Babies learn language by being immersed in a context driven by that language, by imitating the mouth movements and the sounds they see and hear around them. They often reach for their parent's faces, touching cheeks, lips and throats to feel the movements and vibrations that come with every word. That creates the base for their pattern recognition to kick in, slowly creating mental rules for language and its combinations.
Which makes me think about Creature!Ghost, who finds any and every way to look at your face and specially your lips when you talk to him.
He leans closer and you think he might not hear your properly, so you enunciate your words a little more, making emphasis in the vocalisation. When he reaches a hand up —slow and careful, always mindful of not making you feel like it could be motivated by any aggression— and gingerly places it on your sternum you understand what's really going on.
So you rest your hand over his, pressing it closer to your chest so he can feel the vibrations caused by every word and repeat what you had been saying, eventually moving it to your throat so he can notice the physical difference between a silent and a sounded consonants.
It doesn’t surprise you that the next step is for him to mouth words, often without really using his voice, just trying to wrap his lips and mind around the syllables. You earn a smile when you encourage him, and he slowly builds up enough confidence that he starts to actually sound out new words instead of just mouthing them.
You're wiping down the dinner table, tidying up after just having finished eating, when it happens.
He shyly approaches you, slow steps, slightly unstable body as he hesitates. He looks down to something in his hands, and when he has finally gathered enough courage he hands it to you, "read book… for me?"
With having to tidy up all forgotten about, you give a nod, a smile pulling at your lips as you take the offered book. "Of course," you lead him to the small couch by the fireplace. You settle on the slightly beaten-down cushions and, before you have time to make space for him, he settles down on the floor, beside your legs, lightly leaning his weight against you.
He gives a shake of his head when you offer space beside you, a hand reaching over to open the book you're still holding. "I see words better here." So you just adjust a little closer, feeling the warmth of his body press into your side, and start to read the book, pausing whenever necessary so he can discover new sounds and rules of the language.
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hello skyblr have a comic script i wrote up a long while ago after last years spooky season but never managed to get a comic flow that worked nicely
yes its patchy and beta again i love those two
BETA: Patchy.
PATCHY: Hmm?
BETA: I've decided that skykids are scary.
PATCHY: Why?
BETA: They have absolute zero fear! Every year I release my krills and they have no fear, absolutely no fear. Samantha, Skidmore and Nat brought their krills too and those ones are really irritable y'know?
PATCHY: I think Nat stole Reika's krill.
BETA: Yes I know we're supposed to keep that a secret. ANYWAYS, I mean, us the staff, we have protection. Most of us have no light, you have a wrench and their respect-(that's true)-Those kids have nothing!
PATCHY: They have madz flying skills and teamwork. Samantha's crab also sells krill repellent.
BETA: I know! But even then some of them get spotted for FUN. And not only that, see, Patchy, I have constructed a list of why skykids are the scariest ones here. (oh dear)
BETA: Number 1: They have no fear
BETA: Number 2: They feel no pain (Oh that was me I removed fall damage a while ago) Shush
BETA: Number 3: They talk about bones all the time (That is true, that general group called Skyblr often does) THEY DONT EVEN HAVE BONES
BETA: Number 4: They can imitate anything
BETA: Number 5: Many of them go to Eden on a constant basis
BETA: Number 6: They primarily eat crabs! Some of them want to eat krill!
BETA: Number 7: They can literally phase out of existence (at this point is a feature not a bug)
BETA: Number 8: They can find *anything*
PATCHY: I feel like you're overreacting.
'A skykid crashes into the ground. Patchy and Beta both look at them. They hold up a thumbs up.'
hii, this is an angsty one and hasn’t really been beta read, enjoy! :)
ManWhore!Johnny who felt completely guilt-free despite stringing you along into what had undoubtedly become a situationship where only he benefited. He’d find it easy to justify it, because he had never said he wanted something serious or committed.
Sure, he had met your parents and your friends, implied he might take you home to his Ma the next time holidays roll around. He’d spent full weeks at yours whenever he had a long-enough leave for it, taken you out on dinner dates and to his favourite hiking trails.
Still, he had never said it was or would ever be more than some sort of domestic-leaning friends-with-benefits situation. And if anything, it was your fault for thinking it would be more, for expecting something he had never sought out.
He’d shrug it off when you spoke your concerns, when you pointed out how he knew everyone in your life but you didn’t know anything about even one of his friends, that he always spoke about all these plans and never committed to them. Every time he’d change topics, redirect your attention either by speaking about something else, or by making you forget with a deep kiss and a couple of well-placed touches.
Because what it really had been about was convenience. He didn’t have to look for someone new at the pub whenever he felt like bringing someone home, he didn’t have to reopen his dating apps whenever he got that craving to go on a date or have someone to chat and flirt with. Instead he just had to call you, or even easier, send you a quick text.
The efforts of making you forgive him without any real change were always worth it, paying off when he was away in deployments. He knew you’d still be waiting, even when he didn’t try. Not a single text, not a call or a letter, even when he could and all his teammates did. Because you weren’t together like that and he didn’t have to, because he could go to the pub by the base and follow some pretty thing home if you weren’t in a actual relationship, because he could have someone fill your spot while he was gone for months just to fit right beside you once he was back.
Of course all of that is until you get tired of it, of him. Tired of being strung along for so long, of seeing friends find actual partners and form happy relationships while your whatever-he-was had gone radio silent on you for the nth time.
Tired of acting like you don’t know, like you’re stupid enough to not notice what is happening when your elderly neighbour tells you all about the letters and calls that she receives from her grandson in the service —the same ones Johnny kept saying were not allowed—, or when a friend of a friend uploads a picture at the pub on their socials, and he’s in the background making out with someone else —even when he swore up and down he didn’t think of anything but work while stationed—.
So this time, when Johnny sets his bag down and reaches for his phone —hitting up your number after almost four months of not having made any efforts to reach out— the line doesn’t connect. His brows furrow in confusion when he tries again and gets the same result, checking he has proper service before deciding to shoot you a message.
It doesn’t go through either, and he realises then, you’ve blocked him. In fact you’ve blocked everything you could, his number, every single social media profile you knew was to his name, even gone as far as unfollowing any accounts relating to mutual interests that could hint at anything from you.
Just in an instant, you’re completely out, gone from his life. And for a moment he’s convinced he can take in stride, that he can simply justify it like he had done everything else. He had benefited a whole lot while it had lasted, and he knew he could get a new bonnie thing in no time, so it was your loss really.
Except nothing feels right now, he goes to reach for something in the pantry and it’s not there, because it’s not your place and you haven’t gone to the store to get all your favourite snacks. Even right after stepping out of the shower and into fresh sheets, he’d still feel dirty; because it wasn’t your shampoo nor your fabric softener, it wasn’t the smell he had come to associate with something clean.
It takes him way too long to realise he hasn’t lost or misplaced what had become to be his favourite blanket or his favourite mug, why he can’t find the book he had been looking forward to reading during the whole operation and why getting in bed after a long day doesn’t feel warm and comforting any more.
He doesn’t understand why scrolling through dating app profiles and going on random dates doesn’t make him feel giddy or excited, feeling like a chore rather than an exciting thing. How following someone home, or guiding them to his, never quite scratches the itch.
It’s when he runs into you, or well, when he sees you from across the street —a to-go cup in one hand while the other presses your phone to your ear, a smile on your lips while you talk to whoever is on the other side of the line and never notice him—, that he realises that you’re the reason why nothing feels right, why everything feels shallow or like it’s been moved just a couple inches to the side, just far enough to make him trip over again and again.
Or more specifically, he realises that the only reason he had felt that comfort, that reassurance that everything would work out every time, had been because you had been around.
And now that you weren’t there, he couldn’t have them, because they had never been his to begin with, he had never wanted them to be. Just like you.
My masterlist
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I don’t even remember who i saw posting about this (still kudos to them) because i saw a post with this idea months ago for a completly different fandom and it just came to me like a flashback sent from the gods but:
Desk pet 141. No one knows what happened but they went on a mission and came back pocket sized. They’re about two apples tall, maybe closer to three in Ghost’s case.
You, who got out of the mission because you were stuck doing desk duty for having been a month late in your last report, end up being in charge of them while the docs try to figure out what happened and how to turn them back.
You didn’t even know they were back from the op, too busy grumbling to yourself about stupid files and records while typing away at your computer. Someone knocks on your door then, one of the privates awkwardly shuffling in with a box that seems to be stuffed with some of the infirmary’s sheets.
“I’ve uhm… they said you’d be in charge of these… them…? Anyway, i came to drop this off.”
You barley have time to look up from your computer before the door is closed again, cardboard and fabric sitting on the other side of your desk.
A light huff leaves you before you reach over, nothing being able to prepare you for what you see inside.
There, your four closest teammates, barely bigger than your own hand, looking up at you like the giant you are to them. You freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do, weighting the chances of this just being an incredibly elaborate and well-produced practical joke from them.
But it would have to be too well done, because Johnny stands up as soon as he realises who’s holding the box now, waving at you with all the excitement a tiny thing like him can muster. Beside him Kyle is chuckling and Ghost is just staring at you.
What really sells you on it though, is when the Captain turns towards you, tiny fists moving to grab onto his miniature vest before starting to swing back-and-forth on his feet, rocking from toes to heel like you’ve seen his true-sized counterpart doing too many times to count. He just tilts his head forward a bit before giving an approving nod in your direction.
Shit, okay. You’re going to need a jacket with big enough pockets to carry these guys around for a while.
I think frat!johnny has secretly paid for one of those etsy witches so they can do readings on his love life and confirm that you are, indeed, also into him.
He is not paying them for love potions and stuff, ‘cause that feels icky and he’s not too sure how the concept of consent works with that kind of thing. HOWEVER, he did pay an extra fee so he could get a sign that confirmed your feelings.
He’s waiting excitedly for the first couple of days, getting a bit nervous around the fourth day in, and feeling like he should give up by the time it’s been a week. Maybe he was scammed out of 25 quid, maybe you really don’t want more than sex with him.
Sadness lasts about an hour. Because when he gets to your usual table, seeing that you’re already waiting with your own usual order and his usual, he pretty much makes the rest of the way skipping.
Honestly, you had asked him for a date because you had noticed he seemed a bit off, shoulders a bit slump in a way you’d never seen from him. Seems like it fully resolved on its own, though, given the fat kiss he plants on your forehead before sitting across from you. Now you have to deal with a Johnny that is more hyper and clingy than usual, and have no idea as to why.
Was there really a sign or did you just get him a croissant because the coffee shop had a 2x1 offer and you were meeting him anyway? WHO CARES. He’s giving the witch a 5 star review and sending in a new request a few days later.
Frat johnny begging for some form of friction from you or even sex and you give him the laziest handjob ever but he cums within 2 minutes because your annoyed face turned him on too much and your little huffs and degrading terms made him lose itttttt
Look, you love frat!johnny to absolute pieces, okay? He’s a great lad, even better lay. He’s genuinely fun to be around, such a good listener and pays amazing attention to detail. You two are not officially together in the sense that neither of you has used titles, but you’ve both been exclusive since the second time you slept together.
All of that is to say, that as much as you’d both live and die for him, there’s moments when you’re just trying to focus on something that isn’t him. And he takes it personally, every time.
Like right now. You’re not even sure why you said yes when he asked if he could drop by your dorm, your warning of needing to study for your upcoming midterm clearly falling on deaf ears. As soon as he walked in, he started to talk about whatever came up to mind, hovering around your desk and fidgeting with all your stuff.
Dumb of you to think a stern warning would work, too. Because as soon as the chastising words leave you, tone dry and firm, a tent forms on his sweats. His wide, glassy eyes make a deep sigh leave you, the light tilt of his head making him the clear picture of a begging puppy.
“I can’t stand you right now,” your hands rub over your face as the grumble leaves you, still there’s no need for you to see him to know that the groan that leaves him is purely out of pleasure. “You’re messed up,” you accuse when your hands drop back to your lap, holding his pleading gaze for a little longer before begrudgingly pointing to the bed.
That’s what lead to you being like this. Sat on the bed, notes sprawled over your lap as you read and revise through them with one hand, the other loosely wrapped around his cock. It’s a little pathetic, how hard he already is, and how much harder he has gotten since you’ve stopped paying him any mind. That’s what turns him on the most. His head is thrown back against the headboard, eyes tightly closed and hands holding onto the bedsheets for dear life.
Your hand is barely even moving, just lazily dragging up and down the shaft, no attention being paid to the pressure you use, much less to his whipping tip. It’s just a slow yet constant back and forth, one that causes light huffs and sighs to leave you in complaint whenever you have to use your non-dominant hand to flip through your notes.
“B-bonnie…” it’s a whimper, one that makes him sound so much more wrecked that he should be given how little effort it’s taking. You don’t really answer, just give him the side eye, a mean look that substitutes any words needed to make clear how much he’s bothering you. It just makes him moan louder.
You’ve barely made it through a couple pages before his hips start twitching, his breathing quickening and his whimpers only getting louder. He’s spilled so much precum in the few minutes you’ve been in this position that his cock easily glides through your hand now. You can’t help the light chuckle that leaves you, finally turning to look at him. “Seriously? Already?”
There’s something in the mocking tone, in the way you have refused to acknowledge him until this point. The fact that you’ve only looked at him at his weakest. The mix of shame and pure pleasure that your words cause has his hips speeding up, properly fucking into your closed fist now, his eyes closing tightly again. Mostly to avoid letting them roll into the back of his skull.
You click your tongue then, “look at me.”
His eyes snap open, glassy gaze meeting yours, his lips —red and swollen from bitting down on them, from trying to hold back at least a little bit of how much this is wrecking him— mouthing around words that never come out. Instead there’s just shaky gasps and whiny moans.
“There we go,” he could swear his brain almost turns off at the mix of your condescending tone and praising words. “I’ve got a mid term to study for, sweetheart. Gonna cum for me?”
The way you ask, as if it were a chore on your list, something you have to get through to finish your responsibilities for the day, does it. His eyes almost close, but quickly widen to stay open when you give his base a warning squeeze. His jaw goes slack, no shame in the way he moans and groans while his hips piston into your hold. It barely takes him a couple more thrusts before he’s letting out the whiniest moan of your name you’ve ever heard anyone produce.
Strips of white land on your hand and his abs, even managing to slightly soil the bunched up hem of his shirt. He just gives a few more residual bucks, but less than a minute later he’s slumping into the bed, eyes tightly closed as he tries to recover his breath.
His ears are still ringing when he feels you lightly tap on his cheek, teary eyes cracking open to see you hold your hand up. In an instant he’s leaning forward, licking himself off your skin before melting back into the sheets. He pointedly ignores the half-chub that has started to form again due your wordless order. Feeling to wrecked to think about another round, he settles for sluggishly reaching down to tuck himself back into his sweats.
You finally look at him, eyes much softer than they had been until now. He goes right along when you reach over to pull him closer, more than happy to rest his head on your lap and wrap his arms around your waist. “Nap for a bit while i finish this,” your offer has him humming in agreement, body relaxing further as one of your hands begins to play with his hair. “I’m sure you’ll have to recover from those strenuous three minutes.”
The teasing words only earn you a muffled groan against your stomach and a squeeze to your hip. He’s for sure going to remember that an use it against you some other time, but for now he’s happy to snuggle up to you while he processes all the new things he’s learned about himself in those few minutes.
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Your sharp gasp and exclamation was not the kind of greeting John had expected when getting home a few hours earlier than usual. He could have expected curiosity or suprise, maybe even worry given the unusual shcedule and the motives for his early arrival.
He lets out a small sigh, closing the door and kicking his shoes off before turning to face you. "I swear, those recrutes are absolute twats. Were running some drills, and this muppet really thought playing around with a live grenade would-"
His words and movements get cut off when you're suddenly standing infront of him, shaking your head and ignoring his efforts to explain the accident, instead cupping his cheeks and guiding his head in all directions. "No! What happened? You're bald."
You feel his hands wrap around your wrists, calloused skin gentle yet firm against yours to stop your jostling of his head. "I'm not bald, love." His correction gets followed by a scoff, head tilting to lean into your hands while he gives you a mix of an amused and tired look. "I just had to shave my beard."
He pauses a second, pressing a soft kiss to the palm of your hand, letting your fingers lightly tun over the bandage covering part of his chin. "You would've known why if you had let me finish explaining."
All he gets in return is a light hum, and a mutter of "same difference". It's silent for a moment, his hands moving to instead hold onto your hips while your fingers run over the now-smooth skin of his cheeks. "I can see so much skin… I don't like it."
He scoffs a laugh as he pulls you closer, fully wrapping his arms around your waist now. "Oi, don't be a brat." His head leans forward to lightly knock his forehead against yours, a much softer admonishing that the one the recruits had gotten earlier in the day. "It'll grow back in no time, love."
He feels the way you groan as you lean forward the rest of the way, pressing your chest to his and hiding your face agains the clean-shaven crook of his neck. "But you'll look like an overgrown baby until then, John."
It's a couple seconds, and then your chests rumble against each other in unison, both of you melting further into each other's arms and into the laugher. "Always can rely on my amazing spouse to compliment me, can't I?"
His smile softens and becomes genuine at your soft murmur of "always", and the tension of the day leaves his shoulders when your hands return to his cheeks to guide hi into a loving kiss. "Does it hurt much?" It's barely louder than a whisper, neither of you needing to make any bigger of an effort to get across the concern and care for the other.
He gives a light shake of his head before pulling you back in, gathering you against his chest once more. "Couple'a stitches. Nothing I haven't dealt with before." The reassurance is followed by a soft kiss to your forehead, the uninjured side of his jaw coming to rest against your head. "Getting called bald hurt more, love."
More soft!price
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I don’t know how i got here, but I've been thinking about Frat!Johnny who is known for being a man-whore, who always finds one (or multiple) pretty things in a party to follow home. He’s the life of the party, incredibly friendly and charming, charismatic in a way that lets him become friends (and get himself in bed) with anyone he chats with.
The same Johnny that spots you at a party, that easily guesses your drink of choice and your major, that chats with you for who-knows-how-long and casually offers —at the perfect time for it, too, when the alcohol has you right in that giggly and carefree state and his light touches have made all your blood rush from your head to between your legs— for you to spend the night in his room, so «you don’t have to worry about going all the way across the campus back to your dorm, bonnie».
You know about his reputation, with how many people he has slept before, how he’ll simply move on from it the next morning and find someone else in the next party. And frankly, you don’t really mind it, because you’ve also heard the rumour of how good he is at what he does, and you’re pretty sure you’re winning much more than you’re losing by the time he has you pressed against his locked door, his lips trailing from your jaw down your collarbone while his hands work on getting the both of you naked.
It’s easy to lose count of the amount of times he’s made you come, how many rounds you’ve been able to get out of the other, but when you wake up with that light soreness and his heavy arm loosely wrapped around your waist you can’t help but confirm that every rumour had been true.
It all goes quite naturally, no sense of shame or rush when you both roll out of bed, you shower while he fetches some breakfast, already in a perfectly convenient to-go cup. You’re halfway dressed by the time he gets back, and you both settle in one last -pretty damn good- kiss before you’re heading out of the frat house and he’s hopping in the shower.
Johnny goes back to his usual routine, the same one he’s had since he joined the fraternity, he nurses the light hangover he has and focuses on spending the rest of the day on his classes and with his brothers. He’s done this so many times before, that his day goes on without any hitch, nothing to worry about until whatever comes first, the next party or the deadline.
Except he spots you in one of his elective classes and his eyes linger on your for longer than he’d like to admit, a little too excited to wave at you when you finally meet his gaze, and even more disappointed when you just give a light wave in return before going back to the conversation you were having with your friend.
It makes him feel like everything has come to an screeching halt, because that had never happened before. He has never looked for someone he has already slept with, and he doesn’t understand why his eyes always seem to move around crowded halls and busy coffee shops in search of you. Still, he pushes through, he’ll get over it. He shrugs it off, focuses on the few projects that have a close deadline and forgets about it with the excitement of getting the frat house ready for a new party.
Only issue is that when he sees you mingle through the crowd, he completely forgets about what he was about to say to Kyle, mouth hanging halfway open as the words quickly die down. “Found your new purchase?” his eyes flicker from you to Kyle’s knowing grin.
Much to his disappointment he has to give a shake of his head. “Nah, jus’ last week’s,” he tries to make it sound casual, even adding a light shrug. But he can see the way Kyle’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and amusement as he realises that he’s really witnessing the Johnny Mactavish regret his own rule of never sleeping with a party-hookup more than once.
“You’re screwed mate,” he feels Kyle’s hand clap on his shoulder, both of them watching as you entertain the random guy that leans closer to chat with you.
My masterlist
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