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madebyrolo · 1 month

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Beach date

Rafe Cameron x Reader

She/her

one shot / fluff

summary: “VICTOR, YOU ACTUALLY DID THIS!?” Type fic.

Obx masterlist

┗ •◦இ•◦ ┛

I was sitting on my bed scrolling through TikTok when Rafe texted me.

“Be ready I’m picking you up at 6.”

“And for what can I ask?” I responded

“It’s a surprise peach”

Rafe came up with that nickname when I was over one day and I accidentally drank the rest of his peach juice.

“Okay okay see you then :)”

With the time being 5:38, I get up and put on denim skirt and white halter top with little blue flowers on it. I grab my Uggs cause they’re cute and comfy and I put my vanilla perfume. I get my purse and make sure my lip gloss is in it and soon I get the text that my bae has arrived. I love calling Rafe bae cause he hates it.

“Mom I’ll be back, I’m going out with rafe!” I call out from the stairs.

“Okay honey, be home before 10 please!” She calls out from her office.

She absolutely loves Rafe and luckily she trust me and him enough to let me out without asking anything. And with her having my location on 24/7

I shut the door behind me and I walk to the black truck in my driveway. I see Rafe standing right by the passenger door with his dopey smile plastered across his face.

“Hey dream boat” I say walking up to him placing a small kiss on his lips.

“Hey hey? That wasn’t a kiss come one give daddy a real one.” Rafe said earning a laugh from me before pulling me in by the waist completely smashing his lips on mine.

“That was sweet but you’re eating me Rafe.” I joke with him.

“Oh so with that hurtful joke, I don’t think you deserve these.” He said grabbing a bouquet from inside the car.

“Rafe, you didn’t oh my god they’re beautiful!” I saw grabbing them from him and smelling them.

It was a mix of blue hydrangeas with lilies and mums with the perfect amount of greenery . They smelt amazing, like peace which I loved about flowers.

“Blue like my eyes so you think about me every time you look at them.” He somewhat joked.

“I always do Rafe.” I say before planting a small cute long kiss on him.

“Now come on, I’m dying to know what you’ve planned.” I say adjusting the collar of his white dress shirt.

“Okay peach get in.” he said opening the door and letting me in.

After a 15 minutes drive with a quick pit stop for a pizza at dominos, we finally made it. We stopped by the beach putting the car in park and once again opening the door for me.

“What are we doing at the beach? I didn’t bring a suit.” I say while he grabs my hand leading up to the sand.

“We’re not gonna for a swim.” he said.

“You should’ve mentioned the beach, I wouldn’t have picked these Uggs Rafe.” I tell him.

“You know Uggs were actually meant for the beach? They were for surfers” he explains.

“Do I look like a surfer?” I complain.

“Hey I got you to stand in the board once!” He nudged me

After a short walk we are greeted with a blanket that had a basket with lemonade and other goodies. There was 2 easels and some paint supplies along with more flowers.

“Happy date night!” Rafe said as let put down the pizza.

“Rafe this is so cute!” I say as I sit down in the blanket and look at everything he got.

“I did this all myself, thought we deserved a nice cute date to end off the summer.” Rafe said sitting next to me.

“Rafe this is perfect. Thank you.” I said hugging him.

“I got us some paints so we can do a little couples art maybe and some extra canvas for fun but mainly cause I know I’ll mess up.” He joked bringing out all the colors.

“You’re actually the best boyfriend ever Rafe.”

“I know I know. You can pay he back later.” he said with a wink as you nudge him.

“Okay give me a plate I want pizza.”

After your small dinner and some laughs shared with Rafe you finally get to the painting.

“Okay so we can do thumb prints, handprints, kisses, little things that represent us,” Rafe listed ideas as he scroll through Pinterest.

“Let’s do a handprints, something easy and then maybe we can cover it in sand to reminds of us this little beach date.” You offered

“Yeah I like that” he kissed your nose.

“Alright so many kisses today I think you just did this to get some.”

“No no I actually did this for us, but that’s just a perk” Rafe gave another kiss but on your neck and started going down.

“Okay okay! Let’s get to painting!” You giggled due to the friction of his warm lips on your skin.

As you guys finally decided on a paint color which took absolutely forever because Rafe wanted to do blue to match his eyes (once again) but you wanted a sage green because it was nice and calming which was a perfect way to describe this date. Certainly not this relationship yk how Rafe is.

“Okay your hand first cause it’s giant” you as you painted his hand a dark green.

“Hey you love these hands, especially these finger-”

“OKAY. So place it straight don’t make it crooked.” You guide his onto the canvas

“I can do it myself I’m a big boy okay y/n” he said placing his own hand down.

“Okay leave it there for a couple of seconds to get a good print.” You order.

You grab a lighter green to match his and paint your hand. The ticklish feelings and smell remind you of elementary, and the one time Jayj ate paint (not as a dare.)

“Oh that’s a cute color” Rafe said as you put the paint back.

“Okay you can take your hand off now. Longer you keep it, it’s probably gonna dry on there.” You joked.

“Don’t make it crooked.” He said as he grabbed your hand placing it down on the canvas on top if his.

After a couple of seconds you take it off and see the perfect imprints of you and Rafe.

“Aww it’s so cute!” You commented

“Oh now we have to make another, I’m gonna want one too.” He said admiring your art work.

“Here you go.” he said handing you a cup of sand

You sprinkle the sand ontop of the paint making sure to put enough then shaking the rest off.

“Okay now while this drys I wanna paint another.” you say grabbing another canvas.

You decide to paint a turtle on the beach. Turtles are your second animal cause they’re just so darn cute. As you paint, Rafe also decides to paint whatever he is. He has an assortment of colors and he’s just in his own world. As you watch him you can’t help but notice how his tounge pokes the inside of this cheek as he concentrates.

After 20 minutes, you finally have finished yours projects.

“Okay on, one…two…three!” You count down and flip your canvas.

“Oh thanks cute!” Rafe says and you stare as his… maybe pizza?

“Nice…I don’t even know. Rafe what is that?” You say confused.

“It’s a boat!” He says excited.

“Look it’s me and you!” He points to small blobs

“Oh I thought those were olives…”

“Y/n…” he says with a pout.

“Oh come on it’s cute!!!” You say trying to make him feel better.

“Maybe you should just keep to gallery walks instead of making the art…” you pat his shoulder as you both stare as his “boat”

“Your turtles are so good but look at my boat.”

“Rafe calm down it’s fine beside you can always buy classes.”

“But you’re a natural! It’s unfair.”

“Rafe quit it, besides you’re better at other things than me!” You try to cheer him up.

“Like what?”

“Golf”

“Wow lousy golf. Topper is the king let’s face it.”

“Whatever who cares he got cheated on.” You managed to crack a smile from him.

“Beside, you’re an absolutely an amazing boyfriend. My boyfriend.” He turns to look at you.

“Look at this amazing date you planed. And set up all by yourself too. Gotta give yourself props.” You give him a hug.

“Yeah I’m a pretty good man..” he said playfully rolling his eyes.

“My man.”

You guys share another slow and passionate kiss.

“Come on let’s clean this up. You can spend the night at mine.” You offer as you began to throw things into the basket.

“Okay good, I already told my dad I was.” He said as he grabbed the trash and threw it in a bag.

As you guys drive home you play your oldies playlists. You singing along while Rafe learns new songs.

Soon you guys make it to your house. Rafe parks the car and you guys make your way to the front door with him holding the insane amount of followers.

“Wait we never made my painting” Rafe stopped in his tracks.

“Here you can have the hands, I’ll take your pizza boat.” You say handing him his.

“Guess we have to have another date night to make another !! Ugh!” You said sarcastically.

“What a bore.” Rafe plays along.

You guys reach upstairs. Taking a joint shower because Rafe kept insisting on taking one first but you were too tired to wait. You both got the amazing date night, and hot and steamy sex.

┗ •◦இ•◦ ┛

Came out of hibernation and finally wrote 😩

Sorry for any typos I got too lazy.

Love me some soft Rafe 💁🏽‍♀️

#rafe cameron #soft rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #drew starkey #rafe fluff #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe

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the-moon-files · 4 months

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Linked Universe / GN!Reader - Random Headcanons abt the Chain! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (ur here!) / Part 3

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: Hyrule, Time, Fierce Deity, Twilight, Warriors

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: light cussing, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

☆

Hyrule (The Legend of Zelda - OG game, Zelda II: Adventures of Link):

Lost easily, obviously, you know this

What you didnt know was that its very easy to get lost with him

Bc he's so excited/curious for new sights he doesnt give any fucks abt where he is, so it devolves into that "wait, I thought YOU were leading us there?? Then where tf are we??!!" very quickly

Does feel bad he stressed u out smtimes but he somehow manages to get into such wild shit that Hyrule's kinda preoccupied being confused/amazed/finding his way out, or any combo of these situations (once again, usually with you unfortunately)

Is the luckiest when it comes to getting lost or anything to do with "natural" things

Like he heard u rlly like this one fruit? Accidentally gets lost all day and panics all the Links + You until he shows up at midnight with a shirtful of them

("I found a few fruit trees/plants in the woods while wandering! I tried to grab a few for you and before I knew it, it was dark, sorry...")

Likes learning little skills from other people, like learning how to do makeup from Legend, or how to spot collections of rupees the Minish have left somewhere from Four, or how walk on any terrain from Wind (good at walking on a ship, on land, climbing etc)

More of a "sunset" hiker than a "sunrise" one

Likes to do your hair! Whether that be braiding, putting accessories (he handmade shhh) thruout it, or helping with hair maintenance, likes how strangely intimate but domestic it feels together with you (u return the favor ofc)

(All the other heroes are looking at you both like kicked puppies jfcccc🙄)

Time (Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask):

Gets anxious if he's late to things, likes being fashionably early (or ungodly, when u let him get away with it)

Has absolutely been that meme from Parks and Recreation where he's like "Alright. I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Who broke it?"

(Abt the coffee pot for the camp)

Knowing full and well-

"I broke it. It burnt my coffee for the 3rd morning in a row, so I punched it. I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a moblin head on a stick. ...good. It was getting a little chummy around here."

MF LOVES GOSSIP (wouldn't admit this even at swordpoint)

Wars has absolutely been the person in the meme of:

Wars: "...why would you tell me this??"

Time: "Bc no one will ever believe you."

Wars: ...😦

Has a resting bitch face and knows it, actively cultivates it, scary dog privileges for you,

Type to take ur side in whatever situation ur in, even when Time has no idea whats going on, always, without question <3

The same height as First, (Twi's a close 2nd), and feels most secure when the 3 of you are at the front of the group, but First/Time are slightly in front of you

Like ur literally the person walking their 2 huge scary doobermans/mastiffs one leash in each hand basically 💀

(Once again, Link is deeply comforted by ur voice just over his shoulder/just hearing u even without seeing you)

Very subtly sarcastic, u dont even know he made a dig at you until 3-5 business days later

Likes ur sarcasm more than anyone else's in the group, or even his own lol

Fierce Deity (Majora's Mask):

Likes music, any music (amused at drunk karaoke)

Casually cradles ur arms or back whenever ur falling asleep/tripping/being clumsy near him

Very warm and smoothed calloused hands

Thinks abt what he's about to say so hard/long, that the conversation's moved on by like, 3 rounds/subject changes by the time he's actually ready to talk

Scolds ppl (in like a sentence) who neglect their needs, like sleeping/eating/hygiene

Finds peace in nature, if hes ever upset, u can bet he's already taking a walk by a stream

Likes teaching u/other Links little skills he has, its nice to feel appreciated/needed for something other than fighting or big moments

He falls in love with small moments, like the first time u made them all a dessert recipe from ur world, or repaired First's scarf (for the millioneth time) and bc everyone had gotten their clothes scratched up, everyone needed repairs so most Links were sewing smth lol

Enjoys watching ppl experience smth for the first time, or even himself exp smth for first time

Fierce smiled fully for the first time when you got into the mountain hot springs in Wild's Hyrule for the first time and were super excited

Also the type to hold ur hand while stepping in to make sure u dont fall, or just subtly boost a Link that was abt to fall from climbing smth

Like for being the tallest, he's surprisingly sneaky, the energy of the biggest cat in the house yet somehow also the quietest

Does that thing where someone takes ur hand and like massages ur fingers, palm, wrist and shakes them out kinda for you <3

Twilight (Twilight Princess):

Trips UP the stairs.

Cold start LMAO

ok ill be nice to him,, sike

Easy to bully?? U mean that kindly, he's just such a golden retriever sometimes u cant help urself (tho u make sure to reign it in and not take advantage of it so as not to genuninely hurt him)

Lol likes to "herd" his favorite people, like those dogs livestock farmers have u kno that they say end up herding their owners/their family lol

Like making subtle circles around the Chain, wrapping an arm around Hyrule and teasing him to quietly bring him back into the group before he gets lost,

Tugs on Time's armor to slow him down, mf may be in armor head to toe but he'll outpace all of u 💀

Likes to put his hand on ur lower back to guide u back into the group from whatever scenic thing u got distracted by

(so sue you, ur literally in The Legend of Zelda's Hyrule, surrounded by pretty blondes, why tf wouldnt you be distracted all the time??)

The only time he doesnt herd actively is in Ordon, just subconciously lol <3

Terrible sleep schedule, but sleeps like the dead when he does, has collapsed with a limb on top of you and u couldnt escape

Hard time waking up in the morning despite being country boy, who usually have to do chores first thing in morning on a farm

hates/envious of Wild (up at 5am even on days off?? Foul.)

Runs warm, but complains abt a slight breeze?

Would sleep with no covers if it werent for morning dew

Wishes cats liked him more (its the wolf smell)

Twi has the constant energy of a tall person carefully maneuvering around cluttered/low doorways while someone a head shorter runs by him and bounces off of him

U get onto/scold the Links and he's immediately the first to just sit on the ground, or put down whatever he's holding no matter what he's doing LMAO 😭😭

Keeps his eyes on u too the whole time lol

Warriors (Hyrule Warriors):

Cries over romance novels/dramas

A virgo in all stereotypes of the word tbh

Invented the red-string conspiracy theory board before the red-string conspiracy board existed in Hyrule

Also likes to take care of your hair! (What?? He and 'Rulie don't fight over ur hair, that'd be childish, he's not a foolish boy- Hyrule, hand over the brush.👹)

Remembers the little things abt u type of person, like ur favorite drink, ur favorite stories like tv shows/books even if theyre from ur world, ur favorite clothing pieces like shorts vs. pants, etc.

The only Link who can single handedly claim he could take your closet and dress you in something you'd actually wear.

Honestly once he got the hang of it, would get better at dressing you, than you

(Another domestic thing he adores, picking outfits for u/finding that perfect piece of clothing you've been needing lately)

Born to night-owl, forced to morning-bird 😔

Wars wakes up stiff sometimes bc soldier training is sleeping on ur back, hands to ur sides, laying straight in ur bed, so as to fit into bunks/bedrolls close together

It got better as he was promoted to Captain, so he could have his own quarters but its still a hard habit to shake

One of the few Links who works up the courage to genuinely pitfully ask if you'd mind massaging his shoulders again? He slept badly last night, please?? 🥺👉👈

(Ur so weak for pathetic hurting pretty blonde twinks lol)

The most lowkey abt taking care of Chain, but u make sure to take care of him as a gift back, and you've definitely caught him tearing up abt it 💖

☆

Debated writing smth else first but figured this was easy and short and i started it first so youll have to wait like one more post before more Masc Reader stuff guys 😔

Dw its coming, i havent abandoned u my homies out there 🫂

Let me know what u think in the comments of my slight characterizations here!

Im struggling to conceptualize their personalities so thats acc part of why i started to write smaller stuff like this first! :)

Peace out,

🌙

#lu x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe x gender neutral reader #lu x male reader #link x reader #linked universe reader #lu imagines #lu time x reader #lu warriors x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu fierce deity x reader #lu twilight x reader #loz link x reader #jfc is that all of them yet #save me #well not link obv mf is the one making me suffer here 💀#too many mf tags

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yaut-jaknowit · 3 months

Text

An Accident

Pairings: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count:

Summary: What you believed was enough time to recooparate after the incident, you go back to planning. You follow your way through the halls, learning patterns and what was ways were the quickest with less foot traffic. It's easy... until the lights go out. And you terrified, trembling in the darkness without We'ar-ow near you.

Author Note: Heyyyy, I know it's been over a month since the last post of this series. Please don't be mad. I'm slowly chipping away at the others but I was rushing to finish all the requests I had as well.

P.s. I will be reopening requests shortly!

Masterlist

Ao3

Though half the size of We’ar-ow’s bathroom, this room offered plenty. The tile comfortably warm in the morning of the ship’s day cycle. A mirror hung above the sink a few inches taller than average.

With your back turned to it, your fingers softly grazed over the healed mark carved into the back of your neck. It wasn’t horrible. You shivered at the memory painted inside of your head. It played over and over. You scoffed, shoulders sagging. She had pinned you down in front of her tribe and marked you as hers… after defeating your ex-mate.

Thinking about it now, it didn’t bother you as much.

Constantly, We’ar-ow has shown you nothing but compassion. May it be a little on the rough side. Say, dragging you out of bed to either shower or feed you; forcing you to straddle her lap as she renewed her scent on you; taking you out to her throne room. It wasn’t anything near a royal treatment, but it was a content life.

Three meals a day; a semi social life; clothes on your back. You took a deep breath in to fill you lungs before fully turning around to face yourself in the mirror.

Nothing much has changed about your appearance. The bags under your eyes have disappeared after two week since the incident. We’ar-ow had allowed you to sleep in her bed for the first week.

Then came… the thoughts. You returned back to your given room all on your own. We’ar-ow said nothing about it. Nothing changed. Things went back to the new normal of your life. That was that.

A shirt was tugged over your head and hung off of your shoulders. You still looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to find something amiss. When you came up empty handed, you shrugged and exited the bathroom. The sight of your strange bedroom didn’t bring you much relief. You couldn’t help the scowl that morphed your features at the dog-like bed in the corner.

Out of all the things that have changed since you’ve been with We’ar-ow, that was the one thing you hadn’t grown accustom to. A pet. A real pet.

Dwainet may have claimed you as a pet for your safety… but he never treated you as such. We’ar-ow constantly reminded you of your ownership. She owned you. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. But… her treatment was different than what you would’ve expected as her pet.

Something delicious wafted into the air. You breathed in a lung full, mouth beginning to water. Your stomach growled, longing for food. We’ar-ow had been gone in the afternoon yesterday, leaving you to fend for yourself. Since you’ve never cooked for yourself while being on the ship, you just went hungry. Plus, you were too timid to grab any fruits to hold you over until morning.

The door slid open at your presence. You peered out and found the lumbering giant in the minute kitchen, working on breakfast. A smile broke cross your face before you shook your head and strolled out.

Bare-footed, your feet made little pitter-patter noises on the metal floors. The metal was mildly warm to the touch. Quietly, you reached the counter and sat down on the stools meant for a creature at least a foot taller than you.

Right on time. We’ar-ow scooped whatever was on the pan and placed the plated food in front of you. A smile of thanks was thrown up at her. You gratefully dug into the food, starving. Actions like these made the title ‘pet’ not feel as bad. Your morals and emotions war with each on that front though. Unable to come to a conclusion that a life like this was fine. We’ar-ow wasn’t going to win you over that easily.

Mid-bite, a knock on the entrance door had you tensing up. Immediately, your heart begins to thunder in its bony cage. Your head whips around to stare at the dark metallic grey slab.

Ever since the scare on your first exploration… you were on edge. Someone had been stalking you, hunting you down that day. The mediocre knife that had been gifted to you would’ve done nothing to protect you from whoever that was. Said knife sat tied in its sheath to your waist band.

A warm hand jolted your muscles, gaze snapping to the person who laid their hand on you. We’ar-ow petted the top of you head in a soothing motion. “Do not fret, my pet. It is just Xilomere,” she explained, letting the limb slip off as she strolled over to the door.

Shakily, you reached down and rested a hand on top of your knife. Your eyes pinned on the door.

It registered in your mind what she had said only a few moments earlier. Your eyes narrowed. Xilomere? Who’s that?

The front door slide open and revealed a dark, moss green Yautja. Male by the size of him. Instantly, he bowed his head to We’ar-ow in front of him before lifting his upper mandibles. A smile. His posture lax, might you even say friendly.

His greying tresses were a sign of his older age, older than We’ar-ow. The extra wrinkles on his face aided that thought process. As you scanned his body, looking for anything that could be considered a threat, you noticed the lower portion of his right arm was gone. From the elbow down was missing. On his other arm, his pinky and the tip of his ring finger were missing as well. This Yautja had seen the hardships of this life to the full extent. Well, besides death, of course. You couldn’t help your hand tightening around the handle of your knife.

When his eyes moved past the face of We’ar-ow, they landed on you. Your whole body locked up, chest rapidly moving with short, quick breaths. The two of you staring each other down.

The moss green Yautja snorted with a chuckle. His arms lifted out at his sides at half-mast. “Ah, there is the ooman I’ve heard so much about!” His voice was on the higher pitched level when he spoke in Yautja. But the translator droned on about what he had said.

He slinked around the towering female and made his way to you. The whites of your eyes were easily seen. You froze in your spot, heart thundering loud in your ears as he stopped before you. “Such a small, little thing you are,” he jestered and reached out, hand heading for your chin.

“Mere,” We’ar-ow scolded, voice firm. The for-called Yautja grunted, gave you look as if you would know what it meant and spun around. His arm was raised in mock surrender.

“What? I’m checking out your new pet. I haven’t gotten to see them since they first arrived here,” Xilomere defused the situation. His hand dropped back to his side. “It’s not like everyday that you let a ooman on the ship, let alone have one as your pet.”

All she had to do was give a look before his shoulders were dragged down. “Ugh, you’re no fun.” In the midst of all of this, the most you could do was just stare speechless at this Yautja. Everyone in the ship worships the ground We’ar-ow walked on…

Xilomere… didn’t. He was friendly, playful even with her. We’ar-ow allowed for it to happen, letting him into her shared quarters with you.

Something burned in the back of your throat. The grip on the knife tightened before bite at the inside of your cheek and let go. This was a Yautja. A clearly well decorated one. He’d have you in five different pieces before you could even get within ten feet of him.

You swiveled in your chair and timidly finished up your breakfast. Xilomere left you alone after We’ar-ow gave him a warning. An action you were thankful for.

Once your plate had been cleaned and placed off to the side to dry, you peered around the corner of the kitchen and into the living space. On the couches, both Yautjas sat. Each on their respectful couch.

The translator embedded into the skin behind your ear picked up on their conversation. We’ar-ow and Xilomere were discussing things about the clan and mothership. Plans for maintenance on the engines and other projects along the same line. The lingering burn started to dwindle at their respectful conversation.

For a moment, you padded across the space and scuttled into your room. The device you were looking for was snatched off of the dresser close to the door. Then, you were back out, going over to the We’ar-ow. You stood five feet from her and clutched the tablet to your chest, waiting for her acknowledgement.

When she got to a good stopping point, We’ar-ow paused her conversation to look at you. “Yes?” Her usual softer voice was replaced with the voice of a leader.

Your shoulders scrunched up. “Is it okay if I go out?” The question hung heavy in the air. This was a perfect chance to keep… planning. With We’ar-ow distracted with this Xilomere character, I could go out without the constant worry of her watching me. It had also been a month since the incident. Whoever was out there… they must have lost their interest, right?

We’ar-ow’s darted over to Xilomere without turning her eyes then landed back on you. She dipped her head, tresses slightly swinging with the motion. “You may.”

With that settled, she returned to the conversation with Xilomere, not missing a beat. You took your leave through the front door and down the short hallway to reach the elevator.

Hesitation drew you to a stop short of pressing the button to open the door. Swallowing down the lump growing in your throat, you closed the distance and entered the elevator.

The trip down was short but not sweet. You clutched the tablet tight to your chest and squeezed it harder as the doors opened. They revealed an desolate hallway. The sight didn’t relieve you of any tension. You pressed on and stepped out into the new space.

Much to your relief, nothing jumped out and attempted to drag you into the dark corners of the ship. You took a deep breath before taking the first step down a hallway you knew would be part of your escape plan. From this one, you would need to take the third left before taking another elevator further down into the belly of this mothership.

To refresh your mind, you ran the entire course, measuring the time it would take to walk to the cargo hold. Far longer than you would like. The longer it took to reach the cargo hold, the more time it gave to We’ar-ow to hunt you down or even lock the ship down.

Escape and survive. Those were your two main options. Nothing else mattered. Get off of this damn ship.

There were passer-byers who glanced at you, some uncaring that you exist. Others either sneered or scowled in your direction.

We’ar-ow’s mark was your shield against any of them. If they dared to hurt you in any way, it would bring along the wrath of her. Rage none of them wanted to experience or endure.

After reaching the cargo hold, you turned back around and found an empty hallway to slither into. You sat down and began to type up all of your findings, mostly just about the time. On that same note of escape, next you need to learn about the schedule of the ships. Which ship to stowaway on as well. Something you could possibly steal… if you learned how to fly one. That was the last option because that would take extra weeks, maybe even raking in months of learning. Time you didn’t know if you had.

Your head hit the wall behind you with a groan. This was becoming longer than you expected. All you wanted was to go home. Was that so bad? To get away from all of this… craziness. These people, this species. It wasn’t something you wanted to be mixed with.

Darkness engulfed your form. The tablet’s screen is your only source of light in the pitch blackness of the hallway. You couldn’t help the yelp that surpassed your lips, eyes darting around but found nothing. What happened?

Timidly, your feet found their way under your form. No one was around the last you knew of. Despite knowing none of the Yautjas would step in to help you incase someone attacked you, you believed if there was another Yautja around… no one would try to harm you. Foolish to think that as your safety but it was all you had.

The tablet lit up your path as you retraced the needed steps to make it to a more populated area. Your chest slightly heaving with deep breaths to keep yourself level headed.

Everything went dark. The device in your hand had been ripped out of your hand and smashed into the ground, blocking out your only source of light. You screamed and froze, eyes not yet adjusted to any sort of darkness.

Behind you, you sensed eyes, burning holes in your back. You whipped around and staggered, almost losing your balance in the process. Only blackness greeted your sight.

Terror gripped your heart. You stumbled backwards, heel knocking into the discarded tablet. It slide across the metal flooring for a few seconds then came to a stop. You internally cursed, hoping you could somehow find it once more and use it for a light source again.

Tapping sounded behind you again. Once more, you spun around to face whatever was here with you. Your entire body shook, hands trembling at your sides. With no lights, not even emergency lights, your eyes couldn’t adjust. Nothing for the retina to send a signal up to your brain.

It clicked in your brain, far later than you would like to admit. The knife. Your hands whipped to where it was sheathed and wielded it in front of you. Disappointingly enough, you knew the quakes raking your body weren’t a sight to be terrified of.

Chittering laughter echoed in the hall, bouncing off of the walls. It felt like mockery. You whimpered, pupils blown wide and darting around the area before you.

Claws raked along your back. From the small of your back to the bottom of your shoulder blades, pain exploded like a bomb. Fire raced up with the marks, burning from the inside out. You cried out, knife dropping from your hands. You stumbled forward and blindly kicked the weapon away from you. It too was lost to the darkness.

Weaponless and injured, all you could was shake like a leaf and stand blindly. Tears desperately fought to roll down like raging rivers down your face. You briefly held it in.

All the ways you could die flashed in your eyes with the help of the blackness. Just your body, a bloody heap of flesh and bones, lying dead without the protection of We’ar-ow.

Fuck. We’ar-ow…. How would she feel after learning of your demise? Relief she doesn’t have to care for you? Sorrow possibly? You scoffed internally at the thought. These Yautjas don’t feel sadness. Just rage and lust. Nothing more than mindless beasts.

Something scaly and firm engulfed your throat, simply lifted you up, and slammed you down on the ground. You surely thought your skull fractured from the harsh cracked that rang out. Your ears began to ring.

The burn for air caused panic to surge through your haze. Your legs kicked out and struck a hard body. Yet, whatever held you, stayed. Unfazed from the strike and kept its mighty grip tightly around your feeble neck. Your hands clawed in desperation at the arm pinning you to the metal floor. But the scales were far too thick for your own dull nails to even scratch through the first layer of skin.

Tears poured freely out of the corner of your eyes, running over your temples and leaving droplets on the ground. You tried to scream, to cry, to alert someone of what was happening to you. As the prey animal you are, you wanted help, someone to save before this thing killed you!

All you could produce were gurgles and croaks. No one would come to your air. No one could hear your last noises. This was to be your grave.

The fight began to leave you. The lack of oxygen reaching your brain dwindled with each pump of your heart. Your hands fell away and thumped at your sides.

Air rushed into your lungs. You gasped so hard it scratched at your throat, forcing you to roll over and cough harshly, possibly bringing up blood. You blinked through the tears and squinted your eyes, blinded by the overhead lights. But there was light.

Through the haze of salty tears, you saw a blurred figure sprinting down the hallway and darted around a corner. Gone from sight. You flinched and swallowed painfully. Your throat hurt, feeling the aftermath of it nearly being crushed.

Despite knowing whoever just attempted to murder you could turn themselves around and finish the kill, you could only sit there. The threat of death still hung heavy like a rain cloud over your head. But, you just stayed on the ground, heaving for air. Death was almost a friend for a second. You should’ve never came here. It’s been one bad thing after another.

An unknown amount of time passed before you stumbled to your feet and used a wall for support. Nausea roared it ugly head at the new motion. On the ground, a few yards from you sat both the knife and now destroyed tablet. It had been stepped on clearly and couldn’t handle the weight. A croaked meant as a curse fell from your dry lips. You stepped over to the two items, sheathing the knife and scooping up the pieces of the tablet.

The screen completely shattered, some pieces were gone. With a pained groan, you turned around and started to trek back to more populated areas. Now though, your head was on a swivel, constantly whipping behind encase they dared to come back. The knife was back in your hand, white-knuckling the handle.

Your feet stopped in their tracks when you saw the first Yautja walking in the larger hallway. This path was part of the main route used by most of the clan. But this alien was walking in the direction as you. They didn’t even react to the tiny gasp that escaped your lips.

You started down the new hall, following the Yautja at least fifty feet behind him. He didn’t make an acknowledgement of your presence.

When another turned to use the walkway, you tensed up and stopped mid step. But she didn’t even look at you or your dishevel appearance. You scuttled along, going further into the main area of the ship.

More and more Yautjas moved around you. None of them acting differently besides a few giving you a double look. You had to bet bruises were making their mark around your throat. Plus, the back of your shirt had been shredded, dried blood sticking your skin. It flaked at each step and left behind a horrible, itchy feeling. You kept on marching on until you reached the first elevator.

A single Yautja waited for you enter before pushing a button. Timidly, you reached over and selected your own needed level. The alien made no noise of complaint or despise. Indifferent. An aspect you were thankful, even after they left and the doors closed again.

The machine came to a halt. You yelped; palms pressed to the metal wall behind you to keep you from keeling over. Bronze metal doors slide open to reveal the desired floor. You stepped out and into the new danger. The only thing that kept you from curling into a ball there was the fact you were closer to We’ar-ow. Or, at least, the safety of her room. No one would be stupid enough to break in and harm you. If they could even break through in the first place. And if she was there… she wouldn’t take kind of an intruder. Yautjas are very territorial and possessive.

As you took another step in the right direction, your vision teetered. It took a late moment for your brain to catch up. You put your hands out and caught yourself on the other side of the hallway, against a wall. You groaned, nearly dropping both the knife and demolished tablet. Again.

This same scenario happened twice more before you thought it best to use the wall as a clutch. Your hand glide acrossed the warm metal walls with each step. It not only held you up but helped you keep better balance of staying upright.

The sight of the last elevator door was like seeing heavens gate. You pushed off of the wall wobbled over to the door. The knife was sheathed into its pocket tied to your side. With the newly emptied hand, you leaned against the wall and stared at the digital keypad. A code. The code. What code? Code. You needed a code. What was the code?

For what had to be minutes, you gazed blankly at the keypad. Nothing came to mind. Not a thought of reasoning. Until a moment of clarity struck with enough time to remember. You imputed the code.

A set of doors slid open to reveal the personal elevator. You stumbled in while continuously using the walls for support. With your back to the wall furthest from the doors, you watched with bated breath until you were sealed in. Nothing came for you. Now, you were safe.

Your head pounded with each thump of your poor heart, creating its own beat of drums. This caused you to squint your eyes through the pain.

The realization finally dawned on you at the sight of We’ar-ow’s abode. Safety. A broken sobbed left your dry lips. You hurriedly stumbled through the short hallway and slammed against the shut entryway with a cry. Your hands clawed at the metal, desperate to get in. The thundering in your head only getting strong with each second.

The support was ripped away. You fell forward only to get caught in two strong arms cradling you into a warm chest. Instantly, you wrapped your arms around a neck and held on for dear life. It might have been for you. The tablet falling to the ground in a forgotten heap of electronics.

Air touched the bottom of your bare feet. You were lifted up into the air and brief carried before being settled into warmth and safety.

Tears stained your blazing cheeks. Broken, cracking sobs fell from your dropped jaw with each heave of air you could gasp in.

Hands gripped at your scrunched shoulders and gave a light shake. Through the cotton filling your ears, a voice tried to pierce through. Fingers pinched at your chin and lift it up. You gazed in your hazed sight at the large pink Yautja holding you in her lap. The translator sounding off in your ear, translating every word she spoke in her alien race.

We’ar-ow called your name in haste, demanding you to tell her what had happened. Fear continuously pumped through your veins, causing you to tremble worse than being stuck in the cold. She huffed that ended in growl and cupped both of your cheeks in her massive palms. “What happened, little ooman? Who attacked you?!”

It was an easy sight to tell you’ve been attacked rather this being all on you.

You whimper, hands gripping so tightly on her shoulders, crescent divots had to be left behind. With all of your strength that could be offered, you attempted to bow your head to hide away from her piercing gaze. The heat of burned into your very soul. Her palms kept you up right in her line of sight. “Tell me. They will pay,” she snarled, hands tightening just a fraction before loosening.

For a fleeting moment, you met her bright eyes before letting your gaze dart away. “I-I don’t… know,” you croaked out and fought against the pain surrounding your neck. “The lights. They went off. Something attacked me. I couldn’t see.” You were hopeful she could understand through the grumble of your throat.

The Yautja snarled a deadly note before standing up again. “Mere, call a meeting. I want every council member in there.” You tensed at the new knowledge of another being in here with us. We’ar-ow cradled you close to the protectiveness of her body and carried you over to her bedroom door. “An attack on my pet is an attack on me.”

“Yes, Monarch,” Xilomere responded, voice firm. The green Yautja pivoted on his heel and head straight for the exit. His arm lifted as he began to speak into his gauntlet.

She kept her pathing for her bedroom and entered said place. Despite weighing nearly four times your weight alone, her feet didn’t make a single noise as she set foot into the connected bathroom. You were set on the counter next to the sink. We’ar-ow had to practically yank off your arms and grabbed a bag from behind the mirror in front of the sink.

Said bag was set next to you. We’ar-ow moved her way between your legs. A clawed finger was placed under your chin and forced it up. You whined when this pulled at the bruising forming a dark path around your throat. Her body tensed before the muscles relaxed all on their own. You felt it more than saw it since your new sight was the bland ceiling of her bathroom.

Coarse finger pads danced along the column of your throat. You swallowed despite the pain. The touch was soft, not something you had grown accustomed to on this damned ship. Then, it was gone, replaced with a gel covering the new wound.

We’ar-ow preformed as a medic till every injured had been cared for. Afterwards, she scooped you up and carried you over to her bed you had once found sanctuary in before.

Deja Vu hit you as the pelt blankets were used to cover the majority of nearly naked frame. The shirt that once hung off your shoulders had been removed. She knelt down at the side of the bed and ran a hand over your hair. “I’ll be back. Stay here, ooman,” she ordered then stood up.

Her steps carried her over to the bedroom door where she stopped and glanced back for a short second. Then, the door closed, a lock clicking in place. Three doors from you to the main hallway. Three doors protecting you from harm.

Low lights kept the room illuminated and fought off any shadows your attacker could hide in. You nuzzled into the comfortable blankets, arms latching onto one of them. But sleep won’t come easy to you. A headache persisted worse than anything you’ve felt before.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow

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creedslove · 8 months

Note

omg, i have a request for joel! (pre-outbreak)

so, he takes sarah to a birthday party or whatever, sarah is young, like 5-6 years old and you are the girl who does face painting and fake tattoos and those kind of things in birthday parties.

you paint a small butterfly on sarah’s cheek and then she brings joel to you so you can paint his face also, you fall in love with each other and so! 🦋

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: this is too cute anon, 🥺 🦋

• Joel loved taking Sarah to birthday parties because he loved the absolute joy in her face at all times

• he wasn't much of kids birthday parties himself, but he would do anything in order to have his little girl happy so he made sure to take her to all of the parties she was invited to

• you started to work at kids birthday parties when the money got short, it wasn't your ideal job, but it turned out to be nicer than you initially thought

• the kids were fun, the job was easy, the money wasn't a lot but it was enough and you could always have all the party snacks you wanted

• that particular sunny saturday afternoon wasn't any different, you had already painted many little faces and each time their eyes widened in happiness and excitement it made your heart melt

• Sarah went absolutely crazy the moment she spotted the face painting part, as she always loved butterflies and wanted lots of it on her skin

• Joel shared a beer with the other dads while he let his daughter run freely and have her fun

"can I have a butterfly please?"

• she grinned adorably at you, being such a polite and sweet girl, making your heart melt at how absolutely adorable she was

• she behaved perfectly during the entire time you painted her face

• and she stood in line so many times too, wanting face painting, and also a painting on her little hands and arms, and by the time Joel saw his daughter she was full of glitter

"daddy, come meet the nice painting lady"

• she said very sweetly and dragged Joel by his hand, thinking that maybe he would like a painting too

• Joel very often didn't resist how sweet his Sarah was, but when he saw you, he was too shy to let you paint him, there was no way he was letting you do it as you were such a beautiful woman and he was a grown man

• you just chuckled and made some small talk with the man, he was undeniably handsome and he was such a nice dad

• when Sarah made puppy eyes while asking his permission to add glitter and hair spray to her hair and he couldn't say no

• so you made sure to style a real nice hairstyle for her, colorful and full of glitter and she played happily some more

• and Joel decided to hang out some more with you, he was enjoying your pleasant talk so much he let her play until the final minutes of the party

• by the time she rushed to you, Joel sighed at the hard work he knew it would be removing that spray and glitter from her hair, but you offered him to help, by washing her hair right there

• he was surprised but agreed and you asked her to sit down, washing her beautiful curls with warm water, massaging her scalp and patiently removing all of it with a comb, and soon enough Sarah's hair was cleaned up

• she really enjoyed how soft and nice you'd been and gave you a tight hug in gratitude

• and right before Joel left, he went back to you, asking if you would like to go out for drinks or something with him

• you said yes, because there was no way someone wouldn't be interested in Joel

• and you went on a date out of many others that would come for the two of you

____

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller headcanon #joel miller headcanons

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bunny-lily · 2 months

Text

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy.

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on your sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube barely scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down.

No, you weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your piano. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the piano – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their ashes, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your piano, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too high for him. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the keys and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the piano. You opened it and sifted through a few of the song options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the ledge in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The song consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing.

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play piano?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as ashy white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so…familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor.

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the songs you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach some things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing your piano with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted them and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM

Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru.

Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs.

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could deflate in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

––––•(-•ʚɞ•-)•––––

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ piano alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing the piano whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

––––•(-•ʚɞ•-)•––––

Satoru had been your student for a while now.

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a song he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch by him, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played.

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore.

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old records. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the piano.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest song quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone.

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only dream of ever achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the keys. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh.

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain.

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a song, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he pleaded, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt first hand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the song reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys?

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the song.

Or, rather, the end of the song as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

––––•(-•ʚɞ•-)•––––

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position.

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in.

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus.

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager.

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the song you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. A couple clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere.

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious song your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

––––•(-•ʚɞ•-)•–––– Banner made by cafekitsune ♥ gotta figure out how to make my own

#jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #fem reader #I'm going light on the tags fn #is this considered light lmao #fluff #jjk fluff

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circe69 · 1 year

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Hello, hello!

I was wondering if the prompt

20.) hand massages - "let me practice on you please? i just need to make sure i'm good at it." *ends massage* "well? how was it?" *takes a deep, shaky breath* "you have to promise you'll only do that for me." Was already taken.

If not, could it possibly be a Simon Riley x fem reader (or gn) ?

He deserves so much affection…

If not, then thank you for reading. I hope you have an awesome day

Stay safe 🤍

hi! yes of course! another sweet nonnie also requested this specific scenario, but i wasn't sure how to put that on here. anyways, thank you for participating in my special!

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 #𝟐𝟎 - 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 - ❤︎

You walked down the dim-lit hall with wet boots clanking on the ground, lotion in one hand, and the other being bandaged and empty. Coming home from a mission was never easy, but this one in particular really made you question your entire career.

It was storming outside, and your head was killing you from all the guns that went off right next to you ear, but you knew someone else that was having a harder time than you.

Ghost never let things get to him, it took a lot to shake him up, but after tonight, you weren't sure if he'd ever be the same. There was a little boy, probably not much older than 5, who had died due to casualties, and those very same casualties would be the cause for Ghost's guilt for the rest of his life.

People died all the time, Ghost being the reason, but kids were different.

You took a deep breath, finally nearing the Lieutenants metal door and preparing yourself to hopefully make his night a little better.

What am I even doing here? There's nothing I could do that would help, you thought, wondering if you should just turn back around. You took a minute to observe your surroundings, the loud and shaky AC harmonizing with the rain pouring on the window at the opposite end of the hall, the few lightbulbs hanging only a few inches above your head, and the thunder that shook the entire base every few minutes, leaving you restless and yearning for someone to just be with.

Raising and clenching your fist, you hesitatingly knocked on the door, 3 times, just like you always did. It was quiet, but you hoped it was enough for him to hear.

Seconds went by, and your pride was already too deep in a ditch to knock again. You started to turn around and head back to your room when the door swung open.

You stopped in your tracks, abruptly turning to face him, the man who you had once been terrified of, but now see him as someone who's just sick of everything he has to do, but does it anyway.

"Y/N." His voice was deep, like fire crackling and splitting wood. It sounded the same as it always did, except for the slight turn his words took at the end of his sentences.

"Sir."

His eyes grazed over you, they looked tired and black around the edges, most likely due to the face paint he feverishly tried to rinse off.

"Do you need something?" He eyed the lotion sticking out of your pocket, resulting in you pulling your tank top over the edge of your pants to hide it.

"I was actually just coming by to make sure," You stopped for a second to scan over his face, "make sure you were alright."

Ghost stood there, leaning against the doorway and eyebrows furrowing so deeply, you could see it through the fabric of his mask. His hands were tight, muscles still tense from events that had happened hours ago.

"I'm alright," he started to close the door right in your face, but you placed your hand against it just in time. "Lieutenant." You were known as somewhat demanding, but always gentle simultaneously. Ghost was confused by it, and how your demeanor always contradicted itself, but it intrigued him nonetheless.

His eyes were drawn to your hand, veins popping out and knuckles turning white due to the amount of strength you were pushing against the door. Due to how hard you were trying to just be with him.

"Get in." He turned around and let you into his room, turning on the singular light as he walked past the switch. He took a seat on his cot, causing the metal springs to groan under his weight, and you pulled up a chair right across from him and sat down, scooting in slightly to be closer.

You bit down on your lip to conceal the smile you so badly wanted to show, but was scared Ghost would kick you out immediately.

"Hurry up and do what you came here to do." His knees were touching yours, but neither of you moved; you felt your stomach jump just at the feeling alone.

You held your hand out, signaling to him that you wanted to see his hand. He hesitated, his eyes shifting from your hand up to your eyes than back down again. Ghost finally caved, his hand outstretching onto yours, and letting the weight of it slowly relax.

"People say I'm really good at it," you paused to watch his eyes widen at the vague statement, "Hand massages, I mean." Your mouth stretched into a smile as you saw a tiny one show through his mask but quickly disappear.

"I'll be the judge of that." His words were quiet, seductively quiet.

You slowly removed the black, leather glove from his calloused hands, and through it over on the bed behind him. Uncapping the coconut scented lotion, you squeezed out a tiny bit on your middle finger before screwing the lid back on the placing it on the carpet below you.

Spreading the cream on his hands, you slowly worked with every one of his fingers, trying to ignore the pleased noises coming from Ghost's throat but never leaving his mouth. There was a particular spot on the webbing between his thumb and finger that made his eyes close in delight, and you pressed there for a little longer to relieve any tension he was holding.

It was all the guns he held, all the triggers he had to hover above for hours at a time before moving. All the salutes and punches he had to swing, it all piled up on his shoulders and the pressure worked its way down his arms and onto his poor hands. Hands that had held his dying family, dying dogs, dying boys. Hands that wiped blood off of himself, not all of it even being his own.

As you finished massaging both of his hands, and hearing him breathe deeply in and out, relishing in the soft scent that reminded him of you, you patted his palm to tell silently tell him you were finished.

"Well? How was it, Lieutenant?"

His eyes slowly opened again, pleased to see that you really were sitting in front of him, and it wasn't another dream.

"You have to promise me something," Ghost said, sliding his fingerless gloves back on and cracking his knuckles.

"What is it?"

He stood up, hovering almost 3 feet over where you sat and crossed his arms as he looked down at you. You tried to disregard taking in his body in its entirety, but your eyes found it hard to stay in one place.

Ghost finally broke the silence that felt like hours but somehow seconds at the same time, "You'll only do that for me."

You smiled, and nodded in fast agreement, you knew from the minute his eyes locked onto yours that he would be the only one you'd ever want to do anything for.

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #modern warfare #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon riley x you #ghost x y/n #circe69scribbles #circes1kevent

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dr3amofagame · 3 months

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Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream sneaks into Pogtopia to see Wilbur

woo! managed to finish this in time. kinda unedited and kinda a mess but i've missed writing these guys; i'm deeefinitely in need of more practice to get c!wilbur's voice down, but hopefully this can be the start of me writing some more fic set earlier in the timeline, LMAO.

thanks @elmhat for the awesome event!! been epic to see people's submissions and i cant wait to see this continue. ur awesome <3

c!dream meets up with c!wilbur to tell him about a change to their plans | 2.3k words

---

<Dream> be there in 5

The communicator in Wilbur’s hand casts a pale glow onto the palm of his hand, the only light he has to guide him as he paces the length of the hollowed-out room; it’s dark, zombies groaning somewhere outside, the dead singing their songs, shuffling through underbrush in the belly of the forest that surrounds Pogtopia. The air is musty in their little dugout, a claustrophobic awning of stone carved into the side of a hill, well-shadowed even during the day, the darkness swallowing the wan light of the comm in his hands now. He can barely see the floor underneath him as he walks, shuffling steps forward and back, ten paces each. He presses his hand against the wall, turning to the entrance and standing still.

Phil always had a whole thing about light, Wilbur having grown up on lectures about light levels and spawn-proofing and the dangers of leaving cavities unlit while mining, had grilled him on different ways of keeping a room from becoming a death trap. Carpets, half-slabs, glass. How many times had he been warned of the danger presented by surprise creepers and dark corners?

Phil had never been much of a fan of explosions.

The main server is mostly well-lit, but the secrecy demanded by revolution effort means that the forest surrounding Pogtopia gets much darker. Not that he’s in the main ravine at the minute–with the amount of people coming and going as of late, Dream had wanted their meeting to be in a slightly more discreet location, and Wilbur had agreed. It was easy enough to slip away with Technoblade once again off to do his own thing and Tommy having run off to find Tubbo, and Wilbur had managed to arrive to the room sufficiently early before sunset to prevent himself from getting ambushed by mobs.

He slips his hand into his coat pocket. Chekov’s gun is smooth and cold against the palm of his hand, polished wood and metal. He smooths the pads of his fingers down the barrel, over the trigger. He leaves it, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes instead. His lighter provides a clearer view of the room, still empty. Dream is late.

Dream is usually late, then again–it’s expected, really, with the way he runs around the server, always busy, always chasing down those plans of his, smart man that he is. Dream likes his secrets, his mystery, mask and armor all made to keep his cards close to his chest–Wilbur can hardly fault him for it, god no. Dream has what he wants, just as they all do, all of them tripping over themselves in their ambition, crabs in a bucket, the pledges to help the revolution coming from each one that jumps off of Schlatt’s sinking ship. He breathes in deep, smoke coating his lungs with tar.

“Wilbur?”

Light throws itself into the room from the entrance, rippling wildly as the fire on the end of Dream’s torch burns, casting wild shadows over his mask as he squeezes himself inside. Despite his armor, he has an uncanny knack for moving silently, cloak and hood pulled low over his head so that only the edge of the painted smile is visible. The torch is raised higher, moved left and right as Dream surveys the contents of the room around them. Wilbur smiles and tips his head towards him in greeting.

“Dream, my man. How good to see you again.”

“Wilbur…” Dream’s voice trails off. His head turns from one side to the other, making another anxious sweep of the room before refocusing on Wilbur, his hand moving to pull his hood down and then run his hand through his hair, having been pressed flat by the heavy fabric. The blank face of his mask stares back at Wilbur, tilting to the side like a confused dog as he shakes out his shoulders. “We…need to talk.”

“Well? I’m all ears.” He gestures at himself, leaning against the wall of the room. Dream turns to look over his shoulder again. His armor glimmers, the light of the runes on their surface made more obvious in the dark. He bounces on the balls of his feet, reaches up once again to tug his fingers through his hair.

“It’s important.” No shit, Wilbur almost says, because for all that Dream might think that his mask hides everything he’s thinking, he’s never quite been as guarded with his body language as he might hope; the anxiety rolling off of every jerky movement is enough to set Wilbur’s teeth on edge as it is, never mind the long silences and hesitation, but he’s not stupid enough to think that that would get him anything resembling an answer. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, smiles wider, and spits out another curling thread of smoke.

“You’re an important man. I should hope so.”

Dream pauses at that. His head does that tilt-thing again. “...alright.”

“So? What is it? Do tell.” Has Dream decided to go against him? Perhaps. His enthusiasm with regards to their plan is more unpredictable than Wilbur had expected, sometimes perfectly willing, sometimes hesitant to agree to much of anything. But he had agreed, nonetheless, had provided the TNT that Wilbur has set sprawling underneath Manberg’s main stage; cold feet, now, would be rather unprecedented. Still, it’s Dream–very little can be discounted when Dream is in the picture, Wilbur knows. He places his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked over the edge, pistol brushing against his fingertips. “I hate to push, but the suspense is killing me.”

Dream takes another second, then reaches behind his head. Wilbur straightens where he’s standing, suddenly curious, as he removes his mask.

He’s seen Dream without it only a few times–all able to be counted on one hand, this one included. The light of the torch illuminates his face from the chin up, cast shadows highlighting the contours of his skull, the contours of his cheeks, light catching under his brows. His features are delicate in a way that still surprises him, a smattering of freckles over the nose of his bridge made visible as he raises the torch higher. Dream’s eyes are a little wide, a little bloodshot. He bites his bottom lip, blinking twice in quick succession, eyes darting over the walls and then back to Wilbur’s face.

“Schlatt called me. For a meeting earlier.”

“Schlatt?”

“He knows about the TNT.”

Wilbur blinks. “Well, fuck.”

“Look–Wilbur, look.” Dream makes a little move with his hands, shaking them out by the wrists. “It’s not–it’s not the end of. This, okay? But, he knows. I didn’t tell him. I don’t know how he found out, I don’t know if someone told him, I haven’t told anyone, but–he knows. We can still work with this.”

“Schlatt knows?” He searches Dream’s face. He seems earnest, but god knows, but what would he have to gain from lying about this, anyway? Who else could’ve told him–Tommy? Tommy might not tell Schlatt directly, but Tommy has never been good with secrets, letting anyone and everyone in on everything with an apparent inability to control his own tongue–

“--but it’s, fine. The TNT is still there, the room is still intact. I checked some of the wiring and it doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. Wilbur, are you listening to me?”

Wilbur waves him off. “I’m listening. Just keep going.”

“I don’t think we need to change anything with the TNT. Like, Schlatt’s just one guy. And his gear is shit. If he messes with the TNT, then we’ll–we’ll figure something out, but you know, I don’t even think he even, like, knows where it all is.”

“Well, it’s kind of everywhere, so–”

“–which is my point. It’s too deep, he’s still sitting on top of a bomb. There’s nothing–there’s nothing he can do.” Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest, still worrying his lip between his teeth. “I just thought you should know.”

Schlatt knows. Schlatt knows–Wilbur paces against the wall of their room, ten paces forward and ten paces back. He crushes his cigarette underneath his boot, nails digging into his palm.

“Well, Dream? Is that all?”

Dream’s expression twists. His brows pinch together, lips pressed against each other and curling into a slight grimace, his expression giving too much away after spending so much time masked.

“There’s…one more thing.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Just spit it out, you prick.”

Dream doesn’t even react to the insult, shoulders hunching up as he begins speaking. “Look…it’s just. My plans have…changed.”

What? “I thought you just said that they didn’t?”

“Our plans are the same. It’s just–Schlatt made me, an offer.” Dream shifts from foot to foot. He swallows, throat working, his eyes still bright and wide, pupils dilated with a thin circle of green around. Wilbur stares at him. He almost looks… “He’s got something. Important. He asked me to…join him, kind of, and he’d–give it to me.”

“What?”

“It’s not–look, Wilbur. Wilbur.” Dream raises his hands, palms out, a placating motion. “It’s not what you think, but I–I had to.”

“You had to join Manberg.”

“I’m not joining Manberg!” Dream runs his hand through his hair, eyes flashing. Wilbur is suddenly very aware of the axe on his back, the heavy plates of netherite armor. Eret, the button, it was never meant to be. “Why would I join Manberg, what–”

“So what’s this? What’s this then, Dream?”

“Wilbur–”

“Because from where I’m standing, I have to say, it looks a lot like you’re betraying me.”

“I am not–”

“That’s just like you. That’s just like you, isn’t it? Good ol’ Dream, mister 1000 IQ, outsmarting everyone–well-played, man, well-played! I really must congratulate you!”

“Wilbur, can you just–”

“So what is this meeting then, Dream? Gotten cold feet, now that you’ve been discovered? You’re his little lackey now, is that it, his little lap dog–you’re gonna start another war? Put down another revolution, lead us all out to slaughter like last time, good for you, you motherfucker, is that the point of this farce? You’re here to kill me?”

“Wilbur, can you just listen to me!”

Dream’s voice is raised. Wilbur draws himself up to full height, Dream’s head craning up slightly as he crosses the room in front of him in two long strides.

“What.”

“I’m not. Joining Manberg.” Dream’s arms are crossed tightly in front of him, scowling slightly. It’s an expression not all that much unlike Tommy’s teenage petulance, a set jaw, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. “There’s just–a peace treaty, right? I can’t just violate that. And now Schlatt knows. He’s asking for me to give him–gear.”

“Gear, like what.”

“Armor. Weapons, shields. Support in the incoming fight. You know, he’d already been paying Punz, the rest of the people in my country are already going to fight with him. And, whatever.”

Wilbur rocks back on his heels. His skin itches, feeling antsy, so he goes back to pacing. “And?”

“I meant what I said, earlier. This doesn’t change anything. The TNT is still there, we can still blow it up. It…doesn’t matter who wins the, the battle and stuff.”

Wilbur sets his shoulders, turning back to look Dream in the eye. “Really. It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t! It doesn’t matter. We have an agreement, that’s still like–a thing.” Dream’s hands close into fists, then open again. “I don’t like this, okay? I don’t like Schlatt–” Wilbur scoffs, “--and I don’t exactly want to work with him. But I have to. I swear, I really have to.”

“Because, what. The treaty?”

Dream shakes his head, expression still all twisted up like he’s eaten something sour. “He’s got. A book.”

Wilbur laughs outright at that. “A book.”

“It’s–Wilbur, I swear. It’s important. I’ll, I might–I’ll–” Dream makes a frustrated sound, teeth clenched. “I have to get it.”

“So you’re going to work for Schlatt.” Fuck it. Wilbur pulls out another cigarette, lighting it as he speaks. “You’re going to be the emperor’s little guard dog.”

“I’m–”

“No, no, it makes sense. It’d be too boring for you otherwise, wouldn’t it? Not enough chaos, with everyone joining the rebellion.” He gestures with the cigarette, Dream’s eyes caught on it as it moves. “You want us all to fucking destroy ourselves, keep everyone weak, Manberg, Pogtopia–you don’t need to explain yourself, man, you’re a smart guy! Even out the playing field, join whatever team has the fewest players, keep yourself above it all. Bravo, really. Bravo.”

Dream’s jaw works, but he stays silent. Wilbur smiles at him and breathes in a long drag of smoke.

“Well, Dream. I very much appreciate our meeting together today, really. Really! This has been…enlightening. Is that all? Or do you have any other important information to tell me.”

“...I’ll come around in a few days to tell the others. About, switching sides and whatever. And–the TNT is still going off, alright? No matter what.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

Dream stares him down, Wilbur meeting his eyes evenly. He breaks eye contact first, looking down at the floor and tossing several stacks of TNT onto the ground between them. -

“Thank you, Dream. Until next time then.”

Dream stares at him, blinks, his eyes wide and green, before he turns away. The torch disappears into his inventory as he walks to the exit of the room, silhouetted in the doorway as he presses the mask back over his face. Wilbur reaches into his pocket, draws out Chekhov’s gun, holds his arm straight in front of him, fingers wrapped around the pistol as Dream works at the straps behind his head. He keeps it held there, pointed at Dream’s back until the man slips into the night, the blurry reflection of the lit end of his cigarette vaguely visible in the dull metal.

He’s not sure how long it is before a twinge to his arm makes him slip the unloaded gun back into his pocket. He sighs. He needs to start making his way back; after all, he still needs to think of a birthday present.

#my asks !!#my writing :D #the sixteenth #<- tag for future submissions maybe?#sixteenthdayevent #c!dreambur #dreblr #hopefully . hopefully this balances out characterization well enough #my c!wilbur haterisms are leaking through but whatever ... LMAO

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personasintro · 8 months

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Hi Mimi. Can I ask you for advice.

I have a friend who is mad at me because I’m not calling her back 24/7, and because I can’t hang out all the time and have to cancel due to the fact that I work and they sometimes, even if I have plans, call me in.

I couldn’t attend her boyfriend’s surprise birthday dinner, who she’ve only been dating for like 4 months and I’ve only met twice, because they wanted to go out late at night and I was working the day before, during, and the day after. However that particular day I got to finish my shift early because it was raining so my boss told me to just go home. On my way home another friend called me, who I haven’t seen in four month because we live 1h and 45min away from each other. My birthday is in two weeks but she’s going on vacation soon, she asked if we could meet up in the city and have dinner, this is like 4-5pm, because she wanted to celebrate me by buying me dinner. I said okey. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. We meet up, have dinner, order some drinks, and I post a video of us. The other friend, not even 5 minutes later, sends me a loooong message about what a bad friend I am without even knowing anything. I didn’t answer her right away and decided to wait until I was home. I got home at like 8:30, and the dinner was around 9-10isch so even if I didn’t go out with my friend I couldn’t go and celebrate her boyfriend because I needed to sleep.

She really went off on me, said a lot of things, and made me feel so shitty for nothing. So I wrote back and told her, we’re not kids, I didn’t do anything wrong, I explained briefly why I went out with my friend, and I also told her it’s my life and nobody can get mad at me for my choices, even if I was free that day it still shouldn’t be a problem because I don’t have an obligation to anybody. I also told her that I think it’s wrong that she decided to message me when she saw I was out, she could have waited and brought it up the next day instead of basically trying to ruin my night. I also texted her “don’t worry about this now, go and have fun, enjoy, let’s talk face 2 face when we get the chance” She then texted me back saying “I am celebrating his birthday all weekend, we can talk another day, I don’t have time to deal with this now”. I wrote back “sure”. My first thought, before I calmed myself down, was “so you have time to ruin my night, and start this whole thing, but you don’t have time to finish it?”.

Am I the asshole? Hahaha this sounds like a reddit post, I wanted to write it there but I don’t want to take a risk of her seeing it. Your account, your stories and you are also my comfort zone. I just feel safe here, which is why I am sorry for the rant and headache you have now. I just don’t like to talk about other people with other people, which is why I’m not asking for advice from my friends. But at the same time I’m desperate because I feel like I have done everything for her but just because I have work and have to prioritize myself I’m suddenly a bad friend for not attending her bfs dinner who I’ve only met twice. I mean it’s not like I missed her wedding day. It’s not like I was talking shit about her or told everyone her secrets for her to call me awful names and paint me as the bad guy. It’s not like the plan hanged on me, and I said no, and everybody stayed home but then I went out anyways. They still went out and had fun, so why should it be a problem if I was there or not.

I just want to add that this friendship is solely about me being there for her, I’m basically her therapist. I’ve never ever had demands on her or how she should treat me. I’m so drama free like this is my only drama in life atm in the past 6 years. I’m so easy going. You know that last year on my birthday she didn’t wish me a happy bday, and last year I asked her 6 times if she wanted to go on a vacation and she said no, but then she posts on snap that she’s going on a “random trip” with a girl she met 6 month ago at a gym who she doesn’t even talk to anymore because she feels that the girl was to clingy. I didn’t say anything because I thought it’s okey I’m not gonna ruin her day, vacation or whatever for something so silly, it’s HER life. I’m always there for her, even if I’m busy I always try to show her that she is not neglected by maybe sending her a song, or meme, or even going as far as telling her that I’m gonna be busy and that she can call me if it’s an emergency otherwise I won’t be so active. I always have her back, she calls me 4 in the morning and I pick up without blinking twice. My parents treat her as a second daughter, I’m always there for her as much as I can, and I just have to add that last month, I didn’t sleep for 36h and had a 10h shift the day after, but I still went out with her because she needed a friend due to having a bad day. I neglected my mental health for her. And our convos are 90% about her, 7% about random stuff, and 3% about me, and I STILL DONT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT because idgaf. Im honestly so unbothered I really don’t care, but right now I care because I feel that the text she sent me, and the way she wanted to paint me, and the words she used even though I’ve never ever had anything negative about her coming out of my mouth…I just feel like this is so unfair and I don’t know what to do. Should I end the friendship? Or maybe talk to her and try to make her understand? Im just so lost and this is honestly so sad because we’ve been friend for 12 years if not more. I don’t want it to end over something so silly…

Much love💜

Again I’m sorry for ranting, if you have advice I want to thank you for them. And I also want to thank you before hand for taking the time to read this. I admire u and ur stories!

I just have to add: she’s not a bad person, her good qualities overshadows the bad ones, which is why we’re still friends.

This message was sent a while back and I am sorry for responding only now. Maybe you were able to figure it out on your own or things happened after this. But all I can recommend for you to do is to talk to your friend, if you haven’t already. If I were you, I’d try to communicate and make her see where I am coming from as well and then… there’s nothing much you can do from there. You’ll see how she takes it and whether she’s able to see your side or not. Regardless of everything, she shouldn’t take you for granted and cut you some slack.

Like you said, you don’t want your friendship to end over something silly but maybe it’s not something silly at all. In the end, you don’t want friends who makes you feel guilty and take you for granted all the time. Just the fact your entire friendship seems to be focusing on her rather than on both of you says a lot. You shouldn’t be treated that way and you do deserve someone who equally cares about you as a person :)

#ask: anon

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otakween · 3 months

Text

Digimon Tamers: Brave Tamer - Final Thoughts

Phew! If you're wondering why I've been quiet for a bit, it's because this game took me 3 weeks to beat. It was kind of grueling at times. It definitely assumes that you played the previous 3 (or 4 if Anode and Cathode count for 2) games and does NOT baby you at the start. It definitely wasn't my favorite game in the series, but the fact that it did away with the terrible old Jogress system earned it a lot of points in my book. There are still some Wonderswan games to play, but I think that's really it for Ryo games! Thank goodness :)

Notes:

Major downgrade from D1 Tamers visually! D1 was so colorful and exploring the world was actually interesting. Brave Tamer follows the Digimon World 2 strat of making every single dungeon pretty much identical and the hub world is bland as heck as well. You don't even need to travel to get to the dungeons you just walk up to the same hole every time. Lame.

Thank God this game lets digimon level up and evolve normally. It basically follows the Pokemon style of evolution. In previous games there were bullshit level caps unless you jogressed a zillion times. This game still has that dumb mechanic where your digimon devolves into a baby. I get that that happens in the show, but it felt pretty silly in the game. They get back to normal pretty quickly after a few battles.

Digimon recruitment is limited to borrowing digimon from digidestined from the various anime series. What an awkward concept. Ryo comes out of nowhere to save the day and then each partner digimon is like "See ya partner, I'm ditching you for Ryo!" I'm just imagining the characters that are left partner-less facing certain doom after Ryo leaves lol. Maybe it's one of those situations where they're only gone for a few minutes due to dimension hopping.

The card slash system (based on the Tamers universe of course) was interesting, but kind of annoying to figure out. After I got a handful of strong cards I couldn't be arsed to keep trying new jogress combos.

Speaking of taking the lazy route, I didn't use the majority of the digimon I recruited once LOL. It's more efficient to just stick with the same digimon for the whole game unless you want to spend a lot of time grinding, so that's what I did. I ended up with only mega-level digimon at the end which is frustrating because MegaloGrowmon and Taomon were at level 30! (They upgrade to mega at 31).

The bosses were strangely easy in this game (except for one that took me like 5 tries). What made it hard were the frickin' labyrinthine dungeons (the last one is TIMED! Evil). I have a terrible sense of direction IRL and in video games so the dungeons in this game were torture for me. You have to traverse up to 5 floors and sometimes there are so many dead ends and roadblocks that it takes what feels like an eternity. Also, there are random battles every 2 seconds that increase the suffering. In the later game I planned my route ahead of time by figuring out where the boss was on YouTube and mapping backwards from there. Here's a screenshot of me and my map in MS Paint:

(By the way, I always play Wonderswan games in windowed mode or else they look wonky. This time, that really came in handy).

I had to use multiple guides to figure out some of this game because the most popular walkthrough wasn't very good. It barely gives you any instructions on getting through dungeons, which was what I really needed.

Most scandalous part of this game was when Millenniummon called Ryo his lover (koibito)? Whaaaaa...?

I didn't realize that this game is a prequel to Tamers so I kinda did things out of order, whoops! I didn't realize that Cyberdramon was supposed to be the outcome of a Monodramon/Millenniummon jogress. Makes me want to rewatch some bits of the anime...

There was so much dramatic build up for the final battle and then it was so easy? I didn't even need to use the 10 low-level healing items I stocked up on. Oh well, guess I was well prepared.

Of course there's a post-game where you can scan all the digimon you missed, but that just seems silly. They're not partners in this game, they're cards. If I can't a raise a digimon I don't really see the appeal in collecting them all. (I mean I guess I wouldn't see the appeal in raising them all either, but the cards seem like even more of a waste of time).

The Wonderswan games have always been my fave digimon games but this one felt simultaneously half-assed and overly complicated. I'd give it like a 5 or 6 out of 10. Let's call it a 5.5.

#Digimon Tamers: Brave Tamer #wonderswan #oswan #digimon #Ryo Akiyama #Digimon Tamers

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moonlight-tmd · 1 year

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AIGHT, INFO DUMP TIME-

This is a list of ideas/headcanons of the tfa fandom that crossed my mind, piled into one giant mess. Enjoy.

those are things that i consider canon in my works. (outside of AUs)

PLEASE READ- THE LIST KEEPS BEING UPDATED.

1. Bee has a golden voice when singing, he’s anxious about it tho. [the whole headcanon explained] After some time and events this scenario happens and Bee gets more comfortable around others.

2. Bee is basically a stuntman when skating. Casual or on battlefield, his actions are purely impulsive. Sometimes he’s lucky and pulls off that sick move... sometimes he ends up in medbay for many long hours. Here’s an example.

3. Bee is a good actor, he can lie on the spot and get away with it... most of the time. He’s also good at hiding his emotions. Fake it till you make it... or at least before Prowl comes knocking at your door.

4. Bee has 3 modes; Chaotic/Feral Gremlin, Kind Child and on rare occasion; Lazy Ferret. When he dates someone, there comes a 4th one; Lovestruck Idiot.

5. Bee is the early bird and wakes up way before the rest of the Autobots. He’s made a little routine of making the morning oil for the rest of the team. It’s the only thing he can “cook” really.

6. Sari keeps the weird healing powers the key had when she upgrades herself. Ratchet helps her figure it out and teaches her cybertronian first aid.

7. Rachet knows human curses and will use them when things are going down.

8. Sari and Bee are the young sibblings™. Prowl plays the role of the babysitter, keeping those two out of trouble.

9. Bee often vents to Prowl about topics he wouldn’t talk about with anyone. They have an unspoken agreement to never do anything to mess with the other when it comes to these meetings.

10. Prowl is accidentally creepy, he will eavesdrop or spy on someone unintentionally. He doesn’t mean it, but his curiosity can get the best of him sometimes. Here’s a list of things he eavesdropped so far.

11. Optimus is a kindsparked leader, he’ll think of the person’s wellbeing first instead of “is this okay with the law?”

12. Bulkhead sometimes helps the architects with building stuff, he likes the art aspect and the job is easy cuz he can carry like few tons of materials at once.

13. Random!Blitz will eat various things that are definitelly not meant to be eaten. Glow sticks, scraps, paint and even some organic things. He also chews on anything that he find appealing. Somehow, he has yet to end up in medbay for doing that.

14. Blitzwing likes to sculpt, he’ll carve in wood, stone, ice and metal.

15. Bee likes to set up harmless traps to mess with Prowl, his time repairing space bridges taught him how to construct things. He’s quite crafty. Unfortunatelly, Prowl still remmebers how to pull a prank in return. Here’s one of them.

16. There’s 2 versions of Megatron: cold and sadistic villain(canon) or scary but thoughful “father”(Cons Are Good AU)

17. Longarm(Shockwave) actually kinda likes Bee. The bot is optimistic, kind and funny. He likes to hang out with the scout and have some fun, but other than that he focuses on his duties as a traitor Prime.

18. Lugnut is Lugnut, he’s basically in love with Megs. Megs wants nothing to do with him except for work.

19. There’s 2 versions of Decepticons; they either want to to take over Cybertron(canon) or want equal rights and fix whatever the council has fucked up. (Cons Are Good AU)

20. Autobots and Decepticons are not separate species of transformers like i often see. They just have different builds and codings. A transformer who’s not aligned with any of the factions doesn’t have any specific behavior attached, it all depends on what they learn as a sparkling. If they choose a faction, an additional coding is added to their system which might alter their behavior slightly.

21. Since time units are very confusing in the fandom i decided to settle on this: Nanoklik (1 second), Klik (1 minute), Joor (1 hour), (Solar/Lunar)Cycle (day/night), Decacycle (week), Orbital Cycle (month), Stellar cycle (1 year). Then it all goes like normal; decades, centuries, millennia. Sometimes i will use other transformer time terms when i don’t know what else to use.

22. Ratchet, despite being a medic, dismissed his own small damages. He says he will take tare of them later but never does, which later comes back as a bigger problem. Like a trembling wheel, dimmed light or glitched comm piece. He’s learned to go fix himself when reminded about them or look for Sari.

23. Prowl has a bad habit of nightly snacking, he meditates all day long and sometimes forgets to refuel. Bad habit but he’s not really keen on stopping.

24. Shockwave/Longarm is the tech folk, the one who manages files and all, but he’s also somewhat of a medic. He knows how to patch system errors/viruses as well as fix some external damages.

25. Megatron actually remembers Optimus’ name, he just chooses to avoid using it because he has a grudge agaist the Prime for kinda offlining him.

26. Prowl doesn’t die in my timelines/AUs. Nor does Blurr. Nobody does(permanently). I just can’t let them.

27. Claws and sharp dentae are a basic upgrade you get when becoming Decepticon. Based on the frame type, there are few exceptions, example: Blitzwing has both sharp teeth and claws, but Lugnut has only sharp teeth cuz his servos are not compatible with the claws. Same with Shockwave but he's only got claws.

28. Bee was raised in the orphanage, he never brought it up to anyone. The only one to know might be the one he’d date. [See this post but exclude the adoption part]

29. Since Shockwave has 2 forms, he has something similar to Blitzwing’s multiple personalities thing- it’s not that intense, but there is a weird switch in his mind that he can activate on command. He is more laid back and cheery when he’s Longarm. When he’s Shockwave he’s very calm and focused- It’s his peak performance form, so to say. A weird thing that happens with Longarm is that he’ll be focused and calm with everyone but the second he, Bee and Bulkhead are alone- it’s time for wild fun.

30. Everyone thinks Random is the cannibal. He’s not, Icy is the one enjoying devouring a fellow mech. He keeps quiet about it, Random is just hyping it up like he usually does with everything.

31. Blackarachnia may be a mad scientist but she would help someone out if they begged her enough. She’d do everything to fix a bot- but then use them for her own goals. Every “transaction” you make with her will have the consequences... well, unless she’s “feeling generous”- which is like a miracle and you’ve probably made her feel bad if she does this.

32. Bumblebee loves to dress up. He loves human clothes, he loves cosmetic upgrades, he liked the temporary paint that is make up. He’ll never admit or show it though. He feels like if he does, he’s gonna be judged and everyone’s gonna stop liking him. Dressing up makes him feel like he’s truly pretty and amazing. He doesn’t want that feeling crushed if others find it weird and tell him to stop. Idk if “Drag Queen” is the correct term for this but he defo likes dresses and painted details like make up.

33. Bee dresses up for Halloween with Sari. Despite what i said in the previous point, he allows himself to dress up in cool costumes- usually the classics like a vampire or ghost. Never anything cute tho- those costumes are saved for his time alone. One time he made himself look like the haunted black taxi from that one movie- Optimus was on patrol and heard about some shady car scaring people so he went to check it out. Poor Bee tried to scare him too and got send to medbay. Optimus apologized for two days after that incident.

34. Bee has a job that earns him human money- in some weird chain of events he met a guy with a shop that sells old and damaged stuff. He offered to pay Bee money to bring him old stuff from garbage yards/trash stations that may be restored and sold. So now he has a fun and productive way of earning money to buy new games. He goes treasure hunting at least once a week.

35. Bee is really flexible and can basically squeeze anywhere he desires. No one knows how he does it and he constantly gets stuck in weird places. You wouldn’t think he’d fit into that heavy duty airvent, but alas, he’s there waiting for help.

36. Bumblebee and Prowl are almost the same height; motorbikes are small, even when compared to tiny cars. Prowl is only few inches taller than Bee. He is very thin in build, Bee is more bulky and wide. Bee is also physically stronger than Prowl- Prowl is always using tactics and momentum and physics and such to gain advantage over stronger enemies.

37. Bee is a natural climber- being the short bot, it’s obvious he has to climb to reach that shelf. His servos have rough pads on them to help him stick to sufaces better. It’s especially effective with earth’s buildings since they’re made of rough concrete.

38. Bee naps in riduculous places, he’s like a ferret. He’ll squeeze or climb into places and sometimes get stuck there so others have to get him out. His favorite places to nap are Bulkheads subspace and under his berth.

39. Bee will learn anything about any game just to win. He has a self-claimed title “Game King”. One time he found out about Prowl liking chess- he spend the next few cycles on research and perfecting his skill with online chess. The “Game King” title has been made valid by everyone after Prowl got obliterated in chess by Bee.

40. Prowl has to temporarily move out of his room in winter because there is no roof. He has a back-up room for when the snow starts piling up and he can’t recharge in it. He also has to recharge in the back-up room when there is a heavy downpour and his room floods.

41. Each Team Prime member has their own love language/way fo showing affection/care. [Here i listed them]

42. At some point in the story, Bee and Bulkhead would become Amicas. Not Conjunxes(spouses)- they are Amicas(long-term best friend). [this and this]

43. I imagine Bumblebee would be a great parent- sure he’s reckless most of the time but when it comes to Sparklings- something in his mind switches and he goes full ‘Mama Bear mode’. [exaples: this and this]

44. Optimus is a great cook, he especially loves to bake. Bee is into mixology- he makes morning oil for everyone after all. Prowl cooks with organic ingredients for Sari, he wants her to eat more healthy so he takes it upon himself to make sure she does. [anker post]

45. Bee loves racing, in AU or not. He’ll go up to anyone and challange them to a race. The winner gets the respect of being faster. Blitzwing is Bee’s go-to race rival, they have fun together and mess around on some occasion. [anker post]

46. Bee got crayons from Bulkhead. Sometimes he will draw things- he drew a picture for their first christmas and everyone loves it, it’s hanging in the main room now.

47. Here you have Halloween and Christmas traditions with the group cuz i’m too lazy to write an entire point for it.

48. IMPORTANT FOR ALL NSFW WORKS: Interfacing and Sparklings. My version is different from the ususal sexual spike/valve thing. C’mon they’re ALIENS. I have it all written out in this post.

49: Bumblebee, Sari and Bulkhead are The Gamer Trio. They always play multiplayer games together when they’re not busy. Sometimes Prowl joins them for specific games. [anker post]

50. Team Prime + Sari have preffered food flavors n such. [anker post]

51. Team Prime + Sari having trouble sleeping/recharging and doing stuff instead of that. Nightly habits list. [anker post]

52. Bee has ADHD, you can’t convince me otherwise. He has also been diagnosed with depression later on. Oh, also Prowl is on autism spectrum. Dw, they take meds for that. [adhd+autism post here, Bee having depression here]

53. Bee talks in his sleep. It’s easy to tell if he’s having a nightmare or not. He’s just murmuring what is happening in his dream, not every night but surprisingly often. Funny enough you could have a conversation with him like this. [anker post]

54. Ratchet volunteers as medical assistance in Detroit. The messed up USA healthcare system is beyond what Cybertron had.

if there’s more i come up with, i will update this post. thank you for reading this text wall.

#tfa #maccadam #long post #tfa bumblebee #tfa sari #tfa prowl #tfa ratchet #tfa optimus prime #tfa blitzwing #tfa megatron #tfa lugnut #tfa shockwave #tfa longarm #tfa blackarachnia #decepticons #autobots #tfa headcanons #tfa shenanigans #tfa au

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gonegirlaccount · 11 months

Note

OMG! I saw your Hcs for Johnny cade and now I need a little story with the reader 😭 (If you can ofc,and whenever you have time) PLSS 💖 also have a good day/night ^^

(A/N; whoever requested this please enjoy it bcs this is so sweet ilysm)

"Not the best.” Johnny Cade X Fem!reader

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Today was your first anniversary when you first started dating Johnny. You didn’t forget this and had it planned out for a really, really long time. You bought Johnny a gift and you had even baked a cake!

You didn’t want to buy one cause it was too expensive and it seemed easy enough to bake one! If soda could do it, you could too! Right?

Wrong.

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You accidentally add too much of an ingredient, too little and everything just goes to shit. But you tasted the batter and it tasted fine! So maybe it’s all good!

(But you decided to cover it in a lot of frosting just in case.)

You put the cake on your table with the gift and waited for Johnny.

5 minutes have passed. You thought he was taking a bit long so you painted your nails. They looked good! Maybe he’d like them.

After the 8th minute, Johnny came through the door. He was holding some flowers and a necklace and something else he was hiding. You tried to get a closer look but he wouldn’t let ya.

“You can look at that later, ‘Kay? Cause I got ya other things.” He says as he smiles and hands you the flower and necklace.

It was your favorite flowers and it was the necklace you wouldn’t stop eyeing.

“But this was expensive!” You exclaimed. “Two-Bit.” He said and you understood immediately.

“Thank you. Anyways, sit down! I made cake.” You smiled happily and he nodded, sitting himself down at the table.

You then went to the drawer, got a knife, then came back and cut the cake into eight slices.

You lifted one of the slices onto a plate and gave it to Johnny. Johnny then took a bite out of the slice you gave him then turned to face away from you.

“Johnny, what’s wrong? Is it not good?” You asked, biting your fingernails. Had he noticed that the cake wasn’t good? (Did you not add enough icing?)

Johnny slowly turned to you and smiled awkwardly. “It’s…erm…good.” He mumbled and nodded.

You sighed than grinned, embarrassed. “It’s not the best, is it?” You said, making Johnny sigh and nod.

“How about we go to the store and get a cake there!” “Please. I’m sorry, but that cake was really nasty.”

“Thanks for sparing my feelings Johnny.”

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#besitos4gojo #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders x yn #johnny cade x yn #johnny cade x reader #johnny cade

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leslie057 · 3 months

Note

9a + 9b please 🙏

hello! thank you for the lovely combo

prompt game posted here

9a + 9b = call me lover + but one is pouting

word count: 3.7k

It isn’t right that she’s sad today, even less right that she’s playing up the sad, and that in doing this she hopes to work guilt into every part of him, like water into clay, like honey into comb.

Given their extra-special circumstances, she knows she shouldn’t be anything more than mildly annoyed with him about his inability to pronounce girlfriend. And that has to be the issue, pronunciation, because why else would he shy away from such an innocent word? There’s no reasonable excuse. It’s an easy statement to make: look, my girlfriend’s here. He can do it, with the same ease that he labels everything else of his, he can do it. It’s my camera, my spatula, my turn to drive, my shirt not yours and you can’t have it…all his, until she’s involved. No, they don’t own each other. But sometimes you have to lay claim to things in life.

You just have to.

He paints houses. Every day in West Somerville he does, from nine to dinnertime. Watertown and Brookline, too. But mainly Somerville, especially Winter Hill. Interior, exterior, deck, door, and drywall. Expensive houses, cheap houses, new and old houses, houses with picket fences. It’s just what Emerson is looking for, a teenage boy who really knows his way around a…picket fence?

But the gap year thing is okay, and he’s still here with her as she navigates everything, even if he didn’t want to apply for college until it was way too late. He can apply for next year.

He moved away, far away just for her, no college waiting for him at the end of the journey, willing and able to be the slow tagalong Somerville boy to her busy Boston girl. And they get to live together. Harmony of opposites applies, as it always has. His loyalty means the world, and for what it’s worth, he is the best rated decorator Lovell Painting’s ever had. Very committed to the job.

But now Mr. Lovell doesn’t know she’s his harmonious opposite, doesn’t know she’s the girl he’s bringing home the bread to (not a lot of bread, but so much more than you’d expect someone to get for slinging paint) (then again, there’s probably no slinging involved, because Jonathan clearly believes there is an art to the task) (he has a weird way of leaning into unbeaten paths, finding purpose in hushed, forgettable places) (it’s lovable, is what it is, when she manages to push away the feeling that he’s missing out by not being in school).

No, Mr. Lovell doesn’t know who she is, because her boyfriend didn’t say. Couldn’t bring himself to say. Couldn’t bring himself to say the G word.

She’d asked Lauren from the student paper to take her to him after class. She missed him, plus she thought he shouldn’t be all alone on his way back home. He does plenty of lonely driving throughout the week. And since Lauren does everything for everyone, she actually said yes. Fifteen minutes later, Nancy was at a place she’d never been before. Here they were at the end of October, and she hadn’t been. She had no idea where her five star trades-boy turned in his paintbrush at the end of the day.

She’d wandered in, into the little white office that likely used to be a shed, all open windows and whirring box fans and latex fumes. On a stool, he filled out his timesheet. She gave him a hug around the neck from behind, avoiding the sensitive surface of his sunburned arms.

Made him jump, then made him relax.

“Sorry, I knew that would scare you. I’m not trespassing, am I?”

“No, you—no, not trespassing at all. What time is it?”

She tilted her head sideways and consulted her watch. “5:11,” she said. Tilted her head more, more, more, trying to kiss his jaw and its underside.

Hung over his shoulders like that, she took her first deep breath of the day. Tendrils of dried paint stretched across his shirt collar and sleeves, the kind of spiderweb splatters that don’t come out in the wash. She watched him jot down a couple light-handed notes in all capital letters. His name was everywhere on the page and highlighted in some instances, an indication of overtime work. She had felt weird then for being judgy—felt bad—thinking maybe there was a chance he was where he needed to be. Not school, right here. Humble, dependable, and first-rate.

Then Mr. Lovell came in.

And ruined everything.

“Jonathan, you heading out soon?”

“Oh, right now, actually. Turns out we can’t pick up anything until tomorrow morning. Like, anything at all, they said.”

“Yikes. Oh well, then.”

“Apparently our order got delayed because of the tight space rollers.”

“Hm. Tight space rollers, they never have them in, do they?”

“No, sir, never. They never ever have anything below a 6 inch.”

She stayed still, reading the room. Gauging the boss. Lovell didn’t seem to mind her or her public display of affection. He was a youngish man, son to the original Mr. Lovell of Lovell Painting, tall and nonchalant with the look of a relatable salesman.

“Hey. Jake Lovell,” he finally said to her. “Don’t think I’ve met you before, how’s it going?”

“Hey, good, thanks.” In the subsequent silence she waited. Waited for what was sure to come. Oh yeah, sorry, this is my girlfriend, Nancy. This is Nancy, we just moved in together. This is the girl I told you about, Nancy Wheeler. We’ve been dating for almost two years. She’s the best. Nancy is the best. Hey, guess what, my girlfriend Nancy once repainted her little sister’s dollhouse from top to bottom, think we should hire her next?

He kept his mouth shut.

“I’m Nancy,” she sighed.

“Oh, okay, you’re Nancy.”

Had he heard the name before? If he had, that must have been all he heard. His eyes were brimming with confusion.

“That’s me,” she said and untangled herself from her betrayer, the one she’d been draped over like some sleepy starfish.

Starfish didn’t want to cling anymore.

“She’s Nancy,” he’d mumbled while clearing off the desk.

The eldest in the room clocked the tension between them. “Well, you know it was nice to meet you, Nancy, but I’ve gotta get going. Be careful around the mess, you look very professional in those clothes.”

She slid her hands down the sides of her thighs, black slacks swishing above high heels.

“You look very…casual, Mr. Lovell. Guess we’ll see you later.”

And that was it.

And that was then. This is now: now, she is pouting. The most pathetic pouting session she's had to date. This is textbook manipulation pouting and then some, this is wallowing in the events of the afternoon like they involved theft, fraud, and murder.

Is she putting on a performance here? Yes, duh, of course she is. But is she down about what he said (and didn’t say) earlier? Also yes. That part is real. He did make her sad.

Yes.

Lucky for her, she’s got tricks in her bag.

Exactly four tricks, to be precise, for this type of situation. One, a shower—a shower taken earlier than usual. To get away and to get out of restrictive clothing (restrictive clothing doesn’t mix well with sadness). No more black slacks, no more newsgirl blouse. No jewelry either, it’s totally unnecessary. Unless…keep your necklace on, if you want, since that can be played with. Really you just have to remember that comfort is what works. Wet hair is what works. An XL shirt works, and peach soap works, and so does a frown, and so does a thick pair of socks, for whatever reason.

Two is a book. Not a short book, pick a long book. Flip to the beginning to read. Beginnings are hard to get through, and he knows it. He will empathize. Three, lack of light. The less light in the room, the better. Not only have you chosen to start a long book after 5pm without having even eaten dinner, you’ve chosen to do so without sufficient reading light. That’s true misery.

Four, the most important trick, is a bad record. Just awful. It needs to be scratched, it needs to skip. Needs to skip a lot. Your record should make other records worry about where they’ll be in ten years. Jonathan Byers doesn’t want this for you; if you are his favorite person, and listening to music is the best thing anyone can do, your tolerance of a broken record will rile him. You deserve better. He will want to compensate for all the hurt caused by your subpar listening experience.

“Nancy?” he says from the doorway.

“Mhm.”

“Good shower?”

“Sure. Good shower.”

“You beat me to it.”

It’s an understatement. Without a word, she had headed for the shower. Very first thing she did when they got to the apartment. She went to turn the water on, still wearing her shoes, and waited for it to get hot, and never once looked back.

She curls in on herself on the bed, avoiding his gaze. “Since when did you decide you have first dibs on everything?” she murmurs to her book. To Middlemarch.

“Uh, no, it's not that, I just meant that I’m…pretty paint-y, at the moment. You know?”

The response is delivered innocently, harmlessly, lightly, and she almost considers backing down, ditching the majority of her plan or maybe all of it. Almost considers, before deciding against. (She has to soldier on; his adorable use of a made-up word doesn’t fix a thing, now does it?)

“Right.”

“There’s so much primer on my hands, it’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s so bad. It’s like…it’s like if someone brushed plaster right onto my palm and then let it harden. Overnight.”

“Mhm.”

A break in the tense conversation comes and gives those background noise record screeches their moment to shine. Leaning on the doorframe, he winces.

“So,” she shifts her body until the blanket slips, “did you need something, or…”

Their eyes meet. His are sleepy–his are suddenly charged with doubt, two dark wells of worry.

“No, nothing, I don’t…it…it seems like you might be the one that needs something?”

She huffs. It seems like she needs something? For that she won’t go easy on him. A fake cry might cross her mind, if she were a psychopath, but fortunately for both of them she’s not. Sincere regret is already cocooning her, compacting itself with each passing minute, a dense shroud of claustrophobic ickiness. Not always as fun as you’d plan for: guilt tripping someone who’s hopelessly devoted. Really, how hard is it to have a mature conversation about the way you feel neglected in this one marginal area of the relationship, even though you’re well taken care of in all the others. Very hard, it turns out. Very very hard.

And besides, this is how the Jonathan and Nancy network operates. She uses her upset to make weird power moves. He lies about his upset altogether. The system is what it is.

“If you care so much, figure it out yourself.” It’s a feeble whisper, accessorized with the twitch of her bottom lip and an arbitrary sniffle. She flips over to the eighth page of Middlemarch. Pulls her blanket back up over her waist. The leftover scent of her body wash is strong, so strong, even in her own nose. It’s like peach sorbet and paint thinner had a baby in their bedroom.

“Nancy…”

His voice has that deconstructed softness in it, gentle yet desperate, which is highly familiar. He uses it constantly. That’s the trick in his bag, but she’s not quite sure he knows it’s a trick. Because of it, the whole stay-mad-at-him project isn’t gonna be smooth sailing. She swallows hard, necklace pendant between her fingers.

“Hey, what happened?” He steps closer to the bed and uncrosses his arms. “This isn’t…it isn’t about Lauren, right?”

Oh, wow. Okay. Clueless.

“Because you really do ask her for a lot of favors, and I know she’s always happy to do them, but just…maybe don’t make her drive out there again. Not when I’m literally clocking out.”

“Oh…” She closes her book and fixes her eyes on the window. That one actually does make her want to cry.

“No, don’t,” he pleads, “don’t do the sad oh thing. You’re gonna make me sad. You’re gonna break me.”

The sigh that escapes her is fully authentic in its lethargy. Her fingertips play over the pillow under her head and its silky case. “Sorry, it’s just that now you think I take advantage of Lauren and you don’t like to see me at work, so.”

“No, I love to see you, I had no idea you would come after class just for that. It was really nice.”

“Yeah, so nice—”

“Until you ignored me in the car, yes!”

Hugging her own waist, she draws up her knees. God, that record…it should be physically impossible for ABBA to ever sound bad but this is pushing it. How truly depressing.

She imagines that the invisible thread connecting his heart to hers is starting to fray at this point; those grating sounds in his ears, the mix of chemicals on his skin, the intentionally seductive nature of her pity party, the annoying flicker of the lamp in the corner (only thing the previous tenants left behind when they moved, the sole forgotten object). All of it must be torturing him.

He picks up her book off the mattress, leaves it in the windowsill to—sunbathe? Who knows, honestly.

"Look,” he says, “I think we might need to take a second before we get into this. Do you want me to leave you alone for a minute? Would that help, or no?”

Apprehensively he reaches down, down to touch her shoulder, sort of…petting her, a few times. What you’d do if you found a wild jaguar in your backyard, but it was a really sweet looking jaguar.

When she doesn’t bite, he bravely makes eye contact with her. “You just have to tell me what you want, that’s all I need.”

(Such a good boyfriend when he’s trying. Holy shit.)

Fearful that the affection wave will show on her face, she flips over, switching sides. “Want you to lay down,” she mumbles.

Well that wasn’t part of the plan.

She listens for his reaction. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. “I’m filthy, you do realize that.”

“We’ve gone to bed wearing monster blood…”

He shrugs his jacket off.

(So, the summer had been a violent ride. Summer of ‘86, filed away in her brain with the rest of her nightmare inventory forever. All’s said and done now. Maybe they’re finally safe. God, please.)

It takes them a sec to get settled, but he hems her in, wraps her up, holds her close without any further begging. It’s crazy satisfying. Plaster-rough hand curls around her ribs under her shirt, and his nose brushes her neck. Antsy, she shuffles her feet together, scrunched socks keeping her warm.

“You genuinely—”

“Smell so good?” she predicts.

“Yeah.”

“New soap.”

“Ten out of ten.”

“Well, you know, it’s not formaldehyde, but what is?”

“Give me some slack,” he murmurs, “not my fault all my passions involve chemicals.”

Painting houses is his passion now? Alright, good to know. It’s that, developing photos, and being so much of a dummy he forgets to introduce his girlfriend to his boss when they first meet.

Again: exactly the kind of boy Emerson is looking for.

A minute later he’s kissing her neck.

Yeah, not sure how that happened.

After taking his first few tastes, he quickly stops himself. “Wait, can I do this?” he wonders aloud.

“I’ll let you decide. Do you think you should be doing that?”

“I don’t know. On the one hand,” he places a soft kiss at the base of her throat, “I still haven’t figured out what’s going on with you.”

Her eyelids flutter. “And on the other?”

Mouth barely open, he drags the tip of his tongue across her collarbone in one slow slide. “On the other I think—”

She fails to repress a squeaky whimper, which makes him falter.

“…that doing this could maybe, just maybe, help me get information out of you.”

She’s lost her breath so fast. “Decisions, decisions,” she manages to get out.

Second option wins him over. Next he’s tangling up his hand in her wet hair, kissing her neck like there really is peach sorbet to be found in her pores. He hums while getting acclimated to the malleability of her damp skin, impossibly supple malleability, and lingers with his mouth at her pulse point before giving in and sucking on it, not hard enough to make a bruise, but enough to make blood rush to her head.

She grabs the back of his neck in an attempt to stay anchored and from there he surrenders, from there he lets her force the path that his lips map out on her. Chapped but sticky with spit, they part and purse on her jaw, softly massaging the bone.

“Please can we get you a new album soon,” he whispers, “this is painful.”

“Hm?”

“The record’s a disaster, throw it away.”

“Don’t tell me to throw my things away,” she slurs weakly.

Her thigh catches his hip, and she bucks a little, rocks a little. Nothing crazy, just dirty. She can’t help herself.

“Tell me what upset my girlfriend and I won’t say anything ever again for the rest of my life.”

There it is. Jesus, it’s what she wanted. See, there’s no pronunciation issue after all. Girlfriend. His girlfriend.

She goes perfectly still. He may not realize she’s all shook up inside, but he notices the outward change, that’s for sure.

Time to get into it.

She takes a moment to prepare herself. “Are you ready to listen?”

“I’ve been ready, Nance.”

“Okay. It wasn’t about Lauren,” she spills, “Lauren and I are fine. We didn’t have a fight, we’ve never had a fight, and after she dropped me off today she told me she likes the drive to Middlesex because the roads are so smooth and driving calms her down and she gets sick of being in Boston, and I promise I’m not lying when I tell you this, but she offered to take me again tomorrow, I swear to you she did.”

“Okay, I believe you—”

“Though now I’m thinking I don’t even want to take her up on the offer, because me being there was clearly an unwanted change that didn’t exactly mean anything to anyone, and if you seriously don’t know what made me switch up today I need you to ask yourself how you think my conversation with your manager made me feel earlier.”

“You’re upset because of…something Mr. Lovell said?”

He’s so lost.

“No, because of what you said.”

“And what did I say?”

“It’s what you didn’t say. Jonathan, you didn’t tell him who I was. You didn’t introduce me at all.”

“I’m—sorry, you…you introduced yourself, why would I need to—”

“He doesn’t know you’re dating me.”

“But he does? It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? Without words?”

“No! Not without words. For all he knows I’m some random girl you met on the street, next thing you know he’ll be setting you up on dates with his niece and scheduling you to work Valentine’s Day. You’re supposed to be upfront about us and you never, ever are. Why aren’t you?”

His turn to pout now. He rests his head on her shoulder. “I don’t know? Sometimes it feels like…”

The gears in his brain go on and on, and his blush deepens. “Like fishing for attention.”

“Well that’s why I’m sad, you’re why I’m sad. You don’t want attention, so you don’t call me your girlfriend. Maybe once a month, if that. You don’t call me your girlfriend a lot and I love when you call me your girlfriend. There’s nothing unclear about a word like that."

“I…can do better, I didn’t know it was a big deal to you. That I say it more.”

“Duh, I don’t wanna feel invisible. I want you to talk about me.”

Her heart pounds with the energy of the moment, with surfacing reminders of how different they are. The silence expands around them, his breathing shallow. This is really the first time it’s dawning on him, the depth of her need for validation? Maybe she forgot that acknowledgment of their relationship outside their private bubble is not something he would go for without being asked. Maybe she forgot.

"So it’s not the word,” he says, “it’s telling people?”

“I like privacy, I do, but what’s between us needs to be something others can see. Something they don’t have to guess on.”

Yeah, keeping their peers guessing in high school was good. Low-key meant less harassment, fewer problems. Having said that, high school is gone forever.

He nods. “I get it. I'll get it, eventually. I’ll try.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you.”

Though the conflict isn’t totally resolved, it kind of feels resolved for tonight. At least that’s what her hormones want her to go with, shifting back and forth, this way and that, residing on the rockiest of tectonic plates that have been calibrated to him for longer than he knows. As strange as her first two months of college have been, as many messes as they’re making in their relationship, she has infinite confidence in the Jonathan and Nancy network. All things considered, this is the right time to be messy, they’ll have plenty of room to clean up the love when they’ve grown up. Fighting isn’t fun but…it feels amazing to know he’s in this with her, wading out to her in the swell of their mature immaturity, sticking up for young love even after their conflict resolution turns chaotic.

He loves her, and whenever she’s blue, he begs her to let him fix it. Neither of them rest easy until the blue gets painted over.

“Hey, girlfriend?”

She breathes out a laugh. “What?”

“Since we’re sharing…”

She tilts her head back, pushes her nose against his gently. “Careful, don’t say something you shouldn’t.”

“I really like it when you use your revenge soap against me. Very evil, but I like it.”

#*fic #jancy fic #stranger things #jonathan x nancy #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #prompt fill #*ask #fanfiction #manipulation pouting is not a victimless crime #but give nancy a pass please i wrote this in less than three days

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maitaitiu · 1 month

Text

paint me a picture OCxCanon week 2024 Day 5: come closer.. Pairing type: romantic (childhood friends -> lovers) Canon Character: Lillie Kukui-Burnet OC: Shinon Yanagi Fandom: Pokemon Wordcount: 1300

AO3 link

CWS: facing a phobia

Synopsis: Shinon and Lillie find an injured baby shroodle, and set out to help it. Unfortunately, Shinon is still deathly afraid of poison types.

“It’s okay, Shinon… See, he won’t hurt you.”

“I know that.” Shinon snapped back, her voice a good few tones higher pitched than it would normally be, “I do. It’s just. Agh.”

Lillie was unfazed by her girlfriend’s uncharacteristic attitude, but Shinon still felt terrible. But she just couldn’t get her heart to stop racing. She was terrified, and she felt stupid for being so terrified, which made her feel humiliated, which just looped back around into making her anxious! It was an awful loop, and she could not find a way out of it.

She looked down at the subject causing her fear. A tiny, tiny shroodle. With a graze on its face. It was upset from being hurt- and cornered by two humans that towered over it- so one of the two young women needed to hold it still so the other could clean up the scrape and put a biodegradable bandage on it.

Lillie had it in her hands already, and the little shroodle was relatively calm, but Shinon could tell it could sense her nerves, which were making it nervous in turn.

All she had to do was reach out with the medicinal wipe and clean the graze, and then put the stick-on bandage on. It would be so easy.

But… but…

“Lillie, what if it spits poison?” Shinon breathed, feeling sweat beading on her forehead, “What if it’s poisonous to touch?”

“I’m fine, and I’m holding it,” Lillie said gently, “And if it does do anything that could hurt us, we’ve got plenty of medicine and supplies to make sure we’ll be okay.”

Even though her girlfriend took her concerns seriously; even though she never ever made fun of her, Shinon still felt like she should be embarrassed about being so scared.

“Come on,” Lillie murmured, and took Shinon’s hand in one of hers- holding the shroodle with the other- “Come closer… it’s okay. I promise.”

Shinon held her breath as her hand was slowly guided to rest on top of the shroodle’s head. Its short fur was soft. Its body warm. And nothing happened.

After a minute, Lillie’s hand steadily returned back to holding the pokemon, and still, nothing happened.

Shinon let out that breath.

And then it moved. Just slightly. Stretching out its tiny front paws.

In an instant, with a sound that was reminiscent of an electric surge, Shinon was ten feet away, sitting on the grass with wide, terrified eyes as her heart thudded violently in her throat. And then she blinked, breathed, and realised how utterly stupid she was being. And lay down on the grass, curled into a tight ball, unable to fight off tears born of a mixture of genuine fear and humiliation.

Soon, though, she felt Lillie’s hand rest on her back.

“It’s okay,” her girlfriend murmured, “I promise it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! I shouldn’t be so scared! It’s just a tiny little guy!” Shinon cried, “I don’t… I hate this…”

Lillie’s hand moved to her hair, and Shinon focussed on the sensation of her hair being caressed. It was calming. Soothing. And eventually she managed to stop crying, and sit up.

“I feel so stupid.” She said quietly, her voice still shaky.

“That’s okay,” Lillie smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Shinon’s forehead, making both of them blush profusely, “This reminds me of when we first met, but… in reverse.”

Shinon managed a laugh, “On the bridge? With those spearow?”

“Yeah! I’m still scared of those things… but you were so cool going out there… I definitely had a crush on you right from then.”

Shinon choked on a breath as she laughed some more, “What?!”

“Seriously! You were so brave, and it was so kind of you to do something so crazy for someone you didn’t even know… didn’t help you were super cute, too.”

With a gentle shove, Shinon shook her head, “If you thought I was so cute, why didn’t you ask me out ‘til four months ago?”

“I was shy!” Lillie exclaimed, cheeks red, “I was scared you’d say no!”

“According to Hau… and Penny… and Gladion… and literally all our friends, I’ve apparently been hopelessly in love with you since our teen years. So, was it only not obvious to you?” Shinon grinned, “I’d have thought you’d be more observant. Your parents being pokemon researchers and all.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lillie snorted, “Why’d you never ask me, then?”

“I was too busy being the main character of the universe,” Shinon’s response was dry, but she was still smiling, “Y’know… all those adventures in Area Zero… all that weird shit in Kitakami. Did I tell you there was straight up a zombie apocalypse there?”

“Yes, you did.” Lillie rolled her eyes, “Many times. Every time you see mochi, actually…”

“It’s not that often!”

“Every time,” Lillie repeated, “Without fail.”

“Ughhh… you’re so mean to me.” Shinon dramatically flopped down to rest her head on Lillie’s lap, feeling a lot better already.

“Yes. I’m terrible.” Lillie sighed, playing with Shinon’s hair, “So awful that I care about my girlfriend… And listen to her stories even though she’s told them a million times.”

“I’m a great storyteller.”

Shinon watched as Lillie’s face scrunched up for a second, and just barley fought off another bout of laughter at her girlfriend’s unenthusiastic response.

“Sure.”

“You’re better than me, though.” Shinon said, with a smile as Lillie looked back down at her, “Hey. Why don’t I try and hold the shroodle. You tell me a story while we’re fixing it up. To distract me.”

“Because you’re such a good listener?” Lillie teased, and Shinon stuck out her tongue in response, “It is a good idea. Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“Yeah. I feel better. Let’s just go for it while I’m not feeling ready to implode.”

“Okay.”

Shinon let Lillie pull her to her feet, and they walked back to the shroodle, who was still sitting in the place they’d left it, watched over by Shrimp, Shinon’s jolteon. It seemed a lot calmer, too. Perhaps Shrimp had spoken to it, explained what was going on.

The two young women settled themselves in the grass once more, and with a deep breath, Shinon picked up the shroodle and placed it in her lap.

“Okay,” Lillie said, getting one of the wound-cleaning wipes ready, “You’re doing great, both of you. Shinon, did I ever tell you about the time Nebby stole a malasada straight from Hau’s hands?”

“I don’t think so?” Shinon replied honestly, her voice a little bit clipped from stress.

“Right… well… it was in Hau’oli city, I think only a couple of days before you came to Alola…”

Throughout the mundane but still funny tale of Nebby’s malasada pilfering, and Hau’s subsequent experience of all five stages of grief in a matter of minutes, Shinon managed to remain focussed on simply picturing the story while Lillie fixed up the little shroodle’s injury.

By the time the story was done, and the graze had been all patched up, Shinon was still nervous of the tiny pokemon, but she felt a lot lighter, too. She always liked hearing stories from Lillie, who was genuinely a great storyteller- though she never gave herself enough credit for the way she could weave words into vibrant mental images, and wholly absorb anyone into the world of a memory or fiction.

The only problem was, the little shroodle had seemingly enjoyed the story, too. And as with most young pokemon, storytime was a precursor to bedtime. And it had fallen asleep in Shinon’s lap.

And now the two were faced with a new problem, as both felt it would be mean to move it and risk waking it up.

For now, they’d just have to resign themselves to their fate.

#words #oc: shinon #oc x canon week 2024 #oc x canon week #eveningshipping #tstac #tstac: sky #tstac: aftermath #tstac: postcanon stuff

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