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0ogiebo0gie · 2 months ago

Text

Sally face x

Pregnant!Reader

headcanons!

Request from @larrrrryjohnson! I had a lot of fun writing this, thankyou!

Another lil bit, I know Travis is canonically gay, and i'm a she/they so in my mind, Pregnant!Reader is a surrogate for him. But transmascs exsist, so i never outwardly said that was what's going on. Implement yourself however you please! Anyway 🔽🔽🔽

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Sal Fisher:

The pregnancy wasn’t planned. You both had agreed on a kid-free life—or so you thought.

Deep down, Sal always wanted to be a dad. He just didn’t think he deserved to be one.

He cries for days after you tell him. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears. Soft, silent, endless tears.

Becomes ridiculously protective—he’s always been gentle, but now it’s extreme caretaking mode. I’m talking he won’t let you carry anything heavier than a sock. Overdresses you if it’s even slightly cold: “Just in case.” Spoon-feeds you. Puts you on “bed rest” even when you insist you’re fine.

Likes pressing the scarred side of his face to your belly so the baby can “feel” him before they see him.

Secretly terrified the baby will be scared of him. Never says it directly, but you know. Sometimes you wake up at night and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, deep in thought, quiet and anxious.

“You’re doing it again,” “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” “I don’t mind,” you say. “But you should come back to bed. I'm cold without you behind me.” “I was just... thinking.” “C’mere, Sal.” He crawls back under the blankets without protest, but you tug him into a proper hug, his body fitting around your bump like a puzzle piece. He rests his forehead against yours. “I’m scared they’ll be afraid of me,” he whispers. “When they see me.” “Then they’ll learn to see you the way I do,” you whisper. “They’ll grow up hearing your voice, feeling your hands, and knowing your heart. That’s what they’ll know first. Not the mask. Not the scars. You.” “…I sing to them,” he admits, sheepishly. “When you’re asleep.” “I know,” you say with a little smile. “I pretend to be asleep so you’ll keep doing it.” He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed and pink at the tips of his ears. You guide his hand to your stomach, where a gentle flutter stirs under the skin. “They know you, Sal. Already.”

He goes to Henry (his dad) constantly for advice—especially about your cravings. Henry shows him recipes Sal’s mom used to love while pregnant. It becomes a bonding ritual.

Sal sings to your bump all the time. Quiet lullabies, soft melodies. He hopes his voice will comfort the baby.

Gives you full-body massages every night. From your feet to your scalp. No skipping, no exceptions.

Likes sleeping as the big spoon so he can wrap his arms around the baby bump—it calms him.

If you even hint at discomfort, he’s already adjusting pillows, making tea, or Googling something with terrifying intensity.

Refuses to let you feel guilty for anything—your moods, cravings, sleep schedule. "You’re building a person. You win. Every time."

Keeps a small music player on your belly sometimes so the baby can hear his guitar playing, calling it “band practice.”

He starts writing songs again—soft, private things he never plans to share. Some are for you, some for the baby, some just for himself.

He pulls out old tapes from the band and plays them quietly for the baby—even the rough demos—just so they can “hear Uncle Larry.”

Labour and Birth!

The first sign something’s happening is a sharp gasp and a hand on your belly—Sal’s immediately at your side, asking “Are you okay?” on repeat, fumbling with his phone and the hospital bag in a panic. But before you can even answer, there’s a sudden gush—your water breaks right there. He freezes. Then he starts crying—tears of excitement, fear, love—all while rushing around trying to get ready.

In his panic, he forgets a few minor essentials: his prosthetic mask, his shoes, and oh yeah, his pants. So there you are, in your sleep shirt, soaked in amniotic fluid, and Sal, in just a hoodie and boxers, barefoot and frantic as he speeds down the road well over the limit. You're breathing like the books told you, and Sal's knuckles are white on the wheel.

The second you arrive, he picks you up bridal style and bolts inside, still pantless. When you’re in the delivery room, he doesn't leave your side for a second. He's holding your hand, breathing with you, whispering affirmations through tear-choked words. When the moment finally comes and you’re handed your baby girl—tiny, crying, with tufts of thin blue hair—Sal places a trembling hand on your arm.

She’s crying… but as soon as her head rests against your chest, she stops.

Then a shadow crosses his expression—fear. What if she’s scared of me? What if the scars… what if it’s too much?

But you meet his eyes and silently beg him to come closer. Your daughter opens hers, looking between you both—no fear, no tears, just quiet wonder. He reaches out, hand shaking, and gently touches her head.

She’s perfect.

And as he finally cradles her in his arms, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s clear in that moment—he was born for this.

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Larry Johnson:

The pregnancy was kinda planned, but also kind of not—it started with, "Hey, babez, do you wanna have a kid?" and you were just like "I wouldn't mind a kid." Then BAM! baby is conceived.

He was right there in the bathroom when you peed on the test. When it came back positive, you both jumped for joy—until he promptly told you to stop, "We want a baby, not a milkshake! you're giving little dude-or dudette, motion sickness, bea."

From then on? Feet up, snacks ready, Larry’s your loyal servant. Except for cooking. Cooking is not his ministry.

Constantly has his ear on your belly. If the baby kicks? He weeps into your stomach like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Told EVERYONE immediately—bounding up like a puppy, showing you off like you’re Peter Steele’s bass guitar.

He constantly puts headphones on your belly and plays Sanity Falls. “Gotta teach ‘em the classics,” he says, totally serious about it.

Every two weeks, he paints you nude—capturing the way your body changes, worshipping every detail. You were shy at first, but over time, it became your favourite kind of love letter.

You tug at the edge of your robe. “Larry, I really don’t feel like—my skin’s all weird today and I’ve got that stupid puffy face thing going on—” “Babe.” He kneels in front of you, resting his warm hands on your thighs. “I need you to understand something.” You raise an eyebrow, suspicious. “I’m not painting you because you’re some perfect porcelain goddess or whatever,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “I mean—don’t get me wrong, you are—but that’s not the point.” “Then what is the point?” He leans forward, presses a kiss just under your belly button. “It’s you. Us. All of this. Your stretch marks, the way your body’s changing, the little frown you get when you’re feeling insecure. I love it all. I want our kid to grow up and see these paintings and know how much I adored you through all of it.” You blink at him, heart all gooey and sore. “And if I don’t keep doing this,” he adds, half-smiling as he grabs the brush again, “I’m gonna forget what this exact version of you looked like—and that would be the real crime.” You sigh, loosen the robe. “You’re lucky I love you.” Larry grins, already sketching. “I know.”

Your expanding belly button sends him into hysterics. He pokes it constantly and kisses it every time he walks by, like it’s your stomach’s little nose.

Skincare days stay a common occurrence(if not more often)— but now he puts a face mask on your bump and wraps a headband around it like it's a spa guest.

When he told his mom, he broke down crying. Not from fear—but because he realised this was something he’d dreamed of giving her since he met you.

He always sleeps facing you, one hand under your cheek, one hand on your belly. He says it helps him feel close to both of you.

If you even think you’re having contractions, he’s dropping everything and sprinting home. He’ll ghost friends, call in from work, climb out a window if he has to.

When you’re throwing up from morning sickness, he’s right there holding your hair and whispering you through it. You’re flushed, sweating, miserable—and still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

He makes everyone touch your belly if you’re okay with it. He wants the whole world to know how special this is.

He paints a mural in the nursery—stars, skeletons, and one massive sun—just like the ones he used to draw with his mom. It’s his way of passing childhood magic forward.

Labour and Birth!

Somehow, Larry just knows. He’s been saying for days, “Babez, I think it’s gonna be soon,” and obsessively checking the hospital bags by the door. Then, in the middle of the night, you bolt upright—and Larry’s instantly awake.

“Larry… I think you were right.”

No panic. Just game face.

He throws on the outfit he’s dubbed “Meeting Mini Bae,” helps you clean up and change into something comfortable, and hauls the bags to the car like he’s trained for this moment. The whole drive over, he’s grinning, throwing out “WOO!”s between red lights, and hyping you up like you're on your way to a concert. Once at the hospital, he doesn’t bother parking straight—he’s too busy carrying you through the doors like Simba, shouting, “I need the doctor who's gonna make me a daddy!”

In the delivery room, he’s glued to your side. Hand in yours, smiling like a maniac, cheering you on between pushes. And when your baby boy is finally in your arms—with a full head of hair and a little mole on the opposite cheek from Larry’s—he breaks out into a full-blown victory dance. Headbanging. Jumping. Nearly slipping on the tile.

You’re about to ask why the baby isn’t crying—but instead, you hear soft laughter. Your son is laughing, watching his dad like he’s the funniest person in the world.

Larry doesn’t wait long. He gently takes him from your arms, cradles him close, and starts humming the lyrics to Sacrifice by Sanity Falls under his breath. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so tired.

Larry eases onto the bed beside you, still in awe, as if he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He lifts the baby boy up with a reverent grin, whispering, “Babez. Look at him. He’s perfect.”

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Ashley Campbell:

You weren't sure if Ash wanted kids, but the day you brought it up, she agreed so fast, it shocked you! And when you told her you were pregnant, her eyes widened with wonder—she hugged you so tightly you almost fell over. She whispered, “We’re gonna be so good at this,” like she already knew your baby was in good hands.

Ash is endlessly sweet, but she takes charge in the best way. She brings you snacks before you know you're hungry and organizes doctor visits with militant precision—but all out of love. You never have to ask for anything, because she's already halfway done doing it.

She loves massaging your back and feet, but never makes a show of it. It’s just part of her routine now—grabbing lotion, propping your legs up, quietly kneading the day’s stress out of your body while humming to your bump. She thinks your comfort is non-negotiable.

When you get emotional or anxious, she’s the calm to your storm. She wraps you in her arms, talks in a soft voice, and reminds you that you're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling. Her gentle reassurance is like a weighted blanket for your soul.

Ash is obsessed with your baby bump. She’ll cuddle up to it like it’s a separate person already, holding conversations with the “little one” while rubbing circles on your skin. Sometimes she even tells your bump secrets, like “Your mama is the bravest person I know.”

She’s a bit superstitious about health stuff. Like making you wear socks on cold floors because “pregnant feet are sacred,” and buying every fruit that supposedly helps with brain development. You’re not sure it works—but you’ve never eaten this well in your life.

Ash starts knitting. Badly. She's never knit a thing in her life, but she insists your baby will wear a handmade hat, even if it looks like a squished jellyfish. It's endearing as hell watching her cuss under her breath with pink yarn tangled around her fingers.

She paints little stars and vines around the crib. It’s a soft, homey touch, and she always invites you in for feedback—“Should I add a moon here?”—but you love whatever she does. It smells like paint and lavender when you fall asleep in her lap.

She’s deeply protective of you, in quiet, feral ways. If someone makes an insensitive comment, she’ll glare them into silence. If a doctor dismisses your discomfort, she’ll be firm but respectful, and always advocate for you like a warrior with a clipboard.

Every morning, she presses a kiss to your belly and says, “Morning, starshine.” It doesn’t matter if you’re throwing up or cranky or tired—she still does it, as if to remind you both how precious this chapter is. You start to look forward to it more than coffee.

Ash gently rests her hand on your growing belly, her thumb softly tracing circles on your skin. She smiles, eyes glistening as she whispers, “Good morning, little starshine.” You chuckle, half-sleepy, and press your head back into the pillow. “Morning, hon,” you murmur, sleep still thick in your voice as she brings her lips to your temple. Ash leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your belly, “You’re gonna be perfect, you know that?” she says, voice tender but full of certainty. “Like, the perfect little human.” You grin, turning your head to meet her eyes, “Perfect little human? What, like their mom?” She laughs softly, her fingers running over your bump. “No,” she says, pretending to be serious. “They’ll be perfect because they have you to teach them everything they need to know. I’ll just be the backup dancer.” You laugh, reaching out to tug her closer. “I think you’re the main event, Ash.” Her grin is as warm as the morning light flooding through the window. “Why don’t we both take centre stage then.”

She documents the pregnancy with Polaroids. But she never forces you to pose—instead, she catches you laughing, sleeping, wearing mismatched socks and talking to the belly. The photos are messy and real, and she keeps them in a shoebox labelled “Our Universe.”

She plays soft music in the mornings, classical or instrumental post-rock. Says it helps “set the baby’s vibe for the day.” You both end up lying on the couch, her hand on your bump, half-asleep in a sunbeam while Explosions in the Sky hums in the background.

Ash will happily carry everything you even look at for more than a second. You reached for a bag of rice once and she practically threw her back out trying to beat you to it. “That’s not a craving, that’s a lifting hazard,” she muttered.

She reads every queer parenting blog she can find. Half the bookmarks on your shared browser are titles like Lesbian Moms & Lactation Tips and Raising Baby in a Gay Way: Pride from Day One. She wants your baby to grow up knowing that love built their world.

Ash insists on decorating the nursery with “you energy.” She brings home trinkets, dried flowers, little frames with quotes you’ve said. “I want them to feel you in the room, even when you’re not here,” she tells you one night while holding your hand.

Labour and Birth!

Ash has been tracking your contractions to the minute. The second they hit five minutes apart, she’s hauling you onto her bike—no protests, no hesitations. Ideally, you would’ve taken the car, but it was out of fuel, and Ash isn’t about to waste time with that. Good thing, too, because your water breaks right as she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

She secretly loves that it happened on the bike. “It’s official,” she grins, steadying you. “Baby Maker lives up to her name.”

As you walk inside, she holds you close, supporting your weight with gentle strength. When your legs start to give out, she just picks you up—no warning—cradled securely under one arm like you weigh nothing at all. She has zero patience for the slow-moving receptionist and demands a room without taking no for an answer.

During the delivery, she never once lets go of your hand. Her thumb strokes your cheek, soft and steady, as she whispers how much she loves you, how proud she is of you, how ready she is to become a mother by your side. When the doctors try to offer instructions mid-push, she waves them off—“Let them breathe, damn.”

And then, your handsome baby boy is here.

Ash immediately asks the nurses to wait for the cord to turn white before cutting it. While she’s bickering, you steal a first look—bald as a cueball, but already scrunching his face into the goofiest expressions.

Ash turned back just in time to catch that. And then she cried.

“He's gorgeous,” she whispered, pressing a trail of kisses across your face while her pinkie curled into his surprisingly strong grip. “I knew he’d be perfect.” She sat beside you, overwhelmed and glowing, whispering to him between happy sobs. When you finally passed him into her arms, she cradled him to her chest like he’d always been there.

“Welcome, little starshine,” she breathed, voice cracking. His eyes blinked open slowly, like he already knew her—her voice, that nickname, the love surrounding him.

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Travis Phelps:

Emotional Distance but Deeply Caring: Travis may act tough, but there’s an undeniable softness when it comes to the baby. He can’t help but care for you, and the growing bump reminds him of how much he has to protect.

Struggling with Touch: He’s used to being the tough guy, and touching, especially in this vulnerable situation, makes him uneasy. He’ll stand a little too far away, watching the way you cradle your belly. His hands shake when he wants to touch, but he doesn’t know how. You’ll often guide his hand to rest there, reassuring him with a quiet “It’s okay.”

Words Are Hard: Travis doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. He’ll stumble over his words, usually saying something like “Uh, how’s... uh, how’s it feel in there?” He tries, but he’s never been great at being open about his feelings. Still, you can see the way his eyes soften when he watches you with the bump.

Silent Conversations: He’s not one for sappy talks, but you’ll catch him staring at your stomach in silence, like he's trying to figure out what’s going on in there. He doesn’t need words to show he cares; sometimes, he’ll just rest his hand near your belly, silently connecting with the baby, and you can tell it means a lot to him.

Reluctant Affection: When he does manage to touch your belly, it’s quick and almost hesitant, but it’s there. If the baby kicks while his hand is on your belly, he’ll freeze, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’ll mutter something under his breath, like “Damn, that’s crazy,” and then look away, still processing the whole thing.

Protective and Observant: Travis has a habit of quietly observing how you’re doing, making sure you’re comfortable or not overexerting yourself. He won’t say much, but he’ll notice when you’re uncomfortable and take a mental note to fix things. He’s always looking out for you and the baby in his own, gruff way.

The First Kick: The first time the baby kicked, Travis was mesmerized. His hand was on your belly, and he felt the movement, not realizing at first that his eyes were filling with tears. When he noticed the tears, he tried to act tough, quickly wiping them away, but his hand stayed in place, not wanting to move. It was a moment of raw emotion that he didn’t know how to handle.

Travis sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, his hand hovering awkwardly over your bump. “I don’t… I mean, you sure it’s okay?” You took his wrist and gently placed his palm against your belly. “They’re your kid, Trav. You don’t have to ask permission to feel them.” He didn’t respond at first, too focused on the stillness beneath his hand— Then a flutter. A kick. Just one. His breath caught. “Was that—?” You nodded, watching his face change in real time. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent. Then… a tear slipped down his cheek. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing at his face with his sleeve like it betrayed him. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, sorry.” “Don’t be,” you said quietly. “They kicked for you.”

Protective to the Extreme: If someone bumps into you or is too rough around you, Travis doesn’t hesitate to get mad—really mad. His first instinct is to throw hands, and he’ll get in their face, fists clenched, ready to explode. But once the initial rush of anger settles, he forces himself to calm down. He knows getting into trouble would mean missing the birth, and that’s something he’s not willing to risk. After a few sharp words and a deep breath, he’ll mutter something like, “You better watch it next time,” and keep his distance from the person, but his anger doesn’t easily fade.

Secretly Reads Baby Books: He’ll act like he’s too tough for it, but Travis has been sneaking baby books when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s a weird mix of him wanting to be prepared but not wanting to admit it. It’s not his idea of fun reading, but he wants to make sure he’s not totally clueless when it comes to taking care of the baby.

The First Ultrasound: The first time you both see the baby on the ultrasound screen, Travis is hit with a wave of emotion. He’s never been the type to cry in public, but this moment hits him hard. He feels a connection, something raw and unspoken, and he can’t help but stare at the screen, a quiet "Holy shit" escaping his lips. It’s the first real glimpse of his child, and it shakes him to his core.

His ‘Big Brother’ Instincts: Growing up with his own chaotic, unpredictable home life, Travis often finds himself worried about creating a stable environment for his child. The thought of being a good dad nags at him constantly, but he’s determined to be better than what he had. He asks for advice more often than he’d admit, just to make sure he’s doing right by the kid.

Sleepless Nights: Even though he puts on a tough guy act, Travis finds himself unable to sleep at night, especially if you’re not feeling well. He’ll be up, pacing the room, trying to think of ways to help, and all the while, he's silently worrying about you and the baby. If you wake up and catch him, he’ll try to pretend he’s fine, but you can tell he’s not.

Baby Shopping with You: Travis tries to act all tough about baby shopping, but he’s surprisingly good at it. He’s picky about what the baby wears, insisting on getting only the best (but without going overboard). He’ll try to get the most practical things, but you can see the glimmer of pride in his eyes when he picks out something that looks perfect for his little one.

Belly Casting Obsession: Every time he notices a change in your bump, Travis insists on having a professional belly cast made. He’s fascinated by the process and wants to preserve every moment, from the smallest change in size to the curve of your belly as it grows. The casts end up all over his place, a testament to his odd but heartfelt desire to immortalize each stage of the pregnancy. At first, you think it’s a bit much, but the thoughtfulness behind it is something you can’t help but love.

If you ever try to do something yourself—like pick something up or bend over—Travis will immediately stop you, giving you a hard, almost scolding look. "What did I tell you about that?" he’ll say, gently but firmly. He’ll do everything for you, even if you protest, because he’s determined to make sure you don’t strain yourself. He’s very much in overprotective daddy mode and won’t hesitate to act on it.

Labour and Birth!

Travis gets the call while he’s at work. Your voice is shaky, telling him you think your water just broke. The moment you finish speaking, he doesn’t say a word—he just hangs up. There’s no time to waste. He storms out of the office without telling anyone, knowing the clock is ticking.

On his way to you, he quickly types out a message, his fingers shaking with nerves. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hang up like that... Don’t move a muscle, I’m on my way.”

He’d been preparing for this moment, keeping the bags in his car for weeks. Still, that doesn’t stop the whirlwind of anxiety tightening his chest as he drives. He mutters to himself, “Don’t panic, just breathe, don’t panic.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you, or trying to convince himself of that.

His speed? Well, it’s more than a little reckless. You end up getting tailed by a cop, and instead of slowing down, he steps on the gas. It’s a high-speed chase now. When he finally pulls up to the hospital, he swings open your door… but is immediately tackled by the cop tailing him.

The officer looks down at him, then at you, clearly understanding. He doesn’t press charges, but Travis still gets a ticket. The cop helps you into the hospital, making sure you’re seen immediately before walking off.

As you’re labouring, Travis paces the room, hands raking through his hair. Then, he hears you shriek—everything in him shifts. He’s at your side in seconds, holding your hand, reassuring you through the pain. You’ve never seen him so raw, so vulnerable.

In between your contractions, he starts to speak, voice shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You’re amazing, y’know that? I don’t say it enough… but I really do appreciate you, everything you’ve done for me, and everything you’re doing for us. I love you… I’m just so grateful for you.”

When the beautiful baby girl is born, Travis doesn’t waste a second. He scoops her up, bringing her close to his chest, overwhelmed with pride. He whispers to her as he holds her, a promise forming in his voice. “I’m gonna be the best dad the world’s ever seen… You’ve got a good one, kid.”

She’s perfect—golden eyelashes, a tiny strand of golden hair sticking up at the top of her head. Travis looks at her with a love you’ve never seen before. There’s no doubt in your mind—he’s going to be an amazing father.

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Also had to draw Larry snotting over your baby bump, I couldn't not, it was so clear in my head.

#fluff #sally face #larry johnson #ashley campbell #travis phelps #larry johnson x reader #ashley campbell x reader #travis phelps x reader #sal fisher x reader #sketch #digital art #sally face fanfiction #sally face fanart

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straows · 3 months ago

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Larry Johnson who…

Refuses to let you out of bed once he has his arms wrapped around you. Back against the headboard, you between his legs with your back pressed against his chest.

You’d been moving around Larry’s apartments the entire day, cleaning every single room until it was spotless.

Larry couldn’t understand it, poor man just wanted to wrap you up in his arms, smoke a blunt and get cozy for a movie.

And it took all damn day to get you into bed with him. And when he had you with him, you wouldn’t be moving for the next four hours.

His long hair was tied into a messy bun, courtesy of you skitzing about his hair tickling your neck, and he rested his chin on your shoulder. Watching as you rolled a blunt with the manga flavored cigarillo shell you’d snagged from Sal earlier that day.

“I don’t think mango’s gonna taste good.” Larry mumbled, his breath fanning your neck.

“Hush now,” reaching behind you, you blindly touched at his face till you found his mouth, “it’ll taste amazing.”

It in fact did not. Larry coughed like it was his first time hitting a blunt and cringed. His nose wrinkling as he immediately handed it back to you. “Like I said, it doesn’t match.”

“I dunno what’s wrong with you, but this shit slaps. Thank you very much.” You just huffed, and took a deep drag before blowing it in his face.

“You are so lucky I’m in love with you.” Larry rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms tighter around you.

“You’re obsessed with me.” You grinned before paying attention to the show Larry had begged you to watch with him.

I'm in my Sally Face era for the billionth time 🤭

#sally face #sally face x reader #larry johnson #larry face #larry x reader #larry johnson x reader #sally face fluff #mango rillo and bud does not go together #sal fisher

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seraphicloves · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

⊱✿⊰ summary: he isn't yours so why do you get so jealous?

⊱✿⊰ warnings: jealously, you're possessive but sal likes it, he doesn't believe anyone would love him :( cringy confession; reader is a dork i fear (she is me)

⊱✿⊰ notes: i heard this song and had this daydream and was like dang this would be a fire fanfic so here we are. ALSO WHERE ARE ALL THE SALLY FACE FANS LIKE I WRITE FOR IT GUYS NOTICE ME ahem anyway

⊱✿⊰ taglist: @fashionablysouly @kozumesphone

You had a secret: you were excruciatingly and agonizingly in love with your best friend, Sal Fisher. Okay so maybe it wasn't a secret to anyone except for Sal himself but it was still something you would rather die before Sal found out. He definitely didn't see you that way and he would probably reject you immediately if he found out. So it was safer to just not say anything.

He didn't need to know about the nights spent screaming into your pillow or crying in Ashley's arms over how sickeningly giddy his voice made you. He didn't need to know how easily he made your heart beat like you ran a marathon or how easily he made you feel like your head was in the clouds.

However that led to dilemmas such as the one you found yourself in currently. You were probably the most aware of Sal'a attractive but unfortunately, you were not the only one to notice it. So it was common as was happening right then, to find a girl start talking his ear off obviously trying to flirt with him.

"You're so funny, Sallyy," The girl giggled, sitting across from Sal at the cafeteria table. You tried to stop your glare from settling into your face but it was far too late, jealousy was disease that affected you quickly and viciously.

She was beautiful with tanned skin and soft lips, she was perfect and far more in the league of someone as incredible of Sal. But no, she doesn't deserve Sal. She doesn't know him like you do, she doesn't ache in her bones at the thought of being near him. She can't have him.

"You might as well leave." Larry commented to her, seeming far to amused as he glanced at you. You felt self conscious and tried to relax your face from the deadly look you had been casting on that girl. He continued, "[Name] is far too jealous to let you stay for much longer."

Murder should be legal, you quickly decided as you shot a look at Larry that made him well aware he would not be living for much longer. Why the hell would he say that? In front of Sal too?

Did he want you to die of heartbreak? Surely Larry fucking Johnson was praying on your downfall because there is no other logical reason for him to have done that. Unless he has a death wish.

"[Name] isn't dating Sal. Isn't that right, honey?" The girl replied, placing her hand over top Sal'`. That was when you snapped; how dare she touch Sal?

Before you could fully process thinking you grabbed her wrist and yanked it away from Sal. You looked at her, trying to cool the inferno of anger in your gaze as you said, "That boy is mine. Touch him again and I break all of your bones."

The girl let out a whimper and quickly rushed away, leaving a majority of the lunch room's eyes on you. You sunk into your seat, far too afraid to glance at the blue haired boy beside you. You were beyond embarrassed by your possessiveness, who were you to say he was yours?

Larry and Ashley were absolutely cackling, way too amused to see this side of you publicly outed to the boy you loved with your entire soul. Sal turned to look at you, his prosthetic hiding any hint of emotion you could have gotten.

"I'm yours?" He asked, his voice making your tummy rumble and roll. Even his voice was attractive, it physically wasn't fair to exist beside him and not have him to kiss and hold.

"Have you really not noticed, Sally?" Ashley asked, nudging you on the shoulder. You bit the inside of your cheek, preferring none of this to happen. Why did your feelings have to come out this way?

Sal made a confused noise but you grabbed his arm, and said, "Can I talk to you alone?" He nodded and let you lead him away from the lingering stares, into the hallway which was far more empty.

"What's up with you?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt his gaze on your face, making it warm even more. Although that didn't seem quite possible with how feverish every inch of your skin felt. You looked down at your shoes, trying to stall the confession.

"I don't want you dating anyone." You said finally, jealously arising yet again as you remember that girl flirting with Sal. He let out a huff of confusion, his eyes still directly on you. Crap, you had to explain more.

"Seeing those girls flirt with you or hearing them make those vile comments about the things they want to do to you. It makes me so angry, it isn't fair. I don't want you dating anyone except for me. I want you to be my boyfriend." You ranted, feeling your blood boil as you remember all the times you had gotten jealous.

When Sal froze, you realized what you said. Oh no no no, he is going to reject you and never talk to you again. If only there was a self destruct button on your body you could press in this moment.

He kept staring at you, making you wish you could see beneath his mask to have a guess at how he was feeling. How disgusted he might be at your ridiculous feelings for him.

"why do you like....me?" He finally asked, sounding shocked that you could have feelings for him. Your gaze shot back up to meet his, and you saw the surprise (and dare you say, happiness?) in his eye.

"Why wouldn't I like you, Sal? You're so amazing and god I love you so much I think I've gone insane." You replied, feeling almost breathless with this string of honesty. His body finally relaxed and you could almost sense the smile beneath his mask.

"I love you too, [Name.]" Sal replies quietly, "Can I be your boyfriend?"

You felt your lips part with surprise, not believing your ears. Sal must have noticed your shock because he laughed and leaned closer, interlacing your hand with his deliciously cold fingers.

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend." You said, rambling slightly. You must've been injected with a dose of caffeine because you kissed his mask right where his lips lay under. Then you ran away, giggling like a lunatic. You stopped in a hallway, feeling flushed and faint and giddy and ridiculous.

Finally that boy truly was yours.

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andreaheartscats · 6 months ago

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Sal Fisher headcanons (fluff/angst)

buckle up you guys, we are in for a wild ride with this one!

angst:

->Sal often struggles with insomnia, haunted by nightmares and intrusive thoughts. He sometimes stays up until dawn, staring at the ceiling or listening to music to drown out the silence.

On particularly bad nights, he’ll quietly play his guitar, the soft sound comforting him in an otherwise empty room.

->Even around his closest friends, Sal sometimes feels like he doesn’t fully belong. He struggles with the feeling that no one could truly understand the weight of what he’s seen and experienced.

He often forces a smile or a joke to keep others from worrying, hiding his sadness behind a mask both literal and emotional.

->Sal feels incredibly vulnerable without his prosthetic face, so much so that he avoids mirrors when it’s off. He fears being seen as a “monster,” even though he knows his friends accept him.

There are days when he feels disconnected from himself, like the mask is the only thing holding him together.

->Sal keeps small mementos of his mother and his happiest moments with his friends. He has a box hidden away filled with photos, drawings, and little trinkets that remind him of better times.

He’ll sometimes sit with the box and quietly relive those memories, trying to hold onto the good moments that feel so far away.

fluff:

->Sal has a soft spot for animals, especially cats. If he sees a stray, he’ll stop to pet it and might even sneak it some food. He once joked about starting a "stray cat rescue squad" with Larry.

->Sal loves oversized sweaters and hoodies, especially ones with fun patterns or that are extra soft. He has a favorite one that’s slightly worn out but feels like a warm hug.

He sometimes steals hoodies from Larry or Todd because they’re comfy and smell like his friends, which he finds reassuring.

->Sal isn’t the best cook, but he enjoys baking. It’s something his mom used to do with him, and he finds it calming. He makes cookies for his friends on special occasions, even if they come out a little lopsided.

He once tried to make a cake for Ash’s birthday and got icing everywhere, but the end result was so charmingly messy that she loved it even

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queenofthepirates83 · 11 months ago

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Sal Fisher x Reader

“I like you too”

Tag: fluff, one-shot

Tw: none(but tell me if there is)

Words: 851

A/N: first fanfic! Sorry this is short I wrote this a while ago and decided to finish it now lol, also sorry if it’s bad

When you first moved into the Addison Apartments you weren’t happy or anything. It wasn’t like you wanted to stay in that house, no. Your mom thought it would be best to move out, away from all the bad memories your stepfather had created in that house.

You first met Larry, courtesy of his mother, who loved you almost instantly. Larry introduced you to Sal, you guys got along great. Then one thing led to another and now you’re sitting in your room, thinking about Sal.

You sighed knowing that you couldn’t stay in your room forever. You had to tell Sal how you really felt. No jokes or excuses this time.

Last time you tried to do it you made a complete fool of yourself and made an excuse and just left and hid in your room.

But you have to tell Sal how you felt towards him. Larry kept telling you that he felt the same way but you wouldn’t believe him. So Larry put you two in the same room, left and waited for you to confess your feelings.

You didn’t trust Larry. You didn’t believe what he said but in all honesty it was true. Sal did like you back and not just in a friendly way.

You sighed and got off your bed and went to your closet to get pants on.(you went to bed with a shirt and your underwear. Or not, it’s your choice.) You chose (your choice of pants) and walked away to your door and opened it. You walked out and noticed your mom on the couch passed out. She had on her nurse clothes, since she took another night shift for the money.

You sighed and went over to the kitchen, grabbing a juice. You walked back to the front door crouching down to put some shoes on.

Once they were on you opened the front door and walked/took the elevator to his apartment.

You were at his door, contemplating if you should knock or not and just leave. You sighed, knowing that Larry would tell Sal himself if you didn’t do it. You knocked on Sal’s door once you built up the confidence. You stood there for a few more minutes before Sal opened the door. His hair was a little messy and the collar of his shirt looked like he almost pulled it to one side. “Hey Sal, wanna hang out for a little?”

Sal nodded and stood aside for you to walk in. You smiled and walked into his apartment. Sal closed the door and walked to his. You followed him. You both walked into his room. You looked around for a moment as Sal shut the door.

“When was the last time you cleaned?” You asked, glancing around again as you took some clothes off the floor and put it in his laundry hamper.

He shrugged as he watched you, sitting down on his bed. “Can’t remember.”

“You don’t seem to remember a lot.”

He shrugged again, staring at you through his mask. “Why’d you come over anyway?”

You stared back at him as you sat down next to him on the bed. “Just wanted to talk.”

“…about?”

You felt yourself getting nervous as he pressed on. What was his reaction going to be once you told him? Was Larry correct? What about Ash? The two seem quite close. The questions swirled around your mind like a plague. You liked Ash, she was a good friend to you and the other three. But her and Sal are close too, and not just in a friendly way.

Sal tilted his head down a little as he stared at you. “Hm?”

You blinked, your vision becoming less blurry as your vision focused on him. “Uh…Larry wanted me to tell you something.”

He nodded slowly. Sal was half aware of your feelings for him, from what Larry had told him and from how you act when you’re around him. He also didn’t believe Larry, just like how you did. And Sal did like you, he did have feelings for you.

“Eh…” you blinked again, squinting your eyes at him as his gaze only intensified, whether he realized or not. “I like you.”

And those were the three words that confirmed everything. The corner of his lips turned up, his gaze softening as he stared at you. His felt his face get a little red, the tips of his ears going red too.

You felt yourself get nervous at his…well…lack of response. Not even an ‘oh’ or ‘wow’.

“Sal…?” You asked slowly.

He simply stared at you before he moved to take his mask off.

You had seen his face before, he took it off in front of you a while ago. He felt comfortable showing you his face, which in your book was good. Really good.

When his mask was off, he set it beside him before moving closer.

You smiled, admiring him for a moment before you leaned in a little, your lips meeting his scarred ones in a soft and gentle kiss.

“I like you too.”

#sally face #sal fisher #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x y/n #sal fisher x you #sally face x y/n #sally face x you #fanfic #fluff #larry johnson #oneshot #one shot

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glitterforashes · 2 years ago

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𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐩 ; 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

>>> drabbles for the main sally face boysss, sal fisher, and larry johnson. sal’s is inspired by bubblegum by clairo, larry’s is inspired by east liberty by partnextdoor.

𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 —

mildly obsessed with the uncertainty of ghost hunting.

too curious for his own good. literally curious george. the curiosity that killed the cat.

laid-back, doesn’t give a damn about most things.

has a very deep voice for a teenager. sounds like a literal grown man.

sometimes you can’t tell if he’s even awake.

“sal? sally? sal??” he’s just staring into the void.

“what?” he had to sneeze. that’s why he paused and went radio silent for two minutes straight.

you spend most of your time in his room, curled up on his bed reading while he sits on his bean bag chair and plays video games.

sometimes turns around to make sure you’re still awake / doing okay.

one time you put a toy rat next to him. he nearly shit his pants when he noticed it.

“(y/n)?” “hm?” “you’re fuckin’ ugly.”

doesn’t mean it. apologizes right after. he thinks he’s so funny.

grew comfortable enough around you to lift up his mask far enough to eat.

whenever you sleep over, he’ll take off his mask once all the lights are off.

loves watching movies with you, especially when there’s snacks involved.

will listen to every sanity falls album over and over again with you.

you had been switching between reading, doing homework, and playing video games for close to five hours, well into the twilight era of the night. it was 10pm when you decided to start getting ready for bed, being as both of you had school in the morning. you showered as sal brushed his teeth and combed through his hair, then switched. sal showered as you did your skincare and brushed your teeth and put your hair up. you both fell into his bed after he switched the light off, taking your respective sides. you liked to sleep next to the wall for the purpose of putting your body against it if it got too hot, and sal liked sleeping closest to the door for emergency purposes. you wore his tshirt and boxers, and he wore boxers. you turned over to face him, propping your arm underneath your head. he laid with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “sal?” “hm?” his gruff voice always soothed you in a strange way. “can i.. touch you?” you heard the movement of the sheets as he turned his head. even in the dark you could tell he was looking at you. “what?” “can i touch you? like, your face?” sal had never let you see his face up to this point. he preferred to keep it hidden, only sometimes letting you see his lips. he was silent. “you don’t have to.” “okay. you can.” you looked at where you assumed he was, breathing in deep. “are you sure?” “yeah.” he whispered. you slowly reached out, feeling out for where his face was. you found it, your fingertips pressing lightly against his cheeks. he flinched under your touch, a sharp inhale sounding through the little space you had between your bodies. “are you okay?” you whispered, starting to retract your hands. “yes. it’s fine.” you nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat that wouldn’t go away. you loved sal. you knew vaguely of his past and understood where the roots of his insecurity started, but societally accepted face or not, nothing would change your love for him. you gently ran your fingers over the expanse of his skin, feeling his lips and cheekbones, and the dips. the missing flesh, the scars. and you loved it. loved him, loved what made him so unique. you pulled your hands away slowly, grinning to yourself. you could hear the quiet sniffle. “sal? are you alright?” “do you think i’m.. gross?” he asked. your heart broke. you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. his arm slung over your body naturally, pulling you closer. “no, sally. i could never. you’re beautiful.” he turned his head, resting his face on your hair. you felt the very slight puckering of his lips as he kissed the crown of your head. “thank you.”

𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

his mom LOVES YOU. absolutely adores you. you two have girls nights all the time.

took you to the sanity falls concert tour for your birthday, kissed you in the rain, and took you home sopping wet. your dad wasn’t pleased.

“uh— we got caught in the rain, sir.” “i see that.”

apologized for weeks. it still makes you laugh.

smokes so much weed it’s a miracle he remembers his name.

“hey man, how’s my driving?” “…i think we’re parked, man.” vibes

you’re constantly sleeping over at his place, you have a drawer in his dresser dedicated to your belongings.

is very meticulous with his hair. has a hair care routine. refuses to cut it for any reason.

has painted you on multiple occasions. boudoir shoots happen often.

“paint me like one of your french girls.”

loves watching horror movies with you.

is surprisingly very gentle and sweet, especially when you’re upset. unless it’s with travis. fuck travis. all my homies hate travis.

“hey, girl. what’s the matter?”

holds you until you feel better and is very patient

listens to the sanity falls albums constantlyyy it drives you crazy.

“larry— stop. you’re gonna green out.” he exhaled a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face, smirking. “greening out is a make-believe concept made up by losers who can’t handle their marijuana.” you swear larry only knows big words when he’s high. when he’s sober, he has the articulation of the average seventh grader, but when he’s high he turns into fucking shakespeare and it’s crazy. specifically because if he’s high, there’s a good chance you’re high, and you won’t understand half the shit he says. the sound of the tardy bell rattled against your skull as it rung throughout the entire school, screaming at you and larry to get to class before the dean came hunting you down. you took one more big drag from the blunt you two had rolled during study hall before stamping it out and throwing it in the toilet, flushing the evidence. you two shuffled out of the tiny bathroom stall, looking at each other proudly. “sniff me.” you stepped closer and sniffed his shirt, him doing the same for you. “nah, i think we’re good.”

ya’ll were not good. both of you smelled absolutely rank, so it was truly no surprise when you ended up in the dean’s office, but it surprised you to see larry sitting in the office waiting area with a bloody nose. “oh, hey man.” you fist bumped him as you plopped into the chair next to him, manspreading the entire seat. “what happened to your face?” “fuckin’ travis wanted to run his mouth. kicked his ass, but when i turned around he clipped me in the nose. kicked his ass again, now i’m here.” “word.” you were so faded it was humorous. “what about you? what’d you do this time?” “ms. fat tits sent me out because i was ‘stinking up the room’ and if i ‘wanted to smoke pot and ruin my mind’ i needed to do it at home.” you cackled, larry joining in.

“is something funny?” the principal asked the both of you. you straightened up and held your breath, shaking your head no. you and larry looked at each other from the corner of your eyes simultaneously and you exploded with laughter. long story short you both got suspended for three days. did you give a fuck? hell no. hence why you were now in larry’s room in nothing but a sanity falls tshirt and underwear, rolling up another fat one. “you’re my favorite person, y’know that?” “(y/n), shut the fuck up.” he shook his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “you’re my favorite person too.”

#sally face #fanfiction #fluff #sally face x reader #larry johnson #larry johnson x reader #humor #indie horror game #indie #x reader #drabble #dumb teenage boys #dumb teenage girl #marijuana lol #smoking #trauma

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itslynzbitxh · 1 year ago

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purple || sal fisher x gender neutral reader

fluff

1.1k words

I unlock the door with shaky hands before stepping into our shared apartment.

"Are you sure?" I say, turning to Sal as I kick my shoes off at the door. He nods and unbuckles his prosthetic, setting it down on the coffee table.

"You don't have to, you know," I mumble as I head to the bathroom with the paper bag.

"I know," he says matter-of-factly, trailing behind me. I roll my eyes as I set the bag on the sink before kneeling down to rummage through the cabinets for my supplies. "But I wanna match," he grins lopsidedly into the mirror, running his fingers through his pigtails.

I chuckle softly and stand up with two hair dye bowls in hand. Sal wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder, watching me. I smile softly, leaning into his touch.

"Why do we need two?" he asks curiously.

"Well, you got a lotta hair, babe. The dye's not gonna all fit in one bowl," I explain as I reach into the paper bag and pull out two bottles of hair color: Ppl Eater and Front Row from Good Dye Young.

I look up into the mirror, taking in both of our reflections. My hair was a freshly-dyed vibrant red-violet. It had been blue for months until I decided to dye it purple on a whim yesterday. Sal came home from Larry's that night and pouted, complaining that we didn't match anymore. This morning, he'd asked me if I would help him dye it purple. I hesitated at first as he'd only ever had blue in the time I'd known him, but he badgered me until I agreed.

I run my fingers through his blue hair one last time.

"I'm gonna miss it. Larry's not even gonna recognize you," I chuckle. Sal grins and tightens his grip around me.

"Larry can kiss my ass for all I care. I wanna match with my beautiful partner." He presses a kiss to my neck, eliciting a soft giggle from me. "Can't have you looking better than me, can we?" he teases.

"Watch yourself there, hotshot," I say with a smirk, rolling my eyes. Sal laughs, the sound reverberating into my back.

I start to squeeze the color into the bowls and mix the two colors together, trying to match the red-violet shade of my own hair. After a few minutes, I've gotten as close as I think I can get. I look up at Sal.

"Whatcha think?" I hold the brush up, letting a glob of hair dye fall back into the bowl. It makes a loud plop, splattering several droplets on the white sink. I grimace.

"I think we're not getting our deposit back," Sal quips. I stick my tongue out at him.

"That was gone the first time I dyed my hair in this apartment," I reply. Sal chuckles.

"I'm ready now if you are." I look at him.

"Fuck yeah," he says excitedly, nodding.

"Sit down, and we can get started." I gesture to the closed toilet seat lid. He kisses my cheek and lets go of me, sitting down. I gently pull the ponytail holders out of his pigtails.

"Ow!" he exclaims dramatically. I roll my eyes.

"So whiney," I tease. He pouts playfully at me. I laugh and take out the second pigtail. I rustle his hair a little. He smiles up at me.

"Gotta say goodbye to my blue-haired boy."

"Hey, you didn't let me say goodbye to my blue-haired lover," he reminds me.

"I've been a thousand colors, love. I didn't think you'd be so attached to my blue," I say as I section his hair up with a claw clip.

"Well, when you dyed it blue, I couldn't look at my hair without thinking of you," he says softly. "I liked that."

I blush slightly, my heart fluttering at his sweet words. I smile at him softly and press a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

"You're sweet. Now's your last chance to back out though," I tell him as I give the hair color one last stir before grabbing the brush and bringing it towards his head.

"Nope." He shakes his head with a grin. I laugh and apply the first streak of color onto the back of his hair.

I carefully start working the color into his blue hair, being more attentive than when I'm doing my own hair.

"This is gonna take a while. Wanna put on some music?" I ask as I apply the color in sections.

Sal nods, pulling out his phone and connecting to my speaker. After a moment, one of my favorite songs, "Black No. 1" by Type O Negative, starts playing. I chuckle softly.

"This song always reminds me of you," he smiles up at me.

"I haven't had black hair in years though," I tell him. He shrugs.

"Maybe we can do that next."

"Oh, a black-haired Sally Face would be unstoppable," I grin at him. He blushes slightly.

"You think?" he says softly. He always struggled to receive compliments, but so did I.

"I know. You'd be the ultimate emo boy," I tease, biting my tongue.

"I am NOT emo!" he exclaims. I laugh loudly. "I am punk rock, you bastard."

I laugh again as I apply more color.

"Uh-huh." He glares up at me. I grin. "I know you're not." He nods, satisfied by my answer. "But you know what song reminds me of you?"

He glares up at me again with a playful and curious expression in his eyes. "What song?"

I giggle and gesture for his phone. He sighs and hands it to me. I laugh to myself as I add a certain song to the queue. I set his phone down with a mischievous grin. He narrows his eyes at me.

"What song?" he asks again.

"Patience, Sally," he rolls his eyes at me. I continue coloring his hair, finishing up the back and moving on to a new section.

The Type O Negative song continues, and I forget that I added a song to the queue until after the eleven-minute song finishes. "Emo Boy" by Ayesha Erotica starts playing. I laugh to myself as Sally groans and blushes, glaring at me.

"I hate you," he mumbles, trying to suppress the smile tugging on his lips.

"Sure you do."

He shakes his head playfully and laughs, grabbing my hips and pulling me towards him to stand in between his legs. He wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my chest.

"You're lucky I love you," he mumbles into me. I yelp slightly, cold purple hair color getting on my white shirt.

"Sally!" I groan. He laughs and looks up at me with a smirk.

"Oops," he says sarcastically.

"You're lucky I love you." I repeat his words with a smile, not really caring that much about the shirt.

"Yes, I am," he says softly as he pulls me closer.

this is my first tumblr fic ! (i wrote on wattpad back in the og days)

hope y'all enjoy! should i do a nsfw part two?

also requests are open !

#sal fisher x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fluff #Spotify

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sallyfaceproduces · 1 year ago

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NAVIGATION

MASTERLIST

GUIDLINES

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0yuri-chan0 · 2 years ago

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~ Don't leave me ~

Wait.. Wait Sally Face fandom isn't dead? YES! No, because I love sally face like he a murderer but hes my murderer 💅 So you guys like demolished Levi Ackerman and I'm not mad about it. I know this is basic but he's gonna show you his face for the first time. Fluff with a pinch of romance because y'all eat that shit up anyways no more ranting. Enjoy!!

Paring - Sal Fisher (Sally face) x Gn reader

Warnings - None

Genre - Fluff

Yes it was true you and Sal knew eachother for the longest. It also wasn't a secret to the group you liked Sal, well everyone knew. I mean who wouldn't fall hard for the blue haired boy he was sweet and gentle, caring, selfless. Basically near definition of perfect in your eyes. But in his, not so much he didn't see himself like you saw him. He knew he fit the description of a kind soul but definitely not a beautiful one. It was all because of his face, sure you never saw it only Larry, Ash, and Todd had. And if your honest it bugged you a lot, not just because he didn't show you his face no, no, no not that. It was the feeling that he didn't trust you enough to do so. The feeling of sadness that washed over you every time you thought about it. He told you before that it was a hard topic for him to talk about. And you respected that; you really did, it just confused you why you hadn't seen it in all the years of knowing Sal Fisher. So of course you had to find out.

It was a normal day, well not so normal Larry couldn't hang out with you and Sal because he was with Ash at the towns oh so very small mall. Todd said he couldn't hang out because he had a science project which was fine before, you and Sal would hang out all the time doing whatever without the gang. You didn't know why this time was any different. It was awkward you both sitting in his room watching TV as gizmo layed on the bed next to you. Sal on your other side playing on his gear boy. You couldn't help but look at him stealing a couple of glances his way.

Not wanting to get caught staring at him like so many times before. You averted your gaze back to the TV. Now acting like nothing was wrong, it was eating at you and on top of that you didn't think he'd trusted you to show his face. You usually were a outgoing person, a person who voices their concerns. Being quiet was unusual for you and of course Sal noticed, I mean if he did he didn't say anything. You couldn't just blurt out "Sal why don't you show me your face? Do you not trust me?" That would make him anxious and you didn't want to do that to him. I mean who would do that do him? Not you. You looked back at him playing his gear boy. His long slender fingers pressing buttons skillfully might you add. A soft sigh escaping your lips. Trying to hype yourself up to ask him or at least express your feelings. Basically in that moment you were trying to grow a pair as fast as you could.

You opened your mouth and closed it. You needed something to say it could be like 'Sal I need to ask you something' then ease you way into telling him. That was your best option and only option, so you really didn't have a choice. "Sal." You called his name in a soft manner. He only hummed in response not looking away from his gear boy. "Why don't.. Am I the only one who hasn't seen you're face, Sally?" His fingers stop moving in result his character died. His screen showing a red 'Game Over' his head turned to you his eyes focussed on yours.

Did you mess up? Maybe but you really can't think at the moment. You turned your gaze to the floor and exited a deep breath through your nostrils. "What I mean is like. I feel like.. I know I'm. Probably the last to see your face in the gang and I know it takes a lot of trust to let me see it." And there you go, you were rambling nervously because he was looking at you. Your stomach doing flips and heart beating so fast it might give you a heart attack. "You want too see it.. My face?" Now those seven words stopped you from talking. Lifting your head up you looked him in his one good eye the other a prothsic. You nodded your head slowly. "I don't want to force you to show me your face. I want you to be positive you want to." You started picking at your hang skin on your pointer finger. "I want to" Was all he said before he uncliped both the buckles. He held the mask up on his face with his hand and looked down. The gear boy clearly discarded on the bed.

"Don't be scared of me [Y/n]" He said in a shaking voice already very nervous. You sat on your knees facing him on the bed you raised your hand slowly hooking your fingers under his mask. Your pace slow giving him time to pull away if he wanted. He didn't "I would never be scared of you Sal. Your my best fucking friend." He let out a sharp breath when you lifted his mask. His heart was pounding his plams sweaty. He quickly grabbed your wrist with his free hand. "Promise me you won't leave me.." His voice wavered while he spoke. Your gaze soften and a pleasant, calming smile appeared on your face. "I wouldn't dream of it." You truly did love Sal. You looked him into this eyes while he retracted both of his hands back to his side.

You slowly pulled his prosthetic away from his face. Once you saw his face your grip tightened on the plastic mask. His face had a lot of scarring. His nose was deformed as well as his jaw. His jaw was crooked his cheek torn showing some of his top teeth. You could tell chunks of meat were removed from his cheeks. You could clearly tell his left eye was a prosthetic, it being more dull and only staring straight ahead instead of looking at the ground like his other eye was. You brought your hand to his cheek gently. His flinched soon his eyes finally meeting yours. "You're beautiful.." Was all you could say your thumb stroking his cheek gliding over his scars gently. Tears falling from his eyes with ease his hand grabbing your wrist once more. "You really mean that?" He asked in disbelief once you muttered out those two words.

You nodded and leaned forward your lips connecting with a bit of difficulty. You knew this man was touched starved so you let him get use to it. His lips were kinda chapted and the kiss was kinda clumsy but it felt so good at the same time. You felt him visibly relax as you pulled away with a small smile on your face only to be pulled back by his hands behind your neck reconnecting your lips to his. The kiss got more desperate, and more needy.

You finally pulled away with a airy chuckle. "I mean it." He smiled it honestly amazed you how you never saw him smile but it was better then you imagine. "I want... Will you be lover?" You grin and kissed his forehead. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear those words." He laughed and grabbed your waist pulling you closer to him. "How long?" He said with a raised brow. "Too long" you mused and kissed him again.

At least you finally know what's under the mask and its beautiful...

Its finished! I had a hard time with this for no reason. Thank you for reading. I have another problem the you guys can solve 🙏 I have no clue what to write next so my request are open to you! Please use it 👀

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