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ohbutwheresyourheart · 2 years

Note

I just have to - Willy (or Willy and Maddy), "gum" prompt! muahaha

okay listen, I know from the evil laughter you're probably expecting something about Willy's dental trauma but in the true spirit of that post about leading a content creator to water but not being able to make them drink, this is what immediately came to mind for me:

When they first opened the Cherry Street shop, Willy and Madeleine had been very strict about not eating the merchandise outside of testing. As it was just the two of them right at the beginning, there was a limit to how much candy Willy could physically produce each day, and there had been a tight period where demand risked outstripping supply.

Fortunately, now they were comfortably established and had the staff to keep production going smoothly, so the rule had been relaxed. Madeleine, in particular, was in the habit of grabbing an assorted handful of sweets to savour while she balanced the ledgers each evening after they closed up. So, when Willy checked on her in the office to say he was going to start dinner shortly, it didn’t surprise him to see her chewing on something.

Until, that is, he spotted what was sitting on her desk. Scandalised, hoping against hope his eyes were somehow deceiving him, he darted across the room and grabbed the offending item, holding it up -- oh… oh, no, she hadn’t!

“Is this--?” Willy let out an appalled sound, gaze fixed on the wrapper in his hand. “Is this Hubba Bubba chewing gum?”

Madeleine went wide-eyed and, at once, a small but visible bulge appeared in her cheek.

“...No,” she mumbled, in the voice of someone who absolutely had a wad of chewing gum shoved into the side of her mouth.

“Madeleine! How could you?” Willy waved a hand towards the shop floor. “I make chewing gum!”

A rapid succession of conflicting emotions crossed Madeleine’s face before she let out a small, pained sound and sheepishly confessed, “I know, but it’s cherry flavour! You know how much I love cherry flavoured things!”

“Oh, I see.” Willy sniffed dramatically, crossing his arms across his chest. “So it’s my fault that you turned traitor! Even though I make lots of wonderful flavours.”

Some of the guilt dissipated from Madeleine’s eyes as she raised her eyebrows. “Turned traitor?”

“Yeah, now I know what you think of me, I guess.” Willy dropped the gum wrapper back on Madeleine’s desk and turned away. “If you wanted cherry gum so bad, you could have just asked me!”

Far from being overcome with remorse, Madeleine sounded like she might be on the verge of laughter. “It hasn’t been a desperate wish! I just saw it at the petrol station earlier when I stopped off to fill up the car and decided to try it.”

“Hmph!”

“You don’t even like making gum! You’ve told me at least half a dozen times you think chewing gum is a filthy habit.” “And yet,” Willy retorted, pausing at the doorway, “Here we are.”

“Oh, for the love of--”

“You know,” he interrupted. “I was gonna make your favourite for dinner, because I love you, but I guess now I won’t.”

There it was - a burble of laughter. “You are being such a child about this.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Willy announced. “I’ll call when dinner is ready. If you’re still hungry after chewing all that nasty gum.”

To his chagrin, Madeleine did not immediately leap up from her chair to assuage him. Instead, she just giggled again. “I’m sure I will be. Everything you make is delicious.”

There was no way to reply to that except with a scoff. Willy took himself off to the kitchen, where he quickly had to face the fact that he would indeed be making Madeleine’s favourite because spaghetti alla puttanesca was about all they had the ingredients in for. Fine. But he was making it out of expedience, not for any other reason.

He was nearly ready to plate up when Madeleine came in; Willy sensed, more than heard or saw, her come up behind him. She slid her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into his ear. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, and I shouldn’t have made fun of you for being upset.”

As much as Willy strove to cling on to his righteous indignation, it was difficult when he felt himself melting like a Wonka bar left in the sun (hey, should he do something about that? Maybe he could adapt the formula from his ice cream into the chocolate bars, make them hardier -- okay, note to self, look into that later--)

“S’pose I can forgive you,” he mumbled. “This time. For a first offence.”

Madeleine pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Thank you for making my slut spaghetti for me even though you were mad.”

Okay, righteous indignation had now entirely crumbled; it was difficult to appear righteous when he was reduced to giggles. Madeleine, too, was laughing.

“Do you have to call it that?" “It’s the translation! You remember what that granny told us in Naples when she taught us the recipe.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Madeleine countered. She squeezed his waist briefly and then stepped away. “So I guess that makes us a good match. I’ll set the table.”

Willy stirred the sauce, turning his thoughts over in his mind, until: “Hey, Maddy?”

Madeleine, who had been counting out cutlery, paused and looked over at him. “Yeah?”

“I… Maybe I could. Make cherry gum. Just ‘cause, we’re on Cherry Street, right, so I should play into the theme.”

Madeleine grinned. “Right. Get the marketing angle.”

“Exactly! Just like you’re always nagging me about. We could do gift bags -- ooh, we could do it for other flavours, too! Apple, pear, lemon…” Hey, this was a good idea! Huh. Silver linings, how about that. “...Actually, Maddy, can you--?”

“Yep.” Madeleine set down the cutlery and stepped up beside him to take charge of the pans. “I’ve got it. You go write all that down and we’ll get to work on it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” Willy promised, already halfway out of the room.

“You’d better be!” Madeleine called after him. “Or I’m eating without you!”

#willy wonka #willy #madeleine #you'll be free (if you truly wish to be)#writing prompts #I promise I will also take a stab at dental trauma angst after this #but the mental image was too funny not to write #this is very silly and self-indulgent but I don't care

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expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

What It Means to Love, 3k

established dean/cas, hurt/comfort, post 15x20, human!cas

day 2 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: hurt/comfort

“Dean, I am perfectly fine, I—” Cas paused, face scrunching up, then he sneezed before he could finish his sentence.

Dean took a step backwards. “Dude, gross! Seriously? Sneeze into your elbow. That’s like preschool 101.”

“Oh, then it’s so great that I went to preschool,” Cas said, managing to sound sarcastic even with his nose stuffed up. Dean winced as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. “It’s not like I haven’t been a human for only three months.”

Right. “Yeah, well, guess this is the perfect introduction." How the hell did Cas manage to still look so adorable slumped against the kitchen counter, clothes wrinkled and nose red? “Welcome to humanity, you have a cold. Here, stop that.” He couldn't watch Cas wipe his nose on his sleeve again. They didn’t have tissues in the kitchen, but he grabbed a napkin and handed it to him. Dutifully, Cas took it and blew his nose. “What you need is to get in some comfier clothes, lay down, and get some sleep.”

Violating the few feet he'd put between them to stay clear of the germs, he stepped closer to loosen Cas' tie. Cas let him, saying, "I can still help research—"

"No, no." Cas leveled him with a glare, but it had lost its bite now that Dean knew he couldn't strike him dead with his angel grace. Okay, it was still pretty menacing. "I'm trying to save your ass. Sam will kill you if you sneeze on his laptop or precious books. Come on, take off the coat, you gotta be burning up."

He was helping Cas slip it off when Sam walked into the kitchen. “Ew, gross," he complained, covering his eyes with his hand, and Dean realized he was essentially undressing Cas in front of the kitchen island. "Get a room."

"Grow up," Dean said, draping Cas' coat and tie over his arm. Okay, so maybe they’d given Sam a reason to be on-guard now, but, "It's not what it looks like."

Sam lowered his hand, then frowned at Cas. "Woah. What happened to you?"

"I'm sick," Cas answered, as if that wasn't obvious enough by his glassy eyes and disheveled appearance.

"Well, uh, wash your hands," Sam said, stepping back as Cas started for the door, Dean following. "Don't wanna spread any germs. And try to stay out of the library."

"Told you," Dean whispered to Cas as they went down the hallway. In their room, he gestured for Cas to sit on the bed as he rummaged through their dresser. “T-shirt and sweatpants,” he said, handing them over.

Cas unbuttoned his white button-down which was identical to the dress shirts he always wore as an angel. Apparently old habits died hard—in this case, an affinity for business casual. Actually, maybe Cas getting sick and out of his old clothes was a good thing. Dean didn't know the last time the trenchcoat had been washed.

Collecting Cas' shirt and pants, he said, “I’ll get rid of these disease-ridden clothes.” He thought he caught Cas rolling his eyes as he pulled Dean’s sweatshirt over his head. "You watch TV or something, I’ll go see if we have cold medicine.”

After starting a load of laundry and raiding the medicine cabinets in the bathroom and cabinets in the kitchen, he returned to the room to find Cas sitting cross-legged under the covers of the bed, remote in his hands.

“Here, you go,” Dean said, handing over a warm mug. Ancient Aliens played on the TV; one of Cas' favorite pastimes was refuting every crazy claim and theory the show presented with his own recollections of the ancient times. “Sam said this tea will help. He ran out to get some medicine.”

Eagerly, Cas took the mug from him and took a large gulp, then coughed. "Ow. It's hot."

"Drink it slowly, idiot."

Cas took a more hesitant sip, then squinted up at him. "This tea is incredibly flavorless."

Dean snorted. "’Cause your nose’s clogged up. And you probably burned your tongue. Another joy of being human."

Groaning, Cas dropped his head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. "Why is being human so difficult?"

Dean inwardly winced at that. Or thought he did so inwardly, but his expression must've revealed something because Cas glanced over at him, then straightened up, nearly spilling his tea. "Dean, I didn't mean anything by that."

Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged and sat down on the other side of the bed. "No, it's fine. You're right, being human sucks."

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world," Cas said.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Cas seemed about to say more, but then he sneezed. Into his elbow this time. Progress.

Ancient Aliens finished, and they got halfway through an episode of UFO Hunters before Cas started to nod off. Dean took the mug from him, and his eyes fluttered open, head jerking up. "I'm fine," he said.

"I know you're tired because you missed them saying aliens created the lost city of Atlantis."

Cas sniffled. "That's ridiculous. Everyone knows Atlantis was formed by—" He was interrupted by a yawn, and Dean made a mental note to return to that subject later.

“Come on, take a nap.”

“I am not a small child, Dean,” Cas protested, but he settled down anyway. Dean couldn’t resist adjusting the covers, essentially tucking him in. He wasn’t trying to baby him, but it was second nature seeing how miserable the guy looked. Turning off the lights, he went to the door. "You good? Need anything else?"

"No." Cas squinted one eye open to look at Dean over the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and, fuck, if he wasn't still the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen, even sick as a dog. "Thank you."

A tiny alarm went off in Dean's brain about germs, but he returned to the bed to kiss Cas on the forehead anyway. True love, and all that. God, he was getting sappy in his old age.

Cas looked marginally better when he woke up from his nap. If marginally better meant pillow hair and pillow lines on his cheek. Well-rested, at least. He swallowed down the cold medicine Sam had brought home, complaining that he could taste enough to know the flavor was not, quote, "similar to anything occurring organically in nature."

"Whaddya wanna eat?" Dean asked him as he drained his glass of water. "And don't say PB and J," he added before Cas could speak.

Cas set his glass down on the nightstand and slid further down under the covers. "Anything that won't make my throat hurt more."

"My, uh, mom used to make me soup when I was sick."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Whatcha making?" Sam asked, coming into the kitchen. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and Dean snapped him with the towel.

"That's for Cas, back off."

"Wow," Sam said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Look at you."

"Look at me what?" Setting aside the pot lid, he scraped the celery he'd been dicing from the cutting board into the pot.

Sam shrugged. "Taking care of Cas, making dinner, you're almost domestic."

Dean turned red and scrambled furiously for a comeback. "Yeah, and you're, you're still a little shit." Nailed it.

Sam laughed. "Wasn't an insult. Just meant, I don't know. Different for you, I guess."

Dean eyed him, stirring the soup. "Don't have much of a choice. Poor guy just turned human and he's already going through it."

"I think he's dealt with worse than a cold before."

"Yeah, well, wish he didn't have to deal with any of it." Any of it meant plenty. Between Dean’s own fuckups, world apocalypses, and near-death and actual death experiences, Cas had been through the ringer several times over. And now he was human—which, by all counts, wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, but it wasn’t ideal. It’d been a rough transition, anyway.

Cas seemed better recently, though, since getting somewhat used to being human. And things were going well between them. Getting sick was just one tiny wrinkle compared to everything they’d been through, right?

He stared at the soup and startled when Sam straightened off the counter with a comment that Jack was out with friends, he was leaving for Eileen’s, have fun giving Cas a sponge bath. Dean flipped him off as he headed out the door.

When the soup was finished, he ladled a bowl full and returned to the bedroom. Cas looked up from his phone when Dean entered with the bowl of steaming soup. “Hear from Claire?” Dean asked, nudging the door shut with his foot.

“She says she and Kaia have almost closed up the case." He set his phone aside. “They’ll be able to visit soon.”

“You tell her you’re sick?”

“She was incredibly non-sympathetic—thank you." Cas took the bowl from him. “She seemed to find it amusing that I once ruled garrisons and now can’t go five minutes without sneezing.”

Dean tensed, hoping Cas wasn’t hurt by the comparison, but Cas didn’t look offended. “Sounds like her.”

"Yes.” He breathed in the steam coming from the bowl. “This smells incredible.”

"Family recipe," Dean joked, sitting down next to him. "Well, someone's family. Straight from some blog online. Think it's pretty close to what my mom would make." He watched Cas pick up his spoon, and added, "Don't tell Sam." He'd never hear the end of it if Sam knew he was reading mommy blogs.

"Your secret is safe with me."

Dean picked up the remote as Cas ate, wondering if he should give Claire a piece of his mind. Sure, Cas was pretty easy-going about the whole giving up his grace thing, but no need to rub it in his face. Becoming human had to feel pretty pitiful after ages of being an angel.

He was trying to make it better where he could, though. “You wanna watch a movie tonight? I'll let you pick because you're bedridden."

"I am not," Cas protested, though he looked more than a little pleased at the idea of getting to choose. Dean braced himself for whatever ridiculous romance or musical Cas insisted on watching now—to date, he'd been subjected to La La Land , the ending of which had reduced Cas to tears for the rest of the night; Pride and Prejudice, okay not too bad, though he'd never admit it; and You’ve Got Mail, dammit not bad enough for him to hate either.

Instead of suggesting a movie, though, Cas said, "You're very caring, Dean."

"Uh." Dean turned from cycling through the movie options on the TV to look at Cas. He felt himself turn red under the look Cas was giving him, head tilted, that fond almost-smile he got. "Yeah, uh. What I do."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "It is what you do. You're very good at taking care of others."

"Oh, God, don't start that." By that, he meant the long compliments Cas so shamelessly gave him now, like he'd been storing them up for a long time and was finally able to hand them out. It was like the dam had broken that night when Billie and the Empty—

But he didn't want to think about that. Not when all the events since that day had led to Cas now sitting in bed blowing his nose, the trashcan by the bed overflowing with tissues. Poor bastard; he'd gone through one whole Kleenex box already.

"I'm only going to stop because talking hurts too much," Cas told him, tossing a tissue at the trashcan and missing sorely. Dean grimaced.

They nearly got through Mama Mia before Cas dozed off, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position and Dean’s arm was half-asleep, but he refused to move. The mere fact that they were sitting together in bed, pressed against each other, was still enough to send him into shock anytime he thought about it too much. Cas—a literal former angel—had fallen in love with him. It was almost too good to be true.

But Cas was currently slumped against him, drooling on his shoulder, so he guessed it really was true.

As the credits rolled, he turned off the TV and touched Cas’ forehead with the back of his hand. Not as warm as before. At his touch, Cas blinked awake.

“It’s over already?”

“Whaddya mean, already? I just had to sit through two hours of singing and dancing.” It hadn’t been that torturous, but he couldn’t admit that—he had a reputation to uphold. Straightening, Cas rolled his eyes. “Feel any better?"

Cas’ expression turned thoughtful, as if taking stock of every physical sensation in his body, and Dean had to grin at his seriousness. He nodded. "Yes."

"Great.” He glanced at the time on the clock and realized it was later than he’d expected. “You probably wanna get some rest.”

Cas nodded with a yawn. "You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to."

Dean froze in the middle of pulling back the covers, mind immediately spinning out. "What?" They'd only started sharing a room a month ago, oh God, he'd known it was too good to be true, Cas was sick of him—

"I want you to," Cas said quickly, as if sensing Dean's downward spiraling. "I just don't want you to get sick."

Oh. Oh. Feeling a little sheepish for immediately jumping to the worst conclusions—one of his greatest talents, if he did say so himself—he shook his head. "Nah, I have a great immune system."

Cas' expression turned guilty and Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"About that..." Cas started slowly. Dean gave him a look. "Well, uh... Your immune system isn't quite as healthy as you think. I've been giving it a boost for the past several years, every time you started to get sick."

"What?" Looking back, it was pretty remarkable that he'd never gotten even a common cold with all the other shit they dealt with. "Fuck."

"Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I should be thanking you. So, uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Of course Cas had been taking care of him for years, Dean thought, when they settled in bed and he turned off the lights. Cas told him he was caring, but it was Cas who was the caring one. He’d sacrificed his life for him, for Christ’s sake. Then gave up his grace to return to Earth because he wanted to be with Dean and Jack and Sam and everyone. The guy didn’t have a selfish bone in his body.

The thought should’ve been a comforting one, but instead he felt antsy, unable to stay still, shifting under the blankets.

Turning onto his side, he nudged Cas, whose eyes had fallen shut. With a grunt, Cas opened his eyes and looked over at him.

“You alright?” Dean asked, which wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.

“I was when I was falling asleep,” Cas grumbled. But he shifted to face Dean. In the faint light coming from the bunker hallway, Dean could see the concern in his eyes. It sent a pang through him. Cas had given up so much, and Dean was doing all he could to make sure he never regretted it, and Cas told him all the time that he was content with his choice, but still the worry sat heavy in his stomach.

"Listen,” he started. “I just wanna let you know that being human isn’t all bad. I swear it won’t be miserable forever. I know you've been introduced to the bad shit first, but—"

"That's not true," Cas interrupted, touching Dean’s hand resting between them. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dean, being human has been the single most rewarding experience in my entire life second only to raising Jack. It started with you rescuing me from the Empty and revealing my feelings weren't unreciprocated like I thought. I would say that's far from miserable.”

"Yeah, but you had to adjust to living without your grace, and eating food, and getting sick..."

"It's been difficult, yes. I won't lie and say I enjoy bodily functions or sneezing or headaches. But I do enjoy being with you and eating chicken soup and watching absurd TV shows. I wouldn't change this for anything. Whatever happened in our lives, it led us here. And I’m happy with where we are.” He studied Dean for a moment before asking, quieter, “Are you happy?”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” Dean hastened to say, because it was true. Fuck, it couldn’t be truer. “Of course. Just feel bad, I guess. That you gave up your grace and all that. Feel like I’ve hardly done anything.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever dreamt of. And anyway, it’s not a competition, Dean. I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s what love is.”

Throwing that word around, love, still made Dean’s heart skip a beat. But it was true. He loved Cas and he’d do anything for him. The same, he knew, was true on Cas’ end.

Cas said it best, so he settled for lifting Cas’ hand and kissing his knuckles.

“I would kiss you," Cas said, smiling, "but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Screw it," Dean said, and propped himself up on an elbow to kiss him. Then he shifted, turning over and pulling Cas’ arm to wrap around him. Even if the bastard was sick, Dean was making him be the big spoon.

"For the record,” he said, feeling Cas curl around him. “I wouldn't change anything either."

And he meant it. Even when he woke up the next morning with a sore throat and stuffed up nose. Cas—who seemed to have gotten over the worst of his cold—took only one look at him before declaring it was his turn to play doctor, throwing extra blankets at him and demanding the chicken soup recipe in a flurry of activity.

He’d take care of Cas, and Cas would take care of him. It sounded like a good life, Dean thought, settling back against the pillows with a smile. He wouldn't change a thing.

#j&kcreatorfest #destiel fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #human!cas #established dean/cas #post 15x20 #destiel #cas likes watching romances and musicals i decided for this fic #and history channel shows too #dean and cas' love language is forcing each other to watch shows and movies the other dislikes (or pretends to dislike)#expectingtofly writes

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reylofanfictionanthology · 3 years

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TO FIND YOUR KISS IS NOW LIVE!

Authors will be revealed next week! For now all fics are anonymous. Treats can be posted through author reveals on 2/21. We will post an updated masterpost at that time.

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars for abbytheatre08

The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained for AlwaysEverlark

The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.

They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.

The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions for Andrina_Nightshade

After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.

- The Dyad for aneighthdomain

Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.

- Saudade: The Love That Remains for AnneAnna

- The Delegation for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.

- i don't want you like a best friend for anopendoor

It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming—Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In for Blueyedgurl

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room for something more?

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance for Crysania

When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.

- Awake for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) for DoorKeeper9

- The Canvas of Your Skin for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.

- Fleeing the Storm for driverfever

As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to accept.

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure for dustoftheancients

When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability for Evangel10n

Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.

- Splatter for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary for firelord65

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

- and they danced across the sky for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

They seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head. Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites, watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable for HopeRebel

The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh for irridesca

During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush carpet.

- and they were roommates for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- If You Take Me for literallynoonecares

She sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- 3 Days in Vienna for Like_A_Dove

Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for the better of society.

It should be an easy task. He’s been getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he hadn’t accounted for?

- Confidence and Desire for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves for LRRH17

No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side for Lutrosis

Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life for maq_moon

“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it, you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

- A Mad Man, with a Box for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In for midwinterspring

Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to do together.

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party for MissCoppelia

Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.

- The Banished Heart for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.

- The Smuggler's Bride for MyJediLife

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- Annabel Lee for myownlittleinfinity

Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.

- with my body i thee worship for niennathegrey

- the losing game for no_big_deal

Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.

- standing right in front of you for notkellymarie

When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling for OccasionallyCreative

Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill, patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his last.

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a way to be?

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war for politicalpadmé

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You for Prix

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer for Reykenobi68

Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.

- The Long Way Home for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by misunderstandings. It will take time and danger for them to work things out.

- Under the moonlight for shariling

I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said: “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”

- Fallen for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.

- Lips Raw With Love for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes for Takekurabehime

Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?

- Glitter & Gold for TearoomSaloon

Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any competition.

- To kiss like lovers do for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the notorious killer Kylo Ren.

- Snow Turns To Rain for thehobbem

For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but if he was being completely honest, he already knew. He asked himself that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight, since seeing her again. Was leaving worth it? Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m happy...” he said, and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work. I’m glad I’m doing what I love, but....”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) for Thursdaygirl

As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective. He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.

- show me the stars. for tmwillson3

“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you do, to be fair.”

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer. Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) for writergenie

In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben— whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) for XarisEirene

The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #to find your kiss #master post #mod post #photo edit

156 notes · View notes

icollectyoursins · 3 years

Text

Leone Abbacchio Relationship HCs

🐉 anon asked for: “Abbacchio relationship hcs?? -🐉”

These are just SFW headcanons, so I went a little overboard to compensate for the lack of NSFW although, I’ll no doubt do some in the future. Tried to make these kind of organized so it’s easier to read. This will all be under the cut And, yes, reader is a stand user and can see Moody Blues.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: SFW, brief mentions of nightmares, trauma.

Word Count: 2226

General

Abbacchio is a tough cookie to crack when it comes to romance and forms of affection. He just doesn’t think he’s super into it. Until you gently caress his face while he’s falling asleep or maybe it was the time you curled up next to him while watching a movie. Or the time you casually laced your fingers with his while walking down the street.

Okay, fine, he’s soft, but he would never admit it! Unless he’s been drinking a little too much. Then he’ll tell you how much you mean to him. Or when you’re feeling like shit and super down on yourself.

His nicknames/pet names for you are usually dear, cara/caro (darling/dear), but mostly he just uses your name. He likes the way it sounds! And, honestly, you like the way he says it too.

After you’ve been together for a while, he starts to notice changes in his personality and habits. He’s calmer, doesn’t lash out as much as he used to; he’s less on edge about everything. As well, he noticed that he was drinking less and when he was drinking, it was healthier. It wasn’t long binges in the middle of the night anymore, it was just one or two with friends or for a celebration. He didn’t really realize how much you helped him and how much you meant to him until then. He knew he loved you, of course, but that was really where it clicked in.

You notice the change too. He starts getting more playful in a weird Abbacchio way. It’s small things like poking your side or behind while you’re focused on something. Occasionally, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind and whisper something sweet in your ear that makes you giggle.

When Abbacchio isn’t reading, he’s listening to someone reading. He frequently listens to podcasts, audiobooks, etc. while doing his chores or driving. He thinks it’s a good way to educate himself on current topics or things he’s just interested in. With his whole past, I don’t think he would be interested in true crime or anything like that. Too triggering for him and with you, he really doesn’t want to fall back into old habits.

Now, he’s not perfect and he’s obviously a very hurt individual, so I think it would take someone with a lot of patience to help him get over some of his trauma (and yes, it is trauma). He has his rough days where he’s angrier and more on edge and this makes him more likely to yell or lash out. If you can avoid this, great, but talk to him about it later when he’s calmed down. He needs someone who is good with tense situations who can either calm him down or be able to walk away from the situation and come back later. That being said, you are not his therapist, you are not anyone’s therapist (unless that’s your job). You are their partner. A partner can help with some, but usually, you’re not trained enough to properly deal with something like this.

Dates

He enjoys taking long walks with you, especially near the water. The water is extremely relaxing to him and you’re relaxing to him, so it’s the best of both worlds.

Not overly into picnics, but if you offer, he would be more than happy to indulge you by packing a basket with some nice red wine and a charcuterie board with some sandwiches. Sincerely loves the beach and sitting next to you on a blanket, enjoying the sun on the warmer days just makes him feel so human again.

His favourite dates with you are the ones where you two are on the couch at home together watching a movie. He enjoys the closeness, the relaxed state you’re both in and, of course, the popcorn. Eats it plain to be healthier, but when you’re not looking, he’ll add salt and butter to his. But, then one day one of the boyz introduce him to adding chocolatey things to popcorn (like M&M’s) and that’s it. His loose diet is out the window.

The microwave beeped in the background while you plopped down, flicking through different disks in your hand. You had picked out a classic, cheesy werewolf horror movie by the time Abbacchio sat down with two bowls in hand. He handed him the movie while sneaking a handful of his popcorn into your mouth.

“Mmph!” You let out a muffled sound of shock as warm chocolate squished into your hand. You dropped the chocolate into your bowl, looking at the mess you had just made. “What did you put in your bowl?”

He chucked. “Mn’M’s.”

“Why?”

“Narancia told me to.” The DVD was in and starting up just as he was walking back, shaking the couch as he sat down with a grunt. He pulled a tissue out of the box next to him, handing it to you, then he grabbed his bowl, picking out a piece of warm M&M and sucking it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. He licked his fingers while you cleaned your palm, frustrated with how little it was cleaning up.

“Ugh, whatever!” You began licking up the remnants earning you another chuckle from Leone. One of you presses play on the remote and settle into each other. You’re curled up into his arm for most of the movie, head leaning on his collar bone. He occasionally kisses the top of your head or pops a piece of popcorn in your mouth.

Soon, the bowls are empty and you’re practically sitting in his lap, holding each other close. He’s so warm, so comfortable. You find yourself starting to nod into sleep. He hums as he feels your breathing slow to a steady rhythm. Yeah, that movie was pretty boring, wasn’t it?

He chuckles, carefully pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it around you while he got himself comfortable. There was no way he was getting up from this spot, so he might as well join you.

When Abbacchio is feeling fancy or bougie, he’ll take you out to restaurants or tourist attractions. If anyone tries to swindle you out of something, you can guarantee he’s going to at least insult them in some way or maybe just straight up kick them in the face. Regardless, he’ll protect you.

Affection

When in public, he still likes to keep you close, but tones it down a little bit. Usually, he’s got his hand on your back or you’re holding hands, hovering close to each other.

He’s very protective and if the gang’s jokes go too far, he’ll let them know.

In private, he’s obviously more relaxed. He doesn’t need to put on a mask around you, so he just lets it all go. He’ll come up while you’re doing chores and either hug you from behind or spin you around for a kiss before letting you continue whatever it was you were doing with no explanation.

Very rarely lets you do his makeup, but when he does, he’s a little cheeky about it and kind of anal all at the same time. The easiest way for you to do his make up is sitting in his lap, so already he’s cocky about it, but then you start getting to the eyeliner and he gets picky.

You perched yourself on Leone’s lap, carefully buffing out a natural-looking eyeshadow with a brush. Occasionally, he would crack open an eye, looking up to see the concentration on your face as you avoided any fall out from the shadow. He squeezed your thighs pleasantly then massaged circles into the soft flesh. You looked into his open eye with a coy smirk before returning to your work.

You dipped the brush into the pallet again, this time a lighter shade for the inner corner of his eyes. Gently, you pressed the pigment in from the edge of the lid to the corner, then, like before, you buffed it out back into the lid. His hands began to wander, sliding up and down your thighs. You gave him another look, but he wasn’t paying attention this time, eyes closed. You scoffed.

Finally, you finished, moving onto the eyeliner, picking out a sleek black You started with the outer corner, going for a winged look. Before you were able to press a line in, he grabbed your hand quickly, pushing it back so he could open his eyes.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said. You sat back, exasperated.

“I haven’t even done anything!”

The two of you got into a small playful argument of “oh, I’ll do it,” “no, I’ll do it.” Until eventually you settled with him doing your makeup in exchange.

“Thank you, now.” You reached for two shades of lipstick, one purple and one black. “Which one do you want?” He rolled his eyes, grabbing the black as well as a handheld mirror.

“No, no, no. You get to do your eyeliner, not your lipstick! The lipstick is mine.” You playfully kissed his lips before pulling everything from his hands, earning you a groan from Abbacchio.

Seeing as we’re talking about sitting on his lap! He loves it. Just, any physical touch from you makes him feel so loved, especially when alone at home. He particularly enjoys when you’re pressed up against him while reading a book or watching a movie with his arm around you. Alternatively, he enjoys your legs tossed over his thighs or his over yours.

Around the House

Now, chores. Abbacchio doesn’t like chores. He’ll do them if you ask, but he’s not gonna like it. Least favourite is laundry. He just kind of chucks his clothes on the floor in a pile until you tell him to move it or do it yourself. You can’t tell the difference between his clean clothes and dirty clothes, so you mostly let him deal with it when the pile gets big enough or he runs out of clothes.

Doesn’t hate doing the dishes, so he actually gets stuck with that since you’re doing almost everything else. If you’ve recently had the rest of the Bucci gang over, he’s less inclined to do it. Narancia and Mista both tend to be slobs, so their plates are always nasty, but he does it anyway, just complains a lot later. Nastiness aside, doing the dishes slowly becomes a therapy moment for him. Just his music, a bunch of clean dishes and pure peace.

Much like with dishes, he doesn’t hate vacuuming or dusting and will do it when asked, but doesn’t like it. Honestly, he’s not the best at vacuuming, he always misses corners and forgets to do one place, so you do most of it.

Look, I’m not saying he’s a slob, he’s not, but he can get a little lazy, especially on his rougher days. That being said, if it’s a special day or he’s feeling a little romantic and has something planned, he’ll do everything. It won’t be perfect, but the sentiment is there.

Sleeping

He has a very cute snore. It’s not loud or obnoxious, it’s soft and relaxed. Honestly, kind of soothing. That is IF you’re able to hear it. He usually doesn’t sleep until you do, but it’s very precious.

Prefers being big spoon or ‘the pillow’ where you sleep on some body part of his (his thighs are exceptionally comfy and, of course, his pecs). He usually wraps one arm around you if he can, rubbing his thumb against your shoulder or forearm.

But, one night, you got in bed late and he was already asleep, so you came up behind him, wrapping your arm around his waist then stroking his stomach softly. He’ll never let you know, but he was awake. That was the day he discovered he loved being a little spoon. He won’t fight if you happen to do it again.

Regardless, Abbacchio is clingy when he sleeps. Not bear hug, but always has an arm around you to make sure you’re there and safe.

He gets some nightmares, of course. Doesn’t scream, just jolts awake and goes to grab a glass of water, then comes back, so it’s unlikely he’d wake you up from a deep sleep. If you are awake, ask him what he needs. Sometimes he needs you to hold him, other times he needs just some time alone, but remind him you are there for anything. If you’ve already got a glass of water next to his bed, he’s head over heels. So thankful. Might make you breakfast the next morning as a proper thank you.

Stand

What does Moody Blues think? Well, much like its user, it’s very analytical and almost cold when it comes to you, though if Abbacchio is away from you for a little longer than usual, but still in range (like being kept in a meeting too long while you’re in the car waiting) he’ll send his stand to you and help you relax a bit by letting you cuddle “Abbacchio” (the stand copying it’s user), or just let you relax with the stand itself!

Actually, if he’s busy at home and you’re tired, MB will replay a time where you were cuddling in bed, or on the couch so you can snuggle with someone at least.

#leone abbacchio #leone abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader #abbacchio #leone abbachio #leone abbachio x reader #abbacchio prompts #sfw

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goonlalagoon · 3 years

Text

The stars must look on forever || Second Star to the Left

Bell Summers is supposed to be minding three Scouts.

Three months in, Gwendolyn Hartley hasn’t answered a single one of their calls, and all they can think is maybe I already failed. When the comms finally spark to life, they almost fall off of their chair in relief even as they snap accusing protocol down the line because it’s better than saying thank god thank god thank god you’re alive thank god you’re okay to a stranger.

It’s a thought that will repeat.

Read on Ao3

(Spoilers through to end of ep. 10 below)

Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was.

- J.M. Barrie Peter Pan

When they receive the data packet detailing their three assigned scouts, Bell spends the whole night curled up reading through every detail, narrating key details to Gigo. They’ll read it all again in the morning, and again a few weeks later, and again the night before landfall, until they’ve memorised it - the scant personal details, names and pronouns and birthdates, the more detailed medical records (you can’t monitor someone’s physical condition without knowing the baseline, without knowing that Mikail mustn’t eat tomatoes and the schedule for when Hartley has to do regular maintenance on her prosthesis), the dense reports on what’s known of their destination planets. They use up highlighters and scrawl on post it notes.

Strictly, it isn’t Bell’s job to know the first thing about the planets beyond the elevator summary, but they were a scout before they were a minder. The structure of the dossier hasn’t changed a bit, and they absorb it all. They don’t know what they missed, on their failed expedition, but they won’t let it happen again. They can’t.

Priyanka isn’t a surprise; they knew that strings were being pulled specifically to line them up to be the assigned minder for Pri’s mission, because Pri’s uncle knew that if it came down to it Summers would burn every tenuous bridge they’d managed to rebuild to get her off the planet, and damn the consequences. They’re all so, so proud of Pri for getting through training, for being clever enough and strong enough and driven enough to make it, and they’re so worried too. Bell would burn any bridges, of course they would, but not every danger has enough of a time window to drag resources into place.

Mikail on paper seems promising - when his comms unit splutters into life as he’s speeding through the stars, months into the first year of expected isolation, he seems promisingly eccentric. He’s a cheerful rambler to Pri’s quiet snark, chattering about the reading he’s doing and the experiments he ran on the side back in training. They listen, gauge his wellbeing and start the slow work of building up trust, and try to ignore the smile tugging at their lips. This burring curiosity would serve him well, they think in the early days, exploring and studying and mapping out a whole new planet, so long as it didn’t kill him. It was their job to make sure it didn’t, that he remembered to eat and sleep and build proper shelters. That he remembered he couldn’t live off of curiosity and scientific glee alone.

Hartley doesn’t respond at all.

Bell checks all of the reports they can, to see if the signal is disrupted or there’s any suggestion that there’s been a technical issue, but everything shows up as working. They can see readouts of Hartley’s vitals, pulse rate and oxygen levels, so they know she’s alive. Probably. If one thing has gone wrong with the shuttle, who knows what other bizarre glitches may have cropped up.

They tell themselves that everything is fine, that there must just be a wire loose in the radio unit or, much more likely, Hartley has just decided that she doesn’t need a scout-minder and wants to go solo, has decided that Summers is an unnecessary and patronising addition to the mission. They submit false reports on Hartley’s well being, because they have absolutely no issue with lying to their superiors when they know the consequences for revealing that one of their three scouts has gone radio silent before even making landfall.

They talk to Pri and Mikail regularly, review condition reports on all three of them, ping Hartley every day and get no response.

They tell themselves that everything is fine.

Bell Summers is supposed to be minding three Scouts.

Three months in Gwendolyn Hartley hasn’t answered a single one of their calls, and all they can think is maybe I already failed. When the comms finally spark to life, they almost fall off of their chair in relief even as they snap accusing protocol down the line because it’s better than saying thank god thank god thank god you’re alive thank god you’re okay to a stranger.

It’s a thought that will repeat.

Retrieving your scout bot hadn’t been a tradition for Bell’s local program. They wonder if it’s one that other programs have, or if it’s just Hartley’s program, one of the small, unofficial differences that most of the time no-one ever knows about. It’s not like scouts regularly get the chance to compare notes outside of their cohort.

If they kept to their class promise, Pri and Mikail had been familiar enough with their minder after three months to not inform them of where they were going - neither of them were in the habit of thinking aloud to their bots, either, which would have made it easier to hide that they weren’t strictly following protocol. Gwen was defiantly independent, uncaring of her unexpected monitoring, and Bell wanted to cheer her on and reign her in at the same time.

They guess most places have a tradition or two, some secret pact amongst scouts who are pointing themselves out to the stars and seeing where they land. Something to tether you, when you set foot on a new planet and know you’re on your own, something that ties you back to the people you left behind. Bell takes a moment to be grateful that their pact hadn’t been quite so risky; instead of venturing out into the unknown before even setting up a shelter, they had sworn to wake up early, ignoring all the schedules and warnings and automated messages prompting them to get their full six hours - find somewhere high and climb up to watch the first sunrise on planet.

They’d scraped the skin off their palms clambering to their highest point, winced as they cradled the thermos they’d carried up with them and the warmth stung the broken skin. The ground had been damp, seeping through the seat of their trousers, a bite to the air that made their nose run, but they’d done it. They’d pointed Gigo in the right direction to record the sight, this first dawn over a new horizon, the first day of their new life.

Despite everything that happened, the nightmare things had turned into, the bitter taste on the back of their throat whenever they think back to the way it had gone, it’s a memory that brings a smile to their face even as they scold. It’s a memory that they might not have thought to be precisely worth it, if they’d known at the start what they’d learned by the end, but it’s a memory they cling to all the same.

They can’t help but be a little glad that there’s some kind of tradition for Gwen, too, even as they worry aloud about structures and protocols and whether Hartley is going to have the shelters up in time.

The shelters have air filtration built in, have temperature regulation, and are designed to withstand the harshest of conditions. If everything turns to dust, they think the shelters will keep their scouts alive for long enough to find a solution.

They direct all three of their scouts to build an emergency beacon, the one deviation from the protocols that Bell told themselves at the start that they’d not only permit but encourage - no, insist upon.

The union had fought so hard for assigned minders, for check ins on alternate days and a reliable source of human contact, citing studies of mental well-being and the importance of support networks, but it all went one way. Bell would call their three charges every other day, talk to them or listen in as they went about their business for the mandated four hours, and review any data packets the scouts copied them into when they were sent out to home office - to monitor for adhesion to proper protocol, for signs of strain, and for their own scientific curiosity. The scouts would answer the call, update them, then be stuck waiting a day and a half for the next call. If there was an emergency, they would have no way to reach out, to ask for help.

If something happened, Bell wouldn’t know until they tried to call and no-one answered.

The beacons meant that the scouts could at least ping them, a request for contact that would tell Bell to drop everything and grab their headset. With a few quick instructions, the beacon could be altered - honestly, any of the scouts probably knew enough engineering to figure it out themselves - so that it wasn’t locked to just the one frequency.

If there was an emergency, if their scouts were let down by all official channels, Bell wanted them to be able to reach out to anyone else who might listen, to have the choice to burn their own bridges for the sake of living. They thought, sometimes, that if it had just been them they wouldn’t have called on the smugglers, but they wouldn’t ask the same of these three scouts; looking through the dossiers, curled into a narrow bunk on a half decrepit station, Bell had already known that they’d beg them to do whatever it took to survive.

It’s not even that they’re that much younger than Bell - only a few years their junior - but they seem it. They seem so painfully young, practically children for all that they’re in their twenties. Still caught in the excitement of it, lost children pointing themselves at the stars and planning to map it all by hand.

Bell had been that young, once, before everything - before they spent years alone on a planet, before they were told your lives aren’t worth saving and turned around to save them anyway, before all of the ongoing consequences of that choice drove the knife that much deeper.

What are you going to do if something goes wrong? snipes scout Hartley, her first day on planet as she’s standing on shaky legs, leaning on Boots because she managed to get bitten by something venomous on her little jaunt into the undergrowth. Listen?

Bell splutters something back, because they know how useful this can be - someone to talk to, someone to do research when you’re stuck, knowing that someone picked up the phone and heard you out. Knowing that someone out there will notice, if you disappear for good.

They don’t sleep well, staring at the ceiling over their bunk, thinking. They know it can help - they know they can help, that Hartley would probably be a lot more inclined to listen if she knew that her minder had walked this road themselves - but they can’t hide from the harsh truth.

If it comes to it, if one of these three scouts finds themselves trapped in an apocalypse, sends up a beacon to say it’s all falling apart and I have no way out - all they can do is listen, and hope it’s enough.

Priyanka falls ill, and they don’t notice.

Pri has been important to them for years, but they’ve never been close, exactly. They know each other mostly from stories shared by Pri’s uncle, and there’s a level of familiarty that you don’t get from those kinds of tales, from a few months’ worth of regular check ins. Hartley notices, sees something amiss between the lines of the letters Pri sends her, and she does the only thing she can, flags it to their shared scout-minder - she does the only thing she can and speaks up, hoping that someone will listen.

Bell wonders, later, once Gwen has been proven terribly right, if maybe this is the first time that Hartley has thought of their presence as anything other than an annoyance. Pri, once she got over the change in expectations, had been glad to have a semi-familiar presence on the line, someone who she could trade family gossip with when she felt like it and had worked out an agreement with for the time when she didn’t want to bother with conversation, and Mikail had been cheerful enough from the start to have someone to talk to about all his ideas and findings, but Hartley had always seemed - resentful, maybe, like having Bell shatter her solitude was unwelcome, for all that she seemed to agree with the union on the practicalities of providing a life line of contact.

Pri fell ill, and Bell didn’t notice.

They remind themselves, over and over, that it hadn’t been obvious. Gwen, Mikail and Pri had studied together for years, lived in each other’s pockets as they made the same harsh choice to leave everything they knew behind with no guarantee they’d ever be able to get any of it back. It makes sense that Gwen had seen something Bell didn’t, they know it makes sense, but they can’t keep from going back over every report, replaying every conversation, trying to pick up the hints of a change that they hadn’t seen.

What else would they miss?

They lose Mikail to a storm, nothing but static when they try again and again to call. Bell hunches over their monitor in their tiny cubicle, punching buttons with fingers that want to shake, hoping that if they try just once more it will go through. They’d known the risks, all of them, of course they had, but -

This was what they’d feared most, when they took the job. If a planet collapsed, if it came to it, they had strings they could pull with the smugglers, had learned already where they drew the line. The worst news they’d expected to have to deliver would have been bad news, the settlement office doesn’t care about you at all and won’t cough up any of their copious spare change to save you, but good news I’ve got some friends on their way, so sit tight and keep the line open. But they’d known the statistics for scout missions; they’d known that they’d be stuck on one end of a line through accidents, through unforeseen dangers.

Bell had wondered, on sleepless nights, what they would do if they called one of their scouts and got nothing in return. They’d thought they would have gotten used to it, what with Hartley turning off all comms for literal months before they finally made contact, but this was different. At least with the shuttles they’d had the readouts, vital signs and tracking, to guess that things were probably okay.

Mikail was just gone, and they thought about what Gwen had told them, what Mikail had never mentioned directly for all his endless chatter - of all the scouts, of all the planets, they’d sent the one who hated water and despised swimming to a place he couldn’t escape the sea.

They had never met their scouts, but they had seen them in photos. There hadn’t been pictures included in their briefing information because it wasn’t necessary, but Bell had wanted a mental image of the people they were speaking to, so they’d looked up the relevant records in the system. Pri they’d seen in pictures before, shared by a proud uncle, but Gwen and Mikail had just been names with attached heights and weights until they called up the photos attached to their official IDs.

It meant they could imagine - Mikail, on his island, frowning at the waves and smiling at his scans. Mikail, caught in the water, washed away in a storm surge - they see it, over and over, whenever they try to sleep.

The beacon pinging them is so unexpected that they think for a moment they may be dreaming. They’d thought it too late, that everything must have been washed away along with their scout, but here he is reaching out to them. The emergency, against protocol backdoor channel that they’d insisted on was doing its job, and they were so glad. They drop everything, as promised, as planned, and when Mikail’s voice come through their headset they bury their face in their hands, even while they fight to keep their voice even.

What else had they missed? Pri, poisoned by something in the air that crept into her system and twisted her brain in circles. Mikail had been quietly studying an alien species without mentioning it, had learned enough to make a call that they wish he didn’t feel he had to make.

They lose Mikail to the sea, after all.

That he was choosing to dive and keep swimming helped, but they lose him all the same.

Gwen’s planet lights itself on fire, and all they can do is listen.

They wonder, somewhere in the midst of the panic they’re fighting not to allow to bleed through into their voice, if this is some kind of punishment. If this is another penalty, some kind of justice, you let your settlers down and now you have to be stuck watching, always watching and never able to do anything useful.

They’d been stuck listening as Pri struggled to diagnose the changes to her own brain, to the silence on the end of the line when Mikail was swept away, to the quiet certainty of his decisions after that. They’re stuck listening once more as Gwen runs back into the oncoming fire to get their maintenance kit, because if she leaves it behind there’s little enough point surviving anyway.

They don’t know who they think it’s a punishment from, and they don’t voice the thought because they know it isn’t, really. They do. Bell knows, as well as anyone, that knowing someone is listening even if there’s nothing to be done can mean everything.

But it seems like so little, one hand clutching the edge of their wobbly desk in their narrow cubicle to ground themselves, pressing their headset closer to their ear like that will somehow help, like being a millimetre closer to the ear-piece can make a difference to Gwen as she tries to outrun a wildfire. It seems like so little, to be able to only promise to pass on any messages that Gwen wants, to swear they won’t stop until they’re delivered, if they’re the last words Gwen ever gets to say.

It seems like so little, and that’s before they learn the truth, learn that Peter will never read any of the letters.

Peter has been dead the whole time, and later Bell will think they should have guessed - neither Mikail or Pri had mentioned him much at all, even when Mikail had been listing off who he wished he could talk to about his decision, the limited handful of people who he wanted to be told the truth if it was safe to. Gwen had never shared a single snippet of a letter from Peter, for all she repeated gossip about her sister and stories from her other friends on their own missions, and Bell thinks they should have guessed from that alone rather than assuming it was just too private.

They hadn’t - they hadn’t thought they knew everything about Hartley, of course they hadn’t, but Gwen narrated her day to Boots and, by extension, Bell whenever they called. They’d thought that Gwen was the one they weren’t missing anything from - no unrecognized illness, no secret alien encounters.

Just a grief they hadn’t known she was carrying, a loss she was still learning to live with.

They think maybe they know, now, why Gwen had been so reluctant to have a voice in her ear, that first day, setting out to rescue a scout bot she’d sworn to retrieve. Why it had mattered so much that this was her first achievement, once her boots touched the ground of that alien planet for the first time.

Gwen’s planet is burning and neither of them know what she’ll have left in the world when it dies down, so Bell does the only thing they can and tries to fill the uncertain silence with a story to hold on to.

When Amelia lays out gleeful threats, promises of justice, it’s Gwen that Bell calls.

Their head has been spinning since they hacked into the archives - they’d bought into the conspiracy theory, somehow, half convinced themselves there was a big reason for what had happened, something that would answer all the questions they’d lived with for years. Something that could ease the burden of guilt on their shoulders and caught at the back of their throat.

Well, they had their answer: a skipped scan. A check they forgot, let slide because they were busy, a protocol they set aside to juggle other things - yet another warning sign they’d missed.

Gwen insists otherwise, points out the ways they can’t be blamed, the way they wouldn’t blame any of their scouts if positions were changed. Points out that maybe it wasn’t a conspiracy, but there’s still something dodgy going on. There’s still something here - in the way these records are hidden, restricted, when they should be public record.

If there was nothing here more damning than the record of what Bell missed and the price their settlers paid - it would be a cautionary tale, something held up in class for the overconfident new scouts: here’s why you should stick to protocol, kids, even when it seems pointless. This is why you can’t get complacent, get comfortable, can’t trust that after five years you know everything about your planet and you can relax.

But it’s hidden, and they refuse to let that stand. They’ve wondered, so often over the years, if being made to do nothing but listen helplessly is the punishment for whatever mistakes they made. They know that’s what their employers think, those in the know about their history, shaking their heads and murmuring about how at least this once-promising scout can put their training to use. Those that can do, do, and those that can’t, teach. Or, as the case may be, listen.

They listened, and they know that mattered.

They listened when Hartley raised concerns, pushed for scans and tests to uncover what was ailing Pri, what could be done to save her. They listened to Mikail when he begged to be declared dead, gone, pleaded for them to be the one to break his family’s hearts because he couldn’t stand to be the reason his planet and its people were destroyed. They listened to Gwen while her home burned, talked to her through the panicked flight and the post-adrenaline slump.

Sometimes all you can do is speak, and hope someone is listening.

Twenty years for the murder of someone still alive. There’s an irony there, but they’re not sure they appreciate the joke. Less for good behaviour, so they try to curb their tongue, suppress the urge to fix things and instead try to maintain a stoic silence when they want to stand up to anyone who thinks to shove them around.

After the first time they throw a punch in prison, because someone crosses a line and it’s all too much, because they can’t let it slide and still be them - it occurs to them, bandaging up bruised knuckles and wondering if they tell Gwen about this or try (and probably fail) to hide it, that it doesn’t matter.

They aren’t here because the people in charge really think they committed murder – no unbiased court could look at assembled an emergency beacon out of spare parts and scout who hated swimming drowned after his entire camp was destroyed in a massive storm and conclude that it was remotely related, let alone intentional: they’re here because when they were told the price of freedom was lying to – lying about - their settlers, denying their dead justice, they said not a chance in hell.

This isn’t a flawed attempt at justice, this is a punishment.

They won’t be allowed out early, even if they’re the perfect prisoner. They have to live with this, and if that means getting a few bruises and scraped knuckles - well. They’ve never been afraid of a fight, and they weren’t the best at following the rules even before they realised just how little anyone in power cared.

Gwen writes to them, and they can’t help checking in - are the crops growing, is her leg holding up, has she done her monthly environment scans (yes, yes, and of course, Bell) - all of the questions they had written out years ago to cover in regular check ins.

They wonder who has taken over as scout-minder, who’s talking Pri through her newfound challenges as best they can without stepping too much on her fiercely independent toes and trying to figure out the change in cadence that signifies Hartley has switched to talking to Boots rather than whoever is on the line. They wonder if anyone is trying periodically to ping Mikail, hoping against hope that this time he’ll answer, that by some miracle he survived (they wonder if he’s figured out how to get his own messages to Gwen, once he realised that conference calls had always been an option except for bureaucratic limitations)

They’re checking in, lists of questions and signs to watch out for briefed to them in advance, but they’d ask anyway, even if they’d never been told to ask.

This stopped being about making sure that the scouts who’d had so much money and time invested into them remained at optimum performance sometime around the first time the call connected and they were taken on a completely out of protocol wander through Gwen’s new home in search of a defunct scout bot and a new horizon.

They’ve come a long way, since the first long weeks of trying and failing to reach the third of their assigned scouts over the comms, since the first time Gwen picked up the call to discover that instead of an automated message she had a live - and somewhat irate - scout-minder waiting on the other end of the line.

Bell knows that there’s no point trying to call until the ship is in sight of the planet, that they won’t have the signal or the range to reach Gwen until it’s a matter of hours before they meet face to face. They try anyway, thinking with retrospective fondness of the first three months, calling a number that never picked up no matter how often they tried.

They wonder what’s going on, on planet.

This is the first time they’ve been out of contact from Gwen since the first relieved moment when a call went through, when Scout Hartley made landfall and resigned herself to turning the computer and all its notifications back on. Bell thought at the time that being stuck just listening was bad, but they never thought they’d have months with no contact at all, no way of knowing. Everything had seemed fine, and the settlement ship was en route, but they knew how quickly things could deteriorate.

Then again, Hartley had managed to coordinate a prison break remotely and apparently undetected despite using official comms channels to do it under the settlement offices’ collective noses. She was probably fine and managing to do a lot of impressive and yet wildly off protocol things that would delight and exasperate Bell in equal quantity.

Honestly, Bell would like to say they’re surprised that this is the kind of woman they fall in love with, but they’re not; they’re years past lying to themselves like that.

The planet comes into view, and they reach for their headset again. In a matter of hours, it won’t matter - neither of them will be stuck just listening, offering up ideas and research and stories to carry each other through, calling for help and hoping someone pays attention.

But for now, the comms unit splutters, Gwen’s voice filling the storage bay they’re illicitly camped out in, and Bell presses the headset closer to her ear like that will help them hear more clearly, will make it easier to know for sure that Gwen is really okay, unsuspected and untouched by the fallout.

I’ll see you on the ground, they promise, a distant star falling to the earth at last, and watch the horizon come into view.

#my writing #Second Star to the Left #SSTL #I had a lot of feelings at the end of this podcast okay #Very much recommend it if you haven't listened

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aliensunflower-fics · 4 years

Text

Ladybug is ‘addicted’ to The Dupain-Cheng bakery pastries

So this is just a dumb prompt / idea I got. But what if someone (Alya/Lila/Chloe/Adrien) start to notice Ladybug’s tendency to dissapear toward or come from the direction of Marinette’s house. The entire class has talked about it before with some openly wondering if Marinette is Ladybug or if there missing something!

Adrien is adament that hell no Marinette can’t be Ladybug (because shes obviously Multimouse duh!) because how could Mari fight Akuma’s when she cant carry a box of Macaroons without tripping over herself.

At first there is not enough evidence but maybe oneday Alya just straight up catches a photo of Ladybug on Marinette’s balcony and presents it to the class, Lila hates the attention the baker is getting but hopes that maybe if Marinette is Ladybug she can get her akumatized and destroy her life.

Eventually Marinette stumbles into class late and everyone practically assaults her demanding to know if shes Ladybug when Marinette is justifiably confused (aka doing her best to feign innocence) Alya presents the information theyve gathered of Ladybug often seen heading toward/from the bakery the fact shes seen around the area often and finally the nail in the coffin- The photo! Marinette quick as a whip realizes she needs to cover her tracks and thinks of a lie just weird enough to work:

Marinette heaves a heavy sigh acting like some great weight is upon her shoulders and the class gasp and whisper could it really be? “I really didn’t want to have to tell anyone... But you guys are just too smart!” Alya is preening, Adrien jittering his leg like a madman, Lika scheming, Chloe... Horrified. “The truth is... Ladybug is addicted to my families pastrys!” Wait? What!?

Before anyone can ask Marinette launches into an explanation, that Ladybug drops by CONSTANTLY that she’s always requesting snacks from Marinette and has admitted to dropping in near daily in her civilian form! Her favorites happen to be feta spinach quiche and the chocolate breads! Marinette even says she’ll get improptu requests from Ladybug for pastry deliveries hence why shes late so often! And everyone... Believes her! Because of course Ladybug must be starving with all the akuma fights! Who are they to deny the hero of paris her chocolate breads? Alya even apologizes to Marinette for ragging on her for the constant tardiness she had no idea she was delivering treats to LADYBUG! And oh! Now Alya knows how Marinette got her all those Ladybug interviews! Isnt her bestie the BEST! Adrien is relieved and dissapointed oddly enough? But covers it with a comment about how of course their everyday ladybug was helping the parisian hero ladybug!

Marinette rejoices! Her secret is safe for another day! And she covered for her civilian life as well. What Marinette did not anticipate however - was Alya posting the story with photo included of Ladybug’s apparent love of Dupain-Cheng pastries and how hungry her and Chat Noir must be fighting Akuma’s all the time! From Alya’s blog the topic ends up being discussed on the news! With citizens and celebrities alike talking about how suddenly their concerned about how thin the super duo are and several restaurants come forward offering free food whenever the heroes are feeling hungry! The bakery itself gets flooded with bussiness Adrien is shocked one day to come home to a box of Dupain-Cheng macaroons and his father mentioning offhand that the cake he ordered was quite light.

Chat Noir is living for the new bounty of food! He cant go out on patrol anymore without being hailed down by a citizen or bussiness owner who eagerly hands him food of all kinds! Finally he knows what its like to feel FULL and what a wonderful thing it is! That is until Ladybug finds him sprawled on a roof groaning face covered in icing from a cupcake binge. Ladybug is also being offered food and though she tries her best to refuse shes met only with insistent smiles and older woman winking telling her its okay to cheat a bit on her diet! Truthfully Marinette didn’t realize just how thin she was getting and while in costume the food does seem to give her a boost of energy she never knew about. Soon she and Chat dont even realize its become a habit and the citizens of paris delight in noticing that Ladybug and Chat have both put on some weight and seem more energetic! Plus it becomes a twitter challenge to catch a photo of the super hero duo eating together either on roofs or in other odd places!

Marinette’s parents for the record: are delighted to learn that Ladybug loves their food! They just wish Marinette would have told them sooner! They make Ladybug and Chat Noir themed desserts not long after and they sell out first thing each morning. Chat cries when he see’s the little macaroons and cupcakes based on himself and makes a point to be caught eating both several times (once with Marinette herself).

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#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #my fic #food #ml drabble #alya

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trentaafcsblog · 3 years

Note

3 with sancho

Prompts - Boy Things

3. Catching him liking another girl’s post

You both had the habit of side-eyeing the other person whenever they were on their phone, trying to get a glimpse at whatever’s on the screen just to make sure that they weren’t doing something that they shouldn’t. And you both know it’s stupid considering you trust the other person with your whole heart, but sometimes you just need the reassurance that they’re watching penguin videos on TikTok, or learning how to make the perfect macaroni cheese on YouTube, instead of stalking someone else’s Instagram account. But sometimes you do get caught out for letting your eyes wander a bit too far down someone’s timeline whilst you do everything you can to stop yourself zooming in on the bulge in their trousers or their nipples that are slightly visible through their tight-fitting top, and this happened to be Jadon’s day.

“You okay?” you ask as you sit at the opposite end of the sofa, immediately clocking that he was on a part of Instagram that he probably shouldn’t be on when his girlfriend was in the same room.

“I’m fantastic” he smiles as he looks up at you for a split second before his eyes are being dragged back down to his phone screen. Of course he’s fantastic - he’s literally in heaven. Tits, asses, teeny weeny little bikinis everywhere.

You can’t help yourself as you sit up as straight as possible so that you can get the best view of his phone, not that you particularly want to see who your man’s drooling over, but you just have to make sure that he doesn’t do the forbidden *tap tap* on one of their posts. Your eyes burning into the side of his head as you flick your attention between his face and the array of girls on his phone, double checking that he’s not smiling at any of them or letting beads of saliva trickle out of the corner of his mouth. And then your gaze is being drawn to his thumb that is now hovering over a photo of a random girl about to step into a swimming pool. Her orange thong bottoms just about visible as she flicks her hair over her shoulder and gives the camera her best pout. Shaking your head as if to say ‘surely not’ when his thumb starts to lower itself down towards the screen. Surely he couldn’t do this. Not when he doesn’t even know her. Not when it’s one of the most revealing photos on the internet. Not when you’re sat right next to him. Surely?

But he’s doing it.

Truth be told, you can’t be mad at him because you’d probably do the same had she popped up on your feed, and it’s not like she’s one of your friends either so it’s not really a personal thing, but you’ve literally just witnessed your boyfriend almost getting a hard-on over somebody else that he’s seen on social media and you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t even just the tiniest bit annoyed by it, hence why you’re deciding to give him the silent treatment until snaps out of his daydream about the girl in the orange thong and finally realises that his actual girlfriend is in a mood.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks when you practically slam his dinner down and go and sit down at the end of the table, a place you’d never sat before because the two of you usually eat side by side or opposite each other like you’re on a date, even when you’re eating fish fingers, chips and beans and dressed in pyjamas that you’ve had for about six years, something that definitely wasn’t restaurant standard.

“Sorry, did someone say something?” you’re saying as you look around to try and find the voice, knowing true well that it came from the man at the other end of the table. Jadon dropping his fork onto the side of his plate and raising his eyebrows at you until he gains your attention.

“I asked what was wrong with you” he’s saying again as you pretend to think for a second, swallowing your mouthful of food before acting as though the thought has just come to your head.

“Maybe I should ask what’s wrong with you considering you think it’s okay to like other girls’ Instagram posts” you snap as he scoffs at you before bursting out into a fit of giggles.

“Is that seriously why you’re pissed off with me?” he’s questioning as you nod your head, poking a few pasta shapes around your plate until he decides to speak again.

“There’s no need to get jealous of someone that I don’t even know, I’ve liked more photos of you than I have her anyway and it was literally just a one off” he starts as you look up at him from across the table, “anyway, if anyone should be raising a point then it’s me cose I’ve seen you liking all of Harry Styles’ posts, every single one to be precise, and the majority of the ones on his fan accounts too” he’s telling you as you feel your cheeks starting to heat up, turning away as you try to hide your growing smile because you know you’ve been caught out.

“That’s different though” you’re saying as he raises an eyebrow and hums in response. “You don’t see me getting myself into a strop about it because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, and you shouldn’t either because you’ve got the juiciest ass in the whole wide world and I’d much rather stare at yours than hers” he’s reassuring you as you giggle and blush at his comments. Finally pulling yourself together and scooting across the table so that you can sit in your usual seat next to him, snuggling into his side and apologising for being so jealous, but at least you now know that your ass is better than hers, making a mental note to wear an orange thong tomorrow just to prove that point.

@sanchooo-xo @alexajanecollins @domsgirl

#boy things #jadon sancho #jadon sancho blurb #jadon sancho imagine #jadon sancho smut

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lovelylogans · 3 years

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honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, warnings, and notes here!

chapter three: psycellic consentia

psycellic consentia: psycellium (or psycelium) is a psychic nervous system that allows sensates to connect with one another. sensates have a solitary "above" existence, and are connected "below" via the psycelium. consentia, latin: knowledge shared with others, being in the know or privy to, joint knowledge; complicity; knowledge within oneself, consciousness, feeling.

ROMAN

It hasn’t even been five minutes since Sasha left to grab dinner, but Roman’s already feeling strangely jittery.

A nap would be a fruitless venture, he’s realized, so he’s gotten up to pace around the room, reciting the lines of the scene he’s meant to be filming tomorrow. He knows them all by heart, naturally, but it’ll be an odd scene to shoot anyways. His character, Pablo, would be escaping from the grasp of his friend-turned-betrayer (who would turn out to have been bluffing and truly Pablo’s friend all along by the end of the movie) by sprinting through the forest, making his getaway by leaping into a river and swimming away.

This stunt he doesn’t get to do; he’s already technically filmed the scenes when he’s in the water, and a stunt double will be “jumping off the cliff.” So tomorrow is going to be entirely on-location, acting then sprinting through the forest.

So Roman chants his lines to himself, pacing in his room with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to sink into Pablo’s mindset. And, after a few minutes of running his lines over in his head, it’s like he’s actually walking in the forest; the snap of a twig under his feet, the smell of leaves and dirt, the cooing of various birds.

Roman’s jaw drops, because—because no way. No way.

No fucking way is his brother standing there, with a bundle of twigs tucked up under his arms, staring at Roman the way a kid would stare at a particularly adventurous snail journeying along the ground.

Well, the way Remus would look at an adventurous snail, as a kid. Roman would have probably just fled the snail in favor of playing with wooden swords and rescuing imaginary damsels.

"Aw, c’mon, man, what the fuck," Remus grumbles, looking skyward as if asking for some kind of divine intervention, though Roman knows that's never been the case, much to their chronically Catholic abuela’s dismay.

She probably would have been pleased if Roman tacked on a God rest her soul there, but considering her abysmal reaction when her grandson decided to be an actor and an even worse reaction when her other grandson informed them all that he was, in fact, a grandson, he's never really wanted to please her anyway.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Remus says tightly, dropping his bundle of twigs.

Remus. Remus is here. Or Roman is there? Whatever, it doesn’t matter, there he is. That’s Roman’s brother.

“What, are you trying to lure me in for the police to catch me? Because it’s not going to fucking work, Roman.”

God, he’s alive, he doesn’t look hurt, he’s—well, actually, Roman has no idea if he’s safe or not. He just kind of looks like he’s dirty, with scraggly hair and smudges on his face. This alone isn’t entirely unusual for Remus, but the amount of it is. But—he’s here. He’s alive. He has some form of shelter, he’s probably been eating, he’s okay—

“Or are you just here to—”

Roman staggers forward and flings his arms around Remus’ neck, hugging him as tight as he can, almost as if he can feel what Remus feels, the arms wrapping around his neck and the arms wrapping around his torso in kind, feeling echoes of what he does, and what Remus does, bouncing between like a seismic shock.

Across the world, Janus smiles in his sleep; Emile wiggles happily in his chair while waiting for his next therapy session; Patton grins at a wall about nothing in particular; Logan touches his own shoulders, blinking rapidly in surprise at the weight of phantom arms holding him close.

REMY

Remy is used to experiencing emotions that aren’t his.

When he feels a near-violent joy sprouting up in his chest, he pauses briefly in pouring a customer a cup of coffee to put a hand on his chest and smile to himself.

He’ll ask Emile what’s got him so happy later. He’s just happy that Emile is happy.

REMUS

Remus blinks at Roman after Roman pulls back from the hug, hands on his shoulders, still beaming at him.

“—For a while I thought that you were coming to stay at my apartment with me, but then you never showed, and I was worried sick wondering where you were all this time. I’ve been reading all about the case—oh, that doesn’t matter now, we’re together! Now you can come here to the city, and I can post your bail so you can stay with me, and I can get you a really good lawyer, and—!”

“You’ve been reading about the case?” Remus says, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.

Roman blinks at him. “Yeah?” There’s an unspoken duh in his tone.

“So you know that I’m the main suspect,” Remus prompts.

“Yeah…”

“So, you,” Remus says, “acting sweetheart of the nation with your dear fake girlfriend—you want to bring in a dirty gremlin accused of murder? The sibling the whole country doesn’t even know you have?”

Roman looks suddenly anxious, as if expecting Remus to blow up and yell at him.

“Do you even think I’m innocent?” Remus continues, only faking his bluster a little.

“I mean,” Roman says. “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Does what matter?” Remus says. The bluster is much more faked this time.

“I mean, you’re my brother,” Roman says. “I don’t really care if you killed him or not.”

Remus bursts out laughing.

Roman gawks at him, caught off guard, and Remus doesn’t know if it’s just from seeing Roman again, or the fact that he’s been on the run for over a week now and has only been eating the plants a hallucination taught him about, or what, but the expression on his face is just too good.

Roman! Who regularly gets caught in the tabloids! Getting a snapshot of him escorting a man wanted for murder into his warm, loving home! The mental image of the shocked expression on any pap’s face is just—oh, it would be so perfect.

“And your ‘girlfriend?’” Remus says, using air quotes. “Does she know about me?”

“No, but,” Roman says, still with that stupidly heroic, determined look on his face. “I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her tonight, even. She’ll understand.”

Right. If anyone else was as much of a media darling, it was Roman’s fake girlfriend, with her big, brown, innocent eyes and absolute inability to seem like she’s used to being famous.

“Oh, that’s too good,” Remus chortles. “Yeah, Roman. Okay. Sure. You go ahead and tell her.”

“I’m gonna!”

“Sure, fine,” Remus says, waving him off. “Make arrangements to bring your murderous brother home. I’ll catch a bus or something, I’m sure no cop is gonna see me and arrest me on the way to your apartment.”

“I will,” Roman says, firm and resolute, and Remus just shakes his head, grinning still.

Of the pair of them, people seemed to think Remus was the crazy one when it was clear that Roman was absolutely bonkers. But at least he’d grown a pretty good sense of humor since Remus had been accused of killing someone.

JANUS

“Fucking finally, Jazza.”

Janus considers getting up and walking right back out, but unfortunately, his stomach is already set on fish and chips with the made-in-house sauce here. He wearily begins to weigh the costs of putting up with Key and the nickname “Jazza” against the benefits of sriracha aioli.

And money. The money ends up winning out every time.

Three more jobs, Janus tells himself. Just three more jobs, and then you don’t have to put up with the risk anymore. Two, if one of them has a bigger compensation than average, and for the quality of my work...

It’s a lie, of course. Janus has been telling himself three more jobs ever since he clawed his way onto the bar standards board, years ago.

“What’s been going on with you, anyway?” Key says around a mouthful of chips, which garbles his speech beyond recognition. Unfortunately, Janus has known Key long enough that he can translate it with ease.

“Chew with your mouth closed and clean up your face,” Janus says, unable to stop himself. Habits are difficult to kill, Janus supposes.

Key rolls his eyes but obligingly blots at his face with a napkin. “D’you got it?”

Janus offers a small box wrapped like a present in answer. Inside is a hard drive containing the information their client had requested.

Key takes it, grinning, and stuffs it into his hoodie pocket.

“Be careful with that,” Janus scolds.

“You say that every time,” Key says. “Have I ever lost one of your—”

Janus glares at him.

“—one of the fruits of your labor?” Key says, quickly back-pedaling, realizing they’re in a public setting and a waitress is fast approaching with Janus's order.

“This smells amazing.”

Janus tries his best not to startle, but even with two days to process what the man in his mirror had told him, it’s still bizarre.

The actor beside him looks briefly embarrassed as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Janus glances over at him—a member of his cluster, what an unappealing word—and sees a glimpse of a cramped little trailer. On a movie set, probably? He’s wearing leather pants and a leopard-print shirt that Janus has the feeling he’d never wear in real life.

Janus also feels the grumbling in Roman’s stomach. Janus sighs to himself.

“And another basket of chips with extras of that same sauce, please.”

“You got it, lovey,” she says, turning to go.

“Extra hungry, then?” Key says.

“Something like that,” Janus says neutrally. Without asking for Janus's permission—maybe knowing Janus was about to offer anyway—Roman reaches out and gulps deeply from Janus's Ribena.

“How’s,” Janus says, briefly casts about in his mind for the name of the latest love of Key’s life, and lands on, “Francesca?”

Key snorts. “Ancient history, mate.”

Not exactly surprising. Key’s always fancied himself a romantic, but he’s never been able to follow through on his commitment to anything ever.

“M’goin’ on a date with a bird tonight, though,” he says around a mouthful of chips.

“For God’s sake, Key, could you at least pretend you weren’t raised in a barn?” Janus snips at him, even as he’s dunking his own chips into the aioli.

Key grins at him, and Janus wrinkles his nose. He can tell Roman is doing the same beside him. They share the same sentiment at the moment, but it’s Roman’s “that’s disgusting” that falls out of his mouth.

He realizes why Key’s brow furrows a moment too late.

“Uh, bless you?” Key says; the closest he’s ever been to the Mexican vernacular of Spanish is ordering a fajita at a local Tex-Mex restaurant.

“Oops,” Roman says, not particularly apologetically. He grabs another handful of chips.

“I’m studying in my spare time,” he says and fixes Key with a look. “A hobby you could choose to emulate.”

“What’d I need more school for?” He scoffs. “Ten years was well enough.”

“To aspire for more for yourself—”

“Oh, here we go,” Key snaps, tossing down the piece of battered cod he was about to eat, splattering sauce on the wood table. “I am so sick of your “high and mighty” act.”

He mimics Janus's accent at high and mighty; Janus grits his teeth, and very purposefully enunciates his next few sentences.

“This cannot last forever, you understand.”

“No, just so long as you get rich off it, eh?”

“Um,” Roman says. “I’d offer to go and leave you two to duke this one out in private, but I’m not really sure how to stop this weird astral projection thing—”

Janus ignores him.

“Oh, as if being a lawyer doesn’t pay enough. Put your brain to some use and think, why is it that I keep helping you?!” Janus snaps, leaning across the table and softening his voice. “Why on earth do you think I continue with this?!”

“Spare me,” Key scoffs.

“The only reason I keep doing this is because you keep doing this,” Janus hisses. “The only reason I became a lawyer was because of you getting us into trouble.”

“Don’t—” Key says, his face twisting up.

“It is because of me we are not rotting in jail, Quirinus. I’m sure it’s such a burden I want more for you.”

“It’s Key,” he grumbles before he rolls his eyes at Janus and tilts his baseball cap at him in farewell. “And since you have aspired to more for yourself, and since being a big fancy lawyer does pay so much, and since you saved me,” this is said with heavy sarcasm, “you fucking prat, you can get the bill. Much obliged, big brother.”

As he walks off, he tosses a “wanker” over his shoulder for good measure, jamming his orange cap onto his head.

Janus pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply.

There’s a pause.

Then: the slurping of someone draining his Ribena.

Janus opens his eyes and turns his head to Roman, who’s chasing the last drops of Ribena about the glass with a straw.

“So, he’s probably not finishing that, right?” Roman says. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a handful of chips and shoves them into his mouth. “‘Cause I’ve been waiting for Sasha to come back with dinner for like an hour now and I’m starving,” he says loudly while chewing.

Janus's jaw is slightly unhinged.

“You are a pestilence upon my life,” he says at last.

Roman smirks at him, mercifully close-mouthed, and swallows down the food that Janus supposes he’ll be paying for. Janus is certain that Roman is doing this to annoy him.

“Wait ‘till you have to deal with my brother.” He dunks the cod into the sauce. “Also, how much do you know about what’s going on here, anyway? Why do random people keep popping into my life?”

Janus lowers his voice so they aren’t heard by any random passerby.

“Allegedly, we are known as sensates. I assume you’ve been seeing other people—we’re stuck seeing them psychically for the rest of our lives, as well as sharing specific skills, languages, emotions…”

Roman reaches for Key’s Ribena and drains that too.

“Tastes,” Janus adds pointedly. “That the other is paying for.”

“Yeah, exactly, you’re paying for it,” Roman says, and grabs another piece of cod. “It won’t go to waste now.”

“You won’t even get the nutritional benefits of eating food,” Janus says. “You’ll just get the taste of it.”

“Still, you’re getting your money’s worth. I’m helping.”

“Aren’t you rich?” Janus says. “Being an actor and all.”

“Aren’t you?” Roman counters. “Being a lawyer and all.”

Roman jams the cod into the ramekin of sauce.

“Either way, this place sure won’t take pesos, and it’s not like I can psychically transfer you money. Hey, how much do you know about Mexican law, anyways?” He takes a massive bite.

Janus puts his face into his hands for a few moments, before he reaches into his messenger pad and pulls out a legal pad and pen.

“Enough,” he says grudgingly—truthfully, not quite as much as English law. However, with this whole connection thing, they do share knowledge, so he certainly knows more now than he did before. He gestures at the waitress for another couple of Ribenas. “Why don’t you refresh me on the details of your brother’s case?”

PATTON

Patton frowns, tapping his pen against his chin as his kindergartners are all sprawled out on their mats for their post-lunch nap. He usually takes advantage of this time to catch up on marking (normally, just putting “good job!” stickers on their papers, they’re five) but right now he’s staring at something he’d written down out of the blue and trying to understand it.

He knows that he’s technically a sensate now, but does that mean his kindergartners are going to have to put up with scrawlings about Mexican flora when Patton had meant to be writing down the activities of the day?

“Aw, jeez,” someone grumbles, and Patton turns to look over his shoulder.

He grins sheepishly at the sight of an academic article plastered over with shiny star stickers. “Oops.”

The man is familiar and yet not; Patton doesn’t think he’s seen this one outside of briefly popping in and out.

The man sighs, turning the paper over and then looking back at Patton.

“At least they’re purple,” he grumbles, and within a heartbeat, he’s gone. Patton returns his attention to his marking.

Oh, yay, he did end up putting stickers on the kiddos’ papers!

LOGAN

Not many people were particularly aware of this, especially considering the average population was generally unaware of the space research in Antarctica, but the cafeterias here are actually excellent.

In the history of Antarctic explorers and researchers, it had gone quite differently—Ernest Shackleton and Tom Crean ate seal, dog meat, and biscuits mixed with melted snow during the Trans-Antarctic Expedition of 1914—but chefs now seem to view it as an intriguing challenge, a way to sharpen their skills.

Logan is an adequate enough cook, to the point where he can feed himself at home, but the food here is on another level. He’s finishing off his dessert, a lovely chocolate tart when a chef sits across from him at the dinner table, the same one that had served him his tray tonight.

He doesn’t know her well, so he hopes he’s disguised her squint at her nametag under the guise of adjusting his glasses.

“Very well done, Dot,” he says, lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Oh, good, you are one of us,” she says, with a level of relief that seems odd for hearing a compliment about her cooking. “I was wondering, Casimire gave me the oddest look when I told him to head off early so I could make eye contact with you.”

“What are you—?” Logan says, eyes narrowed, before his eyes flash to the kitchen, automatically looking for Casimire, the chef he’s most used to seeing.

True enough, Casimire isn’t there.

But Dot is here.

Dot is here twice.

Dot is sitting at the table with him. But Dot is smiling and chatting with one of the marine biology research team members, ten feet away. But—

“Oh, I can hear that brain working,” Dot says. She reaches out to pat his hand; it feels as warm and real as a hand can feel.

“What is this,” Logan forces through numb lips, appetite gone, chocolate tart entirely forgotten. “What are you—what is happening—?”

“Shh, shh, not too loud,” Dot says in a hushed voice. “To everyone else, it looks like you’re sitting alone. Here—you’ve got your bag with you, did you pack your earpiece?”

Logan nods.

“Put that in.”

He does as she says. What else is there to do?

The Dot in the kitchen turns to wink and smile at him reassuringly. He isn’t sure how to tell the Dot before him that there is absolutely nothing in this situation that could comfort him, and pointing out that there are two of her and that he is seeing things is not a particularly good way to go about it regardless.

He fumbles with the earpiece a few times, but he puts it in and clicks it on.

“There,” she says in satisfaction. “Now it’ll look like you’re talking over Bluetooth. Neat little trick, isn’t it? Keeps us from looking,” and she circles her ear with her finger and gives a two-note whistle, the universal sign for off your rocker. “I’m surprised your parent hasn’t taught you yet, but I suppose you are very new. Has your migraine stopped yet?”

Logan gawks at her. “How did you know I have a—?”

“Because I had one too when it all started,” she says. “All of us do. Let me tell you, I really wasn’t expecting to see a sensate down here, but I guess when you come to a place like this nothing should surprise you, right? That’s what my Larry said. But this’ll be handy, he was hoping I could meet a nice scientist to connect to the Archipelago! You’re an astronomer, right? That’s a very brainy subject.”

“Wait, go back,” Logan says. “How did you know I have a migraine? Why are you talking about my mother? Why should she have taught me about using Bluetooth? What does a group of islands have to do with anything, and what’s a sensate?”

The smile on Dot’s face slips.

“Oh dear,” she says. “Oh dear, you don’t know anything at all, do you?”

Logan gives her an offended look before he can really stop himself.

“Well,” Dot says thoughtfully. “A scientist. I bet you’d be really interested in the opportunity to send a question around the world within seconds, wouldn’t you?”

“Google exists,” Logan points out.

Dot smiles at him. “Where do you think they got the idea? Sapiens invented it in the 1990s; we’ve had it since the Neolithic.”

Against his better judgment to stop listening to what is most likely to be a hallucination, Logan finds himself very intrigued.

VIRGIL

Virgil is elbow-deep in papers about abrus precatorius, sorting them into piles for useful information or irrelevant when there’s the sound of someone hitting their knees beside him.

Virgil jumps, startled, and looks into the stunning blue eyes of Logan, the handsome Pole in Antarctica. His eyes are bright, eager, excited, and there’s a wide smile on his face.

“We’re not hallucinating,” he declares and spreads out an armful of his own notes; hastily taken, from the look of it, and he presses his fingers against an earpiece that’s blinking blue light. “Oh, and get one of these, by the way, technology has apparently made things much better for us, Dot said we’d get burned during the witch trials because we’d be talking to people who weren’t there and knowing things we shouldn’t know, but I think that’s an exaggeration. I wish there was a more central written history, but I suppose we’ve evolved in a way that word-of-mouth knowledge is the most efficient, haven’t we?”

There’s a lot of thoughts whirling around Virgil’s head—what do you mean, how do you know, why are we talking about witch burnings and evolution—but what comes out, a bit stupidly, is “You look good.”

Logan’s rambling stops in his tracks as he stares at Virgil, bemused, mouth slightly ajar.

“Um, I mean,” Virgil says. He coughs. “You look… less worried than last time. Which is. Good!”

Logan keeps staring. With his lips parted like that, it’s all too easy to see that Logan must have licked them, recently; the sheen of it catches Virgil’s eye. He stares at Logan’s mouth. He stares at Logan.

Stop it stop it stop it he’ll think you’re weird, something in his brain shrieks, and that breaks the spell.

“So, uh, you’ve figured out what’s happening to us?” Virgil prompts.

Logan shakes himself, before he spreads out his papers, picking up one in particular. Virgil takes it, examining it; it’s two sketches of a brain. He’s familiar enough with biology by virtue of having doctors for parents to know that the sketch on the right side of the paper is not right.

There’s something wrong with this brain.

“This,” Logan says, tapping the leftmost brain with his finger, “is the typical human brain.”

“Right, yeah,” Virgil says, frowning, and points to the rightmost brain. Their hands almost touch. “There’s something wrong with this one—something about the hemispheres, I think? It’s like there’s a growth.”

Logan moves to point to the rightmost brain, and this time, their hands do brush. But, before Virgil can think anything about it other than his hands are soft and he feels a little cold—

“This is what our brains are becoming.”

Virgil immediately panics.

“But it’s okay!” Logan says quickly as if he’s able to tell. Maybe he can—Virgil isn’t sure how clear it reads on his face. Or maybe, the way he’s been laughing at nothing or frowning at thin air, Logan can feel it. “It’s okay, it’s totally natural for us. For homo sapiens, no, but for homo sensorium—”

“Homo sensorium?” Virgil repeats, brow furrowed.

“It’s what we are,” Logan says. “Scientific name homo sensorium, colloquial name sensate.”

Sensate. Virgil hears the word, and something slips in place in his mind—it’s as if he’s heard that term before. It feels like breathing in a whiff of air and catching the scent of a sweet that sends your memory careening back to a time when you were seven and elbow-deep in dough with your grandmother. But it’s like he can’t quite fully grasp the memory. Something niggles just at the edge of it. It’s like his brain is trapped on the grandparent metaphor because he cannot stop thinking about his mother’s mother.

He sets the memory aside, for now; he’ll have time to think of it later.

Because, as Logan explains everything he’s learned so far, Virgil has absolutely zero chance of thinking about anything else.

They spend most of the night talking about it. Even with all the bizarre aspects of what this new information brings, it’s easy to talk to Logan in a way that isn’t typical of Virgil speaking with other people. Virgil isn’t sure if that’s because they share this psychic connection, or if they’re both doctors, or if it’s some other connection.

“The way it was phrased is that we’re different types of human, but I don’t think we’re so different that it sets us apart from other people. From what I understand, the growth of our population is primarily due to epigenetic factors…”

Okay, so, primarily due to how behaviors and environments affect his genes. But what epigenetic factor triggered this in Virgil? Was this a dormant thing that could be triggered by ingesting some sort of chemical, or was it due to the way Virgil behaved? Had he done something in his life to cause all of this?

“A lot of the science is conjecture,” Logan warns, “and there was apparently some big corporation intent on doing medical experimentation on us ten or so years ago, but that’s mostly handled, you just have to be more careful about making eye contact with strangers in public…”

Oh, great, scientists hunted them down for medical experimentation so now he had to closely guard himself in any hospital! What a thrilling thing to hear for the son of two doctors!

“I’ve gathered that we can “share” certain skills or memories and that these things will become easier with practice. That’s why I could speak Xhosa and you Polish when we first met, it was the skill-sharing attribute, which could certainly come in handy for several reasons, but I also understand that we can visit each other at various times. There’s apparently a medicine you can take to block it, but it’s rather rare to come by, so unless you know a pharmacist willing to do some work under the table…”

That would almost definitely come to bite one of them in the ass at some point. What about privacy? Was he just doomed to have people from all over the world pop in on him while he’s in the shower or something?

“Dot said that she met her husband Larry through the connection, which drove off into a whole side-tangent. Apparently, romantic partners in clusters—that’s the widely accepted term, ‘cluster.’”

Virgil pulls a face.

“I know, they could have picked literally any other more appealing word for it, couldn’t they? Bunch, group, flock, clique, assemblance—Anyways, romantic partnerships within clusters are somewhat common, and most of the sensate community finds it quite normal. I think our parent is in one, or at least that’s what Dot said.”

Logan clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Apparently some of the old-fashioned sensates think it’s like—what was it Dot’s parent said?—”the worst sort of narcissism.” Apparently, her parent was very displeased to be a parent and wanted nothing to do with creating bonds. I personally think that’s a rather backwards—humanity survives and thrives due to its ability to create bonds and care for each other—but I suppose I tend to think that way about a lot of old-fashioned things.”

“I guess I do, too,” Virgil muses aloud.

They sit quietly, for a while, so quietly that Virgil doesn’t notice when Logan slips away; the only thing that does bring him back from his swirling thoughts is when a voice breaks Virgil’s silence. It sends the emotions of knowing what’s happening to him shattering to the ground.

“Who on earth are you talking to?”

#my fic #my fanfic

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

Best Friends Headcannon - Geralt Of Rivia

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader (platonic)

Requested: By @by-the-primes

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is my first time ever writing a headcannon and it turned out more of a one-shot hahaha xD I went a bit overboard and I’m not used to this kind of post at all so sorry if it sucks.

Wordcount: 3430

Summary: Headcannons of being best friends with Geralt.

You had first met Geralt of Rivia when you were merely twenty-four years of age.

Seeing as you were human and didn’t age the same way he did, you were quite a bit younger, even though he didn’t look to be a year older than thirty.

You were of noble blood and with your parents’ consent, you had headed out into the world to “find yourself”, but in reality, you just didn’t want to be stuck at home in tight, frilly dresses listening to your mother go on about potential suitors all day, every day.

So with only a bag containing some clothes, gold and other things needed to survive, you headed out on your own.

Having been locked up pretty much your entire life had made you quite the bratty smartass. You didn’t have a filter and rarely knew when to stop talking back to people, which was the first thing Geralt got to learn about you upon first meeting you.

Long story short, he had to save your ass in a tavern when you had picked a fight with the wrong person, severely having underestimated the amount of backup your new enemy had.

At this point, you had only been on your own for approximately a week and still had plenty of gold left, and offered to pay for his dinner and room as a thank you.

He accepted, but stared at you weirdly the entire time, sitting quietly until you told him to get on with it and speak his mind.

“Do you not know who I am?” “White hair, amber eyes, Witcher pendant hanging around your inhumanly muscular neck, yeah I think I have an idea. I just don’t care. Heroes and villains, we're all somewhere in between.”

You parted ways the same night as he stayed behind to care for a monster-problem, and you headed on to the next town.

It was already the next day that you met again.

He had come to the town you had landed yourself in and left into town for some business, and come back to the stables to find you petting and talking to Roach, feeding him apples from your bag.

“Hm, you again.” “Nice to see you, too, Witcher.”

You traveled to your next destination together, and Geralt quickly realized that you were in no way a noble lady, despite being raised so.

You were a big eater and completely terrible at singing. Your personality was gruff and grumpy, but at the same time, you never seemed to drop the sarcasm. Your humour was crude, your language vulgar, and your temper was a ticking bomb.

The latter forced Geralt to have to step in and prevent you from digging your own grave on more than one occasion.

“Be nice.” “I am.” “You threatened them with a knife.” “But did I stab them?”

He acted out of logic, and you acted out of your emotions.

“Learn how to sit back and observe. Not everything needs a reaction.” “That’s easy for someone who is incapable of feeling to say.”

You set camp together later that night, Geralt leaving you in charge of the campsite while he planned to go fetch some firewood.

“What if something creeps up on me?” “Trust your gut.” “I have anxiety. My gut is always telling me to abort mission.” “How have you survived on your own so far?” “Well, I’ve only been on my own for a week as of yet.” “Hm.”

You would think he would be the one snoring but he laid as quiet as a mouse throughout the night.

Instead, you turned out to be the one with the sinus problem, your snoring keeping him awake and leaving him aggravated to the point where he wanted to smother himself with a pillow the next morning.

“Good morning, sunshine.” “No.” “I believe the proper response is good morning.” “No.” “Yes, but-“ “No.”

You went on with your morning, and he handed you the map to which you were quick to shake your head.

“No, no, no. You do not want me navigating. I’ll accidentally navigate us off a cliff.” “Then we die. Now shut up and turn the map in the right direction.” “Alright, alright, I got it. I know where we’re going.”

Fast forward an hour and you’re standing at the edge of a mountain, looking out over the landscape of a town you had never before seen or intended to go to.

“I thought you said you knew where you were going.” “Yeah, I lied. But in my defense, I did tell you not to put me in charge of navigating.” “That you did.”

You were forced to turn around and go back to camp, and start the journey all over again.

But you didn’t reach it, instead being captured by a couple of elves along the way.

Despite barely knowing you, Geralt was instantly protective of you.

“I’m trying my best to be polite but if you move that knife a centimeter closer to her I will tear you apart.”

Unbeknownst to him, as he was taking punches behind you and trying to talk himself out of your difficult situation, you were taking your flexible wrists to advantage, being able to snap them on command, allowing you to get out of cuffs.

To say that he was terrified when he caught sight of your limp, deformed hands was an understatement. Luckily, however, it was enough to stun your captors and allow Geralt to knock them out.

You found Roach right where you had left him before you had been taken, and continued heading to your original destination.

After making it to the right town this time, you parted ways, but once again destiny brought you together the next morning and from then on you just kinda stuck together.

Being a Witcher was work enough, but now he also had to take on the responsibility of keeping you safe. Something that proved very hard when he was the one wanting to kill you most of the times.

You just never shut up, it was infuriating.

But it did work in his favor sometimes, too. More often than not, you would do all the talking for him whenever he was approached about a monster-problem so that he wouldn’t have to.

In most cases your vocabulary was cut down to “piss off”, “we don’t care” or “leave”, but on the rare occasion, you would switch it up with a “come to mama” if they flashed a bag of cold in front of your eyes, followed by a shameless order in the likes of “Geralt, go do your thing.”

When he would only stare at you in annoyance for selling him off, usually in the middle of his meals as most people approached you in the taverns you stayed at, you would only add “please” because you knew it would vex him further.

But still, he would get up with a gruff rumble of his chest and stomp off to do his job.

You frequently started calling him Sunshine, the irony of it just being so good.

He found the nickname irritating. As he did almost everything else you did.

You were a very restless person, almost always tapping your foot or bouncing your leg whenever you sat down.

“Stop that.” “The fact that you’re telling me to stop makes it so much more enjoyable.”

It got so annoying after a while he had to start putting his feet on top of yours underneath the table whenever you sat down in a tavern, or else he wouldn’t be able to eat in peace.

It became a tradition for you that he ordered chicken and you ordered pork whenever you would stop to eat, and then you would give each other half of your food so that you each got a little bit of both.

Much to his dismay, you also always switched his ale out for water if it was still light out, telling him it was unacceptable to start drinking before dark.

How you always managed to succeed with it he didn’t know, because his eyes would purposely follow the tavern worker the entire way from your table to the bar to see to it that nothing happened on the journey.

And still, he always received a boring mug of water.

Before he met you he could travel for days, only sleeping in the woods.

But you had a bad immune system, so now that you were moving together you could never move for too long at a time if the weather got bad. You needed to sleep under a proper roof in rain and storms to avoid you getting sick.

After a while, the clothes you had brought with you from home weren’t usable anymore and had to be replaced.

The only thing left from your original pack now was the blanket you had slept with every night for your entire life and four heavy books that you read over and over again.

When in danger and having to get away quickly, Geralt had insisted countless of times just to leave it behind, to which you had insisted to go get it even if it meant putting your life in danger.

After a while, he just got used to it and picked up the habit of reminding you of your bag every time you were starting to move somewhere else.

When traveling, you would force him to stop by a lake or stream once every day to let you clean up.

You might have left the safety of your home to travel the world but you still wanted to look decent. You had grown up noble, looking your best every day.

You hated being filthy.

And you hated messes, too.

You might have constantly been on the move, not staying in one place for too long, but because of the way you were brought up you still despised messes.

You usually stayed in the same room whenever you would seek refuge in a town for the night, and always scolded him and forced him to clean up his shit if he threw it on the floor.

When you got the time to stay a bit longer and didn’t have any danger hot on your trails, however, you took separate rooms so that he could occupy himself with a no-strings-attached shag.

Every morning after, you would casually burst into his room and wake him up, not caring in the slightest that he was naked with a woman, sometimes several, in bed.

“Suit up, whore. We’re leaving,” You would say, to which the whores would always gasp and exclaim something along the lines of: “I beg your pardon?” while trying to cover up their bare chests, and failing miserably.

Geralt would only grumble, wave them off and push himself up in bed.

“She’s talking to me.”

You constantly insulted each other and talked shit about the other behind their back.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a troublesome fobbing, clay-brained hugger-mugger, we could get some things done.”

But the insults didn’t stop with him.

“No one asked for your opinion you abominable shit gobbling.”

“Get out of my way you sorry excuse for a mammering, tickle-brained lewdster.”

“I fail to understand how you’ve become such a reprehensible fuck waffle.”

Those were only few of many insults you threw around at strangers every day, and although Geralt was amused by your big, unladylike mouth, it was worrying.

“You’re one insult away from starting a war.” “How fun.” “You say that now, but you can barely even hold your own in a weaponless brawl.” “Can too!”

But you couldn’t. So he taught you how to wield a sword.

Already during your first sparring session, he accidentally stabbed you in the side, and your automatic response to feeling the steel bury itself into your flesh was a mere “rude” before passing out on the spot form the pain.

But after that, you caught on quickly. And you started growing up quicker, too, taking after him and his antics.

Soon enough, you had gone from mocking his constant humming and grumbling, to humming in sync with him.

You always helped each other with tasks if needed, whether it be saddling Roach, setting up camp or gathering your stuff around the tavern rooms you would stay in every once in a while.

You just worked well together, and didn’t need words to do so.

You grew out of your overly spastic nature, but you still lacked a filter every time you opened your mouth so even years after first meeting, you would get into trouble.

And if someone chose to fight one of you, they chose to fight both of you.

Geralt always tried to avoid conflict and battle, but if someone as much as looked at you the wrong way, they better run.

He was obviously the more rational one, trying to keep you out of trouble, to which you always seem to have a talent of stirring shit up even more.

“I had a thought…” “No. Don’t make that face.”

But he always came along anyway, and it most often ended up with a stab wound or two because you talked back to the wrong person.

And you never got away without a scolding.

“Get off the horse so I can explain in painstaking detail how much of a dumbass you are.” “Do I have a choice?” “No.”

There was no shame or shyness between you.

You did things in the other’s presence that might have been considered romantic or intimate in the eyes of a spectator, but it was completely platonic.

When the time was scarce, you sometimes had to bathe together, back to back, to get it done as quick as possible.

You would shave his face and he would wordlessly put your hair up whenever he noticed it annoying you.

The habit had started when you had injured your arm and was unable to do so yourself and just stuck with him after that.

He couldn’t braid for shit, but he did do a decent bun.

You always tied your laces too loosely, so he often had to redo them to prevent you from tripping over your feet.

You would wear his shirts whenever you waited for yours to dry after a wash.

You would fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

You would share beds and food. Rub each other’s shoulders to rid of the soreness after a beating or a fight.

You made fun of each other always, and you found it particularly fun whenever he lost or took major damage in battle.

“Nice blackeye, Sunshine.” “Shut your mouth.”

But still, you would always be there in his time of need to patch him up, and try to talk him into being more careful - exactly like he had been forced to do your reckless ass all those years ago.

“Look, I’m glad you’ve saved everyone and all that but it’s time someone told you to take care of you.” “I’m fine. “No, you’re not, and furthermore, if you don’t take care of yourself, think of all the people who need you in the future who won't have you. Think of Ciri.”

It was funny, how you had been the one to be driven by emotions to a start, unable to control your anger and putting yourself in harm’s way, and now it was usually the other way around.

You took care of him when it came to patching him up, and he took care of you in every other way.

“Why aren’t you eating?” “Take my cloak.” “I’ll get the firewood, sit down.” “You can have my half.” “Watch your step.”

Those were only a few of the ways he told you he cared for you, along with “I hate you.”

“I hate you” became your way to say “I love you”, and you said it several times throughout the day.

Even this long into your friendship, and countless of poems and songs later, people still got shocked when seeing you walk side by side down the streets.

Geralt was powerful, had a serious face. You did not want to get on his bad side, let’s just leave it there.

But you. You were cute, had a kind face and a contagious laugh. You were kind, despite your big mouth and usually vulgar attitude.

Still, he always warned people to never hurt you or else, but everyone always assumes he said this as a warning of what he would do to them, even though he was, in reality, warning them about you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Why? What’s she gonna do? Woo me to death?” “Underestimate her. That will be fun.”

Then they would approach you and find out you’re actually badass as shit, getting beaten to a bloody pulp.

And all Geralt would say as he stepped over their body on the floor was: “I warned you.”

Six years into your friendship, you were a lot more mature than you had been at twenty-four, now thirty. But you were still a little shit, enjoying your companion’s displeasure.

While Geralt would always open doors for you, you would always purposely slam them shut in his face, just to give him that extra work.

You would slap him on the chest and say “language” every time he said “fuck” and then proceed to call him a cunt only minutes later.

You were an annoying piece of shit, but he got his revenge every blue moon.

Men who were attracted to you would usually approach him first and ask for his blessing and advice, knowing you were of noble blood and pretty much impossible to impress.

He would always play along, urge them on, encouraging them and telling them everything you didn’t like, and then stand by and await the show.

You weren’t dumb, always saw them speaking and always spotted the amused smirk on your partner’s face as he sent the men your way.

So you followed his example and played along, standing by and listening to their pathetic attempts silently, pretending to be interested.

Always thinking they had you hooked, they would touch you inappropriately and smirk.

“Shall we?”

And to this, you would simply smile, before headbutting them to the floor and stepping over them.

“Not even in your dreams.”

Walking back over to a snickering Geralt, you simply passed him, glaring into empty space.

“I hate you.” “I know you do.”

One day Geralt left for some monster-killing-business, while you stayed behind in the town you had been in the past few nights with a broken arm.

It was the first time in years that you split up, but you weren’t very worried.

More so than anything, you were annoyed, when he came back with a chatterbox bard trailing behind.

“Where are you from?” “Here and there.” “What do you do?” “This and that.” “You ever…?” “Now and then.” “Boy, you are just full of information, aren’t you?” “Or maybe your questions are just too boring to be worth an answer.” “I have NEVER been so insulted!” “You don’t listen much, do you?”

Finally, after so many years of it being only the two of you, karma had caught up to you.

You were now forced to experience first hand what it was like being followed by someone who couldn’t stop running their mouth.

“Come here.” “Why?” “Just come here.” “No, you’re going to hit me.” “She probably will.” “You guys realize how incredibly codependent you are, right?” “I fail to see your point, measel.” “Do you ever run out of insults?” “Only time will tell.” “She’s just a female version of you, isn’t she?” “She used to be a female version of you.” “That’s seriously hard to believe.”

It wasn’t long after that that you met Yennefer of Vengerberg.

You didn’t like her, at all. But you learned to tolerate her for the sake of Geralt, trusting his judgment.

But that didn’t stop you from keeping a watchful eye on her.

Jaskier teased you endlessly for it, claiming you were jealous and in love with him, yourself. But it was nothing like that.

You didn’t want romance. You wanted meaning and purpose and adventure and you found it all in him – a soulmate in the form of a best friend.

Legends and rumors claimed Witchers weren’t capable of feeling human emotions but after being on the move with him for so long, you knew there was absolutely no truth to those claims.

And if she hurt him, you would kill her yourself.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt oneshot #geralt fanfic #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #witcher #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg

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imo-chan-imagines · 4 years

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『 Haikyuu!! Week 2020 | Day 2 』

· Sept. 26th → One Ball, Heart and Soul ·

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Testurou Kuroo, Bokuto Koutarou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Oikawa Tooru, Terushima Yuuji

Prompts: A. favourite position/role + B. travel/journey

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), PG, fluff, crack, headcanons, HaikyuuWeek2020

A/N: I found it so hard to pick a favourite position/role, because they're all so interesting and important, and I love everyone 😭 But I settled on the role of captain because of the headcanons I thought of. Captain Sqaud, assemble! So, want to find out what these boys are like on a road trip?

(Just to be clear, I do love all these guys. None of this is hate 😂) All my Haikyuu Week 2020 posts will be SFW, but I have some NSFW stuff on my blog, too. Feel free to check that out~ Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ Imo~

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Dad-chi™

Comes prepared with all the food, drinks, snacks, med kit, camera – literally everything you could possibly need on a road trip

Plans out the route beforehand down to the tiniest detail nothing gets past this man

As well as multiple backup routes in case there's diversions etc.

Plans for regular breaks at two-hour intervals where everyone can pee, stretch their legs, buy anything they need, etc.

He's the one who's driving he's not letting anybody else get a scratch on his van, lmao

And he's good at it

No speeding he's a cop, y'all but he doesn't dawdle either, no running red lights, turns corners well, keeps an even foot on the gas, etc.

Just a good time, tbh

Nobody is getting car sick because of him that would be a damn disgrace

"Stop fighting right now, or I'm turning this van around"

And will actually do it if you don't stfu, lmfao

Don't even think about making a mess and dropping your rubbish in the van you'll be walking home

Everyone else thinks his music is boring and for old people, but Daichi honestly doesn't care

Besides, it's either that or no music at all, because he needs to concentrate on the road

He takes this shit seriously. People's lives are in his hands, dammit!

☆ Testurou Kuroo ☆

Likes to switch between driving and riding shotgun/being designated navigator

Is fairly decent at both

Is constantly eating something but, like, he probably doesn't even know what it is

Some kind of edible is shoved towards his mouth by whoever's riding shotgun, and in it goes shut up. Not like that, you cretins 😂

Somehow manages to behave like an overbearing grandparent and an overexcited child at the same time?? Nothing new there, I guess 😂

I'm sorry, Kuroo, I love you. Please don't be mad 😭

Has a banging playlist full of throwback songs from the 90s and early 2000s

Drums along sofly on the steering wheel or dashboard constantly

HATES driving in rain he's low-key terrified he's going to aquaplane

Likes driving with the windows wound down and feeling the wind in his hair

Will plan the route, but then forget to save it/print it off, etc.

Cannot work Google Maps or SAT-NAVs to save his life Kenma, please help him

Actually packs properly balanced meals, but is heavy on the snacks, too

You'd think he'd drive too fast, but he's actually really responsible

Constantly telling dad jokes to try and keep people amused the groaners are the best

Would probably fight someone at the gas station if they started being a dick and causing trouble

Kuroo, baby. I love you, but please don't get arrested 😭😂😭

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Dear God, do NOT let him drive leave it to Akaashi, I'm begging you

Has really bad spacial awareness in a vehicle and drifts all over the place

Probably speeds without even knowing it, too

Likes to ride shotgun, but is a terrible navigator, so is nearly always made to ride in the back

Is the loud one that moves around too much and blocks the rear view mirror strap him in tight, Akaashi

Belts along at the top of his voice to whatever music is playing, he's not fussy

Was told to pack essential items in his backpack and proceeded to fill it with sweets and snacks and a pack of condoms??? and thought he did good

Bokuto: Bro, you said they were essential

Akaashi: NOT FOR EVERY SITUATION

Rarely ever has to pee, but when he does, it's always miles away from any service station, and he has to hold it for hours

Has definitely peed at the side of the road multiple times because he couldn't hold it any longer, but he wasn't even embarrassed as numerous cars zoomed past

Likes sticking his head out the window like a dog on the motorway which gives everyone else heart attacks

Like, get the hell back inside you maniac 😭

If the car has a sunroof, he's 100% standing up through it with his hands in the air just you try and stop him

And they will. Everyone will try

"HORSES!!"

Will get out of the car in traffic jams to find out what's going on and end up chatting with random strangers until it starts moving again

And he's very sad when he has to leave his new friends. Droopy hair and emo Kou for the next 2 hours :(

Unironically enjoys playing 'I Spy' for hours at a time

Is a bit much to handle in such a confined space for hours on end, but he's just so excited for the road trip

Will fall sound asleep in a matter of minutes if you set him up with a travel pillow and it's freaking adorable!!

☆ Ushijima Wakatoshi ☆

No music whatsoever it's distracting. Why would he want it?

Okay driver, brilliant paper-map navigator

Will sit and do absolutely nothing but stare out the window the entire trip if he's neither

Breaks too hard and accelerates too fast, though

Is also kind of heavy-handed with the gear stick he may or may not have snapped one off before...

Never give him a SAT-NAV, though, because he will follow the directions with 100% accuracy and end up driving through a wall or some shit don't try and deny it

Does he ever even blink when he's looking at the road? We may never know

Might be astral projecting, who knows

Forgets people need toilet breaks but refuses to make unscheduled stops

"Just hold it in"

Uh-huh, sure. That's how that works, Toshi

No snacks

Or rather, no fun snacks. Protein bars and mineral water all the way, babyyyy 🙃🙃🙃

Could probably drive all through the night without taking any breaks but that's irresponsible

Don't do it, kids

Will likely devour the entire KFC menu at the service station he's big, okay? He eats a lot

Is prone to leg cramp after long drives oh look, he needs a massage 😏

Doesn't get car sick. Ever. Upset stomachs are for the weak

Has garbage and recycling pouches on the backs of the front seats use them correctly, or feel his wrath

Isn't exactly a barrel of laughs, but it's somehow endearing just like always *happy sigh*

But it's actually a good thing

There's no hidden side to Ushi or any bad or annoying habits that come out of the woodwork on a long road trip

He's just the same old reliable, adorably straightforward Ushijima ❤

☆ Oikawa Tooru ☆

Calls shotgun and demands the aux cord every. Single. Time but it's pretty decent music, so no-one really complains

Not that he's any good at navigation pray for Iwa-chan

Is constantly taking selfies, making TikToks, and documenting the trip on his social media

#ROADTRIP #SQUAD GOALS #BETTER THAN YOU

Will send all the photos in the group chat when it's over, and they actually come out pretty well

Will not stop complaining if the air conditioning is busted and Iwa-chan will threaten to dump him in the middle of nowhere if he doesn't can it 😂

Iwa-chan: I shoulda left you on that street corner where you were standing

Oikawa: But'cha dIDN'T

Bonus points if you get that reference, lmao

Has to keep taking breaks because his butt hurts when he sits down for too long because it's fLaT

I'm sorry, Tooru 😭😭 Forgive me. I love you, really

Is constantly on his phone

But he points out pretty views and interesting sights to everyone all the time awww

Low-key needs to pee all the time, but gets defensive if someone brings it up please stop bulling him, travelling is hard

"Are we there yet?"

Seems kind of annoying, but is actually just genuinely excited to go on a road trip and spend time with his friends 😭😭

Buys matching souvenirs for everyone in secret to surprise them with 🥺

When people complain about all the photos, souvenirs, and enthusiasm, etc. and ask why he has to keep doing it, Oikawa says:

"I want to remember as much of this as possible. I want us all to remember as much of this as much as possible," with a sweet little smile 😭😭😭

And that's when everyone realises how mean they've been to him about being over-the-top and irritating, and they all feel terrible

Just like in the freaking anime, man

☆ Terushima Yuuji ☆

Will hijack the aux cord to play his incredibly niche music taste

Feet up on the dashboard when he rides shotgun

Shoes on is bad enough, but shoes off just stinks up the entire car you have to roll all the windows down, lmfao

Will break all sorts of road laws if you let him behind the wheel please don't

Daichi will come and arrest him 😭😭

Lives on energy drinks

That's all the drinks he packs. Nothing else

Travels in sports wear and sliders yes, even though you reallly shouldn't drive in sandals

Like he knows or cares 😭

Will chat to girls at the gas station and ask for their numbers, even though he's never going to see them again

"You never know, man! It could be, like, fate or something"

Yes, Yuuji, you do. And it's 'or something'

Thinks it's a good time to sext his current booty call because, like, he has hours of free time. What else is he going to do?

Probably forgot to pack actual food

Has to live off of snacks and cheap service station food for the duration of the trip

But not his own snacks, of course. Everyone else's one doesn't keep friends and buy one's own snacks

Genuinely doesn't realise if he's being gross or annoying, so let him down lightly like a bro and he'll probably make an effort to stop

Doesn't plan the route or anything, even if he's driving. Just punches it into Google Maps as he sits his ass down on the day and trusts it to get him there in one piece and on time

Entire Johzenji team: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

For some reason knows how to change a flat tire, though, so he's good for something, I guess 😂😂

Probably saw a YouTube video on it. Maybe a WikiHow article

Somehow still manages to be an endearing part of the trip??

He smiles a lot and makes a lot of jokes, particularly when things go wrong, so it keeps everyone's spirits up

It definitely wouldn't be the same without him

#imo chan imagines #haikyuuweek2020 #haikyuu!!#hq!#headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #sawamura daichi #tetsurou kuroo #oikawa tooru #ushijima wakatoshi #terushima yuuji #sawamura daichi headcanons #testurou kuroo headcanons #oikawa tooru headcanons #ushijima wakatoshi headcanons #terushima yuuji headcanons #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou headcanons

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faerytale-au · 4 years

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A Moment of Reflection

Place: Directly After “A Gate Between” Word Count: 1,830 Rating: T Prompt For Quarantined Frans Weeks: Day 5 [Time] Cross Posted to a03 here!

@qfransprompts

“where’s frisk?” Papyrus turned to look at Sans over his shoulder, a bony brow raised inquisitively as he slowly dried a plate. Was he honestly asking that? There was no other place Frisk could be other than the house.

“...CAN YOU NOT FIND HER?” He drawled slowly.

His older brother frowned up at him. “paps, if i could would i be asking?”

“TRUE ENOUGH. WHERE HAVE YOU LOOKED?” Sans let out a sigh as he listed off all the rooms including embarrassingly enough the bathroom. Papyrus frowned at that but didn’t prod as he looked out the kitchen window in thought.

“HAVE YOU TRIED THE GARDEN?” Sans’s eyelight shrunk in surprise as he glowered at himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Frisk might not have been ready to go exploring or anything but that didn’t mean she didn’t want fresh air or the like.

“thanks bro.” Paps hummed as he returned to doing the dishes, not giving his sibling a second glance as he lazily took a shortcut.

Frisk...felt tired.

She was enjoying watching the magical plants in front of her. Loving it when one would light up in a pulsing glow every time an insect would touch it’s petals to let out a silent melody of music she couldn’t fully place. Or when a red flower would erupt a tiny sprout of flame from its center similar to a candle when lit.

But the majesty in front of her was also a brutal reminder of the price she had paid to witness such things.

To be alive to do so.

Slowly she reached out to a lone blue flower situated to the side of the bed and brushed against it, marveling as Papyrus’s voice came through loud and clear. “BROTHER WOULD YOU STOP TALKING TO FLOWERS, YOU’RE GIVING THEM YOUR BAD HABITS.”

She snickered and played it again just as Sans appeared behind her.

He watched her silently as her face glowed with happiness, her knees tucked up beneath her chin just as she had done when she was younger and felt his soul give a twirl in his ribs. She looked so beautiful mesmerized by the echo flower.

But it was also a reminder of the simple joys she’d been denied.

“he says bad habits but i call them lessons in comedy.” Frisk jolted in place, her heart quickly leaping into her throat as she spun around, but just as quickly calming as she smiled up at the Seelie grinning at her.

“I’m still not used to your shortcuts.” He tried not to notice how small her smile had gone.

“sorry, didn’t mean to get the jump on you.” His wink was enough to earn a chuckle, one just as small as her expression but still clear enough that it warmed his bones. Slowly he walked closer and plopped nonchalantly on the ground next to her. It was cute how red her face turned at his closeness but he chose not to address it.

“checking out the flowers?” Frisk nodded.

“Yeah, I have been curious about them for a while now.” Sans’s sockets softened as he recalled how often she’d sit with him making flower crowns and rings as they spoke with each other, how excited she’d get when he told her stories of plant Seelie and the meaning their blooms usually told when speaking.

She hadn’t exactly brought up flowers or other conversations with him since she’d gotten there.

Sans missed it.

“want me to tell you about them?”

Frisk blinked as she looked over at him and she could only see a warmth in his gaze that made her cheeks sting as she recalled their kiss from a few nights ago. She suddenly felt shy but looking back at the mysterious plants in front of her she managed to nod again.

Sans chuckled. “which one first?”

He watched as she pointed towards one, it’s tone shifting in a gradient of white and purple light as it swayed in the light breeze around them.

Ah. He liked that one.

“that’s a flavor petal.” Frisk’s face scrunched up as she gave an adorable nose wiggle.

“Flavor petal?” Sans looked at the questionable tone and simply shrugged.

“it’s used in cooking a lot similar to parsley. when you eat a petal it lets you taste whatever food or drink your body is craving at the time. paps has had to pull my snoozing butt from the garden on occasion because of it.” Frisk snorted. She could picture that easily.

“Back home that type is called a Tritonia Crocata.” Sans hummed thoughtfully but his smile dropped as he noticed her eyes dull slightly. He didn’t fail to notice how soft spoken she went when she’d mentioned home.

So much guilt stirred in him.

“you’re homesick.” She didn’t deny it, only tucked her chin into her arms as she stared at the flower they’d been speaking about.

Sans tried to be tactful but he couldn’t think of a way other than to address the whole thing head on. He knew she forgave him, understood why he’d ignored her wishes and had manipulated her the way he had. Frisk might tell him all the time his honesty wasn’t that but he knew that was her being too kind and merciful.

That also didn’t mean there still wasn’t regret she felt for caving to him whisking her away.

“i’m sorry.” She looked at him in confusion before letting her shoulders slump as she realized what he was talking about.

“Sans--”

“i’m sorry.” He looked at her gently. “you can tell me for the rest of our lives there’s nothing to forgive but there is. and i’ll be honest i don’t regret having you here with me, just why it had to happen.”

His soul tightened painfully as she looked back at the flowers, a detachment he didn’t like and always hated seeing overcoming her features. It reminded him so much of those bad days she’d have.

Sans never wanted to be the reason for her to look like that.

“It’s...going to take time.” She looked at him again and for a brief moment he saw her younger form and felt himself taking the chance to offer her the comfort she’d so often denied him back when he’d been incapable of helping her.

“it may seem like it’ll never go away, like you can’t feel anything else but the pain.” The way he saw water bead in the corner of her eyes confirmed what he’d been thinking. Hesitantly he wrapped an arm around her and gently nudged her into his side.

Frisk at first tensed but slowly she relented and leaned into him and let out a shaky sigh as he ran his phalanges through her hair. The feeling of his textured phalanges running though her locks sent a pleasant warmth down to her toes and it made it surprisingly easier to breath.

He spoke in a lowered tone, near a whisper like she might fall apart if he was any louder.

“but it’ll get better. it’s fair to mourn the loss of your mortal life, but it’s not going to last forever frisk.” The sound of her name in his baritone soothed her.

“It feels...so heavy Sans. I’m happy to be with you, really...but it hurts to wonder what I’m missing…” He pressed a kiss to her brow and she turned red as a tomato. Still he ignored it again as he rested the side of his skull against the top of her head.

Frisk then noticed she’d been fully pulled into his lap, his legs stretched out on either side of her and his arms securely holding her as he continued to pet and twist her hair. There was a faint rumble, a barely concealed hum against her side where it rested against his ribs.

Was that...his magic?

She felt so safe, so protected being held so close as she was even as the contact sent her heart into a tizzy and made butterflies soar through her stomach. It might have been uncomfortable if others were around but she found she welcomed it with just the two of them for company.

Sans might have been a different being from her but she had never felt closer and more related to him in these rare moments. The rare moments that had gradually become more frequent since they’d confessed to each other.

“i know, i know what it’s like to miss the potential for something you’ll end up never having.” And she caught just how sad Sans sounded. Like he really did know what she felt. Before she could ask though he was shifting her to face him.

His hands framed her face and he lingered as he took in the smoothness of her skin and the pale shade of her lips, but more than anything still how bright her sun colored eyes were as he looked into them thought they were filled with sadness.

“eventually you’ll make friends though, experience new things and sights no one else will ever get the opportunity to have done.” His words sounded so passionate her ears burned. His sockets narrowed reassuringly as his smile lifted in one corner empathetically.

“make no mistake, a part of you will always carry that weight that currently suffocates you, but it’ll be so much easier to bear. and i’ll be here every step of the way to make sure it doesn’t crush you.” Frisk’s breath froze in her lungs as he pressed his forehead into hers and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She wanted so much to take his words and engrave them into her heart. She never wanted to forget them for even a moment. How did he manage to see to her very core and say exactly what it was she didn’t know she needed?

“...y’know i hate making promises, because a lot of the time they can’t be kept. you never know what life is going to throw your way. but for you? i promise. in time it’ll get better, and i’m going to love watching you shine every step of the way.” She sniffled and choked.

“D-did you just make a pun?”

Sans smirked. “how could i not? the sun’s staring into my sockets.”

Frisk couldn’t help it.

She let out a sob as her heart swelled and balled herself up against the skeletal Seelie as she shook.

Sans silently held her, not minding for a second how her tears wet his clothing or how her hands clenched and tugged against him where they rested on his chest. He knew this had been the very thing she’d always needed.

Someone in her corner and to support her.

Never again if he could help it would he let her go without that. This was a promise he refused to break come what may.

They had all the time in the world for him to prove that to her.

#fransfun #faerytale-au #undertale #alternate universe #sans x frisk #adult frans #frans #hurt #comfort #qfransweek #day 5 #time

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emilyplaysotome · 4 years

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The Game of Love - Chapter 1

Since I have a bad tendency to obsess over what I write until I give up on it, I’m posting the first chapter of something new I’ve been dabbling with. Think of it like an original Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole, without the characters you know.

Meeting someone special is hard for anyone, but more so when you’re famous.

I can’t tell you when it was that I went from being Hana to being Hana on a billboard, but it happened slowly enough that I went from eating virtually unnoticed at a restaurant to being bombarded with selfie requests during the short time I picked up my food. I suppose that being one of the youngest women to ever win a Grand Slam will force you into the spotlight, but I’ve never thought of myself as a superstar.

The goal had always been to win gold at the Olympics.

Maybe Roland Garros.

And Wimbledon.

The U.S. and Australian Open if I was lucky.

They never told me that if you win the Australian Open and then manage to win the others in the same year, the world goes mad. They never told me that Nike, Adidas, and Reebok fall all over themselves trying to get you to agree to let them put out the “Hana shoe” and you go from being a struggling journeywoman on the tour to being richer than you ever could have imagined, thanks mostly to your team who milks you for every free moment when you’re not on the court.

You learn how to wear dresses and talk on camera and carry the weight of what it means to be a champion, constantly looking over your shoulder at the younger, hungrier crowd behind you that works twice as hard and trains harder because they don’t need to be on Good Morning America when you do. Your identity becomes “Hana the Tennis Champion” and you forget who you were when you were just “Hana, the girl who loves tennis” – hitting balls after dinner with dad on the courts by your house or joking around with the girls on the junior tour.

Those girls become competition, and your friendship is forced to change despite wanting it to be the way it was when things were simpler. They are nice and you love them, but the feelings are complicated and you forget what it means to have friends who see you as you are. There is always a commitment, a show, a movie, a project, a product – even during the off season, and of course, there’s the training.

You’re grateful to be successful doing what you love, but you know it can’t last forever and one day you decide you want to go out on top and announce that you’re done with the game that up until this point has been your entire life.

And you’re only 32.

I’m only 32.

The day after I retired I woke up as Hana, for the first time in 20 years. I suppose it’s out of habit that I still wake up at 7 A.M. and go for a run, but it’s been a few months and not much has changed.

My mom suggested I get a therapist.

That this major transition would be hard on anyone, but even harder on a prodigy who has been used to a regimented training schedule since she was 11.

I laughed it off, but after a couple of weeks I could feel the unease nagging at me, mocking me, asking me, “Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

My therapist says a lot of high achieving people struggle with their self-worth outside of their profession. She challenged me to reconnect with friends I’d made at all stages of my life and I learned that being great at one thing left little time for love, creativity, music, and hobbies.

I also learned that I didn’t make many friends in my 32 years since I was too focused, too dialed in to waste time on anything outside of the goal. To be the best in the world I had taken on the mentality that everything outside of my goal was superfluous, but now I struggle to make it through the day.

“Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

“I am…I am…”

“What are you feeling Hana?” my therapist asks.

“Scared. Confused. Angry. Lost.”

I’d had this rosy image of retirement, where I’d leisurely wake up next to a partner and make breakfast for us. Not just any partner if I’m being honest…him.

“I wake up at 7 A.M. and run 5 miles,” I find myself saying. “Then I make a breakfast smoothie. And then I remember that I don’t have anywhere to be and the depression takes over.”

“Have you been doing interviews?”

I shrug, “Not as many. They asked me to do commentary for the U.S. Open this year and I said I’d think about it.”

“What is your hesitation?”

I pause, thinking about what it would be like to live a tournament without participating in it. To see and comment on someone’s legacy that wasn’t my own. To one day have to announce that I’d been dethroned in my achievements and smile as if it didn’t bother me, when I’d probably just wonder if I’d retired too early.

“I never wanted to be on television. And I want to be able to answer the question who Hana is if there is no tennis.”

“It sounds like this time is providing you with a beautiful gift – to explore that question and your interests without limitations.”

She’s right, and I feel guilty for pitying myself when I have the freedom to do and go wherever I want. I let out a caustic chuckle and say, “I want to live in my games.”

“The ones you used to play on the road?”

I nod, wondering how serious she thinks I am and wondering if the statement is a joke at all.

“Why do you think you like them so much?”

“It’s fun to be someone who isn’t Hana. And it’s fun to fall in love.”

“Has Hana ever been in love?”

I think for a minute and nod.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” I ask.

She shrugs and pushes her glasses up.

“I’m asking Hana the person, not Hana the superstar.”

“But our breakup was all over the tabloids…”

“Our time together is about you, not what’s in a tabloid.”

“Superstars have to date superstars. It’s like a law,” I say laughing. “What would Instagram think if I gave them anything other than aspirational?”

I’m lying but I can’t help myself, even in therapy my pride gets in the way of being honest. Dating him was never about appearances, at least, it wasn’t for me.

“Tell me about him.”

Eight years of memories flash in my mind, 22 to 30.

“We met after I won my first major. His movie premiere had him in Australia and he got tickets to the final. We ended up at an after party together and he gave me his number. It was good until it wasn’t and then he broke up with me.”

“That’s a very condensed version.”

I shrug again, feeling bitter that he seems to have moved on just fine and I haven’t dated anyone despite the rumors that pop up from time to time. I don’t feel like talking about how I kept pushing for us to move forward, with a vision for my retirement and life with him as he kept pushing for me to stay on the road. I don’t feel like talking about how much of our time was spent apart and how I suspected he preferred things that way.

That it was better to have a girlfriend too busy to take up more than an hour of his day on a regular basis than a girlfriend who could be present the way she wanted to be when we were together.

A pleasant chime goes off and she silences the alarm, noting we’re out of time and asking if next week works.

“My schedule is free,” I joke, but I feel annoyed that there’s nothing but endless free time and nothing to do with it.

When I’m home I open the games I referenced in therapy – the ones I jokingly call “choose your anime romance adventure games” with my mom versus their proper designation of “otome” games, as they’re known with the fandom online that I’m a part of. It’s only when I’m online that I feel like I can momentarily answer the question that nags at me, and that’s because no one know I’m me.

HanaLovesOtome the tumblr user is popular because of the screenshots she posts, not because she’s one of the most celebrated athletes of a generation.

She participates in every event and has spent an ungodly amount of money on special date stories and lottery gatcha items that put her consistently in the top ten featured users of Ikemen Inc.

She’s popular because people will ask her to purchase stories and games they can’t afford, and she’ll video record herself playing or twitch live stream the sessions so everyone can get a sense of what it’s like to fall in love with Ikemen Inc.’s most exclusive bachelors.

Even when I was on tour, I loved playing otome games because for a couple of hours I could stop thinking about my life and instead lose myself in a world overseas where I get to make choices for a protagonist whose name I’ve made my own as I decide what eligible bachelor she’ll fall in love with.

I’d found the games a year before we’d broken up, mostly by chance after seeing an ad on twitter that boasted, “The Perfect Boyfriend is in your phone - meet him now!” While normally I would have continued to scroll past, something about the caption had stopped me in my tracks. Looking back it was probably because the idea of the “perfect boyfriend” being in my phone was ironic having had such a drawn out long distance relationship in which it often felt that he only existed in my life virtually.

After entering my name for the main character I would be controlling, “Decoding His Affections” thrust me into a world that consisted of a simple illustrated background, paired with a cartoon character sprite whose various expressions matched the dialogue being said in the text box where the story played out.

While the prologue of “Decoding His Affections” was free, it ended with a prompt asking me who out of the five characters I’d just met, I wanted to get to know as my Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department partner and future perfect boyfriend. For the low price of $3.99, I could purchase one of five options and determine how my protagonist would fall in love. Depending on my dialogue selections, I was either granted a “Love Ending!” or a less desired “Happy Ending!”

Throughout the course of 13 interactive chapters, Sebastian went from being my underling, to my partner, and finally, to my boyfriend. As the protagonist with my name started to fall for Sebastian, I found myself enjoying the escape from my reality with a game “self” who always met with a positive response in love.

I soon found myself lost in a world where I could be transparent with my intentions without any fear of rejection. Sebastian clearly liked my main character back, but was conflicted about falling for a woman whose time in Tokyo had an expiration date. Even though their relationship was in a grey zone for the majority of the game, he was always warm, always loving, and most importantly, had responses that gave me butterflies as I read his poetic musings from a cold hotel room after a long day of training.

Seeing as how these games were a product of Japan, in addition to the subdued romance I also found myself getting a kick out of the cultural differences that were peppered throughout the story. Simple gestures such as the time that Sebastian grabbed her hand in order to protect her from an impending explosion, resulted in a shook inner monologue where my heroine wondered if her heart was racing from the danger, or because of the physical contact. There was something sweet about this world in which men and women shared a shyness around physical touching that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced as a Western woman. Handshakes, hugs, and even kisses on the cheek were something that happened in my life on a daily basis, yet I was suddenly living in a world via my phone where every gesture was laced with romantic subtext.

It was clear that the only thing Ikemen Inc. changed in their games was the names of their clearly Japanese love interests, in order to better appeal to a western audience. Other than that, their games remained true to their point of origin.

Looking back, our relationship was already strained with me hinting towards my expiration date and him pushing me to stay on the tour. The day I’d played my first otome game we were bickering over text about it, him convinced it would be better for both of us if I refocused on my career instead of settling down with him in his Calabasas home. As I achieved Sebastian’s coveted “Love Ending!” thanks to my carefully selected dialogue choices, I surprised myself by tearing up in which I read an ending where Sebastian confessed to me, or moreover the woman I whose life I was intermittently controlling, his undying love.

I’d felt a bit foolish at the time, having fallen prey to simple plot devices and romantic tropes, however Sebastian had done something for me that my relationship could not.

He’d managed to touch that part deep in my heart that still wanted to believe that romance was possible in this world, and more importantly, was possible for me.

In the weeks to come I found myself leaning on these games more and more as it became clear that my vision for the future did not align with his, it felt like every free second I was pouring myself into my fantasy life. By the time he ended things, I’d made way through the entire Ikemen Inc. catalogue of premium games and started to make my way into the exclusives with a higher price point, more beautifully illustrated scenes (CGs), and the Ikemen Inc. community leaderboard.

I play them a lot lately.

Maybe too much.

When I log in to my tumblr I see a message from my friend KittyGirl.

OMG Hana! Did you see they released Tyler Holland?

I saw and I played and I’m posting the full vid on twitch later ;)

…

I wonder who KittyGirl is as she types, and I wonder if she ever wonders who I am. I wonder if she would care if I was Hana the superstar or if she even follows tennis.

A lot of the girls on here don’t.

A lot of the girls on here are much younger than I am.

I wonder if it’s weird I don’t have many friends my age and that the people I feel closest to at the moment are all usernames in my feed.

STOP HANA YOURE THE BEST!

I smile because it gives me a sense of purpose and I haven’t felt that for some time.

It’s really good. He might be in my top 5 boyfriends.

NO. Really!?

Really.

Sometimes I wish that the men in my phone would come to life. That one day I would wake up and Sebastian would be there in human form, not his two-dimensional anime character form. I’ve thought about what he would look like if he were real.

Not just him.

Him and all the others I’ve dated over the years.

I wonder what it’d be like to date someone you know would never leave you.

Who could be that perfect boyfriend, or husband, or father.

It’s just as I’m thinking about this again that my phone chimes, letting me know I’ve received an email. I’m surprised to see it’s from Ikemen Inc. and that HanaLovesOtome has been invited along with the four other top Ikemen community users for an all-expenses paid, one month vacation to Ikemen’s Dream Resort.

My gut reaction is to scream, “Yes!” but then I remember I’m Hana the superstar.

What would people think if they found out?

What would the tabloids write if they saw me?

I pause.

Who is Hana if there is no tennis?

Hana is HanaLovesOtome.

And so I write an email back, deciding not to loop in my management team, and let the team at Ikemen Inc. know that I would be delighted to experience the resort. The response back is immediate and includes additional details and an NDA.

I skim the details of the agreement, relieved that I am not allowed to talk about the experience as that means no one else will and my identity as Hana the superstar will most likely be off limits to the press and send it back.

It all happens quickly and before the hour is up I’ve managed to secure my spot in the Ikemen Fan 5.

In the two weeks leading up to my departure, I no longer feel depressed or as if time stretches out in a way that makes me feel small and insignificant. I have an event to look forward to and arrangements to be made.

My therapist thinks a solo trip will be good for me and encourages me to journal and continue with the homework she’s given me outside of our sessions. My mom agrees that it will be good for me to have a real vacation which is something I haven’t had in years.

I’ve seen the world through touring but I’ve never really had time for tourism.

To that point, when I get on the plane it strikes me that this is my first time on a plane without the purpose of coming from or going to a tournament. I check two large suitcases and still bring a racquet in case I need the release of losing myself in a training session or two, despite the fact my performance no longer matters.

I wear the sunglasses I always wear to obscure my identity in first class and a wig and baseball hat and n95 mask, which always does the trip. At Narita airport, I see a man holding a sign that says “HanaLovesOtome” and I follow him to a town car that takes me two hours outside of Tokyo proper. It’s only when we pull off the main road, down a long skinny isolated one that I take off my disguise and breathe a sigh of relief that I managed not to attract the attention of any photographers or fans.

In my head I always saw Ikemen Inc. as a small developer, tucked away on a floor in a nondescript office building somewhere in Toyko.

The reality of their facilities surprised me, and we drove 15 minutes through dense woodland, past another small road with a sign indicating guest and employee parking - up to a manicured property where at the center was a sleek looking high rise. My driver stopped under the porte-cochere and helped me with my suitcases, triggering the mechanism for the large glass double doors to open which caught the attention of a man inside.

“Please, allow me to be of assistance,” he said, quickly grabbing the roller’s handles and helping me in to a spacious reception area. “I’m Roman and I run the resort division of Ikemen Inc.”

“Hana.”

There was something familiar about the way that Roman talked and the way he dressed that I couldn’t quite put my finger on as he introduced me to the woman at reception and made small talk about my trip. I engaged in the idle banter until the persistent feeling that I knew him from somewhere became so overwhelming that I finally found myself asking, “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” a female voice called out behind me.

I turned to see a girl, no older than 20 approaching us with a suitcase of her own. She wore the same expression that countless fans wore upon recognizing me as they rushed up to me and asked for a selfie except she was not looking at me, but at Roman.

“He’s Roman Hinton, from Ikemen’s Paradise Palace.”

“Ah, you’ve stayed with us in Paradise I assume?” Roman asked the girl smiling.

“Oh you have no idea,” she said dreamily, and it was then that I realized my wish of dating one of the men in my phone might come true.

That’s the end of my rough first chapter. Let me know if you want to know where we go from here and I might post more. Tagging @nitelotus since she asked to see it

#down the voltage rabbit hole #voltage fanfic #voltage games #voltage romance sims #voltage inc #mlqc #ikemen #ikemen sengoku

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

🏐 Guardian; Yuu Nishinoya (Sportember #013)

📑 Table of Contents | ⚾ Challenge Post

Genre: Angst, School, Friendship, Fluff

Word Count: 3,428

Pairing: Overweight Reader x Noya

World: Haikyuu!!

Prompt: Keep Going

Author’s Note: Even though this is number 13 in the set, it was actually the first one I wrote out!

WARNING: This fic contains themes of bullying, body issues, and weight issues.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

You’ve been struggling with your weight all of your life, coming from a family where most of the members were large in size. Growing up, your family mostly feasted on fast food that was really unhealthy and, at the time, you thought you were lucky to have such a relaxed family. When you entered middle school, however, you started to meet people that made fun of you for being overweight. They bullied you, mentally, calling you names and telling you that you had no right to breathe the same oxygen as them. Just a waste of air, they claimed. That was the first time that you felt insecure in your own body.

You shared these concerns with your family, but they just laughed it off, claiming that you were ‘big-boned’ and that’s why you were heavier than the other children. They told you to stop caring what other people thought of you, that you were beautiful no matter your size. The message was nice, but it went much deeper than that. It wasn’t just about what others thought of you because, when you looked in the mirror, you hated what was staring back at you.

Your thighs like Christmas hams, the fat under your arms jiggling like a plate of jello, and your stomach that reminded you of a middle-aged man on a diet of alcohol. You hated the way you looked. You hated the comments and the looks. You hated feeling sluggish and lethargic all the time, but… you didn’t know how be healthy because no one ever taught you. You turned to the internet for answers and found a beginner’s workout video that was highly rated. Every night, you’d wait for your family to sleep before trying to follow along with the video.

The problem? Your body couldn’t handle it.

Jumping jacks? Your fat jiggled painfully, ankles unable to take the weight when you landed.

Push ups? Your arms were far too weak to lift your body for a single one.

Squats? You managed two before your legs started to shake so badly that they couldn’t lift you for a third.

At first, you told yourself that your body just needed time to adjust, but after two and a half weeks passed without any improvement, you started to feel disheartened and, finally, you gave up. How could you motivate yourself to continue when the workout left you feeling so weak and lightheaded?

Years passed by and you found yourself in your first year of high school at Karasuno. The bullying got worse, eventually turning physical, but you never fought back, believing that you deserved the abuse that was being handed to you. Around this time, you got paired up with the orange-haired Hinata that you shared class with on a project. He was one of the few kids who were actually nice to you, who didn’t judge you, so when he asked you to meet him at the gymnasium after school to discuss the project, you agreed without much thought.

As the day dragged on, though, you found yourself growing quite nervous.

The final bell rang and you slowly packed up your bag, nearly jumping when Hinata appeared by your desk with a bright smile. “Ready to go, Y/N-san?”

Your cheeks burned at the attention and you noticed the other students watching the exchange, whispering to each other. It made you feel self-conscious.

“Y/N-san?” The orangette tilted his head, blinking at you curiously.

“R-Right, sorry…” you cleared your throat as you stood, putting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You clutched it tightly as you followed him to the door where Kageyama was waiting. As the three of you walked down the hall, you tried to hang back so people wouldn’t see you with them and get the wrong idea, but Hinata was determined to walk at your side. You could just hear the rumor mill running wild.

“Ne, have you thought of any ideas for the writing assignment?” He questioned. “I was thinking about writing for volleyball!”

Kageyama scowled at him over his shoulder. “No way! I’m writing about volleyball. Choose something else!”

Hinata puffed out his cheeks. “That’s not fair! You can’t just claim a subject, Kageyama!”

“I just did, idiot!”

“What do you think, Y/N-san?” His brown eyes snapped to you, shining with an intensity you had never seen before.

“Umm… I don’t really know anything about sports…” you mumbled apologetically, turning your gaze to the ground. You expected the pair to laugh at you and comment something like, ‘That’s pretty obvious, just look at you’ but they didn’t do either.

Hinata hummed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Okay. What do you like then?”

“Anime is nice…”

His eyes suddenly sparkled. “Really? Which ones? I’m currently watching Dragonball Z and it’s so cool! Goku is always like bam and then whoosh and boom! You know?”

You giggled at his enthusiasm. “I’m watching it, too, but I haven’t gotten very far yet.”

The rest of the walk to the gym was spent talking about your favorite characters and scenes within the anime. For the first time, you completely forgot about the other students that were staring at you and whispering as if you were a creature in the zoo. You forgot about the insecurities that plagued your mind and, instead, focused on the shared interests between yourself and your classmate. It was honestly so refreshing.

When the three of you approached the two-story changing rooms near the gym, Hinata paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Go on ahead, we’ll be out soon!”

You nodded, offering him a nervous smile before turning and slowly inching toward the open gym doors. The sound of shoes squeaking across the hardwood floor reached your ears and you peaked around the door, curiously. The ball was spiked, falling to the front of the court quite quickly and no one was close enough to get to it before it could land. Your eyes were just barely able to catch sight of the orange blur as it rushed toward the ball, a short boy diving to the ground with no regard for his own safety. His hand was just barely able to squeeze between the ball and the ground, but it bounced off the back of his hand and back into the air, allowing the grey-haired boy to toss it to the brown-haired boy who spiked it to the other half of the court.

Your eyes widened as you watched the short boy pull himself to his feet, high-fiving the others two. ‘He’s so… cool! And pretty cute, too.’ Your lips tugged down, hand gripping the door frame as you forced your eyes away. ‘But he would never like someone like me…’

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jumped, a soft squeak of surprise passing your lips as you whirled around, hand over your racing heart. It was just Hinata, eyes wide and hand suspended in mid-air. Embarrassment rushed over you and your face burned all the way to the tips of your ears as you felt multiple pairs of eyes burning into your back.

“Good job, idiot, you scared them.”

“I-I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

Footsteps quickly approached, followed by the authoritative voice of the team’s captain. “What’s going on here?”

“Hinata scared Y/N,” Kageyama replied simply, pointing to you for emphasis.

“Hinata,” the grey-haired boy scolded him before turning to you with a gentle smile. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, unable to lift your eyes from the ground. “I’m sorry… it was my fault, not his.”

Hinata pouted at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N-san.”

“It’s okay, really!”

“Did you come to watch practice?” Suga inquired, putting his hand on his hip. “Or would you like to apply for assistant manager?”

“No,” Hinata shook his head. “We have a writing project together. Come on, let’s get started!”

You didn’t say anything as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you to the side of the gym where a row of wooden benches were placed. The two of you took a seat, angling your bodies to face each other as you pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, trying to ignore the questioning looks from the rest of the team. It was bad enough that you had embarrassed yourself in front of so many people, but it was worse because you had done so in front of the cute boy, as well.

“Hey, Hinata-san?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t glanced up from his notebook as he drew a caricature of Vegeta, his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips as he concentrated.

You glanced to the side, watching the short boy talking to the brunette haired spiker. “What is his name? Number four.”

He glanced up, following your gaze before returning to his doodle. “That’s our libero, Noya. He’s a second-year!”

“He’s our senpai?” You replied with surprise.

“Yup! And he’s super cool.” Hinata grinned. “You should come to our practice game against Nekoma next week so you can see him in action for yourself!”

‘I don’t know anything about volleyball, but…’ you bit your lip, looking back at Noya only to catch his eye. He smiled at you before returning his attention to the practice game. ‘I really want to see him play.’ “Would that really be okay?”

“Of course! I’m sure everyone would appreciate the support.”

“If you’re sure… I’ll come to the game, then.”

And you did, though most of your time was spent watching Karasuno’s libero who, in your opinion, was absolutely amazing. You wanted his attention, you wanted him to look at you and smile, to find you beautiful. You wanted that more than anything and that want quickly turned to motivation.

Since that game, you started walking to school rather than taking the bus, which meant getting up around four in the morning so you had enough time to get there. You felt exhausted and sweaty by the time you reached the school but, somehow, you felt proud of yourself. You knew that exercising wasn’t enough to lose weight, though. No, you had to change your eating habits, as well, but since most of your family’s meals were frozen or fast food, that was going to be a serious hurdle for you.

You decided to eat only once a day, which was a serious struggle for you because you were constantly craving food. Every time you caught yourself slipping, though, you thought of Noya and found your strength renewed. With this new addition to your life, you stopped being quite as upset about the bullying and they were not happy about that.

You started keeping a journal to keep track of your exercise and food intake, updating it periodically when you suppressed the urge to eat or to talk about how you were currently feeling. Unfortunately for you, your biggest bully, Atsumi, noticed you scribbling away in the orange notebook and she waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. This presented itself one afternoon when the teacher asked for your help carrying a box of paperwork to the office. You were gone no more than five minutes, but it was plenty of time for Atsumi to steal the book from your desk and slip from the room.

When you returned to gather your things, you searched for the journal, positive that you had brought it to school with you, but you had also overslept that morning and had to rush to get ready. ‘I guess I forgot it today,’ you frowned.

“Y/N, let’s go~!” Hinata grinned at you, jogging in place.

You chuckled at the boy’s antics, slipping your bag across your shoulder as you followed him and Kageyama from the room. Honestly, you had grown quite attached to these two boys over the past two months, feeling grateful that they accepted you and treated you like a human being instead of an animal.

When you stepped into the gym, it felt like your heart had been dropped into a bucket of icy water. ‘Why is Atsumi here? She’s… she’s talking to Noya… Does she like him?’ you frowned, heart skipping painfully within your chest.

“Okay, let’s practice!” Hinata bounded up behind you with a cheer, Kageyama at his side. This grabbed Atsumi’s attention, who turned to look at you with a wicked grin upon her lips and, in her hand, was your journal.

Your eyes widened, body shaking because you knew what was about to come. Your mind screamed at your body to run away, but it refused to listen, frozen in place.

“Guys, can I have your attention, please?” Atsumi called out, standing up on the bench so she could see everyone more clearly. “I’d like to read something to you all today. It’s a real comedy.”

Your lips parted, but no sound escaped. ‘No…’

She cleared her throat and opened the journal to one of the last entries. “‘I’m so hungry. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days, but that’s okay. Every time I think of food, I just have to picture Noya-senpai shining on the court.’”

‘Please… please, stop…’ Tears stung at your eyes, hands shaking.

“A confession?!” Tanaka cried out in surprise, looking between Noya and Atsumi.

Something about this situation felt wrong to Nishinoya, but he couldn’t quite understand why.

With her smirk widening, she continued. “‘Ever since I met him, I’ve been trying so~ hard to lose weight, but it doesn’t feel like anything has changed. I just want him to look at me once and call me pretty, but I know he never will. How could someone as perfect as Noya-senpai ever love a fat-slob like me?’”

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, books spilling across the floor. This caught the attention of the gathered boys, but you couldn’t see the expressions they held as you lowered your head, tears streaming down your chubby cheeks. ‘Why… why is she doing this? I don’t understand…’

Noya’s eyes widened in recognition and he rushed toward Atsumi, snatching the book from her hands and looking at the inside cover to find your name, scrawled across the page with a cute little doodle of a cat.

“Noya, what are you doing?” Daichi demanded, but the libero was far too angry to hear his captain.

His eyes flashed with anger as he glared at the girl, grip on the book making his knuckles turn white. “How can you be so cruel?!”

Atsumi simply shrugged, looking at you with a smug expression. “Because that fat pig deserves it.”

Hinata looked back and forth between you and her, confusion flooding him. “I’m confused, what’s happening? Why are you crying?”

Noya held the orange book above his head, not tearing his fierce gaze away from the girl. “This is Y/N’s journal.”

“What?!” Hinata’s wide eyes landed on your shaking form before narrowing at the girl. “What has Y/N ever done to you?!”

Atsumi scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh, please. Save the theatrics, will you? The pig has been suffering since their first day here and none of you noticed or bothered to care. Don’t start now, they aren’t worth the trouble.”

Realization sunk in as each member recalled a strange or questionable incident with you that you had waved off, telling them not to worry. Hinata was feeling the most guilty because he saw you every single day, but he hadn’t recognized the signs that you were suffering so much. He took a step toward you, the movement snapping you out of your frozen state. You suddenly bolted from the room, ignoring the cries of your name as Tanaka, Noya, Kageyama, and Hinata took off after you.

Daichi narrowed his eyes at Atsumi, his aura darkening. “You need to leave. You’re no longer welcome in this gym.”

She scoffed, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “You should be thankful that I got rid of your pig problem for you.” And then she left the gym.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

You had settled yourself behind the equipment shed that belonged to the baseball team, the field located on the opposite end of the school grounds. Your knees were pulled up as far as your stomach would allow, head leaning back against the shed. The sun had already set, darkness settling over the land as the full moon slowly started its ascent into the sky. The baseball team had long since cleared out, as most of the school had, but you didn’t dare move for fear of someone seeing you. You were sure that the volleyball team had already given up and gone home, but you were too afraid to take the risk of running into them.

Tears slid down your cheeks, ice cold in the chill of the nightly breeze. Your uniform did little to keep you warm, but that was irrelevant to you. You would give anything for the ground to just open up and swallow you whole, but life didn’t work that way. How the hell were you supposed to face the team now? And Hinata, your classmate?

‘Atsumi is super persuasive, I’m sure they agree with what she said…’ The thought made you cry harder, body shaking with sobs. You were so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you didn’t hear the frantic footsteps approaching, nor did you notice it when someone knelt in front of you. A warm hand rested on your shoulder and your body tensed up, but you kept your eyes screwed tightly shut, willing the person away with your mind.

“Y/N,” Noya called softly, his fingers rubbing soft circled into your shoulder. “Please look at me.”

‘I can’t…’ you shook your head, choking back a sob. ‘Please, just go away…’

He frowned, shifting so he could sit beside you, shoulder brushing against your own. “I’m so sorry. None of us realized you were being bullied.”

‘It’s not your fault!’ you wanted to tell him, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate with you.

Noya rubbed his finger across the cover of the journal where you had drawn Hinata as Goku and Kageyama as Vegeta. He wanted so desperately to demand why you hadn’t confided in your friends, but he felt like that would only make you feel worse and he didn’t want that. But then, what the hell was he supposed to say? He had never been in a situation like this before.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He wondered, angling his body so he could face you. You tried to hide your face from him, but he gently took your hands, pulling them to his lap. “The truth is… you had my attention from the first time you stepped into the gym. I thought you were so adorable how embarrassed you got after Hinata scared you.” He chuckled, threading his fingers through your own.

Your sobs had calmed down to soft hiccups, but you still refused to look at him.

“I noticed your efforts, too,” he continued. “I saw that you started walking to school and you probably feel like it’s not helping but it is. I’m really proud of you, Y/N!”

Your heart skipped a beat, eyes growing wide as they snapped to meet his own. There were no traces of deceit within his warm brown eyes.

“There you are,” he smiled, bringing his hand up to brush away a stray tear as it ran down your cheek. “You can’t give up. You have to keep going until you reach your goal! But you’re not alone anymore, Y/N. Karasuno’s volleyball team is cheering you on.” A fresh round of tears filled your eyes and he frowned, wiping them away with his thumb. “No more tears, okay?”

You found yourself leaning in to his warm touch as he stroked your cheek. “I-I’ll try my b-best…”

He nodded, feeling his heart flutter within his chest. “You really are beautiful, Y/N. Inside and out.”

Your cheeks burned as he leaned his face closer to yours. “N-Noya-senpai…”

“Call me Yuu,” he whispered softly, his breath tickling your lips.

“Yuu…”

Hearing his name upon your lips drove him crazy and he wasted no time claiming your lips. With his heart upon his sleeve, he used his mouth to convey how he truly felt about you. In such a short amount of time, you had become the center of his world and vice versa. He didn’t care about the size of your body, but he would support you if you decided you wanted to lose weight.

Nishinoya Yuu was already Karasuno’s guardian, but now he wanted to be yours, as well.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

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chmpgnpearls · 4 years

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 & 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 !

prompts & tropes list — send me a request and i’ll write it <3

— this is a detailed list of prompts and tropes that i’ve come up with or found online,,

— if you wish, send me a request with your preferred prompt/genre/trope (from this list or not!) and i’ll write it,,

— also feel free to mix and match the prompts you most like, no restrictions!,,

— just a little reminder that i write for nct ot21, i do not write smut but i do write suggestive scenes!

— also, please don’t request anything sexual or suggestive about chenle or jisung,,

TROPES

cryosleep ;

circus ;

freakshow ;

greek god / demigod ;

witch / warlock ;

Harry Potter au ;

photographer + model (member or reader) ;

stylist + brand ambassador (member or reader) ;

end of the world ;

post apocalypse ;

Avatar the last Airbender au ;

soulmate / twin flame ;

first date ;

rich kids ;

painter + muse ; (member or reader)

exchange student ;

boyscout ;

summer fling ;

royal ;

historical ;

fallen angel ;

guardian angel ;

college boyfriend ;

single parent ;

skater boy ;

stoner ;

best friends ;

enemies to lovers ;

spirit/ghost (member or reader) ;

fairy, siren, elf, vampire, werewolf, shapeshifter, nymph or whatever creature floats your boat ;

friends with benefits ;

FLUFF/CRACK PROMPTS

“Oi, do you have a thing for my best friend?”

“Is that my shirt?”

“Talk later, cuddles now.”

“Could you get that on the top shelf?”

“Fancy seeing you here!” “I literally told you where I was going to be.”

“You look...breathtaking.”

“Yeah well, you owe me a kiss.”

“Let me walk you home, please?”

“There’s no way that dish is supposed to smell like this.”

“Ohh I get it, you're jealous!”

“Do you trust me?”

“Come here, your hair is a mess.”

“Is this seat taken?”

“If you don’t tell me to stop, I’m going to kiss you.”

“Blanket hoggers don’t get morning kisses, sorry.”

“What the hell?” “Fuck, I guess this is not the bathroom then?”

“You’re so fucking cute.”

“Hello, it’s me again.”

“Whatever happens, I’m by your side, always.”

“Oh I’m never gonna let you live this down!”

“Wait, you actually remember that?”

“Alright, bet!”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You smell really good.”

“I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.”

“You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say yes.”

“If I ever die, I’m gonna haunt you forever.” “What do you mean IF?”

“I didn't get soaking wet through walking to your place for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

“Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers!”

“I’m the pun-master, you'll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Are you really suggesting to go to a cemetery at night?” “We’re smoking weed, it’s literally like burning sage!”

“This is not stonage, this is past stonage.”

“Do you know what did I even go in there to get?”

“What just happened?” “I swear it wasn't me!” “Well who was it then?” “Your cat... this little shit.”

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die with an absolute idiot!”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I guess chivalry is not so dead after all.”

“I’m not kissing you under the rain! You have a death wish or something?”

“God, you're so dense sometimes.”

“I want to wake up next to you every day.”

“Oh my god, we’re matching!”

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” “Do it then.”

“I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Alright, one more dad joke and you're single.”

"Keep smiling at me like that."

“Maybe you should leave the cooking to me.”

“Okay, patron saint of lost causes, suit yourself.”

“You’re lucky you're cute.”

FANTASY/SUPERNATURAL PROMPTS

“Why use doors when you can just walk though walls?”

“Make yourself at home, darling.” “Are you serious? How am I supposed to make myself at home in the middle of hellfire?”

“Can you show me your fangs/ horns/ ears/ wings/ claws?”

“Who would live all alone in the middle of the woods?” “Well, me and my friends, for starters.”

“Your cat just told me to fuck off.” “Oh, shit, I thought I made myself pretty clear when I said ‘no swearing’.”

“So you can just bat your wings and take off.” “Yup.” “No magic powder or spell?” “That’s Peter Pan, darling.” “Oh...”

“Of course I’m not gonna tell anybody! I wouldn't want my best friend to become a lab rat for some science freak.”

“Sometimes I talk to the moon, she’s my best confidante, you know?”

“What are you gonna do about it? You and your mediocre skills in charms don't scare me.”

“What do you mean you have a pet dragon?”

“You really don’t want to eat that, it’s in a spell jar for a reason.”

“Oh god please don't kill me! I’m too young to die so soon!” “Kill you? No, listen, you accidentally came into possession of something of mine, and I really need it back.”

“So you're telling me this [object] I bought is cursed?” “Yup. Sucks to be you I guess.”

“I could swear I saw that portrait follow me with his eyes.” “Yeah, I know, that’s my brother. He has the bad habit of freaking out pretty people by checking them out.”

"Maybe the dragon is right, maybe you are just a bitter person."

"Just because I am the chosen one doesn't mean I am above killing you."

"Perhaps we should have listened to the orc, those clouds look murderous."

"So, have you always sucked at dueling?"

“How much blood could one vampire possibly drink?”

“If you don’t like my plants, pick some other house to haunt!”

“I’m so sorry. I was trying a new spell and things got out of hand....really out of hand.”

“I know it’s you...but nice try.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re my favorite fleshy meatbag.”

“Look, if I wanted to harm you, it would have happened already.”

“Fuck you I don't have legs!”

“Stop screaming, you're scaring my [supernatural pet].” “Oh I’M scaring it?”

“If you don't stop flicking your wrist like that you're gonna poke someone’s eye out! Let me help you.”

“Merlin’s beard! What is it with your wand?” “Oh, I accidentally dropped it in the toilet this morning and now I think it’s mad at me.”

“Again? Ugh, this is your third time summoning me this week, it better be important!”

“Oh, my plants, they love visitors! Haven't you noticed how they're all standing a bit taller, ever since you walked in?”

“Your laugh...it’s cute. I noticed it makes flowers bloom.”

“Please make it stop, the Sorting Hat is tone bloody deaf.” “Do you really wanna say that about a magical hat that can read your mind?”

ANGST PROMPTS

“Did you ever feel the way I did at all?”

“I want you to be happy... even if it’s not with me.”

“You were not there... why weren't you there?”

“Stop being a fucking dick, will you?”

“I’m only important to you when you need something from me.”

“Please... just get out / go away.”

“I haven't really slept since you died.”

“How do we fix this?” “You can’t fix something that doesn't exist anymore.”

“You’re never gonna let this go, aren't you?”

“You don’t remember last night at all, do you?”

“I lost the baby.”

“Forget it, I should’ve never come here in the first place.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that when you broke up with me.”

“I don't deserve you.”

“I trusted you.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“You’re supposed to be yelling at me! And... and hitting me! Why aren't you doing that?”

“I just wanted to help...”

“Get out of my head.”

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“Don’t you dare leave me! Not now.”

“Tell me I’m wrong...please.”

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“There’s no us, there never was.”

“If you walk out that door, it’s over.”

“I made a mistake, okay? I’m human for fuck’s sake!”

“Hang on. You’re gonna be okay soon, just breathe.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“There’s no turning back from this.”

“You don’t get to come back after years and look at me like that!”

“You fucking disappeared, when I needed you the most.”

“Just shut up.”

“Wake up! Please wake up.”

“Do I know you?”

“We’re not good for each other anymore.”

“I’ve always been honest with you. You owe me the truth.”

“Do you know what a gunshot wound feels like?”

“Shh, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

“I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You’ve been crying, I can tell.”

“I fucking love you” “Hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober.”

“You haven't been picking up my calls.” “Yeah, I know. I did it on purpose.”

#;; prompt list #requests #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct blurbs #nct au #nct x reader #nct tropes #nct prompts

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