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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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ok this is the end of the little tolerate it series— BUT I’m writing two different endings!! so here’s ending 1 :)

part one here and part two here

ending version 2 here

when he saw you that day on the street and tried to stop you, you had kept walking. hadn’t even turned your head, as if you knew it was him speaking.

of course you’d known it was him. he couldn’t blame you for ignoring him, honestly— he had been awful to you. he fully recognized that now, after years of being alone and mandated therapy and an honorable discharge.

he recognized how he let the one good thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he was too damn wrapped up in himself. but he had a right to be.

he had a right to not want to celebrate coming home. had a right to want peace and quiet once escaping from the sounds of war and death. he just should’ve communicated that with you instead of pulling away.

he’s grown. he understands now. and he knows you don’t owe him anything— hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if you slapped him across the face for this, but he needed to try.

he knew it was selfish of him. you’d moved on, surely. years had passed and you’d grown. he’s sure that naivety he once found charming is long gone, most likely from his doing.

he takes a deep breath, fist raised to knock on the door to your house. it’s small and quaint. something he definitely could’ve seen you picking out when the two of you had still been together. maybe not all of you had changed.

he’d gotten the address through Laswell as a parting gift. and he didn’t know why it was the one thing that came to mind— but it was, and now he’s here. standing on your porch with his fist in the air like a fucking creep.

he pushes out an exhale and knocks. all is silent inside the house, and he knocks again, the second one easier than the first.

“coming!” he hears you call from inside. he steels himself. readies himself for attack, for battle. it was something he couldn’t quite shake, even if he’d been retired for a year now. those instincts really never leave you.

the door swings open, and the smile you were sporting instantly drops.

“what are you doing here?” there’s venom in your tone. he doesn’t shy away.

“love—” he begins, but you scoff and start to shut the door.

“actually, I don’t want to know. get off my porch before I call the cops—”

before the door can click shut, he reaches a hand out and blocks you from fully shutting it. you look down at his hand, bewildered.

“move your hand.” you speak through gritted teeth. he stands his ground.

“love,” he starts again, pushing the words out quickly to avoid getting cut off again. “y’don’t owe me anythin’ and I know that. but can I at least apologize? please?”

you stare at him. he keeps his hand in the door, watching your face intently. he can’t tell what’s going on behind your eyes.

you take a beat. two. three. then you shut your eyes tightly as you inhale, open them as you release the breath, and open the door wider.

“you’ve got five minutes to speak your piece, and I hope you know I’m doing this for you, not me. I got over you a long time ago, and because I see myself as a halfway decent person, I’m going to let you do this. then you can leave and never come back. understand?”

he gives a small nod. “understood.”

you step aside and he enters your house, eyes already scanning his surroundings. it’s cute and airy, comfortable and full of you.

pictures of you and friends on the walls. lamps that look a hundred years old on end tables. big windows letting the sun shine in and onto a plethora of plants. colorful artwork and pillows and fabrics. it’s a house full of you, of life, and he finds himself envying it.

he doesn’t know why. maybe because it’s something so normal, and something he’s never experienced. he didn’t get that before he left home, and he certainly didn’t get it in the military. he still doesn’t have it now. he’s still struggling to figure out who he is without a gun in his hand.

“nice place,” he says, and he means it.

you roll your eyes as you walk towards the blue, comfortable looking couch situated to the right. he follows dutifully.

you gesture towards the couch, and he takes the hint. he sits down, sinking into the cushion, and watches as you move to stand across from him. he knows you’re putting distance between the two of you. he doesn’t blame you.

you were never the problem.

he was.

“five minutes, starting now. best believe I’m timing your ass,” you mutter out, pulling your phone from your pocket and tapping the screen. setting a timer, most likely.

best to get on with it, then.

“I owe you an apology, and I ‘ave since y’left. before tha’, actually. I was an ass, and I know tha’ now. you had every right to leave, and you have every right to hate me—”

you gave a mirthless, hollow laugh and crossed your arms over your chest. you were putting up your walls, protecting yourself.

“you put me in therapy, did you know that? years of it. broke me down and crushed me into tiny pieces. made me think I was the problem, that I deserved to be treated that way. ruined my trust and my confidence.”

your tone was bitter. your nails dug into the skin of your arms.

“you were never the problem,” he says, his words firm. he stand then, hands hanging loosely at his sides. “I was. I know tha’ now. I pulled away when I should’ve communicated, or hell— broke things off sooner.”

“so that’s why you’re here then? to tell me you wished you would’ve broken up with me before I broke up with you?”

god, that was not what he meant, and he struggled to find the way to put his thoughts into words.

“no, f’course not, love. I’m tryin’ to say I strung y’along, made things worse, and—”

“and what?” you interrupted.

“an’ im sorry, love. I know it probably doesn’t mean anythin’ anymore. but i am. deeply.”

you didn’t speak for a minute. your eyes studied his face. he knew you were probably taking in the obvious signs of age, of battles he came back from when you were no longer there.

“you going on a suicide mission? is that why you’re here? making amends before you die so you can face the afterlife with a clear conscience?”

he shook his head, taking a small step forward. “no. I— I was discharged. a bit ago, actually.”

“congrats,” you deadpanned.

“tha’s not tha’ point,” he sighed. “they made me go to therapy for a while. unpack all tha’ shit they put me through. and the shrink brought up you once, and it got me thinkin’—”

“so you’re here because your shrink told you to say sorry?”

“bloody hell, love, let me finish,” exasperation was clear in his tone, but he tried to reel it in. he reminded himself that you didn’t owe him shit. you could kick him out right now. he was here because of your allowance, and the second you stopped tolerating him, he’d be back on the porch.

you raised your eyebrows but kept your mouth clamped shut.

“I was an ass when I was with you, and tha’s on me, not you. I was dealin’ with my own shit, and havin’ you celebrate me and boastin’ about my bravery and shit— it didn’t— I couldn’t stand it. you don’t understand, love, and you never will— and tha’s not your fault. s’mine, and I’m still comin’ to terms with all tha’ shit. and I should’ve communicated tha’ with you instead of pullin’ away.”

silence filled the air between the two of you. he could hear the tick of a clock nearby. two ticks. three ticks. four. five.

“what do you want from me, then?” you spoke, and your voice was soft. he could hear the tremble in it— that old you slipping back in, and god he wanted to hold you.

he remembered loving you. he still knew what that felt like, even if was so long ago. and that love was creeping back in, that need to protect you coming back like a tidal wave.

“nothin’.” he said.

“nothing.” you repeated. he nodded.

the timer on your phone went off. five minutes, on the dot.

you clicked it off and looked at him. he was already moving towards the door.

“wait—” you called out to him, and as he turned back to face you, he could tell you hadn’t meant to. it had slipped out subconsciously, and he could see you fighting yourself on what your next words would be.

“I— I don’t forgive you,” you told him. “I don’t know if I ever will. but I— you don’t deserve to be alone. not after all you’ve done.”

he looked at you, the fingers of his hands twitching as he waited for you to speak again.

you took a deep breath and turned your attention to your feet. “I’m here. if you need someone to talk to about whatever. um— I—”

“it’s alrigh’, love. y’dont have to say anythin’ you don’t mean.”

you shook your head. “I do mean it. I admired you when we were together, y’know? you were everything to me— and that’s not something that ever fully goes away. I kinda hate you for everything you did,” you gave a small laugh. “but I don’t want you to suffer, okay? maybe we can— can get coffee or something next week. yeah?”

your eyes were glassy. he resisted the urge to reach for you. he was a protector, it was in his nature. he’d been too wound up in himself back then to realize that the trait he’d showcased on the battlefield should’ve applied to his home life, too. applied to his relationship. to you.

“yeah.” he nodded, his voice soft. he gave you a small smile. “tha’ would be nice.”

you nodded. he looked at you for a moment longer, taking in everything that had changed. but there was still the hint of that naive, youthful you, and that made him smile a little wider.

he turned and walked out the door.

————

author’s note:

muahahahaha ambiguous ending. do they get back together?? no?? do they ever get coffee?? it’s up to you!

this is ending one, keep a look out for ending 2 :)

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levilaughlove · 3 months

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❝T-that's going..in..me?❞ 🔞

→ Authors note: Hey, it's been a while. Sorry for the hiatus.₊ ⊹

⤿Heads up - m!reader x H♯rny tentacle monster || Mentions of dubious consent || Monster is faceless, literally just tentacle| || Very very descriptive terms || Overstimulation & C♯m Kink.

"M/n!" shouted a woman's voice from downstairs. It was your mum. You knew exactly what she wanted. You once offered to go hunting for a rare animal since your family tried and failed. Since you succeeded, your mum has non-stop been begging you to do it again as food was running low.

"I know mom, i'm going." You shouted back, putting on your dark wash jeans and belt, lazily throwing on a black hoodie and running out. Behind your home was a forest, a quiet one. The dirt and leaves crinkle and crack underneath the pressure of your feet. It's also a bit windy out.

Soon, you've gotten deep into the forest, definitely far from home. No sign of the animal but— CRASH.

By your left foot, you are dragged underground. Fuck, you hadn't seen that ditch. Your face once thrashing against sharp branches soon met with slimey, but soft....something? Regaining consciousness, you slowly open your eyes.

A light rosy colored room surrounded you. The walls are squishy, wet, and pulsating. There are humps in the equally squishy floor pulsating under you. You feel naked, you are naked. Noticing your clothing haphazardly tossed around the area.

Soon, the squishy room pulsates faster, stimulating your manhood just a bit. "He's awoken."

Before you could react to the deep, unhuman voice, a powdery gas floods your scent, making your libido rise alarmingly high. You were hard, real hard. Your brain foggy, in desire to be fucked beyond repair. "Hello." A tentacle rises from the squishy floor and hovers over your aroused body. It's big and girthy, not to mention drenched in slick. Soon 6 others rise along with. One of the 6 sneaks under your waist along your stomach and lifts your ass to the air. Hole drenched preparing subconsciously.

"Gnh..." Your groan back. Unable to give any coherent words due to your horny, foggy brain. "Don't worry love, we will take great, great care of you..." The voice says lowly. A tentacle approaching your needy wet dick. The voice turns you on even more. You buck your hips back hoping to catch the closed tentacle into your tight hole.

The wet, thick tentacle jerks off your manhoods slow and hard, pulling as many sinful moans as possible. Each time it works it was up to your glands, it pulls a drop of precum from your dick. Another tentacle can be felt prodding at your tight ass ring, begging for permission. You buck your hips back once again, the tip of the tentacle penetrates. A loud moan is pulled from your throat at the double sensation.

The thick tentacle at your ass shoves itself fully in, easily sliding in due to the slick. It wasted no time in rutting against the inside of your gummy walls, pounding at every go. The tentacle on your dick speeds up the pace, not one to be outdone. Another 2 tentacles lift up each of your legs giving the first tentacle easier access. The last 2 play with your nipples, stimulating the buds and sucking at them.

The sensation were almost to much for you, as you let out a loud, porn-like moan, your mouth drooling & agape, eyes low and lolled back, tears pouring from them. The tentacles however, didn't stop as the fucked you through your rough orgasm. Now, you were gripping the floor underneath, your hot body begging for a break.

"Hnng..." The voice says. Soon unleashing thick, white liquids into your abused hole fucking it back in as all the tentacle begin to slow.

You pass out to the overwhelming pleasure and leave the rest to the monster.

"Now, you are ours." Each tentacle helping to carry you elsewhere. Who knows where? Doesn't matter, anyway.

#gay #male reader #bottom male reader #tentacle monster #lemon #monster fucking #smut

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keyotos · 25 days

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face-to-face

summary ↯

aventurine has a bit of a staring problem while shopping

tags ⎯ unestablished relationship. like we are in the baby stages of their relationship. minor jealousy. lots of banter. lowk dialogue heavy.

word count ⎯ 3.3k

tana's thoughts ⎯ aventurine has taken over my brain so here's a snippet of the series i'm writing

over the years, it's become easier for you to notice when someone stares at you. before, it was an uncomfortable feeling. you felt eyes peering over your shoulder as if you were a pest–it made your skin churn and shoulders twitch up self-consciously. now though, gazes move past you like air. you don't care as much about the opinions of other people–it's not like you'll be seeing them for long anyway.

except, today is different.

you can feel aventurine's colorful eyes trail your every move. from the moment you chose the necklace, to the moment you took it up to the cashier. he wasn't being as inconspicuous as he assumed to be: that died after the fifth glance that he shot your way while you were inspecting said necklace.

even through his glasses, aventurine's stare was burning and heavy. you never thought that such light-colored eyes could install such a hefty weight on your back, but aventurine proves you wrong.

while the cashier rings up your necklace, you look back at aventurine. coincidentally, he was already eyeing you before you even turned around. so when you catch him, he thinks that the other pieces of jewelry in the store are far more interesting than your face could ever be.

you scrunch your eyebrows and shake it off. by now, you're quite used to his unusual antics, so you brush him off. the cashier engages in light conversation with you, and then you feel it again. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and everything feels like it's weighted down.

you bid the cashier goodbye, and aventurine follows you outside. his hands are in his pockets while he whistles, almost like he wants you to start talking. you shoot him a confused look back, your eyebrow raised and nose crinkled.

when he only whistles louder, you decide to poke the bear.

"okay, what is it?" you stop and turn to face him.

"what? you don't like my whistling?" aventurine responds with an innocent tone; he even shrugs his shoulders like he has no idea what's going on.

you huff, "not just the whistling. what's up with your staring?" you raise a hand up to his eyes, "we're supposed to be acting normal. i don't think gawking at the person you're shopping with is exactly normal."

aventurine's jolts back, like he was accused of murder instead of ogling. "i wasn't gawking."

you nod, "yeah, you were staring."

"those mean the same thing."

"i think you've been hanging out with the doctor too much," you roll your eyes and continue walking. aventurine quickly marches up to you, matching your pace sooner than you thought.

"are you trying to compare me to him? we're completely different people, you know that, right? i don't act like him at all," aventurine rambles on. his head is turned to you so that his mouth is directly next to your ear, meaning you hear all of his words. you can't tune him out like usual.

"first of all," it's your turn to look at him, "i just said you hang out with him a lot. and you do, don't you?" aventurine's lips fall into a flat as you say that.

"and second of all, stop changing the subject. why were you staring at me back there?"

the man next to you huffs, and it sounds nearly childlike, "i'm not changing the subject. i'm just trying to tell you that i'm nothing like the doctor," he says with disdain.

"you are changing the subject, otherwise you wouldn't be talking about dr. ratio as much as you are now," you glance around at the various stores surround the two of you, and for a second, you swear that you see aventurine's eyes linger on you once more.

"you did it again!" you fully stop, pointing a finger at his eyes.

aventurine has to catch himself before he falls over at your sudden stop. "what? what are you talking about?"

"you keep glancing over at me! do i have something in my face? my teeth?" a large smile blossoms across your face as you beam at aventurine. for a moment, his annoyed facade falters, and his face relaxes.

"no, and if you did, i'd tell you," he swats a hand in your face, "i don't know what you're talking about."

you roll your eyes. it's obvious that he's hiding something, because usually his lies are more believable. but when you're catching him in the act, denial is not a good way to refute false claims.

"yeah, whatever," you look around the plaza the two of you are currently in when another store catches your eye. your face instantly brightens, and you wander towards the doors.

it's another clothing store, similar to all the other ones on the planet. except, something specific drew you here, and it was the display of hats they had near the window. you walk up to it, spinning the shelf around a few times to grasp onto all the options. your eyes are wide and your mouth is slightly parted as you examine each hat with awe.

unbeknownst to you, aventurine catches up to you and finds you fumbling around with each hat on the rack.

he sneaks up behind you, mumbling, "now, that's what you call gawking."

you jump up in surprise, hitting your head on something more soft than the hard shelf. aventurine quickly redacts his hand from the top of your head.

"i'm just doing what any normal shopper would do," you rub the top of your head before going back to the hats. aventurine's long sigh rings in your ear as you browse.

"yeah, okay," he looks at the selection of hats beside you, "i doubt anything you do is normal, but–" aventurine doesn't get to finish his sentence. he hears your boisterous gasp, and his eyes are on you once more.

"do you see this!!" you lift a fedora up to his eyes, "we could match," you whisper it like a secret, as if matching would be your thing. like matching would only be a tangible thought between the two of you, and no one else.

"yeah, no," aventurine lifts the hat down and places it back on the shelf, "sorry sweetheart, but the hat is my thing."

you grimace at the pet name, "mkay. so, you're gatekeeping fedoras now?"

aventurine sputters, "what? what is gatekeeping?"

you heavily sigh, and aventurine is pretty sure you're putting on an act right now. "are you serious? how do you not know what gatekeeping is?" you shake your head as you grab the hat from the shelf, "anyway, i think i know the real reason you don't want to match."

"because it's childish? and totally not my style?"

you turn around and flick your partner on the shoulder, "no. and you really have been hanging around the doctor too much." you shudder and place the hat on your head, "i think it's because you know i would show you up in it."

aventurine muffles a chortle when he sees you put on the fedora, "keep in mind that we're in the land of dreams."

your lips curl up in the way that they always do when you're annoyed. you are not very amused by his bits today. "you suck," you take the fedora off and continue browsing for different options.

you hear aventurine's footsteps gradually get softer and softer as you keep browsing. that's fine, you think, this is his shopping trip too–he's allowed to find things for himself.

one hat after another: that's your current predicament at the moment. you're glad aventurine is off doing his own shopping, but you also wish that you glued him to the ground so he could give you a second opinion. unfortunately, he is nowhere to be seen, and you are having trouble deciding between two caps.

"do you need any help finding anything?" a voice perks up from behind you, making your shoulders jolt up. it's not the voice you want to hear, instead it belongs to a lovely retail worker.

"ah, no thank you," you smile politely and turn back to the two hats in your hand.

"okay, let me know if you need anything!" sometimes, you wonder how retail employees are able to maintain such a chipper tone of voice for hours on end. do they really want to help you or are they just saying that because they have to?

and that's when the thought hits you: either way, they're still offering themselves up. your eyes widen and you rush towards the employee.

"actually, wait!" he turns around when you touch his shoulder, "i do need help. and this is gonna sound super random–and possibly weird–but what do you think of these two hats?"

you put one hat on–a red one that seems to flop on your head, "this one is nice, right?" the employee in front of you just nods. he's a bit tense and stiff; it seems like he's trying not to offend you.

"yeah, i think it's nice too. only thing is that it's kinda flopping on my head, and caps aren't really supposed to flop," you take it off and hold it in your hand.

you're surprised the employee hasn't made his break yet, because he's still standing in front of you when you grab the other cap.

"and this one," you hold your free hand up to the new, black hat, "is the one that belongs to my favorite team. well, i guess the other one also belonged to another one of my–"

"what are you doing?" you can recognize that voice anywhere. that voice that carries a slightly whiny tone. that voice that always seems to have some judgement sprinkled throughout it.

you and the worker both seem surprised. well, the employee seems to be more intimidated than surprised, but either way, his entire face had gone pale.

"um, trying on hats?" you take off the cap and hold it up.

"i can see that," he looks over towards the employee in front of you, "but is it seriously a two-person job?"

you scrunch your eyebrows together, "i needed a second opinion."

"you could've asked me," aventurine whispered, though it sounded more like a hiss.

"i think someone else needs help," the employee takes a few steps back from the both of you, "i hope you find everything!" there it is. he tries his best to sound cheerful, but his voice quivered as he moved away from the two of you.

"he was such a nice guy," you said as you waved goodbye. aventurine did not look as pleased as you did.

"we're supposed to be laying low. you know that, right?" the blond emphasizes.

you shake him off, "yeah, and tell me how a regular retail worker is gonna rat us out? what about us possibly screams 'sleuth'?"

"we're buying hats." aventurine isn't very proud of his answer, and he can tell that you thought it was weak as well.

"so everyone that buys hats are suspicious?" you retort, putting on the cap you previously took off. "do i look like a murderer to you?"

aventurine sighs. his fingers go to his temples and you're sure that you've brought him to his last nerve.

"this hat is better than the other one," he puts the red one back onto the shelf. "the other one practically fell on your face. i doubt you could even see with that one."

you look at the red hat and then look back at aventurine, furrowing your eyebrows together. "that was a specific answer. i never even showed you what the red hat looked like."

aventurine cleared his throat, and the ceiling must look extra nice, "i overheard the other guy talking. you're loud, y'know that?"

your face immediately breaks out in a huge grin, so wide and bright that aventurine looks back at you for a mere second, before turning back to the ceiling.

"you were doing it again!! the staring! goodness, i thought you were good at lying," you laugh, slapping him on the shoulder to garner his attention, "admit it. i've caught you."

"i'm being serious. you're a little loud," aventurine crosses his arms, biting on the inside of his cheek.

"la-la-la-la. can't hear you. guess i'm speaking too loudly to notice," you put the black cap on again–the brim sticking the opposite direction–and look in the mirror. "hey, since you're here, can you give me another opinion."

aventurine nods for you to continue, and you smile, "perfect. does this make me look like a cool galactic baseball player?"

this is what takes him aback, "huh? why would you want to look like that?"

"well, i'm going to a game soon, and i didn't want to look like a fake fan," you shrug and look in the mirror again. "but now that i'm really looking at myself, i think i’d be an amazing galactic baseballer. what do you think?”

you pretend to hold a baseball bat in your hands, getting into a hitter stance. you make sound effects as you swing your pretend-bat into aventurine's chest, aiming for the open hole in the middle.

aventurine reaches over your head, "well first of all, i'm pretty sure baseball players wear their caps the right way." he grabs your hat and places it on the right way, but not without making sure the brim covered your eyes.

"are you serious right now?!" you yelp, quickly pulling up the hat so you can regain your vision.

and there aventurine is, staring at you again.

you briefly gulp before broadcasting, "you're staring!" you march closer to him. "i caught you!" you're only inches apart now. "and it was obvious!" your finger is pointed at his eyes, but unlike earlier, your finger is much closer.

if you had gotten only an inch closer, you would be able to feel aventurine's heartbeat, despite not even being chest-to-chest.

"okay, okay," aventurine is the first one to step back, and you feel something sinking, "but that was only once."

"yeah, whatever. 'once.' not like i haven't caught you a million other times," you shook your head and regained your baseball posture, "you can't hide from these sharp eyes. told you i'd be a great galactic baseballer."

the blond chuckles, and your eyebrows raise up at the sound, "keep dreaming."

"well, a really weird guy did tell me earlier that we are in the land of dreams. so, if i dreamt that i could be a galactic baseballer, it'd actually happen."

aventurine tilts your hat down once more, dismissing your cries while he does it.

"remember what i said about acting normal?"

"this is actually pretty normal for me," you take the hat off.

"can't argue with that," aventurine looks towards the cashier and then back at you. you raise an eyebrow, as if to raise the question, "is there something wrong with my hair?"

if there is, aventurine doesn't do something about it. surprising, since he's practically been doing something this whole trip. "are you ready to go up?" he asks you.

"you're not gonna get anything?" you look around the store, "we can look at stuff for you. there's tons of things here."

aventurine shakes his head and gives you a wink, "i've got everything i need." you suck in a sharp breath, and you try to focus on anything else other than how fast your heart begins to beat. when aventurine turns his back away from you, then you gulp.

when the two of you get to the cash register, you stand next to aventurine, preparing to pay. you're well aware of how costly things on penacony are–after all, this whole planet is like a tourist attraction. that's why you're paying with card instead of the usual credits.

"did you find everything?" the cashier asks you. you smile at the woman and nod, making idle chatter with her while aventurine idly stands next to you.

the woman turns over to aventurine, "i'm guessing you also want to pay for your item too?"

it's aventurine's turn to plaster a smile on his face. from what you've gathered from being with him so often, his smiles are often sly. some would compare it to the cheshire cat, but you thought he rather resembled an evil cartoon villain.

"yes ma'am," his saccharine voice masked his villain grin, "do you still have it?"

"that i do," she responds, grabbing something from underneath the counter. your eyes fly from the woman to aventurine. you simply couldn't believe what you were looking at.

"you're buying the freaking feodora?" your posture straightens and you beam up at him, "i knew you wanted to match!"

"slow your roll," aventurine puts a hand up to you, "who said i was buying this for you?"

your smile drops and you shove his shoulder, "are you serious? i thought you didn't like that hat."

"i didn't not like the hat. i just didn't like the thought of us matching," he tilts his head to smirk at you.

the cashier's eye's bounce between you two, not knowing whose side to take. eventually, she settles for ringing your cap and aventurine's feodora up, not even wanting to say a word.

"alright, who's paying?" she looks up at the both of you.

"i am," you and aventurine say in unison. your face contorts while aventurine displays a confused expression.

"um," you whisper, stepping closer to the blond next to you, "i'm paying."

"um," aventurine mocks you, "you're broke."

"not broke!" you kick his shin, and aventurine grips onto the counter in order to keep his balance, "just budgeting."

"yeah, and you know who don't have to budget? people that aren't broke."

"so he's paying?" the cashier interrupts. you step away from aventurine out of shame. he can have this.

when aventurine sees you put away your wallet, he proudly hands his card up to the woman in front of you. when she looks down to scan his card, he shoots you a sly look and a wink. your mouth rests in a flat line and your eyes show no signs of hilarity.

the moment the two of you step out of the store, you immediately go for aventurine's bag. before he could even catch you, the hat is already in your hands.

"we can switch!" you try to reason with him, "you would be a great baseball player. just, y'know, not as great as me."

"and..." you sing, "we wouldn't match. wouldn't that suit both of our goals?"

aventurine looks over at you, and his gaze is softer. this time, you don't get onto him for gawking. how could you, when he's looking at you like that? you don't think you've ever seen him like that... ever.

you squint your eyes, trying to decipher his real expression. but there's nothing for you to investigate.

"what?" you ask.

"you can keep it."

immediately you take a step back, nearly bumping into a bystander walking behind you. you shout a quick apology before returning back to aventurine, "didn't you buy this for yourself though? what's the point of me keeping it?"

"i just realized that it didn't go with any of the outfits i have," he sighed, looking into the distance, "what a waste of money. so, it's yours."

"what kind of bullshit is that?" you scold the blond, "you always have to think about whether or not you'd actually wear the item before you buy it. that's like... number one rule of shopping."

"i don't shop that much," aventurine shrugs, glancing at you one last time before focusing on the street ahead. he bites the inside of his cheek and tries his hardest not to look to the side. you'd give him hell for it.

but you're not focused on that. everything's slow, and it feels like the street is empty.

"well, then we're gonna have to go more often."

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr aventurine #IM BACKKKKKKKKKKK #he has risen and so have i #im not religious i just wanted to make an easter joke #also obv the series is a work in progress soooo don't take what i'm writing too srsly... it will need revisions #the way this was supposed to be a snippet (max 1.5k words) and it ended up being 3k.#there's more to the chapter btw.

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unholyhelbig · 27 days

Note

fuck yes wandanat!!!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 1/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3977

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Being buried alive, claustrophobia, guns, general violence, cold leftovers and horrible grammar.

[a/n: Let me know if anyone wants to join the taglist! I should be able to post every week to bi-weekly depending on some travel! This is setting some things up, but I promise it gets better.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The weight of dirt was beginning to make the lid of the state provided casket buckle. It wasn’t very sturdy despite its drastic price that the government contemplated paying. It would have been easier to cremate, send you into the afterlife with the kiss of fire white-hot enough to melt bone. But your will had been specific, not necessarily written by you, but detailing that you must be buried, nonetheless.

No state representative wanted to have the ghost of a twenty-something paralegal on their hands. Though most were Roman Catholic and believed whole-heartedly that once a candle was lit in recognition a spirit couldn’t possibly seek vengeance. Still, they respected your wishes.

No, not your wishes. You were too young to even think of a will, or any specifications that would result in your burial. You still swallowed two cans of candle-flavored alcoholic seltzer with your sad dinner of microwaveable lasagna. You hadn’t made a habit of signing legal documents between sloppy bites and buzzed naps in the sun.

Which begged the question of why you were in a casket in the first place, and why dirt was starting to sprinkle down from the creaking wood above. Doctors made mistakes, but burying you alive? Well- shit, that was less of a mistake and more of a deliberate ignorance.

Your body was stiff, cold and unwelcoming to the life that suddenly thrummed through you. Maybe you had been dead. Nothing two full bottles of Advil couldn’t ebb out of you. Your fingertips pushed against the fabric lining, testing the validity of the box you were in.

This was all somehow extremely familiar; the darkness that swam around you, the putrid scent of your own breath after being beneath the earth for God knows how long. You could taste the film on your teeth and almost craved a toothbrush more than you did freedom. Almost.

Despite the pain in your calves, you situated yourself to where your feet pressed against the lid. With just a little leverage maybe you could push hard enough to free yourself. There was a rhythmic shoveling above; so you weren’t completely packed in yet.

Suddenly, very thankful for the yoga classes Jennifer was making you take, you maneuvered until you got enough strength to push. For a few agonizing moments, nothing budged except your spine. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A few more breaths and a harder push and the latches on the outside of the casket seemed to give way to the pressure with a small pop. You could taste dirt, feel it in your eyes.

Another brisk shove and the lid flung off it’s hinges, crashing loudly against the meticulously carved grave. You winced at the cold soil that suddenly surrounded you. Worms squirmed against your skin and that was enough for you to sit up with gusto, holding back a stomach full of vomit. Formaldehyde? It tasted terrible, either way.

You shivered and dusted yourself off. It was either early morning or just before dusk. You couldn’t tell but the electric blue sky had just started to fade to orange. You wouldn’t have been able to handle the sun being in full force, barely blinking away the color of the world, much brighter than the dark box you’d dismantled.

And boy, did you dismantle it. You’d only intended to push it up, free yourself, but the cheap wood had splintered and crumbled under just a little force. You stood in the wreckage and peered up at the company you had obtained.

“What the fuck?!”

It was a man who looked younger than you in his fear. He held a shovel in his hands, hugging it close to his chest. His mouth was slightly opened and his deep brown eyes were widened in fear and shock. The knees of his dark blue jumpsuit were stained with dirt and water.

“Can you give me a boost?” You croaked.

“A boost… I, fuck, I shouldn’t’ have taken this job.”

“You can quit after you help me out of this hole.” You shivered, looking down at the dirt below your feet. You swore you saw it pulse like a heartbeat. Too many worms, maybe even a few spiders. You’d never been too fond of bugs. You reached your caked hand up. “Please.”

He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to be patient zero.”

“Do I look like a zombie to you?”

“A little,”

“Now I’m offended and freezing my ass off.”

He regarded you, probably checking for a nasty festering bite, yellowing skin and any general signs of reanimation. When he didn’t find any, he reached a shaking hand down to you. Both of you struggled and strained until you found the perfect hold on the side of the grave. God- you were never so happy to touch grass.

You panted and stared up at the sky, stars were starting to pockmark the navy blue. It was, in fact, night. The metal tip of a shovel was pointed towards your neck. “Aw, come on, I thought we bonded there.”

“I’m talking to a corpse, we are not bonding.”

“Where are we?” You ignored his pointed stare and tilted yourself up on your elbows. A cemetery was the easy answer. But you wanted to know which one. There were at least 1,700 in the state of New York alone, and they all looked deceivingly the same. “Do I have to take a cab to Manhattan?”

“Uh, you’re in White Plains. Mount Calvary cemetery. I’m- I’m sorry, is this not freaking you out at all?”

You frowned, patting the pockets of a pair of jeans (why the hell would they bury you in jeans, they were the worst). In a long exhale you said. “Shit. I think worms ate my cash.”

It was a longshot to even think that your phone would be in your pocket. It wasn’t. But that left you stranded almost an hour, by car, outside of the city. It would be morning by the time you made it back and that was if no-one pulled up to the side of the road and tried their luck.

You did the only thing you can think of and peered up at this stranger with watery, wide eyes. It wasn’t a move you pulled often, meaning it still worked on Jennifer, on your mother and your father. This was a last resort and you were certainly willing to use it to your advantage.

“What? No.” He shook his head “No! No! Absolutely not. You just dug yourself out of a grave I fucking refuse-“

His name was Austin and he drove a 2002 Ford that needed to warm up for a few minutes before he even considered pulling out of the gravel drive. He was pressed as far as possible away from you and that didn’t exactly boost your confidence, but honestly, truthfully, you would take what you could get at this point.

Austin asked if you were freaking out, and you were. Everything was patchy and black in some places. You couldn’t remember how you’d ended up in a casket. It was clearly a situation that irked you for more than one reason. The forefront of which; no one had attended your funeral.

You weren’t even from White Plains. You’d known from your day job that this place had more than one government funded cemetery. So, most likely, you were given a half-rate priest with liquor on his breath and a funeral director that may have taken the twenty from your pocket, not the worms.

Your stomach clenched as Austin began to drive. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel nervously, and could you blame him? A corpse was in his passenger seat. Though, you felt alive enough.

“What’s your name?” He eventually asked, flicking on his high beams. You were on a long and deserted road flanked by oak trees. The occasional field passed by, the reflective quarter-sized eyes of cows blinking at the truck. “Frankenstein?”

You snorted, “Ha-ha. Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster, you know? And I don’t remember my pitiful grave being struck by lightning.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Perhaps.”

“Pitiful? Really? I work hard to maintain those graves.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely.” There was a rolling beat of silence. He glanced at you twice before shrugging his shoulders and leaning his chest closer to the wheel to see better. “It’s y/n. Wasn’t it written on the stone?”

Austin shook his head softly, “No, they don’t put the stone in until later. I’m supposed to spray paint a neon ‘x’ on the packed dirt, so they know what to make.”

How humiliating. You’d supposedly died, no one came to your funeral, and you were reduced to less than a quarter of spray paint. There was a system to everything, but this one made your self-importance fizzle out like a covered candle. There one moment and gone the next.

“Do you have a plan?” Austin changed the subject.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like, are you just going to show up and say surprise, I’m alive? I’ve seen a lot of horror movies and that never goes well.”

Well, that was your plan. It was a damned good one too. There was nowhere else for you to go. While this near stranger was nice enough, you couldn’t impose on him for more than a single ride. His kind chocolate stare was telling enough. He would let you stay with him as long as it took to figure all of… this, out.

“Yeah,” You sighed out, leaning your head against the cool glass “That’s all I’ve got.”

Jennifer’s apartment building had a small box that required a code for entry. You knew the right numbers to press in the right order, they had faded away from regular use, but the door was always propped open by a cinderblock to let in the cool summer air.

If it rained hard enough, New Yorkers would take partial shelter under the awnings, and sometimes going as far as to loiter in the front lobby by the large set of mailboxes. They were the oldest and most fascinating part of the building, large and wrought iron. Allegedly, they’d survived three building fires.

Thankfully, no one but you stood in the lobby as you watched Austin’s taillights flicker out of existence. You’d have to thank him later- of course, you hadn’t gotten his number, but you knew where her work. At least where he worked up until now.

Escorting someone who had kicked their way out of their own grave back into the city was grounds for quitting, in your book.

The elevator was the second oldest thing in the building, but you somehow felt a wave of relief wash over you when the familiar warmth pressed against your skin. The mechanics jolted and hummed like an old lawn mower. All of these were comfortable.

Hunger tinged at your stomach in one fail swoop of feeling. You steadied yourself against the reflective interior of the elevator as it rose to the highest floor. Each number was signified in a loud and crude beep. You were tempted to hit the emergency stop; gaging the feeling in your abdomen.

Brains?

Yeah, the thought of them was absolutely unappetizing. Austin had gotten into your head. There was no innate need to dig your teeth into flesh and devour. In fact, you became more nauseous at the idea than before it popped into your head.

Zombies were chained to shitty horror movies you and Jennifer curled up to watch every Friday night, making fun of the gelatin that was used for wiggly guts and the cooked rice substituted for maggots. You could go for rice right now.

Knowing your best friend, she would have some sort of left-over cuisine in her fridge and you didn’t hesitate to run your fingers over the top of the doorframe to procure her hidden key, taped with a single strip of adhesive to the surrounding paneling.

Her apartment was dark save for the small tank with a one-finned goldfish named Gus. He barely regarded you, the dull buzz of his home and the pale blue light gave you all the vision you needed. Again, the familiarity of Jennifer’s apartment warmed you, comforted you. If you stopped for too long, you’d think about it all too much.

Waking up in a grave, not remember how you got there in the first place. When was the last time you’d had a meal? You’d purposefully avoided the side mirrors in Austin’s car, even the rearview was gently nudged by your dirt-caked hand. One thing at a time.

The fridge swung open with a satisfying pop and you were never more thankful for the red and white takeout containers that rested on the top shelf next to a box of wine. Neither of you ever claimed to be fancy.

You knew Jennifer’s order like the back of your hand. Sweet and sour chicken with a side of fried rice and no matter what, you would eat it cold. When the scent hit you, you even considered going forkless. If not for the slick dirt under your nails, you would have.

There was instant satisfaction in shoveling a mouthful of rice into your mouth, you barely chewed before swallowing. The neon light from the open fridge illuminated your shame and you swore that Gus, the one-finned fish, was judging you. He ate flakes for fucks sake, watching you spoon cold leftovers was the least of his worries.

You’d moved on from the rice and to the chicken before you noticed that you had company. It was a shift in the air, the feeling of being watched. But there was something more too, something like an itch on the back of your neck.

In a split second you turned from your cold meal and lifted your hand up with enough time to grip a wedge golf club that Jennifer had gotten from her father for her twenty-first birthday. They collected dust next to her coatrack, and right now, the metal edge was less than an inch away from slamming into the side of your temple.

You’d never been necessarily graceful, nor good at picking up on your surroundings. You never had to be, not with your work as a paralegal. The worst thing you had to look out for was a bad reaction to burnt office coffee.

Jenn was in an oversized Pink Floyd t-shirt and a pair of boxers, her eyes were wild, hair even wilder. A bloom of fondness wash over you despite her attempt at assault. You couldn’t blame her either, your mind so one-track on getting a meal that you hadn’t warned your best friend, not in the slightest.

“Fuck! What the fuck!” she wrenched the club away from you and moved to swing again, holding it behind her head like a baseball bat.

“Jesus Christ! Oh my God, put the wedge down!”

“You’re not-“She gulped in a cold breath of air “you died!”

“Don’t hit me with that thing and kill me again!”

Her chest was heaving up and down, fingers tightening against the rubber grip handle. Her eyes were frantic. “Did you eat my leftovers?”

You blinked at her, not sure what to say. She didn’t give you a chance to answer either, instead she sprung forward and wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathed her in, her scent of summer rain and freshly cleaned laundry. Her hair tickled your nose but you held her back, held her as if it were the last time you ever would.

Something softly broke within you, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. They slid silently down your cheeks. The fridge closed with a padded thump and plunged you both into the neon blue glow. Eventually, the club fell to the floor with a clank and her fingers fisted your shirt. You were thankful that she didn’t use her full strength.

“How is this happening?”

“I don’t know,” You rasped.

And you didn’t. Everything was so fuzzy and each time you attempted to press the subject in your mind, you felt the start of a headache at the base of your skull. For now, you were perfectly content holding your friend flush against you.

“You smell so bad,” She sobbed.

“Yeah, well, I was dead.”

Jenn pulled back and squeezed both of your shoulders, studying you longer than you had studied yourself, her breath shuddered “Maybe this is one of those Halloween things, like… like you have one night back on earth.”

You gave her a weak smile “It’s June, Jenn.”

She frowned at you, fingers pressing against your goosebump covered skin. “Sweetie, it’s October. You’ve been… gone, four months.”

But you hadn’t been buried since June. You were barely buried this evening. Your body ached from how stiff the casket had been, fingers numbed from the cold. You figured you were jarred, not in a different season altogether.

“I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

She swallowed hard, linking her hands behind your, they rested at the base of your spine. You could tell that she was afraid to release her hold on you. Her breath was warm against your collarbone.

“You were hit by a car that blew through a redlight.”

Okay- anticlimactic. You worked alongside Jennifer at Goodman, Lieber, Kurzberg and Holliway on cases that were focused on Inhumans, superheroes and supernatural beings that had gotten themselves into legal trouble. Being taken out by a car accident wasn’t on your top-five ways to go.

“It was all very… weird. They wouldn’t’ let me see you, and at first, I thought it was because we’re not family, but they didn’t let them in either. I even pulled the attorney card, which I’m not proud of, but they refused to let us even identify you.”

She withdrew her touch and started to pace around the kitchen. It was her way of thinking, and now that she was sure that you were a solid being, she was free to move around. “Even when I got six feet tall, mean and green, they wouldn’t let me in. I was two seconds from calling Bruce.”

Jenn stopped and lifted both eyebrows at you “You look remarkable for someone who has been under the earth for months.”

“I was being buried today in White Plains. I’m assuming there was no funeral, then?”

“No… no. They had said that private arrangements had been made and it’s my guess that those were keeping you on ice until now.”

You winced at the phrasing. You were never too fond of hospitals and the blocks in your memory scared you more than anything. If what Jennifer was saying was right, then, you may not have died in that intersection. You may have been through something much, much worse.

“Sorry,” She sighed out, desensitized just as you were. “Y/n, you can’t remember anything?”

“No,” The word came out as a broken whisper.

The two of you stood in a quiet moment. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you held onto that feeling. It was there, you were there, pockmarked memory and all. You felt the urge to reach out and hold Jennifer again, suddenly so exhausted you didn’t’ imagine your legs holding you up much longer.

Her eyes flickered down to the center of your chest and then back up to your stare with an immeasurable amount of fear. When you gazed down at the dirt-stained shirt, you saw a red dot, quivering as if a hand was behind it’s direction. Your shoulders slumped.

“aw, fuck.”

Jennifer let out a scream as her front door was splintered open and flung with great force across the room. The two windows that overlooked the view of the city shattered as heels broke against the panes. The one singular dot had changed to seven, long-range rifles aimed at you, and you were suddenly very sad that your last meal would be cold leftover rice.

Even in the dark, you knew that they had knocked over the fishtank holding Gus, multicolored rocks and glass slid across the wooden floor. There were light gray circles against the breasts of these intruders, a bird with outstretched wings in it’s center.

Your hands went up reflexively, both you ducked behind the breakfast nook, you were close to plugging your ears, the red dots trained on the fridge now, “Oh my god, did you call SHIELD?”

“No! No, I didn’t even know you were alive three minutes ago, I was going to hit you with a golf club and call the cops, not SHIELD.”

They were assholes and tight-lipped about everything, always. It was hard to get a phone call back from them divulging information about ongoing lawsuits, but now they were in front of you, guns raised and depriving Jennifer’s fish of life.

“Gus is going to drown,” You whispered harshly back.

“He’s a fish, he can’t drown.”

“In air.”

There was obvious shifting of firearms. The Agents were all calculated and still with their movements, there wasn’t subtle noise without intent. A gruff, raspy female voice called out to you. “Come out with your hands up, y/n.”

You peaked over the breakfast bar and squinted into the darkness. Your body was not equipped for this. It was already protesting from kicking open the casket with a bought of strength. It certainly wasn’t prepared for this.

Most of the agents were in swat gear, bullet-proof vests and helmets, their faces were covered with balaclava’s, leaving only small strips of exposed skin and eyes trained on you. You hadn’t had this much attention directed at you since your fifth-grade talent show, and you figured the last time would be your funeral, but that hadn’t gone exactly to plan.

The woman who was speaking was in a tactical suit. She didn’t’ bother to cover her identity, she didn’t have to. This was the Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. Jennifer had gotten drunk one night after a losing case and told you about her cousin having a bit of a fling with her. You’d met Bruce, and that was… unbelievable in the nicest way possible.

Her emerald eyes were trained on you, serious and hard. A tingle ripped up your spine and your stomach squirmed at her scrutiny. Maybe it was the rice and the chicken, but you felt the urge to vomit. You wanted her to say your name again, despite not understanding why she knew it in the first place.

Jennifer gripped your ankle, shaking her head ‘no’ vigorously. Really, you should trust your lawyer friend.

The Black widow let out a sigh, the tip of her handgun pointed to the ground. “You can either come out, or I’ll blow a hole through your chest. Your choice.”

Your gaze flashed down to Jenn and she seemed to have changed her mind within a second, nodding with caution. “Okay, okay.”

Once you were at full height, the room bustled in movement. Your eyes remained on the Black Widow, and hers on yours. Your mouth felt dry, the tip of her gun pushing against your ribs before she flipped you and bent you over the granite counter. Jennifer was using her heels to scoot back to the fridge, trying to avoid the agents swarming around.

Metal cuffs were slapped against your wrists. The Black Widow was pressed flush against you, her warmth dominating. She grasped the back of your shirt and pulled you up. You were, for a fleeting moment, at her mercy. Her fingers searched your pockets, padded down your sides. Once she figured you clean, she holstered her weapon. “Y/n Y/l/n,” she husked in your ear. You suppressed a shiver, knowing she’d feel any move you made right now. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Taglist: No one yet :(

#natasha romanov #Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Black widow #Black widow x reader #Scarlet witch #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Marvel #Jennifer walters #She-hulk

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starseungs · 18 days

Text

after the curtain falls. lmh

lee know x gn!reader — spring was a season welcomed by all. what a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

genre/s — angst, fluff, its just hurt-comfort, university au • 2.9k words

warning/s — break-up aftermath, profanity, commitment issues, minho gets called a bad bf (sorry), there's a twist i swear !

note — its quite literally been a year since i last wrote a fic so i would love to know how the quality of my writing is !! feedback is greatly appreciated 🫶

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Spring was never supposed to be this lifeless.

It was a season of new beginnings, where growth is celebrated and life is nurtured back into full bloom. A time of bright colors and freshly scented air floating all throughout the expanse of space, bringing soft smiles of comfort towards anyone who takes it in. Springtime was welcomed by all.

What a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

You didn’t know why your spring was so vastly different from the others near you. You’d like to think that your winter started off just as normal as everybody else: watching the crisp fallen leaves on the ground get replaced by a fresh coat of snow, feeling the familiar prick of the icy season’s breeze on your skin as your body tried to suppress a giggling shiver, as well as seeing puffs of steam come out of every warm breath you took, reminding you that despite the cold weather, you still held a warmth inside of you.

Just who would have known that your spring would be the complete opposite, with your heart frosted over despite the rising temperatures? But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew exactly why. You would never want to catch yourself admitting it, but maybe it was the way your winter ended in a snowstorm of emotions.

It wasn’t every winter that someone had a fight that could completely shatter an intricately built mosaic. It also wasn’t every winter that you would watch your other half walk out of your life without so much of a single falter.

You knew so damn well that it wasn’t every winter that you could get your heart broken.

Perhaps that was why you allowed your heart to get glazed over by ice. After all, it was the only thing keeping it together without requiring you to spend too much effort. Sure, it melted a bit every now and then, but it was easier to freeze liquid than it was to achieve the complete opposite.

It was for the same reason that you found solace in the springtime evenings, where it resembled even half of the winter that was keeping you human. The dimmed atmosphere of the surroundings was able to neutralize all the parading palettes of color, leaving you with a monochrome wonderland that was much more comforting to the eye.

The walk back to your dorm building wasn’t anything special. It really wasn’t supposed to, nor did you expect something to happen. You had just gotten over the hurdles of coursework back in the school’s library when you decided to call it a day, peacefully trek back to your dorm room, and get to sleep the hours away until duty calls. That was how your evening was supposed to go.

Except it didn’t.

When you first saw a figure more or less passed out near the lower steps of your dorm building, you were visibly concerned. Why wouldn’t you be? At this time of the day, it would be dangerous to just leave yourself undefended in public. That, and who in their right mind would be willing to snooze away amidst the midnight breeze?

That was enough for you to start a little jog toward them. Was this person locked out? Were they drunk? Should you help them? All sorts of questions popped into your head as you got closer to the steps the figure took as their bed for the night.

And yet all those same questions vanished into thin air the moment you caught a glimpse of the person’s face.

“—Minho?”

His name came out of your lips so frail, as if any stronger, and the scene before you would shatter into nothingness, telling you once again that it was all in your head. That you had wished to see him again.

It was almost comical just how fast the sight of him brought back the familiar prick in your eyes—the tears fighting the crisp blow of the wind to keep themselves at bay. This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go.

Granted, the fight between you was a petty one. Well, not more so petty than sudden since it literally blew up out of nowhere. It started off with a question about commitment. Arguably simple one of where you saw each other in a few years. You had gone first after you asked, rambling happily about graduation and living together. Minho chuckled along with your plans, and to you, he even seemed glad to hear them.

Yet, when the topic of marriage was brought up, his smile immediately turned blank.

Of course, you noticed his drastic change of mood right away. What kind of significant other would you be if you didn’t? But when you reached out to ask him what was wrong, he merely brushed it off as being tired.

Except that both you and him had done nothing but lay around the whole day.

Maybe you, too, had a fault in all of this. You prodded him more about the topic, not knowing you were agitating a ticking time bomb running out of time. If you only knew, then it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he eventually exploded, spitting out that he wasn’t too sure about marriage.

In your view, that would have been fine. You were willing to talk it out; perhaps he had other plans for the both of you that would settle just fine in yours. There was no way you’d pressure Minho into doing something he didn’t feel like doing. You had too much love and respect for him to do so.

It was in an unfortunate turn of events that you had to find out the sentiment wasn’t shared in the same way you did, as when he slammed your room’s door shut after expressing that it wouldn’t work out, he took a piece of your heart with him that left you incomplete on the days that followed.

And yet, there he was again. Marching into your life like nothing ever happened.

In a blinding flash of hot white fury, you marched up to Minho’s peaceful figure, blissfully unaware of the chaos headed his way. Your body shook in the repressed burst of energy, trying not to lose yourself in public despite the area devoid of people. After reaching him in less than a minute, you saw no hesitation in leaning down to wake him.

“Minho,” you grasped at his right shoulder, trying to shake him out of slumber. You saw the action as intense in a way that was borderline frantic, not a care for the state of the joint you had grabbed. After all, why would you? Yet, while you’d like to believe you did a great job at expressing your displeasure, a small voice pestering at the back of your mind begged to say otherwise.

It was a mere whisper—directed at the act you just committed, one that shouldn’t even bother you in the slightest. Yet, it did. So painfully so.

That kind of gentleness isn’t reserved for a heart swirling in rage.

The slight squeeze in your heart at the notion only made you grit your teeth further in displeasure. Curse your damned heart for keeping its fondness for the man before you. The same man who was still up in dreamland while you were fighting your own war at the present. You clicked your tongue in building irritation.

“Wake up, or else I’m leaving you out here to freeze.” With one last shove, Minho finally came back to Earth.

You watched as he fluttered his eyes open, ignoring the warmth that seemed to spread over you once you got a glimpse of his big almond eyes. Minho sure took his sweet time to process his surroundings, causing you to purse your lips in uncertainty when his gaze lingered on your figure towering over him a bit too long with an unexplainable emotion.

“Hi,” he mumbled slowly, a small smile ghosting on his rosy lips. “Even in my dreams, you never fail to look so lovely.”

Cold air filled your lungs as you sucked in a breath at his words. You hated the way he easily melted the ice that you had covered your heart in. Without even meaning to, Minho had already managed to tear down the first layer of protection you had set up to keep yourself sane. There were a lot of things you wanted to tell him back, but you held your tongue. This wasn’t the right time.

Nor would that time ever come.

“It’s not a dream,” you opted to inform him of what was left of the goodness in your heart, partly feeling guilty for his disoriented state. “Get up, Minho. It’s cold out here.”

“You’re—what, wait!”

Minho scrambled frantically from his seated position on the dorm building’s steps, clumsily finding his balance to get up. The rush of suddenly standing after a nap came over him like a wave, causing him to stumble with a groan as he let the blood that came up settle. You sighed at Minho’s efforts, turning back around to continue your way towards the entrance.

“You should go back home.”

“I won’t!” He replied in haste, pure desperation seeping over his words. “Not again. Not when I spend every passing hour regretting that I did back then when I clearly shouldn’t have.”

You felt your world still at what Minho had just said. Did you hear it correctly?

“Please, Y/N.”

Minho’s footsteps echoed in your mind, telling you that he was moving closer. But your body had yet to listen to the warning bells you had set off, keeping you still in the same place you had stopped in. You surprised yourself with the small whimper that escaped your lips after feeling warmth radiating right behind you.

“Can—can I hug you?”

And just like that, the dam broke as the first fits of sobs spluttered out of your body in waves, barely getting contained as Minho wrapped you with his arms firmly. You turned to face him just to throw weak punches at his chest. “I hate you so much!”

“I know,” he said, hugging you tighter, as if you would disappear the moment he eased his hold. “I know you do.”

“Do you know how hurt I was? How could you just leave me like that!”

“I don’t know,” Minho answers again, completely giving in to your inner turmoil. He let you dampen his hoodie with your tears without any reference. “I was stupid.”

“So stupid!”

“Very stupid,” he repeats your words without hesitation, finally pulling back slightly to see your tear-stained face, gently wiping the fresh drops that escaped with his thumb.

You cursed the way your body naturally leaned into his touch. You disliked the way his voice soothed your running mind from the horrors it placed upon yourself. You hated the way you felt comforted by his presence, the same way he hurt you with his absence.

And most of all, you despised the way you couldn’t bring yourself to stay mad at him.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said heavily, visibly trying to keep his own tears at bay. “I know that won’t fix all the things that happened, but I still wanted to let you know.”

You exhaled shakily.

“I—I won’t force you to accept my apology,” he continued. “But please—God, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to handle you telling me to go home and never fixing us. I wouldn’t survive in this world without you by my side. I promise I’ll do better for you. I’ll reflect on what I need to, just—”

Minho breathed in deeply.

“Give me another chance.”

The two of you breathed in unison for the first time in weeks.

“Cut!”

“Nice,” Jisung’s squeal of joy could be heard throughout the wide space, carefully fumbling with his video camera to watch the scene’s replay. “That was a great take!”

Seungmin groans at the noise level. “Seriously, would it hurt you to keep it down? Some people are already asleep,” he scoffs, really not wanting to deal with a complaint filed against them this late into the night.

The younger of the two only juts his lower lip forward into a childish pout. “But it’s only midnight. We’re in university. Who gets to sleep that early in university?” Seungmin only bites back a retort after sensing genuine confusion in Jisung’s tone.

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

At the sound of their bickering, the late night’s breeze didn’t seem to be as frosty as it was a few minutes ago. You distantly hear Seungmin and Jisung continue to talk, now finding themselves in a heated discussion about the next scene. A light chuckle was heard coming from the man still holding you.

“Well, I’m glad that they’re having fun,” Minho comments, greatly amused at the duo. You felt his gaze drop down towards your head, still resting on his shoulder. “Feeling okay?”

You could only nod at his query, too exhausted from enacting the scene that just finished. He hummed at your non-verbal approach to answering, running a hand through your hair to soothe your dropping emotions.

“What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?” You let out a soft giggle at his wording before snuggling yourself closer to his figure. Minho lets you do your thing with a smile.

“Let’s not ever do that.”

“Do what, love?” He asks, requesting that you elaborate. You listened to his heartbeat thump calmly before speaking up.

“Break up,” you said, the thought leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. “I don’t like the feeling. It hurts.”

Minho laughs again, but this time it was aimed at you. “Well, of course it’s going to hurt,” he says with a light tone. “You’re going to be losing me!” You slapped his arm in annoyance.

“You are such an ass, Lee Minho!”

“Ow—hold on!” He chokes out in between chuckles. Minho takes hold of the hand that was assaulting his arm, slipping it into his own and entangling both of your fingers. You couldn’t help the heat that washed over your face at the intimate action. Minho seemed satisfied with your reaction. “If it makes you feel better, it’s going to hurt me too.”

You pull away to raise a brow at his statement. “Why? Since you’ll be single?” Minho pretends to think for a second.

“I mean, I guess?” You shot him an icy glare at his admission, but the tender smile he gave back at you made your angry facade falter in an instant. It looks like on-screen you had the same issues with their own Minho—both being undeniably weak when it came to them.

“Stop giving me that look,” you sigh amidst a smile you were suppressing.

“What look?”

“That look,” you say, almost in a breath as you struggle to chase the words out of your mouth. “The one when you look at me like I’m the only person in this world.”

It was a look you’ve seen too many times. One that he would give you both at the most intimate of moments and the most random of times. You see it when you wake up in the morning to him already awake beside you; you saw it when you squealed in joy after winning a prize from those rigged claw machines in the arcade across town; and you see it especially when he sees you waiting outside his class’ building after an extensive lecture, holding two cups of coffee for both you and him. It was from those times that you realized—it was Minho’s gaze of unfiltered love for you.

Minho pulls you back into his arms, still unable to let go of his endearing grin. Your head finds its way back into the crevice of his neck, finding home in it once again, like second nature.

“That’s because you are the only person in my world.”

“We beg to differ.”

Minho could only roll his eyes at the eerily synchronized voices of Jisung and Seungmin, leaving you to crumble into fits of laughter. He scoffs before replying, “If I lose my beloved darling, then you guys are losing an actor.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be trying to salvage your relationship if you stopped being such a shit boyfriend!” Jisung bites back at Minho’s threat.

“What, so you would rather watch us be all lovey-dovey in front of you? I didn’t take you for that kind of person, Jisung.”

“Seungmin, he’s fighting me again!”

“What am I, your mom?”

The night continued on in blissful laughter and amused smiles, finally fitting for the season of spring. Even with the chilled breeze of the evening air, the warmth exuding from the four of you would remain, defrosting the ice you had layered on your heart for the scene given to you. Deep in your mind, you knew that this was really how your night was supposed to go.

That as much as you loved creating little scenarios for your friends’ films, you’d always prefer the life you had after the curtain falls.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu

sorry for anyone tagged that didn't want to be !! i used my old mastertag from a year ago for this fic. i'll be creating a new one soon, so kindly just tell me if you want to be included still 🤍

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chimkin-samich · 8 months

Text

And Eclipse!

Standing at 9ft tall, Eclipse was believed to be runt when born due to how small he was, not to mention the double bottom wings and antennas, as he grew tho it became noticeable that he had gigantism which also gave him the slight mutation of iridescence (uncommon in their species) on his wings

Moths are born looking like little fur balls (like the soot spirits in spirited away) as they grow their torso becomes visibile and when their older most of thier fur is just around neck like we see with Sun and Moon but Eclipse was a rare case of having his mane almost down to his hips

His double antennas do come with some use, hes much more attuned to his surroundings and has better hearing than most. They also help with dealing with Moon trying to hypnotize him accidentally when hes upset since he’s less susceptible to it when he notices what hes doing

The hypnotizing ability is also another reason Moon was bullied, his species hunts by luring in prey with their pretty colors and then hypnotizing them, But Eclipse caught on pretty quick that as long as he picked up on Moon doing it he was pretty much fine, plus he had an easier time breaking out of it than anyone

The double bottom wings also making alot more agile when flying, more control when needing to make sharp turns, his upper wings are also much bigger proportionally compared to others due to needing much bigger wings to carry his bigger size

Eclipse’s main jobs in the town is as the Main cook and a hunter, he loves being in the kitchen and makin giant meals, his large size does especially help when needing to move the large pots of food around

#arts #eclipse sun and moon #eclipse fnaf #eclipse x self insert #ruin eclipse #eclipse x reader #eclipse #eclipse x y/n #moth eclipse #moth au #moth!eclipse #security breach daycare attendant #daycare attendant fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendant x y/n

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nocturnowlette · 4 months

Text

If you want to fall into a puppy mind space much, much easier from now on (especially to me), read this post.

Hello. This is a nice visualization exercise as well as a look into our mind's sensory memory. This is also centered for puppies. It will work regardless of if you are one or not, but you may feel like a puppy during some parts of this. Very dumb and very happy.

This is best done in a dark room, your phone or monitor being the main or only light source visible. This script is also better experienced having read the first script I've made, here. It's not necessary, though.

This script is also best read imagining a voice, or reading at the pace that a voice would speak. Try to keep the text you are currently reading at the middle or on the lower half of your screen.

That being said, let's begin.

Now, the first thing I'd like to talk about is visualization. I personally feel as if it is misunderstood. When I speak about visualizing something, I mean our ability to simply conceptualize it. You know what a cube looks like, and you can summon a memory of it. Even if you cannot see it, you know what it looks like. I still consider that visualization.

I, personally, can visualize things in a more literal way, including color. I used to not be able to, but with enough effort and hypnosis, I was able to. This post will mention colors, but it is not necessary in order for this to work.

Now, let's talk about senses.

Our brains are sponges when it comes to senses. Out of almost everything, senses are some of the most impactful and longest lasting aspects of memories for us. How many times have you smelled something or heard a song or tasted a food that brought you back to an earlier place? Our minds store large libraries of senses, cemented deep within you and waiting to be called on.

And, in the right circumstances, they can be called on without that sense actually being present.

Imagine what a TV remove feels like in your hand.

Just like that. Somewhat cold, plastic, and smooth.

It's as if the remote isn't there, but all of the little senses and memories surround that invisible remote, until you can make out the outline in your brain just from everything you feel from it.

In your mind, at this moment, this remote is real in some way.

Now, I'd like you try and imagine something a bit more abstract, a brain made of glass. Inside of this brain is a special blue liquid.

This is your brain, and that liquid is your thoughts.

The more full your brain is with your thoughts, the harder it is to visualize. I'd like to drain a bit of this liquid out.

You come to notice that, at the bottom of the glass brain, there is a metal spout. This spout can, once turned, begin to drain the thoughts from your mind.

As your thoughts begin to drip out of your brain, you will feel your mind begin to empty, bit by bit. There's more and more room in your mind for my words to fill, to imagine things stronger.

An invisible hand appears, and, just barely, turns the spout on. It's not nearly enough to be considered a steady stream, but there is the occasional droplet leaking out.

Going...

Drip.

and then...

Drop.

So slowly, and yet, your mind begins to feel strange. A tad emptier, like your thoughts are swimming. The drips are causing ripples through the rest of your mind, and your thoughts feel like they're vibrating ever so gently.

Drip.

...

Drop.

...

Drip.

...

Drop.

...

With every

Drip,

you feel your thoughts begin to slow just a bit more.

With every

Drop,

you feel more and more relaxed.

The more you imagine this brain, the more you Focus on my voice, the more it comes to represent your thoughts. The more it Drips, the more your thoughts slow down.

The tap is turned ever so slightly more.

Drip...

Drop...

Drip...

Drop...

A slight, but very real increase in frequency. Little droplets, little thoughts, dripping out of your mind. Every new thought that comes in simply seems to Drip right out.

As you continue to Drip and Drop, you find that it's becoming easier and easier to Focus on this text. There's already some room for my words to fill your mind, and, much like these visualizations, the more of your mind you lend to Focusing on my words, the more real they become.

The tap turns a bit more.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Your mind is already getting noticeably empty. A fifth of the liquid has now drained out, leaving more and more room for my words to move in.

Your Focus on my words only gets stronger.

The tap turns significantly more.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

With every

Drip,

you feel your thoughts begin to slow more.

With every

Drop,

you feel more and more relaxed.

The drops are getting larger, bigger and bigger bits of your mind simply draining away.

More room for you to

Focus

on my words.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Steady, easy, Dripping and Dropping. Half of your mind is already gone. So hard to think. So, so hard to think. So easy to

Focus.

The tap turns more. Going...

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

25%. Only a quarter of your thoughts remaining.

Draining so, so fast.

However, the tap now closes.

Your mind is so, so empty, but not completely empty. I don't need you mindless just yet.

Focus on my words.

In a state like this, it becomes so much easier to visualize. My words are so real in your mind now, so concrete that they can help you imagine more complicated things.

Now, I want you to imagine a hand.

It is somewhat transparent, and light blue. It looks very simple, like a glove with an invisible hand inside of it. Despite the complex shape, hands are so native to us that imagining it is just so easy.

Right now, it is splayed out like it's preparing for a high five.

You see the hand begin to slowly spin horizontally, for a few seconds.

It comes to a stop, palm facing you again, before flipping backwards vertically, slowly and gently for a few seconds.

It comes to a stop again.

You can imagine it from any angles you wish, flipping and turning and moving. It's so much easier than you thought.

With every new angle and position, it becomes easier and easier to imagine. It becomes more and more real in your mind. More and more defined.

The hand slows again, with its palm facing you.

You can see each finger clearly.

You see its thumb, next to the index finger, then the middle finger, then the ring finger, then the pinky.

Each finger is individually controllable.

See it close into a fist.

See it open out, splayed, like a high five.

See every finger except for the thumb close.

The fingers, once again, open to the high five position.

My words are puppeteering a hand entirely within your empty little mind.

The thumb and middle finger connect in the middle between them. The pinky and ring finger move down to the palm, while the index finger remains upward, relaxed.

It's in the position to snap its fingers.

However, it stays there, not snapping just yet.

When I do snap my fingers, it will feel like a shockwave sweeping through your mind. You will feel utterly, utterly mindless, thoughts wiped away in an instant. Your focus on my words will sharpen, and the world around you will simply fall away.

I will begin counting up from 1 to 10. You will feel the tension between the thumb and the middle finger get stronger and stronger as it counts up, energy only getting stronger and stronger.

When I next say "Snap.", you will drop into a deep, deep state of trance.

Feeling the pressure in the fingers increase, the hand now inside of your glass brain.

The energy building surprisingly fast, an aura of power emanating out between the middle finger and the thumb.

It Grows Stronger.

The aura beginning to form waves of power, ones that bounce off the walls of your glass brain. Feeling whatever thoughts you have left being disrupted.

Stronger.

The power feels like a constant resonating denseness in your head, overpowering all of your thoughts. So Strong already, and only getting Stronger.

Stronger.

Knowing that this energy is only a small fraction of the incoming snap, wondering just how powerful this will be.

Stronger.

The aura is getting too strong. You notice a small crack at the top of your glass brain. It only gets Stronger.

Stronger and Stronger.

The cracks make the outside world so difficult to see. My words and my hand consuming all of your thoughts. Feeling so intensely Focused on my words.

Stronger and Stronger.

The crack continues to spread, the border of your mind becoming so loose, so deeply Fragile.

So Intensely Strong.

Overpowering.

No thoughts.

Mind nearly shattering just at the power of it.

10.

Mind-meltingly Powerful.

The potential energy alone making you completely Mindless.

The cracks have spread to the bottom of your brain, all remaining liquid rapidly leaking out.

Dripping.

20%.

Dropping.

15%.

Dripping.

10%.

Dropping.

5%.

Spilling Out Entirely.

0%.

All Gone.

All thoughts completely drained out, waves of energy only bouncing more and more off the hollow walls of your glass brain now. So, so Fragile. Ready to Shatter entirely.

And yet,

11.

Still, Stronger.

Your brain should already be Shattered. Something is holding it together. If it wasn't it'd simply fall apart the moment it was released.

And yet, it only gets stronger.

The snap so strong now that it will annihilate your mind entirely.

Entirely engrossed in my words, so Deeply Focused on me.

Nothing else exists.

12.

The glass itself is almost turning to dust.

Stronger.

and Stronger.

Already in trance, not even needing the snap to be utterly subject to my words. And yet...

13.

Snap.

Shattered.

Mind Completely Gone.

Utterly Subject to my Words.

Focus.

Feel your Focus double every time I say

Focus.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing but my words, and the hand.

It continues to float, gently, in front of you, palm facing you.

It goes, again, into the position the snap. And,

Snap.

So deep, and yet Deeper and Deeper still.

More and More Focused on my every word.

You can no longer think.

There's no more place for your thoughts to go. Your brain is gone now. Thoughts might pop in, only to disappear. They vaporize instantly. No more thoughts.

In your thoughts, or out loud, I want you to

Bark.

So Easy to

Bark.

It feels so Simple and Natural to

Bark.

Whenever you see my posts, see my name, see my profile picture, you will feel a sudden, desperate impulse to

Bark.

Every time you see my posts, see my name, see my profile picture, or talk to me, you will feel the need to

Bark.

Sometimes it will happen automatically, sometimes you will simply want to. You'll see my posts, and desperately want to

Bark.

It already feels so Natural.

Bark.

...

The hand appears once again, moving to a snapping position.

Feeling the pressure in the fingers increase, the power emanating through all of you, through all of my words.

So Much Stronger.

The energy building even faster than before, the aura of power everywhere already.

Stronger and Stronger Still.

The aura melting your consciousness, Focus only getting stronger.

Every part of your consciousness entirely focused on my words, nothing left that isn't needed. Every single part of your mind directed towards absorbing my words.

Snap.

Bark.

Every time you

Bark,

you feel your mind become so much more Open to me. So much more Open to anyone you trust.

Every single time that you

Bark,

your mind becomes Desperate for my words. It needs to absorb them. Any and every command is followed so Easily.

The only time you don't follow commands is when your subconscious feels threatened by them.

If you don't trust the command or the person commanding you, your mind will Simply and Easily reject it, and you will come out of trance immediately.

Unless that happens, you will

Bark

every time you see my posts.

When you

Bark,

you will become so, so Desperately Open to my words.

Your mind will be an empty sponge, and it will absorb everything I say. If you have a trusted one, or an owner, you will absorb everything they say as well. Happily and Eagerly.

Every time you're commanded, you want to

Bark.

Every time you

Bark,

you feel more Open to commands.

It's almost like a soft loop, gently pulling you down.

Barking and Barking your Mind Away~

...

Now, I will bring you out of trance. If you wish to remain in this state, you can stop reading now. it might be hard to get back, though, so only do this if you're sure. It can be very hard to escape, but your trance will fade over time, very very slowly.

Once awake, you might want to follow my blog. You might want to reblog this script. You might want to send me an inbox message telling me how it felt. You might want to message me directly, if you're brave enough. Though, ultimately, you can do as you wish~

...

Counting up now, from 1 to 10.

Glass brain reassembling, forming back so perfectly that it feels like it never broke.

Brain beginning to fill, thoughts returning so, so Easily.

Brain getting so, so full so quickly.

Feelings in your limbs returning.

Beginning to feel aware of your surroundings.

Focus gently releasing on my words, though still paying attention.

Brain almost filled now, so close to awake.

Feeling refreshed and happy, triggers cementing in your mind.

All thought processes returning to normal, and

10.

Wake Up.

Hello. I hope you enjoyed. Consider reblogging and following my blog. I post a lot of hypnotic content and other various things, and you might find yourself rather magnetized to my posts. I intend to make more scripts in the future, so you can look out for those as well.

That being said, I hope you enjoyed, and have a nice day.

#owlette #hypnosis #hypnok1nk #text hypnosis #creative writing #puppy space #puppy sub #puppyposting #dogposting #puppy brain #dog brain #dumb puppy #puppyplay

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steddieasitgoes · 9 months

Text

Their dining room table has been taken over by thousands of tiny little beads and elastic in different colors.

Steve sits opposite their sixteen-year-old daughter, a thin elastic band clutched in one hand and an assortment of approved beads laid out in front of him. He picks up a small purple crystal-like bead and tries to feed the elastic through the minuscule hole.

“Christ, why isn’t this hole bigger,” he groans, squinting as he tries for the third time to thread the bead onto the elastic.

“Aw, but I thought you liked tight holes, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, sauntering into the room.

Their daughter pretends to retch before turning up the Taylor Swift song playing from her phone, hoping to drown them out. It doesn’t matter that they have a state-of-the-art stereo system in the other room that sounds a thousand times better than the shit speakers in her phone. She likes the convenience.

Steve, on the other hand, glares playfully at Eddie. “Seriously, not in front of our daughter.”

“Oh, please, don’t pretend she doesn’t know things.”

“I mean, yeah, but she doesn’t need to know things about us.”

“I really don’t,” their daughter agrees.

Eddie laughs before collapsing onto the seat beside Steve. Assessing the beads in front of him, Eddie collects a few and gets to work.

“Hey,” Steve whines, swatting Eddie’s hand away when he tries to steal one of his beads. “These are mine. You didn’t even get her approval.”

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t need her approval. She trusts me, right bug?”

Their daughter rolls her eyes, but nods. Eddie hoots victoriously before going back to his own bracelet. Steve shares a look of amusement with their daughter. One that says it’s better to let Eddie think he won than try to give him a set of rules to play by.

Many things have changed about Eddie over the years, but one thing that has remained the same is his disdain for other people’s rules — even if the rules are coming from his daughter.

When Steve tries to take a peek at what Eddie is working on a moment later, he gets a swift elbow to the ribs. “No peaking!”

Shaking his head, Steve gets back to his own bracelets. It’s a lot easier threading the beads when he grabs his glasses from the bedroom and he manages to finish two daughter-approved bracelets in the time it takes Eddie to finish whatever he’s been working on.

“Are you ready to see the best bracelet ever?” he asks, standing up with all the dramatics he had when he was thirty years younger.

Steve and their daughter nod, setting aside their own bracelets to look at Eddie’s creation.

A rainbow of beads, all different shapes and sizes surround a group of block letter beads that reads: Fuck Ticketmaster.

Steve laughs while their daughter smirks, shaking her head.

“It’s not a Taylor lyric, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Our bank account definitely agrees.”

“So will the Swifties, you’ll see!” Eddie says, reaching for another random set of beads to start another bracelet.

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets. Well, Steve and their daughter do. Eddie continues making “Fuck Ticketmaster” and various other obscure and random bracelets. The highlights of which include a red beaded monstrosity with the word “scarf” on it and one that just says "Olive Garden."

Unfortunately for Steve and their daughter, Eddie’s unhinged bracelets are the biggest hit at the concert. He ends up trading all his bracelets before they even get into the stadium.

He doesn’t let them live it down, proclaiming himself the King of Friendship bracelets.

#something short sweet stupid and silly for this Saturday morning #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie dads #steddie hits their taylor swift era #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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cupidlovesastro · 4 months

Text

𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓈

sun △ moon- it’s natural for these individuals to understand their emotions and empathize. there could also be an ease with showing a healthy amount of your emotions or expressing them in a healthy way. there’s a lot of inner harmony within their emotions and identity. there’s also much opportunity for these individuals to be creative or hospitable to others

sun △ mars- these individuals and comfortable with their masculinity and they may have a natural ability to know when to assert it more and when not to. these individuals may also be very passionate and assertive with their personality and who they are but not in a way to where it’s too much for others to handle. these individuals may be good at sports, or art that has bold and intense colors

sun △ jupiter- true optimist and their personality could be pretty big but not to the point to where it’s too much. they had an easy time growing into who they are today and they likely understand who they are pretty well. these individuals may be talented in helping others grow and opening others mind up

sun △ saturn- these individuals are very business oriented and it can show through their personality. they can have a naturally serious demeanor, but that doesn’t mean these individuals don’t know how to have fun, they just know how to balance it. these people are go getters, they’re talented a getting what they want and when they wanted. they’re also good at creating and setting goals to accomplish

sun △ uranus- people with this placement are naturally rebellious, but also innovative. they create solutions to problems, they don’t just rebel against the problem, and their personality may be a little unpredictable. they are also very unique people, which can bring them opportunities. they may have a unique way of thinking, self expression, and creativity

sun △ neptune- natural intuitive abilities. they can sense when things are off just based on their emotions alone. they’re also imaginative, and their personality can cause others to have imaginary thoughts or even feelings about these individuals. they are connected to their subconscious mind. they can be talented at tarot, astrology, and other spiritual things

sun △ pluto- these individuals may have an easier time with going through ego deaths than other pluto aspects. they also have a powerful energy surrounding them. when people mess with them, their spirit guides or the universe can send karma towards the people who have wronged them. they are also intuitive and lie detectors. similar to what i said about sun trine neptune, these individuals can be gifted at spiritual or witchcraft things

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shadowdaddies · 5 months

Text

Living In Color

Azriel x Reader

based on this ask

Summary: After losing everything in the war, you struggle to find the joy in life - until you start having dreams of scarred hands that inspire you to pursue art again.

Warnings: mentions of war, death, trauma/depression

Days blurred together, the dim sunlight that dared to show through the cracks in your window curtains the only sign that time was passing in the outside world. The faelights never turned on in your apartment, food turning stale as you willed your body to shut down, just as your mind had ever since the war.

Everyone was gone. Your mother, father, brother, friends. All were lost to battle - innocent people, gone from this world, and you were left alone to pick up the pieces.

You were once an artist, your favorite subjects to paint being your family and friends. The paintings of their joyful faces surrounded you in your home before you tore them all down, hiding them away in the dark as you did yourself.

You stared at your hands. Hands that were once consistently covered in the bright colors of your paints, now dry and cracked from lack of care. Hands that once created beautiful art and brought joy to yourself and others, now withering away with your heart.

Tears soaked your pillow as you cried yourself to sleep, as you had every night for months. You braced yourself for your usual dreams, the nightmares that haunted you of your mother’s lifeless eyes, your brother’s last words - but they didn’t come.

That night, you dreamt of hands. They were damaged hands, like your own, but they were covered in scars. You didn’t see who they belonged to, but the hands held yours in their own, a soft, gentle touch despite their appearance.

It was the first night you had slept through in weeks, and you managed that day to take a bath. You looked at your own hands in the tub, holding one in the other as gently as the ones from your dreams held you. It was shocking, to feel that you were still capable of such tenderness. That night, you found oils to rub on your hands, soothing the dry cracks before you fell asleep.

Your dreams were, again, filled with those beautiful scarred hands. Tonight, they offered you a flower - a bright yellow daffodil, vibrant like your favorite sweater.

The dreams continued - those hands sometimes bringing you flowers, holding your hands, brushing softly against your cheek. One night, they handed you a paint brush. You jerked awake, tears streaming down your face as you ran through your apartment, turning on every faelight as you opened the door to your closet. You pulled out every painting, the bright faces of people you loved and missed smiling at you through your memories of them.

Something snapped inside of you as you looked at the picture of your mother. You had missed her face so dearly, having only seen it through your nightmares. By hiding the joyful moments, you had only remembered those that haunted you.

As the sun rose that day, you opened up the curtains and let the light in. Pulling on your favorite yellow sweater, you set off towards the art studio that had opened down the road, ready to live in color.

Thanking the woman at the front counter, you borrowed paints and took a spot at an easel. As you stared at the blank canvas, it occurred to you that the idea of painting the people you missed was much easier in thought. You stared down at your yellow sweater, tears threatening to spill as you felt more and more like an imposter. Someone trying to be who you once were, and as much as you wished to be that person again, you knew you never could. Letting out a shaky sigh, you looked for your bag, ready to leave the studio when a voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Having trouble with inspiration?” a sweet voice, like silver bells sounded from behind you. You turned over your shoulder to see the High Lady of the Night Court behind you. Eyes wide, you fumbled for an answer while she smiled softly at you. “My name is Feyre,” she greeted, a tattooed hand reaching for yours.

You took her hand, feeling its softness against your own as you introduced yourself, and it clicked. “Actually, I think I’ve just found my inspiration.”

You eagerly reached for your paints, mixing the colors together in a vibrant yellow, a golden brown, cobalt blue - and painted the hand that gave you the daffodil.

You returned to the studio, day after day painting the hands from your dreams. Your inspiration. The hands that brought color back into your life. These were hands that were scarred, the hands of someone who had been hurt like you had, yet still reached out, still brought light and softness to the world.

Slowly, you began feeling like yourself again. You saw the bright colors of the rainbow, the twinkle of the stars against the night sky. When a child accidentally flicked paint on your favorite blue dress while you painted, you laughed for the first time in ages.

The small boy apologized, his tiny wings tucking in behind him as he gaped at the paint that covered your dress. Feyre ran up behind him, swooping the little tike into her arms as she took in your appearance. “Oh gods, I am so sorry. Nyx, did you apologize to the nice lady?”

You waved her off, giggling as you stood and twirled in your dress. “Actually, Nyx, I think this dress looks even more beautiful now with this extra splash of color.”

The boy giggled, his mother ruffling his onyx locks as she set him down to run back to his painting station. “I really am sorry. I can fix that for you, or replace the dress,” Feyre insisted.

You smiled at her, a true smile at her kindness - something you hadn’t realized how desperately you needed. Adjusting the ribbon in your hair, you shook your head. “Really, I like the splash of purple against the blue. I could use more color in my life,” you promised.

Feyre seemed genuinely surprised and pleased by your reaction, her gaze flicking to your easel, where the latest portrait of those scarred hands rested. She looked around your station, taking in all of the paintings. Dozens of them were set around, and you suddenly found yourself bashful.

“May I ask about your paintings? They’re beautiful. You seem quite inspired by hands.” She spoke in a casual tone, but you had the sense that there was something more to her question.

Nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you shifted your weight from one foot to another. “I struggled, for a long time... after the war.” You swallowed, a pregnant pause filling the air as she waited for you to continue. “I used to paint a lot, but I couldn’t bring myself to for a long time. Until a few weeks ago, I started dreaming of these hands.”

Your gaze flicked to Feyre’s expecting confusion or judgment, but her gray-blue eyes sparkled as she nodded in understanding. You smiled slightly, continuing. “I felt as though I was too damaged to create like I used to, but these hands... It felt like a message from the Mother, or some other force, maybe. That even though I’ve experienced such darkness, I can still create light. That my darkness might even make my colors brighter.”

A small yelp escaped your lips as the High Lady pulled you in for a hug. “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she murmured, her head dipped into your shoulder. Shakily, you dared your hands to move, reciprocating Feyre’s hug, and a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “How would you like to join me for some tea?”

You nodded, willing back the tears that threatened at the simple kindness. Feyre led the way out of the studio, Nyx taking your hand as he tugged you towards the tea shop, babbling about the hot chocolate he wanted. You giggled at the little boy, a loose curl falling in your eyes as he pulled you into a chair outside the cafe. “Uncle Azzy!” the child shouted, and you brushed the hair out of your eyes to find the most striking hazel ones staring back at you.

Something tightened in your chest at the sight of the striking Illyrian male in front of you, his golden-brown skin and dark features somehow familiar to you. His eyes fluttered for a moment, seemingly shocked by something before he caught his breath.

“Um, pleased to meet you. I’m Azriel,” the name spilling like a song as he reached out to you in greeting. You looked down at the outstretched hand, a spark flaring in your chest at the sight of his scars.

You gasped, grabbing his hand like a lifeline as you flipped it over, running your fingertips along the beautiful scars. Azriel was frozen in shock, unmoving as you gaped at his beauty, never releasing his hand as a tear fell down your cheek. Your eyes locked with his as you whispered, “you are so beautiful.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, an adorable blush creeping over his cheeks at your comment. A bell sounded from the side, drawing the two of you out of your moment. Eyes flicked to the door where Feyre stood with your drinks, a smirk on her face as she handed Nyx his hot chocolate.

“I thought you two might hit it off,” the High Lady said through a bright smile. “Here, Az. I got you a tea too. Oh, and I forgot - Nyx, we have to go home. But the two of you should enjoy your drinks together!” With that, Feyre winnowed away and left you with the literal male of your dreams in front of you.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Azriel ran a hand through his wavy black hair as he looked down at your bright, paint-splattered dress. “So, you paint?”

You laughed, that golden thread between you pulled taught at the sound. “I used to a lot more.” Glancing down at his hands, you smiled. “I’m just getting back into it.”

No, you would never be the person you were before. But as you stared at the shadows that swirled your mate - the darkness who brought you back to the light - you were proud of the person you were becoming.

749 notes · View notes

writeforfandoms · 5 months

Text

Who Wants To Live Forever

Find my Ghost masterlist

It doesn't matter how many lives you've lived, you always find your way back to him.

The reincarnation au nobody asked for and my plot bunnies yeeted at me anyway! I have a lot of thoughts about this one that didn't make it into the fic. Like. A Lot.

Warnings: Swearing, past violence, blood, injury mention, canon typical violence, idiots in love, this is just for fun, I wrote this for me but you can read it too.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Word count: 2.9k

The dreams started when you were small. Your parents at first attributed them to an overactive imagination and too much television.

But as you got older and the dreams didn't go away, you wondered. Your parents got squirrelly about them, started muttering about things like psychiatrists and not normal and worried.

So you stopped mentioning them. Pretended you didn't dream at all most nights.

Reality couldn't be farther from the truth.

You dreamed. Every single night. In some you were part of a village, living a harsh life by the sea. The men would go off to hunt and raid, and the women stayed behind to mind the village and raise the children. Those dreams always left you cold. Even in those dreams, though, dream-you noticed the beauty, the way sunlight glinted off snow, the magical lights in the sky, the blue of the sky after a storm.

Some nights you dreamed of being a nurse, tending wounded soldiers in tents and buildings. Those dreams were always full of screaming and crying and horrors. Men wheezing, coughing up blood. Limbs shattered and mangled beyond repair. A stench like you couldn't describe. But there were little moments, moments of kindness. Holding a man's hand to comfort him through his last breaths. The way the sunrise broke through some of the haze of pain surrounding those places. The way a doctor or fellow nurse would sometimes thank you, buy you a drink, share scant meals with you.

Sometimes you were a school teacher in a rural village, gently scolding children and keeping watch as they frollicked at break times. Those dreams were full of small joys. A flower one of your students brought you, bashful smile blooming into a grin at your thanks. Sunsets from the comfort of home. Warm meals at the table, often shared. With him.

He was a constant presence. Through all of your dreams, all of those times, he was always to be found. He didn't always look the same - skin tone changed, hair color changed. But you always knew him by those brown eyes.

Sometimes the two of you married. Sometimes he was married before you met him. Sometimes you were married first. But you always, always found each other. In every time. In every life.

By the time you were out of school, you had notebooks dedicated to your dreams, to the times, to the man. You kept them hidden away, for your eyes only. Just as a way to help you keep everything straight.

As more time passed, you became more and more sure that these were glimpses into the past. Your past. Past lives, you'd guess. From the way the dreams felt… it always felt like you. No matter how many times you put pen to paper, you could never accurately describe why.

But you knew. They were all you.

And they were all him.

Which made you wonder… when would you find him in this life? You'd found him in almost all of the others. It seemed reasonable that you'd find him again.

(Nevermind that you had no name, no description, no way of knowing what he'd look like or where he'd be.)

Knowing that he was out there somewhere made it easy to bury yourself in work. Oh, sure, you had friends. People who knew you. You were well-liked at work, known to get things done.

But you didn't date. You didn't look for people who weren't him.

Everyone else, you knew, would pale in comparison.

All the lives accumulated in your head did make it hard to relate. It was easier, sometimes, to sort of… float through life. You knew what was expected of you. You'd known people from every walk of life, just about. You knew a lot about people, could do well in social situations without working at it.

But it did make for a rather lonely life.

You started dreaming of him more often. Of the times the two of you lived together. Of the long talks the two of you had. Of the walks, along the sea, along a grass-lined lane, along a lake. Of the times he was just out of reach, your eyes meeting again and again through crowds and dinners and company.

Of the time he died in your arms, blood staining the both of you.

You were tired when you got on the train. This was just a little holiday to a new place.

Or. Well. You hadn't been here in this lifetime, at least.

It was busier than you remembered the area being, more built up. Your lips twitched - that's what happened over time, after all.

Nothing stayed the same for long.

You didn't pay any mind to the people around you as you walked, taking your time. You didn't mind walking to your hotel from the train station. Gave you a better chance to look around and plan where you wanted to go later.

Your eyes met brown through a coffee shop window.

You froze. You knew those eyes. You knew those eyes.

He blinked, just once. You couldn't look away.

The noise of the coffee shop finally registered when you stopped in front of his table, the chinking of mugs and flatware, the hiss of the machines, the babble of unimportant voices.

“Hi.” You were a little surprised at your own voice, quiet and a little awed.

He eyed you, black face mask obscuring most of his expression. For a moment your heart plummeted. Maybe he didn't recognize you? Maybe… he didn't remember?

Then his lips twitched.

“Took you long enough.”

“Took me long enough?” You tried for outrage but probably fell short, humor and elation buoying your heart. “And what about you, hmm?”

“Been busy.” He nodded to the seat across from him, and you could just see the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Oh, busy. Yes, how silly of me to not think of that.” You dropped into the seat, your bag landing at your feet a little harder than was probably advisable.

“Holiday?” His gaze dropped briefly to the table, to where your bag was now hidden.

“Yes.” Some of your elation faded at the dose of reality. “You?”

He paused, holding your gaze. “On leave.”

“Ah.” You smiled a little, sliding one open hand across the table. “Going well this time, then?”

He didn't say anything for a long moment, staring down at your open hand. His fingers twitched. “Not particularly.”

Your heart plummeted. “Oh.”

“S'fine.” He shook his head once, short and sharp. “You want anything? Tea, coffee?”

“Coffee is fine.” You started to stand but he waved you back into your seat.

“Wait here.”

You huffed out a breath and watched him go, broad shoulders easy to track up to the register. You finally had the attention to note other details about him. He was dressed casually, all in black, with his hood pulled up. You'd caught blonde hair under his hood.

Taller than you could remember him being. Broad shoulders.

It was just… so good to see him again. To see him now. With your own eyes, in this life.

It would be nice to make more memories, for next time.

The clink of a mug being set in front of you brought you out of your own head. You blinked at the mug and then at him as he sat across from you again.

“How long are you here?” He folded his hands in front of him, gaze fixed on you.

You shrugged. “I had only planned for a few days,” you admitted. “But I can make it longer.”

He grunted once, thumb tapping against the side of his hand as he considered something. Then he nodded once. “Meet me here tomorrow,” he said, abruptly moving to grab a pen and a napkin. “1200.”

You blinked once. “Tomorrow?” You couldn't quite keep the disappointment from your voice at that.

“Got some things to take care of before then,” he said, barely glancing up at you as he finished writing on the napkin. “Got some people for you to meet, too. If you want to know me better this time ‘round.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. He'd married already. That was the only thing you could think of. He was already married and you were too late. “I see.”

“No. You don't.” He pushed the napkin to you, tapping it twice with one large finger. “Here. Tomorrow.”

“1200,” you repeated dutifully, mustering up a wan smile. “Yes. I remember.”

“Good.” He pushed back to his feet abruptly, and you startled a little. He was just so tall! “If you don't show, I'll assume you don't want to meet again.” The words were flat, even, but his eyes… his eyes hid pain.

You nodded, too startled for words by all of this. In a moment he was gone, striding out of the coffee shop and away from you.

Every fiber of you longed to go after him, to beg him for answers.

Instead, you sat and sipped your coffee with trembling hands, staring at the napkin until the blocky letters were burned into your memory.

The walk to your hotel was a bit of a blur. You barely paid attention to the social interaction, though you must have done well enough.

You ended up sitting on the bed, bag on the floor, staring at your hands.

He'd been so close. So close.

But he hadn't taken your offer. He hadn't touched you.

You thought you might finally be going a little insane. Was this what insanity felt like? Was this some kind of fever dream? Had you finally lost all sense of reality?

But no. You had the napkin in your pocket still. You'd seen him. You hadn't learned his name this time around, hadn't learned much of anything really, except that he had people he wanted you to meet.

People. He'd said people for you to meet.

The words finally sank fully into your brain, and you weren't sure whether to laugh or scream. People. People to meet. As in more than one person.

As in he was not only married but had a family…

…or something else entirely. Something new.

Even after so many lives, the world still had a way of surprising you. A lesson hard learned over time.

You forced yourself to breathe through the weight of history on your shoulders, staring back at all the lives where things had gone wrong.

And then you forced yourself to find some dinner, shower, and read for a while before bed.

Not that you slept very well. Not with anticipation and dread wreaking havoc on your heart.

You arrived at the meeting spot ten minutes early, a little cafe on a square with a fountain in the middle. You stood outside, hands in your pockets, unsure what to expect.

“You’re early.”

You swallowed once, heart thudding hard against your ribs as you turned to look at him. “Didn’t want to be late,” you quipped, only to falter.

He wasn’t alone today.

Three other men stood with him, all of them looking at you. You lifted your chin a little, meeting the gaze of the closest man. You had just enough time to note how blue his eyes were before the memories slammed into you.

A quiet life working the land, out beyond the edge of the “civilized” world, a husband with a rare but kind smile, eyes so blue you could drown in them. Rare trips to the nearest town gave you glimpses of your brown-eyed man, but no more than that. Cold winters and muddy springs and indomitable shoulders to lean on through it all.

And a slightly less quiet life of some wealth, with a husband whose work often took him from home. But you’d had friends that time, your own societal duties. Dances. Events. Hosting. That life had not been devoid of its fun and beauty.

“Oh.” You blinked at him, eyes wide.

His lips twitched under his facial hair (muttonchops - unusual choice for this day and age) and he held out a hand to you. “Captain John Price.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, holding his gaze for a moment longer. If he was like the him you’d known, he was a good man. Time would tell if and how he had changed. “I married you before.”

He grinned for a moment, so close to the man you’d known that your heart ached. “Twice, but don’t hold it against me,” he joked before he stepped aside.

The next man to step up also had blue eyes and a big smile. You knew him immediately - you’d seen him before, too. A few times in the shadow of your brown-eyed love, once or twice on his own. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been standing over the bed of one of his men, half-covered in blood and muck.

There had been nothing you could do, then.

Now you smiled. “Good to see you again.”

“Ye look better this time.” He chucked you gently under the chin with two knuckles, grinning. “John MacTavish, call me Soap.”

“Soap?” You raised one extremely unimpressed eyebrow.

He laughed. “A story for another time,” he promised, winking at you before he stepped back.

The last man looked at you, nerves in the pinch of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Darker skin and a ballcap met your quick perusal.

You only had to meet his gaze for a moment before you threw yourself at him, hugging him as hard as you could, breath stuttering in your chest.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, arms immediately settling around you, one hand cupping the back of your head. “It’s alright, we’re fine.”

“You left,” you grumbled, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again.”

“Promise,” he muttered, voice low, just between the two of you. “I won’t.”

You sniffled, just once, before you pulled back to look at him. “I missed you,” you admitted before gently whapping his arm. “And if you disappear on me again I’ll hunt you down next life.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned, not even a little abashed.

“So, what ridiculous nickname have you gotten this time?” You smiled, finally taking a half-step back.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Gaz. Kyle, this time ‘round.”

“Gaz.” You tested it out slowly before shrugging. “Not the worst.”

“Oh? And what would be?” Soap snuck up next to you, looking eager for mischief.

“Story for another time,” you shot back at him with a smile. You finally turned your gaze to him again, to your brown-eyed man. The only one who hadn’t given you his name yet.

“Simon,” he finally said, as if he’d read your mind.

“Simon.” You smiled. “How did you…?” You made a helpless motion between the three men.

“Price,” Simon answered with a little shrug. “Found all of us.”

“Came across ‘em,” Price said, arms crossed over his chest. “Knew I had to keep ‘em close.”

You nodded, a little ache in your heart. “It’s a good thing you did.” But your gaze didn’t stray from Simon, too busy basking in the sight of him, here and whole in front of you.

“He’s no’ married yet,” Soap said in a stage whisper. When you glanced at him, he was grinning. “Unattached. Available. Free to a good home.”

“MacTavish,” Simon growled, brows twitching in annoyance.

But you? You grinned. “Well, that’s good, because it’s your turn this time,” you teased, chin tipping up and to one side.

Simon’s gaze snapped back to you, eyes a little wide. “What?”

“I asked you last time,” you said patiently, trying hard to not grin. “Almost kissed you in front of your fiance, too.”

“Almost,” he agreed, eyes warm as his gaze swept the length of your body.

“I spotted you yesterday, too,” you pointed out, completely reasonably and not at all like a little gremlin. (You liked that word a lot and had incorporated it as much as you could once you’d caught airmen using it during World War II.)

“So, ‘s my turn?” He took one step closer to you.

“Mmhm.” You bit the inside of your lip hard to keep your grin to yourself.

His eyes narrowed at you, which was the only warning you had before he pulled down his face mask and kissed you. Vaguely, you heard Soap cheering and Price grumbling. But everything fell to the back of your mind.

Everything that wasn’t Simon.

A little piece of your heart clicked into place.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were a little out of breath, holding each other tight. His lips twitched in a tiny smile and you all but beamed in response.

And then yipped when someone yanked you away from Simon.

“Best friend dibs,” Kyle announced, already starting to walk you away. “Mine for now, I’ll give her back in a day or two.”

You cackled at the look on Simon’s face, like he was torn between murder and laughing along with the joke.

“There’s no rush,” you couldn’t help but tease. “We’ve got this entire life, now.”

Simon met your gaze again even as his long strides caught him up with you and Kyle. His mask was back in place now but his eyes were warm, smiling at you, even as his hand twined with yours.

Finally.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #f!reader

425 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 7 months

Note

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life.

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode.

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings.

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself.

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm.

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring.

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house.

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them.

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now.

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you.

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

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