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yxami · 6 months

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happy nut or not November day 8!!!

description: Yandere popstar x gn manager reader, yandere themes, possessiveness, slight angst, love sick pop-star, obsession, this idea is deep from my drafts that I decided to use for nnn, he’s so dramatic I love him

When you went into the music industry, you expected to be managing a rock star, someone with your music taste and style. It would make perfect sense to be paired up with someone that was exactly like you right? Apparently not, not to him anyways.

You managed to sign someone after months of trying, you had no real connections to anyone and it was hard to find someone that would place their trust into a nobody with no history in the industry.

It stung for a bit, until you found him, Lynx was his name, and originally you thought that was a stage name, but he introduced himself and even showed his license to prove it to you, proudly beaming at your studio doorstep after seeing an ad of yours.

He was bright, and happy, a complete contrast to the dark look in the recording room behind you but you shook off the surprise and introduced yourself as well. He seemed excited to start and was quick to write lines down for his first song.

It honestly shocked you how good the numbers were when you looked at how fast his first song went in the charts, hitting ranks you’ve only dreamed to happen far into your career.

Everything went smoothly after that, he busted his ass and made more songs while you managed everything on the sidelines that would bore him almost immediately. He left you with all the things that he would hate to do, even his taxes.

It’s not like he was letting you do everything unappreciated. He’d cling onto you and cover you in every little affection you’d allow him to do before you’d make him sit on the opposite side of the couch for 10 minutes so you could have space for yourself before he was stuck to you again.

And now this was almost your everyday life as your manager for him, maybe a little too close to your now employer but he was the one who initiated everything so you couldn’t say much, you didn’t care either way.

“Are you happy! I got on the top chart again, 10th place! 10th!” Lynx cheers, happily jumping into your arms on the couch and he awaits your praise, batting his brown lashes at you, brown from the tinted mascara he uses.

“Good job Lyn” You ruffle up his hair, patting him as you let him sit comfortably on top of your thighs, he’s exactly like those microwaveable stuffed animals meant for your lap and stomach, but he was ten times bigger and way clingier than a normal person should be.

He practically purrs at your praise that he already expected, putting your arms to wrap around his lower stomach like he usually preferred, if not that then at his waist.

“What should I try hitting next? 5th place? Maybe even 1st? I think I’ll hit 1st place once I do my live concert” He stares at the TV playing some boring news until it pops up, talking about him.

You tell him to be more humble and try to be grateful about hitting 10th place before worrying about what he’d get next.

And soon comes the day for his live concert, he’s jumping up and down, a bit with anxiety and a lot with pure joy that he gets to see his fans in real life and not just as an online number.

He’s getting ready, finding it easier to do his own makeup instead of hiring makeup artists. You can see his vanity is already decorated in his favorite things to make him feel at home. With a few pictures you don’t even recognize showing him of yourself.

“Manager! Manager! Look, don’t I look nice?” Lynx gets up to hug you, only to be blocked with your hand, so he’s left with furrowed eyebrows and his arms out with nothing to grab on.

“Did I.. do something wrong?” His eyes soften, nose already turning a shade of pink as his bottom lip quivers, he already seemed to be on the brink of crying.

“We’re in public remember? Even backstage there’s people to worry about. I told you a week ago, Lynx” You hope he doesn’t take it to heart but you don’t want anything to ruin his career.

What would happen if his lovesick fans found out that he was so close to his manager? They would tear you and his career down just for assuming that the two of you had something, and their idea of having a chance with him would be ruined. Thus leading to his downfall because of the way his fans are.

“So? I don’t care if they see me with you” He insists, feeling his heart burn at your rejection to him wanting affection, something he’s never experienced and he hates it already.

“I’m not going to sit here and explain about what could happen again” You sigh, rubbing your temple at his stubbornness but understand it since you’ve spoiled him a little too much.

You decide that it’s best if you just talk to him after the show, then he’ll probably be more willing to understand.

“Let’s just relax until this is all over, okay?”

Okay. He thinks. Maybe when he’s done singing and enters backstage then you’ll be so proud you’ll hug him, that would be seem like a regular celebration right?

Then you’d be able to do it without worrying about others thinking differently.

And then you’d love him like he loves you, right?

Lynx step up on the stage, a bit anxious since his mind is still focused on you, you’re going to be watching him, he doesn’t care anymore about the rest of the fans lined up in rows cheering, just about you.

As he greets the crowd there’s just a gnawing thought that maybe you didn’t want to show him affection anymore, maybe it wasn’t just about the people and what they might think.

His heart hurts, it hurts so bad at these stupid thoughts plaguing his mind and he tries blinking away his tears. He’s on stage for gods sake! He can’t just start tearing up.

He manages to cool off and start preforming, but the second he finishes he sings his goodbyes and rushes backstage into his dressing room. Sobbing off his makeup as he puts his head down on his vanity. He’s so embarrassed, he knows that you probably saw him looking conflicted on stage.

Did he do okay? Did he impress you? Damn he hates this.

“Lyn, you did so—“ You pause as you step into the room, looking at the back of his head since he was still crying with his forehead pressed onto his folded arms. “You okay?” You quickly close the door and go up to him, brushing the hair out of his face after he looks up.

His makeup is running down his face, and somehow he still looks pretty, even when he’s crying, he’s still never fails to impress you.

“N-no, you’r— you’re” He stutters out between sobs, getting embarrassed that he can’t speak because of his loud sniffles that demand for air, so much so that he stops trying and puts his head back down.

“It’s okay, look im listening, what’s wrong?” You coo, extremely worried to what caused this reaction, he did so well on stage that it’s left you puzzled, what could’ve gone wrong?

“You s—still like me right?” He tries wiping the tears off his face but his palm just glides off his cheeks from how wet they were, he continued this useless movement until you grab a tissue and start wiping his face.

“Of course I do, what makes you think I don’t?” You purse your lips as you still try thinking about what invoked these worries out of him.

“You didn’t wanna hug me” He mumbles, embarrassed at how stupid it sounds but how can help it when he’s so in love with you? He’s always had this obsession.

“I was just worried about people getting the wrong idea, I still like you, we’re always going to be friends” You hug him as he stands up, he takes in deep breaths, inhaling your comforting scent that he’s always loved.

“Mm sorry, i was just really worried” He sulks, looking like a kicked puppy as he tightly embraces you. He’s so self conscious about his useless worries but so happy that you still liked him.

It did sting when you said friends but maybe you’ll see him as more if he proved himself. This just means he would have to try ten times harder to earn your love and he was prepared to do so.

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punksocks · 11 months

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Astrology Observations No.9 (18+ only)

No minors! Adults only pls

Just my observations take them with a grain of salt

-Venus or mars conjunction, square, opposition Neptune, pluto/ scorpio mars/Pisces mars/ mars 12th house/ Lilith conjunction, square, opposition Asc and 8th house - you probably straight up changed someone’s life after you -slept- with them and it was just another day for you. (Might be different for that Venus/Mars in a water signs, you might get attached)

-Cardinal mars start cuddling, fixed Mars never let go, and mutable mars will start and stop and start again over the course of the night

-Passive aggressive mars signs (Libra, cancer) and getting that pent up energy out during s*x and being rebellious in the bedroom

-Virgo mars dudes are switches until you swtich and they’re still like sneakily being dominant imo. Like they’re going to lead anyway because they know what they’re doing. It’s that virgo need for control, can’t turn it all the way off.

-Libra mars, you’ll probably attract partners that are fixated on your butt no matter what their placements are

-Libra mars (with your partner’s consent ofc) take a seat on their face (gemini, virgo, scorpio placements especially)and change their life

-All mutable mars are very kinky imo. Sag, Pisces, & gemini tend to try anything once and Virgos in particular will try like 90% of what you’re into bc they’re into pleasing you

-Lilith synastry and 8th house synastry get so intense. They both play into this ‘forbidden’ lusty tension that can make a connection super passionate. The person with the planets conjunct/square/opposition to your Lilith can hit a point where they’re overwhelmed though. Like something in their attraction to you maxes them out and they can’t handle it. (Not always but it can become a situation where you have to work with your partner to make the relationship thrive)

-Mars points to everyone’s s*xual behavior imo. The more masc you are the more it’ll tell you about this behavior, the more femme you are the more your Venus will color your experiences

-Mars conjunction, trine, sextile moon means your personality in bed will be similar to your personality in day to day life, perhaps more extreme in some ways but not a complete change. And you’ll slip into this pretty effortlessly. Mars square, opposition moon means you’ll have a completely different personality in bed vs your day to day life and you’ll shift into it seemingly all of a sudden.

-I have a theory that Gemini, Aquarius, and Libra Mars get more into s*xting and n*des and that sort of virtual exchange over hookups. Particularly without much earth or water in their chart.

-I think all virgo mars have s*x in the shower at some point, it’s just a perfect storm of cleanliness and efficiency lol

-Personally I’d guess that I’ve interacted with more mars signs but I only looked up the birth chart if they did what they did right. So I know a lot about Virgo Mars lol.

-After that I think Taurus Mars and Scorpio Mars were my best experiences historically, but like Virgo Mars—sheesh! That combo of not bragging but being very skilled and confident when it comes down to it? No competition (again just my experiences lol)

-TW (consent/assault)

Lilith strong (conjunction, square, opposition) aspects to 1st and 8th could mean that one of the strong reactions you get is that when you have s*x with someone you see a side of them that seems to come out of nowhere. Sometimes fun sometimes not, as things tend to go with Lilith (consent is always important so you should discuss your yes, maybe, no list with your s*xual partner!)

-Also no matter how chill someone seems they’ll probably be extremely dominant or extremely submissive in the bedroom because they’re reacting to your Lilith and they may be lowkey overwhelmed by that energy.

#astro observations #astro notes #astroblr #virgo mars #astro community #18+ only #Venus #mars #scorpio #Pisces #cancer #Libra #gemini #Aquarius #lilith astrology

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

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We're Getting Married Now?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!LAPD!reader

Summary: When Tim finds out you need a fake boyfriend to take to your cousin's wedding, he steps up and offers to go with you. After a night in his arms, you learn that his "boyfriend act" isn't just an act.

Warnings: I referenced a few lines from The Rookie (no spoilers though), a few vague mentions of insecurities and rude family members (they apologize). lots and lots of fluff!! one bed trope?

Word Count: 4.3k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

When your phone rings on the way to work, you don’t expect to see your aunt’s name on the caller ID.

“Hello?” you greet.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was going through the seating chart for your cousin’s wedding and seemed to have misplaced your RSVP,” she explains.

“I, uh, I didn’t get an invite. She’s getting married?”

“Of course. You lot aren’t getting any younger, as I’m sure you know, and when she met her fiancé, well, I think we all knew. Anyway, you say you didn’t get an invite? Must’ve gotten lost in the mail, those incompetent kids aren’t as reliable as they used to be. I suppose that explains your lack of congratulations, though, which I’m sure everyone will be relieved to hear.”

“I bet,” you mumble before asking, “So what do you need from me? Sorry to interrupt, but I’m nearly to work.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I suppose the wedding planning is making me a touch scatter brained. All I need from you is a confirmation that you are attending. It’s at her fiancé’s family orchard, I’ll send you the address. Everyone is coming out Friday evening and the wedding is Sunday afternoon.”

“Uh, yeah, I have this weekend off. I may be a bit later on Friday, but I’ll be there.”

“And I’ll assume you’re still single, so no plus one. Although, sweetie, you really shouldn’t let this discourage you. I’m sure you have plenty going for you and the right man is out there somewhere,” she says, lowering her voice as pity laces every word.

“Actually, I’ll be bringing my boyfriend. If there’s room for one more, of course.”

The words come out before you can stop them, and after you slam your gear shift up and set your brake, you grip your steering wheel with both hands.

“Boyfriend? Well, good for you, sweetheart, I didn’t want to seem insensitive before, but your clock is ticking! I will put you down for two then. Oh, one more thing-“

“I’m actually at work and can’t be late. I’ll see you Friday,” you rush out before ending the call.

Hitting the back of your head against the headrest, you wonder who you can ask on such short notice. Getting a fake boyfriend is entirely avoidable, of course. You’d have to tell another lie about him being sick or dumping you or call your aunt and explain that her constant jabs at your lacking love life pushed you to speak without thinking.

“That would go well,” you murmur as you gather the strength to get out of your car.

She’d probably say something like, “Well then he just wasn’t the one,” before telling everyone that you did something to get dumped, or she’d remind you that you’re running out of time, it’s practically too late, so you should stop trying. You don’t mind being single, but she rips you apart, finding a way to make it your fault for being too busy with work, unwilling to compromise, or “looking too chubby in red.” (Her words.)

As you walk into the station and change into your uniform, you are struck with the perfect idea.

“Nolan!” you call, rushing to his side before he can enter roll call. “I need a favor.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll do what I can,” he answers kindly.

“Long story short I need a fake boyfriend to go to my cousin’s wedding or my aunt will expose me as a dirty rotten liar who can’t get a boyfriend.”

“Wow,” Nolan responds. “Does she really- never mind. When’s the wedding?”

“This weekend.”

“Bailey and I are going to San Diego to meet Henry for a few days. I’m so sorry, I’d help you if I could.”

“Yeah, no problem. Thanks anyway,” you tell Nolan while looking for someone else you can ask. “Aaron!”

Aaron turns in the doorway, stepping back toward you and Nolan with raised brows.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“I need a date, a fake boyfriend for a wedding this weekend.”

“I don’t do weddings.”

“Aaron, please,” you plead.

“Look, I’d love to help you, but my family’s got a big dinner thing this weekend and they rarely end well, so I’m booked.” He pats your arm and adds, “Hope you find someone who can help.”

You nod as he walks inside. Looking around the station, you realize your options are very limited.

“Think Angela would let me borrow Wesley for a few days?” you ask Nolan.

“Why don’t you just find someone to actually take as a date?”

“Because that’s the entire problem, Nolan. I can’t get a date.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

As you follow him into roll call, you whisper, “I’m going to have to ask Smitty.”

Nolan stifles a laugh, shaking his head as he takes his seat. You tune Wade out after receiving your assignment for the day, glancing around the room as you try to find someone else you can ask. Maybe you should just cancel, tell your aunt that you’re the one who got sick, and now neither you nor your boyfriend can make it.

Standing in the bullpen, you have your aunt’s contact pulled up on your phone but can’t seem to press the call button.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sergeant Bradford,” Nolan says. “I need some advice.”

“I already don’t like this, but go ahead,” Tim replies, resting his hands against his belt.

“If a fellow officer, a close friend, was going to cancel going to a family member’s wedding because she couldn’t find a fake boyfriend to keep her controlling aunt off her back, would you help her?”

Tim doesn’t answer, turning away from Nolan. As he walks toward the bullpen, Nolan raises a fist in victory, hoping it works out for you and Tim. It’s clear to everyone that you have feelings for each other, but neither of you seems eager to do anything about them. Maybe this is the push you need to take the next step.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim’s hand covers your phone screen before he takes it from you, holding it by his side.

“You need a fake boyfriend?” he asks.

“Who told you? ... Nolan, I should’ve known not to trust him and his big mouth.”

“Who’s getting married?”

“My cousin,” you answer, pursing your lips in confusion about why he’s interested.

“The cousin from the aunt that manipulates and belittles you every time you see her?”

“I’m still sorry for calling you that day, I shouldn’t have. Just didn’t have anyone else to cry to.”

“She lied to you, told you things about yourself that couldn’t have been further from the truth. So, now that you have lied to her, what are you going to do about it?”

“Cancel,” you whisper. “If I can just press the button to call her.”

“I’ll call her,” Tim offers, raising your phone. “Or I can go with you.”

“Tim, I can’t ask you to do this- to lie for me and spend your weekend off at a wedding, around people you don’t know.”

“You’re not asking,” Tim reminds you. “Which one? I make a call, or I go with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Tim smiles while assuring, “We’re friends, and we’ve been on vacation together before. This is just like that.”

“I don’t want to go…”

“But you don’t want to deal with the grief you’ll get if you don’t. I get it, but I’ll help in any way I can.”

You nod, taking your phone from Tim. “Thank you.”

“When do we leave?”

“Friday night. The wedding’s Sunday.”

“Two days before? Why?”

“I don’t even want to think about that right now.”

Tim raises your right hand, pushing a bent paper clip over your finger as he promises, “I will make sure you survive this weekend.”

“And I… will apologize in advance.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you get out of the shower Friday night and get dressed, all you can think about is the weekend ahead. If you or Tim get uncomfortable, you could put your relationship on the line to look like a happy couple in front of your family.

Tim’s knock draws you from your thoughts, and when he takes your bag from you, you realize something: Tim already acts like your boyfriend, so he really is boyfriend material. Your crush on him is bound to be affected over the next 48 hours, but he agreed to this, so maybe there’s a chance he feels more than friendship, too. Shaking the idea from your head, you accept Tim’s help as you climb into the passenger seat of his truck. He waits until he’s on the freeway to ask you about the wedding and your family.

“What’s the fiancé like?” he asks.

“I haven’t met him. Didn’t even know they were getting married until a few days ago.”

Tim nods, laying his elbow on the center console and moving closer to you without thinking.

“I- I want to go ahead and tell you that you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. My family can be a lot-“

“I’m not here for them. I’m spending the weekend with you, and nothing more. Remember that, okay? So, if you need an excuse, a buffer, anything you want or need, that’s me this weekend.”

“I can never repay you for this.”

“I’ll give you a call next time I need a wedding date,” Tim suggests.

“Deal,” you reply with an easy smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone squeals your name, and Tim grips your hand when you flinch.

“I’m so glad you made it!” the woman says, pulling you into a hug.

“Of course. And congratulations!” you reply. “Sorry about the invitation confusion.”

“Oh, no worries, I get it. Stuff happens. My mom said you were bringing your boyfriend?”

Tim steps forward, wrapping an arm around your waist as he offers his other hand. “I’m Tim, the boyfriend your mom mentioned.”

“Oh,” your cousin says, shaking his hand. She looks between you and Tim, and as you begin to expect a sarcastic comment, she says, “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

“That wasn’t so bad,” Tim whispers in your ear.

“I guess I could’ve been overthinking it,” you admit.

“You’re in chateau Sauvignon Blanc,” a man says, passing a key to Tim. “Follow the white path and you won’t miss it.”

“The chateaus are named after wine,” Tim muses. “Must be nice to be marrying into a family of nepotism.”

You laugh at him, and when he refuses to let you carry your bag to the chateau, you fall into easy conversation on the short walk. Entering, however, you stop in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asks quickly, stepping forward so his chest presses against your back.

“Nothing, just- there’s only one bed in here,” you say quietly.

“I think we can make it work. There’s always the floor if you want to treat your fake boyfriend like that,” Tim jokes, closing the door and tossing your bags on a nearby chair.

“I- why’d you agree to come?” you ask him.

“You needed a date.”

You don’t quite accept that. It’s not enough reason for someone as logical as Tim Bradford. You don’t have time to question him further, though, as you receive a text that dinner is being served in the main tasting room in just a few minutes.

“Hey,” Tim says, laying his hands on your shoulders. “We’re two people on vacation together. It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

“Sorry. It’s just, this isn’t what I was expecting.”

“That’s okay, but we’re going to keep moving. No one knows me here, so I’m whatever-“

“I need you to be,” you repeat. “Thank you.”

Tim smiles, and you take your bag into the bathroom to get ready while he changes. When you exit, wearing your favorite outfit and hairstyle, Tim stands, offering both his hands.

“You look stunning.”

“Clean up pretty nicely yourself, Mr. Bradford.”

“Oh, so you’re a flirty girlfriend?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to pull away from Tim. He tightens his hands around yours and pulls you into a hug, hooking one arm around you as he leads you back to the white path.

✯✯✯✯✯

Sitting beside Tim, your hand stays in his until the food is served. So far, all of the attention has been on your cousin and her fiancé, and you’re more than happy to listen along to their chatter rather than talk yourself.

“What about you two?” your grandfather asks. “How’d you meet?”

Tim moves his hand out of yours, patting above your knee as he answers, “We met at work; different divisions, but we joined forces for a narcotics bust and I just couldn’t get her off my mind, so I had to ask her out.”

“How long have you been together?” someone inquires.

“5 years,” you and Tim say together. You add, “But we’ve only been serious for what? 6 months or so?”

“Since you finally agreed to my begging, you mean?” Tim asks, sending you a comforting smile. “Yeah, about that.”

“Cute,” your cousin comments before the conversation returns to her.

You close your eyes and release a breath, leaning toward Tim when his hand covers yours again.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How are we doing this?” You ask, standing at the side of the bed with your arms wrapped around your waist.

“It’s a bed,” Tim says, blinking at you. “Seems pretty straightforward.”

“Well, yeah, but… what if I, like, snore more or something?”

“I’ll live. Just get in the bed.”

You crawl under the covers, murmuring, “Thought you were gonna call me boot there for a second.”

“I still may,” Tim responds as he turns the light off, lying beside you. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Tim.”

“No problem.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up, it’s a few minutes before dawn, and a strong arm is holding you against the mattress. When you try to move, Tim pulls you closer before tucking you against him as he relaxes again.

“Friends on vacation,” you remember, pressing your cheek against his chest as you get comfortable.

Suddenly, you remember you have to survive another night by his side. The idea makes you want to pull away, but his touch and heartbeat lull you back to sleep before you can.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Your cousin is here,” Tim whispers, shaking you gently. “She wants to talk to you about dresses.”

“You’re a snuggler,” you mumble as Tim pulls you out of bed.

“No one will ever believe you,” Tim says darkly.

“Is she really here?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that. This isn’t a horror movie.”

Nodding, you pick up a change of clothes and move into the bathroom. Tim’s voice is muffled through the wall, but you can tell he’s being civil even as his patience wears thin. Straightening your outfit, you open the door and smile at your cousin and Tim.

“You’re wearing that?” she asks.

“You’re beautiful,” Tim says, smiling at you.

“What exactly are we doing?” you ask.

“I wanted to see the dress you’re planning to wear to the rehearsal tonight and the wedding and reception tomorrow. If you need something different, we can-“

“I won’t need different dresses,” you interrupt. “I like the ones I brought.”

“As do I,” Tim adds. “But I’ll leave you two to talk about dresses.” He stands, kissing your temple and pausing by your side to whisper, “Call if you need someone to save you.”

Smiling, you tell him to be careful. Your cousin waits until he leaves to sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to show the dresses you packed.

As you hold them up, you remember Tim's compliments this morning as you hide your smile at her surprised reaction. And his arm around you last night. He’s taking his fake boyfriend duties seriously, and you’re unsure if your feelings can survive another night beside him.

“They’re pretty,” your cousin says finally. “I have a few more things to do before the rehearsal this evening, but I’ll see you around.”

“Congratulations again,” you call, exiting the chateau behind her to look for Tim.

When you round a corner on the white path, you run directly into Tim. His arms come up to catch you, holding you against his chest as he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Did it go okay?” he asks, rubbing a hand down your spine.

“Yeah. She said the dresses were pretty, so that was unexpected.”

“Wait ‘til she sees them on you,” Tim replies. “Can’t imagine getting upstaged at my own wedding.”

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day? The rehearsal isn’t until 5 and then most of the wedding party is leaving for bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

“You could model the dresses.”

“Stop,” you plead, laughing as you press against Tim’s chest.

“It’s my duty as your boyfriend.”

“I knew I should have asked Smitty.”

Tim narrows his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t make me think about that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where do you think the red path goes?” you ask.

“Are you asking me on a treasure hunt date?” Tim replies.

“Maybe. Care to follow our own version of the yellow brick road? See if you can find your usual personality on the way back to Kansas?”

“You don’t like my new personality? The one I created just for you?”

“Tim,” you warn. “Red path, yes or no?”

Tim takes your hand, leading you out of the chateau and back toward his truck before turning onto the other path.

“If we find a crime scene or something,” you begin.

“What?” Tim interrupts dramatically.

“If we find something unexpected, what then?”

“Wait,” Tim calls, gently pulling you back toward him. “What is this about?”

Glancing down, you say, “Last night.”

“Look, if I made you uncomfortable-“

“No, not at all. The, uh, the unexpected part was how much I liked it,” you admit quietly.

Tim taps his knuckle lightly against your chin, smiling as you raise your head to look at him.

“Just tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything. We’re friends, and I care about you, but this weekend could ruin everything if I make one wrong move.”

“You said it yourself, we’re friends, and we’ve been friends for years. Walking on eggshells around me all weekend is unnecessary, not to mention more dangerous than just telling me you like being cuddled.”

“You like being cuddled.”

“Never say that aloud again.”

You chuckle, taking Tim’s hand as you begin walking again. After a few minutes of walking in silence, you stop.

“The red path looks exactly like the white path,” you point out.

“Not true. The red path is red, and the white is white.”

“Wow. You should have been a detective.”

“Are we on the same page?” Tim murmurs.

“Yeah, I’ll be myself with you this weekend. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Nerd.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, Dorothy.”

You roll your eyes, walking away from Tim. He laughs before taking a few long steps to catch up with you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Tim apologizes, and you lean against him, trying to remember what he said about being honest.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi, sweetheart,” your aunt greets you as you enter the venue for the rehearsal dinner. “You are at table 2, and your boyfriend is at table 9.”

“You didn’t seat us together?” you ask.

“Well, it was late notice, learning you were bringing a plus one. Sorry.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks.”

Tim lays his hand on your lower back, leading you to your table.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, reaching over the table before leaving.

You watch him walk to his table, switching a nameplate before returning to your side. He sets his nameplate on the seat beside you, sighing as he sits.

“Have I told you recently that you’re the best?”

“You don’t have to, I know,” Tim answers smugly.

“What do you want to do when this is over?”

“Planning ahead, aren’t we?” Tim smiles as he leans toward you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Exiting the venue, you take Tim’s hand, wrapping your other hand around his forearm as you walk beside him. He tugs you closer, keeping you close until you’re back in your chateau. After changing quickly and washing your face, you collapse onto the bed.

“I thought my family was tiring,” Tim jokes.

“Still up for cud- lying closely on the same piece of furniture?” you correct.

Tim leans over you, smiling as he says, “Since you asked so nicely.”

You stare at the ceiling until Tim returns and pulls you into his side as he lays beside you. Rolling against him, pressing your ear to his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, you accept that things are changing.

“I don’t think we can go back to how things were before,” you mutter.

“Me neither,” Tim agrees softly, moving his hand to your upper back.

“Did I ruin everything by letting you come with me?”

Tim rolls onto his side, facing you rather than holding you.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow? Does everything get awkward after the wedding?”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Tim answers. “I offered to come because it was an opening to spend time with you.”

“But-“

“We’re friends, right? That’s what we say but that’s not how it feels.”

“How does it feel?” you whisper.

“Like more. Tell me you’ve been pretending, and I’ll let this go, but nothing I’ve said this weekend has been a lie or an act.”

“I have feelings for you,” you confess. “I have for years, but I didn’t know how to tell you or what you’d think. So…”

“We both did. Stay quiet to preserve a friendship that could have been much more.”

Inhaling deeply, you move forward, closing the distance between you and Tim.

“You asked what happens after the wedding,” Tim says. “I’d like to keep going from here.”

“I’d like that too.”

Tim smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he rolls over, pulling you with him. You laugh against him, falling silent when you look into his eyes.

“Can I-“ Tim begins.

“Kiss me,” you demand.

Tim cups your cheeks as he pulls you down against him, kissing you softly. You slide your arms over his chest, holding his jaw as you reciprocate his every move. Tim’s arm tightens around your waist before someone knocks on the door.

Pulling away, you sigh before getting out of bed, cracking the door open to see who it is.

“Hi,” you greet, surprised to see your aunt outside.

“I moved your seats for the wedding and reception,” she tells you. “Since you seem inseparable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry for earlier, and for interrupting. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

After you close the door, you press your hand against it and take a few breaths, surprised by her apologies.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, sitting up as he watches you.

Walking back to his side, you lie down and move against him, smiling as you answer, “I’m great.”

Tim holds you close, both of you falling asleep on the same side of the oversized bed. When you wake up the following morning, you chuckle at the sight of it, with one side still made after a night in Tim’s arms.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’ve been in there for a while,” Tim calls, tapping his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Maybe she was right,” you answer. “I mean, the dress looked great on the mannequin, but…”

“Open the door,” Tim demands.

“No.”

“I will kick it down. You know I can.”

You pull the door open before he can do anything, and Tim’s eyes widen when he sees you.

“You look…”

“I know.”

“Perfect.”

Furrowing your brows, you look down at the dress.

“How do you feel?” Tim asks. “In the outfit, in general?”

“I feel good, really good.”

“Well, you look even better. Don’t let whatever someone said make you think otherwise. And I was right.”

“About?”

“You’re gonna look better than the bride.”

Tim’s smile, accompanied by his kind words, makes you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist as you hug him tightly. Your relationship with him has changed this weekend, and you’re still giddy because you can tell him you love him whenever you want.

“I love you,” you say against his suit.

Tim pulls back quickly, looking into your eyes as he asks you to repeat it. After you do, he smiles and replies, “I love you. I’ve loved you for years.”

“We’re going to be late,” you remind him, narrowly dodging a kiss.

Shaking his head, Tim offers his arm, keeping you close as you walk to the wedding venue entrance. Finding your seats, you sit beside Tim, pulling one of his hands into your lap as you look at him.

“Those bouquets are really bright,” you say.

“Our wedding will be much better,” Tim agrees.

“We’re getting married now?” you ask, smiling.

Tim looks at you from the corner of his eye, shrugging as he says, “Why not?”

“I love you, Tim Bradford.”

“Thank you for letting me be your boyfriend this weekend,” he replies. “I love you.”

“Oh, you’re going to be my boyfriend for a lot longer than this weekend.”

“And after that?” Tim asks, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“That part is up to you, I think.”

You stand, keeping your hand in Tim’s as the wedding procession begins.

“Then, yes, we’re getting married,” Tim whispers. “But it will be perfect.”

Keeping your attention on one another throughout the ceremony, you fall in love with Tim again. After the bride and groom walk down the aisle together, you pull the paper clip ring from your dress pocket. Tim stands, and when he turns to you, you raise it.

“Tim Bradford, will you be my boyfriend?”

Tim chuckles, pulling you up to kiss you before you slide the ring onto his finger. He had nearly forgotten about giving it to you before leaving the station but seeing it on his finger makes him even more eager to marry you someday.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x you #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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kechiwrites · 1 year

Text

what’s in a name?

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: ‘It’s not his fault.’ He reasons. ‘It’s not his fault you’re a brat.’

wc: 1.1k

cw: fem!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, teasing, dirty talk, light brat taming, spanking, pet names (princess, darling), no use of y/n ever.

an: yes, i know i should be posting kinktober IN NOVEMBER, but my god does this man make me wanna [redacted] his [data expunged]. enjoy!

He’s your most stubborn patient, in fact, his entire squad is a pain in your ass, but Ghost takes the cake. Always grunting and scoffing as you administer care, as if this is all a frivolity and not you saving him from gangrene or tetanus or whatever other peril has found its way into his blood that week. And that’s if he even deigns to be seen to at all.

It’s another one of those days, marshalled out of your bed at the crack of dawn because there are wounds to dress and blood to take. It makes you irritable, just short of bitchy really, and you’ll be damned if you have to work this early in the morning for a couple of jarheads who can barely string together decent conversation.

Ghost is the first person you see. Naturally. And it’s much of the same. Groans and impatient huffs while you snip gauze and sanitize abrasions. It’s rapidly turning you from irate to downright incensed.

“What’s your name anyway?” You murmur, while you fold up his shirt sleeve, baring a muscled, veiny forearm, covered in ink and dried blood, courtesy of a deep gash that’d only ceased bleeding thanks to a field tourniquet applied in the nick of time.

“No.” He mutters. As if that’s an answer. You scoff, turning in your swivel chair to grab more cotton wool from your desk. When you return he has you pinned with what little of his face you can see, dark, long lashed eyes peering out from the mask and face paint. As though he can see through you.

"You can tell me your actual name, or you can bleed out." It’s unnecessary, really. Probably even dangerous to ask, but it’s always bothered you that his medical record has those black marks where a Christian name should be. And you’re nosy. Nosy enough to pry it out of the soldier himself.

You stare at each other, neither daring to back down. Your threat is horse shit and you both know it, you're obligated to give the best care possible. He could wait you out. If he wanted to.

Apparently, he doesn’t want to.

"Simon."

You give him a smile in return, cartoonishly big and saccharine sweet. You begin cleaning the wound, humming happily with yourself. Satisfied.

For the next two months, it's relentless. Everytime he sees you, it's;

"And do you know your blood type, Simon?"

"It's lovely to see you again Simon."

"There are easier ways to stop bleeding, Simon."

It irks him, makes his skin feel like it's not sitting right. Makes him feel like his teeth are stopping his tongue from laying in his mouth comfortably. Makes his blood hum in his veins.

Eventually it's too much.

"Would you come off it?" He asks, voice rougher than he means it to be, but maybe that's what you need to end this little joke of yours.

You keep reading the charts on the clipboard in your hand, as if he hasn't spoken at all.

"Come off what, Simon?" You purse your lips at whatever you're reading, but he suspects you’re trying not to laugh.

"Saying my name like that." He flexes open the fingers of one hand, keeping the other balled in a fist on his thigh.

"Like what?" You finally look at him, head tilted to the side, the picture of innocence.

What a lark.

"Like you want something from me." He stands, looming above you, jostling himself into your personal space.

"It's your name." Now you are smiling, a confident, amused thing that transforms the look of your face, makes him forget the bags under your eyes and the familiar bone-tiredness of his body when it’s been pushed too far.

And these days, it’s always too far.

“We have code names for a reason, darling.”

“Darling? I was beginning to think my name was ‘Ugh’.” You drop the timbre of your voice to mimic him, though he doesn’t look very flattered by the imitation. At least, that’s what you get from the very little of his face you can see.

“It’s Ghost from now on.” He ignores you. It’s necessary, really. To block out the things you say. The things you do. The songs you hum cheerfully when you do inventory, the way your medical uniform stretches over the curve of your ass when you need something from the bottom cabinet.

“Sure, Simon. Whatever you say.”

‘It’s not his fault.’ He reasons. ‘It’s not his fault you’re a brat.’

It’s not his fault when he pushes you over to the examination bed. It’s not his fault when he fists his hands in the waistband of your scrub bottoms and yanks them down, it’s not his fault you’re wearing a thong, for christ’s sake. It’s not his fault that you giggle and sigh and beg so goddamn pretty.

It’s certainly not his fault that your cunt feels like a fucking dream.

He takes you like you deserve for all the teasing, brings the weight of his hand down on your ass when you moan something that sounds suspiciously like “About time.” Ghost gropes at your tits while he has you bent in half, in for a penny, as they say. His fingers pull and flick at your nipples, and you wish he’d put his mouth on you, fucking anywhere, and you don’t care what it does, bite, suck, kiss, what-fucking-ever. When you say as much in between the gasps he fucks out of you, he responds immediately, voice subdued under his mask.

“Maybe next time.”

Your eyes nearly roll out of your head at the idea of next time.

When you come it feels like your pussy is buzzing, stretched over the length of his dick and he tunnels into you, fucking into you deep before he grinds the head of cock into you, scrambling any thought you could’ve had.

It’s a battle for him to not come inside you, to resist covering the sweet, soft walls of your cunt in his seed, but he prides himself on what little control he has left, and pulls out, doing you a favour by letting his come shoot onto the floor rather than stain the baby blue fabric of your scrubs.

"Now, I think we can both agree to you saving that name for when you want me to spread you open, yes?" His voice is gruffer somehow, covering your overheated skin in the rasp and cadence of it.

"Fuck off." You moan miserably in response, your forehead sticking to the paper covering the examination bed below you.

"I want an affirmative, princess."

"Yes." You hiss from between your teeth, your head still spinning from your orgasm. “Yes, Ghost, I agree.”

“That’s better. Don’t worry about getting up.” He pats your exposed lower back, and when his hand withdraws you can hear him zip his fatigues back up. “I’ll see myself out.”

endotes: hehe...i love him. my mask kink is in full effect y’all. support content creators + city girls, reblog. find part 2 here.

#ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x black reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #kechiwrites #cod mw2 smut #cod fic

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

Text

♡ the patient in 206 ♡

♡ Pairing: patient!mingi x curvy!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You always keep it professional at work but, when an attractive new patient begins to push the boundaries, you find it difficult to resist his charm.

♡ Genre: fluff/suggestive

♡ Word Count: 1.8k

♡ Warnings: reader’s short so there’s references to how tiny she is, mingi puts his face in your boobs nonsexually. they're just comfy for him, mention of blood/anesthesia

♡ A/N: This is based on an idea @urlacuna threw into my asks. I hope I did a good job interpreting what you wanted into a fic!

Red licorice, if you eat enough of it, does a hell of a job mimicking internal bleeding. That’s why the patient in 202 is here today for a colonoscopy. Just to make sure. You know this because the husband of a patient is draped over the nurse’s station while you’re doing charts, huffing and puffing because he has to be here instead of presumably lounging on a couch wiping flaky orange Cheeto dust on the arm of his recliner. This is about as sexy as a job in nursing gets but it’s what pays the bills so you listen, partially anyway, fighting off the urge to throw what’s left of your watered down iced coffee onto his face.

“Sir,” your coworker interrupts, her lack of patience for his bullshit obvious from the start, “Your wife’s asking for you. If you’ll go in and see her…” Before she can finish her sentence he’s stomping off, mumbling something to himself. She’s your favorite coworker for a reason. She takes a seat on your desk like you’re not in the middle of something. “I’d rather get two colonoscopies with no anesthesia than be married to that asshole,” she says louder than she should. You bury your face in your hands, muffled laughter escaping the spaces between your fingers, “You can’t say that!”

She crosses her legs, thumbing through a patient’s file, “Like you weren’t thinking it. Anyway, I need you to take a patient for me.” “I’m already assigned room 205,” “Now you’re not” she declares, opening the folder to face you, the face sheet glowing like an ancient text in an adventure film. You see the name Song Min Gi. The picture, oh, the picture. “Remember him?” she asks. Remember? How couldn’t you? You’d been thinking of him ever since he came in last week. Not that you’d tell her that. Not that you need to. It’s painted all over your face the same way it was when you first saw him.

Mingi came in with his best friend, Yunho you’re pretty sure his name was, to drop off some paperwork for his endoscopy. The other nurses swarmed the desk like moths to a flame, a sea of fluttering eyelashes and girlish laughter. It wasn’t often…or ever…that two tall handsome men sauntered into your job. And they weren’t just gorgeous. They were complete gentlemen, taking time to ask each of you about your day and making cute little jokes that eased some of the tension of such a high stress job.

As attractive as they both were, it was Mingi who had you wrapped around his finger from the moment he walked in. “We could climb him…” your mind whispered. The smile on his face whispered back that he might let you if you asked. “The little one” Mingi had called you, a suitable nickname with you being the shortest nurse on staff.

“I like you, little one.”

“Thank you, little one.”

“See you soon, little one.”

The timbre of his voice echoed through your chest, the aftershock still felt when you returned home that night. You’d thought of him often since then, hoping that you’d see him again. You’d even peeked at when his endoscopy was scheduled for, excited to find out that you’d be on that day. Today. But you’d forgotten. Yesterday had been so chaotic that you rushed in this morning barely knowing which planet you were on, let alone the day.

Hair a mess. Makeup nowhere to be found. Mismatched socks on. At least your sneakers were on the right feet. You slam the folder closed, “I can’t. Look at me!” “Oh, stop it” your coworker shushes, brushing your hair back, “You look beautiful. Now go! 205 needs me and Mr. Song Min Gi needs you. Go, go, go!” She has you up from your chair, rushing you off with his file in your arms, quicker than you can register what’s happening. “Have fun!” she teases, shoving you into room 206 where Mingi lounges in the bed, his long legs stretched out.

He’s already loopy, you can tell by his low eyes and the blissful smile on his face. Yunho stands beside him, deep in conversation about something that becomes irrelevant when they see you. Mingi sits up, recklessly shifting his arms as if he doesn’t have an IV jabbed into one of them, “Little one!” “Oh my god, be careful” you gasp, scurrying to his side before he accidentally rips the IV from his arm. “So, are you my nurse now or did you just come to see me?” Both. The answer is ‘both’.

You dodge the question, “It looks like she got you all set up for me so let me just go check with the doctor and see if they’re ready to take you back. In the meantime, don’t injure yourself please.” Mingi winks at you, “Anything for you.” “You’re disgusting you know that?” Yunho groans, rolling his eyes, “Sorry about him. It’s the anesthesia kicking in.” You assure Yunho that it’s fine, slipping back out of the room under the watchful eye of Mingi who waves at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. When you return a few minutes later he’s already out cold.

“Be careful with him” Yunho warns, “He might try to, uh, force himself to wake up.” You aren’t worried. You’ve dealt with it before. Patients try to fight it off all the time. Eventually, they all succumb to it though. Even on the off chance that they do wake up the anesthesiologist has them drifting back off to dreamland in a millisecond. It’s almost annoying how cute Mingi manages to be, worthy of a full page spread in a magazine even in those dreadful blue tissue paper clothes they make patients wear.

Rolling him to a room not too far down the hall, you hand him over to the doctor and get back to your other duties. Checking on other patients, making sure they have their discharge papers, and shoveling some lunch into your mouth in between. You’re hiding in the office kitchen, cheeks packed with food and another fork full coming your way, when another nurse rushes in to grab you. “Y/N, room 206! He’s out of his mind!” You check your watch. Mingi? He should be out but he shouldn’t be awake yet.

No questions asked you race behind her to find his room full of nurses. Mingi’s up bouncing on the balls of his bare feet and…rapping? Your closest friend there, the matchmaker herself, scurries over to you, ushering you closer to Mingi. “We’ve been trying to get him to lay down but he won’t do it because he wants, uh, well…” “My wife!” Mingi shouts gleefully, long arms embracing you. His chin rests on the top of your head as the two of you sway back and forth. “Isn’t she cute?” he coos, petting your hair, “Mmm and she smells nice.” You pat him on the back, a mother soothing her agitated baby,

“You guys can head out. I’ve got him.” The room empties out except for Yunho who helps you seat Mingi safely on the edge of the bed, his arms still around you. Mingi sighs, resting his head on your chest, “Soft. Mmm. So soft.” He nuzzles his cheeks against your breasts and Yunho nearly chokes on air. “I’m so sorry. Mingi, stop it!” Mingi groans, shooing his best friend away, “We’re married. I can do what I want. Right, baby?” He looks up at you, his brown eyes are angelic under the fluorescent light, and you can’t bring yourself to disrupt his delusion.

“Right, you can do what you want but can you do something for me?” “Anything” he sighs, his nose buried in your cleavage as his hands traverse your curves. “Let’s lay down, okay? I’m a little tired.” You fake a yawn and he nods, easing you onto the bed with him. His face still in your chest, Mingi goes on telling you how much he loves you. He smiles at memories of how nice your honeymoon was. “It was nice, wasn’t it?” “The best.” This was far from what you expected coming in to work today but, in the back of your mind, you’re enjoying the affection, even if it is medically induced.

After a few minutes, Mingi drifts back off to sleep, giving you the chance to sneak away. The rest of the day goes on as normally as it can after something like that has happened. It’s not like you can tell anyone. You should just forget it. Maybe Mingi will. Yunho better let him. When you get the news that Mingi’s awake for a second time you beg another nurse to take him. You don’t even want to think about what might happen if he does remember and you’d rather not find out.

Thankfully she takes over, allowing you to finish out your shift uneventfully. “See you tomorrow!” you shout over your shoulder, waving to your coworkers as they filter out behind you. You turn to check that the coast is clear before crossing the parking lot only to slam face first into a brick wall. You stumble backward, and strong hands grip your arms keeping you on your feet. A brick wall? Not a brick wall. Mingi’s chest. It’s your turn to look up at him now, his cheeks are tinted a strawberry red.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry…for a lot of things apparently.”

You glance behind him and see Yunho leaning against a car nearby. You wave to each other, the context of Mingi’s apology clear. “Look, I…” “Don’t worry about it. It happens.” Mingi narrows his eyes at you, skeptical of how often this actually happens. “Okay, it doesn’t happen” you relent, “But it’s really okay. I swear.” “I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m such an idiot. Clearly, that date I was gonna ask you on is out of the window.” “Date?” you shriek, clearing your throat to regain your composure, “I mean, date? You were gonna ask me on a date?” Mingi hangs his head, hands in his pockets, unable to meet your gaze. “I was but it’d be kinda weird now, wouldn’t it?” You stand up straight, arms folded across your chest, “Well you’ve gotta ask to know, don’t you?” “Oh, uh, does that mean that you’d…would you…date…with me?” “When?” “Now?” “Now?” “No?” “Fine. Let’s go. My car” you demand, strutting to your car with some newfound boldness overtaking you.

You aren’t sure if he’s even following you until you spot him out of the corner of your eye. Clutching your purse close to your chest you try to suppress how giddy you are then the panic sets in. A date? Looking like this? Unlocking the door, you throw your purse into the backseat, “I should probably go home and change into something cuter.” “Cuter?” Mingi asks, holding the door open for you, “You’re cute enough. Plus, you don’t have to impress me anymore. We’re married, remember?”

#mingi x y/n #mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi fluff #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #curvy reader #plus size reader

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tightwadspoonies · 2 months

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How to Get a Doctor to Listen To You (and maintain the relationship you have with that doctor, cause you're gonna need that later)

First, I'll preface this by saying: The system sucks. There is no perfect way to access medical care, at least not in the USA. You've almost always got to play the system at least a little to get what you need.

Should it be this way? No. But it is. So here's how to play the game in order to get the most out of a visit to the doctor (there are very different steps to getting what you need out of a hospital stay, but that's a different post):

So First, Let's Assume You Have a Primary Care Doctor That isn't an Urgent Care or the Emergency Department (if you don't, look below the cut first for some tips on getting one, then come back up here)

First, make a list of your problems, then go at the pace of one problem per appointment. Yes I know this sucks. But please read on.

Reasoning:

Appointments are set up in 15-minute slots, but docs typically are timed to about 5-8 minutes spent in a room with a patient on average (the rest of the time is prep and charting and referring and checking in with other doctors to get advice). This is imposed by the hospital or clinic they are working for- not something they choose. If a doctor took as much time as they needed with each patient they would probably get fired. That means every minute beyond that 5 minutes is a minute being "taken" from another patient (isn't capitalism wonderful?!). And 5 minutes is about enough time to evaluate 1 single medical problem.

So when you're setting these up understand that it is way easier and faster to make a bunch of appointments all at once than making them one at a time (hence the making a list of your problems). You might be able to get one slot per week (after a new patient appointment, which will probably take a long time to schedule, see below the cut), each scheduled for a different problem. Keep in mind though, if you make multiple appointments, no-shows are not taken-to kindly. Too many and the rest of your appointments will be cancelled. If you know you can't make it, call ahead.

So what if you need seen right now for a specific symptom? Go to an urgent care or the emergency department. They are almost never going to be able to solve the problem, but a toradol shot for a migraine now is better than waiting six weeks for a sumatriptan prescription. Plus, an emergency department visit or two where they did something for you establishes a history in the record of your problem.

Does this suck? Absolutely. Is multiple appointments always practical for work/school/transportation/copay reasons? Nope. But that's the system, and unfortunately, if you go into an appointment with 6 problems, as you have probably experienced, you're either going to be asked to narrow it down to what is the most important to you anyway, or you're going to get exactly zero useful things out of that appointment.

Next, be upfront, and do it LONG before the doctor walks into the room.

When you schedule an appointment, they will ask you why you are coming. If you want to be evaluated for Ehlos Danlos, for example, say exactly that. "I want to be evaluated for ___________".

Reasoning:

No one can hold everything in their heads for their entire careers, and doctors use that little blurb of why you are coming to look stuff up before you get there.

If you spring something on them that isn't something they see every day, they will be falling back on a very small amount of information they got a long time ago. If you don't fit that tiny piece of information they have saved on that specific disease, you're probably not going to get a diagnosis.

In contrast, if they come in knowing what they will need to evaluate, they will be able to look up or ask how to do the evaluation beforehand and the evaluation for things like the thing you want evaluated. You're much more likely to get a diagnosis if they're doing the right test and asking the right questions.

Also, say you are looking for a diagnosis if that's what you want, and say why. Say something like "If I come up positive for MCAS, could you tell me? I want to try some treatments and accommodations for it that I can only get through a diagnosis."

Reasoning:

I spent 6 years in therapy before my counselor admitted to me that she thought I had had depression the entire time. Why? Because before Obamacare, having a diagnosis of anything more than the flu one time could leave you un-health-insurable for life. Plus even just a generation ago being sick in any way was something socially unacceptable.

It's still like that, but it's changing.

There's still fear about this in the medical world. Putting a diagnosis on paper that the doctor technically didn't have to used to run some pretty serious risks. Pre- HIPAA (1996) those risks extended to your job and social life too (patient privacy was actually not actually a law back then). Even today, certain health conditions (including things like gender dysphoria or schizophrenia) may be looked at unfavorably in some areas if you're trying to do something like adopt.

So be open about the fact that you want to know, and if necessary, why that information is important to you.

Finally, come up "normal" on screening questions. At the beginning of the appointment, the person who rooms you will ask you a set list of questions. These are called "screening questions" and they include things like "do you feel safe at home?" and "does transportation keep you from getting to appointments or getting medications?"

Reasoning:

Unfortunately, if they find anything they need to talk about when asking these questions, they generally have to address these problems at the appointment, which means time they cannot spend on the problem you're there for.

If youdon't feel like lying and think you might have come up "positive" (something needs to be talked about), you have to be extremely clear that you would prefer to make another appointment to discuss the screening test, and today stay focused on the problem you came in for. It depends on the doctor as to whether they are willing to take that risk (and it genuinely is a risk, to them), and you also end up eating up some time.

My wife's opinion is that you know yourself better than a screening test anyway, and sometimes you do have to lie to get what you need.

So, you know, you do what's best for you.

Keep Reading:

Choosing a Doctor:

When you are first starting out looking for a doctor, you will probably have the choice between family practice (either a family practice doctor or family practice nurse practitioner) or internal medicine (your standard adult primary practitioner). Having worked in family practice I may be biased, but personally of the two, if you're looking for someone who is most likely to listen off the bat, it's going to be someone in family practice.

You may also have the option between a private practice and a residency. Of the two, I would choose the residency, because at a residency the docs you see are going to be residents who, 1- just finished up learning about all the zebras and can still remember them, and 2- are not yet jaded. Which if you think you have anything that isn't the most straightforward case of diabetes/heart disease/COPD, that's what you need.

The First Appointment:

So here's the thing. In order to get in with a doctor, you have to do something called a "New Patient Appointment", or NPA. An NPA takes a long time to get (sometimes months) but it is worth it to get a primary care doctor. An NPA is a little longer (usually about an hour or two) and most of that is going to be screenings with a nurse or medical assistant.

Understand that very little will happen at this appointment. It is just for you and the doctor to get to know each other (through a pre-programmed set of questions) and get some background info on you. Sometimes there will be time to address one thing. Use the checkout from this appointment to make more appointments that will fix things.

#health #chronic illness #going to the doctor #diagnosis

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myun-saidthoughts · 9 months

Text

Who Feels The Effects of 8th & 12th House Synastry?

(Can also apply to someone's Pluto/Neptune harshly aspecting your inner planets)

If the person in question possess placements in Pisces, Neptune, Scorpio or Pluto, the 12th house, or the 8th house, along with having challenging aspects towards their Moon/IC/fall or detriment placements, they will more than likely sense an immediate energetic shift in your presence. While you will also feel the intensity, they are the ones profoundly affected by the energies you emanate. This can be further seen when their housing placements activate placements in your natal chart, igniting areas of heightened energy you were unaware of.

If you are the one who has these placements, then it is likely you will feel the intensity of the connection more than them, (primarily in the beginning).

That being said, someone having these placements indicates that they've experienced a harsher upbringing in their childhood. Internal struggles might have occurred where the parent(s) weren’t nurturing or emotionally/physically there. So, now when it comes to romantic partners, if the individual is not aware of their deep-rooted pain or fear of true intimacy, unwanted patterns and situations will keep repeating.

Having the Sun/Moon or many planets in the 12th house might indicate physically absent parents, the Sun represents the father and the Moon represents the mother. Having a natal 12th house Sun or Moon might showcase emotional or physical distance and connection with a parent. Emotions were under-wrapped, clear communication or understanding wasn’t a common theme in their life. Especially if the individual has multiple planets in the 12th house, having this house as a prominent influence would heighten their sensitivity to energy and emotions. Boundaries within may be blurred unaware of how one should be treated due to the lack of care they felt, and whatever planet is located in the 12th house would showcase the lack of emotional connection and theme that the individual would experience.

When it comes to natal 8th house placements, having a lot of prominent planets in this house can indicate dealing with a lot of ego deaths and rebirths for this individual. Lessons started very early for them, and loss could have been a common experience, and fear of intimacy or true vulnerability might have reigned within their veins. Often times they undergo tons of transformation because of how much trauma they might of experienced growing up (entire natal chart is needed though for this to manifest heavily). Extremes might have also been a common theme for them; where maybe the individual grew up wealthy or well off and then one day lost it all, or they had a massive family then suddenly had to move away due to unforeseen circumstances. Especially if this individual has a Water Moon with challenging aspects, their mother could have been MIA then emotionally turbulent, where she gave love one second then completely abandoned them in the next (scorpio). Or where she was overly needy/emotional making them act as a parent (cancer) or as a savior that swept anyway pain for their parent(s) (pisces), being nurtured or cared for was unlikely therefore now they might struggle with accepting true intimacy and love.

With the 8th house, there is one clear distinction compared to the 12th house, and that is the 8th house doesn't have any hidden agendas. Everything is out in the open, the good and the bad. Pain was often something that occurred in the native’s life, (depending on other factors such as the Moon’s aspects and the IC) but in general, emotions run deep, and they run outwardly, especially if the native has a water Moon, (Scorpio, Cancer or Pisces). The planet that falls in the 8th house and it's aspects would paint a better picture of how much intensity this individual would experience (more exact descriptions in my eBook)

One common theme I notice when it comes to those who deal with such intensity in this synastry; is the fact that the person who is undoubtedly going through the most pain and turmoil has unresolved parental wounds that now bleed in every relationship they enter. Either one or both parents were emotionally or physically absent, and the type of love that they were surrounded with was either cold or lacking in one area of life. The love their parents gave them was either not enough or not right. This is more true for those w a poor aspected IC/Moon/fall or detriment placements etc.

Your sole caregivers, the people who are supposed to unconditionally love, care, nurture, and choose you didn’t; and that alone brings the deepest pain you now hold. You may not even be aware of that void you possess because in intricate situations your caregivers could have been there in ways that might satisfy others, yet for your soul, that satisfaction and safety that you needed and deserved, never came. Oftentimes when the individual has heavy 8th or 12th house placements (w a poor aspected IC/Moon/fall or detriment placements etc) this also could mean having a parent that chose themselves, others, substances, situations, or opportunities over you, creating a lack of self-worth and value that you now carry.

To gain a deeper understanding of the intensity experienced through this synastry, it is crucial to first comprehend the individuals' life experiences and the circumstances they have faced. By doing so, one can better grasp the extent to which the person will be affected by this synastry. Moreover, in some extreme cases, this understanding can unveil the true origins of toxic patterns. If one is unhealed or afraid to acknowledge and let their deep rooted pain go, finding a true partner is difficult.

In extreme situations, these individuals might tell themself that it’s easier to run from real connections or partners, yet there is a part of them that is eagerly wanting a safe home. So with that, there's now a side of them that they lock and hide away, and at the core, there exists a deep-seated fear within—an apprehension of allowing someone to truly see and know the entirety of who they are.

With 8th house synastry and if you have these deep-rooted fears/abandonment wounds then this would manifest as you clinging onto this individual for dear life. They somehow become this one home you’ve always desired, and that peace you’ve always wished for now is present, but only when you’re with them.

With 12th house synastry and if you have these deep-rooted fears/abandonment wounds, then this would make you feel safe loving someone whom you know will never truly be yours. You feel safe sitting in the area of uncertainty because accepting true real love scares you to your core.

Therefore the second you realize these individuals who touch your deepest wounds; won’t ever give you the soothing love or care you deeply wish for, the power that they have on your emotions and well-being will dissipate. They are just reflecting the pain that you now suppress from past partnerships and childhood experiences.

In my eBook, I have provided more precise definitions regarding the placements of the IC, Moon aspects, and the potential manifestations of each inner planet in the 8th or 12th house for individuals. You can find the link to my eBook pinned on my page for easy access.

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queenimmadolla · 1 year

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hi!! i’m not so sure if you’re still doing pennyverse or not, but you should do one where she’s a teenager doing teenager things! whatever you’d like as the plot :) i love your writing so much

This one hurt ngl, this is how i know I’m not one for kids cause having penny grow up was PAINFUL. Hope you enjoy it, though!

(Dad!Eddie Munson/Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader)

more dad!eddie and penny adventures can be found here.

summary: Your daughter Penny is now a teenager >:| and Eddie is not happy about it. warnings: mentions of recreational drug usage, lil bit of fatherly hurt a/n: the UNBELIEVABLY HOT edit of Eddie was crafted by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, whose edits have me in a chokehold. perfect depiction of how I see older!eddie in the penny 'verse.

“Hey, mom?”

“Hmn?” You responded, halting the task of organizing everything for the night ahead.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Penny stated, nervously fidgeting with her fingers as she approached the kitchen island.

Her younger brother snickered, not bothering to glance up from his Game Boy—though he fully intended on listening to this play out—as she glared at him.

You smirked, finger tapping against the box of popcorn you’d been about to open. It was clear from both of their mannerisms, what she wanted to ask would probably garner a no from you. You decided to humor her anyway.

“Okay,” you nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

She huffed, fingers reaching up to twirl around one of her curls. In the last couple of years, Penny had obviously grown significantly. She was still a little shorter than you—probably wouldn’t end up ever being taller than you—and while bits of Eddie obviously poked through her features (his eyes, his mouth and expressions), she was looking more and more like you every day. At one point, it had reached an uncanny degree and creeped you out a little.

Despite her physical alterations, her personality stayed the same. A big daddy’s girl, with her attitude and mischievous ways matching her father’s, it being the reason why you told her no so often.

“Can I hang out with Maria and Shanti tonight? There’s this party and─”

“Ah, stop right there,” you interrupted, having heard enough to know where this was going. Over the years, the party scene had also changed. Especially since you no longer lived in Hawkins. After Corroded Coffin got picked up 10 years ago, Eddie was always traveling, on tour to open for one famous band or another. Two years after, they’d broken through mainstream heavy metal and shot to the top of the charts, starting their first official tour of their own.

It had proved surprisingly difficult, being the wife of a rockstar who was always coming and going for work but Eddie hadn’t been about to lose you, always making sure his family came first. Eventually, it just made sense to make the move to Los Angeles—though you only agreed on the basis you’d be moving to one of the more quiet regions, away from all the millionaire mansions. While your home was definitely more than anything you could have dreamed up, it was still rather humble compared to the homes in West Hollywood; exactly what you and Eddie wanted.

It was still LA, though, and you were wary of the parties thrown in the area. The drug scene here was a whole other ballpark. Keeping Penny away from alcohol and drugs was something you knew, realistically, you wouldn’t be able to do. Encourage her not to drink and do drugs? Sure, and you did. Actively and repeatedly. But you’d been smoking weed at her age and drinking, so you couldn’t be a hypocrite. And you didn’t want to ruin your relationship by being the domineering parent. If she was going to do these things (and, as a parent, you really hoped she wouldn’t) you wanted her to trust you, and know she could come to you about these things rather than having to sleep off a high at a strange home or wait out the alcohol until she was sober enough to see you like you had to do when you were a teenager.

Despite your hopes and wishes, Penny was going to be a teenager—whether you liked it or not—but above all, you wanted her to be safe.

“You know why I don’t like these parties─”

“Mom!” She groaned, frowning at the way this conversation was going. “You’ve got to trust me, I’m not gonna do anything. I just want to have fun with my friends. Please?”

Dammit. She used the trust card.

You sighed, actually mulling it over. You didn’t like it. You really didn’t like it. But you remembered asking your mom something similar once and being denied. Tired of being refused the right to be a teenager despite never being trouble for your parents, you’d snuck out that night and, ironically, considering said track record, almost got in trouble. The cops had gotten involved with the party, you hadn’t been able to drive so you ended up having to walk across town in the middle of the night to make it home.

You didn’t want her sneaking out. You were about to cave, when suddenly you remembered exactly what you were preparing for when she interrupted you and guilt began to set in.

“You can go─”

“YES!”

“—if you get your dad’s permission.”

Penny instantly deflated, slumping down onto the island countertop. “Actually, I was hoping you’d talk to him for me.”

You and Wayne locked eyes and snorted.

“Baby, I would do anything for you, but not that. Not today.”

“What’s not today?” Eddie asked as he leaned against the doorway, scratching at the short hairs of his beard.

“Yeah, what’s not today?” Came a little voice from his side. Maple was clinging to her daddy’s leg, her little blanket clutched in her free arm.

Eddie reached down to stroke a palm over her buzzed head (Maple liked to watch King of the Hill with him and when she saw Luanne with no hair, she’d bugged and bugged and bugged until you finally caved and she hadn’t wanted to grow it out since), raising an eyebrow as he waited to be filled in. You and Wayne exchanged glances before you went back to pulling out snacks and he focused back on the game in his hand.

Penny huffed again before facing her father and tried not to wince, “Dad, I wanted to hang out with my friends tonight.”

Eddie blinked.

“But it’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, we’re on winter break, remember?”

Oh, he remembered but that wasn’t what he was referring to. “Baby, it’s Sunday. New episode of The Simpsons.”

It might have been trivial to others, but Eddie enjoyed every single second he got to spend with his family. After Corroded Coffin’s latest tour ended in the fall, Eddie had made sure his schedule was cleared for the rest of the year—save for playing two shows with Metallica, you’d threatened him if he said no to the opportunity of playing with his all time favorite band—for family time. This was a vital piece of it for him. Ever since it started airing, before Corroded Coffin was ever known and when Penny was still in diapers, it became routine to sit down and watch the show together.

Penny would always keep track of the time, and five minutes before it was due to start, she’d be tugging him by the hand to the couch and climbing in his lap. You’d snuggle up to his side, and when you’d had Wayne, he’d get comfy in your lap. Whenever Eddie was home from tour, it was the same thing; something that kept him sane and happy.

And now Penny basically wanted to kill him. Hadn’t growing up been enough for her? She wanted to deprive him of his bonding time, too?

“I know,” came her hesitant reply as she lifted her shoulders.

His heart was breaking. Eddie’s gaze darted from her to you and back.

“Did your mom say it was okay?” He knew how you felt about her going out, hopefully you’d already said no and this was one of those ‘let me ask the other parent things’.

“Yeah.” Penny nodded, glancing over her shoulder at your back as you pretended to not hear every single word. It was like you and Eddie shared a heart, and you could very much feel his pain.

Eddie stared at her for a couple of moments, stared right into those big beautiful brown eyes of hers, his tongue pressing against his canine tooth.

He knows he’s supposed to see Penny, his 15 year old daughter, but he just sees his baby girl; his tiny little toddler in her overalls with her untamable curls going in every direction and remnants of a sticky treat smeared over fat-filled baby cheeks, who always wanted to be around him, be with him. That’s who he sees staring back up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

But that’s not her anymore, is it?

Eddie blinked, glancing away from her as he cleared his throat and tried to will the moisture from his eyes away even though he knew he’d get high and cry over this later.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, baby. You go have fun.”

“Thank you, daddy!” Penny rushed forward, mindful of Maple as she hugged Eddie. He held onto her for longer than was necessary but she had a feeling this was hard for him, and she still loved it when he held her so she let him.

Then she’d almost bound out of the kitchen before she whirled around on her heels and ran to hug you from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Curfew.” You reminded her and she nodded in agreement, not willing to push her luck and moved onto her next target.

Penny sunk her hand into Wayne’s curls, shaking his head and laughing as she bobbed away in time to escape his swipe.

“Later, knucklehead.”

“Don’t touch me, beyotch.”

“WAYNE!” You and Eddie shouted while Penny just laughed and made a run for the front door before you and Eddie could change your minds.

“What? I say it to her all the time.” He shrugged and got off the island stool, making his way to the living room so you couldn’t yell at him. Wayne had grown over the years, too.

While he had started off looking like an exact replica of Penny, his features had changed a bit. He still resembled you quite a bit but he had his dad’s nose, eyes, chin and dimple, making the similarities nearly uncanny. Unlike his dad (though Eddie had recently cut his mane), Wayne liked to keep his hair short but was alike to Penny as he also had his dad’s personality and attitude, and then some.

Wayne had been diagnosed with autism in the past—had nothing to do with the circumstances of his birth—and while you’d been briefly concerned about how to raise him, it was clear he’d be just fine in life, he really only interacted with the world differently than others, lacked a filter but he was still a sweetheart. To anyone except his sisters, anyways but it was always playful. On multiple occasions you’d caught them all conked out together in the living room or each other's rooms.

Maple detached herself from Eddie to follow him and you listened to their commentary.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Oh my god, Maple.”

“Is it because you’re autistic?”

“No, it’s not because—maybe it is, I don’t know, just—shush.”

You rolled your eyes and abandoned your task again in favor of comforting Eddie. He sagged into you as your arms curled around his waist.

“Honey, I’m gonna need a bowl to survive tonight.”

“I’ll pack you one,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to his pouty lips. “I know that must have been very hard for you.”

“The other two are gonna finish me off if they try to grow up.”

Almost an hour and a half later, in the midst of the episode, you got up to get a refill of popcorn and encountered Penny as she walked through the front door.

You hadn’t been expecting her back for at least another two hours.

“Hey, baby.” You approached her with a gentle tone, mom senses tingling. Penny looked nervous.

You were about to ask her what was wrong when she blurted out, “I got high, mom.”

Okay, you hadn’t been expecting that so you tried to school your shock. “Oh.”

“They were passing around a bong and I took a hit and I just wanted to come home.”

“Okay.” You could tell it was her first experience with it, thank fuck, and while you weren’t pleased she’d done it, you were happy she’d come back home when she was obviously freaking out and where she’d be able to sober up in a safe setting. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get into your pajamas? The episode is still going on, you can curl up on the couch with us if you want.”

She looked relieved and nodded before running upstairs to her room.

By the time you’d made more popcorn and returned to the den, Penny was back downstairs, in her PJs, and curled into Eddie’s free side, the side she’d always occupied. While Eddie had gotten over the majority of his blues by the time The Simpsons started, you could tell he was still a little sad.

Now, there wasn’t a trace of the emotion on his face, he looked perfectly content and happy as he beckoned you over to his other side, your spot and you went willingly.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your head as you resettled yourself, and relaxed further into the comfortable couch. The family of yellow cartoon characters held his attention for just a moment before his eyes did one last sweep.

Despite the open recliner and their bickering, Wayne and Maple—heads barely visible with all the blankets they were hogging—shared the love seat.

Penny looked relaxed—she seemed anxious when she’d come in to the den to join them and surprised the fuck out of Eddie—eyelids drooping as she cuddled right up to him.

Then his eyes fell on you. The lights from the television danced over your face, the perfect picture of peace as you rested your head on his shoulder, hand over his chest. Eddie wanted to kiss you so bad.

You always said that your shared life was Eddie’s doing but he knew the truth. You’d given him all of this.

For some strange reason, one he was very thankful for, you wanted him out of everyone in Hawkins. You’d married him, a loser who took three fucking years to graduate high school. You’d given him one child, then another and still encouraged him to pursue his dreams. He honestly hadn’t expected to play anywhere but in state. And when his band blew up, you still stayed by his side and gave him another baby. It wasn’t easy, he remembers the fights, the tears and every single trial thrown your way but the two of you had made it out on top with your family intact and stronger than ever.

Homer’s yelp of pain followed by his family’s laughter brought Eddie out of his contemplation and he joined in.

Yeah, this was the life.

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tennessoui · 4 months

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For the prompt list, nanny/single parent obikin would be amazing!!

(from this prompt list)

(the first time I answered this prompt two years ago, the nanny anakin au was born)

so to do something different, here's some gffa widowed anakin, nanny (sort of) obi-wan!

(2.5k)

It is hard to find time to grieve. There are too many things to do. Too many appointments to make, too many decisions Anakin isn’t sure he’s qualified for. Some decisions are easier than others. For example, the funeral will be on Naboo. There will be two services: a public one to honor Padmé’s public service, and a private one to honor who she was as a person. The casket will be closed, because his wife died when her cruiser exploded. There isn’t much left to bury anyway.

But some decisions are harder. Which flowers should go on her casket. What songs would she want sung and who should sing them? Would she prefer her grave closer to her ancestral home or the home she created in her adulthood?

If she told anyone the answers to these questions, it wasn’t Anakin. But then, the people who knew her best, who loved her most, died with her. Sabé, Rabé, Saché, Yané, all of her handmaidens—an assassination such broad strokes that it was impossible for it to fail.

So Anakin chooses Yali lilies, because Leia’s eyes linger on them the longest. He chooses a small Nabooian folk band to play after her service because their music is the first thing to make Luke lift his head from his coloring books in days. He formally requests that her body be buried among her ancestors, and the Nabierres agree immediately.

And he keeps telling himself that he will grieve, but there is so much to do.

And then—then there’s after the funeral. Then there’s the rest of his life, sprawling out before him in a long, hazy road.

There are more decisions to be made.

There are people who have opinions on them now, people who sat back and let Anakin muddle through flower arrangements and kriffing seating charts, who now step in to peer over his shoulder, monitor his every breath.

Should he really move the children back to Coruscant? Does he truly plan to continue to work as a mechanic in the Mid-Levels? Should he not think of the children, their needs? How can he support them on the thin amount of credits he makes? Would it not be better for the children to live on Naboo in the care of their grandparents and their extended family?

It would be what Padmé would have wanted.

Anakin cannot care about what Padmé would have wanted, because she isn’t here. Not to argue with him, not to make her wants known. She is dead. She doesn’t get to haunt him in the waking world too.

“What do you want?” he asks plainly, sitting down across the table from his two children. The twins blink back at him. Leia has finished her cereal. Luke has barely touched his.

“Bacon,” Luke says.

Anakin hadn’t meant for breakfast, but he figures it’s as good of a start as any. “Alright,” he agrees.

He stands once more and goes to the kitchen. It’s not exactly his domain. It was never Padmé’s either. The way Padmé grew up, food was made once you requested it—by droid, by cooking staff. Not by the hand of a Nabierre.

The way Anakin grew up, food was cobbled together carefully, sparingly no matter how much you requested it. And no matter how you cooked it, it always tasted a little like dust, which took the joy out of experimentation.

But the serving staff have been dismissed for the past two weeks to give the family time and space to grieve in private.

(Padmé’s parents have been given a schedule for visiting hours for that exact reason.)

Anakin locates the pan; then, he locates the package of bacon strips.

When he glances up, both twins are watching him over the edge of their barstools, tiny faces showing both skepticism and incredulity.

“I want to know what you want to do,” Anakin says, raising his voice as he places the pot over the heating plate, the meat in a moment later. “Do you want to stay here with your grandmother and grandfather? Do you want to go back to Coruscant?”

The twins are quiet. Anakin twists his neck to look at them again, and they’re looking at each other, silently communicating the way only twins can.

“Where will you be?” Leia finally asks, looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, bottom lip already jutting out.

Anakin blinks. “Wherever you are,” he answers.

“You won’t leave too?” Luke asks rather tremulously.

Anakin takes the pan off the heated plate and turns it off with a decisive flick of his wrist. “Of course not,” he says. “Come here.” He crouches down and barely has enough time to open his arms before the twins are there, pressing in as close as they can get to him. He holds them back just as tightly in return.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises into Leia’s hair. “Not without you two.”

—-----------------

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that this is, by necessity, a lie.

The twins don’t want to stay on Naboo, which Anakin is secretly incredibly grateful for. He doesn’t want to either, but he knows he’d just be called selfish should he express the opinion.

But the twins don’t want to go back to Coruscant either. This makes sense as well. It would be incredibly jarring for them to go back to living in the quarters they shared with their mother, her Upper Coruscanti apartments in the nicest district of the planet, without her there.

Anakin wishes it were as simple as sticking a pin on a planet and deciding to uproot the entirety of his family to live there.

But it’s not.

Perhaps if he were still young, nineteen, newly free and in love with the taste of that freedom, it would be.

But he’s a widower now. He has his children to think about, their futures. Any planet he chooses must have what they need as well.

And they are four year olds who have just lost their mother. Their needs are numerous.

What makes the decision for him in the end is that his boss knows a man from Stewjon, who is willing to hire him. Who is willing to pay a premium for his expertise with mechanics.

Anakin doesn’t know the first thing about Stewjon, other than that it’s an ocean planet in the Inner Core and his dead wife always said the Senators from Stewjon were so frigid and tight-lipped because they spent the first few days of each visit trying not to be seasick on the Senate floor.

Anakin isn’t sure why this is the very first thing he tells the man—his potential boss—he meets behind the counter in the mech-shop on Stewjon.

He’s left the children with their grandparents for the week—long enough to fly from Naboo to Stewjon, meet with his potential employer, interview, apply his work practically, and fly back out.

He’d explained to both twins why they had to stay on Naboo. He’d explained many times. That hadn’t changed the betrayed look Leia had worn as she saw him off. It hadn’t wiped the tears from Luke’s eyes.

“Ah, well, I can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” the mechanic says. He sounds amused, and Anakin is incredibly shocked to hear a Coruscanti accent. Everyone he’s spoken to since arriving planetside has had such a heavy brogue that he’d honestly struggled to understand their directions to the shop—Kenobi & Sons.

Anakin lets himself look again at the man behind the counter. He’s rather clean for a mechanic, he decides. His beard is red, a common factor around these parts apparently, but his beard is short and neat, trimmed to accentuate the strong lines of his jaw. His eyes are a stormy blue, the kind of blue that matches the Stewjoni ocean.

“Between you and me though,” the man smirks and leans onto the counter with his elbow. His tunic is dark gray, white starchy fabric peeking out beneath the v-necked collar. “I’ve never been a fan of Stewjoni politicians anyway.”

“Oh?” Anakin asks, sidling a step closer to the counter. The man has the beginnings of gray at his temples, and his eyes are lined with wrinkles. They don’t make him look old though, Anakin decides. They make him look…well-lived.

“I’ve not a head for politics much at all,” his future employer shakes his head slightly with a small smile. His eyes flick up and down Anakin’s face, lingering on his lips and then lingering longer on the scar over his brow. Anakin feels rather flushed under the inspection, and he shifts his weight forward until he’s leaning up against the counter too.

There’s something about this man that’s rather…magnetic. It pulls him in. It makes him want to linger.

Good characteristic for a shopkeeper to have, though Anakin privately decides that the man before him has a face that’s wasted on mechanics, buried under some ship’s underbelly in a backroom.

“Me neither,” he admits, a moment too late to sound anything but highly distracted. It makes the man smile again though, a flash of straight white teeth.

“Is there anything you do have a head for then?” he asks. His tone is light, airy, rather teasing.

This is the strangest interview Anakin has ever had.

“Um,” he says. “Well. There’s mechanics.”

“Oh?” The man’s eyebrow lifts at an elegant angle. He props his chin on the palm of his hand and looks up at Anakin through his eyelashes. “Then why come here to us then?”

“Um,” Anakin says, and not because the man looks rather unfairly flattering like this, amber eyelashes in sharp relief against the blue of his eyes.

They’re interrupted by the sounds of clattering in the backroom, stomping and cursing. The man before him straightens with a slight sigh and picks up the closest flimsipad. “And what brings you in here today, sir?” he asks rather loudly, pitching his voice back to the other room of the shop pointedly. “Problem with your speeder? Serving droid? Cruiser? If it’s your astromech droid, I regret to inform you that I’ll have to refuse you service on account of the fact that I don’t particularly care for them.”

Anakin thinks he splutters, but whatever noise he makes is definitely drowned out by the rather irritated shout of Obi-Wan! that comes from the back.

A moment later, a man storms through the door, looking annoyed. "We will service an astomech if that's what's broken, Obi-Wan."

Now this is a man that Anakin can believe is a mechanic. His nails are blackened with oil, and his bare, burly arms carry smudges of the stuff. He’s much broader than the man—Obi-Wan—that Anakin had been talking to. He’s bald with a reddened scalp and a rather large red beard that’s the antithesis of the other man’s in every way. His clothes are dirty, loose, and the color of ash. He looks older too—whereas Obi-Wan could easily be in his thirties, this man must be pushing fifty.

He snaps at Obi-Wan in a language that Anakin doesn’t understand. Obi-Wan shrugs and hands over the flimsi pad without argument.

“Um, actually,” Anakin says, feeling incredibly wrong-footed. “Which one of you is Kenobi?”

“I am,” both of them say. Obi-Wan’s smirking slightly. The other man’s voice is louder, carrying that Stewjoni accent so obviously lacking in Obi-Wan’s speech.

The older man closes his eyes as if he’s praying for patience. “We both are,” he says. “Though if your ship’s malfunctioned, sir, I’m the Kenobi you want to see. This one’s good for naught but magic tricks.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at other things,” Obi-Wan turns his smirk full-force at Anakin, dropping his eyes to Anakin’s lips once more.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker,” he says very quickly in a very normal tone of voice that is most definitely not a squeak. “I’m here to interview for a position. As another mechanic.”

“Oh,” the older Kenobi says.

“Oh,” the younger Kenobi says in a much different tone.

The older Kenobi pinches at his nose for a moment before turning around the counter and offering his hand. “Ben,” he says. “Ben Kenobi.”

Anakin takes his hand and shakes it, eyes traveling back to Obi-Wan. Is he supposed to shake his hand too?

“I’m the Son in the sign,” Ben says gruffly as if that answers his question.

“I’m the reason it’s plural,” Obi-Wan adds, busying himself with the contents of the counter. From what Anakin can tell, the man is just messing up the carefully organized piles of receipts.

He decides that he would rather not get the job than point this out to Ben.

Ben huffs out something in Stewjoni that sounds downright insulting, but that doesn’t stop Obi-Wan from smiling sunnily up at Anakin. “My brother enjoys bitching and moaning that I came back home when I was seventeen, but he’s awfully quick to foist his children off on me when he’s called to shift at the rig offshore and Marci’s off-planet too.”

Anakin blinks. He feels like that’s the safest answer.

“Only thing good that blasted Jedi Order ever taught you was how to handle younglings,” Ben says, and then spits on the ground as if the words themselves have left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anakin blinks and wonders if he should say something to remind the brothers that he’s here. For an interview. “And my magic tricks,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes slightly before catching Anakin’s eye and winking. With a wave of his hand, a flimsi-sheet flies over the counter and into Anakin’s chest. He catches it unthinkingly. “Would you like to sign in, sir?” “Get out of here,” Ben barks, snatching the flimsi from Anakin’s hand and pushing it back to the counter. “Like I said, the only one’s impressed with that is the younglings.”

“I don’t know, your man looks impressed,” Obi-Wan says slyly, even as he pushes himself away from the counter and around the edge of it.

Anakin isn’t sure what he looks like. He doesn’t think impressed is the word he’d use though.

When Obi-Wan brushes past him, the static electricity in the air jumps between their shoulders. Anakin feels as if he’s been shocked.

Obi-Wan must feel it too because he stops only a few inches away and looks at Anakin. For the first time, his expression is open. Curious. Considering.

“Get!” His brother insists, and Obi-Wan obeys, throwing one last look over his shoulder at Anakin before he slips out the door.

The shop feels somehow much bigger now that the other man has left. Ben sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He looks older now. More worn. “So that was my brother,” he tells Anakin wearily. “Who you would most likely see frequently if you were to take this job. I would understand completely if you would like to start by talking compensation.”

#asks #prompt fills #obikin #so he's not a nanny YET #i absolutely got too into the exposition lol #but in my mind he looks after luke and leia while anakin is at work #and then after a few months anakin is asked to do a few week stint at a rig off shore #(thnk of it either like oil rig or like the underwater station in the kenobi show)#and he goes and obi-wan looks after his kids #ok mostly i just wanted to write obnoxious little brother obi-wan #he leaves the order at 15 to go to melida/daan #and isn't allowed back in so he fights and rebuilds #but eventually leaves and goes to stewjon where he finds his family #and his brother both hates him and loves him more than anything else in the world #and hates the jedi order for rejecting him and letting him fight and risking his baby brother's life #and obi-wan finds this amusing and also secretly touching #you can tell i thought way too much about this brother dynamic lol #but just imagine the you hurt my brother speech this guy will give to anakin #and obi-wan's in the back like im thirty nine

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storiesofsvu · 10 months

Text

Solace in Solitude Chapter 1

Emily Prentiss x reader (eventual) warnings: language, hurt/comfort, mentions of medical issues/trauma/injuries, obvious mentions of the episode "Lauren". fair warning: i'm doing minimal research medically for this fic, so for the love of all things holy don't be commenting or sending asks with unsolicited comments about how I got it wrong. I didn't go to med school, I only watched 19 seasons of grey's anatomy, alright? 😂I'm not saying everything in here is accurate lol. Anyway! here we go! let's start another adventure with Agent Prentiss.

It was your new morning routine, one that you finally felt you’d settled into, a quick breakfast and getting ready in your apartment, grabbing your lunch from the fridge before making your way out to the streets of Paris. The subway journey wasn’t far, you were lucky enough to live relatively close to the hospital, making your commute honestly, pretty enjoyable. You hadn’t been here long enough for things to feel mundane, most days it still kind of felt like it was a vacation, a trip you’d enjoy and be back home before you knew it.

You stopped in at a café a couple of blocks away, a coffee for yourself, a bag of assorted pastries for the fellow attending;s and another one to leave at the nurses station. You were fluent in French, having no issues communicating with any of the workers and that continued when you arrived at the hospital, a friendly ‘bonjour’ a quick ‘comment ca va?’ in the locker room as you changed into your scrubs, slipping into the role you played while you were at work. The one where you had been transferred in from somewhere else in Europe, where you exclusively spoke French and worked various trauma cases with the hospital. You wandered up to the nurses station wondering what today would bring, knowing that you really only had one long term patient, the most were overseen by doctors who had been there longer or they’d been discharged already. A few more greetings in French, a catch up on gossip and some jokes tossed between everyone before the neurosurgeon came up, tucking their chart back into the pile.

“Hey, your girl in three twelve is finally up.”

“What?” Your head shot up, eyes nearly wide, “really?”

“Well she’s not up yet, but they took her off the vent overnight.”

“She’s breathing on her own?” You asked and they nodded.

“No signs of neurological damage either. Looks like she should be in the clear.”

“Thanks.” You shot them a grin, picking up the chart as you wandered down the hallway to check on how your VIP patient was doing.

Emily felt her eyelids twitch before she was really aware of anything else, her brain slowly starting to wake up after being under for so long. She pulled air into her lungs with a bigger breath than normal and her throat hurt, her chest hurt, hell, everything hurt. She wasn’t quite sure what she last remembered, but a dull beeping and the smell of rubbing alcohol certainly wasn’t it. It took a while for her to finally be able to open her eyes, groaning quietly at the bright lights of the room. She knew lights like those, they belonged in hospital rooms, she tried to move her arm to shield her eyes and winced as pain shot through her body. Blinking a few times she managed to roll her head, looking around the room, it was definitely a hospital, a private room if she guessed correctly but there was something different about it. She tried to remember anything, her biggest memory was Ian standing over her, an elated smile on his face as all she felt was immense pain wafting through her body as it turned cold.

She winced suddenly at the memory of the table leg, as if she felt the original impact all over again and her other hand rose this time, gently palming at her stomach through her gown. She could feel stitches and she let out a low breath, her memories had happened, but somehow she was alive. She raised her wrist, squinting at the hospital band, trying to figure out how long she’d been here and that was when she got even more confused, the only thing she could properly make out was ‘Valerie Stewart.’ She felt her heart jump in her chest, had she been misidentified? A family thinking their daughter, wife, sister was alive and they would be disappointed when it was actually just her? She peered at the tiny print, trying to figure out the rest of it, it was somewhat recognizable but it was as if she couldn’t quite figure it out yet, like she’d known it in a past life.

The door suddenly opened, thought it shut quietly and she figured whoever was coming through it was someone who thought she was still asleep. It was as if she was still in a haze, you shot her a small smile and said something she recognized but couldn’t fully put together yet. It was like you were one of the adults on Charlie Brown, she registered the noise coming out of you but it sounded like gibberish. She watched as you flicked through her chart, reading the updates from the night before and adding in your own notes, you moved to check her vitals, adding them to the chart and suddenly there was a nurse in the room. The two of you made a verbal exchange and Emily felt like she had cotton balls in her ears, extremely frustrated with herself that she somehow couldn’t understand what was going on.

“Wh- where am I?” She finally managed to choke out and you glanced toward her with wide eyes. You shot her a look that she knew meant to wait, while you said something in fuzzy gibberish again, watching until the nurse had finally left and you sighed softly, replying to her in English this time.

“It’s likely your throat’s going to be sore for a few hours, you were intubated for quite a while.”

“Wait…you’re American?” She croaked, shifting so she could sit up and you jumped to her bedside.

“Whoa, whoa, let’s let the bed do the work right now.” You very gently pushed her shoulder back onto the bed, reaching for the remote to get her upright, “yeah, I’m from Boston.” You let out a breath, glancing toward the door again, “to answer your first question we’re at Saint-Louis Hospital in Paris.”

“Paris?” Emily asked, nearly wincing at the pain her side, at least her brain was slowly starting to realize why she couldn’t understand things at first. She’d woken up with her English thoughts, the longer she thought about it the more she was able to slowly able to translate things into French. “Why? How?”

“I am still not completely sure.” You replied, leaning against the edge of her bed, “I just know what came into my ER that night and what I was told after ward. You should be glad you’re recovering as well as you are Valerie.”

“It’s not—” She started but you cut her off with a glare and she practically pouted, pursing her lips.

“As far as I was told, your name is Valerie and you got in a bad car accident in Versailles, you were air transferred here for recovery.”

“What happened?” She looked up at you with such vulnerability that you couldn’t help but let out a soft breath, glancing to the door to make sure no one else was going to come in before you delved into the night that changed your life forever.

“Doctor Carter we have incoming!” A nurse called out and you let out a groan.

“I’m about to punch out, page your on calls.”

“I really think this one needs you.” They replied and you rolled out the tension in your neck, grabbing a gown.

“What’ve we got?”

“Late thirties, female, potential concussion or head injuries, likely broken ribs along with internal bleeding, impaled object to the lower abdomen. She’s already coded in the ambulance.”

“Alright, let’s get going. Set up trauma three, make sure we’ve got extra blood on hand and get an O.R clear and ready!”

You were quick to glove up, shifting right back into work mode as you basically ignored everyone who came rushing in at the same time as the patient except for the EMT’s. After a quick neuro consult you worked with your team to assess injuries before getting the woman down to the operating room. The next four hours were spent repairing her internal injuries with extreme precision, you’d had to remove her spleen, stitch up a portion of her stomach, and honestly pray that she would make it through both the surgery and recovery.

You let out a deep breath of relief when her stats were stable after closing and you could finally go home. You thanked your surgical team and finally pulled off the mask to make your way out of the hospital. What you weren’t expecting were intruders on the surgical floor.

“Doctor Carter.” A voice called out and you glanced up at a dark haired man in a fitted suite, a small blonde with him.

“I’m sorry, you’re in an authorized area, you can’t be down here.”

“We’re with the FBI.” He pulled out a badge for you to examine, “how’s she doing?” He glanced toward the room.

“She lost a lot of blood but she’ll be okay. We’ve got her stable.”

“So she’ll live?” The blonde asked, a quake in her voice and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

There was a small glance between the two of them and your brow furrowed as you saw your boss coming up behind them before the man started speaking again.

“We need you to back in there and do whatever you need to do to call a time of death on her.”

“Excuse me?” You nearly laughed, “I just spent hours saving her life.”

“And there are people out there who cannot ever know that.” The blonde commented with a tight smile, “they need to think she’s dead.”

“They need you to pretend she didn’t make it.” Your boss finally spoke, “you sign the death certificate, everyone in the OR thinks she’s gone, that’s it. I’m going to go in, disconnect a couple of things so they think she’s coding.”

“And after that?”

“Once she’s semi stable she’ll be airlifted out of here.” The suit informed you.

“And you’ll be going with her.” Your boss informed you.

“I’m sorry, what? I have a department to run here.”

“And she’s gonna need you when she wakes up.” The chief continued, “you’ve done years of doctors without borders, you’re the best trauma surgeon, you’ve got experience working PT, and you’re multilingual. I know this case just happened to land in your lap but it seems like there was a reason behind it. You’re someone we trust with something like this.”

“You want me to relocate, drop my entire life that I have right now just because of a random patient?”

“She’s one of our finest.” The blonde commented, struggling to keep her composure, “and we need one of your finest taking care of her so we know she’s okay, that she’s safe. The man who hurt her is still out there…”

“For lack of a better term from now on she’s part of Witness Protection.” The suit explained, “she’ll be given an entire new identity.”

“And me?” You asked.

“We can give you a backstory if you want.” The suit continued, “but you could also just tell people you’re going abroad again. We only ask that you don’t give out any details about where you ended up or what you’re doing, and you keep extremely minimal contact with friends or family back home. Her life could depend on it.”

“So..?” You glanced between the three of them before your boss spoke again.

“You call time of death. Then you have a few days to get your affairs in order, pack up your apartment, get ready for a new life. I’ll put in the paperwork to make it look like borders has called you back in on a last minute necessity, then you get on a plane.”

“I’m guessing I don’t really have a say in the matter, do I?” You glanced between the three of them before letting out a soft sigh, grabbing a fresh mask and looking to the chief, “okay.”

“What… does that all mean?” Emily asked, struggling over her words as she tried to clear her throat. You moved from the bedside to fill up a cup of water for her.

“Without a spleen you’ve got an increased risk of illness or serious infection and you’ll likely have a harder time recovering from them or injuries in the future, which is another reason we kept you under so long. We removed part of your stomach so if you have any plans on binging food, you’re gonna get sick, you had three broken ribs and one cracked one. I’ll have a nurse take you up to x-ray later to check on those, considering you’ve been immobile it’s likely they’re pretty healed already.”

“Great.” She grumbled, dropping back against the pillow.

“You’re gonna be pretty tired for a bit, in a couple of days we can see about getting you up and mobile, but certainly no strenuous activity until those stitches are out. You’ve been healing nicely so far. There’s going to be a lot of work to get you back to where you were but the main point is that you’re alive, and you’re going to be okay. I’ll be here every step of the way to make sure of that. I’ll have a nurse bring some food in, make sure that tv’s up and running, let them know if you need anything else.”

“My team?” She glanced up at you, confusion still etched across her features.

“The blonde and the suit know you’re alive, but I don’t think even they know where you are.”

“Oh…”

You paused by the foot of her bed, resting her chart on the table as you sighed softly, “listen… I know that this is a lot, and it’s probably even more confusing considering you just came out from anaesthesia and I really don’t have all the answers. All I know is that Emily Prentiss died on March seventh.”

“And that was…?”

“Three and a half weeks ago.” You scooped up her chart, “I’m Dr Carter, have someone page me if you need me, I’ll be back to check on you later. Welcome to Paris, Valerie.”

Emily watched as you gave her a tight smile before disappearing from the room and she sunk back deeper into the pillows. She let her eyes slowly shut, maybe if she kept them shut long enough when she reopened them she wouldn’t be here, she be back stateside, with people she knew, people she loved. The hope only lasted so long, an ambulance siren blared outside the window and she felt her body run cold before a shock jolted through her and she opened her eyes with a gasp, her heart racing as she glanced around in a blur. She took a heavy breath, trying to calm herself down as memories from that night started to creep back into her brain. Her hand came up to her mouth as she started to chew on her nail, she wasn’t even really sure what emotion was surging through her right now, or if it was some weird combination, thankful to be alive, heartbroken to have left her found family, and full of anxiety of suddenly being thrown into a life that wasn’t hers.

Lauren Reynolds was dead.

Emily Prentiss was dead.

Now it was her turn to make sure that Valerie Stewart didn’t end up the same way.

___________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @melindawarnersgf @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @scorpsik @prentiss-theorem @strongsassysexysloane @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @theclassicgaycousin @regalmilfs4me @kalixxh @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @iluvsreid @kmc1989 @storiesofsvu2-0

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #solace in solitude #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss series #enemies to lovers

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sexybabystevie · 11 months

Note

Hi! I just saw you reply the Steve comparing hands as flirting and I had to also then check that your requests are open, they are 😂 so could I please request that one? I had a boy flirt with me in grade 7 by doing that with shoes/feet (mind you I was oblivious 😂) and that reminded me of it and I had a giggle.

A/n: Okay so first of all, thank you for this request! It's SO cute, and I planned on this being maybe 1k, but it turned into a bigger fic, which I'm not mad about lol. This is seriously one of the softest things I have EVER written and I adore it. Like seriously, this has my heartbeat skipping down sixteenth avenue type shit 😭 Anyway, enjoy some soft Stevie, Family-Video-loserboy-with-a -crush style!

Small Hands, Big Heart

Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: No Warnings, Pure Fluff, Soft!Steve Harrington, Semi-Shy!Reader, Flirting, Steve Harrington is a Major Dork, Family Video!Steve Harrington, Crushes, Hand Holding, Tooth-Rottening Fluff.

Word Count: 3581

Summary: Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes.

His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

There’s an air about you – something laid back and relaxed, comfortable and familiar – that strikes Steve Harrington every time you walk into Family Video. Hair perfectly styled even on the days when you’re in sweatpants, gliding around the store like some kind of celebrity on the red carpet, he can practically see the golden, glittering stars surrounding your body like an angelic halo. You don’t even notice though, he can always tell in the way that you smile at him as you shyly ask if there’s a copy of Pretty in Pink available, like you might somehow be imposing upon him by asking him to do his job. Like he wouldn’t set his entire workplace on fire for you if you batted your pretty eyelashes and asked him to.

Okay, yeah, he’s in deep. Deeper than he should be for some enchanting stranger, that’s for sure.

But you’re cool. Yeah, that’s it, cool, and what’s he supposed to do? Just not think about slipping a paper with his number inside the case of the latest movie you decide to rent? Not have Robin point out how he gets lost in romantic fantasies while staring at you, completely forgetting to tend to the other customers in the store? As if.

No, Steve thinks he’s not about to let this go, even if it means eventually messing things up by accidentally saying his favorite genre of movies is boobies – massive apology to Rachel Moore for that disaster, although at least Robin found new reason to start up another You Rule, You Suck chart on one of the fancy sticky notes embellished with the Family Video logo. Yeah, that was great.

So far, he’s losing zero to twelve, a score that’s humiliatingly worse than anything he ever achieved – or didn’t achieve – working at Scoops Ahoy, and he doesn’t even have to wear that stupid hat anymore. His self-proclaimed best quality is flawless and in full view of anyone around, a little messier than his high school days but stylistically so, and yet he still can’t work the charm like he could just a few years ago. If it wasn’t the ridiculous sailor uniform or the hat that covered up his hair, then did he just lack game entirely?

No, absolutely not. He still had it, and he was going to prove it. He would find some way to talk to you – really talk to you, not just the small conversation he’d make while searching your name into the computer system to charge your account – and he would pull it off. He was going to get a perfect grade from Miss Professor Robin, doctorate in the study of loser and non-loser romantic interactions. So much so that she would have to give him a million You Rule tally marks, something totally achievable and normal to want, he was certain.

Were you out of his league? Absolutely. Did that deter his persistence? Not at all.

He was going to do this, even if it turned out to be a dumpster fire. Even if his hair wasn’t looking exactly the way he wanted it to be. Even if Robin was jokingly preying on his downfall in that long-time-best-friend way that she did. Even if the doorbell was ringing right now to signal your superstar arrival, and even if you were flashing him a smile that literally made him forget how to breathe for approximately forty-seven seconds.

Shit.

Steve’s leaning forward, his elbows plastered to the countertop, almost falling over it because he’s so glued to watching you. You give him a little wave that nearly sends him toppling backwards into the floor – now that he thinks of it, are you sure you aren’t a god with some kind of wind powers? You certainly are pretty enough to be one – before beelining straight to the romcom section. Like usual. He can’t help but smile to himself, definitely the lovesick puppy look Robin said he had mastered recently.

As you peruse the movies in stock, his mind does its typical wandering. Romantic-comedy seemed to be your favorite movie genre, but what was your favorite type of music? Favorite food, favorite color? Were you more into pop music, sweet vanilla cupcakes, and various shades of lilac, or did you prefer the darker hues of colors, savory cheeseburgers, and something a little more lyrically intense? Or were you a mix of both, maybe even neither?

Everything about you was addictively unknown; you were a package of silly little mysteries he wanted to unwrap bit by bit, saving the more intimate and personal details for later. The best for last, right? Thinking of the possibilities was driving him wild, though, because how could he not know your all-time favorite song yet? And, god forbid, your favorite ice cream flavor? Now that was something he was skilled in – he’d probably never forget the sweet but slightly nutty scent of pistachio ice cream ever in his lifetime – and maybe he could show you that. Would it impress you if he let you try the mean banana split he could conjure up? It was good enough to be the primary thing Erica Sinclair ever ordered from the ice cream parlor, even demanding that Steve be the one to make it himself instead of the other workers. Poor Robin – or maybe lucky Robin, knowing the sass of the young girl all too well. Yeah, lucky Robin, for sure.

But maybe Steve could be lucky too. He knew the moves other guys his age made, flirtatious comments that were borderline crude – and yeah, okay, he admits he has occasional conversations about boobies – but he doesn’t want to play that kind of game with you. He doesn’t want to be like all the other guys, expendable and almost disrespectful in his mannerisms and language; no, he wants to treat you right. He wants to be good to you, to treat you with all the care and love and wonder of a da Vinci painting, and if he’s finally lucky then maybe you’ll let him, because, really, what did the Mona Lisa even have on someone as beautiful as you, anyway?

Robin’s elbow crashes into Steve’s side a little too forcefully, which she seems to be aware of since she gives him a slightly serious, apologetic grimace before her eyes become knowing in that way that he sometimes is afraid of. Her head jerks to the leftt and she leans in to whisper, “Incoming, ten o’clock. Shoot your shot, dingus!”

It takes him too much time to realize that she means ten o’clock as in the direction the little hand of a clock makes, though, and he doesn’t have time to prepare his lines before you’re at the counter with a VHS tape between your fingers. He doesn’t even have time to properly wipe away his token furrowed brows of confusion, so when he turns to look at you, there’s a moment where his face is half grimace, half giant smile. Your eyes narrow a bit, undeniably trying to understand what that face is about, and Steve internally face palms. Great start, Harrington, you probably look like a total nutjob.

He quickly shakes himself out of it and relaxes his face into a kind smile, leaning off of the counter to make room for you to slide your movie on top of it. You do, but he’s too busy staring into your eyes – has he ever seen eyes as magnetic, as charming as yours? – to really notice.

“Hey,” he says, just like he’s talking to any other pleasant customer, except his voice is softer, more gentle. “How are you doing?” Unlike with any other customer, he genuinely wants to know the answer.

The way your eyes light up as he asks… he didn’t possibly think he could find them more adorable. If asking about your day did that, then how would you react to him actually making moves?

“Good,” you reply, tone matching the care in his. You then glance around the store briefly, giving Steve the chance to admire the soft curve of your jawline. He pretends not to have been staring when your gaze falls back onto him. “You must be pretty bored today. This place is empty besides me.”

Was there a hint of something teasing in that last remark of yours, or is Steve imagining things?

Either way, it’s only now that he realizes you’re right – they haven’t really had any other customers. Not very typical for a Tuesday night, but he couldn’t care less, really. Not when you’re here.

“Don’t worry. You’re my favorite, anyway,” he says, heart thudding with an annoying intensity. He resists the urge to wink at you – god, he really is a loser, isn’t he? – and his hand moves to rake across his head, fingers nervously tangling in his brown hair.

You don’t answer, eyes wide with a hint of surprise. Your smile grows more bashful, something that makes Steve’s mouth grow dry, and you look down, a few strands of your own hair moving to cover your eyes. The sight of you – so shy and cute – standing right in front of him, only separated by a mere old countertop, sends his mind reeling. So close, but there’s an island between you – literally.

Seeming to overcome your brief embarrassment, you look back at Steve and smile again, this time a hint of your teeth showing behind the tiniest gap between your lips. Noticing all the small details, wondering what other little things he could find out and memorize about you, he almost feels like he’s drowning in emotion.

Get it together, dude! he thinks to himself, the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Robin.

He’s snapped out of it by your hand meekly pushing the tape further up the counter, undoubtedly trying to get him to do his actual job instead of being ridiculously distracted by you.

Like he could help it, though; you were practically his dream. Hell, he hoped that he had dreams of you each night, that he could spend time with you even if he managed to screw it up in reality. Dreams were less intimidating, despite the fact that he had no control in them. Reality was where he held the cards, where he could choose what to say and do. Somehow, that thought’s empowering enough to bring him back down to earth.

Steve takes one look at the movie you’ve chosen, though, and laughs to himself as he reads the title. Instead of staying in his mind this time, he can’t help but speak his thoughts aloud.

“Christine, huh?” He can’t fight the amused little smirk that takes over his face even if he wants to. “That’s quite a shift from your usual, isn’t it?”

You just give him a simple shrug, unapologetic aside from the way you cheekily bite the inside of your lip. Now there’s definitely a hint of that same playfulness that he thought he saw earlier, and Steve could scream out in joy as he notices that gleam in your eye. Maybe he really didn’t lose all his charm.

“Thought I might switch it up a bit, you know?”

Steve nods and turns to the giant computer next to him, tape in one hand as his other slowly and loudly types away at the clunky keyboard. He finds Christine in the film catalog and quickly flips over the tape to type in the exact product number before his deep brown eyes glance back at you. It’s like you’re a golden statue shimmering in the sun, the only neon sign in a pitch-black forest. His gaze just naturally gravitates towards you, not that he’d ever complain about it.

“You didn’t strike me as the type for Stephen King,” Steve remarks, unable to keep his true thoughts to himself.

“Is that a bad thing?” You let out a soft giggle, head tilting in a way that reminds Steve of a parrot learning how to speak. Have you been waiting to learn more about him like he has about you? You did always seem to stop by Family Video when he was on shift, making sure to have small conversations with him about your movie choices while he added the rented tape to your account, making sure that you always were in his line to be checked out, even if there were lots of other customers…

“Oh no, not at all. It was just a little surprising,” he says, shaking his head and letting out his own small chuckle. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says, “I’m the kinda guy who likes surprises.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t like the more world-ending, Upside-Down-related surprises that seem to haunt him and his unusual friend group. No, that’s more of a fourth or fifth date kind of thing to bring up.

Steve relishes the more prominent curl of your lips – oh god, don’t look at them, don’t think about how soft they would be, don’t do it! – and the way it makes you look a bit smug as you say, “Noted.”

He could think of millions of ways for that to come back into play, each one making his chest swell in an almost delightful way, but instead he continues adding Christine to your Family Video account. He finally gets to the webpage where he has to type in the customer’s name, and you must be familiar with the process because you open your mouth, the first syllable of your name escaping your lips, before Steve cuts you off. He says your name before you can, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself for the way your mouth parted in shock.

A little cockily, he says your name again as he types it. “I remembered.”

You’re only left gaping for a few moments, your expression then changing into a smile that’s even brighter than any from before, if that’s even possible. Looking at you out of the corner of his eye as the computer processes your name, Steve Harrington feels like he’s hit the jackpot.

A part of him can’t believe that you’d be so stunned at him remembering you. As if he didn’t spend far too much time thinking about you, as if he didn’t somehow end up telling everyone around him about you despite barely knowing you. As if everyone else who knew him didn’t know he was utterly infatuated and bewitched by you and your pretty little smile.

The computer finally processes the movie with a ding! and Steve reaches under the counter for a plastic bag. He takes some time packing the tape, a tiny thread of dread sewn into his heart because, while he’d certainly done a little bit of vague flirting, he still hadn’t made his real move yet, and he was running out of time. His fingers fumble with the handles of the bag as he racks his mind for anything that can help him – any line or gesture that might seal the deal.

It’s when he reaches out to pass you the plastic bag, and it’s when your knuckles brush against his that he gets a last-minute idea. With no time left to lose, he goes for it.

“Woah, you have really small hands!” he exclaims, and he’s not wrong, which is part of why it works. The other part, unbeknownst to him at the moment, is that you’ve got just as much of a silly crush on him as he has on you. “Here–” he raises one of his hands, palm facing you, “–put yours against mine and you’ll see what I mean.”

You search Steve’s eyes for a minute, a glimpse of a knowing smile on your lips, and he doesn’t even have to worry about you disagreeing or getting upset. He can just tell that you’re catching on, and that you may even be up to something when you lift your hand and press it to his.

Skin meets skin, and Steve feels dizzy. Nothing could have prepared him for how soft, how warm, it feels to have his palm against yours. It’s barely anything, an action that could be casual or friendly with anyone else, but it still makes his fingertips tingle.

He’s never felt like this with anyone else, never been quite this flustered at such a simple movement before. Not with any of the girls he knew or messed around with in high school, not with anyone else that he had few fleeting moments with working at Scoops Ahoy or Family Video. Not even with Nancy Wheeler.

He was always the cool one, always unbothered and rarely found himself blushing, never ever swooning. But here he was, feeling like he could fly over the moon because your palms were flush against each other, and despite everything, the anxiety and nerves were welcome. He likes the butterflies that gather in his stomach, that being around you puts him a little on edge, but in the best possible way.

If this is what it feels like to have a genuine, no-bullshit-attached crush on someone, he thinks that maybe he can get used to it.

He was right too; your hands are small. With the heels of your palms level with one another, your fingertips end where his finger pads begin. It’s cute, only making Steve’s heart race even faster – and if he really thinks about it, he can feel the vague vibration of your heartbeat in your thumb. He doesn’t even have to wonder if it’s pumping far too quickly like his own, he already knows it is.

His gaze moves from your hands together to your face, flickering to try and see what expression will be on that gorgeous face of yours. It’s a timid, happy smile and eyes that are staring right back at him, soft and doelike. The expression is so gentle, so special, that it makes his breath catch in his throat. He silently hopes that he’s the only one you’ve ever looked at like that.

“Told you,” he says quietly, to match the intimacy of the moment. “Small hands, but… they’re cute.”

Seemingly an instant after he says that, you shift your hand around and position your fingers between his. Before he can ask any questions or really even process it, you intertwine your fingers to hold his hand.

Luckily his body responds before his brain does, curling his own fingers and moving his thumb to rest on top of yours. Heat rises to his cheeks as he stares, and he can feel the dopey grin hopping onto his face before it’s fully there.

You giggle again, a bit louder this time, and for once his goofiness isn’t something he wants to internally chastise himself for. You actually think it’s cute, maybe even silly. He can be cute and silly for you, if that’s what you want.

Something in your eyes tells him that it is exactly what you want.

“You know,” you start, pursing your lips for a split second. “I’m used to watching all these fluffy, silly romance movies.”

You pause, eyebrows slightly risen as you wait for him to catch on to what you’re implying. He doesn’t, though; you can blame his heightened state of absence on the warmth of your skin. He’s far too caught up in that, in the fact that maybe he still does have game – thank god – to process anything you’re trying to hint towards.

The trance he’s in is visible – eyes spaced out on your face, his lips left parted so he can breathe out of his mouth slowly, and his hand gripping yours with more strength than before, like maybe you’re too good to be true and will disappear if he blinks. It’s all too much and you laugh – a real, genuine, hearty laugh that Steve immediately loves with every ounce of his heart. He’s certain that your laugh could cure anything that ails him.

“What I mean is,” you start again, taking a deep breath to recover from your short bout of joy. “I might get scared watching a horror movie.” Your eyes focus on his, giving him a little wink as you continue. “I might need someone there to keep me safe, Steve.”

The gears click in his brain, everything falling into place, and he becomes the embodiment of smugness with that signature smirk of his.

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and replies. “Well, what kind of guy would I be if I denied you that?”

The smirk fades down into a heartfelt smile, and his voice softens as his hand gives yours a brief squeeze. He can tease, but he also wants to make sure that he is being serious. “I’d love to.”

Half an hour later, after a little more conversation, you leave Family Video with a movie, a Family Video sticky note with Steve Harrington’s phone number on it in swoopy penmanship, and a promise to meet at his house tonight for a movie date.

Robin makes a reappearance from the back room, smirk on her face – Steve doesn't even have to ask her if she was watching the whole scene on the grainy security cameras, he knows her too well to already know that she was – as she marks a line and writes ‘You did it!’ under the You Rule portion of her notepad in congratulations. “Maybe you can be pretty lucky sometimes, Harrington.”

Steve can’t help but agree.

#em speaks #steve harrington #stranger things #asks #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington x you #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #st4 #stranger things 4

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year

Note

Hello! I enjoy your writing of Lucky Break and was wondering if your requests were open. If not Just wanted to stop by and say I enjoy your writing style and to keep it up!

If your requests are open would write something about the Straw hat's having a crew mate who is struggling with depression and (if you are okay with writing about this) suicidal thoughts?

I appreciate your time and effort into writing.

Before I get into this, I just want to remind anyone reading this that if you are struggling with depression and/or suicidal thoughts, you should confide in someone you can trust. Even if you feel like it's not that bad, it never hurts to have someone in your life that’s aware you're struggling with these things. I hope whoever requested this is doing well.

Warnings for discussions of depression and suicidal thoughts. Since this is such a heavy topic, I chose to leave out yandere themes from this.

Straw Hats x GN!Reader

This is a tight-knit crew with more than their fair share of trauma and emotional struggles, so it really won't take long for them to pick up on it. When one of them becomes aware, the others are soon to follow because they’re all quick to talk to each other about it. They’ll ask if anyone else noticed your behavior and discuss how to approach it.

Nami has a pretty high chance of noticing it first. Despite this, she is not the first to act on it. Not because she doesn’t care or anything, she’s extremely concerned, but she can admit she isn’t great with emotional stuff like this and she does NOT want to risk making this worse. She’ll confide in Robin, hoping that her cool and calm demeanor will be better suited to deal with this.

While she lets Robin handle that part of the issue, she does make her own efforts to improve your mood. Namely, retail therapy. Do you wanna go shopping? Well you’re going to anyway! Whatever you want, you’re getting it because she has no idea what else to do. She knows this isn’t enough to make your problems go away, but she hopes it’ll make your day at least a little better.

She also just kinda… lurks around you. Suddenly she goes from wanting complete silence and solitude while drafting sea charts to insisting that you must be with her. She’ll talk to you the whole time and explain the charts in extreme detail, trying to make you feel included. Nami also insists on having you sleep in her bed with her, making up an excuse that she’s been having nightmares. In reality, she’s scared you’re going to get up in the middle of the night and hurt yourself.

Robin, despite Nami’s faith in her, isn’t as equipped to talk with you as she would like to be. She’s prone to dealing with everything by herself, depending on others is very foreign. Her first course of action is to be around you more and make her own observations. She had her suspicions about your mental state, but now that she’s actively looking for the signs, she feels foolish to have not put it together sooner.

Her method for discussing your mental health is indirect. She pushes to have a book club with you and purposely chooses books that cover themes of depression. During your meetings, she really focuses on that aspect of the book, hoping that speaking generally on the topic would be enough to get you to open up on your own. She’s an excellent listener and will make you feel very loved and supported.

Similar to Nami, she also worries about you harming yourself at night. There’s a good chance she’ll wind up cramming herself into Nami’s bed with you too so that you’re in the middle. If you ask her why, she’ll say that she was feeling left out and wanted in on the slumber party you two were having.

Sanji feels more equipped to deal with this. He cares a lot about you, and also is likely to be the first to notice. As soon as he gets suspicious, he is gonna go out of his way to be around you and compliment you more. He’s also going to be making your favorite foods, but he’s going to rope you into making them with him. Partially as a means to keep an eye on you, and also a way to keep your mind occupied. He’ll also use it as a chance to talk to you and pick your brain a bit, but he won’t push it if you start to look uncomfortable.

If you do decide to open up, he will drop everything to listen. You could wake him up in the middle of the night and he’d spring out of bed to make some tea and a snack for your talk. He’s extremely understanding and talks through every issue in depth to try and get everything off your chest. He’s distraught to hear about your suicidal thoughts, but sadly does get it. He makes you promise to come talk to him any time you want, and will get up to check on you several times a night if you aren’t in the same room as him.

He’s responsible for clueing in the other guys to your troubles. As much as he hates to air out your dirty laundry, the possibility that you could hurt yourself makes him realize that you need as many eyes on you as possible right now.

Zoro needed to be told the most. He just thought you were in a shitty mood, and may have made an insensitive comment on it accidentally. Sanji damn near caves his skull in when he hears this and drags him off somewhere to yell at him and explain what’s going on. Zoro genuinely feels bad and will apologize to you afterwards, and not because Sanji threatened him.

He doesn’t let you know that he’s aware of what’s going on, not having a single ounce of faith in himself to be able to talk about this stuff. You do notice that he tends to be around you more. Suddenly he becomes insistent on you training with him. Nothing too intense, just enough to get your blood pumping in hopes that the exercise will help your mood even a little. On top of that, you’re now his napping buddy, and there is no getting out of it. If he lays down on the deck to nap, he’ll grab you as you’re walking by to join him. If you try to slip away to sleep by yourself, he shows up and squeezes himself into your bed.

Usopp was already onto you, Sanji just confirmed it. He has experience dealing with these kinds of things from his time with Kaya, so helping you comes naturally to him. Like with Kaya, he’s constantly telling you the most absurd, comical stories he can come up with. He’s also encouraging you to do the same. Come on, you never know when you’re going to need to bullshit your way out of a situation! You should practice with the master now while you can! He tries to get you to hype yourself up in these tall tales too, hoping to trick you into a sort of fake it til you make it mentality.

He’ll also drag you into pulling pranks on your crewmates because laughter is the best medicine! Be warned though, he is going to hide behind you if y’all get caught because he knows that no one is going to get seriously upset with you right now. Even if you don’t understand it, he’ll try and show you how to make nifty little contraptions with him. Even if they don’t work, he’ll make light of it and work hard with you to make it functional so you can have something to be proud of.

Chopper kinda beats himself up about not piecing it together. He isn’t that kind of doctor and really hasn’t researched mental illnesses that much, and now he’s kicking himself for it. Chopper is, unlike the others so far, not subtle about why he’s suddenly all up in your business. He’ll ask point blank what’s bothering you and implore you to tell him everything so he can help. Just because he wasn’t super familiar with this before doesn’t mean he can’t figure it out. He spends all his free time reading up on depression so he can best treat it.

He wants to go somewhere with cherry blossoms, surely that will help you! He’ll show you pictures in the meantime, though. You struggling with suicidal thoughts stresses him the hell out, he’s constantly afraid that you’re going to hurt or sacrifice yourself. This leads to him following you around in any dangerous situations, just to make sure he’s there to stop you from making a bad decision. You can expect him to be sleeping in your bed for the foreseeable future.

Luffy didn’t need Sanji to tell him that you were struggling, but he did need a push to say something to you first. Luffy is far more observant than anyone gives him credit for and is very emotionally intelligent. He knew you needed help, but he just kinda assumed you would ask for that help on your own because that’s what he would do. The idea that you were planning to just suffer in silence is baffling to him. They’re all your friends, why wouldn’t you say something?

Like Chopper, he’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush. He wants to know what’s wrong because the sooner he knows, the sooner he can fix it! He’s convinced he can take care of whatever is bothering you, so when he hears you out and realizes your problems aren’t exactly punchable, he’s stumped. His next move is to ask everyone else what to do. This isn’t something he knows how to deal with but he wants to change that.

His form of help is an amalgamation of what everyone else does with his own twists on it. He’ll take you out for walks to explore whatever island you’re on this time, making you look at all kinds of new things and places. Admittedly, talking things out isn’t a talent of his, but he tries to listen and give his unique brand of advice. You think people don’t like you? That’s stupid. They all like you, and anyone who doesn’t like you doesn’t matter. Something is bothering you? Punch it! You can’t punch it? Punch something else and pretend you’re punching it! His response to like 95% of your problems is along the lines of ‘just don’t worry about it’.

The suicidal thoughts really throw him for a loop. He doesn’t know what to do besides just be extra clingy because this definitely sets off his abandonment issues something fierce to think that one day you might just not be there anymore because of yourself. You and Luffy are basically one entity now, good luck getting him to stop before he’s convinced you’re doing better. Anywhere you go, he goes too. The bathroom is not an exception. He’s like a dog with separation anxiety sitting outside the door and whining until you come out (he will panic and break down the door if you take too long or it sounds like you got hurt in there). Your bed is also his bed now. He doesn’t even ask if he can sleep there, you just wake up to him making himself comfortable in it, and then he never leaves. You can expect to wake up every morning to Luffy wrapped around you like a second blanket, holding onto you for dear life.

Overall, they worry a lot about you and will go out of their ways to make sure you’re okay. There’s going to be (at least) weekly sleepovers where everyone piles into one room to have a fun night hanging out together. They’ll make sure you know you have a loving found family with them.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #monkey d luffy #zoro roronoa #sanji #black leg sanji #nami #cat burglar nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp

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ghostxrose · 4 months

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One Life After Another, Forevermore | Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five (final)

Note ~ Happy holidays, Lovelies! I'm sorry that it has taken a few days for me to post the final part, I've been busy with work and adulting, haha! Anyway, I hope that you all are excited for this finale to this fic and love it as much as I do! It will be the shortest part yet at barely 900 words but in my opinion it came out so adorable, though I am biased, haha! Well, enough with my rambling, enjoy the read My Wonderful Lovelies! <3

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!Reader, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Emotional, Temporary Character Deaths, Depictions of Injuries, Potentially Triggering Content, No Use of Y/N, Hurts So Good (let me know if I should tag anything else <3)

You were nervously playing with the end of your long dark braided hair as you walked up to the door of the classroom. You still couldn’t believe that you had gotten into U.A., let alone the Hero Course. You smoothed over your uniform then slid the door to Class 1-A open.

Your eyes swept over the few students already in the classroom then you looked up at the board for the seating chart. When you looked back to the sea of desks and located where yours was, you saw a tall blue-haired boy sternly lecturing an ash-blonde boy sitting at the desk behind yours.

You quietly made your way over to your desk and slid into the seat, making the blue-haired boy halt his lecture towards the blonde behind you. You turned in your seat to face them and gave them a shy smile when you saw that both were staring at you.

The blue-haired boy was staring at you in what seemed to be recognition but you weren’t quite sure since you had no idea who he was. But the ash-blonde boy was glaring at you intently and you couldn’t figure out what you had done wrong.

“Hi, I’m..” You introduced yourself shyly, your violet eyes darting between the two nervously.

The blue-haired boy gave an.. enthusiastic.. greeting while the blonde just made some sort of dismissive noise and turned his head to look out the window. You felt a pang of something hit you in the chest briefly before turning around to face the front of the classroom again.

After the teacher had come in and introduced himself, he had your class change into P.E. uniforms and then meet out on a baseball field. You listened as he explained what you would be doing and what the purpose of the test was before he called up a student to demonstrate one of the exercises.

“Bakugo..” Was all you heard your teacher say before your ears tuned out the rest.

You watched the crimson-eyed ash-blonde walk up to the teacher and grab the ball before moving to the pitching mound. It was like everything happened in slow motion as you watched Bakugo wind up his arm and throw the ball.

Not even the explosion from the boy’s hand could pull you out of the daze that you had apparently gone into. Your eyes met his as he walked back to stand with the rest of your classmates and you found something so familiar within all of the crimson.

You went through the series of Quirk tests completely absent from reality. It’s like you were on autopilot and out of your body until you heard Aizawa Sensei’s words dismissing your class. The other girls from your class had picked up on your strange behavior and tried to make sure that you were feeling okay. They wore worried looks on their faces as you all changed in the locker room and made your way back to the classroom.

By the end of the day, you had still felt like you weren’t back in your body. Or rather, you felt like something was missing, maybe? You couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, you just knew that you had felt off.

As you walked towards the school gates to leave, you spotted a familiar head of ash-blonde hair. You moved faster to catch up to him, unsure of why your brain thought that he would have any answers as to what was wrong with you.

“Bakugo, hey, wait a sec-” You called out as you reached for his hand.

As soon as your skin made contact with his it was like a movie started playing on fast-forward in front of your eyes, right in your mind. Flashes of different worlds, and different realities, different settings filled your vision and made you feel unsteady on your feet. Along with the flashes came feelings; unthinkable heartbreak, overwhelming joy, unimaginable physical and emotional pain, peace.

Finally, your vision cleared and you felt tears dripping down your face. You looked up at Bakugo and saw his wide shiny eyes and almost unreadable face. You felt his warm hand gripping yours almost too tightly.

Suddenly, Katsuki’s arms were wrapped tightly around you and you automatically reciprocated the action.

“My Love.” You murmured into his shoulder.

“My Violet.” His raspy voice whispered into the crook of your neck.

…

Every lifetime after that one began like that; forgetting your past lives, finding each other, remembering, then living out your lives until you died of old age.

You always passed away peacefully and always in each others’ arms.

And every time, the Goddess of Fate smiled with pride for the both of you.

You and him would never know it but the Goddess of Fate had never laughed at your shortcomings, had never found joy in taking you away from each other so early within your past lives.

The Goddess of Fate had just done what she does best; tied your souls to each other, put you through as many trials as you needed to prove your compatibility, then gave you both the peace you deserved.

You and him were never star-crossed lovers tied together as a joke, you were always meant to be true soulmates.

You and he were always meant to be Eternal Lovers...

One life after another, forevermore.

Author's Note ~ And we have reached the end of this fic *wipes tears* I loved writing this fic so much. The amount of emotion that I poured into this fic is something that I have trouble with doing again now. It was a special kind of inspiration that I had felt when writing this fic and I crave to have it back to be honest.

Even though they won't compare to how this fic turned out, let me know if I should post my other fics here! I would love to get some tips or comments about what I could do better! I don't want to be a one hit wonder, you know? I want to share my works and have them be good enough for people to really enjoy. So, please let me know what you think!

I love and appreciate every single one of you, Lovelies! <3

Tag List ~ @damnirina @queenpiranhadon

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugo brain rot #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha #mha #One Life After Another Forevermore #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki x fem!reader #fem!reader #soulmates #reincarnation

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tgmsunmontue · 2 months

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Team Player 3/7

Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.

PART ONE PART TWO

THREE

“Where am I going to take him?”

“You really need to calm down.”

“Nat, I asked him out and he said yes.”

“Mmm. A complete surprise. Shocking. Truly.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, he’s sort of the type that thinks poking fun of someone is a way of letting them know he likes them… most boys outgrow it before they leave high school.”

“What?”

“He likes you. Has liked you for years. Just… you never seemed to like him back. And now… you do.”

“I want to fuck him, I think liking him back might be stretching it a little.”

“You want to do more than just fuck him. You’re lying to yourself and it isn’t making you look good. You only wanted to fuck him when you saw him plastered with your call sign. You want him to be yours. Like, locked down and married type shit.”

“What?”

“I know, I know. You’re going on your first date, but just let me call dibs on being your best man when you get married.”

“What?”

“Are you broken? You seem broken. You’re saying what a lot.”

“I’m not broken. You’re talking about me and Hangman getting married.”

“Just calling it like I see it. Feel free to try and prove me wrong, although I think you’ll be happier if you just go with my prediction.”

“Can we focus please! Where should I take him?”

“Dinner? Movies?”

“Wow, really original…”

“I can leave.”

“No! Sorry. I’m just…”

“Nervous. I get it. You like him.”

“I do. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?”

“Well, did you want a list or a pie chart?”

“Nat!”

“Sorry. You’re allowed to like him. Apart from his justifiable large ego, he’s actually a decent guy.”

“Okay, yeah. I know. Okay. I think I might take him to Belmont.”

“I thought you said before that you didn’t want anything competitive?”

“We can just do the rides.”

“You both fly fighter jets for a living and you’re going to go thrill seeking at Belmont? Huh. That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Yeah? You think he’ll like it?”

“Seriously, you could suggest watching infomercials and getting pizza delivered and he’d do it, and like it…”

Bradley pulls a face, because he fucking doubts it, but he feels like Belmont Park will be okay. Fun. He lets Natasha leave, insists he doesn’t need her help anymore. He’s decided, even if he’s a little jittery thinking about the fact that he didn’t leave himself more time between asking Hangman out and them deciding the next day was a good day and time. He showers and dresses, pulling on his darkest jeans and oh fuck… maybe he should have kept Natasha here after all. He picks up his phone, opens it up to send her a message and there it is. A message telling him what to wear and he laughs. God she knows him so well. Not a Hawaiian shirt, he can manage that.

He blasts his rev me up playlist on the way to pick up Hangman, hoping it might fill him with some confidence, and it all slips away anyway as Hangman walks down the steps toward him. He looks relaxed, also wearing jeans though his are lighter colored, and he’s wearing a hoodie, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hangman wear.

“Am I dressed okay? You’re wearing a proper shirt…”

“Uh, you’re fine. Thought we could go to Belmont.”

“Oh cool, I haven’t been to Belmont in years.”

“Yeah, I thought we could do some rides, eat overpriced food, maybe do some games. I didn’t want to pick anything solely competitive…”

“Afraid of losing to me?”

Bradley rolls his eyes, but Natasha’s words from earlier and running through his head, that this is Hangman’s way of flirting.

“Already got a date with you, pretty sure that’s all the winning I need.”

Jake blushes. Fucking blushes and Bradley looks away and grins, realizing he can throw Jake off with sincerity. He can do that, especially because Jake is even more gorgeous when he looks a little flustered. He reverses back onto the road and heads out, wonders if it’s going to be awkward but Hangman is filling the silence, asking questions about what he’d done with his day off today and talking about what he’s done. The twenty-minute drive goes by quickly, easily, and it makes him feel better about the date ahead. He parks the car and gets out, locking it and then looks up, Hangman has his back to him, is staring up at something, he can’t look because his eyes are fixed on the back of Jake’s back, the word Roosters stretched between his shoulder blades.

He is so fucked.

PART FOUR

#hangster #sereshaw #rooster x hangman #top gun maverick #Team Player

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megamindsupremacy · 2 months

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Stewjon is Space Scotland: Names and Naming Conventions

For context, I designed an entire naming system for my Stewjon is Space Scotland AU. I'm still trying to work out the cultural logistics of it, but the actual practical logistics I have down.

To break everything down:

Stewjon is a clan-centric society, with clans and clan names having a hugely important role in the culture. I therefore had clan names feature in both the first and last name of Stewjonis.

-The last name (Kenobi) is the family/clan name, and is passed down the family paternally. This is both because I'm from a western culture with a paternal naming tradition, and also because I liked how his parents names sounded when the last names transferred paternally but not maternally. "Ken" would translate to "Clan" (I don't know if this is accurate to Scots English or Scots Gaelic, but I'm working from canon Star Wars names and trying to worldbuild from nothing so work with me here), and then the clan name "Obi" is attached, so "Kenobi" translates to "Clan Obi" or "of Clan Obi"

-The given name (-Wan, but we'll get to "Wan" in a second) is one to two syllables. All of these names are (according to Wikipedia) actual Scottish names, which I picked from the list mostly based on how well they'd sound next to the clan name.

-The prefix clan name (Obi-) is the interesting part. All children are given the father's clan name as both their first and last clan name. Therefore, Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of Ito-Benneit Kenobi, has "Obi" in both his first and last name. However, upon marriage, the couple swaps their prefix clan names to signify the tie between their clans. Therefore his mother Ito-Ceit Kenito and his father Obi-Benneit Kenobi became Obi-Ceit Kenito and Ito-Benneit Kenobi upon their marriage.

-Originally I was going to do something with the fact that "Obi" means belt in Japanese, such as making the clan names signify professions in the same way "Miller" or "Smith" would in English surnames, but I gave up because Japanese is so different of a language from what I understand that I would have just made myself very confused and everyone who understands Japanese language and culture very mad. So I just went with a vowel-consonant-vowel pattern for all the clan names and called it a day.

-Remember how I said we would come back to "Wan"? Obi-Wan wasn't born Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was born Obi-Owen (Owen is a whole 'nother thing and I decided to just give myself a freebie on it), and his name was anglicized (basic-icized?) upon being brought to the Jedi temple. Not on purpose, but it did happen. So technically the chart above should have him listed as Obi-Owen Kenobi, but I already took the screenshot so this is what we're working with.

-Culturally, it's respectful to refer to someone by their full name (Obi-Owen Kenobi). The full name stands until two people are fairly close to each other, platonically or romantically. The informal, friendly version would be their full first name (Obi-Owen). So you wouldn't call your new friend "Obi-Owen" until you're quite close, even if you're social equals. Technically you could refer to someone by their given name only (Owen), but it's awkward and Stewjonis don't really see a reason for it. All of this highlights the cultural emphasis placed on clans and clan ties in Stewjoni society.

The Family Tree

THE KIDS

Starting from the bottom, we have the four Kenobi siblings. Obi-Conn is the oldest, and he marries Yana-Eóin Kenyana, becoming Yana-Conn Kenobi. None of this happens in the story but I wrote it in the chart anyways. Obi-Eóin is nonbinary, which is why their square is white instead of blue or pink.

Obi-Mór and Obi-Pál are twins and approximately four years younger than Yana-Conn. Obi-Mór is ambiguously disabled (she has some form of muscular disability, but the specifics weren't relevant to the story). Obi-Pál is just some guy and I love him for that.

Obi-Owen is the baby of the family. He's twelve years younger than the twins (16 years younger than Yana-Conn) and was definitely an oopsie-baby. I don't need to say anything else because he is also one of the major characters of the Star Wars franchise. You know him.

THE PARENTS

Obi-Ceit Kenito and Ito-Benneit Kenobi are the Kenobi siblings' parents. I don't have much to say here other than that Ito-Benneit shortens his name to Ito-Ben, to avoid the repeated "eet" sound in his full first name. I'm sure that doesn't affect Obi-Owen's future nicknames in any way!

It is Ito-Benneit fault, by the way, that I made clan prefixes instead of surnames to be switched upon marriage. Culturally, it would have made more sense for the more commonly used first name to hold your birth clan and your less commonly used surname to indicate your linked-by-marriage clan, but I needed Obi-Benneit to marry into the name Ito-Benneit so that I could shorten it to Ben. Goddammit.

THE GRANDPARENTS

Ito-Ben's parents are entirely irrelevant so they don't exist. Sad!

Technically I didn't have to name Ito-Lili Kenuna, but I felt bad having her up there as an unnamed person. Una-Owen Kenito, as you may suspect, is where Obi-Wan's name comes from. I really wanted to highlight his Stewjoni heritage in this fic, so giving him family ties through his whole name was important to me. Obi-Ceit names Obi-Owen for her father because Una-Owen was a strong fighter, and she wants to pass that resilience to her son. Which, uh. Well he sure is resilient to things trying to kill him!

Feel free to come yell at me in the askbox about Stewjon's worldbuilding!

#mads posts #stewjon is space scotland AU #star wars #obi wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #stewjon #i have without a doubt spent more time researching for this fic than i have writing it #but honestly thats where im having the most fun #hey can you tell i took a cultural anthropology class last semester and there was a unit in family + naming conventions?#can you tell im taking a linguistics class this semester?#i dont think its obvious. it's probably really super subtle and sprinkled lightly throughout the post right #right? guys? right?#this fic started out as an excuse to write about textiles and its turned into a scots gaelic linguistic deep dive <- this user is autistic #something else about the naming system that I didnt get into the post is that it reinforces a hetero+allonormative society #because marriage is hugely important to naming practices and clan names are based on the father's clan #which presupposes there even being a father in the marriage #or even a marriage #I dont know what yana-conn and Obi-eóin will do with their kids. theyre part of the younger generation and obi-eóin is being nb is a very #strange concept for many of the older generations #given that this is star wars and xenobiology exists i dont think there would be a huge backlash #but stewjon is a human-centric society so they're not as used to non-binary *human* genders #aliens? sure. humans? uhhhh we didnt know you could do that. weird.#obi-eóin's name is never even fucking mentioned in the fic btw im just going insane over here with worldbuilding #long post

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