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original-jade · 1 year ago

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Wake

Rating: T Words: 3.2k Summary: A chance encounter at the Mortal Kombat tournament unintentionally sets off a chain of events that will change the fates of all involved. A/N: It's a Wednesday, but why post just a WIP when you can post the whole thing? Seriously, this is the culmination of two years of daydreaming and brainstorming and rambling in DMs and I couldn't be happier to share it. I hope you enjoy Shadow's first appearance! Taglist: @neonneurons If you'd like to be tagged in the future, let me know! Next

Everything hurt. That’s all they knew.

The pain came before the rest of their senses returned. It was the worst in their hands, stretching through each of their fingers, wrapping around their knuckles, settling in their palms. The rest of their body burned with exhaustion and protested against any hint of movement.

They were lying on their back, legs bent and twisted to one side, one hand on their chest and the other above their head. The uneven texture of the ground and chill against their skin told them they were lying on stone. The air was still, silent, stagnant in the way that suggested they were alone. What sounds did reach them were distorted by distance, mere echoes that served as nothing more than ambience.

Opening their eyes was a challenge. One, two, three attempts and still their sight eluded them. Blurred shapes and colors took their time forming discernible objects. Wooden support beams stretched across the ceiling, simple in both design and purpose. The ceiling itself was stone, possibly the same type of stone as the floor, and reflected a dim and flickering light.

Their eyes closed again as they began to move. Simply rolling to their side was a chore, every muscle in their body fighting not to obey. They were able to do so, resting for a moment before trying to push themself up, but the act of putting pressure and weight on their hands was pure agony. They had to stop. They had to breathe through it. Whatever had happened had seriously compromised their body.

Whatever had happened indeed.

They didn’t know where they were. On their side, with a new angle, they were able to see a doorway flanked by lit torches on the wall. Stone walls, iron sconces, no decorations. Pure utility. There was no door, nor were there the bars of a cell, so they were free to leave. They were not imprisoned, but they were not being cared for, either.

There was energy here. As they gained more awareness of their surroundings, they could feel it. They could feel the magic surrounding them, dancing around them, calling out to them. This place was a veritable wellspring of raw potential waiting to be shaped. Even so, they were too weak to even attempt to grasp the smallest piece.

Despite the pain, they forced themself up into a sitting position, and this time, they were successful. They brought their hands to their lap, shaking as they did so, to free them of the burden of bearing their weight. Upon inspection, it was no wonder that their hands also bore the brunt of their pain. Angry, aggravated red lines shot over their skin like lightning, tracing the paths of what they knew to be every major nerve. It wasn’t a typical injury. Magic had done this.

Just what had happened?

Turning their attention to the room as a whole, they put the pain out of their mind. They had to assess their surroundings to ensure their safety. Not one, but two doorways offered passage to and from the rounded chamber. Their positioning of being at an angle to each other rather than parallel suggested that the room was a corner for the building or compound as a whole. There was something familiar about the placement, something that tugged at the edge of their consciousness, but they had no time to dwell on it.

Guards were at the far end of the second hall, appearing to patrol as usual. As of yet, they did not seem to be noticed. They forced themself to stand, nearly stumbling as they approached the doorway. For the moment, they could hide behind the wall itself, sneaking glances around the corner. The guards wore loose tan robes that covered all but their hands and carried naginatas, both of which would be liabilities in a close quarter fight. They had helmets as well, metal, with faceplates that were more suitable to be called masks—

Masks that belonged to Shang Tsung’s personal guard. This was Shang Tsung’s island, a rare oasis between realms, once cared for by the Shaolin of Earthrealm. The presence of the guards meant the island had not yet fallen into ruin. Shang Tsung still yet lived. The tournament had not taken place.

They turned their back to the wall, letting it hold their weight as their knees threatened to give out. The flash of information was sudden, brazen, unrelenting. It was simply at the forefront of their mind the moment they needed it. It wasn’t a personal memory. It was procedural knowledge. It came as easily as breath came to their lungs.

Just what had happened?

“Hey!”

The shout pulled their focus back into the present. Another guard stood facing them from the first hallway, naginata held level and ready to strike. There was no time to go on the offensive, though with the state of their hands, it was highly unlikely they would have been able to do so. The guard charged with reckless abandon, the kind bred by overconfidence and inflated ego, and swung his weapon high.

Within seconds, the guard was bearing down on them. They barely managed to bring one foot up to brace against the wall, keeping them from being pinned while they brought their arms up to block the weapon’s handle. The guard pushed down, attempting to break their form, but only succeeded in opening himself up for retaliation. They adjusted their stance, sliding their foot ever so slightly over the wall, ready to push off and kick out the guard’s knee—

But they didn’t get the chance.

As fast as the fight began, it was over. A loud clang echoed off the stones as something hit the back of the guard’s helmet and he dropped like a stone. The naginata rolled harmlessly off of their arms and onto the ground the moment pressure had stopped being applied. Torchlight glinted off something metallic in the air, something that soared back toward the hall into a warrior’s waiting hand.

No, not a warrior; a fighter, a protector, a defender, a champion.

Flashes of lifetimes upon lifetimes flooded their mind, a series of images and information flowing as a constant stream, more and more rivulets forming from the smallest details. War, loss, hope, pride, destruction, insecurity, legacy, tragedy, rebirth, prodigy, resurrection, anger, pain, kings and kahns, gods and ghosts, fire, fire, fire, armaggedon, reset–

“Whoa, easy now.” The soft near whisper accompanied the arms wrapping around their form, holding them up as their legs gave out. They were lowered to the ground and coaxed into sitting with their back against the wall. “Are you hurt?”

“I–” Grimacing as their voice cracked, they attempted to turn their head to peer around the corner. The adrenaline crash was taking its toll on their already exhausted body. “The other guards–”

“They won't be bothering us. The tournament's starting.”

They turned back to face the one who had come to their aid and saw every possibility mapped across his face. They saw dedication and pacifism and impulsiveness. They saw demise an infinite number of times by the emperor's hand, and rumors that were spread of a believed death. Loss and vengeance and corruption and a shrine kept by family. A legacy upheld and a name scorned. Service to the light and service to the dark.

The Kung Lao who knelt before them was still so young. He still had the spark of hope in his eyes, that light that blazed like the brightest star in the darkest night. He was blissfully unaware of the paths stretched out before him, of the choices others would force upon him, of all the fates he would have no hand in.

“Your hands—” Kung Lao’s voice brought them back to the present as he reached out to take their wrists. The initial contact made them flinch, numbness and pain mixing together, but they did not pull away. His touch was gentle as he examined the red lines of irritation, careful not to touch the injuries themselves. “What happened?”

In response, they drew their hands back to their lap, gaze shifting to the center of the room where they had awoken. There wasn’t an answer they could give.

“…well.” Glancing around the room himself, Kung Lao turned to face the fallen guard. “Whatever it was, we should wrap them. I can tear up these robes—”

“No!”

Their sudden outburst echoed in the stone chamber, leaving no room for other sounds. Images of Kung Lao sneaking his way into the tournament via disguise echoed in their mind, beginning to form a much bigger picture. He needed the guard’s robes to stay intact if he was to join as he was meant to.

“No,” They ducked their head slightly and let out a slow breath. They had to control this. “Use the undershirt. The material will be easier to work with”

Kung Lao watched them for a moment before nodding and turning back to the guard. Once the robes were untied, he used the rim of his hat to create the smallest cut in the undershirt, and from there tore it into crude strips with his hands. Some of the ruined garment was trapped beneath the guard, but there was more than enough to work with as it was.

When Kung Lao had knelt before them once more, they held out one hand. He took great care in wrapping each finger, keeping a gentle touch while not letting the makeshift bandages be loose, and made sure the end of each fabric strip rested on the back of their hand. Doing so allowed for them to be secured by the strips that were then wrapped around their palm. The technique was one that seemed simple on the surface, but in truth had to have been practiced to reach this level of effectiveness and efficiency.

“What was it that bothered you?” Tying off the last strip, Kung Lao reached for their other hand to continue his work. There was a slight edge in his voice, a hesitancy and uncertainty born from the tension between them. “If I may ask.”

“You may, if I may ask your reason for helping me.” They lifted their head to meet Kung Lao’s eyes again in a sort of challenge, though they were the one to falter. That spark of hope…

Kung Lao shrugged with a wry smile as he tied off the last strip. It didn’t help their resolve in the slightest. “I’m sure you could have fought him off easily, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t help?”

“Honor, then.” They flexed their fingers cautiously as they spoke, examining and testing their mobility with the wraps. “It had nothing to do with your need for a disguise?”

“Disguise?”

“Is that not how you plan on sneaking your way into the tournament?”

A shift in the atmosphere pulled their attention. Kung Lao had pulled his hands away, his posture tense, and with their second question he rose slowly into a defensive stance. His expression had turned from open and receptive to suspicious and cold. What had—

“Who are you?”

Ah. They weren’t supposed to know why he was on the island.

“Kung Lao—” Tentatively, they raised their hands, though stopped moving when they noticed his glare intensify. This was not the impression they meant to give. This was not how events were supposed to unfold. “I swear to you, I mean no harm to you or your realm.”

“And what do you swear by?”

“I swear on that which binds me.” The words came so easy, instinctually so, and were spoken before they could ponder their answer. The sincerity with which they said it even surprised them. Something brushed the edge of their consciousness, something from deep in their mind. This was not the first time they made such a promise, nor the first time they had sworn on space itself.

The response seemed to surprise Kung Lao enough to make him partially lower his guard. His gaze was still wary, but there was a hint of confusion and disbelief in his eyes. “I…suppose that will do.”

“Please forgive my…my careless statements.” After a moment of hesitation, they stood while using the wall to keep them balanced on unsteady feet. “I am still not entirely myself.”

“Yeah, I…You look like you’ve been through something serious.” With a sigh, Kung Lao turned and took a few steps toward the fallen guard, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He paced for a moment, no doubt trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Would you care to tell me how you know about my plans?”

“For now…I cannot say.”

“You—” Kung Lao let out a slow breath as he began the task of taking the guard’s uniform for himself. “Fine. How about how you know my name?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

Scorpion’s quest for vengeance will give you the chance you need to force yourself into the tournament. Your loss will be hard won, but it will still be a loss. It will be your friend who earns victory for Earthrealm. The emperor will not go quietly, instead choosing to force Raiden into accepting another tournament with new rules by invading. It is here you will fight to save your masters. It is here you will fight while prisoners are freed. It is here you will fight and be—

“Your disguise will be sound, but Raiden may see through it.” Despite all that is swirling through their mind, they hold their tongue, only offering the smallest amount of vague information to placate Kung Lao’s curiosity. “And while I hope for you to secure victory, should you lose…I would ask for a small favor.”

Their impossible knowledge showed them path after path after path that Kung Lao could walk down. Many of the paths were small offshoots, short and broken and unclear, but what they had in common was where they began. All of these smaller paths split from one of two large roads that in turn had also split from one another at one crucial point. What they didn’t know was which of those two roads they were on. If they could learn that, if they could know for sure which events would occur, perhaps they could prevent some of the horrors they had seen.

But they couldn’t do it alone.

“I won’t lose.” Scoffing with a self assured tone, Kung Lao rolled the uniform into a bundle and tucked it inside the guard’s helmet. His expression was nothing but confident, but they had seen enough to recognize the false bravado. “So let’s call it a deal.”

“Do not bargain so carelessly, Kung Lao.” They narrowed their eyes in warning, though with concern rather than malice. “To agree to a contract without knowing the terms is to sign away what you are not willing to give.”

“Well that’s dramatic.”

“If I am dramatic, it is only for you to understand how serious I am.”

Kung Lao shook his head with a grin, scooping up the forgotten naginata as he did. “No, I understand perfectly fine. But you took an oath saying you don’t mean me harm, so I see nothing wrong with agreeing to your favor.”

Elder gods damn his wit.

“And I’ll win anyway.”

And his ego.

“If you win, then this will be where we part ways.” They brushed their hand along the wall as they turned to enter the hallway, letting their fingertips dance across the stone and pick at the traces of magic embedded within. “I will of course be watching your match, but—”

“Wait. If I win, I won’t see you again? Just like that?” Maneuvering into the hall to pass and turn to face them, Kung Lao furrowed his brow with a frown. The reaction was both surprising and somewhat concerning. He shouldn’t be bothered at the prospect of separating, nor should he be attached to the idea of meeting again.

“I did not say we would not see each other.” They held their free hand out placatingly while continuing forward, spurring Kung Lao to walk by their side. “I only… How should I say… It is a complicated matter. The outcome of your match will help to determine my next actions. I may not remain on the island for the full duration of the tournament.”

Kung Lao merely hummed in acknowledgement as a response. It was strange, in a way, how easily he shifted from defensive hostility to open acceptance. Something about their oath had calmed him. Did he know something about the words that he did not think was necessary to share?

A pulse of magic against their fingers drew their attention. They stopped walking and turned to face the wall, placing both hands flat against the stone to feel the familiar thrum of energy. It was muffled somewhat by the cloth wrappings, but it was there nonetheless. They didn’t have enough energy to utilize raw magic, but they did have enough to activate latent magic woven by another. It was just like Shang Tsung to create hidden rooms and passages that only he could access.

Well. That he thought only he could access.

Reaching down through the spell, they pulled it to the surface, causing their fingertips to light up with bright purple sparks of energy. Lavender light rippled over the stones and spread steadily until a large section of the wall had become translucent. The glowing archway soon gave way under their hands, readily allowing them to pass through, but they instead turned toward their companion.

“Whoa…” Kung Lao’s mouth hung open as he stared with wide eyes. It was pleasing to see him be humbled, for once, by such a small feat.

“I will be safe here for the time being. I have no doubt the guards do not know of the gate’s existence, and Shang Tsung will be too preoccupied with the tournament.” They glanced toward their hand, the one still phased through the light of the arch, before turning back to Kung Lao. “I would offer for you to stay as well, but unfortunately, the gate will only work for those who can activate it.”

“It’s fine. I would have needed to find somewhere if I hadn’t run into you anyway.” Kung Lao shrugged, not appearing all too bothered by the development. He did cast his gaze away for a moment, hesitating before speaking once more. “Before I go, can I at least ask your name?”

“I’m sorry.” They shook their head as they spoke. “But the less about me you know, the less danger you will face.”

“I…I see.” He didn’t look particularly convinced, but accepted the response regardless. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at the arena?”

“Goodnight, Kung Lao.”

Not waiting for his departure, they stepped fully through the gate and released their hold on the spell. Once the wall reformed behind them, they leaned against it, tilting their head back against the stone as they closed their eyes. It was true that it would be safer for Kung Lao, for anyone they interacted with, to know as little as possible about them. If no one knew anything, no one could reveal anything.

But that wasn’t why they didn’t have an answer for him.

They didn’t remember their name.

They didn’t remember anything at all.

#third occurrence #rainy day writing #mk

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grasslandgirl · 3 years ago

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FALLING for you

It was an accident. Really. Katja was tall, and she’d always been more comfortable on horseback than on her own feet. So when a root sticking out of the ground caught on her boot while she was walking home from school with Ostentatia; it was an inevitability that Katja would trip. And take Ostentatia down with her. And somehow, through a feat of physics Katja didn’t understand, ended up sprawled on her back with Ostentatia on top of her- their faces mere inches apart.

Katja stared. Ostentatia stared back. Katja didn’t think about how she could smell Ostentatia’s strawberry lip gloss, the Love Spell perfume she reapplied at lunch, the oregano hair rinse her Nonna made her use every weekend. Ostentatia blinked down at Katja. Katja was sure she was bright red and probably smelled like the stables (the bad stables smell, like dirt and sweat and poop- not the good stables smell of fresh hay and Cinnamon’s special cinnamon-scented mane conditioner).

Ostentatia sat up, rolling off of Katja and sitting down on the grass beside her. Katja closed her eyes for a moment, staying sprawled out on her back. Her stomach was one big knot and she could still feel Ostentatia watching her. Her knee was right next to Katja’s ribs, and if either of them moved even an inch, they would be touching. Katja opened her eyes again, looking up at the blue sky through the branches of the tree above her.

She sat up. Ostentatia was still staring at her, mouth pursed up tiny and determined.

"I- I'm sorry-" Katja started to say.

Ostentatia shoved her hand out towards Katja's face, holding one finger in front of her face to silence her. "Don't say you're sorry." Ostentatia commanded, and Katja's mouth snapped shut. She tried very hard not to think about how close Ostentatia's hand was to her mouth. She tried not to think about how close Ostentatia’s mouth had been to hers a minute ago. This is just how Ostentatia, Katja told herself, she's loud and she's pushy and she goes into my personal space because she cares about me- like a friend. That's it. "Don't apologize to me," Ostentatia continued, scowling up at Katja. "You did not to anything wrong."

"But I-"

"No!" Ostentatia interrupted again, "I need to tell you something! And I'm going to say it!"

Katja nodded, mute with worry. Ostentatia stood, unspeaking. Her eyes bored holes into Katja. Her jaw trembled, even as she glared, and Katja worried for a second that Ostentatia was about to cry.

Ostentatia crying was the third worst thing Katja could think of, after Cinnamon dying or her Dad being upset. Katja very pointedly did not think about the connecting factor between those three things. If Ostentatia started crying, than Katja was going to start crying too, and then Ostentatia would be upset she'd made Katja cry, and then Penny would appear out of nowhere- she had a weird sixth sense ability to tell whenever one of them was crying- and the weird moment would be broken.

Katja didn't think about how pretty Ostentatia still managed to look- even when she cried. Tears streaming down her face in clean lines, eyes sparkling even as she glared at someone or something, nose turning bright red. Katja always ended up with a lot of snot over her face, and that wasn't a good look for anyone but Cinnamon (who looked beautiful always and forever no matter the circumstances).

Katja wondered what was so important or so bad that Ostentatia couldn't bring herself to say it aloud- even to her. There were only a few things that Ostentatia struggled to say (that was one of the things Katja lo- liked the most about her; how Ostentatia wasn't ever afraid to say what she thought)- not like Katja, who still felt the most comfortable talking to Cinnamon.

"I'm going to say it." Ostentatia repeated, but it sounded more like she was saying it to herself this time, not to Katja. Her finger was still an inch away from Katja's lips. Katja still wasn't thinking about it. Ostentatia had really pretty hands, too: perfect nails with real gems on them, she and her mom had a regular appointment to get them done together every month. One time, Ostentatia invited Katja to go with them, but Katja didn't end up going- it's hard to set up horse tack with inch-long acrylics. (Even if Ostentatia said her nail tech could totally do a horse design if Katja wanted. Even though Ostentatia had taken Katja's hand in her own and told her she had nice nail beds. Even though Ostentatia's hands had been warm and gentle on hers.) Katja blinked. Ostentatia was scowling.

Back before they were The Maidens, back before they were friends, Katja had thought that Ostentatia's scowl was the scariest thing in the world (after the thought of Cinnamon getting hurt or dying, of course). But, Katja realized with a little bit of pride, she knew Ostentatia well enough now to know this wasn't her pissed-off-at-You scowl, this was her pissed-off-at-Me scowl.

"I'm gonna say it," Ostentatia said for the third time, almost murmuring it. Her perfectly-manicured eyebrows were low over her eyes, jaw set and determined.

"I love you," Ostentatia whispered.

Katja's heart fell out of her chest.

Ostentatia wasn't one who was afraid of telling people she loved them- she did it often, loudly, and with pride. But this was different. This wasn't how Ostentatia said it to the other maidens, or even how Katja had overheard her say it to her family. This was quiet, an intention behind the words that Katja was terrified to put a name to.

Ostentatia huffed, blowing a small strand of hair out of her face. "I mean like- whatever, I love you. Like. Eugh-" she finally took her hand away from Katja's face, gesturing with both of her arms wildly- "Like love you, okay! Like, Zelda and her weirdo boyfriend, like Danielle and Antiope, like Sam and that fucking bitch Aelwyn. Like- like you. Okay??" Ostentatia's voice rose in pitch and volume as she talked, but behind all her bravado, Katja saw something she'd never seen in Ostentatia before- uncertainty.

Oh.

"Oh." She breathed, and like she was waiting for any response from Katja, Ostentatia froze- arms hanging in the air, mid-gesture.

"Oh?" Ostentatia echoed. Her voice was angry, but her eyes were still uncertain, even- afraid.

"I, uh, like- love you too." Katja mumbled. She'd read a lot of the romance-centric books in the Babysitter's Horse series (even written some stories of her own for some of them, but that wasn't here or there-) but nothing Katja had ever read could have prepared her for how hard it was to say it aloud. "Uh, I didn't know that- but you just- and I don't know how to. Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Uh. Did you want to-" Katja racked her brain for something cool or romantic to say. (In most of the Babysitter's Horse books, they went and got hay from the same trough together- or even sugar cubes in some of the later, teen editions- but Katja didn't think Ostentatia would want to do that.) "Get ice cream? From Basrars? With me? Just me- not the other girls? Or, I mean, if you wanted to invite them too we can if you want to, but I thought maybe we could-"

"Yes." Ostentatia was twisting one of her rings around her finger- a nervous tic- but she was smiling up at Katja. She had a really pretty smile, and it made something go mushy and warm in Katja's stomach to realize that it was her that was making Ostentatia smile like that. "Yes. Basrar's. A date."

"Oh. Okay. Cool." A date.

"Okay," Ostentatia said definitively. She took Katja's hand in her own- warm, with callouses on her palm and cool metal rings on her fingers. "Let's go." Ostentatia tugged Katja to her feet.

“Ostentatia?” Katja hated how her voice wavered, hated how even in this wonderful, important moment, she still shook with uncertainty. She turned, raised an imperious eyebrow; but there was still that warm smile on her mouth, her hand around Katja’s- and that was enough to bolster Katja’s courage. “I wanted to kiss you. Earlier. When we-” Katja felt like her face was on fire- “and also. Before then. A lot. So.” She grimaced, looking down at Ostentatia’s warm hand still tight around hers. “Sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“Katja.” Ostentatia took a step closer. Katja could see her pristine Fantasy Uggs in the grass. “Look at me.” How was Katja supposed to ignore that? She did, tugging her gaze away from their interwoven fingers. Ostentatia’s smile was a blinding, burning thing, spread across her face. Katja had heard her talk about her god’s Holy Forge before- how it had burned impossibly hot for centuries, how no mere mortal could look upon it without Logran’s blessing or their face would get burned off- Katja thought that’s what Ostentatia’s smile looked like. So beautiful she was scared she would go blind from the force of it. “You’re good at this. You’re good at a lot of stuff. Don’t shit talk my girlfriend like that.”

“Girlfriend-?” Katja squeaked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“And for the record? I thought about kissing you, too.” Ostentatia tipped her head, huffing as though she’d just won an argument. Katja beamed. “So there. Can we go get ice cream and make out now?”

“Ye- yeah. Yes. Let’s go.” Katja held Ostentatia’s hand the whole way to Basrar’s- and she didn’t trip once.

#HHHHHHHHHH THEYRE SO.....#d20 #the seven #fic #ostentatia wallace #katja cleaver #whats their ship name? kastentatia?#anyway s/o to casey aberfeath as always for being my sounding board love uuuu

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lovelessdagger · 3 years ago

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Starlight - Prologue: Before

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Trauma

Words: 2000

Summary: What's past is prologue.

There's a new trend since the fall of the Empire, everyone is rising from the dead.

She's haunted by memories of the Empire that abandoned her, he's plagued with thoughts of what if and doubts of the future. The stars align in a string of constellations which guide them to their fates, decided long before them.

Tortured with echos of before, they're alone in an endless galaxy. But orphans have a funny way of finding each other, and the gods have a sick sense of humor.

Read on AO3 Here

Tatooine was the galaxy’s own personal hell, Mustafar at least had the pleasure of fauna. Demonic nightmarish fauna that was more than likely poisonous, but fauna nonetheless. Tatooine? Tatooine was a barren wasteland that had gone to the dogs, and even the dogs had decided they wanted no part in its misfortune. At least on Mustafar she could go inside and be relieved of the heat, at least Mustafar could be considered home.

Or at least it used to be, before.

“Maker,” An assassin mutters, crossing over a sand dune. The red tracking fob in her gloved hand sounds, it’s light flashing a similar color. To her relief, she was close. The sooner to the target, the sooner she could leave and never set foot on sand again.

She could count the total number of visits to Tatooine in her lifetime on one hand. The first she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, then again at an older age to meet with the Hutts. Nine years ago, her father had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to some abandoned moisture farm. It had been terribly boring, full of memories of family dinners and old beaten up droids.

The irony that that very mission essentially caused her to lose everything wasn’t lost on her.

Five years ago she sat in the very cantina she walks to, warned to run away. A mere twenty-one years old—give or take, her birthday after all was a random day chosen by her and the waking sun. There was no telling her true age, so with her knowledge of human anatomy and development, nine years ago she decided on being seventeen.

“Why seventeen?” He asks her. Entering hyperspace she sits behind him, tracing passing stars on the window.

“Because,” she begins matter-of-factly, “Seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. So I am seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”

Eighteen hours later, the first Death Star exploded.

The events which follow guide her on a fragile string of stars throughout the galaxy, the culmination of which lead her back to hell. Or Tatooine, as the New Republic liked to call it.

Maybe if she had listened things would have been different.

Or maybe they would be worse.

Either way she would be here. The designer of her cruel fate and dictator of her misery have decided this long ago. Forever would she be trapped in hell with her memories.

And everyone else’s.

Condemned to relive the worst of what humanity had to offer, over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t so bad anymore, it’s easy to get numb to that sort of thing when your entire life was filled with it. Still, out of all the places in the galaxy, why did it have to be Tatooine?

She could understand the appeal for those on the run. Away from the New Republic’s oversight, moisture farms as the only viable landmark, and everyone being too overworked to give a damn. Theoretically it should have been easy to hide, the only issue was every criminal in the Outer Rim had the same idea. Originality be damned.

A detached hood and mask shield her identity, not that she believed anything with a penchant of life would be anywhere near. All that surrounded her was sand, rocks, and sand. Still, she could never be overly cautious. Walking up to the cantina, her eyes roll. It was like they wanted to make her job difficult. She could only assume the bar would be crawling with other criminals. Defected imperials, thieves, murderers.

It could have been a family reunion.

Eyes fall on her entrance, the suns backlight her into a silhouette. She becomes the one cascade of darkness in the light of the desert.

“Boys,” she greets, walking in. Her eyes scan the room, there couldn’t be more than ten men. She counts the passing of ten seconds before one approaches her. Within those seconds her mind remarks on the state of the bar, essentially unchanged. Same busted chairs, same creaking floors, same hideous decorations.

“What’s someone like you doing here?” a man grunts, stalking up to her. The most she does to acknowledge him is an eye roll. He grabs her arm, holding her in place. “Does your daddy know you’re out here?” he asks, leaning down to her ear.

She mocks a laugh. “Does yours?”

The man spits at her boots. “Bitch,” he says, walking away from her. His spit slowly rolls off her toe, leaving a glimmering streak along the leather in its wake. She pulls her blaster out, pointing the gun behind her, she shoots the man in the back of the head. He drops, his body heavy with a thud.

The cantina falls to silence. Nine bodies are now watching her. No one makes a move, even the bartender stops his clinking glasses. She’s almost inviting them to try her next.

“No?” She asks, holstering her gun. “Pity,” she mutters.

She walks up to body number seven, he sits in the same spot she had all those years ago. She places her soiled boot on his seat, grabbing his attention. Motioning for him to stand, she barely makes eye contact.

Her fingers run across the tables�� wood, rubbing over permanent stains and rotting cracks.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says. He always worried too much about her, “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she says. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore,” he replies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”

Seven stares at her incredulously, slurping his liquor.

“Come with me,” his voice echos around her. If she closes her eyes it’s like he’s still sitting in front of her. Pleading.

“I don’t like making messes inside, it’s bad manners,” she says, reaching for her blaster. “Get up.”

“Am I supposed to be scared, girl?” Seven asks. He scans her appearance and truth be told she was no Rancor, certainly no Hutt. While her build was athletic, her height physically left her the smallest in the room.

“You owe a lot of credits—” Seven stands, “—That’s better.” She drops her foot. “Now—“

“Step aside,” a modulated voice speaks behind her. She catches a reflection of the intruder in the glass of the framed artwork above Seven’s head. A Mandalorian, covered in pure Beskar, stands a whole head above her. Of course a fucking Mandalorian would show up right now, this had to be his doing. Even in the grave he had to fuck with her.

“Mando,” Seven laughs, he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I was uh, I was just talking to the missus here,” he grabs the girls shoulder. “Say, now’s not really a good time so how about we—“

“I don’t have time for this,” the Mandalorian says. He drops a bounty puck on the table, in blue holograms Seven’s profile appears.

WANTED: EDI MOURI

“Let’s go,” Mando says.

The girl shakes herself from Seven. “Listen Shiny, I was here first so move along.” The Mandalorian’s head tilts.

“Are you with the guild?” He asks.

She picks up the bounty puck, examining the emblem. “Not yours.”

Mando’s head turns to One’s fallen body on the ground, a growing pool of blood by his head.

“Your work?”

“You could say that.”

Seven clears his throat. Whispers of bets trail within the crowd. “In fairness. She did find me first.”

The pair are incredulous in their stare. “You want to go with the assassin?” Mando asks, a slight twinge of amusement escapes past his modulator.

Seven’s face turns to ice, his deep emerald skin becoming a pastel like hue. “On second thought. I always loved the Mandalorian stories I heard as a kid, I’m a big fan. Let’s go big guy.” He takes a step towards Mando, the assassin pulls out her blaster, pointing it to his head. At the same moment Mando pulls out his own, pointing it to her.

“Drop it,” he says. “I need him alive.”

She cocks her head to the side, pressing her forehead against the barrel of the gun. “Do it,” she purrs.

He’s motionless.

She grabs the Mandalorian’s wrist with one hand, striking the bend in his arm with the other. A blaster shot fires, Three falls to the ground with a hole in his head.

Mando lifts her by her neck and slams her into the table where Seven sits. Her vision flashes white and she groans on impact. Her hands fumble across the wood in frantic search of anything to defend herself with.

“Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”

She smashes Seven’s plate against the table, shattering it. With a jagged edge of porcelain she slashes the Mandalorian’s arm, staining the edge with his red blood. In his stumble back she rolls off the table.

Harsh stabs are swung to the openings between the pieces of armor, he easily blocks but her movements are quick in succession. He ignites the flamethrower on his arm and she flips out of range.

Six isn’t so lucky.

She lands on his table, he’s charred and slumped over. She grabs a baton resting against his chair, cringing at its touch. Jumping of the table she strikes his helmet. The tune of impact horrifically melodic.

Brought to his knees, Mando grabs her leg sweeping her onto her back. The baton falls out of her grasp. They tumble on the ground, scathing for any advantage they could find on the other. She slaps a taser disk on his armor, the shocks malfunction the electronics.

The Mandalorian lays on the ground, emitting heavy gasps for air. Sounds of passing credits come from a back table. She straddles him, pulling out the knife kept in the welt of her sleeve. It’s metal presses against his capes fabric gathered around his neck.

A smile twinges under her mask. “Not bad,” she pants, leaning down over him.

The cantina doors automate open, in perfect eye-line, a green little creature. It waddles in, cooing with bright eyes at the patrons, greeting them all. It locks eyes with her, head tilted. The veil of her mask conceals her dropped jaw.

The Mandalorian takes the chance of her distraction; flipping their bodies over, he straddles her waist, pinning her hands above her head. The assassin’s chest rises and falls heavy from under him. “I told you to wait outside,” he grunts. The green thing coos, waddling to the pair. It reaches out for her. “No,” he says next, raising a scolding finger to it. It whines, plopping on its rear.

Past the visor, his eyes lock onto hers, he clears his throat. Suggestive positioning aside, he had claim to victory. Though, had it not been for the child he would have been a dead man, throat slit under her knife.

He could still kill her, his blaster was in reach, so was her knife.

He should kill her.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey Mandalorian,” she breathes. “Where’s your bounty?” Seven’s seat empty, table broken, shattered porcelain fallen on the floor.

“Fuck,” he swears. He stands, pocketing the knife she held. He picks up the creature, sparing her one last glance. “Stay out of my way,” he warns. Exiting the building she’s left on the floor.

The surviving witnesses avoid her glare. There are holes in the flooring, broken furniture, blood stains splattered on every surface.

So much for not making a mess indoors.

She scoffs, picking herself up. Her muscles ache, bruises are forming under her clothing, her head pounds.

Carelessly, she shoots Five on her way out.

It’s a redemption of sorts.

Officially, Tatooine was worse than hell.

Chapter One: The Meeting

#Mandalorian #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x oc #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Starlight #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original character #mando x original female character #din djarin x female oc

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crazedtmnt · 4 years ago

Text

Misshapen

Turtles X Autistic F!Reader

Hello! So, this is something I’ve been working on for a while. Fun fact about me, but I’m actually autistic. I didn’t find out until I was in college, though, since my mom was terrified to find out the truth (she’s much better about it now). As such, this caused me a lot of trouble growing up. I was constantly missing signals and making people mad without realizing. And I had no way of knowing what was wrong with me.

So I wrote a little self-indulgent thing about that! It was kind of an experiment, so it came out more abstract than I was expecting. I hope that’s okay. I focused mostly on the hyper-fixations, since that caused me the most problems, but I tried to get more in there. It’s a little hard to describe everything. Hope you enjoy!

[y/n] = Your name

~~~~~~~

“No.”

We tuck our hearts behind logic and manners, but every now and again someone’s pokes out, showing the world their true feelings. At the sight of one, we smile and laugh. Its appearance indicates further understanding between us—a bond of trust. Some wear their hearts more readily, while others keep it under lock and key, even as their logic falls apart. But whether a heart is social or shy, one thing remains constant: the more we view each other’s hearts, the more we learn.

“No, no one understands what you’re saying.”

But sometimes a heart is misshapen. Not due to cruelty or malice, but due to life. Not every heart can be made the same. Everyone has cuts or lumps along their veins, but some are born with entirely new designs, foreign and strange to the average person. The sight of these hearts confuses and even angers others.

“I’m sorry. I was just—”

“You were just being annoying! Can’t you read the room?!”

Even if their appearance marks a display of love, trust, or wonder, the twisted form screams a meaning unheard by its owner. The misshapen heart will parade this misinformation happily, unaware of the contempt boiling beneath the surface. That is, until the earth cracks open and reveals what all other hearts could already see.

“I-I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Of course you didn’t. You never think of anyone but yourself. You’re always babbling on about whatever you’re into and never stop to consider others. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

“I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry…”

A misshapen heart can stare itself in the mirror all day long, but even if it realizes that its design is unusual, it cannot change what it already is. The bumps and cuts are familiar—comforting—and the heart itself works just fine. Whatever could be wrong with it? The misunderstanding it keeps exclaiming is just that: a misunderstanding. Its true feelings should be easily heard. It can hope that other hearts hear the truth behind the oddities, but if not…

“God! All you do is apologize! You never actually try to be better! Do you seriously think we enjoy listening to you talk about the same two things every single day? You never even let us get a word in! How would you feel if we ignored your interests to only talk about our own?”

“…”

“What? You won’t even look at us anymore? …Oh God, now you’re crying. You’re such a pain. Learn some social skills and maybe realize that you aren’t the center of the universe. Other people want to talk too.”

“…”

“Stop crying! You just… Ugh! Nevermind. Come on. Let’s leave her to feel sorry for herself.”

A misshapen heart can break just the same as any other.

~~~~~~~

[Y/n] could barely see her friends leaving through the torrent of tears cascading down her face. She couldn’t even stand straight. Under the weight of her shame, guilt, and confusion she was practically doubled over. And once the slam of a door pierced her ear, echoing its hatred through her very soul, she completely broke down.

Sobs wrenched through her body, her chest heaving as she barely managed to hold back full-blown wails. As crying overtook all other functions, [y/n] collapsed on the ground, her hands thrown out to prop her up. All she could do was watch as teardrops fell to the ground at a growing rate and feel a burning sorrow choke her lungs.

“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?!” she screamed into the void, knowing no one was listening—nor did anyone care to listen. After all, she was an annoying little child whose passions drove away the few people who could stand her. She should know exactly what’s wrong with her… right?

“What is…? What is…?” [y/n] hiccupped, her squinting eyes forcing out more tears so that maybe reality would slip away. If even the floor was blurred, she could imagine she was home in her bed. She could escape to a familiar place where routine was king.

Escape… Escape… Pretend the world worked in a way that made sense. Pretend that every sentence that fell from a stranger’s lips had an obvious tone—no one hid their feelings behind passive aggressive words that slipped her notice. Pretend that background noises didn’t drown out everything else until all that’s left is a sense of anxiety and the realization that she couldn’t breathe. Pretend that she could laugh at jokes thrown at her instead of wondering later if it was even a joke.

Pretend the world’s normal… Not her normal that was weird, boring, or disruptive. No matter how she bent it, it never matched everyone else’s that they fought tooth and nail for. It had to be the normal that suffocated her with expectations she could never hope to meet, since the starting line was nowhere in sight. Her normal was wrong.

…But in the end, it was all she knew.

“What did I… do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

[Y/n] gasped, feeling a warm hand sliding up and down her back. She was still doubled over, but another shadow combined with hers. How long had it been there?

The soothing voice spoke again. “You’re absolutely perfect. It’s not your fault.”

[Y/n] tightened her hands into fists. It was so comforting to hear that… Too comforting.

“No. I… I made them mad…” She wiped her eyes and tried to stand up—tried to escape the calming presence before she forgot her place. She was a broken human who deserved to be hurt. Obviously, she wasn’t working hard enough to be a better person. “I act like a child… and… and ignore… ignore everyone around me.”

The tears had slowed, but it was impossible to catch her breath. Hell, the lump in her throat made her more likely to choke than speak. So she needed to leave before her selfishness made her accept his comfort.

Her love. Her turtle hero. [Y/n] couldn’t let him indulge her any further.

But those strong hands were persistent. In one smooth motion, he had wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. Once seated on the floor with him, all desire to flee left. [Y/n] merely gave in, though her gaze was fixated on the floor.

He hummed in somber amusement, the rumble of his chest almost tickling her. It was hard to believe this was the same [y/n] he had fallen in love with. She was so passionate about whatever caught her interest. It was his favorite thing to watch the sparkles in her eyes as she talked for hours over her obsessions. Now, she lay against him like a hollow doll, ready to obey whatever order her owner gave her.

Gently, he wiped her tear tracks with his thumb. “Love, I saw everything. You were just excited to talk to them. They could have stopped you and explained what was wrong, but they chose to get mad at you. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I… But I should have tried to… be better. Be nicer and more considerate. I’m such a terrible—”

“No,” he cut in firmly, his grip around her tightening. “Don’t you dare say anything bad about yourself. You’re wonderful. My angel and my love. If they don’t appreciate you, then they don’t deserve you.”

He used his finger to gently push up [y/n]’s chin, guiding her gaze towards his. For a few seconds, [y/n] tensed and closed her eyes. That was the hardest thing in the world: looking someone in the eye. She didn’t deserve his comfort, much less his love. How could she ever meet his eyes?

“[Y/n], look at me.”

His breath caressed her cheek while his hands rubbed her face softly. It was so warm… So familiar and safe. [Y/n] gave in and opened her eyes.

Her gaze was met with calm kindness. It didn’t matter how excited or anxious she got. He always looked at her like she was a princess. His princess. Despite the circumstances, his smile was beautiful, lighting a fire within her heart. Suddenly, [y/n] felt a weight lift from her chest. He was here and he still loved her. He had seen her at her worst and yet he never showed any hint of regret. Instead, he made allowances. It didn’t matter what he was doing—if [y/n] called him in a fit of anxiety, he was there in minutes. He even altered his routine when she was around to better match hers. The stubborn, no-nonsense leader changed his routine out of love for her… And here Leo was right now: smiling that handsome smile, whispering sweet words into her ear, and gently rubbing circles into her back. In spite of all her supposed flaws, he wasn’t going anywhere. On the contrary, he loved every minute he spent with her. She was a blessing and he would do anything to listen to her pour her heart out. In those moments, he could forget all the bad in the world and stare into his love’s eyes.

The first thing she noticed was the solemn expression of understanding. He got it. He also had issues with driving people away. However, that was because of his temper, not unrestrained passion. If anything, his issue was much worse because, while he always regretted it, he purposefully drove people away. [Y/n] was only doing it on accident. She meant no harm. And yet she still chose him, the hothead, to love. With all the words in the world, he couldn’t explain how much that meant to him. So screw those other people. If they couldn’t see how wonderful [y/n] was, then they didn’t deserve to know her. He would keep her all to himself anyway, if he could. She deserved the world, but if she couldn’t have that then she would get all the love he could give. As Raph pulled her closer, inhaling her sweet scent, a wave of relief fell over [y/n]. No matter what, she had her strong protector right beside her. He didn’t care if she rambled on about nonsense; having her care enough to stay by his side meant the world to him. To both of them.

It wasn’t hard to tell what he was thinking with that big grin. Every day, if he didn’t get to hear her lovely voice rant on about whatever, it was a failed day. He loved it, every minute of it. She had the most beautiful mind and could see things from angles others never even knew existed. To society, the world was a 2D image on a piece of paper—simple, clean, and always the same no matter the view point. But to her, the world was 3D and bursting with possibilities. Each day, she viewed it at a new angle, discovering a new story or truth. And each day, she came to him with a surplus of ideas bursting out of her very being. [Y/n] was his muse, his light, and most importantly the love of his life. She needed moderation sometimes, but so did he. That didn’t make her a bad person. [Y/n] was overflowing with passion and potential, if only the right people encouraged her. So that’s exactly what Donnie would do. He gently kissed her forehead, reminding her that her “strange” mind was his favorite thing.

Love. Just endless love. It was all she could see on his face—that warm smile and those bright eyes holding all the love in the world. It was like he was radiating sunshine. Suddenly, the weight on her heart seemed to dissolve. He looked at [y/n] like she was the most beautiful thing in the world. A goddess that owned his heart and all he could give her. If there was ever a moment when he got annoyed at her rambling, he couldn’t remember it. He could only remember all the late nights of them snuggled together, enthusiastically whispering to each other about everything under the sun until Splinter showed up to shush them. Mikey leaned his forehead against hers, brushing some hair behind her ears. Watching [y/n] get excited and analyze her newest obsession was always the highlight of his day. He got to see her gorgeous smile and how her eyes sparkled with delight. In those moments, nothing stood in her way. She shined like a star and graced him, a mutant turtle, with her light. What more could he want?

It was almost too much. Tears filled [y/n]’s eyes again, but for a completely different reason than before. Her heart clenched with love… and the hope that maybe she wasn’t a broken person after all. If her turtle could look at her in such a way, without a hint of regret, then…

“I’ll always be here for you,” he whispered in her ear. Slowly, his lips brushed passed her cheek, settling on her lips. It was a short kiss, but one filled with promises she knew he’d keep. “…I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Then maybe her misshapen heart had found its match.

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oreobunny1 · 4 years ago

Text

My Final Offer

I am but a simple clown in the JATP fandom, drowning in the amazing fanworks y’all have put on tumblr AND AO3, and I couldn’t resist adding my own here to celebrate this Clowngate. I noticed that there was less Reggie angst on here then other characters, and he’s my comfort character so of course that means he’s gonna have to suffer(sorry bud). Don’t worry, there’s also Jukebox and Willex and Flynn and PLENTY of angst for the others too! This is the first chapter, but it’s a WIP but the other chapters are on AO3 and I’ll probably post them on here too. Hope you enjoy!!

Summary: Caleb gets bored of using Nick as a puppet and decides to strike the band where it will hurt them the worst. This is his Final Offer, and if they do not submit this time they will be very sorry.

Besides, even if his plan doesn't work out, he will still have a brand new Bassist in the end.

Chapter 1: Now or Never(Caleb POV)

Nothing was working out for Caleb Covington.

“UGHHH!” he groaned, slamming his head against his desk in defeat. It was just him and his stupid guard in this gloomy office. As the sun slipped under the horizon outside his Hollywood Ghost Club, Caleb sat and pondered. Random papers and sticky notes haphazardly covered his desk, but even with all that he was no closer to getting his band!

It had been months since the Orpheum performance. Months since those little rats had escaped his clutches and ran away with their girlfriend. The memory made anger boil inside of him, but he had moved on! His possession of Nick was an amazing, diabolical plan that he thought would put Julie and the rest of them under his control.

But the plan was flawed. Possession turned out to be exhausting and painful, and was ultimately ineffective. He left mere days after he arrived, and accomplished absolutely nothing! The boy was fine of course, he knew nothing of what happened, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was him coming up with a new plan. Caleb had been trying for weeks, experimenting with new stamps and coming up with ideas, but none of them would ever work. The-

“Hmm hm hmmm hmm hmmm,” William, his “guard” at the time, was humming from across the room. Caleb rolled his eyes.

Anyway, Alex, Luke, and Reggie had avoided his club like the plague since the Orpheum. If he had to interfere with his teleportation magic again he would, but right now he had no way of controlling them, of keeping them all in one place. If he could only-

“Hm hm hm hm hmm hm hm.” Caleb’s head snapped up. The boy seemed to be unaware that he was making noise, for he was usually terrified of him. Rightly so. Caleb focused his energy and grabbed a stapler, preparing to chuck it at him to shut him up, but then he paused.

He had heard that song before. The one William had stuck in his head. It was not a very old song, and he assumed it was still popular if the kids were singing it. It was called… Let Them Go? Let Her Go? He didn't really know the title, but he distinctly remembered the lyrics.

You only need the light when it's burning low

Only miss the sun when it starts to snow

Only know you love her when you let her go…

As the lyrics echoed in his head, Caleb got an idea. A terrible idea. An awful idea.

He was absolutely thrilled.

“Out.” Caleb ordered suddenly. William jumped about a foot in the air and stared at him wildly, like he’d lost his mind. “Get out! Now! You’re dismissed for the rest of the night I guess!”

The boy looked confused, but excitement flashed across his face as the information got through his thick skull.

“T-thank you s-sir!” he stammered, frantically making his way to the door.

Caleb sighed in annoyance. “Just teleport you idiot!” he spat. William stood there looking scared for a second longer before vanishing, probably to a certain garage to hang out with his friends.

Caleb didn't care about that now. That was actually the exact reason he wanted him out of his office. You see, young William was one of the few ghosts who could negatively impact the plan that was taking shape in his mind. And he couldn’t have that.

Reaching across his desk, Caleb found what he was looking for. He picked up an old-fashioned phone and held it to his ear.

“Victoria.” He said into the phone, twirling the cord around his finger.

There was a shuffle before the head of his house staff picked up the phone.“Yeah boss?”

“Prepare a dressing room,” Caleb muttered, resisting the urge to laugh wildly. “We are about to have a guest.”

“Sure thing!” She responded happily.

He was so excited!! It was now or never to start putting his new plan into action, and he couldn’t wait to try out a new stamp! Putting down the phone, Caleb searched his drawings until he found a very specific design he had been working on. Now he was certain that separation was more painful than anything he could do to them, but where’s the fun in that? He would hurt them so much, as much as he needed to. No, as much as he wanted to until they did what he said. Caleb knew that his Club was the only place for them, and if pain was the only way to make them see that then so be it.

Just wait. They will thank me. Eventually. It may take thousands of years, but they will be grateful.

He had finally figured out his issue. He spent all that time trying to figure out how to get all three of the boys under his control at the same time, when really it was much simpler than that! If he could just get one of them to join, the others would certainly follow, especially if the safety of one of their members was on the line. And Caleb even knew exactly which band member he had to take: the least important one. The bass guitar was not a vital instrument. Any other band could go on without a bassist, but he had a sneaking suspicion that “Julie and the Phantoms” couldn’t.

Their bassist was the backbone, but not of their band. Their bassist was an idiot. He was dumb. He was gullible. He was sensitive. They would do anything to get him back.

But he would make sure that even Julie wouldn’t be able to save the youngest member of their band this time.

“Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,” Caleb sang softly, a malicious grin stretching over his face.

Get ready boys. I hope you enjoy your sunshine while you still have it.

#jatp #jatp fanfic #netflixwewantjatp2 #netflixwewantjatpseason2 #clowngate #fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos

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fibrielsolaer · 6 years ago

Photo

Smash Ultimate tier list based entirely on which characters I like and which I hate

BSP = Big Sexy Personality

FBNIS = Fun, But Not In Smash

MPATBUD = Mario Princesses Are Terrifying Blow-Up Dolls

S Tier

Kirby: absolutely the man, if you don’t love Kirby you’re probably the asshole who got this roster flooded with Marth World pricks

Pikachu: He quicc. He thicc. He’ll Thunderbolt you to hicc

Except it’s a she because I only ever play Librechu ;p

Bowser: BSP

Zelda: She is so cute, I can finally stand playing as her

Pichu: He is so cute, it almost makes up for how stupid he is

Ganondorf: He’s finally fucking cool. He uses the goddamn sword now

Lucario: What if Mewtwo was a Shaolin monk hunk

I only play purple Lucario for reasons you’re best not knowing

Toon Link: He’s the cartoon that Link and Young Link watched and modeled themselves on

Ridley: HOLY SHIT IT FEELS AWESOME TO PLAY RIDLEY

I love how the game designers know he’s way too small so when you fight him in Classic Mode as Samus he gets Giant modifier

K. Rool: BSP

Piranha Plant: The pain from the pipes, this disrespectful piece of shit is so stupid he wraps around to greatness, with his inclusion I’ve changed my mind and now say fuck it, add Bandana Waddle Dee, hell add a regular Waddle Dee if you want, I don’t even care anymore

A Tier

Luigi: Few people know that he and Mario are actually identical twins, his brother merely wears a fat suit (the weight of which has crushed his spine) so they can be told apart

Ness: I like the picture you get when you play for 20 hours

C. Falcon: This is the guy who beats up Incineroar. As the positive icon of the people he never shows any emotion except for “YUS!” and “SHOW ME”. All Might was probably based on this jackass

Jigglypuff: Like so many other Pokemon, its adorable facade is a veneer for an expansive and unfathomable eldritch demon. The difference is, despite how fucking many Pokemon like that there are, nobody has found Jigglypuff’s secret and lived to tell

Young Link: He’s actually Link’s son, who idolizes his father and wants to follow in his footsteps. His dad has strayed from the path but young blood here carries on the true faith. Also, FBNIS

Mewtwo: He was the original Damn Cool Pokemon. He jockeys with Lucario for that role now but all they ever do is sit there charging their neutral Bs talking about how the planet will explode in 5 minutes

Roy: He knows that the Marth World infestation is soon to be purged, because there are like five actual Marths including him, so he decided to become the best Marth World character so he alone will survive

Pit: The only cunt from his series besides Dark Pit who had the decency not to change voice and try to pretend it was the same fucking one. I never play as him ever but Sakurai sure cared more about making him fresh & fun post-Uprising than any of his other goddamn characters

Charizard: BSP

Dedede: BSP

Bowser Jr.: This rude little shit is the guy who you invite to a party and he brings his whole crew, excuse me no I didn’t invite Wendy and Horton and Lenny and all these bitches, but fuck it y’all cool

Simon: I like his funny walk and he looks like Conan the Barbarian

Richter: I like his funny walk and he looks like a dork

Isabelle: Do you know this literal bitch killed me with a fucking stop sign 3 times before I unlocked her, why isn’t that a reaction macro

Incineroar: He pretends to be a bad guy so that kids’ heroes will beat him up on TV and they will be happy. He is so sweet

B Tier (Everyone Is Meh)

Mario: Meh

Donkey Kong: Meh

Link: The dad who strayed from the path, I really don’t like the Breath of the Wild Link, FBNIS

Fox: Meh

Sheik: Meh

Dr. Meh: Mario

Falco: Hands off my meh

Mehrth: He’s kinda cool but Roy is way cooler

Mr. Game & Watch: What an annoying asshole

Wario: It’s not the cool Wario, it’s the stupid Wario Ware one, and he brings all his obnoxious waifu friends with him. It’s Wario after he retired from his teen Youtube star days at the age of 30 and he’s trying to stay young and cool-looking but his stoner friends keep fucking it up

Solid Snake: Meh, too indirect for me, FBNIS

Squirtle: Meh-est of the Pokemon Trainer trio, he just doesn’t provoke like any reaction from me at all unlike the other two

Diddy Kong: Meh

Olimeh: This is the most boring goddamn character, everything you do you have to pluck fucks

ROB: He barely animates

Villager: I kinda wish Animal Crossing let you be an animal too. The lone human character is really boring

Mega Meh: You got: FBNIS

Little Meh: I dunno I’ve just barely ever played him

Mehninja: Maybe I should actually try playing it once ever

Duck Hunt: If there was a B-and-a-half tier I’d put this one there because you can delay the side-B and set up Snake-level GOTCHA combos, otherwise the novelty wears off fast

Ryu: He is the 2nd-least likeable guy, what a turbo douche

Bayomehtta: She’s rule 63 Dante, her game was always just a DMC ripoff that relied on her tits & ass to differentiate from it

Inkling: I like the yellow hair girl one but I ABSOLUTELY HATE THE CRINGY-ASS ASSIST TROPHY AND WILL ABSOLUTELY UNFAIRLY BLAME THE CHARACTER FOR THIS.

C Tier

Samus: She is the most FBNIS character

Ice Climber: They’re really un-cute and I hate their desync thing

Metaknight: This guy was so much cooler before he talked, or rather, before he screamed AYAYGYGYAYGYAGA

Ike: Marth World has like 2,000 characters ranging from pegasus knights to barbarians to psychic dragon-girl dancers, and yet we keep getting these boring fucking swordsmen

Pokemon Trainer: Get absolutely the fuck out you twerp you don’t even do a goddamn thing and you die the second any one of your THREE fighters is KO’d so you don’t even incorporate the actual spirit of your original character unlike literally everybody else

Venusaur: If I evolved this ugly fucker I would delete my save

Lucas: If I had an Absolutely Gone Machine that could erase anything in the world and delete everyone’s memory that it ever existed so they would shut the fuck up about it, Mother 3 would be precisely the fourth thing I deleted

Robin: Least shitty post-Melee Marth World character but I just haven’t bothered to try it out to see if it’s actually good or not, probably because I’m just too allergic to Marth World by now

Dark Samus: Cool, but why

Daisy: MPATBUD, but this one has the closest thing to a personality. Unfortunately it is a fucking terrible and horrific personality

Zero Suit Samus: hey cool Samus is Barbie now

Ken: Remember how I said Ryu was the 2nd-least likeable? Well here’s Liquid Ryu to seize the coveted spot

Cloud: Yeah hey, let’s take the one Final Fantasy protagonist with like the least connection to Nintendo, no it’s fine, every goddamn Marth World game except the one that justified its worldwide presence has a character in but we’re not gonna use Cecil or Buttz or Terra

Corrin: Any hope this bitch had to go on my “Is a dragon so I like it” list was ruined by how absolutely infuriating it is to fight against Corrin especially that one Spirit match where he spams his INSTANT FINAL SMASH THAT HAS LIKE AN INFINITELY VERTICAL HITBOX fuck this goddamn digimon

D tier

Yoshi: I’ve hated this thing ever since it stopped going BAWONKA WONKA and started going blblblblblbl

add Birdo as an Echo and I might forgive you

Peach: MPATBUD, Peach is usually able to manifest either the behavior of a real person (Paper Mario) or the appearance of one (Smash), but sadly never both, she is doomed to blow-up-dollery forevermore

Sonic: Please add any other Sonic character, any at all, I’ll even take Charmy, I fucking hate Blue Bubsy

Wolf: The only reason he is not the furry-trashiest character in Smash is because Krystal is an AT, this cocksucker deadass awoos

Wii Fit Trainer: Next to her, Mario Princesses almost look human

Rozzalinda: MPATBUD and this one is the worst, far and away the worst Mario Princess, she is the creepiest fucking woman. WHY IS IT THAT NOBODY IN MARIO ACTS LIKE A HUMAN FUCKING BEING EXCEPT THE CHARACTERS WHO AREN’T FUCKING HUMAN. tl;dr the only people who say rosalina is their waifu collect people’s faces

Mii Fighters: you dress them up to make a parody of a character and then never once actually use said parody because they are stupid

Palutena: remember in Uprising how they could make fake Palutenas, this is one of them, they have a fake Viridi too, you know it is because starting in smash 4 it is clearly two different actresses trying way too hard to sound like the old ones and i can’t get over it sorry. (also she plays like shit)

Pac-Man: I only liked him when he was a pizza

Shulk: does he ever shut the fuck up

Lucina: add a red nose and it’s Marth: Tumblr Edition

Chrom: oh fuck off

Robin’s bitchass final smash still calls this clown

even if you use it on Chrom

he is so ashamed of his audacity he fucking fucks himself

#smash ultimate #tier list #tier #tiers #smash #ssbu #ssb

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thenctcults · 7 years ago

Text

High on You

Pairing: Yuta x reader Genre: fluff, smut Warnings: drug abuse Word count: 3,714

Sighing, you put your phone inside your bag, ready to head home for the night. Bidding the last remaining people at the office goodbye, you headed off towards the elevator. Heaving a sigh, your back slouched as you waited for it to come up, the tiredness of a very long day evident on every inch of your body. You had told yourself that this internship would be a fun and an educational experience, a sample of what your dream job would be like.

However, it seemed that things didn’t really run so smoothly. Today, had marked one of the worst days here, yet. Mostly because your supervisor had made it their goal to make your experience here a living hell.

Two more months, you thought to yourself.

The elevator doors slid open, breaking your train of thought. Clicking the 0 button, you rested your back against the mirror, your bag resting against your thighs. A nice relaxing bath sounded great at that moment, maybe a nice massage too. You definitely knew where you could get the latter one, a smile inevitably creeping onto your lips at the thought of Yuta’s hands on you.

Just that simple thought had your body tingling, your toes curling in eagerness and anticipation. Maybe what you really needed right now was to bask yourself in Yuta’s presence and mold yourself in his embrace. Mustering up any last remnants of strength, you quickly got out of the building only to be met with a raging storm that you were somewhat unaware of.

“Fuck, I don’t have an umbrella with me.” You whined lowly to yourself, hugging your bag close to you; it was your most prized possession and you by no means could not let water ruin it. Trying to shield yourself with it would be pointless, you would end up looking like a wet koala regardless. Once inside your car, you slid the car key in the ignition, the car roaring to life.

Driving around the city at nighttime was one of your favorite things to do when bored- you loved the way the city lights blurred as you sped down the empty streets - but not when it was pouring like this. On rainy days, you’d rather be at home curled up against Yuta. The thought is very cheesy, indeed, but you loved it. So, since the weather was more than suitable for a night like this, you drove towards his studio apartment, where you knew he’d be at this hour.

The drive lasted longer than usual, not only was everyone driving extremely slow due to the terrible weather conditions but the ongoing traffic made things worse. Tapping your fingers along to the beat of the song that was playing softly on the car radio, you let out a sigh as you began to feel your patience running thin. If you could teleport yourself right inside Yuta’s apartment that moment, you most definitely would. Scoffing, you noticed that you had been excessively needy for him today; not only had he been on your mind all day but you made sure he knew of that, too; texting him every now and then, telling him how much you longed for him.

About thirty five minutes later, you found yourself standing in front of his door. The already soft melodies echoing from his apartment grew fainter as he lowered the music down once you rang the doorbell. A smile impulsively made its way on your lips just at the simple thought of him. His effect on you was so intense that he had you turn into soft, gooey mush at just a simple touch or glance; it truly drove you insane.

The door swung open to reveal Yuta’s form; black hair laying messily atop his head, his gray shorts hanging loosely on his slim frame.

“Babe.” Yuta smiled at you; for it to fall just as quickly as it appeared. “Wow, don’t you look lovely.” He exclaimed, followed by a soft laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the door closing shut behind you.

Without uttering a response back, you opened your arms wide open, ready to flung yourself at him only to have Yuta dodge you expertly.

“Oh, no. Don’t think I’m hugging you when you’re drenched like this. Let’s get you changed first.” He finished off with a smile once he noticed your disappointed scowl. Any hint of feigned disappointment fading away at just a mere smile.

Yuta made a move to open the drawer designated for you, for when you stayed over so you wouldn’t have to inconvenience yourself with carrying your clothes back and forth. However, you stopped him from doing so, insisting that today you were in the mood to wear his clothes only, earning a smug smirk in response.

Hugging the soft material of the shirt he handed you, you wasted no time in putting it on, enjoying the way you could swim in it. Placing the collar of his shirt under your nose, you inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet essence that defined your boyfriend.

“Here.” He covered your head with a soft towel, ruffling your hair in an attempt to somewhat dry it, laughing at your squeals. “Much better.” he mumbled absentmindedly once he got the result that he desired, taming the tousled strands with his fingers.

“Can I get my hug now?” You asked rather impatiently, tugging on his hands.

“You can get more than that.” He responded mischievously, scooping you up in his arms and throwing both of you on his messy bed. You laid like this in silence, limbs awkwardly intertwined, arms tightly wrapped around each other’s torsos and your head resting against his firm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Today was horrible.” Your whines broke the short moment of silence.

“Want to talk about it?” Yuta asked gently, moving his head back to peer down at you.

Humming softly in response, you began ranting about your day and mostly about your supervisor, Yuta nodding in understanding every now and then. Just the fact of knowing that he was there to listen to you vent was comforting enough.

“So I thought,” you spoke, your rant now coming to an end. “the best way to for me to cheer up is stay over at Yuta’s and here I am.”

“Well, looks like you made the right choice. Plus,” he paused, his voice trailing off. “I have something else that may be of some help.” He said, untangling himself from you and reaching out to his nightstand drawer, pulling something out before closing it again. He wriggled a transparent plastic bag in front of your face a devilish grin gracing his face. Upon noticing your shocked expression, his raised arm fell limb against his side in defeat.

“It’s not like it’s our first time.” He pointed out and he was in fact right. It wasn’t like the two of you were perpetual smokers but there were a few times when you shared a joint.

“It’s been long since we’ve smoked one, that’s all.” You took the small bag out of his grip, reluctantly taking one joint between your fingers before resealing it again. Motioning him with the joint in your hand, you ushered Yuta to grab a lighter. Wasting no time in his movements, he grabbed the bag out of your hands and put it back its in original place, hidden in the far back, and grabbed a lighter.

Placing the joint between your lips, you stared intensely into his eyes, then your gaze falling on his lips, watching carefully as his pink tongue ran over his plump lips smoothly, leaving them glistening and ready to be kissed. But you held back and, surprisingly, so did he. Surprisingly, because knowing Yuta, he would never miss a chance to steal a kiss or two from you, if your faces were this close; whether it was the quickest of pecks or a longer kiss, filled with so much love and intensity it had your head spinning and toes curling.

He took the joint that was in between your fingers, encircling the tip with his luscious lips and taking a long drag. A cloud of white smoke covered Yuta’s handsome features for a short second as he exhaled, before quickly dissipating; his face emerging from the now diffuse smoke, a lazy smile playing on his lips. As minutes passed, you took turns, taking drags one after another; the effect of the drug already having kicked in. Redbone was softly playing in the background, but the sound being loud enough to be heard throughout Yuta’s quiet studio apartment.

Yuta hummed softly. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, threading his fingers through your almost dried tresses.

“Like,” you paused, eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of Yuta’s hand lovingly caressing your hair. “all the time.” you giggled softly.

“How about how much I love you?”

“Hm,” you pondered, recalling all the times he’s professed his love for you in your hazy mind. “not as often.” You admitted, lips forming into a pout.

“Then I’ll take this as a chance to let you know how much I love you.”

A giggle bubbled from your chest once again. “How much is that?”

“There’s no limit to it.” He replied, words coming out slightly slurred. Turning on his back, with legs splayed across the mattress and one of his hands rested against his bare stomach, he stared intently at the ceiling, the smile on his lips unwavering. Only now, you could detect a deep emotion behind it.

Mimicking his actions, you now found yourself laying in the same position, the knuckles of your left hand brushing against his lightly, the miniscule touch of his skin against yours set your body ablaze. Even after all this time, still, whenever he touched you it felt as if it was the first time. The smooth guitar licks of The Night Me and Your Mama Met, gave this setting a more romantic feel to it - as romantic as it could get with the both of you intoxicated like this.

“I still remember the first time we first talked.” He rasped out, casting a glance at you, before resuming to staring at the blank ceiling. His eyes skimmed over the stray dots on the wall above him, each connecting slowly with the other and intricate patterns taking form inside his mind.

“Your cheek was smeared with sauce that none of your friends were kind enough to point it out. So, I did.” he recalled with a nostalgic smile, most likely tracing back to that day he had approached the table you were sitting at on the college cafeteria and bluntly informed you of the dried up sauce on your cheek. To say you had been embarrassed at that moment would be an understatement, but Yuta’s outgoing and flirty nature held no room for further embarrassment; in a matter of minutes you were a squirming and blushing mess due to his flattering words.

His attention was now fixed on you blinking slowly at you with hooded eyes. The lower half of his body was somewhat turned towards you, knees awkwardly resting against your leg. Even though you could feel his kneecap digging in your thigh, you couldn’t be bothered to address the matter. “I think it was love on the first sight.”

You let out an unattractive snort upon hearing his words. “There’s no such thing as love on the first sight.” you countered.

“But I felt it when I saw you.” He retaliated faintly.

Despite the eye roll you granted him in response, your heart thumped frantically against your ribcage. You swore you could feel your heart swell, ready to burst from all the love you harbored for him. A soft pink hue rose to the apples of your cheeks, which you desperately tried to hide from him by covering your face with your palms. Seconds after, you felt slender fingers wrap around your wrists, prying your hands away from your face.

Yuta heaved a sigh of content as he looked at you, taking in your every feature. Although, it was quite unnecessary, since after all this time every little detail about you was engraved in his mind so well. “I love you.” he mumbled lowly, a laugh slipping out of his lips as he heard you groan and hide your face in his side.

“I love you.” He repeated his previous words, earning yet another whine from you. His side shook as he breathed out a low chuckle, obviously loving the reaction he got out of you, adoring the way those three words left you flustered.

Loving the warmth that radiated off of his body, you made no attempt to move your face from his side. “I love you too.” You mumbled softly, your voice vibrating against his skin.

Yuta shifted his position, his movements slow, and was now hovering over you, peering down at you with hooded eyes. Softly resting your palm open against his chest, you felt the once steady beat of his heart increase steadily. He lowered his elbows, bringing his body closer to yours. You whimpered softly, disliking the fact that your upper half was dressed and his wasn’t, yearning to feel his burning skin against yours.

Your boyfriend shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful. God, I’m so lucky to have you.” He breathed out astonished, as if it was the first time he saw you, fingers reaching out to brush a few stray strands that lay on your face, the pads of his fingers sliding across your face, sending a tingling sensation from your face all the way down to your toes.

“Yuta,” you sighed out his name, closing your eyes, basking yourself in his soft caresses. “I want to feel you. Take me.” You pleaded, wrapping your arms around his back, scratching on his shoulder blades, your nails leaving a trail of angry red marks in their wake.

Without having to be told twice, his lips hungrily attacked yours, teeth awkwardly clashing together in the process. His lips molded perfectly against yours, his tongue slithering in your mouth when he found the chance. Your already clouded mind blurred, as Yuta’s fiery kisses made their way down to your jawline and all the way down to your neck, the tip of his tongue flicking over the protruding vein on your exposed neck.

His right hand traveled south and paused at your hipbone, his fingers digging in the cotton material of his shirt on you, harshly applying pressure on your skin, eliciting a quiet whimper from you. Judging from Yuta’s angry kisses on your neck and his tight grip on your hip, his dominant streak was coming out.

Yuta loved being in charge during your intimate moments and you couldn’t deny him, guilty of loving this side of him too. He slid his knee between your pressed thighs, pulling them apart so as to position himself between you. Wasting no time, he ground his hips against yours, the friction making your mind go haywire; already feeling your underwear pooling with your essence.

The pace of his hips against yours was uneven and sloppy, unable to concentrate well enough on his movements. Every now and then you’d try lifting up your pelvis to meet his halfway, only to be forcefully pushed down by his hands.

Yuta let out a guttural noise. “Stay down.” He growled, his voice laced with a hint of authority. Barely gasping out a breathy reply in the affirmative, you complied without any complaints.

Moving the hand that was once gripping on your hipbone towards your inner thigh, he indicated you to open up your legs wider by giving it a light slap. Lowering himself on the bed, he positioned his face down on you, pressing soft open mouthed kisses on the soft expanse of your skin and littering your skin with a few bite marks here and there.

Long fingers slipped through the boxers you were wearing, running smoothly along your folds. Yuta’s lips parted at the feeling of your essence dripping from your core and onto his fingers, loving the way you became putty in his hands.

A stream of whimpers slipped past your parted lips as he entered two fingers inside and began pumping slowly. Faintly urging him to pick up his pace, you felt your walls clench around his slender digits as he quietly complied to your request. His hand moved in an inconsistent manner, but it was enough to bring you in a state of euphoria.

Breathy moans drowned the soft melody of the music emitting from Yuta’s speakers. With a shaky hand, you reached down, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gave it a soft tug. Yuta hummed against your stomach, from where his lips were placing slow kisses on you, the vibrations of his voice on your skin increasing the pleasure.

Much to your dismay, Yuta removed his hands from inside of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth, asking you to get a taste you you. A raging fire rose on your cheeks at his lewd request, but you still did as you were told. Your eyes were set on his as you licked yourself off of his fingers, watching him closely as he parted his lips the moment your tongue licked on his fingers. Groaning out your name, his hand reached down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric of his pants.

The sight of him touching himself in front of you had you trembling in pleasure, it being enough to get you off. His movements halted and he resumed to pleasuring you, this time, sliding the boxers down your thighs and past your ankles. His hungry lips found your thighs again, prepping you for what was to come next.

You could feel his breath getting closer to your core slowly and yourself growing impatient of his teasing.

Whimpering, you latched onto his hair, bringing his face closer to where you wanted it to be. “Yuta, please.” you begged faintly. His lips grazed you slightly as he smirked at your words. Not bothering to say something in return, he got straight to the point, his lips encircling your clit, making you to let out a loud cry of pleasure.

Yuta worked his way on you just like he always did; knowing just what to do, where and how. His tongue glided across your slit, getting a taste of you. Yuta hummed in content, not once stopping his actions. His tongue delved inside you, moving in and out in a way that only he knew how, in a way that drove you to the edge so easily.

His front teeth grazed your hardened nub and had you clenching around his tongue. The tips of his hair tickled your inner thighs as he moved, his fingers digging into your skin as he unsuccessfully tried to pin you down. Your hips rose up a little, craving for more friction.

In a matter of seconds, his fingers replaced his tongue; skillfully pumping in and out, hitting the right spots inside you that had you chanting his name like a mantra. His lips remained around your clit, sucking on it lightly.

The grip on his hair tightened and he groaned in slight discomfort, but you paid no heed to it as you felt your climax approaching. Your moans turned into shallow gasps, when you felt Yuta add a third finger inside you and picking up his pace. Albeit sloppy, it was more than enough for you in that state and moment.

Your eyes were trained on him when he looked up and met your gaze with bloodshot eyes. The sound of your soft moans and his hand hitting against your wet skin mingled with the soft music in the room.

Yuta held your gaze and watched intently as your jaw slacked open, nothing but choked gasps coming out of your mouth. You felt the wave of pleasure starting to pool in your lower stomach and you let out a silent scream right when you reached your high; a whole other different one from the one you were in that moment. This felt more intense, deeper and sensual, given the state you were in, everything seemed amplified. His fingers stilled inside you for a second, before moving slowly, dragging out your orgasm.

Your head fell against the pillows, chest heaving as you came down from your high. If your mind was hazy before due to the weed, right now it was cluttered, your thoughts all over the place. Yuta got up and disappeared into the bathroom, before he came back with a wet towel in his hands. Slowly cleaning you up, he threw the towel across the room, where it fell on top of some strewn dirty clothes of his.

He climbed up on the bed and flopped next to you, resting his head on your chest with a relaxed smile. The pair of you laid in silence for a few minutes, neither of you bothering to speak up. He hugged you closer to his body, his grip tight around your waist.

Yuta was the first one to break the silence. “Do you feel better now?”

“I feel like I’m in nirvana.” You replied truthfully; that moment you felt so calm, so serene. It was the best you had felt in a while.

You ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, humming soft tunes. Yuta craned his neck to look up at you from where he was laying on your chest.

“I love you.” he flashed you his signature dazzling grin. Groaning once again at his sudden display of affection, you pushed him off of you, causing him to whine like a little child.

“Goodnight, Yuta.”

“I...” Yuta paused for a few seconds, returning to his previous position. “love you.” he snickered.

“Goodnight, Yuta!”

#yuta scenarios #yuta fluff #yuta smut #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta scenarios #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #ihaven't proofread this </3

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