str4ngr

[str4ngr]

lazy mornings, dew sticking to the windows from the night's rain, sun peeking between sheer curtains. leona's arm weighs on your waist, his clawed hand snuck under your shirt as he noses into your neck mindlessly, still fully asleep. although now awoken by the sunlight, your eyes stay shut, your heartbeat stable and calm. he pressed closer to you, tail tightening around your thigh to pull you closer. smiling quietly, your hand reached back to toy with the thick tufts of his brown hair.

it was saturday. there was no where to go, nothing to do, no one to see, nothing to say. just the two of you, hearts content in the warmth of each others skin.

there was a smell of sleep, maybe just his lingering cologne, maybe the warm milk you drank before bed, swaying you to return to sleep. his warm breath fanned over your skin, drawing a wave of goosebumps and a shiver out of you. leona shifted behind you, his tail flicking against your thigh as he leaned into the crown of you skull. you leaned back into him, lips twitching into a smile as he huffs, blowing the strands of your hair from his face.

it was early, it wouldn't matter if you stayed, but you couldn't even fathom leaving. his arm grounded you like an anchor, his gruff puffing and soft sighing a reminder that life never was meant to constantly be filled to the brim. a quiet morning, without words, without actions, simply the company of one another. a moment of stillness that let you linger in every detail of a slow second.

pulling the comforter closer, you turned over, now face your beloved lion. leona looked like a helpless kitten, peaceful, trusting, not even a reaction as you thoughtlessly poked the round flesh of his cheek. your giggles sounded like the breathy melody of a wooden flute, leona's ears twitching at the alluring song. his brows twitched, aroused to peek at what caused you laughter, but reluctant to wake from his slumber. you smiled, what was new about this lazy lions favor for sleep? pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, his brows relaxing, your arms wrap around him.

his warmth, the gentle thump of his heart beneath your ear---where else could you want to be?

[str4ngr]

hi everyone, im going on a short hiatus. i'll be back around may, i just have too many things on my plate for april and i barely have the energy to write. i might be releasing another chapter to the sae series, but im chipping at it slowly.

feel free to send requests, i'll probably be writing, just not posting.

[str4ngr]

WARM WELCOME [ SIMON "GHOST" RILEY ]

cw: none, medic! fem! reader. part one. notes: took forever.... literally i had it all laid out i just was too unmotivated to write anything interesting, pretty long chapter, i must say. words: 1,722.

You would be there today, at the mission briefing; not that you were taking part in the mission, so Simon thought. He wasn’t given every detail of the assignment or a reason for your presence. Not that he could do anything about it, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Changing from the plain clothes for bed, he washed up, going through his usual morning routine. Yet, even with the mechanical practice of his action, his mind still wandered. To your eyes, your hair, your lips, your-

Enough.

Simon shook his head, trying to wash away the guilt that lingered after last night's rendezvous with his imagination. Tying a double knot onto his last shoe, he sat up, staring at the dingy door leading out of his room. Each step towards that door made Simon's feet feel heavy and sluggish. Emotions turned calm, silent, and brooding. Ghost exited, Simon abandoned in the cold sheets of his cot. 

The conference room was only a short walk away, but his shoulders felt tense. Stiff in their squareness, muscles taut at just the idea of running into you. It wouldn't be unlikely, considering you were both headed to the same place, but Ghost refused to let that possibility become a reality. Luckily, whatever manifestations he conjured worked, and the room was filled with two other people: Gaz and Johnny.

Why were you going to be there? What the hell did a medic have to do with an infiltration? His brows furrowed under the cool fabric of his skull-printed mask, eyes sharply glaring down at the briefing papers. He knew the answer, not that he could accept it in his immature moment of arousal and frustration. 

The old chair creaked under his weight, begging for relief as his body sunk into the deflated cushion. Seems everyone was on edge. His eyes filtered from Laswell to Gaz, carefully inspecting each face on tense brows and taught lips. Familiar faces, usual expressions.

“Well, everyone, good morning.” 

Laswell always greeted everyone as though it were a casual corporate meeting, not that he’s ever been in a corporate job, he’s only been in high school, here, and six feet under.

“The mission regards…”

She spoke calmly, the screen behind the flashing with maps, markings, indicators, information, more, more, and, eventually a face. It wasn't a new one, just another name on a line-up he's gotten sick of seeing. Sick of hearing about their dirty tricks, their filthy crimes, their pathetic attempts at escape. Ghost's eyes flickered back to Laswell, her expression shifting. Furrowing his brows, he watched as she set down the clicker, clearly introducing something not related to the target.

“He won’t be easy to capture if I haven’t made that clear already. This will be a very strung-out invasion, and it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing home. For a long time.”

He, along with his fellow operators, weren’t stupid. Although Laswell is one woman he would never doubt, Ghost was unwelcoming of the advice he’d heard hundreds of times from hundreds of voices. They were all trained in basic emergency medical care, he knew that she knew that. So what was the issue if they couldn't access a medic? What was she trying to suggest? 

“Make sure to welcome her, she’s part of your team now, 141.” 

Ghost's throat feels hoarse and tight when his eyes fall onto your figure. Standing beside Laswell, even in such a dingy room, the flickering light of LED lights above your head still framed the slopes and peaks of your features like a graceful halo. You smiled—beautiful—and sat beside Price, who shook your hand. He wishes he took your hand, it would make his imagination a little easier.

What he was thinking about was incredibly indecent, and his filthy thoughts were practically a desecration of your image, even if it was only in his mind. You nodded along with the rest of the team, Laswell’s usual lecture about the importance of x, y, and z droning in one ear, and half out the other, his instinct to remember only allowing so much to be forgotten. First, the board, covered in topographic maps, then to you, which he could only wish had a topographic map. 

He rolled his eyes at his own shitty joke, though no one else noticed.

As she concluded, Ghost shoved his pen back into his vest pocket, glaring down at the map-less woman as he straightened out, rolling his shoulders.

“You ‘eard her.” 

Price rolls, groaning lowly as he stands from his chair. Scanning the room, evidently taking in each man’s expression, then yours. The gruff man casually nods to the door, each of you standing up, one after the other. 

“Aye, cap’t, we’re headin’ where?”

The tall Scot chided, skeptically glancing at his superior, 

“Coffee.” 

Fair enough, you thought. It wasn’t like going to a bar at 8 A.M. was a great idea, nor was a smoke, or… whatever else sleazy soldiers did. Were they sleazy? Ghost walked behind you, silent as always yet detectable, maybe it’s because he’s just huge… Maybe you’re the sleazy one. 

The five of you walk in silence, slightly awkward, considering three of them huddled behind you like predators and the other led you like a wolf. Your clothes felt itchy, logically due to the fact you may or may not have worn them for two days straight, but you would prefer to excuse it to the intense stare of six eyes burning holes into your spine. What happened to bedside manners? Well, they’re not doctors, hun. You glance over your shoulder, meeting eyes with Kyle, or Gaz.

”Hi….?”

Clearly, you were hesitant, offering a half smile as he smiled back,

“Hey.” 

He matched pace with you, glancing down at you.

“D’ya have any idea why you’re being put with us?” 

You let out a breath at the idea of a regular conversation, shrugging. There were a lot of reasons, most of which he probably wouldn’t have cared for, so you gave a quick answer,

“Same reason Laswell said, long-term means you won’t be able to get med, so they’re just saying to take one." He still looked doubtful, so you continued, reciting what your previous boss said, "Considering the target, they're just worried something or another will happen, and they won't be able to help you out.”

He hummed as if analyzing your answer. His head turned to face forward, you looked too; the kitchen. His face was overshadowed by the hat he wore—which why wear a hat inside?—but he didn’t seem like the sleazy kind. Maybe you were just excusing him because he was handsome.

Price stood by the coffee machine, a strange picture considering how he dwarfed the thing with his height. He also had a hat on, you observed, maybe it’s a British thing. The Scot wasn't wearing it, and well, Ghost had an entire mask on, so it must count, right? Disregarding that nonsensical line of thought, you glance to your side, the Scot, whom you should remember to refer to as Soap, spoke with Ghost, whose eyes slowly shifted to meet yours. 

Quickly looking away, you smiled at the captain, who was handing you a mug. Black?Not like you can ask for much. His face was oddly warm, and comforting, as he offered a smile in return, the quiet clinking of mugs against the counter matching his tone of voice; gentle. 

“Laswell said you know combat, is that right?”

Nodding, you bring the mug to your lips, eyes swerving from his. Even though his face looked gentle, his probing wasn't. It was true, they gave you enough hand-to-hand and self-defense training, even conflict diffusion, but you were still just a medic.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be allowed to go with you guys otherwise.”

“I’d hope.”

He laughs, cheery and accented with a lingering hint of Worcester. You chuckle as well, not knowing if he was humoring your combat skill or laughing at the idea of a medic knowing enough combat to be sent with the SAS. If it were you, you would assume the latter. Humming as he swallowed another burning sip of coffee, he continued, 

“Well, it’ll be good to have a fresh face, then.”

You smiled. Didn’t seem like the latter for him.

⚬

Ghost’s eyes were trained on Johnny’s overly expressive face, eyebrows furrowing and arching theatrically as he explained something to him for what must be the hundredth time. Even so, he would probably need another explanation, since all his ears were your voice. 

Silky, was the only word he could come up with to describe your voice. Fluttering with the waft of coffee in the air mixed with the obscene scent of sugar emanating from the mug in Johnny’s hand. Though, your laughter was nothing so sickening,  quite the opposite.

“Hello? Jeez, Ghost, yer’ a real friend, ain’t ‘cha?”

Lazily, Ghost brought his gaze—the one he doesn’t remember shifting to you—to Soap’s unimpressed expression. Ah, caught red-handed, is what his eyes said, a smirk twitching at Johnny’s lips like a needy hyena. Simon silently shot back, arms still crossed over his chest as he glared, Shut it, Johnny.

He shrugged, still smirking as he took a sip of his diabetes-inducing coffee, taking a step back as if teasing. Rolling his eyes, Ghost leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing as he stared at Soap. He better not try anything, Ghost thought to himself, sucking in his cheek between his teeth. 

He knew how Soap was, having gone to the bar with him enough to know his 'side hobby' of playing cupid. His eyes burned into the spot between Johnny's blue eyes, warning him. Simon didn't need Cupid to get you. He was going to make you his himself.

⚬

Silence settled between you and the Captain, not that it was tense, just a bit unusual. With a sigh, you took out your phone, deciding to glance through any texts you received from earlier in the day. Although a mundane task, your knee bounced restlessly, the muscles in your neck twitching with the desire to turn. Look! Look! Meet his gaze! Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to acknowledge the holes that were burned into your side by a certain set of hazel eyes.

This was going to be a long mission.

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

couldn't even tell you why this one took so long. but hey, at least its out. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directory.

[str4ngr]

WARM WELCOME [ SIMON "GHOST" RILEY ]

cw: none, medic! fem! reader. part one. notes: took forever.... literally i had it all laid out i just was too unmotivated to write anything interesting, pretty long chapter, i must say. words: 1,722.

You would be there today, at the mission briefing; not that you were taking part in the mission, so Simon thought. He wasn’t given every detail of the assignment or a reason for your presence. Not that he could do anything about it, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Changing from the plain clothes for bed, he washed up, going through his usual morning routine. Yet, even with the mechanical practice of his action, his mind still wandered. To your eyes, your hair, your lips, your-

Enough.

Simon shook his head, trying to wash away the guilt that lingered after last night's rendezvous with his imagination. Tying a double knot onto his last shoe, he sat up, staring at the dingy door leading out of his room. Each step towards that door made Simon's feet feel heavy and sluggish. Emotions turned calm, silent, and brooding. Ghost exited, Simon abandoned in the cold sheets of his cot. 

The conference room was only a short walk away, but his shoulders felt tense. Stiff in their squareness, muscles taut at just the idea of running into you. It wouldn't be unlikely, considering you were both headed to the same place, but Ghost refused to let that possibility become a reality. Luckily, whatever manifestations he conjured worked, and the room was filled with two other people: Gaz and Johnny.

Why were you going to be there? What the hell did a medic have to do with an infiltration? His brows furrowed under the cool fabric of his skull-printed mask, eyes sharply glaring down at the briefing papers. He knew the answer, not that he could accept it in his immature moment of arousal and frustration. 

The old chair creaked under his weight, begging for relief as his body sunk into the deflated cushion. Seems everyone was on edge. His eyes filtered from Laswell to Gaz, carefully inspecting each face on tense brows and taught lips. Familiar faces, usual expressions.

“Well, everyone, good morning.” 

Laswell always greeted everyone as though it were a casual corporate meeting, not that he’s ever been in a corporate job, he’s only been in high school, here, and six feet under.

“The mission regards…”

She spoke calmly, the screen behind the flashing with maps, markings, indicators, information, more, more, and, eventually a face. It wasn't a new one, just another name on a line-up he's gotten sick of seeing. Sick of hearing about their dirty tricks, their filthy crimes, their pathetic attempts at escape. Ghost's eyes flickered back to Laswell, her expression shifting. Furrowing his brows, he watched as she set down the clicker, clearly introducing something not related to the target.

“He won’t be easy to capture if I haven’t made that clear already. This will be a very strung-out invasion, and it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing home. For a long time.”

He, along with his fellow operators, weren’t stupid. Although Laswell is one woman he would never doubt, Ghost was unwelcoming of the advice he’d heard hundreds of times from hundreds of voices. They were all trained in basic emergency medical care, he knew that she knew that. So what was the issue if they couldn't access a medic? What was she trying to suggest? 

“Make sure to welcome her, she’s part of your team now, 141.” 

Ghost's throat feels hoarse and tight when his eyes fall onto your figure. Standing beside Laswell, even in such a dingy room, the flickering light of LED lights above your head still framed the slopes and peaks of your features like a graceful halo. You smiled—beautiful—and sat beside Price, who shook your hand. He wishes he took your hand, it would make his imagination a little easier.

What he was thinking about was incredibly indecent, and his filthy thoughts were practically a desecration of your image, even if it was only in his mind. You nodded along with the rest of the team, Laswell’s usual lecture about the importance of x, y, and z droning in one ear, and half out the other, his instinct to remember only allowing so much to be forgotten. First, the board, covered in topographic maps, then to you, which he could only wish had a topographic map. 

He rolled his eyes at his own shitty joke, though no one else noticed.

As she concluded, Ghost shoved his pen back into his vest pocket, glaring down at the map-less woman as he straightened out, rolling his shoulders.

“You ‘eard her.” 

Price rolls, groaning lowly as he stands from his chair. Scanning the room, evidently taking in each man’s expression, then yours. The gruff man casually nods to the door, each of you standing up, one after the other. 

“Aye, cap’t, we’re headin’ where?”

The tall Scot chided, skeptically glancing at his superior, 

“Coffee.” 

Fair enough, you thought. It wasn’t like going to a bar at 8 A.M. was a great idea, nor was a smoke, or… whatever else sleazy soldiers did. Were they sleazy? Ghost walked behind you, silent as always yet detectable, maybe it’s because he’s just huge… Maybe you’re the sleazy one. 

The five of you walk in silence, slightly awkward, considering three of them huddled behind you like predators and the other led you like a wolf. Your clothes felt itchy, logically due to the fact you may or may not have worn them for two days straight, but you would prefer to excuse it to the intense stare of six eyes burning holes into your spine. What happened to bedside manners? Well, they’re not doctors, hun. You glance over your shoulder, meeting eyes with Kyle, or Gaz.

”Hi….?”

Clearly, you were hesitant, offering a half smile as he smiled back,

“Hey.” 

He matched pace with you, glancing down at you.

“D’ya have any idea why you’re being put with us?” 

You let out a breath at the idea of a regular conversation, shrugging. There were a lot of reasons, most of which he probably wouldn’t have cared for, so you gave a quick answer,

“Same reason Laswell said, long-term means you won’t be able to get med, so they’re just saying to take one." He still looked doubtful, so you continued, reciting what your previous boss said, "Considering the target, they're just worried something or another will happen, and they won't be able to help you out.”

He hummed as if analyzing your answer. His head turned to face forward, you looked too; the kitchen. His face was overshadowed by the hat he wore—which why wear a hat inside?—but he didn’t seem like the sleazy kind. Maybe you were just excusing him because he was handsome.

Price stood by the coffee machine, a strange picture considering how he dwarfed the thing with his height. He also had a hat on, you observed, maybe it’s a British thing. The Scot wasn't wearing it, and well, Ghost had an entire mask on, so it must count, right? Disregarding that nonsensical line of thought, you glance to your side, the Scot, whom you should remember to refer to as Soap, spoke with Ghost, whose eyes slowly shifted to meet yours. 

Quickly looking away, you smiled at the captain, who was handing you a mug. Black?Not like you can ask for much. His face was oddly warm, and comforting, as he offered a smile in return, the quiet clinking of mugs against the counter matching his tone of voice; gentle. 

“Laswell said you know combat, is that right?”

Nodding, you bring the mug to your lips, eyes swerving from his. Even though his face looked gentle, his probing wasn't. It was true, they gave you enough hand-to-hand and self-defense training, even conflict diffusion, but you were still just a medic.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be allowed to go with you guys otherwise.”

“I’d hope.”

He laughs, cheery and accented with a lingering hint of Worcester. You chuckle as well, not knowing if he was humoring your combat skill or laughing at the idea of a medic knowing enough combat to be sent with the SAS. If it were you, you would assume the latter. Humming as he swallowed another burning sip of coffee, he continued, 

“Well, it’ll be good to have a fresh face, then.”

You smiled. Didn’t seem like the latter for him.

⚬

Ghost’s eyes were trained on Johnny’s overly expressive face, eyebrows furrowing and arching theatrically as he explained something to him for what must be the hundredth time. Even so, he would probably need another explanation, since all his ears were your voice. 

Silky, was the only word he could come up with to describe your voice. Fluttering with the waft of coffee in the air mixed with the obscene scent of sugar emanating from the mug in Johnny’s hand. Though, your laughter was nothing so sickening,  quite the opposite.

“Hello? Jeez, Ghost, yer’ a real friend, ain’t ‘cha?”

Lazily, Ghost brought his gaze—the one he doesn’t remember shifting to you—to Soap’s unimpressed expression. Ah, caught red-handed, is what his eyes said, a smirk twitching at Johnny’s lips like a needy hyena. Simon silently shot back, arms still crossed over his chest as he glared, Shut it, Johnny.

He shrugged, still smirking as he took a sip of his diabetes-inducing coffee, taking a step back as if teasing. Rolling his eyes, Ghost leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing as he stared at Soap. He better not try anything, Ghost thought to himself, sucking in his cheek between his teeth. 

He knew how Soap was, having gone to the bar with him enough to know his 'side hobby' of playing cupid. His eyes burned into the spot between Johnny's blue eyes, warning him. Simon didn't need Cupid to get you. He was going to make you his himself.

⚬

Silence settled between you and the Captain, not that it was tense, just a bit unusual. With a sigh, you took out your phone, deciding to glance through any texts you received from earlier in the day. Although a mundane task, your knee bounced restlessly, the muscles in your neck twitching with the desire to turn. Look! Look! Meet his gaze! Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to acknowledge the holes that were burned into your side by a certain set of hazel eyes.

This was going to be a long mission.

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

couldn't even tell you why this one took so long. but hey, at least its out. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directory.

[str4ngr]

kento nanami treasured you like you were the pearl of the earth. every morning coffee would waft through the air, the quiet of cool mornings intervened by waking birds as they chirped and sang. kento was never one tog et cold easily, his back facing the sun as the light's heat warms his skin, his gentle hands slowly stirring the potatoes in the pan. he missed you, heavy feet gladly guiding his figure back beside you. the steaming plate of breakfast sat on your nightstand table, a strange yet comforting smell of hot coffee—one with 'too much sugar and 'too much cream' as he says even though he always prepares it with the exact amount, the other black—soft, fluffy eggs and crispy, perfectly pan-fried potatoes. wrapping his arms around you, he held you close, letting you slowly wake up for your lazy day with him, no work, no missions, no laundry to do. the birds continued to hum over your soft whispers, filled with innocuous laughter and joy as your bare bodies curled into one another. two forks clanked against each other as the comforter you just washed picked up dark crumbs. he didn't mind, it wouldn't matter because the sun was on your beautiful face, and he was smiling, happy, even with crumbs on the sheets.

[str4ngr]

WARM WELCOME [ SIMON "GHOST" RILEY ]

cw: none, medic! fem! reader. part one. notes: took forever.... literally i had it all laid out i just was too unmotivated to write anything interesting, pretty long chapter, i must say. words: 1,722.

You would be there today, at the mission briefing; not that you were taking part in the mission, so Simon thought. He wasn’t given every detail of the assignment or a reason for your presence. Not that he could do anything about it, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Changing from the plain clothes for bed, he washed up, going through his usual morning routine. Yet, even with the mechanical practice of his action, his mind still wandered. To your eyes, your hair, your lips, your-

Enough.

Simon shook his head, trying to wash away the guilt that lingered after last night's rendezvous with his imagination. Tying a double knot onto his last shoe, he sat up, staring at the dingy door leading out of his room. Each step towards that door made Simon's feet feel heavy and sluggish. Emotions turned calm, silent, and brooding. Ghost exited, Simon abandoned in the cold sheets of his cot. 

The conference room was only a short walk away, but his shoulders felt tense. Stiff in their squareness, muscles taut at just the idea of running into you. It wouldn't be unlikely, considering you were both headed to the same place, but Ghost refused to let that possibility become a reality. Luckily, whatever manifestations he conjured worked, and the room was filled with two other people: Gaz and Johnny.

Why were you going to be there? What the hell did a medic have to do with an infiltration? His brows furrowed under the cool fabric of his skull-printed mask, eyes sharply glaring down at the briefing papers. He knew the answer, not that he could accept it in his immature moment of arousal and frustration. 

The old chair creaked under his weight, begging for relief as his body sunk into the deflated cushion. Seems everyone was on edge. His eyes filtered from Laswell to Gaz, carefully inspecting each face on tense brows and taught lips. Familiar faces, usual expressions.

“Well, everyone, good morning.” 

Laswell always greeted everyone as though it were a casual corporate meeting, not that he’s ever been in a corporate job, he’s only been in high school, here, and six feet under.

“The mission regards…”

She spoke calmly, the screen behind the flashing with maps, markings, indicators, information, more, more, and, eventually a face. It wasn't a new one, just another name on a line-up he's gotten sick of seeing. Sick of hearing about their dirty tricks, their filthy crimes, their pathetic attempts at escape. Ghost's eyes flickered back to Laswell, her expression shifting. Furrowing his brows, he watched as she set down the clicker, clearly introducing something not related to the target.

“He won’t be easy to capture if I haven’t made that clear already. This will be a very strung-out invasion, and it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing home. For a long time.”

He, along with his fellow operators, weren’t stupid. Although Laswell is one woman he would never doubt, Ghost was unwelcoming of the advice he’d heard hundreds of times from hundreds of voices. They were all trained in basic emergency medical care, he knew that she knew that. So what was the issue if they couldn't access a medic? What was she trying to suggest? 

“Make sure to welcome her, she’s part of your team now, 141.” 

Ghost's throat feels hoarse and tight when his eyes fall onto your figure. Standing beside Laswell, even in such a dingy room, the flickering light of LED lights above your head still framed the slopes and peaks of your features like a graceful halo. You smiled—beautiful—and sat beside Price, who shook your hand. He wishes he took your hand, it would make his imagination a little easier.

What he was thinking about was incredibly indecent, and his filthy thoughts were practically a desecration of your image, even if it was only in his mind. You nodded along with the rest of the team, Laswell’s usual lecture about the importance of x, y, and z droning in one ear, and half out the other, his instinct to remember only allowing so much to be forgotten. First, the board, covered in topographic maps, then to you, which he could only wish had a topographic map. 

He rolled his eyes at his own shitty joke, though no one else noticed.

As she concluded, Ghost shoved his pen back into his vest pocket, glaring down at the map-less woman as he straightened out, rolling his shoulders.

“You ‘eard her.” 

Price rolls, groaning lowly as he stands from his chair. Scanning the room, evidently taking in each man’s expression, then yours. The gruff man casually nods to the door, each of you standing up, one after the other. 

“Aye, cap’t, we’re headin’ where?”

The tall Scot chided, skeptically glancing at his superior, 

“Coffee.” 

Fair enough, you thought. It wasn’t like going to a bar at 8 A.M. was a great idea, nor was a smoke, or… whatever else sleazy soldiers did. Were they sleazy? Ghost walked behind you, silent as always yet detectable, maybe it’s because he’s just huge… Maybe you’re the sleazy one. 

The five of you walk in silence, slightly awkward, considering three of them huddled behind you like predators and the other led you like a wolf. Your clothes felt itchy, logically due to the fact you may or may not have worn them for two days straight, but you would prefer to excuse it to the intense stare of six eyes burning holes into your spine. What happened to bedside manners? Well, they’re not doctors, hun. You glance over your shoulder, meeting eyes with Kyle, or Gaz.

”Hi….?”

Clearly, you were hesitant, offering a half smile as he smiled back,

“Hey.” 

He matched pace with you, glancing down at you.

“D’ya have any idea why you’re being put with us?” 

You let out a breath at the idea of a regular conversation, shrugging. There were a lot of reasons, most of which he probably wouldn’t have cared for, so you gave a quick answer,

“Same reason Laswell said, long-term means you won’t be able to get med, so they’re just saying to take one." He still looked doubtful, so you continued, reciting what your previous boss said, "Considering the target, they're just worried something or another will happen, and they won't be able to help you out.”

He hummed as if analyzing your answer. His head turned to face forward, you looked too; the kitchen. His face was overshadowed by the hat he wore—which why wear a hat inside?—but he didn’t seem like the sleazy kind. Maybe you were just excusing him because he was handsome.

Price stood by the coffee machine, a strange picture considering how he dwarfed the thing with his height. He also had a hat on, you observed, maybe it’s a British thing. The Scot wasn't wearing it, and well, Ghost had an entire mask on, so it must count, right? Disregarding that nonsensical line of thought, you glance to your side, the Scot, whom you should remember to refer to as Soap, spoke with Ghost, whose eyes slowly shifted to meet yours. 

Quickly looking away, you smiled at the captain, who was handing you a mug. Black?Not like you can ask for much. His face was oddly warm, and comforting, as he offered a smile in return, the quiet clinking of mugs against the counter matching his tone of voice; gentle. 

“Laswell said you know combat, is that right?”

Nodding, you bring the mug to your lips, eyes swerving from his. Even though his face looked gentle, his probing wasn't. It was true, they gave you enough hand-to-hand and self-defense training, even conflict diffusion, but you were still just a medic.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be allowed to go with you guys otherwise.”

“I’d hope.”

He laughs, cheery and accented with a lingering hint of Worcester. You chuckle as well, not knowing if he was humoring your combat skill or laughing at the idea of a medic knowing enough combat to be sent with the SAS. If it were you, you would assume the latter. Humming as he swallowed another burning sip of coffee, he continued, 

“Well, it’ll be good to have a fresh face, then.”

You smiled. Didn’t seem like the latter for him.

⚬

Ghost’s eyes were trained on Johnny’s overly expressive face, eyebrows furrowing and arching theatrically as he explained something to him for what must be the hundredth time. Even so, he would probably need another explanation, since all his ears were your voice. 

Silky, was the only word he could come up with to describe your voice. Fluttering with the waft of coffee in the air mixed with the obscene scent of sugar emanating from the mug in Johnny’s hand. Though, your laughter was nothing so sickening,  quite the opposite.

“Hello? Jeez, Ghost, yer’ a real friend, ain’t ‘cha?”

Lazily, Ghost brought his gaze—the one he doesn’t remember shifting to you—to Soap’s unimpressed expression. Ah, caught red-handed, is what his eyes said, a smirk twitching at Johnny’s lips like a needy hyena. Simon silently shot back, arms still crossed over his chest as he glared, Shut it, Johnny.

He shrugged, still smirking as he took a sip of his diabetes-inducing coffee, taking a step back as if teasing. Rolling his eyes, Ghost leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing as he stared at Soap. He better not try anything, Ghost thought to himself, sucking in his cheek between his teeth. 

He knew how Soap was, having gone to the bar with him enough to know his 'side hobby' of playing cupid. His eyes burned into the spot between Johnny's blue eyes, warning him. Simon didn't need Cupid to get you. He was going to make you his himself.

⚬

Silence settled between you and the Captain, not that it was tense, just a bit unusual. With a sigh, you took out your phone, deciding to glance through any texts you received from earlier in the day. Although a mundane task, your knee bounced restlessly, the muscles in your neck twitching with the desire to turn. Look! Look! Meet his gaze! Your mind was practically screaming at you, begging you to acknowledge the holes that were burned into your side by a certain set of hazel eyes.

This was going to be a long mission.

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

couldn't even tell you why this one took so long. but hey, at least its out. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directory.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

kento nanami treasured you like you were the pearl of the earth. every morning coffee would waft through the air, the quiet of cool mornings intervened by waking birds as they chirped and sang. kento was never one tog et cold easily, his back facing the sun as the light's heat warms his skin, his gentle hands slowly stirring the potatoes in the pan. he missed you, heavy feet gladly guiding his figure back beside you. the steaming plate of breakfast sat on your nightstand table, a strange yet comforting smell of hot coffee—one with 'too much sugar and 'too much cream' as he says even though he always prepares it with the exact amount, the other black—soft, fluffy eggs and crispy, perfectly pan-fried potatoes. wrapping his arms around you, he held you close, letting you slowly wake up for your lazy day with him, no work, no missions, no laundry to do. the birds continued to hum over your soft whispers, filled with innocuous laughter and joy as your bare bodies curled into one another. two forks clanked against each other as the comforter you just washed picked up dark crumbs. he didn't mind, it wouldn't matter because the sun was on your beautiful face, and he was smiling, happy, even with crumbs on the sheets.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

kento nanami treasured you like you were the pearl of the earth. every morning coffee would waft through the air, the quiet of cool mornings intervened by waking birds as they chirped and sang. kento was never one tog et cold easily, his back facing the sun as the light's heat warms his skin, his gentle hands slowly stirring the potatoes in the pan. he missed you, heavy feet gladly guiding his figure back beside you. the steaming plate of breakfast sat on your nightstand table, a strange yet comforting smell of hot coffee—one with 'too much sugar and 'too much cream' as he says even though he always prepares it with the exact amount, the other black—soft, fluffy eggs and crispy, perfectly pan-fried potatoes. wrapping his arms around you, he held you close, letting you slowly wake up for your lazy day with him, no work, no missions, no laundry to do. the birds continued to hum over your soft whispers, filled with innocuous laughter and joy as your bare bodies curled into one another. two forks clanked against each other as the comforter you just washed picked up dark crumbs. he didn't mind, it wouldn't matter because the sun was on your beautiful face, and he was smiling, happy, even with crumbs on the sheets.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

do you feel what i do? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: angst, all reader perspective, gn! reader. notes: ughhhhh, break ups suck, writing it out feels more irritating. not proofread, dont act surprised. pt.1, pt.2.

since that night, it's been deafening loneliness. the sounds of the street as you walked from work to home blurred into meaningless buzzing. your ears felt like they were filled with water, your eyes felt like they were always on the verge of tears, your throat like it was filled with hives.

your friends told you that he isn't worth your tears. if he truly loved you, he wouldn't have broke it off so quickly. you should've known, you reminded yourself, you shouldn't cry, you told yourself. yet none of it helped, because even though it seemed like it was all 'in vain', why did your heart still ache?

maybe it was really all just a fleeting moment, an experience that you would soon forget, move on from. though, that didn't feel accurate. ever sunrise reminded you of him, when he'd gently kiss you goodbye before his morning run. the smell of breakfast always startled you with the memory of his voice as he scolded you for burning your tongue on the fresh, still-hot pancakes. the sunset a reminisce of going to the beach together during off-season, making sandcastles; being in love.

the clock ticked behind you, and you wondered what other memory your mind would conjure at its mechanical timeliness. maybe his timeliness, his perfect skill at planning.

shaking your head, you turned back to your book. the pages felt loud, crackling under your fingertips as the words of the story you were diligently following barely a moment ago jumbled into pools of ink. comfort didn't come easy no matter how hard you tried to pursued yourself into believing this brea up was a good thing, you were lying, and you knew it.

he was a wonderful boyfriend, and you felt cheesy saying it, but it was the honest truth. he was always checking in on you, yet now your phone has never been so quiet. he always remembered the small things, and now you keep forgetting to take your vitamins.

moving from your couch to your kitchen, you sighed as you tossed your phone onto the lousy cushions of the now abandoned sofa. your mind wandered as you went through the habitual motions of preparing coffee: filling the tank, putting in the paper, 'measuring' the grounds, and waiting for the pot to fill.

silence surrounded you again, like a lingering figure that constantly shadowed you. it began to hurt again, the coldness of your apartment, the framed photos, the decoration, everything reminded you of-

beep. beep. beep.

coffee was ready.

you sighed as the dark liquid filled your mug, swirling with creamer and sugar. It was a nice smell, soft, wafting through the chill that pierced your apartment. it reminded you of him. again. you weren't sure if it was just the curse of being freshly single; every little thing in the would bring you back to your last date.

it was a home date, like many, the crowds of people never something sae would welcome. the vision of his apartment was burned into your memory, each decoration that you both decided on together--as if it wasn't his apartment--the past lingering in the worn fabric of the couch you two sat on.

your eyes fell shut, the coffee warming your palms through the ceramic mug as your head tilted back, trying to wash away the sickly warmth that sprouted in your heart. just as quickly as it bloomed, it decayed, rotting and writhing in boiling agony.

the echo of his voice played in your mind like a broken record, vibrating with softness that brushed against your cheek before sharpening into the dagger he stabbed into your heart barely a week ago.

your coffee was cold now. emotions, such deep ones, took so much time to handle, you thought, your heart sore. the figure of the sun danced among the clouds as it set outside your window. his voice never wavered when he said that to you, when he told you he didn't need you. sunlight flickered like a frail flame, slowly darkening, swallowed by the night, like you. your heart fought against the damp sorrow that suffocated it, but now, there was nothing else to feel but anguish.

notes: i need title ideas for this series.

[str4ngr]

guess who forgot to work on the next part of her sae angst? (me.)