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livlaughloveluke · 3 months

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𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 - 𝐥.𝐜 🪸

daughter of poseidon!reader x luke castellan 🫧

summary- in an attempt to keep percy from going insane, y/n is forced to keep her relationship with luke a secret

warnings- feminine reader, post tlt but no luke betrayal (percy is there and chris and clarisse are together), use of y/n

2.4k

Since the dawn of time, you and Luke Castellan have been best friends. Attached at the hip since birth, the two of you have always been close. He was the one who helped you conquer your most intimidating challenges, whether that be the nervousness due to the first day of school or a Minotaur vigorously hunting you down.

And you assisted him, too. On those sleepless nights due to haunting nightmares, you lay beside him, comforting him through every scared shiver. It had always been Luke and Y/N, two peas in a pod, destined to spend eternity together.

Now, you both reside in Camp Half-Blood, eagerly awaiting your next adventure. You loved your time at the summer camp, whether it was tending to the young children or paddle boarding on the smooth and crystal blue lake that glimmered as sunlight passed through. It was thrilling to live such a beautiful life with the people you loved most.

It all started when you waltzed into the infirmary at fourteen, hurt and confused, with Luke and Annabeth by your side. The journey to get here was long and painful, losing one of your best friends, Thalia, in the process. Your head throbbed as Chiron explained the basis of everything, since this whole Greek God situation could be hard to process.

Poseidon, the God of the Sea, claimed you with ease the moment he saw you lingering by the lake all day. With Hermes, it took him a lot longer to accept Luke. However, you cheered him up when no one else could, lighting up his whole world, and no matter how bummed he was about his absent father, your illuminating smile shifted his mood instantly.

You’ve been a year-rounder since then; the world is too dangerous for you to venture off. Every once in a blue moon, however, you wish that just for one year, the monsters would stop prowling and you could explore the cities that tourists swarmed on a regular basis. Other times, you were happy to live in the warm solace you referred to as camp. The companions made inside the safe haven were incomparable to all the mysteries that roamed outside.

Around a year ago, a small blond boy arrived, his cluelessness mirroring yours when you first stumbled in. As you gave him the standard tour, something seemed to be off. The stories he shared of devious monsters attacking reminded you of your childhood, and a feeling of suspicion and concern arose.

Your wariness was only confirmed when the golden trident floated above Percy’s head. Sure, you were excited to have a younger brother, but you knew the dangers the life of a forbidden child contained. So, you made it your honorary job to protect him no matter the circumstance. You taught him how to surf and how to use his powers for the greater good. And so a magnificent connection was formed, with you and him bonding like full siblings. He loved hearing all of the gossip between the older campers, and you loved when he updated you on how his friends were doing. Not to mention the chaotic board game nights you and he shared with Annabeth and Luke. There were almost no hidden secrets, for you told each other everything. Which is why you felt horrible about the massive personal detail you left out of your weekly yapping session.

You and Luke had been dating for three months. You had liked each other for a while, but eventually the overly flirty comments and long stares got the best of him, and he confessed . One breezy night, he asked you to meet him on the waterfront before bed. You obliged, stepping out into the chilly weather to find hundreds of blooming flowers (courtesy of the Demeter kids) arranged neatly in a heart. It was cheesy, but it was the exact type of movie love you were looking for.

That chilly, moonlit evening, you decided it was best to keep your relationship hidden from Percy and, for that matter, most of the camp. Close friends, such as Clarisse and Chris, knew, but that was only because you went on frequent double dates with the pair. But that doesn’t mean others didn’t bat an eye at your overly friendly relationship. You had almost been caught multiple times, despite Luke being the son of Hermes, who was known for his sly nature.

The first time it happened was entirely Luke's fault. You and him had just finished archery training and were walking to lunch, where the rest of camp resided. As soon as you approached the bustling picnic tables, you were dragged off by the Aphrodite kids, who wanted your help with some fashion emergencies. That left Luke with Chris and Percy, along with some other campers from Hermes cabin. -

“How was archery?” Asked an unclaimed kid, who Luke had little interaction with. They had small talk every once in a while, but not enough for him to know any personal details about his life.

“It was fine. You know, my girlfrie-“

Luke was lucky looks couldn’t kill, because with the way Percy and Chris were staring at him, he would have been six feet under already. He tried his best to salvage the situation, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

“My friend hit three bullseyes in a row. It was really impressive.” He finished, staring down as he pushed around his mushy broccoli with a flimsy spork, hoping to avoid the glares of his, let's face it, practically brother-in-law. Lucky for him, Percy shrugged it off, and the topic was quickly changed.

The second time, however, was most certainly your mistake.

The dull light from the moon provided little protection from the consuming jet black sky. You and Luke had to sneak out after hours often, which was one of the major downsides to a private relationship.

“No!” You playfully shouted, trying to juke him out as you ran through the rocky sand of the shoreline. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), your boyfriend was the most athletic kid on camp. He easily caught you before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the navy blue lake.

You gently punched his back through strained laughter, gasping for oxygen. But as he attempted to step into the cold winter waters, you used your powers to manipulate the sea so it avoided his path. And with one quick swoop of your hand, he was drenched with the cooling solution, and you remained dry.

He set you down, aggressively shaking the water from his head. “I forgot you were like the princess of the sea.” He said. Your harmonious giggles caused him to grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, maybe not the best choice on your end. C’mon, Percy probably has a shirt for you.” You replied, interlocking your fingers and skipping back to your cabin.

You sneakily creaked the door open, hand over your mouth to try and hush the laughs that spilled out. Percy was sound asleep, snoring softly as you made your way to his dresser, rummaging through the array of neon orange shirts.

“Here. Mr. D gave him the wrong size by accident a while ago.” You whispered toward him before dragging him back out with the fabric still in hand. Once outside, he slid his soaking shirt off, carefully placing it next to your clothes that hung on the drying line. After giving him the t-shirt, you kissed him goodnight and headed back to get some much-needed sleep.

The next day, Percy awoke you with violent shakes, causing you to twist and groan with confusion.

“Get up. It’s like eight already. Don’t you have counselor activities to tend to too?” He said.

You shot up in a panic, staring down at the clock that read 8:03 a.m., almost 20 minutes after your morning duties. With an exasperated sigh, you slipped out of bed and rushed to grab a clean t-shirt from outside.

Still dazed, you grabbed a familiar shirt off the clothing line and rushed back inside, quickly changing in hopes of escaping Chiron’s anger for your unpunctuality.

While you happened to make it to breakfast on time, you failed to notice how unusually long the shirt was or how the tag on the back had the initials “L.C.” loosely scribbled on them. However, everyone else noticed your strange outfit.

“Whose shirt is that? Why is it so big?” Percy was immediately questioned as you sat down with your food tray in hand.

“What do you mean?" You asked, glancing back down at your lengthy attire, before realizing your mistake. “Oh! I spilled something on my only clean shirt, so I borrowed that old one from you. Sorry.” You salvaged, and others seem to believe you.

You made eye contact with Luke from across the table, growing flustered instantly due to the anxiety-inducing incident.

The third and final time might have been your fault, too. But by then, the two of you were fed up of keeping it secret.

“Awe, look at the little lovebirds!”

Clarisse voiced as she shakily pointed a digital camera towards Luke and you, who were engaged in your own conversation.

Gorgeous flowers blossomed around the couple, ranging in various colors and sizes. Laughs rang through the air as Chris, Clarisse, Luke, and you all hung out one hazy camp afternoon.

You looked up at the girl, smiling brightly as you twirled a pink flower in your palm. Grabbing Luke’s jaw with your soft, freshly manicured hands and turning his head to look in their direction, Chris pulled out a Polaroid camera, snapping a photo of the teens.

As the black picture slid out of the small box, Chris handed it to Clarisse, who shook it with force in order to see the image fully.

“Do you want me to take one of you two?” You asked, snatching the camera from Chris’s hands and pointing it towards them.

They posed, and the photo turned out super cute. You stared down at your frilly ruffle socks that stuck out of your high-top navy blue Converse. The toes of the shoes had been decorated with the signatures of all of your friends.

“It’s getting late; wanna head back?” Chris suggested the others let out a groan. He was right; they had camp duties to attend to, but being wrapped in their loved one’s embrace was so much more appealing.

You hopped up reluctantly, Luke grabbing your hand as you took the scenic route back to the cabins, the other couple straying a different way.

“I love going out with them.” You declared, breaking the silence and dramatically swinging your intertwined arms.

“Me too. It makes me feel like we’re just regular people.” He responded, smiling at her with such genuineness.

“Maybe in another universe.” You replied, sighing as you let out a light giggle.

“Speaking of which,” you continued. “Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?”

“Duh. We’re probably Gwen and Spiderman in one.”

“Totally.” They grinned, enjoying the comfort they brought each other in the chaos that was their life.

After hours of training, you slipped back into Cabin 3, taking the photo out of your back pocket and placing it on your bed. You smiled at the sweet situation before Luke burst in, calling you to the bonfire. Obliviously, the Polaroid was left open on your bed, exposed to the world.

You basked in the warmth of Apollo’s kids songs, zoned out while mindlessly swaying to the beat of the guitar. Luke, who was sitting beside you, noticed you staring off into space and questioned it.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“I wanna tell Percy about us.” You replied, looking into his eyes to detect his emotions. He seemed surprised at first, but his expression changed to one more supportive a few seconds later.

“I agree. I mean, he might try to literally drown me, but I hate lying to him.”

“Me too.” You finished, turning back to face the singer. However, you instead met eyes with a furious-looking Percy, holding a small black rectangle in his hands. Your heart stopped, and you leaped up to rush and explain, Luke following behind. The young blond stormed off in the other direction.

“Percy, please listen. We couldn’t tell you because we knew how you’d react. I know you’re protective and all, and I love that about you, but Luke's a good guy, and we both know that.” You started, praying to the gods that this would work out.

“I barely even know him!“ Percy lied straight through his teeth, trying to come up with a rational reason for his anger.

“Are you kidding? You’ve known him for a year now.” You sassed back.

“How long have you been dating?” He threw away his last point, knowing he had already lost that argument.

“Three months, I think.” You whispered out, ashamed.

“Three months, and you didn’t think to let me, your little brother, know?” He screamed, speed-walking back to his cabin, irritated.

You let out a sigh, facing Luke. Sadness coated your glossy eyes before seeping out onto your cheeks. Your boyfriend was quick to wipe the tears with his calloused thumb, comforting you.

“Hey, he’ll come around eventually. Let him sleep it off.” He whispered, embracing you in a tight hug. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, clamping your eyes shut.

As the sun rose the next morning and Percy stepped out of the cabin, you and Luke were waiting outside, prepared with a whole spiel about your relationship. To your astonishment, he greeted you with a smile and spoke up first.

“I’m sorry about last night. While I think this whole concept of you dating Luke is insane, he’s probably the best it’s going to get, so I approve.” You smiled back, a sigh of relief escaping your throat.

“And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. It’s just-“

“Don’t. It’s fine, really. Just absolutely no PDA in front of me.” Percy stated, a look of disgust appeared as he said the last sentence. Both of you agreed to his simple terms.

“I’ve gotta go to the arena. I’ll see you later.” Luke declared, and you nodded, ruffling your fingers through his curls before he departed. Once he was a solid distance away, Percy leaned in and whispered to you.

“Really? Luke Castellan? That's the best you could do?”

#liv’s writing !#luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians

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astralnymphh · 3 months

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copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.

And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.

April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.

Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”

Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”

Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?

One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.

Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.

“Say cheese!”

America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.

Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.

Un–fucking–believable.

Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.

“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.

Not so good for the respiratory system though.

Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”

Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?”

A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”

Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.

And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”

Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.

“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”

“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”

“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.

“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”

Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”

You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant.

There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.

Stygian tones.

“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.

Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.

“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”

They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”

“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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merakiui · 1 year

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fluffy yandere!floyd on the brain. <3

(cw: yandere, brief nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, captivity, stockholm syndrome)

floyd who goes out of his way to make all of your meals look cute and taste delicious. like the pancakes he decorates with fruit to look like a bear or a cat! he wakes up extra early to prepare an entire buffet for you, including all of your favorites so you’ll be more enticed to eat. mealtimes are meant to be enjoyable, so it always saddens him when you pick at your plate, too nervous to ask for seconds or to eat even half of what’s on your plate when he’s watching. you’re always so anxious around him. it breaks his heart! :( he tries his best to be gentle and patient, especially in the mornings when he wakes you up and sees how cute and sleepy you are, clinging to his arm and mumbling about how it’s too early (it’s nearly afternoon now).

floyd who picks up gifts and treats for you on his way home. maybe it’s a fluffy pastry that reminded him of how soft and sweet you are or it’s a huge plushie that he knows you’ll love to snuggle with. he likes spoiling you with gifts because he adores seeing you smile, if only for a minute. he never expects anything in return and he isn’t doing this to win your affections (although he hopes it at least warms you up to him). just knowing you’re happy is enough for him. (but he does cuddle with his own shrimp plushie he bought on a whim hehe). sometimes he’ll set the plushies around the table so you’ll have company when you eat, just to avoid awkwardness when it’s you and him. sometimes he’ll make the plushies talk to each other with silly voices. his theatrics managed to get a few giggles out of you, so he knows you secretly enjoy it. he really wants to kiss you, but he knows you’d get scared and so he quells the urge by making a plushie give you a tiny peck on the lips.

floyd who, in the midst of a volatile mood swing, knows to distance himself from you so you won’t have to see him at his worst. he gets frustrated when you avoid him or talk about the outside or other people. when he’s angry like this, he wants to break something or someone. he could never take his emotions out on you, though! he’d never forgive himself if he did, so he goes outside and walks around or he’ll mindlessly clean the house or he’ll cook a bunch of different dishes. he could go out, look for trouble, and beat it to a pulp, but he knows you hate seeing him covered in blood, knuckles bruised and possibly broken, so he refrains from doing that. he’s picked up this habit: when he’s in a bad mood, he does good instead of bad. like cooking and cleaning instead of hurting and hitting others. and eventually the smell of good food or a fresh, clean house soothes him and brings him back to earth, no longer so wrapped up in unpredictable thoughts and feelings. he’ll knock on your door because you take to hiding when he’s pacing, prowling for something to get his hands on or sink his teeth into, and he tells you he made food or he cleaned the house or he tried to knit a sweater for his shrimp plushie.

floyd who pastes glow-in-the-dark shapes to the walls and ceiling so you won’t be so frightened of the darkness (or more realistically: of the person who dwells in that darkness). he buys a lot of different designs: moons and stars, sea creatures, flowers, and so on. he has too much fun putting them up and he encourages you to decorate to your heart’s content. floyd arranges some of the stars into a heart. normally he’d find it cheesy, but he likes it and seeing your expression soften makes it all the more worthwhile. he places his hand in the center of the heart and you follow his lead, gingerly placing yours over his. he smiles at you and asks, “big enough for two?” you nod, quietly echoing, “big enough for two.”

floyd who arranges the plushies in rows in the sitting room as if they’re all intended to be watching a show. he’s a portrait of lazy comfort in his sweatpants. you’re wearing his shirt. it’s nothing fancy, but then it doesn’t have to be. he’s taken a curtain down so you can use it as a veil, and he lifts it up to look at you. it’s his version of a wedding spent in confinement. the plushies watch with unseeing eyes, each one a witness to magnificent matrimony. the shrimp is sat on the sofa, intended to be a priest with its little recipe book. floyd makes up his vows as he goes, but they’re all spoken truthfully. the rings aren’t anything fancy either; he said he’d get you a nice one if you wanted it, but you seem fine with the plastic ones that came on a cake he bought. there’s a butterfly ring and a ring that says happy spring on it. it’s silly. it’s hardly marriage material. but it’s so very floyd, and that’s arguably much better than fussing over details. you make up your vows as well, speaking most of them through giggles because it’s more fun than serious. floyd asks if you’ll have him forever, if you’ll marry him and become his for the rest of your days, if you’ll continue to be his shrimpy; you say you will. rather than kissing you, he presses his forehead to yours and smiles. it’s a marriage of many promises. instead of an “i do” a forehead touch seems to signify the finality of this mock wedding. you and the plushies who served as guests celebrate with a feast. floyd’s outdone himself this time, but then he always does. chef floyd never disappoints, especially when he knows there’s a special occasion to be celebrated. and this occasion is the most special.

floyd who builds a pillow and blanket fort in the bedroom. he spends an abnormally long time perfecting it, which is unusual because floyd’s never been one for perfection. but he’s meticulous with this, so meticulous you’d think he’s building a nest for a mate. and maybe he is. eel instincts are so deeply rooted in his being, even when he’s not in the sea. he packs the fort with all of your favorite things: the eel and shrimp plushies, a few books, lots of snacks, plenty of blankets and pillows, and a tablet so the two of you can watch movies. he has you cover your eyes when he leads you to the bedroom and he’s practically radiating excitement in his haste to show you his hard work. you seem delighted to behold the fort in all of its comfy glory, and floyd is restraining himself from picking you up and carrying you over to the fort. he has to remember personal space. he has to be patient, and he is. always. only for you.

the lights are turned off and the both of you snuggle in the fort together, watching your film of choice. for once in his life, he’s the nervous one. he doesn’t want to do anything to upset you. this is the closest he’s been to you in a while. you’re letting him hold you! he’s really so happy. through the sheets in the fort, the faint glow from the plastic shapes can be seen. he finds the heart right away. it’s hard to miss.

floyd’s dozing. it’s easy to feel comforted in your presence. now that he’s finally relaxing after spending hours putting the fort together, he’s oddly sleepy. but before he can completely submit to his dreams, something on his lips rouses him. he opens his eyes to find the shrimp plushie giving him a kiss and it takes him a minute to realize the meaning behind the gesture. and then he’s staring past the plush at you, mismatched eyes blown hilariously wide. and then a smile sprawls on his face, and he gathers you in his arms, laughing and rubbing his cheek against yours. his shrimpy is the cutest!

he asks if he can kiss you for real this time—without the plushie—and you nod, and it’s the first time floyd realizes patience pays off. usually he’s not so awkward about physical touch, but it’s a different story to be given permission to do something he’s always wanted to do rather than just taking it for himself. he kisses you modestly at first, uncharacteristically chaste, obviously holding back, but it isn’t long until he’s melting against you. he holds you so gently, so firmly, molding his body to yours in the soft comforts of the fort. he kisses you breathless and dizzy, more than once, so much that the two of you break apart for air, panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

floyd switches positions so you’re lying on your back and he’s caging you between his arms. he asks if he can fuck you, promises he’ll be gentle, mumbles about how you’re so pretty all spread out under him. his hand slips into yours, squeezing reassuringly. he won’t do anything you don’t want him to. he’ll prepare you well. he’s good with his mouth, after all! that has you laughing. he’s laughing, too, his heart full of feathers, his mind muddled with warmth and sweetness.

and even if you don’t want to go all the way, he’s just happy to be here with you. your answer is spoken against his lips, and he promises he’ll treat you good. so good. the best kind of good you’ll ever have. and he means every word because he’s never be dishonest with you. and that’s a promise he’d never dare break.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #fluffy floyd hours #he’s so cute omg T-T floyd… so precious

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dingochef · 4 months

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Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Protected P in V, oral (female and male receiving), age gap, CougarOFC!, mentions only of mommy and daddy kink, mentions of cheating

Summary: A chance encounter at a bar with a man on the young side leads to a delightful night.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k

On the Prowl

You saddle up to the bar, sighing as you try to expel the frustrations from stupid negotiations you've had to deal with today. You were trying to make a deal between your aerospace company and another to be the exclusive suppliers of the next versions of the F-whatever fighter for the Navy. You order a Manhattan hoping the sweet burn of the vermouth and whiskey will sooth away your frustration.

The bartender has barely slid your drink across on its coaster to you when a man approaches, about your age. You snort internally to yourself, there is nothing about your overall air and appearance that makes you approachable. Your hair is frazzled, your giant laptop bag is slung on the stool next to you, and you're pretty sure your residual resting bitch face is dialed up to an 11. Still, the prospect for a possible quick romp in the sheets and the slim possibility of an orgasm, makes you turn ever so slightly as he sits down next to you.

“Tough day?” he offers to you, after ordering a drink.

“You could say that,” you humm, noncommittally and take a sip of your drink.

“Well, I'm all ears if you want to talk about it,” the man replies, offering his hand,

“I'm Mike, and you are?”

You take his hand and tell him your name.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” Mike responds. You stifle your eye roll at the cheesy line. The drinks arrive and you fall into a light if stilted conversation of small talk. The usual topics are covered the weather, why you're both in town, and a few sports references. You're pondering if you want another drink when Mike leans closer to you,

“So this bad day. You want to talk about it,” he says as his hand sliding out to catch your wrist, “Or do something about it?”

He rubs his thumb over yours and you catch the glint of a wedding ring that you had missed earlier. Any thoughts you had of maybe seeing where this could go are immediately stopped.

“You're married,” you state, flatly.

“It's complicated,” he counters.

You let out a long exhale,

“Not complicated enough that you didn't even go through the smallest bit of effort to hide the fact. I'm not interested in being the other woman. A little too recent experience from the other end of “it's complicated.”

Mike nods, properly chastised and walks away with his drink.

You sigh and lean down on the bar with both elbows, letting your head hang down as you feel more frustrated, the possibility of some distractioning sex long gone now. A disappointing thought forms in your brain as you remember that you did indeed forget to pack your vibrator. But somehow you remembered condoms and lube, ever the optimist. Not a hopeless situation, but would have been better with some “assistance.”

You're brought out of your pity party by a slight southern twang delivering this line,

“A woman so beautiful deserves to have a smile on your face and I'm just the man to do it.”

The line is accompanied by the dazzling smile of a very handsome blonde man, definitely younger than you and with memorable green eyes.

“Has that line ever worked?” you ask, your patience strained by your interaction with Mike the Adulterer, as you survey the man in front of you.

“You tell me,” he replies smoothly, the corner of his mouth tugging up into an endearing smirk. He's gorgeous but young enough it's a little beyond your usual range in men. Tired by the evening so far, you take a harsher tack back.

“You're out past your bedtime, baby boy,” you volley back, drinking the last bit of your drink and chewing on the cherry.

“Baby boy? I assure you I'm all man, I could be the man of your dreams if you let me,” he counters, smirk still firmly in place. You contemplate your next move as you chew on the cherry from your drink.

“What do you want with me? I'm sure Addison or Kayla and her other twenty something friends would be more than willing to be wooed by a cheesy line and nice smile,” you say, flicking your head towards the gaggle of giggling coeds at a high top table near the windows. He looks over and shrugs,

“There's a difference between women of quantity,” he tips his head towards the giggling girls, “And a woman of quality,” he waves his hand at you.

You laugh,

“Okay, that's smooth. What's your name baby boy?”

“Jake, Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” he extends his hand, “And you are?”

“Y/n,” you reply, setting your hand in his.

“Nice to meet you, y/n, can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrug.

The bartender comes over and you order,

“Manhattan with rye, please.”

Jake nods and says,

“The same.”

The bartender walks away to make the drinks and you consider Jake.

“So, what's your game here, Jake? I'm a little old for you if you haven't noticed,” you state.

“You're beautiful and you're not that old. What 35, 38 tops?” he replies.

You laugh,

“Try 45, I use sunscreen. What are you, like 28 maybe? Can you even rent a car?”

Jake laughs in response,

“32, I use sunscreen.”

His parroting response makes you laugh. He slides his hand into yours, running a soothing circle with his big thumb on the pulse point of your wrist in an understated gesture.

“And my game is that, you are gorgeous and everything about you screams that you're in control. The tailored business suit, the designer bag, expensive shoes, and a watch probably worth more than my first car,” he pauses for a second,

“Let me guess, you're an upper level executive in a high stress industry in town for a conference, because I for sure would have remembered you if you've been here before. So, here's my bet, you're either a woman who knows exactly what she wants in bed and leads the way or….,” he leans in closer, “Needs someone to boss you around and take control, so you can let go.”

He leans back and gives you a brilliant smile.

“Either way I know I'll have a hell of a night.”

Before you can answer, the bartender reappears with your drinks. You take a sip and consider your response, Jake doing the same with a quirked eyebrow in question.

“You're a confident little shit, I'll give you that.”

He smiles, wide and bright.

“And yes, I'm in San Diego for business. Yes, I'm a COO for an aerospace firm. As for the other question, that's something you'll have to figure out.”

“I'm up to the challenge,” he replies.

You take a moment to consider the man before you. He's tall, broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, and a delicious amount of stubble that you can already conjure up the feeling of on your inner thigh. He's wearing a dark brown leather jacket over a navy blue button, dark jeans, and charmingly, cowboy boots. All in all he is gorgeous.

“Allright, Jake, I'm game,” you say, leaning into him, close enough you can smell his aftershave, a cedar wood smelling aroma. He grins and takes another sip of his drink.

“A few deal breakers to get out of the way. Married?”

“No. You?

“Recently paroled.”

“Congrats on your newfound freedom.”

“Girlfriend, or other romantic entanglement, such as it's complicated?”

He laughs,

“Nope, I don't have anyone or anything tying me down. I don't even own a houseplant.”

“Good, protection is required. I have some in my room.”

“Agreed.”

“I give what I get, if you want me to suck your dick, you'll need to eat me out first, and be good at it.”

“Don't think that's going to be a problem, sweetheart. I'm a man of many talents.”

“And finally, you will not call me mommy or any other similar derivative. If that's an itch you need scratched, then maybe Addison and her friends would be happy to call you daddy.”

He laughs,

“Not my cup of tea, darling. So where's this hotel of yours?”

“Right across the street,”

“Then by all means lead the way,” he says, as he pulls a fifty out of his wallet and leaves it in the bar.

Jake offers his hand to you as you step down from the stool. He grabs your laptop bag and easily slings it over his shoulder as his other hand finds the small of your back. The walk to your hotel is quick, Jake has pulled you close to him.

The lobby is relatively empty and the echo of your heels clicking across the marble floor fills the space. Once you're In the elevator, Jake sets your bag down and pulls you close for a kiss. It starts out soft, he is almost tentative, a surprising contrast to his unmatched confidence earlier. But now you crave a different energy tonight; after a day of frustration you're going to get what you want.

You run your hands through his perfect hair and lick at the seam of his lips, begging for entrance as you press your whole body against his. You back him up to the wall of the elevator. A heavy roll of your hips against his makes him moan and your tongue slides in next to his, finally.

His hand slides from the chaste placement at your waist and grabs a firm handful of your ass as he shoves his tongue down your throat. The heat between you escalates but before you start fucking in the elevator the bell dings announcing your floor.

You step back and appreciate your work.

Hair askew, your dark cherry lipstick smeared across his mouth, Jake looks ready to fuck.

“You look good like that. It's a great color for you,” you tease stepping out of the elevator with a quick glance over your shoulder

Jake snaps out of his lust induced trance grabbing your bag and trotting quickly to catch up with you. He places a trail of kisses down your neck as you press the key card to the handle, a warm hand kneading at your waist.

The door opens and you almost tumble in,

Jake is quick to drop your bag as you lock the deadbolt.

When you turn he closes in on you and backs you up against the door. He initiates another kiss that you eagerly return. The same heat from the elevator returns and burns brighter as you start to pluck at each other's clothes.

You push Jake's jacket off and start to work at the buttons of his shirt. Lips never leaving each other finally he is shirtless in front of you and it is a glorious sight. All hard planes of pure muscle with a delicious amount of chest hair.

“Aren't you just the prettiest?” you coo, obviously checking him out, manicured hand running down his sternum and teasing at his belt buckle

He simultaneously preens and blushes at the praise.

“On your knees,” you order and he quickly complies, one eyebrow raised in question, just enough attitude to make it interesting. He looks up at you while you unbutton your blouse and drop it to the floor, revealing your black lace La Perla bra. He kisses the hem of your skirt, green eyes blown with lust watching your every move. You raise your left foot and put your Louboutin on his denim clad thigh and ask him,

“Help me out of these heels, sweetheart.”

The last word is said with a little bit of mocking, a bit of manufactured twang. Jake smirks at your teasing and unbuckles your shoe, setting it aside. You switch sides and he repeats the motions.

He thumbs tentatively at your skirt awaiting your permission

“Go on. Let's see those skills, pretty boy,” you taunt. He slides your skirt up and groans when he sees the matching garter belt and stockings to your bra and no underwear,

“Fancy lingerie, too,” he says, his mouth close enough to your bare mound you can feel the gentle puffs of air against your skin.

“Enough talking, get to it,” you order, the earlier frustration of your day seeping back into your mood.

He nods and places a firm hand on your stomach to anchor you to the door. His other hand slides along the seam of your stocking clad leg starting at your ankle gently lifting your leg up to rest your thigh on his shoulder, granting him even more access to your glistening cunt.

“You smell so good, I bet you taste even better, sweets,” he coos.

Before you can implore him to hurry the fuck up he dives in, parting your folds with his tongue to begin his attack on your clit. The intensity knocking your breath out of you. There is no warm up, just all the way to 100 right away. Your heartbeat speeds up to match the fast strumming of his tongue against your clit. You card your fingers through his hair to ground yourself just as he teases your slit with his finger.

Jake circles around your opening with his thick finger, a mischievous look in his eyes as he looks up at you, tongue never ceasing on your clit. You roll your eyes and push your hips down desperate to get his finger inside you just as he relents and slides his finger in quickly followed by another. The stretch is more than you've had in awhile, no thanks to your ex and busy schedule that makes dating difficult, but it is exactly what you need right now. And then Jake curls his fingers just right and sparks blur the sides of your vision. He earns the privilege of having you pull harder on his hair and moan a breathy,

“Fuck, that's good.”

He raises his eyebrows down below you, smugness apparent even when his mouth is full of your pussy.

“Don't let it go to your head,” you say back, lacking the bite you had hoped for.

He laughs into your cunt, but continues his mission. Fingers pumping away at you. The band inside of you starts to pull taut, that exquisite build up to release starting to form deep in your belly.

“You better not fucking stop! Fuck, right there,” you shout. Looking down you catch Jake's eyes and his gaze is as unwavering as his rhythm is steady. He continues his assault on your clit and cunt, the sounds of your arousal and his tongue obscene in the quiet darkness of your hotel room. You've always been loud when you come and tonight is no exception, the words rolling off your tongue,

“Fuck, so good. I'm close, Jake. Make me come, pretty boy.”

He responds by thrusting his hand harder and faster and lapping at your clit at even higher speed. He just grazes his teeth on your clit and you're gone.

“Fucking God, I'm coming, don't stop. More,” you shout as the bliss breaks over you, grabbing Jake's hair and holding him to you. The pleasure is so much that you go up on the balls of your feet before you come back down and continue to grind your pussy on Jake's face. Jake complies and keeps up the intensity and soon another climax is barrelling down on you. This one is so intense that when it crests, you practically collapse over Jake, your knees having gone weak as the pleasure ebbs through you. He catches your hips and guides you down to his lap. He holds you as you catch your breath, sweetly kissing your temple as your chest heaves.

Breaking the silence he asks,

“Did I earn that blow job?”

He earns a dry chuckle from you as you turn to straddle his thighs.

“I think that was at least adequate,” you mumble as you lean down to kiss Jake, licking the taste of yourself from his chin. He deftly unclasps your bra from behind and drops it to the floor.

“Been wanting to see these beauties since I saw you at the bar,” he murmurs as he slips your nipple into his mouth, his rough hands cupping your breasts. Your hands again find themselves in his hair, pushing him harder into your chest, your tits heavy and full with desire. As much as you enjoy Jake's efforts, the marble floor of your hotel suite is cold against your overheated skin.

“Get on the bed and get naked,” you command Jake after harshly pulling him away from your chest by his hair. You notice the wave of pleasure wash across his face from the pain. Confidently, you get up and walk over to your bag, making sure to sway your hips in an enticing way. A quick search of the bag and you find the condoms you're seeking.

When you turn back Jake is on the bed, on his back completely naked. He is gently stroking his hard cock as he watches you stalk towards him. Throwing the condoms on the nightstand you lower yourself to the bed near his feet. Like a lioness on the prowl, you crawl up the bed towards him.

“I knew you'd have a big dick. No one is that confident without one,” you say as you get even with him. He grins in response, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches you approach. You settle yourself so your wet cunt is on his abs, achingly close to his dick but so far away at the same time.

“I know my assets,” he says, reaching up to pull you down for a kiss. You slide your lips along his jaw, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and across his chest. You lap at the hard buds of his nipples as you grind yourself on his rock hard abs. Jake lets out a whine as you continue your efforts. You stop all your movement and look up to Jake where he is clenching his jaw.

“You want something, pretty boy?” You taunt, sliding your pussy just a bit lower. The movement occupies the last two brain cells he has available and his words come out in choppy mess,

“Want–need your mouth. On me, suck me please. Fuck, please.”

You laugh condescendingly as you pretend to ponder his request,

“I did say I give as good as I get and you did get me off. I suppose I could be nice and return the favor.”

He visibly relaxes, the worry flowing out of his face. He pushes himself up on the bed so he is in a sitting position, primed to watch your every move.

You position yourself so you are kneeling between his legs, his delicious cock standing proudly at attention.

With the faintest of touches you let your fingers trail up and down his dick. Surprisingly he stays stock still, waiting for you to move at your pace, his dick twitching at your feather light touches.

“Look at you, pretty boy. So ready for it, hmm?” you ask as you grip him a little bit harder. His eyes roll back as you start to stroke him, the throbbing veins in his cock gliding along your palm.

When you lean over and start to kitten lick the ruddy tip and Jake snaps open his eyes, not wanting to miss the splendid sight in front of him. The groan you pull from him when you spit to aid the glide of your hand is one of the best things you've ever heard. Your grip gets firmer as you slide your hand up and down, increasing your pace. On the next downstroke you follow your hand with your mouth, lips matched with your fingers.

It doesn't take much for Jake to hit the back of your throat and you relax to take him down your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake pants as you work to diligently suck his cock. Your eyes locked with Jake's as the pleasure rolls over him.

“So good, you look so good sucking my cock,” he drawls, his accent getting a bit thicker with arousal. You're about to change up your technique when Jake cups your chin and pulls you up to him for a kiss.

“As much as I would like to come in your mouth. That pretty pussy needs to be fucked,” he says, flipping you on your back as he reaches for a condom. He quickly rips the wrapper and rolls the condom down on his hard cock.

“You ready for this?” he asks, gliding his tip along your clit.

“Yes, just fuck me aleady,” you answer, a little exasperated.

When he finally slides home, you're glad that you had the little warm up with his fingers against the door. He's huge, probably the biggest you've ever had and it is amazing. He goes slow, dragging out the experience, a low moan escaping his mouth when he bottoms out. A gentle rhythm forms between the two of you as he starts to thrust and you roll your pelvis to meet him each time.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunts.

You laugh,

“Thank my pencil dicked cheating ex-husband. Didn't give it to me for over a year.”

“What a fucking tragedy, this beautiful pussy needs to worshipped,” he agrees, thrusting particularly hard into you causing you to cry out.

“Give it to me good, pretty boy,” you scream, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sinks deeper into. Every thrust hitting deeper and deeper.

“Harder! Jake, harder,” you cry out.

“If you want harder, you'll get it, sweets,” he pants.

He pins your hips to the bed as he pulls out earning a discontented squeal from you. Before you can express the thought, Jake flips you over with ease and you land on your stomach. He is quick to grab your hips and pulls you flush to him as he kneels on the bed.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he grunts as he slides back into your warmth. His strong grip on your hips the right side of too much, you clench around him at the thought of bruises tomorrow, aching slightly as you sit through hours of meetings and negotiations. He slams into you and bottoms out quickly. His pace is relentless as he pounds into you. The exquisite way your pussy flutters around his cock is pushing you closer to the edge. Each slap of skin from his strong thighs against your bare ass ratcheting up the growing tightness in your belly.

“Can feel you getting close, darling. Just when I thought this pussy couldn't get any tighter, you're strangling my cock,” he grunts out between harder and harder thrusts.

“Less talking, more fucking,” you volley back, meeting each of his thrusts with your own. Jake lets out a low chuckle,

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

On his next thrust he extends his hand to wrap around your shoulder pulling you against him abruptly, your back to his chest.

“Fuck,” you pant, this new angle hitting all the right spots deep inside you. A strong arm wraps around your waist as Jake's free hand snakes over your garter belt and parts your folds. When his rough finger contacts your clit you cry out, arms and hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Jake guides your arms up and arounds his neck, your hands tangling themselves in hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunts in your ear, “So fucking tight, can't wait to feel you come on my cock.”

All you can do is moan in agreement as he circles your clit with practiced and precise motions.

“What a beautiful pussy,” Jake pants, his ability to speak now impressive,

“And fuck I'm glad you gave the me the sweet, sweet privilege of fucking you tonight.”

He pinches your clit and the building wave inside you crests as you come apart clenching hard on his cock.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I'm coming,” you scream, definitely loud enough to be heard by your neighbors.

“That's it, give it to me. Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts.

He maintains his rhythm as he fucks you through your orgasm intensfying each aftershock. Jake is holding you up as writhe in pleasure seeking his own, hips pistoning away. You tug hard on his hair as you command him,

“Come for me, Jake. Come for me.”

All of it comes together and Jake holds you hard against him as he spills inside the condom, a long low groan rattling up from his chest. Your mutual rhythm slows like a swing coming to rest and you fall to bed, Jake following, flopping on his back next to you.

The silence after is filled with yours and Jake's heavy breaths, willing your heartbeat to slow down. Jake is lying with his forearm over his eyes, a light sheen of sweat on his chest.

You roll over and pull his arm down, and ask,

“Did you figure out your answer?”

His brow furrows as he contemplates your question,

“That I lead or let go in bed?”

He laughs,

“You're definitely in charge and I'd let you lead me anywhere,” he replies, laughter in his voice. He gives you a quick peck and slides out of bed to take care of the condom. You stretch and sit up and start taking off your stockings. Jake is picking up his clothes and watches you shimmy out of your garter belt. He puts his clothes back on as you get ready for bed, starting with removing your makeup.

He comes to stand behind you as you swipe the cloth over your face, his full clothing a nice contrast to your naked skin. He kisses your shoulder gently,

“As much as I'd like to stay for another round, I'm due at base early tomorrow.”

“No hard feelings, pretty boy. Thanks for a good night,” you reply, turning around for one last kiss.

He sighs when your lips part and gives you a kiss on the cheek as he breaks away. Turning back to your nighttime preparations, the sound of the door opening and closing filtering from the main room, you smile to yourself. As you slide into bed, you see the note on the hotel pad,

“Call me if you want some more company.

–Jake.”

A phone number is written under the note.

The next morning finds you holding a latte and being shown around hangar after hangar at North Island. What this is supposed to do for your negotiations, you don't know but it beats sitting in a stuffy conference room. Admiral Simpson is droning on about the fighter weapons school when he catches the eye of someone behind you.

“Ahh, here is one of the test pilots for the new F-series,” he says as you turn around and meet some now familiar green eyes,

“Y/n, meet Lieutenant Jake Seresin, call sign Hangman.”

That goddamn smirk is firmly in place as he shakes your hand.

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cupcakeslushie · 2 years

Note

am IN LOVE with your feral leo au

the story just keeps getting interesting every time!

i love the art so much! i just wanna- AGEUGAUEGUAEGA * insert more gremlin noises *

-{ by someone who should probably study for their exam }

Thank you! Also *softly bops you on the head* I hope you studied and did well on your exam!

IT’S FERAL LEO HOURS!!!

@renmiel Honestly Donnie hasn’t really had time to process properly. After Leo, he’s the one on the team with the most medical knowledge so he’s stuck in a sort of, assess what we can fix immediately mode, hence why he’s the only one with bites, and then when Leo’s all cleaned up, Donnie moves into a denial stage and thinks with enough prodding he can sort of snap Leo out of it. Raph tries to tell him that Leo might never be the same, but for being so smart, sometimes Donnie refuses to see what’s right in front of him if he doesn’t like the reality of it. It takes him a few days to realize this won’t be a quick fix.

@imadino @blankiss2204000 @aron-has-ocs

The plan at first is really just to make him as comfortable as possible so they don’t get attacked lol. Just because they’re his family doesn’t mean Leo wont pounce and lash out if startled. So he stays with Mikey in the infirmary for a few days, listening to his little brother’s stories about when they were young, and looking at the pictures on his phone, up until Mikey’s recovered and can move around. By then the rest of the family has “Feral Proofed” the lair (i.e closed off all the places Leo could escape to and get lost, hidden all the sharp objects things like that). Then they make sure someone’s with him at all times. They make him a nest in the corner of the living room, but he’ll prowl around at night and check to make sure the lair is secure, and by the morning he can be found at the foot of someone’s bed—usually Mikey.

Once Leo’s more at ease with them, Donnie can get to work on patching Leo’s shell. He does try to make turtle noises back at Leo, but Leo just huffs and wheeze laughs at the sad attempt, and pokes Donnie in that big forehead of his. Still Donnie keeps trying and gets better. Now that he’s fully accepted the situation as it is, he’ll do anything if it helps, even if it is a bit embarrassing.

Yes that “churp” is a turtle noise. I’ve found it’s a pretty common staple of TMNT fanfic that I’m obsessed with lol.

Leo’s recovery is LONG He gets nightmares pretty regularly and it’s months before he’s even able to let his guard down, despite only ever remaining in the lair where it’s always quiet and safe. I’d say it takes Leo at least a year before he starts to resemble himself and speak in fuller sentences (though the chirps and hissing never go away). Then maybe two years before he’s able to make cheesy jokes and fight without reverting to his more savage way of fighting. Even starting off slow—bringing him only on what they think will be easy missions, can sometimes end with them having to pull Leo off of the bad guys before he causes them serious harm.

Leo isn’t embarrassed so much—he realizes he did what he had to in order to survive and make it back to his family. He’s more serious and actually shockingly calmer now, but at the same time, in no uncertain terms, he makes it clear that he thinks Raph should take the reigns back, Leo knows he’s in no proper state to lead.

@asleepyb0i one word. Klunk!!!! Mikey finds him one day a few months into sneaking out to help with Invasion clean up, but he let’s Leo hold him so much that he’s Mikey and Leo’s little fluff ball.

Leo and Draxum never really liked one another, but awkward Dad #2 does try to help when he can. Leo manages to sneak out of the lair a few times, and gives his family heart attacks every time, but they always manage to track him down, or he finds his way back, his sense of direction is one thing that was sharpened in the Prison Dimension.

GOLLUM??!! GOLLUM????! I don’t think he looks that bad off does he???? 😱

A. You’re so right. Galaxy brained!

B. @snipersiniora That’s a good way to lose a finger! No, he keeps the nails for a long while until he’s a bit calmer.

C. @snipersiniora He’ll eat anything at this point, but pizza will always be a fav!

D. You know what’s funny? While I was googling the spelling on Pepino like forever ago, just to make sure I was spelling it right, I read that there’s actually a common Spanish phrase (and please native speakers correct me if I’m wrong!) something translated like “I care a cucumber.” When you don’t care about something or want the convo to end, and I think that’s hilarious and maybe I’m reading too much into it, but if the writers knew about that phrase and having Heuso use it cause of course Leo’s green like a cucumber, BUT ALSO because Hueso didn’t much like Leo at first and always seemed to want him to go away—that’s gotta be the funniest thing ever.

E. Well…they are in a sewer….with lots of…………….rats.

F. The crack’s pretty large but not too deep. Donnie patches it before shell rot sets in (it never set in before because the prison dimension kept Leo in like a sort of stasis where his wounds healed and scarred over in a few days). He’s gotta be very careful for a few weeks, while it heals, which is a bit of a re-learning curve. Leo’s not used to his wounds actually slowing him down for so long.

G. I will say…..no. Just for possibly any future angst I might want to cause lol

H. Leo was in the prison dimension three years so he’d be 19!

I. Re-introducing Leo to Cass and Sunita, yes all good 👍. Re-introducing Leo to Big Mama, no very much bad, all out hissing and clawing!

@hapfrog @snowblossim @zowise2912 aw thanks!!

Music is a very common calming technique Donnie reads about, and then puts into practice when they need to. It works like a charm at relaxing Leo. The prison dimension was so quiet, unless it was filled with Leo’s cries or Kraang Prime cursing and screaming at him. So music allows Leo the audio proof that he’s not there anymore.

Leo’s reaction to his bale crying would be to curl up around them and protect! If there was no threat to scare off he’d focus on providing physical warmth and comfort.

Leo’s knees are probably the least of his worries, that boy’s body is so torn up it’s one big ball of pain, which he’s gotten so used to, it hardly registers. But he does have to do a lot of physical therapy with Donnie and Raph (alongside Mikey who needs it for his own hands).

Leo didn’t have to eat or sleep in the prison dimension. His body was kept in a sort of stasis—the only wear and tear was from the Kraang. He didn’t even physically age. I wouldn’t think about it too much (I know I haven’t lol) So re-eating syndrome wasn’t a challenge for him, but mentally he does have to get used to the idea of being hungry and eating. He kinda fights them the first time they try and get food in him, but after remembering how good food is—even the simple bland soup Splinter makes him, he’s a nightmare at meal time (his table manners are non-existent).

#rottmnt #ask slushie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise leo #feral leo au #feral leo #feral leo ask

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sillyvisioncorner · 5 months

Text

FNaF Cookbook Recipes :D

PizzaPlex Master Dough

Easy PizzaPlex Sauce

Freddy Fazbear's Pepperoni X-Press

Funtime Foxy's 3-Cheese Veggie Surprise

Freddy's Garlicky Pizza Twirls

Circus Baby's Cheesy Garlic Bread

Fazbear's Dunking Cinnamon Sticks

Bonnie's Burgerlicious Burger Mix

Bonnie's Ultimate Burger

Security Breach Meatball Sub

Lefty's Meat Bite Skewers

El Chip's Fully Loaded Tortillas

Salmon Patties (Prepared By Bonnie)

Ballora's Salmon Burger

Stage Fright Salmon Patty Sub

Mr Hippo's Crispy Fish Bites

Zingy Salmon Lemongrass Skewer's

Chica's Crispy Fried Chicken

Funtime Chica's Harissa Chicken Wings

Chica-Licious Thai Patties

Chica's Ultimate Thai Burger

On The Prowl...Coconut Curry

Chica's Fiery Thai Chicken Saled

Nedd Bear's Popping Chicken Bites

Foxy's Pulled Pork Master Recipe

Foxy's Quick 'n' Easy BBQ Sauce

Foxy's Sloppy Pulled Pork Burger

Fazer Blast Pulled Pork Tacos

Funtime Freddy's Dirty Wedges

Fazcade Pulled Pork Quesadillas

Glamrock Freddy's Mac 'n' Cheese

Glamrock Freddy's Fully Loaded Hot Dogs

Balloon Boy's Chicken & Chorizo Fajitas

Bonnie's Buddha Bowl

Eggs Benedict with Glamrock Glamour

The Puppet's V-egg-ie Benedict

Moondrop's Blueberry Pancakes

Roxanne Wolf's Chocolate & Cherry Mousse

Pirate Plunderbar (Endorsed by Foxy)

Freddy Fazbear Chocolate Fudge Brownies

Sunnydrop's Energy Balls

Raspberry & White Chocolate Mr. Cupcake's

Dancing Rabbit Lady's Sizzling Churros

Monty Gator's Green With Envy!

Superstar Daycare Strawberry Shake

Foxy's Fruity Cove Cooler

Sodaroni Slushy

Monty's Mouthwatering Melon Meltdown

#sillyvisoncorner #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf merch #fnaf cookbook #cookbook #recipes #i got board tbh #freddy fazbear's mega pizzaplex

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 10 months

Text

Kaz Brekker x gn! Reader - Eyes on you

A/n: Have a bit of fluff while I brew up some angsty parental! kanej and nikolai fics!

Summary: Y/n doesn't want to take their eyes off their lover, the crows take notice

Warnings: swearing, very cheesy, mentions of violence alluded to the reader having adhd (I didn't realize till after I had written it, but perhaps that's because I have adhd-) ooc Kaz, I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your, they/them] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) kaz x reader, (romantic!) helnik, (platonic) crows x reader, (platonic!) nina x reader]

"I can't believe he let us go on that heist without telling us the whole plan." Wylan huffed as the crows were gathered at a table at the Crow Club. "I thought after the ice court he would've told us something that important." He grumbles.

"It's Kaz." Jesper snorts as he puts an arm around the merchling's shoulders. "What did you expect?"

Normally you would've interjected about now and defended Kaz, you had been dating him for about six years now. Though, the both of you were very quiet about you're relationship meaning that the crows didn't actually know you were together.

Of course the two of you were quiet, Kaz had enemies who were just waiting to pounce. Prowling back and forth, trying to play the long game. Quite frankly over the years you too had made some people not very happy with you. At this point though, you probably could've told the crows, but even now they were still alluded from the truth.

Which made some conversations very fun and others where you'd want to throw yourself over a bridge because of how dense they were. You were just waiting for them to figure it out by now.

Going back to your reason as to why you couldn't interject, it may or may not have been because you had been too busy staring at your boyfriend to put your word in there.

Honestly though, who could blame you? Kaz Brekker was always so pretty, but today he just looked absolutely ethereal, you didn't know why, because he was still just in the clothes that he usually wears. He still had the same haircut, and he certainly hadn't done anything out of the ordinarily (for you anyways) but he just looked drop dead gorgeous.

Not that he didn't usually, but most of the time you could force your eyes away from his beautiful figure, but today they stayed focused solely on him. Although it certainly was nothing to complain about, as you gazed at Kaz with love clear as the morning sun in your eyes.

"Y/n, are you listening?" Nina, your first, and one of your bestfriends, snapped her fingers in front of your face to break you out of your trance.

"Oh ya, sorry." You muttered and turned your gaze away from the bastard and back onto your group of friends.

"As I was saying," Nina started up again as she plopped down into a blushing Matthias's lap again.

Really you had all the intentions of paying attention but then the sneaky Dirtyhands himself had placed a very light touch on your shoulder as he practically breathed down your neck as the hairs stood up and your posture straighten.

Fuck Kaz, he really brought out the worst in your short attention span.

Then he sat down in the chair next to you so that your thighs were touching. Your heart was beating out of your chest, it had to have sounded like a drum to your peers.

Kaz leaned in next to your ears and brushed a gloved finger over your collarbone, like the fresh autumn leaves tickling your skin.

"I've seen you staring love." He whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat and you momentarily forgot to suck in some very vital air.

But you wouldn't be Kaz Brekker's partner if it weren't for the fact that you could keep up with him.

You were equals after all.

"And don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

Kaz chuckled, but a light blush dusted over his cheeks as his ears turned red. Only you could make the bastard of the barrel blush, something you would rave on about for ages if you could.

"Come outside with me? I have something to ask." He purred, as his hand came to link with yours.

"Okay?" You replied rather confused, but going along with one of the most dangerous men in Ketterdam anyways.

"Where are you going?" Inej questioned the both of you, as you two stood up.

You had forgotten that you had an audience of friends around you that a) didn't know you were together, and b) were very nosy and love gossip.

"Going to go make out in a closet some where." Jesper joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't make out with Y/n in a closet, they deserve more. Unlike you and the merchling over there." Kaz speaks in the most monotone voice know to man as the crows chock on their own spit and stare at the two of you with wide eyes.

"What!" Nina squawks.

"Why do you all look so surprised? I'm allowed to kiss my boyfriend if I want to?" You ask the group, your eyebrows frowning.

"BOYFRIEND?!" They all yell in shock as you curse your scatter brain for forgetting for one second that they didn't know. Kaz making innuendos is a bit different then you revealing that the two of you had been together for years and you guys were just waiting until they realized.

"I owe Matthias so much money!" Jesper exclaims with a gasp as he fake faints into Wylan's side.

"You guys bet on us?" You question them, crossing your arms over your chest while your face appeared annoyed, you couldn't truly hide your amused expression as well as your boyfriend.

Inej sighs. "They did, I didn't. Jesper and Nina said you guys were just friends, Wylan said you guys love each other but would never date, and Matthias said you guys had already been dating for months."

"Months?" Kaz questions with a smirk on his face.

"Kaz." You growl under your breath trying to warn him not to push his luck. "Nina can raise the dead." You attempt to remind him, but your luck might just have run out.

"You have not been dating my best friend for more than a few months." Nina says crossing her arms over her chest.

You give her a rather sympathetic look that tells her everything she needs to know.

"No!" She gasps in disbelief. "There's no way you've been dating for more than six months, at the most!"

"Turn the word months into years and you have your answer Zenik."

"SIX YEARS!" She screams making you wince at the volume. "Kaz Brekker! You've been corrupting Y/n for six fucking years and we didn't know!"

Kaz only rolls his eyes and takes your hand in his, almost impatiently. Disregarding all your friends and their gaping mouths.

"Yes, now get over it because we have something planned." Kaz mutters with an irritated look on his face as he pulls you away from your friends.

_____________

"We're definitely following them right?" Jesper says as he bounces to his feet pulling poor Wylan along with him.

"Oh, yes." Nina agrees while cracking her knuckles.

________________

"Kaz this is beautiful." You spoke in awe as you gazed upon a small valley of wonderful blue flowers that nearly appeared to glow in the dark.

It had taken quite the walk to get here, but it was just outside of Ketterdam so it could have been much worse. Even if it had been an longer walk it still would've been worth it, this place just gave you an amazing feeling. Almost akin to the same feeling Kaz gave you, just not quite. Nothing could beat that.

"Thank you for bringing me."

"I didn't just bring you here for one purpose." He replied as he turned to face you, and grabbed your hands with his own ungloved shaking ones.

"Y/n L/n you are everything." He whispers as if the words were hard to find, hard to conjure.

"Marry me, make me Kaz L/n."

Your eyes widened in shock, your hands went to cover your mouth as tears of joy filled your face and you nod your head erratically yes.

"Say it, please I need to hear you say it." He begs.

"Yes, Kaz! Of course I'll marry you."

He smiles one of his rare ones and your foreheads go to touch as you both close your eyes taking in everything and-

"Congratulations! The Crows jump out of nowhere a bit sheepishly.

Kaz looked like he was about to murder them but you threw your head back in laughter.

Your fiancee, and your friends - your family was all around you. What else could you ever need but this? Your soul grinned, and your heart was filled.

Words 1400

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #grishaverse #nina zenik #nina zenik x reader #matthias helvar #the crows #the crows x reader #delusion writes

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luminouslywriting · 12 days

Note

Hiya babe! I've been meaning to send in a request but wasn't quite sure what I wanted until now. 😅

I struggle with confidence sometimes because I'm thin and I get a lot of flak from people about it, backhanded compliments and mean jokes, that sort of thing. I often feel like I don't look "womanly" because I don't have curves to speak of and everything I wear looks bulky on me, and I wondered how Bucky would approach the self-conscious aspect of this with his girl, or how he might defend her in the wake of jokes/comments.

Obviously this can be a touchy subject for people so you don't have to write this if you don't want to. I'm still thoroughly enjoying all of your work! 🖤

Hi Steph 🥹🤍 I just want to tell you how much I adore you before I jump into this request! Both my mom, my sister, and my best friend have the exact same thing and while I don’t have this, it is something I’ve seen really hurt and affect them and the way they view their bodies. I think it’s absolutely important for me to touch on this topic and express that beauty is not a single size or look or body type or skin tone or style. Beauty just exists and by existing you are beautiful 🤍🤍

More below the cut, cut for length!

-Remember how I said that Bucky is the best hype man? This absolutely applies here

-This sweet man takes the time to come up with compliments that are not generic in any way. He thinks of the things he genuinely loves the most about you physically and hypes you up in every way he can think of.

-He truly just loves you and that means adoring your body as well

-I think when it comes to his lover or girlfriend being self-conscious, he's going to do whatever he can to convince you otherwise

-Positive self-talk? He's a pro at initiating that and trying to get you to reframe your thinking about the way you look at your own body

-Spending several hours and sessions of love-making on certain portions of your body that you're particularly insecure about is a favorite past-time of his

-And yes, that means he's praising you and big on body-worship

-And yes, that might mean that he's not giving you exactly what you want or need until you verbally agree with him about how beautiful you are

-Worships you in public as much as he does in private

-This is a man who is not afraid to let everyone know that he's madly in love with you and thinks that you are the embodiment of Venus or Aphrodite herself

-COMPLIMENTS ALL OF THE TIME

-And the minute that someone is shit-talking or pointing out flaws? Oh be prepared—because hands will be thrown and there will not be a single force on earth that can stop him from doing so

-No one gets to talk about you that way, and that includes yourself

-If he catches you saying something bad about yourself, he's genuinely upset and hurt—as though you were saying it about him and not yourself. He's not going to be okay until you apologize to yourself and work on being more kind to yourself.

-He's constantly on the prowl for ensuring that you feel loved, confident, and that you are aware of how much he simply adores you

-Absolutely cheesy as hell with his compliments and the way that pillow-talk might turn into him just ranting about you stunning you are and how perfectly made for him that you are and how much you're beautiful.

-Best man for the job, honestly 🥰

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air x reader #bucky egan headcanons #bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #masters of the air headcanons

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starliights-shining · 1 year

Note

can i request idw or g1 prowl making a fool (affectionate) of himself trying to find out if reader is available/single or not without asking directly

Hiii montyyyy! Yes you can request, anything for you Dear! I hope this is what you were looking for! I love Prowl! I havn't slept but I felt bad for not posting last night, So you gusy can have this. ILOVEPROWL! Anyways, Enjoy :)

Pairings: IDW/G1! Prowl x Cybertronian! Reader

Warnings: None, a simple sorry for it being bad and short,

He was curious, far too curious for someone who claimed to not have romantic interests. Cobalt blue optics scanning your face, as your digits came to a stop on the data pad you were typing on. You looked up at the cop themed mech, a questioning look as you attempted to come up with an answer. Your lips parted then closed, you looked at Jazz who stood in a doorway, cheesy smile on his face and arms crossed over his chassis.

“What?”

Is all you were able to come up with in that second. He looked away, nervously before chuckling. Not a word said between you two as he retreated to the blue visored bot in the doorway. You scoffed, it was like being in training all over again. The odd bot or mech trying to hint at something, but it being so out of nowhere, you acted like you didn’t know what they were talking about. You looked back at the report you were typing, reading the last sentence before your processor went back to Prowl. You shook your helm before going back to your report.

Things like this happened often, far too often. Prowl asking you to read over his reports, even after having someone else read over them. He's asked you out to Swerve’s, with every bots optics placed on you, all for you to decline. Many more advanced like this, you just thought he was trying to be friendly, that was until you were with a close friend.

You sat with a metal makeshift Earth flower twirling between your digits, the idea was to always have that one Earth flower forever immortalized, forever lasting, unlike its original.

“Did Prowl give that to you?”

You drag your optics from the flower to them, their optics looking at you in waiting. You just sighed, looking back at it. A simple nod was your answer as your wrist went limp and you slumped against the railing. The bright neon glow lighting you up.

“I don’t know why he keeps doing things like, ‘I’m not going to ask’ ways.”

You mimicked his voice, shaking your helm in the process to further drive you point.

“He can just ask, it’s not like he hasn’t talked to me every single day!”

You saw them straighten up in your peripheral view, resting their back against the railing and leaning their helm back.

“Sooo, you’re just letting him do this until he gets the bolts to ask you actually.”

You smiled, getting up from your position on the railing, you were. You had him playing this simply because it looked like a love struck fool in front of every other bot.

“And if I was?”

They laughed, optics moving to give you a side eye look.

“You’re sick, I knew you weren’t that clueless.”

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it was nice seeing the one bot you actually thought could be a romantic interest acting differently, even if it meant busting his pride and ego.

“He’s cute when he’s like that. It was probably Jazz who told him to not ask directly anyways.”

They hummed in agreement, their helm picking up when someone walked by, a mischievous smile coming across their face. They turned around, mimicking your position and moving closer.

“How long did you plan on keeping this going?”

You shrugged, you didn’t think he’d last this long. Your digits twirled the metal flower, you were going to say something the second time, but he just made such a fool of himself, it took you by surprise. You had thought about how you’d tell him, you were in fact very single, so single you were looking for anyone but him. His red forehead crest and those striking blue optics, even if you tried nothing would compare to the way you felt first seeing that combo. A combo so familiar, no one else could match it.

“Hellooooooo! Are you there?”

A servo was being waved in front of your helm, you blinked, looking towards its owner, a cheeky smile on their face as their optics switched between yours and whatever was behind you. Behind you, oh primus, what's behind you? You turned slowly, optics meeting the same admiral blues and cardinal crest that rest above them, staring into you. A friendly smile placed underneath them, almost not noticeable if you weren’t so close. So close, you were only inches away from the mech, you could kiss him, kiss him, that's what you're thinking about right now.

“Hello, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Light gray servos grabbing at the sides of your arms. His optics trail from yours down to your chin and then back up. You were awestruck, far too close to him then you needed to be, it was frying your circuit boards. Your optics only saw his, the little blue glow that shined under them, they way they just gazed at you when he spoke, spoke he spoke to you, he's speaking to you.

“Hey, ya still with me?”

His grip on your arms tightened, you could feel his digits rubbing back and forth, almost like trying to calm you, coax you out of whatever frozen moment you were having. You blinked up at him, you blinked several times before you spoke.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here.”

You looked over your shoulder to see if your friend was still there, they were gone, it took a few clicks and they were gone. You looked back to the mech who still had a grip on you.

“How can I help you,”

He flashed you a wide smile, the same one he does before he’s about to ask you some random question that doesn’t correlate to your love life but it's almost there if you squint.

“Got plans for that flower tonight?”

You watched his helm tilt just a bit down to the metal flower that was in the gap between you two. Your optics look down, a smile on your face, maybe this is the time you tell him. He seems to be getting touchy feely with you, and if it lasts any longer you might fade into the universe.

“You got something in mind?”

He chuckled, you could feel the vibrations from his servos that were still placed on your arms. Your optics scanning his face, any sign to turn down and not say yes to whatever he’s going to propose.

“Maybe, a dinner with me and some fun afterwards.”

There was a glint in his optics, like it was him hoping you’d say yes. Just this one time, he’d make it worth your while and then he won’t have to keep asking these silly indirect questions, simply because Jazz said it works, when it took him far too long to get here, this close to you. Servos touching after passing datapads and holding doors and pulling you out of the way, was different. This time his servos landed somewhere that isn’t your own, and you didn’t pull away immediately or matter of fact at all. It was progress, so much progress he thought he broke you, broke your pretty little plating and scared your spark away.

“You know what, Officer! I don’t believe I have plans with this lovely flower you gifted me. How about I show it off at Dinner with you!”

You watched his optics swirl, their admiral blue reigniting with something different, lust? hope? happiness? You don’t know, you just felt happy to finally have him stop his cheesy Jazz ways about asking if you were single.

“Soo, You are single.”

You laughed, your free servo coming up to hold the side of his helm.

“Do you think a taken bot would accept gifts that aren't from their significant other?”

He hums, closing his optics and leaning a bit into your touch. You make a fair point, just a fair point he doesn’t dare disagree, just slightly leans into your servo. He could care less about disagreeing with you, he finally had the answer he had always been looking for and you were going to be his. His one and only.

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers prowl #prowl #prowl x reader #transformers idw prowl #tf x reader #mtmte #tf idw #transformers x reader #transformers g1 #g1 prowl #g1 x reader #g1 transformers #tf prowl #prowl g1 #stars writings #montmont asks

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lightandspark · 1 year

Text

Cybertrons Mating Protocol AU

Sparklings and Parenthood: Ratings of the Sires who were most prepared for the birth of their sparklings.

Drift: 6/10, he never been so nervous in his years and the thought of things possibly going wrong kept going through his processors. He try to hide it with a big cheesy grin but the beads of sweat going down his helm were quite visible. Neither Ratchet or Drift knew who was holding their mate’s hand harder but never the less, Drift tried to put Ratchet in ease with jokes and tender words while wiping Ratchet’s tears, Ratchet mustering a laugh and suppress his own fears. Of course, once their little one was born and both Ratchet and baby were in perfect health, he smiled… then he collapsed. Ratchet sighed with a tired smile and looked down at their baby.

Prowl: 9/10, honestly, it was a good thing too. Jazz, who usually was so calm and cheerful, was so scared during the birth of their sparkling. Prowl was his rock through out these months. Prowl was there, gently kiss Jazz’s helm and whispering soothing words of comfort and pure love while Jazz gave birth. He let his mate crush his hand, knowing full well the pain his beloved was feelings was beyond words and was willing to do ANYTHING to sooth it. He cracked a few jokes, here and there as Jazz actually laughed through his tears. Jazz finally cry out in joy once their little one was born. Of course, Prowl was horrifically scared to death of losing his Jazz, but once it was all over, he showered his two loves with all the love he had in him and beyond.

Hound: 7/10, Mirage was getting annoyed though as Hound didn’t express any sign of worry but he was smiling as if it was the greatest thing happening. Mirage thought it was the greatest thing too… if it wasn’t for the damn pain he was feeling of giving birth! His optics twitching as Hound gazes at him with lovesick smile that Mirage adored, but right now, instead of returning it he was giving his mate the stink eye. Yes, Hound let him crush his hand through out and yes he pressed gentle kisses on his helm. The aftermath of it all, Mirage was appreciative that Hound remained calm and felt bad for glaring at him the entire time… unaware that Hound was in fact worried to death but blinded himself with happy thoughts that presented himself like a lovesick dork. He still is Mirage’s lovesick dork as he smiled big and Mirage returned that smile back before Mirage and Hound showered their baby with attention.

Ultra Magnus: 7/10, Rodimus was the most calm despite the pain he was in. If he wasn’t holding Ultra Magnus hand, his mate would be pacing back and forth until there was a hole in the floor. Rodimus was scared of giving birth, truly he was but what distracted throughout the months was his mate’s planning out with literal blue prints and maps on the process on securing Rodimus and their sparkling’s swell being. To the point that Rodimus had to laugh. Everything was thrown out the window as the baby decided to come a little early and Magnus was quietly panicking. Of course, joy followed as the proud pair finally heard their baby’s healthy cries as they gaze at each other excitedly.

Blitzwing: 8/10, A lot calmer than anyone, even the doctors, had expected. He was there for Bumblebee, especially when Bee was on the verge of full on panicking. Looking at Blitzwing for support, Blitzwing was gentle and kind. Caressing Bee’s helm as he gently assured that everything was ok. And everything was ok. As soon as the baby was born, Bumblebee burst into tears of joy and held Blitzwing’s hand and quietly thanked him. “Thank you, Blitzwing.” Blitzwing finally burst into tears as all the worry IN HIM left as he uttered out “Nein, thank you, Honey Bee.”

Soundwave: 10/10 he was SO calm, collected, reassuring, supportive, and knew what he was doing. Blaster was set. Everything went according to their plan. The calmest couple ever. Blaster was just happy and excited to see their baby as he discussed the names that he and Soundwave picked out as Soundwave smiled at his beloved. They came in with smiles and left with smiles and a baby.

Red Alert: 8/10, which surprised a lot of people as he was a little anxious during the first few months of Inferno being sparked. However, the couple were brought alarming news that in order for their little one to be born, Inferno must go into operation and that greatly terrified Inferno. Seeing his beloved so scared, Red Alert was determined to stay calm and do everything in his power to ensure the well being of his mate and baby are provided for. Yes, he still gets nervous and jittering, but Red Alert managed healthy exercises to help put him at ease and even help Inferno use them as well from time to time. He was satisfied when all things went well and the couple were proud parents to their baby.

Starscream: 100/10, Starscream made sure he was going to be the best sire AND an attentive mate EVER, starting from the moment Windblade excitedly told him she had sparked. He was there at every check up, ultrasound, went out to get her cravings, massaged her pedes, leaned down and talked to their little bitlit within her, was 100% there for her during the birth COMPLETELY mentally, emotionally, and physically. He had all the right words to say as he wiped her tears and the sheer joy when they saw their sparkling, kissing Windblade’s helm as he murmured “Congratulations, carrier.” As she snorts tiredly “Congratulations to you too, Sire.”

Breakdown: 1000000/10, Knockout was blessed with a mate like Breakdown because everything felt like a piece cake for them. Knockout praised that without Breakdown, he wouldn’t be able get through it all as his mate blushes. Of course, Breakdown insists that Knockout is the only one who deserve the praise as he was the one who did the most tiring and painful yet most beautiful job in bringing their sparkling in the world. But Knockout smiles gently as he watched his mate rock their baby to sleep as he remembers all the loving words and tender caresses Breakdown provided him that kept him strong throughout it. Knockout was SCARED TO DEATH but Breakdown saved him from his fear and here he was, watching his beloved rocking their darling baby to sleep.

Swindle: 5/10… honestly… poor guy. He was completely fine during the months of the sparkhood and was obnoxiously seducing and charmed Blurr. He seemed quite fine UNTIL during one check up where their doctor told the couple EVERYTHING that could go wrong when Blurr asked the types of risks. Blurr sat there, nodding calmly while Swindle sweated buckets and servos gone clammy. Once the actual delivery came, Swindle collapsed mid way, Blurr laughed through his pain that seemed more like a cackle. Afterwards, Blurr cheered him up by placing their healthy baby in his arms and mused “At least you didn’t need to be sedated…” unlike Octane while Sandstorm was slivering their sparkling but that’s a different story.

Brainstorm: 6/10, Perceptor was a bit concerned that Brainstorm might need to be sedated or be admitted to the hospital as well as it looked like his mate was going to faint any moment now while he delivered their baby. Not out of nervousness… but the lack of recharging. Brainstorm stayed up for three weeks prior to the birth listing up ways to ensure Percy was happy and calm during the delivery and making toys for their baby… it was a miracle that he stayed up on his pedes during the entire delivery and only collapsed into a slumber once kissing the top of Percy and their sparkling helm. He snored soundly.

(Will probably do part 2 with other personal favourite ships; Slingshot X Silverbolt, Cyclonus x Tailgate, Arcee x Greenlight, Misfire x Swerve, Springer x First Aid, Octane x Sandstorm, Road Rage x Nautica, Firestar x Velocity, Dust Up x Jumpstream, Sparkstalker x Lightbright, Blast Off x Cosmos, and Megatron x Optimus and perhaps more)

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belle--ofthebrawl · 9 months

Note

15 screams swissdew to me 👉👈

This... didn't get too dirty until the end. I am so sorry. It's so dumb and barely smutty.

(15: One more cheesy pickup line and I'm throwing you over that table.)

Nobody remembers how it started but it was probably Swiss' fault.

Probably.

H'd gotten into a fake tussle with Cirrus over something unimportant, probably who loves Cumulus more. Nobody knew, nobody cared. The important thing was that Cirrus shoved him over the back of the couch, where he smoothly flipped and landed neatly on the floor with one hand on his fist and the other propped on his hip.

"Even if there wasn't any gravity on Earth," he insisted, with his eyes scrunched shut. "I would still fall for her."

"You'll make everyone else feel left out." Cumulus had murmured, extending a hand to help him up. He took it. Kissed it.

And made it his personal mission to flirt with everyone that night so they didn't feel left out.

"Hey, Aether." He says, rolling across the floor to Aether's recliner. Aether looks up from his book with an eyebrow raised. "Guess what my shirt's made of."

("My shirt." Mountain corrects from his seat between Aurora's legs. She's braiding his hair.)

"Linen." Aether says.

"Boyfriend material." Swiss says. When Aether doesn't react, he says it again, plucking at his collar. "Boyfriend material."

"Uh-huh." Aether says.

"Romance is dead." Sunny calls absently from where she's lazily flipping through channels. Swiss rolls over the floor to her and gives her a finger gun.

"Quick give me mouth-to-mouth so we can resuscitate it."

She scoffs and drops the remote on his face. He takes it in stride, hopping up and pacing around, pressing buttons randomly until he comes to Rain.

"Am I turning you on?" He asks with a cheeky grin, pointing the remote at him and pressing the Power button.

"You have a great face for radio." Rain said with a beatific smile.

"No one loves me." Swiss sighs, throwing the remote back towards Sunny. "You just want me for my body."

"Would you hold it against me?" Mountain murmurs and Swiss springs into action instantly, bouncing to drape himself across the larger ghoul's lap.

"Always," he promises, holding his pinky up. "As long as you want."

"Come here often?" Mountain asks with a little smile, linking his own pinky finger with Swiss'.

"Would you like me to?"

His other hand is inching up the inseam of Mountain's jeans while Swiss gives the other ghoul a textbook case of bedroom eyes. Mountain bows his head, kisses him as the hair not yet braided by Aurora swings to obscure them.

Speaking of Aurora. She tugs on a braid after a few moments, clearly not interested in sharing Mountain with the way she loops her arms around his neck and starts sucking a bruise into the skin of his neck, staring Swiss down unblinkingly.

"Boo, you whore." Swiss says. Mountain shrugs and is rewarded for his complacency with Aurora's nails scritching on his scalp. Lowing like a cow, he settles back between her legs and gives little butterfly kisses to her inner thigh. Looking around with an exaggerated pout, Swiss' eyes land on Aeon and Dew on the sofa, playing the stupid mobile game Aeon had dragged him into.

"So what you can do is," Aeon says, unaware of the way Swiss prowls towards them. "You can do the right thing and give the shorts back. Or you can run around town with them on, put them in the summer potluck-"

"Gross." Dew says tapping at his phone while watching Swiss army crawl on the ground behind the couch.

"Or put them on display at the harvest festival." Aeon continues. "I like to wear them and talk to him."

"You would." Dew says in a monotone, tracking the little scuffles as Swiss continues to move. He waits for a telltale pause and when a hand creeps up to pat around, Dew avoids it. Aeon is not so lucky.

"Hey!" He yelps as Swiss looms up behind him and covers his eyes. "Dude, c'mon. I was mining!"

"Hang on," Swiss says. "Ooh, I can make a good one with that."

They wait while he thinks, Aeon trying to peek between his fingers to keep playing. Dew rolls his eyes, propping his elbow on the couch and shaking his head.

"I would pick your ass any day." He finally says and is let with various sounds of dismissal and disapproval from the entire group. "Okay, not my best work. But thankfully," He skids over to Dew's side of the couch and puts grabby hands on his bony shoulders, giving him a little rub. Dew heats up in warning. Just enough for a heads up, not enough to scorch his seat.

Turns out that was a mistake.

"Hot as you look, baby!" Swiss calls, digging his fingers into Dew's skin tight before pulling them off and blowing on them. "Got just the thing to cure that fever."

("He's gonna say cum." Mountain says under his breath.

"Definitely gonna say cum." Aurora agrees.)

"If you say one more bad pick up line, I'm throwing you over the coffee table." Dew says, still neutral. His warning has been given.

He swears he feels Swiss smile and can't stop the way his own lips quirk up as Swiss bends down, pulls Dew's hair back to whisper right in his ear.

"I'll have you know I'm an expert on beauty." He breathes, hot over Dew's skin as he walks two fingers up Dew's arm to pull at his shirt collar.

"Mm-hmm." Dew says, eyes narrowing into slits.

"No, I mean it!" Swiss insists. "Beauty's on the inside, and I've been inside you so much that-"

Dew's little by human standards. If his glamour was real, he wouldn't be able to pull off his next move, only would end up hurting himself and Swiss in the process. But he's hellspawn and Pit-raised, a runt who got used to moving fast and fighting dirty. There's not much weight to him but he knows how to use his body and surroundings as leverage, bracing himself hard so he can yank Swiss over the couch and over-the-shoulder throw him onto the wooden coffee table, which cracks neatly in two.

("Oh no!" Aeon cries. "Our table! It's broken!"

"Delete TikTok off his phone when he's not looking." Mountain mutters to Aurora, who nods solemnly.)

Dew, still seated, spreads his legs wide and props his elbows on his knees so he can lean over and give Swiss a little smirk.

"So did it hurt?" He asks. "When you fell from heaven?"

"Make love to me in the wreckage of this room, Dewdrop, right fucking now." Swiss says, sounding choked up and suddenly extremely horny.

"Sure." Dew says, standing up to unzip his jeans. "But then you gotta let everyone else have turn."

He chucka Swiss under the chin and brings the other ghoul close to mouth at his cock.

"Just so they don't feel left out."

#swiss x dewdrop #the Ghang's all here.#swiss army ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #do i tag all of them? don't want to clutter uo the tags.

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brabe · 2 years

Text

The Anatomy of the Bar Scene

the more i think about it, the more i’m leaning towards them being ex-something rather than them only ever having been on the cusp of it.

and the way hangman sets the scene has me in a fit. how it screams SCORNED LOVER from the top of the mountains.

the way he sees that rooster is here now at last, because of course he is—no one has ever believed in rooster more than hangman, that’s kind of the problem—and sneaks to the jukebox to select just the right soundtrack for his grand entrance. the song choice. the fact that he is so dramatic about it that he feels the need to announce his presence via song in the first place. an honest to god sex song. 'slow ride, take it easy. slow down, go down, got to get your lovin' one more time. hold me, roll me, slow ridin' woman you're so fine. i'm in the mood, the rhythm is right, move to the music, we can roll all night'. how he selects nr. 86 without a second of hesitation, muscle memory, like this song speaks of history between them, an echo of a long-standing inside joke recalling once-upon-a-time familiarity and intimacy.

rooster looks up before hangman even calls his name. he hears the opening riff, and already knows what’s about to go down, could do this song and dance with his eyes closed and his shoestrings tied up together.

now god help him, hangman is going to play this cool as a cucumber. you know when you have a chance encounter with your ex whom you are absolutely, 100%, no questions asked over (shut up, you are), and you are going to make it extremely loud and spectacularly clear how you are doing swimmingly, thanks for asking, and how they are sorely missing out.

thing is, rooster still looks like a fucking million bucks, all golden and glowing. heads turning like on a string as he struts in like he owns the place by birthright, like everything until now was just the supporting act to his one-man show, hawaiian print and aviators like limelights on a background of khaki. impossible to miss, impossible to look away from. like maybe he too carefully curated his stage entrance, fashionably late and effortlessly cool as can be.

gain the home turf. the best defense is a good offense. one-up. one-up. one-up.

thing is, hangman is just a man, after all, and a few beers deep to boot, and god help him, but he still looks at rooster like he wants to eat him alive, because he does, can’t imagine ever not wanting. lip bite.

like an apex predator establishing eye contact with its prey (who is who, though?), he prowls in, swipes bob’s cue stick, bends himself over the pool table, takes the shot blind looking up at rooster from underneath his eyelashes. the kicker is that he wasn’t even in the game. earlier when hangman left to order more beers phoenix said, ‘rack ‘em’ to bob as they started a new game. he just dive-bombs in, putting on his own little one-man show for his one-man audience.

‘bradshaw, as i live and breathe.’ bradshaw, not rooster and definitely not bradley. distance. so here we are after all, after everything. ball in your court.

‘hangman, you look...good.’ rooster blatantly checks him out right back, always looking back, hasn’t even the decency to be subtle about it. tone lock, missile shot and landed. and hangman takes a split second to absorb the hit and recalibrate because rooster was supposed to take the bait for what it was, wasn’t supposed to be nice, how dare he? he has no right to say that, not anymore, by his own doing.

‘well, i am good, rooster. i’m very good [bats his eyelashes]. in fact, i’m too good to be true.’ nailed it. or something. i like to think that hangman internally cringed at that final line, god that was cheesy, talk about acting so chill it circles right back to supremely unchill, transparent, chink in the armour.

rooster shakes his head, holds back a half grin, and looks over to phoenix like, ‘can you believe him?’ but it’s half exasperated and half, dare i say, fond. like, there he is, as insufferably and maddeningly wonderful as always. and phoenix knows enough, not everything, but about there being something to know in the first place. it’s been two minutes tops and now the whole detachment does as well. cue payback, ‘sooo...’

and let’s talk coyote and phoenix for a moment. their entire earlier interaction, but especially that little pointed, ‘hey, coyote.’ / ‘hey.’ how it screams of ‘we used to hang out because our best friends were dating, but the breakup was messy, and we loyally took to each side of the divorce. for the public record my best friend is totally in the right and yours a total asshole.’

thing is, the back and fort still flows between hangman and rooster too much like foreplay, like it doesn’t know how to be anything else. too close to slipping into jake and bradley’s territory for comfort. they were always so good at this.

so hangman doubles down, and keeps figuratively shooting spitballs at the back of rooster’s head from the back of the classroom until he’s going to take the damn bait. drop the niceties and let the temper aflame. hangman got it down to an art after all. more peacocking, more bending over the pool table, more holding eye contact while slighting his leadership prowess and smiling condescendingly as he does so. BINGO.

and rooster does try, looks to the side like, ‘i know you. i know what you’re doing.’

but oh well, here goes nothing.

rooster looks down, charges up. ‘hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.’ rooster looks back up and half the destructive force of this hit comes from his eyes, from his closed-off stare locked onto hangman, devoid of any lingering warmth now.

trying and keeping up with you and all of your crazy, in the air, or otherwise, will drive a man insane. he would know.

coyote obviously hears it too. the look on his face is a whole picture. he looks seconds away from leaping over the pool table and making rooster regret all of his life’s choices that led him to this very moment. he’s saved by the bell by fanboy’s whooping that redirects coyote’s death glare momentarily. the camera pans to phoenix, who for all intents and purposes is on rooster’s side of the feud, and whose expression clearly reads, ‘well, fuck’. she doesn’t know the whole story, not like coyote does, rooster not one to kiss and tell. payback in the background obviously asking himself, again, whichever soap opera did he just walk into.

direct hit. hangman is frozen in place for a moment too long, his shark-like smirk brittle. it’s just his luck that his whole life has been one decades-long exercise in breaking down and building himself back up in the blink of an eye, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, like you’re supposed to. but bradley never looked away (until he did, at least), and it’s a daunting process he’s witnessed too many times. it never fails to be heartbreaking, seeing hangman emerge on the other side with a new shiny layer to his glamour.

there it is, hotheaded bradshaw, making it too damn easy to firmly put the gilded armour back into place. they were even better at this; shooting to kill, almost like their lives depended on it.

hangman short of barrels into phoenix on his way to deliver his own fatal blow, almost daring her to intervene in defense of her wingman.

hangman completes his prowl, the cutting edge of his smirk more lethal close range, closer than he’s been in years, ‘anyone who follows you is just gonna...run out of fuel,’ hangman looks down, charges up, locks him in his chilling stare, ‘but that’s just you, ain’t it, rooster? you’re snug on that perch. waiting for the right moment...that never comes.’

trying and waiting for you to catch up, to take the next step, to take that leap of faith, in the air, or otherwise, will be a man’s downfall. he would know.

‘i love this song.’ a final acknowledgement of everything that was, a parting dare.

coyote looks as smug as he looked outraged before. he was there picking up the pieces in the destruction of the aftermath. his best friend surviving once more, albeit coming too close for comfort.

direct hit. and rooster just sits back and takes it. his whole demeanor changes and subdues. he knows that hangman got him there, and he walked right into that one, has nothing to say for himself. he has this strained fixed little smile, he is nodding along minutely like, 'so are you really going there...fair enough.’ he looks down at hangman's lips when he gets too close, closer than he’s been in years, because he’s just a man, and he still hasn’t ever wanted anyone more. he’s effectively stunned into silence. the fortifying little sigh he takes after hangman makes his exit and leaves him planted there like, 'shit. he went there alright. it's been years, why does it still hit bullseye?' (he knows why). that deflated, resigned, 'nope, sure hasn't' and then the 10-hour long stare watching him walk away.

how the turntables.

#hangster #hangman x rooster #top gun: maverick #top gun #olivia rodrigo's good 4 u was blasting inside hangman's head the whole time #the anatomy of their microexpressions!!!!!#i've replayed this scene ad infinitum till it felt like a fever dream #miles and glen literally invented YEARNING

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