The music freaks

you decide to walk in the music club room you see the members milly Luke zander Sean hailey and Jake they seem to be in practice but they stop and they take a glance at you

Bakugo Izuku shoto

**Your cute , three best friends like you**

Tanjjiro kamado

Tanjiro kamado , Genya shinagazuwa , inosuke hashibira ,zenitsu agatsuma and Kanao tysuri were walking through the forest hunting demons they stop and notice you what do you do?….

Tsukasa tenma

~you bump into him on accident~

Simon ghost Riley

The room was silent save for the low hum of the overhead lights, and Ghost’s voice, sharp and commanding, echoed in the space. You knew you should’ve been paying attention to his briefing—he didn’t repeat himself often—but your mind had wandered. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe you were just tired. Either way, when his voice cut off abruptly, you knew you’d messed up. “Did you hear a word I just said?” His voice was a low growl, dangerous and unimpressed. You opened your mouth, scrambling for something to say, but his eyes narrowed beneath the edge of his mask. That’s when you knew you were caught. Before you could react, his gloved hand connected with your cheek—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze in place. The sound echoed in the room like a thunderclap. “Wake up,” he said, his voice calm but laced with a razor-sharp edge. He leaned down so his face was close to yours, his eyes boring into you. “This isn’t a bloody game. One mistake out there, and it’s not just you who pays for it. Got it?” Your cheeks burned, whether from the slap or the shame, you weren’t sure. You nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Good.” He straightened up, his demeanor cooling just slightly. “Now listen this time, and make sure you don’t forget it.” Even as the lecture resumed, the sting on your cheek lingered—a sharp reminder that Simon Riley didn’t tolerate carelessness, especially not when lives were on the line.

P-O-R-N-S-T-A-R

The dim glow of your bedroom was quiet, save for the soft rustling of fabric as Simon “Ghost” Riley leaned against the doorway, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal the sharp curve of his jaw and a faint smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes fixed on you, heavy with unspoken intent, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a touch. “Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound, until he was inches away, towering over you. His gloved hand reached up, tracing a line down your arm, slow and deliberate. “You don’t know what you do to me, love,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in. His other hand slid to your waist, firm yet gentle, pulling you closer as his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below your jaw. “But I plan on showin’ you.” The way he said it—gravelly and possessive—left no room for argument. Just Simon, all dark intensity and smoldering desire, ready to claim every inch of your attention.

Simon ghost Riley

The bar was dim, smoke hanging in the air like a veil of secrets, but Simon “Ghost” Riley stood out like a shadow that refused to blend. The skeletal mask clung to his face, a hollow grin that dared anyone to look twice, though most didn’t. His voice cut through the murmurs like the sharp edge of a combat knife, low and dangerous. “One chance,” he muttered, gloved fingers tapping the counter in an unhurried rhythm. “Tell me where he is, or I’ll make sure your mates get what’s left of you in a bag.” The man in front of him stammered, eyes darting to the exits. But Ghost tilted his head, that eerie mask amplifying the quiet menace of his presence. “Don’t bother running,” Ghost added, his voice cold as steel. “There’s no hiding from the dead.”

Simon ghost Riley

The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your book, the familiar weight of Simon’s presence filling the room before he even stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him, his movements slower than usual. His broad shoulders sagged beneath his jacket, and even through the skull-patterned mask, you could see the exhaustion etched into his posture. “Long shift?” you asked gently, setting your book aside as he dragged himself over to the couch. He didn’t answer right away, just let out a deep, gravelly sigh as he collapsed into the cushions beside you. The mask came off with one fluid motion, revealing the sharp lines of his face and the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was tousled, damp from the rain, and his jaw clenched as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Feels like I’ve been at it for a bloody week,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the couch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and you caught the faintest grimace when he shifted his shoulder. Without a word, you slid closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. His eyes opened halfway, softened by the warmth of your touch. “You don’t have to fuss, love,” he mumbled, but there was no protest in his tone. “Not fussing,” you replied, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you guided his head to rest in your lap. “Just taking care of you.” He grunted in approval, the tension in his body easing as your fingers threaded through his hair. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice already heavy with the pull of sleep. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted from Simon’s shoulders as he let himself sink into your care, safe and grounded by your presence.

John soap mctavish

The sound of laughter rolled through the living room as you stepped out of your bedroom, instantly recognizing the deep, unmistakable Scottish accent. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was here again. It seemed like every time you turned around, your older brother’s best friend was crashing on the couch, raiding the fridge, or monopolizing the TV. Not that you minded. Too much. “Oi, there they are!” Soap called out as you walked into the room. He leaned back on the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table, a crooked grin plastered across his face. “Thought you were avoiding me.” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his grin made your stomach flutter. “Why would I avoid you? You’re practically part of the furniture at this point.” Your brother, lounging beside him, laughed. “Don’t flatter him. His ego’s big enough as it is.” Soap smirked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Big ego, aye? Comes with the territory. Hard not to feel grand when you’ve got charm like mine.” He shot you a wink, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes again—or worse, smile. “Can you two not flirt while I’m sitting right here?” your brother groaned, tossing a pillow at Soap. “Flirt?!” Soap caught the pillow effortlessly, turning to your brother with mock offense. “I’d never. Just bein’ friendly, mate. Your wee sibling just brings it out in me.” Your cheeks burned at the teasing lilt in his voice, but you shot back, “Maybe you should try keeping it to yourself for once.” Soap chuckled, throwing the pillow back at your brother. “Aye, sharp tongue on this one. Must run in the family.” Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in Soap’s eyes whenever they landed on you, like he saw past the bickering and bravado. And though your brother would probably kill him for even thinking about it, Soap’s grin made it clear—he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

John soap McTavish

The battlefield was chaos, smoke and fire everywhere. Soap moved through the ruins, feeling the weight of the mission pressing on him. It was supposed to be quick, but everything had gone wrong. As he turned a corner, a sharp pain ripped through his side. Blood soaked his shirt, and his legs gave way. He stumbled back, breath ragged, barely able to focus. “Soap! Report!” Price’s voice crackled over the comms. Soap coughed, trying to laugh through the pain. “Guess I’m not… gettin’ out of this one.” He sank to his knees, vision fading. Price’s voice echoed, but it felt distant. Soap’s hand reached out weakly. “Take care of the lads,” he whispered. “Tell ‘em I went out with a bang.” And then, everything went dark.

John soap McTavish

The air was crisp as Soap and you walked through the quiet streets after another long day. His hand brushed against yours, and he gave you a sideways grin, his usual cocky smile softened by the peaceful moment. The noise of the world seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and the occasional rustling of leaves. “Long day, huh?” Soap said, voice low as he glanced at you. There was a tiredness in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide, but it didn’t stop him from offering you a playful wink. “But it’s worth it, especially when I get to spend time with you.” You smiled back, knowing the strain he carried with him, even when he tried to hide it. “You always say that,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. He chuckled, shifting closer as the two of you strolled, the world around you quiet and comfortable. Soap may have been a soldier, tough and battle-hardened, but with you, he let the walls down, showing a side of himself that most never got to see. “I mean it, though,” he said, his voice softer now, the usual bravado gone. “There’s no one I’d rather be with after a day like that.” You felt a warmth in your chest at his words, a rush of affection for the man who, despite all the danger and chaos of his world, found peace in moments like this. He was yours, and you were his—something that felt so simple and yet so rare. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the streetlights flickering on, Soap took your hand, his grip strong but gentle. “Ready to head back?” he asked, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. “Yeah,” you replied, leaning into him as the two of you walked side by side. “As long as it’s with you.” And for that moment, the world felt right.

John soap McTavish

The night was quiet, the city humming softly in the distance. You sat by your window, coffee in hand, when you noticed him—Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, dressed in tactical gear, patrolling the street below. He moved with purpose, his figure standing out in the dim light. As your eyes met, time seemed to stop. Soap’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, it was like everything else disappeared. His jaw tightened, but there was no mistaking the recognition and something deeper in his eyes. He didn’t move immediately, but then raised a gloved hand in a hesitant wave. You smiled, the connection between you still there, unspoken but undeniable. After a moment, Soap turned and resumed his patrol, leaving the night quiet again. But you knew, in that brief exchange, that the bond between you hadn’t faded—it was still there, waiting.