully vulnerable with him. “I don’t ever want to be that far from you again.”

And he knows what you mean. Ghost was never known as an emotional man, and likely never will be. But with you, it’s a different story.

“You won’t be.” He reassures you quietly, calmly. “We’re here, everything’s just like it should be.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you keep your arms around him, not wanting to let go.

“It’s just you and me, B.”

#Simon Riley #I love you baby #you're everything I need #Simon “Ghost” Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Riley fluff #so many fluffies #Call of Duty #cod #cod mw2 #Call of Duty fanfiction

499 notes · View notes

constesplanetarium · 5 months

Text

✩╔═*.·:·.✧✦✧.·:·.*═╗✩

Coffee “Date” Hangout

☼⚠︎ Ryland (Yandere! Best Friend) x GN! Reader

✩╚═*.·:·.✧✦✧.·:·.*═╝✩

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

a/n: mr. locksmith is back…

if you’re new, i recommend reading THIS to understand Ryland (not too necessary, but recommended!), and THIS to understand the mentions of the others. :)

TW!!! General Yandere shenanigans (possessiveness, jealousy, aggression towards other guys, etc.), aggression towards you, ominous threats, not really a TW but there’s also a bit of tsundereness in there

Word count: 3k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“Oh look, you’re here. 10 minutes late too.” Ryland grumbles as you brush his complaints off with a roll of your eyes. He brushes some of his hair out of the way with a dark tan hand, extending his hand out to tap on the table. “Hurry up.” He always does this. You could be fifteen-point-five seconds late, and he would still complain about it.

“Whatever. Sit.” He pats the spot next to him in the little booth, and you toss your small bag on the opposite side, taking a seat across from him. Since he wants to give you attitude, you’ll give him some back. He scowls, but picks up the menu and scrolls through it.

“Ah, strawberry cream crepes! That sounds good, huh?” His angered demeanor vanishes as he points eagerly to the menu item. It’s so easy to tell when he’s really mad and when he isn’t. That must be one of the perks with having him as a friend for this long. “Or I could go with the french toast, huh. What’re you gonna get?”

You pick up your menu and settle on whatever catches your eyes first, flipping the menu over before you let your temptations get the best of you. Ryland seems to know what he’s going to get too, as soon as the waitress comes up.

“Yeah, just the strawberry crepes, and a black coffee.”

You murmur your order to the waitress too, and as soon as she leaves, Ryland clasps his hands together, tilting his head to the side as a grin forms on his face.

“I always love going on dates with you, babe.” Yuck. This isn’t a date. And the next time he calls you babe, he’s catching a right hook to the face.

“Yeah, ‘course it is. Look around.” He gestures around to other patrons in the café, obviously on dates with their significant others. But that doesn’t mean anything for the two of you.

“You’re always in denial.” He struggles to even get the sentence out, chuckling as he sees your irritated expression. “Alright, I’m just kidding. Not like I would go on a real date with you anyway.” What a liar. You roll your eyes at him, trying to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Ugh, hell no. You’re so ugly and nasty.” Yeah, whatever. It’s so easy to see right through him. “Gross.” He seems to pause, tapping his finger on the table before speaking again.

“And, uhm, sorry for how I acted over the phone yesterday afternoon.” He murmurs, his joking demeanor dropping instantly. To be honest, he didn’t even need to apologize in person. Just by the way he sounded over the phone when you got home last night, you could tell he felt awful.

Despite that, it doesn’t take long to get into the swing of conversation, and your food arrives even sooner than you thought it would. Ah, it smells so good…

Ryland’s already dug into his crepes, white cream all over his mouth as he speaks. “Ah, wow!” He exclaims, his mouth full of food. “This shiss ahmazhing!” Hehe. ‘Shiss’. It’s cute to see the pure bliss on his face, too. You didn’t even know he really liked crepes like that.

He swallows his food and licks the corner of his mouth, missing a bit of the cream. “I’ve been making some at home recently.” Really?

“Yeah.” He suddenly scoffs and looks away, oddly frustrated at your shock. “You know, you would know this if you came by my apartment more often, instead of studying all of your time away.” Ah, so that’s what he’s angry about.

“Okay, sure, ‘important’.” Ryland mutters, taking another piece of his crepe as he stuffs it inside his mouth, and goes for a sip of his coffee. There isn’t a way to cheer him up, huh? “Yeah, your bullshit classes are more important than me. Sure.” You never said that. He’s always jumping to conclusions, huh?

“I just… Ugh.” He scoffs. “You know I miss hanging out with you, no matter how gross you are.” He nudges a strawberry out of his crepe as he talks, stabbing it onto his fork as he takes a bite. “And who knows how it’s gonna be later down the line, with working full time and what not.” He waggles his fork around, pointing to you. “Especially cause’ it looks like you never have time for me anyway, even now.” Well, what about now?

“This,” He gestures to the entirety of the café, and your meal. “doesn’t count. You know I mean things like, er, relaxing in my room.” Ryland extends his hand out, starting to count on his fingers. “Or watching a movie, baking, talking smack about everyone else- Ah, did you hear what Cody did?” He snickers, wiping some cream off his mouth. “He was playing around these two girls, and they both caught him. Idiot.” Eh, it was gonna happen sooner or later. You take another bite of your meal, and soak in the atmosphere of both the café, but also finally getting the chance to hang out with him again.

He isn’t wrong. Life has been pretty busy nowadays, but for the past few weeks, it looks like things have been calming down, especially with the chilly weather. You even got the chance to relax with Marcus yesterday.

“Oh, yeah.” Ryland nibbles another strawberry off the tip of his fork. “Him.” He mutters, his shoulders becoming a bit tense as he takes another bite of his crepe. “How was it?”

It was pretty fun, in all honesty. And the muffins he gave you as a gift were even better.

“That’s good.” He says dismissively, taking a sip of his coffee as you drone on just a little more about Marcus. It doesn’t take long to see the look of disinterest in his face, since he usually doesn’t hide it, so you switch the topic rather quickly.

“You know, I can bake too. It’s not hard.” He grumbles. “We should bake together sometime. It would be even better than with… Whoever.”

You sigh, shaking your head at his jealous nature. Idiot.

“If you’re gonna sit there and sigh, how about you just stop mentioning other people altogether?” Ryland snaps, dropping his fork on the table with a clatter as he crosses his arms. “That shit pisses me off. You’re out with me, and you’re wondering what the fuck this ‘Marcus’ guy is doing right now?” Ryland scowls deeply. “It can never be just us two, it’s always someone else…” His voice trails off as he stares down at his crepe, brows furrowing as he becomes lost in thought. You sigh at his outburst and take another bite of your meal, rolling your eyes.

It’s become so normal, brushing it off is something second nature at this point. Really, are all boy best friends this protective?

Nah, probably not. It’s always been just him that acts this way, even all those years back.

“You never take me seriously.” He hisses. “I’m gonna do something one day, cause you keep on pissing me off with all of these guys, watch.” Eugh, his tone sounded even worse right there, worse than usual… Maybe something really is off?

Once you ask, all he does is pick up his fork and mutter something under his breath. You can’t catch it at all…

It’s quiet between you two for a moment, and all that fills the silence between you two is his fork scraping on his plate, as he takes another piece of his almost finished crepe.

Though, despite all of this, all it takes is a small murmur of his name, and then another one, for him to crumble.

“Oh jeez.” He mumbles, his hand trembling a bit as he takes another bite of his crepe. “I’m sorry.” Ryland says in a hushed voice, seemingly nervous of what you think of him. “I’m trying to get better at controlling myself, I promise.”

Yeah…

“I just,” he pauses for a second. “I just really like you, obviously, so…” Ryland looks back up at you. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

Of course not.

“Are you mad?”

You smile, yet sigh, shaking your head as he starts to laugh a bit.

“Yeah, okay, of course,” he mutters. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How bout’ there?” It took a bit for him to get back to his energetic self, but with a bit of conversation and teasing, hw’s back to good ol’ Ryland. He points to a small sweet shop on the side of the street, a fairly large line leading a bit out of the store despite the time of day, Or, er, the time of night. “They have good sweets, even some candy. Want me to get a couple, so we can take some home?”

Yes please.

Ryland grins and rubs your shoulder affectionately. “My cars open. You can wait there.” But couldn’t you just go inside with him? He pinches your cheek and tugs on it, enjoying your complaints at the pain and all of the name-calling. “I don’t want you waiting outside in the cold. I’ll be fine. Plus,” he flicks you right in the forehead, bringing a scowl right to your face. “I wanna get you some surprise sweets, so we can try them together.”

Oh. Your scowl is wiped off your face as he mentions the little surprise he had in mind. Hmm.

Fine.

You open the passenger door of his car, taking a seat inside. After Ryland makes sure you’re comfortable, and that the car is warm enough for you, you watch him walk off to the line, which luckily, has already gotten shortened by two people while you both were talking. This won’t take long.

You fiddle around with your bag in your hands, glancing around at the people passing by on the street. Actually, some of these people stay in your apartment complex, huh? It’s not too strange, since it’s fairly close. Maybe only an eight minute drive. You’ve already counted three people you recognize crossing by, including a group of women with some bags of the same sweet shop Ryland had just gone to. There’s also this guy leaning against a wall, obviously disheveled from either an exhausting day, or he’s drunk out of his mind.

Maybe it’s both?

Wait. Wait a minute.

That guy seems familiar.

Hmm. Caramel skin, brown trench coat, light brown hair, a bit messy too. It has a sort of wild look. A flask in his left hand, cigarette in his left, different color-

Different colored eyes?! Holy shit, it’s that man! The guy that helped you out with your apartment that night, no way!

He really did save you that night too, ahh, maybe another thank you and a small hello won’t hurt.

You open the car door, slamming it shut behind you as you run up to him, tapping him on his arm, and he swivels around to meet your gaze. Uh oh. There’s an evident scowl on his face. “What?” His deep, raspy voice snaps out, but his face softens as he meets your gaze, a sigh leaving his parted lips. “Sorry; Been a little wound up lately.” His eyes wander as he looks you up and down, a small ‘hmm’ noise leaving his throat as he smiles. “Can I help you, sugar?”

You stop and raise a brow. He doesn’t remember you?

His face scrunches up a bit as he slips his flask into some of his trench coat pockets, reaching up and rubbing his stubble. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” Mr. Locksmith grumbles, tapping his finger lightly on his cigarette as he looks you up and down, and he draws in another puff of smoke. “I don’t think I would fully forget a pretty face like yours.”

Oh. Your face warms up, but you don't provide him any assistance as you wait for him.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the realization to pop up on his face, and he blows the smoke out as a wide grin spreads on his face. “Oh, hey, I know you! You were the person who got locked out of their apartment, yeah?” You nod excitedly and smile, thanking him again for helping you that night. He brushes it off and taps his cigarette again, ash falling onto the ground.

“It’s nothin’. Anything to help a pretty person like yourself, sugar.” His rough hand pets and ruffles the top of your head, and you scowl at his touch. You pepped yourself up for this hangout with Ryland and everything, now he’s going to ruin your hair.

Thank god the little “date”, as Ryland called it, is already over.

“Now, what’re you all dolled up for? Are you meeting somebody?” You shake your head at his question. “Oh? You’re already done?” He says, drawing in more smoke from his cigarette, then letting it fall to the ground as he stamps it out lightly with his foot. “Hope your little date was nice. Where’s the lucky guy?” Wasn’t a date, but okay.

Off, somewhere. Getting snacks; ah, hopefully he gets those little cream puffs. Maybe Marcus would like one.

“Ahh,” He smiles. “It’s not very nice of him to leave a pretty thing like you out here alone though, is it, sugar?” You giggle and shake your head, playing along with his joke. How charming and funny can one guy be? He’s pretty good at this. Now, how many other people have fallen for his spell?

“No one else.” That’s hard to believe, for someone like him. “You’re the first.”

Ahh, now hold on a second…

“I know, I’m just joking around.” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, popping the lid open. “You smoke?”

Hell no.

“Suit yourself.” He chuckles. “Thanks for the fifty bucks, by the way. Spent it on exactly what I told you I would.” But a whole fifty on just cigarettes is a bit much, isn’t it?

“That’s why I bought some alcohol with it too. And a nice tie.” He reaches up to his neck, stopping once he notices said tie isn’t there. “Oh yeah, forgot. I took it off earlier. Didn’t want to get it messed up.” Well, at least your money didn’t fully go toward a bad habit.

“Hold on. This your boyfriend walking up? I thought you were messing with that boy at the bar.” Boyfriend? You don’t have a…

He points down the street, and sure enough, Rylands walking up to you both, looking extremely displeased.

“Uh oh.” Mr. Locksmith chuckles and takes a step back from you as Ryland makes his way over. “Better have an explanation up.” His eyes scan over you again, up and down, and he starts to chuckle. “You little cheater.”

Ah, damn.

“Hey,” Ryland greets you in a hushed voice, glaring at Mr. Locksmith as his hand snakes around to your waist, pushing you flush against him. “C’mon, is this dumbass hitting on you?” And there goes his defensive nature. You scowl and shake your head slowly in annoyance, nudging him with your elbow harshly on his side. “Ouch, ‘kay, damn.” He hisses. Ryland's hand is still tense around you. “So, who the hell is he?”

“So you must be the lucky man.” Mr. Locksmith laughs a bit, waving his hand around dismissively. “Nah, I’m no one is important. I just helped them with…”

Oh god, he shouldn’t mention the apartment! If he does, Ryland’s gonna cause a storm with his questions like “Why didn’t you come to me?” and “Why didn’t you call me?” Ugh. Please don’t!

“Their car the other day.” Oh? “Damn thing was making some weird noises, and I happened to pass by, so I lent them a hand.” Ah, your savior!

“Your car had a problem? Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh my god. Ryland frowns as he turns back to Mr. Locksmith. “What was the problem?” Seems like a harmless question, sure, but you could tell that there was a sort of interrogating tone behind his words. Looks like he’s trying to suss out the lie. Hopefully Mr. Locksmiths a good liar.

“Their engine was sputtering. A quick look and a whack or two fixed the problem.” Nice!

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

God, the air between them is so tense… Mainly coming from Ryland.

Even with the tense air, Mr. Locksmith’s smile hasn’t faltered a single bit. Either he’s good at acting, or he finds the whole situation amusing. Probably the latter. And it looks like Ryland didn’t buy the lie either, but he’s always been hard to lie too.

“Something the matter?” His eyes flicker over to yours. “Your boyfriend seems tense.”

Alright, time to go.

You tug on Ryland's sleeve, trying to tug him away from the situation at hand, but it doesn’t look like he’s gonna budge.

“Hey, did you tell this guy I was-” He looks down at you, and you can see the irritation in his expression, but sees the forming frown on your face, and his eyes soften. “... Ugh, nevermind. C’mon.”

“Nice meeting you.” Mr. Locksmith gives a small wave goodbye to Ryland, and you tug him away harshly, ready to cuss him out right then and there.

“Sorry, sorry, you know how I am.” Yeah, you know all too well. Ryland gives you a cheeky chuckle and a grin, locking his fingers together with yours. His hands are always rough, but warm. “But hey, look! I got them! The last ones too. They’re fresh.” Yum. “Too bad for the suckers in line behind me.”

… He’s okay, right?

You turn your head back to Mr. Locksmith, and bite back a smile once you see the wink he gives you, holding a finger up to his lips. How fun, maybe you’ll drop a gift by his apartment later. What number did he say it was? It looks like every time you run into him, you always end up owing him some sort of favor.

Odd, you didn’t even ask for his name. Mr. Locksmith will be his name forever, you guess.

“Next time, don’t go asking weird strangers for help.” It’s always a lecture with him. “Just come to me, okay? You know damn well I’m a jack of all trades.” Yet a master at none.

Ryland reaches over and pinches your cheek, tugging on it lightly as you complain and wince at the pain. “C’mon, don’t make fun of me like that…” He chuckles “You don’t know what kind of things I’m capable of.”

ミ★ 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. ★彡

might write a small bonus part where yall eat the sweets in his apartment, might not, idek

i’ll probably make a masterlist of this series soon so the story is a bit easier to follow :)

working on the house of castiello rn btw... expect it soon :)

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #x gn reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #possessive yandere #yandere childhood friend #yandere best friend

177 notes · View notes

boba-beom · 1 year

Text

✦ ⁺ ⨯ . ⁺ americano | K.TH

pairing: taehyun x gn!reader

genre: fluff! | oneshot

warning(s): lowercase intended, mentions of uni stress, soft tsundere tyun agenda 🤭, light banter, reader almost accepts that feelings might be one-sided, reader still tries to shoot their shot, mentions of food and drinks ofc, they fell first but he fell harder type of trope hehe, lmk if I’ve missed anything, not proofread

summary: you tell taehyun you want to go out for a walk at night, and he comes over so you won’t have to walk alone

wc: 1.1k

a/n: happy 21st birthday to my favourite nyang nyang <3 here’s some light tsundere content for our beloved kang taehyun! i also tried writing a little different to how i usually do, feedback would be amazing, thank you <3

-> also got the inspo from this clip :>

the past few weeks have been so stressful with second semester up and running. you know that you always have taehyun to talk to when you were struggling, but you've been messaging him and calling him more frequently these days. this time around, you weren't too sure if you wanted to call him again just for the same reason as before. perhaps it's also you trying to avoid him in the slightest ever since you realised your growing crush on him.

sometimes you wonder why he hangs around with you in general. you can't help but wonder, there must be someone really attractive in any of his classes and it's possible someone likes him too. who wouldn't? he's intelligent, witty, extremely handsome and confident.

what you were unaware about was that taehyun would drop anything — that isn't too important — for you. those times you didn't expect him to reply or pick up the phone, he did not hesitate to help you out with uni work — as long as it means he gets to see you.

sometimes you felt like wanting to go for walks when it's late at night. just the thought of walking around the quiet neighbourhood when everyone is done for the day appealed to you. even the silence on the road, no cars in your neighbourhood are out past 10pm and just the soft rustle of the trees lightly swaying from the wind. that was enough for you to destress.

you sigh, accepting the fact that you'll have to talk to him about this irrational decision of yours whether you wanted to or not. he was always the right, and only person to talk about these things anyway.

sorry it's late tyun

i'm struggling with uni work and i want to take a break, but i want to go for a walk. just letting you know

while awaiting his reply, you swing your satin varsity jacket over your shoulders, stretching your arms through and zipping it up. you pick up a navy blue cap that taehyun left the last time he came over to study with you. his scent all over it, and you had hoped to feel a little safer wearing it on your solo walk.

your phone chimes with the screen glowing, tyun ♡ labelled as the sender and his message read out:

yn, stay there.

i'm coming with you on your walk

i'm almost there

taehyun couldn't help but think the worst if you were to go out by yourself, even if you thought it was okay to do so. he cared about you more than he liked to admit but he's been really good at hiding it from you. maybe a little too good.

however, though he hasn't said it yet, his actions says it all. he thought you would catch on at some point and confront him about it, but he's still testing out the waters. he has an inkling that you have a liking for him, but he doesn't know when he started to realise it. as of recent, he's noticed the little things you do and say, resulting to the tips of his ears burning up. the pink of his ears blends in with his hair, which he was always grateful for because that's one thing he wouldn't be able to hide otherwise.

you hear a knock on your front door and you already know that it's taehyun. he has a specific pattern when he knocks and only you know. it was like a routine, really. from the amount of times you've met up at your student-shared house, it doesn't seem too different compared to the previous times.

your eyes are met with his, just as surprised as each other. his figure was standing on the door step, him wearing a very similar varsity jacket to yours and two americanos in his hand. the sight was almost endearing and you tried your best to stifle your laughter once your eyes met.

"i really appreciate you coming with me tyun," you stand aside to let him walk in, closing the door after him. "you know you didn't have to." but you were beyond ecstatic he did.

to him though, it was a statement that taehyun didn't like hearing from time to time. it's almost as if you were rejecting his efforts and he certainly takes that to heart, you just can't see that through his stoic expressions.

"well, it was a little silly of you to think you can just walk out at night, yn. do you know how dark it is outside?" it was almost as if you were about to receive a lecture from him about safety and the dangers of walking around — in a small neighbourhood, that is.

"aw, you care about me." you say half-heartedly, bumping your shoulder with his, not knowing if it was still worth trying to shoot your shot with him, but would it really hurt to try again?

his expression changes with the littlest movement of his brows raising. not answering your statement, he passes you one of the drinks in his hand.

"i picked this up on my way here. this doesn't mean i like you though." you receive the drink from him, fingers caress against each other lightly and you look up to him, giving him a small smile while you tilt your head to the side a little.

you melted his heart right there and then. he said his last statement with no meaning whatsoever, he just doesn't want you know how much he likes you.

to you, receiving that from taehyun was very him. and you accepted to take that as a positive sign. that perhaps your feelings weren't one sided after all. your mind was slowly adding all these small pieces together one by one and you decided to keep it lowkey for now. you accepted that you will know when he wants to say it explicitly.

"but it's late tyun, americano at night?" one brow raises, confused by the choice of the caffeinated drink.

"yeah because after this walk, i'm going to help you do a little more work. knowing you, you weren't concentrating again, huh?" he takes a sip from his drink after the rhetorical question.

"okay, let's go then? the sooner we go for our walk the sooner we can get back and make a start." you chirp, mirroring his actions before placing it down and linking your arm with his, pulling him up as you walk towards the front door.

he would be lying if he thought that wasn't the cutest thing you've said and done. you knew exactly what to say to have his heart melting in his chest, but with no major reaction he huffs a little laugh under his breath.

"you can keep the cap too. it's cold lately, you don't want to get sick." he pats your head, securing the accessory on your head just before you lock up the door and walk around side by side.

taglist: @bb-eilish @iggynor4 @ericyjun @bluejin0812 @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @kyrkitten @hyuntaena @day6andetcetera @amethysts-1620 @gorechoi-backup @dainsleif-when-playable @choiwrld @yjusei @feyregels @ahnneyong @potaeto-writes-on-wp @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @ttyunz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @vatterie @yunkiwii @prodsh00ky @onlyforgaeul (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist or fill in this form)

can't find the tags: @TXT @itmehc @AshxxKook

#hybenet #kflixnet #taehyun x gn reader #taehyun x reader #taehyun fluff #taehyun fics #taehyun scenarios #taehyun imagines #taehyun oneshot #tsundere taehyun #txt x gn reader #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt fics #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt oneshot

798 notes · View notes

lillie98 · 25 days

Text

How to Save the World—Stranger Things 5

I’ve had some time to sleep on the episode titles and think about them, read theories, etc. and I now believe they might be real.

Hear me out: Stranger Things is all about cycles, parallels, tropes happening over and over again. The Duffers love taking a moment and repeating it in slightly different ways to prove a point. The story started with “The Vanishing of Will Byers” because we needed to place a small, innocent child in the center of our story, something to bring our character together and drive them to action. Well, that child is no longer in danger and our team is ripping apart at the seams. It’s almost like we need something similar to reunite everyone and drive them to action again.

Remember: The Duffers love parallels. Will’s disappearance brought his deeply fractured family together, uniting them for a common cause. It also brought Nancy and Jon together when their families needed them most. Now, the Byers are a united front, ready to tackle any monster that comes their way. They are the glorification of the avant-gard family. Now which family is struggling? The Wheelers. The perfect, All-American Nuclear Family: Mom, Dad, 3 kids, and a picket fence. They look perfect to the outside world, but behind closed doors, they are deeply struggling. They don’t communicate, the parents have no idea what’s happening in their children’s lives, and if they’re not careful, if they don’t come together and form a united front—they’re going to lose everything, potentially causing the end of the world. (Why? I haven’t gotten that far yet!)

Now, how do we inspire them to action? Maybe by taking the child who was born to save their crumbling marriage—the one has seen everything but, up until this point, been too young to contribute. Now, she’ll be the same age Will was when he disappeared and Mike and Will are the same age as Jon and Nancy. The Duffers are trying to illustrate the idea of “The Next Generation.” This evil, this Upside Down dimension is NEVER going to stop until someone from the Wheeler and Byers families breaks the cycle. Children will continue to vanish, the world will continue to crumble, until someone steps up and says ENOUGH. The Wheelers and Byers (parents and children) must step up and face their pasts in order to move forward.

The “Stranger Things” are not only LGBTQ+ matters, they are the skeletons we hide in the closet that literally eat us alive. They are the dark, festering parts of ourselves we don’t let anyone else see. The invisible cancers that slowly and silently kill us. Until we face them head on, until we bring them to the light, they will NEVER die. Stranger Things is about owning your past, facing your fears, and finding the light again.

So yes, Stranger Things will end with Will Byers making it home from Mike Wheeler’s house on November 6, 1983, but not in a time traveling way, in a finally letting go of that scared, pained little boy who thought the world was better off without him. It’s Mike accepting his sexuality and place in his family. His role as a leader. It’s Joyce accepting love from Hopper, who must accept that he is not actually cursed, but that sometimes, bad things happen to good people, even when they think they’re doing the right thing (Vietnam). it’s Karen and Ted falling in love again and fighting to save their family. It’s Eleven discovering that love, not anger, should fuel her powers. It’s mourning your stolen childhood while stepping into the version of yourself that child never got to be. It’s stopping the cycle and creating a better world for the Will Byers and Mike Wheelers and Jane Hoppers of tomorrow. THAT’S how you become a Hero.

55 notes · View notes

ffc1cb · 1 year

Note

Do you have any tips for drawing men/masculine looking faces? I love your style and that's specifically something I struggle with ;;;

hi anon! this ask has been sitting in my inbox long enough that you’ve probably forgotten you sent it (yikes!) but i swear that the entire time i’ve been trying to think of a way to answer it.

first of all, i wasn’t entirely sure i could give you any helpful advice at all, considering that i personally do not think about faces in terms of masculine/feminine when drawing them (and this is not a gotcha or anything, i just genuinely don’t think about it on purpose; as in, i rarely go into drawing a face with explicit intent of making it appear masc/femme).

i also as of late have (mostly by accident) defaulted to drawing just these two face shapes, applying them to any characters as i see fit with slight adjustments:

so i figured that since i can’t give you any specific advice, i’ll just walk you through my overall thought process when constructing a face (of any gender).

first thing you should think about is the general shape of it all:

if you imagine these three feature groups as a diagram, you could play around with them & get a wide variety of facial shapes to pick from.

another thing you could modify is bone structure:

generally speaking, sharp features are often associated with masculinity, so i suggest you try experimenting with jaw & cheekbone shape. a face with more fat will hide the cheekbone and make the cheek appear lower and rounder; it will also make the jaw appear softer.

this next thing that i personally omit while drawing (purely as a stylistic choice) but could be of use to you is the brow bone and eye size:

i like drawing the brow & cheek as a straight line (just makes it look more fun and easier to draw), and the eye size varies greatly depending on what vibe im trying to go for.

you could also play around with forehead size, sometimes it makes a big difference.

hope this helps! sorry it took me five million years to answer ^^;

#salt talks #i do not recommend asking me for art advice unless youre prepared to wait for a Long time. im bad at articulating myself so it takes a while #for me to be able to come up with a response #i forgot how i tag these...#a doodley #maybe?

729 notes · View notes

s0ulryo · 2 years

Text

Il Dottore Relationship Headcanons ‧˚♡⋆｡˚

[Dottore x Reader] Synopsis: General relationship headcanons with Il Dottore. Tags: Fluff, bit crackish, Dottore brain rot, soft headcanon. Notes: Possibly ooc? My mind is everywhere and nowhere at once. Also not proofread. I did this at 3 in the morning and I can’t feel my brain goodnight everyone.

(Reader is always gn unless specified otherwise.)

The beginning of your relationship was extremely slow, sometimes you wondered if you were actually in a relationship with the strange man or if you were just a glorified roommate. The two main causes behind this were his job and his inability to process love languages.

He’s a Fatui Harbinger. None of them are mentally stable or have free time. Plus, we know that he pretty much was ostracized for his whole life; which has probably led to some psychological problems. So when people do things for him, he probably is extremely weary of them – thinking that they are doing stuff in order to use him to their advantage in the future.

“Dottore.” You call out, “I made your favorite.” “Why?” Dottore responds. “Do you need something? You could just ask if you do, there's no need to do such things for a favor.” “Dottore it’s 8:00 pm and it’s the first time you’ve been home in weeks, I missed you.” “Oh…”

He tries to keep you away from his work seeing how dangerous and unappealing it is from the general public’s perspective. He might even try to lie about it at first. (He's a horrible liar at times.)

“Dottore, why are there Fatui agents outside?” Picking at his nails he responds “Fatui Agents? Outside? Never heard of them. In fact, I’ve never been outside Dear.” You roll your eyes “Dottore they called you ‘Lord Harbinger’ I think you know who they are.” “Are you calling me a liar?” He scoffs, clearly offended. “Yes Dottore, I am calling you a liar.” “Rude.”

He told you about his affiliation with the Fatui twenty minutes later – it’s not like it was much of a secret anyways.

I believe he’d open up fairly quickly and be absurdly touch starved. I mean, he did enter a relationship with you, so he has to trust you to some extent. All he wants is a hug, so please just hug him.

He’s also a little shit when he’s annoyed by or at you. If you guys get in a petty argument he probably moves all the stuff you use to the high shelves (if you're shorter than him) or any area you would struggle to reach just so you would have to ask him for help getting the object down. He’s probably hidden the chairs before just to make sure you can’t reach what you need. If you are taller than him he would simply hide the objects you need so you would ask him to look for them with you.

He’s made inventions as little keepsakes for you. He has things that remind him of you at his office, so he wants you to have things that remind you of him at yours.

He’s kind of a big bully as a lover, he’d pick on you and not know when to stop; but if what he had said has hurt your feelings he’d do his best to make it up to you without apologizing. It’s not that he’s not sorry – he is, believe him. He just doesn’t know how to apologize.

I believe his love language is quality time or gift giving. He’s shit with words and doesn’t know how to initiate physical affection (it does get better over time, but it’s still not the best).

I mainly believe quality time is his main love language because he’s not used to someone that willingly wants to be around him, and he finds the feeling to be addicting. If he’s working on something at home or on the off chance he has free time from work, he wants to be around you.

Overall Dottore is a soft lover who just wants to be affectionate with his lover.

#s0ulryo #s0ulryo writes #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #geshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore #il dottore genshin #il dottore headcanons #dottore headcanons #dottore #dottore genshin #dottore fluff #s0ulryo asks

2K notes · View notes

linkspooky · 10 months

Note

Hiii spooky I how have you been enjoying season 2 so far? After seeing the characters being brought to life I’ve realised one thing and that is that Suguru is really hard for me to grasp and I don’t know how to portray him. On one hand he seems dark and brooding and serious but then he’s also goofy and deeply caring and he’s not ashamed to show it. He has lots of soft smile but then we see him smile like 😊 that when Riko manages to annoy him. He seems to have so many facets in a way that other characters just don’t…? and maybe in theory his behaviour and parts of his personality seem contradictory, but it doesn’t actually feel like it is?? because he doesn’t really put on any mask, at least his teen self doesn’t, and you can kinda tell what he’s feeling… he’s not as loud as Gojo, he doesn’t really express himself verbally, but to me he’s still more open than him. You can see his emotions on his face or in his body language because he doesn’t really try to hide them, whereas Gojo as loud and expressive as he is.. I often find myself struggling to tell what exactly he’s feeling.

I’ve also seen many people portray Geto as “nice and polite but that’s just for appearances and he’s actually bad and cruel” which feels like a pretty flat interpretation of him… I’m really struggling as you can tell I think I might be missing the point entirely lol I just wanted to know your thoughts on it.

Hello, anon! Thank you for the opportunity to talk about Geto! You are correct in that he's a far more nuanced character than a lot of people give him credit for. The popular fandom belief is that Geto was lying about his ideals all along, but I think it's the opposite. Rather than a liar, Geto's real problem is that he's true to himself to a fault. I'll address your ask and talk more about this under the cut.

Fandom Geto

In my opinion the fandom in general tends to flatten Geto's character for two reasons, number one they want to make Geto look worse to make Gojo look better by comparison. The second and more relevant is that they want to otherize Geto because his beliefs are so extreme. That someone who can slaughter people on that large of a scale must have been cruel to begin with, a normal person, especially a good one isn't capable of that.

Which I think misses the point. Geto wasn't shown as someone with cruel tendencies to begin with, the entire hidden inventory arc showed how much it took him to be pushed off the edge like that, with factors like trauma, witnessing the deaths of sorcerers his age, and the jaded adults around him who made no real attempts to reach out to him and help him in time all contributing factors to his downfall.

"An endless cycle of exorcism and consumption. Exorcise. Consume. It's a taste that nobody knows. The taste of a curse. Like ingesting a rag used to wipe up vomit. Exorcise. Consume. For whom? Ever since that day... it's been running through my head."

What makes this monologue so effective is it summarizes a year of Geto constantly questioning himself as his mental state deteriorates. I do believe Geto always looked down on the weak, but he did it the same way that Gojo did. He separated himself in a different category from others, both Gojo and Geto believed that they were on the side of the "strong" and that put them above others. It's just on top of that Geto believed that standing above others came with the obligation to protect them, and that was the part that came into question.

However, if he believed weak people were "monkeys" from the start, if his desire to protect them was a false belief than he wouldn't have taken an entire year of spiraling before he snapped. The manga wouldn't put such intense focus on #1 Geto's internal world, and #2 Geto struggling with trying to figure out what his ideals and beliefs really are if he was just hiding a darker and crueler set of beliefs.

For example, we have Maki a character who five minutes after the death of Mai decides to massacre the entire Zen'in Clan even the members who had absolutely nothing to do with it, as opposed to Geto who wrestled with the idea of it for a year, and Maki doesn't get the same accusation from the fandom of being cruel and violent all along. Geto's a character of internal struggle. His righteous nature is what led him astray. Not because he was lying to himself, but because he was trying to find what the right thing to do was. It's just his idea of right and wrong got eschew because of the incredibly grey and myopic nature of the Jujutsu World.

Geto's True Feelings

He seems to have so many facets in a way that other characters just don’t…? and maybe in theory his behaviour and parts of his personality seem contradictory, but it doesn’t actually feel like it is?? because he doesn’t really put on any mask, at least his teen self doesn’t, and you can kinda tell what he’s feeling…

I agree with your assesment that Geto is a character that's true to himself rather than a character that's putting up a false front. Geto is a character that contradicts himself a lot, one example is pointed out to us by Gojo. That he justifies his slaughter of non-sorcers for a bigger goal of creating a world without curses, and yet Geto himself isn't strong enough to actually make that ideal a reality. There's basically no scenario where he could have won, like theoretically maybe Gojo could have done it, but killing every single human being was just impossible for Geto.

Which is where we get to the point that Geto is twisting logic around to justify himself and his slaughter of innocents, but at the same time the Jujutsu Kaisen light novel adaptation of JJK0 says this isn't a lie, but rather Geto's attempt to remain true to himself.

To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in a curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality. This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to wrap himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals.

The gap between ideal and reality is a pretty significant phrase for describing Geto, because part of what broke Geto is he sees the world as how it should be, rather than how it is. Geto's failure is in part a failure to adapt when he sees the darker side of the world after Riko's murder.

In my opinion the animated version of this scene is far better than that of the manga. In the anime it shows Geto staring at the crowd joyously celebrating Riko's death who are all complicit in it while he tries to list off reasons why they don't need to take vigilante justice out on the crowd, beause there are systems in place that will punish these people on their own.

Geto is trying desperately to convince himself that these people will see justice, because the world is a fair place. All the while Gojo just walks away, because Geto's answer "There's no meaning in that" is a good enough answer for him. Geto desperately needs to search for a reason and convince himself that what they're doing is the right thing, whereas Gojo doesn't really share Geto's habit of questioning the world around him.

This moment reminds me of a quote of Megumi's at the beginning of the manga "Karma doesn't happen on its own" he later goes on to describe how the justice system and jujustu sorcerers are systems set in place to try to make the world a fairer place. Geto wants to believe that too, even when he's shown direct evidence that Jujutsu Society isn't idealistic at all.

Which, Gojo doesn't really question the society around him until after Geto's defection. He doesn't see a problem because Gojo is the perfectly fit cog, he's born into this society and he's the best at what he does. I think one important thing is that Gojo is the chosen one of the Gojo clan one of the three major houses. The golden child. Whereas Geto who is someone just as gifted as Gojo for the most part, has non-sorcerer parents and therefore was born outside of their society. Which it makes sense why he'd have more of an outsider's point of view, whereas Gojo can accept these things for a long time because that's just how they are, he grew up with this.

Geto's not lying to himself about his beliefs, rather he witnesses the world is not as just as he thought it was, and then struggles between two really opposite beliefs. Which is something Yuki Tsukumo pointed out to him.

Yuki: Do you hate non-jujutsu sorcerers? Geto? Geto: I don't know...I used to think Jujutsu Sorcerers existed to protect non-sorcerers, but recently I've been doubting whether or not non-sorcerers are worth fighting for... [insert monologue here] I don't know which are my true feelings. Yuki: Neither is. You're not at that stage yet. Looking down on non-sorcerers, resisting that feeling...those are just possibilities you've tought of. Whatever your true feeling is, you still have to decide.

If Geto wanted to slaughter non-sorcerers from the beginning it wouldn't be a deliberation for him. He wouldn't be arguing himself and trying to justify himself for over a year. Geto is basically caught between ideals and reality. The ideal is that his work as a sorcerer to protect people is good and making the world a fairer place. He wants to believe that there is meaning behind his work, that he's doing the right thing. The reality he's faced with is the senseless slaughter of people like Haibara. The idea that he is just a cog in the machine that will continually sacrifice more and more sorcerers. That therefore their sacrifice is not making the world a better place, and not justified. He can't face the reality that he and his friends are expendable... and really, who can?

"If being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is like running a marathon... what if what's at the end of that road is a mountain of our fellow sorcerer's dead corpses?"

Ironically, it's Geto's search for the right thing that leads him astray. He becomes unable to see any point in the continual sacrifices the strong sorcerers have to make for what he views as the ungrateful weak non-sorcerers. I don't think he believed that from the beginning though, because as you pointed out above his interactions with both Kuroi and Riko who are non-sorcerers shows a lot of care for their emotions and well-being. If he never cared about non-sorcerers, than he wouldn't have reacted as badly to Riko's death as he did.

he doesn’t really put on any mask, at least his teen self doesn’t, and you can kinda tell what he’s feeling… he’s not as loud as Gojo, he doesn’t really express himself verbally, but to me he’s still more open than him. You can see his emotions on his face or in his body language because he doesn’t really try to hide them, whereas Gojo as loud and expressive as he is.. I often find myself struggling to tell what exactly he’s feeling.

Gojo and Geto are foils and inversions to one another, so I agree with what you stated that while Gojo is loud his true feelings tend to be more concealed whereas Geto for the most part makes his care and concern demonstrably known in the first few chapters of hidden inventory.

There's the famous "Geto and Gojo both make fun of Utahime for being weak in different ways" that a lot of people cite as evidence for the fact Geto looked down on weak people all along, but as I stated above his way of looking down on them is he saw them as a seperate category than himself a strong person. However, I don't think that means his attempts at taking care of Riko are insincere.

Gojo and Geto are both shown as looking out for Riko, Geto does it in more obvious ways and Goo does it in more subtle ways, but that just shows the difference in their personality. Gojo is rude and obnoxious on the surface, but thoughtful on the inside. Whereas Geto true to his nature makes an effort to be considerate and look out for people. One of the reasons I put the conversation between Gojo and Geto as the banner image for this post is because it shows Geto's naturally considerate personality, going out of his way to ask if he's okay. Geto is direct. There's a mirror scene to that later where Gojo notices Geto has lost weight, showing he does in fact get a grasp that something is wrong with Geto, but chooses an indirect approach of asking for it.

Geto goes out of his way to give Riko more free time and time to spend with her friends even though it makes the mission more inconvenient because he recognizes these are her last few days on earth. It's Geto who notices that Kuroi is essentially family to Riko.

When Kuroi is kidnapped, Geto is deeply troubled by his failure and blames himself. Geto shows his concern in a direct way being troubled by Kuroi's disappearance, whereas Gojo shows his concern in an indirect way, setting up a kind of sink-or-swim test for Riko where he tells her she can only come with if she's ready to face the fact that Kuroi might be dead and she can't back out halfway through. All as a test of her resolve. They both care and have different ways of showing it.

Gojo shows his concern for Riko by insisting they stay another day for her sake, and Geto only argues against it because he's worried Gojo is pushing himself too much with his use of the limitless. Geto's visibly happy to see both Gojo and Riko enjoying thmeselves and views the scene with a soft smile. He reassures Kuroi not to worry about letting herself get kindapped because they handled it just fine.

They both cared about Riko, they both agreed to help her quit the merger. Geto's desire to protect her is one hundred percent sincere, this is when he still believes in his ideal of protecting the weak, and he's following that ideal through. That's why his way of reassuring her is saying "we're the strongest" because that's how the world is supposed to work in his ideals. The strong protect the weak, and if you're the strongest you should have no trouble protecting others.

When both the world and Geto fail to live up to that promise that's where he begins to question himself. Which is where I want to get to one of the major differences between Gojo and Geto. All centering around Geto's final words.

"In a world like this, I couldn't be truly happy from the bottom of my heart..."

There's a scene someone pointed out to me in a twitter thread at the end of the Shibuya arc where Nanami contemplates retiring to Malaysia just as he dies doing his job and fighting against many cursed spirits and then is executed by Mahito. All because he chose to stay and fight until the last minute. At the end of the arc, we see Mei Mei fled the battle half way through and is now comfortably sitting in a hotel room in Malaysia. Mei Mei is someone who is implied to abuse her younger brother, whereas Nanami is someone who stated it's the duty of adult sorcerers to protect children and goes out of his way to do that for Yuji.

One of them lives because she is selfish, and even an abuser, the other dies. The first is the kind of person that benefits from the corruption of Jujutsu Society, the second is swallowed up from it.

The line Geto couldn't be truly happy from the bottom of his heart also refers to this fact, Geto just couldn't cope with the reality of Jujutsu Society because it's an increidbly myopic and cynical place where the people who get ahead are selfish people who simply don't care about others and frequently use and abuse others to get ahead, and the ones who get swallowed up are people with good intentions like Nanami. This is the world he can't cope with. He's fundamentally incompatible with Jujutsu Society and driven out of it because he wants to do the right thing, not because he was evil to begin with.

Whereas Gojo also sees Jujutsu Soceity as something rotten don't make any mistake, but he's also someone who is able to function in Jujutsu Society much better that Geto because he was born inside of it. Geto is driven out and Gojo seeks reform from the inside because he's like the ideal of jujutsu society, and he was born to be. He's selfish, and egotistical, and he's so strong he can bully the elders and throw his weight around. Of course Gojo doesn't really abuse his power, that's what makes him so interesting a character, he has all this power and for the most part uses it responsibly to exorcise curses for the good of society rather than abuse it for his own sake.

However, he can stay within that society because he's used to it, a lot of things about that society he accepted how they were for a long time until he saw the toll it took on Geto. Gojo is the ideal of Jujutsu Society, he's held up as the model sorcerer of the corrupted society so it takes him a long time to spot where that corruption is. When he does he also wants to do something about it like Geto does, but he takes it in a more measured way he's not driven out because he's intrinsically a part of that society.

Whereas for Geto he's just one hundred percent incompatible with Jujutsu Society as a whole, one because his idealistic nature just doesn't mix well with a dog-eat-dog cynical society where everyone is out for their own gain and people like Mei Mei climb to the top. Number two, Geto himself has a very uncompromising nature. He's sincere to a fault. He doesn't really deal well with moral greys. He can only exist in a black and white world where he has clearly defined goals of good and evil, he just sort of flips white for black, and black for white.

Thus Gojo is much better at coping with that society as a whole and trying to find a way to work inside the system, but also to begin with he's not someone who naturally questions things the same way that Geto does. In fact in general I would say another point of foiling between them is as you pointed out, Geto is someone far more true to himself not wearing any masks, whereas Gojo's loud personality is a mask. We are privy to Geto's thoughts and his internal world, we basically spend the entire hidden inventory arc inside of his head. Whereas with Gojo he is so distanced from his own emotions oftentimes the audience themselves don't get to see what they really feel and are left guessing. Even the people around Gojo aren't really aware of what his real feelings are, his students and all his coworkers basically just summarize him as "he's the strongest."

Geto basically drowns inside his own head trying to figure out what his true emotions are, whereas Gojo is someone so distanced from what he really feels he's completely alienated himself from the people around him. Hence why Shoko can say stuff like "damnit, I've been right here all along for eleven years idiot" while Gojo monologues about how alone he is in front of her.

Which is what really makes them such good character foils. It's not one is good, one is bad, one is a liar, one is telling the truth, they're actually just both idiots.

#suguru geto #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen #metasks #jujutsu kaisen anime

135 notes · View notes

twistnet · 1 year

Text

family gatherings [ bradley bradshaw ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; it’s the first time in years that bradley’s actually had family to celebrate the holidays with

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, general fluff [ mention of icemav, found family love, hugs + sweet kisses ]

“are you ready to head inside?” you question, a tupperware dish still warm and seated in your lap as you look over at your fiancé. he seats in the drivers seat, a white knuckled grip still on the steering wheel of his beloved bronco -- the same grip he had the minute the two of you have backed out of the driveway.

your question, however, seems to break him from his thoughts and his head turns to find your curious eyes, “yeah, just thinking...” he mutters before quickly trying to reach around to exit the vehicle to avoid a confrontation, but he should really know better than to try and hide what he’s feeling from you.

as you reach over to grab his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, “about what?” you ask, trying to be as gentle as possible -- knowing the holidays can be a time of sadness depending on the situation with ones family.

bradley thighs heavily, “just... it’s been years since i’ve been at their house. all the holidays i missed because i was so upset with them. i don’t know... just feel like i’ve got so much to make up for. all cause i wasn’t here.” bradley vents, twirling his thumbs together as he struggles to get the words out. honestly, he was feeling so many things and the thought of coming over for the holidays had driven him almost insane since mav had extended the invite.

he had worked to make everything perfect -- like he had to impress them all over again. to get back into there good graces. even thought mav and ice had already welcomed him back into their little family with open arms the minute bradley had been told the truth and forgave them both.

the reflection of light swaying back and forth had caught your eye, and you managed to catch a small glimpse of man’s head peaking through the shut curtains to where bradley had parked the bronco -- almost as if he was waiting to see if the two of you were actually going to come in.

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i’m about ninety-five percent sure man’s having the same dilemma as you.” you don’t miss the smile that comes across his smile as he finally looks up at you, “and what makes you say that?”

“because him and ice have been not-so subtly glancing out of the living room window for the past few minutes -- i think mav’s waiting to see if you’re going to change your mind and leave.” for a brief moment, bradley glances towards the window to confirm and chuckles lightly at the sight ice attempting to remove the smaller man from the curtains.

“then we better get inside before he worries himself to death. and i’m sure ice isn’t helping.” and with a nod, the two of you exit the bronco and bradley gently guides you up the steps towards the kazansky-mitchell residence -- a place that hadn’t changed much since he left.

you nearly giggle to yourself when the door lurches open before a firm knock can be laid against the wood, mav and ice’s bright smiles greeting you both, “we were starting to think you weren’t going to show!” mav exclaims, pointedly ignoring the cold glare from his husband as he ushers the both of you in.

“i’ll take that from you.” ice states, pointing to the dish in your hands before whisking it away to the kitchen. bradley helps you get your things settled before following mav in the direction ice had gone -- chatting excitingly the entire way about all the stuff they had prepared for the rest of the guests.

said guests, stood chatting idly in the kitchen before greeting you both with a bright smile. bradley recognized the lot of them -- having been ice and mav’s top gun graduating class and basically family at that point. bradley introduced you to each one, making a point to use their titles before giving them a smile and hug.

a man, slider, had dropped a drink into your hand with an old smile, “glad to have you both here. we’re all just happy to have baby goose back home.” and a round of cheers follow as you turn to face your fiancé.

“baby goose?” you smile, teasing him slightly as a blush creeps up towards his cheeks and his head ducks down in embarrassment, “i had to have a callsign before actually joining the navy, babe. and i was a baby goose back then.”

“you still are a baby goose.” another utters, causing a round of laughter before mav nods, “and he always will be. nothing going to change that.” the sentiment is sweet, and you nuzzle into bradley’s side as conversation flows around the room.

at some point, the two of you separate, and you end up in a conversation with one of the wives, who tells you all about the different things to expect -- more so after seeing the ring on your finger.

at the call of dinner, most of the room rushes into the kitchen to fill their plates. you and bradley linger back, reconnecting for the first time in about an hour. a sweet kiss is pressed to your lips as an arm tugs you in at the shoulders to lean against him. “are you glad you came?” you question quietly, overlooking the room with a bright smile. bradley nods, “i wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

blog navigation ⇢ [ top gun masterlist ]

#top gun #top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #female!reader #twistnet #twistnet works 2022

568 notes · View notes

phoeebsbuffay · 7 months

Text

Imagine Anakin Skywalker heals your wounds… especially after a tough day. By doing so, he is healed from his own shadows.

Warnings: short fic; drama, angst; emotional intimacy…

Warnings 2: fluffy endings.

Recommendations: “Video Games” by Lana del Rey.

***

Anakin’s been having troubling days, you know it. You try your best to comfort your husband, lending him an ear. And the general appreciates every effort you pay by doing him so.

However, he’s been so focused in his own growing resentment toward the Jedis and the anger that has been boiling within him that he didn’t realize you’ve been struggling with your own demons.

Out of the clonic wars, you’ve been going through a war yourself. Old insecurities come every time your plans don’t succeed, when relatives knock at your door with criticism sharp as knives, pleased to blame you for whatever’s been going on in their lives.

You’ve been married for nearly six years and as much as you’ve tried to step away, you know you couldn’t. The reason for it lies in your old attachment to the family you grew with, your inner child trying to heal from such wounds. But there’s your work too. You feel overwhelmed by how you are treated.

There are also the friends you lost for the war, the ones who don’t care about how you’ve been fairing since you’ve married—although few would know you have wedded a Jedi, but the ones who do are out of your grasp.

You begin to wonder if you are enough. It’s not as if you feel helpless when it comes to everything. You don’t wield the Force, you are not part of the politics world. What are even you?

Anakin’s been out for a while to protect the chancellor, so you have no clue what’s about to happen… or what would happen had he not been plagued by a very realistic view of your melancholy.

Quickly, he rushes back home, ignoring the Chancellor’s pleas. And to your dismay, Anakin finds you crying at the couch, heart breaking for the aforementioned reasons—but aching for him, craving for his comfort.

“My love? What’s the matter?”

“Anakin!”, you stand, trying to recompose yourself. “I thought you would not come home until…”

“No, no. This isn’t about me”, he is urged to go after you, promptly pulling you against him, holding your face with his hands, his own eyes tearing when seeing how your wounds came to the surface. “I’ve sensed something was going on. Please forgive me for not realizing this earlier…”

“It’s okay. This all happened whilst you were gone anyway”, you say as you are engulfed in his arms. “But you…”

“No. This isn’t about me”, says he firmly. “I will not leave you bleeding, I will rock you in my arms as I did before I left.”

Carefully, he leads you upstairs.

“Come, you need a shower.” Anakin speaks softly, but seriously nonetheless. “I won’t leave you ever again. Fuck this Jedi Order, fuck the Chancellor.”

You had just sniffed a bit when his words caught you off the guard.

“Ani…” You are brought to the shower, but you are so perplexed you don’t realize he’s preparing shower all the whilst tossing his clothing off. “What are you saying?”

As he comes to you, standing right behind you as he helps undress you too, you comprehend there’s been too much going on.

With both of you.

Threatening the domestic peace.

“I’m saying I’ve been away too long. I heard your silent screams. How your heart whispered “don’t go” , rioting against the imposed loneliness”, the way he reads your intensity so well freezes you.

Anakin side smirks at you. Now standing before you, he raises your chin and, holding it gently, says:

“I know my wife well. You shouldn’t underestimate my power, Y/Nickname.”

“I thought by hiding well, I wouldn’t trouble you. I mean…” And here you burst out at long last all that was well hidden, but improperly buried within.

But words are dissolved in the form of your tears, although Anakin needs not to hear them to understand you.

However, when soothing you, helping healing your emotional wounds, he realizes everything else has little importance.

Yes, he doubled his powers, but what importance are these when you are hurt? Yes, he’s built a great reputation in the war, but who cares about it when you’ve been fighting yours on your own? No. This would end, and to end this tonight releases the burden Anakin, formerly expected to fill the heavy role of the chosen one, has been carrying for years.

As you two move to be under the shower, every tear is wiped away when water comes clean over you. He holds you close, reassuring you in every possible way that he’s not leaving you anymore.

Not now.

Not ever again.

“Besides”, Anakin whispers. “I married you because of who you are. I was attracted to your y/c hair, your y/c skin, your y/c eyes, and not to mention your smile.”

He smiles when you give in and smile too. Your eyes are closed, your face is buried against his chest. His hands are going up and down your back, gently stroking your hair.

“But what captured my heart”, the Jedi proceeds, not realizing he’s finding the balance all the whilst light comes to the surface of his speech, “was your kindness, your good will towards every one you love. Your wit, your sharp brain. Yes, you are a very smart woman, Y/N. Remember when you listed every history of each of Coruscant’s countries? I could never do that!”

You chuckle fondly at the memory. You start to calm yourself, pleased to going back to your stable emotional self. At least for now.

Anakin senses the same, but he doesn’t quit with his work with you. Now, he’s more determined to fight away your insecurities.

“You have a peculiar sense of humor, I give you that, but so what? Even when you are shut in yourself, however shy you can be, you are friendly, lovely, loyal. You’ve been so helpful to me, Y/N”, and here is when he’s starting to get teary himself. “You are not just my lover, my wife, but my best friend.”

There is little need to say anything at all. You cast him a loving glance. Holding his face with both of your hands, you tiptoe and kiss his lips. Anakin holds you back, returning the kiss slowly and passionately.

It seems everything is solved. At least for now…

***

When Anakin wakes the next day, he’s taken aback by your absence on your side of bed. Quickly, he dresses and goes after you, unwilling to waste any more time.

However, every riot comes to silence when he finds you on the hills, meditating the way he taught you to. His own anxiety dying away, he slows his pace, eyeing you with the utmost care.

The male Jedi finds you at peace, part of the wilderness as wind blows against you. You may not be a Force user, but it’s clearly in you. Anakin remembers telling you about it.

“Every one is sensitive to it”, he told you, a side smirk displayed on his lips. “If you had the patience, dear one, I’d gladly teach you.”

“I’ll leave that to you. You know I don’t belong to this Jedi stuff”, you remarked lazily.

Nonetheless, he taught you many ways to use Force in your favor, especially when anxiety strikes you.

He sighs, though. When watching you in such a serene scene, his own nerves come down. Anakin’s own thoughts drift apart in some sort of dissociation.

He has his own hurting to heal, and though he feels better, the Jedi wishes to…

“I know you are there”, you break the silence between you two. You stand and move to where he is. “Why didn’t you come to me, Ani?”

Anakin sweeps away his troubling thoughts to concentrate in you. As he goes to where you stand, you notice a strange stark between you two: where he dresses black, you opt for red with details in white.

Reading your thoughts, Anakin says:

“I was merely watching you, love. You seemed in peace. But now I see you are overthinking… what’s it, darling?” He strokes your face, all the whilst pulling you closer. “My wild little thing.”

“You are the only one who sees that way”, you whisper, resting your forehead against his. “But I worry over you. Why are you dressing dark robes, sweet love?”

“They are practical, is all”, Anakin tries to move away from the topic. “I always saw you who you truly are and never shied away from you.”

You raise your eyes and Anakin, when contemplating them, is instantly drowned in you.

“I am taking you as who you really are.”

One moment of silence. Clouds start to tremble into one another. Wind howls louder now.

“There is evil in me”, he furrows his eyebrows, avoiding your eye contact as he speaks his thoughts out loud. “There is a winter coming that I have no strength to pull myself away from.”

To his dismay, you are comprehensive.

“You are not evil, Anakin Skywalker. You are misunderstood by others, but not by me.” You touch his face gently, bearing the sweet sensation his soul equals yours in a gentle harmony. “We are not simple creatures to be easily defined by others. We are more than that.”

“How can you say that after all the things I’ve done?”

You raise his face so his eyes meet yours.

“We live in days of war, my darling. But you are my peace. Allow me to be yours too.”

Anakin melts in a smile. Resting his forehead against yours one more time, his arms now hold you possessively.

“You are, Y/N. Maker knows you bring me such fortitude, joy and many other good things I am unworthy of…”

“Shush”, you quiet his darkness, softly so. “Let us not welcome any sort of agony here. I love you for who you are, not for what others want you to be, Anakin.”

When his eyes stare in yours, you see how easily they dance in between two irises: blue… and yellow. But you are not frightened. You remain there, locked in his arms.

“You have conviction”, so judges him.

“Yes”, you affirm. “You are my conviction.”

“I fucking love you, wife”.

And by saying that he kisses you. As you return the kiss, every rain falls over you, but no thunder finds way to break through the clouds that rumble in the skies.

***

• Epilogue

He watches you sleep peacefully, face buried in his chest. Anakin smiles at such sight as his hand plays with your curls.

“It’s you. It’s all for you, everything I do is for you”, he whispers.

As if you capture his words, your lips curl upon a smile. Anakin chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss on top of your forehead.

It rains outside, but it’s brighter on the inside. Sun isn’t setting on paradise, not anymore. And just after this contemplation, he holds you closer, decided to go back to sleep.

This is not a dream, but what’s the need to wake up from it?

#star wars #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker #imagine star wars #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #Anakin Skywalker x female reader #Anakin x female reader #Lana Del Rey

71 notes · View notes

skyward-floored · 2 months

Text

*shuffles in* the people wanted to see it, so I’m posting it. Here’s a scene from an oc Link story, the Hero of Sages. He’s got six sisters, in case you didn’t know.

This is before he’s a hero, but not too long before, maybe a few weeks? I’m also trying to figure out how old he is, maybe eleven or so... I’m still working things out. But have this scene in the meantime.

————————————————————

“C’mon Berry, the cuccos need tending!”

Link frowned as his sister pushed a basket into his hands and began shoving him in the direction of the coop, bracing his feet and pinwheeling his arms as she pushed.

“But it’s your job to do the eggs,” he said, struggling against her hold, “and the cuccos hate me!”

“I’ve got to study,” Iris huffed, pointing towards the coop. “Grandpa says I need to focus more on history, and that means I don’t have time for chores right now. So cuccos. Go.”

“But I did them for you yesterday! And I already have to hang the laundry ‘cause Lily is busy!” Link protested, but Iris wasn’t swayed, turning away to head back to the house.

“Sorry Link, you’ll just have to do both. I’ll make it up to you later!” she called behind her as she jogged away, and Link drooped.

Their grandfather had always worked on studies with his sisters, but in the past week, he’d been practically obsessive about it, constantly pulling them away to have them listen to him lecture or read or whatever it was they always did. It seemed like they did practically nothing but study lately.

Leaving Link alone to do all the chores.

Link sighed and dragged his feet as he walked to the cucco coop, looking at the birds with a nervous frown. The cuccos had never liked him, and he usually avoided their coop like the plague.

Which is why this is usually Iris’s job, not mine!

Link swallowed, and edged his way inside the coop, stepping around the birds as he tossed food on the ground. He quickly collected their eggs while the birds were distracted, only having to suffer a few pecks from the stubborn remaining few.

He’d almost finished gathering them all when he accidentally stepped backwards, right onto a cucco’s foot. The bird shrieked in anger and leapt at his face, and Link spent the next several minutes yelling as he tried not to get clawed to bits by the entire flock of swarming birds.

He finally managed to escape the coop, slamming the door behind him and panting as he clutched the basket of eggs to his chest.

“Whew...” he gasped, then jumped as a cucco made a hissing sound behind him.

Link stuck his tongue out at it, then winced as the motion made his face ache. He wiped at his cheek, frowning at the blood on his hand, then sighed as he remembered one of the bigger birds had slashed him with one of its claws. Not to mention all the smaller scratches the birds had left on his hands.

Great.

Link dropped his now-bloody hand, and walked up to the house to drop off the eggs, steps heavy. He could faintly hear his Grandfather talking in the other room when he set the eggs down, but didn’t linger, turning around and walking back out of the house.

He certainly wasn’t going to get any help here.

Link pushed their gate open and headed down the hill and into the village proper, cheek stinging with every step. He would have been grumpy enough without the scratch, but every throb was a reminder of the repeated busyness of his sisters. It seemed like he’d barely seen any of them the past week, and the multiplying chores were only adding to his grief.

“This is all that dumb monster’s fault,” Link grumbled to himself, hiding his cheek as he nodded hello to some of his neighbors.

He headed straight for the general store near the village entrance, brushing off stray feathers from his clothes as he went. Nobody much was really around at the moment, which Link was immensely grateful for, since he didn’t want anyone to come out and start fussing over him, and doubtlessly laugh at his unfortunate cucco injury.

The way this week is going, that would be about right, he thought with a sigh.

Link finally reached the store, and paused to look up at the sign like he always did, eyes trailing over the colors one of his sisters had helped paint. Then he walked inside, the door jingling, and saw his oldest sister sitting at the counter, marking something in a book.

“Del?” Link asked, and she looked up, immediately zeroing in on the blood on his cheek.

“Oh Berry, did the cuccos get you again?” she asked in a slightly exasperated voice, and Link nodded as she hurriedly stood up and came around the counter. Del tilted his cheek up, studying the scratch with a worried frown, then went back behind the counter, gesturing Link to a stool. “Those birds just have it out for you, don’t they?”

“They never peck Iris,” Link grumbled, still a bit annoyed at his other sister.

Del sighed, and pulled her own stool up beside his, pouring something on a cloth and reaching out to clean his face and hands. It especially stung on his cheek, but Link held still while his sister cleaned the cuts, her motions quick and practiced. Del then put a bandage on his cheek, and smoothed it out, making sure it would stay.

“There you go. All done,” Del smiled at him as she leaned back, and gave his unhurt cheek a pat. “They should heal pretty quick, even the one on your cheek isn’t too deep. Just don’t mess with it.”

“Thanks Del,” Link said quietly. She sighed again, looking him over.

“Been a hard week, hasn’t it?” she said, brushing some stray dust off of her apron.

“Ever since Pip came through yelling about that monster he saw, Grandpa keeps making you guys do nothing but study,” Link moped, his annoyance suddenly sharpening. “And Iris keeps dumping her chores on me and Poppy keeps being all snappy and Coriander didn’t even want to hear about the kittens I found yesterday!”

Link slumped in his seat, flicking dirt off his boots.

“All this for one dumb monster,” he mumbled.

Del’s face creased for a moment, but it didn’t last long, and she gave Link’s hair a ruffle.

“Monsters are dangerous,” she chided, pulling a stray feather from his hair. “And there’s rarely just one. Pip got lucky.”

“I know, I know,” Link grumbled.

Del gave him a little smile. “Hey. I know you’re getting frustrated Link, but Grandfather will ease off on our studies soon. He’s just... worried. He wants us to be prepared.”

“How will you guys studying help with that?” Link asked with a frown.

Del hummed, and Link saw something weird in her eyes again. “It’s always good to be prepared, Link.”

Link sighed, and Del ran a hand over his head again, her face thoughtful.

“I think what you need is a pick-me-up,” she decided, and turned back towards the counter, blue skirt swishing. “Be right back.”

She walked off into the back room, and Link rested his unhurt cheek on his hand, idly kicking his feet as he looked around the store. He’d been spending a lot of time in here lately when he wasn’t doing chores, since Del was the only one of his sisters who wasn’t studying like crazy. That was only because she worked here and earned money they needed though, and she still had to study. Just not as much as his other sisters.

Link suddenly wondered if he could convince them to get jobs too.

The bell on the door jingled, and Link looked up to see a sandy-haired man walk in, face hopeful as he looked around.

“Hi Russ,” Link said, and the young man looked over at him, eyes catching on the bandage on his cheek.

“Cuccos get you again, Link?” he said with a sympathetic look, and Link nodded glumly. “Sorry to hear that. You’ll get the better of those birds someday, I bet. So uh, is Mr. M in, or is Del working today?” he asked casually, and Link held himself back from grinning.

“She’s in the back room,” he reported, and Russ nodded, surreptitiously smoothing his hair down.

Link muffled his laugh. One bright side of spending lots of time in the store meant that he got to see Russ pretend he had a real reason for coming in every day. Aside from seeing Del, that is.

“You know Russ, you could just ask her to marry you,” Link said mildly, and Russ choked, dropping the apple he’d picked up to inspect. He hurriedly retrieves it and set it back on the stand, throat bobbing as he cleared it.

“W-well, I uh—”

“Russ?”

Russ quickly turned back to the counter at the voice, smiling as Del came back out of the storage room. “Hey, Del! How’s the store been?”

“About the same as yesterday when you asked me the same question,” Del said with a knowing smile. “What is it you need today, Russ? More sugar? New belt? Don’t tell me your boots wore out again.”

“No, they’re great. I just need some flour,” Russ said, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Again, huh?” Del asked with a raised eyebrow, and a twinkle in her eye. “That’s the second time this week, Russ. You and your pa must be eating an awful lot of pancakes.”

Russ laughed a little loudly. “Yeah, we uh... yep.”

Link couldn’t hide his snort that time, and Russ gave him a look. Del looked over at him as well, her eyes still twinkling, and she abandoned Russ for a moment to walk over to Link.

“Here,” Del said, and handed him a small container. “Consider yourself picked up.”

Link took it curiously, and pulled the lid off, gasping as he saw the dark, shiny contents.

“Blackberries?!” he gaped, and Del smiled, nodding. “But they’re not even growing yet! How’d you get them?!”

“A trader came through with some the other day, he said they grow faster where he’s from. I think he used magic,” Del said in a lower voice, “...but that’s just me. You can take the whole container.”

“Thanks Del!” Link grinned, and his older sister ruffled his hair again.

“Anything for you, Berry. Now go finish those chores, I’ll be back home later,” she said with a shooing motion, and Link nodded.

He hopped off his stool, and after saying goodbye to her and Russ, wandered out of the store, popping a berry into his mouth. The equally tart and sweet flavor burst in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop from skipping a little as he began to walk back home. With the flavor of his favorite berry in his mouth, he was suddenly feeling much more optimistic.

Del was right. Grandpa would calm down and ease off his sisters with their studies soon, and things would go back to normal.

Link smiled as he popped another berry in his mouth, having no clue just how wrong he was.

#*shuffles awkwardly away*#legend of Zelda #fic #legend of Zelda au #legend of Zelda oc #loz oc #mild blood #hero of sages #writing from the floor #Del is short for Delphinium #but literally no one calls her that #except her siblings when they’re being annoying #poor Link is getting lonely #but his grandpa just wants his sisters to be ready in case they’re needed #...which boy will they be #oh and pip is just a kid in the village. short for pipit #apparently there’s a guy in botw named Russ which I didn’t realize until after I’d named him #but uh. yeah. I think that’s it.#thanks for reading if you bothered 👍

38 notes · View notes