#Fishing Line Maintenance

[ricardoreview]

Can Fishing Line Go Bad? A Comprehensive Guide to Maintain and Save Money Buying Fishing Line

As an avid angler, you may have wondered, “Can fishing line go bad?” In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the factors that can lead to the deterioration of fishing lines and provide essential tips for maintaining them in optimal condition. Whether you use monofilament, fluorocarbon, braided, or copolymer lines, this article will equip you with valuable insights to enhance your fishing…

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter three

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: bar hopping, damsels in drunken distress, and a late night heart to heart. (5.1k)

warnings: swearing, alcohol, lando talks about the hungarian gp shitshow

a/n: yes this is me maybe slightly projecting my feelings about hungary onto my characters okay! they're my barbie dolls to play with i can do whatever i want 😌↕️ anyways hope u enjoy <3

previous chapter | masterlist

“Hello? Are you even listening?” 

You blink, bringing yourself back to reality and back to the current conversation. Your friends are looking back at you with matching concerned, albeit a little annoyed expressions. “What? Sorry, I was—I’m here, sorry. What’s going on?” 

Samira tuts, but not unkindly. They all know you’ve got a million things running in your mind at the moment. “I was saying our dinner reservations got canceled. Something about the kitchen having to close down for maintenance, I dunno. Anyways, it frees us up tonight and we’re trying to figure out what to do instead.” 

“Oh. We could stay in? Order some food, watch a movie?” 

“I know what we need,” Camille gasps suddenly, eyes lighting up like she’s just had a brilliant idea. “We’re going bar hopping tonight.” 

“Bar hopping? We haven’t done that since—” You pause, taking a moment to think. You haven’t been bar hopping since Samira got dumped by her girlfriend a few months back, the time before that when Maren finally cut ties with her situationship last year. The only time you all go bar hopping is after a breakup. They think what happened with Lando is the same as breaking up with a partner. “Guys, seriously, I’m fine. He was never even my boyfriend anyways!” 

“Say what you want, but you’ve been super out of it these past few days. You need to let loose, do something that makes you stop thinking of Lando and start thinking about yourself again.”  

You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think about myself plenty.”

Camille rolls her eyes at you. “I mean not in that mopey, sad ‘I say everything is fine even though it’s not’ way. There’s more fish in the sea than Lando. Find one, or don’t, it’s up to you. But you need to forget about him.” 

Your lips press into a thin line as you sink back into your seat.

You don’t want another fish in the sea. You want the weird little crab with the cute accent and the sparkly eyes, the one you’ve already let back into the water.

The one you can’t have. 

Things haven’t been too awkward with Lando yet, but they definitely aren’t the same. Two people who really like each other but have decided to remain friends doesn’t really scream smooth sailing from now on to you. The wound is still fresh, and there are hints of it as you spend more time with the guys. 

Immediately filling the empty seat next to each other like it’s second nature but then having to awkwardly scoot away when your shoulders bump or your hands brush. Lingering glances across tables and rooms until one of you breaks and looks away first. Finding him first in a place full of other people and drifting towards him, only to come to your senses and switch up directions at the last moment. 

You wish you could say forgetting Lando would be easy. It really isn’t—not when your friend groups have basically melded into one big one, and everyone gets along so well. It would’ve been easier if you’d gone your separate ways, but you don’t think your heart would’ve liked that very much. Not that it enjoys skipping a beat every time you catch Lando’s eyes on you a little too long either. 

You wrinkle your nose, brows following. “I’m sad and mopey?” 

“A little bit.” 

“Okay, fine. Fine, let’s go bar hopping,” You concede, letting your shoulders drop. 

If you’re going to get over him, you might as well start right now. 

That’s how you end up in bar number one of the night, four tequila shots on the bar table in front of you. You eye the unassuming little glass warily, even as each of your friends snatch one up eagerly. 

Samira, as if sensing your hesitation, nudges yours toward you. “It’s one shot, babe. It won’t kill you.” 

“I know that,” You insist, throwing your shoulders back. “I just…need a second.” 

“Take all the time you need. We’re going all night.” 

Tonight isn’t about your feelings for Lando. Tonight is about you moving on, moving past what could’ve been with him and looking forward to what might come next. With or without him. 

You hold up your shot towards them, grinning big. “Here’s to moving forward, and making memories that’ll last a lifetime!” 

Clinking your glass against all of theirs, you throw back the clear liquid as smoothly as you can, only wincing a little bit at the burn of it going down your throat. It isn’t your usual drink of choice, but change has to start somewhere, right? 

-------

As far as bars go, this one isn’t the worst one you’ve been to tonight, but the fun has started to wear off for you. You’d stopped drinking around bar number two, the buzz of your much tamer drink choices after those first few shots starting to die down bit by bit. On the other hand, your friends are still going full steam ahead. You’ve honestly lost track of how many drinks they’ve had at the bars you’ve hit tonight, but they’re holding on pretty well. 

“Fuck boys!” Samira exclaims, slamming another shot glass down onto the table with gusto. Maren and Camille agree wholeheartedly with identical slurred ‘yeah, fuck ‘em!’s that make you chuckle into your glass of water. 

You know they’re just trying to make you feel better about your decision, and in a way, it helps. You’d finally been able to talk about what went down that afternoon without feeling an indescribable rush of guilt, and although they were disappointed at first, it became less when you’d told them why. They’re your best friends, and they know you better than anyone, so they know for a fact Lando’s lifestyle was not the one for you. 

Tonight was supposed to be all about forgetting your feelings, but as the night went on longer and your inhibitions became lower, you still couldn’t help but think about Lando. That mental box you’d put him has burst wide open already. 

You’re a little embarrassed to admit it, but you’d done a little research on him after getting home, which turned into a deep dive of his career, his life, anything that piqued your interest in him. You were curious to know what a guy like him saw in someone like you. 

It felt a little weird to see him outside the Lando you’ve gotten to know him as, because he seemed…different. He’s still the same sweet guy you know, but on video he’s a more tame version of himself. 

Carefully chosen words and shy smiles, he wears his confidence like a suit of armor on camera, to protect himself against the world. Here, he’s all bursting grins and loud belly laughs, unfiltered and so, so happy. He seems so normal, it’s hard to remember that he’s not just your everyday guy. Lando is one of the best and well known racing drivers in the whole world.

Making sure to separate the two is important if you want to stay firm in your decision. 

Somehow it hits nearly four in the morning, and it’s about high time you make the executive decision to call it quits and go home. The only problem is, you’re the only semi-sober one out of the four of you. You have the car, but you don’t trust yourself to drive in this state. None of your friends are in any shape to be of any help either, not when Maren is nearly passed out on the tabletop, and Camille and Samira drunkenly swaying with each other right next to you. 

You don’t really trust any rideshares at this time of night in an unfamiliar place, and even then, there’s no way you can get them all home by yourself. There’s only one other thing you can think of, one other person you can call to help you out. The one person you were hoping to not have to call. 

The moment your finger hits Lando’s number, you have half a mind to hang up. You’re about to, but then the line connects. 

“Yeah, what?” Lando’s voice is gravelly, thick with sleep. A little grumpy. Of course he’s grumpy, it’s nearing three in the morning and he was probably asleep. You feel bad that you've woken him up, but you couldn't think of anything else. 

“Lando? I’m so sorry to be calling you this late, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Immediately, he sounds more alert when your name leaves his lips. “Is everything alright? What’s up?” 

You gnaw on your lip in contemplation until he says your name again, gentler this time. “We’re at a bar in town and the girls are really drunk and we need to get home, but I had a few drinks too so I didn't think I should drive. And I tried to call an Uber but at this time of night I don’t—” 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I can come pick you up.” He interrupts your rambling and you're grateful for it, because the more you talk the more you think this was a bad idea. You’re asking him for too much, you're stretching the limits of an already awkward friendship too far, you're— “Just tell me where you are, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course. Drop me your location and stay there.” You can hear rustling on his end of the line, pounding on a door, someone’s groggy voice saying something you can’t make out. Then Lando’s voice fills your ear again, soft yet firm. “Hang tight, ‘kay? Be there soon.” 

“Thank you so much,” You breath, truly grateful. He hangs up, and you can finally let out a breath of relief. Lando is coming. You won’t be stranded here. 

Lando jumps out of the car as soon as it pulls to a stop in front. He’s got on some nondescript jumper with the hood pulled up over his head and a random pair of joggers, and he definitely doesn’t look like he’d just been roused from his sleep. In fact, seeing him all disheveled with worry like this is kind of doing it for you. 

You’re in the middle of apologizing again when Lando crashes into you, arms wrapping around you tighter than you’re expecting, nearly squeezing the breath out of you. You meet Max’s eyes over his shoulder, who you’d just realized was also here, and he doesn’t look surprised at all. He looks rather smug, actually. 

“Are you okay?” Lando holds you at arms length, worried eyes scanning you for anything out of place, any injury. Other than your pride, you remain unharmed. Though that pesky fluttery feeling in your stomach is back again, as is the warmth in your chest, and it isn’t from the alcohol. 

His hood has fallen off from the force of his hug to reveal the tornado of curls on his head, flat on one side from his pillow most likely, as are the lines on his face from what was probably a good night’s sleep. Until you called, that is. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by the amount of care he still seems to have for you. It feels like an impossible feat to tear your gaze away from his. “Yes? I mean, yeah, I’m fine. You—wow, you got here fast.” 

“I thought maybe something—nevermind.” He cranes his neck around you to glance at your half asleep friends on the bench. “Are…they okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re fine. Tequila, y’know?” You shrug. 

Max lets out a snort of laughter from where he’s wandered over to check on them, waving a hand in front of Samira’s face. She swats at him halfheartedly, mumbling a sleepy, “Fuck off, Fewtrell.” 

“Sorry to wake you too, Max.” 

“Oh no, you didn’t wake me. He did.” He juts his chin over at Lando, who still has a hand around your elbow. You can’t help but let your eyes drop down to it, and Lando does too, inhaling sharply before letting go. Still, the warmth from his grip lingers. “And not very nicely might I add.” 

“I had to get you up quick!”

“You nearly took my head off with a pillow, you dickhead!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a kiss on the forehead?” Lando snorts. 

“Not from you!” 

“Come off it already, won’t you?” Lando turns his attention back to you instead, rolling his eyes playfully when he finds you stifling a giggle behind your palm. “You said you had your car?” 

“Um, yeah, it’s around the corner. We can just leave it here, I’ll circle back and pick it up in the morning.” 

Lando clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “It’ll probably be stripped for parts by tomorrow. How bout we split up? Two and two?” 

“Well, we all know who you want,” Max says knowingly. It makes your cheeks flame hot and Lando’s flush pink, but Max doesn’t waver in his shit eating grin. For some reason, you find his candid bluntness refreshing, even if it is poking fun at what’s going on (or not going on) between Lando and yourself. “You guys take Maren in your car, I’ll take these two and meet you at your house.” 

Max manages to coax Camille and Samira to their feet with little trouble, and before you know it they’re off, leaving you alone with Lando and a very sleepy Maren. He rocks back on his heels, biting the inside of his cheek awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do. 

“Should we—” 

“I think—” Lando bites back a laugh, gesturing for you to speak first. 

“We should probably get going.” 

“Right. Let’s get her in the car then, yeah?” 

You couldn’t be less well versed in cars if you tried, but even you know the one Lando came to your rescue in is expensive. You’re almost too reluctant to even sit in it. But then Lando’s hand touches softly against the small of your back as he pulls open the door without hesitation, and you have no choice but to help Maren in. 

Not like you had much of a choice anyways, what with him being the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress call. 

“Did you have fun? Before having to play mum to the girls, I mean.” Lando asks a little while later, not taking his eyes off the road. 

You blow out a deep breath, sinking back into the plush leather of the passenger seat. The soft smoothness is heaven on your skin. “Kinda. The first few drinks, at least. Felt a little out of place, honestly.” 

“What, you didn't charm some guy the same way you charmed me?” Silence fills the car like cement as soon as the words leave his mouth. A pang of something sharp shoots through you, something akin to hurt that flashes through your chest but is gone a second later. 

No, you shouldn’t feel hurt. You’re the one who hurt him. Even though he’s told you over and over that it’s okay, it’s fine, he understands your decision, Lando has every right to express his true feelings, no matter how it makes you feel. 

“Sorry, that was—that came out wrong. I just meant—” 

“I know what you meant,” You say quietly. He wants to know if you met someone else, and the answer is no. No, you didn't meet another guy, because all you could think about was him. But you’re just friends. You’d made certain of it. So why did you feel like you’d done something wrong? “I didn’t meet anyone else.” 

“Oh. Cool.” 

“Is it?” 

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he swallows thickly, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want. What you’re looking for.” 

“I don’t think I’m looking for anything right now,” Your voice is soft, nearly a whisper. 

I’m not looking for something that isn’t you, you could add. You don’t. It wouldn’t do anything other than hurt him, and yourself, even more. 

The rest of the ride home is basically silent, and Max is waiting on the sofa with the other two when you finally get there, entertaining a story that Camille is telling not unlike one would with a child, uh huh-ing and wow, that’s so cool-ing until he realizes you’re finally here. 

You take over from then, thank him profusely yet again when he says he’s going to head home, before corralling all three girls into the bathroom like a zookeeper with their animals. 

One by one, you help each of your friends through an abridged version of their night routines until they’re all ready for bed, and then you tuck them into the same bed as best you can. You’ve relegated yourself to the floor with a littering of pillows for the night. It’ll be easier to get to them if they need anything during the night if you’re all in the same room. 

You’re surprised to see Lando in the doorway once you’ve gotten them all settled in for the night. You thought he'd left with Max, but apparently not.  

He glances up as he hears you approach, frowning. “You’re gonna sleep on the floor?” 

You shrug. “Yeah, it’s fine. I can keep an eye on them that way. You can, erm, you can go home now. Go back to sleep.” 

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure they’ll sleep through the night. Plus, you must be knackered too. You should get some rest, yeah?” You want to say no, but your body’s response betrays you in that moment, because you yawn big, and it makes him chuckle. “Come on. Sleep in your own bed. I’ll watch over them.” 

“No way.” You shake your head insistently, despite the enticing offer. “You’ve already done more than enough, Lando, I can’t ask you to stay up all night. I’ve got them covered.” 

“You shouldn’t either.” He shoots back, chin tilting up in challenge. You match him as best you can with your eyes growing heavier and heavier by the moment, and eventually, he backs down, hands up in mock surrender. “How ‘bout we take shifts? The living room’s right across the hall, if we camp out there and anyone makes a racket, whoever’s up will be able to hear them.” 

You twist your lips to the side in thought. “Deal. I call first watch though.” 

“I can live with that. Why don’t you go freshen up, or something?” 

“Is that your way of telling me I stink?” 

Lando’s eyes glint with mirth, teasing smile curling his lips. “Maybe.” 

“Well, maybe you don’t smell too good either!” That’s a total lie. He actually smells really nice, a mixture of remnants of his heady cologne from the day and something fresher, a little citrusy. His soap, maybe? 

A hot shower certainly does wonders to sober you up the rest of the way, and as you’re toweling your hair dry enough to where it won’t be dripping water down your shirt, you take a good look at yourself in the fogged up mirror. 

This is fine. You can spend a night alone with Lando without feeling anything towards him. You can do this. You’ve done harder things than this. 

Lando’s frowning at something on his phone when you make your way back into the living room, scowling like whatever’s on the screen has personally wronged him. It isn’t the first time you've noticed his demeanor turn sour like this, and your concern is piqued each time. 

You clear your throat as if to announce your presence, offering him a small smile when his head whips up. “Hi. Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just work.” He tosses his phone on the coffee table, dragging a hand forward through his curls, mussing up the front before raking them back. It doesn’t seem to do anything but make them messier, but you suspect it’s more of a nervous habit than anything.

He smiles back at you as you sit a respectable distance away from him on the sofa, though even that looks entirely forced. Something is wrong, and it’s eating away at him. 

“Look, I know things aren't how they used to be with us, but I hope you know I’m still here for you. You can always talk to me if you need to.” 

Lando gnaws on his bottom lip, head tilting from side to side like he's unsure. “Really? You’d do that for me?” 

“Friends are there for each other.” 

He blows out a deep sigh, sinking back against the pillows like a deflated balloon. “Yeah? You’re sure?” 

“I’m a good listener, remember?” You nudge his knee with yours gently. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears.” 

He isn’t ready right away. For a little while, you sit in silence. You get the feeling Lando doesn’t have much experience with letting people in very easily, but it's okay. You’ll sit here as long as he needs to get his thoughts together. 

Finally he speaks, but even then, his tone holds hesitance. 

“I feel like everything is going to shit. The car is great this season, it’s better than it's ever been before, so that’s not the problem. It’s me, I’m the problem, I keep fucking everything up," He sighs, shoulders slumping. "And my team work so hard for me to be able to perform and deliver and I feel like I’m just letting everyone down, y’know? They deserve someone who can give them better than the shit stuff I’ve been putting out these past few races.” 

Lando as a person is impossibly hard on himself, you’ve come to learn—always thinks he could’ve done better, even if what he’s already done is enough. The same is true when it comes to his job. 

You’d know—you checked. In your uninformed opinion, the results he’s been achieving in the races are great. To be finishing high in the top five out of twenty of the best drivers in the world in almost every single race recently, it’s enough to make anyone proud.

But when you think about it from a competition perspective, a cutthroat drive with everything you’ve got, put everything on the line perspective, you get a sense of why he’s beating himself up. 

To know he can win and still fall short, race after race…god, you can’t even imagine how he must be feeling. 

You might be clueless still, but at the very basis of it all, you understand. Lando has worked so hard for so many years, put in blood, sweat, and tears, and he feels like he’s not living up to expectations. 

You know what it’s like to have such high expectations placed on your shoulders and nearly be crushed by the weight of everyone counting on you. Surely not on a scale as large as his, but you understand the struggle. 

Then he goes into the race in Hungary a few weeks back, and you can tell there’s some lingering hurt in him about what happened. 

“It’s like they were guilt tripping me or something. Telling me I’ll need the team in the championship fight, that I should do the right thing and give up my position. Call me crazy, but that just didn’t sit right with me at all. They want me to be a team player and that’s fine, I’m happy to, but I dunno…” Lando trails off, nose wrinkling like the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

You notice him picking at the skin below his nail and move without thinking, closing the distance between the two of you and redirecting his fiddling fingers by linking them with your own. 

It gets him to stop picking, but it also makes him stop talking. Whatever words are about to come out of his mouth die into a drawn out exhale, eyes drawn to your joined hands like a magnet. 

“Yeah? Keep going, I’m still listening,” You urge gently, nodding. Lando blinks at you, as if he’s lost his train of thought. “Hungary? The team?”

“Uh…yeah. Right. I was—I guess I just didn’t think they’d pull all that crap over the radio. Like, everyone could hear what they were saying—other teams, the commentators. It was on live broadcast too!” His fingers tighten around yours ever so slightly, dark brows knit with frustration. 

Even though you know close to nothing about the sport, what his team pulled seems like a dick move. You understand wanting to put their drivers in the best position possible, but airing things out on a radio where everyone can hear it feels wrong to you. Then again, you have no idea what goes on within a team at this type of performance level. 

“It’s like, they knew I’d do what they wanted me to do and I did, but for a moment, I almost didn’t. I almost went against team orders, and that’s…” He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “You don’t do that. You can’t. You listen to what your team says and you do it, and that’s the end. My boss has been calling every now and then, trying to get me to talk and shit, and I just don’t really wanna talk about work right now. I don’t even wanna think about it.” 

“Oh, Lando…” You sigh. Your thumb rubs circles over the prominent ridges of his knuckles, hoping it brings him some sort of comfort.

“I know I probably sound like such a brat right now, but I’ve given everything I have to McLaren and it still doesn't feel like enough. They want more, and right now…I’m not sure how much more I’ve got in me.” 

“Can I be completely and totally honest with you right now?” 

“Yeah, please.” 

You hesitate, taking a beat to reply. You don’t want him to take your response the wrong way. “I’m not gonna sit and pretend like I have any clue what it’s like to be in your situation, because I don’t. But I do think you’re being too hard on yourself. Yeah, sometimes you might not get the results you’d hoped for, but you’re doing the best you can, and that’s all you need to be doing.” 

Lando doesn’t need your advice, and you’re in no place to be giving any in the first place. He just needs someone in his corner, someone who cares about him to tell him that it’s okay to not be perfect. You want to be that person, even though you’re both still trying to settle into this new dynamic with each other. 

Thankfully, your words seem to soak in, easing the tension in his shoulders just a little bit. “Thank you. I think I really needed that.” 

“Glad I could help,” You say warmly, squeezing his hand. 

“Y’know, I just realized that I’ve never said any of that out loud to anyone.”

“Do you feel better?” 

Lando chuckles, and somehow, he even seems better. Like whatever was weighing him down was gone. “Yeah, I do. I feel…lighter, actually? Is that weird?” 

“Not at all. That’s what letting things out will do for you.”

“Maybe. But maybe it’s more than that, maybe it’s…you.” 

Your breath hitches in your chest. “Me?”

“You make me feel like I can be myself around you. Like, the real me, not the me the rest of the world knows me as. I feel genuinely happy around you, and I—I can’t just sit here and ignore it any longer. I still really like you. And I know what you said about us, and I know why, but I can’t help the way I feel around you. The way I feel about you.” 

“Lando, I—” 

“I swear I’m not trying to change your mind or make you feel guilty, or anything like that! I just had to say it before it made me explode,” He adds, exhaling shakily. “In the spirit of letting things out.” 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been starting to question whether or not you’d made the right choice by deciding to walk away from Lando, because the more you get to know him, the more it chips away at your resolve. He’s kind and sweet and funny, and he gets you like nobody else has before. It’s been hell these past few days, tiptoeing around each other when all you want to do is kiss him senseless.

Right now, you want to kiss him senseless. He’s right here in front of you, holding your hand, looking at you with those stupid sparkly eyes. You want to say it’s the leftover alcohol buzzing in your veins making you feel this way, but that would be a lie too. 

Fuck it. 

You cross the already dwindling space between the two of you, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, and kissing him softly. Lando freezes for a split second, but before you know it, he’s kissing you back, guiding you closer until you’re nearly on his lap. His hands roam your back, curling into the material of your shirt, thumbing under it just a tiny bit to stroke at the warm skin there. 

It isn’t at all like the first time you kissed. He lets you set the tone, following your slow lead without question. 

You’re not sure how long you keep at it—lazy, gentle kisses punctuated with hushed giggles and tiny satisfied noises from the both of you.

Lando takes a pause every so often, pulling back just enough to look at you, take in the sight of you breathless from his doing, and every time, his mouth curls into a squinty, close mouthed smile. You can only bear the fondness in his expression for a few seconds before growing too aware of the way he looks at you and kissing him again. 

Your brain doesn’t want to stop, but apparently your body decides you’ve had enough action for a day, because at some point you feel your eyes start to droop, chin following.

As if sensing your exhaustion, Lando pulls away, chest rising and falling heavily. He’s breathless, lips kiss-swollen as they curve into a soft smile. “We should stop. You need to get some sleep.” 

“No! We should talk about this. Us.” 

“I agree, but I don’t think you’re really in the right headspace to do it right now.”

“I’m fine! I’m okay, I swear.” 

“You just nearly fell asleep whilst we were making out.”

“For a second!” You whine, letting your head thunk against his chest. A chuckle vibrates through him. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m tired.” 

“Then go to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” He insists, lips pressed to the crown of your head. You sigh through your nose. You’d argue a little more, but Lando is right again. All you want to do is go to sleep. “I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ll be here when you wake up, we can figure it out then.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

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[bambiesfics]

Cock in a Gloryhole - Ellie x reader

𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ public sex, reader deepthroating Ellie’s cock (strap-on), Ellie cums untouched, Ellie yearns for readers lips, very hyper-sexual descriptions. Ellie’s strap is almost exclusively referred to as a cock/dick/etc, pining, missed connection. This is a filthy fic.

Ellie’s a slutty gay and very judgmental.

!!! [please help palestine] !!!

kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.

Ellie slid her converse off of the toilet handle. The brazen girl fished for her pants’ zipper. She held her cock in one hand, and fought with the zipper with the other. The cheap metal wasn’t fastening over the straps on her hips, it was catching on her harness. “Jesus fuck. Now? Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes and smoothed her bangs down. After a few beats, the bored brunette circled the stall, then slumping against the chipped navy door. Cock in hand, balls barely zipped up. She chuckled to herself, there was probably some stupid fucking metaphor for that out there somehwere. She wasn’t going to step out like that, with the veins of her dick saying “hi” over her half zipped pants? Fuck. No. It wasn’t in the cards. But the zip wasn’t budging. Ellie felt a scowl forming; The kid was pissed. She didn’t have time for this, not now. Not when there was a gorgeous service teller at the center that she’d been mentally undressing for the better part of her visit. A woman who belonged on her knees, in front of Ellie. A woman with the perfect mouth to suck dick clean. Ellie toe’d her converses on the dirty grout lines hatch marked across the tile floor. The repetition of it lulled her into a meditation as she contemplated how to escape this awkward mess she somehow tripped headfirst into. Getting into awkward shit like this was her forté, but the benefits of packing far outweighed the headaches.

The stall next to her swung open, the clacking heels were rhythmic and sharp. Feminine little steps. A woman sat down, and did her business as she hummed. Ellie scaled her eyes along the bathroom wall that separated her and the lady. The wall was grotty. Old and well worn from years of servicing and decades of business. The maintenance was abysmal on its best day, and it made for a pleasant surprise when Ellie’s eyes zero’d in on the hole carved out haphazardly. There were still pieces of drywall sticking out past the lament of duck tape all around the hole. Ellie chuckled grimily, just high enough that the woman paused her rustling once the realization that she wasn’t alone had settled. The prick-fucking developers who were responsible for this project definitely forgot to remodel this bathrooms stalls’ when they added a new male bathroom to the bottom floor of the building. The little glory hole had a glaring missing chunk of ‘wall’ from its separation of the two stalls, and it’d had that for years from the looks of it. It had a bunch of old thin splinters of amber oak and drywall sticking out. The eyesore pointed to the empty hole like a pair of flashing neon arrows pointing to a seedy Las Vegas strip club.

Ellie doubted it got used much, if at all. If any of the prissy women who sat down to release themselves understood why there was a giant fucking hole the size of a two baseballs stacked vertically in their bathroom stall. Nah, Ellie mused. They definitely just kept their gaze straight ahead if they noticed anything amiss. A prim attempt at respecting the other woman’s privacy. Except, the irony was in the fact that, the point of that hole carved in the wall, the hole yelling “FUCK ME,” was to trample all over another stranger’s privacy. To proclaim yourself a king with a heavy cock and see if they’d submit to it.

Ellie stroked her cock, squeezing the base then working her way to the tip, warming it up in her hands. She unzipped the rest of her pants, and let the balls spring free. The balls dropped a little past the zipper, it took the edge off the pressure in her leather jeans. Mmm, now this felt right.

She took a tentative step forward, debating her next step. But then she rolled her anxiety off her back. Undulating those fast twitch muscles that lined her back to stretch and warm, to relax. It wasn’t that serious. Call it “part of the plot,” call it whatever you want. But what Ellie wanted to do was going to be insanely amusing. She needed the amusement if she was gonna be stuck here until her zipper decided to cooperate. Ellie’s converses padded to the wall, it’s toe box lined up with the bottom of it. Nosing against the edge. She lined up her cock with the glory hole and slowly fed the hole inches of her cock, until she bottomed out and her balls were trapped between her hairy pelvis and the wall. She held her breath. Her palms scaled the wall. The woman on the other side gasped, Ellie could only imagine how she clutched her hand to her chest and scrambled to pull her bag up over her shoulder. Ready to run to building security and report the “creep” in the ladies bathroom stall. The creep was Elizabeth “I <3 pussy” Williams with her cock fucking a glory hole. This would make for a hilarious prank to joke about with Jessie later. Jesse would think Ellie was bustin’ his balls, making up some new lie to fuck with his head. And she’d revel in the way his face would drain of colour once he realized she wasn’t.

Ellie grasped the base of her cock and lifted it up a little bit, practically taunting “yoohoo!” With the motion. Letting her heavy shaft say “hi” to the poor woman who was facing it head-on. She grinned again, and prepared herself to tuck her dick back in her pants like a good boy and behave.

But then she heard clothes rustling, and the tug she felt on her harness made her eyes fly open. Her heart rate picked up. Blood was rushing in Ellie’s head. She didn’t actually expect a sweet lady to open up her lips and suck her off. But the eager lips on the other side, started sucking her cockhead before she could process it. The woman bubbled saliva onto Ellie’s tip to aid in the lubrication. Then the lady sucked Ellie’s fat cock in all the way to the hilt, until her nose bumped the soft skin shove Ellie’s groin. All that could be seen were puffy red lips and the tip of the girl's nose. But it made Ellie fucking sprung. Her mind was clouded with raging lust as the moans of “…fuck baby..” whimpered from Ellie’s lips. The rest of the sentence would’ve concluded with “…I didn’t expect you to actually blow me.” If Ellie could think straight.

The girl on the other side of the stall was enthusiastic to have cock in her mouth. She was sucking up and down Ellie’s full length. Using her sloppy saliva to help her lips slide up and down the length. Ellie shoved her pelvis into the wall until both of her hip bones were bruised and beat grinding against the wall. She was greedy to feel more suction. Ellie’s chubby cock had a puffy head, and a fat veiny shaft. Her cock was the color of obsidian, just like Ellie’s harness. And her wrinkly fat balls held her squishy testes. The ones she forced all girls to palm for reality’s sake. For all intents and purposes; this was Ellie’s fucking cock. And so she could feel it when the woman on the other side gagged on her dick so eagerly, it was as if she was desperate for Ellie to paint her throat in warm cum.

Ellie started moaning the more she heard the woman on the other side gag on her. She could just imagine the way her dick was creating an imprint in her throat, sliding down and bulging. Ellie was large, she’d seen her do that to a girl before. She couldn’t help but whimper at the image of a sweet girl impaling her dainty throat around Ellie’s thick piece, in a seedy business bathroom. God what a beautiful fucking piece of ass must on the other side of the stall. A girl with the lips of a killer, sloppy and greedy. Hungry to suck off a creep. Probably with a perfect vagina to match; a hole just as sloppy, just as greedy. A hole only fit for a King to thrust into. Good thing Ellie thought of herself as a King too. Ellie decided, as she watched your red lips deepthroat her length, that the very moment the girl on her knees was done digging her tongue into Ellie’s cock slit, she’d knock down the door of the stall you were in, and ram into your glossy pussy over the toilet. You would coat Ellie’s cock in the sticky saliva held inside your puffy little hole too. Two sets of lips for Ellie to abuse.

Ellie bit her fist to prevent herself from choking out a moan. God. You popped your lips off, and stroked up Ellie’s dick with your little fist. Up and down and up and down, before you put it back in your mouth to deepthroat one more time. You wanted to nose against the pale girl's skin again, feel her bush tickle the tip of your nose. Smell the soft patch of hair, the salt of her skin. The sexy art of her bush and happy trail. Ellie yelled out a hoarse “Fuck-k!” And you could tell she came. She soaked her black Klein boxers. Maybe she came from those eager motions grinding her harness against her swollen pink clit. Or maybe she came untouched, hole spasming scarily just because of how aroused Ellie was by you. You placed a gentle kiss on her cockhead with your red lips. Ellie bit down her fist, hard. She broke skin, and drew blood.

If you could’ve, you would’ve loved to have Ellie’s real cum dribbling down your tongue instead. You stood up to pull your panties flush against your plump cunt. Finished with your prior business. There was slick dripping in between all of your puffy folds, and you knew your panties would stay wet the entire rest of the day from just the way they were suctioned to your cunt alone.

You stepped out to wash your hands, heels clacking with an air of comportment. You waited for the girl whose cock you inhaled, to come out of the stall and address you. But she never came. Her back was pressed against the wall. Instead she slid down to collect herself. So you fixed your blouse, hid your cleavage, touched up your smeared lipstick after rubbing it all off on Ellie, and massaged your nipples so they wouldn’t poke so prominently through your blouse. You shimmied in your tight skirt and clacked out of the bathroom. Leaving the girl hiding in the stall, to catch her breath and will the staccato of her heartbeat away. Ellie wasn’t new to coming untouched, but coming from the visuals and motion of a stranger sucking her cock clean? That — that was a new one. She gulped and adjusted her boxers, because fucking Christ, they were heavily soaked from her own slick. With shaky hands the pale girl fished for her leather pants zipper. Pleading with the bitchy, cheap, metallic hardware over and over, until it finally pulled all the way up.

A rapid river of relief washed over Ellie, she couldn’t afford to be stuck in there anymore. Ellie stumbled out of the washroom, hoping to find you. She snapped her head back and forth, then stumbled around in circles trying to catch a flash of sloppy red lips. She thought of going to people and asking if they’d seen a lady with puffy red lips strut by. But then thought better of it. The idea sounded dumb as rocks, even to her own horned-out brain. Ellie rubbed her cock through her pants, feeling phantom sucks from memory. You were burned in her brain, forget the cute teller from earlier. You were her new Madonna, her new whore.

In your honour, she’d stroke her g-spot to a hot strap blowjob video tonight, to keep the memory of your filthy cocksucking mouth fresh.

Ellie hoped if there ever was a next time in that glory hole for her, that you’d line your little greedy hole right up in front of the glory hole in the stall, so Ellie could make you drip your cream down her cock. She’d love to pull her dick out of you, just to marvel at the beautiful rings of milk wrapped around her veiny shaft from your own sopping cunt. Ellie savored the idea of the screams she’d rip out of you, the cries and pleads you’d wail for her ears only. She’d rip you apart, and that would be the fucking cherry on top of her fucking birthday cake.

If she got the cake, she’d love to write “Ellie ‘Hung’ Williams” on the face of it just for shits.

[kxsagi]

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥”

a/n: happy birthday to my husband, my glorious blue-eyed king goatsagi, but also the love of my life for the past almost 5 years. it's been amazing watching you grow into the man you are, cussing out everyone with your slurs on the field and defeating all of your opponents, turning them into real-life clowns and mcdonald's employees, gosh i love isagi yoichi so much

the apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city lights and the soft flickering of the birthday candle sitting on top of the cake. it’s just the two of you, and the simplicity of it makes everything feel a little too perfect. isagi’s staring at the cake like it might explode any second, and you’re trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. 

“so... it’s just us, huh?” he asks, looking around like he’s waiting for some grand surprise. 

you grin. “yep, just you, me, and this gourmet cake i spent hours slaving over.” 

he raises an eyebrow, his face a mix of doubt and curiosity. “you? spent hours? please. the only thing you’ve spent hours on is probably picking a good frosting color.” 

you gasp, hand on your chest. “excuse me? i’ll have you know, this is a chef’s creation. it’s not just cake, it’s an experience.” 

he laughs, clearly not buying it. “uh-huh, sure. you’re definitely not gordon ramsay level.” 

“rude. i’m a baking genius,” you retort, sticking your tongue out at him. “you’re lucky to even be getting this cake. don’t act like i didn’t just bless your life.” 

he picks up a fork, eyes narrowing as he inspects the cake. “hmm... what’s the catch here? is this like, secretly a broccoli cake or something?” 

you smirk. “you’ll find out soon enough. maybe i put in a little extra surprise. like salt instead of sugar?” 

he shoots you a look. “you’re sooo funny.” but you can see that he’s genuinely nervous as he takes the first bite. 

the moment he chews, his eyes go wide, and he pauses. you hold your breath. 

“… okay,” he says slowly. “this is actually... pretty good.” 

you throw your hands up in triumph. “see?! i told you! i’m the best.” 

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters, chewing more, still looking suspicious. “it’s just... this is good, but i’m still waiting for the catch. this tastes too good to be true.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “you really think i’d poison you?” 

he shrugs, still chewing. “honestly, with you, anything’s possible.” 

you gasp, dramatically clutching your heart. “i cannot believe you right now. you’ve wounded me.” 

he grins, all too pleased with himself. “hey, i’m just saying, you’re the one who almost got me a pet fish for my birthday.” 

you cross your arms, pretending to be offended. “almost? it was a solid plan! fish are low-maintenance!” 

he snorts. “sure. except for when they die two days later and you’re left with a small funeral for your pet fish in the bathroom.” 

“okay, fine. it wasn’t my best idea,” you admit, not even trying to hold back a grin. “but i still think a pet fish would’ve been a good gift.” 

he shakes his head, still laughing. “no way. you’re not getting me a fish. i draw the line there.” 

you stick your tongue out at him. “you don’t even know how to take care of a fish. i’d be the one cleaning the tank, feeding it, probably talking to it too, like ‘hey, bro, how’s it going today?’” 

he shakes his head in mock horror. “nope. not happening. next time, just get me socks or something.” 

“socks? wow, how original.” you pause for dramatic effect. “you know, maybe i’ll just get you... a gift card. for, like, a fish store. that way, you can pick out your own fish and deal with it.” 

“you’re cruel,” he says with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “absolutely cruel.” 

“i know,” you reply smugly, taking a bite of your own cake. “but it’s all part of the fun.” 

after a beat of silence, you both fall into a kind of quiet rhythm, just enjoying the cake and the ridiculousness of the conversation. isagi’s still poking at the cake with his fork, clearly trying to avoid admitting it’s actually good. 

“you know,” he starts, breaking the silence, “this is actually kind of nice. just the two of us. no crazy parties, no surprises... just, like... us.” 

you glance over at him, and for a split second, your heart flutters. “yeah,” you say softly. “i’m glad it’s just us too.” 

“you sure you don’t want me to throw in a trampoline next year?” he teases, giving you that grin you can’t resist. 

you roll your eyes. “next year? i’m getting you an entire bouncy castle. you’ve earned it.” 

“a bouncy castle?” he laughs. “okay, but only if it has a slide, and a ball pit. i need that full experience.” 

“done,” you say, grinning. “but, you’re the one who has to climb out of the ball pit when you get stuck.” 

he raises an eyebrow. “me? stuck? i’m the one who’ll be pulling you out.” 

“uh, no, you’re the one who’ll be posting a crying selfie while trapped in it,” you tease. 

“wow, you’re so supportive,” he says, rolling his eyes. “you’re getting a wet sponge for your birthday next year.” 

there’s a brief pause where the city’s noises almost feel distant, and it’s just the two of you in your little bubble of ridiculousness. and then, he looks over at you, his gaze softening, and you both sort of… melt. 

“hey,” he says quietly, catching your eye. “seriously though. thanks for today. it’s been really nice.” 

you feel your heart do this weird flip in your chest. it’s so easy to get lost in the chaos of being with him, whether it’s teasing each other about bad cake or trying to figure out what gift you’re going to get next year, but moments like this remind you of just how much you like being with him. 

“you’re welcome,” you reply softly, trying to play it cool. but you know your smile gives you away. 

he notices, of course, and before you can say anything else, he speaks again. “you know, if we keep this up, i’m gonna get used to all this... nice stuff from you.” 

“good. you should get used to it,” you say, trying to sound casual. “it’s the least i can do after spending hours slaving over that cake.” 

“i’ll admit, that cake was impressive,” he says, leaning back in his chair, eyes twinkling. “i might just have to marry you just for that.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “oh yeah? you think you could handle me?” 

he shrugs, looking genuinely thoughtful. “i think i could manage.” 

you shake your head, laughing. “you’re an idiot. but you’re my idiot.” 

he grins, clearly pleased with the sentiment. “hey, i’ll take it.” 

and just like that, everything feels a little warmer. more comfortable. this is how it always is with him – silly arguments, teasing, and somehow, you both just seem to fall deeper into this... thing you’ve got going. best friends, annoying each other in the best way. 

you pick up the fork again, shoveling more cake into your mouth. “next year, i’m getting you socks, by the way.” 

he groans dramatically. “you really are cruel.” 

“you love it,” you say, flashing him a smile. 

“yeah, i do,” he replies, eyes softening just a little. 

and you know, in that moment, that this, just this, is everything. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[divinit3a]

oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette. 

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines. 

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms. 

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets. 

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day. 

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.  

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen. 

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade. 

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together. 

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical. 

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert. 

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder. 

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy. 

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all. 

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.  

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive. 

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks. 

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles. 

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly. 

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium. 

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty. 

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops. 

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward. 

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion. 

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort. 

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift. 

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic. 

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath. 

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out. 

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange. 

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards. 

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.  

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex. 

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head. 

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that. 

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum. 

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard. 

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away. 

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear. 

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste. 

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed. 

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being. 

The siren lurches toward you. 

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.   

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion. 

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges. 

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain. 

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause. 

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world. 

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.  

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

[luvvixu]

how to tame your boyfriend

content: bf!gojo, mentioned of sex and sexual stuffs, 16+, fluff, drabble, does not contain any smut, i think gojo's like this can't blame me

wanna know how to tame your annoying (and horny) boyfriend when your flight is delayed?

that's very easy. just buy him some lego and he would go on instant mute.

"i can't believe you really bought satoru—a full 27 years old ass man—a set of legos?" your friend from the other line, shoko, wheeze and at the same time confused for your action to tame your boyfriend.

sighing hardly while massaging your temple, you answered. "i had to, sho. he won't stop bothering me to have a quickie since our flight was delayed and he was bored."

your flight overseas was delayed for three hours because of some maintenance needed to be checked in the aircraft. now, satoru thought it is a good idea to spend those three hours having a passionate fornication.

of course you immediately dislike the idea even though you are tempted too. you value your morals, ethics, and dignity. unlike your boyfriend, he has no shame and would even proudly tell some random people that you are his by some marks solely created.

"could've played with his phone but seriously, why lego?" shoko was still laughing, now that you opened your camera and showed her your boyfriend who's literally sitting on the airport floor with bricks of lego on his hands.

satoru looked so focused and unbothered, which is an extremely good thing—like he couldn't stop whispers in your ears, whining about how needy he is right now and how badly he wanted you. but now he's occupied, it is the greatest relief for you.

"first, his phone is dead and was tempt to buy a new fucking phone just because he said charging using a power bank takes a lot of time. had to smack the shit outta him and force him to get out of the apple store."

yep, the idiot forgot to charge his phone before you left for the airport. now his phone is dead, the desire to buy a new one instead of waiting for his phone to be charged in a powerbank is crazy. although, money is not a problem for the head of the gojo clan—he got figures that cost more, more, more than your annual salary.

"second, lego made him focused and entertained on building it, not for having scandalous sex with me. i feel like he's being my child than being my boyfriend at this moment." you joked, lowering your voice so your big baby wouldn't hear you.

"you said it yourself that satoru is a full package." shoko rolled her eyes, but she's not wrong tho. satoru is everything, he could easily afford things and could even make some things impossible to possible.

"touché."

shoko let out a laugh. "anyway, gotta go now. got a client in an hour so bye my boo, mwa!" sending also a virtual flying kiss to your platonic friend, you both bid a farewell to with sweet smile on your faces.

as you ended the call, you turned your attention to your boyfriend who's now almost done on his lego that he's been occupying himself for like an hour now.

you made to take some photo of him and post it on your close friends in instagram because this scene of your boyfriend is literally a wholesome and definitely iconic. satoru glanced at you when he heard you giggle at some adorable shots of your boyfriend.

"what are you laughing at?" your boyfriend glanced up to you, confused and warily.

you shook your head, holding your laughter to not raise any suspicion. "nothing babe, just focus on fishing your lego instead of other things."

satoru showed you the figure "oh but i'm finished and we still have like an hour before our flight…" he paused. your mouth hangs wide, questioning about how the hell he builds almost five hundred tiny pieces in just an hour?! truly your boyfriend was really something but this is wild.

"how did you—"

"can we have a quickie now?" satoru smiles sheepishly.

your face turns more sour at his shameless request. although you understand that satoru is a man in need, but his neediness sometimes is really out of place and it took a lot of effort just to stop him from doing so.

"no, satoru. instead, we're going to have a quickie stop at the lego shop to buy you some more entertainment."

your boyfriend pouted at your answer like a hurdled puppy. "but i'm enjoying it more when i'm inside you."

that completely took you off guard.

"... tempting but no."

©luvvixu2023

[lyn31]

I really loveeee all of your fanfic, especially the interaction between zayne&mc with their kids🩵🩵

Anyway, I just read The World's Underneath the Frontline. And MC? She's sooo cool when she fights wanderers. So how about when Zayne takes his day off so he can take care of their kids fully because his wife is on a secret mission where it takes all of a day to succeed. Then they go out to buy something. But suddenly there's a wanderer attack and MC is on the rescue! So I want to know their reaction when she fights the wanderer in front of them.

Have a nice day!

Heyyy thank you! I'm glad you enjoy them! I didn't include the twins here but hopefully this is still hit what you're thinking of! Let me know what you think! 👀💕

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Like a Star

Summary

During a routine patrol gone wrong, you lead your squad into battle—unaware that your daughter is watching from behind the barricade, wide-eyed with wonder as her hero comes to life.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, cute, sweet, banter, silly, cool mom!

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The day starts soft. You press a kiss to Serena’s cheek and another to Zayne’s lips, still laced with sleep, before slipping out for morning patrol. Your squad’s schedule today is routine—nothing special, nothing dangerous. Just a sweep along a quiet sector that’s had minor fluctuations in energy, most of which have turned out to be false alarms.

Still, it leaves Zayne with the rare opportunity to spend a full day with Serena. She’s practically bouncing when he lifts her into his arms. She hasn’t said much, but her eyes are practically beaming with wonder.

You wave them off with a smile, and don’t think about them again—until the sky shifts.

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Zayne walks with Serena through the wide synthstone plaza, his coat catching the wind as she chatters about constellations and glowing fish from the aquarium they just left. Her hand fits snugly in his. He listens, quiet as ever, occasionally murmuring a question or thought that makes her blink up at him wide-eyed before skipping ahead.

The plaza stretches in clean, minimalist curves—smooth synthstone beneath their feet, glowing faintly at the seams where maintenance drones pass through at night. A line of translucent info-screens hover along one side, displaying everything from weather reports to floating advertisements. In the center, a kinetic sculpture rises—thin metal arcs rotating in slow, gravity-defiant loops, catching stray sunlight and casting prismatic shadows across the open space. It’s designed for foot traffic and open air—too exposed for comfort when something unnatural begins to stir.

The air hums.

It’s subtle. Most wouldn’t notice—but Zayne does. The light feels slightly warped. Sound carries oddly in the open space. The threads of energy that usually drift unnoticed along the ground begin to ripple with purpose.

He doesn’t tense. Doesn’t raise alarm. He simply shifts Serena behind him slightly and lifts his gaze to the far side of the plaza, where officers are already placing barrier nodes and guiding pedestrians away with firm but calm instructions.

“Daddy?” Serena’s voice is small, muffled by his coat as she hugs his side.

“It’s alright,” he says, and kneels beside her. “Nothing to worry about.”

She peers past his shoulder. In the middle of the plaza, just behind the thin protective barriers, the sculpture’s spinning arcs flicker as the rift blooms behind it—like reality snagging on something sharp. Shadows twist where there should be light, swallowing the clean symmetry of the plaza and twisting it into something jagged and wrong.

More officers arrive, reinforcing the outer lines. Civilians are kept at a safe distance, some murmuring nervously, others pulling out phones to record.

Then—your squad arrives.

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Lara lands first, her boots catching hard on the pavement, the glow of her Evol already stretching outward to shield the perimeter. Rose flashes in with a flick of her hand, already slashing through the first creature that claws its way out of the rift. Tara moves like lightning around her, redirecting an attack straight into another beast before you even step into the scene.

And then you do.

You walk into the plaza with calm, practiced focus, your weapon already active, energy circling your frame in soft pulses. You don’t rush. The moment you enter the field, your team moves tighter—more efficiently. Your Evol hums through their veins, and you feel it the instant their strength sharpens, their senses heighten.

From behind the barrier, Zayne watches.

And Serena—she stares. Eyes wide. Mouth open in a tiny “o.” One hand still curled into his coat, the other lifted in a soft, quiet clap. Like it’s instinct. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“That’s Mommy,” Zayne murmurs.

She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy watching you walk straight into the chaos without flinching.

Your shot lands, clean and sure. You barely need to watch it fall before your gaze flicks to the side of the barrier—and finds them.

There. Zayne stands tall, one arm around Serena, familiar stillness—quiet and steady, like the pale edge of morning light chasing off the dark. Serena is at his side, clutching at his sleeves, her little boots barely touching the ground as she cranes forward for a better look.

You catch their eyes. One heartbeat. Two.

You wink.

His breath catches for a second—barely audible, but there. Something folds quietly behind his ribs, a kind of warmth he doesn’t name. His brows lift—visibly struck for a beat even when he acts otherwise. Like something in his chest stutters at the sight of you. That quiet confidence. That impossible grace in the middle of wreckage.

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches, eyes sharp and warm, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of this moment for himself.

Serena’s jaw drops.

The moment you wink, she gasps—a tiny, delighted sound like someone let a secret out of her chest. Then her face splits into a huge, stunned smile. Her hands fly up to her cheeks like she just watched magic happen.

“Mommy winked at me,” she whispers.

Zayne glances down at her, voice gentle and amused. “I believe that was directed at both of us.”

Serena beams, like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Then she lifts both hands and starts clapping—small and quiet, her palms barely making a sound, but entirely sincere. Her eyes never leave you. There’s no fear. Just awe.

“She’s so pretty and strong,” she says with all the breathless reverence of a five-year-old seeing a superhero for the first time.

“She is,” Zayne agrees, watching you move again. His voice stays low and even—more emotion in it than tone. “She always has been.”

In front of you, Rose immediately groans loud enough for half the plaza to hear.

“Oh my god—can you not flirt with your family during combat!”

You don’t answer. You just shift your stance and fire, your bolt slicing clean through one of the advancing creatures. The hum of your Evol deepens, syncing perfectly with Tara’s next move as she dodges past the collapsing body and spins—redirecting a creature’s leaping lunge straight into Rose’s waiting slash.

“I would flirt too if I have a cute kid and husband watching me,” Tara mutters as she ducks behind Lara’s shield for cover, recharging her gauntlets with a click.

“Stop encouraging her,” Lara hisses, eyes scanning for the next wave. “Attention to the front, please.”

But even she sounds like she’s holding back a smile.

You flick your wrist, and your weapon shifts into charge mode. The hum beneath your palm intensifies—light building fast, like a pulse drawn straight from your chest. It stretches outward, twisting into a concentrated beam that launches with a deafening snap. The gun blast hits the ground between two advancing creatures, detonating with a thunderclap that sends smoke curling up like a broken signal flare.

The impact throws the creatures off balance—one is flung into a lamppost, the other into a crumpled heap against the edge of the plaza. You’re already moving before the bodies hit the ground, posture relaxed, breathing steady.

This isn’t chaos. This is choreography.

“Left!” Rose snaps.

You spin on instinct, weapon lifting mid-turn. A creature bursts from the shadows, all limbs and glinting teeth—but your bolt pierces straight through its skull before it can even finish its lunge. The force of it sends the body flipping backward, crashing hard into the pavement with a squelch and a dying screech.

Gasps rise from the gathered crowd behind the barricades—shock, awe, the glow of a few holorecorders blinking on in shaky hands.

On the edge, Zayne stands calmly. He shifts only to pat Serena’s head, his hand smoothing over her hair like it’s just a light breeze, not a battlefield in front of them.

Serena is nearly bouncing, her little fingers curled tight around the edge of his coat sleeve. Her eyes shine—not with fear, but fascination. She watches your every movement, wide-eyed, silent. Like she’s storing this moment deep in her bones.

Then the tremor hits.

A second wave comes bursting through the alley—leaner, quicker than the first. Their claws rake against the concrete as they rush in a skittering blur, eyes glowing, screeches rising in discordant harmony.

“Form up!” Lara barks, raising her arm.

Her shield slams down between the crowd and the front line, flaring gold like molten glass. The incoming creatures slam into it hard, but the barrier holds with a flare of heat and light.

Before the echo of impact fades, Rose and Tara are already in motion.

Rose disappears into a blur of violet slash—her Void Reid scything through the left flank, precise and fast. She barely slows as she cuts down the first two, her expression unreadable, blade glowing brighter with each kill.

Tara launches forward beside her, absorbing one creature’s swipe and redirecting it back with a sickening crack—its own momentum twisting its limb backwards. She ducks, twists, and lets her gauntlets pulse with stolen kinetic energy before unleashing a point-blank blast that throws another into the plaza fountain.

You join the rhythm—seamless, instinctive.

Your Evol flows outward, threading through their bodies like strands of light. You feel it catch—Rose’s sharpness sharpening further, Tara’s hits growing heavier. Their movements sync closer, tighter, brighter. They’re not just moving better—they’re moving with you.

And it shows.

The next few minutes blur into something smooth, deadly, efficient. Creatures fall faster. The squad moves like a single living thing. Rose guards the left. Tara sweeps the middle. Lara maintains the front, her shield flashing each time something dares get close.

You shift positions constantly—supporting where needed, protecting weak angles, eliminating anything that breaks through.

The battle doesn’t drag. It doesn’t even linger.

Five minutes. Maybe less.

And when the final creature lets out a distorted screech and crumples beneath Rose’s blade, the quiet that follows rings louder than the fight itself.

The rift at the edge pulses once—then begins to seal.

The glow fades.

The crowd begins to exhale.

And you—heart steady, hands only slightly shaking from the adrenaline—just let yourself breathe.

Then—another tiny clap. Serena, still watching, still in awe.

She’s still standing behind the barrier, clapping slowly with a face full of wonder. Like she just watched a fairy tale unfold—only brighter, louder, more real than anything she’s imagined. Zayne kneels beside her again, brushing back a bit of her hair.

You let out a breath and holster your weapon, jogging over to them as police start officially marking the scene for clean-up.

Serena runs to you the moment you’re close enough, arms wrapping around your leg.

“Mommy,” she says into your thigh. “You were so cool! You look like a star.”

Your heart squeezes. Ah right, she must’ve been talking about your glow. You crouch to her level and kiss the top of her head. “Did you like the show?”

She nods seriously. “You made the monsters go boom.”

Zayne steps closer and brushes a bit of ash off your shoulder with the same calm care he applies to everything.

You exhale without meaning to. He does too. Like something in both of you finally eases now that the danger’s passed.

Then, without missing a beat, he murmurs, “You missed a spot.”

You give him a look, but the warmth in his gaze still turns your stomach to sparks.

Behind you, Rose huffs a laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Tara chimes in, clearly entertained. “I look that cool too but I can’t brag to anyone about it, so I live for this.”

“And I live for getting home in one piece, so if you’re all done being emotionally fulfilled, let’s move.” Lara finally says massaging her forehead.

You laugh, scooping Serena into your arms.

“Next time, I’m charging admission,” you murmur, still glowing—just a little.

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It’s late when you finally step through the front door, muscles sore but the buzz of the day still lingering under your skin. You only get halfway out of your boots before you hear soft footsteps pattering across the floor.

“Mommy!”

Serena’s already charging toward you, arms out, feet bare, eyes full of the wonder she had behind the barricade. You catch her easily, lifting her into your arms with a tired laugh as her warmth sinks into your bones.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” you murmur against her hair.

“I waited,” she whispers back, almost proud of herself.

Zayne’s footsteps follow more slowly. He’s holding a cup of something warm, and you can tell from the gentle smile on his face that he didn’t try to stop her. Not this time.

“Show her,” he says simply, and Serena lights up.

“Oh! Right!”

She wriggles out of your hold, races to the living room. You lift an eyebrow toward Zayne, which he only replies to with an amused curve of his lips. He leans in for a quick kiss before he says, “Welcome home.”

You grin, “I’m home,” and wrap your hands around him.

And then Serena returns with a sheet of paper held high over her head like a trophy.

“I made this!” she declares, thrusting it into your hands. Zayne steps back a little, giving you space to look at Serena’s masterpiece.

You blink at the paper—then smile, slow and a little speechless.

It’s you. Definitely you. Mid-fight, hair flaring like fire, light glowing in both hands as you stand between sketchy, cartoonish-looking creatures and a waving little crowd. There’s a massive explosion in the corner, complete with scribbled BOOM and spark lines. The squad is all there—Rose looking dramatic, Tara with her fists in the air, Lara with what’s clearly a very large shield.

And you? You’re surrounded by stars.

“They look like that because you glowed,” Serena explains matter-of-factly. “Like a real star. I remembered it.”

Your throat tightens. You glance at Zayne, who meets your gaze with something quiet and soft in his eyes—like he saw the same thing she did. Maybe still does.

“It’s perfect,” you say finally, crouching down to hug her again. “You’re amazing.”

“I wanna be like you when I grow up,” she tucks her face into your shoulder, quiet for a moment.

You hold her just a little tighter. “You’ve already got the heart for it.”

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Notes

I look up "How to write cool fight scene correctly" 😂 That was an interesting research to do ahahahaha I enjoy this very much, hopefully u guys as well!

[anystalker707]

Catch me when I fall

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Being stuck in a small city with barely any service during the business rush of the holidays feels like hell when you're an agent of a great company. Tags: very generic, cliche, cheesy christmas plot / very very very sweet / comfort / decorating christmas cookies / watching christmas lights / ice skating / christmas activities

requested by ms rain the queen herself @bimbo-baggins17

MASTER LIST

          Christmas wasn’t important. Well, actually, it was, when it came to numbers. Profits went high, people and sales everywhere, and you’d usually always be the one going on business trips for the company, going around to sign contracts or take pictures shaking hands with people to seal business deals and keep the appearances.

Business kept your mind busy during the holidays, set on what needed to get done, away from distractions. The November-January period was busy, much like June-August, so the main difference was simply the weather and decorations.

This year’s destination seemed nice—a little, cozy city that made its profits mainly during the holiday season because of tourism, and encouraging small businesses was the company’s great aim this time. The pictures of you with the mayor and other local authorities were everywhere by now for the new campaign.

Everything was going great. Maybe a little too great to be true.

“The road’s blocked?” You blinked a couple of times, taking a deep breath.

“Well, you see…” The driver cleared his throat and coughed, looking away, looking at the cars that eventually passed down the frozen streets, though there weren’t many. Not in such a small city.  “The weather was too intense, so the bridge’s under maintenance. It will take a while to fix since we gotta make sure it’s safe ‘n all, y’know. Gotta have a good weather t’work.”

Something felt like it was about to snap inside you. There was going to be another important meeting in two days. “What about the other exit? Plane? Boat? Helicopter?”

The driver flinched a little more with each word. “Look, Mx., I really believe the best’s t’wait. M’bad, but safety comes first, y’know? ‘N the city’s small. No other exit.” He shrugged as he leaned back against the car, but quickly fished his phone out of his pocket with a sigh. “Look, Mx., I really gotta go. Y’got my number ‘lready. Y’gonna know when the bridge’s fixed, then y’can call me. Uh—” He paused before he answered his phone. “There’s a lil’ inn there, good prices.”

He didn’t spare another word, pressing the phone to his ear and getting in the car before he slammed the door shut, and the car sped away with a rhythmic sound of something loose, leaving you standing alone in the cold streets with your suitcase. Fuck. You had planned to stay in a hotel in the state’s capital, not… there.

You finally found the sign hanging from a large building, black letters on light brown wood saying ‘Donna’s inn’ in cursive. The wooden building seemed cozy, surrounded by dark green pine trees and deep red decorations that matched the ornaments along the light posts that decorated the street, with the touch of accumulated snow. It hadn’t snowed so much since you arrived in the city by the morning, but it was noticeable the weather had been harsh lately. Now that you think of it, the drive into the city took longer than expected, and the line of cars seemed explainable now, given the bridge’s situation.

A sigh escaped your lips. It is what it is.

          The nice smell of gingerbread cookies and cherry pie greeted you the moment you stepped past the door, welcoming you with a warmth that gave your nerves a break from all the trembling—a little piece of heaven in the middle of nowhere. Small cities felt claustrophobic when you were used to big centers.

You inhaled to call for someone when an old lady showed up behind the counter in a red dress and a dark green apron with a nice print of white polka dots around the edges, which matched her mitten. “Oh, hello, dear, good afternoon! What can I do for you?” She adjusted her glasses with her free hand.

“Oh, hi,” you said with a nod, observing the flour fingerprints on her lenses for a moment. “I’d like a room. Uh, until the bridge’s fixed. However long that takes…” You sighed.

A crease showed up between her brows, and the lady sighed. “Everyone knew that was going to happen. I—” A clanking sound came from the kitchen, along with a patterned beeping. “Give me a moment, dear, I’ll fetch your keys. Make yourself comfortable, huh?” She smiled warmly before walking through the door, which you presumed to lead to the kitchen, leaving you alone in the reception.

The room was cozy and warm, with a fire, an armchair, and a couch. Christmas decorations hung everywhere, a nice jar with some flowers sat on the side table, and the carpet seemed to be picked out for the holiday season as well. Red, white, and green were practically everywhere, aside from when they gave place to the golden wallpaper. Whoever took care of the place did it well.

You left your suitcase near the counter to step closer to the window, observing the darkening sky, the snow accumulating on top of trees and houses—

“Fuck!” Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when a figure emerged outside, making you take a step back, but damn, it was just a man. He had a few layers of sweaters and a hood on as his gloved fingers tried to untangle a line of Christmas lights. The dumbass— Fuck, he didn’t even notice you standing there, almost having a heart attack as you held your chest and gripped the window sill with your free hand, trying to catch your breath.

Blue eyes glanced at you once, then twice, before they widened in realization. “Did I scare you?” He mouthed, letting out an awkward chuckle when you nodded. “Sorry.”

The man leaned forward to look at the counter through the window before he let the Christmas lights down, and the next thing you knew was that he was walking through the front door, exhaling as he brushed the snow off his shoulders and took the hood off, tucking it somewhere behind the counter along with his gloves.

Now that you took a better look at him… Fuck, if he had a sharp suit on, you’d easily mistake him for one of the great businessmen you didn’t even dare to look at directly. Tall, handsome, and intimidating even in his gentleness.

“So…” He cleared his throat, grabbing a book from behind the counter. “A room?”

You blinked a couple of times and looked past him, but the door to the kitchen was still closed. “You work here?”

“Maintenance guy. A little bit of everything, really. I fill in when Mrs. Lee is busy in the kitchen,” he said with a shrug as he grabbed a pen. “So?”

Reality dawned once more, making you sigh for the thousandth time of the day, rubbing your temple. “A room. Until the bridge’s fixed.”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, eyes raking over you swiftly. “Oh, shucks, big city kid.” Something in it sounded like mockery, but you left it at that, only watching him grab a key that hung on the wall and check the number on the tag before writing something in the notebook. “Uuh, sign your name here, also write down your number,” he said as he turned the notebook towards you, handing you the pen. “Room number twenty-five. Very Christmas-y.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head to yourself. As if it had to do with anything. Irrelevant. After checking your information a last time, you handed the pen back. “Is there any fee?”

“Nope,” he said. “As long as you don’t run away during the night.” A chuckle escaped his lips, but you didn’t share the humor, and he didn’t mind it, simply taking the notebook back and nodding to himself. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” He walked around the counter in long strides and reached for your suitcase, not caring that you were already holding the handle. “Leave it with me, sweetheart. You seem tired.”

His gaze held yours for a longer moment, blue eyes warm. His hand covered yours to squeeze it gently. The touch was so warm and caring, and fuck, did he call you sweetheart? That— Damn, you were supposed to—

“Sweetheart?” He called from the hall, and you cursed yourself while rushing after him. He stopped in front of a door, the frame lined with red and white decorations that made you think of candy cane and holiday profits off decorations. Your suitcase was by his feet as he unlocked the door. He was so annoying, suddenly. Something about the way he stood, spoke, talked to you…

“Do you have a name, or are you just the maintenance guy?”

Maybe the bitterness was easy to notice. He raised his eyebrows lightly as he looked at you and handed the keys over. “It’s Hayden.” He smiled softly. “Uh, dinner’s from seven-thirty until nine. Self-service, with pretty much all kinds of options. No extra fees charged. Breakfast is from seven to nine, and lunch is from eleven to one,” he said before he paused, rubbing his chin lightly. “Just a tip, but since you’re staying until the bridge’s new again, then maybe you should check the city lights at some point. If you need me, ‘m just down the hall, sweetheart.” Hayden winked before walking down the hall, probably going back to fixing the Christmas lights or anything.

Damn. He looked so… Ugh, you weren’t supposed to pay attention to those things. Reality barged in again within seconds, preventing you from just stupidly standing there while looking at where Hayden had disappeared.

          The mess hall was quite cozy, making it feel like a big family was eating together despite the different tables. A sweet smell of something being prepared for later came from the kitchen when you walked past the door, catching a glimpse of the old lady—Mrs. Lee—with another younger woman with aprons and bowls. And yeah, they did a great job. Hayden wasn’t lying when he said there were a lot of options.

Quite a few other guests had lunch at the inn, enough to fill the mess hall with quiet chatter and the clinking of ceramic against ceramic, but still, not enough people to fill out all the tables, leaving a four-seat one free for you.

Your phone rested beside your plate, ever loading, unresponsive with the bad signal that’d been pestering you ever since you woke up. Those dark clouds in the sky didn’t seem promising at all, though.

“Oh, look at who’s here!” The sudden voice made you look up to see Hayden approaching with a plate of food to take a seat across from you. “Didn’t see you during breakfast.” He raised an eyebrow, picking up the cutlery.

You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head. “I had gone to check if the bridge was fixed, or if I could find another way to leave,” you exhaled, pushing your food around the plate a little before finally taking another bite.

Hayden hummed as he nodded slowly. “Not successful, I presume.” He only smiled at the glare—that damn smile. “Why the rush? Going back home to see family for Christmas?”

“No!” You scoffed. As if you’d go back home right at that time of the year when business is so agitated. “I have an important meeting in two days. It’s important for the company, and I can barely get enough signal to let anyone know that I’m stuck here, though, hopefully, the bridge’s news will reach them.”

A crease showed up between Hayden’s eyebrows as he looked at you, swallowing before he could speak up. “What could be that important that you couldn’t enjoy Christmas with your family?” He paused and cleared his throat. “Sorry, that sounded too intrusive. I mean—” he paused. “What could be so important that you would rather work than enjoy Christmas?”

After a moment of staring at Hayden—at that stupidly handsome face—, you took a deep breath. “How else is the market supposed to keep running if people like me weren’t active during the Holidays? I mean, things can’t just stop completely.”

Hayden raised his eyebrows as he hummed slowly, that attitude from the first day coming back already. How entertaining could it be to mock you? Honestly… “Not so lucky, it seems.” And you sighed, about to say something when he looked at you. “However, you’re actually lucky to be here to see the city’s Christmas festivities.”

You shot him the same mocking look. “How productive.”

A hint of exasperation crossed his face before Hayden shrugged. “Better than just sitting there, since you can’t work or anything anyway.” And a small, fake apologetic smile crossed his face because he knew exactly how much of a low blow his words were, then proceeded to go back to eating as if nothing had happened. He even had the audacity to look at you with an inquiring gaze, blinking a couple of times as he still smiled, munching on his food, and you had to hold yourself back from wiping that look off his face. Whatever it took…

          Most of the guests left after lunch to explore the city or anything else related to Christmas, but there was barely anything you could do when the signal was so bad and the bridge wasn’t fixed yet. After being trapped in your room for long enough, you decided to lounge a little in the reception, given the warmth of the fireplace and the snacks in the glass jars, but you found yourself standing by the window and watching sparse snow fall. Being trapped in that city made you think of all the reports you could be writing, all the e-mails that must be flooding your inbox, the missed calls, unanswered messages…

“Oh, you’re still around, sweetheart,” the voice cut through your thoughts. Was Hayden everywhere? Though you didn’t mind seeing him, even if he wore that ugly sweater, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an apron much like the one Mrs. Lee and her helper were using. Where did all that charm come from? “Got nothing to do?”

“No.” It sounded heavier than intended, but the frustration was real.

“Maybe you could help me with decorating some cookies?” Hayden raised his eyebrows a little. “Mrs. Lee left last minute and said I could decorate this batch, and since you’re around so melancholic like that… ‘Could be a good way to pass the time.”

Cooking was far from the reality of paperwork, meetings, and screens that filled your life, and that reality only hit you now that you imagined yourself in a kitchen, decorating cookies. Christmas cookies.

“It’ll be fun, I swear,” Hayden said before you could overthink, and maybe it worked, because he soon had an arm wrapped around your shoulders while guiding you behind the counter and into the kitchen, also decorated in a Christmas theme, wide, with enough apparel to attend the demand of three daily meals for the inn’s guests. The surface of the island’s stainless steel counter was covered in cookies. “We have gingerbread men, trees, snowflakes, and icing in different colors,” he said as he grabbed one of the aprons that hung on the wall. Dark green, polka dots details. “There we go.”

Hayden slipped the top part around your head and stood behind you to gently tie the straps around your waist, fingers brushing against you gently. “Well, aren’t you just cute?”

Cute? Out of your element and dressing something like that? But he said it in such a smooth voice and genuine appreciation. How even were you supposed to feel about that? The embarrassment and confusion must’ve been evident, given the chuckle you earned from him.

“Uh, thanks,” you muttered with uncertainty, trying to move past the situation as you washed your hands in the sink.

“Let’s start with the gingerbread men, how’s that sound?” Hayden clapped before he grabbed one of the bags with icing and pulled the closest cookie closer, glancing at you with those pretty blue eyes.

Focus. You took a deep breath before adjusting the icing in your hands, trying to find any position that made it feel more natural, or at least… less difficult to decorate those cookies and make something that didn’t look ugly. Unfortunately, measuring the pressure and coordinating things was a little too hard, making you curse under your breath when the white icing started falling off the side of the cookie.

Hayden looked at you once, twice, then hummed before rushing over. “Oh, fuck, it’s okay, sweetheart. Happens to the best of us,” he said before he moved to next to you—a little too close, but not unpleasantly. He took the cookie from the counter, wiping the extra icing off the counter with his free hand before he licked his fingers clean, his lips wrapping around his middle and ring finger…

Blue eyes met yours, and Hayden raised his eyebrows lightly. “Tastes good,” he whispered as if it were a secret before licking the white remnants off his lips and wiping his fingers on the apron. “Well, the thing is, you have to hold it like this and do not apply pressure on the bottom, okay? Not a lot, at least.” He set the ruined cookie aside before wrapping his arms around you, hands over yours ever so gently, his face next to yours, so close you could catch a faint hint of cigarettes in his breath. “Careful, sweetheart. We want pretty cookies, hm? I’m sure you can make some as pretty as you.”

And you didn’t know whether it was Hayden or you actually doing the thing because your brain could barely process anything but every point where your bodies touched, and his words still swam across your mind. Nonetheless, you still had to put some minimum effort into it so that you didn’t look like a complete fool.

“There we go. This one looks cuter, don't you think?” Hayden tilted his head before his eyes met yours. So close. “I knew I was making a good choice by asking you to help me. Well, let’s go back to work. Try not to waste anything, okay?”

Even out of your element, even if you’d laugh if someone told you yesterday that you’d be doing that today, decorating the cookies with him, it gave you some sense of home, even if you never grasped the concept properly before. It felt like a glimpse of a life you’d have if things had gone differently in the past. Living in a small city, being married, doing the simple things, it all felt so distant.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Hayden’s voice cut through your thoughts before you nodded, finishing organizing the cookies so that the icing could dry before they were put in jars. There was a clear distinction between the ones you decorated and the ones Hayden decorated.

You nodded. “Yeah, just lost in thought,” you said softly, giving him a small smile, a forced one, for the sake of the moment. He smiled back with an understanding nod, and none of you really seemed to be truthful.

“Well,” Hayden took a deep breath as he nudged a cookie into place before placing his hand on top of yours. “I know you’re very frustrated. Being stuck in a city like this, nothing like what you’re used to, away from a lot of things, it might feel at least,” he paused, seeming to think for a word, “claustrophobic, but it doesn’t have to be totally bad.” He glanced down at your joined hands before nodding with a hum. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’m very thankful for your help. We were a great duo today.” And you couldn’t even continue your overthinking, not when he sent you that smile.

Everything was organized again, back into place or put away, aside from the cookies that waited for the icing to dry. Having the moment slipping through your fingers gave you a weird sensation in your chest, almost an ache.

“Let me help you,” Hayden said softly, and his hands grazed your back again as he untied the apron, always so caring and attentive, with some sort of tenderness that only seemed unreal until now. How real could it be, though? “Do you want to go with me to the rink someday?” He always interrupted your thoughts in the best-worst moments, as if he had a sixth sense or something. “Ice skating can be boring when you’re alone, y’know.”

“Ice skating?” You furrowed your eyebrows. Far from your usual activities. “What if something needs maintenance by then? Will you just be away, ice skating?”

“Normal humans don’t work the whole time, I’m not sure if you know that.”

You blinked slowly, glaring. How could someone be so annoying and nice all at the same time? Far from your usual conversations. “And what if there’s service before we can go? Maybe the bridge’s already fixed by then.”

Hayden scoffed. “Yeah, no. This is no New York—”

“New York isn’t—”

“—so the best you can do is really just wait patiently. You may not see how you can make it better, but making it worse won’t help either,” he said slowly, holding eye contact. Part of you wondered where all that patience came from. Surprisingly, he didn’t sound patronizing, but caring instead.

Despite how annoying it was to admit it, Hayden was right. Just staring at the ever-loading circle on your phone or laptop screen while stressing every second that went by didn’t seem so helpful, and even if the bridge did happen to get fixed and service suddenly came back, you wouldn’t be able to solve everything in a snap of fingers either. Damn it. Rationality felt like defeat, even if there wasn’t anything to lose.

A hand rested on your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Intentionally or not, Hayden did a good job at comforting you.

You had to use every ounce of strength to avert your eyes away from his, trying to find something interesting in observing all those colorful cookies, anything that didn’t show his reaction. “When’s the rink open?” You asked, voice strained through all those feelings.

Hayden’s approval simmered in the air before his voice replaced it. “Uh, this weekend, if I’m not wrong.”

“What?” You widened your eyes at him. “It’s Monday!”

Despite your panic, he laughed. “You overestimate some things ‘round here.”

          You rubbed your forehead, observing the fire flicker in the fireplace, trying to think about anything other than checking your phone. Your brain melted like the marshmallows in the cup. “Now, what’s this again?”

Hayden sat on the armchair beside yours, ankle on his knee, hanging out with you in the inn’s lounge while Mrs. Lee cooked in the kitchen to the sound of cheerful Christmas songs on the radio. The inn wasn’t so agitated during the afternoons, the space between lunch and dinner always filled with a nice calmness, even if everything still gave you a small sense of unease. Some of your emails had been delivered through the night, but service was still too slow to let you check all the updates properly. At least someone knew you weren’t dead or something.

“Chilling.”

You feigned a smile. “Uh huh, wow.”

“Do you like the hot chocolate though?”

“Well,” you tutted, “it's not bad.” Giving in was hard, but you didn't want to be unpleasant either. After all, Hayden was just being nice so far, despite the attitude… “What's this? A streak of Christmas activities? Christmas to-do list?” You grabbed the mug from the small side table, taking a look at the exaggerated Santa Claus design. “Is everything over here Christmas-themed?”

Hayden looked around, from the ceiling to the floor, before looking down at himself, then at you. “Uh, I suppose you aren't Christmas-themed.”

“You’re so funny.” You sighed and sipped on the hot drink.

“Thank you.” Hayden tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face for a moment. His tongue darted out to lick his lips before he spoke up. “Any success contacting your company or something?”

“Actually, yes!” You replied a bit too fast, but he smiled. “It seems like my email was sent! I received a few, but they won’t load, unfortunately. At least they have time to rescue me or send someone else in my place.”

Hayden nodded slowly. “That eases part of your stress, right? Now that they know, you don’t need to keep observing your phone your whole time.” His hand found yours before you could grab the phone, warm fingers enveloping yours and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, staying here isn’t all that bad, you’re just…” He paused, shrugging. “…not used to slowing down like this,” he said each word carefully and nodded after noticing you didn’t complain, but how could you think about anything other than how nice his hand felt around yours? His thumb gently tracing your knuckles in such a nice, loving way.

“Hayden?” Mrs. Lee showed up from the door to the kitchen. “Think you can buy me some more sprinkles, deary? I need those.” She adjusted her glasses, squeezing her eyes while bringing up an empty wrapper. “The red and green ones. Silver or golden will do just fine if it’s sold out already.” She waved it a little, compelling Hayden to stand up with a soft sigh and retrieve the plastic bag, letting the cold air replace the warmth of his hand around yours. “You know they opened the Christmas expo near the glass house, hm? You should take your partner with you.”

Hayden glanced back at you, your eyes meeting for what were just seconds but felt like an eternity. His partner…? You couldn’t afford to have a partner, no matter how appealing the idea sounded. Despite the shared look, he just nodded at Mrs. Lee before he pocketed the wrapper and made a motion for you to follow as he walked to the door, seeming pleased when you stood up. Well, it was no use arguing with Mrs. Lee over something so insignificant, right?

Gentle hands helped you into your coat, delicately adjusting the lapel. “Let’s go.” Hayden waited for you to make sure you were ready before he held the door open. “She’s probably preparing donuts. You gotta try them on, even if you’re not into donuts.”

You hummed with a nod, watching your breath turn into steam in the cold air, before avoiding slipping on the frozen part of the sidewalk became your new focus. 

“Easy there,” Hayden said as his hand immediately grabbed your upper arm until you were steady enough for his hand to drop to your waist. “Good, sweetheart?” His hand pressed firmly against your waist, and you couldn’t help but gravitate to his side. After all, Hayden was so warm, and his presence gave that sense of protection. Comfort. Naming it was hard.

“Yeah,” you said softly, glancing at him. He didn’t let go of you, and you didn’t push him away either.

The walk was silent, and you didn’t do much besides following Hayden around the little convenience store and accepting the warm cup of coffee he bought for you, and another for himself. A shiver ran down your spine as you two left the store, leaving behind the muffled talk with a background sound of distorted voices among the TV’s white noise and warmth, replaced by the silence brought by the snow accumulated on the streets and steam rising from the coffee cups, their warmth pleasantly penetrating your glove. Mrs. Lee’s sprinkles were safe inside the pocket of Hayden’s jacket, leaving his hands free for you and the coffee.

“Let’s take a different way back.” Hayden’s hand went from your waist to your hand to guide you into the street you would’ve otherwise walked past, and you followed with a light groan when your coffee almost spilled over. “They always decorate the square nicely. Last year, the decoration was a little… weird. The angels— They were supposed to look like angels, but were more like ghosts,” he said with a chuckle, grin widening once he noticed your smile.

“Oh? That’s…”

“I don’t think the decorator thought it through,” he said, clicking his tongue, that charming smile still across his face. Fuck, he made you feel such things. “But it’s beautiful this year.” He sipped on the coffee, finishing it before he tossed the empty cup into a trash can, and you did the same. Appreciating the decoration would be better without the coffee to worry about.

Golden and silver lights lined the trees and light posts, fading out a little until they became bright again, giving a cozy vibe to the square. Just like Mrs. Lee had said, there was, indeed, a building with big, glass windows, lined with lights as well. The Christmas tree was made out of golden LED lights with a pretty star on top, and there was a tunnel of silver lights and stars hanging in it… Everything was far from the extravagant decorations you were used to, but something about it gave you a comfort you’d never felt. It was scary, overwhelming, like it would burst out of your chest, explode, and…

“It’s beautiful,” Hayden said as he walked through the tunnel with you, his hand down your arm until his hands found yours then gently intertwined your fingers, grip firm and caring. “I’m glad it’s beautiful this year, so you don’t have a bad impression about our town,” he whispered.

Your gaze averted to him briefly, and you nodded faintly, unable to look away from the stars that hung in the tunnel of slowly twinkling lights for too long, accompanying Hayden in unhurried steps. Everything is so different, and it didn’t feel like you’d expected it to be—like you’d feared. You stopped by the end of the tunnel, afraid that magic would disappear if you stepped out of it, so you just stood there, by the end, a step away from all that daily stress, anxiety, and bullshit.

“You know, it is so—” The words escaped your grasp when your eyes averted to Hayden, and he was already looking at you. Something about his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He offered a smile, but it only helped your brain malfunction more, and the only thing you could give in return was to squeeze his hand back after his fingers tightened a little around yours. You exhaled, trying to look at anything other than Hayden, maybe at the… mistletoe.

Hayden’s eyebrows raised as he followed your gaze, eventually noticing the mistletoe, which seemed like the most important thing in the world until your eyes met again, hesitant, expectant, something like that. How could you ignore the pull? The sweet gaze that seemed to look right through you…

How it happened didn’t matter, not when Hayden’s lips pressed to yours, and only now did you notice how much you’d wanted it to happen, now that his arms wrapped around your waist and your body molded against his so perfectly, and no kiss had ever felt that good, never made your heart beat like that.

His lips were as gentle as they appeared, making you feel better than any good millionaire deal made on Christmas ever could, and it felt pathetic now to think that your Christmases had been filled with that until now. Felt stupid. Was that how everyone else saw you? As someone stupid? Because it didn’t feel very wise to have spent all that time drowning yourself in work, just work, not even enjoying all those places you’d traveled to, and fuck. No, no, that was your life. You couldn’t throw away all those years because it wasn’t stupid. A few kisses wouldn’t keep money running, people employed, and money in their accounts.

It hurt when Hayden’s lips sought after yours after you pulled away, but it was needed. You hadn’t gotten so far—dedicated so many years—just for that, but you couldn’t help letting your hands linger on his chest before finally stepping back and looking away. Falling in love was too far off the question, too much for someone like you. 

Not much was left to be said.

          “Oh, honey, good morning,” Mrs. Lee said as soon as she saw you by the main table to grab some breakfast, adjusting the thick glasses that made her green eyes seem a lot bigger, but in an endearing way. “Has Hayden told you?”

Just hearing his name made your heart skip a beat, making you thankful you weren’t holding your mug with hot coffee. It wasn’t like you did anything wrong. Get a fucking grip. “Uh, told me about what?”

“The bridge, honey!” She clapped her hands together. “It’s fixed!”

“Fixed?!”

“You can go home!” Mrs. Lee seemed happier than you, patting your shoulder before she rushed into the kitchen as soon as a beeping sound cut through the chatter and clinking of porcelain. Not that it was too hard to be happier than you—or anything at all more than you—given the mess of sentiments swirling inside you like… Ugh, not everything is like something else. Maybe all those feelings were starting to take up food’s space, making your appetite vanish, but you still grabbed a cookie, since Mrs. Lee could be watching. That cookie looked awfully familiar.

Focus. The bridge. You had to find that driver’s card somewhere in your things.

“Gonna pack up, sweetheart?” Hayden almost gave you a heart attack, standing there when you turned into the hallway, and you wanted to smash his face when he chuckled at your reaction.

“I mean, the bridge’s fixed.” It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts, take them away from how loving and gentle he is, and the kiss was so perfect— Get a grip. “Can’t waste time.”

Hayden took in a breath to say something, but he ended up replacing it with a sigh when you walked past him, shaking his head to himself. “Well, let me drive you to the city, then?” He followed. “I can take you there in a second, no charges.” And it was easy for him to take long strides to stand between you and the room’s door.

Seriousness swam in blue irises, like you’d never seen before, sending a shiver down your spine, and the silence it created was heavy and oppressing. Hayden made you feel weak, but not like the powerful, grumpy bosses would—no, that was like hell, but this? You actually wanted more of it, more of him. If only it didn’t mean putting so many things at stake. Damn him, for seeing right through you with those beautiful eyes and charming smile.

“What?” You asked as if your tongue was made out of lead.

Hayden gave you a look, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to throw yourself in your arms or run to the capital without even getting your bag back from the room, and that same indecision kept you rooted on the ground.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” Hayden said softly. “But I really don’t want to lose this. You know what I’m talking about,” he continued, despite how you looked at the ceiling, thankful there wasn’t another mistletoe around, but his sigh made your heart ache. Giving up seemed easy until things started slipping through your fingers. “At least keep your promise? The rink opened today.”

Low blow. How were you supposed to resist that voice tone? Not even risky deals had your stomach doing flips like that. Damn. Work.

“I don’t…”

“Will some hours really make a difference?” Hayden moved into your sight. His gaze always carried that softness and intensity at the same time, perfectly balanced. “I mean, it’s okay if it does make a difference, but I want to make sure.” A heavy pause. “You showed up out of nowhere and made Christmas feel different for once in a lifetime. I just…” Maybe you weren’t the only one who had a lot going on. “I can’t just let this go without even trying first. I— You know what I’m saying. Or at least trying to.”

It felt like forever ago, uselessly arguing with that driver while he pointed at the inn, and you had been doing everything and going everywhere with Hayden ever since, sometimes just sitting there and watching him do something as mundane as fix the heaters. It had been such an experience. Worrying about anything other than deadlines, calls, e-mails, signatures. Nonetheless, Hayden had never looked that vulnerable during all this time; he was always strong and caring, as if he was smoothly encouraging you through what seemed to be the most difficult terrain ever—standing on thin ice as if he belonged there while you walked over pointy rocks, preferring the comfort of the wounds you already knew.

“I don’t know how to skate,” you muttered quietly. You’d dealt with so much shame for not having done such trivial tasks during these past days, so admitting it didn’t feel like punching through a wall anymore.

“I will catch you.” The promise meant more than just for skating.

          Taking Hayden’s hand felt like stepping into the darkness, but his words from earlier still rang through your mind, and he was right. You didn’t want this to end in regrets, either.

The rink was crowded, with people gathered in small groups while kids ran around and Christmas songs played in the background, ones you’d grown familiar with lately. Warm Christmas lights reflected on the snow, illuminating the place, despite the moon already being high in the sky. Hayden made sure to keep an arm around you, protectively guiding you through the people. He was so caring and gentle while helping you put the skates on, chuckling warmly at the messy waddling toward the rink, but you had to pause when you finally reached the ice.

Hayden stood there so confidently, holding your hands in his. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to for you to know he would be patient and take care of you. Catch you if you fell.

You squeezed Hayden’s hands, finding the exact safety you looked for when you looked into his eyes, and you tried not to think much before you finally stepped on the ice.

“It’s okay,” Hayden reassured as he adjusted his hands around yours, slowly moving back as you moved forward. “Try to keep balance,” he said as he moved to your side, still holding one of your hands despite how one of his arms wrapped around your waist for leverage. “Don’t look down so much or else you’ll lose your balance, okay? Keep firm, sweetheart.”

With a certain notion and Hayden’s tips, you tried to glide instead of taking steps. And fuck, it wasn’t so easy, far from being as easy as people made it seem. You could end up falling on your face, breaking your nose, your teeth, being away from business for so long— Your heart skipped a beat when you lost grip on the ice, but firm hands did hold you firmly, just as promised, slowly helping you regain your balance while everything still spun around you, your chest heaving up and down.

Hayden’s face came into sight, in front of blurry lights, with concern in his eyes. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded slowly, trying to catch your breath. You didn’t fall, nothing happened. Everything was alright. You held his hand tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, craving his warmth, trying your best not to lose balance. “Never let me go, please,” you whispered, and he knew you meant it beyond just letting you fall on the ice.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Hayden whispered, kissing your temple, your cheekbone, gently coaxing you to turn your face until his lips met yours again. It felt like coming home—finding home.

︶⊹︶︶·𖥸·︶︶⊹︶

[hopelesslydimwitted]

some fun facts from my portal reversal au with fiddlestan

fiddleford’s first gift to stan was a keychain, complete with fuzzy dice and a bottle opener

ford keeps said gift, along with all of stan’s things, for thirty years until he returns

stan’s not a very good gift giver but fiddleford doesn’t mind. he keeps all of stan’s gifts anyway

stan’s the little spoon. always

fiddleford was taller than stan for the majority of their time together. only recently has he shrunk

stan does most of the maintenance on fiddleford’s robit arm, even tho fiddleford can do it himself

ford used to wear contacts, but stopped once stan and fidds disappeared. he didn’t like looking in the mirror while wearing them

stan has saved fiddleford’s life (in various ways) a total of 60 times

fiddleford has saved stan’s life a total of 71 times (but he’s not counting)

they used to have an alien pet. it looked like a fish but could survive in the open air. they named it gilliam (RIP frilliam)

they have friends in as many dimensions as they’re banned from. fiddleford’s southern charm works even in different realms

before the portal, fiddleford tried to teach stan how to play the banjo (he wasn’t good at it)

likewise, stan tried to teach fiddleford how to box (fiddleford already knew, but let stan teach him anyway)

after weirdmaggedon, fiddleford’s second proposal included the line, “will you let me fall in love with you all over again?”

[ikeoji-subs]

Zettai BL Ni Naru Sekai VS Zettai BL Ni Naritakunai Otoko 2024 - Episode 2 Eng Sub

VS SMELLS and VS AGE GAP RELATIONSHIPS

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translation notes:

about Fish Cake Man (7:28)

As we state in the subtitles, this guy’s monologue isn’t something we’re equipped to translate and if we did, it probably wouldn’t make much, if any, sense to English-speaking viewers. We learned from Snow’s Japanese friend that he's a comedian who is famous for doing this particular bit. After we had already finished most of the subtitles, I rewatched seasons 1 and 2 of the show and found that he was also in the other two seasons. In the first season, when Mob is explaining about how he's a side character and intends to keep it that way, he looks at a gardener on his university campus who is pulling weeds, illustrating that the world of BL needs to include some people who are unlikely to ever become main characters. That’s this dude. He appears again in season 2, when Mob is scouring the university for signs of Kikuchi after reading his goodbye letter. In every appearance, he's shown wearing the same sort of nondescript work clothes and cap and seems to work in some kind of maintenance or cleaning capacity at National BL University. –Towel

His name is Nou Misoo (脳みそ夫) which means brain tissue. I believe there's a pun here I'm missing but you can check out his sillyness on youtube, instagram or tiktok. –Snow

about “the gods decided to smite me” (10:24)

The first version of this line said that Mob “received divine punishment” for his Mob Move. That was already a great line! But I thought it had the potential to be a little more specific and evocative in an English-speaking context. At first, I was just trying to think of something a bit more specific to replace “received.” I thought of a few possibilities, including “I was smitten by divine punishment.” But since “smitten” is barely used anymore except to describe someone who's in love, it had the wrong connotation. Then I thought about how another tense of the same verb, “smite,” avoids those connotations and has a kind of King James Bible quality. But if I was going to say “smite,” I’d have to change the sentence from passive voice to active voice (which is generally best anyway) and give the sentence a subject who is doing the smiting.

I thought a unitary, capital-G God would make it sound a little too Biblical, possibly tipping it over into sounding overtly Christian. I knew that some religious traditions practiced in Japan, like Shintoism, included multiple gods. So I tried “the gods decided to smite me.” This seemed to balance out the Old Testament-ish aspect of “smite” a bit. The end result seemed more vivid than the earlier version, and it seemed like something Mob would say.–Towel 

about “select shop” (11:30)

Observant English speakers might notice that when the guy who used the same shampoo as Mob talks about where he got it, he uses a term made up of English loan words. He says he bought it at a “serekuto shoppu" (in English, a "select shop"). While both parts of the word are borrowed from English, the term you get when you put them together isn’t commonly used in the US. I ended up replacing it with “boutique,” which gets across some of the meaning. But I’ll explain in more detail here. 

It turns out that a “select shop” is a kind of smallish shop with carefully curated items that all fit a certain aesthetic. A business like this might be called a “lifestyle boutique” in America, but it’s slightly different from any business model used widely here. The big selling point of a shop like this is the fact that they’ve already vetted and coordinated these products. Their offerings are tailored for a particular niche, so that if you’re into the general idea a select shop is going for, you’re likely to be interested in a lot of what they’re selling. The items for sale will also have been hand-picked by a professional who’s able to find just the right thing in a way that a typical consumer wouldn’t be able to. 

You can imagine what kind of college student would not only shop at this sort of place but declare it proudly. Even if Mob was going to fall in L with a B, this guy would be a bad fit.–Towel

about “a listless ne’er-do-well” (19:04)

The more literal translation of this part goes “a man like this, without ambitions or vitality.” It’s a nice turn of phrase, definitely, but I thought if I could localize it a bit it might evoke more of the right feeling. I thought it would be more typical in English to express this in terms of an adjective plus a noun describing the kind of person he’d appear to be, rather than saying he was without these qualities. From “without ambition” I got “ne’er-do-well” and from “without vitality” I got “listless.”–Towel

Tag list: @absolutebl @bengiyo @c1nto @come-back-serotonin @lurkingshan @my-rose-tinted-glasses @porridgefeast @sorry-bonebag @twig-tea @wen-kexing-apologist

[abbysimsfun]

Dating Deanna Entry: Nicola Moody-McMillan for @changingplumbob

Hey everyone! I've never done anything like this before so I don't know exactly how to introduce myself. But I'm a schoolteacher in Henford-on-Bagley, the same small town where I was born and raised.

I'm currently living in my childhood home in the Bramblewood with my mother, Kim, and my younger brother, Dominic. Our relationship is pretty good even though my mom can be a bit of a problem at parties, but I'm a family-oriented sim! My mother and brother mean the world to me, and we've been especially close since my dad passed away not that long ago.

Apart from my job, which I love, I like doing Henford things - offering favours to people in need, cross-stitching, gardening, and talking to birds! I haven't really travelled much, but I'm ready to get out of my comfort zone!

I think. I really love comfort, and I've heard these bachelor shows can get a little wild. My friends said not to worry about my manicure - but honestly, I'll probably always worry about my manicure.

The big elephant in the room is my marital status - divorced. At 24! I married my high school sweetheart but she turned out to be less sweetheart, more heartless...sorry, that's a boring story! We grew apart.

Some days it feels like we divorced just yesterday. But some time has passed, I really believe in counseling, and I'm ready to try dating for, really, the first time in my life. That's kind of embarrassing to say out loud!

My friends said don't be negative. But some days can feel like the worst day ever, you know? Maybe you don't know. I don't know. I'm not always great at first impressions and I can be a little high maintenance, but I'm excited about this experience!

I can't wait to meet Deanna. Joey can flirt with me if he wants, but I'm a high maintenance lesbian who wants a family, so he'd be wasting a good line on the wrong gal! Even though I can be a pretty competitive teacher on School Sports Days, I'm really looking forward to getting to know the other contestants, too. People who don't know Hazel. Who isn't important.

More about Nicola, housekeeping, etc...

Nicola Kimberly Moody-McMillan (she/her), daughter of Henford townie Kim Goldbloom, and granddaughter of townies Ian McMillan and Derek Moody, who adopted Kim. Nicola's father was a very blond randomly-generated sim named Eddie Harmon (RIP!). She has a younger brother named Dominic.

She's grown up from a wee sprite in my Sims In Bloom legacy challenge as a best friend and then girlfriend/later wife of my Gen 2 heir's little sister (until it all fell apart).

Nicola is a cis lesbian who is exclusively attracted to women, both romantically and sexually. She is a monogamous sim, but Henford is a small town. Whether her interests include non-binary or trans women remains to be discovered, actually.

Goes By: Miss Moody-McMillan (in class), Nicola, Nic, but not Nicki Hometown: Henford-on-Bagley Traits: High Maintenance, Family Oriented, Good (originally she had one of @maplebellsmods's More Traits - Spoiled - in addition to the last two, and I figured High Maintenance was closest to that one). She had a fourth bonus trait, Childish, which I lost when I switched out Spoiled, but feel free to add it back in for the sake of keeping her canon if you have the extra slots! Fears Being Cheated On (I think this should carry over into the Gallery-saved version but I'm actually not sure...) Likes: Bowling, Gardening, Handiness, Research & Debate, Cross-Stitch, Fitness, Wellness, Physical Intimacy, Flirtation, Deep Thoughts, Compliments, Stories, Small Talk, Discussing Interests, Discussing Hobbies, and has a more upbeat, poppy, or catchy singer-songwriter driven music taste Dislikes: Dancing, Fishing, Programming, Arguments (they make her feel bad even though she can be combative), Deception Favourite Colours: Blue, Grey, Purple, White

Open to flirt/get intimate with other contestants? She's there for Deanna and to build a future with her, but she's also spreading her wings for the first time so yes.

Open to polyamory? As much as marriage sucked for Nicola the first time around, she still believes in soulmates and true love and monogamous commitment.

Open to woohoo? She would be if it feels right.

Doesn't vibe with pessimistic, argumentative, and ambitionless sims. And yes, with her traits and Henford origins she's definitely grown up to be a little fairytale princess-coded. Maybe she's a little like The Princess and the Pea, so we'll see how she does with the challenges and her high maintenance mood swings.

Now that introductions are out of the way, she and her Watcher are All In.

Download Available: On the Sims 4 Gallery under userID simcann, 'Nicola for DatingDeanna.'

cc used? The submitted version of Nicola has EA eyebrows in a shade darker than her hair colour, but normally she has TwistedCat's Lush eyebrows which are Maxis-friendly. Even though they look darker on her, they're the same shade of blonde as her hair. Most of the above photos were taken with her new eyebrows, except the portrait with her mother and brother, which shows her OG cc brows.

For anyone curious to see her dear departed dad, Eddie, here he is with Nic's mom, Kim, in their younger years, next to a shot of kid Nicola because I'm shamelessly buying affection for her:

And recently, Nicola randomly dressed for Spooky Day as The Final Girl. Just saying:

WCIFs: The picture of Kim, Nicola, and Dominic is from @simmireen's amazing Ultimate Family Portrait posepack, a perpetual favourite of mine! The classroom is just a room, but I found it on the Gallery by Jmadyson1030 - I love the aesthetic, the hamster cage, and the cushy extra seating along the walls. Felt like a classroom I'd almost want to be in myself!

[dandysworldhcs]

the craft siblings cod be fish in a birdcage coded if we tried hard enough, LET ME COOOOK

so mods probablylyyy saw my spiel abt the craft siblings from a few days ago. tldr for people who didn’t read it: goob has cycled through a lot of handlers due to being seen as “higher maintenance” for his disabilities, and scraps has always been there for comfort and support.

so. to the song.

the lines “Im a fish inside a birdcage, my brother always sings me songs. With his beak he tries to soothe me; he makes me feel that i belong.” are mostly what im picking this up from. Goob struggles, Scraps has always been there to reassure him, even if she’s seen as “normal”, “like the others.” She belongs, whale he feels he does not.

now, there are more lines that fit, but im skipping straight to the chorus.

“So carry me through these walls, brother of mine. Show me the world outside, it has to be true, im counting on you, to be my wings and my eyes”

The world outside probably being.. everyfin the other toons can do, and being treated normally instead of infantalized. But that last 3 lines r REALLLLY what get me

he’s gullible, he’s counting on her. His lazy eye, his arms. PLEASEEEEE

sorry this was yappy and I probably cod have explained this better but im ill about these siblings and my english isn’t englishing well GULP

this is gonna sound wrong to anyone who doesn’t know but rule #34 by them goes SO hard🔥

HOLLYY FUCKKK RULE #4 MENTIONED ANON I LOVE YOU -daz/scott

[animalsalvationassociation]

A.S.A. Octonauts Headcanons:

Pt. 1 — Barnacles (2/2): Adulthood

Barnacles & the Navy:

The Navy was a large part of Barnacle’s life for a very long time.

He worked hard to make sure things ran smoothly with every crew and team he worked with.

Believe it or not it was hard for Barnacles to make friends at first.

Everyone saw him as this large and pretty scary guy, but once they began to see him outside of things not related to training they actually found that he was probably the sweetest and most considerate guy you’ve ever met!

After a few years Barnacles would climb the ranks until he was the captain of his own ship. The S.S. Adelaide. A beautiful vessel that rode the waters like a knife through butter, but with the gun power that put an entire fleet to shame.

This is where he met Kwazii.

Now Kwazii was only an Ensign at the time, moved over from another crew when there was an opening on the Adelaide. But when they first met it was clear Kwazii was holding himself back. Now mind you he was an excellent soldier, and thrived in his duties of keeping order within each team. But there was something off about him.

After some months of observation the captain decided to sit him down and figure out what was going on. Barnacles needed his crew to be at their best, and this was one of the only ways he knew how.

Poor Kwazii was more nervous than a fish caught on a line, but once the captain made him comfortable and showed how safe he really was, Kwazii confessed what was wrong.

Note: Y’know how Kwazii is always mentioning his “Pirate Days”? Well it turns out that his “Pirate Days” were actually references to his squadron. Appropriately named “The Pirates”.

It turns out that one of the reasons he left his last crew was because there was an . . . accident. Kwazii was slow to confess it but it was clear this was the real reason he had been so aloof.

The Pirates were known to be one of those squads that escorted and guarded scientific parties to and from their respective locations. Along the way of helping these research teams his team would run off any troublemakers (local gangs, regional military) that caused the scientists any grief. They earned their name after an endeavor where they had to actually steal an entire lab in order to save the research that in turn had already been stolen by the local government.

From then on that’s what they were known by and they made the very dangerous decision to live up to that name.

But it turns out, a month before Kwazii joined the Greatsail, his squadron had been attacked and he was one of the only remaining survivors to make it out.

It was hard to move on from what Barnacles learned. Whether it was the protective brother/papa bear living inside him, he couldn’t help but not think about it. Kwazii had lost his squad, his family. And in terms of bloodline Kwazii’s didn't exist either. It broke his heart.

Now Barnacles isn’t one to meddle in people’s personal lives, but he is one to make sure that everyone feels included.

Every chance he got he made sure to allow Kwazii the space to feel comfortable. His door was always open, and Kwazii was no exception.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long for Kwazii to start showing his true colors. And Barnacles wasn’t the only reason~

The Kelp Family:

Barnacles was much younger when he first met Professor Jade and her crew. In fact he was just starting out in his new roles when they were invited to the ship.

At the time, the Octonauts were still pretty young as an organization but had proved themselves greatly. Professor Jade was there to go over terms and procedures with the captain while they traveled through the ship’s route. But it wasn’t the professor that caught his attention when they arrived but the young girl she brought with her.

Barnacles was performing maintenance on the lower levels when a little girl showed up looking very interested in what he was doing. She had actually been tremendously quiet, to the point where he didn’t even know she was there until she had tugged on his sleeve nearly giving him a panic attack.

This had been the very first time he had met Emma, but it definitely wouldn’t be the last. From then on whenever Professor Jade or one of the other Octonauts showed up for reports, Emma would tag along right with them. No matter how dangerous the waters were that day, he could count on her being there.

It was quite sweet actually, and even though she was still a child they grew to be great friends. Barnacles was the first one she’d find as soon as they landed. If you asked, he’d say she was his greatest little helper. Following him like a little duck, insistent on carrying his tools or his clipboard. The crew grew fond of her too and soon enough it was all anyone could talk about whenever someone mentioned the Octonauts.

Years drew on and through little Emma (who seemed to grow before their eyes) the Octonauts found themselves a part of any crew they came into contact with, even if they were more often than not away saving the ocean.

As mentioned before, it wasn’t only Barnacles that got Kwazii to smile again. It was Emma and her family. They weren’t serious for some time, in fact Emma and Kwazii didn’t start dating until after he had joined the Octonauts. Before that, all he really needed was a friend. (Ref. Post)

Joining the Octonauts:

Professor Inkling was the one to approach Barnacles with the title of Captain. It was a few months after Samara Jade had passed and it was clear that the original crew of the Octopod weren’t going to return to action any time soon.

Inkling had done everything in his power to rally them, offering to find a new captain to lead the team. But the burden was too much. The Octonauts were still in mourning, and that’s when they came to a singular agreement. They would disband.

Barnacles had been the first Captain that came to anyone’s mind when Inkling went searching. He fit every standard: strength, agility, leadership, kindness, and best of all . . . his heart. If anyone was going to lead a new crew, it would be Barnacles.

But even if he was qualified, in all technicality, Professor Jade had been his friend. He had watched her daughter grow up and become a woman. He had worked alongside her for years. To take her title would mean . . . taking her place? Would that mean she was truly gone?

Inkling may have been the one to approach him with the offer, but it was Marin Kelp, Samara’s husband, who gave Barnacles his blessing.

The transition was hard for everyone, and it didn’t help that Barnacles had to start from the very beginning. At that point he didn’t even have a crew. What was he supposed to do without one?

Thankfully he wasn’t alone. Kelp and Inkling were more than happy to search for willing candidates who could take place on the crew. Several months went with many interviews, and after all that time finally they were able to add to fill the roles needed.

The Crew:

First they would need a mechanic, someone to fix the ship whenever it needed repair. Kelp had sources from one of Emma’s close friends, he was a ranger who worked under a man named Marsh in the Everglades. Apparently Marsh’s daughter had a gift for building massive machines that could take on high intensive tasks. Kelp hired her before she even said hello.

Then they needed an IT Officer. They found her in California attempting to become a programmer for the government. Not mentioning her feats in intensive watersports including her world class champion status in surfing.

The scientist roles were easy to fill. There was a Scottsman, a Marine Biologist–young enough for his age–who had personally studied under Professor Inkling for over a year and would take his place, allowing Inkling to retire. (Though we all know that never stopped Inkling from leaving the Octonauts)

And lastly, an ambitious young student from South America who was only a week away from graduating. A penguin with a heart of gold who would take the role as Medical Officer.

Now all they needed . . . was a Lieutenant.

Unfortunately when Barnacles left his position on the Adelaide his lower ranking officers would step up and take his place. Besides that, as grateful as they were, they had no interest in taking on such endeavors. They served the navy, that was their life. And no amount of money was going to convince them either, Kelp may or may not have already tried that.

So they kept on, but the longer they waited the harder it was to find. Barnacles’ new role was coming fast, the crew they had picked was being trained as he prepared for their first launch. But somehow the news had spread before it had even been announced, earning some very unwanted attention. To this day no one is sure how the information was leaked, only a select few were allowed full access and even then some details were limited.

In any case, Barnacles set off on his way home. His sister had just graduated and he was intent on celebrating with her and his family.

They were only a few hours from the dock when he was attacked. It was one of the scariest encounters he had ever experienced, but thankfully for him, he wasn’t alone. In fact, he had an escort . . . Kwazii. (Ref. Post)

It was because of Kwazii that Barnacles survived that day. If the captain hadn’t asked Kwazii to help him on his way home, who knows what would’ve happened?

Of course they made it out, earning a very warm welcome when they got home. But that was the day Barnacles realized that Kwazii might’ve been the Lieutenant he was searching for all along . . .

(Fun Fact) It took a year to find the new crew, then another six months to train them, establish the "new" name, and rebuild the Octopod.

Fun Facts:

He LOVES the color blue.

He's a romantic at heart, you can't tell me he's not.

That being said . . . Rom Coms and Historical Romances all the way baby!!! He EATS that stuff up! Barnacles adores Jane Austen's work. His favorite movies are "You've Got Mail" & "Legally Blonde".

Admiral Sweaty Sock was a childhood coping mechanism. When he was little the admiral was the only one who would talk to him besides his sister.

Professor Natquik taught him the accordion but when he joined the navy he lost his ability to play. That’s why he’s so shaky at it now.

Barnacles actually loves to sing. His voice isn’t as well trained but it never stops him from enjoying a perfectly good tune.

(He gets a lot of ear worms. Hence his habit of singing, humming, or even whistling. Dashi likes to put on music in the HQ while they’re working, she totally does this on purpose because she enjoys his voice)

His favorite vessel is the Gup-C. Not only because it's a classic ;) , but at the time of the first season it was the biggest gup, and I feel like it would’ve been great for his claustrophobia.

When the crew first started out Barnacles would use the steering wheel. He eventually stopped when Tweak updated the systems to have automatic steering which Dashi of course controlled.

Barnacles doesn’t have too many hobbies, and until Above and Beyond he doesn’t really have time for them. But when Barnacles finds that he has less and less duties to fulfill he starts making his own.

I want to say that he aspires to be a crafter. I see him (even with his massive hands) taking up small collectable hobbies.

It would probably start with photo albums, then scrapbooking, and eventually adding even smaller collections to those. Little shells, pretty rocks, cool fossils. Anything he can get his hands on in every area, as long as it isn’t harming the ecosystem or any of the creatures. (Because I’m sure the hermit crabs would have a thing or two to say to him if he picked up the wrong shell.)

During Above and Beyond he definitely picks up his accordion again and maybe he starts writing his own songs (sea shanties anyone??)

Captain Barnacles ( 1 ) / Kwazii / Peso / Dashi / Tweak / Shellington / Inkling / The Vegimals

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

[skellymom]

"Sunset Over Pabu"

Hunter X OC/Reader One Shot

Word Count: 910

Background: An "Old Love" relationship. Nostalgia. Saying Goodbye. Using planet and star interchangeably. The celestial body in this fic is a Moon, similar to our planet Mars it reflects light so the appearance is a shining star.

The inspiration for this story came from @lightspringrain artwork. Including the link to her Etsy shop and image of "Hunter's Moon"

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1556715876/star-wars-the-bad-batch-omega-or-hunter?ref=yr_purchases

There are parallels to the first time Mad met Hunter in this fic. To read how they met, here is the link:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/738467105361494016/vagabonds?source=share

Warning: Sadness.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

They snuggled close on that settee just as they did the first night meeting on Ord Mantell.  In between trips off world, children, weddings, funerals, holidays, and all manner of life Hunter and Mad carved out while on Pabu to watch the sunset together.  Approximately 10 standard cycles of building a bonfire on the beach and cuddling up together to watch the sky turn deep shades of crimson, purple, and eventually black.  Gazing at the stars as they cycled by with the seasons in the night sky. 

The broken settee was resurrected by Hunter’s own hands when they first settled.  He built it strong enough for two.  A solid foundation so it would never break again.  Mad helped weatherproof it to withstand the ocean salt.  Together, they performed maintenance when needed, so it would last for many years.  A continuing project and labor of love. 

In addition, a firepit was constructed to hold the burning heat kept within.  Hunter and Mad collected stones on their travels around the galaxy.  Bringing back chunks of memories to line into a continuing never-ending circle.  Occasionally family and friends would add their own additions when returning to Pabu. Wrecker kept his eye out for oddly shaped or colored rocks while fishing and would surprise them with a new addition already stacked against the ring. 

Tonight, Hunter had a bit of difficulty making his way down the stone steps to the beach.  Mad took his hand, providing support.  His long hair and beard had gotten greyer the last few months.  She joked that he was almost as silver as her.  The wrinkles and laugh-lines accumulated since being together, a happy long life for a clone prominent on his face. He smiled as she fussed about him being careful not to slip. 

“Taking good care of me.” 

“Of course, what else would I do.”  

She winked, and he chuckled. 

He told Mad tonight he’d forego their usual “Spotchka under the stars” and just do “The Stars” for tonight.  The alcohol was wearing heavily on his system, making for extremely tiring mornings after...even with him cutting back considerably. 

In the last few months, Hunter and Mad watched a vibrant moon make its transit across the heavens.  It stood out amongst the other stars.  Burning a brilliant red flicker that could be easily seen even though it was millions of light years away. The bright red star reached the zenith of its orbit and total brilliance tonight per Tech’s calculations.   

“There’s YOUR moon, Hunky!” Mad pointed up above.  

There was a number for this moon at one point. With millions of celestial bodies orbiting the galaxy, only numbers were given to keep track of them all. That wasn't good enough for Omega though. She named it “Hunter’s Moon” rotations ago before leaving on her own journey with Echo and Crosshair. 

“Shame it’s the last night we’ll see it on Pabu.” Hunter mused. 

Mad sighed. “Didn’t Tech say something about it being visible somewhere else?” 

“Think he mentioned another planet not far from this one...” Hunter trailed off. 

“Whattsamatter Hunky?” 

He looked a little guilty “Not sure I’m up to traveling much any time soon.” He also sounded tired. 

“Not in any hurry. We have a sky full of stars.” 

“Mhmm, that’s my Mad... always thinking ahead.” 

“It’s the wanderlust. Brain never shuts off.” 

“I LOVE you, Maadienne.” 

Mad smiled and squeezed his hand. “I LOVE you too, Hunky.” 

They both gazed up at Hunter’s Moon.  

“Make a wish, Mad!”  Hunter said quietly.  

They were both silent for a while.  Then Hunter gently rested his head against hers. 

She knew he wouldn’t come out and tell her his wish, that to tell it wouldn’t come true.  Mad still liked to chide Hunter and try to playfully tease it out of him.  It would end in tickling, laughter, hugs, kisses...and on less tiresome nights love making. On tiresome nights they fell asleep in each other's arms on the beach. 

“Okay Hunky, spill the beans.”  Mad hugged Hunter tighter.  He didn’t reply.   

“Hunky..?”   

Mad brushed Hunter’s long locks away from his face. She gazed down at him, marveling at how the bonfire illuminated his hair, tattoo, dark skin. The face of a sleeping angel.  A rhyme in time back on Ord Mantell all those years ago.  The younger man who decided to buy her a drink in Cyd’s Parlor.  A partner that travelled with her across the galaxy, helped care for her family, whose brothers adopted them all, and a partner that never left her side. 

She caressed his face lovingly, immersing herself in the scent of his skin, hair, and... 

...breath...? 

Hunter’s chest had stilled.  An expected, but heavy weight resting against her body, a bit heavier than his usual bodily presence. 

“Oh...Hunter...Hun...” Mad suddenly hitched and exhaled, tears running down her face. 

She knew this day would eventually come.  And as the full rotations went on, she kept wishing on a certain red star that she could have another standard day with him.  Every standard day she wished to have another. 

But wishes only carry you so far...and there are only so many wishes granted. 

And you must accept that the universe has other plans. 

To believe in having just a moment of happiness instead of none. 

Mad kissed Hunter’s forehead.  “Aw, Hunky...we were REAL good...  Weren’t we? 

The red star above Pabu twinkled in reply to Mad’s words as she hugged Hunter for the last time. 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED OR DROPPED FROM MY TAG LIST, PLEASE MESSAGE ME! Don't just comment as I might miss it. Thanks!!! <3

[readyforthegarden]

kait my beloved! i saw your prompts earlier and then forgot to send one, but allie's just reminded me, so i came here to request "peppering small kisses all over their face to wake them" with jakey pleaseeeee 🥰

we know he's a giggler as much as he tries to be serious all the time, and the thought of quiet little morning voice giggles almost just sent me to the hospital

okay i'm back with these prompts!!!! thank you for your patience pj my love!! i hope you enjoy!!

It had been a long week, and you were so ready to be home. Your mother had decided to put your childhood home up for sale, citing the lawn care and general maintenance was becoming to much for her to do alone as she got older. Instead, she had found a nice condo, where everything would be taken care of for her. You'd flown back to your home state to help her pack and clean out the house.

Your boyfriend, Jake, had wanted to go with you, however his own schedule had been full of studio time and rehearsals before he and his brothers went back on the road in a few weeks. You made do with facetiming almost every night, or talking on the phone. You were usually fine being without him for stretches of time. You had to be, knowing your work would keep you from joining him on tour a lot, and during album cycles he'd be busy. But there was something about the emotional time you were having, packing up memories from your childhood, or setting them out for a garage sale or into a donation box. It made you crave the comfort of your partner, the reassurance that even through the changes that were happening, he was going to be steadfast.

You hadn't told him you changed your flight to an earlier one. Jake was supposed to pick you up from the airport at one-thirty in the afternoon, but your mom had been settled into her condo for a few days, and there wasn't anymore reason for you to stay. You'd opted for an uber back to your home, the sun just starting to rise as you arrived. You were thankful the uber driver got out to help you get your bag out of the trunk, it being heavier with a few extras from your home.

Rolling it up to your front door, you fished your keys out of your bag and quietly unlocked it. There was a fifty/fifty chance that either Jake was still awake putzing around the house, or he was in bed, dead to the world. You had fallen asleep on the phone with him last night, listening to him talk about at restaurant Sam had taken him to, that he was exited to take you to try. But that didn't mean Jake had fallen asleep.

The house was quiet, still dim with just the early morning sun starting to creep in. You could hear the faint hum of your fan on upstairs, meaning Jake was indeed in bed. You left your suitcase and bags at the door after locking it again and kicking off your shoes, nearly tip-toeing across the foyer and making your way upstairs. Pushing open the door to your bedroom, you were hit with the cool air in there, the fan blowing on you as it swiveled. Jake was tangled up in the bedding, his dark hair splayed across the pillow. As you stepped closer, you saw his phone clutched in his hand, a sign he also fell asleep while on the phone with you, no doubt listening to your breathing on the other end of the line to fall asleep himself.

Softly, you climbed into the bed, smiling at your love and how serene he seemed while sleeping, his mouth parted slightly. Jake's round face was always something you found so sweet, so handsome. His cheeks were the perfect place to leave kisses, other than his lips. You couldn't help yourself, you'd missed him too much. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his cheek.

One turned into to two, and then suddenly you were raining soft kisses all over Jake's face, feeling him start to wake underneath you. As his body stretched, his chest rumbled with deep giggles, turning his face so you could get the side that had been resting on the pillow.

"Well good morning honey," he chuckled as his arms encircled you, rolling over so you were on top of him. You mumbled out a good morning reply between smooches, making sure to get every square millimeter of his face. Jake continued his laughter as you kept going. "I missed you too,"

"I'm sorry," you sat up, brushing the hair out of your face as you gazed down at him and caught your breath. "I just needed to kiss you, I missed you so bad." Jake raised a hand, sliding it under your hair and around the back of your neck, gently guiding you down for a sweet, slow kiss on the lips.

"You booked an earlier flight just to come home and shower me with affection?" he asked, a playful smirk on his lips. You shrugged with a small nod.

"And what if I did?"

"I'd say that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." Jake smiled sleepily. "Now, why don't you change into your pajamas, crawl back into this bed, and cuddle with me until it's a decent hour to be awake?"

"That sounds perfect." you climbed off him, and moved to your dresser, taking off your plane clothes and changing into one of Jake's old t-shirts and a pair of your sleep shorts before crawling back into bed, snuggling up into Jake's side, catching up on some much needed sleep.

[edenscollardrawer]

My Girl - f!Wren/f!PC

18+, content warnings and tags: alcohol, established relationship, fingering, fluffy fluffy fluff 1538 words (this is what y'all voted against for valentines day...)

“Ugh, Wren, what the hell are we doing here? It smells proper foul…” Your words came out a bit more whiny than intended as you stepped around a bucket of fish carcasses on the side of the dock, arm tightening around hers. She chuckled at your high maintenance behavior, guiding you through the rows of dimly lit shipping containers. This wasn’t a particularly appealing part of town in your opinion, the whole area had a very distinct stink. Either way, you’d go pretty much anywhere Wren asked. You’d grown increasingly fond of her during your weekly trips to the cottage, so when she texted you asking to meet at the docks, alone, just the two of you? You jumped at the chance. Turning a corner, Wren stood in front of one of the containers, tapping the side of it affectionately like it was a prized horse. 

“Alright, we’re here.” 

“...Where?” At that, Wren winked at you and pulled the latch open - swinging open the industrial entrance. Inside, it was empty - save for a single table, two chairs, and a multitude of lit candles. A white tablecloth lined surface, along with a small glass vase containing a single red rose. A deep, crimson flush immediately rose to your cheeks. This was… a date? Fuck, you would’ve at least changed out of your farm clothes if you’d realized. Wren grabbed your wrist gently and dragged you inside, the large metal door shutting behind you with a bang. Pulling out one of the chairs, you sat down - hands folded in your lap as she scooted you in. Underneath the table was a wicker picnic basket, which was slid out and opened. A cheesy grin plastered across your cheeks, your gaze fixed on her - completely enthralled by her every move. 

“What? Never been on a date before? You’re staring at me like one of those dead fish we saw.” 

“I’m just surprised you want to do anything more than snog me, that’s all.” 

“Aw, is that how little credit I’m getting? Pity, considering what I have planned.” She paints a faux pout over her lips, uncorking the bottle of wine she’d retrieved from her bag of tricks. The stream of burgundy liquid flowed into your waiting glass, and you wasted no time in raising it up in toast. 

“Cheers. To… whatever this is.” You gesture between the two of you, clinking your glass to hers and sporting a cheeky smirk. Wren sat across from you, crossing her legs. Her sultry gaze accentuated her thick lashes as she sipped on the earthy cabernet. 

“That’s why I asked you to come here, actually.” Oh? Your heart rapidly began to beat out of rhythm, heat rising in every part of you. There was no way that the notoriously promiscuous flirt was… No. She couldn’t be. A shaky inhale filled your lungs as you downed the rest of your glass in one gulp. Wren stared at you, eyebrows raised. Grabbing the bottle from the center of the table, you filled your cup so full that it nearly spilled over the edge. 

“Relax, you’re shaking like a chihuahua on amphetamines.” Wren smiled, reaching across the surface to grab ahold of your hand. She’s never done that before... Her hands were shockingly soft and well manicured, considering… whatever it is she does for work. The romantic atmosphere was doing little to calm your nerves, but the alcohol in your system was helping to lower your defenses a little. Your fingers intertwined with hers. 

“I like you. Massive bonus that you look so hot bent over my blackjack table,” Clearing her throat, she finally broke your gaze, taking a hefty gulp out of her own glass before continuing. She tried to keep her cool, but it was obvious enough that she was nervous. “Really, though. I wanted to see you alone for once. Watch that pretty little mouth of yours do some talking rather than, you know.” That signature grin spread across her cheeks, melting the last of your nerves. As close as you’d grown to her in your visits to the cottage, this felt so much more intimate than any of that. You never really got to be alone with her like this, let alone be holding her hand or sharing a glass of red. 

“I don’t think you should come by the cottage anymore.” She said definitively, and your hand loosened in hers. Huh? 

“Why? That’s the only time we even see each other.” 

“Exactly. I want to see you away from work. You’re fucking beautiful, and clever as they come.” The tightness that had been gradually coiling in your body immediately loosened. Bottom lip bitten between your teeth, you looked down at your interconnected hands and smiled bashfully. The dim candlelight illuminated her golden locks, and you could’ve sworn there was an angel across from you - halo and all. An overwhelming warmth for her bloomed within you, accompanied by a small pang of sadness at the thought of losing your weekly game together.

“Why do I have to stop coming for blackjack, though? I like playing with you.” Wren scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

“Because if you’re my girl I don't really want you stripping naked for my friends, do I?” 

“Y-your… girl?”

“Don’t be dense, you’re a smart girl. My smart girl, right?” An uncontrollable burst of happiness took over you, and you pushed your chair back, walking to her side of the table and cupping her face in your palms. Leaning forward, you captured her lips in yours. You’d kissed her nearly a hundred times by now, but this was nothing like any other time. She melted into your grip, lips interlocking with yours. You stayed like that for several moments, basking in the warm glow of the surrounding flames. Pulling back, you left a final sweet peck on her cheek. As you turned back around to return to your seat, she grabbed your forearm and yanked you down into her lap - eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. 

“Don’t worry,” She pulls roughly at the center of your flannel shirt, buttons clattering onto the ground as it pops open, revealing the bra underneath. “I’ll do the hard bit for you this time.” Unhooking the clasps behind your back, your bra falls free from your shoulders, breasts bouncing out. Nipping at the space right under your ear, she whispers praises of you being such a good girl. Hands hooking into the waistband of your shorts, no time was wasted in pulling them down past your ankles along with your panties. The only warmth in the cool metal space was her clothed body against yours and the faint heat emanating off the surrounding candlelight. 

Facing her, you wrapped both arms around her neck, holding her more passionately than you ever would in front of her friends. Her hands pinned you down by the hips, thigh hiking up into your soaked center. Glossed lips enveloped yours in another steamy kiss, tongues entangling together. The air was thick with the scent of melting wax and rusted metal, but it felt strangely intoxicating in Wren’s presence. Between her slow movements and gentle embrace, you found yourself wondering if this was the real Wren - the Wren you couldn’t see back at the cottage. You could definitely get used to this version of her. 

Lost in your train of thought, you didn’t notice her digits snaking down to your center until they were swirling around your sensitive bud - a soft whimper falling from your lips. In the crowded musk of your usual setting, you’d never have reacted so softly, so vulnerably. Desperately, your fingers gripped into the space between her shoulder blades, like she could disappear at any second. Gathering up your slick, her fingers wasted no time in prodding at your waiting entrance, eliciting a gentle gasp from you. 

“So sensitive, aren’t you?” she nips at your earlobe, peppering kisses along the tender skin of your neck. Her digits slowly slide within your pulsing core, stretching you open as your head lulls back, eyelids fluttering shut. Each slow thrust of her fingers inside you made you whine, silencing your noises in the crook of her shoulder. It wasn’t just the wine making you feel intoxicated anymore, it was her. Every stroke of her digits inside you, every press of her lips against your skin, even just the lingering scent of her perfume. Your thighs trembled atop her lap, forcing a smug chuckle from her lips that reverberated off your skin. Each noise that fell from your disheveled body was rewarded with whispers of praise. 

Before long, your walls were clenching around her fingers - arching back pushing your chest into hers. Wren licked her lips, watching you unfold with a pleased smirk gracing her face. Sparks of pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, nothing like you’d ever felt with her during the countless orgasms she’d given you before. This was distinctly different, distinctly romantic. Coming down from your high, chest heaving, you clung to her like a child clings to their favorite teddy bear. She is your favorite teddy bear, actually. You pulled back to rest your forehead against hers, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. 

“I really like you, Wren.”

“I know.”