TW: Suicide, explicit language and targeted depression.
(Listen to "Cupid" by Jack Stauber for the best experience.)
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Desperation is a funny word... considering the fact that Simon has been utterly exhausted by this demonic feeling, unable to escape it. Escape you.
You were everywhere—at the grocery store, in the parks, at the pubs, and, most hauntingly, in his mind. And if it wasn't obvious enough, in his heart.
The poor man had been thinking about you nonstop, and he bloody hated it. Hated being in love...being moved by some random person. You were nothing special, so why did you do so much damage to his heart? Why did you give him nightmares? Nightmares that chased him, twisted imaginings of the human mind. A nightmare of you moving in with someone else, forgetting him.
So, don’t blame him for starting to avoid the places you two used to cross paths. He wanted nothing to do with you...he didn’t want his heart taken and crushed again. Was he being dramatic? Maybe...but that barely described him. He was more of a coward, evading any form or shape of this “love” that everyone speaks of.
But then...something broke him.
You and some other person, hand in hand, lips to lips...It was real.
He was just heading home from work when he witnessed you basking in love with your...lover?
No...why was this happening now? Why right now, when he’d tried to protect himself once the nightmares began corrupting him? Why were you doing this to him?
Simon blinked and simply...stared, unable to even imagine himself in that place, kissing you instead. He just felt...confused.
If he didn’t know what he was feeling, then why did his mind start whispering for him to grab a kitchen knife and cut out the thoughts? Was he even real at this point? He pressed his lips together, careful not to disturb your romantic moment...and quietly headed inside his home, eyes fixed on anything but you.
He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a dirty knife, bits of peanut butter clinging to the blade. He stared at the knife, his thoughts now just chaotic scribbles and then...SLASH!
He collapsed onto the floor, not bothering to cover the long, sleek cut on his neck, not even caring to grunt or hiss at the pain because, truthfully: he couldn’t feel anything now.
Love...i’s not as great as others described it. It’s suffocating, like drowning in the ocean, forced to feel love unwillingly...like some illness that only plagued him.
Simon Riley, who hates seeing you upset; Simon Riley, who buys you your favourite ice cream just to see you smile; Simon Riley, who sings you crappy Disney songs just to hear your beautiful laugh; Simon Riley, who brushes your hair, helps you bathe, helps you dress up, and starts giving you the best cuddles, will even start helping you with the little things just so you can finish up your routine faster and get the rest you deserve.
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A/N: I hate the fact that I can't write more cod fluff for you all since I'm super busy. This is unedited and was saved in my drafts; my bad if there's any grammar errors!
In times of need it's difficult for him to speak up, a nagging feeling on his chest, a sinful voice in his mind that tells him he doesn’t deserve the help he needs, that after going through so much in life he should've learned to not ask for help.
an alack sentiment filling his head, a loss of hope so profound that makes him feel hollow, no amount of soil can fill the hole in his chest. is terrifying, the absence of himself on his body, as if he can only be the shell of what he once was.
a stray dog who bites the hand that tries to feed him used to be hurt rather than helped. He knows it’s not all his fault, that life wasn’t kind to him from the very start but guilt still manages to spill through crevices, straining his sanity.
it doesn’t matter how much you try to pull him out of his self-depreciation state, his already too far gone into his own head, thoughts of self-hatred already engraved for him to be eaten alive in the middle of the night.
it’s a cannibalistic situation, being the consumer and the consumed, harming himself until he’s bleeding then wincing at the pain, licking the blood of his wound like a harmed animal, self-sufficient and self-destructive, infecting himself with more pain than he already was in, a cycle of torture with no easy ending to relieve him from the pressure in his chest.
in a world where people's opinion of you controls the way your life plays out, he understands clearly why he didn’t amount to anything worth praising, he can recognize that his life was meant to start and end in one painful motion, surrounded by nothing but despair.
He finds it comical, how life pulls his strings and leads him to suffering when he hasn’t recovered from past wounds, like the universe wants to see how clever he can get to salvage his worthless life, how badly he wants to survive despite having no motive to live.
“Are you listening to me?” you speak, voice soft and kind, pulling him out of his thoughts, like being pulled out of the ocean by a kind stranger who saw him struggle to swim, being helped to fill his lungs with air and not water. he looks down to meet your gaze, your doe eyes always holding a warmth to them, your smile of understanding and patience he doesn’t think he deserves.
“Sorry, I got distracted for a second” he answers, voice low and gruff, tongue rolling with a heaviness created by his thoughts, he should’ve listened to you speak rather than lose himself in his mind, you are the only normality his life still has, the only thing he doesn’t associate to a bad memory.
“s’okay..it’s late either way, I should let you go to sleep” you reply, sounding apologetic as you always do, looking down with what he can only guess to be embarrassment, you shouldn’t feel that way, you should never feel ashamed, he knows you never mean any harm, only acting on love and friendliness.
“I’m not tired yet” he lies, he is tired, his body is aching and begging to rest but his mind feels more active than ever, two entities disconnected and acting on their own accord, he wants to lay down and rest but he doesn’t want to leave, not yet…please, not right now.
He remembers when he was a kid, not older than 4 years old, and terrified of the night, fearing something was hiding in it, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, to kill him. His father's screams in the other room and objects crashing against the walls only fueled his fear, that when the sun goes down, the world knows no peace, that monsters come out and are searching to kill him, to kill his mother.
He never grew out of that, he knew monsters as he believed before weren’t real, but that doesn’t mean that a similar evilness isn’t around, a sort of plague, a parasite that spreads every time he blinks. nights for him didn’t get much better either, something about the quietness didn’t feel right, a wave of doom he couldn’t escape on his chest, he could only stare at the door of his room while waiting for the sun to rise, only then being able to sleep.
“I thought you would be tired, you worked so hard today” you comment, it had been mere seconds that passed until you spoke but it felt like ages, like the time slowed down, once again the universe toying with his sanity.
you always acknowledge his efforts, his actions, and his reasoning even if you are far off of what he intended, you’re always so nice to him, pretending the rumors and whispers about his past and intentions don’t reach your ears, that you aren’t aware of them when he can’t begin to remember the amount of times he heard about them, too many to count, that’s for sure.
“it was nothing…don’t worry” he answers, but oh how much you worry, concern filling your mind every time your eyes land on him, the tiredness in his eyes evident, his heavy steps a clear sign of his body tired of carrying his weight around. you wish you could lure him into his room, put him to sleep, be able to grant him a good night's rest.
Does he want to rest? Does he deserve to rest?
he feels numb at times, something lacking in his brain, stopping him from fully connecting and experiencing his feelings. It doesn't get any easier with every passing day, hours blend together and before he knows it he’s back by your side, your praises for working so hard and doing things he doesn’t find enjoyable for the sake of everyone else around him.
“Want a cup of tea?” you offer, tilting your head to the side, voice softer and sweeter, like one that people use to lure an animal close, trying to capture him and give him a home. It’s unsettling to him how good you make the idea of being welcomed in a home and not being terrified by the people living in it, like that’s a possibility, like if he lets you put him in that cage he won’t regret it.
“would appreciate it if you made me one” he replies, hesitant and doubtful even if you have never shown a sign of evilness, but anyone who offers him something must want something back, he knows it, he was taught that was how it worked. he doesn’t know what you want, what he can give you, and that terrifies him more, he doesn’t want to owe you anything.
“Okay” you say and leave the room with quiet steps, he doesn’t dare to move from his place, eyes focused on the place you were standing a few seconds ago, he’s alone in the room, being able to hear you open the kitchen door and move things around.
he knows you’re only a few feet away, in another room, the door open and your movements are skilled and soft, but you’re still a person in another room, and he is standing alone, in the darkness remaining because the lamp on the corner table does nothing but illuminate the objects that resting on the surface, everything else is dark.
everything else makes him remember when he was a kid and he was scared, he doesn’t want to be scared anymore.
He stumbles for a second, his foot taking a step back before he can realize he is moving, losing his balance and regaining it quickly. It feels like he’s falling apart from the inside out, a pillar inside of him deteriorating to the point he isn’t able to stand the weight of his past.
He doesn't know what to do, why it affects him so much your kindness and why now out of any other time he feels like he can’t stand the fact you’re in another room, you’re not his father, you're not dangerous, you’re not his mother, you’re not in danger. So why is he so worried he feels like suffocating?
you affect him in ways he doesn’t like, it makes him feel self-conscious about everything he's gone through in his life, he doesn't understand why you bring that out of him, you are not linked to his past, you’re part of the fresh start he created for himself because of guilt.
maybe you remind him of the kindness he was denied, you remind him of what he could've had if life had been any kinder to him when he needed it when he was just a kid, when he feared his father would kill his mother and him one night, in the middle of the dark with no one to save him.
God, you shouldn’t be kind to people like him, who know nothing but to tarnish everything and everyone around him, he is poison and you’re too pure to even associate with him, your kindness shouldn’t be wasted on him he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you.
He hears something shattering and follows not even a second later a scream of pain that could only come from you, his eyes dart towards the door, the hallway dark and the winces of pain continue.
For a second, a small fraction of a second he doubts the legitimacy of your injury, thinking his memories are getting to him, making him imagine something that isn’t at all happening, then he hears you fall to the ground, sobs ripping through your mouth and he knows it’s real.
He leaves the room with heavy steps, he’s adjusted to the darkness of the place but moves around, turning lights on with a freakish fear, wanting to have a clear vision even though he’s going straight towards his fear.
He reaches the kitchen and enters, his eyes moving around until he spots you on the floor, curled into yourself, hand bloody and burned, the broken cup and hot tea not even a meter away from you as you sob, holding your injured hand out as to not further damage the wound.
the image brings back memories he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in, moving around till he reaches you, grabbing the wrist from your injured hand with a sudden move, making you scream for a second before realizing is him who grabbed you, his eyes are strained on the wound, your skin looks irritated and half of your hand is soaked in blood.
“What happened?” he asks, tugging at your wrist as if the pain will make you speak any faster, he isn’t the kindest but he doesn’t mean to be harsh either, the panic is just too much on his bones to not let it out somehow, you’re the only person he knows is able to stab yourself with his sharp edges and survive to forgive him.
“I slipped and the cup fell on my hand…tried cleaning it but I cut myself” you explain through sobs and whimpers, trying to get your hand out of his grasp but every movement makes the pain of your wound stronger.
It’s stupid, how you managed to get yourself to fuck up something as simple as a cup of tea, it wasn’t a hard task, the floor hadn’t been mopped since hours ago and yet you still slipped and injured yourself like a baby deer with unstable limbs.
you shake your head, embarrassment once again plaguing your mind, he doesn’t differ with you, he doesn’t think you shouldn’t be ashamed of your mistake, you should be, you are ashamed and he agrees with you but for different reasons.
He thinks you should be ashamed of not calling out his name for help, for sitting on the ground and crying instead of asking for his assistance, you deserve to be helped when injured, and you deserve to be taken care of despite having made this mistake before.
you can make the same error again and still deserve to be forgiven and aided.
Because you’re human, and most importantly you are you, the woman who rescues everyone from their troubles like they are trapped in a burning building, you do everything and anything to make sure the people you love are safe and happy.
He can begin to understand why you think he’s worth the effort, maybe it’s pity, maybe with just one look at him and his reputation you can make out everything there is to know about him, every past trauma, every scar, every emotional issue he can’t let go of.
“It's fine…we’re going to be fine” He says, looking into your eyes, a silent promise you can’t decipher, you nod, pretending that you didn’t notice he aligned himself with your struggle, making himself a part of the situation so you wouldn’t be alone.
he doesn’t want that sort of faith for you.
He softly guides you to stand up from the ground, moving you towards the sink, standing behind you as he turns on the faucet, holding your injured hand and letting the cold water wash away the blood and cool off your irritated skin.
his breathing brushes on your neck, and the warmth of his chest spreads across your entire body as traps you between the counter and himself, it doesn’t have any malice in his touch nor does he mean anything sexual by it.
It’s the worry that has his body glued to yours, the need to surround you so you won’t get injured again, as one hides with their siblings somewhere in the house when your parents begin fighting again, it’s something natural that comes to him, used to protect and preserve the people he didn’t want getting hurt.
“I'm sorry for screwing up your tea” you apologize with a soft whisper, eyes focused on the blood washing away, it doesn’t hurt a lot anymore, just a small sting that lingers a bit uncomfortably, tolerable but not ideal.
you’re truly apologetic, you knew he didn’t get much sleep, that resting wasn’t something he usually did so you had tried to help him but in the end, it seemed you only caused more panic in his soul, his pupils still blown out as he assisted you with cleaning the wound, as if he was doing it for more reasons than just kindness.
maybe he was, you don’t know his full story after all, maybe you remind him of someone, of something he had buried a long time ago that you brought to the surface again and left him with anxiousness on his chest and worry in his mind.
“s’alright… it’s too late for tea either way” he comforts you the best he can, the best his words and feelings will let him right now, he isn’t upset about the mistake you made, anyone can fall, anyone can break a cup, he didn’t care about that, messes get cleaned up, a cup of tea isn’t as valuable as your health, you should know that.
It's too late for tea, and it’s too late for the amount of tears that continue to pour out of your eyes even though the pain isn’t overwhelming anymore, this time is your feelings, your physical state has nothing to do with the tears falling out and you’re too ashamed to admit it.
“I wanted to help you…I'm sorry Si” you speak again, a small hiccup interrupting your words but you don’t let that stop you from telling him how sorry you are that you managed to mess up one of the only things you knew he liked, tea.
“wanna make another one then?” he asks you, offering to let you try again, a second opportunity he knew you deserved and wanted, and even though he wasn’t in the mood for tea or anything at all, he was going to drink what you want to make him, even if it’s the last thing he does.
you shake your head, sniffling as you close the faucet softly with your noninjured hand, looking down as neither of you moves away from each other or makes the attempt to gain some distance. You didn’t want to make it again, didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself and making the same mistake, this time in front of him.
“don’t want to screw up again” you answer him, voice low and full of shame. He understands you, maybe second chances aren’t always appreciated and he accepts that you don’t want to try again tonight.
He sees himself in you more than he wants to right now, more than he thought he ever would actually. He guessed that even someone like you could come from a not-so-pretty background, one where making mistakes is a sin that cannot be let go of without punishment.
different houses, different torture, same ending.
because of that, some part of him has to care for you, you deserve that, he cannot believe it enough even though he won’t say it out loud, don’t want to be caught by other people and have you end up being a outcast like him, you don’t deserve that, you don’t deserve that ending.
He makes you turn around softly so you’re facing him, his hands wiping away your tears with a gentle touch, he wished he could do more, turn back time and help you make the cup of tea, or go even further and stop whatever made you believe making a small mistake was such a high offense.
“Are you alright?” he asks, aware you aren’t but it feels cordial to make the question either way, giving you an opportunity to express more than you normally would, he knows you don’t talk enough about your feelings and it’s time you do.
“It’s not fair that you suffer so much and I can't even do something to help you” you reply and his heart stops for a second, the blood on his vein also coming to a halt as he feels himself being delirious of your words.
you did not hold such sentiment for him, nobody did, nobody has and nobody will. That was his life, a never-ending cycle of being looked down upon and having to do everything by himself because why would anyone want to help him or even try to? it’s stupid, you’re being stupid.
“Don’t say that darling..” he shushes you softly, his hands moving to caress your hair, he shakes his head, not wanting to believe you actually care, not wanting to get hope out of lies, it wouldn’t be pretty if he did and you broke his heart in the end.
“years of pain always lead up to isolation, you don’t deserve that” Captain Price once told him after a tough mission, and the words replay in his mind as he has you in his arms, the water mixed with droplets of blood on your hand staining the kitchen floor as he holds you gently.
He's living like his dead, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like he drags you to that same misery every time you’re around him but he doesn't want to let go of.
what is not devotion but to become a better person for the one you love?
“I appreciate your intention sweetheart…” he says as the silence from you eats him alive, wanting to make the ache on your chest disappear, he had never wanted to make you suffer, even unintentionally.
he is ready to repair everything broken so you won’t get harmed ever again, he’s ready to repair himself for you.
He had never wanted to become what he hates, a lover, a sentimental person, and yet as he finds himself becoming all of that and more, he can’t help but enjoy it, especially if it means never letting go of you.
Love wasn’t something he knew much of, never got the chance to learn when he was a kid and for a very long time he thought it wasn’t real, a mythical feeling everyone lied about existing so they wouldn’t be alone for the rest of their lives.
Your existence and kindness prove him wrong, your persistence in trying to make life easier for him, the way you laughed, the way you acted, your personality, your likes, and dislikes, everything about you showed him that love was real and he was experiencing it with you.
even if it took a lot of time for him to realize it he did now, and he loved you a lot, more than he would ever let on, more than any piece of literature could ever describe.
Tomorrow is a new day, and another cup of tea can be made, you cannot cry for what was never lost, and his gaze never falters from you so you don’t have to worry, he will always help you, you’re his air and he is yours.
Love cannot easily be tarnished and he swears he will never let anything happen to the one the two of you share, even if that is the only thing he does with his final breath.
(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you guys want me to write about something specific xx)
(Enemies to lovers, bubbly Fem reader x grumpy Ghost)
(Ghost Riley POV)
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I hate how she starts speaking to me.
(I love how she starts speaking to me.)
I hate how her laugh makes me feel.
(I love how her laugh makes me feel.)
I hate how she stares at me.
(I love how she stares at me.)
I hate how she's so clingy around me.
(I love how she's so clingy around me.)
I hate how her smile affects me.
(I love how her smile affects me.)
I hate how beautiful her eyes look.
(I love how beautiful her eyes look.)
I hate how soft her legs look.
(I love how soft her legs look.)
I hate how she looks in dresses.
(I love how she looks in dresses.)
I hate how her hair looks.
(I love how her hair looks.)
I hate how kissable her lips look.
(I love how kissable her lips look.)
I hate how her voice sounds.
(I love how her voice sounds.)
I hate how she smells.
(I love how she smells.)
I hate how cheerful she is.
(I love how cheerful she is.)
I hate her.
(I love her.)
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A/N: I LOVE THIS TROPE AND DYNAMIC SO MUCH, IM GOING TO CRYYYYY. This was KIND OF inspired by "500 Days of Summer." I hate how realistic it was, but I love it too 😭
Virgin!Simon who is so used to fisting his calloused hand every night to release some of the pent-up tension winding up his muscled body; that when he first sinks his cock deep into your welcoming cunt, slick with arousal but still tight around his girth, he cannot help the way his cock immediately spasms and cums only half-way into you. He wasn't even a little bit embarrassed when he saw the questioning look on your face until he sunk more of his length into you until he hilted his full length inside, your face contorted into a pleasured "O" as he started pulling back out and bullying his way back in with a lewd squelch.
Over and over again, as Simon fucks into your tight cunt he can't help that within five minutes he's cumming again, coating the outer labia and your thighs sticky with his heavy seed as he had been pulling out, only to gather the cum up around the head of his cock with his fingers and push it back up into you as he continues his brutal assault on your tight hole.
Virgin!Simon who is shameless in the way you're both now covered in at least three loads of his cum and as you're on the verge of your fist orgasms, his fourth comes along and spurts hot against your cervix as your gummy walls clamp down and convulse around his cock.
Virgin!Simon who fucks you through his own over-stimulation because the velvety grip of your cunt is too good to stop, better than his hands, better than any silicone toy lubed up... he cannot get enough - and this night is turning into a marathon as he keeps flipping your body into various positions, finding ways to fuck you shallow, deeper, angling you this way and that to hit every erogenous spot in your hole that could draw out another orgasm from you, and draw them out he does.
By the end of the night, you're both sticky, covered in musky loads of slippery cum from you both as you lay against each other, not minding the mess one bit as Simon kisses your temple, before dragging you both up out of bed to go and get cleaned up in the shower (before making at least one more mess that is)...
Things I wish I knew when I started writing on tumblr:
Use tags to organise your posts: especially since you know there will be a time when you need to find a specific post but you put it in the search box and dumblr gaslights you into thinking you never reblogged it? yeah :) also to help put your fanfics, original posts, ramblings and reblogs in different categories that you keep on your blog. it helps to come up with your own trademark tags for your own blog. for example, "what's in the picklejar" is everything of my original posts (fanfics, rambles, complaints, etc). "babykelsi writes" are tags for all my masterlists. "picklejar asks" are tagged for every ask i receive in my inbox. which all coincide with my url and my name, Kelsi (which really, is not my real name but it's the internet, these streets are dangerous).
don't compare yourself to others: i know this is an age old saying, but trust me, this is something you need to hammer in your head. you're not in a competition, you're in a community. don't feel bad that one writer/artist has hundreds or thousands of notes while you have like twenty. this is especially if you're starting out, believe me, i felt that way a lot of times then i realized that it wasn't helpful and that i wasn't competing with anyone. we're all here to share and appreciate our work, our ramblings, etc. no one will make fun of you for having less notes than others. just keep writing, keep building your little space on hellsite and before you know it, you'll be mentioned in a rec list, or someone will send you a video reminding them of your fic or you'll have someone in your dms telling you a very detailed and extremely heartfelt message about how they felt very moved by your writing and how they related to your character(s). all it takes is one chapter or one-shot at a time.
write as much or as little as you want: if you feel bad that your chapters are too long, don't be. someone out there might have had a really tough day and your 8k word document of hurt/comfort, slow burn leading up to smut might be exactly what they need to feel better. if you feel bad that your chapters are too short, don't be. someone out there might be in the middle of a tough day and your 0.6k word drabble might make them giggle through their lunchbreak and help them gather their sanity to get through the rest of the day. you never know just how amazing your fics are and to us readers, size doesn't matter (did i just make a sex joke? yes. yes, i did. deal with it).
It's okay to say no sometimes: whether it's saying no to specific requests because they make you feel uncomfy and/or because you aren't well versed in a certain topic. or saying no to people asking for an update on your fic. or even saying no to tagging people in your fics (yes, y'all know what i'm talking about) because people don't have manners and just ask to be tagged without even sparing you a reblog or there isn't a taglist to begin with😐 you're not going to be an asshole for setting boundaries so let go of that icky feeling in your stomach. yes, it might seem rude or unkind to people if you say no, but this is your blog and your writing. you decide what goes and no one else can change that.
Speaking of saying no, don't be afraid to voice your opinion on something that bothers you: like i said, if you don't like people asking you for certain things, tell them that you don't like that. you're also allowed to voice your opinion if you noticed something that isn't quite right within a fandom (e.g— racism, pedophilia, etc). it might be scary, but if you feel like you noticed something off, chances are another person did and they might also be afraid to speak up until someone else does. exhibit a.
Be very careful of which blogs you interact with: because if you're like me and you run a nsfw blog, chances are that there are children on this app who will take it upon themselves to ignore all of the (+18 ONLY) signs and read stuff that wasn't meant for them. but fear not because you have a very cool friend called the "block button" who will always be available to you 24/7. and don't let the ageless blogs fool you either because someone can add their age just days, weeks or even months after you've read, commented and/or even reblogged their smut and you just find out that it's a fucking minor🤦🏻♀️ (yeah, had to backtrack and find every last one of their posts on my blog to delete them asap🚮). so to the adults, be sure of someone's age if you're going to interact.
It's okay if you don't read every single one of your mutual's fics: really, it is. maybe you're not in the same fandoms but you share the same braincell, and that's okay. but maybe you are in the same fandoms and that's fine too. perhaps the character they're writing for isn't your favourite or isn't the one you're currently hyperfixated on or you're just not ready to read the fic because you have your own to write or you're still crying at 3am because of a different fic. it's entirely okay, your moots will understand if you don't crack open their masterlist and inhale every single word they've written thus far. it's okay. it's fine. it's the same as buying a book and putting it on a shelf for months (or years) without reading it but eventually, you'll pick up that book and have the time of your life.
It's okay to write the same trope in different fics: no one's gonna complain about it. chances are, as your readers, we're going to gobble it up all the same because we love that trope just as much as you do and we'll thank you for it. (for example, take a look at this post of mine)
It's okay to take a break and it's even okay to give up: especially if you have a fic that's popular amongst your peers. don't feel guilty if you feel overheated, burnt out or you feel like you have to take a break because you just discovered that the actors to those specific characters are a bunch of assholes. it's completely fine. take a step back. breathe. if you want to return to that fic/character/fandom, that's okay. if you want to give it all up entirely and scrape everything off, that's okay too. there's no need to force yourself to continue down a path that doesn't make you feel safe/comfortable/happy anymore. don't feel guilty for protecting your mental and emotional peace.
which brings me to my next point, there's no definitive cure to writer's block: sometimes when you're stumped, you're stumped. maybe prompts aren't working. maybe your favourite songs aren't working either. if any and all else fails in trying to get back into writing, perhaps it's a sign to take a step back from writing entirely. maybe for a day, maybe a week, or month. or however long you need. in my personal experience, the feeling of being stumped by writer's block is easily much better to bear than being burnt out learned that the hard way.
lastly, it's okay to be horny on main: yes. you heard that right. no, i will not elaborate :)
You had been crushing on your lieutenant ever since you joined Taskforce 141. Every time he was glaring at you, your face turned red; every time he walked past you, your face turned red; every time he called you by your code name, your face turned red; and every time he was close to you, your face turned red. His existence alone was enough to make you feel wet, yet you felt stupid. Stupid that you couldn't get closer to him, stupid that you'd get so shy around him, stupid that you'd always stutter and mix up words every time you answered a question or had a small chat with him, so stupid that every wrong move you made, you'd think it made him hate you. You didn't know what he thought of you though. I mean, the man barely knew you and definitely didn't want anything to do with you. But you didn't lose hope.
You've tried almost everything: you tried to be understanding, you tried to help, and you tried to get to know him better, yet nothing worked. Probably because you stutter like crazy and don't know how to talk with someone you secretly love. But what was the point if you could've spoken well to him? He just pushed you away, like he usually does to everyone, so that shouldn't affect you. But it did; it bothered you, it hurt you, and it made you feel miserable for even trying. You almost lost all of your determination, but you kept a small hope in yourself.
***
"I like you," you shyly said, not sure how you got here in the first place. Well, you spotted him a few months later, and you dragged him somewhere private, wanting to let out your feelings because it bothered you and hurt you. Ghost stood still, his expression not changing, his eyes glued to you, not really sure what to say. "...we're not friends." He gruffly replied. You slightly frown; that isn't what you meant, but his words still caused you to feel more and more impatient. You couldn't ignore the pain that affected your heart. "No...I mean like...I love you." You breathed out, trying your absolute best not to break down in tears. Ghost didn't say anything; he just looked at you while being silent, almost like he wasn't there. You gulped and began speaking. "Aren't you going to say something?" You whispered, "Anything?" You continued with desperation, hoping he could at least nod or shake his head—just anything—but once he opened his mouth, everything suddenly went blank.
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You slowly opened your eyes; you felt dizzy—very dizzy. However, the first thing you saw was a white room. What on earth were you doing here—no, how did you get here? You whimper and started to look around; you are stuck at a table; something is holding you still, but you can't see what that is. "Ghost?" You softly cried out. "Stop projecting; are your delusions getting worse?" A female voice could be heard behind you. "What? Who are you? How...? why...?" you say, remaining speechless. What did she mean by "delusions"? What is happening? Who was she?! You thought with silent tears. The female voice couldn't be heard for a moment, almost like the woman spaced out, but soon enough, she spoke. "It seems like the asylum isn't working for you." ------------------------------------
A/N: Well, that was a plot twist. It seems like the reader was in an asylum, and poor Simon wasn't real—or any of the members of the Task Force. I was going to originally name this "imagination", but I thought it would spoil the twist. Sorry if this made zero sense. I wrote this at four in the morning and saved it to drafts because I was so tired, my eyes started hurting...woops 🤩😘😘😝🥰😍🤗❤️💗😚🤭
►Imagine how Simon would comfort you—just by holding you close, kissing your head, letting you express yourself, letting you cry, letting you sob, wanting to make you feel better, wanting to make you feel special and loved, wanting to make you feel at ease.
►Oh, how much it hurts him. Seeing you cry was the worst thing he'd ever seen. It hurt him that he wasn't there when you needed him; it made his heart hurt. Just seeing you in this state almost broke him. If you're crying, he's crying, never wanting to make you feel alone, never wanting you to cry all alone.
"Shhh, it's okay, love. Just let it all out."
►He'd whisper with small tears, slowly caressing your back while hugging you, never wanting to let go, never wanting to leave you alone. "Shhhh, it's okay; we're going to get through this together, okay?"
He would whisper, his tone filled with nothing but affection and reassurance, wiping away your tears gently, kissing your cheek and hugging you even tighter, staying there forever, never stopping himself from praising you, calling you perfect, beautiful, and his little bird while cuddling close.
-----------------------------------------A/N: I love writing fluff and comfort stuff in here. Like damn, why can't all men be like Simon? 😞💙
