Ugh something something lovesick hopeless romantic reader who is so scared of romance
She hates herself when she first starts to notice it, bubbles of dread and guilt simmering low in her gut and crawling through her esophagus until it feels like she’s choking on it. The playful banter over comms suddenly feels like it might crawl onto her skin, a spider with legs of needles creeping along her goose-pilled flesh.
But it’s not her fault she just wants to kiss him better. To card her fingers through his hair, let her thumbs trace shapes into his face until her palms memorize his skin. It really isn’t her fault, right? So she just sits there, quiet, and thinks about the way the sun would hit the back of his irises. Never gathering the courage or the general want to ask him. Because how could she?
Post that will have no reach but it’s okay because it’s for me lol.
I need to talk about how Beef is so round and happy and fat with both love and food and Robert himself is malnourished. That dog is the light of his life and it shows in so many ways, but I think it’s so telling of him as a person that he will feed Beef in abundance before he tries to feed himself anything other than shitty office coffee and a Twinkie. The only other time I can think of him eating anything else is when BLAZER set up spaghetti for him in their mini-date. Which.. he did not pay for nor set up. Props to Mandy for doing that though.
Edited to say I KNOWWW Robert just got out of a coma. But even the state of his apartment- he sleeps in a fucking chair. Beef has his own bed. ROBERT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE HIS OWN BED. He LOVES that dog. Even if I personally think he refuses to buy furniture out of both lack of funds *and* self-punishment (chronic pain Robert I see you) I still think that the way his first priority is this little rotund chihuahua says a lot about him as his character
I just think as a character we should talk about Robert more, rather than just his love interests. He’s so dynamic and fascinating I want to put him in a jar and shake it.
Omgggg love the idea of a water nymph reader and Price who swats at her like a bug LMAO. Annoyed to no end by the little thing hmm…
Cw: just a little fingering tehe. Got carried away and how could I not when it’s Price? Maybe a little degradation. This isn’t smut, it wasn’t supposed to turn into smut. But again I can’t help myself around this man
It starts when him and his team are sent off into the forest to try and get rid of something that’s been plaguing the local village. A cyclops, or maybe a basilisk or gorgon. Regardless, they send in the troops, scattering through the forest to try and locate it. They search for hours, coming up empty handed. It frustrates them all to no end- but at least they know it’s not a banshee.
Price stops at a watering hole, taking a short breather to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face. He’s pissed. Patience cut short after not even baking able to find the creature for so long. He squats down next to the water, rocks sinking into the rugged soles of his boots. His mood isn’t made any better by the harsh sun, beating down even through the thick canopy of the trees. It creates a greenhouse, just humid enough to irritate his bones and make him feel somehow even more achey than he usually is. All it takes is one moment of lost focus.
You damn near scare the piss out of him when he sees your eyes lookin’ at him from under the water. You got that blue-eyed stare, baby. Popping just your eyes out of the water- loose water lilies and foxglove getting caught in your hair. Your unblinking eyes are trained on him, and frankly, it’s creepin’ him out, sweetheart. He doesn’t think much of it. Water nymphs aren’t typically agressive, so he takes it as a sign that he should probably be on his way.
Except… you follow him. Hiding behind trees poorly. He knows you’re following him, you dense little thing. Your eyes are so wide, and you still haven’t said anything to him. Getting a little too close for his comfort as he grunts, radioing in occasionally to report still no progress on the entity.
You flit around him like an annoying little bug after that, still not saying anything, but your big ol’ doe eyes trained on the buttons on his uniform, his dog tags, his gun, his helmet- every part of him so so shiny, glinting in the light. He brushes your hand away whenever you try and reach, and you both grow increasingly frustrated until you huff at him, and start tugging him into the treeline.
He’s just about had it by now- the grumpy old man grunting obscenities at you as you continue to drag him along. He’s letting you though, too emotionally exhausted to really put up that much of a fight. Or nearly pisses you off more- just because water nymphs aren’t typically agressive doesn’t mean you can’t kick his ass! (You can’t. He’s like twice your size, babes.)
Then, you deposit him right in front of the thing his team was hunting. You tap your foot on the ground, looking up at him with a scrunched nose and narrowed eyes as he radios it in, mood immediately fixed. You snag one of his dogtags as your prize, flitting just out of his reach before he can try and stop you. He grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for backup and decides he can just get another one.
Unfortunately for him, you’re spurred on by his acceptance of defeat. Approaching him cautiously like a stray cat, eyes trained on him as you reach for one of his buttons. You really only want the shiny metal, but he hasn’t quite put that bit together yet. So when you start unbuttoning his shirt, he’s confused to say the least- trying to brush your hands away.
“Reward.” Is what you mutter, indignant, as you scowl slightly. Still pissed by the way he cursed at you and brushed you off. He takes this.. the entirely wrong way, a short huff escaping him from amusement. He’s taking your hands and pinning you to the nearest tree, face too close to yours.
“Reward, sweet’eart? Is that what y’want?”
All bets are off after that. Thankfully his team can take care of the cyclops (or gorgon, or basilisk) on their own. He’s too busy with you as you squirm on his fingers, mocking you about the reward you earned as he pumps his fingers in and out of your needy pussy. He’s still irritated, though. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be coming back.
The hard sugar of the sucker clicks against your teeth as you mindlessly move it around your mouth. The sweetness is just enough to satisfy you for now, rolling your tongue against the smoothness of the candy and the stem attached to the end of the product.
It sticks to your lips, creating a glossy sheen of saccharine glucose that you happily lick away with the tip of your tongue. It’s mindless and sweet and pleasant- a mundane treat to boost your mood. Kyle agrees, even though he doesn’t have a dum-dum stuck between his lips.
Kyle sits next to you, a familiar presence in the quiet rec-room. Happy to just exist in each other’s space quietly, your eyes glued to the somewhat staticky television that plays something you’ve forgotten the name of. Kyle is watching a far more interesting show- his eyes glued to the way your cheeks slightly hallow around the ball of candy.
“What flavor is it?” And “Can I try?” are so seemingly innocent that you nod along, reaching to pull another of the same flavor out of the bag. The crinkling of the plastic is cut off by his hand, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval.
You don’t even say anything- can’t say anything, too shocked to- as he takes the candy from between your lips. He hums at the taste, his pretty brown eyes never leaving yours as he laves his tongue against your dum-dum. You complain about it half-heartedly. He took your candy ):
He mutters some other cheesy comment about wanting to taste some other candy, and all bets are off. His lips are so soft against yours, pushing and pulling evenly in a way that has you leaning in. He’s the tide- blue waves crashing upon the shore at a languid pace, salt and seawater spraying into the air. He licks the sugar off your discolored lips, his eyes half-lidded as he licks into your mouth and at the sweetness that coats your teeth.
Even when he pulls away- panting and with a bit of drool from the corner of his lips- all he gives you is a smirk. “Sweet.” Is all he says, before he’s sitting back down next to you like nothing ever happened.
All of his words are so honey-coated I KNOW it. He’s so fucking manipulative and you don’t even know it until you’re completely under his thumb. Saying things like they’re common sense until they are common sense- of course you belong to him, it would be silly to think anything else. I want him to be a girlboss. I want him to gaslight. I want him to gatekeep. I want him to protect you using the exact same sweet tone to the person that hurt you. Embarrassing them or turning them to stone if they look at you wrong. All while never raising his voice, despite the venom in his eyes. (Insert joke here about the snakes and his venom)
Actively obsessed with Ghost in a paranormal AU. Either way- with the reader or Ghost as the spooky spirit haunting the other.
No cw other than death because they’re.. ghosts. Otherwise maybe a bit sad but mostly lowkey fluffy.
He does his best to ignore you. It’s hard, the way it makes gooseflesh rise onto his pale skin, his hair standing in end. It’s not that he’s trying to ignore you- it’s that he genuinely thinks you aren’t there, no matter how much you beg and plea for him to kiss you again. It always sounds like you’re crying, and it always makes his jaw clench hard enough for his teeth to crack- fissures in his enamel that hurt like cavities.
You go to grasp at him, to shake him, and it just phases right through him. It almost hurts from how cold it is on his prickled skin, and he pushes away the thought that he can feel your fingers on his biceps. No one else can see you, but you just know he can, and that’s why it’s so frustrating! You just want him to pay attention to you, kiss you again.
On the other side, he can’t even bear to look at you. He can still see the blood running down your forehead, and even though you look at him, your eyes are still dead. He’s so used to being hurt by his trauma that he automatically assumes it’s just another fucked up things about him. Sure, why not add visual and tactile hallucinations to the list? He’s not surprised. It’s his fault, after all. It was his job to protect you, and he failed. Of course your memory haunts him. He nearly breaks as you press a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut and his fingers into fists as sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his sweat-slicked face. He’s tired, and the both of you know he’ll never be the same again.
The only way you get him to actually believe you’re there is when you pull a poltergeist on him like a child throwing a tantrum- books being thrown off the bookcases, tables flipped over. Your screams hurt- nearly burst his fuckin’ ears, darlin’. It’s only then does he start talking quietly to you, deciding that your giggles- however creepy they me at times- are still much better than your screams he's so used to hearing.
The other way around? oh, you immediately know its your Simon. Can feel the way his arms wrap around behind you in the kitchen on a cold, lonely morning. Maybe it's a figment of your imagination- but what's the harm in talking to air?
It’s a little less lonely, even if you can’t look directly at him. Only getting cold touches as a response as you tease or pick on him. Sometimes, when things get a little easier, you pick on him for the irony from his callsign. He always pulls you against him for that, regardless of what you’re doing. You scold him, and falter when you realize the only person who can get burnt when you’re over the stove anymore is you. The only person who can stumble and fall in the shower into a pile of giggles is you. The only person in your bed- even if it feels like he’s there- is you.
It’s a push and pull between feeling like you’re going crazy and being completely at peace. Which… itself is maddening. So maybe you buy an Ouija board to try and talk to him. What of it? In sickness and in health, my love. And as it turns out, the reaper himself cannot part you two.
What a hopeless romantic, Simon always was.
Or… maybe even reader who’s introduced to Simon only after he’s dead? UGH too many ideas need ghost cum ):
I LOVE Johnny Soap will always be my number one babygirl with his stupid Mohawk and big ol’ puppy dog eyes. But I feel like a lot of my scenarios for like AUs and stuff (mostly of fictional creatures or supernatural) don’t suit him. WILL WORK ON IT maybe a werewolf Johnny because who doesn’t love some werewolf Johnny?
DHEIDHDVO might actually just do my hcs from @/bluegiragi’s AU actually because it’s so so accurate and I really want to write something for pretty boy Kyle. I did last week and then tumblr ate it so sad ): harpy!kyle is SO accurate (with the comedic bonus of it being ironic due to him falling out of a heli twice)
Inspiration came: Kyle who calls you every time you’re about to beat it. It’s fucking annoying and frustrating and eventually you just.. keep going. Yes… I will write this later… *evil laughter*
