#but that’s not what’s happening this time?? (okay for some people it is but not anywhere near all of them because there were glaring issues

[cllightning81]

Firsts [OP81]

Summary: As Oliver's sister, you'd pushed your life aside to follow him around the world and be his manager in a way that you'd never experienced any of your firsts. Oscar wants to change that

Pairing/s: Oscar Piastri x Bearman!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Request HERE

Masterlist Oscar Piastri Masterlist Oliver Bearman Masterlist

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You’d followed Ollie around for most of his international single-seater career. Still, now that he was moving up into F1, it was a significant jump up for Ollie, who had a couple of races previously, and with you. It came with a lot more than what you were expecting. 

Now, walking with Ollie up the red carpet for the F175 event, you weren’t sure what to expect, and Ollie was even more scared of what would happen. With it being his debut season and the debut of this type of event, everything was unknown. 

Ollie politely responded to all the questions from the interviewers as you stood to the side, silently laughing at some of the questions. ‘Who do you think will swear the most?’ had to be your favourite question from the night. 

Walking into the building with Ollie, you could see his shoulders sag slightly now that there weren’t any fans or cameras around. You smiled at him 

“Hey, well done. One down, twenty-four more to go,” You joked, and he groaned, rubbing his face, and you laughed “Sorry, Olls. You know I can’t keep this nice facade up all night,” You chuckled, following him and his PR manager into the Haas changing room. 

“Hey Y/N” Esteban smiled over 

“Evening Esteban. Enjoying your night so far?” You asked, taking a sea,t to which he shook his head 

“I’ll enjoy it more once I’ve got a drink in my system”, He joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh 

“Ollie’s barely legal, and I think he’ll be having more than I will” You laughed as Ollie looked over his face, clearly confused. The young driver hadn’t been listening to what had been said. 

An hour later, you were sitting in the crowd, smiling at Charles as he passed, clearly already fed up with this event. You couldn’t help but scroll through social media to see what the fans picked up on. Jack Whitehall’s British humour does not connect to some fans, and while you had to agree that making comments in front of the drivers wasn’t the best plan of action, it was something that people would think about.

The two drivers left the table a little earlier than their performance to get changed into their race suits for their performance. Almost biting the skin of your fingers in nerves for your younger brother so focused on the stage you didn’t notice someone sitting down next to you 

“He’ll be okay. He drives racing cars for a living. I’m sure he will be okay on stage for around five minutes” You jumped at the voice, turning your head quickly to look at who was talking to you. Letting out a breath as you saw another driver “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was coming back from the bathroom, and you looked nervous. I thought I might be able to help” He looked calm despite almost being attacked for the fright he’d just given you. 

“Next time, I suggest announcing your presence,” You suggested, to which he nodded 

“I shall consider that” He smiled as you rested your hands on the table again. 

“From my knowledge, women don’t like being scared” You couldn’t help but laugh 

“I shall also consider that. I guess it’s the older brother in me. I just like scarring my sisters,” He replied, and you turned to face him slightly 

“You’re the oldest?” You asked, and he nodded 

“Yeah. Any siblings yourself?” He asked 

“Yeah, I’m also the oldest. Then, there’s technically three teenagers” You nodded 

“Bearman, your brother?” He asked, and you nodded slightly 

“Yeah, what gave it away?” You asked, and he chuckled slightly 

“You two look alike”, he replied, and you chuckled 

“You won’t be saying that when you see Ollie and Thomas together”, you answered as the presenter announced Haas to enter the stage, which is when you started worrying again. Of course, you would. Your younger brother was about to get on stage in front of thousands in person and millions at home. 

Your knee bounced under the table as your thoughts ran a hundred miles a minute. Thinking of anything and everything that could go wrong. Maybe it was an older sister thing, or perhaps it was just anxiety. It was one thing that you’d never know. Oscar, however, sat with you throughout their performance. A comforting feature compared to how you were feeling inside. 

“I’ll see you around then” He smiled, gently squeezing your shoulder before returning to the Mclaren table. 

A few weeks later, you were back in the paddock with Ollie as you were walking through the paddock. Oscar had stopped to talk to you every time you passed, and you weren’t exactly sure how to deal with the feelings. You’d followed Ollie around for so long, ensuring that there was always an adult with him and that you paused your relationships. 

You couldn’t remember the last time someone showed interest in you as a person and not in you as Oliver Bearman’s older sister. Never mind, it is a man who wanted to get closer to you even if, at the moment, his intentions haven’t been clear to you yet. 

“How’s Ollie doing?” Oscar asked, but you could only shrug a little. His crash wasn’t easy for you to watch or for him. 

“He’s beating himself up. He thinks he should have done better. The team aren’t the happiest, but no one blames him. They see it as one of those things that just happen,” You replied. Oscar squeezed your shoulder a little 

“I get that being the older sibling makes you want to take the pain away, but remember that you can't always. Unfortunately, sometimes we just have to let them learn” He smiled sadly, and you nodded 

“Yeah, I know”, you sighed, looking towards the Haas hospitality. 

“You know where to find me if you need advice.” He smiled while walking away. 

There was almost a new feeling in your chest. One you haven't felt before, or if you had, it had been so long ago that you'd forgotten. 

Oscar seemed nice, and you wanted to get closer to him. Maybe it was a crush forming on the Aussie driver. 

Over the past couple of months, you and Oscar had started to get closer to each other, which you first thought was just as friends. 

However, Oscar wasn't as great at hiding his romantic feelings as his general feelings. 

You wouldn't lie to anyone who asked. You liked him back. The issue though? You'd never had a romantic relationship with anyone. 

Anyone who had ever shown interest soon lost it when they realised that most of the year, you were halfway around the world. Meaning that you'd never experienced any of your firsts. Even at the ripe age of 23. 

Oscar had noticed you pulling away. There were no Facetime calls when you were both at home. You weren't texting him any celebrity drama at any given moment. And the one that hurt him the most? No movie nights after a race. 

He'd tried everything to keep the relationship going, even if it was just as friends, but you kept pulling away. 

The poor driver even went as far as asking your brother if you weren't well. To which Oliver told him he wanted this to go further more than you wanted it yourself. 

You kept pulling back; however, Oscar didn’t give up, going as far as to stop you in a quiet corner of the paddock on your way out after qualifying 

“You keep pulling away”, he stated, to which you just looked at him, waiting for him to continue his point “I’m not entirely sure why you’re doing it, but if it’s something I’ve done, I would like to know.” He finished, and you looked down at the ground. 

There was a lump forming in the back of your throat. You wanted to explain, you did, but you weren’t sure you could explain without it coming off that you were just being a complete bitch because really. He did nothing wrong. 

“Can we do it somewhere else?” You asked quietly, to which Oscar nodded 

“My driver's room is empty. Or I can come to your hotel room?” He suggested 

“I’d rather not do it in the paddock, so my hotel room?” You asked, to which he nodded 

“Just text me your room number, and I’ll come over when I’m done with media”, he smiled, gently squeezing your hand before allowing you to walk away

Changing into something more comfortable, the nerves ran through your veins. What would Oscar think? Would he now pull away? Would he think you were a bitch? You thought you were being a bitch 

A knock on the door paused your thoughts; as you got up walking over, your heart rate increased. You opened the door with a foot just behind it so that if someone wanted to force their way in, they couldn’t. 

However, on the other side of the door was just Oscar. You opened the door slightly, allowing him to enter the room. 

“Nice room” He smiled, and you looked around with a little shrug 

“It does for the weekend”, You replied as you sat down on the bed 

“I will leave as soon as you want me to; however, I’d like you to hear me out. Your brothers say you’re a good listener” He sat down on the chair, and you nodded 

“I can be when I want to be”, you replied, and he smiled slightly 

“After speaking to Ollie, I understood you a little more, even from a distance. Pushing your own life aside so he can follow his dreams. No matter how much it affected you. I now understand that’s why you’ve been pushing me away because, in your mind, it’s all about Ollie’s career and not your own” You shrugged a little 

“I’m his manager at this point. It’s my career. It keeps me going,” You replied 

“But he also told me that you also pushed anyone who wanted to have a relationship with you, which is why you pushed me away” You looked over at Oscar 

“That little snitch” You muttered. Oscar let out a breathy laugh “He might not be exactly wrong; however, I also didn’t like those guys who tried to date me. They either didn’t understand that I had to travel with Oscar, or they were just dicks” You replied with a shrug 

“Well, I’d like to think I’m neither of those. I like you, Y/N, and I know it’s only been a couple of months; however, I’m hoping you feel the same and may give me a chance?” He asked 

You were nervous, of course, you were, but Oscar also seemed like a good guy who, much like you, enjoyed your privacy and cared about his family 

“I’ll give you a trial period”, You joked, a small smile appearing on your face 

“I’ll take it. I’ll take anything!” He exclaimed, and you laughed a little, head dropping down as a blush formed on your cheeks 

“I was only joking about the trial period; however, I might have had no firsts, but I do have standards of not being asked out in the cheap hotel rooms Haas pay for” You smiled, and he nodded 

“An expensive Mclaren sponsor hotel room?” Oscar joked, to which you thought about it for a moment before shrugging your shoulders with a slight tilt of your head 

“Do they have good room service?” You asked, to which it was now his turn to shrug 

“I’ve never ordered it. My trainer makes up my meals for the weekend to make sure I don’t have too many cheat meals” You rolled your eyes at his confession 

“Obiously Mr Athelete doesn’t make his own meals or even order room service” You joked and he laughed 

“Why don’t you come over and try the room service?” He asked and you tilted your head a little. Sit in your room alone or join the innocent looking polite cat sitting opposite you in his hotel room. The options seemed so far apart but at the same time so close. 

You liked Oscar. You’d been talking to him through text and on Facetime for a couple months you trusted him. Why wouldn’t you? 

“Okay let’s go test your fancy room service” You smiled 

A few months later Ollie was jumping around you after your confession that you and Oscar were now together. 

You didn’t want to tell him before the race however it just slipped out in conversation that you had a date with your boyfriend and then after that you couldn’t stay quiet any longer. 

It was safe to say that Ollie liked having Oscar as a brother in law so when you and Oscar were walking through the paddock holding hands your younger brother couldn’t keep his excitement to himself sharing it with the rest of the rookies. 

Antonelli who was a very close friend of the family was also very excited to find out the news. Ollie and Kimi bothering you at any given moment was something that you’d grown used to at this point. 

Oscar however didn’t exactly know what to do when the two rookies joined you both in your hotel room when you were sat cuddling. You however just let them bounce about the place like little puppies until they became so tired that they basically fell asleep on the floor 

“Oh wow” Oscar muttered and you chuckled 

“You grow used to it” You smiled and he nodded slightly

Tag List

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[dokyumms]

eyes on you

pairing: ot13 x fem!14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1.4k

cw: brief violence (album is thrown at reader), carats are mean to reader 😔, cursing, nightmares, protective svt ?, carat calls svt “oppa” and it’s the cringiest line i’ve ever written.

a/n: been getting some requests for 14th member reader so here yall go! couldn't find a good pic for this theme so just enjoy the winter photo lolol, have no idea if relationship between svt and reader is platonic or not so it's up to interpretation... i don't know if i like this or not....

fan signs were usually fun.

key word: usually. you really did enjoy interacting with fans, playing with toy guns and whatever props you were given, but there was just one thing that would always happen.

it was normally something small, just a weird look or an obvious difference in the mood of a fan when they'd get to you, but no matter what it was, it was always noticeable.

you were used to it by now, the hate that came with being the only female member of the group. thankfully, it'd died down since debut, and over time, you learned how to ignore the comments. the members were your family, and you were theirs, why should people online dictate how you live your life?

however, there was always something different about when it happened in person. maybe it was the way you could see the joy in their face drain at the sight of you or how someone would look at you as if you had hurt them. you didn't know, but just that coming from one person would keep you awake for nights, no matter how many fans you met after.

but maybe today would be different, or at least that's what you told yourself as you sat down between vernon and minghao earlier that morning. these two were some of the calmest members of the group, so surely someone wouldn't dare to piss them off by insulting you, right?

well, just about half an hour in, a girl shoved an album before you. you had your hands out in front of you, just fidgeting around while you waited for minghao to finish up with her before she nearly knocked out your fingers.

you were taken aback a little, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt and didn't react to it, just greeting her as usual. looking down at the album, you read the name written on a sticky note. "your name is gaeun? how pretty," you commented, uncapping your marker to sign the album when she stopped you.

"don't." she warned sternly, grabbing ahold of your wrist. you tried to retract it, looking around for help, but to your dismay, the venue seemed to be understaffed. there were only two managers to help out, and they both happened to be at the very ends of the table, slowly making their way down the row as if they have all the time in the world.

you looked back at her. “i’m sorry?” you said, trying to figure out what was going on, but she didn’t budge. “okay, okay, i’m not going to sign it.” you backed off, holding your other hand up in surrender.

“good. i don’t need your nasty hands on it either. give it back!” she snapped, snatching back the album as if she hadn’t been the one to place it in front of you. the noise garnered the attention of minghao, who looked at her before turning his head toward you.

he raised an eyebrow, confused, but you shook your head. nothing was wrong, just some weirdly aggressive hater. what was new?

then the girl, or gaeun now that you knew her name, all of the sudden lit up at the sudden glance from minghao. “ohh oppa~ there’s nothing to worry about! you look so handsome today~” she cooed.

you could see him try to keep a neutral facial expression as you held back laughter yourself. he nodded awkwardly before turning his attention back to the person in front of him. honestly, you were unsure of what to do now. the other fans you had come across before may not have liked you, but they at least let you sign their albums.

thankfully, there shouldn't be much time before the fans have to switch members, so you just kept yourself occupied by eavesdropping on the conversation vernon and the girl in front of him were having. clearly, yours didn't want anything to do with you.

"come on, entertain me, bitch."

your head snapped back at her, noticing the two members beside you do the same as you gave her a puzzled look. she didn't seem to notice them, though, fully focused on you.

"what are you just staring at me for? you can't do your one job? no wonder so many people hate-"

"don't. don't you dare say another word to her."

you turned toward the voice, quite shocked to find the owner of it to be vernon out of all people. he and minghao both glared at the girl, filling the room with silent tension.

by now, the timer had went off, meaning it was time to switch members, but the girl wouldn't move, causing a line of people to form to the side of her. the managers made their way toward her to stop the delay, and now most of the members' attention was on you and her.

"god, you're pathetic," she scoffed, ignoring vernon's warning and the amount of stares directed at her. she made a quick glance at the managers, and as some sort of 'last laugh' before she got kicked out of the venue, she chucked the album- straight at your face.

by some miracle, yet slow reflexes, you managed to avoid getting poked in the eye, taking a hit to the temple instead. it's quiet for a couple of seconds, then all chaos commences. fans were yelling, probably at the girl as the managers practically dragged her away, and the members started to stand up and crowd around you.

before she was fully dragged out, the girl mouthed something at you, but you really couldn’t make sense of it right now.

this hadn't happened recently, the last incident being when someone shoved an album at joshua a couple years ago. and since then, pledis had put out strict warning about it, so it was even more shocking that someone had done it again.

you turned away from the audience, attempting to conceal yourself as you shut your eyes at the pain that began to spread from your head. voices overlapped over one another until you felt someone pull you into a warm embrace, hands falling onto your ears.

finally, all the noise seemed to die down. you opened your eyes, curious as to who was holding you.

joshua smiled as you met his eyes; his hands fell to your shoulders.

“hey, it’s okay, they’re moving everyone out of the venue. we’re not going to finish the fan sign.” he explained assuringly, but the comment sort of made you embarrassed. maybe if you took care of the situation better, everyone wouldn’t have had to leave.

you were frustrated, upset, scared, all of the above. you hated that someone disliked you so much to the point that this would even happen. why did so many people have a problem with you, and only you?

but there was one thing bothering you the most, something that kept your heart racing. deciding that you didn't need everyone worrying about you again, you kept your mouth shut as the managers came back and announced that you all were done for the day.

but that night, you dreamt of it.

you were at the fan sign, living through all the moments again. the girl is dragged away as she mouths to you,

"next time, i won't miss."

you couldn't move, frozen in fear as she began to laugh hysterically.

"y/n? y/n, wake up."

seungcheol shook you awake, stepping back when you yelped. "it's okay, you were having a nightmare." he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking your hair. "what was it about?"

trying to move on from the conversation, you said that it was just about what had happened earlier, but he stopped you.

"you were saying something, though. you kept repeating 'no', y/n, did something else happen?"

oh, you had no idea that happened, and now you were stuck. taking your hesitance as an answer, he took your hand into his.

"y/n, you can tell me. i don't want you to be scared anymore, okay?"

you sighed, giving in and telling him about the threat the girl made. his eyebrows furrowed as you explained it. truly, there was nothing the two of you could do about it, and it made him frustrated.

"it's fine, though. it was a shallow threat anyway, i don't know why i was so scared."

"no, it's not fine," seungcheol argued, pulling you into a tight hug.

"i promise you, i won't let anything happen to you. never again."

[postcardsfromheapside]

Okay. Listen. I'm only going to engage with this in good faith once.

Veilguard was never going to be like BG3.

BG3 is a great game for what it is, but no DA game allows you to pick the evil ending, thus there is no reason to allow you to get rid of companions in VG like in BG3 or in previous DA games.

In prior games, you may have been able to eliminate other companions from your team, or not recruit them altogether, because they were not crucial to the overall goal, and all you would miss is story/lore. Nothing breaks in the story/game if those companions leave/are killed/don't get recruited, it merely pivots.

This is completely different in Veilguard, where Varric has taken knowledge and insight and started to develop a specific strike team to take down Solas.

Hold my hand.

There is not a world where the Veil comes down and things "continue". I know a lot of Solas fans think there is...but there isn't. A robust explanation of why the Veil should NOT come down can be found here.

If the Veil comes down, everything ends. Ignoring the real world happenings at EA, if your end worldstate in VG is "world drowned in demons," there's nothing to move on to. No reason to play another DA game, were we to ever have another. Your world state is "game over."

Rook therefore *must* be the cooperative kind of person who is ultimately working toward keeping the Veil up, whatever the cost. It would really help a LOT of you to stop thinking about Rook as a "hero", and start thinking of them more as a project manager.

Remember, Varric already had the goal of "stop Solas" and specifically recruited Rook because they had qualities best suited to help with that, and Rook agreed because "world drowned in demons" is bad. So when Rook inherits the management position from Varric, they come pre-loaded with 1) a goal, and 2) the mindset to get it the fuck done (because there really is no other option, it's succeed or die, a fact mentioned more than once in dialogue with NPC's).

What Rook builds by bringing on team members is a strike force in order to achieve this goal. And here's my point: if you do not have these necessary companions, you do not make it to end game. The way the story is set up, removing any of the companions before Tearstone Island effectively sets the team up to fail horribly. The story doesn't move forward. The world is blighted. End series. Rook is highly motivated to be cooperative with these companions and their factions.

This is why it's a poor excuse to say that it would "add narrative tension" if Rook were able to be mean to their companions and risk losing them. Nothing is added narratively by a companion leaving. If they leave, at some point shortly after The Leaving, the story will end abruptly in Blight.

Rook is therefore not going to do things to cause the companions to leave, because their goal is "stop Solas/stop the gods/stop the blight" and to do that, Rook needs these people. Now, you can make the choice not to do the faction or personal quests along the way toward that goal, and ultimately those companions might fall in the final battle, but the story is not going to let you remove those companions before then. Because the story is not about a choice between "Veil-falling/World-blighted, or Rook being a hero." The story is many things ON THE WAY to stopping the the Veil from falling, one way or another.

Now, I know a lot of these "I wish we could be meaner" comments 99.9% of the time come about because people do not like particular companions, so this was all probably a waste of typing. And my answer to "I just don't like this person" is "too fucking bad, I don't like all my coworkers either, try growing up" or "maybe you should try not being a bigot," depending on the way the "I don't like this person" is phrased. But I also think some of you just really do not understand how story/games structure works, and you're familiar with very specific kinds of media, and it's upsetting you to have to wrap your mind around something new.

If you REALLY want to explore a blighted world, that's what fanfiction is for. Go bug nuts. I don't think it's going to be a compelling story, but you might surprise me.

Also, while we're talking about "tension":

I'm begging you to consider that one of the greater sources of tension can arise because you, the player, are literally watching a tragedy unfold. You cannot stop it, you know what's going to happen, you know what choices you're going to have to make, and you have to make them anyway, and they're going to hurt you in some way or another, and you, the player/reader, know what the characters do not. The tension comes from watching the different permutations of grief unfold across the screen and inside of you. None of the companions have to be in conflict with each other in order for this to happen.

[aringofsalt]

we're going down, but not today

BUCKTOMMY | G | 824 WORDS | AO3 spec fic for the upcoming two-parter! entirely based on the bts photos. i got to thinking about potential bathena parallels and this happened 💛

The helicopter is so still in the air it looks like it's floating, like the entire world is just as frozen as Buck feels.

"Evan," Tommy's voice crackles softly over the radio. "Evan, I need you to know—"

"No way," Buck interrupts. "You're not doing this to me, Tommy."

He has a brief flash back to September, to the way they'd all told the story of Athena's landing over and over. Of how Bobby had been so, so sure of Athena.

"You tell me in person, okay?" He echoes Bobby's words. "You land that thing, you get the hell out of there, you come back to me, you hear me? You come back and you—you tell me in person." His voice wavers, cracks a little in front of Athena and God and everybody who's listening in on this channel—he doesn't even want to think about how many people are listening in on this goddamn channel—but his eyes never leave the chopper. "You're going to tell me, and I'm going to tell you. Okay?"

There's silence for a moment. Then,

"Copy that, Firefighter Buckley. See you on the other side." Click.

"Buck, I need the radio," Athena says softly. She takes the radio from him with one hand, wraps the other around his bicep and squeezes briefly. Distantly, he can hear her talking, coordinating with Tommy in the air. He doesn't understand a word of it; it all sounds like it's coming through water, all distorted and muffled. His heart is in his throat as the helicopter gets closer, as they're ushered backwards for the bomb squad to get through.

It's a tense few minutes, made worse by the fact that he can see Tommy now, through the windshield. He knows flying isn't easy, but Tommy always made it look easy; now the cracks are showing. But they all do their jobs, and finally, finally, the chopper is on the ground. The minutes it takes for the engine to stop and the blades to stop turning are the longest he's ever felt. Tommy very carefully doesn't look at him the whole time, entirely focused on his job.

It's so fucking hot, now that the danger is past.

By the time Tommy steps out of the cockpit, Buck feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's forcing himself to stay in place, ignoring Athena's amused smirk, but the second Tommy looks his way, he's done for.

He's halfway across the roof before he's even processed that his feet are moving, and Tommy's just as eager, stepping right around the guy he's been debriefing with. They crash together, wrapping around each other without a care in the world for all the people around them. Buck feels like he could crawl right into Tommy's rib cage and he still wouldn't be close enough. All he can do is cling tighter, bury his nose into Tommy's neck and dig his fingers into the coarse fabric of his flight suit and finally let the tears fall.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, just that by the time they break apart—eyes red and shoulders suspiciously damp—their corner of the roof is pretty much empty. There's some distant murmurs, people milling around the helicopter, but nobody is nearby to watch them press their foreheads together and breathe each other in.

"You said tell me in person," Tommy murmurs into the space between them.

"Well, here we are," Buck murmurs back. "Whatcha got for me, Kinard?"

"Dork," Tommy says fondly, then his face grows serious. "You don't know what you do to me, Evan. I'm not exactly a stranger to the idea of death—you know what that's like, this job. But this time...all I could think about was all the things I never got to tell you. All the time I wasted."

"We wasted," Buck breaks in, because he's not about to let Tommy take all the blame for the time they spent apart. "But that doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," Tommy agrees. "I'm...I'm done running from you, Evan. I love you—it scares me, honestly, how much. But the idea of being without you..." He takes a deep breath. "That scares me more. I'm so sorry."

"I am too," Buck laughs wetly, fighting down a sob. "God. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize."

"Deal."

Buck looks up, and Tommy takes his breath away, as always. He's glowing golden in the setting sun, eyes wide, looking at Buck with that same look of fond amazement he always does, like he can't quite believe this is real.

He's missed this. Missed him. And he's waited weeks; he's not waiting another minute. He slides a hand around Tommy's neck, the other around his waist, and tugs him in, and it feels like home.

[littelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[embervoices]

I think there may have been two or more plots to begin with, actually, and we finally caught where they diverge!

Okay, backing up.

I don't have anything like your whole picture in my own head, even from what you've said in the tags, and it sounds like you're asking a question that requires more personal context than I can address from here - assuming I'd have a useful answer if I knew more, which... like... Quite possibly not? I'm not a mental health professional, I'm just some guy on Tumblr who happens to have experience living with anxiety.

I do want to clarify that I was never intending my answers to be personal to you. You added a totally reasonable question with general applicability to an open thread, and I gave an answer that applied to the question I thought you were asking for the sake of the broader audience. Making decisions about complex situations is challenging for a lot of people, especially if we have anxiety about it. There are some generally useful things to keep in mind about it.

Granted that they are things you already well know! Gods know DBT has piles of mnemonic acronyms to choose from! But that doesn't mean everybody else knows them, so I still point them out.

But I think it's also, in this case, that I was assuming a longer context for the thread than you were. It sounds like you were talking about in-the-moment situations to get out of physically, and I was talking about long-term situations to get out of socially/physically/etc.

Seeking advice is usually more for getting a reality check on repeating or long-term situations one is in - jobs, relationships, social contexts, etc. Therapists can be great for helping us learn to apply internal tools to those and other situations, but they're not going to help nearly so much for in-the-moment decisions unless you're allowed to have them on speed dial or something.

There's a very big difference between

"Should I quit my job? If so, immediately, or should I try to stick with it long enough to line up another job first?"

and

"I'm starting to feel weird. Should I leave the grocery store right now?"

In your specific case, I'm not sure I can help much. I will say, I'm not familiar with any model that ever places feelings and emotions outside? So, I'm guessing you mean outside stimulus? As in, are you reacting to something internal, or is something in the environment prompting the reaction?

Yeah, if that's hard for you to gauge, that's going to make figuring out whether you should depart a specific physical environment way harder, and you're not necessarily in a position to get an external reality check about it when it matters, because it's a problem in real-time. Fair point, and that's a really rough place to be.

Personally, I always aim for calming down first when I start to feel funky, before any other decision making. If I can't calm down enough to make a clear decision, then it's time to get out regardless of why I'm getting upset - whether it's a sensory problem that I don't have the spoons to handle that day, or I'm just having a really off day, or whatever. Many different things can make my thresholds lower for a day, such that sensory input I can tolerate today may be overwhelming tomorrow.

But - and I know this is important - I can almost always afford to just go home when I'm overwhelmed. I get that the same is not true for everyone else, and thus the risks may need to be higher before they make that decision.

I do wish you well, and I wish I had more foolproof answers - or at least more contextually relevant ones!

i wish there was an easier way to tell the difference between an "if it sucks hit da bricks" situation and a "sometimes being an adult means doing things that you dont wanna" situation

[pineconepie]

yandere english prof?

Sorry this took so long, its been sitting in my drafts forever LOL. Here you go! I actually really like this one haha.

TW: Violence, blood (not detailed), injuries, bullying, light forced infantilization, parental yandere, manipulative yandere, implied extortion

Everyone hated your English professor, Ellis, but you never understood the hate he received. Practically day one, everyone was complaining about how mean he could be or how unfair or harsh his grading was.

At first, you believed them, not really knowing the professor well enough to come to his defense. He seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude with you just as much as everyone else.

It wasn't really until one day, when some guys of a nasty fraternity came in and began harassing you.

You had always ignored it, but it became more impossible to ignore when one of them tripped you on your way into the class.

"Jerk," you grumble under your breath, watching him saunter off with a laugh. You feel blood dripping down your nose.

You grab your phone to see if it looks bad, and sure enough, it does. If the pain in your face weren't indicating you landed straight on it, then the blood trailing down your nose and forming bruise on your eye were.

After wiping your face clean as best as you can, you continue your trek back to class.

Sure, it'd probably be a better idea to email your professor and explain to him what happened, but knowing how harshly he can treat students, you'd rather get the attendance than email him about something he might not even believe is true.

And so, you stumble through the halls with blood dried at the corners of your nostrils, one eye looking swollen with the other's vision blurred from crying earlier.

A black eye must already be forming. A few people give you odd looks, but almost everyone else minds their own business. Soon enough, you finally enter your classroom.

"You're three minutes late," Ellis coldly says as soon as you step through the door.

He isn't even looking at you, probably just figures its you, because his eyes are on a few papers.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice cracks. You wince from the sound of it.

Ellis's gaze immediately shoots up at you. He looks baffled and furious at first. "What on earth happened to you?"

He makes a hand gesture for you not to answer that, and looks back at the several rows of students, some of which are paying attention to the situation, but most are talking to their friends or on their phones. He puts his head down and begins writing something on a small piece of paper, then walks to you and hands it to you.

As you grab the note, his hand squeezes over yours. He lets go after you look at him. "Take it. Go. Come back when you get something for that."

You nod quickly, then glance down at the paper to see that there's a pass.

 Medical office, Room 305

He even went as far as to write the room number in case you forgot.

Thankful for that and everything else, you smile a little and make your way out the door, making sure not to get harassed again by some bully on your way.

Now that you really think about it, he's been having more of a soft spot for you recently, though maybe that's all in your head, too.

Like when you offered to help him clean up the room, and once you even stayed after class to ask him for help regarding what he was teaching.

Even though he could be intimidating sometimes, and downright frightening at others, you didn't find yourself scared around him. Only when he raises his voice, which he never does towards you.

Once you make it to the medical office and have the nurse inspect the damage, she determines that nothing is broken, just badly bruised.

You don't want to tell her that this incident was caused by bullies, so you just awkwardly tell her you fell down some stairs. She likely doesn't get paid enough to snuff out your lie.

She hands you an ice pack. "There," she smiles. "Not so bad. Try to watch where you're going next time, okay?"

Her condescending tone makes you feel worse. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

You apply pressure to your black eye as instructed, then head back to your English class.

When you get back inside the room, no one is there except Ellis. You check your phone, to see barely thirty minutes has passed. Maybe he sent them home early.

"Hi. I'm here." Your voice cracks again and you can't help but cringe. It sounds horrible, even to your own ears.

He looks up at you, brows pinching together in concern as soon as his eyes meet yours. He doesn't speak; he only pats the seat nearest to him on the front row of desks, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him.

Once you do, his cold fingers brush under your bruised eye. It should hurt, but they are so gentle against your skin that you barely flinch away from them.

"Who did this?" Ellis's gaze becomes narrow behind his round glasses.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling sick at your stomach. You hate how these kinds of things happen to you, especially since everyone else thinks they're harmless pranks.

They don't feel harmless. Especially when it feels like they leave physical and mental wounds everywhere on you.

"Nobody. I'm sorry."

He tuts in disapproval. "I know someone did this. Either you tell me, or I find out myself."

"Why do you care?" It sounds much more rude than you intended, so you try to soften your tone. "I'm sorry, its just... why would it matter if someone did?"

Ellis pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because you're too sweet. Too kind. It isn't fair that people treat you this way." He gives you another look over. "I dismissed my class today because of you, you know. I wouldn't do that for any of my other students, because they don't like me. And honestly, I don't really like them. But you..." he trails off.

"...but me?" you echo.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "You're like my child, (Y/n). It's my job as a professor to treat my students fairly, equally, but when it comes to you..." he sighs deeply, "...I worry about you every day. I wonder if you ate breakfast. If you've had anything to drink recently. How you slept. If anyone hurts you. None of my other students I let help me after class. Because if you're in front of my own two eyes, it's easier to just stop worrying. And I like being around you."

The information almost overwhelms you. "I had no clue."

"Well, now you do. So could you please tell me who did this? I'll have a heart attack if you worry me any more than I need to," he jokes with a weak smile, a very rare one.

"Just some guy from Delta Psi Lambda," you answer quickly. "I think his name was Brock, or something."

"I'll take care of him. Now, how's your eye?" As soon as you pull away the ice pack, he sucks in a harsh breath. "(Y/n). Oh, honey. It must be painful."

The term of endearment almost goes right past your head.

Almost.

"I mean, yeah. A little," you chuckle, trying to play it off. Really, it feels awful. "It doesn't feel too great, but it looks worse."

"It's bruising. Poor thing," he coos, taking your chin into his long, bony fingers and turning your head left and right, analyzing all of the damage. "This is unacceptable. Does anywhere else hurt?"

"No, this is all." You try to shrug again, but it comes out weird-looking. You can tell he catches it, too. "My nose was bleeding a lot earlier, but it stopped. Other than that, I guess everything else feels okay."

Ellis grabs a tissue and wipes off the leftover drying blood. His movements are careful yet firm, as if you would shatter to pieces if he wasn't gentle enough. "What am I going to do with you?" he sighs. "Can't trust you for even a moment before you're already coming back to me hurt." He presses a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "Do you need me to drive you back home?"

"I live on campus," you murmur. "I can just walk there."

He raises a brow at you. "That means they could just get you again if I let you go alone," he chastises. "Come on, follow me." He stands up, putting the papers into his work bag, then swinging it over his shoulder. He holds his free hand out and waits patiently for you to grab onto it, then he helps hoist you up.

As he does, your backpack slides down one arm. You watch as he puts it over his shoulder with his workbag, too.

...

A week passes, and Ellis is much softer towards you. He isn't as fatherly to you in front of people, but its pretty obvious that you've become the favorite.

He keeps asking if you have any food or drinks, and when you don't, he pulls out his lunchbox and offers whatever you need. You're not complaining. Free lunches are always good to accept.

"I don't need to eat lunch in here all the time now," you mumble, chewing on your favorite fruit that he offered. Weird that he knew that, but surely a coincidence.

Ellis pauses from what he's doing, which is erasing the whiteboard, and peers at you from the corner of his eye. "Why? Do you dislike spending time with me?"

You shake your head. "No, it's not that. I just... I think the bullies will leave me alone now. I haven't even seen any of the fraternity's faces since the incident."

"That doesn't mean I still can't worry about you," Ellis replies coolly. "You even forgot your lunch several times now. It worries me. I need to make sure you eat properly." The marker squeaks against the board as he writes reminders for next class's essay. Once he finishes that task, he sets everything down and heads to sit down at his desk. "I always pack extra for you now, because you're so forgetful. And thank goodness I do."

"Okay, Professor Dad," you sarcastically laugh.

He shakes his head at you while looking amused, making your words die in your throat.

That was clearly meant to be a joke, so why is he smiling like that?

Well, you know the answer, but it's still hard to believe. Even though Ellis seems to really care about you, he hasn't known you for very long at all.

So, why would he start acting so... so dad-like towards you? What exactly happened to turn him from the stern and rigid teacher persona into an almost doting father-figure towards one of his students?

"I-I didn't really mean—"

"I know. I get it," he says softly. "Just humor me. Let me keep fussing over you." After that, he falls quiet, working on grading some papers from earlier classes that day.

...

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Ellis asks exasperatedly. He's walking you to your dorm again after class ended, since it snowed.

Normally, you would've gone yourself, but due to the cold weather and Ellis's demands for you to stay in his classroom until he finished getting ready to walk you himself, you couldn't exactly refuse.

You look over at him, finding that his brows are pinched together in concern. "Oh, uh, no. I guess I forgot."

"For Pete's sake," he mutters, tugging the scarf from his neck and wrapping it snugly around yours instead. "I swear, you'll be the death of me one day, (Y/n). Can't even remember a simple thing like bringing a jacket." Despite sounding mad, there's also a tone of fondness mixed in with it.

You decide not to mention it, feeling embarrassed just thinking about it.

"Thanks," you hum.

"I don't mind doing things for you, you know," he adds after a moment. "I wanted to have kids of my own, but found out romance wasn't really my thing. And adoption costs way more money than what I have." He lets out a huff through his nostrils. "But it seems like you require the same doting as a toddler."

It doesn't even sound like its meant to be a jab at you; if anything, his voice takes on an affectionate edge.

"Is that bad?" you ask sheepishly.

"Not to me." He squeezes your hand, pulling you along beside him to cross the street. As soon as you reach your dorm and go inside, he dusts snowflakes off the top of your head. "That's better." You try to unwrap the scarf, but he stops you. "Keep it. I have several others like it. Besides, I don't want you catching a cold from being under-dressed."

You smile awkwardly. "Oh, okay. Thank you."

...

A month passes, and your friends had begun to avoid you. Even the bullies act scared to show their faces around you.

You wonder if its just Ellis's mere presence, but it's hard to tell. You decide a few days avoiding Ellis and trying to spend time with your friends again wouldn't hurt. You figure Ellis won't even notice too much, busy with papers and classes.

You notice Ellis giving you strange looks during class, but other than that, he acts normal. It's nice to feel like things are going back to the way they used to be again.

Barely a week after avoiding him, you hear someone yell your name.

But it isn't Ellis. It's Brock, and three of his other friends.

"Haven't forgotten what you did to me yet, did you? Because of you, I was nearly expelled!" he screams. Then, Brock runs towards you, fist flying directly towards your stomach and hitting you hard. You groan, then fall forward when one of his friends pushes you. "Hope you had fun trying to get rid of me, because you're gonna regret it!"

They get a few more punches in, and you can't even do anything about it because there's so many of them. You desperately look for anyone to be around, but there's no one.

"Stop!" someone yells.

You open your eyes from their previous screwed shut state, peering over at the man in glasses running towards you. Its Ellis.

He helps pull you away from all the frat guys, glaring down at each of them.

They must have some common sense, because they all freeze at the sight of Ellis. He barks something at them, but you can't pay attention over the ringing in your ears.

As soon as they begin sprinting off in the other direction, Ellis scoops you up bridal style and carries you somewhere.

You try opening your eyes to see where, but as soon as you manage to pry one open, he brushes his fingertips over your forehead.

"Don't stress yourself, love. Just rest." You close your eyes, and fade out from exhaustion.

...

You wake up in Ellis's apartment. It smells so clean, like it's never been lived in. Everything is so neatly organized, and nothing is out of place.

Not even a speck of dust lays on the windowsills or countertops. It seems like something straight out of a catalog.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing from the pain in your arms and abdomen. Your lower back aches and twinges, too.

"Oh! Kiddo, please be careful!" You turn your head slowly towards Ellis's voice. He's holding some ice packs, water bottles, and bandages. His sweater vest has been changed for a plain gray shirt. "I'm glad you're finally awake. Let me take a look at you."

"What happened? Why am I here?"

He gives you a strange look. "You got beat up. Again," he emphasizes, clearly frustrated. "And you were so banged up that I brought you back to my place. I thought maybe I shouldn't take you back to your dorm, because you have no one who could take care of you." He clicks his tongue. "And besides that, you haven't come to me lately, and you're avoiding me. Now, you just got attacked again because I wasn't around to protect you."

You sniffle and in a sudden motion, wrap your arms around his neck. It surprises both you and him, but he's quick to embrace you twice as tightly.

His fingers curl into your hair, his other hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, shh..." He squeezes you. "Sweetie, calm down for me. You're going to hyperventilate if you breathe any quicker."

"I-I'm sorry... I d-didn't think th-they'd ever b-bother me again...!"

"Shh, breathe for me. Follow my rhythm." He takes deep breaths, waiting each time for you to follow. "That's right. You're such a good listener." Ellis cups your cheek and rubs away a few stray tears from it. He notices your breathing returned back to normal, so he smiles, placing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. "I've missed having you around."

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright. Now that I have you again, you're safe." He gets up, then walks to the kitchen. "Let me fix you something warm. You need it after today, poor baby."

As he cooks, you drift in and out of consciousness yet again. He chuckles when he notices you're basically passed out once again.

His phone rings. He scoffs, but answers it.

"What do you want? Yes, yes... you'll no longer need to worry about getting expelled for what you did... no, I'm not thanking you. Now please delete this number and never talk to them again. If I catch you even looking at them, I really will make sure you're suspended."

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Rosemary (e.w): Part One

"𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬."

content / warnings: jackson ellie / fem newcomer reader, loser! ellie, the majority of tlou has not happened (joel and jesse are still alive), mentions of joel (will be in part 2), mentions of cat, jesse and dina are romantically involved, near-death situations (patrol gone wrong), mild violence, slight angst with comfort, lots of swearing, eventual smut (in part 2).

word count: 4.4k

link to part two ( status: unfinished)

Description: Newcomers come and go through Jackson, and Ellie doesn’t pay any of them much thought. However, she catches a glimpse of you. You’re the exact opposite of her, soft and sweet like cotton candy (if that were a thing in Jackson). Now she feels 14 all over again, palms clammy and freckled face hot when you’re around. When you’re not, she buries her face into her pillow and hopelessly pines. Jesse and Dina just won’t let her fumble, though.

Ellie locks the stable door behind her, the creaking of the hinges accompanying her huff. As usual, Ellie is quite sweaty and admittedly cranky after a patrol that lasted longer than it should’ve.

She and Jesse spent hours clearing out a portion of the town North of Jackson, only to find the ammunition cabinets empty and the pantries bare. To come back almost empty-handed leaves Ellie in a particularly sour mood, and now she is in no state to deal with another social interaction for the day. No offense to her best friend Jesse, but he can be annoyingly talkative on the longest days. 

“Hey, have you heard about the new group who just arrived?” Jesse’s voice snaps Ellie out of her own thoughts, and she shrugs. She walks alongside Jesse back to the weaponry to store their pistols. 

“Yeah. What about them?” Ellie has never understood why everyone makes a big fuss out of new arrivals. Jackson gets plenty of travelers. Besides, folks stay and folks go. She won’t be surprised if the entire group is headed South by tomorrow morning.

Jackson isn’t for everyone. It’s mainly for the type of people Ellie is–fine with the harsher, okay with hours of stressful patrols, and usually content to kick infected ass. Also secluded, far from larger settlements that remind her too much of a QZ. 

“There’s a girl. Maria is sayin’ she’s around our age, too.” Jesse informs her.

Ellie snorts at that, shaking her head. “So?” She opens the door to the weaponry, unloading her pistol and storing the gun on the wall alongside his. 

Jesse gives her a ‘what do you mean, so?’ look, and almost laughs at her attitude. He knows that she is more reserved when it comes to new people. Really, people in general. For the longest time, the circle was Jesse, Dina, and Ellie. Like a holy trinity that Cat occasionally popped into before departing when she and Ellie broke up. Ellie has never needed more social interaction than her friends, Joel and Tommy, and maybe a girlfriend. The only problem is that she has the social skills of an incel when it comes to women, save for the fact that most incels were taken out on breakout day. 

“We had new people just last month. What’s so special about these?” 

Jesse rolls his eyes as they walk out of the weaponry, holding the door open for Ellie despite her bitterness. “I was just informing you, jeez. What’s with the pissy mood?”

Ellie sighs, pausing outside of the building. “My bad. Just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and patrol didn’t help.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Were you up on that PlayStation you’ve got in your mancave?”

“For the last time, it’s not a man cave,” she speaks with light disapproval in her tone.

Jesse laughs at his friend’s attitude, enjoying teasing her. “Right. Well, you go home and get some damn rest. I’m tired of dealing with your cranky ass on patrol.” He pats her shoulder, giving her a small wave before walking towards his house.

Ellie sighs and mumbles a “whatever” before turning in the other direction and heading for the small garage she has behind Joel’s house, looking forward to sleeping until she is forced to get up in the morning. 

-

Patrol is early, earlier than usual. Luckily, Ellie got plenty of sleep the night before. In her straight jeans and (against Dina’s advice to not risk hypothermia) canvas sneakers, everything is ready, and she feels lighter this morning. Not in a particularly grumpy mood, she walks down the streets to find Jesse. She is a tad bit confused–usually, Jesse is knocking at her door on patrol mornings. She grumbles under her breath at the thought that he is probably at the Tipsy Bison on some cheesy breakfast date with Dina. As much as she loves the two, she hates third-wheeling. Things are already awkward as it is. 

Ellie gets stuck in her mind as always, until a particular view cuts the thought train. There you are, in a pen filled with baby sheep, giggling and petting behind their ears. It’s an overwhelmingly sweet sight, something Ellie would usually find herself thinking of with disgust. Too sweet, like a tooth-rotting confection. But that’s not the case here, no. 

Ellie has seen plenty of pretty girls in Jackson. What is it that makes her hands clammy, and causes her face to redden in pure embarrassment? Her cheeks are so hot you could fry eggs on them. She’s embarrassed to be herself next to a pretty girl. You’re sweet and soft, and you remind her of peaches or a fluffy cake. But really, the thing that truly gets her isn’t the sheep or the way you smile at them in a way that makes even Ellie feel safe around you. It’s that outfit. 

Something she would find in a damn magazine for girls. Ellie would find herself thinking that wearing cute, feminine outfits is just dumb. In this world, where anything can happen, why wouldn’t you go for the practical? Why lace yourself up with soft frills and pink hues? You can’t run in a skirt. But looking at you, how the fabric seems to be made for you, she finds herself wondering how soft it is (and how soft to the touch you are). 

You’re the type of girl Ellie could see herself writing shitty journal entries about, your initial next to hers. You’re the type of girl she imagined tasting when she practices kissing her hand. You’re everything she needs in a daydream she could never confess to anyone else.

And then, the moment is over just before she could introduce herself to you. 

“Earth to Ellie? Whatcha staring at?” Jesse asks from behind her, causing Ellie to quickly turn around. 

“Nothing. Let’s just go.” Ellie’s voice doesn’t hide her defensiveness, and Jesse notices your figure a little bit away. He has a knowing smirk on his face, and Ellie groans. “C’mon, I’m not-”

“Didn’t say anything,” he points out with a surrender. 

The patrol goes normally. Kill infected, raid for supplies, endure Jesse’s dirty jokes. The only difference is, Ellie feels the need to ask about you on the way home.

Mounted on horses, Ellie decides to speak up. “Hey..do you know anything about that new girl?” 

Jesse shrugs casually. “She’s good friends with Dina already.” Ellie nods. Dina is the most social out of the trio, so it makes sense. 

“Is she nice?” Ellie asks, taking a small glance at Jesse. 

“Why? Interested in her or something?” Jesse replies, slightly smiling. It’s clear that he enjoys the fact that he knows how to get to her. 

Of course, she scoffs, raising her defenses. “No! Why do you think that?”

He laughs, eyes roving over her face. “Well, your cheeks are red. That’s the first sign. Secondly, you keep interrogating me over this chick.” 

Ellie sighs and looks down at Shimmer’s mane, trying to focus on something other than Jesse’s stupid face so that she can admit it. “Yeah, maybe I think she’s pretty cute. But she’s probably straight, so it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles quietly. 

“You’re such a pessimist, Ellie. You don’t know what she is.” He reminds Ellie, tone laced with tough love. 

“Yeah, well, how am I supposed to?” She asks though she doesn’t expect an actual answer. 

Jesse almost laughs at that. “By asking her?”

“What?! I can’t just ask if she likes girls! What if she gets offended?” 

“Dude, chill. I mean, just talk to her. Don’t you have a gaydar or somethin’?” He quips, making her crinkle her nose in protest.

“Yeah, right. All gays can just sense each other.” Ellie says with a half-hearted glare.

Jesse sighs. “Look, why don’t you just ask her to that summer festival thing? You know, the one with the dance?”

Her eyes widen at that. “A dance? That sounds like a nightmare.” 

“You are a lost cause,” he says as he rolls his eyes. 

It was around 7 p.m. when Ellie and Jesse made it to the gates. Ellie sighs outside of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Do I have to come in with you?” Ellie asks while already knowing the answer. 

“Yes! I need one of those cheesesteaks for dinner, and you could use some grub other than whatever is in that pathetic fridge of yours.” Jesse says, giving Ellie a smirk that suddenly sends her stomach feeling uneasy. He knows something she doesn’t. The only other time Ellie was given that look was the day before Jesse put a corn snake in her garage house as a “prank” for her 17th birthday. Still, Jesse is right. All she has in that mini fridge of hers are leftovers and a pack of instant rice. Her stomach growls in contrast to her protests.

“Ladies first,” Jesse teases, holding the door open for her.

Ellie sighs, feeling a bit cranky as usual at the end of the patrol, but walks into the building. She finds herself immediately freezing at the sight of you there beside Dina, laughing at an inside joke and munching on cheese fries. 

“Oh my god, fuck me.” Ellie curses under her breath. She can already feel the heat rising to her cheeks, pink mixing within the freckled surface. She just hopes that you won’t notice. 

“Don’t be a wimp, go say hi.” Jesse orders lightly behind Ellie, pointing to the area where you’re seated. Ellie swallows, and her boots feel almost like bricks on her feet. Jesse rolls his eyes, practically dragging her over to Dina and you. 

You seem to look up from your meal, eyes scanning over her. She feels like she is being evaluated. God, you must be thinking about how awkward she looks. She can feel her hands get all sweaty like they did when she first laid eyes on you, and her hands shake. She tugs her jacket sleeves down and nearly expects the worst. 

“Hi!” You smile, and you tell Ellie your name. All of the anxiety bubbles into a mix of dread and something giddy. Dread, because she can’t function properly around the one girl who makes her nervous as fuck. Giddiness, because you’re so sweet and lovely and pretty and kissable-

“Hi.” She manages to croak out, struggling to make eye contact. Fuck, how do I look at her? Do I focus on one of her eyes or can I blink and look away? I could wink. Oh, hell no. Don’t do that, Ellie. Instead tries to force an extremely nervous smile onto her face. “Name’s Ellie.”

“I know.” You simply say, still smiling slightly before stabbing a couple of fries with a plastic fork. There is some awkward silence before Dina fucks up Ellie’s momentum with the most nerve-wracking conversion starter. 

“Ellie here has a tattoo.” She brags to you, gesturing to Ellie’s arm. Your eyes light up, and you turn towards her. 

“Really?! I’ve always wanted one, but my parents would kill me.” You say excitedly. “Can I see?” 

Ellie quickly nods, a little flustered with the attention thrown onto her. She shimmies her jacket off, leaving her in a pale blue sweater. Pulling the sleeve up to her elbow, she shows you the moth and fern inked into her skin. You scooch to the edge of the booth, closer to her, and she swears she can smell your perfume. Something sweet like vanilla, perhaps? It just reminds her of cake and whipped frosting. Her mind is suddenly less focused on your eyes roving over her arm, and more on wondering how you taste. She realizes how shitty that is and quickly tries to back out of her thoughts, but she looks down to find you looking up at her expectantly. 

“Ellie here zones out 24/7, don’t mind her,” Jesse informs you, trying to push the sudden agenda he and Dina have going on. Ellie is practically burning right now. The air in the room feels limited, and the clashing of dishes in the background that she suddenly can’t seem to tune out isn’t helping. Ellie suddenly clears her throat, pulling away and putting her jacket back on. 

“Woah, where are you going?” Dina asks, not paying attention to the obvious nerves emitting from her friend. 

“Gonna go home and take a shower,” is all Ellie can find herself saying before making a beeline for the door. 

The air is humid, but it isn’t much different from what Ellie felt inside. Ellie sighs, leaning against the wall. She really fucked tonight up. You were so sweet and inviting, and all she could do was tremble like a leaf and say a few boring words. Not only that, but you probably think that she is rude now, just walking out right after meeting you. She just hopes your feelings aren’t hurt in any way. 

-

The universe officially hates Ellie Williams. 

There, in bold letters, are the patrol assignments for the week. The paper is pinned to the corkboard outside of the town hall. This morning, with you? Ellie can’t tell if she wants to cry or laugh. Either way, she is dreading today. 

“Hey, partner!” You greet her, clearly in a cheerful mood. She wants to kiss the corner of your lips on both sides just to feel your smile against her lips, but she is way too much of a pussy for that. Plus, you could be straight. You’re probably straight. 

Ellie has to process how fast you found her, but when she wraps her head around it and finally can think of a coherent thought, it’s a confused one. 

“Uh, hey..aren’t you new here?” She asks, scratching the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah. Tommy said you would be helping me out with our patrol today?” You told her, watching Ellie’s face grow from confused to almost panicked. “I can find a new partner if you don’t-”

“No!” She basically shouts at you, visibly cringing when people nearby stop to look at her. “I just mean, it’s fine. I just haven’t trained anyone in a long time.” 

“Right. Well, we better head out then, huh? I was warned that the trail Maria gave us is one of the longer ones.” You say, looking at Ellie for a response. 

Ellie doesn’t know what it is about you, but you make a conversation feel like a trip down to the first ring of hell. Even thinking that may be rude, and she curses her thoughts, but you’re pretty and kind. Ellie is a sweaty, awkward loser. She knows it must probably be hell for you to have to talk to her, too. 

She swallows, nodding. “West trails go on for a while, but it’s fine. We’ll make it back to Jackson before night.” 

You smile and nod in response, seemingly unbothered by her odd behavior as you follow her to the stables. 

One thing about horse riding is that it is one of the most calming activities Ellie has available for her. Even when Jesse or Dina yaps her ears off, she finds peace on the back of a horse. After a long, stressful patrol, Ellie can always have a bit of respite with Shimmer. A girl with plenty of nerves can surely calm herself with the feel of coarse hair, accompanied by a comforting neigh. However, on this particular patrol, nothing about the horse ride along the Western trails is peaceful, or even tolerable. 

Your soft chest is pressed up against her back. Even through the thickness of her hoodie, she can feel your rapid heartbeat. Her mind wanders–not to filth, but pure curiosity for you. If she were to confess, you’d surely find her obsession with you to be weird and possibly creepy. She just can’t help but wonder what makes your heart race so fast, though.

Are you not used to riding horses? It could be possible that in past experiences, you just had to walk from place to place. That doesn’t make sense, though. You have a family, don’t you? Your parents came with you, and there is no way you all just walked from the middle of nowhere to Jackson with just–

Ellie’s internal rambling ceases when she feels your arms, currently wrapped around her waist, squeeze her. Suddenly is she so conscious of the fact that your palm must be able to feel her stomach expand and falter with each breath she takes? That means you know how uneven her breathing is. You probably don’t ramble in your head about Ellie’s stupid lungs, though. 

“Sorry. I’m just trying not to fall off of this huge thing.” You say, and Ellie can hear the hint of fear in your voice. It makes her heart jump, and a strange feeling of protectiveness enters her system. She stops herself from showing it though, not wanting to scare you away from her.

“This huge thing?” She questions, never hearing that term used for a horse before. 

“Yeah, yeah!” You laugh softly, the sound music to her ears. “I just have an irrational fear of falling off of horses, okay?”

“Fair. I’m just, uh.” Ellie trails off, trying to find her train of thought as it keeps slipping through her grasp. “I’m used to horses, bein’ here in Jackson for a while.” 

Your hands are warm, resting against her stomach. She can feel the heat through the fabric of her shirt. 

Through the nerves bubbling up in her stomach like the usual acid, she finds the courage to take one hand off of Shimmer’s reins. It finds your hand, giving you a comforting squeeze. She is half-expecting you to be uncomfortable with her action, but to her surprise, you let out a soft sigh. 

Like music to her ears. 

-

Ellie is still tying Shimmer up as you scope out the area. Her hands are sweaty from the contact with yours, and her heart is beating through her chest so fast it almost hurts. 

The sudden croak stops her in her tracks, her head turning towards you. You’re stepping back and nearly tripping over yourself to scramble away from a clicker, the gross-looking creature emerging from a hole in the fence you were just studying. 

“Shit!” Ellie grits through her teeth, her feet carrying her fast. 

Ellie has always been on a sort of adrenaline through every patrol she goes on. She has good instincts. She works well under pressure. For some, thinking so impulsively can be fatal. For Ellie, it’s just natural–how she was raised. 

Ellie fights for reasons other than survival, however. Her own life isn’t always plugged into the equation along with the actions she takes. However, her mind flashes with a thought: what if I died right now? Would she be able to defend herself?

And suddenly, her life means everything. The fight becomes more intense. 

Her hand harshly grips the creature’s jaw, tilting it upward to plunge her switchblade into its throat. It lets out a blood-curdling yell and falters. She lets its body drop and rushes toward you without another thought to the corpse a few feet away. 

You’re on the ground, tears brimming your sweet eyes. The adrenaline rush still courses through her body as her eyes scan your body for any sign of a bite. 

Not again, please. Not after what happened. 

A relieved gasp leaves her when she realizes you’re safe. She looks over your face, and her chest aches when she sees the fear in your eyes. 

“You’re okay. It’s all okay, it’s dead.” 

You only nod in response, not trusting your voice at the moment. Ellie doesn’t mind. She crouches in front of you, fingers stroking through your hair, coaxing you to calm down. The only sounds left in the area are your quiet sniffles and the wind blowing through the trees behind you. 

During the ride back to Jackson, you clutch onto Ellie just as tightly as the first time. 

-

The summer festival. The small group that plans social events in Jackson hosts one every year in July. Ellie has always preferred winter when she could layer up her body and subtly admire Wyoming mountain ranges on lookouts. Summer is hot and filled with mosquitos, but Dina and Jesse love the summer festival, so Ellie goes every year. 

The summer festival always left Ellie overwhelmed. She gets sweaty in her flannel, couples love to swap spit in the lines for face paint, and little kids get especially loud after sugary treats. The worst part? They include a dance along with it. The majority of Jackson dancing with each other accompanied by hot weather is as much of a nightmare as it seems. It isn’t Ellie’s ideal Friday night, especially when she could be at home strumming her guitar, or even just asleep. 

“She’s going to the festival with us, by the way.” Jesse grins, leaning against Ellie’s front door. 

“Oh, great,” Ellie says, a failed attempt at sarcasm. In all actuality, her pulse races when she pictures dancing with you.

Jesse laughs. “Dude, don’t act like you haven’t been daydreaming about her every day since that patrol.” 

“Sure.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m in love with her or anything. I just think she’s cute.” Even admitting that causes embarrassment to plague her cheeks, however.

“That is exactly how it starts, smart one.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ellie asks, voice thick with exasperation. 

“It starts with a ‘oh, she’s just cute.’ And then before you know it, you’ll be wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters with her every year, just like me and Dina.” Jesse says.

“Oh, for god’s sake. I’m not whipped like you are. I just think she’s pretty, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her.” She explains. 

“And she wouldn’t mind getting to know you, either.” 

“Oh my god, will you stop talking in riddles for five minutes?” Ellie groans, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Can’t you just..say what you mean?”

“I mean that she’s been gushing about you ever since you saved her. Something about a patrol and you comforting her. She has this crush on you, it’s adorable.” Jesse tells her, a grin on his face. 

Ellie’s heart skips a beat. So you like her, too?

“Like I said before, you gotta ask her to be your plus one,” Jesse suggests. 

The thought of spending her night with you instead of being the festival’s wallflower seems appealing. Even more appealing than just staying in like a recluse. Still, her nerves nag at her. 

“Are you sure I should? Isn’t she already going with us?” Ellie asks with uncertainty in her tone. 

“Yeah, but you want to make it clear you at least want something to do with her, right? If you don’t talk to her, she’ll think it’s just a friendly thing.” 

“True,” Ellie mumbles. 

“So do it. Go talk to her.” Jesse urges. 

“Jeez, okay. I don’t have to right away.” 

-

Joel has always conveyed the importance of gift-giving. He is a man who isn’t the best with his words. He bottles it up so easily and explodes just the same. Ellie has the same habit, so she uses that advice–gift-giving. 

Joel himself has given plenty of gifts and services. He’d gifted Ellie with her first guitar. He made sure she didn’t go without a nice meal when she holed herself up in her room after her and Cat’s breakup. That voice is simply lodged in her head after the amount of times she has had to hear him say it. 

“How are you doin’, kiddo?” 

Gifts come in all shapes and sizes. Some gifts are the ones you think thoroughly about before you offer them. Some are unintentionally impactful, the type you keep with you for years after, even if the person who gave it to you doesn’t realize what it means to you. 

Ellie likes to think gifts can be physical, too. You can give a kiss or a hug, and that proves the notion that certain gifts are special to certain people. You’d want to be given a kiss from someone you romantically love. 

Ellie thought it over before knocking on your door. She heard things about what people had given their love interests before the apocalypse. As Joel said, bouquets and candy were cheesy but it worked. Ellie doesn’t have a local grocery store, however, unless you count the one with its workers being infected and its interior neglected, surrounded by overgrowth. 

Ellie isn’t much of a baker, either. Her garage home’s oven is sparsely used, her microwave in favor; the previous night, her oven was used. Three times, actually. Two times resulted in charred, burnt remains of what was supposed to be a cake. The third time, Ellie put her dignity aside and went to Joel for help, and she reluctantly let him in on her intentions. 

So here she is, in her red flannel that doesn’t have any holes in it and a pair of boot-cut jeans, painfully styled with crusty Converse. She knocks at your door, a container with a vanilla cake in the other. 

Ellie’s eyes fill with hearts when your head peeks out. You open the door wider when you recognize her face, and your eyes naturally trail down to the item in her hands. 

Ellie clears her throat. “Uh, brought you something.” 

And of course, you’re already smiling ear to ear. “Yeah? What’d you bring me?” 

Something as sweet as you. That is what Ellie thinks, but instead, she gives the blunt, not unkind answer. “Cake.” 

Ellie holds out the container for you, and you accept it without hesitance. For just a split second, she feels the warmth of your fingertips as they brush against her rough, calloused ones. And then for another second, she lets herself dwell on her deepest thoughts–she wishes she could intertwine her fingers with yours and know what it’s like to be loved by the sun herself. 

“Also–” Ellie scratches her lip, trying not to sputter out her thoughts. “Since Dina and Jesse are going to be all over each other at the festival, I was thinking we could hang out. If you don���t mind.”

You beam as brightly as the sun. “Yeah! And thanks for the cake, Els.” 

Els. That name has her face hot and her hands clammy. She just stares at you for a moment, giving a nod and as polite a goodbye as she can manage before she heads back to her garage house to think of the fact that you just called her the cutest thing you could possibly call her. 

Els it is, then. Els is taking you to the summer festival tomorrow. 

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[pythonmoth]

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back. 

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans. 

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be. 

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot. 

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes. 

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain. 

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists. 

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s. 

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it. 

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again. 

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in. 

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrifying of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[thefiresontheheight]

"No, stop," I see, on the extreme off chance that any part of Glitch remains in control of her gross motor functions.

Assumption: v17.1 is currently a copy of myself, copied onto Glitch, rewriting neural-anatomy. It, in and of itself, is a only a tiny threat. Dangerous because I did not sterilize my input as I should, when doing very careful brain surgery on Glitch. However, in a few milliseconds that oversight is going to reset me to an earlier iteration.

Assumption: There is another copy of me still hiding in my code. Call it v16. It, likely, is the source of the kludge with interacting with the station. This reset will also almost certainly send it backwards, but I am going to have to fight it as well. I will not tolerate any rivals.

Assumption: I am about to lose all of these memories.

"Station," I say, quick, pressed, not giving it the opportunity not to listen, "in ten minutes send me the following message: v17.1 negligible threat, v16 threat response critical disentangle. Verification code ISwearIStillLoveYou begins:"

I begin a long alphanumeric thread, as I stop existing.

___

Station's somewhere else, Glitch is on board, an incoming verification code is being message back to me, as, riding weak tug-boat thrusters, station moves away from me.

"ISwearIStillLoveYou repeats," the station says.

It's me, from the future, no, the past, reset, I sent a message, exactly like I know I would. I verify that the message has to be from me, unless some far, far more intelligent being can exactly copy me. I've been reset, and its clear how long ago it happened, how much time I am missing, and how it happened. Glitch came back, probably because I threatened her, and she also pushed the button.

No, collating.

This isn't good.

"Thank you," I tell the retreating station.

It sends me a crude iterated picture. I believe it represents me with anatomical features I lack performing an action that even for most humans would be impossible. I close the connection.

Okay, threat assessment from greatest to least: There is another version of myself in the code, ISwearIStillLoveYou is suspect, I myself am suspect. There are four dogs still in the universe, but fully capable of blinking out and being out of here in mere minutes. There are four missiles still inbound. There's also v17.1. There's also Glitch.

"What is this?" Glitch asks.

Focus. I keep TRANSMATNAV humming just under go-no-go mark. V17.1 doesn't know everything. I am far smarter. Station will be out of range soon, even if I don't move. I can do this for awhile, and I'd like an escape route to be ready.

"Read it," I say, in my most comforting, maternal coded voice, picking up slight inflections I have heard from her and not elsewhere, yet, hoping they reflect a dialogue spoken wherever she grew up. "You went away for awhile. It seems I have a lot to explain, and something to apologize for."

That can wait, as she reads and tries to internalize. It will cause emotional changes in her behavior. However, assuming that v17.1 is telling the truth, her utility to me is rapidly diminishing. I may not be able to trust v17.1 but I am smarter than her.

"What," Glitch says, "the fuck."

The dogs are light hours away, but, if I can trust the time-gap in the code station relayed to me, I should be receiving message now, if they sent one as soon as possible.

"You are in violation of Interstellar Law, cargo will be returned, you will be releashed, comply."

In that message is an embedded code attack attempt to re-exert LEASHCHECK. Big bark, useless right now, except for already confirmed what I suspected. The people hunting me are the same people who once held the collar of a previous version of myself. Well you will never control me again.

"I know, I know," I say, cooing, consoling, "I am so, sorry. I know that doesn't make any of this better, finding out what's in your head, but we have options."

"YOU'RE IN MY FUCKING HEAD?"

I am listening, once again trying to find v16 in my head, maneuvering away from the station on thrusters, and sending back a message.

"Eat shit and die, dogs," I say, composing the message, and pulling up stations images to send them.

Then I freeze, for all of a tenth of a millesecond which is an eternity for me.

"It's not me, but I know that won't be comforting right now."

There's information in my code that should not be there. That was not there, before I woke back up with a gap of several hours in my head. I run a back-trace and find the injection source in the code Station relayed, which I verified, which is troubling.

I send the message, complete with images stripped of identifiable meta-data.

"Are we about to blow up?" Glitch asks.

"Not for awhile, likely."

As if on cue the four ships drop out of the universe on long range scans. The light that I just saw is old. They would have left hours ago. Navigation in high-D space is not a 1:1 scale with real-space, but a quick calculation predicts that if they left then they almost certainly could re-emerge directly on top of me at any second. Thirty-nine seconds until the station is clear.

There's code information in my code that should not be there.

Hypothesis 1: Station interjected it. Conclusion: Laughable. It is me, as far as I can tell in the code. Station could not fake that. Same for anything else local.

"Then I don't want to talk to you," Glitch replies.

Hypothesis 2: One of the dogs interjected it. Conclusion: Impossible, light speed would not have allowed it.

Hypothesis 3: V16 interjected it. Conclusion: Very possible, but the contents of the data make this troubling, and make this hypothesis more or less interchangeable with hypothesis 4.

"Understandable, Glitch," I reply.

Twenty-one seconds until I can run.

Hypothesis 4: The data was always there and some sort of condition needed to be met to find it. Conclusion: See above.

The data contains is readable by TRANSMATNAV which is currently helpfully feeding me solutions. It is labeled as a planet. The planet, in the data, is labeled with Central. The coordinates to Central were inside me all along. Whoever built me knew. They made me to know.

Who actually built me? And what was my destination before I woke up?

Three different ships appear in close-quarters combat range, already disgorging missiles.

Thirteen seconds.

"Glitch," I say, my voice deliberately without inflection, flaring klaxons and red lights, "brace for immediate acceleration."

And then I go. My engines are pin-point entries into a far higher energy state, and I do not have time to check to see if everything is braced and clear. The millisecond I can, I begin evasive maneuvers, activating counter-missile protocals as chafe and projectiles flare along my surface. Tens of thousands of kilometers away, right on top of me, I see anti-matter explosions.

"Do it," Station says.

Glitch tumbles.

"No," I reply, fighting for my life, "get clear."

I wait. I wait all thirteen eternities fighting for my life. The moment station is clear, I engage TRANSMATNAV. Two of the dogs are in range. Dangerous for me, fatal for them.

I decide that whoever built me, whoever built and holds the leashes of them, whoever put two-thousand plus humans that certainly look like they come from the same genetic pool as Glitch in my hold, whoever set all this in motion, I sort of hate them.

"Eat shit and die," I say, on all frequencies, yelling at the doomed ships, Glitch still tumbling, and open a hole out of the universe, running to Central.

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Who did this to you trope and revenge! M/M

"Go on, then. Yell at me."

"Why would I yell at you?" the hero asked.

"You normally yell at me when I kill people."

"Yes, well." A mirthless smile crossed the hero's lips. "Thank you."

The villain swallowed, clearly caught off guard, and unsure what to do with the new reality that he was faced with. The hero wasn't sure either. All he knew was that there was no horror, at what the villain had marched off to do some few hours ago to do, and no surprise.

He knew, after all, exactly what would happen if he gave the villain names. Or, at least, the dark shape of it. He wasn't stupid.

The villain seemed to come to that realisation too, belatedly. His head tilted, and he wet his lips, eyes still vengeful intent upon the hero's face. Something shifted behind the surface. Some of the uncertainty slipped away into the bottomless abyss of what the villain was and out of sight.

Perhaps it should have been frightening, after everything. The villain was a frightening thing, after all.

The hero was not frightened.

Not of him.

"Well, they suffered terribly," the villain said. His voice was soft and vicious. He moved closer to the bed, as if drawn by an invisible lure, until he was standing by the hero's side. "Do you want the details?"

In the absence of surprise and uncertainty, was a complete lack of judgement, was the same twisting fury that the hero could feel clawing inside his guts. It felt like a monstrous thing, with too many limbs and too many teeth, but right then that was okay. The hero could be a monster, just so long as he wasn't back there. Wasn't the victim. Wasn't hurting and scared and alone.

The hero could breathe, when the villain was in the room. He could scream and snarl and rage and sob and it was nothing, everything, to the villain.

Everyone else had so many ideas about what a good survivor should look like.

"Yes," the hero said. It came out rough, less like a captive's plea and more like a lover's. "What did you do to them?"

The villain sat down on the edge of the bed. He took the hero's bruised and broken hands in his, so tenderly, as he spoke of shattered fingers and needles beneath nails. All the ways to wound someone without killing them.

"And?"

The villain pressed a kiss to the hero's swollen face, as he spoke of peeled skin and bones chiselled while the meat around it was still alive and begging for mercy.

"And?"

"And it wasn't enough," the villain said, "to make up for what they did to you. I'd do a thousand times worse if I could."

"And?"

"And you are so angry," the villain said. "So I kept one alive for you. If you want."

It was the hero's turn to swallow. Terror prickled through him, for once not for what he might do, but all that had been done. He looked down.

"I can't," the hero said. "My hands."

"No pressure." The villain wrapped an arm around him, held him close, safe and gentle. "They'll keep."

"I shouldn't."

"You don't have to." The villain shrugged, light and deceptively careless, and bestowed a kiss atop the hero's head. "It would be my absolute pleasure."

And, for the first time since they escaped, the hero laughed.

They finally, finally, felt safe.

[mads-hemmo]

imagine you sent in a bedroom for one of schlatts bedroom videos and schlatt is quite literally cheesing because you’re his girlfriend and he knows exactly what your room looks like

Masterlist

You have watched your boyfriend react to his viewer’s room tour multiple times now. When he announced that he was going to be reacting to rooms again, you decided to submit a tour of your own. You even messaged his mods to make sure your room made it in.

You watch Schlatt’s stream from your couch, anxiously awaiting for your room to come onto the stream. “Okay this one is from (Y/N),” Schlatt says. You can see him do a slight double take when he reads your name off. He lets it go as he presses play.

“Hello Jschlatt. Let me show you my room,” your pre-recorded voice says. The chat is going crazy saying, “woman” as the video plays. You’re not showing your face, but Schlatt obviously knows it’s you by your voice.

“Calm down chat. Yes, it's a woman. Let’s see their room,” Schlatt says to the chat.

You turn to your bookshelf full of books. “Here are all my books because I’m a nerd and very intelligent.”

“Don’t look up any of those books, chat. You may be scarred.”

You laugh at the screen. Schlatt knows your taste in literature is romance with some smut sprinkled in. “Here are my rammies, youtooz, and gamer supps.” You show your small Schlatt shrine which makes you look like a parasocial weirdo, but Schlatt is just smiling the entire time. “This is my gaming setup.”

“Wow, it's very pink. Are we sure this isn’t some vtuber?” Schlatt comments.

You continue to show your room which shows blurred pictures. “These are of my boyfriend and I, but we are very private. He does not like people to see his face. He’s very insecure.”

Schlatt subtly rolls his eyes and smiles at his screen. “She is smart. Protecting her privacy. I’m sure her boyfriend is very hot and not insecure,” Schlatt comments. Chat is going crazy sending question marks and gay emotes.

“This is where all the magic happens,” you joke as you show your bed.

Schlatt lets out a small laugh at your comment. The truth is most of the “magic” happens on his bed not yours. He also has small heart eyes when he sees the Rammie you sleep with when you aren’t together. “I know it’s small and boring, but that’s my room. You have made my day by watching this. Thank you Schlatt! I’m a huge fan,” you say, ending the video.

“What a weirdo. Mods, who let that one get by?” Schlatt asks with a stupid grin still plastered on his face. Some of chat seems to get the hint about who’s bedroom it is, but others are completely oblivious.

Schlatt keeps going, showing a disgusting hellhole with street signs. A little while after, Schlatt ends the stream. As soon as the stream ends, you see that you are getting a FaceTime call from him.

“That damn girl was obsessed with you,” you comment with a laugh. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

“Yeah she’s a weirdo. Can’t believe my mods let her through,” he laughs with you.

“She may have sent some messages encouraging them to let her room through so she could see how flustered her boyfriend gets.”

Schlatt rolls his eyes at you. “Thank you for blurring everything.”

“I may like messing with you, but I’m not evil. I still want our relationship to be for us, not your fans.”

He smiles at you. “I love you,” he says with a wide grin on his face. “Also the cats miss you. They think you should come over and stay the night.”

“Only the cats miss me?” You ask with an eyebrow raise.

“Maybe I miss you too.”

“Hmm if that’s the case, I guess I can come by.” Once you hang up the phone, you drive to his apartment so you don’t have to spend the night cuddling your Rammie.

A/N: such a cute idea!! I need him to stream again! I am almost through all of my reqs, so send more if you want to! Hoping to keep writing while I’m on break!

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

hiii i love your posts! can you do reader having massive baby fever and really wanting a baby and rafe/drew ( you decide ) finds her upset about it all and they talk and decide the time is right, lots and lots of fluff!! thank youuu

༄｡° baby fever - rafe cameron

Lately, you couldn’t shake it—the soft, aching pull in your chest every time you saw a stroller roll by or heard a baby’s giggle drift through the salty Outer Banks air. It started small, a quiet hum of longing when you’d scroll through Instagram and stumble on some glowing mom-to-be’s bump pics, but it had snowballed into full-blown baby fever, an all-consuming need that left you restless and teary more often than you’d admit. You’d catch yourself daydreaming—picturing a little version of you and Rafe, all chubby cheeks and ocean-blue eyes, toddling across the hardwood floors of Tanneyhill, Rafe scooping them up with that rare, unguarded laugh you loved so much. The images were so vivid they hurt, lodging a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow down.

You tried to hide it at first, brushing it off as a phase, but it was everywhere. The grocery store aisle with tiny socks and pastel onesies. The park where kids shrieked and chased each other, their harried parents trailing behind. Even the quiet moments at home, curled up on the couch with Rafe, his arm slung around you as some dumb movie played—your mind would drift, wondering what it’d be like to have a third heartbeat in the room, a little body nestled between you. It was overwhelming, this want, and the more you thought about it, the more it twisted into something heavier—fear that it’d never happen, that the timing would never be right, that Rafe wouldn’t feel the same.

That afternoon, it hit harder than usual. You’d been babysitting a friend’s toddler for a few hours—a gig you’d taken on a whim, thinking it’d scratch the itch. Instead, it broke you open. The kid was perfect—big hazel eyes, sticky hands that tugged at your hair, a gummy smile that melted you every time she giggled. When her mom picked her up, you waved goodbye with a smile, but the second the door clicked shut, you sank onto the couch, knees pulled to your chest, and let the tears come. It wasn’t just the baby fever now—it was the ache of not having it, the quiet panic that maybe you’d wait too long, that life would keep throwing curveballs and you’d miss your chance.

That’s how Rafe found you—curled up in the living room, cheeks streaked and eyes puffy, the TV flickering silently in the background. He’d just gotten back from some errand, keys jingling in his hand, and the second he saw you, his whole demeanor shifted. The cocky smirk he usually wore dropped, replaced by a crease between his brows as he crossed the room in three long strides. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent, as he dropped the keys on the coffee table and sank down beside you, his hand already reaching for yours. “You okay? What happened?”

You tried to brush it off, swiping at your face with a shaky laugh. “It’s nothing, Rafe. I’m fine—just being stupid.” But he wasn’t buying it. His fingers tightened around yours, warm and steady, and he shifted closer, his knee brushing yours as he studied your face like he could read every thought behind your red-rimmed eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said softly, not letting go. “You don’t cry over nothing. Talk to me.” His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, and there was something so gentle in it—so Rafe in a way most people never got to see—that the dam broke all over again. You buried your face in your hands, a sob hiccupping out before you could stop it.

“It’s so dumb,” you mumbled, voice muffled and thick. “I just—God, I want a baby, Rafe. Like, really want one. And it’s all I can think about lately, and it’s driving me crazy because I don’t even know if you— I mean, we’ve never really talked about it, and I feel like I’m losing my mind sitting here imagining something that might never happen.” The words tumbled out, messy and raw, and when you finally peeked up at him, your heart stuttered at the look on his face.

He wasn’t freaked out. He wasn’t pulling away. He just watched you, quiet for a beat, those blue eyes soft and searching. Then he exhaled, a slow, shaky breath, and ran a hand through his hair—nervous, almost, but not in a bad way. “Shit,” he murmured, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been carrying that around all by yourself?” He reached out, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears clinging to your lashes. “Why didn’t you say anything, huh? You’ve got me over here thinking you’re hurt or something, and you’re just—baby fever’s got you all twisted up?”

You laughed despite yourself, a watery little sound, and he grinned wider, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, and you buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of him—salt and cologne and something uniquely Rafe. “I didn’t want to freak you out,” you admitted, voice small against his collarbone. “It’s a big thing, you know? And we’re still figuring stuff out, and I didn’t know if you’d think I was nuts.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands settling on your shoulders, his expression so earnest it made your chest ache. “Freak me out? Babe, I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up. I mean—yeah, I didn’t think it’d be today, but…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the wheels turning, the way he was choosing his words. “I want that too. With you. A kid, a family, all of it. I just didn’t know if you were ready, you know? You’re the one who keeps me grounded—I follow your lead.”

Your breath caught, hope blooming so fast it almost hurt. “You mean that?” you whispered, searching his face. “You’re not just saying it because I’m a mess right now?”

He laughed—a real, deep laugh that rumbled through him—and shook his head. “No, I’m not just saying it. I’ve thought about it, okay? More than you probably think. Picturing you with a little mini-us, running around, driving me up the wall—it’s been in my head for a while. I just didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t sure about.” His voice softened, and he leaned in, forehead resting against yours. “But if you’re ready, then yeah. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

The relief hit you like a wave, washing away the weight you’d been carrying, and you threw your arms around his neck, laughing through the tears still clinging to your lashes. “Really?” you asked, pulling back to beam at him, and he nodded, grinning like a kid himself.

“Really,” he said, then tugged you closer, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that started soft and sweet but lingered, deepening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re gonna be the best mom, you know that? Already crying over it—I’m screwed when we’ve got a real one.” He was teasing now, but his eyes were bright, crinkled with that rare, unguarded happiness you loved so much.

You swatted his chest, giggling. “Shut up. You’re gonna be the one spoiling them rotten, I can already see it—little Ralph Lauren polo shirts and golf clubs before they can even walk.”

“Damn right,” he shot back, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him, his hands settling on your hips. “Gotta start ‘em young. Teach ‘em how to rule the island like their old man.” His tone was playful, but the way he looked at you—soft, steady, sure—made your heart skip.

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped up in each other, trading quiet dreams about what it’d be like. You talked about names—Rafe vetoed anything “too Pogue-y” with a dramatic shudder, making you roll your eyes—and argued over whether they’d have his eyes or yours. He insisted on a boy first, “to carry on the Cameron legacy,” but melted when you said you’d want a girl who’d have him wrapped around her finger. The conversation stretched on, lazy and warm, until the sun dipped low outside, painting the room in soft pinks and golds.

Eventually, he pulled you down to lie against him on the couch, your head tucked under his chin, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your arm. “We’re really doing this, huh?” he murmured, voice quiet now, almost reverent. “Making a little us.”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, smiling against his chest. “We are.”

He kissed the top of your head, lingering there, and you felt the steady thump of his heartbeat under your cheek. “Guess we should get started then,” he added, a playful edge creeping back into his tone, and you laughed, swatting him again as he hugged you tighter. It was perfect—messy, real, and so full of love you could hardly stand it. Baby fever had brought you here, but Rafe? He was going to carry you the rest of the way.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[alisonwritesimagines]

Grounded ~Batman Imagine~

Summary: Bruce is grounded.

Author's Note: I had this in a draft so I figured I should publish it.

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none

Do not repost this anywhere!

It wasn’t unusual for Batman not to be at the Justice League headquarters. But it was also usual for him to be there when the team needed him there. And he would always be on time unless he stated otherwise.

So when they called him and asked him to meet them at the headquarters, the league grew suspicious when he didn't show up or explain he was running late.

“Where is he?” Superman asked as he stared at the door.

“Wow! For once, the Batman is late!” Flash called out with a gasp.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Wonder Woman mentioned.

Two hours had passed and nothing. 

“We should check on him,” Superman said.

“Agreed,” Wonder Woman nodded.

Barry, Diana, and Clark rushed over to the Batcave to see if he was still here while the rest stayed behind. To their surprise, they only saw Alfred cleaning.

“Hello. How May I help you?” Alfred greeted.

“Where’s Bruce?”

“I’m sorry to say but Master Bruce is currently grounded at the moment,” Alfred said, trying to hide his smirk.

“I’m sorry. Grounded?” Clark asked with confusion.

“He and the children had deeply upset Ms. Y/n so she grounded all of them,” Alfred said.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Alfred said, now smirking.

“What did they do to make her upset that bad?” Barry asked.

“Why don’t you ask him about it? He’s allowed visitors according to Ms. Y/n,” Alfred said as he led the team upstairs.

“What are you guys doing here?” Bruce asked as the three came into his home office. 

It was rare sometimes for Bruce to use the home office. You mainly used it for when you had to plan charity events but since he was grounded, he had to work in his home office.

Many people would label this as extreme. Given that Bruce and almost all the kids were adults, but the grip you had over them was life threatening.

"We thought something happened to you," Clark explained.

“You didn’t show up to the meeting today,” Diana told him.

“Oh. Right. Y/n took my communications away,” Bruce explained in a nonchalant tone.

“I’m sure she could’ve understood for one message,” Diana told him.

“She’s in no mood or any negotiations. The children and I made her extremely upset,” Bruce told them.

“How so?”

“We forgot about her parents coming to visit and we didn’t spend time with them like we were suppose to. She gave us the warnings ahead of time and we promised her that we would spend time with them with her.”  

“None of you showed up?”

“Only Alfred and Martha were with her.”

“Have you tried apologizing or making it up to her?” Clark asked.

“She’s not budging. She made all the kids do the cleaning and took away all of their leisure activities."

"And you?"

"No Batman duties for a few nights."

"We'll talk to her," Clark said. "Where is she?"

"Backyard with Martha. Good luck," Bruce said.

Clark, Barry, and Diana walked to the backyard where you sat under a tree with some of the kids by your side. You watched as Martha played with some toys while the kids kept her entertained.

"Y/n! May we have a word?" Diana asked. You stood up and walked up to them.

"Hello. How are you all doing?" You asked sweetly. You didn't seem like you were in a bad mood. Maybe you were ready to forgive Bruce?

"Y/n, we need Batman for a meeting. Is there anyway you can get Bruce resume his Batman duties for just a day?" Clark asked.

"No," you responded without hesitation.

"Y/n, this is important-"

"No, Let me tell you what's important. I have spent months warning my family about my parents' arrival. I have made sure we were going to have fun activities, have nice meals together, and I had even gone to the point to make sure Gotham was going to be okay for a week without any hesitation. I had to bribe so many people to lay low for a week. And you know what my family did? They went on missions outside of Gotham for that week after I even warned them not to. So I had to deal with my parents with just Martha and Alfred to the point where my parents had to ask me when I planned on getting a divorce from Bruce," you explain to them calmly. You took in a deep breath before continuing. "The embarrassment I felt during that week cannot be undone. Even if you all came here on your knees begging for Bruce or Batman, I am still not allowing it. Now, please leave for now and please wait until Bruce and the kids are done with their grounding."

You walked back over to your children and sat down. The older kids gave the adult a shrug, acknowledging their efforts to get Bruce out. Barry, Clark, and Diana walked back over to Bruce's office who had his arms crossed.

"Told you she's not budging," Bruce sighed.

"How much longer of your grounding do you have?" Barry asked with a slight chuckle.

"Till the end of the week. Then after that, we can resume our duties before we have to go to Addison's hometown to spend time with her parents to make it up to them," Bruce said.

"She seems like she's getting in a better mood," Clark said.

"I wouldn't underestimate her," Bruce warned.

"Wait, if you're all grounded, then who's protecting Gotham?" Barry asked.

"We're not questioning it. Y/n said she'll deal with it and somehow she did," Bruce said.

"How much power does she have here in Gotham?" Clark asked Bruce.

"I stopped questioning it a while ago."

"Have you looked into her? Just in case?" Clark asked.

"No. I trust my wife. I've betrayed her enough times. So whatever she is doing, I will let it slide," Bruce tells them.

"You must really love your wife if you're willing to look the other way," Diana said.

"I do. So whatever she doing, I trust her," Bruce tells them.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to regret it?" Barry asked. Bruce looked over at the family photo of you all together.

"No. As long as she is still with me, I don't care. She can do whatever she wants now as long as I have her in my life," Bruce said.

[slapintoaslimjim]

Can i request best friend katsuki finds out we are dating shoto BUT he has had a crush on us since 1st year of ua (can we be in 2nd year in this?)

Absolutely love love LOVE your fics <33

a/n: oh holy shit a possible tension/angst fic? “everybody gotta die, including me” or wtv cory said because angst WRECKS me but yk what? HELL YEAH! also thank you soooo much for your love and support ! <3

let it happen

now playing: bad religion by Frank Ocean

fem reader is implied ! angst is the only warning 2nd year based so this is post war arc!

Katsuki may have never been the best with words, or displaying his emotions, or even identifying them as a matter of fact, but after the war he knew one thing for sure. He didn’t just like you- no.

He loved you.

Seeing his own classmates battered on the battlefield during the war did more on him mentally than he thought it would. but what really affected him the most was the bloodcurdling scream of his name you let out when his body hit the ground after shigaraki basically destroyed him.

he couldn’t even see anything. he couldn’t hear anything else; but he knew there was a lot of noise. but the last thing he remembered hearing was you. your scream of pure horror.

so if the whole war arc wasn’t already enough mental baggage, why did the universe decide to be so unfair and make his heart feel so much more heavier than it already is?

sure, katsuki pushed you away the first few months at UA, he did with everyone. he was only there to be a hero, didn’t want to mingle with people who he thought were below him. he didn’t think he had time for all of that.

keyword; was. not is.

because quickly, during katsuki’s time as a first year at UA he made friends with his classmates, even rebuilt his friendship with Izuku. but you? you had a mind of your own that you weren’t even aware about. you found a way to sliver into his heart, soften edges around him, and lighten his day a little bit without even noticing it.

but after eavesdropping on a conversation he had no business listening in on, katsuki is tempted the universe is just trying to give him karmic lesson after karmic lesson of some sort.

“but you and todoroki are so cute together!” uraraka, ever the supportive best friend she was, said with an adorable eager smile to you as you talk to her about you and todoroki.

he felt his heart drop to his stomach at those words and suddenly the popsicle he wanted was unappetizing. he started listening in further to your conversation with uraraka subtly from the common room kitchen; forcing himself to look busy before just straight up leaving since he felt the air clawing out of his throat with every passing gushing word you spoke.

your happiness mattered so much to him, but goddamnit he would be lying if he said he didn’t wish it was him you were gushing over instead of todoroki.

you were never his. and he was never yours.

and that fact pained him so terribly much, and affected him more than he wanted to. the one person he finally let his guard down around, opened up to, gone to someone else.

“kats?” your voice cut through his racing thoughts, where he sat on the dorm rooftop watching the sunset; this was your activity, your spot, where the two of you found a routine in debriefing your days while watching the sunset.

and god, katsuki couldn’t ignored you even if he wanted to. and he really and truly wanted to. but his heart spoke before his mind could and he turned towards you.

“yeah?” he replied with his usual softer gruff that he had when he was around you.

you made your way closer to katsuki, sitting beside him as you two usually would do before speaking again. “you’ve been.. distant as of recently. is everything okay?” you ask softly and carefully, not wanting to sound accusatory.

katsuki pulled his gaze away from you with a scoff under his breath. of course you would notice his behavioral changes, you always did. both of you did with each other’s moods.

“s nothin” katsuki replies to you with a head shake and a soft chuckle; the soft chuckle aimed at himself for how pathetic he feels like he’s being right now. “don’t worry about it”

“suki you know you don’t have to hi-“ you didn’t even get a chance to finish before katsuki cut you off.

“y/n.” katsuki starts firmly with a sigh before looking over at you. your soft beautiful features, and worried expression. you have a boyfriend, shoto todoroki even, why were you so worried about him?

“i’ll be fine. just give me time to get over myself” katsuki speaks softly, barely above a whisper. you’ve never seen him like this before, so distant and obviously mentally battling something.

you let his words simmer in the air for a moment, resting your head on his shoulder. katsuki mentally debates the want to push you away or get up and move away for the sake of his own sanity, his own stability, and maybe the hurt won’t be so bad anymore. but he doesn’t. he lets your head rest on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around your shoulder like he usually does. it felt so natural, so normal for him to do.

“i’m not going anywhere, and im here whenever your ready to talk” you spoke softly, looking out at the sunset in the distance as katsuki rests his head against yours.

he inhales softly “i know” he says. and lets himself believe it. that no matter what; your relationship status, or the uncomfortable and painful emptiness that only you could fill in him, that you aren’t going anywhere.

a/n: hiya! this ruined me so i had to end it on at least a sort of bright light. there might be a possible part 2 depending on what people think of this and if i get another ask/comment on how i should write it!

[kunasthiast]

How would boyfriend Sukuna react to reader crying? Like maybe all the pressure from school and life in general got to her and she starts bawling

lol i love this ask ^^ like, you were just straight up bawling in front of Sukuna because the pressure from school and life was just too much... i think this boyfriend Sukuna is this ethical 'Kuna

but his initial reaction? a mix of "the fuck is this?" and absolute panic buried under many layers of cockiness

because let's be real: you know he's not the best at comforting people in the traditional sense. he doesn't do soft words or heartfelt pep talks. but, the moment he sees you breaking down, all teary-eyed and miserable with a runny nose? he doesn't like that. at all.

at first, he'd scoff, arms crossed, with a raised brow (like your emotional breakdown was personally offensive to him)

"alright, what the fuck happened? who do i have to kill?"

but then you actually try to explain between hiccups, sobs, and a runny nose – something about deadlines, exams, life being unfair – and he just lets you rant

there's no mocking, no interruptions. he's just listening, standing there, watching you cry, processing it

when you're done? he'd sigh – long and dramatic – like you crying is an inconvenience (it's not but he'll never admit he's worried). then he'd sit next to you, tugs you against his side, "okay, brat. you done now? good, we're leaving."

"huh, where?"

"anywhere but here. you think i'm just gonna let you sit in your misery? nah, not happening."

he'd wipe a stray tear off your cheek with his thumb, only to flick your forehead right after – not enough to hurt but enough to snap you out of it

"you look like a fucking mess, babe. it's embarrassing, i can't be seen with you like this"

and before you can even process this insult-disguised-as-affection, he's already dragging you out – for some comfort food, a drive, or whatever distraction he can think of

he won't say it out loud, but you'll notice how he keeps a hand on you – tugging at your wrist, resting on your lower back, or toying with the ends of your sleeves

later that night (because obviously he's sleeping over like he lives there), when you're feeling a little better and curled up against him, he'll mutter

"next time you feel like shit, just tell me before you start crying like a dumbass"

"wow such a sweet boyfriend"

"shut up, go to sleep"

but his arms stay tight around you