#and then he never does anything!!!! he turns down offers to do the exact kind of things hes always talking about wanting!!!

[bittsandpieces]

-

[disneyprincemuke]

a feeling so peculiar * fem!driver

the new season is finally starting and it doesn't start out as great as she'd expected

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, liam lawson x fem!driver

notes: whatever is on the masterlist for the 2025 season is all i'm going to write for the 2025 season (i think) and it's all angst so sry in advance

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

for starters, she’s never been shy of being on the receiving end of bad news. or devastating news, or ones that feel earth-shattering.

she knows that because growing up in a male-dominated scene has prepared her for that. people used to tell her to give it up because she wouldn’t get anywhere with it, or not to get her hopes up expecting something from a place where she’s clearly not wanted.

but she’s made it this far to formula 1. with her best friends.

her first year in the sport, she climbed to a mere 6th place and ended 4th in her sophomore year. just months ago when the 2024 season had wrapped up, she was on top of the world. a woman in the top 5 of the driver’s championship — it’s definitely something.

to her, she expected that the only way was up.

she could not have been more wrong about that.

the lights have just gone out, the cars on the grid have just skidded off for the evening and she’s… in the garage? in liam’s garage, to be exact.

noise-cancelling headphones on her ears as she stares dreamily into the screen of data of liam’s car. realistically, she should be helping out because she’s always been big on numbers, but not today. something didn’t feel right.

she’d been so excited all winter break to get back into the car, hopping from all the adrenaline and glory she put in her pocket from the year before. only for her car to have an irreversible problem that would force her out of the race before it even began.

she didn’t even have a chance to participate in the first race of the season. no way to shut down all of the unwanted background noise of the critics of her involvement still in the sport.

“hey.” she feels a bump against her hip, flinching at the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. “brought you ice cream.”

her eyes flutter close and a sigh of relief passes her lips. she smiles and takes a small cup into her hands. “i was wondering where you’d run off to.”

matt grins. “you looked pretty upset so i went ahead and got you some ice cream. does it at least make you feel a little better?”

“yeah, a little,” she says softly, pursing her lips. “thank you.”

but there’s still a yearning in her chest to be the one in the car to race tonight. that’s not fair — how come liam gets to race this weekend and she doesn’t?

she thought about politely asking for his car, but she couldn’t get herself to do that to him. he’s now become one of her best friends after all.

“rocky.”

she tilts her head at the call of her name, turning around to meet a familiar pair of eyes. one that she’s honestly been avoiding all day from the turnout of the weekend.

sebastian had been the one to break the news to her: that she wouldn’t be able to participate in the race due to a fault in the car. she had simply nodded while tears formed in her eyes and turned to walk away from him.

if you were to ask sebastian, the lack of a response from her scared him.

“ice cream?” the girl offers with a small smile, extending her hand towards him.

sebastian glances down at the ice cream before lifting his hand to reveal a cup of himself. “matt got me a cup too,” he admits with a small grin. “i just wanted to check if you’re okay. with the car and the pulling out of the race…”

she smiles politely, lips pressed into a thin line. what exactly is she supposed to say to someone who doesn’t really have anything to do with the development of the car? well, he does have involvement in it — being a retired world champion warrants that kind of valuable input — but she hardly believes it’s his fault.

“it’s okay,” she says softly, feeding herself another spoonful of ice cream. she blinks as her answer registers in her head. she shakes her head with a small laugh. “i mean– i’m okay. it’s just one race.” she glances at matt, standing next to her. “right?”

matt blinks at her. caught off-guard by her sudden want of his opinion; he’s an actor, not a race car driver. he only knows more about one of the two and it’s the answer that his girlfriend wants to hear. so he nods, “right.”

she turns back to sebastian. “a little frustrating,” she shrugs, “but things like this happen. that’s what you always say.”

sebastian smiles. “you learn quick, kid,” he pats her head endearingly. “that’s a good grasp of the concept. you’ll be back on the track next week good as new, i promise.”

she nods, forcing herself to swallow down the words that sebastian spoke to her. but there’s a churning in her stomach that she cannot seem to ignore as she feels her appetite come to a halt suddenly.

she huffs softly as she turns back to the screen. things like this happen, she repeats in her head. surely it can’t get any worse than this.

so it apparently can get worse.

she sits in the car slightly longer than she needs, eyes staring intensely at the steering wheel in her hands.

something’s not right, something’s off. something doesn’t feel okay.

she wants to blame something — rather someone — that isn’t the car. perhaps, she’s suddenly become the problem without her knowledge? it feels like something has shifted in the air recently because nothing seems to go her way anymore.

“is everything okay?”

she flinches at the sudden voice that fills her ears, reminded that she’s still sitting in her car in parc ferme. “yes,” she answers softly at first, “yeah. i’m okay. sorry. it was just a long race. i’m quite exhausted.”

“copy. let me know if you need help, okay? or if you need to talk. it was a tough race.”

a finish out of the points feels so foreign to her. to be two races into the new season and not be in the top 10 of the driver’s championship. this time last year, she was at least in the top 8 in the standings by the second race of the season.

not this time.

but a slow start isn’t so unheard of for her. it feels like the only thing she can do now is hope that everything gets better eventually. it can’t stay like this all year, right?

when she does arrive at her garage, though, it seems that sebastian is not the only one concerned about her first finish out of the points in almost a year. a crowd has formed in her garage, her friends all staring at her cautiously as they await to see the big reaction that they’ve been expecting from her.

“what?” she asks softly, putting her helmet down on one of the vacant tables. “why are you all staring at me like that?”

the silence doesn’t stop. eyes dart all over the garage, some avoiding her gaze and some staring right at her every couple of seconds.

logan is the first to step forward; the boost from mick prompting an annoyed click of his tongue as he throws his arms into the air. “you uh,” logan blinks at her, “didn’t finish in the points today. how are you feeling?”

she blinks back at him. “i’m,” she trails off and catches oscar’s stare, to which he immediately looks away, “okay?” she tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows. “are you guys okay? you’re acting kind of… weird.”

her friends’ consideration for her feelings during this trying time is valid. once upon a time, she couldn’t handle the outcome of her not finishing in the points. she just had — has — so much to prove.

but it’s just one time out of her many races.

liam smiles. “we’re just concerned.”

“well your concern is concerning,” she laughs sheepishly, now tearing the velcro from her neck and unzipping her race suit. “i’m 22 — i can handle my emotions when i finish outside of the points. also, not my first time.”

a lie. she actually wants to start throwing things around. perhaps the steering wheel since it’s the only part of the car that she could actually detach and yank around, unlike others.

but it’s just one race.

“yeah, but we’re just saying,” mick speaks with a smile, “if you need to scream and cry and vent because you were out of the points — you can talk to us.”

“i won’t even take it personally if it was because of the team orders,” liam adds with a grin. “you know what? i’ll even scream with you.”

there’s only one person she wants to scream with right now, and it’s the only person that isn’t directly involved in whatever the hell this is.

“as will i,” logan presses his lips together, “i feel like i need to scream into the void until my lungs give out actually.”

she runs a hand through her hair. “i’m okay,” she holds her hands in the air to stop any more chatter from her friends who decided they know her better than herself. “let’s freshen up and regroup at the mclaren camp. ice cream, right? maybe dinner? oscar made podium — we need to celebrate!”

oscar shakes his head, taking a step forward. “we really don’t have to. it’s okay, it’s not even a big deal.”

“no,” she says firmly, head snapping over to the australian. oscar flinches back at the way she’d turn to him with his hand pressed against his chest. it’s silly that after all these years, he still tries to minimise achievements when she’s not had the share of the glory. “i’ll see you guys in a bit. 40 minutes?” she looks around. “where’s matt?”

“in my garage getting ice cream,” mick smiles. “40 minutes, right?”

“yes,” she mutters, quickly dismissing them as she heads for the exit to the paddocks. “i’ll see you then.”

the air feels thick when she steps into the paddocks. the whispers are louder than they used to be and the stares are boring holes into her again.

a heavy sigh passes her lips as she picks up her feet into a run, heading straight for her racing home. she just needs to be alone; be by herself.

because surely, it can’t get worse than this.

right?

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Kung Lao yandere headcanons

Warnings: Yandere (obsessive and toxic themes) just cute little mentions of gore and murder blah blah blahhhhhhh…kung Lao being a little bitch. (Kinda inserted my fiancé as Kung Lao so if the personality is off…no it isn’t they are literally the same exact person🤞)

Requests: only for Yandere Kung Lao, Shang tsung, raiden and Johnny Cage mk11/mk1/X

General Yandere Headcanons

Kung lao has been fond of you from the beginning. You were always very open and welcoming towards him. Never once did you ever make fun of his hat or ever compare himself with Liu Kang like many many others.

Whenever he messed up or didn’t quite match up with his counterpart, you would encourage him and remind him of all he has to offer and that one small fail shouldn’t break him. You were the best friend Kung Lao could ever ask for.

As much as he’d hate to admit, he was desperate for this kind of special attention. He needed to be loved and praised, he needed to be better than all the other competitors. He especially needs to be better than Liu Kang…

After seeing him train harder than ever this past year for the next tournament, you turned to him and said..

“You know what? I honestly think you’re a far better fighter than Liu Kang at this point, and I wish more people could see that. It kind of irks me how Raiden doesn’t believe in you like he does Liu.”

Anyone else would say you were being a little too generous with that statement, but you meant exactly what you said.

Little did you know that this seemingly harmless comment made something in his brain snap….

No one has ever said anything remotely close to this to him. Sure, he’s gotten good remarks on his skills before but he’s always lived in his friend’s shadow. Finally, someone sees him for just how great he truly is.

His inhibitions were now gone and in that moment he decided you were his. You say it’s kidnapping, he says it’s redirecting you in the direction of his house. potato,patato!

He feels absolutely no guilt for kidnapping you and forcing your relationship. He believes he’s in the right most times. Everything he does is justified, including this……in some very sick way.

Kung Lao is a very needy and klingy Yandere. He orders you to be around him at all times or at least updating him constantly when you can’t be. Which is very rare, usually only happens if he has to be with the shaolin or if Raiden needs to speak with him privately.

He has a huge ego that constantly needs to be inflated by you. The man can’t help it, he craves your worship.

This means when he forces you to attend his sparring matches, tournaments, and workout sessions, you need to pay extra close attention. He will ask you specifically what you enjoyed about today's session and you better be raving about it, or it’ll be a hissy fit for the rest of the day. (So sassy)

Will shower you in compliments all damn day. He thinks you're absolutely beautiful in every single way and one thing that Kung Lao hates more than anything is someone with low self esteem. Lack of confidence is annoying to him so he’ll make sure you know you’ve got it going on.

(Ironic since deep down he’s crippling from his insecurities)

Very very physically affectionate and expects you to reciprocate it. Smothers you in kisses and cuddles.You have to hold his hand in public so people know that you're his. The way his grip is on you thooo. ;-;

Will just plop on top of you like he’s not 180 pounds of pure muscle. He’s so huge omg like you get crushed any time he has one of his love attacks.

Has a very mildly short temper. Most of his anger is never really taken out on you though. He’s just kind of asshole-ish to everyone outside of you

Will 100% threaten you and let you know that he’s not to be tested tho. He loves games but not when they come to you.

He cannot bear you giving anyone other than him attention, especially other men. Why do you even need to speak to other men??? You have the great Kung Lao right next to you.

Someone hits on you, he’ll get rid of them….

He’s willing to kill anyone for you. It’s all honorable, because it’s to protect the sanctity of his precious relationship.

If you start talking to someone for a little too long, flirting or he suspects you’re interested in another, he’s going to kill them too.. slowly and brutally…all for you to watch. He’ll slice the unsuspecting fellow in half, look up at you with a big ol’ grin!

“See, this is what I have to do when you start talking to people you shouldn’t. Now my hat is all filthy because of you.”

You need to know that Kung Lao is serious about you, and there are consequences to your stupidity. This will surely keep you in line.

Will also set punishments up too. He can’t find it in his heart to ever put his hands on you, but sometimes when he’s in one of many temper tantrums, he’ll leave bruises on your arm from grabbing or pulling you too hard. Though with that said, even if you try attacking him he will just try to pin you down or restrain your hands until you finally give up.

It’s kind of cute to him when you struggle. He’s so much stronger and bigger than you but you still think you have a chance…aww that’s so adorable and kind of amusing to him.

Usually his punishments consist of him locking you up for a day or two in his room, making you clean off his bloody clothes after he’s dealt with someone because of you, or doing some kind of chores he doesn’t want to.

If you try running away he will be deeply hurt and humiliated by this. He scolds you after he catches you and immediately ties you up. He takes away any basic necessities to further punish you. You’ve embarrassed him and now he’ll have to endure the whispers about it.

Why would you run away from the only person who can keep you safe? Is he not enough for you anymore???

You think this is some sort of fun joke?

Do you think someone fights better than him?????? If so he will challenge them to kombat to show you that he’s just as great as he was before.

Once he finally calms down kung lao would be very mopey for the next couple of hours. His ego is shattered in this moment and he just wants you to love him back. He’ll cling on anything you give him, he’ll even lose the hat for you if it meant that you’d never leave him again.

This is one of the only times where he’s openly vulnerable to you, outside of this he puts on his usual persona. Always self assured and well together. If you see Lao’s weak side too often you’ll think less of him.

Once you’ve finally gave in to his painful hours of pandering and promised to never leave him again, he snaps back to his old self.

It doesn’t matter how much you only thought of him as a close friend, Kung Lao is determined to break you down and become his perfect match. You’re the only one who understands him, and sees his true worth so he’d be a fool to just let you slip away. He’ll prove to you that he truly is the greatest once becomes the next champion. You'll soon see.

[python333]

déjà vu — python333

— — — —

synopsis you and ghost are more similar than the two of you realized.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 2.88k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [call sign/code name], ghost's backstory [yes that is a warning within itself], kind of badly written.

note holy shitttttt i'm so sorry i haven't posted in two months. to everyone who is disappointed this isn't a req they submitted—i am very sorry but i have like. no motivation. please take this small fic as a peace offering after being silent for two months. also yes i said alej fic but i only had motivation to write for ghost LMAO

“So…” Ghost can hear Price next to him, creating an echo as he speaks through his earpiece, “Doesn’t it get hot, always wearing that mask?” 

“Not when it’s made of the right materials,” Your voice crackles through, the wind blowing by slightly distorting your voice, “It’s also winter, captain, so no, it doesn’t get hot.” 

The corners of Ghost’s lips twitch upwards when you answer, but he otherwise doesn’t say or do anything, simply leaning against the wall parallel to Price. For you, maybe your mask doesn’t get hot, but his certainly does—though, he doesn’t voice that, simply listening. 

“Oh really?” Price hums, looking around the corner of the wall he’s leaned up against, spotting a few enemy soldiers walking by without a clue of who they’re in the presence of, “What’s yours made of, then?” 

“Polyester,” You answer. 

From what Ghost understands, you wear a mask for the same reason as him—anonymity. As much as he can respect that and understand the want to remain anonymous, he can’t help but wonder why you would want that. Is it for reasons similar to why he wears his? Have you gone through things similar to what he’s gone through? Did a fellow SAS soldier also murder your entire family and attempt to pin it on you, to which you responded by killing him, stealing his dog tags, and burning your own house down? He had many questions, but didn’t ask any. 

He doesn’t think you’d answer them, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t. He’d maybe try to divert the conversation with a bad dad joke, or simply not dignify the question with a response, anything but an actual answer. He strangely expects the same of you. 

He vaguely remembers a conversation he had with Price when you first joined maybe two months ago, specifically a comment Price had made about your file; “I had the same conversation with Laswell about their file that I did when I first got yours. She said the same thing when she saw their file, too, word for word.”

It turned out that they had the exact same exchange that they did when they saw Ghost’s file, verbatim. Laswell had pointed out that you had no picture, and Price said, “Never.” Ever since then, Ghost has felt an inexplicable connection to you, despite not having talked to you that much. 

He’ll admit, he tried to initiate a conversation with you more often than he did with the others when he first met them. Maybe one or two times a day, he’d find you and make small talk, something that made his skin crawl with discomfort but something he still forced himself to do, just to try and make sense of the invisible line that seemed to tie you both together. 

This small talk started off as anything from a question about the weather—yes, Ghost asked about the weather, unfortunately for the both of you considering how awkward and stilted that short conversation was—to asking about training and skills. He didn’t normally initiate conversations with anyone else, he was typically the one that was walked up to and barely even had to carry any conversations he was in. 

Every conversation the two of you had always ended the same way, though; with you cutting it short the moment it got anywhere near your personal life, or even just your life outside of being a part of the 141, and walking off elsewhere. Ghost could see the tiniest bit of himself in you everytime you did that, and an annoying voice in the back of his mind always asked, Was I always that much of a hardass? … Am I that much of a hardass?

“Ghost,” Price’s voice snaps Ghost out of his train of thought and he grunts, looking over at Price. The man in question nods his head towards the now clear path to the building they needed to get into, and Ghost nodded back, taking his SMG out of the sling and moving out of the small alleyway they’d camped in, following after Price. 

They quickly rush over to the building, the doors thankfully unlocked and the soldiers guarding it stupid enough to not be right beside the front doors, and lock the doors behind them once they’re in. 

“Are you guys in?” You ask, the wind no longer distorting your voice, the background of your audio now relatively silent except for your faint breathing. 

“Yeah,” Price replies, the darkness of the building making him squint as he scans the walls for some sort of light switch, “Anyone notice we got in?”

“Not that I can see, no,” You answer, your sigh audible through the comms, “They’re pretty far from the building, actually.” 

“Perfect,” Price hums, patting his hand along the wall for a moment before finding a large lever. He hesitates to pull it, and ultimately decides against it, deeming it too risky. Instead, he searches his tactical vest and goes through a few large pockets that sit around his lower midriff before finding a relatively small flashlight. 

He presses the button on the end of the handle with a small click, and the flashlight flickers for a moment before the light becomes consistent and a small buzz begins to sound. Price looks around for a second, scanning the area for any immediate threats, and motions for Ghost to follow him. 

“See anything?” You ask curiously, some rustling heard on your end. Ghost looks around for a second, footsteps echoing eerily through the building. 

“Nothing important,” He replies, voice quiet, “Just dust and old furniture.” 

“His office is just down there,” Price interjects, nodding towards the hall to their left, making Ghost look in that same direction, “I’ll head down there, you stay here, let me know if anyone’s coming.” 

The echo from Price talking to Ghost both through comms and being right beside him, as well as the echo from being in such a large room, starts to irritate Ghost. He rolls his shoulders and puts his gun back in the sling, looking back at Price.

“Turn off your comms,” His suggestion sounds more like a command, but he’s sure Price understands it’s more of a request than anything else, “You’re echoing. If anything happens, I can just talk to you without them.” 

Price pauses before nodding, and pressing the small button on his earpiece to turn off his mic, and the piece entirely. He trusts Ghost wholeheartedly, and it shows. He takes one last look around before walking towards the office he pointed out. 

The office belonged to the man who had stolen vital intel from the 141—not intelligence on the task force itself, but rather a separate team that had recently allied themselves with the task force. They couldn’t risk that data being taken, as it would not only expose the other team, but several other similar teams and task forces. 

Ghost waits until Price is actually in the hall before speaking again, “You still there, [c/n]?” 

“Yeah,” You answer almost immediately, “Need something?” 

“No,” Ghost hums, leaning against the wall behind him, “Just wanted to talk.” 

“Please don’t ask me about the weather again,” You sigh, almost exasperated, “Or about how my training is going, or about how my CO is, or—” 

“I’m not,” Ghost interrupts you, not sure whether to laugh or cry at your examples of past conversations. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise,” He says, before asking, “How long were you apart of the army, before joining here?” 

“Before the 141?” You pause, thinking for a moment, “Sounds kind of personal.” 

“You don’t have to answer,” Ghost offers, voice almost reassuring, “Just curious.” 

“Aren’t you always,” You mutter, a comment Ghost promptly ignores, before you properly answer, “Just a year. Maybe a year and a half.” 

“American army, right?”

“Mhm,” You hum, “Would you believe me if I said we sang Yankee Doodle before going on any missions?”

“Oh, sure I would,” Ghost chuckles, before countering, “Would you believe me if I said that song was made to mock Americans?” 

“I’m not sure if I should be offended that you believe that,” You say, a lighter lilt to your voice as you do compared to a few moments ago, “But yes, I believe you. I think that almost every American has reclaimed it as one of the most patriotic songs, though.” 

“Almost every American?” Ghost questions, growing more amused as the conversation goes on. It confuses him, making him wonder why he’s so easily drawn into conversations with you, no matter how small or dry. 

“I’m sure there’s some here and there that don’t like it,” You elaborate, “But I haven’t met any. Not yet.” 

“Alright,” Ghost nods even though you can’t see him, before asking another question, “What branch?” 

“The Navy,” You answer, now without questioning Ghost which brings him a strange sense of relief, “I flew planes around and stuff. Didn’t really like it, though.” 

“Oh yeah?” Ghost sounds more interested now, “Why not?” 

“The soldiers there aren’t the best people to be around,” You hum, the sounds of you moving audible, “One mention of any sort of mental issues, even if it’s just something like feeling anxious or being sleep deprived, and suddenly everyone’s on your ass pressuring you to be better or just… being weird about it. It gets draining after a while.” 

“I bet,” Ghost murmurs, “Is that why you left?” 

“Partially,” You answer honestly, “Half of it was that, the other half was that I just didn’t like flying planes. I was also eighteen and couldn’t really control my impulsive thoughts, so a majority of the time I was fighting myself trying not to crash the plane on purpose.” 

“Makes sense,” Ghost considers what you said for a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he asks, “Isn’t the enlistment age for the Navy nineteen?” 

“It is,” You assure him, “I was an exception, ‘cause I was a month or two away from turning nineteen.” 

“Hm,” Ghost hums, “And you’re twenty now?” 

“Twenty, almost twenty-one,” You confirm. 

“Did you wear the mask back then?” Ghost asks, praying that the question isn’t too personal to the point where you stop responding. He’s been dying to ask the question, always worrying whether or not it was too personal—it was pretty personal, to be fair, but he wasn’t used to worrying this much over another soldier, much less one he only met two months ago. Sure, you both wore a mask and remained somewhat anonymous, but that didn’t mean you two were automatically best friends who braided each other’s hair. 

“...” You don’t respond for a moment, making Ghost’s worry increase, before you reply, “No.”

Your simple answer makes Ghost more curious, and he can’t tell if he should ask why or not. He stays silent for a few seconds, weighing his options, before he ultimately says, “Alright.” 

He tries to leave it up to you whether or not you want to tell him about your own story, of if you’re comfortable with that, which you probably aren’t, considering that—again—the two of you only met a couple months ago.

“Did you wear the mask?” You ask quietly a moment later, catching Ghost off-guard, “Before this?” 

“Before the 141?” He echoes your question from earlier, nodding to himself, “Yeah. For some time before this, I had a different mask, but it was still a mask.” 

“Was the skull always there?” 

“Mhm.” 

“… For just aesthetic purposes, or?” Ghost feels the corners of his lips tug up in amusement at your question, and at how genuinely curious you sound. 

“Eh. Not really,” He answers, taking a deep breath in and out through his nose. He doesn’t say any more than that, not being able to as his mind takes him back to a time a while ago, when he was being held hostage and was in the same room as some kids who heard him spill his entire background to the men holding him hostage. 

He remembers one kid in particular, a little girl with blonde hair, who had listened to every detail that he’d said. When he was telling the story of why he has the call sign Ghost, in hopes of distracting the men so that the 141 could rescue him and the kids, she had clung to every detail and later asked him if what he had said was true, her tone of voice eerily similar to yours. 

He remembers when he was carrying her out of that room, the questions she’d bombarded him with, and how he answered every one with as neutral of an answer he could muster. He debates doing that now with any questions you ask, but decides against it almost instantly—something that shocks him, even though it was his own thought—considering that he wanted to ask you those same questions. Not about your call sign, only about the mask. 

“It’s a long story,” He says after you’ve been silent for a while, your curiosity somehow palpable even through just the comms, “But it has to do with some family members.” 

“Yeah?” You hum, “I know a thing or two about that.” 

“Do you?” Ghost asks, slightly ashamed at the small jolt of excitement he feels at the opportunity of hearing more about you. 

“Mhm,” You pause, staying quiet for a moment, before continuing, “About family members. Dead ones.” 

“Ah,” Ghost nods, the discomfort he originally felt sharing some of his own story starting to melt away, “Dead ones. I understand.” 

“Can’t tell if I should be glad or not,” You snort, “Like, I’m glad you understand, but also sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ghost grins under his mask, “I was wondering the same thing.” 

“So… dead ones,” You think out loud, before asking, “That’s why you have that call sign and mask?” 

“Yeah,” Ghost looks around for a moment, reminding himself to keep watch while talking to you, before cautiously asking, “Are yours the reason for your mask?” 

“Not really,” You answer honestly, with a little less resistance behind your answer to Ghost’s relief, “Well… I mean, kind of. But they’re not the reason-reason. I didn’t really like them, so I’m not gonna give them all the credit, but I’ll give them… maybe twenty-five percent of it.” 

“A quarter’s still a lot,” Ghost points out, “What’d they do to earn that?” 

“They died, and…” You’re doing more pausing and hesitating now, making Ghost wonder if he’s going to personal every second that you stay quiet, before you finally answer in a more guarded tone, “I almost got blamed for it. Almost.” 

Ghost gets hit with a pang of mixed emotions, like a weird sort of uncomfortable nostalgia. They almost got blamed for it. He lets out a breath that’s slightly shaky, and thinks for a moment before saying, “Almost?” 

“Almost,” You confirm, tone a little less guarded, presumably at Ghost’s more calm reaction, “Then I handled it the best I could, and the guy who killed them got what he deserved.” 

“Which was?” Ghost feels more of that uncomfortable nostalgia bubble up, giving him an uneasy feeling in his gut, as if he knows where this conversation is going. 

“Death,” You answer softly, “And the nameplate on his uniform stolen, which I replaced with mine. I would’ve taken his dog tags, but we didn’t really wear them on missions ‘cause our drill sergeant didn’t care too much.” 

Ghost can put a name to the feeling now. Déjà vu. He takes a deep breath and considers your words for a moment. 

“And the body?” His lips move before he can think. 

“Burnt.” You answer simply, “The whole house. It was mainly drywall, so it took a moment to actually completely catch on fire, but it was quick enough. It also smelled disgusting.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Ghost swallows, vividly remembering the smell of his own house, before continuing, “He was a soldier for the Navy, too?” 

“Mhm. He was… a Private, I think,” You reply, “I wasn’t too close with him. I wasn’t with anyone.” 

“And so the reason you wear the mask is…?” 

“I didn’t really exist anymore after that,” You hum, “At least, not to them. I was dead in a burned down house, my own house, and was far gone. I like wearing the mask; it keeps me as just another soldier, not as the person who died in that house.” 

“But you didn’t,” Ghost points out, trying to ignore the eerie feeling that only grows stronger the more you talk, “You’re here.” 

“… Yeah, I am,” You say after a moment of thinking, smile evident in your voice, “Doesn’t mean I can take that back, though. ‘s not the best feeling, doing something like that.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Ghost chuckles, “If anyone here, I’d be the person to know, kid.” 

“Really?” You ask, voice more curious like it was before, “Why’s that?” 

“I’ve… weirdly been through almost everything you said,” Ghost admits, “Word for word with the house burning down, actually.” 

“… Huh,” You huff out a small laugh before saying, “I’m wondering if I should feel happy or sad again.” 

“Me too, again,” Ghost smiles, eyes flickering up at Price’s footsteps sound through the hallway, his silhouette slowly coming into view, “One last question.” 

“Shoot.” 

“How’s the weather?” 

“I’m not answering that, fuck you.”

[outsideratheart]

The Ashley Sanchez Future With You (maybe something leading up to a proposal?)

- Writer

An Italian sunrise with a surprise (Ashley Sanchez x reader)

The off season was in full effect. You had taken a trip with your friends, your girlfriend included of course, and now you were in Italy on a family vacation.

After your conversation with Ashley you began to seriously consider marrying your girlfriend. The first thing on your to do list was find a ring that suited her and that showed how much you loved her. Much to your surprise this was rather easy. Instead of traipsing round every jewellery shop in the city, you decided to design one yourself. A one of a kind ring for a one of a kind woman.

The sun was barely visible over the horizon as you sat on the balcony. You had been up for just over an hour, your thoughts had been too loud for you to sleep.

On the table in front of you laid a velvet box.

This is where you would do it. It’s had been planned out for months. All you had to do was keep it together until then.

“Baby, it’s still early. Come back to bed” Ashley hoped to bury herself into your arms, not turn to find an empty bed.

“Watch the sunrise with me, Ash” you turn to face her and hold your hand out.

You can see her thinking about it. Ashley was many things but a morning person was not one of them.

“Please” it was a plea backed with softness.

She shook her head before grabbing on of your t-shirts. Once out on the balcony she takes her place on your lap and sees the reason why you had asked her to stay with you. The sunrises in Italy were the most beautiful she had ever seen.

“What’s this?” Ashley goes to reach for the box but you quickly take it off her. Deep down she knew what it was and she didn’t want to ruin whatever you had planned.

“It’s not in there. Look” you opened the box to show her it was empty.

“Would a ring have been in there?”

“It does look like one would fit” you tease her “would you still say yes?”

That night in your childhood home has turned into a core memory. It changed everything in your mind. It cemented just how much Ashley loved you and how much you loved her.

“I would. If I’m being honest I thought you would have asked by now. You never have been the most patient person”

It’s like something clicked. Ashley was right, you aren’t patient. When you want something you get it and for the last couple of months you have wanted nothing more than to make Ashley your fiancée.

“Wait here!” You use your strength to lift her up and place her gently on the chair the two of you were sat on.

You all but run to your parent’s room which was at the end of the hall. You knock rapidly on the door hoping that one of your parent would be up.

“Hi dad. It’s time. I need it” you don’t say anything else and a few second later he comes back with the ring.

“Don’t stress. Keep it simple”

Don’t stress. It’s like he didn’t know you at all.

Ashley is in the exact same place where you left her when you return. When she looks at you, you have no doubt that this is the best decision you will ever make.

“You gave it to your dad, didn’t you?” A smirk is plastered on her face.

“Yes I did. You’re a snooper so you left me with no choice”

You took a deep breath. Keep it simple, that’s what your dad said. You got down on one knee and took Ashley’s left hand in your own.

“For many years I have known you are the one for me. It wasn’t like a switch flipped. I just remember waking up one morning and realising that I never want to wake up without you. Everything that life has to offer, I want to experience with you. I have loved being able to call you mine for the last 8 years but I know I’ll love this next chapter even more”

Ashley listened to every word you said. She could have interrupted you and said yes straight away but she wanted to savour this moment.

“I love you with all my heart Ashley Sanchez and right here, right now, I promise to love you and cherish you until the end of time. Will you marry me?”

“Y/L/N, I told you once before that I would marry you and now I will tell you again. Yes, yes. A million times yes”

[poetatorturadaa]

Have my back, everyday, fels like home.

jason todd x fem!reader, light angst?, hopeful ending. soeees, I had this saved in notes for a long time, it doesn't have an exact beginning and nor an end, but I wanted to share it. English is not my first language, so let me know If I missed something, I hope you like it. <3

Jason looks at her and his eyes soften with something else, something like tenderness as he watches her take the strawberry from the bowl and chew on it. It's strange for him to think that she was ever interested in romance. It's not that he thinks romance doesn't suit her—he's seen her living with his siblings, she's a sweet, warm presence who can bring out the best in anyone. Hell, even Damian's. But she always plays the role of friend, of platonic confidant. No one seems to be able to see past her pretty face and realize how alone she feels.

Jason is not a poet, nor does his training as a vigilante offer many insights into romance. But he can see that there is something in her that craves attention, to feel loved. It's not Jason's place to fill that void, or at least, he's not supposed to. He then looks away and continues cleaning his motorcycle.

A weight floats in the air. Y/n doesn't recognize it, but the silence becomes too pronounced. It's almost as if even the cartoon on her phone knows there shouldn't be such an absence of words.

Jason's gaze moves back to Y/n's face, who remains focused on the screen. It's like it's easier to pretend that a cartoon is more interesting than whatever else is happening in the room. There's a strange electric hum in the air and her skin tingles when his gaze meets hers. There are so many different possible futures, each of them tugging at her heart in a thousand different ways.

He couldn't say anything, let the energy dissipate and pretend it never happened. He might give in and confess a secret that could turn everything upside down. He could engage in a monologue about the state of his soul.

Instead, he speaks plainly, as if none of these things were possible or even worth mentioning. "Do you want another strawberry?"

Y/n looks at Jason and feels a strange kind of kinship with the silence that hangs between them, even if he's doing her job, making the sound of metal scraping against stone. Still, she can't let herself get comfortable with the silence between her and Jason, and her thumb flicks across her phone to change the cartoon episode she'd just finished. "Yes, of course," she begins, looking at Jason, "So...what were you saying about Dick?"

"Dick seems to think you're keeping me balanced," he says quietly, taking a couple of seconds to extend the now half-full bowl of strawberries toward Y/n. There's a subtle change in her tone, a slight drop in sharpness. It's subtle, but is there anyway. "He thinks you... tame me or something." He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh, though that's completely accurate to her relationship with Dick.

In Jason's eyes, Y/n could only be described as the sunsets that seem to be longer in summer, a cup of coffee with the perfect amount of sugar on a winter night, and the sweet, pungent aroma before the rain. She is able to bring a strange feeling of calm to anyone who crosses her path. And as a close friend of the Bat-family, she is one of the few entities capable of talking reason to them. Y/n has the unique gift of being able to keep all of their tempers in check.

She lets out a small giggle at Jason's words, amused by the way Dick perceives her, oblivious to the fact that Jason actually thinks of her the same way too. "He must know something to think that." She scoffs, her voice as reserved as ever as she turns off her phone and puts it in her back pocket, turning around and placing her chin on the back of the couch to now look at Jason as her hand goes to grab another strawberry from the bowl he's holding. He extended it to her.

"He has this idea that you... calm me down" Jason continues, looking at her now. His expression has softened. "He has told me more than once that as long as you are in the game, I will be fine. That you will keep me in line and make me less destructive."

He pauses, turning his gaze to the metal of the motorcycle, which is now in perfect condition to be used again. "It's actually a little insulting," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. Y/n brings out the best in everyone, but it seems like no one believes she might be the one who needs to let her guard down.

Y/n discovers that she admires Jason more than she should. Maybe just a second longer, but Y/n is detail oriented. And that extra second was incredibly countable. The vigilante, and his gray-green eyes, tired and constantly expressive, in which she felt that if he looked for a second too long she would get lost again. Distracting hands. His expression was so different and complicated to put into words.

"I think we all need someone to take care of us." She responded softly, expressing between the lines her inner desire to have someone to take care of her too.

Jason's expression changes again. It is something so subtle that it cannot be pinpointed. But the weight is still there. And it's almost as if an entire novel has been written since his last words.

He looks up again and again his expression is hard to read. "I doubt anyone has ever taken care of you." His tone is soft, almost calm. It may seem like a shot to the heart, and maybe it is. But he says it sincerely, he knows that even though he and the rest of his siblings, even Bruce, or many other superheroes, are always there, she doesn't have a person to take care of her like she wants to be taken care of. And she deserves more than that.

[bi-bard]

Rogue Nightmares - Dream of the Endless Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Rogue Nightmares

Pairing: Dream of the Endless X Reader

Word Count: 1,068 words

Warning(s): nightmare

Summary: (Y/n) had been stuck in a loop of the same nightmare for weeks. When someone finally comes to save them, everything begins to change.

Author's Note: Guys. I love this.

PART TWO HERE!

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

I never understood how real a dream could feel.

That was until I had the same dream every day for two weeks (or longer, I wasn't sure of the exact starting date). Well, less a dream and more a nightmare.

It was always the same. Down to the last detail.

I would find myself outside in a forest. It would be dark, and I wouldn't be able to see past the trees closest to me. Then, there would be some kind of roar through the woods. From there, I would start running. Through the forest and the darkness, trying to not trip on roots and plants.

I would eventually make it to some kind of house. I would manage to close and lock the door, but the creatures would start slamming into the door and clawing at the windows. Just as the door gives way and the windows break, I would wake up.

That's how things usually went.

However, on another endless run of the same nightmare, I didn't wake up when the creatures broke in. I let out a yell and went to run away, but one of them caught me by the ankle. I was about to fight back when I saw someone else standing in the building.

On the other side of the room was a man. He was wearing all-black, and he was alarmingly calm. I furrowed my eyebrows. I wasn't concerned about anything other than this man's presence now.

"Who are you," I asked.

The room was suddenly empty. Like that small ounce of awareness was all it took to end it all. I pushed myself off the floor.

The man seemed shocked that I noticed him. His posture straightened a little bit and his eyebrows furrowed. I tried to not seem scared, but a mysterious man suddenly pops up in your nightmares and just watches it happen... it just doesn't give an impression of comfort.

"Who are you," I repeated, taking a few steps forward and trying to appear tough.

"I have many names."

"Wow, how mystical," I replied sarcastically. "What can I call you?"

"Morpheus."

"And why are you in my dreams," I asked.

"I was coming to protect you," he explained. "You shouldn't be able to notice me. Not truly. How did you?"

"You're a guy standing in a long black coat with the haircut of an emo band from the 2000s," I shrugged. "You're hard to miss. Even in my nightmares."

His eyes scanned over me with very little shame. He was trying to find answers about me without just asking me. I shifted a little bit and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What were you protecting me from?"

"A rogue nightmare."

I scoffed. "You make that sound like nightmares are living creatures."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh my God," I muttered. "So, umm, how does a nightmare go rogue?"

"This one seems to be feeding on you," Morpheus started walking around me, studying the room. "Your fear and panic. For its own entertainment. It left as soon as you pointed me out."

"Why," I turned to watch him move. I let my eyes scan him now. "Why was it so scared of you?"

"Because this is my realm."

"Realm?"

He turned back to me. "The realm of dreams. It's mine."

"Oh," I nodded. "Sure, okay, that makes sense."

He offered a small grin. I felt myself grin back. I had no real reason to trust this guy. I just did because it felt right. Like it was the smart thing to do.

"Will it come back," I asked. "The... The nightmare. Will it come back?"

"Yes."

I felt my shoulders tense at the definite answer. "How are you going to stop it?"

"You have no reason to worry-"

"You said that you were going to protect me," I stepped up to him. Probably too close but he didn't seem to mind. "I want to know how you're going to protect me."

"I have to catch it."

"How do you do that?"

He sighed. "You have to go through the nightmare again."

"I was worried you were going to say that."

The next night, I found myself running through the trees again.

But this time, instead of running into the house, I took a very sudden turn to the right, rounding the corner of the house and leaving the creatures to storm in.

I slowly moved to look back around the building's corner. They were disappearing. All of them. Just vanishing. And then, everything was silent.

I waited a minute to see if anything else was going to happen.

Nothing. No noise or lights or anything. It was over.

I let out a shocked laugh when I realized that the plan had worked. I took off running into the house, finding Morpheus standing in the middle of the room. I only stopped for a moment in the doorway as we looked at each other. Then, I sprinted forward and almost tackled him in a hug.

He slowly hugged me back.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"It's my responsibility."

"Doesn't matter," I stepped back to look at him. "You probably saved my life. Let me thank you, dammit."

He smiled a little bit. "You're welcome."

The two of us fell silent. We were both just looking at each other. I could think of so many situations where this would've made me so uncomfortable. But with him, it wasn't like that. It almost felt natural.

"You should be able to sleep without constant nightmares now," he explained. "However, the chance of you having a nightmare is not gone. I cannot promise something like that."

I nodded.

I stepped forward again. His eyebrows furrowed at me. I leaned in hesitantly and kissed his cheek. It was only a peck. Probably less than a second.

His eyes went a little wide as I leaned back. I had to hold back a chuckle at the confused look that was clearly on his face.

"I hope to see you again, Morpheus."

He seemed to ignore what I said. "This dream is over."

"What-"

"This dream is over," he waved his hand in front of my face.

I woke up back in my bed. I blinked the sleep from my eyes before sitting up.

I chuckled to myself and laid back down.

I knew somehow that I was going to see Morpheus again. Somehow.

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

Author's Note: I have a part two planned for this if anyone wants to read that.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[jenanigans1207]

“With Cas,” Sam presses on, but his voice has gone gentle, like he knows that he’s dangerously close to cracking every facade Dean has worked so hard to maintain for so many years. “You don’t have to do anything different. You don’t have to give anything up, you don’t have to change anything about yourself. He’s already seen what an asshole you are before coffee, and how goddamn messy you leave the bathroom,” That earns a surprised laugh out of Dean and he’s finally able to look up again. “Hell, Dean, the dude’s seen your literal soul. If he knows you that well and he’s stupid enough to stay by your side the way he has, that’s meant to be.”

Dean clears his throat, but it doesn’t do anything to make the lump that’s formed there go away. “Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

“He is.” Sam agrees. He pauses for a second, like he’s contemplating whether or not to say one more thing. Dean can see it in his gaze, the exact moment he decides to go for the kill. “And I can trust him to take care of you, you know? He’d do anything to protect you and keep you safe. He gave up the entire Heavenly Host for you, Dean.”

“For us,” Dean tries to correct, because if he doesn’t , he might actually lose the ability to speak completely.

“For you.” Sam corrects back. “I’m just part of your packaged deal. But if I hadn’t been here and it had been just you, he still would’ve done it.”

It’s not often that Dean allows himself to think of what Cas gave up— not because he doesn’t appreciate it or recognize the magnitude of it, but because it makes him feel completely and utterly inadequate. Because Cas gave up literally everything for him and he’s— he’s just some guy. For all that every God, Monster, and Demon seems to love the taste of his name on their tongue, he’s really not anything special. He’s just some guy who was too weak to sustain the never-ending torture of hell and instead gave in to the worst side of himself, turning himself into the kind of monster he would kill if he ever ran across it. He has trust issues, he has anger issues, he has— a whole hell of a lot more than that, to say the least. He’s not a good person, not an honest or honorable person.

He’s not the kind of person an Angel of the Lord should even look twice at, let alone the kind of person an Angel of the Lord should choose.

Cas could’ve had it all— every happiness heaven had to offer. He could’ve stayed in God’s good graces, in the good graces of the other angels. He could’ve had anything he wanted and instead he chose to sit in the backseat of the Impala, to watch over Dean and Sam while they sleep in every shitty motel the country has to offer. He chose to never eat a homecooked meal, to barely even have a place to call home. He chose what Dean would describe as the worst possible life and honestly? He doesn’t seem like he’s ever looked back.

And when Dean examines that too closely, he just feel like absolute shit. Because Cas deserves everything. He deserves every happiness he gave up, every opportunity he turned down. He deserves more than Dean can ever give him. And Dean often feels like a selfish asshole— dragging Sam back into the life because he didn’t want to be alone, selfishly trying to keep people close to him the they were better on their own— but he’s never felt like more of a selfish piece of shit than he does when he realizes that he’s glad Cas chose to stay down here with them— with him.

“Yeah, well,” Dean’s voice is rough, raw. He feels like he’s bleeding somewhere internally. “It wouldn’t be the right choice.”

“Choosing you is always the right choice, Dean.” Cas’ voice sounds from the doorway suddenly and both Dean and Sam whip their heads in that direction when they realize he’s there. “I understand that I have my work cut out for me in terms of making you realize that, but I will never regret choosing you.”

Dean clenches his jaw and looks away at the same time that Sam breaks out into a smile. It’s small, but it’s genuine and grateful, and Dean thinks that maybe he could just sock both of them in the face and this unbearably vulernable moment could finally pass.

“Cas,” Sam says after a second, “I’d say welcome to the family, but you’ve been part of the family for a long time already.”

God, every part of Dean aches. Everything inside of him feels like it’s bending and then snapping completely as Cas walks fully into the room and meets Sam for a hug, as they smile at each other. The two people who mean the most in the entire world to Dean, and they care about each other in a way Dean could only dream that they’d be able to. It’s absolutely unbearable, how happy he is. He’s so fucking happy that it hurts, a deep ache, a brittle and tender feeling. He doesn’t think his bones are strong enough to withstand it and he thinks that soon he may just fall apart completely.

“Your blessing still means a lot, Sam.” Cas is saying with a hand clapped on Sam’s shoulder. Neither of them are directly looking at Dean but he knows that they’re both paying attention to him anyway, their gazes fixed on him out of the corners of their eyes.

“Hey, I had no choice. I was stuck with him from birth. But he’s alright, all things considered.” Sam is joking and Dean thinks that maybe if he just starts screaming, it would do something to dull these emotions. “So if you’re dumb enough to choose him, well, I’m not going to say no to that.”

Cas shakes his head a little as he lets out a huff of a laugh. “I am.” Is all he says.

It’s such a simple answer, but it encompasses so much. It encompasses every fight they’ve had, every betrayal they’ve managed to pave over. It encompasses the taste of bad blood that stained the space between them so many times as much as it encompasses all the times Dean dropped to his knees and prayed— to Cas, to God, to whoever the hell would listen— begging for Cas’ safety, for his return, for the knowledge that he would always be there. It encompasses every time they’ve been the cause of each other’s wounds as much as it encompasses every time they’ve tenderly and carefully dressed the wounds caused by other people.

It’s only two words, but it says multitudes. Dean had done his part in confessing, in prying every last word out of the shadowed corners of his heart, even with the curse had lifted and the ability to lie has returned to him. And Cas had certainly returned the confession, though it seemed to physically pain him much less to do so. And despite that, hearing Cas claim him to Sam like that, openly and easily acknowledging everything they’ve done through with words that are meant to be a promise for the future— well, Dean really thinks he might be at the limit of all he can bear.

“But make sure you take care of him, alright?” Sam adds, more somber. Even though he’d already expressed his knowledge that Cas would, unfailingly. Even though Cad had, over and over again. But there’s something in the brotherly codebook that demands Sam verbalize it anyway. Dean knows because he would’ve done the same thing.

“I mean,” Cas pulls his expression back into something serious, too. One of his angel faces that gives away very little emotion. “Your brother is reckless, and self-sacrificing. He’s stubborn, too, and almost never listens to reason.”

“Alright, alright—“ Dean tries to interject.

But Cas keeps going, the corner of his lip quirked up, giving away his amusement and sarcasm while Sam laughs openly. “He shoots first and sometimes asks questions later, and I honestly am not yet certain if he knows what a vegetable is.” And then Cas turns his eyes to Dean and the other half of his mouth turns up, too, so he’s actually smiling, and his voice is much softer when he adds, “but I promise to try my best.”

Dean meets his gaze like he has so many times in the past, but it’s completely different now. He’s much better at reading and understanding the emotions in Cas’s eyes, in the lines of his expression. But he also doesn’t have to turn away as the warmth blooms on his chest. He’s allowed to feel that now, to embrace it— if he ever figures out how.

“You’ve got good points.” Sam claps Cas on the shoulder, back to full-blown amusement. “I should probably be wishing you good luck with him instead.”

Cas nods solemnly, “I will need it.”

[iamthecomet]

mommeeeetttt,,,,,

mountain in the kitchen eating a banana cuz he wanted a quick snack!! aeth walks in and sees him eating the last banana and gets upset (he wanted it) so mountain playfully offers to feed it to him, but aeth will never say no to nana!! Mountain tries to push it as far as he can cuz he wants to see if aeth will gag (he doesn't lol just stares at him like ??? and takes the BIGGEST bite off the banana) Mountain is kind of surprised but also turned on!! asks aether if he can also take him without gagging (bc monster ghock amiright?) the rest is up to you <3

Raavveeennnnn. Finally. FINALLY. getting to the banana fic. <3 <3

Aether doesn't have a gag reflex. Mountain feels like he should have known that before now. It's important information, crucial even.

He holds Aether's gaze, as the banana disappears into Aether's waiting mouth. Aether winks at him. He reaches up to take the banana from Mountain's grasp so he can actually eat it. Mountain lets it go without a though, he's too busy watching Aether pull it out of his throat and take a sizable bite. He swallows, his mouth is dry. "Why are you looking at me like that," Aether asks, happily taking another bite of the banana that was supposed to be Mountain's breakfast.

"You didn't--I thought you'd--"

"What? Gag?" Aether winks at him again and turns headed out of the kitchen. "I've had bigger things in my throat than this." "What about me?" Mountain says, all in a rush. He doesn't plan to say anything, the words just spill out of him. He feels his face heat as soon as they're out.

Aether's sucked Mountain off plenty of times. But never like that. He rarely gets deep-throated. There's a lot of him to swallow down, and he's just as happy with a good old-fashioned blow job. Or, at least, he was until this exact second. Aether licks his lips. His eyes dart down to the front of Mountain's sweatpants. His cock is already fattening up against the fabric, there's no hiding it. "I can do it," Aether says, confidently, almost nonchalant, like it's a foregone conclusion.

"You never have."

"You never asked." "I--"

Aether's on his knees in front of Mountain before Mountain has fully comprehended what's happening. Aether reaches up, pulls Mountain's sweatpants down, and curls his fingers around his half-hard cock.

Mountain thinks about stopping him. It's 10am. They're in the kitchen. But then Aether's rolling his foreskin back and sucking the head into his mouth and Mountain's brain turns off. Shuts up. Relents. Mountain rests one hand on the back of Aether's head. He braces himself on a chair with the other. As Aether sucks more of him into his mouth, works him to full hardness. Mountain isn't sure what he expects. Something slow maybe, Aether building himself up to take him. But that isn't what he gets. Instead, Aether takes him fully in one go. A slow easy slide until Aether's nose is pressed into the coarse curls at the base of Mountains' cock. He doesn't gag. He doesn't sputter. Instead, he looks up at Mountain, doe-eyed, lips and throat stretched around him. And Mountain feels his knees go weak. Aether swallows around him and Mountain can't fight the sound that comes out of him, can't help the way his hips twitch forward. Aether pulls off and Mountain watches each slick inch emerge from his plush lips with rapt attention. "Told you," Aether says with a grin. Then he pushes away. He stands up. Mountain grabs for him but Aether slips out of his fingers. "What? Wait--"

Aether uses his thumb to wipe an invisible drop of drool from the corner of his mouth. "Did you want something else?" Mountain blushes. He glances down at his wet cock, then back up at Aether. He'd like to say something, but he doesn't know how to get his brain back online enough to put his dick away, never mind find words to ask Aether what's happening. "Don't worry big guy," Aether says, turning and heading for the door. "I'll finish you off later."

[cookinguptales]

Something I always think about a lot during disability/chronic illness/rare illness pride months is like... It is wild how often people will come up to me and want me to listen to some guilty secret they have re: disability and expect me to tell them it's okay.

Like... once I was waiting for my dad to bring the car up at the airport, and this guy approaches me and starts telling me why he'd never want to date a disabled woman. (I'm gay and completely uninterested in men, which made this whole interaction even more awkward.) And after talking about all the reasons why people like me would not make a good partner he turns those sad eyes on me like, "But that doesn't make me a bad person, does it? I'm not doing anything wrong. Like, you get it, don't you?"

You get it, don't you?

I hear that one a lot.

Like when the grad student teaching one of my classes at my university was chatting to me after class and told me that once she and her friends went to Disney World and pretended to be disabled to get onto the rides faster. I recognized the nervous laughter, the entreating look. The you get it, don't you?

I understand what these people are asking me for. They want absolution. They want this disabled person, maybe the first real disabled person they've ever talked to, to listen to their guilty secret and tell them they're okay. They're not a bad person. I don't mind. I don't judge them. I get it.

But frankly... I don't get it. These people often tell me that they've done things that make disabled people's lives actively worse. Disney has changed their policies re: disability because so many able-bodied people were abusing them. Companies and organizations walk back accommodation policies all the time because they're being abused. That grad student who pretended to be disabled actively made disabled people's lives harder.

And I don't really give a shit if one asshole dude doesn't want to date disabled women (probably better for those women, tbh) but I know how bad it feels to be ghosted on a dating app when you talk about accessibility, even when your profile is explicit about your disability. I know that I felt like I was not worth loving in spite of my disability for years because I knew that people like that guy would only see all the ways I'd slow them down.

Guys like that actively make us hate ourselves.

But like... it's wild how these people don't see how the only thing crueler than harboring these feelings and doing these things is making some random disabled person listen to their stories. My day was going great before some guy practically gave me a powerpoint about why I should never expect to have a relationship. I really enjoyed that class before I found out that my teacher had participated in the exact kind of ableist theft of accommodations that was currently making it difficult for me to get accommodations at that school.

They took this weight they were holding on their shoulders and then forced it onto mine -- and then expected me to comfort them. To tell them it was okay. To throw my fellow disabled folks under the bus.

And -- both of these times in particular, I was in situations where I was not really free to speak my mind. Alone with a big guy in a parking garage? Alone with the woman who would ultimately decide my grade for the class? The power differential there was huge. And whether they were consciously doing it or not, they were leveraging that power differential to try and force me to give them absolution.

I made noncommittal noises. Really, what else was I supposed to do? And even then, I could see the spark of disappointment and anger in their eyes. I was supposed to tell them it was okay that they'd hurt me and people like me. I was supposed to tell them they were still good.

But I didn't want to offer them absolution, and I was angry that they'd asked for it in the first place. I can't offer you forgiveness for something you know is wrong -- and that you've done nothing to fix. Moreover, I won't. You should feel bad that you hurt us. You should feel guilty. It's a shitty thing to do.

If you want to feel better about yourself, stop doing shitty things!

And I knew these people were still doing shitty things because dumping all this on me when I was just minding my own business was in and of itself a shitty thing. Trying to transfer their burden to me. Reminding me about the discrimination I have to face every day just so they could feel better. Expecting me to do emotional labor on command for strangers because it doesn't matter if I hurt so long as they feel good.

That's shitty! Don't do it! I already have to use physical crutches, don't try to turn me into an emotional one!

[shotgunbunny]

Haii sorry if this is an odd request but could you write a angst fic w/ Lloyd where he visits the readers grave and recalls all their fun memories 🥺 sorry it's a bit cheesy I just want wanna be hurt so bad

༻𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩༺

I just finished reading All the bright places so I'm in a super angsty mood😌

(Warnings!! Angst!! Dead reader!! Unhinged Lloyd!! Sadness!! Fluffy memories!! Implied smut.)

Everyone always wanted to know how Lloyd Hansen became the sick and twisted individual he was today. No one could track down the moment. No one could link anything traumatic to him.

Lloyd made sure of that, he became hellbent on hiding who he was after you left. He wouldn't let you be his weakness ever again. He had failed once and he'd never fail again, so he painfully burned every document of your existence yet, he couldn't burn you out of his mind.

He had keyed the exact moment he had left his sanity behind and it was with you. Every part of his humanity was left behind with you. And now he was unstoppable. He was unhinged and a monster.

Every time Lloyd passes by a flower shop he's transported to your first meeting. To the very second he fell in love with you. That's why he avoided them, yet he never damaged them. He respected flower shops, almost as if he could hear you chastising him for being so rude to a place filled with life.

It was a shit day. It was a really shit day. It was raining and Lloyd had crashed his car. Only 3 weeks after he had finished Harvard and what does he do? Goes and crashes his goddamn car. Well by his car he means his mums, so he has to find a way to apologize.

He passed by bakeries and Gucci stores yet it didn't appeal to him as an apology. And then as he was walking he saw a glimpse of a yellow dress dash inside a store. He stared and walked slowly towards the store. He noted it was a flower store. The plants were outside getting soaked, something he assumed would be good.

Yet he watched as the girl in the yellow dress ran out and collect another two pots and run back in. He smirked watching her to and fro. He walked over, getting soaked. The door opened and out stepped you. "Do you want some help here sunflower?" You looked up at the man, noting his strange moustache but finding it endearing somehow.

"Yes please bluebell!" And before he could even question the nickname you rushed inside with another two potted plants. He smiled, and picked up as many as his arms would let him. You opened the door and let him in. You headed out and noted there was only one plant left. You snatched it and headed into the dry store.

You placed it on the counter and turned, jumping out your skin at seeing the man looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. You stared into his eyes, noting how blue and beautiful they were. "Bluebell? Where did that nickname come from sunflower?" You giggled. "Your eyes are blue and your top is blue." He smiled at you.

He was dressed in a long sleeved blue top with black pants. He made it look so amazing, almost like he was a model. You stared at each other and you turned away, tending to the plants from outside. "Hey sunflower, you don't have any flowers that say 'I'm sorry mum.' do you?" You turned and gave him the harshest glare you could.

He held his hands up in defeat and your look, "What did I do wrong sunflower?" You bravely poked his chest, "Yeah what did you do wrong bluebell? Why do you have to apologize to your mum? Were you mean?" He looked down sheepishly and rubbed his wrist, "I kind of crashed her car." You stared at him with wide eyes. "You're gonna need alot more than an apology mister."

He smiled down at you offer his hand to shake, "Call me Lloyd I think I'll be visiting this flower shop often." You took his hand and he pulled it to his lips placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. You uttered your name to him, finding a heavenly symphony drifting into your ears when he said your name.

You were working hard, it had been months now and you and Lloyd had been dating for four months. He spoiled you rotten yet despite his whining you refused to quit your job.

Which is where you were right now. However you couldn't tell what was wrong with this Orchid. Suddenly two big hands covered your face and blocked your eye site and a smooth deep voice echoed behind you. "Guess who Sunflower?" You giggled, "Hmmm is it Suzanne?" He took his hands away and gasped.

You giggled and turned to look at him, he stared at you a smile joining his lips at the sound of your giggle. You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and then turned back to look at the flower. Lloyd placed his big hands on your hips and pulled you into him. He placed his chin on top of your head. "What's wrong sunflower?" You stared and muttered, "I'm not sure bluebell."

You took it into the back and saw someone had over watered it. You sighed and began putting it into different soil and then remembered Lloyd was with you. You smiled, "Fun fact bluebell, did you know that orchids don't need soil because they get all their nutrition from the air?" He stared at you so inlove. "I didn't. But if they don't need soil why are you putting it in soil?"

You smiled, "Because then it will be comfier and will have extra nutrition." Lloyd breathed out of his nose just staring at you, "You're lovely sunflower. Absolutely lovely."

You turned and pressed a kiss to his lips, he kissed back instantly embracing this moment and how fast his heart beat inside his chest.

It was your year and a half anniversary, and Lloyd had left bluebell flowers on your doorstep with a note telling you to dress nice and be ready by 7. You were so giddy. You put on your beautiful pale yellow flowing dress that Lloyd got you on your year anniversary so that he could remember that yellow dress you wore when you first met.

You smiled, truly adoring it, feeling prettier than the flower he often called you. You were nervous yet excited beyond reason. He always went all out for anniversaries. So when 7 o'clock rolled up, as did Lloyd in his sleek car. You took steps down to him, a smile on your face matched perfectly with your blush.

"My sunflower you truly leave me speechless sometimes." You giggled and when you reached him you kissed him, ofcourse he had to bend but he would always welcome your kisses. When your lips met his, he was home. He felt safe and loved. He pulled away and looked down at you.

"Come on, let's go." You took his hand as he led you to the passenger side. You sat and as you began driving to his car, you could tell he was nervous from how tense his biceps were. You reached out and placed your hands on him, trying to relax him, he flashed you his signature smile. And before you could blink you were at his house.

You adored his house, you even started bringing flowers to brighten up the living space. You always giggled at the fact he kept a bouquet of sunflowers in every room. He always kept you close, so that he could wake up to you in some form.

You got out, and headed along the driveway that was scattered in fake rose petals. You turned to him, "You take my breath away everytime bluebell." He looked down and then back up a real smile adorning his lips. "I suppose that means I'll have to give you mine." He stepped forward and latched your lips together before blowing and literally giving you his breath.

You laughed, and headed into his home. And instantly gasped. Hanging from a thread was a key and a note that read 'Live in my greenhouse, sunflower. Move in with me.' you laughed and turned and hugged him. "Ofcourse I'll move in with you!" He couldn't help but laugh with you. That night was sealed with your bodies joining each other. Wrapping your soul around each other and embracing the love you held for eachother.

And ofcourse the happiest day of Lloyds life. Your wedding. The way you smiled only at him. How your eyes locked together all the way down the aisle. You were truly infatuated with eachother. And nothing could have stopped Lloyds from marrying you that day.

Everything was perfect, that's what the general consensus was. But all that mattered to him was you. You were perfect. You peppered him in kisses the entire time.

And your first dance was so magical. Lloyd still has every step you both took engrained in his mind. How he held your so delicately against him. How you looked like a goddess in his arms. Your eyes burning with love and pure happiness all while you swayed to the long.

He could have drowned in your presence and all he would ask for is if you would hold him under your waters. He felt so peaceful, so fulfilled. You were Mrs. Hansen. The only right thing he ever did in his entire life.

He bought flower shops everywhere and named them after you so that your first meeting was everywhere. So that your love was sold in every store. So that yours and his story lingered on every petal bought by young lovers and old soulmates. He would make sure that your brilliance shined throughout the world through colours and smells of magnificence. Yes he was truly happy that day.

Lloyd wiped his tears. He had heard many fairy tales of how he turned into a monster. But none knew he died the second you did. There was no happiness left for him. And it broke him that so many flower stores held your name.

Like you were lingering beyond the grave telling him you wouldn't be dead if he didn't walk into that flower shop. He can't look at sunflowers without his bones aching for your soft whisper to call him bluebell.

He can't do anything but kill and forget all about you, even if it killed him. But for now, he could keep this secret. See he made sure you were burried in the Netherlands purely because of how many flowers were there.

Your tomb didn't have your name, it was merely engraved as "sunflower, the love of bluebells life." He visited every year on your wedding anniversary. He left a single sunflower and bluebell. Just so that you two could be together in flower form.

He always stays there for hours thinking about how much he loves you even though you aren't present. He has so much love he just can't let it go. Not when you existed. And despite how much Lloyd hates flower shops now, he never changed the name.

Hoping that in some other universe they remain the same, and you both met there. He lets his head fill with fantasies of different worlds in flower shops, and always you.

His one true weakness, and it destroyed him. He couldn't help but become a monster after, with no softness to hold him and comfort his skin he saw no reason to slaughter those that stood in his way.

Lloyd let out a sigh, placing a gentle kiss on your tombstone. He stood up, but now he had a slouch. Only truly fulfilled men had the right to stand at full height, and he never got his forever with you, or the family.

No instead he got a phone call dragging him out of his silent grieving, "What?" The line went silent before he heard Carmichael give him a request to hunt someone down for a drive. He hung up and with one last glance at your resting area and a tight lipped smile, he headed to his mission.

He was unknowningly about to meet you in a flower store in another universe soon. And that was the tragic tale of the Hansens.

[prof-ramses]

Horror Lingers in Hope

So, this is my first proper SM ficlet, and it's Roy angst because of course it is. I wrote this about a month ago, but refined it since and am posting to get extra hype going for the impending release of HS!

TW: Nothing explicit, but there is reference to past CSA, as should be expected from a Roy angst fic.

Roy was honestly surprised when his parents let him invite not only Susie, but Ross and Robert over. He was obviously glad, it just seemed a bit sudden. "Man, this place rocks, Roy!" Robert said as he looked around the lavish living room. "Heh, yeah, it does." was all Roy could muster, it was nice to not worry about anything for a bit, just enjoying a day with the people who mattered. "Now try coming here for dates all the time." Susie chirped, "With this fine specimen." She playfully tugged at Roy's cheek and got a little chuckle out of him. “So, being the great host I am,” Roy half-joked, “I wanted to ask; What do you guys want to do?” “Wait, you said you were writing a song, right? Can we hear it?” Again, Ross’s question took Roy a little off guard, it’s not that he didn’t like the attention, I was just something he wasn’t used to, at least not in this way. “Only, and I mean only, if  you promise not to make fun of how cheesy it is.” Which it was, a ballad he was working on for Susie, he’d never admit it, but it started as a birthday present he didn’t finish in time.Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, Susie butted in, “AND if you promise not to get jealous of his singing voice.” “Oh, yeah” Ross joined in, “I don’t think I’ve heard you sing, man.“ “Then you’re missing out. Trust me.” “Why are you saying that like I’M the talented one?” “Roy, you’ve heard me sing, you know which one of us has that kind of talent!” “I know, I know, you’re just a lot of fun to mess with.” And without missing a beat, Susie responded to her boyfriend the exact way he expected from her and loved her for, “Yep, we’re really in sync like that.”

That was when Roy's mother poked around the corner "Does anyone want anything? I've been meaning to try some new smoothie recipes." "Nope, but thanks for the offer, Mrs. L." Ross responded for the group, he really had a way of reading the room.

Just then there was a knock at the front door *knock--knock* Roy's hearing suddenly clouded as he heard his father in the next room say "Ah, on time for once." Suddenly everything seemed darker, everyone turned to him. Their mouths didn't seem to move, yet he could hear them, in unison "Go on Reynold, answer it." He suddenly found himself right in front of that door, the knock came again, faster *knock-knock* Roy felt something in his hand, nevermind the fact that it hadn't moved. The door opened and there he was. "Hey little man. Long time no see."

Suddenly Susie entered from Roy's peripheral vision approaching that monster, a calm, accepting smile on her face, yet her eyes full of tears, pleading through acceptance. "Thanks for this little number, Roy. Still not quite on par with those 2 treats you got me a few years back." "No-NO, NO! You're dead, you died that Halloween! You're gone! GONE!" Even with the door open, that knocking persisted *knockknock-knockknock "Thanks again, kiddo." He said as he wrapped his arm around Susie's. Her voice sounded so peaceful as she said; “Don’t worry, Roy. This is how it was always going to be.”. "You've done wonders for you're dear uncle." His voice rang out as the knocking turned into a near constant drone of beating against Roy’s mind. He tried to reach out, to pull Susie away, to do ANYTHING. But he couldn’t, he ran faster and faster, but with every step he felt like something was pulling him down.

Roy damn near fell out of his bed when he lurched forward as he awoke in a frigid sweat. The quiet of the night and the air around him feeling like a gentle hand on his shoulder telling him to leave that horror behind. Telling him to leave it behind in the exact way he couldn't leave it behind. Not alone. But he already told Ross and Robert everything, they'd already helped as much as they could. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he could tell dad, not yet. Mom, maybe, at least she wouldn't feel betrayed be her own blood. And Susie… how would he even start telling her? It didn’t matter, he had to tell them... Soon, sometime soon....

[almost-a-class-act]

This is the only 'x reader' fic I have ever written, so you know I wrote it for a real one. Happy birthday, peepaw. Gremlin Town wouldn't be the same without you. @cody-helix02

Pairing: Bill x reader Fandom: Band of Brothers

--

The reunion goes off like gangbusters, predictably.

Bill is great at this kind of thing. Relentlessly cheerful, he nevertheless gives off the impression that if anyone skips the reunion, he will know why. It had taken the right amount of reassuring, cajoling, threatening, and enticing with some people, but the turnout has ended up being pretty impressive, and you can tell Bill is over the moon about it. He’s in his exact element, swinging from table to table on those crutches he is improbably gifted at using, spinning yarns and flirting with wives and buying beers.

And you, well – you’re the opposite side of that coin, maybe, better in small groups than big ones, and though you are having a good time, you take the first opportunity to sneak out for a smoke break.

The further you step away from the light spilling out of the doors, propped open to let the cool night air into the stuffy legion hall, the more the stars fade into view. You pause, the cigarette that you’ve just pulled free of the carton frozen halfway to your lips, and tip your head back to take it all in.

You don’t think you’ll ever see stars again the way you did in Bastogne, the atmosphere then almost transparent in the cold, far-flung constellations you might have recognized if you had spent more time paying attention in school and less time sketching in the margins of your textbooks. The stars seem warmer here, a little closer to the earth but a little further apart from one another, and it hardly seems like it could be the same sky that was so unforgiving all those months – well, actually, years ago, now.

Sometimes the passage of time stops you in your tracks. The specific memories crowd close in your mind, especially at night, but the war itself feels distant. You wonder if you’ll get to decide what pieces you forget over time, and which stay with you; you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Can I get one of those?”

Bill’s voice makes you start slightly, and you turn to look at him, immediately and always pleased to see him but faintly uncomprehending, until he nods pointedly at the carton that you’re still holding. You tuck the cigarette in your hand between your lips before offering the rest, and as you slip the box back into your pocket, Bill lights his own cigarette and then yours. You hold his hand steady with the tips of your fingers as he does it, and it feels like you are alone in all of the same small, secret bubbles that you’d carved out for yourselves during the war.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” he says. Just as you’re well aware of how much of a people person Bill is – and it might be one of your favourite things about him, that knack that he has – he knows that you disappearing occasionally just means you’re getting a break from the crowd.

“It’s going really well,” you tell him, glancing back toward the packed hall, and he grins.

“Yeah,” he says, pleased. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

The music from inside, where the tables have been pushed aside to make room for dancing, is clearly audible through the open doors, and as the opening notes of Give Me Something to Dream About float out on the evening air, you are reminded strikingly of that gritty basement bar in Paris where you had spent many of your nights on leave. The air had smelled like cigarettes and too many people crowded into one place and the beer had been decidedly warm, but it had been a welcome oasis anyway. You glance at Bill, who expels a stream of smoke and nods without you even having to say anything.

“Paris,” he says.

“Paris,” you agree.

The band had never wanted to play too many slow numbers, apparently afraid it would bring down the mood, but sometimes they could be persuaded to do a love song or two. Give Me Something to Dream About had been a favourite of yours, and Bill, though self-proclaimed not really a slow song kinda guy, used to ask for it toward the end of the night.

You asked them to play this, you had accused, the first time.

So what? He had returned. Maybe I like this one.

He beckons to you now, leaning heavier on one crutch to do so, the glow of that cigarette another pinpoint of starlight in the dark. You step forward, smiling despite yourself, and loop your arms loosely around his neck, your own cigarette dangling from your fingertips. It’s funny, you think, that you would know the bright-warm feeling of his body against yours anywhere, even a lifetime from now – even if you’d gone your separate ways at war’s end.

“You know, I like that you still want to dance with me,” Bill says, as you sway gently. It’s as charming as anything else he has ever said to you, but you know what lives underneath. It’s another small piece of the future that Bill had had to gently let go of after he’d lost his leg, still a weighty undertaking even beneath that irrepressible good cheer.

“It’s better like this, anyhow,” you say, meaning it. “I never remember all the steps to the fast ones.”

Bill chuckles, obviously remembering the two of you very firmly making up dances as you went along, and the familiar sound of his laugh makes you grin, too.

You feel lucky that it ended up this way, you think, as you crowd in close, pressing your cheek against Bill’s for a moment, tipping your head down so you can briefly nose against the soft skin under his ear, where it smells the most like him. Your friends, finally safe, are all together again in a warm, bright, happy room behind you, and you’re here –  tucked away, safe too, under that staggering spray of stars, in the arms of your favourite dance partner.

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Sundane

Rating: G Media: Jujutsu Kaisen | JJK Pairing: Geto Suguru & Original Female Character Characters: Geto Suguru, Valerie (Self-Insert) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Not Canon-Compliant, Angst, Heartbreak, Geto and OC are roommates, Gojo is mentioned but does not make an appearance (the implication is that he's dead)

Summary:

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Exactly who do you think I am, that I would be in a place to judge you for anything?”

She shrugs, her gaze on the water. “Do you ever just… watch yourself do things? Like, you can see what you’re doing almost like you’re outside of yourself. You’re just watching… and you’re horrified because you know you shouldn’t be doing the things, but you can’t stop yourself? You just kind of… watch yourself implode, and there isn’t anything you can do in time to stop it from happening.”

Immediately after she’s stopped talking she regrets it. Even without replaying the words in her mind, she knows they make very little sense.

Read on AO3

A/N: I just felt like Geto would understand complicated emotions, even if they weren't explained well.

“Well?” Suguru says. “What’s with the face? You still moping?”

He has been sitting there silently for so long and she’s been so deep in thought that she’s almost forgotten he’s there. She turns to face him, watching as he lights a cigarette. When he notices her looking, he holds the pack out. “Want one?” 

“You know I don’t smoke.” 

He retracts his hand. “Yeah. But people change, you know.” 

She isn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m not moping,” she offers instead. 

“Brooding then,” her roommate supplies. “You’re wearing the exact same expression I do when you tell me I’m brooding. So?” He turns his whole body to face her, crossing his legs and leaning back on the hand not holding the cigarette. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Valerie casts him a dubious look. “And then sit here and listen to you make fun of me for it? No thank you.” 

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Exactly who do you think I am, that I would be in a place to judge you for anything?” 

She shrugs, her gaze on the water. “Do you ever just… watch yourself do things? Like, you can see what you’re doing almost like you’re outside of yourself. You’re just watching… and you’re horrified because you know you shouldn’t be doing the things, but you can’t stop yourself? You just kind of… watch yourself implode, and there isn’t anything you can do in time to stop it from happening.”

Immediately after she’s stopped talking she regrets it. Even without replaying the words in her mind, she knows they make very little sense. 

“Yeah,” Suguru says, after a moment. 

Valerie raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he repeats. He puts his cigarette out. “Feels like one of those dreams, doesn’t it? You’re floating over yourself, screaming at yourself to stop… to take a step back before you do irreversible damage.” He scoffs. “But the self that’s doing those things doesn’t hear you. Or they just aren’t listening. They’re ignoring you.” 

Surprised, she gapes at him. “That’s… exactly it.” 

Suguru nods. “Yeah. I think everybody’s felt like that at one time or another. I’d say it’s part of being human, but that sounds a little too cliched for my tastes.” He pauses, shading his eyes from the sun as he looks up at the sky. “There’s never enough time in the moment, but the time we have to think about what we could have done in that moment haunts us for the rest of our lives.” 

Her eyes start to burn. “Yes,” she manages, around the lump in her throat. 

Suguru doesn’t say anything about her tears. “What do you regret the most about it?” 

A sound escapes her - half-laugh, half-sob. “Most?” She repeats. “As if there’s only one thing I could regret more than everything else?” 

“So go down the list,” he suggests. “Tell them to me, one by one.”

“I hate feeling like this is all proof that I haven’t grown as a person,” she starts, her voice quiet. “That I’m back to square one.” 

“And what’s square one?”

“Not enough.” She sighs, swiping at her eyes. The tears just keep coming. “Not strong enough. Not secure enough. Not confident enough.” She pauses. “Not understanding enough. I made promises I couldn’t keep… and I ended up doing the very things I said I wouldn’t do.”

He glances briefly at her. “Go on,” he says, before his gaze shifts back to the horizon. The sun is still high in the sky, and he turns his face up, letting its light warm his cheeks. 

Valerie is quiet for a few minutes. Then, “I’m disappointed that I couldn’t get it right this time around.” 

“So you think you got it wrong?”

“I think I’m just… made wrong,” she answers. She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and digging her toes into the sand. “What I got wrong was thinking that would somehow change. Thinking that things would be different this time just because I wanted them to be.” 

Suguru can hear the bitterness in her tone. He knows how fragile her heart is right now, how brittle it must feel. “It’s never easy,” he starts. “No matter the reason, it’s always difficult when a relationship ends. Especially when it’s still so fresh,” he adds. “The feelings are still raw. You still remember the last conversations. You still lie awake at night wishing you’d said or done things differently. There hasn’t been time yet for you to fill the void that person left.” 

She covers her face with her hands. Her back is rising and falling slowly as she takes what he assumes are deep, steadying breaths.

“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” he tells her softly. 

The dam breaks then, and whatever resolve she’s been struggling to keep crumbles. She has always been a silent crier, but even her silent sobs now are so powerful that they make her entire body shake. 

Suguru sighs. “Dummy,” he says, moving closer and pulling her into his arms. There’s not a single word of protest on her part. He doubts there would be, even if she wasn’t crying her heart out. “How long have you been holding these tears in?” 

Valerie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t expect her to. 

“It’s only been a week,” he tells her, his tone still gentle. “When you’ve been invested in someone for such a long time, you get used to having their presence in your life.” She can hear the hitch in his own breath, and she knows he’s thinking of Satoru. “There are all these little pieces of them tied up in you, woven throughout everything you say and do and think and feel.

“When that person is gone,” he goes on, “it’s like all those pieces of them are gone too. There are all these empty spaces left behind. Those don’t go away immediately.” 

“How long?” She asks. Her face is still buried in his shirt, and so her voice comes out muffled. “How long until they heal?”

He laughs, but Valerie doesn’t get the feeling it’s meant to make fun of her. It’s a humorless laugh, one tinged with bitterness of a different kind. “Sometimes they never do,” he tells her honestly. “You just… sort of learn to live with the empty spaces.” 

She nods in understanding, but can’t find any words. 

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Valerie nods again, this time turning her face up to look at him. “I’m sorry… I know you miss Satoru too, and I know it’s a lot harder when you know that person is gone forever. It’s… I shouldn’t be so---” She fumbles her words. 

Suguru waves a hand. “Like I said. No matter the reason, it’s never easy when relationships end.” 

She can’t find any words for that, either. 

“Hey,” Suguru says suddenly, after a few minutes of silence. 

Her tears have started to taper off, and she sniffles. “Hm?”

He leans back to look at her, a genuine smile on his face. “You got a package today. I think it’s the booze your boss sent.” 

“Really?” She sits up, using the hem of her shirt to wipe at her eyes. 

“Yeah,” he affirms. “It was heavy as hell, too. She must’ve sent a lot.” 

This makes her laugh. “She always does.” 

“Well?” He stands up, offering his hand. “What do you say we go back home, open it up, and order some greasy food to go with it?” 

“Yeah,” she says quietly, taking his hand and standing up. “Yeah… that sounds good.” 

~Fin~

[mortifiedatbeingknown]

"An Odd Little Thing" (Pt. 10)

Masterpost:

“Monster?”

It couldn’t be. No, no, it couldn’t. But there was no other way. That was… He turned off his optics and turned them back on. Still the same. This wasn’t an error with new hardware. 

The face in front of him was round and a little squished, with big, dark eyes, a wide nose,full lips, and a furrowed brow. There was a line of darker skin over her cheeks; the rest was pale. There was a mole on her chin. 

“Monster?” He squeaked again, looking around. Its voice had been just there. Where was it?! “Monster!” 

“Right here.” The girl’s lips moved. It was the exact same voice. 

…

…Does not compute. 

“Huh, I guess you’ve never seen me clearly before now, right?” She shrugged, making her ponytail bounce. “Well…this is what I look like. D-don’t stare. ”

No, no, that wasn’t it at all. He started to shake his head, but then his fresh eyes picked up the red jacket, the one that had previously only been a cracked blur. He saw the bug-eyed goggles that hung down from her neck. The black mask bundled around her chin. These all belonged to the monster, he knew that. He had seen them day after day from his old masters’ window. But then that would mean… that would mean… 

“Monster.” He said this time, not a question, but a statement. He saved her facial features to his internal database. 

Behind him, the shop man chuckled. “Why does he call you that anyways?”

The monster snorted. "Really doesn't like me, that's my guess." 

"A-a-a-a-a-a-acckckkxhsuioksskksksh–" 

But his voice box crackled out before he could give a proper answer. 

“Oh! That reminds me.” She said. “Would you have any voice boxes on hand, too?” 

“Sorry girlie, I double-checked. You’ll have to find it somewhere else.” 

She sighed. “Figures. So, how much do I owe you?” 

He let his eyes drift over to his surroundings as the two began to argue over price, the shop man cheerful and booming, the monster curt and tight-lipped. It was nice having clear vision again, but he didn’t want to get too attached either. Optics were easy to crack and expensive to replace, and they were often the first thing to break. He let the color drift by: The striped walls of the tent, the rows and rows of shelves and hooks and racks filled with colorful fabric and sleek, shiny mechanical components. It was far more advanced than anything he could be, the kind of androids his former masters were begging their parents for. It was his fault they couldn’t, since he existed, they didn’t have need for another robot. Now that he was gone, did they get it? Were they happier? 

He hoped so. 

“--And that’s the final offer.” The monster finished. 

“Deal.” 

He turned to see them shaking hands, and he could see every wrinkle in Shop Man’s grip and every stitch in the monster’s gloves. When the man caught him staring, he smiled. 

“Well, what do you think, buddy?” 

He checked his diagnostics. “Visual sensors functioning at optimum capacity.”  

“That’s great to hear!” 

“Indeed it is.” The monster added, though she seemed a lot less pleased. “Listen, Mac, it’s been great, but the sun’s going down, and I’d better…” 

“Oh, of course, of course! Thanks for stopping by!” 

He waved goodbye as the monster picked him up and tucked him safely under her jacket again. It was a little sad, having the world zipped up to nothing but dark red when there was so much he could’ve looked at now, but at least it wasn’t the backpack. Besides, now his eyes were good enough now to be able to see the little bits of fuzzy hanging off of the inside of the coat. It was something to look at. As the monster began to move, he lost himself again in the sound of her heartbeat. 

***************************

The sunset was particularly pretty today. 

It wasn’t the sort of thing she usually noticed, or cared to notice, anyways. These days, it was just easier to keep her head down. THe less she dawdled, the fewer chances for pickpockets. If she wasn’t outside, she didn’t have to worry about getting attacked or reported, or approached for conversation. 

Her father had never liked that, back when he was still…around. He'd gently slap the back of her head and urge her to keep her head up, to breath the fresh air, to stare at the flowers, to never forget that even though they worked with the mechanical and the artificial, they were just as much a part of the natural world as any other human. It fed them nourished them… the least they could do was respect it. 

…But it hadn't saved him, no matter how fervently he'd respected it. The disease that destroyed him from the inside was just as much a part as Mother Nature as anything else, had it not? Why should she give a damn for something that took away what she loved most? If her father had been artificial, she could've fixed him in half an hour flat. If she had been mechanical, she could have simply replaced her heart when it broke so that she wouldn't have to deal with its constant aching. It had been their humanity, their messy, bloody, emotional humanity that had spelled the end for both her and her family. And for that, she could never forgive the world. Never. 

Still, the sunset was pretty. She wondered why she'd noticed. 

Perhaps it was due to the robot in her jacket, whose servos thrummed and purred like a contented cat. It still hadn't come down from the high of those new eyes. Even now she could feel it shifting, straining against the thin fabric to try and see something beyond its current trappings, trying to soak in everything about the world outside as fast and as much as it could.

In a strange way, that desire had infected her too. There were so many things to see… the intricate cracks in the concrete that spread out like delicate spiderwebs,weeds sprouting up from between the cracks. The way her boots left ripples on the puddles left from a recent rain, leaving tiny waves that set floating twigs and dead leaves bobbing up and down, little boats in a little ocean. When she looked back,a crisp breeze blew back her hair, rustling patched-together curtains and damp, hung-out laundry still yet to dry. And over it all, coating every edge and plane and corner with its darkening brush was the sunset,red and yellow fading into the deep purple of the oncoming night. Whatever stars that dared to poke out of the gathering clouds tonight would be obscured by the flicmering of the city lights, and for the barest glimpse of a moment, she could feel the same rage her father had felt at the injustice. 

It's… 

She unzipped her jacket slightly, only enough for the robot to poke its head out. 

"How about it?" She whispered, letting him take it all in. 

The air filled with static as the robot began to cry. 

[1p2p-heta-suggestives]

could you do the nsfw alphabet for 1p! france?

(Read more is here for now so people don’t accidentally read this kind of content without wanting to)

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

• Amazing at aftercare, if his partner needs it. He’s very gentle with them afterwards, absolutely smothering them in compliments and praises. If it’s just a one night stand, he makes sure that they’ll alright but he’s not as affectionate, compliments are still present though.

B - Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

• He LOVES all of himself, pretty much everything is his favourite • He’ll say he also loves every single part of them but he always stares at their ass whenever he can, it’s clear he has a favourite thing about them

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

• As long as he and whoever he’s with cums, he’s happy, doesn’t care where it goes. He’s really not bothered wherever it ends up.

D - Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

• Has almost definitely participated in an orgy before, no one is shocked to hear this but he doesn’t go around telling people about it

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

• Very experienced, he definitely knows what he’s doing

F - Favorite position (This goes without saying)

• He doesn’t have a particular favourite, he likes being able to look at their face though so anything where that’s possible then he’s happy

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.)

• He’s not goofy but he’s not very serious either, he’s just very chill and usually quite loving, if that’s what the other person wants

H - Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

• Very well groomed, he makes sure to always be so, it’s almost like he takes pride in it. It’s the exact same shade as his hair.

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

• He’s very intimate, extremely romantic. He wants them to feel loved and comfortable with him, most of all.

J - Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

• Usually jacks off before he goes to bed, he just finds that it helps him sleep better and relieves the stress of the day

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

• Roleplay • (Semi-)Public sex • Overstimulating his partner

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do)

• Their bedroom. It’s not that he doesn’t want them in his, he just doesn’t want to be the person to deal with the clean up.

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

• Any kind of affection someone gives to him, it immediately gets him in the mood

N - No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

• He’s a fan of trying everything once but he just cannot do anything like knives or whips, he won’t even try it out once

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• Prefers to give, he KNOWS that he’s skilled and will gladly prove that point to anyone who doubts him and his ability

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

• Slow and sensual is what he prefers, he doesn’t mind if they prefer something else but he’s definitely prefer it that way.

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

• He loves them, he’s not going to turn down a quickie if someone offers

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.)

• He’s fine with experimenting, he thinks it’s good to try out new things. But as for risks, he’s a little more hesitant.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

• A couple, maybe 2, rounds before he needs a little break to recover

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

• He owns a lot, he keeps them under his bed. They’re mostly for himself but there’s a couple in there that he keeps specifically for his partner.

U - Unfair (How much they like to tease)

• He’s not much of a teaser, he’s just never personally liked to do it to people

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

• He’s pretty loud when he’s close, even more vocal. A lot of it is just very heavy breathing though, other than that it’s just moaning.

W - Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)

• He loves everyone that he sleeps with, even if it’s just a one night stands and he wants them to feel loved. He often gets hung up on one night stands and regrets not asking them out or getting their number.

X - X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

• Average, around 5 inches. It’s the same shade as his body, it curves upwards a little bit.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

• It’s pretty high, could probably go numerous times a day if someone wanted to

Z - Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

• Doesn’t usually fall asleep afterwards but he will stay with the other person until they fall asleep, he doesn’t want to leave them alone like that