#any input would be greatly appreciated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

band--psycho · 1 month ago

Text

141 x Reader - Them Paying For Your Nails

Thank you for the request @barbersjoy for this request, I really liked doing this type of a request, so please feel free to send anymore like this in! 💛

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist / Join My Taglist

These are only my opinions on what the guys would be like, so please no hate!!

Kyle Garrick

He would 100% have an input on your nails, he’d be happy to scroll through Pinterest with you for hours if need be. Searching for the perfect design that you loved.

He wouldn’t care how much they cost either.

“What about this design?” Kyle suggested, leaning over to you slightly so he could show you the nail design he had on his phone.

There was no denying that you absolutely loved them; they were exactly what you’d been looking for…but you also knew that getting a nail set like that wouldn’t exactly be cheap.

“You don’t like them?” He asked, noticing how your smile faltered the longer you looked at the picture.

“I love them, but they’ll be so expensive Kyle,” you answered softly, continuing to scroll through your own phone for inspiration.

“I’ll pay for them,” Kyle said with a smile on his face.

You opened your mouth in an attempt to protest his offer, not because you weren’t grateful but because you felt bad letting him spend that much money on your nails.

But before you could even get a word out, his finger was on your lips, silencing you, “No arguments.”

You knew better than to try and argue with him after that, so the next day you came out of the salon; with not only a brand new set of stunning nails, but also a very proud looking Kyle.

~~~~~~~~

Johnny McTavish

Johnny would happily help you pick a colour for the base of your nail set when you undoubtedly became indecisive of what to choose from; and he’d leave the rest for you to decide unless you were stuck on what to choose from.

It reminded him of when his sisters used to ask for his opinion on such things.

When it comes to paying for them, he would have no problem with agreeing to it.

He loved spoiling you, with whatever you wanted, so if you wanted your nails done he’d happily pay for them.

But I don’t think Johnny would realise how expensive it would be, his sisters never really told him that, think the poor guy could pass out from the shock when he finds out.

“They look beautiful, Bon,” Johnny beamed, mirroring the smile that was on your face.

God how he loved it when you smiled.

“Let’s see if you still think they’re beautiful when you find out how much they cost,” you said softly, you’d already warned him that they weren’t going to be cheap, yet the Scotsman still insisted on paying for them.

A moment you were certain he was regretting as the nail artist told him the price, the colour draining a little from his face.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he muttered, his eyes wide as he looked at the price on the screen, then at you, before looking back at the screen.

“Ye gonna have to persuade Price to give me a raise,” he continued with a soft chuckle, the colour now returning to his face as reached inside his jacket pocket for his wallet.

As shocked as he was by the price, it was worth every single penny, because the smile that was on your lips was priceless to him.

~~~~~~~~

Simon Riley

Simon, I don’t think would really be bothered by the colour or design you had on your nails as long as it made you happy.

Much like the other two, he would love spoiling you but unlike Johnny, he knew how expensive the types of nail sets you liked could be.

Would he still pay for it? Of course.

I also imagine him watching what the nail artist was doing, meticulously so.

He would observe every detail, perhaps taking notes on how to do what the nail artist was doing.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, unsure of why Simon was sitting on the chair next to you, with his pocket notebook in hand.

“Taking notes,” he answered simply, as though what he was doing was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” You questioned again, making a small frustrated sign slip passed Simon’s lips at your interruption.

“So I can do them for you next time,” was all he said, turning his attention back to quickly writing notes in his notebook.

You couldn’t help a smile from growing on your lips, nor could you stop the heat from rising to your cheeks at his words.

~~~~~~~~

John Price

John would probably not be super phased about what colour or design you got on your nails, although he did prefer more simplistic styles, as long as it made you happy, then he was happy.

But he would probably have a limit on how much he’d pay for them unless you really loved them.

“Hmmm, I don’t know sweetheart,” John began, raising his hand to his bearded chin, pondering the amount of the money this was going to cost him.

To be clear, the money was not the sole reason for his reservations on your design. The main reason was because John knew you. Knew how often you changed your mind on nail designs. You could love it one minute, get them done and then absolutely hate them a few days later.

He just wanted you to be sure that this was the design that you wanted.

He looked over at you, sighing at the sight in front of them.

He knew what you were doing, the pouty bottom lip and puppy dog eyes, something that was like kryptonite to John.

“Sure these are what you want?” He asked, lifting his hand to your cheek.

“I’m sure,” you nodded with a smile.

“Okay,” was all John said, reaching inside his jacket before placing his wallet in your hand.

He knew that you were still probably going to change your mind, but regardless of this, he couldn’t say no to you.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @mermaniaa @fangirlfandomss @book-dragon03 @dulcecreatura @sunrise-willarive @amniotic115 @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @mrstelford @littlejoyfulthings @s-void @rivwritesiguess

235 notes · View notes

solkara · 1 year ago

Text

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒 , jacaerys velaryon ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , your life had been in essos and you thought it would remain that way until you were called to kings landing where a certain dark haired heir stole your heart

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , jacaerys velaryon x fem! red priestess! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , tbh idk if I should do a part 2 for this or not let me know if you guys would be interested in it or . . .

house of the dragon masterlist

⌗ the first targaryen you ever met was daemon. the two of you were introduced during his and his wife laena's time in essos. as one of the prince of essos personal red priestesses. your prince going to great lengths to show off his powerful witches and wealth. you were intrigued by them. you had heard a lot about targaryen's and their history. and part of you was curious if all the rumours you had heard were true or not.

⌗ and you got your chance to see for yourself. as you wandered the castle trying to tier yourself so you could finally find sleep. you ended up walking into daemon. and some how the two of you ended up talking all night long. asking each other questions about the other heritage and culture. and by the end of the night you could happily say your curiosity had been fed.

⌗ in the following day you ended up befriending laena as well. the two white haired taking a massive liking to you. as since they didn't have any children of their own yet. they treated you like theirs. and once baela and rhaena were born you became like an older sister to them. and you were very much considered apart of their family.

⌗ which was why laena's death hurt you so much. once new's had broken the first thing you did was hold the two young girls that were like sisters to you. and the three of you sat on the roof of the castle and cried until the sun rose.

⌗ and what hurt you even more was that you couldn't even attend the funeral. your prince and fellow red preistesses forbidding you claiming you were far to young to travel so far. and that instead you should focus on perfecting you magic. to which you begrudgingly agreed and after bidding a tearful farwell to the ones you had called family for so long. you were alone. with nothing but your magic to keep you company.

⌗ obviously you kept in touch. sending letters to the father and daughter trio. but other than that you completely dedicated yourself to training your magic to become stronger. and as the years passed you only seemed to grow more and more powerful. and while you were happy about your progress part of you still craved to explore the world. venture beyond essos and see what else the world had to offer.

⌗ and your opportunity finally came. when one day you were summoned by your prince. who informed you that you were leaving for king's landing. that the newly crowned queen rhaenyra targaryen asked for you. offering you a place on her council. as the positive words of her husband had not gone unnoticed.

⌗ so you departed essos. and made your way to king's landing were you were greeted by some faces. some old some new. "my queen, my king" you said curtseying deeply. but before you could say anything else you were thrown into the embrace of two very familiar forms. baela and rhaena. and with the greetings done. you were partially dragged inside.

⌗ it was rather easy for you to settle in. the targaryens had been nothing but welcoming. one in particular. jace. as it was no secret the heir had grown awfully fond of you. going as far to ask for the creation of a r'hollor template to be made for you. which you greatly appreciated. though you wouldn't deny it made your heart flutter a bit.

⌗ rhaenyra seemed to notice her son's fondness for you. and if anything she encroaged it. as she loved you as if you were her own child. always valuing your opinion and input on matters in small council. so when she noticed her eldest infatuation with her. she was overjoyed as the queen wouldn't deny that the thought of the two of you being wed had crossed her mind before. but if her son was going to court you rhaenyra was going to make sure that he did it properly.

⌗ the following moons were intresting. to say they least. you did you regular council duties as normal. but the moment you were finished you were swept away. showered in gifts and affection. taken on rides on dragonback. which did take quite a bit of convincing. and at some point in the middle. you could well and truly say you had fallen in love with jacaerys velaryon.

⌗ the realisation hit you hard and fast. as here you were looking at this beautiful man in front of you. an angel in the flesh. and he was asking for your hand in marriage. what had you done in your past life to become so luck. and while he waited for a response. you leaned forward and kissed him. "is that an answer for you my prince?" you asked coyly. "plenty good princess"

anon , Jacaerys x red priestess reader where she's from the cult of R'hllor and came to be a close counselor to Rhaenyra, and they go to winterfell together

567 notes · View notes

krirebr · 1 year ago

Text

More Than This 6

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, the threat of Linda, explicit language, panic & anxiety, my own rampant abuse of italics, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well. Here we go. Things are coming to a head now.

Permanent thanks, as always, to @paperweight91 who lets me talk her ear off about this and always has the best input.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You sat on the closed toilet seat in Ransom’s ensuite, your knees pulled up to your chest, as you watched the seconds on the timer tick by, Linda’s gift bag sitting right beside the under-the-sink cabinet you’d pulled it out of. This time would be different, you told yourself. It wouldn’t be the same result as the last three tests you took. It couldn’t. It couldn’t.

Your phone buzzed and you turned the timer off as you closed your eyes tight. Please please please, you chanted to yourself. After forcing yourself to breathe, you opened your eyes and picked up the test off the counter. Pregnant said the easy-read display. Just like the others. Shit.

This was what you wanted. You knew that. But– But you were stupid. You were so fucking stupid. You were so focused on getting pregnant that you’d forced yourself to forget about what would come when you actually were – a baby. You and Ransom were going to have a baby. You were fully trapped now. Completely fucked. This had cemented the rest of your life, no way out.

And the same for this poor baby you carried inside of you. A childhood just like yours. The same future too. You cradled your stomach even knowing there was barely anything there yet.

You wandered into the hall. You wondered where you would even put a baby as you looked across at the home gym you'd never seen Ransom use. His study. The storage rooms. You tried to imagine a little kid running around in this house. You couldn’t. You couldn’t picture a single moment of your future beyond this day. It terrified you.

The rest of the day passed in a haze before Ransom came home at his usual time. You froze at the sight of him, just staring as he bent down to pat Lola and tell her hello as she yipped excitedly at him. He turned to you and his brow furrowed. Oh god. Could he tell? Could he see it on you? You opened your mouth to tell him. You had to tell him. But no words came out. After gaping at him for who knows how long, while his brow just got more and more furrowed, you asked “Are you hungry?” and moved into the kitchen without waiting for a response. You had no idea how he’d react.

Would he be happy you’d finally fulfilled your purpose? Angry because he’d never wanted a kid to begin with? Or maybe he did want a kid, he just didn’t want one with you? Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe you didn’t even factor into this equation. Maybe the kid would be good enough on it’s own. That might be the best outcome you could hope for. That thought terrified you just as much as the others.

You pulled two of the premade meals out of the fridge. You hadn’t tried to make dinner again since your disastrous first attempt. You thought of your kid. Eating the housekeeper’s meals, being taken care of by a nanny, driven around by a chauffeur, while you just faded away into the background.

Ransom calling your name brought you back to the present. He was just on the other side of the kitchen island from you now. “Are you okay?” he asked, and you couldn’t tell if it was concern or annoyance in his tone.

Tell him tell him tell him. You had to. You knew you had to. But. You couldn’t right now. It wasn’t the right time. You’d come up with a plan. The right way to do it. That’s what you needed. You forced a benign smile. “I’m fine,” you said.

Something passed over his features. Frustration, maybe. But what did he have to be frustrated by? You were doing what he wanted. Making yourself as small as possible, doing everything you could not to intrude on his life.

He just stared at you as you plated a meal for him and put it in the microwave. He looked at you as if there was something to decode. The more he stared, the more afraid you became that he’d be able to ferret out your secret. Not yet. Please not yet. It wasn’t the right time. “Actually,” you said, as you took his dinner out of the microwave and replaced it with your own, “I’m not feeling great. I think I’m just going to take this upstairs with me and maybe read until I fall asleep. Don’t bother waking me if I’m sleeping when you come up. Think I just need to sleep off whatever this is.” You were babbling. You knew it. You needed to get out of this room.

“Are you ok?” He asked. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no,” You said, taking your plate out as soon as the microwave beeped, not bothering to check if it was truly done. “I’m fine. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix, I’m sure. Goodnight.” Then you fled upstairs, not looking back.

You spent the next day trying to pretend like everything was normal. You read one of Harlan’s books, you took Lola for a long walk, you hid from Carol. Everything was fine.

Late in the afternoon, you got a text from Ransom.

How are you feeling?

You stared at it, confused. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. You hadn’t told him. What was– Oh! Last night you’d told him you were sick. Right.

I’m feeling much better. Thank you.

A few minutes later your phone dinged again.

Ok. My parents want to take us to dinner. I’ll be home around 6 and we’ll go right to the restaurant.

You looked at the time. That was less than two hours from now. Less than two hours to get ready for Linda. That– that was not enough time. You tried to push down the panic building in your chest. This was fine. You’d just start getting ready now. It was fine.

You went into Ransom’s bathroom and started doing your makeup. It was fine. Your hand only shook a little.

When that was done, you went into the closet. All you had to do was pick an outfit. You could do that.

But as you rifled through the closet, the panic you’d tried so hard to shove deep down came back. Not only that, it grew. You didn’t know how you were supposed to pick something to wear when you didn’t know what Linda wanted. But if you didn’t get it right, she would look at you and she would say something. And she would hate you even more. But every time you thought you might have found something that would please her, you became overcome with worry over what Richard might think – if it showed too much chest, or too much leg, or too much neck or maybe it highlighted your ass and he would take it as an invitation. It was too much. You sank down to the floor, surrounded by all the clothes you’d pulled off hangers. You were paralyzed. There was no option that wouldn’t get you in trouble, wouldn’t cause problems.

You didn’t even realize Ransom was home until he was in the closet too, standing over you, with an impatient scowl on his face. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why aren’t you ready? We have to go! Linda’s gonna lose her shit if we’re late for the reservation. Get up and get fucking dressed already.”

You looked up at him, at the way he was glaring at you, and suddenly you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. None of it. Not a single thing.

“Then tell me what to wear!” you yelled, and Ransom took a step back, surprised. “Because none of this is going to be good enough! Not for your mom, who hates me. Or your dad who looks at me, and– and– And you! I have no fucking idea what you want. I can’t figure it out! But I’m here. I have to be here. And I have to do what you want, but I don’t know what that is because you won’t tell me! I only know what you don’t want. You don’t want me to cook and you don’t want to fuck me and you don’t want me to work! And I really don’t understand that one because you told me I could but then you sicced your mother on me–”

“Wait, what?” Ransome tried to interrupt. “What did–”

You barely even noticed he’d said anything, too much on a roll now to even think about stopping. “And you don’t want me to leave! You keep me locked up here, stranded and I think I’m starting to lose my mind. I don’t– I don’t have anything to do or anyone to talk to! Steve is too busy for me and that’s probably good because your mom is sure we’re fucking, so I probably shouldn’t talk to him anymore anyway. But I miss him. He’s the only one who cares about me. I’m so alone. And even Lola loves you now. I don’t have anyone or anything! And I know, I know I’m supposed to make you happy. I know that’s what I’m for now, but I don’t know how! You don’t want me. You don’t want me here but you won’t let me leave. And now I’m pregnant! And I’m stuck. This is just my life now, the way it’ll always be and I–”

A hand on your wrist shocked you back into the room, into the present, where Ransom was crouching down in front of you, eyes wide. “You’re pregnant?” he breathed.

You froze. Oh god, had you said that? You didn’t really remember. You barely remembered anything you’d just said. It’d all come tumbling out of you without much conscious thought. But as he stared at you, you knew that you must have. You locked eyes with him for what might have been just a moment or an entire age. And then suddenly, this, fucking everything, was too much for you and you bolted.

Up and out of the closet, out of the bedroom, and into the hall. You looked around wildly. You didn’t have anywhere to go. You heard Ransom start to move, so you ducked through the nearest doorway, into his gym, slamming the door and locking it behind you. You paced around the room, wringing your hands. What the fuck had you done? Why had you said all that? You were just so tired. You’d been so tired since that day in Joseph’s office. You just couldn’t muster the energy to keep everything inside anymore.

A knock came at the door and you froze. Ransom called your name gently, but you couldn’t say anything. He called it again, a little louder, but you still kept quiet. The doorknob rattled as he tried to get in. You backed up, still feeling the urge to run but there was nowhere to go. Your back hit the far wall and you slid down it.

“I just–” he started through the door, “you don’t have to talk to me. I just– I just need to know that you’re ok.” It was his tone that surprised you more than his words. He sounded– you weren’t sure how he sounded, honestly. Wrecked, maybe, if that wasn’t so fucking ridiculous. “Can you at least tell me you aren’t having a panic attack? I’m–” You swore you could hear him grinding his teeth. “I’m worried.”

You gaped at the door for a moment, then forced out, “I’m not having a panic attack,” just loud enough to travel through the wood.

“You’re sure? Your breathing’s normal?”

“Yeah,” you said, hunched over by the wall now.

You heard him let out a deep breath. “Ok, good, that’s good. Uh, will you please come out? I’d really like to talk to you.”

You were shaking your head before he finished speaking, your stomach clenching in fear. You couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not ever, a voice inside you whispered. That wouldn’t be possible, you knew. But you’d hold off as long as you possibly could. “No,” you finally said out loud, your voice unsteady.

There was just silence at first. It stretched on. Then, finally, you heard him move away from the door and down the stairs. You took a slow, deep breath. Then another and another. You stood up and started moving again. Around and around the room. You were so relieved he was gone but you were terrified of where he might be going, what he might be doing. How he might feel. How angry was he? And was he just upset about the outburst or was he mad about the baby? He’d never been an enthusiastic participant in the making of it, just doing what he had to. This baby wasn’t his choice, it’d been pushed on him, just like you were pushed on him. Of course he resented you. And he’d resent your child, your family. A whole life he never wanted.

You cradled your stomach as you crumpled down to the floor. This poor baby. Parents who barely spoke, a mother who was only ever sad. Tears slid down your cheeks. History just kept repeating. Over and over again. There’d never been anything you could do to stop it.

Your pathetic spiral was interrupted by a scratching at the door. Then a huff and then whimpers. Lola. You started to get up, move towards the door, but then you stopped. Opening that door felt insurmountable. Like it would destroy any small modicum of safety you currently felt. Like everything outside, everything you were scared of would come crashing in. You couldn’t do it. Even for Lola, you couldn’t do it.

You heard footsteps on the stairs again and you pushed yourself into the wall. You heard him stop in front of the door and then say, so softly you could barely hear it, “Hey, Lola, she just needs some time alone right now. It’ll be okay. Come on, let’s go downstairs.” Then there was more movement – was he picking her up? – and footsteps on the stairs again.

You couldn’t explain why that made you so angry, but– He hated dogs! He’d told you! And now he was comforting Lola? Gently picking her up? Taking her from you? He didn’t make any sense. He’d constantly say one thing then do the opposite. The only consistent thing about him seemed to be that he didn’t want you, didn’t like you, didn’t need you here. Maybe once the baby was born, he’d send you both away. Maybe that’d be a good thing. Maybe that was the best you could hope for.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before there was a soft knock on the door. Ransom’s voice came through. “Can you let Lola in? She’s freaking out. You can stay in there, I just– She needs you.”

You moved towards the door. “I– She can come in, but I don’t want to talk,” you said.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “you’ve made that clear.”

Then there was more shuffling before you heard him walk away. You just stood there until there was a desperate little scratch at the bottom of the door. You unlocked and opened it quickly, just enough to let her in, then closed and locked it behind her. She immediately jumped on you, torn between her excitement at seeing you and her annoyance that she’d been shut out to begin with.

You picked her up. “I’m so sorry baby,” you whispered. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You didn’t know if that was true. You held her close as you went back to pacing. What were you doing? You were being childish, probably. Hiding from your problems. It wouldn’t be so bad, maybe, if you weren’t so fucking alone. You got out your phone and without thinking texted Steve

I really hate that you’re so far away.

You stared at it for a few moments but the little checkmark that showed he’d read it never appeared. That was fine. Working still probably. Or at an important dinner or event. He had his own life to lead. You couldn’t expect him to always have time for you.

Another knock on the door. You looked up with a sharp “What?” Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“Are you planning on coming to bed tonight?” he asked through the door.

“No,” you said, voice much more firm than you felt.

“What?! You’re just gonna sleep on the floor between my weights?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh my god,” he grumbled. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

“I’m fine, Ransom,” you growled.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for you to still hear him, before he stomped down the stairs.

You rolled your eyes and checked your phone. Still no response from Steve. It was fine it was fine.

He came back up, his gait significantly slower and uneven, and dropped something in front of the door, which hit the floor with a muted ‘oomph.’ Then he was stomping down the stairs again. You froze, staring at the door, your curiosity warring with your fear. What the fuck was he doing?

He came back up, adding something to his pile with a faint ‘tink.’ “You can’t fucking sleep on the floor,” he growled, then thundered into his room across the hall and slammed the door.

You counted to thirty before you were brave enough to open the door. Stacked just to the side in the hallway was a collection of cushions and blankets, along with your pillow and Lola’s favorite blanket. Carefully placed on top of all that was one of Carol’s dinners with utensils and a bottle of water. You just blinked at it all for a moment, before lugging everything into the room.

You sat down to eat first. You’d been so stressed and anxious you hadn’t even realized you skipped dinne– Oh fucking shit. Dinner. With Ransom’s parents. Well, if Linda hadn’t hated you already, she certainly did now. You wondered what he’d told her. That you were crazy. Ridiculous. A child. Had he told her you were pregnant? If you’d been able to tell her yourself, under better circumstances, would it make her like you more?

You put the plate aside. You weren’t very hungry.

Next was making space for you to sleep. It took you a while. Neither the stationary bike nor the treadmill would budge. You didn’t even try the rowing machine. So it was just moving his weights out of the way, which you did one by one with both hands, trying to shoo Lola out of the way when she insisted on being underfoot. When you were done, you sat down against the wall for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before arranging all the cushions and blankets into something you’d be able to sleep on.

You looked around. He never fucking used this gym. You were sure it’d be covered in dust if Carol didn’t clean it every week. He had all these rooms you’d never seen him enter, let alone use, while you had absolutely nothing. Well. Fuck that. Fuck him.

You pulled out your phone and hurriedly typed out an email to the manager of your storage unit. Your bedroom furniture was just languishing in LA, while all these rooms went unused. Well, you were done with that. You’d done your job. Your goals were accomplished. You were pregnant. There was no reason to share a room with him anymore. He’d be relieved too, you were sure of it.

As you unfolded all the blankets, you also found your comfiest pair of pajamas. You changed into them, knowing it was just a coincidence, that they must have been the first pair he’d found in your drawer, but you still appreciated it. As odd as it felt to appreciate anything from him, especially now.

You sank down onto the cushions. It was early still, but you were exhausted. You hoped that you might sleep, even though you were terrified of what the next day might bring.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @citronbun @rebeccapineapple @alexakeyloveloki @dancer3205 @i-can-do-this-all-dayy @thecrandle @lokislady82 @thedazzlingburglar @23skidoosteven @she-wolf09231982 @arbesa-mind @samfreakingwinchester @blackhawkfanatic @emerald-writes @identity2212 @have-another-doughnut @patzammit @blackhawkfanatic @mooievis @dontbescaredtosingalong @curiousandjoyous @helensdrafts @cricket66 @vyctorya @disgruntled-cat @heyyitsreign @reader2003 @zaqnette @kmc1989

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #arranged marriage au #more than this #kris wrote something

379 notes · View notes

yerdaftapeth · 1 month ago

Text

Here’s a question for fellow ACGAS fans:

Anyone else out there on the hunt for All Creatures Great & Small trinkets and antiques? I love 20’s/30’s/40’s knick knacks and this show definitely delivers on showcasing some superb collectibles. Beswick is a personal favourite but I also love the other displayed artwork. I tried to Google-lens some of it but I would love to know more about the Mill painting that’s on display in the Skeldale sitting room. Any other input would also be greatly appreciated. 🧡

Added some pictures (obviously not mine) for clarification.

#ACGAS question #interior design #1930’s #1940’s #all creatures great and small 2020 #acgas 2020

60 notes · View notes

captain-camille · 1 year ago

Text

_𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞_

‣ Jack Sparrow x f!reader

‣ As a young woman of noble blood, society is a golden cage. There is no mention of you unless the subject is marriage or manners while your trip to Port Royal has become a rescue maneuver. One faithful night aboard the Dauntless you finally snap. And meet the captive Captain Jack Sparrow...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 18+ language, old society rules, emotional chaos, very light angst ‣ 3,4k words

Your dress weighed heavy on your shoulders, the corset strangled your lungs to a delicate point where you began to feel dizzy.

Silver cutlery laid untouched next to your empty plate. The hunger had long passed.

Either way was it impossible to properly eat with this torture device crushing your ribs. You would fetch a banana later.

“Miss Sheffield“ Lord Somerset hardly drew your attention while he adjusted his white wig “I find myself greatly invested in the many stories of your brother. They're indeed impressive, are they not?“.

It took nerves to hinder your eyes from rolling.

Instead, you gave him an appreciative but short nod. There was bitter sarcasm within the subtlety of your gesture.

Another man's head, adorned with a teal hat with feathers, turned towards you. Father.

“They are, clearly“. You verbally lend weight to your faux-assent as your father's stern gaze fixed on your face.

You suspected him pleased now.

However, his interest in you promptly vanished and a song of praise of someone else continued to fall from his pale lips.

Sweet, boisterous praise for your great brother, of course.

You were sick of it but with time had begun to see it as an opportunity to reign over your own life as freely as possible.

For as long as possible.

Every eye and word was on your brother while you, the sister of the new Governor of Nassau and member of the Privy Council, were neigh invisible.

And still you could never leave the shiny prison that was the English noble society. Like living in a nightmare that had occasional sunlight in it but was full of madness anyway.

As the men's triumphant laughter echoed across the room, you pictured how Davy Jones' Locker would be a better place to bide your time.

Or maybe you should run away and live a seamstress' life. Alternatively, a barmaid.

In the corner of your vision you saw Norrington slightly leaning over to you. The new Commodore stationed in Port Royal, as he was.

“You look fabulous tonight, Miss“ he cooed, voice low.

His blue gaze rested on the glittering necklace you wore. A collective of silver, sapphires and pearls Lord Somerset had gifted you upon boarding the Dauntless.

Or perhaps Norrington's gaze laid on your cleavage but if so, he concealed it well.

He had to. Hell would come upon him.

You flashed him a polite smile and a demure “Thank you, Commodore“ before your eyes wandered off to the sea that was painted in the colors of a tropical sunset.

The windows were small but still incapable to diminish the glimmer. It went straight to your heart...

“Since you are a young woman, too-“ the man continued, hoisting a chalice to his lips. Beneath the table, your hand balled in a fist.

It did little to soothe your nerves, though.

“-I wondered whether you would think Elizabeth liked such jewelry as, um, a wedding gift?“ his smooth voice asked but the hesitant tone betrayed him.

You had long seen it in his eyes that Norrington's desires to marry Swann's daughter weren't as honest as he tried to make it seem.

Just as Elizabeth struggled to let go of the young blacksmith Will Turner she was currently trying to rescue.

Just fellow souls lost in this noble dilemma, you almost chuckled to yourself.

Luckily, you were quick enough to bridle any inner jests and looked back in Norrington's eyes.

“I’m most certain she would be delighted. However, it occurred to me that Miss Swann prefers silver to gold.“ you advised him before he got dragged back into a naval discussion with the men.

Not even thanks were left for your input.

Once again your brother's name was thrown around like a cricket ball.

The urge to just leave this charade of a dinner grew stronger while darkness began to fall upon the majestic Dauntless.

Candle light reflected in the men’s white and grey wigs like it would in the feathers of doltish pigeons.

Nearly scoffing, the focus of your eyes blurred.

Thoughts wandered off to the small bits of information you had grasped throughout the last two days; a business trip to Port Royal had turned into quite an amusing rescue maneuver as Norrington spotted the smoke signal Elizabeth was sending from a lonely island.

She was brought onto the ship along with a mysterious pirate who turned out to be none other than the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow.

Lord, he seemed so different to the men you were used to. So interesting…

“Yn, the Lord's question was, would you be his companion on a visit to your brother?“ The raspy voice of your father suddenly cut through your thoughts like a sharp knife.

You cleared your throat, hiding a muttered “god, no“ along the cough.

No, you simply couldn’t do this any longer tonight.

Tomorrow morning the misery would begin anew and the nights were too short anyway.

Dinner was over for you, you decided and shot up, heading towards the door.

“Young Miss, where do you think you are going?“ your father called across the room, causing you to spin and face him along with everyone else seated on the grand table.

An unreadable expression settled on your face, lips moving on behalf of your temper.

“Father, I do believe you won’t miss me much while conversing solely about my brother“.

Norrington let out a shaky breath, his head turning to expect your father’s answer. Obviously, he was used to Elizabeth's docile manners.

The grey wig beneath Lord Sheffield's hat shifted slightly as he cocked his head.

He looked ridiculous.

“Then go, yn. I do not have the time nor the patience for your behavior right now“ he sighed, waving his hand in an enervated gesture of dismissal “Check on Miss Swann when you pass by“.

The stingy sensation of the corset fighting your big breaths vexed you, along with your father's aloof attitude.

Nevertheless, he granted you exactly what you wanted; to leave and mind your own business.

A business that had preferably sparsely to do with these men.

“Thank you, sir. I will“ you curled your lips, forcing a hasty smile before your knees bent in a curtsy. “Lord Somerset, thank you again for the generous gift. Commodore“.

The Lord stood up with his chest puffed, trying to address you. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sheffield. I wish you a good-“

But the rest of his irrelevant set-phrase was cut off by the door closing behind your back. It snapped shut with a soft rock of the Dauntless.

As if she felt sorry for you.

Taking a big breath of the fresh sea breeze your tongue finally spoke some truth. “Damn you, Somerset“.

It felt good, even if it did little to improve your situation.

You knew you had to get away from the cabins or else your words of pent-up frustration would eventually find them.

Maybe you would find solace on the quarterdeck instead?

As you marched up the stairs with a grimace on your face from how impractical the heavy dress was, a young maid brushed past you with filled wineglasses on a silver tray.

She smiled with respect, but could barely hide her excited look at the luxurious necklace.

Her soft lips parted when she spoke up in awe “If I may, Baron Somerset really is doting upon you, Miss“.

At her comment, the matching earrings with the similarly cut sapphires began to itch.

“So it seems“ you answered flatly, still trying your best not to let it all out on the innocent girl.

“I happen to have overheard him talking about how beautiful your children would be“ she added with enthusiasm, unaware of your aversion to said nobleman.

You felt your gut twist and tighten at the vision alone.

Children with this man? No.

On the brink of screaming or crying, your hand flew up to grab one of the glasses.

“Did he now?“ You hoisted it and bathed your upper lip in the sweet taste of Portuguese wine “Golden me“.

Hearing her colleague call for her, the maid quickly curtsied and made her way down to the main cabin.

You sighed heavily, taking another sip.

Up on the spacious quarterdeck you wasted no time, set the glass down on a random barrel and began to take off your earrings.

They were burning on your skin now.

Anger, chagrin and despair rioted in your veins like a hurricane.

So untamed, you didn’t even notice the man at the helm observing your actions through curious eyes.

“To hell-“ you shouted, kicking your right foot so that your shoe flew overboard in a wide arc “with you, father“ the other shoe followed suit.

“And Somerset“ you tossed one earring into the black sea, holding the other one while you unhooked the expensive necklace.

You didn’t hesitate a second to proceed with this macabre yet somehow weirdly freeing act of rebellion.

With your right arm outstretched, jewelry in your hands, you stood at the ship’s railing, wind in your face.

“And to the depths with this society of hypocrites and it's stupid rules“ your now hoarse voice exclaimed bitterly before your tossing arm got stopped mid way.

What?

Twisting on your stocking feet, you ended up only inches away from Jack Sparrow’s face who was grinning at you with a pleased sparkle in his dark eyes.

You didn't dare to breathe, mouth agape.

He was still holding onto your arm even though you had lowered it in a mixture of shock and awe.

“Not good. Ye wouldn't wanna be doin' that, lassie“ the pirate purred, gold teeth adding to the captivating shine of his eyes.

Since the Navy took him prisoner, you had never spoken to him. Only eves-dropped when he had persuaded Norrington as if it was easy.

And now you could feel his breath fan across your face, the scent of the sea and rum intoxicating your brain.

Slowly, he unwrapped and lifted his fingers off your arm. One by one like a fan.

“Why not? You cannot stop me“ you eventually found your courage again and yanked your arm away.

The man scrunched his brows, lips closing. The many trinkets in his dreadlocks clinked as Sparrow cocked his head.

Your eyes were slaves to his eccentric mimic for a little while before you finally got to step back.

His presence somehow calmed you down, brought your nerves to a halt. All the way to the point where you remembered your manners.

“My apologies, Mister Sparrow. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to apologize for the snappy behavior but he interjected with a finger pointing at you.

“Never be sorry for disobeying rules that aren't worth following, luv“.

Irritated by the unexpectedly wise words, you found yourself at a loss for an answer.

This man was a real pirate after all. The closest thing to an anarchical life there was.

Your heart pumped awe through your veins that began to pacify the storm within.

Features dropping from trained, polite distance to honest distress, your gaze darted down to the jewelry in your hand. It was worth at least as much as your entire collection of summer gowns.

The blue stones seemed somewhat black tonight.

As grim as your future. With Somerset. Or any other noble, dim-witted aristocrat.

The pirate just stood and watched the tragic poem being written all over your beautiful face. His silence allowed the gears in your mind to shift.

Then, you seemed put.

“What even are you doing at the helm, Sparrow?“ You asked to avoid any potential questions when you mindlessly chucked the bundle of jewelry to him.

He grinned again as an audible clink and clatter signaled you that he had caught it.

You were sure that Sparrow had a better use for it than you did. Whatever it may be.

Admittedly, you would have just thrown it overboard or locked it away in a random jewel casket for eternity.

A husky gravel met your ears when he cleared his throat after sinking the necklace deep into the inside pocket of his brown jacket.

It was as if he knew you didn't have any expectation of thanks or desire for inquiring about your deed.

“Isla de la Muerta can only be found by those who already know where it is-“.

Slow steps of heavy boots on wooden tiles neared you from your left.

“And rumors have it me, meself and I have a heading Norrington doesn’t, savvy?“ Sparrow slurred, snapping open a compass as he leaned his back against the railing next to you.

With your eyes raking over the dusk ocean, you couldn’t help but risk a peak over to his hands.

You grimaced. The compass obviously didn’t point north.

Was he tricking the Commodore?

Suddenly, Jack chuckled, clearly having seen your expression.

“Nah... tale for another night“ he simply stated closing the small, brown box again.

His intense gaze crawled all over your side profile and pinned updo. “Tell me somethin’ about ye, Missy. Plagued by those wig-suckers, eh?“

You gave a snort of laughter, enjoying his unfiltered way of addressing the men you were used to calling 'Lord', 'Governor' or 'Commodore'.

“You know exactly who I am. Do not call me Missy“ you snapped, biting down a playful smile no one had ever elicited as easily as the foreign pirate did.

Perhaps it should worry you but it didn’t in the slightest.

Jack arched his figure to lean back more and study your edged expression from the front. You tried to shoot him an unfazed look but the pirate saw right through it and smiled widely.

How he could read you so emphatically was far beyond what you were used to from men. It confused you.

Just as it puzzled Jack that your behaviour was so devoid of any of the hospitality and judgement he had come to expect from your class.

It only drew the both of you deeper into whatever this conversation would become.

“Apologies, me bad. Miss Sheffield“ his deep voice cooed, finally cracking your surface and putting a soft blush on your cheeks.

“It never occurred to me that Pirates can be this charming“ you snickered with a hint of irony, eyes resting on Sparrow’s unique features for a moment.

His tanned skin was reflecting the flickering light of oil lamps. Sparrow was a handsome man, you realized.

Effortlessly and in tune with the ship's rocking, the man pushed off the railing to trail behind you.

“I always expected Pirates to be more- rogue, I suppose“ you mused, more to yourself.

Sparrow tsk'ed but he didn't seem hurt.

Your head cocked when you felt his hot breath close to the nape of your neck.

“A Shilling that I can alter your outlook on Pirates all by me onesies, eh?“ His comment was nonchalant and smug but in a swinging way.

This man had nerves.

“Didn't I just give you a collier worth far more than one Shilling?“ you asked rhetorically, amplifying the perky tone.

The pirate hummed, as if contemplating. “Alright, then. Consider your debt paid“.

It was utterly refreshing to converse so freely without any rules or boundaries. You grew fond of it with every passing second.

When Sparrow didn’t re-appear on your other side, you turned around to spot him chugging down the wine you had abandoned in your rage.

“Sorry, it’s no rum but-“

“-good. That’s good“ he complimented the red liquid, analyzing the ornate chalice through narrowed eyes before he sat it back down.

Carefully, with his pinky stretched out with decorum.

You caught yourself giggling but promptly covered your mouth with a palm. Habits.

“So, Miss Sheffield...“ the pirate urged you, swaggering closer until he stood by your side again. His elbows were quickly propped on the reddish railing.

“Pray tell“.

You sighed. However, the will to empty your heart was unbreakable.

It was easier when your gaze found shelter in the darkness of the Caribbean night but Sparrow’s stare lingered on you nonetheless.

“I- I feel like- No, I am trapped. Trapped in a golden cage with only dull bumbles who want to possess women of standing as if they were accessories for their prevalence-striven plans“ you began to complain, your words gaining speed and intensity throughout the sentence.

Honest pity flashed behind the pirate's charcoal outlined eyes.

The man had never thought he was capable of pitying those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

And still, there he stood, stricken by the pain in your melodic voice.

You gasped for air, your mind wanting to go on but your throat began to burn on the verge of crying.

“I must behave according to the rules of society, no matter what it is I truly desire. All the poisoned praise goes to my brother while I am only of importance when the subject of my marriage is discussed“.

“Ye brother be the new Governor of Nassau?“ Sparrow eventually asked, his gaze sliding down to where your nails were nervously scratching lines into the wooden railing.

You couldn’t help but scoff in annoyance of his title. “Yes, that be him“.

The man next to you shrugged his shoulders, the trinkets and charms once again clinking. You would love to find out where he got each of them from.

“I could, in fact, sack Nassau port for ye as soon as I rip me Pearl from Barbossa’s slimy, old hands“ a tad of disgust infused his bold words at the foreign name.

“Jus' a humble offer. What ye say, lassie?“.

Sparrow was trying to cheer you up.

A small smile began to reign over your lips again, toes curling. “That would only get you killed, fierce pirate“ you noted, trying to sound as judicious and rational as possible.

Instead, he grinned even broader and spread his arms in an eccentric, self-presenting pose. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv“ he declared as if it was self-explanatory.

For the first time in a while the sea breeze caught and carried your sincere laughter.

Sparrow’s braided goatee twitched as he found himself biting his lip at the pretty sound and look.

You were a stunning woman in noble clothes with noble blood in your veins but with a spirit as wild and ravenous as his own.

You enthralled him.

“Bring this to my daughter. She shall eat, at least. The Commodore risks too much by rescuing young Turner, he cannot afford to see his fiancé unwell“ Governor Swann’s order suddenly boomed across the main deck, followed by hasty steps of a maid.

Instinctively, Sparrow snaked his hand around your shoulder, across your chest and pulled you back with him.

Out of sight.

His rough hand on your mouth muffled a shrill cry just enough.

“They thinkin’ yer asleep, eh, Miss Sheffield?“ His voice was lowered, almost just a husk and yet it was filled with this mischievous, flirtatious tone.

God, this man sent shivers down your spine like no other.

But he was still a lawless pirate.

A prisoner, even.

Suddenly, whyever, the gravity of your situation and the futility of tonight's zeal made you feel how cold and wet the floor was without shoes.

Brown dreadlocks pressed against the back of your head irrevocably disheveled your updo.

“Asleep, as I should be...“ you muttered, infused with a hint of re-surfacing anger and despair.

You wriggled yourself out of his protective grasp. The pirate's brow was raised, eyes narrowed on your face.

There was a haze of danger and waywardness about Jack Sparrow that made you question your own courage and spirit.

“Why did I even tell you all that in the first place?“ you exclaimed, hands thrown up. Slowly stepping away from him, you felt all the emotions crushing your mind.

“You most likely do not care, neither do I profit by wailing. It doesn’t bear contemplating...“.

Sparrow wrapped his right hand back around the handle of the helm, looking rather unfazed by the confusion that was spreading in your system like the Portuguese wine in his own.

Heavy silence and the occasional laughter from the men in the Captain’s cabin mingled with the soft splash of sea water.

Your feelings were now as erratic as the rhythm of the crashing waves.

“Look 'ere, luv“.

Your gaze was just about to turn from pleading to the usual bored emptiness as you saw his free hand wander down to his leather belt.

A smirk adorned his bearded face when skilled fingers rapidly detached the compass and threw it over to you.

Stumbling slightly as the ship rocked, you caught the brown box before it could hit the ground.

You heard Sparrow mutter a muted “Thank god“ that made you want to snap at him but the gesture was too interesting not to query.

Why would he think you needed a compass?

Fluster painted your features when you met his weirdly satisfied expression.

“Aren’t you Captain Jack Sparrow? Don’t you need a compass for... that?“ You asked with less challenge in your tone than initially planned.

He chuckled beautifully, shaking his head with eyes closed.

“What?“ You probed when his dark gaze began to rise up from the floor, along your figure.

“I may be without me compass but not without heading and a plan“ the pirate finally explained, taking another step closer to the helm “You, contrastingly and tragically, lack both“.

Your arms came up and crossed defensively in front of your chest.

But his words and the tight corset made you drop them again rather quickly.

He was right. You had been lamenting about your situation barely three minutes ago.

“So? What exactly is your compass going to change about that, Sparrow?“.

You peered down at the inconspicuous looking box.

“Everythin'.“ Sparrow stated with a touch of mystery. “Listen what ye heart wants and the compass is gonna give ye a heading, savvy?“.

A big part of you wanted to believe what this infuriatingly interesting man promised while another voice was whispering to you how it was literal magic he was implying.

Magic.

With a hesitant gesture of offering it back to him, you hoped to find out which voice to listen to.

“But you would want it back, right? It is yours after all“ you commented your action with genuine concern and a small smile.

Plus, the fear that Norrington would kill Jack if he couldn’t find the Isla without his compass.

Captured by the pirate for one last time, you watched his gold teeth flash in a wide grin, his tattooed hand spreading on his chest as a sign of integrity.

He was being honest, you felt it.

“I will be gettin’ it back, luv. Don't ye worry“.

Before you creeped down the stairs and eventually headed for your cabin to ponder on your heart's desires, the last you saw of Captain Jack Sparrow was a charming wink.

The last for now, at least.

♡ thank you so much for reading my very first POTC fic ever ♡

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐨

@mochie85 @holdmytesseract @socksracoon10 @goldencherriess @chronicallybubbly @kcd15 @always-on-hiatus

#jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow #potc x reader #potc #jack sparrow fic #fanfiction #jack sparrow x y/n #pirates of the caribbean #jack sparrow #Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic #captain jack sparrow x yn #jack sparrow x f!reader #language

816 notes · View notes

haddonfieldwhore · 9 months ago

Text

sparring partner - hayden christensen

hayden christensen x younger!fem!reader

summary: hayden helps you with lightsaber training for the ahsoka series

warnings: age gap implied (no age specified tho), that might be it? not edited

word count: 1.5k

“i can’t do it,” you resigned, frustrated and tired from trying the same move over and over and not getting it.

“try it again,” the choreographer suggested unhelpfully, and you exhaled in annoyance, mostly at yourself, before getting back in position. you doubted that the thirtieth time could possibly go any differently than the previous twenty nine attempts, but tried the steps again anyway; no luck. it didn’t look this complicated when you had first been shown the fight choreo, but for some reason you just couldn’t nail down this specific spin. you and natasha, who played sabine, were supposed to meet in about half an hour to practice the fight together before shooting the scene next week, and you had shown up an hour early to try and get your moves down. you felt like you hadn’t made any progress at all.

“take 10 minutes, get some water,” the choreographer suggested, and you nodded, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

you sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes with a defeated sigh, your prop lightsaber clattering to the ground next to you. a shadow fell over your face and your brows furrowed slightly in confusion at the sudden darkness.

“hey, how’s it going?” a voice asked and you opened your eyes to see hayden standing in front of you.

“not so great,” you admitted. you hadn’t gotten the chance to work with hayden much yet while filming ahsoka, but anytime he stopped by the set to see how things were going, you enjoyed talking with him, and greatly appreciated any input or advice he offered. you had always admired him as an actor. hayden tried to convince himself that it was coincidence that every time he came by set you happened to be training or shooting that day.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

“i can’t get this one part of the choreography,” you admitted with a sigh, and he extended his hand to you, pulling you up off the floor once you slid your hand into his grip.

“show me?” he asked.

“i can try,” you laughed dryly as he got a prop saber of his own and stood next to you, giving you enough space to demonstrate the move as best you could.

you managed to get through the steps, although with the smoothness of a droid that had never been oiled and at about a quarter the speed they should be, but it was enough for hayden to get the general idea.

he slowly repeated the steps, with slightly more grace than you had, and then instructed for you to follow along with him. after a few tries and a great display of patience from hayden, you made it through the sequence and it almost looked good.

“how are you so good at this?” you asked, trying not to let the jealousy you were feeling come out in your voice, as without him you never would have got it.

“i’ve had more practice than you, that’s all,” he smiled reassuringly. “try it again on your own,” he instructed, taking a step back.

you fumbled through the movements again, and groaned in frustration when you made a mistake again.

“it’s hopeless,” you surrendered.

“come on, you can do it,” hayden encouraged, but you shook your head.

“i can’t, i’ve been trying forever and i just can’t get it.”

“i thought you wanted to do this,” he challenged, and you were slightly taken aback by his words.

“i do-“

“then prove it,” he said, his stance changing to invite a duel.

“hayden, im not going to fight you,” you sighed, though amused.

“why not?” he taunted. ��afraid to lose?”

“you have years more training than i do-“ you stopped your complaint as you had to raise the saber in your hands to stop a swing from the man in front of you.

“now you’re just making excuses,” he taunted with a smile, and you retaliated with a swing of your own that he blocked with ease. you traded blows back and forth, the crew taking a step back as the two of you duelled back and forth. to no one’s surprise, hayden had the upper hand, and you ended up dropping your prop saber, and stared up to meet hayden’s eyes as he held the blade of his across your throat, hovering just centimetres below your chin as you both caught your breath.

“not bad,” he complimented, and you felt a sense of pride.

“thanks,” you smiled, your eyes flickering down to his lips, the corner on his mouth still upturned, and your gaze landed on his eyes again, which were still locked on you. your heart pounded against your ribcage as you put your hand on his that still held the saber at your throat, and lowered it gently before you took a step back.

“sorry,” he apologized, and you shook your head as if to say it wasn’t needed. “i knew you could do it though.”

“what do you mean?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side in confusion, which hayden couldn’t help but feel guilty for finding quite cute.

“the move, you did it,” he said like it was obvious. you realized that without even thinking, during the duel with hayden you had in fact successfully executed the move sequence that had been stumping you all morning.

“that was great,” the fight choreographer said as he approached the two of you. “it’s too bad you two don’t have a scene in the show, your chemistry is great.”

“thank you,” you both replied, and the choreographer offered you an extra five minutes to rest, since you had spent your previous break practicing.

“think you can do it again now?” hayden asked encouragingly, and you nodded, but you felt nervous. what if it was a fluke? you were annoyed enough at yourself as it was, and the added pressure of not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of hayden wasn’t helping.

however, you took a deep breath, and to your relief, managed the move with little difficulty this time.

“i did it?” you smiled, but it sounded more like a question, and hayden couldn’t help but laugh. “i did it!” you repeated, and couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around his shoulders in a hug. you could feel his body tense in surprise, but he relaxed and circled his arms around your back, a chuckle shaking through his chest.

“i knew you could do it.”

“thank you,” you smiled. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

you separated, though your eyes met again briefly, a thickness hanging in the air between you until you heard footsteps approaching. you turned to see natasha walking up to the two of you. neither of you had noticed how long she’d been watching the two of you duel, but she was impressed.

“nice moves,” she complimented, bumping your shoulder playfully. the two of you had grown close while working on the show, and you were looking forward to shooting this fight with her.

“thanks, i had a really good teacher,” you complimented, sending hayden a glance.

natasha noticed the way his smile lit up his eyes as he looked at you, and made a mental note to bug you about it later.

“i can’t take all the credit, it was all you,” he insisted, the two of you lost in your own world, and natasha wondered if she was suddenly invisible.

“well, you ready to practice?” she snapped you out of the trance you were in, and you nodded. “if you didn’t tire her out too much, that is,” she teased. hayden felt a blush rise to his cheeks, and he found himself grateful that you were looking the other way and therefore didn’t notice.

“let’s go,” you agreed, and she grabbed a prop saber and walked over to set down her bag.

“i’ll catch up with you later?” hayden asked, and you smiled.

“i’d like that,” you smiled, and he tapped your shoulder gently, his fingertips sending a shiver down your spine. “thanks again, hayden.”

“anytime.” with that he turned and walked over to some of the crew to talk with them as you met natasha on the other side of the room.

“was i interrupting something?” she teased, and your brow raised innocently.

“what do you mean?”

“you and hayden..?” she asked, like it was obvious. “you guys were having a moment when i walked up.”

“it wasn’t a ‘moment’, he was just helping me,” you disagreed, though you wouldn’t mind if it had been a ‘moment’, whatever that meant.

“hmm, okay,” natasha hummed teasingly, unconvinced. “is that why he’s still watching you?”

you casually glanced over to see that hayden was in fact looking your way, and he smiled when he met your gaze before continuing his conversation with the crew.

“that doesn’t mean anything-“

“if you say so. now come on, let’s practice.” she teased, and you rolled your eyes before she went on.

“loverboy will be there later.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen x reader #hayden #hayden christensen #real person fiction #star wars #star wars fic #ahsoka #sabine wren #ahsoka tano

191 notes · View notes

somepersonyan · 4 months ago

Text

Get Outta Here, Peaches.

Peaches, riiiiiight. Jacob is very sus for this one in particular.

So we all have noticed that weird peaches thing (that seemingly has no explanation). And I thought to myself “what a wonderful…”. No, wait, I thought, “what does Jacob call Pratt in other languages? Does it sound peachy? Is it fruity?”

I have gone over the subtitle files and, lo and behold, will now present to you all the variations that I managed to find. I will split them into three categories as follows:

“Why are you gae?”

“Who said I am gae?”

“Borderline homophobic (towards the original version)”

Let's start!

"Why are you gae?"

Russian

Отойди, красавчик. Step aside, handsome.

Possible variations: Pretty boy Usage: Often used playfully or sarcastically.

Italian

Datti una mossa, bellezza. Get moving, beauty.

Possible variations: Beautiful Usage: An affectionate term, though it can also be sarcastic.

Arabic

عليك الخروج من هنا يا جميل You need to get out of here, handsome.

Possible variations: Beautiful, lovely, fine Usage: An affectionate term, though it can also be sarcastic.

Dutch

Wegwezen, mop. Get lost, honey.

Possible variations: Dear Usage: An affectionate term between friends, though it can also be sarcastic.

French

Dégage de là, mon grand. Get out of here, big guy.

Possible variations: big bro, champ Usage: Literally, "my big one," used as a friendly or affectionate term, especially for a strong or tall person.

Polish

Wynoś się stąd, dziecinko. Get out of here, baby.

Possible variations: Little one, child, kid Usage: Can be affectionate but also condescending, depending on tone.

Note: We went from mon grand to dziecinko really fast there.

"Who said I am gae?"

German

Verschwinde hier, Schwätzer. Get out of here, you chatterbox.

Nothing to add here, really. Germans are on point, as always.

Korean

비켜라, 인마. Get out of the way, dude.

Possible variations: Hey you, buddy Usage: An impolite or blunt way to get someone's attention, often implying annoyance or frustration.

Traditional/Simplified Chinese

給我離開這裡，朋友。给我离开这里，朋友。 Get out of here, friend.

Possible variations: Partner, pal, fellow Usage: Can be used warmly but might be neutral rather than a direct term of endearment.

"Borderline homophobic"

Spanish

Largo de aquí. Get out of here.

I am sorry, Spanish, are you perhaps missing something?

Portuguese (Brazil)

Sai daqui, anda. Get out of here, come on.

Welp, at least we have the “come on” part.

Czech

Padej odsud. Get out of here.

Possible variations: Scram Usage: An informal and somewhat harsh way of telling someone to leave.

Japanese

お前は下がっていろ Stay back.

He did, in fact, stay (in the) back. And then he STABBED in the back. MUHAHAHAHA

This concludes my peachy list! If you find any mistakes or have additional comments on potential variations and usage, I would greatly appreciate your input!

And here are some Armenian variations from me:

Գնա / Կորի / Կորի գնա / Գնա կորի / Մի կողմ գնա/ Գնա ստեղից /Շարժվի՛

Transcription: Gna / Kori / Kori gna / Gna kori / Mi koghme gna / Gna steghits / Sharzhvi!

Meanings: Go away / Disappear / Move aside / Get out of here / Move!

Անուշիկ(ս) / Սիրուն(ս) / Բալիկ (ջան) / Ախպեր (ջան) / Տղա (ջան) /Բլբուլ (ջան) / Ջան

Anushik(s): "Sweetie" / "My sweet" (-ս/s makes it possessive ("my sweet")) Sirun(s):"Beautiful" / "My beautiful" Balik jan: "Little one" / "Dear child" ("ջան/jan" adds warmth and affection) Akhper jan: "Brother" / "Bro" (affectionate and common between close male friends) Tgha jan: "Boy" / "Lad" Blbul jan: "Nightingale" (used for someone talkative or charming) Jan: A general term of endearment, meaning "dear" or "soul" (used after names or words to show affection)

Let me know how it sounds in your language as well!

Edit I

Slovak variation (suggested by @pande-monty-um)

Some fun ways of saying "Get out of here/scram"

Zmizni: Dissappear Choď preč: Go away Vypadni: Literal meaning "fall out of here" like a window (lol just a very fast exit) Choď do riti: Literal meaning "go into an ass" Zmizni mi z očé: Dissappear from my sight/eyes

Most common term of endearment:

Zlatko: Gold/Goldie. Similar to sweetie, sweetheart, honey Zlatíčko: An exaggerated "baby talk/sweetheart" addition to zlatko Miláčik: My love/lover Chrobáčik: Little beetle/bug Srdiečko: Heart/my heart The čik suffix is used to obtain the diminutive form.

Alternative "peaches" explanations:

Dig at Staci’s peach fuzz, considering EG is beard country or something related to Peaches the cougar. (@doritofalls)

Peaches the cougar was giving cultists a hard time, and Jacob is implying that Staci is being equally difficult to tame (@leviastan).

As a matter of fact, there might be some connection to Peaches the cougar as “Peaches is the only animal companion that Staci is positive about”. You can see his voice lines and attitude towards animals here.

Our poor boi is scared of dogs and bears T.T

He likes pussies tho it seems ≽^•⩊•^≼

I mean, that's

Staci “You know why I became a cop? To get laid” Pratt

for you, ladies and gentlemen.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #jacob seed #staci pratt #far cry #biblically accurate seeds

78 notes · View notes

spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 3 months ago

Text

꒰ა William Afton x Reader – Your Personal Springlock Suit (Inspired by Mangle/Toy Foxy) ໒꒱

✮⋆˙ Notes: This can be edited at any time, so be careful! Also enjoy btw! And I would greatly appreciate it if you could reblog for me to support.^^ I should have split it into different posts, but welp- I decided to put it all in one post, hahah I'm just silly. And here is the post about headcanons for the William x reader AU if you haven't read it yet.

💖 A Gift Only William Could Give:

William isn't the type to express love conventionally. Instead of flowers or jewelry, he gives you something much grander—a custom-built springlock suit, made with you in mind.

He sees himself in Springbonnie, Henry in Fredbear, and now, you in a beautifully eerie, intricate fox animatronic—a design that reflects your duality of elegance and hidden danger.

"It's not just any suit, love," he murmurs, tracing a gloved hand over its sleek yet delicate structure. "It's yours."

🦊 Why Mangle/Toy Foxy?

He knows you love vintage, coquette, and cottagecore aesthetics—but also that you hide something darker beneath all that charm.

Mangle has that same duality—a once-beautiful, elegant design turned into something broken, unsettling, and unpredictable. It's perfect.

Your suit is a gorgeous nightmare: lace-like patterns engraved into the metal, soft white and pastel tones, yet with razor-sharp precision. A killer hidden behind a delicate mask—just like you.

Maybe he even lets you have some input. "You want pearls on the endoskeleton joints? Hah… you're a strange little thing, aren’t you?"

🔧 The Suit’s Unique Features (Because William Would Add Extras Just for You):

Springlock Mechanism – Of course, because William wouldn't let you have a suit without that thrill. It’s dangerous, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

Lightweight & Sleek – Unlike bulkier models, yours is refined, made for graceful movement. Almost… predatory.

Aesthetic Details – Subtle engravings, a satin bow, delicate plating—so it looks innocent, even when it’s far from it.

A Voice Modulator – He programs it himself, tuning it to sound eerily sweet but with an edge of static distortion. A voice that can be either soothing or unnervingly eerie.

Extra Sharp Teeth & Claws – "What? You like to look harmless, don't you?" He smirks, clearly entertained. "Well, I know better, dove."

🩸 How He Feels About It:

There's something deeply possessive about this gift. No one else gets something this personal from him. No one else gets to be a creation of his own hands.

He enjoys watching you admire the suit, the way your fingers trail over its intricacies, the small smile on your lips when you notice the tiny, hidden details he added just for you.

If you’re ever inside it, he gets this look—part admiration, part something else. A mix of pride and the unsettling knowledge that you belong to him in some way now.

"Wear it for me, darling," he murmurs one day, his silver eyes gleaming. "Let's see how well it fits, hm?"

⚠️ The Duality of Meaning:

On one hand, it’s a gift. Something handcrafted with you in mind. A mark of affection, in his own twisted way.

On the other… it’s a claim. A reminder that William Afton made you something—something that ties you to him, in ways deeper than just words.

You’re not just anyone to him. You’re his—his partner in crime, his personal Mangle, his perfectly designed contradiction.

🩰🎭✨ Your Role as “Celeste” – The Storytelling Puppet Fox (Alt Mangle Persona)

(A performance of elegance and danger, curated by your twisted darling William Afton.)

🦊💖 Alt Name: Celeste

William dubbed you “Celeste”, like a celestial body—glowing, mysterious, unreachable. The name sounds like a lullaby whispered through a speaker.

“You’re not just another animatronic,” he murmurs while fine-tuning the wires along your delicate spine.

“You’re a star on strings, my little puppet.”

🎀🧵 Your Role: The Puppeteer, The Storyteller

Your job isn't to sing or serve pizza. You're the curtained mystery, the one who tells tales on stage—narrating tragic fairy tales, gothic ghost stories, or love ballads, all while controlling little shadow puppet props and mini animatronics behind lace-lined curtains.

Your voice—tuned through a distorted modulator—drips like honey over crackling old vinyl.

Sometimes your stories feel too real. Too personal. As if you're retelling things only you and William know.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who stitched monsters into soft shapes, and a fox who learned to smile with broken jaws..."

✨🎭 Visuals & Vibes

Your suit has coquette, vintage, and Victorian puppet vibes—a blend of rococo and pastel gore:

Porcelain-white metal plating with rose gold trim

Soft, almost silken ribbons that dance when you move

A ruffled lace collar around your neck with William’s initials embroidered in silver thread

One eye is a glowing gold lens, the other cracked glass with faint pink spark static

You move with fluid grace—elegant like a ballerina, but jarring like a marionette, head twitching gently with each movement.

Your tail ribbons can twist into puppet strings or ribbon traps—both beautiful and a weapon.

🎊 The bells - with a Dark Twist 🦊💀

The Sound of Playful Mischief: When you move, there's a delicate jingle that accompanies every step—a soft chime from the small bells on your fox ears, lightly hanging next to the ribbons tied into perfect bows. The sound isn’t loud, but just enough to catch attention, especially from the children around you. You use this to your advantage, of course. With each subtle head tilt, the bells tinkle, and you tilt your head just enough to give off the vibe of innocent playfulness. When you want to soothe the children, you gently rock your head back and forth, allowing the soft jingle of the bells to calm their nerves. They think it’s a charming, playful gesture. But it’s much more than that. Luring the Unwitting Victims: The children, enchanted by your coquette charm, follow you like little lambs to the slaughter. The chimes from your fox ears are a gentle lullaby, and when you turn your head, your ribbons flutter and dance like the strings of a marionette. It’s easy to get them to follow you, to pull them closer with your soft, melodic voice. “Do you want to see something magical?” you’ll ask, your voice like honey, laced with a subtle undertone of danger. As they follow you, their curiosity grows, and they find themselves in a corner, perhaps near a secluded Safe Room, where they’re unaware of the trap you're preparing for them. Your ribbons unfurl in the background, ready to ensnare them. The bells chime again—just loud enough to make them turn around. You’re there, your marionette-like movements almost hypnotic, drawing them closer as you whisper your stories—dark, twisted fables.

🎀 The Trap Set and the Dance Begins: Once they’re close enough, the ribbons entwine like puppet strings, wrapping around their ankles and wrists, pulling them closer to your carefully set trap. As the bells ring one last time, you smile—a soft, almost childlike smile—before you make the final move. “Just a little closer... this will be our secret,” you coo, your voice sweet and inviting as you lead them into the inevitable. The trap snaps, and with one swift motion, they’re immobilized in your delicate web. But you don’t show any remorse, only a satisfied look on your face, the ribbons now pulled tight as the chimes from your ears stop ringing altogether. You’ve done your job. 💋 William’s Reaction: William, ever the observant one, watches your little games with mild amusement. He can see through the sweet innocence and knows you’re capable of anything. Yet, he finds it adorable how you still manage to keep that mask of innocence up—especially when you’re around the kids, always sly in your actions. “Do you enjoy playing with your prey like that?” he’ll ask, voice dark and teasing, as he watches you untangle your ribbons after you’ve caught one of the children. You chuckle softly, giving him a quick wink, before responding with a soft, eerie giggle. “It’s just part of the game, William... it’s all for fun.” He’s intrigued by the duality in your nature—so sweet, so innocent, yet so dangerous. It’s like a game of cat and mouse, where both of you are the cat. 💖 The Aftermath: When the day’s work is done, and you and William retire for the night, you let down your guard. The bells on your fox ears become silent, and your puppeteer persona melts away. But the intensity between you two doesn’t fade. You’re a perfect match in every way—both hiding your true natures, but finding comfort in each other’s presence. “Shall we play again tomorrow?” William teases, as you rest your head on his chest, the ribbons of your outfit trailing along the floor. You smile softly, your voice quieter than usual. “Of course, William. Always.”

🔮🪡 Abilities & Features

Voice Imprint Playback: You can mimic voices you hear—especially William’s. He installed it so you could repeat his whispers back to him like an eerie lullaby.

Memory Marionette Mode: With a switch, you can project vintage-style shadow plays on the curtain behind you—reenacting events from the past, twisted into fairy tale metaphors.

Mechanical Whispers: You can emit a low, siren-like hum that entrances children (and low-key disturbs the animatronics).

Silken Entrapment Mode: Your ribbons, while decorative, have hidden coils—strong enough to wrap around anything. (William made that... just in case.)

Puppeteer Extraordinaire 🎀🩰– With Two Sets of Hands:

In your Celeste persona, you’re not just telling stories—you're performing them, each move intentional, elegant, and haunting. With your uniquely designed set of hands—two on each side—you have full control over not just the puppets and storylines, but the narrative itself.

🦊💀 Double Hands, Double the Control

One Hand, One Story: Each of your arms is a set of two—one side for narration, and the other side for the puppetry. As your limbs move in graceful, synchronized arcs, they draw the audience into an ever-deepening story.

Your right hand controls the primary storytelling, moving the veil of the curtain, pulling ribbons, and gently swaying your head side to side to enhance the rhythm.

Your left hands—one behind your back and the other on your front—hold two marionettes: one to reflect the tragic hero, the other to reflect the villain. They fight against each other in a waltz that mimics the real struggles of life—tangled up in strings, but always moving in rhythm with you.

🎭🎤 The Dance of Control

The Show Begins: When you pull the curtain, the audience is greeted with a sweet, soft glow of your body. As you raise your arms, the two sets of hands sway in harmony, each perfectly synchronizing like delicate clockwork. You spin around, and your marionettes—miniature versions of William and yourself—flap their tiny limbs in sync with your every move, as if you're both the master and the dancer.

The Puppets Talk: Each puppet mirrors the narrative with its own independent life, mimicking what you say, moving their tiny mouths in sync with the lyrics of the tale you weave. One puppet—perhaps representing your true self—sings a soft ballad of love, while the other—dark and twisted—sings a twisted song of betrayal.

Every movement you make is reflected, amplified by the shadows and eerie twinkling of your ribbons. The audience cannot tell where the real you begins and where the puppets end.

The Secret Dark Twist: The audience never knows, but at the very last moment of your performance, the puppets turn on one another—the hero falls into darkness, and the villain raises their arm. You smile softly, knowing full well that you control the strings of not just your marionettes—but everything.

💋✨ Cuddling with Puppets After the Show

Once the show ends, William sneaks backstage, where you sit cross-legged on the floor, carefully folding the strings back into their cases, always managing to make it look like a sweet, innocent action.

“You were perfect, darling.” He caresses your head as you look up at him with a playfully mischievous glint in your eyes.

He can’t help but smirk, his fingers running through your soft ribbons, feeling the subtle pull of strings like some dark version of a fairy tale come to life. “Maybe next time... you should play a villain, too, Celeste. I think you'd be brilliant at it.”

“Is that an invitation?” You quirk your head, your soft voice trembling with an edge of playful danger. “I’d love to pull your strings sometime, William... just for you.”

🎀💋 Magical String Twists

When you're alone and teasing William, you sometimes tie his hands with your extra ribbons, pulling them around the curtain and making him move—creating a twisted dance between the two of you.

“I’ll make you a puppet, too,” you whisper, weaving an intricate web of silk thread around his fingers.

William lets out a quiet chuckle, watching you as if he loves this dance. The two of you perform together in this secret space, your lips brushing, breaths growing heavier as you become lost in the twisted fantasy.

💌🖤 Silly, Intimate Moments Between You & William

You love “testing” his reactions by reciting new love stories aloud on stage—stories clearly inspired by the two of you.

He watches from the shadows, arms crossed, trying not to smirk like a schoolboy.

“You’re telling lies up there,” he grumbles afterward.

You just smile. “I only lie in metaphor, darling.”

🩷💄 And Yes—You Sometimes Embarrass Him Mid-Performance

You sneak in a line like: “And the fox kissed the monster with a ribbon made of sugar and secrets…”

And then blow him a kiss from stage, even if he’s just trying to adjust wires backstage.

Sometimes, you pin a bow on him mid-repair.

“My lovely assistant~” you tease.

He deadpan stares. “I built you. I’m not your assistant.”

But he wears the bow until the shift ends.

🎡🎠 Secret Room Stories Between Just You & Him

At night, when no one’s watching, you both sit backstage where you were built—your legs over his lap, voice softly narrating ghost tales while he holds a screwdriver between his teeth and fiddles with your gears.

He never admits it, but he finds your storytelling voice comforting. You’re the only one he lets lull him to sleep like that.

“Tell me the one about the fox who fell in love with the villain again,” he whispers one night, forehead against yours.

You purr through your speaker: “She never fell. She danced down, on strings made just for him.”

🎀⚙️ Bonus: You Record Secret Love Messages for Him

Inside your chest compartment is a hidden vintage tape player he installed, where you store recordings just for him:

Soft confessions

Dreamy messages like: “If I were real, I’d hold your hand all day.”

Static-laced laughter that makes his chest ache in ways he’ll never admit to Henry.

💭🎀“ℳ𝒶𝒹 ℊℯ𝓃𝒾𝓊𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉ℴℴ ℯ𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓉”~~

💌 William Afton x Mangle-Inspired!Reader – Flustered Sketchbook Shenanigans & Full Romantic Headcanon Bundle

(all the romantic chaos, giggly-madman energy, and the pastel-coated psychotic love—so I’m giving you a whole deluxe vintage/coquettecore + animatronic fursona love affair pack right here. Hold on to your bows and bloodstained gloves because this gets tender, unhinged, and so very you and him.)

🎨 His Hidden Sketchbook of “Silly Things”

William has a beat-up, leather-bound sketchbook he keeps very well hidden. You'd think it's filled with schematics or sinister blueprints—and it is, for the most part.

But in the very back pages? It’s all doodles. Little cartoon versions of himself as a goofy Springbonnie-esque character, and you—an adorable, stylized version of your elegant but eerie Mangle-inspired self.

In these drawings, you’re always up to something: peeking from behind corners, tugging on his coat, pretending to bite his ear (with exaggerated sharp cartoon teeth), or sitting in his lap with a smug grin while he blushes like a schoolboy.

💗 “I-It’s Just Anatomy Practice, alright?”

If you ever catch a glimpse of the book and tilt your head in confusion, he’ll instantly snatch it back and mutter some excuse like:

“That’s... experimental anatomy design. For lightweight endo-joint articulation. Nothing else.”

But his ears are turning scarlet red. He’s flustered to the core.

Deep down, he’s mortified at the idea of you knowing just how sweetly smitten he is. These aren’t the mechanical designs he’s known for—this is personal, full of warm fuzzies and hearts that he’d never ever admit he drew.

🫧 Giggles Like a Teenage Girl in Love (Alone)

Picture this: William, alone in his workshop at 2AM, hunched over a cluttered desk. The lights are low. There’s the quiet hum of machines in the background.

He’s sketching another cartoon of you—this time you’re kissing his nose while he turns completely red and steam shoots out of his ears like an old-school animation.

And then… he giggles. Actually giggles. A soft, fluttery, uncontrollable sound that bubbles out before he can stop it. He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“God—what is wrong with me,” he mutters, but he’s smiling so hard it hurts. His cheeks are warm, his heart’s racing. He's completely gone.

📖 His “Persona” is Weirdly Accurate

His sketch version of himself is tall and lanky with buck teeth and a big red bowtie. He always draws himself either flustered, smug, or “dramatically swooning” over cartoon-you.

Your Mangle persona? A chaotic yet elegant little fox with frilly bows, a flicking tail, and big mischievous eyes. You’re always one step ahead of him in the sketches.

One drawing has him holding a bouquet of wires instead of flowers, and you’re rolling your eyes—he’s labeled the bouquet “for my little static sprite.”

💘 He Daydreams Mid-Build

He’ll be working on an actual project—tinkering with a gear system or programming your custom voice lines—and then he’ll just stop, staring off with a dreamy look.

“What if she called me darling and then bit my ear again…” he mutters out loud. Cue immediate pause, blinking at the wall. “What the hell am I saying—pull it together, William...”

He cannot get you out of his head when he’s in this mood. It makes him distracted but weirdly productive, because now he’s building new features just to impress you. It’s romantic, in an unhinged engineer sort of way.

🔐 You Catch Him One Day... and He PANICS

You walk into his workspace a little earlier than he expected. He doesn’t hear you at first—he’s humming softly and sketching a comic panel where his cartoon self is being tackled by you in a pile of hearts and wires.

When you say, “Whatcha drawin’?” he jolts like you just hit him with a taser.

“NOTHING.” He slams the book shut so fast it nearly catches fire from friction. He stammers, red-faced, hiding it behind his back. “J-just… animatronic jaw calibrations.”

You raise a brow, clearly not believing him. “So the jaw calibrations need little hearts and a blush filter now?”

He just buries his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he mutters. You lean in and kiss his temple. “No you don’t.”

🎀 Eventually, He Shows You One—Just One

After some gentle teasing (and maybe a kiss or two), he finally lets you see one page—his favorite, actually.

It’s a little doodle of him holding your hand, the two of you in your animatronic forms dancing in a swirl of music notes and ribbons. His cartoon eyes are big and sparkly, yours are mischievous and glowing.

You can’t help but beam. “This is adorable. You’re adorable!”

He groans and hides his face behind your shoulder. “I was trying to be cool, damn it.”

🌷 Vintage/Coquettecore Secret Love Language

You two communicate in hidden glances and code phrases disguised in poetic vintage style. Things like:

“Would you mend my cuffs, dearest?” = I need you close.

“You’re quite the thorn beneath my rose today.” = I want to kiss you until the madness stops.

You leave each other handwritten letters folded into the lining of coats, or sewn into plush animatronics like little time bombs of affection.

William has hand-stitched a little lace-trimmed napkin with your initials, and it’s always in his breast pocket. You, meanwhile, wear a small antique locket. Inside? Not a photo—no, a scrap of his old schematics, smudged by his thumbprint.

💀 Bloodstained But Romantic Rituals

After every “event,” when the mess is taken care of, the two of you sit behind the Safe Room door like it’s a confessional.

You rest your head on his shoulder while he absentmindedly traces your hand, still sticky with crimson.

“You know,” he hums softly, “it’s deeply unfair how good you look with blood on your cheeks.”

You both clean each other like it’s a ritual. Warm water in a porcelain bowl. Gentle dabs with a silk cloth. Hands in silence, eyes speaking everything.

And then he’ll kiss you—on the knuckles, on your temple—like you’re something holy. You’re both monsters, but together? You’re divine.

🧵 Fursona Dates in Character

You two absolutely dress up in your custom springlock suits: Springbonnie and your Mangle-inspired one. It becomes a thing.

He acts overly exaggerated and dramatic in his Springbonnie voice, calling you “my darling chaos vixen” while you giggle and twirl your fluffy tail.

You’ll sit on his lap, noses pressed together in costume. His arms wrap around your middle, metallic squeaks mixing with soft laughter.

The two of you will slow dance in the workshop in full animatronic form. The music? Some old 1950s waltz record with soft vinyl static.

“Don’t step on my paws, mister bunny.”

“No promises, sweetfang.”

📒 William’s Sketchbook and His Crumbling Dignity

He draws your fursona and his in ridiculously cute cartoon panels. Full chibi mode. Big sparkly eyes. Hearts everywhere.

His favorites:

You tackling him with glittery hearts spilling out of your ears.

Him giving you a wrench bouquet while sweating nervously.

You both curled up on a coiled cord like a nest, asleep and tangled together.

When he draws, he’s muttering to himself. “Ugh… no, that line is too soft. She’s soft, but not that soft… Okay but maybe the tail fluff needs a sparkle here—”

If you surprise him mid-doodle? His whole face turns red. He slams it shut like a teenager caught drawing hearts around your name.

🫀 Intimate, A Bit 16+, But Still Classy

William is oddly reverent about touching you. He treats your waist like it’s breakable porcelain.

His favorite spot? The dip at the back of your neck, where he likes to rest his hand or mouth. He always whispers something right there.

You sometimes straddle his lap, still in costume, and he chuckles low, “Is this roleplay now, vixen? Am I being hunted?”

You: “You should be so lucky.”

There’s this intense moment before kisses where both of you hesitate, eyes locked—just to feel the danger of it, the thrill of knowing how wrong and intoxicating this is.

🧠 Mind Games and Little Power Plays

Sometimes you kiss him right after saying something really dark.

“He screamed at the end, you know. Like a songbird.”

(You tilt his chin up and kiss his jaw while his eyes gleam with madness.)

He’s always trying to see if he can make you break character first during those blood-cleaning sessions.

“Oh, I missed a spot, sweetheart—right here…”

(He leans in and kisses just beneath your eye.)

You’ll play along. “You trying to distract me, darling?”

(You press your mouth to his ear, biting just hard enough to make him grunt.)

🖋️ You Catch Him Daydreaming

One day you walk in, and there he is—hunched over, giggling like a schoolgirl, sketching a comic strip where cartoon-You is dragging cartoon-Him around by the ear with a ribbon.

He doesn't even hear you at first. He’s so in love, so deep in it, he’s GONE.

You step behind him and rest your chin on his shoulder. “You draw me prettier every time.”

He squeaks. (Yes. He actually squeaks.)

“Wha—?! I—I didn’t know you were—! This is not—! UGH!”

You giggle and kiss his cheek, and he melts like cheap wax under heat.

66 notes · View notes

yearsbecomingcool · 4 months ago

Text

meet the parents | daniel markowitz

donate to gaza here | masterlist

pairing | daniel markowitz x f!reader

synopsis | after 3 months of dating daniel finally introduces you to his parents and invites you to spend the eighth night of hanukkah with his family.

warnings | f!reader, jewish!reader, fluff.

word count | 4.4k

a/n | i wanna give a huge thank you to @kawaii1kitten for reading over this for me to make sure everything was accurate, it meant so much for someone to offer up their time like that and it was greatly appreciated. i got this request back at the end of january but have been incredibly busy since then (21st birthday, trying to get my license, new season of yellowjackets, writing a 7.6k word fic about jason from hell of a summer that you should all read…) but i did also take some time to research hanukkah for this fic. if anything is falsely represented or you think could be portrayed differently please let me know and i can fix any mistakes made! thank you so much for the request and hopefully it came out to your liking. also thank you to @joeloverture as always for reading over this and giving me input!!

taglist | @snazzynacho

You had been dating Danny for three months and somehow still hadn’t met his family, it wasn’t the most unusual thing in the world but you couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. You would always hang out at your house, never at his. He always made an excuse about a messy room or someone working from home that day and you were beginning to feel a bit fed up with it. Today he was picking you up for a date, a trip to the movies. You heard his horn go off and ran outside, hopping into the passenger seat. You lean over and give him a quick peck, “You look cute today, scruffy, but cute.” You caress his cheek, looking at him lovingly.

He blushes, leaning into your touch like a cat. “So you don’t want me to shave?”

“Not yet…I’ll be generous and give you another week,” you tease, pinching the pale flesh of his cheek between your thumb and forefinger. He giggles and pulls away from you, he backs out of your driveway and starts to head towards the theater.

You could save your questioning till after the movie, make it easier on both of you, but you’ve never been known to choose the easy route. You decide to come right out with it, “Why haven’t you introduced me to your family yet?”

He coughs nervously, “W-What?”

“Your family. You haven’t introduced me to them at all, you haven’t even brought me over to your house. We always just go to mine. There has to be a reason, so tell me Danny, what is it?”

His face grows hot and he swallows nervously. “I-It just hasn’t been the right time…they’re always busy. Y’know…I just…”

“You hardly talk about any of them besides your grandma, who sounds lovely by the way. But it just feels weird, if you have a bad relationship with them I’ll drop it but I’m just curious about your family. It feels like you’re hiding me from them and vice versa,” you explain.

He sighs, “My parents are just…a lot, okay? They still treat me like I’m a kid, hell my mom still has Life-360 installed on my phone.”

You giggle, “Were you a bad kid in high school or something?”

He laughs, “The furthest from it actually. I hardly went out, never went to parties, never did drugs. I was a good kid, my parents just…they’re intense and I know they care but they don’t really treat me like an adult yet. I didn’t want to scare you away or have you think I’m some Norman Bates mommy’s boy, I just want you to like me.”

“I already like you, dork. Do you think I’d be going out with you for three months if I didn’t like you? I’m certainly not dating you for your car.”

“But you could be dating me for my money,” he jokes.

“I’m practically your sugar mommy, mr. unemployed, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Okay…okay, I get it, you do actually like me. But are you sure you wanna meet my parents?”

“Yes! C’mon, let them get the embarrassing stage out of the way already. I’ll come over and bring them some nice wine and nod politely while they show me baby pictures and tell me embarrassing stories about you from your childhood. Doesn’t that sound nice?” You’re trying your hardest to convince him.

“It sounds better without them embarrassing me but I guess it could be worse…why don’t you come over for the final night of Hanukkah, it’s the one day this week where both my parents are off work so they won’t be super stressed or anything. We’re doing it at my grandmas so you’ll get to meet her too,” he suggests, finally giving in.

“I finally get to meet the famous Thelma Post you’ve been telling me about!” You celebrate.

“I’ve told her all about you too, she’s been asking when she can meet you.” He starts to poorly imitate his grandma, “Danny I’ll have one foot in the grave before you bring her over to see me!” You both burst into laughter at his imitation. “Don’t tell her I did that…please…”

You hold your pinky up, “Pinky promise.”

It’s the eighth day of Hanukkah and Daniel had come over to your place to help you cook, he insisted that you didn’t need to bring anything but you were determined to make a good impression. He’d been here for a few hours helping you make sufganiyot, normally his mom would make some but she was more than happy to leave that task up to you once you’d offered. You’d already made the filing the night before, letting it sit in the fridge for a few hours. Danny had been eyeing it as soon as he saw it in the fridge. Once you were done preparing the sufganiyot you’d piped some onto his finger, letting him finally have a taste. He sucks the cream off his finger and moans at the taste, “Fuck this is good. My mom is gonna have one bite of this and ask when I’m putting a ring on your finger, I swear.”

“And what are you gonna tell her?” You tease, placing a hand on the counter and leaning against it, trying to look seductive.

“That I need an actual job before I can even think of walking into a jewelry store.”

You roll your eyes and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him to give you a soft kiss. He looks a bit silly, wearing the apron you’d bought him when you’d gone grocery shopping the other day. It had a stupid little slogan that made you cringe on it and you knew it’d be perfect for him. When he’d arrived you held it up for him and he rolled his eyes. “For me?” He teases, holding his hand up to his mouth. You smacked him with a dish towel.

While you went to get cleaned up and changed for the party Danny lounged on the small couch in your living room, flicking through the channels. He was grateful the SY-FY channel was still playing shitty horror movies this time of year. He’d gotten about halfway through Sharknado when you came out into the living room ready to go. You’d done natural makeup, some soft smoked out eyeliner and some lip gloss. You were dressed casual but cute, wearing a dark blue sweater and some black jeans. Danny sits up from the couch and smiles as his eyes rake over you, “You look great.”

“You’re so sweet to me, Danny. C’mere.” You outstretch your hand to him, pulling him up from the couch and into your arms to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. He grabs the wine off the counter and you grab your tray of sufganiyot and he opens the front door for you, locking it up before opening the passenger door for you. As you sit in the car on the way to his grandma's condo your knee bounces up and down, a nervous tick that you’ve had for years. Danny notices and places his hand on your thigh.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I should be freaking out more than you, I have no idea what embarrassing shit they’re gonna tell you tonight!”

“I really hope they have a whole scrapbook for me to look at. I wanna see every embarrassing school photo, your awkward prom pictures, your cute little baby pictures.”

He groans, “Your parents didn’t show me any of that for you though!”

You laugh, “Uh yeah because I told them I’d never come back home again if they did.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean…I just know how to get what I want.”

He narrows his eyes but keeps them on the road, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your hands are trembling when you get to his grandma's condo, you knew you’d be nervous you just didn’t know you’d be this nervous. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

He chuckles and parks the car, “They’ll love you. You have your shit together, you’re beautiful, you’ve helped me get my shit together I’m pretty sure that’s everything they want in a woman for me.”

“And if they somehow don’t like me?”

“Then I’m staying with you anyway, I don’t care what they think. I know they’re gonna love you and I know for a fact that my grandma is gonna love you. Before the night is over she’ll be shoving her phone in my hand and demanding I friend you on Facebook for her.” He smiles at you like you’re the only girl he’s ever loved, he means every word he says, he’s not just trying to make you feel better.

“The only approval I need is yours and Thelmas.” He laughs at your joke and leans across the console to kiss you. He cups your face gently. When you pull away he’s smiling like a schoolboy.

Your face contorts in confusion, “What?”

“I just…” He runs his hand through his hair, “I really like you. I’m happy we’re doing this.”

You feel like a lovesick teenager, “Me too.”

Daniel goes around and opens your door, bowing his head as you step out of the car. “You’re such a nerd, you know that, right?”

He smiles at you playfully, “Are you gonna bully me in front of my parents? I don’t think they’ll like that too much. My grandma especially won’t.”

“Well shit I can’t let Thelma down…”

“Exactly, so be nice!” He kisses your cheek and leads you to the door. He knocks quickly before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You rest your head against his shoulder as you wait for his parents to open the door. You hear rustling and suddenly the door opens. His mom is standing there with a huge smile on her face. At first glance she doesn’t look much like him, she’s got dark brown hair cut into a neat bob and light green eyes. When she smiles that’s when you see the resemblance. Her tortoiseshell glasses pair nicely with her tan sweater and brown pants.

“It’s so good to see you two! Come in, come in!” She exclaims, moving aside for the two of you to come in. You follow Daniel inside and kick off your shoes by the door before going into the kitchen to put your sufganiyot down on the counter. There’s already a few dishes sitting out and ready to go. Latkes with a small dish of sour cream sat next to them, fried bimuelos with honey drizzled over top, and some brisket. His mom, Gail, hugs you like she’s known you her whole life.

“Danny has told us so much about you, I was wondering when he would finally introduce you,” she says, nudging him playfully with her elbow. He looks down at the floor bashfully.

“I guess I didn’t realize everyone was so…eager to meet.”

“Well with how you talked about her we all wanted to finally see the lovely girl. How are you?” His father, Alan, comes up behind Danny and outstretches his hand to you. You shake his hand and smile politely.

“I’m great, Danny takes the best care of me. You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

Daniel looks down blushing again, he does this every time you praise him. It’s something he’ll never get used to.

You take a second to look around the room, her kitchen reminds you so much of your grandma’s house. The only word you can think of for it is cozy. She has an array of plants all over the kitchen, some are sat on the windowsill above the sink. A few of the bigger ones sit on a white metal shelf populated by some cutesy glassware and a couple cookbooks. You feel right at home. You grab the wine from Daniel and present it to his parents, “I wasn’t sure what kind you would like so I hope this is okay.”

They take the bottle and inspect it, “It’s perfect.”

His parents thank you and bring you into the small tv nook where Thelma is sitting comfortably on the family's couch. You marvel at the collection of books she’s collected over her lifetime. They sit cozily on her built-in shelves, a modest CRT TV sits at the center. On each side of the couch sits more bookshelves. You can imagine yourself curled up on her orange and white pinstripe couch spending your days working through her collection. “Grandma, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.” She turns and smiles as she sees you. She’s quick to get to her feet, walking towards you happily. “Oh honey! Finally! I thought we’d never get to meet at this rate, ah, look at you! Danny you’ve always had good taste but she’s got to be my favorite! Oh just look at her, Danny you make such a cute couple.” Now it’s your turn to blush as Thelma gushes over you. She holds your hands in hers and smiles at you warmly.

“You’re too kind…Danny has said so much about you. I think he’s been hiding me away so I don’t become your new best friend,” you joke, helping Daniel lead her to the front of the house. The house is set up a bit strangely, her main living room is quite spacious, and a bar sits behind one of the floral couches. It’s unused, now displaying various family photos. There’s even more books on more beautiful shelves, you wonder if she’s read them all.

Thelma playfully swats at Daniel's arm, “Have you been hiding her? I always could do with more friends. You know that, Danny.” You admire their menorah as it sits on a white tray on a small table in front of the window, it’s a beautiful gold color, made of brass. It was his parents' wedding gift. A blue table runner sits beneath it.

He giggles, “Can you blame me for wanting to keep her to myself?” The three of you stand together, his parents on either side.

You watch as his father loads the candles, their matchbook sits on the tray next to the menorah. You watch as his father strikes the match and lights the shamash and begins to recite the blessings. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.” Once he’s finished reciting the blessings he lights each candle from left to right and puts the shamash at its place in the center. It makes you think of past Hanukkah celebrations you’d spent with your family, it’s the first year you’re not spending it with them. You have a feeling you can convince Daniel to come to yours next year.

You all head to the kitchen and grab a plate and start to grab your food, you load your plate up happily.

Daniel pours you each a glass of wine, Thelma has water instead. The table is small which makes things a bit cramped but you make it work, you and Daniel sitting close enough that your elbows knock occasionally.

“Was your family alright with you missing out on celebrating with them this year?” Thelma asks as she sips from her glass.

“They understood, they’d like Danny to come to ours next year for a night. They really loved him when they met him.” Daniel squeezes your hand softly.

“Oh of course! Maybe we could all get together next year, have a little party!” She suggests.

“That sounds perfect. I’m sure they’d love to.”

As you begin to dig into your food you look over at Gail with a sly smirk. “So…what was Danny like as a kid?”Daniel chokes on his wine, his eyes going wide. He didn’t expect you to start asking about this as soon as dinner started.

Gail smiles knowingly at Daniel, she knows just how badly she’s about to embarrass him and she’s going to cherish this moment for as long as it lasts. “Oh he was just precious. Such a sweet smiley little boy,” she takes a sip of her wine, “but he was so shy. I remember on his first day of Kindergarten he was so scared, he wouldn’t let go of my leg. Poor thing…”

“Aww Danny…I was a shy kid too. Maybe not that shy but it took me a while to grow out of it. I remember sitting at a table with a group of other shy kids in English class and we were all supposed to do some project together and I had to pull myself out of my shell for it because none of them wanted to,” you laugh.

“That sounds like Danny. Y’know there was this shy boy in his class when he was younger,” she turns to face Daniel, “Wendy Horowitz’ son, do you remember him?”

Daniel nods. He has no clue who she’s talking about.

“Anyway, he got hooked on Don Julio and he’s been in and out of rehabs ever since. Always made me worried for Danny, you never know what the quiet ones are doing…”

“Well I don’t drink much, I’ll have one if I go out somewhere nice for dinner, but I’m usually the designated driver. Danny doesn’t really have much when we go out either.”

Gail rubs Daniel on the shoulder, “Oh you’re cutting back on the drinking? Good, see Alan she’s already a good influence, only 3 months in!”

Alan smiles, “You did get him to throw out that ratty old cardigan too.”

“There were too many holes for it to be considered wearable at that point. I bought him a nice new one to replace it.”

Daniel blushes, “The new one is softer…”

“He’s always worn his clothes till they were falling apart…I’d always fix them up so he could wear his favorites a bit longer,” Thelma says.

Daniel looks at her with nothing but love in his eyes and smiles,”And thank you for that. You’re why most of my favorite sweaters are still around.”

Gail chuckles, a memory surfacing. “Do you remember that phase you had where you would only wear your Spider-Man costume? You were like what…six? You wore it everywhere! I remember you even demanded you wear it to school under your clothes.” Daniel's face turns bright red as the rest of you giggle.

“I uh, I think I do remember that,” he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“That’s cute. I think I did the same with some princess dress my mom had got me.” As fun as it is to watch him squirm with embarrassment you still don’t want him to get too embarrassed.

The rest of dinner is spent with Gail telling childhood stories about Daniel, most are just cute instead of embarrassing but once dinner is wrapped up is when the embarrassment really starts. Thelma is quick to lead you to her array of childhood photos of Daniel she has on display. You pick up each one, inspecting them closely as he looms over your shoulder, face bright red with embarrassment. “Do you really have to show her the middle school ones? Those are just…they’re bad…” He groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Oh but Danny you were so cute! Wasn’t he?” Thelma asks, turning towards you.

You giggle and smile, “The cutest.”

“See! Not embarrassing!”

Daniel groans and puts his hands over your eyes, he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I think you’ve seen enough.” It’s playful and cute. You giggle and lean back against him.

“I think I wanna see more actually-”

He’s quick to cover your mouth with one of his hands, “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. That wine must’ve been strong, right baby?” He moves his hand from your eyes to your chin, maneuvering your head to make you nod. “See? She’s all good on childhood pictures now, Grandma.”

You lick his palm and he yelps, pulling his hand away. “Don’t listen to him! Show me the worst ones!”

Thelma is doubling over in laughter at the two of you, it reminds her of when she had met her husband. “Oh I’ve got more, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” She heads over to the bookcase to start looking for her photo albums.

Daniel leans down to whisper in your ear so softly that no one else can hear, “You’re so getting it later. You hear me?”

You giggle, “I’m sure I am, Danny…” He loves to talk a big game but hardly ever follows through. You know it’ll end in giggles and a makeout session on your couch.

He helps Thelma bring over the photo albums, setting them down onto the coffee table before taking a seat next to you. “You better be nice to me about these.”

“Danny how bad could they be? Don’t be so dramatic, we were all dorky when we were younger.” You rub his shoulder comfortingly. You lean against his arm as he opens the first one. The first page is his mom holding him in the hospital, his tiny footprints next to the photo make you tear up a bit.

Thelma tells a small story with each photo, “He was such a smiley baby. The happiest in the family. I remember Gail called me one time to ask if it was normal for a baby to be so happy all the time,” she laughs, “she’s always been such a worrier…”

“You were adorable Danny, your smile is the same now y’know.”

He leans his head against yours, “Some things never change I guess.”

“I’m glad you’ve still got that sweet smile and all those beauty marks.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead as you continue to look through the photo albums. His face heats up with embarrassment as they reach the elementary school photos. He’s wearing silly graphic tees and missing teeth, new ones growing back into place. There’s photos of him playing video games, kindergarten and 5th grade graduations. Photos of him with childhood friends and peers, most of the names he can’t remember but he has a story for almost all of them. “He had a pet lizard! I begged my parents, and Grandma of course,” he nudges Thelma with his elbow, “for one too. But when I actually went over to his house and saw it in person it scared me so bad I never asked for another pet again!”

“What kind of lizard was it?” You ask curiously.

“A bearded one, like that dinosaur in Jurassic Park that ate Nedry.”

Your eyes light up, “Ah! I can see why you’d be terrified now.”

He blushes bright red with embarrassment once the middle school pictures start coming up, awkward phases, bad haircuts, and plenty of embarrassing stories. It’s an awful time for everyone but it seemed particularly cringe inducing for Daniel. You and Thelma stifle laughter as he tries to defend his magician phase with his life.

“The girls were into it I swear!”

“Thelma, did you tell him that to make him feel better?” You ask, leaning forward to see her.

“I think I did…”

Daniel dramatically scoffs, feigning offense at her confession.

“Did you like try to pull a flower out from behind a girl's ear?” You joke.

His cheeks turn pink, “I-I…no…”

He’s a little less defensive over his high school photos, you can see him finding his style in every photo. He’s switched out his silly graphic tees for band t-shirts and cardigans, his cargo shorts for skinny jeans. It’s interesting to watch him figure out who he is through photos. You smile at the photos of him at concerts on his tiptoes trying to peer over the shoulders of the people in front of him. There’s ticket stubs from his favorites glued down next to the photos of him at each one. You can tell you would’ve been friends in high school, probably more considering how you ended up. He was your type to a tee. You could imagine asking him out to see whatever indie movie was playing at your local theatre, him slipping his headphones on you in a diner afterwards to show you his new favorite band. You feel a pang of sadness that you didn’t know him back then. You’re grateful to have him now. You cuddle up a bit closer to him as he gets to the final picture, it’s him on graduation day. His hair was grown out and combed back under his graduation cap. His favorite is the shot of Thelma and him together. He has his arm slung over his shoulder as he holds her close.

“Why don’t we take one of you two to add to the album?” Thelma suggests.

You smile and look at Daniel, trying to see how he feels. He’s smiling just as big as you are and he nods, getting up from the couch. “Where’s the camera?”

“It’s in my office on my desk, right by the computer,” Thelma explains. Once he’s walked off to retrieve the camera she leans close to you, taking your hand in hers. “You’re my favorite of the girls he’s ever brought over. Thank you for being so good to him…I think you’re what he needs.”

You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes, your lip quivering. You reach up to wipe your tears and nod, “I think he’s what I need to.” Thelma leans forward and hugs you tight, you pull away with Daniel comes back with the camera.

“Should I call dad to come take it?” He asks Thelma.

“Oh no, dear. This is the one technology I know how to use!” She gets up from the couch and takes the camera from Daniel, directing him to sit next to you. She continues directing the two of you, telling you how to pose. “Danny at least try to look like you love her! You’re so stiff!”

He chuckles and tries to relax, pulling you closer to him. You’re leaned against him, your head on his shoulder as he holds you close. You glance up at him for a second and hear the camera go off. “Oh, I wasn’t ready!”

Thelma smiles down at the photo, turning the camera back around for the two of you to look. It’s instantly your new favorite photo of the two of you. You’re cuddled up, gazing into each other's eyes. “I think it’s perfect, dear.”

#fred hechinger #fred hechinger imagine #fred hechinger x you #fred hechinger fanfic #fred hechinger x reader #daniel markowitz #daniel markowitz x reader #daniel markowitz fluff #thelma (2024)#daniel markowitz x you #danny markowitz #danny markowitz x reader #danny markowitz x you #danny markowitz fluff #thelma

93 notes · View notes