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welcometogrouchland · 2 years

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I'll admit- I really wasn't in to the hunter possession thing at first. I thought it was just putting hunter through the ringer AGAIN for no good reason other than to make him cry and as an excuse to merc flapjack. And I couldn't even think of a good reason why they'd do that in the first place.

But, after giving it a second watch (I was watching a very low quality stream when it came out and straight up missed scenes and dialogue) I have begrudgingly come to admit that it works. It's not the direction I would've gone with but it works (LONG thoughts under the cut, but with a TL;DR)

Hunters desire at the beginning of the series was freedom, and now that he actually has that freedom in the human realm he... doesn't know what to do with himself. He seems sort of reluctant to return to the demon realm at all, since Camilla and Luz have become such a stable family unit for him, but gravesfield still isn't his home.

Hunter still misses parts of the EC, namely the person he was as the golden guard- intimating, fearless, self assured, if thoroughly unhappy. He's still trying desperately to define himself in opposition to other things (namely Belos and Caleb) as he slowly discovers his interests. He may be happy but he's just floating through life with no direction at the moment.

Until Belos rears his ugly head again and hunter FINALLY states the things he wants- to study wild magic and be a normal kid who plays flyer derby and goes to hexside (and has an awesome surrogate family w/ the nocedas). He wants to stop his uncle from hurting anyone anymore- now that he doesn't have to worry about protecting himself, because as Luz said earlier, keeping him safe is her job now, their job.

hunter says earlier that he's "not who he's supposed to be, but he likes who he is". Refuting belos is meant to be him cementing that he's not Caleb, not the golden guard, not a vessel or a toy or a tool, he likes the part of him that wants all these things.

So does possession hunter hit better for me now? A bit yea. Again, I probably spoiled myself with my rampant imagination over the last couple of months- and I really would've liked to see more of Belos on his own terms. But at the end of the day it's not antithetical to hunters arc like I first thought it was. It's not a step backwards, it's closure. He recognised Belos was evil and that he didn't deserve what happened to him, now he knows what he does want and he's got people there to help him get it.

But now that hunter has different desires (and I hate hate hate to say this but...) It kind of makes sense for him to maybe carve a new palismen in place of flapjack that represents this change. Flapjack got him this far and a desire for freedom and love will carry him through the rest of his life as he gains more specific goals and wants.

(Also- tangent, even though Belos name drops Evelyn when killing flapjack, he also shouted "CALEB!" In kings tide when he saw the bird. I think flapjack in general reminds him of what he lost, and Belos naming Evelyn is him saying goodbye to her influence, attempting to twist the knife one last time as he again tries to exert control over his brothers image and their relationship. All this to say, no matter who carved it, flapjack is a symbol for both freedom and the wittebane brothers strife. Hence, it's painful and not 100% necessary but reasonable to want to move on narratively)

There's still all the unresolved threads re: Caleb and the Clawthornes and also WHY DOES BELOS WANT BACK INTO THE DEMON REALM. WHAT DOES HE WANT. Belos felt a bit...directionless in general in this one but again I'm holding out to see how his plotline is resolved since it wasn't resolved in gravesfield like we all suspected.

but like that one early review article said, this episode is just act one of the larger feature-length story that season 3 is gonna tell. A sort of owl house movie. Which is both frustrating since I don't think anyone was expecting that (we all had 3 act structure in mind but not this literally I don't think hsvsjfj) and even though I'm happy the releases are being paced in order to maintain hype and conversation within the fandom, I know things won't feel complete til all 3 episodes air.

That's the biggest flaw of Thanks to Them to me- an episode I otherwise really adore, ESPECIALLY in terms of Camilla and Luz's arcs. It's sort of trying to have its cake and eat it too- it knows it can't just be 44 minutes of set up, but it can't be it's own self contained story either. So it's conflicted and thus starts slacking at the climax for me. But it left me so excited to see where the show picks up next with reunions, lore, arcs concluding and reveals!

uhhh TL;DR: belos!hunter was jarring for me at first but I've come to accept it as part of hunters closure even if it's not in my top favourite ways you could've done that, and even though the episodes ending left me wanting, I'm excited to see what season 3 looks like as a whole!

#the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #ramblings of a lunatic #hunter toh #hunter noceda #it's not his most popular tag but it's the one that's correct to me #anyway these are my thoughts SO FAR. i think I'll only truly be at peace when the next specials come out #since it'll be complete and this time I'll know what to expect #but also. i think the hunter possession had a hurdle to overcome in my mind because OF THE FUCKING LEAKS #I'M STILL SO MAD ABOUT THOSE #I MEAN HOW #WHY #I SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO HUNT YOU FOR SPORT. WHOEVER DID THAT #I WOULD'VE GOTTEN MY ASS KICKED BY THIS EPISODE IF I HADN'T BEEN AMBUSHED BY THOSE LEAKS #IT WOULD'VE BEEN SO FUN #I'm still just in shock at it all. like i feel silly for it but it's just crazy to me it's been eating away at me #I MEAN. HOW??? and why didn't the crew say ANYTHING?#i mean it got ppl to doubt the leaks but like. still that's some 4D chess to be playing #anyway. if ANYONE leaks anything from the next episode I'm going to turn their eyeballs to sand #okay. leaks rant OVER. thoughtful analysis above. peace and love on earth <3

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cheollipop · 1 year

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chicken noodle soup

navi | taglist | pt.2

pairing: choi san x gn!reader

w.c.: 2.0k

tags: sick fic, fluff, so much fluff, I warned you

After a whole day without a peep from your boyfriend – someone who couldn't go an hour without talking to you – you make your way to his apartment. Panicked, you walk in, only to find him battling with a cold, hair greasy and dishevelled. Tucking him into bed, you make him soup and nurse him back to health with as many kisses and cuddles needed to see those dimples breaching the soft skin of his cheeks.

A/N: when I finished writing this, I definitely did not scream into a pillow while kicking my feet. and I absolutely was NOT smiling and giggling the whole time I was proofreading it either.

Your keys rattled and chimed in the empty hallway as you unlocked the door with the spare key your boyfriend had given you. You weren’t sure what to expect exactly – was he kidnapped, did someone break in and hurt him? He was a strong man, fully capable of protecting himself, but what if he had been ambushed? You battled these thoughts and begged them out of your mind as you stepped into your boyfriend’s apartment. No blood on the floor. You almost sigh in relief. But also no San in sight.

He often reminded you of a puppy on crack, unable to contain all the energy and excitement rushing through his system. He couldn’t go an hour without texting you – asking about what you were doing, sending you random selfies with his face smushed against the camera, spamming you with pictures of a cat he saw on the street, using anything and everything as an excuse to talk to you. So him going missing for a whole day? It’s definitely a reason to panic.

A door opened to your right – the bathroom. It’s too late to hide. The intruder will take you just like he took San.

A mop of greasy hair peeked out of the doorway; eyes wide as they took in your presence. You finally let out that sigh. San. You moved forward to wrap your arms around him, but he stepped back.

“I’d keep your distance babe, I’m pretty gross.” His voice was hoarse, eyebrows furrowing as he swallowed around his dry throat. You took in his appearance, hair sticking up, left, right, anywhere but down, his eyes bloodshot and teary, nose sniffling. You’d think he was crying if it weren’t for the painful bob of his adam’s apple as he tried to swallow around his inflamed throat.

“Are you sick? San, why didn’t you call me?” You covered his forehead with your palm, heat searing through your skin upon contact.

He sniffed. “It’s just a cold. I didn’t want you to worry.” You almost leaned in and kissed the pout off his lips, but you managed to stop yourself.

“Oh, Sannie.” You noticed the sway of his limbs as he used up the last of his energy to remain upright, taking one of his hands and moving towards his bedroom. “Let’s get you into bed.”

You moved the ladle around in the pot, watching the different veggies swim in the simmering broth, overlapping with the noodles and chicken. Your mind was elsewhere, stuck worrying about the man you tucked into bed two hours ago; still sleeping soundly, even with a stuffy nose. You felt silly fretting over a simple cold, but seeing San drained of all the energy he loved sharing with everyone around him was not something you were used to. You heard him cough a few times as you poured the soup into his favourite bowl – Shiba Inu’s decorating the glossy exterior. Placing it on a tray, you peeked your head through his bedroom door, checking on the slumbering man inside.

“Hello,” his gravelly voice greets you.

“Good morning, princess,” you smile, placing the tray on his nightstand, switching on the lamp. The light was bright enough for you not to trip over his mess and die, but dim enough not to hurt his sensitive eyes.

You helped him sit up against his headboard, his head tilted sideways to watch as you pull his gaming chair away from his desk, using it to sit by his bed.

“Have you always been this pretty, or is it the cold doing something to my vision?”

Your cheeks flushed, and your hands fumbled to grab the spoon set next to the bowl, the tray resting evenly over your thighs. The liquid rippled at your movement and San’s lips quirked upwards, dimples dipping into the skin of his cheeks. You scooped some soup into the spoon, blowing softly at the steaming liquid before bringing it to San’s mouth, hand cupped under his chin. He let out a prolonged moan as he swallowed, closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly in delight – an exaggeration. He stopped as his headache panged harder against his temple, pressing his fingers against it, eyes scrunched shut.

“Idiot,” you said. A cute idiot, your brain added.

His hand clutched his chest, eyes opening to peer at you. “Is this how you treat a sick man, (Y/n)? I’m hurt.”

“You have a cold. You’re not dying.” You poked his cheek, where his dimple would usually be.

You resisted the urge to kiss his pouty lips yet again, your fingers twitching around the spoon you were holding idly. This task was becoming more and more difficult by the second. You settled on pinching his cheek, fingers slipping to stroke against his jawline. You shared the comfortable silence, gazing into his droopy eyes, tracing lines down his jaw, and circles on the high of his cheek.

Then he sneezed. Everywhere. And again, the second one ripping through his chest in a way that must have hurt.

He babbled apologies as you grabbed the tissue box by his bedside. “Baby, blow your nose.” You stifled a laugh as you watch him do as you said, wiping your own hands with wet wipes you pulled out of his nightstand drawer. You pull another wipe out, reaching over to San’s sulky face, running it over his skin. The wrinkles between his eyebrows smoothed, savouring the cool touch of the wipe across his heated skin. You couldn’t help yourself, leaning in and planting a soft peck against his forehead, and his cheek, then his other one.

“Babe, stop,” he complained, half-heartedly trying to push you away, yet the smile splitting his face betrayed him.

“Stop what?” you pressed your lips to the corner of his, straying down to his chin, his jaw, then back up to his nose, eyelids. Then you started over, back at his forehead.

How could he pretend not to enjoy the softness of your lips against his skin? All he wanted was to pin you down and smother you with his love, and yet he couldn’t get you sick. Even though you got all whiny and needy, clinging onto him and nuzzling into his chest, claiming he was warmer than all your blankets combined. He did contemplate it, for a few seconds maybe, but ultimately decided against it. And yet, he would never deny the love you gave him.

“You know, I heard mouth-to-mouth helps get rid of colds reaaal quick.” The corners of his mouth tilted upwards, staring up at you through hooded eyes, drunk on kisses.

“Oh, really?” You couldn’t help but smile, endeared by this sudden change in attitude. He leaned closer to your face, lips puckering.

You shoved a spoonful of soup in his mouth, laughing as his eyes went wide, trying his best to swallow the liquid without choking.

“Ya! What was that for?”

“Keep your cold to yourself, Choi San,” you narrowed your eyes at him, eventually giving in and letting the smile you’d been hiding back stretch your mouth. You swear he will be the reason you’d get premature wrinkles in your smile line.

You fed him the rest of the warm liquid in silence. San’s head rested against the wooden headboard, eyes trained on you, not even looking at the spoon as you pushed it towards him. He trusted you wouldn’t let it spill on him. Besides, your face was too distracting – the way the tip of your tongue breached the corner of your lips in concentration, how your eyebrows furrowed and you’d mutter his name o’ so softly whenever San would get too absorbed in watching you to open his mouth, when your eyes lit up after he swallowed the last of the soup you had made for him. Everything about you was distracting, from the way your fingers softly worked to clean his mouth with a napkin, to the smile stretching your face, the corners of your eyes crinkling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurted out.

You were taken aback, eyebrows raising in surprise at the sudden statement. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and the butterflies battled within your stomach.

“Is this the cold speaking?”

“No. It’s me,” his face remained neutral, eyes focused on you. “You’re the most beautiful person I have ever had the honour of laying my eyes on, inside and out. You always will be; I don’t think a person more beautiful than you will ever exist.”

Your lips parted, then closed, then opened again. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? That whenever you were with him, he flooded your senses with joy, happiness, comfort? That his face alone could light up your whole world, and you felt like you could weather any storm so long as he remained by your side? And when he spoke so softly to you, throwing the sweetest phrases at you like it were nothing, you felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside by the voilent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach?

Love is you, was all you could think in that moment.

Before you could think of a response, a shiver ran through his body, his limbs shaking with the force of it. You stood up, tray in your hands. “I’ll grab some more blankets for you.” He took a hold of your wrist before you could move to the door.

“Don’t go. I’m okay.”

You hesitate.

“Just cuddle with me.”

You finally realized the power Choi San held over you as you carded your fingers through his matted locks. His face nuzzled against your collarbone, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Limbs tangled up under the thick comforter, you eased yourself down onto the pillow under your head, fingers scratching against San’s scalp. He hummed, soft puffs of air warming your skin. You felt him plant soft kisses along your neck, smiling against the column of your throat.

“Are you feeling better, Sannie?”

“Mm, my head still feels funny.”

You smiled, placing a kiss against the crown of his head, resting your lips there for a couple seconds before pulling back.

“Much better,” he purred, planting a peck of his own onto the nearest patch of skin to his lips.

You giggled, fingers continuing their ministrations against his scalp. The both of you laid there, bodies a tangled mess, breathing the same air, empty bowl of soup forgotten on the nightstand.

Soon, San’s grip around your waist would ease, his breathing growing even, body slumping against yours. You would lay there, marveling in the soft snores vibrating through the quiet room. He would deny this with his very being the next morning, but you’ll play along, keeping the voice notes you secretly recorded to yourself – perhaps sharing them with Wooyoung later on. Because just as adorable San was when he was sulky, you couldn’t help but try to keep him smiling. You would do anything to keep those dimples on show, every second of every day, for as long as he would allow you to remain by his side.

Soon, you’d sense your own drowsiness tugging at your eyelids until they fell shut. Your fingers would gradually cease their movements, stilling against his head, trapped between the soft strands. You’d nestle your face against San’s, unbothered by the germs that would soon sneak their way into your system. He’d take care of you if you ended up catching his cold, you were sure of it. Because just as much of an idiot San was, he never failed to make you feel safe, cared for, loved.

You surrendered yourself to the grip of sleep, San’s warm skin sending bolts of heat coursing through your body. Slipping into a comfortable slumber, your dreams – as usual – revolved around the man you were so helplessly infatuated with.

pt.2

apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

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calummss · 10 months

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Sheldon Cooper Blurb

masterlist

summary: sheldon’s hot new gf pays him a visit

pairing: fem! reader x sheldon cooper

words: 600

why i wrote this? bc jim parsons is so attractive to me and no one writes fics about him

Raj, Howard, Leonard where gathered together in front of the TV, their eyes glued onto the screen showing the newest unreleased footage of Star Wars. Absorbed into their world, a knocking on the door was heard.

Knock knock

Leonard stood up only to be ambushed by a half-jogging Sheldon, a rare sight for mankind, as he went towards the door. ‘That will be for me.’

Sheldon opened the door to reveal the prettiest girl any of the boys had seen. Their mouths gaping at her as she hugged Sheldon to greet him, Sheldon accepting the hug. Second weirdest thing to have happened in the apartment since Sheldom speed walked to the door.

‘Sheldon, who is this?’ Leonard asks, his tone between sweet and hostile.

‘Yes, Sheldon, who is this?’ Howard repeated, his usual sarcasm sweeping his words. ‘You didn’t happen to tell her that you are Sheldon Cooper.’

‘Well of course! Meeting Sheldon Cooper is a great honour, you know when I was—‘

‘Introduce us,’ Leonard cut Sheldon off, taken a back a bit.

‘Ah yes. Meet Y/n, my girlfriend .’ Sheldon introduced you, as you gave them a small wave, the three boys staring at you like Sheldon had given them amazing news but all they did was look shocked, their eyes and mouths never shutting. ‘I met Y/n at the Cheesecake Factory after Penny got my order wrong. I don’t know how that happened since I always order the same thing but one's simple mind can be overwhelmed with orders I suppose, even if it was only us there…’

‘Hi, I’m Y/n.’

‘Your Penny’s friend?’ Howard asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And Penny made me go on a date with Bernadette?’ He stared ahead of him, eyes almost popping out of their sockers

Sheldon turned his head, unaware of how to react to Howard’s outburst.

You also gave Sheldon a confused look to which he replied, ‘No worries, Social interaction with a spark of unsolicited germ exchange.’

‘So how did a theoretical physicist pick her up?’ Leonard gaped at the pair.

‘Oh I didn’t pick her up. I think you’re referring to is how we met?’

‘Yes, Sheldon…’

Suddenly Penny bolted through the door, phone in hand, ‘Sheldon has a girlfriend!? Y/n it’s you?’

‘If I may resume to Leonard’s question, I was minding my own business staring at the bird I was sure was out to kill me when she walked up to me with the words: You’re cute. I want you. Quite demanding if I might add.’ Sheldon gave you a brief look. ‘Straight to the point which is just right up my alley.’

‘You went up to Sheldon?’ Howard checked in on the facts with you.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry what?’ He replied, his eyes crossing.

‘Have you met him? Like met him?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you know he’s an extremely arrogant, narcissistic, ruthless, entitled, self-righteous, cold, condescending, selfish, pompous person, right?’ Howard said.

‘He’s also cute, lanky and gets me horny just doing his silly physics rants so if you don’t mind,’ You grabbed Sheldon’s hand, third weirdest thing to have happend in the apartment, ‘I have to give him something else to think about,’

The mouths couldn’t have been wider.

‘But today is game night,’ Sheldon whined.

‘Sheldon…’

Sheldon avoided eye contact, his eyes darting across the room.

‘Sheldon.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He responded immer, holding your hand and following you to his bedroom, leaving Raj, Howard, Leonard and Penny alone.

‘Did Sheldon just bring the hottest girl in the state of California through this door?’ Raj said.

‘Yes.’ They all said union.

‘And he’s getting sex even though he didn’t ask?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dammit.’ Howard hissed.

#sheldon cooper #sheldon cooper imagine #sheldon cooper blurb #sheldon cooper fanfiction #tbbt #the big bang theory #the big bang theory imagine #jim parsons #jim parsons imagine #why is jim parsons so goddamn attractive??#eye smile; lanky; tall; nerdy #why is it always gay men 👩🏼‍🦯

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angelltheninth · 10 months

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Can't stop thinking about Leon interrogating a fem enemy while fucking her silly

The table under you shook with the sheer amount of force with which Leon thrust his cock into your cunt. The handcuffs clanked together, scraping over the metal of the desk, "Why are you still making things hard for yourself huh? If you spill and tell me why you ambushed us I'm willing to put in a good word for you."

"Won't you be the one spilling Leon?" You threw gim a flirty wink as you locked your legs around his toned hips, his belt digging into your thighs.

"Think you're so clever. You have a lot of guts to get smart with me when you caved so easily and offered your holes to me. I think I know why your employers keep you around, an easy fuck is all you're good for isn't it?" His cock pulsed as it flooded you with his warm seed, his hips keeping yours still with their strength. "They won't take you back now. You can be useful here, more then my cocksleeve, just tell me where your boss is and how you knew where our mission was."

You almost replied to him were it not for your fast approaching orgasm to shut you up. But just before it hit your cunt was empty, squeezing around nothing. Leon turned mumbling to himself how you wasted his time, and his cum, he didn't know which he hated more. When he was all zipped up and almost out the door you caved to the ache between your legs, "Wait, wait!" He paused and turned just as you bent over the desk, high up on your toes and showed him the full view of your pussy, dripping full of his cum, drops falling to the floor, on your panties, down your thighs, "Please. I'll talk, but please Leon, let me come first."

Leon chuckled as he stepped forward, cock out and hardening once more, "Gonna sell out for enemy dick. Now I know they only kept you cause you were their whore. From now on, you're my whore. You'll tell me all I wanna know."

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #re4 leon #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil headcanons #resident evil smut #leon x f!reader #resident evil x female reader

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clusterbuck · 1 year

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so show me family

6x14 coda (eddie’s version | buck’s version)

one week after his tía pepa ambushed him, eddie wakes up to the sound of someone in his house.

his hand is halfway to his baseball bat when his brain catches up, and he relaxes back against his bed.

the sound is coming from the kitchen. it’s two people, not just one, and eddie knows exactly who they are.

buck is humming, in that absent-minded way he never realises he’s doing. the tune is familiar, even if eddie can’t quite grab onto it enough to identify it. if he walked into the kitchen right now he’d probably hum right along.

but he stays in bed for a moment longer, listening to buck humming and christopher’s occasional chatter. it sounds like he’s asking about ingredients, mixed in with things that happened at school last week. dishes clang, occasionally, and he deduces that buck is cooking up something.

he doesn’t know why buck is in his kitchen at—he turns to check the clock radio on his nightstand—8AM on a saturday morning, but he’s sure there’s a reason for it. he’s sure he’ll find out eventually, once he drags himself out of bed.

when he shuffles into the kitchen five minutes later, buck looks up and grins at him. “morning, sleepyhead,” he says, pouring a cup of coffee and handing it over.

“it’s barely gone eight,” eddie huffs. “on a saturday. on our day off.” he brings his coffee cup up to his face and just holds it there, inhaling the scent and feeling the warmth in his hands.

“exactly,” buck says. “it’s already eight. one third of the day gone already.”

“i don’t think that’s how it works,” eddie says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“can’t prove me wrong,” buck says, and turns back to whatever he’s mixing.

“actually—” christopher starts, and buck grabs an apple slice off the counter and puts it in christopher’s mouth. eddie snorts a laugh despite himself.

“he’s not five years old, you know,” he says.

“i know,” buck says, then shrugs. “worked, though.”

christopher sticks his tongue out, then swipes another apple slice and wanders off to his room.

“so what’s up?” eddie asks. “you gonna try and set me up with someone?”

buck frowns. “no? why would i—”

“that’s what happened last time i got ambushed on a saturday morning,” eddie says. “didn’t work out, so—”

“i’m definitely not setting you up,” buck says, something tight in his voice that eddie can’t quite identify.

“so why are you in my kitchen at eight in the morning?”

“oh, i mean—i can leave, if—” buck starts, and eddie rolls his eyes.

“come on, buck,” he says. “you know i’m not trying to kick you out.”

buck grins, a pleased little thing he mostly aims at the ground. “i found a new recipe i want to try,” he says. “it’s like a breakfast pie, i think? seemed silly just to make it for myself.”

“sure,” eddie hums. “you didn’t just get lonely?”

“me?” buck asks, pointing at his chest. “pfft, i don’t get lonely.” but there’s a clear tinge of bravado in his voice.

“of course not,” eddie says. “what was i thinking?”

“hard to say,” buck says, turning back to his bowl again. “what are you ever thinking?”

eddie laughs, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup and leaning on the table. buck starts humming again, and eddie still doesn’t know what the song is but he hums along anyway.

if only pepa could see me now, he thinks. not so alone, tía, huh?

maybe this isn’t exactly what she’d meant, but—he’s not alone.

shame buck’s not a woman. i could marry him. i bet tía would be all over that.

it would be—nice, he thinks. marrying buck. they already spend most of their time together. he always wants to see buck. christopher loves him, too, and buck just—fits. into their family.

it would be nice. if only he could.

#911fic #911 spoilers #buddie #buddie fic #911 6x14 #shush emma #emma writes

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masuchu · 4 months

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“𝐙𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒” [BSD MEN]

what happens when the bsd men’s gf gets zoomies? ‧₊˚

genre. fluff !! kinda silly ngl . perhaps ooc but idk

characters. dazai, chuuya & fyodor

love, masu. this has been rotting in my drafts for sooooo long!! i polished it off and i love it now!! it’s a very stupid idea, but who even cares

(大哉) 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 ‧₊˚

Zoomies are contagious for this man. When you start sprinting around your shared apartment for absolutely no apparent reason, he questions nothing and joins you.

As much as he finds it amusing to sit back and watch you run around like a toddler, he feels the childish longing to join you bubbling up inside him.

When you crash into things? He crashes into them too! You’ll clean later, for now, he’s perfectly content to copy your strange antics.

However, he can only last so long running around like a lunatic. He will be worn out by the end of your spree!

“Bella, how are you still going? I feel like I’m going to die…”

You halted your movements and peered down amused at your heaving boyfriend, strewn out clumsily on your sofa.

“Aw, can’t keep up Samu’?” You teasingly muttered against your lover’s lips, much too close to escape without being gripped firmly and ambushed with kisses.

“Haha! Leave me alone!” You giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips teasing all around your face.

“So long as you stay here with me and stop giving yourself whiplash~”

You giggled again. “For you.”

(中也) 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 ‧₊˚

Oh my god, not a day goes by where you don’t severely decrease the concentration of braincells in this man’s head.

When suddenly begin to dart around his million dollar apartment with seemingly zero spacial nor social awareness, you actually stun him.

Jaw dropped, eyes switching from wide to squinted every few seconds, completely and utterly speechless.

What the fuck were you doing?? This man loves you with every fibre of his being, every inch of his soul— however, sometimes you really do make him question if you were, well, okay.

When he gets over his initial shock, he shakes his head and pretends it never happened. He may chuckle and call you something along the lines of ‘damn weirdo’, but he really does love you and your oddness!

Your heavy breaths are all that can be heard throughout the room, hands on your hips in attempt to allow more oxygen into your lungs.

“Ah! I’m so tired, what are you drink— Why are you looking at me like that?”

You finally take notice of your boyfriend’s humorously perplexed stare, and shake your head at his expression.

“What on earth was that?!”

“What was what?”

Chuuya blink twice and lets his head fall back, allowing a mix of a groan and a laugh to escape his lips.

“Forget about it.”

(费奥多尔) 𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 ‧₊˚

Fyodor tends to allow you to do your thing in these situations.

He understands you aren’t looking for attention, your nerves are just going haywire. So long as you don’t break anything or kill anyone (anyone important, at least), he is perfectly content with carrying on with his work and leaving you to your devices.

That is, until you do break something.

The torment you put this man through is humorous, considering his occupation and life goals. He prays he may live one day without something happening.

“What, exactly, am I looking at?”

You look down at the shattered vase on the floor, and let out a shaky laugh. A laugh that was more of a ‘shit! I am in trouble’ rather than a ‘this is very funny’.

“Urm. Well, I sort of crashed into the table. And then, it kind of, very much fell off and shattered.”

A moment that was much too long for you liking passed by painfully. You shuffled from foot to foot, and placed you gaze anywhere but your lovers face. It was not in Fyodor’s nature to feel empathy, but he didn’t care about the vase. And he supposed it would be a hassle to deal with you in an apologetic and guilty state…

“It is fine, I didn’t care for it much. Though, please refrain from destroying any more of my ceramics when you continue… doing whatever you were doing.”

“I will try. And it’s called ‘zoomies’!”

“….Right.”

2024 © masuchu , do not repost, reword, plagiarise, take inspiration, translate or share my work anywhere!

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ sincerely me ‹𝟹 #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fluff #dazai x reader #dazai fluff #chuuya x reader #chuuya fluff #fyodor x reader #fyodor fluff #dazai bsd #chuuya bsd #fyodor bsd

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bamsara · 6 months

Text

The Rehabilitation of Death

Chapter 5: Of Silliness and Scythes

Narinder continues to dream, unfortunately.

Rumors continue to circulate about the strange demonic cat as the God of Death stays isolated, and Lambert has lunch at his doorstep while the two discuss a certain demonic fox.

Where the lamb rushes headfirst into battle, Narinder, like most cats, prefers to hunt, stalk, and ambush. A tactic that he uses well on the lamb in his own way, all the way into a pocket dimension that smells like bird, and where a godly item sits inconspicuously on a podium. A new ability is gained. Nothing huge, but progress.

A rather unethical experiment is conducted by Narinder so he may know why he feels the deaths (or near-deaths) of the flock's followers, but not for the enemies in the wilds. Lambert's own forgetfulness puts a pause on a crusade that had already gone for days longer than it should have been. His tolerance is running out, and his tongue wags when he's tired.

His patience is rewarded with a weapon that looks suspiciously like one he used to carry before all went to hell.

Chapter Wordcount: 15,032 | Read tags and Warnings. Thank you for reading!

#writings #TROD au #the rehabilitation of death #narilamb #cult of the lamb #posting this and then disappearing into thin air real quick

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chaethewriter · 1 year

Text

Jack Champion x gamer gf! reader

J. Champion with a gamer gf headcanons

a gym rat and gamer girl in love.

A/N: incredibly short and silly, because this was just on my mind.

◇ even before he had asked you if he could be your boyfriend, he knew about your gaming addiction— obsession.

◇ no matter where he saw you, your eyes were always set on a screen.

◇ whether that be on your PlayStation, computer or even the Nintendo Switch.

◇ he knew you liked gaming, but when you started dating, he truly got to meet gamer you.

◇ you stayed at his house often, it was almost your second home.

◇ the main reason being: the two of you were glued together.

◇ it doesn't matter what either of you were doing, as long as you did it together.

◇ moments when you sat somewhere with your phone being opened on Genshin, waiting at the gym while he was training.

◇ this also meant your stuff being in his bedroom.

◇ your Nintendo Switch for example.

◇ whenever the two of you were free from any work and college, you would be lying down on the bed, resting your head into his lap.

◇ you would be playing any form of tactical strategic game as he ran his fingers through your hair.

◇ he would watch the way your nose scrunched up as you glared at the screen to figure out how to ambush the enemy without getting your team killed.

◇ the movie he had put on the television long forgotten as he watched you in admiration.

◇ he would give commentary as he watched you, asking you things that he saw as he was genuinely interested in the stuff you like.

◇ "babe? What does that icon mean?"

◇ "do you get to dress up your main character?"

◇ "is there a reason why you put the arrow users behind the sword users?"

◇ he knows he might sound dumb, but he was genuinely wondering.

◇ you looked like you knew what you were doing, as if you put all of your energy into it.

◇ it was cute.

"Are you sure I can try? I mean I don't want to ruin your rounds-"

"Jack, babe, it's fine! I will help you." You were playing 'fire emblem three houses' on Jack's lap, but you couldn't help but feel a gaze burning into your skin. You had looked to the side, watching how he watched you with interest. You knew that look, he was curious, eager to try.

So you told him he could.

You were still in his lap, the Switch in his hands as yours were on top of his to guide him.

"What I always do is keep the bow user behind with the healer, before that I usually put mages, then axes and polearms and swords. I usually put cavalry on their own as they're pretty strong. Sometimes I leave them with healers, as they also have another weapon to use so that the cavalry isn't all alone."

He had no idea what you were saying and it was noticeable in the way he was playing.

Attacking a cavalry with a bow user, but he was getting there.

You couldn't tell him off, though. The way he was fully concentrating in the game with his chin resting against the top of your head.

◇ when the two of you were at your home, he would sit you on his lap as he watched you game.

◇ one of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, his other hand occupied by his phone.

◇ his phone was long forgotten though, as he watched you carry in your valorant match.

◇ you play without a headset when Jack is around so that he doesn't feel closed off or ignored.

◇ this is how he hears the toxicity of Valorant though.

◇ genuinely gets angry when you get insulted.

"Bro, why you assuming aimbot? Not my fault I can actually aim." You groaned into the mic as your fingers aggressively tapped on the WASD keys. You got into yet another toxic match and it was pissing you off.

"Make me a fucking sandwich, fucking bitch."

Now that made Jack furious. The grip on your waist got tighter as he cussed the other player out into the mic. He wouldn't let anyone get off the hook so easily, not when they degraded his girl.

"Who do you think you are, fucker? Treating women like trash? You're so fucking pathetic." His voice was hoarse as he spoke, venom laced into his words.

◇ worries when you play any game that involves communication via the mic after hearing what words are exchanged.

◇ call of duty, apex, valorant.

◇ any shooter games.

◇ he just worries that the words will get to you, but seeing how much you enjoy the game, as well as the way you knew how to reply to such comments he just knew you would be okay.

◇ that wouldn't stop him from being the overprotective boyfriend, though.

◇ eventually, Jack actually wanted to spend his time gaming with you as well.

◇ you were over the moon when he had told you that.

◇ your gym addicted boyfriend? Wanting to learn about the game world?

◇ you knew you had to start easy.

◇ something cute, interactive but romantic.

◇ minecraft.

◇ he knew about minecraft. He had played it a couple times with friends, but that was years ago.

◇ he had bought the game on his phone and you helped him with his own avatar!

◇ fun fact: the name of your shared world is actually your shipname.

◇ he hits all the flowers he can find for you.

◇ his entire inventory is filled with different kinds of flowers.

◇ follows you around like a lost puppy when the two of you go hunting.

◇ wants to be your knight in shining armor, but only has flowers to smack the zombies with.

◇ screamed when a creeper blew up not so far away from him.

◇ gets distracted by the most stupid things he can find.

"do we need this web?"

"rotten flesh? Should I take it?"

"this polar bear reminds me of you babe!"

"babe help! I lose you."

"can you come get me? I think I'm lost."

◇ he loves to spend his time building you guys' house and he acts like that's actually what your house will look like.

◇ "hmm, I actually want the dinner table to be here, since you like sitting down and facing that way, right"

◇ you told him it's just a game, but he wants it to be as accurate as possible.

◇ he squealed when you tamed a cat and called it Butters.

◇ he spends time fixing cute dates in minecraft while you're busy with college: picnics, mini zoos— since he knows you're more of an indoor person.

◇ you thank him with a lot of irl kisses.

◇ all over all, he's trying for you and he enjoys spending time with you, no matter what. <3

◇ BONUS

◇ he is so jealous whenever he catches you playing gacha games.

◇ why? He always catches you drooling at some hot animated characters.

◇ sits far away frowning, arms crossed as he watches you giggling at your phone.

"Babe! I'm the real deal! He doesn't exist!"

◇ he just wants attention, pls tell him you love him. <3

#chaethewriter #jack champion is taking my brain over #jack champion x reader #jack champion #jack champion imagine #jack champion headcannons #jack champion imagines #jack champion headcanons #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader

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fabricated-misslieness · 23 days

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: joel miller x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: how a crush looks like when it's mutual between two old men

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1234 (𓁹󠁘◡𓁹)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: middle school crush type cliche's, suggested makeout session

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: reader and joel are around the same age, and reader has a collection of records, he also has a beard. written from Ellie's pov. (its unsettling to see pics of joel smiling bc HES NEVER FCKN HAPPY)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

It's silly to see old men acting nervous, especially with Joel around. He's never really nervous, or at least he doesn't show it. What was it, something about life lessons?

Being as old as they are, knees givin' way, calloused hands, joints ain't like they used to be; you've experienced it all. You've experienced that shame of not knowing the answer in math class, tripping over your own feet or misjudging just how slippery freshly mopped floor is; missing a shot, getting nailed in the face by the stock of your own gun, and getting ambushed by a group of clickers. Most of all, you've experienced many rejections.

And yet...it still seems like you're afraid?

That's what Ellie sees, anyway, with the way you look at each other. You're both smiling, it's sweet, sickeningly so, because you're looking down at your own feet and not even seeing those smiles you're sending each other.

"I, uh, 'ppreciate it. Truly." Joel speaks up first, his eyes flitting up from the fresh cup of warm coffee in his hand to your face. Those eyes stay, with courage, on your face, and maybe he doesn't notice that you're not looking up at him because he's admiring you.

"It's, um," Your smile widens, you shake your head, shrug your shoulders lightly like, "it's nothing."

"No, really." Joel puts the cup down. It makes a loud sound in the cricket-silence, thick awkwardness in the room, and it finally brings your eyes up to his. "This-this stuff is real hard to get your hands on 'round here, 'cuz..." He pauses, suddenly self aware of his ramblin'. "well, I'm sure you know why."

You open your mouth, gape for a moment as the words just on your tongue are suddenly replaced by a conscious mind, "Yeah, I know."

Joel picks his cup back up, but he doesn't take a sip. Instead he takes it in both hands, inducing more sweat to slick up his hand for more than one reason now, "How-how'd you get this stuff, anyway?"

"Traded it."

Obviously. Ellie rolls her eyes, How else does one get stuff around here? It dawns on her the second after that killing is the other way.

"What for?" Joel follows up, thumbing at the top edge of the cup, dangerously close to slipping his finger into the dark, scaldingly hot liquid.

There's humor, finally, from your end that eases a bit of the tension. "You do not wanna know."

"I do!" Joel's quick to object, he stands up a little straighter, his smile widens a little more, "I want to know what I owe you." He says it in a way that enunciates each word correctly, like he was serious, and yet the smile on his face is clearly turning his tone rather playful.

"I, well..." You scratch the hairs of your beard, looking away from his eyes nervously, out the kitchen doorway, out the window to the snowing outside. It's clear your intensions teeter on a yes or a no, to tell him or to not, but you stand on what you've previously said, so as to not cause you the trouble of admitting the truth.

Joel places his coffee down again, except it doesn't bring your eyes to his. He scoffs and crosses his arms, shifting his stance in a way that brings him a tiny bit closer to you, and yet he still looks like the standoffish asshole Ellie likes to joke he is. "It can't be that bad."

"It, it is, that bad." You admit on an impulsive thought, which only further feeds his curiosity.

Joel tries at a guess. "What, a gun?"

"Worse."

"Two guns?" He tries again, although on the same object, because to this old man, Ellie thinks, nothing is worse than the slight increase of the possibility that his world's in danger.

"I–" You're teetering, there, again, and Ellie makes a game of guessing what you'll decide. It's a yes this time 'round, she can see it in the way you're beginning to close your eyes, to wince, to prepare for his disappointment. "A record."

"What?!" Joel explodes, almost immediately, because he knows you love those things, that you collect them. You'd give up such a priceless piece of your collection just to give him something he'll consume, something so momentary that it's almost entirely—no, it is not worth it.

"It's–" You open your eyes again, to look at him, moving your hands frantically to ease him. "It's fine, really, a small thing, I barely listen to it."

"You have your records on a cycle, damnit! You put them on a cycle so that you can listen to all of them an equal amount, so nothing goes unappreciated!" It's something so particular, so unnoticeable, that even Ellie didn't know that.

"Joel–"

It's petty, frustratingly so to the spectator, Ellie. It's just a record, and coffee is just coffee; but she's barely sixteen, and she doesn't know the emotional attachments to these things the two of you do.

She doesn't know the bliss Joel finds in coffee, but you do; and she doesn't know the escape that those damn music records are to you, but Joel does.

"I'm sorry." Joel opens his eyes, stops pinching the bridge of his nose. It's an immediate deflation of emotions that Ellie would've liked to laugh at. "That's, a record. It's a lot to you."

"It is," You agree, not downplaying it anymore. Or, well, "it's just–" some low quality band, he stops you with a pointed look.

You look at him, eyes at full attention, accepting defeat and yet the way your eyes...Ellie can see admiration. "You do." And when you say it, it's not in a self-righteous way, but a simple fact.

"I owe you." He says, with finality; he won't take no for an answer.

You stare at each other, just a couple of seconds, no words, nothing about the fact you're starin' at each other, just unspoken, yet still visible appreciation in the look you share.

You two were and are just so caught up with each other that you'd forgotten she was even there at all. She must admit, it's very sweet, but she likes her foods more savory.

"You guys are pathetic." Ellie finally speaks up, a look of evident. played disgust on her face.

There's a snap and a jump and now you're about two feet away from each other again. You're looking away from each other, Joel's eyes are on the floor, yours are to the roof, and it's just so hilarious; and finally, finally, Ellie gets to laugh.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Joel and him are talking again. It's too sweet, the way they avoid looking at each other, well, actually, they can actually keep eye contact now. At least for a couple minutes, anyway. He touches his beard when Joel makes him nervous, and Joel fingers at his jacket like he's pulling a trigger. What are these two, twelve?

—

Maybe they're not just talking now. I saw Joel checking him out, totally indecent behavior you definitely do not want to see from your so-called father figure.

—

I think they just came back from making out. OK. Yeah. They did. It looks like his beard has lost a patch. Figuratively speaking, of course. Joel's hair is messy and his jacket's buttons are all wrong. Gross.

—

Maybe I've warmed up to sweets.

#🤬 // swearshirt #joel miller x reader #joel miller x male reader #joel x male reader #joel x reader #last of us x reader #last of us x male reader #🌸 // success!#💞 // darlings

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lulublack90 · 2 months

Text

Prompt 18 - Pet

@jegulus-microfic February 18 Word count 848

Previous part First part

“I don’t know what you mean.” Regulus’s fingers moved towards his wand.

“Reg, you forget I was there when you were with James at Hogwarts. I’ve also seen what Remus’s fists can do. Those bruises were perfect. Admit it, you basically just had a week’s holiday with your honey bun while we planned a fight.” Evan hadn’t even batted an eyelid. He looked so calm. Regulus was shitting himself.

“So? What are you going to do about it?” Regulus’s emotionless mask was firmly in place, but he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“Nothing,” Evan shrugged. “You saved Barty. If you’re going behind the Dark Lords’s back to hang out with a bunch of know order members, you must have a good reason why.”

“I really was captured. Sirius appeared when we were taking the supply house and ambushed us. He tied me up and took out the others.” He felt the need to explain. Evan was his oldest friend, and he’d always had a way of getting Regulus to spill his guts. “That mad Auror, Moody, tortured me for a while but gave up when I didn’t talk.”

“So they used Potter against you?” Evan interrupted. Regulus nodded.

“Yeah, him and Sirius.” He paused, debating on telling him the rest. “Dumbledore came to see me.”

“Shit Reg.” Evan gaped.

“He told me either I help them or they’d send me to Azkaban.”

“So what are you doing for them then?” Evan questioned.

“Information. They want to know who’s saying what and any major plans that come up. Are you going to give me away?” He had to as. He couldn’t leave without knowing if he was safe or not.

“No, Reg. I won’t say anything.” Evan sighed and dragged a hand through his hair as he mulled something over. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually care about what Voldemort and that lot believe. I only got this thing,” He held up his left arm, letting his sleeve fall to reveal the snake and skull tattoo that matched Regulus’s own. “Because my father forced me. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I’d probably have taken Barty and Pan and gone to France or something.” He shrugged, not bothered at sharing the information that would sign his death warrant if Voldemort heard him. Regulus gave him a sad smile.

“Same here.” Evan snorted.

“Wow, our parents are dicks.” They both burst into laughter. “Are you getting immunity out of it if that side wins?” Evan asked, looking like he really wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, if I give them enough good information,” Regulus told him truthfully.

“Do you think they’d do the same for me and Barty if I help you?” Evan shuffled nervously.

“I can ask. If I ask James, he’ll do everything he can.” He couldn’t quite believe that Evan had felt the way he did. That was the curse of the mark. Everyone was too scared to say what they really felt in case it got back to Voldemort. Because he’d just have them disposed of, he had plenty of followers to replace those he had killed.

They walked back through to Evans's bedroom, closer than they had been before, a new bond firmly formed.

They were greeted upon their return by a grumpy Barty and a mass of silver-blonde hair.

Pandora, Evan’s twin sister, was sitting on the bed next to Barty, patting him on the head like a disgruntled pet.

“Evan, she’s doing it again,” Barty complained as he tried to evade Pandora’s hand.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Barty. You love it when I pet you.” Pandora said, smiling happily at him. “Here, have a chocolate frog.” She passed him the treat. Barty appeared somewhat appeased. At least he didn’t complain again.

“What do you want, Pan?” Evan asked. She stood from the bed and floated over to them, her feet bare.

“Father wants to speak with you. Hi Reg,” She added as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. He could feel the oily residue left from her lipstick. There’d be a perfect lip mark on his face.

“Hello, Pandora. How are you?” He asked her politely. He tensed when she snuggled her head into his neck.

“Oh, you know, bored. You boys all get to go out and have fun, and I have to be the perfect Rosier princess and sit in my ivory tower.” She sighed dramatically.

“Oh, shut up, Pan, we all know you sneak you’re girlfriend in here all the time.” Evan teased his sister. Pandora winked at him and removed herself from Regulus’s neck.

“I’ll leave you alone. Goodbye, darling.” She waved at Barty and blew him a kiss before smiling wickedly at Evan as she left.

“I swear if she didn’t keep me in such a good supply of sweets, I’d find her very annoying.” Barty grumped as he licked melted chocolate from his fingers. “So, Reg.” He said, looking up at Regulus and sucking a final finger. “You a spy then or what?”

Next part

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secretmellowblog · 9 months

Text

The moments where other criminals try (and fail) to threaten Jean Valjean are fascinating, because we get a glimpse of how deeply Valjean was altered by prison— how much nineteen years of prolonged torture really has made him into a “formidable” “dangerous” criminal.

If he weren’t a shy gentle compassionate person who just wants to be left alone in peace with his daughter, he could easily be the most deadly man in Paris. He’s strong, he’s cunning, he has decades of knowledge about how to evade police and a wealth of hidden tools at his disposal, he’s highly skilled at deception, he can fend off gangs of men at once even while unarmed and has perfect aim with a gun; he could do so much harm if he decided to, but he doesn’t.

I love how Jean Valjean seems to view Patron-minette’s affiliates as… amateurs? They’re bad criminals in that they’re bad at being criminals. When Montparnasse attempts to rob him, and when Patron Minette/Thenardier ambush him, Jean Valjean speaks to them with lofty pity and kinda implies he thinks they do not really understand how to commit crimes. He explains the galleys to Montparnasse like he’s lecturing a silly misbehaving child.

When he burns himself with the hot chisel, the implication is: “I spent nineteen years in a prison where I was beaten and tortured every day, and you’re naive and inexperienced enough to think you can hurt me with a single scrap of metal you’ve heated up in a fireplace. You poor things. Don’t be afraid of me because I’m certainly not afraid of you <3”.

Compared to Jean Valjean, Patron-minette and their affiliates really are kinda just …play-acting. I think that’s part of why they get all those comparisons to theater and Vaudeville. Thenardier is a failed innkeeper puffing himself up as the most dangerous and clever criminal mastermind in Paris. But Jean Valjean actually has decades of experience living in “the criminal underworld” of the galleys, and as a result he has more deeply traumatizing knowledge and experience than Thenardier can even begin to imagine. Thenardier fails at torturing Valjean because Thenardier does not have the experience to even start to imagine the torture Valjean has already survived. As I mentioned before, Valjean has all the skills and knowledge that Thenardier wants to have, but doesn’t. So it’s like….Jean Valjean is in many ways the kind of “successful expert criminal” that Thenardier is only pretending to be.

#les mis #lm 3.8.20 #idk if this is coherent #but anyway #it’s always funny when people back Valjean into a corner expecting him to cower #because he just looks like this polite shy old gentleman #but then he turns around and is Like That #trying to terrorize an Unbearably Sad Beast bc you think he’s an easy target but then it turns out he’s the Buffest Man in France #anyway I love this bit because we don’t see this side of Valjean very often #he has to be really backed into a corner (and cosette has to be threatened) for the ‘dangerous’ part of him to come out

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Note

darling sweet sil my angel my brainwave twin 🤍 congrats on 4.5k you amazing human! you deserve it all and so much more!!!

I have a mood board request too cuz yours are my favourite but Imma start with a drabble request:

since we’re on the topic of joel miller - perhaps a little something about undressing? maybe he and reader have a bit of an undefined relationship but when he comes home bloody after a supply run a conversation is had while reader helps him out of his dirty clothes 👀

love you sweets!!!!

bby first of all I love you so freaking much and second of all I'm sorry, I wanted to make this horny but it ended up being soft and emotional--whoops (blame joel he just has the vibe)

𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, romance

word count: 1.1k

summary Joel comes back home wounded, and as you clean him up the two of you have a little chat.

warnings: blood mention, joel getting injured off screen, brief mention of them sleeping together, unnamed relationship, stripping joel

𝑺𝑰𝑳'𝑺 4.5𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰 𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻 (closed)

Joel Miller is not a happy man.

You figured that one out five minutes into meeting him and that was three months ago.

Now that you know him better, your relationship with one another is done on top of a road covered with delicate eggshells. You don’t know what the two of you are supposed to be. You’re close— close enough to sleep with but not close enough to hug him at night when you’re roused awake by nightmares. You know he wouldn’t say a word if you did, but you never wished to put any kind of burden on him. It didn’t seem fair.

You remember his smile through a fogged, hazy memory. Five times. Five times you had seen those chapped lips curl upward, it wasn’t much but it was something to keep you rooted to his side.

Sometimes you humor yourself by thinking that some of his remaining happiness is due to you, which is a silly thought a love-struck teenage girl would have but you just can’t help yourself.

The night grows near and there’s still no sign of Joel. You eye the clock nervously, it’s ticking in a sinister whisper trying to convince you to smash the darn thing to the ground. It was supposed to be a simple supply run, at least that was what he said to you, a job so easy that you didn’t need to trouble yourself with.

Fucking liar.

Your ears perk up when you hear the creak of the old door, for the first time you’re happy you always forget to grease it. Rising to your feet, a string of words reach all the way to the tip of your tongue, most of them asking why he didn’t bring you along, but you swallow all of your protests down when you see the state he’s in.

The front of his shirt is drenched with blood, warm and clinging to his skin, there’s a small shallow cut right underneath his right eye, a slight limp to his step.

Without uttering a word you throw his arm over your shoulder and guide him to the couch, where he collapses instantly.

“What the hell happened?” you whisper, he only shakes his head, thumb moving up and down the curve of his nose.

You make a b-line to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. Heat rises to your cheeks, fingers tips tingling with fear. When you return you find him with his head thrown back, sweat clings to his neck, apple’s adam moving with every strained breath. You take a seat on the coffee table right across from him, your knees brush.

“I need you to take off your shirt,” you say softly. “I need to clean the wound. Are you bitten?”

He lets out a bitter laugh, hand dropping to his side. “I wouldn’t be here if I was. I was ambushed but got away,”

“You should’ve taken me with you,”

He spreads his legs to get comfortable, eyes finding yours amidst the tension crackling between you two. The white of his eyes is a jarring, sickly yellow, red in the corners.

“The job was simple.”

“Clearly it wasn’t.” before he can utter another word, you slap his knee with the back of his hand. “Come one, shirt off.”

He grunts but obliges, he winces when he lifts his arm, a choked-out sound tumbling from his lips. You don’t ask as you reach out to help him out of it. Your fingers gently hook against the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling it up his torso. Your knuckles brush against his blood-slickened skin, the shiver of his body doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

As you stand up and completely strip him of his tattered shirt, you throw it to the floor, he’s looking up at you now, giving you a look you can’t quite place but also can’t ignore the way it makes your heart race. Meanwhile, you admire the way his chest heaves, it distracts you from what you’re doing. His skin is peppered with light-colored scars, some seem like bullet wounds.

You have trouble holding yourself back, wanting to touch him now more than ever.

“I can clean myself up you know,” he states, eyes dropping. He sighs before you can say anything. “But thanks,”

“You’re welcome.”

You start to clean the large gash across his chest, it’s a nasty wound that’ll scar but you doubt he minds. He jerks as you brush the cotton drenched with saline solution and you decide to drag his focus elsewhere.

“You really shouldn’t be ignoring me,” you say, which is a fact that’s not really helpful to anyone but you know your plan to distract him works because his gaze snaps to your face. “We’re supposed to be a team.”

“We are but it’s not always that simple—” his words are interrupted by a hiss caused by himself. He swallows and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Look, I usually keep you in the dark sometimes but I swear this one I really did think it would be an easy job. I wanted you to rest.”

“You wanted me to rest? That’s… surprisingly thoughtful,”

You pull away the cotton, now crimson red, and throw it above his shirt. You cut up some gauze, eyeing the wound as you do so.

“I have my days. If I were you I wouldn’t get used to it though,” he says with a crooked smile, but it fades with the rest of his words. “Besides you’re—I don’t know—You’re all I have left.”

You feel your eyes widening, your brain having trouble computing his words. Gauze slipping between your fingers you just stare at him, mouth opening and closing, only silence following the movement of your lips. He turns you his cheek, brows furrowing.

“I shouldn’t have said that,”

“No–No!” you startle him with the sheer volume of your voice. Leaning forward, you grip his chin and force his gaze upon you. Your thumb strokes the small patches of skin that’s scattered throughout his beard. “I’m glad you said that. I’m…I didn’t want to put pressure on you but I’ve been feeling the same for a while now.”

“I heard you crying once,” he suddenly says, the drawl in his voice thick. “All I wanted to do was reach out and touch you.”

“Next time you should.”

It’s a bitter thought, thinking that there will be a definite next time that you’ll cry. But you know he’ll be there, which feels like sunlight filtering through gray clouds. He smooths his palm over the slop of your knee, fingers squeezing your thigh.

“I will.”

The gauze and freshly cleaned wound is forgotten as your lips meet uncharacteristically soft as if it’s the first time you’re tasting one another.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

Text

last eden - i . | lmh

part i, ii, iii

only one thing has ever mattered to you, in this lifetime, and in all others : mark lee — even if he doesn't know yet, and even if he may never remember.

pairing: mark x reader verse: canon/idol!verse, soulmates trope rating: T warnings: none, possibly some mild language, like... one very tame mention of making love ig word count: 4.3k

A/N: yeah i have a lot of these fics that i'm repurposing that i desperately want to post so i can continue them so please look the other way at my random over enthusiasm i beg !! my only long-standing mark fic is actually gorgeous, and while we do love a good raunchy piece, i love mark way too much to keep it to just that. this was my first ever fic on my old blog, and i'm quite attached to the idea despite the fact that it's actually very difficult for me to write. i changed the name because i actually love this song by maktub (anything he puts out is gold to me), which i think generally fits the vibe of the story, so give it a listen if you're interested! so i hope you all enjoy this idol!verse soulmates fic! (help a gal out by reblogging, liking, and leaving a few kind words if you're so inclined!)

“This isn’t really your best idea.”

You know this. You’re fully aware of the possible and endless risks as well as the minimal benefits. But you have to go. The thing that Heehyeon, your roommate, doesn’t fully understand is that this could be your one and only shot, and it could mean life or death. And you know that sounds pretty dramatic, but it really is. you don’t really have all the details (when, where, how, the important stuff) but that doesn’t matter to you right now.

What really matters is that today is NCT’s comeback stage at M! Countdown, and you have to be there.

Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those things you have to go to because your a die-hard fan and you just have to support the group and do all those fan chants and lie to your mom about going to the library when you’re really staying over outside a company building for hours just to wave those silly, expensive light sticks that look like they came out of the factory a bit funny. Sure, NCT’s music was nice (enough), but that isn’t really the reason why you told your mom not to come over this weekend because you would be out on a company team building retreat (as if they actually do that). More than anything, you knew you had to take this chance to see him.

When you don’t respond, Heehyeon presses on with a firmer tone, as if she’s determined to convince you even though you both know nothing is really going to stop you at this point.

“Listen to me, _____________. You are going to a tightly-packed music show with at least a hundred other fans, and you are going to stand in the middle of that dense crowd and — and what? Stare up at him. That’s it. He’s not going to see you; that stage is so high up he’ll probably only catch a look at your forehead, and that’s if you make it up front. And since we both know you’re neither the tallest nor the luckiest person in the world, you know the odds are against you. You’re probably going to get pushed to the back, or stampeded, and it’s going to be messy, and you’re going to push, and they’re going to push you back, and your make-up is going to fall apart, or whatever. Is this really worth it?”

“I told you,” you try to sound patient, but the idea of being buffeted away from the stage by a large wave of sweaty bodies causes more discomfort than you had originally anticipated thanks to her colorful and supremely unhelpful description. “If being near the stage doesn’t work out, I’ll wait out back, near the exit, and —“

“Oh yeah, and ambush him. Because you’ll be the only one there, and because that’s totally safe.” She drops the slightly (well, pretty) judgmental tone when she sees your bottom lip quiver. “I’m not… I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to reach out to him. But this doesn’t sound like the best way, _____________. Security is so tight there, and NCT’s security is even more wary. Even if you do manage to get close, what in the world are you going to say?”

“I— I’ll figure it out once I’m there.” You purse your lips; surely I love you; we’re meant to be together wouldn’t be that hard on your end, but the more important question is: did it sound sane? You didn’t express this doubt, though. Doing so would give your roommate more ammunition to turn back at you; you’d play it by ear when you actually got around to making eye contact with him (if that ever happened at all). And — well, maybe you wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d remember you.

At that thought, you feel an initial wave of laughter, closely followed by a second, much more painful wave of nausea. Of all the absurd things you could think of, that was probably the most ridiculous.

“This isn’t a good idea,” she recapitulates, shaking her head. “You know what they do to people who stalk idols and say they’re really going to get married to them, or whatever. You know what they’d call you.”

“But I’m not crazy like that,” you argue.

“I know that, but they don’t know anything about you! You’d be labeled a sasaeng. They’ll probably think you’re one of those girls that sneak into their dorms and sniff their underwear before selling them on the dark side of Taobao through a weird Chinese proxy or something.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You ball your fists at your side, feeling a little betrayed. Heehyeon, of all people, should be able to understand why you had to do this, even if it was ludicrous. She had remembered you, reached out to you before you could even place her. She’d heard your story, understood that you had been waiting years for this moment, even stopped you on other occasions when you were about to do the same thing you were planning now, saying it wasn’t the right time. “I don’t have any other way of contacting him. I don’t even know if this is going to work, but you know I have to try, and I feel like this is the right time. I have to see him. I have to — I have to be with him. I don’t need your blessing to go, you know.”

There’s a palpable tension hanging over you now, and Heehyeon’s expression has gone mostly unreadable, save for that twinge of worry still present in her gaze. The soft sound of regular, heavy exhales punctuate every few seconds that pass, and you realize a little later that it’s your breathing, which has turned a bit heavy from the energy spent sort-of yelling at your roommate.

“I know that,” she finally sighs. “I know that, _____________. I just wish you used a different way. Like, a safer, less crazy one.”

“I would use one if there were one.” You frown. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like attack him. I would never do that.”

She doesn’t say much anymore, opting to watch you instead as you stuff a few more essential things in your bag. A hat. A fan. a bottle of water. Heehyeon had tried to coerce you to buy one of those cheering kits with those slogans, but you didn’t want to waste your money on it, and, truthfully, you didn’t want his name hanging on your walls like some sick reminder in case he rejected you.

“What did you tell your manager?” She asks in a clear attempt to lighten the mood.

“I told her I was sick. You know she never really asks as long as I find someone to substitute for me,” you sling your bag over your shoulder, standing straighter. “How do I look?”

“Pretty damn healthy,” she notes. “But also kind of crazy.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Heehyeon,” you roll your eyes as you make your way out of the room. Before you close the door, she makes one last quick remark.

“Not if I see you on the evening news first!”

You have to take two buses to get to Sangamsan-ro. Even though the traffic is generally mild, the buses make too many stops and wait too long for old ladies with their fruit baskets and newspapers to get on. The wait is making you anxious, and you think about getting an orange to abate your growing hunger, but you’re also so nervous that you’re sure you’re going to spew it all out onto the bus floor anyway. So, you content yourself with listening to music and fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

All you have in your phone is NCT’s music. The files were so large that you’d had to delete everything else you used to listen to and a handful of pictures too (mostly selfies that would have never seen the light of day, anyway) just to get them to fit. You used to only listen to the Korean versions, but you’d found all these little nuances in how Mark raps his lines depending on the language, so you’d started listening to the English and Japanese releases too, even though you can’t understand a lick of anything but ‘baby.’ Most of the time, you skip over to the relevant (see: Mark-filled) parts, already having memorized their timestamps to a kind of sick degree.

It was kind of dumb, and sort of selfish, but you had never really identified yourself as an NCT fan anyway. If you had been an active part of the groups following, people would have probably called you an akgae. You were really only concerned with one member, and it was that member’s voice that filled your ears when you’d plugged your earbuds in and put the volume up.

The first time you’d seen him was in your last year of college. One of your college friends had asked you to accompany them to a Nature Republic outlet downtown. Despite your general lack of interest in make-up at that point in time, you’d gone because she’d promised to buy you a corndog. What you’d gotten instead was a large standee of a handsome guy smiling at you and holding out a pot of aloe vera gel.

You knew his eyes. Even though his features changed a million times in your memory, you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else’s — soft, warm, brown eyes that you’d stared into for truly an eternity. His were eyes you could never forget, were never allowed to forget. You could remember the millions of times they’d smiled up at you in those past lives you were haunted with, twinkled with mischief and laughter in your presence, borne deep into yours on hot summer nights as you made love. Of all the uncertain things in all of the lives you remembered living, these eyes acted as your anchor.

You’d almost forgotten you were there with a friend until she’d called out to you, telling you to step inside the shop. Trying to sound disinterested despite the fact that your heart was pounding, you asked who the guy in the standee was. Mark, she’d called him. Mark of NCT. He was an idol, a rapper in one of those up and coming groups that was starting to gain a lot of attention within the general public because of their ‘cool, chic concepts.’ At that information, your heart had fallen into a pool of acid in your stomach.

Other times were hard, but not this hard. Most of the factors that had kept you or torn you apart were much larger in scale — war, famine, other natural disasters. This, out of all the other times, seemed to be the most difficult; he wasn’t an ordinary man anymore, but a god among men — a god you couldn’t be allowed to approach. You had ditched your friend the moment she’d gotten her change back at the counter, citing a sudden time of the month as the root cause, and dashed out and back to school, sparing only one last glance at the standee.

You’d been waiting for him for years, carefully looking for any sign of him in the people around you, but you had grown tired and had come to believe that maybe, in this life, you had been set free — that he didn’t exist, and the curse would be over. However, as you pored over each and every teaser, music video, advertisement, and blurry, noise-heavy radio interview you could find even a sliver of his face in, you realized that the curse had come back, and in a much larger force than you could ever imagine.

You’d stared at your desk for the longest time that day; the sun had dipped out of sight already when you’d sighed yourself out of your trance. It had never been this difficult. Having the Memory was mostly the worst thing ever, but its usual perk was that you could pick him out a little easier, and he was never too far away — nobody you ever knew in your first life ever was. They just kept coming up again and again, running around in little circles throughout time and space, and you recognized them in a way you’ve come to grow familiar with. It’s a tug, sort of like a tickle in your stomach, and you knew then that he was close by. The signal only stopped when you found him, and it usually wasn’t that hard. From there, you were responsible for weaving the same kind of story — one in which you would fall in love, be happy for a period of time, and then… well.

Heehyeon has the Memory, too. She’d remembered you from a previous life, too, and picked you out of a packed line at a coffee shop, striking up one of the most awkward conversations you’d ever had the displeasure of being a part of because she hadn’t been sure if you remembered her. It was only when she mentioned that you seemed like someone she could be good friends with and that you also seemed like you just happened to like your coffee black with two sugars did you realize that her sudden onslaught of friendliness was a sign she might be like you: unable to forget. She’d actually once asked you if you’d tried just letting him go, and you’d responded with a resolute no. At this point, it was too hard to call him a lost cause, even if he really seemed it. How could you stop loving someone you know you’ve loved for millennia?

He’s extremely handsome in this life, you’ve noted. Girls were falling all over him, which only made things ten times harder. A couple of years back, some rumors of him dating a labelmate had come up. Heehyeon had talked you through that long night of you clutching tissues in a fist and sobbing about how you didn’t want this anymore, how it was never fair, how every single time you had to find him was just growing more and more difficult until it seemed to reach an impossible arc. But, mostly, you’d cried because you hated the possibility — probably the confirmation — that he didn’t remember you at all.

You didn’t really expect him to, but you always hoped. Every life, you would approach him, and he would be a clean slate. It was a tiring process, one you wished you weren’t constantly responsible for. Some days, you resented him; how could he live his life carefree, without even the notion that you two were meant to be together? Most days, though, you just longed for him. Him, and a happy ending.

You let out a sigh as the track changes. His voice greets you again; over time, you’ve noticed it sounding even cooler, more impactful. He’s doing well for himself. And here you are, attempting to make yourself stand out in a pool of fans he probably can’t even see clearly. Nice.

You get to listen to about half of the newly released album before you realize you’re nearing your stop. Sidestepping a couple of baskets of oranges, you make it to the door and dash out. Heehyeon had drawn you a crude map to CJ E&M, and you’d been skeptical of it at first, but you realize now you would have gotten lost and missed the stage long before you got there if you had gone in blind. You’d make sure to thank her when you got back. If you did actually come back in one piece.

Heehyeon also hadn’t been joking; the line outside looks like it would fill a whole section of Jamsil. You’d heard of the dedication of some of these fans, but you’d never seen it like this, nor had you ever actually been a part of it. Kids were really up at three in the morning in support of NCT. Many of them are probably here specifically in support of Mark, you think. Sure enough, the people you line up behind are holding holographic slogans with the print “Mark-yah!” You swallow hard, trying not to regret your decision not to partake in that.

It feels like hours before you get even close to the door of the building. The chatter has died down a little, but not by much; even with less people ahead of you, the noise pollution increases in tandem with the excitement in the atmosphere. You’re not excited, though. You’re sick to your stomach, wishing you hadn’t come alone and wondering if you were going to regret this. Probably. Luckily, a couple of teenagers behind you strike up a casual conversation starting with “ah, it’s getting more humid now,” and you take turns complaining about what the weather would probably be like later on in the day before you start talking about NCT. They’re both Jaehyun fans, and you think about whether or not you remember meeting him in a past life. Nothing really rings a bell.

When you tell them you’re here for Mark, they giggle.

“We know,” they chime. “You’re wearing blue.”

“It’s his favorite color,” you say, a little defensively.

“Everyone knows that. Everyone here wearing that ocean blue is a Mark fan. Didn’t he say so once?” They dissolve into laughter again, but you say nothing. Maybe he had said that recently. Then again, his favorite color has always been blue — the color of the sky and the sea he seems to love so much.

The line grows shorter and shorter, and your ankles feel like they’re starting to swell. You’ve been standing for a good two hours now, and you regret not having bought one of those NCT membership cards that get you up to the front of the line. It’s really no surprise that you, the two Jaehyun fans, and the others in the line behind you are all squished in the back, just like Heehyeon had said you would be. It takes a good twenty minutes before the lights dim down and the stage lights start up, and you hear the buzz that increases in volume right before it becomes a collective deafening shriek from the crowd. The light sticks go up, and you’re momentarily blinded by the large stars that blink NCT in some weird logo form before you get your bearings again. By that time, the members have begun trooping onto the stage in a single file, and you forget your swollen ankles as you tiptoe and crane your head for a better view.

He’s there, your mind screams. He’s right there. You’ve got a whole crowd in front of you, but he’s right there.

The Jaehyun fans are losing their mind too; he’s talking, asking them how they found the album and encouraging them to keep supporting it. Typical idol stuff, you assume, but the fans go wild in an attempt to reassure him that they will. They all speak in a line, and you note Mark will be last. When the mic is handed over to him, the fans start screaming again. You feel like you want to yell as well, except you’re not sure if you’ll say something actually coherent that other people will hear. Instead, you tiptoe a little higher, fixing your pretty bad eyesight on his face and perking your ears up.

“You’re all here so early,” he starts. “How long have you been waiting for us?”

A flurry of numbers fly across the room. He smiles in this genuinely affectionate way even though his eyes can’t focus on a single person in the dark, and your heart stutters at the sight.

“Do your mothers know you’re here?” He’s teasing now. “You can’t tell them that NCT is the reason you’re not sleeping well, you know. Everyone, make sure that you eat breakfast and rest well before school today, okay?”

While the crowd screams in response, you let out a little whimper. It’s a weak, pathetic sound, but it essentially sums up how you feel, seeing him like this from so far away.

The pre-recording starts, but you barely catch anything. You’re too small for this kind of life, and you get so tired of tiptoeing that you actually do try to push your way through the crowd. Of course, this is fruitless, and you end up squatting by the back wall of the room, sipping on your water conservatively and listening to the Jaehyun fans do the chant religiously.

NCT performs the song two more times before they’re saying their goodbyes. You muster up the energy to stand again and make a beeline for the exit before everyone else can smash their way through. The sun is almost up now; beads of sweat form on the nape of your neck as you round the building, trying to find the indicated spot that Heehyeon had marked as the back exit of CJ E&M. You worry about how you’re in the wrong place for about ten minutes until you see the two Jaehyun fans turning the corner quickly, obviously with the same goal as you: to catch NCT as they leave the building.

In no time, the fans have gathered at the spot again, and it seems like they’ve multiplied tenfold; the chants are louder and there are girls with gigantic cameras trying to shove you away from the spot. Security from the company camps out in front of you, their gazes shifting from the door to the crowd and back again.

People around you roar the moment the doorknob turns. Nine of them file out, now in regular clothing, surrounded by their own security. You feel a surge of force behind you, trying to push forward, and someone’s camera lens hits you hard in the side of the face. You barely have time to cry out in surprise, caught in what would have been a scream of pain, when you see him.

In the growing light, Mark looks like a king. No — like a god, actually. Everything on his face shines even when minimal sunlight strikes it; his teeth help, too, brightening his face as his mouth hangs open in an easy laugh. He’s talking to Doyoung and has to face him, his sharp jawline being the first thing anyone can see from that perspective, and it’s that angle that creates all these alarms in your head.

For some reason, you’ve blocked out the noise around you. Even the pain from the camera lens attack isn’t bothering you as much anymore; you feel like you’re in an aquarium, and all the screams are on the other side of the glass. Your vision tunnels; all you can see is him.

You’d promised Heehyeon you wouldn’t do anything stupid. Again and again, she’d asked you and drilled you and reminded you that you weren’t supposed to do anything that would get you into trouble. Even with those promises you’d made, she’d still doubted you. Later, when you’d tell her this story, she’d roll her eyes and yell I told you so!, because, well, she did tell you. And, when you’d look at it in retrospect, you’d see that you should have listened.

Right now, though, you’re walking. Somehow, the camera lens that had attacked you had turned its gaze onto much more important targets; the guard stationed in front of you grunted in pain and reflexively retracted his hand after the lens made contact with it. It wasn’t a long movement, but it was enough for you to be pushed forward by the crowd. Enough to get your feet moving.

Other fans had stopped trying to break through; though many were still hysterical, most were trying to take pictures of the members as they climbed into the van. One by one, they were disappearing before your eyes. No, you thought to yourself. Your chest tightened. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that the noise behind you has gotten much louder. Not now. He hasn’t seen me yet. Not yet, please.

You don’t realize that your feet have picked up the pace, and you’ve broken into a short sprint before the building security could catch you. It’s too late; he can’t leave his post, and he only has to hope that NCT’s staff are well-equipped to fend off a running girl. They are, but they’re too busy helping the members that they’re caught unaware — just long enough for you to be within an arm’s reach of them.

Mark is almost in the van; he’s caught off-guard, too, and he doesn’t realize that something’s not right until you’re already there. Security grabs his arm and tries to tug him out of your reach and into the van at the same time that a strong hand grapples at the back of your shirt. Doyoung, who had been by Mark’s side, tries to use his arms to shield you from his friend when he realizes who you are targeting, yelling out something you can’t really understand.

It’s a ten-second long struggle of limbs in which you hear your own “Let go of me!” harmonize perfectly with Mark’s frantic “What the —?” Somehow, though, you’re able to fight through Doyoung’s arms and grip Mark’s wrist with a sweaty palm. The contact causes him to turn back reflexively, eyes wide in shock.

His eyes. God, please, won’t he recognize me? Your fingers close around his wrist a little more tightly. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is on fire. You’re wasting precious time. You only manage out a weak, “Please, Mark, it’s me,” before he’s twisting his wrist away. The arm that gripped your shirt moves to lock around your waist, and you’re hauled, empty-handed, away from the van. Awareness you’d lost slowly trickles back into you. The crowd isn’t screaming at the members now; they’re screaming at you. They’re angry. As you’re dragged away, you vaguely note that the Jaehyun fans you were with are fuming behind the security guards still keeping them in place.

The security guard that carried you off like a rag doll plants you in front of him, and he lets go of your waist but still keeps his grip tight around both your forearms, which have been twisted behind you. You have no choice but to watch from afar as the members drag Mark into the van, looks of concern etched across their faces. They ask him if he’s hurt, and he shakes his head. Right before the door closes, he quickly glances back at you. Your heart sinks for the second time today as you see something in his eyes you’d never seen before.

Fear. Mark is afraid of you.

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husbandohunter · 7 months

Note

YOOO hello!! first of all, I hope you are doing well Nya ^^ remember to take care of yourself, stay healthy, and drink lots of water, mkay? good good :) (ur writing is astounding btw i love it sm)

second, may i request a childe angsty (not much tho, just missing him- does that count as angst lmao) + fluffy scenario (or the uh dot hcs thing?? with lil scenario after it?? idk how to call it 💀 but yeah you can choose :D) with a timid, reserved s/o? like... you're feeling a bit down and miss him, waiting for him to return- and when he does, you just- dash into his arms, while he sits there paralyzed, since you don't generally initiate the affection. too shy to do so- however when u do he softens at ur cuteness,, (regretting your decision afterwards cause he makes you blush while praising you- way too easily- and he admires you more while u bashfully avoid his gaze-)

and while cuddling he asks as to why you did that, if something occurred... noticing you were sniffling instead of talking, he halted to take a look at your face, freezing once he saw your profile, crystal clear tears painting it. wiping them away, he cupped your cheeks with his greater hands and before he could utter another word, you answered him, his worried expression transforming into a surprised one unimaginably fast.

"I just... love you so much Ajax. I love you..."

repeating that over and over while delicately holding his hands close to you, a soft smile decorating your lips as you leaned into his palms. and he just. smiles too completely melting-

aand that's all i can think of-- i hope that gave you enough fuel to think of the scene hh- obv take your time with it pls don't feel rushed okay? ik you're busy and have many requests already hh ^^ take a break if you must! farewell!!

Sweetness [Childe x Reader]

Synopsis: Childe can expect all kinds of ambushes but not the one that attacks him in the heart!

Genre: gender neutral reader, mild angst to fluffy fluff

(A/n): First off you’re so sweet anon. I don’t mean to take this long but I do think about the blog and you guys every once in a while. I hope this was to your liking, though got self-indulgent with the last part xD Childe is either badass or an absolute clown🤡 there’s no in between

============================

• Childe had been sent away on a mission in Snezhnaya two months ago. He wrote letters to you in his absence. Until the weekly letters became nonexistent. It was due to the fact been busy over the course.

• But you didn't know that. Demands of being the 11th Harbinger had made things difficult for him to even sit down and relax.

• And when he finally got the chance to pick up his inkset, the man falters yet again over another crumpled sheet tossed into the waste basket.

• How on Teyvat should he begin after weeks going cold? Since when was the last time the two of you properly talked? Were you so furious that you didn't write back?

He felt as if he was being physically beaten by these incessant questions, plagued by scenarios that don't exist.

Childe blankly stares at the ceiling of his hotel suite. It was deathly quiet. The candle burns alight, confined in the glassjar designed by Snezhnayan antiques, and he swore he could even hear wax dripping down the sides.

The Harbinger slaps a hand over his face and groans, "Haaaa, I can't believe I'm actually losing my mind over this."

Hopefully no one sees him in his current state. Their Fatui leader fussing with love letters akin to a teenage boy's first crush. Earlier the evening Childe announced to his assistant that no one shall disturb him while he is issuing an important message to overseas, otherwise they meet a harsh punishment under his command. That was an excuse. A very silly excuse. There was no diplomacy to be made overseas, just one man missing his lover.

The picture of your most recent expression shows up and Childe meticulously carves it out of his imagination. While you were not the type to be vocal about your affections, reserved and somewhat aloof, somehow that itself was a charm of yours. Perhaps he likes a good challenge, perhaps the spark between you two ignited when he kissed you on a fluke. And when you couldn't form the words to your clouded thoughts, actions alone were more than enough for the man to be satisfied.

"Let's see where this goes, yeah?"

Then one meeting turns to another, three dates turn to four, and before he knew it, Childe has been looking forward to spending time with you ever since. A part of him waiting for answers yet to be said. Do you like him the way he likes you? Even though everything he does appears to be whimsical and reckless? This long distance makes him think they were almost not real drives him mad.

What if you were seeing someone else?

A pause, the information too great for him to process. Childe spasms in his seat and slaps both palms flat on the surface table, sounds resonating through the room, enough for his assistant outside to hear.

Nah, who am I kidding? The man waves off the idea like an impractical joke. There's just no way. Sure you were attractive and alluring with mystique, Childe is certain that he had no competition. After all he was a Fatui Harbinger for Archon's sake. Crafty, handsome, strong with a good sense of humor, he's your ideal man. No one's got a shot at this other than him.

Except all those statements existed only in his head.

How the hell should he know what you're thinking about?! The man rests his face on a propped up palm, tapping the desk with the other as he thought deeply. No, a love letter won't work anymore. He needs a new way, preferably something enough to encapsulate his charms as he sweeps you off your feet and makes your heart race at the idea of him. He needs a strategy.

Should I invite them for a fancy dinner?

Childe has already done that a few times, something fresh would be more preferable. Oh, he could pull off the classy tactic of buying a bouquet of flowers and surprising you with it. But that's so cliche. Ugh, he cringes, what if you think he's lame?!

The assistant guarding outside knocks on the door, "Sir, is everything alright?"

"Yes," Childe replies back, rather annoyed, "I thought I told you not to bother me."

"M-My apologies," he hears the assistant scurry away in quick steps.

Finally, some peace. The Harbinger checks the time. It was half past sunset. All the soldiers should be assigned to their pre-booked rooms since was going to be their last departure.

"Fuck...." Childe breathly mutters. This is taking longer than it should. He already had you guessing over his actions, for a month in fact. At this rate, he'd have to show up without a pre-warning explanation of why he wasn't answering your calls.

The snowstorm outside ceases to relent like a reflection of his own. What he feels right now, what he's doing, the Harbinger knows well enough this wasn't some fluke. Childe sinks into his arms and looks at the flickering candle, focusing on it's small flame, wondering, if you're thinking of him the same way.

• Sitting by the windowsill, watching the view that leads to your front yard, visualizing a cheerful man with ginger hair and waving from the trees.

• Ajax. You missed him but wasn't sure how to say it. Papers and envelopes were tucked away in a corner where you could easily reach, savored and impatient for his return.

• They were mostly filled with stories about his homeland, places that he wanted to take you, and sometimes mentioning how his work got the better of him. You figured his silence must be the fact he was busy. At least, that's what you convinced yourself to believe.

• What could he be doing right now?

Ajax's name hasn't appeared in your mailbox for quite a while.

The splash of water runs when you release the tap, absentmindedly scrubbing away remains of leftovers and takeout from last night's dish. Two months ago he appeared at your doorstep in his usual brazen entrance. And it was the same day he had to announce his departure.

"Borsche," you said with a smile. Ajax mentioned how he'd personally bring ingredients from Snezhnaya, bringing as in sneaking, so you could be his first ever foreign taste tester. Of course you'd like anything he'd cook regardless, but he was joyful talking about his family from home that you wanted to explore a little more of this new side of his.

You thought you wouldn't mind the long distance communication, however, it seems you've severely overestimated yourself. After the final meal at your house, Ajax walks towards the exit, the both of you knowing how agonizingly slow it was. You recall looking at him in that deep ocean gaze, trying to say what wanted to be said. Him waiting with anticipation.

"Good luck with your mission!"

• What a mistake, that was the perfect chance and you just couldn't muster up the courage to tell him. You know he was expecting something, you know he's been patient with you, and you're tired of guessing.

• There were days where a part of you doubts if he still feels the same. Days when you felt that all of this might be one sided and you were just another fling in his eyes. Days when you think he actually wouldn't return.

• Eventually, you couldn't help but truly believe he left you for someone else, finally fed up with you beating around the bush.

Despite all the obvious signs from Ajax's lack of communication, you wanted to try one last time.

Yesterday was the day he said he would be coming back to Liyue. The sky looked as if it were about to rain any moment. People crowded under the nearest roof they could find. Their bustling noise drowned out to mere background noise as you stayed, keeping an eye out for that cheerful man of yours all the way till the last ship parked beside the Harbor.

It was empty. By the time the other families went home with their loved ones, you stood there alone, holding a single umbrella.

"Excuse me!"

No news or a forewarning. You had no idea what must have happened. Regardless, you wanted to try again.

Running across the pavement, you tried to catch up with the sailor keeping watch of the seas, "I want to ask if you've seen a tall man with orange hair leave just now?"

He takes out the cigarette chewed between his teeth and takes his time to answer, "Ah you're the person from yesterday," the sailor comments, "Sorry kiddo, but the merchant shipments will be the only ones dropping by this hour."

Your stomach makes an uncomfortable churn as your heart denies what must be accepted, "Ah, I guess that makes sense."

There was no point in being optimistic about it anymore. The seldom appearance of letters, the disappointment evident on his face when you didn't tell him what he wanted to hear, the chilliness of the rain when it hits your skin, hand trembling by the obvious cold. Everything was so much clearer.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you quickly added while wiping your eyes, unable to contain your sadness, "I'm just missing someone. That's all."

The sailor spares you a look of pity, assuming what story it went on with the clues you gave him. He mutters words of consolation but it felt deaf to your ears.

Why couldn't you just say it? Why did you have to be such a coward in the end when all he was trying to do was making this relationship work? Biting your lip, you kept your eyes casted down to not be blinded by the sun, otherwise you might actually cry. You should've known better to not hold back. And now, he's gone forever.

"Hey."

• Childe watches you turn over your shoulder, hesitant as ever and time seems to have halted in the small pocket of this instance.

• Damn.

• You were as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Though of course nothing about your appearance changed at all. Only his feelings, they grew and more apparent during the days he wasn't by your side.

• Yeah, I'm way over the crush phase, aren't I? He could only imagine what kind of expression he was making.

Tension fills the gap between the two of you as neither made an initiative to close it. Childe examines you, unreadable and without his default grin. Your eyes blown wide under the deep furrow of your eyebrows, mouth turned downward.

Welp he deserved the silent treatment. What nerve does the guy have when he shows up to his lover empty handed and a day behind his promised schedule? Minus all the Fatui fiasco he had to deal back in Snezhnaya and no explanation whatsoever.

"So uuuhhh," Childe glances at you tentatively. Ah shit they're mad probably. He was unsure how te begin. It was almost as if you were strangers and that pained him a little, "So how have you been?"

Slap. He mentally facepalms. That was so stupid.

Well fix it you idiot! A million suggestions run simultaneously that reduces his brain into a pile of mush. He had it all planned out earlier, the flowers, the dinner, the play to sweap you off your feet and make you fall for him again. Seems that his reliable swagger had betrayed him entirely. No fancy entrance. No funny remarks to distract the awkwardness. Right now he was just Childe the lovesick man.

"Look, I know I haven't replied to you," Childe rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact, "And I understand if you're pissed about it. We went through a lot back in Snezhnaya which is why don't have any ingredients I promised," he pinches the bridge of his nose, "Ah, I guess I should probably apologize for that too."

This isn't going well. He knew he was trying way too hard to play it cool and most likely makes him look as if here were creating excuses. Screw it, just go straight for the heart, "What I'm trying to say is-"

You threw yourself around him in an instant and buried your face in his chest. Childe nearly stumbles backward, completely off guard for once. He can instinctively expect and attack but not this kind of attack.

Almost gave him a heart attack.

"[Name]...?" He finally whispers out, his sleeve covered arms crawling to return your embrace. The man was trying to feel, to make sure if this was real. Did you just...hug him?

"Ajax."

Then it occured to him that your voice was breaking. The tightening of your hold and the point of your nose against him, he could sense the faint quivering of your shoulders. Childe surrenders all intentions to fulfill his previous agenda as the matters in front of him were much more important.

"Hey, what's on your mind?" he gently hushes, cradling your head with one hand and the other on your back, "I'm listening."

Yes, that's what you needed right now and he'll gladly give it to you, as much as you want. If you allow him that is. Childe knows he can be a bit selfish sometimes and maybe he's jumping to conclusions, but holding you like this is a moment he wants to indulge in. Just cherishing you like he should have.

"I just..." you began, breathly, "love you so much, Ajax. I love you..."

Damn.

Childe is sure he just felt what it's like to float on cloud nine. As cheesy as it sounded. He's somewhat glad your face is buried in his coat right now so you wouldn't be able to witness the goofy smile he's shamelessly wearing. Looks like he had nothing to worry about. Man, did it feel good to know you felt the same way all this time.

He releases you, though not enough to be fully apart because why would he? Your nose was tinged with red and eyes watery, the man swore his heart must have been hit with a pyro reaction. What a cutie pie.

"I've got you, don't worry," he reassures while cupping your face. He leans down to peck the corner of your lips before properly placing a chaste one. The action was so sudden that you weren't mentally prepared for it. He laughs, the same boyish charming manner, "Sorry, couldn't help it. You're too irresistable."

"Y-You're," shades of crimson layers across your cheeks that he's glad he has the privilege for a closeup, "Irresistable..."

Hooooooolddd up.

Childe pulls to a mental stop for a double take. Was that a compliment just now? No, it was a confession. He wasn't used to being praised like this. You may not be the type to vocally speak your true feelings but you were also the type to wear them on your sleeves. A smug smile makes it's way to his face and he tilts his body ever so slightly so you were dipped backwards in a mid-tango pose.

Childe's mouth was mere inches away from yours as he drinks up the image of your vulnerable look, underneath him and no one else to intrude.

"Ajax?!" You stuttered.

"I don't think I heard you clearly. Mind saying that again?" Yes he was being indulgent right now but the opportunity was hard to come by. Also those two months made it so agonizing to bear he needs a remedy to soothe all that drama.

You're pouting now and Childe tips down to kiss you on the cheek, "Don't tease me. Not here in public," you whisper-yelled well trying to push him away similar to a smothering puppy.

"Oh? Now you're going to reject me? I thought you said I was irresistable?" Childe's words muffles against your skin and the vibration spreads across like wildfire.

"Ajax!"

"Fine, fine," he chuckles heartedly, not letting you go. Instead, he repositions his arm until it was swung around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, "By the way I wanted to say that I shouldn't have left you hanging. The mission got real messy last minute and I didn't wanna half-ass a letter to you."

You shook your head, "It's not your fault. I know you were busy. Just that..." you breathed out, somewhat relieved and anxious at the same time, "I thought you were angry that I wasn't being honest with you. I was afraid for some reason. But now, it's a lot easier than I thought."

"Huh? What do you mean?" He asks.

"I thought you left me for someone else."

A moment where his brain short circuits and Childe lets out a howling laugh. You looked at him with awe. What was so funny all of a sudden?

"Gotta say that I'm being tossed left and right with these surprises," he mused, "Guess that even if we're apart, we're still that close, eh?"

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "What do you mean?"

Childe slides his hand up your shoulder bone to pinch your cheek, "Nothing, sweetness."

• You chased after him demanding for answers but Childe doesn't budge. The only thing you could tell that he was in an extremely good mood after that.

• Oh well, all is well, ends well does it?

"Since I don't have anything to cook the Borsche I mentioned to you before, we'll have to settle for something else I'm afraid," Childe shrugs, "Anything in mind you wanna do?"

You sighed, fondly at least, "I already said I don't mind as long as you're cooking."

"S'that so? Well then," Childe moves renewed with energy, extending his hold in a beckoning manner and you laughed at his antics, "Shall we go, my snowflake?"

You take it and squeezed it, "I'd love to."

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