#as it works good as inspo and motivation

[tralalalalally]

I really do wish that I could draw more - but unfortunately I'm almost constantly dealing with depression, or fatigue, or pain, so it's really once in a blue moon I can make anything. But I want to say that people liking, reblogging, and commenting on my work really keeps me going. For years posting on just my main I got basically no response to my art, which made it harder to have any motivation to carry on. Now, seeing that even after months of nothing from me, people still see my work and give a little thumbs up, or write paragraphs in the tags makes me happy. I'm sure I'd have more followers if I could post more frequently, but just knowing that there will be anyone around to enjoy what I post after managing to drag myself out of bed is enough. So thank you all! Nearly 100 followers - I know some would say that's nothing, but imagining almost 100 people deciding they like my art enough to hang around? I'd be very anxious in a crowd that size in real life, haha.

[liones-s]

good focus and motivation to all of you this finals season

[asyastudieskorean]

09.27.2024 — 안녕하세요 everyone~ It’s 7:30 AM. I’ll be studying all day today at home, though a coffee run down the street sounds heavenly right now. I’ve got an entire unit on honorifics (존댓말) and homework (숙제) to get through. The verb chart is also coming along! 해피 금요일이에요~

[imyourcomputergame]

Some of the paintings I did this week

[xenolinn]

started listening to Mayfair Watchers Society and GODS I feel the horror vibes and I'm loving it

[songouda]

infinitely jelaous of all of the self-ship artists like ... y'all are so talented omg ... what i would give to be able to draw self-inserts smooching my f/os !!!

[moonlitsnail]

i am just like sitting here and stewing bc i wanna go home and draw and not be here anymoreeeeee

[elecman108]

I got my motivation to draw back!! So I drew something cute!! ...Err, I mean Blaze hallucinating dead people and demon alter-egos whom he kind of turned into a patron of sorts despite his patron being said dead circus stuck in his head?

Complicated shit, my guy. He’s cute so therefore it’s cute logic in full force rn.

Nice! You clicked on the cut! Here’s the alternate version without it being haunted.

Still effectively is the same thing, just no face lol.

I think any Genasi with element-based hair (eg. Blaze’s fire hair, Tempest’s fog hair) would be affected by their environment/mood. Like Blaze here I picture as having just come out of the shower/bath, so his fire hair is down to embers. Tempest, however...

...It’s a barbarian rage thing, I think. His parents are an Air Genasi and Fire Genasi, and his older sister was a Fire Genasi, so when she died and became his ‘patron’ of sorts, he can get Pissed and look like a Fire Genasi to some degree. Or at least that’s the logic.

What’s with me and fucked up characters? Blaze is haunted by ghosts, Tempest’s got PTSD, Axel’s traumatized with so many mental health conditions... lmao? I guess? I like depth and this is how I made depth with three of my favourites.

[heartsforseo]

Straw hats with a member/ S/o who still sleeps with plushies.

A/n: so I’ve been gone for almost 2 months but shhh I got some motivation now😼😼. PLUS I got this inspo from reading something somewhere. SO TY FOR GIVING ME THE THINGY TO WRITE AGAIN. request=open requested: <yes> <no> wc:970 ft: the straw hats (excluding chopper) warning: ??

⭑Luffy honestly wouldn’t care. If he ever crashes into your room (girls' room) and sleeps on your bed, he’d even shove the stuff toys away.

⭑When he sees your pouting/sad face he’d be clueless and continue whining for you to hop on the bed with him.

⭑When you finally told him why you were mad, he just tilted his head and let out a LONG sigh

⭑Would use his gum-gum abilities and get all your stuffy back in the bed (while groaning. He does NOT want to share)

⭑Speaking of sharing, why coddle a plushie when you have Luffy? Would def get jealous and maybe even tear one of them.

⭑P.s. He did…

⭑Zoro, just like Luffy, couldn’t be bothered. He’d probably think of it as a design at first. I mean, a pirate sleeping with plushies??? That’s rare

⭑But as the creator said, everyone in the crew is a weird person. So, here you are—in your room. Shock and in awe.

⭑Believe it or not, Zoro was sleeping with one of your plushies (that looked like a reindeer…)

⭑He had always denied sleeping next/with them. (Only if you convinced him enough, he’d let out a groan but still follow)

⭑You’d have to tease him about it now. I mean, Zoro sleeping before you??? Shocking with that 3 hrs sleep schedule.

⭑And a certain chef might’ve heard what you’ve said and used it against a certain swordsman…

⭑Nami, would even tax the poor plushies:~((

⭑Jokes aside, she’ll think of it as cute and nice decorations. They’re cuddly, colorful, and good for distress.

⭑But sometimes there’s a limit. She couldn’t even sleep on her OWN bed cuz of how many you got.

⭑Would roll her eyes when she saw you pout and give you a 35% discount.

⭑To help you get “rid” (as she says) of plushies, she’ll take a mini tangerine and place it on her work desk.

⭑Now she talks to it after dinner, drawing the map of the world.

⭑Ussop I’d say would make a story about how he once traveled to a stuffed toy island.

⭑Everything there was colorful, soft, and cuddly! He’d even point at one of your plushies and say he met them on the island!

⭑Your plushie would just stare and stare and stare… Until Ussop had to let out a fake cough and do his other stuff.

⭑He’d ask for your permission to get one of your plushies for support. (You said yes ofc).

⭑Now, whenever he has to modify Nami’s weapon/ whenever he’s alone from the group—he’ll hold the small plushie tightly and hug it, waiting for ideas to pop up.

⭑Sanji the beigest of them all. I could see Sanji:

⭑1) getting jealous about it. You have a whole husband in front of you. And you’re picking the plushie to cuddle…THAN HIM?!

⭑Would give the plushie dirty stares (especially if it was given by someone not him/by his crew)

⭑When you’re doing something else, he’d wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your neck.

⭑He’d give the plushie a smirk and laugh a bit. (Nurse gising na po sya)

⭑OR

⭑2) Sanji would write that down in his “All about Y/n!” Notebook and put hearts all over it.

⭑He would give you plushies, and on every island you visit, he insists on getting you at least one stuffed animal.

⭑Would even sculpt one of his foods as your plushie.

⭑Plus he’d get all giddy iddy when he sees you coddling the plushie he bought. It’s really satisfying to see when the person you love appreciates what they give you.

⭑Robin would let out a smile and maybe even tease you (when she's feeling it)

⭑Might get jealous when you're spending more of your time with them. She's your crew member and s/o, you should focus on her!

⭑She once woke up with your back in front of her, and you were cuddling your plushie.

⭑Sad to say you couldn't find your stuffies for a week… :(

⭑But Robin was there for you!

⭑In the end, it was a win-win situation!

⭑FRANKY FOUND IT CUTE CUTE CUTE.

⭑While you were worrying about how he'll react (unknowingly to you, he already found out and named one of them cola jr.) Franky already made a small plushie (robot) that does the SUPEERRRRRRR with him.

⭑When he saw you sad that one of your plushies got teared up, he'd secretly take it and repatch it (w/h metal scraps)

⭑Would sweat when you confronted him about it, and even DENY IT.

⭑"Franky you're the only one I know that'd use metal scraps for repair…"

⭑"Oh."

⭑Brook is a cutie patootie.

⭑He already knows what you like, from the panties you wear to the plushies you like!

⭑Would make one of those and have some delightful little tea parties. If you're too occupied to join in, why not let your mini-version take part instead?

⭑Anyways, if you'd ever show him a soul king merch/plushie. HE'D FLY OVER THE MOONN.

⭑He didn't know they were selling those! Especially when the cane he has can be removed and shown as a knife.

⭑Our good boy Jinbe.

⭑While on his trip, he saw a lot of them. But of course wouldn't bother to buy one.

⭑I mean, you're on a business trip for sake. And a pirate should always be ready and need no time for aesthetics.

⭑Well, that's what he thought BEFORE he met you. When he saw your room he was SHOOK

⭑How did you have time for all of this? How were you gonna sleep? How will you keep them clean?

⭑Many thoughts were roaming in his head. But when he saw your adoring smile, he made up his mind and would do anything to make you happy.

⭑Even keeping your plushies clean.

A/n: I hope you all enjoyed it. nd sorry for the almost 2-month break.

[angelicgirlmj]

an angels perfect winter morning: a guide . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

hi angels! this winter i want to perfect my morning routine. i struggle alot with sleep and energy levels, especially during the first few weeks of winter so this guide is a perfect way for me to ensure i have enough energy to get on with a busy and full day and achieve all my goals! while i cant do all of this every day what i try to do is pick a few things to prioritise daily. i hope you enjoy this and find some good routine inspo! especially if you struggle a bit with slumps during the colder months. enjoy.

school/work days - 20 step routine . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

wake up at 6:30 - 70:00.

open curtains and window (if not raining), let air circulate.

do a quick five or ten minute yoga/stretch routine while you watch the sunrise.

make bed (studies suggest its better to let your bed freshen with the sheets unmade first thing to stop the growth of certain bacteria etc).

dress.

clean teeth and floss.

drink glass of lemon water and salt (for natural electrolytes).

start packing lunch or snacks needed for the day.

make a cup of tea (my favourites are chai, green tea or matcha).

make breakfast (my go tos at the moment are turkey bacon and scrambled eggs, sautéed apple and yogurt or a porridge/oatmeal bowl).

clean teeth and mouthwash.

do am skincare.

style hair and jewellery.

make sure bag is fully packed.

journal for a few minutes and plan day.

read or listen to a podcast.

ensure all school work is up together/everything prepared for work.

fill up water bottle for the day.

set up room for when home, leave a cute lamp on, make sure your desk is tidy, lay out evening clothes etc.

put on motivational/winter playlist!

weekends - 20 steps . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

wake up at 8 - 8:30.

open curtains and window.

ten minute yoga/stretch routine.

tidy room and make bed.

get dressed in workout clothes.

do a five minute oil pull then clean teeth.

drink glass of lemon water with salt.

make breakfast and a tea (i normally put mine in a travel mug).

fill up water bottle.

clean teeth and am skincare.

if weather nice go on a little morning walk (half an hour to forty minutes).

journal and light a candle, plan day.

workout (i aim to workout for an hour to an hour and a half now weekends).

have a shower.

body lotions/moisturiser.

file nails.

start any work/projects needed, aim to get all finished by end of morning.

during breaks read or listen to podcast.

start weekend clean of room, change bedsheets, clean surfaces etc.

spend time with family or friends!

i want my winter mornings to be slow and mindful, focused on caring for my body and mind and doing what i can to make this time of the year easier and gentle on every part of me! there are lots of complexities within these routines so consider this a fairly basic, un-detailed guide. i might try to make a guide for any changes i make during the winter/as it gets colder if that would interest you angels? thank you for reading and have a great start to winter!

love, m.

[liones-s]

a grey day to write inside

[lordsukunas]

jjk men & you: nail appointment!

tldr: gojo, geto, nanami, ino, choso, toji, sukuna + mahito going with you to your nail appointment.

cw: fem!reader. sukuna refers to reader as ‘woman’ once. and mahito.

a/n: this was fun lowk. might do it for jjk boys, depends on my motivation. idk if mahito particularly counts as a man, but he’s here for my mootie. time to sleep now, enjoy!!!

✿ — gojo:

first things first, he’s paying for your nails. which sounds like a good thing, until you realize he’s insisting on going along with you. he’ll pester you the entire time, suggesting colors and styles (how does he know so much?!) and then doing anything to get you to laugh or look at him. sometimes it results in your nail tech getting a little lot frustrated because he keeps making you squirm. eventually, tho, he’ll stop and let the tech finish up your nails.

“they’re cute. would’ve been cuter if you let me pick, buuuut... still cute.”

✿ — ino:

he’ll flex his knowledge about nails like it’s something revolutionary or suggest a style that he swears is completely unique, only for you to correct him and realize that it’s really just basic information. he’ll spend the rest of the appointment scrolling through pinterest and instagram, trying to find inspo for your next set.

“ooh, baby, look. these are nice, right?”

✿ — nanami:

only pays if you want him to, and only goes if you want him to. is content to let you pick whatever style you want, but likes to pick out bold colors and suggest designs based on your interests or adding charms. always tips the tech, and once your nails are done, he gently grabs your hand and kisses the back of it.

“these suit you perfectly, my lady.”

✿ — geto:

at first, he is nawt going in there. unless you find a sorcerer nail tech, he’s going to be slick the entire time. he’ll side-eye everyone else getting their nails done, judge their taste (“why would she choose that shit-brown?”), and stand up the entire time. he doesn’t want the germs. once you’re done, he’s pulling you out of there as quickly as possible.

“here, take this. ... yes, it’s hand sanitizer. you don’t want those monkey germs, right?”

✿ — toji:

only goes because you told him if he tagged along, you’d pay. in reality, he was going to go all along, just to make sure nobody tries anything. he will slap the shit outta somebody, including your nail tech. sits in a tiny chair by your side, massive head resting on your shoulder and arms crossed, absolutely knocked out. he’ll only wake up if you shrug your shoulder or if the appointment ends (he has some kind of sixth sense for that shit).

“huh? ... nah, i ain’t sleep. you cute, now c’mon.”

✿ — choso:

kind of like gojo, clingy asf. he won’t make suggestions (bro has no idea, pls bear w/ him), but he’ll praise any and every decision you make. his arms will be wrapped around your waist the entire time, earning him lots of ‘awhss’ and ‘look at them! so cute.’ tips the nail tech for “making you extra gorgeous.” his words, not mine.

“you look good, i swear. i like the colors, and the shape, and the design, and your hands...”

✿ — sukuna:

has a personal nail tech. you think he maintains them black nails by himself? no. threatens his nail tech to do good on your nails, otherwise it’ll be the last set they ever do. makes minor suggestions, but is content to sit back and let you decide for yourself. he does have a preference color, though, either black, red, or dark purple. gets a weird urge to nibble your fingers once your nails are done. please don’t ask why.

“hm? you look fine, woman. nothing rivals your natural beauty, so quit ya whining.”

✿ — higuruma:

he’s awake for the entire prep process. watching you pick your colors, decide on a design, get settled in the chair. the second the nail tech actually gets to work, though, he’s tapped out. just like toji, he’s sitting in a chair beside you, head either resting in your lap or on your shoulder. if he could sit across from you, his head would be on your chest. only wakes up when it’s time to pay (he tips!) or if something goes wrong.

“... mm? oh, those are nice, sunshine. i like the little designs, very cute.”

✿ — mahito ..?:

a lil shit the entire time istg. doesn’t care what you pick, will poke and squish and pinch and nuzzle you the whole process, annoying both you and the tech. considers getting his done to match yours, but realizes he could probably just morph the shape of his soul instead of sitting there.

“those are, like, so cute! ... no? you don’t like my valley girl accent?”

[martinsorbit]

Oh hey, it's that sun guy.

After two arduous weeks (Aug 1st - Aug 15th) the Sun cold porcelain figure is COMPLETE! DONE! FINISHED! HE IS HERE IN ALL HIS GLORY

Its been a long (and at times painful) process considering the time it took for all the stuff to dry and for me to have free time to finish this project, but now the silly little jester is in my hands and he looks SO CUTE AND COOL!! HE EVEN HAS A HOOK

Thanks everyone for hyping me up and keeping me motivated during this <3 It literally meant a ton and helped me keep working on this bonkus shit

under the read more, there will be some more details about the figure itself and some more pictures ( Like materials, how much time it took, the process stuff etc)

feel free to ask me questions! thanks everyone!

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PROCESS!

Q: What materials did you use for this?

A: White Cold Porcelain, Hot Glue, super glue, pencils, pliers, paper clips, scissors, paint, all purpose varnish, paintbrushes, metalic pens

Q: How long did it take to make him?

A: Roughly two weeks

Q: Are you going to make moon too?

A: yes but it will take a while

Q: [X element of suns character design] is missing.

A: trust me, I know. Ive been staring at his model for roughly a whole week and mentally rotating him in my brain , so if something is missing its cuz i was either having a hard time making it or cuz I took creative liberties lmao

Q: How long did it take for the stuff to dry?

A: The cold porcelain abt 3 ish days; Paint took 1 day and the varnish also a day (as it states in the bottle)

FINAL NOTES:

Yes, you can use colored cold porcelain instead of painting it! It's just easier for me to paint it over

- For the love of god, be careful when applying the varnish, that shit is bad for your health! read the instructions, do it in a ventilated area, and NEVER put it too close to your face, or u might get some not so good side effects ( like yer eyes burning)

No, i dont intend on selling him anytime soon sorry ( this was asked before regarding some other cold porcelain thing I did, so I just thought i would add it here)

- If u dont wanna spend too much money on the colors u can just buy some Yellow, Cyan, Magenta, Black and White (CMYK) along with some skin tones; u can basically make any color from those

- I used two of Sun's main poses in the game as inspo for making this

- His faceplate is supposed to spin but since it keeps falling off I decided to glue it

[jetii]

Charting A New Course

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader / Tech x Jedi!Reader

Words: 6,219

Tags/Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, kissing and cuddling, Tech being a cutie bc that’s mandatory

Summary: You and Tech adjust to your new life together, and to your new home on Pabu.

A/N: For Anne @baddest-batchers 💙 Ily and thank you so much for the inspo, your continuous support, and for being such a light in this fandom!! This is set 2-3 months after the first two installments in the Tech x Sarad series(?). Chronologically it’s part 4 since there will be another (nsfw) part out next week.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

It's strange for Tech to feel out of his depth, but the truth is, he is.

He's never been good at understanding people. Their thoughts, their actions, their feelings...they're a mystery to him. He's spent years trying to solve the puzzle, but there are too many pieces missing. Too many variables, too many unknowns.

He's given up, mostly. Decided that, sometimes, there are just things that are better left alone.

But, now, he has to try again. Because it's different. He's different.

And Sarad...

Well, Sarad is the biggest puzzle of them all.

You're the most intriguing, most confounding, most wonderful thing he's ever encountered. And he wants nothing more than to solve you. To unlock the mysteries of your heart, and to find out why you do the things you do. Why you stay.

Why you love him.

He knows, logically, that there are no simple answers. That, like the universe, your motivations are vast and complicated, and that they can't be distilled down to a single line of code. But, still, he wonders. He wonders, and he questions, and he hopes. He hopes, with a fierce desperation that surprises even him, that you'll never leave.

But, sometimes, he can't help but worry that, eventually, you will. That, one day, you'll realize that you're better off without him. That you'll grow tired of him, or bored, or frustrated, or simply change your mind. That you'll decide that the life he can offer you isn't enough. That the stars aren't worth it.

He worries, but he doesn't say anything. He's learned, through countless cycles, that the best way to solve a problem is to approach it objectively. That, sometimes, the answers aren't as clear as they seem.

So, instead, he does what he does best.

He observes.

Tech studies you, and watches you, and tries to understand. And, over time, he learns. He learns your habits, your likes and dislikes, your favorite foods and the songs you hum when you think no one's listening. He learns what makes you laugh, and what makes you angry, and what makes your eyes light up with joy. The things he never noticed, or never paid attention to, or never thought to ask about. He learns them all.

And, slowly, he begins to feel more comfortable around you. More secure.

Because, no matter how confusing you may be, you're always consistent.

You're quiet, and calm, and patient. You listen, and you watch, and you observe, just as much as he does. You understand him in a way that no one else does, and you never judge him for his oddities. You seem to appreciate them more than anything. And, sometimes, he finds himself doing things just because he knows you'll find them amusing. More so lately than ever.

He finds it curious, and slightly alarming, that he's beginning to change. That his habits are shifting, and his priorities are rearranging, and that his feelings are becoming clearer.

But, most of all, he finds it intriguing.

Because, now, when you smile, or laugh, or brush a strand of hair out of his face, he doesn't look away. He doesn't shy away from your touch, or avert his gaze. He holds it. And, when he does, his pulse quickens, and his cheeks flush, and his lips twitch upwards, almost without him noticing. He doesn't understand why, but it's become a habit, and one he doesn't mind indulging in.

You seem to notice the change, and you seem delighted by it. But, rather than question him about it, or draw attention to it, you simply smile. A small, knowing smile. One that's both pleased and mischievous, and one that makes his heart stutter.

You're smiling at him like that now. Tech knows he's been caught staring, and while it would normally annoy him, this time, he finds that he doesn't mind. In fact, he quite enjoys it.

He smiles back, a small twitch of his lips, and feels his heart beat a little faster. You're radiant, and beautiful, and his. You're his. And, somehow, the idea doesn't frighten him as much as it used to.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

"You," he replies, his voice soft.

Your smile widens, and you lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You reach in front of him, using your hand to push the last of the vegetables from your cutting board into the stew for him. He's been making an attempt to learn how to cook, and he's been finding it a useful distraction from his racing thoughts. Still, though, his focus isn't on the food. It's on you. Always on you.

"Any specific thoughts, or just general observations?"

"General, mostly," he replies, watching you as he stirs the mixture. "You seem happy."

"I am," you reply. "It's a good day."

"How can you tell?”

It's not a challenge. He's genuinely curious. You're always so calm, and serene, and at peace with the universe, and he's still trying to figure out how you manage it. He knows that part of it is the Force, and your connection to it, but there's more to it than that. There has to be.

"Hmmm..." You glance up at the ceiling, as if the answer is written on the wood. "It's hard to explain. I guess...I just feel it."

"That's not very scientific," he says, his lips twitching upwards. "Do you have any evidence to back up your claim?"

"None that you would accept," you chuckle. "But, I can tell. Just like you can tell when a storm is coming, or a plant needs more water. It's a feeling. An intuition."

"I see," he murmurs, his eyes drifting towards the window. It's overcast, and the wind is picking up, and the air is heavy with the scent of rain. It's the kind of day that usually has him retreating into his bunk, or burrowing into his work. The kind of day where he seeks out comfort and shelter and warmth.

"Don't worry," you say as if reading his thoughts. "We have a few hours before it starts. And the greenhouse should hold up. I reinforced the roof and walls yesterday."

"I didn't realize," he says, surprised, and he turns back to you. "I must have been distracted."

"It's alright," you assure him. "I know you were busy."

"With what?"

"Whatever was going on in that brilliant mind of yours," you say with a grin. You nudge him gently with your hip, and he feels his cheeks flush. "I didn't want to interrupt. You were so focused on whatever you were working on."

"I apologize," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," you interrupt, placing a hand on his arm. "I know you get lost in your thoughts sometimes. It's nothing to apologize for. Besides, you needed the quiet."

He smiles at that. You always seem to know when he needs space. When his mind is too full, and his thoughts are too loud, and the only way to escape them is to lose himself in work. You've become an expert at reading his moods, and at taking care of him. And, even though it took him a while to adjust and accept it, he finds that he doesn't mind.

"Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "You're always so thoughtful."

"Of course," you murmur, and your gaze drifts back towards the window.

He follows it, and his eyes settle on the clouds that are starting to gather on the horizon. The sky is a dark gray, and the air is cold and damp, and there's a faint rumble of thunder in the distance.

"I'd do anything for you, Tech.”

Tech pauses, his spoon hovering over the pot. The words are soft, and sincere, and they send a shiver down his spine. Because he knows you mean them. He knows, in his heart, that you'd never lie to him. Not about something like this. 

He's not sure how to respond, but he doesn't have to, because you're already continuing.

"I like seeing you like this," you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You turn away from the window, your eyes meeting his. "At peace. Happy."

"I like being like this," he replies. He lets the spoon rest against the rim of the pot and reaches out to take your hand. Your fingers interlace, and he marvels at how perfectly they fit together. At how easy it is, now, to express his affection. It's still not second nature, but it's not as difficult as it used to be. Not with you. "With you."

"You're different, lately," you note. "More...relaxed. I like it."

"Is that so?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," you laugh. "It's nice."

"I suppose I have you to thank for that," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing absent-minded circles on your skin. "You've had quite the influence on me."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It is," he says, and the certainty in his voice surprises him. He doesn't question it, though. "I'm trying to learn how to let go. To be content with the here and now, and to not always be thinking about the future."

"Well, you're doing a good job," you praise, and your smile is brighter than the sun. "I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"Yes," you say. "You're learning, evolving. Like a flower opening to the light."

Tech huffs a laugh. "That's an...unusual metaphor."

"But a fitting one," you point out, leaning into him.

"Perhaps," he admits. "Although if I were a plant, I would hope to be something more interesting than a flower."

"Like what?"

"Something useful," he muses. "A tomato, perhaps."

You laugh, loud and bright, and the sound makes his chest swell. He loves your laugh. It's warm, and full, and contagious. It fills him with a strange kind of joy, and he feels his lips twitch upwards.

"Only you would want to be a vegetable," you say, shaking your head in amusement.

"A tomato is a fruit," he corrects quickly. Both because he’s unable to resist, and because he knows you don’t mind and that he’ll find your response amusing.

"Oh, of course," you say with an exaggerated eye-roll. He smiles. "My apologies. A fruit, then."

"You are forgiven," he replies, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Tech leans over and presses a kiss to your temple. He's not sure why, but the urge strikes him, and he doesn't resist. He's learned by now that there are some impulses he should listen to. Especially when they involve you. Especially when it means he can feel your warmth, and the smoothness of your skin, and the way your breath hitches at the contact.

You tilt your head to look at him, and he sees the emotions flicker across your face. Surprise, and delight, and affection. You're always so expressive, and open, and his smile widens.

"What was that for?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No reason," he murmurs. "Just...happy."

You grin and lean in, brushing your nose against his.

"Love you," you whisper.

"And I, you," he replies, his fingers reaching up to tangle in your hair. He brings you closer and kisses you, dipping his head and tilting to capture your lips just right. It's slow, and gentle, and perfect, and he's amazed, once again, at how natural it is. He doesn't know how he managed to live so long without this.

He doesn't know how he can ever again live without it.

“They’re going to be here soon,” you murmur against his lips, a note of amusement in your voice.

Tech hums in acknowledgement, but doesn't stop kissing you. He knows he should, but he can't bring himself to pull away. He wants to savor the moment. To memorize every detail, and burn the memory into his mind. You're perfect, and he's not ready to let go. Not yet.

You smile against his lips, and his grip tightens, pulling you closer in a way that makes you let out a breathy laugh. Your hands are on his arms, and your fingers are tracing lazy patterns on his skin as your mouth opens to him.

He can't help but feel a sense of smug satisfaction at the fact that he's the one making you laugh. That he's the one causing the blush that's spreading across your cheeks. That he's the one drawing these reactions from you.

He wants to draw more. Wants to see you smile, and hear you laugh, and watch your eyes light up with joy. He wants to keep doing this, over and over again. Until the stars die, and the galaxies collapse, and the universe falls apart around him. 

He wants to do this, and so much more, and it's a realization that makes his head spin.

He can't imagine his life without you. Without the sound of your laughter, and the feel of your hands, and the warmth of your body pressed against his. He can't imagine his life without the simple domesticity, and the quiet moments, and the uncomplicated love that comes from simply being.

He can't imagine his life without this feeling. Without this certainty. This happiness. And he's suddenly overcome with a desire to do everything he can to hold on to it. To do everything he can to make sure that it never fades.

"Tech..." you gasp, your fingers digging into his shirt.

He pulls away, his chest heaving, and looks at you. You're flushed and breathless, and his gaze drifts down to your lips, pink and slightly swollen from his kisses. He can't help himself. He leans in and kisses you again, a soft, chaste press of his lips to yours.

"They're really going to be here soon," you breathe, your forehead resting against his.

"I know," he sighs. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to pull away. "I should finish preparing dinner."

You nod, a slight frown on your face. Tech knows it's because you want him to keep kissing you, but you're also a stickler for punctuality, and you don't like making people wait. He doesn't either, but he finds that, when it comes to you, he's more than willing to break the rules. Just a little.

"I'll set the table," you offer as you step away. "And I need to get the dessert from the icebox. Do we have any honey left?"

"You made dessert?" he asks, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

You'd taken to baking lately, and he'd found himself quite enjoying the results. Wrecker especially had developed a taste for your creations, and he was constantly begging you to make him more. Tech didn't mind. He was just happy to see you happy. And, if he was being honest, he didn't mind the extra sweets.

"Yes," you reply. "And before you ask, it's not a cake."

"A shame," he teases. "I was rather hoping for another one."

"You just want more frosting," you laugh. You point a finger at him, the corner of your mouth quirked up. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," he says innocently. He smirks as he turns back to the pot, stirring the mixture. "But if I were, I would admit nothing."

"Sure," you chuckle, rolling your eyes. You move away from him, grabbing the plates from the counter, and start arranging them on the table. The sound is comforting, familiar. He's gotten used to this. To the easy rhythm, the simple domesticity, the quiet moments. He never thought he would. Never thought he could. But, with you, he can.

"I think we have enough honey," he calls over his shoulder. "I bought some last time I went to the market. It's in the pantry."

"Thanks," you shout back. "I'll grab it after I finish setting the table."

He listens as you work, the sounds of your movements soothing. You move about the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, retrieving the dishes and cutlery, arranging everything just so. He's learned by now not to interfere. You have a particular method, and a routine, and he's learned that it's better not to interrupt.

Instead, he adds a few finishing touches to the stew. Some more herbs, a dash of seasoning, a bit of extra salt. He stirs, and tastes, and nods, satisfied. It's good. Better than the first few times, at least. He's pleased with the results, and he hopes that the others will enjoy the meal as much as you always seem to.

"It smells wonderful," you say as you appear beside him. "It'll be nice to have the whole family over. I haven’t seen Echo since…” Your voice trails off, and you shake your head. “Well, not for a while."

"I know," Tech says, his voice soft. He knows that, while the time you spent apart from the others was hard on him, it was harder on you. He had lost his brothers, but you had lost everything. The family you had made, the friends you had known. All gone. You had never even said goodbye.

He's grateful that you've all been able to come together again, in a way. That you're not alone, and neither is he.

"I'm glad they're all okay," you say. "And I'm glad they have a place where they can finally be safe. Where we can all be safe."

"It's a good place," Tech agrees. Pabu is small and remote, and it's far removed from the dangers of the galaxy. They don't have the resources of Coruscant, or the defenses of Kamino, but they're content. They're safe. They're free.

You pause, tilting your head, and he can tell you're listening. He can't hear anything, but he knows you can. He knows you can sense them. It's still strange, after all this time, but it's becoming less so. Less unsettling. More...natural.

"They're here," you announce, a slight smile on your face. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he replies as his fingers slip into yours. "Let's go greet our guests."

The door opens, and the sounds of laughter drift in, followed by a gust of cool air. Omega's the first to step through, and she rushes towards you, practically tackling you in a hug. The others file in, greeting Tech and giving you warm embraces, and soon, the small house is filled with familiar voices.

Wrecker claps Tech on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over on his way to the kitchen. Hunter offers him a quiet smile and a nod. Crosshair gives him a look that's equal parts sarcastic and fond, and Echo pulls him into a one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you," Echo says, his gaze drifting to you. He gives you a nod and a questioning look, and you dip your head in return. "Both of you."

"Likewise," Tech says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile.

"The food smells great," Hunter remarks.

"I'll put some extra spice in it for you," Crosshair drawls, nudging Tech out of the way and moving towards the kitchen, where Wrecker is already sampling the food.

"Please, don't," Echo groans as he follows him.

The others settle in, spreading out across the room, and the atmosphere quickly becomes comfortable and familiar. Tech watches as they banter, and joke, and bicker, and a small part of him misses the days when it was just the five of them. But, it's a small part, and an insignificant one. Because, while those days were good, these ones are better. Because you're here. And, because he's finally allowed to have you. To love you.

You catch his eye and give him a warm smile, and he can't help but return it.

Yes, things are better, now. Much, much better.

The first thing Tech notices when he awakes is the smell of rain. It’s faint, but it’s there, and he rolls over, breathing deeply. The rain on Pabu is different than Kamino's, softer, and earthier, and he’s come to enjoy it. He cracks open an eye, taking in the sight of the droplets trickling down the darkened window.

The second thing he notices is the absence of you.

Tech's eyes snap open, and his gaze immediately seems out your form, but the bed is empty, and his heart leaps into his throat. He reaches out, his hands brushing against the cold sheets, and he swallows thickly, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He’s being irrational, and his mind is playing tricks on him. You are here. You’re safe. You’re home.

He rises from the bed and crosses the room, his bare feet sinking into the plush rug that you had insisted on purchasing for your new home together. Tech is still not convinced of its practicality, but the way it feels beneath his feet is pleasant, so he never protested. And, judging by the number of times he had caught you walking across it barefoot, pacing in circles as you typed away on your datapad, you seem to enjoy it as well.

Tech smiles slightly at the memory and opens the door, stepping into the hallway. The house is dark, save for a small lamp that's glowing softly in the living room. He pads down the hall and comes to a stop when he reaches the threshold. 

You’re sitting in the center of the floor, the soft glow of the light illuminating your features. Your legs are crossed underneath you, and your head is bowed as if in prayer. He can see your shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and the quiet tension that seems to constantly radiate from you has lessened somewhat. But there is still a weariness in the way you held yourself, a weight that has not yet been lifted.

Tech stands in the doorway for a moment, simply watching you. The sight of you meditating is not an unfamiliar one, and neither is the way his heart fluttered when he sees you. But the intensity of his feelings still takes him by surprise. He can only imagine what it would be like in the future. He doesn’t think it will ever stop, this overwhelming love he felt for you.

"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to join me?"

Tech starts slightly, his heart jumping at the sound of your voice. You turn to look at him, a small smile playing across your lips, and he can’t help but return it.

"I wasn't sure if I was allowed," he says quietly. He crosses the room, grabbing a blanket from the couch as he did so. You watch him, your expression softening as he carefully arranges the blanket around your shoulders before settling down next to you.

"Of course you're allowed," you murmur, shifting closer to him. "This is your home, too."

"I know," he says. "I was merely giving you some space. I did not wish to intrude."

You shake your head and let out a soft sigh. "Tech, I appreciate the sentiment, but I've had plenty of space. More than enough."

He hesitates for a moment, searching your expression. You seem calm, and the usual tension that lines your features had faded, but he’s still unsure. He had not wanted to push you, to ask for anything more than you were willing to give. And, though you had been open and welcoming with him in the months since your return, he’s still unsure how to act. He doesn’t quite know the boundaries, and he’s still afraid of crossing them, of hurting you.

"You don't have to worry, Tech," you say softly, as if sensing his thoughts. Perhaps you did. He would not be surprised. Your abilities were impressive, even by his standards. "I'm okay. I promise."

"Are you?" he asks, the question slipping from his mouth before he could stop it.

You pause, your brows drawing together. Tech holds his breath, waiting.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice firm. "I'm alright."

"Okay," he says.

You sigh and shake your head. "You're not going to believe me, are you?"

"I believe that you are trying to convince yourself," he replies gently. "But I also know that it is not as easy as just deciding that everything is okay."

"Tech—"

"Please, let me finish," he interrupts, holding up a hand.

You bite your lip, but remain silent, waiting.

"I know that it will take time," he says, his gaze falling to his hands. "And I know that there are some things that will never fully heal. But, if you are willing, I would like to be there for you. To help you in any way that I can."

He glances at you, and he finds you staring at him, your expression unreadable.

"Tech," you say quietly. "I know what you're doing."

"What?" he asks, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You're trying to take care of me," you say, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

"Is that so terrible?" he mutters. His brows furrow as he studies your face, trying to understand your reaction.

"No," you reply. Your voice is soft and reassuring, but he can tell by the way you wring your hands that it’s more than that. "It's not. But I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a while now. Long before you showed up."

"I know," he murmurs. "But you don't have to anymore. I am here now. And I will not leave you. I promise."

Your smile softens, and you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. He shifts, wrapping an arm around you, and his hand settles on your waist, his fingers stroking lightly over the fabric of your shirt. His shirt, actually. The one that he had lent you last week, and had yet to get back. Not that he minds. Seeing you in his clothes is more satisfying than he would have thought.

"I want to help," he says softly, his gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. "But only if you let me."

You don’t respond, and for a moment, he thinks that maybe he had said something wrong. Maybe he had overstepped. Maybe you weren't ready. But then you let out a breath, a long, shaky exhale, and he feels your body relax against him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?" he asks gently.

"For making you worry," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "I just...I didn't want to bother you. I didn't want to be a burden."

"You are not a burden, Sarad," he replies. "You never have been, and you never will be."

"Thank you," you murmur, nestling closer to him. He holds you, letting his hand drift up and down your arm, feeling the tension begin to leave your body. It’s a familiar motion, one that has become habitual, and it soothes both of you. He can feel his own anxiety fading, and his mind grows clearer, his thoughts less jumbled. The simple contact, the feeling of your presence next to him, is grounding.

"I missed you," you say after a while. "So much."

"I missed you, too," he murmurs.

"When I was on Nar Shaddaa, all I could think about was how much I wanted to go home," you continue, your voice barely audible. "Not the place, just...the feeling. Of being with you."

He tightens his grip on you, his arm around your waist pulling you closer.

"But now that I'm here and things have settled down, it's hard," you say. "With the Order, I had a purpose. A reason to keep going. And now, it's like I've lost my anchor."

Tech nods, his chin bumping against the top of your head. "I understand. After the war ended, and we defected from the Empire, the rest of the squad and I felt similarly. We had always had a sense of direction, but once the fight was over, it was difficult to find a new one."

"Yes," you breathe. "Exactly."

"But we found it," he says, his hand squeezing your shoulder. "Together."

You turn your face, burying it in the crook of his neck, and he feels a rush of warmth spread through him. The feeling of your breath on his skin is comforting, and he closes his eyes, letting his head fall against yours.

"We will find your new purpose," he says, his voice low and soft. "It will take time, but we will. And, in the meantime, we will have each other."

You hum in agreement, your hand slipping into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, his lips pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Do you think we'll ever feel normal again?"

He thinks for a moment before speaking, not wanting to upset you further, but he can’t find any answer that isn’t the truth.

"No," he finally says. "I don't believe so. Not truly."

You let out a breath, and Tech can hear the disappointment in it. He turns his head, letting his cheek rest on top of your head.

"That's what I thought," you sigh sadly. You move to pull away, but he holds firm.

"But, normal is subjective," he continues, his hand running up and down your arm. "And we have never been normal, so I do not think we have much to worry about."

"I guess," you reply. "It's just hard, sometimes. Being here. Trying to fit in. Especially when I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next."

"Neither do I," he says honestly. "But I have faith that we will figure it out."

You huff a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "When did you get so optimistic?"

"I learned from the best," he replies, a smile tugging at his lips. You pull from his embrace, and he feels a brief moment of panic before he sees the amusement shining in your eyes through the tears.

"I'm hardly the best," you chuckle.

"In my opinion, you are," he says firmly.

"Well, your opinion is biased."

"It is an opinion based on fact," he counters, raising an eyebrow as he turns his head toward you. You snort, rolling your eyes, but the smile remains on your lips.

You push yourself up onto your knees, and you lean forward, brushing a kiss against his lips. It’s brief, but it leaves him reeling. When you pull back, your cheeks are flushed, and he feels a surge of affection for you.

"Thank you," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. There’s a warmth in your gaze, a vulnerability that he had rarely seen, and he finds himself leaning forward, wanting to be closer to you again. "For everything. For being here, and for listening. And for just...being you."

He smiles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Always."

You press a kiss against his palm, and his heart swells, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. He’s struck once more by how lucky he is to have you back in his life. After everything he had gone through, after everything you had endured, it seemed impossible. But, somehow, the universe had brought you together once more. And, despite everything that had happened, he has no doubt that, together, you can face whatever the future held.

"Come on," you say, standing and extending a hand. "Let's go to bed."

Tech lets you pull him up, and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you close. You tilt your head, gazing up at him, and his breath catches in his throat. There’s no fear, no anxiety, no doubt. Only peace, and happiness, and love.

"Sarad..."

"Yes?"

He leans down, his lips finding yours. It’s a gentle, tender kiss, but it’s enough to make his pulse quicken. You melt into him, your hands sliding up his chest and tangling in his hair. He pulls you closer, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. You tug him down, deepening the kiss, and he can’t help but sigh. It feels so right, and it’s so easy to lose himself in the sensation, to forget about everything else.

When you finally break apart, the two of you are breathing heavily, and your foreheads are pressed together.

"That was nice," you murmur, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Indeed," Tech agrees.

You lean up on your toes, brushing a kiss against his cheek, and his grip tightens on you, keeping you close.

"So," you say, your voice low and soft. "Bed?"

"Yes," he whispers.

Your hand finds his, and your fingers lace together as you lead him out of the room, the blanket trailing behind you. He follows you down the hall, through the doorway, and into the bedroom, his eyes never leaving you.

The door closes behind you, and Tech lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as the last of the tension seeps from his body. The house is quiet and still, save for the faint sound of rain trickling down the roof. The darkness envelops the two of you, but he’s content to simply bask in your presence.

"You're quiet tonight," you observe as you make your way to the bed.

"I have a lot on my mind," he admits, following you.

"Anything you want to talk about?" you ask, settling onto the mattress.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to answer. The words are on the tip of his tongue, the ones that had been there for a while, but he doesn’t know how to say them. Doesn’t know if you were ready. And he doesn’t want to pressure you, not when so much is already uncertain.

"No," he says, joining you. "I'm alright."

"Okay," you murmur, curling into his side. He wraps an arm around you, his hand splayed across your back, and he lets out a long, slow breath. He can feel your heart beating, strong and steady, and he matches his breathing to the rhythm.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "I know this can't be easy for you."

"No," he agrees. "It isn't."

"But it's worth it," he adds. "Every moment with you is worth it."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, hiding your tears, and he tightens his hold on you, pulling you close. Your breath is hot against his skin, and he feels your tears dampen his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. His hand drifts up and down your back, a soothing motion that he hopes is helping.

"I love you," you mumble into his chest.

"I love you, too," he replies, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"I wish I could take away your pain," you say quietly.

"You already have," he assures you.

"What do you mean?"

"Being here, with you, is the closest thing to happiness I've known," he explains. "I would endure any pain, suffer any hardship, to have this."

You’re silent for a moment, and he can feel your heartbeat quicken.

"Really?" you ask, your voice small and vulnerable.

"Yes," he replies firmly.

You look up at him, your gaze searching, and he meets it unflinchingly. He wants you to see the truth, the sincerity, the depth of his emotions. Because it’s true. Because, despite everything, you are still the center of his universe.

"You know, Tech," you begin, a small smile tugging at your lips. "This might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I’m pleased to hear it," he says as a matching smile stretched across his face. “I will note the time and date.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Hopefully, you will never have to find out," he says earnestly.

"Yeah," you sigh. You settle against him once more, your head on his chest. "Hopefully."

He holds you, his arms encircling you, and he can feel your body relaxing, your muscles loosening. Your breathing is evening out, and he can tell that you were falling asleep. It’s been a long day, and a difficult night, and you need the rest. He wants nothing more than to give it to you.

"The rain," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "Reminds me of Kamino."

"It does," he agrees, his own eyes starting to grow heavy.

"I missed it.”

"Me too.”

You shift, moving closer, and his hands instinctively come up to hold you. He’s tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep, didn't want to miss a single moment with you. But his body is betraying him, and his mind is growing fuzzy. The exhaustion is too much, and his eyes slip closed, the darkness enveloping him.

He feels the blankets shift as you curl into him, and your breath is warm on his neck, a comforting sensation. You’re close, and real, and solid. You’re here, and that was all that mattered. He would give anything, would do anything, to keep you here, with him. To keep you safe.

And, with that thought in mind, Tech surrenders himself to sleep, knowing that, when he awoke, you would be there.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @floofyroro

[velvetures]

could i request a ghost x “strawberry/cutecore/hello kitty” reader?! basically just everything is pink and they are super bubbly :>

pls and ty 🙏🏻

Simon "Ghost" Riley & Cutecore/Hyperfeminine Aesthetic

a/n: I loved this request... but it was my first attempt at the aesthetic/vibe as a whole and I'm not sure if I hit the mark. I used this pic as my inspo. ):( Summary: What it's like for Ghost to have an "everything in pink, please." gf, and what kind of feelings go along with it. TW's: suggestive content 18+ ONLY, established relationship, possessiveness?, def not proofread (the usual), fem!reader.

Of all the women that Simon ever entertained the thought of being, one like you didn’t initially even present itself as a remotely interesting option. The idea of someone such much different from himself sounded like nothing less than a good way of fucking up someone else’s -otherwise- normal life by inserting himself into it. You just always seemed so damn happy and excited about even the smallest of things; Practically amplifying the good feelings floating around in the air and blasting them right back at him. Never without something pink on and dressed up like you were minutes away from attending some kind of fairy party literally scared Ghost away from having anything to do with you.

You on the other hand, weren’t exactly sure what it was that made Ghost so averse to speaking to you more than a few words at a time. Yet made it your very private little mission of sorts to snoop and poke around until you found some kind of answer as to why such a massive and expertly lethal man couldn’t bear to stand within arms reach of you. He just intrigued you for some reason or another. Only getting glimpses of the man’s real self in his eyes -the only visible part of him- and having to make your next moves based off of nothing more than gut-feelings and the hope that you were reading his signals correctly.

At first, it crossed your mind that your preferred aesthetic of sorts could be a bit of the problem. For most people it might appear a bit too much, and when looking at Ghost dressed almost head to to in black with a skull painted on his masked face… there was good reason to assume it in the first place. What you didn’t know was that it was so much deeper than your affinity for lace-trimmed socks, Mary Jane’s, pearls, and practically anything hyper-feminine and in a shade of pink. Ghost didn’t believe you were weak or predisposed to acting childish. You held a massively significant job in journalism and worked harder than most people he knew at what you did. You just happened to enjoy everything around you looking like some damn cotton-candy tea party.

What bothered him was your sweet personality and an intrinsic value he held for just how fucking innocent you were towards him and everyone else around you. People could be utterly horrible right to your face, and you’d silently keep the hurt to yourself and never fight back against what they’d done. Revenge wasn’t something you cared for, while it was essential to Ghost’s motivation in his work and private life. For a long time he couldn’t balance his morals of being involved with you at all with the thoughts in the back of his mind about how much he might twist and form you into something unrecognizable. Something a lot less… pink. A person that didn’t enjoy such small little things like how a skirt had small pink flowers embroidered on it, or if the little bows you’d stick in your hair had a lace fringe on the edges.

Oh but how things changed when Ghost finally couldn’t stand looking at you without thinking about how nice it would be to have his arm wrapped around you, pulling you tight up against him to keep everyone from staring. The Lieutenant always had a weak spot for you and your sugar-sweet personality and looks. But goddamn did he start loving the color pink more than a professional murderer should. All the hues and tones of that fucking color began reminding him of you no matter where he was, or what he was doing. For the longest time, he’d been worried that he would be the one that changed you, all the while he was too deep inside his own mind to recognize that you were the one controlling the direction things were headed.

Just looking at you made him shudder with feelings of possessiveness and adoration. Standing there happy as could be with thigh-high white socks and a fluffy pink skirt, all dressed up just to go out to eat at a little late-night pub because he couldn’t stand the idea of having to show his face in the bright daylight. You knew to a certain extent that Ghost appreciated the way you lived your life just a bit more feminine than average… but the depths of his thoughts and ideas about you were surface level to say the least. He just knew what you looked like clinging to his arm walking down the street; His polar opposite and yet so happy to be close to him. A darling smile… pretty and glossed lips… frilly things on almost every piece of clothing you wore and just utterly adorable to him.

Knowing that gave him… fantasies.

Wanting to see all of the things he could buy for you to wear for him. Dress you up almost like his own little doll and get to show you off to anyone who’d look, only to have the pleasure of threatening them to do more than take one good glance. So delectable, squeezable; but for him and him alone. You were the princess Simon didn’t realize he wanted and unlocked this strange and insatiable urge to spoil the fuck out of you with every pretty pink or glittery thing you could wish for, just so he could take you home and watch you try it all on for him while sipping a bourbon on the couch.

Fuck… There wasn’t a better way to spend an evening. Well, almost.

Perfect didn’t count unless he got to see you under him, laying back on pink silk sheets you’d been adamant about buying for his house, watching your eyes roll back with every moment he made. Damn if he couldn’t make it more than fifteen minutes without needing to calm himself down, before needing to put you on your hands and knees so those pretty little fucking faces you made wouldn’t make him finish before he got started. If he was lucky he could leave hot and pink handprints on your ass for making him feel so good. Simon knew you weren’t sheltered. But to him you were still innocent. Kind in so many ways he didn’t comprehend or believe was humanly possible. For fuck’s sake, you allowed him to come into your life.

Him with his scarred hands, bullet holes, shitty disposition. A man who preferred destruction and death for it’s permanence and certainty. Simon, with his need to hide his own face and go by a name that lacked humanity. All of him starkly contrasted you in so many ways it made him spin with confusion and oftentimes guilt. Questioning why he’d been so weak as to touch you in the first place. Allow himself the chance at someone so full of life who could see the world -literally- through rose-colored lenses.

Yet you brought forth happiness and fulfillment that the soldier hadn’t found in his years of searching desperately for a purpose. He found someone he could visually see, and palpably touch who hadn’t been torn down or beaten into submission in one way or another. Sweet and innocent you had found such a simple yet powerful way of living life the way you wanted to. Ghost felt like he could protect you. Not only in the genuine aspect of loving you so much that he got physically ill at the thought of losing you to anything; but also because you were so full of life and love to give to everyone around you. He needed you. Selfishly. Then again, there needed to be more softness and genuine innocence and happiness too. And so long as he was alive and breathing, he’d always make sure you were safe.

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated <3

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ (you were good to me) | nanami kento

wc: 2.8k

summary: nanami counts his chances and bets on this last one.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, canon-adjacent, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, mentions of drunk calls, pov switching, angst, c.death

a/n: another brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, already gone, all i want, and something in the orange

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: waiting for that call you know won't come

part 1 <- you are here

October 31, 2018.

Your company halloween party isn’t all that fun when you think about it. 

The optional suggestion from HR to wear a costume has always been promptly ignored for as long as you can remember, pressed suits in dark neutrals coloring the celebration instead. Nothing exciting about it at all. 

It used to be though, when you had Nanami to spend it with. 

Liquid pools by the sides of your fingertips, condensation dripping down your glass of bourbon. One of the perks of being in a financial firm’s halloween party is that the alcohol is good, expensive to match the tastes and budget the partners can afford. 

Calling it a party is overhyping it, if you’re being honest. It’s just another day at work, except without the alcohol restrictions; your coworkers still check the markets every five minutes (you do too, out of habit), and directors still ask for summary reports while attending to a phone call or two—one hand on a tablet and another on a drink, earbud slotted securely in one ear. 

You and Nanami used to hide, even just for a few minutes, by the break room at the back, inside the pantry—a place now foreign but still filled with all your memories; you haven’t stepped foot in it since he broke it off. 

It's a common notion amongst your peers that workplace romance is dead—it always has been (at least, outwardly). HR would have cut either of you out of the next payment cycle if they had caught wind of your mingling. 

Workplace romance is dead, they say, but what you had with Nanami was alive, beating with every giggle muffled by the palm of your hand. No one would ever consider him a funny guy, but you did—all his snide remarks, comments unapologetically deadpan in a way so bluntly his. 

The gray curtain separating you two from the rest of the office kitchen was thin, but it held every weighted moment you snuck with him—secret confessions a little before midnight, a hand or two you couldn’t possibly resist, sobs hushed down, bitten between your teeth with you tucked into him. 

Workplace romance is dead—it’s supposed to be, but a few desks down and a sharp left turn from yours, it haunts you, still. 

You take a sip. 

.

Nanami has a sense for these things. 

It’s always when something doesn’t feel right that the numbers start to click. 

Clusters of sorcerers have been grouped to surround the vicinity, his own trio comprising of himself, Fushiguro, and Ino. The instructions are simple: to be on standby in case anything happens. The wait time should be a good sign; it’s highly unlikely that anyone can match up to Gojo, after all. 

He checks his watch, each second ticking agonizingly slowly. It feels unsettling, like the calm before the storm—a deep unrest simmering. Unsafe is the first thought that comes to mind, then you second; it prompts him to call you, his fingers slightly trembling. 

Your contact is still marked with a star, filed under his favorites (he knows he probably should have moved it).

One ring. Two rings. Three. A ‘toot’ at the end of the line—it makes him antsy. 

Then, the veils go down. 

The action is alarming; these opponents move themselves like chess pieces, he knows this much—all part of a bigger plan, always with an underlying motive.

His thumb hovers over the call button again, thinking. The expression on his face remains impassive, sharp angles and straight lines concealing the weight of each worry. 

“Nanami-san,” Ino calls. 

Fushiguro’s already started theorizing, rationalizing some sort of ploy behind this occurrence—all highly plausible, all probably true; it’s some sick play that the moment the calculations click, there isn’t enough time to call you. 

“That’s why we’ve stopped standing by and started to act,” Nanami interjects, shrugging off his blazer, khaki cotton falling off his shoulders as he slips his phone in his pant pocket. 

.

If anything, you should probably do your best to enjoy whatever you can from this year’s Halloween party—after all, it’ll be your last in this company. You handed in your resignation papers last week, and though your boss has pulled you aside for the nth time tonight, disguising pleas as empty promises, you know better than to believe it.

It doesn’t matter to you anymore; you’ve made up your mind. 

The bartender mixes you another drink: 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, the same one you’ve been having the entire night. 

A White Russian is your usual pick—a spiked latte as you call it. Nanami’s claimed that Bourbon On The Rocks is like its older, more mature cousin, and you’re afraid he’s right. He always is.

The hints of vanilla and caramel remind you of your morning pick-me-up, part because of the drink and part because of the man you used to spend it with. 

Your phone vibrates from your inner pocket, but you don’t feel it, the alcohol dulling your senses. 

.

“Na-na-na-na-na-na-min!” 

For this reason, he thinks, it’s good that the nickname has stuck; a perfect identifier for whom and where it’s coming from. 

Echoes of Itadori’s voice lead them straight to a rooftop, Fushiguro catching the boy’s attention to ask for the run-down. Mechamaru warns that it’s pandemonium deep within the station, curses of all grades mixed with scattered transfigured humans. There’s only one thing he knows can be responsible for that. 

Nanami doesn’t do jokes, but he secretly wishes this is just a really bad one, because—

Gojo’s been sealed. 

—the punch line isn’t funny at all. 

Sorcery has prepared Nanami for anything, but this possibility lies in his 0.01%—if this has happened, it’s free game. 

It makes sense now, why this unease has slowly been surfacing. 

Keep people safe and survive—the single thought at the forefront of his mind. 

He moves quickly, devising a plan for maximum efficiency; Ino is to stay with Fushiguro and Itadori inside this veil while he meets up with Ijichi to put down the other one. Time is running short, options even more so—there are only a handful of people who can do certain requests and being a first-grade qualifies him as one of them. 

Eerie silence greets him as he steps out on the sidewalk, the streets practically swept. It’s instinct when his hand reaches in his pant pocket, fingers moving in memorized pattern as he calls you again.

You don’t pick up for the second time.

.

One of your co-workers almost trips down the steps to the taxi, your arm stretched out to catch her should she fall forward completely. Cool air nips at your cheeks; you’ve had more to drink but you handle liquor well—if managing to keep up with Nanami means anything. 

The vibrations of your phone get lost in the commotion. You haul your co-worker into the cab and tell the driver her address, asking if he can drive you to yours soon after. 

.

It’s shit.

Climbing up the steps to the overpass fills him with a sense of foreboding. A sickening dread. On the way here, he spotted four managers, dead. 

The sight before him angers him more than anything—blood pooling around Ijichi’s frame, crumpled on the ground. He steps closer, crouching low to check for a pulse; it’s faint, but it’s there, accompanying the man’s shallow breathing. 

He does quick work bringing Ijichi to the rescue team, hopefully fast enough to make it back to Shoko where she can fix him. 

The casualties are rising. 

It isn’t safe anymore. The radius of collateral damage is widening and this is just the beginning.

What will happen to you? If the events in here break containment? 

How can he keep you safe if jujutsu society falls? 

He crunches the numbers, sorting through each possibility; the phone in his pocket feels heavy, sinking with each step he takes on concrete. It’s not often that Nanami runs out of options—there’s always an answer to anything; but this, he thinks, has never made him feel more desperate.

His fingers hover over your contact again. 

There’s not enough time—this is the only way. 

He needs to get you out of here. 

. 

You’re left with a voicemail. 

The key slips from your hand, falling to the ground again, like the many times it has before. You step inside your apartment, swiping through your notifications to find two missed calls and an email. 

It’s confusing enough getting calls from the ex you drunk dial once a week; receiving a flight notice set to depart later tonight with a ticket under your name doesn’t make things any clearer. 

You tap your screen, odd anticipation and nerves coiling in your belly. 

“Hello,” the audio starts, “I’m assuming you received the email.” 

His voice sounds different when you’re a little more sober; you’re not sure if that’s a good thing—if it’s worse or better, just that it aches the more you hear him clearly. You kick off your heels, letting the audio play as you pour yourself a glass of water. 

Your ticket details stare at you from your screen. 

(Shouting isn’t a quiet man’s usual and his throat hurts from the overexhaustion. His voice echoes across the sea, calling for everyone to hurry over. There’s only so much Fushiguro can take from beside him, holding open the simple domain for everyone to slip through simultaneously.

He supposes, this isn’t the first time he’s done something out of character today—moving your flight and hoping you get on it is the most reckless thing he’s ever done.)

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, I understand if you’re confused. I know most of our conversations have been unideal lately.”

Metal clinks in the recording, a sound so familiar to you—the links of his watch band hitting. Nanami has a habit of shaking his wrist when he’s uneasy about something, and you can almost hear it from the small breaths he takes before each sentence. 

It should embarrass you, the amount of times you’ve drunk-called him, but you have reason to believe he doesn’t find it all that off-putting. 

(He wonders if he’ll get another chance to sit through one more unideal conversation with you. 

Blood drips down the side of his head, his shoulder slashed through his shirt. Adrenaline moves every muscle he barely has the energy to.)  

“Do you… do you remember that vacation we planned?” he breathes out from the other end, a hesitancy uncommonly heard from him, “To Kuantan?” 

You do, very vividly—a trip discussed some time ago with your head on his chest, scrolling through flight promos on your phone. Nanami’s dream has always been to be free by the sea; you don’t expect it from a man turned jaded, but it feels like a secret spoken truthfully. 

So you take it and run, booking a flight two years down the line—a ‘when we have the time’ flexible enough to move and transfer whenever either of you would like. 

(In a flash, he’s flushed along with the current, waves engulfing him as he’s washed out of the domain.) 

“I’ve thought about it and believe now would be a good time,” his voice continues, “with your resignation and things. ” 

The spray sunblock on your dresser is barely used, but you grab it knowingly. Nanami is pale and—

(—when he burns, he thinks of the Kuantan sun—how nice it would be to be under it, bathed in the deep orange afterglow next to you.)  

“I…” Nanami rarely stutters, but you hear a slight shake to his timbre, “I know this is a tough ask, especially when I’ve been unfair to you. But…” 

You can picture him clearly—hand running through his hair as he adjusts his lenses; he pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his wrist, that familiar metal clinking. 

It almost sounds pained, his acknowledgment of it, as if he’s long since regretted treating you any less than you deserve. Does it make you stupid? Or sad? That you still hang on to every word he says, that the spaces between your fingers still miss the way he used to fill them. 

You drag the zipper of your bag shut, patting it down to flatten.

“...I hope you know the reason I left isn’t because of something you did.”

The Nanami you know speaks nothing but the truth, and you believe him each time. 

It’s a contradicting mix of comfort and anxiety, like he’s freed you from the guilt that used to weigh on you heavily. If it isn’t because of you though, you don’t know what else it could be. 

You sigh, pushing down on the door handle as you take one last look to make sure you didn’t leave anything. 

(It’s a lie when he tells himself he can’t feel anything; the left side of his body is burned, charred down to his sinews—it's a surprise he can still move. The damage should have been enough to numb him, but it still hurts when he thinks of you. 

Did you receive his voicemail? Are you on your way now?

Time moves slowly as he drags his feet across the station floor.) 

“I’ll… explain myself more when I see you in a few hours.” 

Your stomach starts feeling funny when you get in the taxi—the pauses in his recording are obvious. 

You wonder what’s going on in his head. 

(This is cruel, he knows, concealing the truth and feeding you false hope. He’s a liar, but there’s no other way. There’s no time to explain everything to you. 

If this is what gets you out of here—) 

Silence. 

You hear his footsteps through the recording, the sound of his feet shuffling, contemplating. 

He speaks again, hesitancy tinged with sadness you can’t decipher, “I apologize, if this is out of nowhere,” a  breath, “but I hope I was good to you in the time we had.” 

You shift in your seat, fiddling with your fingers. There’s a finality to his tone that you find oddly misplaced—the sound of a goodbye more than a second try. 

It is wholly unlike him to be this sentimental. 

Tears well up in your lash line as you think back to everything: how he used to wait for you after work despite it being past midnight, how weekends were filled with nothing but love, massaged into the soles of your feet; how he’d buy your favorite breakfast sandwich even though he’s a snob about the ingredients in it. He drove you anywhere as long as you had music control. 

Nanami is an old soul, and you indulged him by buying records for that vintage record player he has. Songs from the 50’s, 60’s, maybe a bit of jazz from the 70’s and 80’s too—for a man so stiff, he sways smoothly to its melodies, holding you closely each time. 

He has only ever touched you gently, attentive to every need you express lovingly; his kisses always form a line straight to your heart—from the top of your head to your forehead, down between your eyebrows to the slope of your nose. His lips are soft against yours, ticklish as they drag down your neck to your collarbones. 

A patient and tender lover, the most wonderful man for the greatest years of your life. 

He was more than good to you—you couldn’t have asked for any better. 

(A mess of curses greet him on the floor—transfigured humans he has no choice but to take the lives of. 

He’s exhausted. 

His blade swooshes to the right, body following the path it glides to. He allows himself a glimpse of rest, to think of how it must feel to dance by the glistening seaside with you.) 

“You were the best thing to happen to me in that shitty place.”

His honesty rings loudly in your ears, resounding even as you pull up your luggage to the check-in counter. 

Oftentimes, Nanami would say things and they’d sound a lot like ‘I love you’.

“I hope I can be good to you now, too.”

(Saying it would have been selfish—it’s good he didn’t, even though he wanted to. Those 3 words mean nothing if there’s no guarantee he’ll be alive to prove it to you.

A hand presses against his back; a crack in his soul.) 

“The details are in the email, I’ll be there when you land.” he pauses; it takes a beat before he continues again, “See you then.”

You’re half-nervous and half-excited as you board the plane. The voicemail sounds suspicious, his actions even moreso, but if what he’s saying is true—

(It flashes before him, too fast and too slow; Haibara smiling, the life he couldn’t save. Yuuji calling him from the corner, a ‘Nanamin’ one last time. 

Then there’s you. Just as he’s about to give in to it all—the beach. How pretty you’d look, beaming up at him, pointing towards the sun as it sets into the endless sea.)

“Don’t forget to turn off the lights.” he says softly, like a reminder to be cradled safely. 

You settle into your seat, the captain speaking over the announcement system. 

“Flight MH 1730 to Kuantan, Malaysia from Tokyo, Japan. Departure time is 11:16 p.m. Estimated arrival…”

—you can’t wait. 

(At least he’ll get to save your life, right?

Nanami Kento. Time of death: 11:17 p.m.)

a/n: writing this was really tough (because it absolutely gutted me), but it was a good challenge! a few info bits: partners = high ranking roles in the company; white russian = vodka, coffee liqueur, & cream + ice; the flight details are not real; the pov switching is real time, except for the voicemail, which acts as a voiceover to the events concurring between nanami and you.

thank you notes: to @augustinewrites OF COURSE. what would i do without you fr. this has plagued us for the longest time and we have been way too sad for too damn long bc of it 😭 thank you for half-mothering this, where would i be without your sad songs 🥹 + @mysugu and @soumies for running through this idea & the voicemail dialogue with me 🥺 very important opinions from very important people indeed 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me with my grammar doubts 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡