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pomefioredove · 1 month

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Hiya! Do you think you could write something romantic and fluffy with Vil? I love him!

hi anon of course! I am so unwell about this man

summary: being friends with vil schoenheit has its perks type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, mentions of food, friends to lovers huhuhu, maybe a tiny bit suggestive but also not really? lap-sitting and kissing

Someone should write a guide on how to be friends with Vil Schoenheit.

It did not come as naturally to you as you would have hoped. There were times when he felt like a star in your presence, not the actor kind, but the heavenly body.

Bright, and burning, and millions of miles away. Even as he sat directly across from you.

"You're not eating," he remarks. The comment is not degrading, though it is tinged with curiosity. "Is it bad?"

You haven't even sampled the meal yet- something fancy and expensive that you likely couldn't pronounce. He'd ordered it for you.

"It's okay," you lie.

He either buys your excuse, or ignores it. Either way, he reaches across the gossamer table cloth and switches your plates without asking.

Vil Schoenheit Friendship Survival Manual, rule number one: always assume his judgment is correct, until proven otherwise.

You look down at the plate- some kind of vegetable dish. He urges you on with a nod, lilac eyes fixed firmly on your pleasantly surprised reaction when you take a bite.

Rule number two: his judgment is always correct.

"Better?" he asks, not bothering to finish your food. He'll likely get something else later. "You really shouldn't skip meals. If you were feeling unwell, you should have said so. I would've ordered something lighter for you."

"Sorry. Didn't think of it," you say, taking another bite of his meal, if only to appease him.

You're hesitant to mention that the heavy feeling in your chest wasn't from illness, and so you say nothing more.

"No need to apologize. Here,"

Vil delicately reaches across the table and dabs at the corner of your mouth with his napkin. You hate how light-headed such a simple action makes you feel.

"Better. And don't worry about smudging anything, I have a few new products I'd like to try out on you later,"

Rule number three: always accept his gifts.

"Thanks," you murmur.

You were starting to feel as if you really were ill, the way your entire body warmed in his presence. Vil brought out a feverish sort of stupidity in you that made outings like this a minefield to navigate.

How painfully cliché, you thought. Hopelessly in love with someone far out of your league, with infinite options, none of which you could even hope to catch up to...

It made these evenings together pure torture.

You felt guilty for wishing he wasn't such an amazing friend. Must he insist on showering you in gifts and holding your hand every time you cross the street?

But being in his bedroom is another, dirtier realm of guilt. Vil saw you as a friend. Platonic. Someone he confided in, who he took under his wing. You were allowed to see parts of him no one else had, and yet, you can hardly pay attention to what he's saying because you can't stop thinking about the way his lips look when he speaks.

"Did you understand any of that?" he asks, bending down to your level as you sit on his bed. On his bed. And you had the mind to be thinking about doing romantic things...

Rule number four: speak when spoken to.

"No, sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately,"

Vil clicks his tongue and holds a hand to your forehead, feeling for temperature. "And you're sure you're not ill?"

"I'm fine! Just distracted,"

He chuckles, walking across the room to peruse his vanity. "Hm... and what sort of thoughts have got you scatterbrained today?"

You can feel your skin burning again. He could tell, couldn't he? All these weeks of coming undone every time he so much as looks your way couldn't have gone over his head... could they?

Or perhaps he was just used to people staring at him, stumbling over their words every time he spoke. Perhaps you were just another foolish fan who'd gotten to know him before falling in love.

You couldn't help but wish that there was someone or something that would just tell you what to do.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Vil sits beside you, a small, wooden box in hand.

"I'm supposed to promote these next weekend, but I'm not sure about them, yet," he says, opening the lid to reveal a plethora of lipsticks that likely cost more than your existence. "I'll need your opinion, of course."

"Right," you murmur.

"And I'd like to try them on you, as well,"

"Of course,"

"And you're alright with that?"

You nod. Ever the gentleman, always asking for permission. He's been quite generous with his products lately, giving them away to you like candy. You're almost certain he has a full list of your allergens somewhere.

Vil returns to the vanity, delicately prepping, and then applying the first shade. It's a marvelous, metallic pink, with dark red undertones that make it a regal color. It suits him, and you say as much.

"Oh, you think so? I suppose it does compliment my eyes, although I'd definitely need to pair it with something darker, else it become too overpowering..."

He clicks his tongue, and then turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Your turn. Come sit,"

There isn't another chair at the vanity, and you take that as your cue to awkwardly stand in front of him until he tells you what to do. He chuckles, amused by some thought of his that he doesn't share aloud.

"What are you standing there for? Sit,"

You awkwardly look around the space, eyes searching for a mysteriously hidden stool, something that should have been obvious...

He smiles. "Oh, don't be shy. We've known each other long enough by now, haven't we?"

You can't think of the right thing to ask, although your thoughts are quickly cut off by the sight of him gently patting his lap.

Sevens. If there were any time to wake up, this was it.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

He's not joking, of course. Vil hardly jokes. And so, you awkwardly straddle his lap, facing towards him, and allow him to get a good look at your visage.

He holds your chin firmly, studying your features as if he hasn't already seen them a thousand times before.

"Stay still,"

He's going to give you a heart attack, and there's a little quirk in his smile that tells you he knows it, too.

You wonder what your tag at the morgue will say. Death by Vil Schoenheit?

He starts with your skin, commenting on how soft it's gotten since he met you, then your eyes...

...Once he's satisfied, as he always is with his work, he turns your head so you can admire the makeup look in the mirror behind you.

"Stunning," he comments. "But you're missing something."

You look back, eyes wide. Surely, he hadn't forgotten something...? That's simply not in his nature.

He smiles at your confusion. "Remember? You promised to test these for me?"

Right. The lipstick. You nod. "Yes, but, I thought you'd already..."

"Oh, I do like the color. I'm just worried about this brand," Vil says. He looks away for a moment, almost as if to summon his courage... what a strange expression on him.

"What's wrong with the brand?"

He turns back with a small smirk. "They have a nasty reputation for smudging easily. I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself next weekend, hm?"

His cups your chin again, bringing you closer.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him!

He tilts his head to the side. "You don't mind, do you?"

You couldn't have shaken your head any faster, even with his grip on your chin.

"Good. Now, stay still. I think this will be a good color on you, anyway,"

He pulls you in with ease, letting his lips rest on yours for a second or two, before pulling back. Short but sweet, enough to make you feel like your entire body has gone numb.

He inspects your face, humming to himself...

"Good so far," he says, bringing you closer again. "But that was too safe. I won't hold back next time. Are you ready?"

You nod. Barely anything had happened, and you're already breathless. "Ready,"

Another smile crosses his perfect face, though he doesn't give you any time to admire it before he's kissing you again, one hand still cupping your face, the other holding the back of your neck and pressing you closer.

Definitely not a very platonic kiss.

It takes him longer to pull away this time, though when he does, it gives you a perfect view of his still-pristine makeup.

"Hmm... still nothing. I'm quite impressed with this line," he says, reaching behind you and returning with the wooden box. "How do you feel?"

Dizzy. Light-headed. Warm.

"Good," you say.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Or do.

"Not too much, I hope?"

A delightful realization was beginning to come over you, one that made all you had thought about him null and void:

No one else could possibly give you a guide on Vil Schoenheit, because he writes the rules himself.

"No. That was perfect,"

"Excellent," he smiles, and flips the box open again. "Because we still have six more colors to test."

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #GAH.

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henrioo · 2 months

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If requests are still open would you been interested in writing some domestic Mihawk with his husband and their baby? Maybe reader teaches the kid their languages, and Mihawk gets the baby little sword plushies. Idk man but there's no way that man isn't secretly mushy 😭

°•*⁀➷ OUR LITTLE PEACE: MIHAWK

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "All Mihawk ever wanted was a peaceful life in his castle. But a perfect peaceful life is not complete without you, his husband, and now his little baby to fill his days with joy."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : Male! Reader (can be cis or trans), MLM, homo relationship, homo marriage, Spoilers to the two years separation! (Zoro and Perona are in the castle and this is post Marineford), the author doesn't know anything about babies and children, almost nothing of Spanish because I couldn't think of one cute dialogue so sorry, not too many mentions of the reader gender like my others stories but still clear the reader is a men, also no mentions of the birth of the baby, no name or appearance to the baby so you can choose if is biology, adopted, imagine what you want.

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,8k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : Another story! Another male reader! Hehehehe, I skipped one day of posting but here it's the new one, another ask because I'm really trying to finish them to give more attention to another project and maybe write other stories idk. Thanks for the ask, I love writing family stuff hehehhe, this one was not that good because I'm having some struggles with my writing style but I hope everyone likes it! Byee

You yawned as you tested the milk in your hand, warm but not enough to burn your baby's tongue, perfect. Zoro was in a bad mood in the kitchen eating something, he had been beaten by Mihawk in the last training session and you suspected it was because the pirate was always lost in the castle and opening the doors with great force, which made a huge noise and always it made your baby start crying, irritated when awakened from his sleep. Which also made the older man a little irritated that someone was disturbing his son's sleep.

You made a mental note to try talk to your husband, although to be honest you were uncomfortable too. His son was a needy little boy and when he started crying he would stay like that for hours, until his throat got tired and he went back to sleep, so having to deal with it several times because Zoro kept waking him up was really frustrating.

You walked through the hallways, now with furniture all prepared to be baby proof, no furniture with pointy ends, no sliding rugs, doors in front of the stairs and other changes. At first you thought that Mihawk would be uncomfortable with the changes, to his surprise he took responsibility for changing everything without you even talking about it first. He spent weeks moving furniture, buying or making objects to close doors or round edges, he even made himself available to remove carpets and pictures, even going overboard with the protection.

Your husband has always been a very protective person, even before he was your husband or boyfriend. When he was just flirting, or courting, he was always very concerned about your ntegrity. If you were traveling, would he always give you the best accommodations, extreme climates? He has everything prepared, clothes and even medicine for illnesses, that is if he doesn't change the entire route of the trip to prevent inconvenience.

As you progressed in your relationship, the more protective Mihawk became, he would never be possessive or controlling, he was just genuinely concerned about your comfort and safety and felt it was his obligation as a lover to provide you with the best. Of course he respected you, after all you were also a man and a fighter, you were not weak in any way, it was your strength and intelligence that made Mihawk attract and fall in love with you in the first place. But living a life as a "pirate", an ally of the navy or just someone very strong in the grand line meant that your loved ones and even you were at risk of death at all times. He would never want to lose you and that's why he never let his guard down.

It was no different with his son, he wanted to give him a safe and as normal childhood as possible, thus arriving at this extremely careful point. He was already planning his son's diet and he wasn't even eating so many solid things yet...

"Almost there dear, it's papa, mi hijo, papa" You heard through the half-open door, there was an area of the castle that was closed just for the three of you. Even Zoro and Perona knew to stay away from that part, it being your private wing.

There was the bedroom where you two slept, a common room with the fireplace where you two usually stayed, a bathroom, a library next to the balcony and of course, your son's room. It was almost a complete house, except that it was inside a huge castle with many other rooms.

You stopped watching your husband next to your son, Mihawk was now wearing casual clothes although his shirt was more open, contact with the parents' skin was good for babies, he had told you. The baby laughed in his arms, trying to touch the adult's face with his chubby little hands. He wore thicker baby clothes to protect himself from the cold on the island, as your husband insisted that just the fireplace wasn't enough. The outfit was dark red with bat symbols, Perona had given away saying that the cute baby needed to maintain one parent's vampire reputation.

"Baba!" Your son exclaimed excitedly, laughing again, your husband's affectionate look and smile made your heart melt and your stomach feel strange.

For many, Mihawk was a cruel and merciless man, who could effortlessly cut through ships and defeat thousands of swordsmen at the same time without breaking a sweat. For you? Ah... To you, he was a loving man, a man who always brought gifts from every island he visited, who always had fresh flowers to give you, a man who would kill anyone who dared to offend you for being in a relationship with another man. For you, he was your husband.

"I'll only forgive your terrible pronunciation because you're too cute," Your husband said, shaking his son again.

"I think baba suits you a lot" You smiled entering the room, your husband had been trying to teach Spanish to your little baby for some time. Although this turned out to be a much longer task than he imagined.

"Of course I do" He mocked looking at you smiling, it's not like he could contradict you.

"Papa!" Your baby said excitedly and soon his attention was all on you, his little hands stretched out trying to reach you as quickly as possible.

"Why can he get the pronunciation right with you?" Mihawk looked at you confused and envious as he passed the child to you.

"Because he likes to annoy you" You smiled, rubbing your face with the chubby and soft face of your baby who laughed at the contact.

"Well, he got it out of you then..." Mihawk teased as he adjusted the chair so you were comfortable breastfeeding.

"Of course yes" You sat in the chair and then placed your son next to the bottle, he quickly held the bottle as he began to drink the milk. His eyes soon started to get tired and he relaxed against you, after all it was close to time for him to fall asleep.

"I should order a painting of you two like this, it would be the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen..." He sighed looking at the two of you with love, for him it seemed like a dream, so much peace with the people he loved most.

"He wouldn't be able to stay still for that long" You laughed, your baby used to be quite energetic, which had created some good confusion with you guys losing him in the huge castle.

“It would be worth a try” He chuckled and walked closer to you, caressing your cheek and then placing a kiss on your forehead. "I can put him to bed today, you should take a shower and rest."

"You already did this yesterday, I don't get that tired taking care of him, you practically do everything." You sighed, your husband always wanted to take the weight off your shoulders since he used to travel a lot. However, your son really wasn't that big of a job, now with Perona and Zoro here and the instability of the world government, you doubted that Mihawk would travel anytime soon, so your job was even easier since you shared it with your husband.

"Humpf" He huffed, he always sulked when you didn't allow him to take care of everything.

"Let's put him to bed together... Then after that we'll have some time just for the two of us" You suggested smiling, your baby had now let go of the bottle and was yawning, showing that he was ready to end the day.

"You know how to convince me, don't you?" Mihawk smiled, taking the empty bottle as you stood up with your baby.

"Of course, how do you think I got you to marry me?" You played with him. Soon you were running around the baby's room to rock him, your son clung to you yawning and finishing digesting the warm milk you had provided. Luckily he didn't give much work on that part.

When he had calmed down enough to be practically asleep, Mihawk had already prepared the crib, also carrying some stuffed animals and blankets in case you decided to add something else. You walked over with your baby and gently placed him in the crib, then he stretched out completely and then curled up again in a ball, grabbing a sword plush and messing up the blanket there.

"Sword?" You said looking confused at the plushie of a sword, you didn't remember having one of those. You then asked your husband.

You only met a proud, red-faced Mihawk if you had seen your son doing the most graceful thing possible.

"We have to start familiarizing him as soon as possible," he said, smiling to disguise that he had bought the plush hidden from you.

"Oh yeah? Familiarize our baby with his father's swordsmanship legacy?" You said, crossing your arms and smiling at him, you even wanted to pretend to be angry but you couldn't, not with him being so cute like that.

"Of course, he will be a great swordsman in the future" Mihawk said proudly, you raised your eyebrow.

"Of course, then he's going to beat Roronoa and then come kick his own father's ass, it seems like something my son would do" You said proudly leaving the room, knowing that Mihawk would now be thinking about the fact that one day he would fight seriously with his son, knowing he would never be able to hurt his own child.

It didn't take long for Mihawk to come up behind you with a thoughtful face as he too got ready for bed.

"Well... He's still young, we can't say if he'll actually be a swordsman" He said coughing embarrassedly as he sat next to you on the bed.

"Of course, maybe he's something else" You said smiling knowing you had hit the nail on the head. Mihawk would never be able to seriously fight his own son.

"Of course... Another thing" Mihawk said with flushed cheeks, he also knew that you knew. It was shameful for him to know that his husband knew him so well.

"Yeah, another thing where he doesn't have to kick his dad's ass" You laughed giving him a kiss on the cheek, knowing he would sulk at the idea for a while.

“You really like teasing me…” He sighed as the two of you cuddled together on the bed, ready to spend some time together before bed. And well, you couldn't deny it, your biggest fun was seeing the merciless and cruel Dracule Mihawk, the strongest swordsman in the world, reduced to a soft-hearted, caring husband and father who would do anything for his husband and son. Sometimes love also came with provocation.

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. 1

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist |

summary: When you let your new neighbor’s daughter inside to call her father from your landline, you never expect to be dealing with the fallout twenty years later. Series will take place before and after the outbreak, and is partially inspired by this request. Slow-burn(ish), eventual smut. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 6.4k chapter warnings: mentions of/encounters with a drunk person, references to absent parents, i imply that both reader (and joel) like pineapple on pizza. a/n: i need to get my shit together and make a proper masterlist/post for this series but i'm absolute garbage with photoshop/making collages so that is a project for another day!! for now, i wanted to get this first part out to ya'll. i watched a playthrough of the game too so ill be including some references to that throughout the series. this will be some hallmark-movie ass romance so strap in!! this chapter was super fun to write and i loved writing for reader and sarah, give it a read and let me know what you think!

-March 7, 2003-

“Excuse me? Ma’am? Excuse me?”

The voice behind you is so timid you don’t hear it right away, especially not when your phone is pressed to your ear with your shoulder as you sort through the mail, your coworker droning on and on…

“Ma’am?”

It’s a little more forceful this time, a little closer too, and that’s when it finally gets your attention. Turning around on your heel, you find a young girl standing behind you, one hand hooked in the strap of her backpack that hangs off of one thin shoulder, the other worrying about the butterfly pendant of the necklace she’s wearing.

You recognize her immediately as one of your neighbors, the girl from across the street whose name you didn’t know yet, because you only moved in about two months ago. You’d met the man who you assumed was her father – Joe? Or was it Joel?, you couldn’t remember – the first day you’d moved in, but there had been so much going on that you were too flustered to be engaged.

It’s a Friday, but apparently that doesn’t keep you safe from work calls after you leave the office, because you’re getting an earful of a whole lot of hot air, so much so that you’re probably unintentionally frowning at the girl in front of you while you try to follow the conversation.

“....I think you’re right, but they’re not going to budge unless we sweeten the deal somehow-”

“Can I call you back?” you blurt, ultimately thankful for the interruption. You don’t even wait for his response before you click off your blackberry, sighing, looking up. “Hi, yeah, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Uhm, I’m Sarah…..Miller….I live across the street?” her voice goes up slightly at the end of the sentence, like she’s unsure, even as she points to the home behind her, a two-story place that’s considerably bigger than your own, but maybe a little older. “I uhm…I locked myself out and I was wondering if I could use your phone…to call my dad at work? Please?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “That’s fine. Just uh..follow me I guess.”

Tucking the stack of mail in your hand under your arm, you wave her after you, your kitten heels clicking on the hard pavement of your driveway.

“Be careful here,” you warn her as you step over the middle step to your front porch that has rotted, and gives easily under any amount of weight. You’d learned about it the hard way, last week, and still had the bruise on your leg to show for it.

Your front door is open, and Sarah pauses to take off her shoes when you do, a pair of beat-up white Converse that have been doodled on in Sharpie.

“Here, phone’s right there,” you lead her into the kitchen and point to the landline. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Uhm, could I just get some water…please?” She stands rigidly in your kitchen, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Of course,” you reach into the cabinet. Once the glass is filled and placed in front of her, you retreat to your front living area to give her some privacy while she makes the call, sitting on the couch and scrolling through unanswered emails on your blackberry. Sarah mumbles indiscreetly, until you hear her call out again.

“Uhm…ma’am…I’m sorry, Miss…uh-what’s your last name?”

“Oh,” you sit up, giving her your first instead.

“Okay….Uh, my dad wants to talk to you…could you-”

“Sure,” you stand, stepping back into the kitchen, and accepting the receiver from the girl.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Joel Miller,” you’re greeted with a low, gruff drawl. “You’re the new neighbor, I believe introduced myself a while back”

“Joel,” you repeat. It’s Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel, you force yourself to remember. Joel and Sarah Miller. “Yes, we met very briefly.”

“And it sounds like you met Sarah.”

“Yeah.”

On the other end of the line, you hear him hesitate, let out a long sigh. “Look, I hate to put you out, but she lost her key to the house, and she tells me the Adlers aren’t home. Do you think she could stay at your place until I’m able to get off work in a couple hours? I know it’s a big ask, but-”

“Of course she can,” you cut him off, peering over your shoulder at Sarah, who’s staring up at you expectantly with wide, terrified eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”

“She’s probably got homework so I’ll make sure she stays quiet and out of your way. I’m so sorry, she should know better than this. It’s the second time this month this has happened, I keep tellin’ her-”

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal,” you cut him off, unintentionally, before wondering if it was rude you didn’t let him finish. It’s the native New Yorker in you, always in a rush and uninterested in drawn-out excuses. It’s an unfortunate instinct you’ve been trying to train yourself out of, particularly now that you’re living in the southwest. You soften your tone. “She can stay as long as she needs to, seriously. I don’t have anything planned.”

“Okay,” the voice on the other end sounds relieved. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I should be home by nine, I’ll call if anything changes. Thanks so much.”

“Of course, we’ll be fine. See you soon.” You hang up.

Sarah is still behind you when you turn around, clutching the glass of water she’s got in both hands like a vice. “You can stay here until your dad gets home,” you tell her.

“Did….did he sound mad?”

“Maybe a little stressed,” you’re honest. “But….not mad. I also don’t know him, so…”

“I bet he’ll be mad. This is the second time I’ve locked myself out this month because I forgot my key, and I already got lectured once that last time because he had to leave work early.”

“You made a mistake, people forget things…” you shrug. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, and she looks around like it’s the first time she’s actually registered where she’s at. “You have a nice house. It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” you put your hands on your hips and look around too. “I’m still settling in, so not everything’s unpacked, but I could give you a tour if you’d like?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ma’am. That tickles you. The address is still not something you’re used to hearing, even though you’ve only been in Austin a few years. “You can just call me by my first name, you know? Ma’am makes me feel old.”

“Really?” she grins, following you down the hall. “I can’t wait to be old.”

“You’ll feel differently someday,” you answer. “But…I guess it’s not so bad.”

Compared to the house you grew up in, your new house is nothing special, but it’s yours, and you couldn’t be prouder that you’d bought it all on your own. It’s a three-bedroom ranch, and you’d converted one of the rooms into an office for yourself. There’s a kitchen, living room, and den. But your favorite part is your large, screened in back porch that overlooks your yard. Now that it’s getting closer to summer, you sit outside in the mornings with a cup of tea and read the newspaper, listen to the birds.

“Can I do my homework at your kitchen table?” Sarah asks once you’re finished showing her around.

“Make yourself comfortable wherever,” you answer. “I could probably stand to get a little work done myself.”

Sarah sits at your dining room table, spreads out her books, and works quietly while you answer some emails and look over some contracts. You’ve got a big meeting Monday with a potential client, and a giant stack of term sheets to go through, but if you could manage to get some of it done tonight it might actually help you down the line. As much as possible, you try to avoid doing too much work outside of your office’s standard hours, but sometimes, it’s inevitable.

The subject Sarah has homework in is algebra, which renders you useless. Even when you have to do any accounting at work, you’re used to having a calculator nearby. It’d been awhile since you spent time with anyone as young as she was – in sixth grade, she told you – and it was starting to serve as a confirmation of your own dysfunctional childhood, because her carefree, sweet nature was so drastically different from anything you remembered feeling.

After about an hour, Sarah slowly starts to close her notebooks, zipping her pencils back up in plastic pouches. You look up from making revisions on a contract, the smell of blue ink heavy in the air around you. “I’m done,” she announces. “Could I sit on your couch and read?”

“Of course,” you answer. “Give me five and I’ll join you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to find a good stopping point, and you pack up your messenger bag, and join Sarah in the living room. “So…I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell her. “Are you?”

Sarah nods sheepishly.

“I could order us something,” you said. “What do you like?”

You aren’t much of a chef, though you can generally figure your way out around any recipe. However, cooking for one is notoriously tedious. If you had multiple mouths to feed, maybe you’d be tempted to hone your skills in the kitchen a little more. Most nights you usually treated yourself to a depressing, hastily thrown together salad, scrambled eggs, or a PB&J. Tonight, you had actually been planning to take yourself out to dinner – there’s a cute little French bistro down the street and you were hoping to treat yourself to a cocktail and a nice meal while you read.

Sarah closes her book, contemplating. “Could we….get a pizza?”

You think about it. “Sure, yeah. Pepperoni…cheese?”

“Can we get….one of both?” she tests.

“Yeah, we can do both,” You smile. “I bet your dad will be hungry, too, he can have some if he wants.”

“Maybe…he likes pineapple on his,” Sarah wrinkles her nose.

“He has good taste. I do too.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them separate,” you call over your shoulder as you retreat to the kitchen.

Once the pizza is ordered, you return to your living room and curl up on the opposite side of the couch from Sarah, who is engrossed back in her book. “They told me about 30 minutes. What are you reading?”

“To Kill A Mockingbird,” she says, showing you the cover.

“That was one of my favorites growing up.”

“I have to read it for school…but it’s pretty good so far.”

Your phone pings with another email, and you glance at it quickly.

“Is that work?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah. It still finds you, even when you leave.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“No way!” Sarah perks up. “Like on the tv shows? That’s so cool.”

You snort, shaking your head. “No, not exactly. I’m a corporate lawyer so it’s not as fun, actually, it’s just a lot of paperwork and meetings…”

“So…you don’t like it, then?”

“It’s….” you think about it. “....Fine.” Did you like your job? It wasn’t really something you thought about in that way, you’d always seen it as a means to an end. “I went to law school because my dad wanted me to…he wanted me to work for him someday. And…that didn’t pan out so…yeah. But you know…it pays well, and….”

“You get to wear cool outfits,” she gestures to you.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Although the heels do get a little uncomfortable.”

Sarah’s eyes shift behind you for a second to the hallway leading to your bedroom, then widen excitedly. “You have a cat?”

You turn around to see what she’s looking at, the white and gray ball of fluff that you’d found underneath a dumpster one late night in college.

“Yeah, that’s Martini.”

“Martini,” she giggles, and the cat approaches her cautiously. He’s notoriously shy and quiet, and not even particularly cuddly, but he likes to sleep at the foot of your bed and will sit next to you on the couch if you stay still for long enough.

The cat sniffs Sarah’s outstretched hand, then presses his face into Sarah’s palm so she can scratch him under his chin, his favorite spot. “He’s not usually a fan of strangers, he must like you.”

“I love animals,” she says. “My dad won’t let me get a pet because he says he’ll end up taking care of it.”

You chuckle. “Cats are pretty easy…at least, he is.”

Martini allows himself about twenty seconds worth of affection before he darts out of the room and heads to his food bowl.

“I’m gonna go change out of my work clothes, I’ll be right back,” you push yourself off the couch and walk down the hallway. Any other night and you probably would’ve been in pajamas awhile ago but that’s probably not acceptable, so you settle for jeans and a sweater, which is much more comfortable than the dress and tights you had been in before.

The pizza arrives and after you tip the driver, set it on your kitchen island and pull some plates out of your cupboard. You and Sarah are both long settled with full plates when you speak again.

“Wow….I forgot how good pizza is…” you say, staring at the half eaten piece in your hand.

“You don’t eat pizza?”

“Usually only when I’m drunk,” you say, then immediately realize you’re talking to an eleven year old. “Oops, I…probably shouldn’t be telling you that.”

She giggles. “It’s okay.”

“So, it’s just you and your dad across the street?” you ask. “Does your mom live with you?”

The second the question registers, you immediately regret asking. Sarah shrinks before you, her face dropping, shaking her head. “No I…I don’t really have a mom.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, softly. You just assumed she existed although you’d never seen her, and you feel guilty, racking your brain for something that might help make her feel better. “I understand, my mom wasn’t really around growing up.”

“She wasn’t?” Sarah asked, looking up.

You shake your head. “My parents got divorced when I was young, my dad took us, and she moved across the country, so….I didn’t see much of her.”

“My mom… she left when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, staring at the girl in front of you.

For a moment, looking at her, you see yourself, and you wonder how a parent can wake up one day and choose to ignore someone that’s one half of themselves. Someone they made. If they really understood what that might do to a person’s psyche, growing up thinking that they weren’t wanted. You had always told yourself that your mother, your parents must have not understood, because if they did, and they still chose to do it…

“Are you married?” Sarah asks, and you’re snapped out of your train of thought.

Taking a bite of pizza, you shake your head no.

“So you live here alone?”

You nod, chewing.

“Do you like it?”

You nod, swallow. “It’s better than having a roommate, or living in the city.”

Standing up, you walk towards the fridge for a can of sparkling water. It hisses while you open it, and you lean over the counter while Sarah continues to drill you. “Do you ever get….scared? Like at night?”

“No….not really. I have locks. And this is a safe neighborhood. And uh, I may or may not have a nightlight still.”

Sarah giggles. “Me too.”

There’s a sturdy knock on your screen door, which you’d left open to let in the cool spring breeze, and you notice Sarah’s eyes widen. “I bet that’s my dad.”

As if he heard her, and maybe he did, the guest calls out. “It’s Joel!” It’s the same voice from over the phone, but much clearer.

“Come in,” you answer.

The screen door creaks open, the sound of boots shuffling inside. “Sarah?” It’s the same voice from the phone. Joel steps into the warm light of the kitchen.

When you first met it had been from a distance, you were carrying boxes and he was loading something into the back of his truck. It’s clear you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at him, wouldn’t have forgotten his name, because fuck, he’s kind of gorgeous…tan skin, dark wavy hair, and a sharp jawline covered in stubble. In the archway to your kitchen he looks huge, taller than you remembered.

“Hi Dad,” Sarah says. “Miss-“

You cut her off simply by saying your first name. “Nice to meet you…again.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, and thank you so much for keeping an eye on her. We’ll get out of your ha-”

“We got you pizza,” Sarah pipes up, looking at him. You can tell that she’s trying to stall. Or at least, trying to offer him something that might soften the inevitable lecture she’s going to get. It’s a smart play, and definitely not something you would’ve been above trying at her age.

Joel looks at the three pizza boxes spread across your countertop. “You didn’t have to feed her, really, like I said, she should’ve known better,” he turns to look at her pointedly.

“I had to eat anyway. Please, help yourself. There’s a ton of leftovers,” You really did not want cold pizza in your fridge, because it’d be too tempting to eat as a late night snack or even breakfast on your way out the door in the mornings.

Reluctantly, he looks at you before taking a plate. “Thank you,” he turns to his daughter while he opens one of the boxes. “Did you get your homework done?”

Sarah nods. “And I got ahead on my reading for English.”

“That’s good.”

Joel turns back to you, settles in a chair with the plate of food in front of him at the island. You do the same. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to come over and properly introduce myself. Sarah too.”

You shrug. “I’m the new neighbor, that’s probably my responsibility anyways. It’s been kind of hectic settling in.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Well, I’ve been in Austin for the past few years, but originally I’m from Manhattan.”

Joel nods. “Why Texas?”

It’s far away from my insane family, you think, and then settle on something else. “Work.”

Sarah is staring at her plate and tearing a piece of crust into tiny pieces. Joel eyes the slice of pizza he’s just taken a bite of.

“Pineapple?” he looks over at Sarah. “Are you tryin’ to bribe me so you don’t get in trouble?”

“It’s my favorite, too,” you offer, then wink at Sarah when Joel isn’t looking. She tilts her head down, her hair hiding the grin on her face from her father.

A buzzing sound cuts through the room before Joel can answer, and he digs in his pocket to fish out his cell phone. “Hold on, I gotta take this.”

When he steps out of the room, you begin to clear the empty boxes and plates off your kitchen island and bring them over to the sink. Sarah brings her plate over as well, stands next to you at the sink while you rinse them off and load them in the dishwasher.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says.

“Of course,” you answer.

“I just really hope he’s not disappointed with me.”

Placing your hand between her shoulder blades, you give her an encouraging pat. “I don’t think he is….” you hear Joel on the phone in the other room, his voice rising in volume. “....and honestly….it sounds like he might have bigger fish to fry…”

“Tommy…are you fucking kidding me? Again? How many times is this gonna happen? Okay…fine. fine. I’ll be there soon, but you can’t keep doing this shit.”

Sarah grimaces, and you both turn back to the sink sheepishly when you hear Joel’s footsteps returning. She bumps you with her elbow while you clear your throat.

You’re sure there’s still a residual smile on your face when you turn around to face Joel, who has his hands on his hips. “Alright, Sarah, we gotta get going.”

“Is everything okay with Uncle Tommy?”

“No, I’ve gotta pick him up at the police station.”

“Did he drink too much again?”

“Sarah!” Joel exclaims. “Please, it’s gettin’ late and you’ve got a soccer game tomorrow, you need to get to bed.”

You’re biting your lower lip so hard to keep from laughing you almost taste blood. It’s not funny, definitely not funny to Joel, who you can tell is having a rough night, but it’s objectively funny as an outsider, watching all their familial drama being put on blast by his daughter who doesn’t quite have a filter yet, and is first and foremost trying to protect herself from getting into trouble.

“She’s a lawyer, I bet she could help Tommy,” Sarah looks over at you. “Couldn’t you?”

Joel frowns. “That’s not how that works-”

“What’d they bring him in for?” you ask.

Joel runs a hand through his hair. “Public intoxication. Are you really a lawyer?”

“Well…I’m a corporate lawyer so that wouldn’t really be my specialty. But uh…I’ve definitely been able to talk my friends out of that kind of thing before.”

“But this is not the first time,” Joel says. “It’s probably useless.”

“Didn’t you say you can’t afford to keep-”

“Sarah, enough.” Joel’s voice is as stern as you’ve heard it, and he digs into his pocket, producing a keychain. “Go home and get ready for bed. I’ll be home in a minute.”

Sarah sighs, defeated. “Okay.”

Joel stands dead still while she shuffles to the door, cramming her feet in her shoes with her backpack slung over her shoulder.

By this point in the evening, you’d usually be curled up on your couch by the fireplace with your latest knitting project, moderately stoned, watching bad reality television and sipping sleepytime herbal tea. But your night has already gone drastically different from your expectation. Why stop now? “If you wanted…I could try to help.”

Joel shakes his head, looks at the floor. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t ask,” you shrug. “I offered.”

He looks up, a soft smile breaks across his face, revealing a row of straight, sparkling teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It’s the first sincere smile you’ve ever seen from him, and your knees feel a little weak at the sight of it. You think you might offer him anything just to see it again. “It’d be a huge favor. But….I’d appreciate it.”

“Alright well…” you look around, push yourself off the countertop. “I probably should change before we go. I don’t think I’ll be taken seriously in this.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I need to make sure Sarah gets to bed alright, how ‘bout you meet me on my porch in ten?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks again,” he raps his knuckles on the counter twice before retreating, and you stay in place until you hear the screen door close behind him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I feel like you’re meeting us all at a very chaotic time….I promise, things aren’t usually like this.”

Joel’s not sure why he feels the need to clarify this to you on the drive to the police station. In fact, he might be saying it more to convince himself, because he thinks ever since Sarah’s mom ran off, things have never not been chaotic.

In some ways, he’s glad it happened. It was a doomed relationship from the start, they’d both been far too young to understand the consequences of their actions, so it was probably for the better that she was no longer around. But he was caught in a constant state of feeling like he could never quite get a handle on things.

Joel glances over at you in the passenger's seat of his truck. He decides that you look a little out of place there, dressed in a black pantsuit, a messenger bag tucked between your heel-clad feet. He can’t remember the last time there was an adult woman in his car. Three months, maybe? It had been a date, a third date, and subsequently, a last date. But right now the context is different.

Your head is tilted towards the open window, the breeze casting stray pieces of your hair around as the radio cuts in and out of an old Eagles song and then to static, and then back into music again. He needs to get his damned stereo fixed but unfortunately it hasn’t exactly been high on his priority list. His gaze travels down the slope of your neck, where your skin dips into the collar of your silky blue blouse, then back to your profile, your lips moving as you mouth the words to the song, but don’t sing.

I get this feelin' I may know you

As a lover and a friend

You stop when his words register, turning to look at him, and he averts his eyes back to the road. “No offense or anything….” you say. “But compared to the family I grew up in….this is all pretty tame.”

Joel ponders that for a moment, notices the way your eyes are narrowed, the corners of your lips quirking. “What, you got a problematic little brother, too? A precocious eleven-year-old?”

“No kids,” you answer. He didn’t think so. “But I do have a problematic older brother. And the stress he’s caused has definitely taken years off my life.”

At least you seem like you understand.

He’s shocked you’re in this car with him, that after entertaining his daughter all night, you’d offered to help him out with this Tommy mess. Though, he assumes you’re doing it out of guilt because Sarah made it sound like he was broke.

“You know for the record, I actually have the money to bail him out.”

“I figured.”

“Then why’d you come?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. My life has been pretty boring lately. I can’t remember the last time I did something exciting on a Friday night.”

“This is exciting to you?”

“It’s objectively exciting,” you sound assured. “Maybe more exciting than being the person who got arrested for public intoxication.”

Despite the stress of the evening, he can’t help but laugh.

“And whether you’re broke or not, bailing someone out of jail is no joke. If you can at least try to talk your way out of it, you might as well.”

Joel can’t argue with your logic.

“What is it you do again?” you ask, eyeing the protective glasses he has in the cup holder of his front seat. There are nails stuck between the rubber grooves of the mat beneath the seats, a pair of thick gloves resting on the dashboard.

“I’m a carpenter.”

“Makes sense,” you answer. “So you’re handy?”

“You could say that,” Joel lifts the can of flat, warm seltzer from his lunch break to his mouth, just to take a sip.

“That’s hot,” you say, and he nearly chokes when he hears it. Are you….flirting? Though, you can’t be, because when he looks over at you, you’re staring at the road, face neutral.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t make the rules of what’s hot and what isn’t….it’s just a fact. Everyone knows that.”

“Do they?”

“Uh-huh,” you respond. “I mean, I wish I was handy. I’m pretty much a lost cause in that department.”

“If it paid the bills, you’d figure it out.”

“If it paid the bills, I can tell you, I would not be living in our neighborhood.”

Joel puts his blinker on, preparing to pull into the police station. “You probably still could, it’s not that nice of a neighborhood.”

“Shut up,” you snort, rolling your eyes. “But in all seriousness, it is peaceful. It’s quiet.”

“See, but you still didn’t say nice.”

“It is nice. I like it.”

When he parks the car, you straighten up, unbuckling the seatbelt and exiting without a word. On the opposite side of the truck, he observes how you rebutton the front of your blazer, smooth down its lapels and shift your shoulders back before turning to him.

“You ready?” you ask.

He nods.

“After you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Joel spots you again, Tommy is walking a few paces behind you. You turn your head over one shoulder, smirking at whatever he’s saying. From where Joel is sitting in the lobby, he can just make out the soft curve of your hips, the tops of your thighs over the barrier that separates him from all the desks of the officers and staff at the station. You’ve got an easy, relaxed gait and you give Joel a wink when he catches you staring.

He can tell it’s just meant to be celebratory thing, since both you and Tommy seem to be in good spirits, but he likes the sight of it anyways, the idea that you’re both in on some secret that no one else is.

Joel stands to greet you and his brother to get the download, but as he approaches, your group is intercepted by one of the cops that had been hanging around reception.

“Miller,” he says lowly to Tommy. “This better be the last time I see you in here.”

When Tommy doesn’t answer right away, you pipe up.

“I assure you my client will be on his best behavior.”

The cop turns to you for a minute, turns back to Tommy, contemplating. “You’re lucky you have a good lawyer…” he says. “Although I’m still not convinced you’re really paying someone to get you out of a public intoxication charge.”

“I-” Tommy opens his mouth but you cut him off.

“Alleged…intoxication,” you interject, stone-faced.

“He can hardly walk straight.”

You purse your lips. “But….you never did a sobriety test, so, would it hold up in court?” you grimace. “If I had to guess….probably not.”

The cop narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t push it, princess.”

Despite the infantilizing nickname, You respond with a polite smile. “Thanks again, officer. Have a nice evening.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs before backing away.

You turn to Joel, your smile fading, and Tommy cuts in. “We should get the fuck out of here before he changes his mind.”

“That’s it? You’re free?” Joel asks.

Tommy nods.

“Tommy’s right, we should definitely leave.”

It’s a mad scramble, the three of you settling back into Joel’s truck, and if he was feeling a little less angsty about the way the whole evening had gone, he might’ve even peeled out of the parking lot for dramatic effect. But at this point, his patience is wearing thin.

He’s back on the main drag, en route to Tommy’s place, with you on the passenger’s side, and his brother in the back, leaning forward with his elbows resting on your seats when his brother speaks up.

“Holy….shit!” Tommy turns to you. “That was fucking awesome, are you kidding me? Joel, where the fuck did you find her?”

He’s still drunk, words slurring together, and he shakes both of your shoulders ferociously. You actually giggle — the sound of it is fucking adorable and Joel wishes that these are not the circumstances for hearing such a noise. He rather it be because of something he said, but he knows Tommy has always been more charming, even when drunk

“She’s my neighbor, Tommy.”

“No way! How come I’ve never seen you around before?” Tommy asks, and Joel can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’m kind of new to the area,” you answer.

“Dammit, oh my god, Joel, I wish you coulda seen it.”

Joel looks over at you, and is thankful that he catches your eye. “What’d you say?”

“Never underestimate your negotiating power when the cop you’re talking to’s shift ended over an hour ago, and he doesn’t want to fill out any more paperwork.” You cross your arms, look over your shoulder at Tommy, who is leaning back against the seat with his head in his hands, laughing, before looking back at Joel. “I told you, I have experience.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy pokes his head back between you. “How’d he even get you to come down here? What’d he have to do, offer to paint your house or somethin’?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Sarah got locked out again,” Joel explained. “And I was over at her place when you called. She’s a corporate lawyer.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You know, Joel’s always liked the smart ones,” Tommy starts, and Joel has to contain the urge to slam on the brakes and send his brother face first into the back of his headrest. Unfortunately, he can’t do that with you in the car. “Too bad he’s dumb as a box of rocks.”

“Okay, watch yourself!” Joel snaps, and he’s only halfway kidding. “You got off easy, but you’re on fuckin’ thin ice, and I’m still pissed that I’m spending my night bailing you out again.”

Tommy doesn’t even catch on to Joel’s irritation – or maybe he does, and has just decided that he’s going to be the Annoying Younger Sibling and see how far he can push it. “Don’t let him fool you, okay?” Tommy continues, and you’ve angled yourself towards him, amused. “It’s not always him lookin’ after me. Before he had Sarah, he was crazy.”

“Alright, alright that’s enough, Tommy.” Joel shoots daggers towards his brother in the rearview mirror, and he watches Tommy’s smile falter, finally deciding to back down.

“Is that true, Joel, were you really crazy?” you ask after Tommy grows quiet, tilting your head. “I can’t see it.”

“Well we’ve all have our moments, right?” he says sheepishly.

“We do,” you agree, and then it’s finally silent.

Joel is thankful to see Tommy’s driveway straight in front of him, and his car lurches up the curb. “Alright, alright, this is your last stop,” he says to his brother. “You’ll get in okay?”

Tommy takes a deep breath, settling himself after all his bravado and sinking back against his seat. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at Sarah’s game.” He slinks out of the truck and slams the door behind him.

Normally, Joel would’ve chewed him out after something like this, but he knows being hungover tomorrow at a middle school soccer game, sandwiched between screaming parents and the ear-splitting whistles of the referees will be punishment enough.

“I’ll see you then.” He watches his brother stumble up the steps to his home, unlock the door, and give a wave before disappearing inside.

Joel’s left alone with you. “Should we get you home, now?”

“Yeah, we should.”

Joel puts the car in reverse, puts one of his arms over the back of the bench seat to look for cars behind him, and catches you staring. You don’t even seem embarrassed that he notices, either, you just shift your gaze away to outside the window.

He feels a little self-conscious about the first impression he’s probably made, which is a feeling he’s not used to…caring about what people think.

“Sorry about him, he’s….a good guy but a real piece of work.”

You giggle. “Like I said, I have a brother, too.”

It’s been awhile since he’s interacted with anyone outside of Sarah, Tommy, and his coworkers, and his day was exhausting. He wants to ask more questions, see if he can hold some kind of conversation, but words fail him, so you spend the short drive on the way back home mostly in silence. You’re so quiet that by the time he pulls into your driveway, he thinks you might be asleep. If you were, he doesn’t even get the chance to wake you, because you immediately sit up straight once the truck has come to a halt.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” he says.

“You’re welcome, it was no problem,” you get out of the car, sling your bag over your shoulders, and close the door. “Have a good night.”

Joel’s listening to the retreating click of your heels up the driveway when he rolls down his window all the way to speak again. It’s clear you’re tired, your shoulders are slouched, and he feels incredibly guilty. You worked all day and then had to put up with his entire crazy family.

“Hey,” he says. “How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

You turn around, still stepping backwards. “Nothing.”

“Look, you’ve done too much for me tonight to say that,” he says. “I’m startin’ to feel bad.”

You stop in your tracks then, the smirk on your face fading a little bit as you slowly step forward to where he leans out the truck window. It’s only a few feet, but you’re much closer now than you’ve been to him all night, and there must be jasmine in your perfume. It smells expensive, he thinks, as your hands lift to rest on the door next to his elbow. “You shouldn’t feel bad,” you say softly, voice low.

God, you’re fucking beautiful, he realizes, basked in the glow of the moon, a smile creeping along the edges of your lips. Of course, he knew you were attractive, had definitely registered it at some point before – maybe when he’d walked in on you and Sarah giggling in the kitchen. He was just too busy being worried to even notice until now.

This isn’t a date, but you’re so close he could kiss you, kind of wants to just to see what would happen, but he doesn’t. You’re his new neighbor, and if he’s reading this wrong, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the mistake everyday, first thing in the morning when you’re picking up your newspaper at the end of your driveway and he’s leaving for work.

“But uh…if it would make you feel better…one of the steps on my front porch is rotted. Maybe you could come over sometime and fix it? That a fair trade?”

Joel nods, and you stick out your hand. “It’s a deal,” he says, ignoring the jolt of energy he feels when your palms press together, like you’re a kid wearing a hand buzzer, trying to shock him.

“Great,” you step away. He’s about to put the car in reverse when you speak again.

“Oh, and Joel?” you ask, he looks back at you. Before you speak again, your eyes shift to the ground, like you’re mustering up the courage to ask him something, and when they return to his again, your expression is somber. “Go easy on Sarah….she’s a good kid.”

Joel nods, understanding.

“I know.”

volume ii

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller series #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #tlou fanfic #tlou series #texas sun

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jazzyblusnowflake · 3 months

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Alright, we've had Nuzi headcanons. We've now had Vuzi headcanons... Let's heart it, you're Violent Biting Biscuits headcanons, N x Uzi x V... Or if you'd rather complete the set, eNVy headcanons. I am curious of both. (Your headcannons are just super cute)

Holy hecc, I'm so sorry for answering these asks so late but i'm gonna be honest- I just never think anyone likes my writings or ever reads them XD

okay then lets see- my ViolentBitingBiscuits headcanons- i will put eNVy for the next ask because someone else asked for it too and they wont all fit here lol.

My NUziV headcanons ovo<3 :

[once again these are only the drone versions, the human versions aren't involved / also i may add some 🔞🔞🔞 ones this time lol >:3 also uhhh apologies in advance but this one is long as all hell so....um]

K we know the drill, they are all together- hopefully in the future- even if any of them dies i'm gonna pretend i do not see 🙄 deadass gonna treat this like the jjba fandom- my faves are ALIVE AND WELL SHUT UP ARAKI-

Okay so there's some things that we have already mentioned in the previous headcanons- ill try to not repeat them unless they are necessary but ill also try to treat this as its own post and lightly repeat them real quick too-

N and V started out fighting over Uzi, and Uzi obviously was mostly into N at first- but after a while i guess Vs advances got to her- especially since she was- in a way- so desperate for attention/affection, so it felt a little overwhelming to her but in a good way. they very obviously flirted with her which got them silently treating it as a challenge- and Uzi being Uzi obviously loved the attention she got out of it- opting to let this just... kinda continue lmao. she didn't expect to let it go far enough for her to end up with both of them but here we are XD

We slightly touched this topic before about V but to reiterate- all of them have different levels of trauma that they all deal with and currently V has gone through the worst of it, both having to endure Cyn's torture in her mindspace and also having to watch N get slaughtered in front of her and possibly even having a hand in it. She fears losing people that mean to her so she became avoidant with a difficult personality to guard whatever's left of her. It took a really long time for her to decide to be with the two and to protect them and not run away from her feelings for anyone or anything. but some days its still difficult for her so sometimes N and Uzi have to literally trap her into a wrestling cuddle pile or something to get her to just... exist, without feeling like the whole universe is weighing her down. N and Uzi want her to know they are there to protect HER from those inner demons too.

sometimes the cuddle piles end up with N and V once again trying to get Uzi's attention lmao which ends up with them being a little too horny on main- whoops :) - everything starts with a little nibble here, a small bite there - maybe some pillow fights and climbing over eachother or holding one another down in different positions- aaaand then they wake up a few hours later with Uzi having regrets cuz these two are horny as f-

ANYWAY- N is probably the most patient of the 3, and although he usually never breaks up fights because he trusts the other two to handle their own problems without him needing to mom them, sometimes Uzi and V go a lil too far and he gets very tired of dealing with this kind of behavior. he never blows up at them- but he usually goes away to take a breather- sometimes hanging out with Thad or the other drones- and during this time Uzi and V kinda feel bad- but then they would think of stuff like maybe planning dates or getting food for him, draw stuff on cards and etc- or go around trying to find gifts to make him happy<3 sometimes they might add some extra kisses and unwinding sessions in the end as an extra treat :p N always forgives them obviously, he just needs some guys night out every once in a while or something lmao-

Getting close to Uzi became an excuse for N and V to get closer to eachother too. ironically, it first started with them bantering about who is better at what- but then it turned into unironically flirting and teasing eachother- but after a while they realized their relationship isn't going to ever be the same as what it was back in their old days but its also something completely new, so they become more willing to accept one another and explore their newer dynamic.

they all love being coddled and pampered every now and then. Uzi and V may not outright admit it- but they really do too. so they take turns with who they put in the middle of receiving affection :p

N and V are VERYYYYYY over protective of Uzi. to the point that they wouldn't even let the doctor [for tech repair obviously] check Uzi or touch her in any way when she had a small virus case lol. Khan had to pay the poor doctor extra for that.... deciding to leave his daughter in her room in a cuddle pile of two murderous demons that have glowing cat eyes every time he comes in the room smh.

V and N really like cuddling Uzi and sticking their hands under her clothes. or sometimes just flat out sleeping or cuddling naked. its less of a sexual thing and more so to do with the fact that the two MD's have higher body temperature and a less efficiant body for cooling- since they have a more compact torso and a lot less oil and coolant fluids going through them [since they need to consume it continuously] and having a bunch of working nanobots and nanites shoved into them to turn into weapons/wings/etc- and Uzi- although having the AS- is still very much less in need of cooling due to still having a more efficient body design for a "exoplanetary worker unit", with a still functioning cooling system inside that doesn't necessarily need extra oil to make it work unless under stressful conditions.... even if she probably does have worms and fleshy tentacles inside her now lmao. But either way Uzi's body is still a lot colder than the others so she's usually shared in the middle and at this point Uzi cant even be embarrassed when they slide their hands under her clothes and grab her wherever smh..... although V also does it as a semi possessive thing so there's that pfft. she was especially handsy after that doctor left XDDD.

Yes Uzi has very much in fact ended up at the medical/tech repair unit multiple times because N and V have sometimes ended up being a bit too much for her to handle- and the doctor [a character yall shall meet later] has absolutely had it. She had to literally sit the 3 down, explain to them their body differences via scans and the damages they may cause Uzi and it was basically the robot version of having "the talk" with your child- and Uzi wanted to die there and then.

Uzi sometimes just tells the two to drink blood from her- the first time they wanted to share oil they were scared about accidentally causing Uzi to overheat- but after a few times of trying it, they continued doing it more frequently either by kissing and regurgitating or taking turns to bite Uzi or vice versa. N and V typically don't use one another's oil because they already have high usage as it is, it wouldn't be efficient. admittedly N and V always have concerns when it came to biting Uzi- but somehow they found out Uzi actually enjoys it a little when they do it and well...they get ideas lmao- they just make sure to lick her indents clean with their regenerative saliva to make the AS work as little as possible on Uzi's body.

N really enjoys seeing his partners smooch..... for study purposes ofc lmao- actually he uses his visor to take pictures sometimes- let the man be a little horny in peace smh. and don't worry Uzi and V know all this- they just wanna tease him a little bit :p

Uzi and N usually chit chat while they are in the bed until they fall asleep- but V prefers to just hug Uzi on the side listening to them while they talk until she falls asleep too

they love going around in human based areas with shops and stuff to find books to read together or any other fun human stuff they can find- maybe table top games? lol- V goes for the sports stuff. she kinda wanna try hitting something with a bat...

[okayyyy so tumblr doesn't let me write any more XD i def have more ideas but oh well. also ill save the eNVy for another ask that i have in my inbox so you'll get that soon too :p]

#murder drones #nuzi #vuzi #nuziv #nuvi #biscuitbites #violetviolence #eNVy #envy murder drones #violentbitingbiscuits #enzi #snowballflo #serial designation n #serial designation v #uzi doorman

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ur-boyfiend · 4 months

Text

panic attacks and cuddles

corvid? posting?? unheard of. anyways self-indulgent comfort fic bc i can. prolly gonna do a chronic illness / disability one soonish, if anyone has something they'd like to see more content for feel free to send an ask and i'll write it if i'm comfortable !! if you have any specifics you wanna see feel free to add those as well, it really does help me ^^;

cw/tw; panic attack (no shit but y'know), spiraling, depression, negative self-talk, depressive episode

seasonal depression is nothing new, in fact it's something you're far more used to than you'd like to be. while some loved winter, for you it was the time of year where any regular depression was compounded by the gloom of late dawns and early sunsets and the inability to enjoy going outside.

the difference this time is that you have a boyfriend, and you wish that you could be happy, wish that you could be grateful, but wrapped tightly in a blanket as you watch the grey sky outside the window across your room, you can feel the creeping sensation of a panic attack starting to crawl across your skin. in some part of your brain you can hear your phone buzzing, but the buzzing melds into the feelings of panic, and you curl further into yourself.

the sun is setting, almost set, blanketing your room in darkness. you know that turning on your lights would help, would make this whole thing less suffocating, but it's so much easier to just resign yourself. getting up to turn on the light takes effort, but simply spiraling further takes nothing at all.

your phone is buzzing again, another thing you know you should pay attention to, but you just can't drag yourself out of your own head long enough to do anything about it. it feels like the world is collapsing onto you, and for a moment you wish it would.

you lift your head slightly, the world is in black and white, and it feels like all your senses are muffled by cotton wool. you drop your forehead back onto your knees, the energy it takes to keep it raised somehow more than you have in you.

you're not sure how long it's been, after the sun has set there's nothing left to indicate the time. you're trying to find the strength to get out of bed, to do anything, even just to look up.

from your blanket cocoon, you can see something light beyond your eyelids. for a second you think you're seeing things, maybe you pressed on your eyes by accident, but you don't actually feel any pressure on your eyes.

not sure what's happening, you lift your head slightly, almost immediately being met with the sight of your boyfriend standing near the door to your room. he's not looking at you, he's looking at your room, and you realize that he hasn't actually seen it before. you're suddenly very aware of the piles of stuffed toys scattered around, the posters on the walls, the makeup and jewelry strewn across the top of your dresser, the mess on your desk, the clothes piled in the corner. it feels as if every flaw in your personality is somehow scrawled across the room in glaring red letters.

and yet, when he notices you looking at him, changbin turns and smiles at you. in that moment, you feel like you might cry. as you feel yourself choking up, his eyes soften with concern. placing the bag he's holding on the floor, he carefully sits down next to you on your bed.

"hey, what's wrong?" you feel him pull you into his side, "talk to me bubs."

instead of talking, you feel tears start running down your face, changbin wiping them away as fast as they fall. he leaves feather-light kisses across your nose and cheeks.

you say it without thinking, "i love you," and once you've said it once it's like a floodgate has opened, you're repeating it so quickly that it becomes an incoherent babble, changbin peppering kisses across your face the whole time.

it takes time for you to calm down, more than you'd like, not keen on being seen in this state. but changbin sits and rubs your back as you try to pull yourself back into some kind of human form, a silent support.

it's only when you've stopped crying, are a more solid person than you'd been, he says it back.

"i love you too, now let's eat, yeah?"

you hum slightly, leaning further into his side, "nap with me?"

changbin sighs and flops onto his side, pulling you down with him, pulling up the blankets to cover you both. you quickly snuggle into him, grateful for the extra warmth.

"get some rest," you feel him place a kiss on your forehead, "i love you."

"i love you too," you mumble, already half-asleep.

#boyfiend writes #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #changbin fluff #seo changbin #changbin x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz fluff

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allthegothihopgirls · 2 months

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i think most of the robins bit people in fights at some point. they never really talked about it but i think it’s almost a requirement because as much as they’re all very traumatized children they’re also very feral children, in spandex suits, fighting mentally ill people, so it had to have happened a few times.

also i think damian’s one of those kids who goes up the stairs on all fours when no one is looking. let him be a weird gremlin of a kid when no one’s around

i'm not sure that 'feral' is the exact term i'd use when describing the robins, except maybe young jason. i think they're a lot more unhinged than they are feral. as much as dick was a 'circus freak', and tim rarely had attentive parental figures, and damian was raised by the league, their upbringings were still all somewhat controlled + structured.

i think that with the biting, although it goes unmentioned, bruce would notice it (and maybe touch on it not being the ideal attack to make), but apart from that i just don't think it's something they really recognise as a 'thing'.

(i have a lot of thoughts about the headcanon of jason actually biting people as a defence mechanism, whether it be in combat or at the manor, but that's somewhat off-topic.)

i see a lot of people saying that they don't think damian would bite or engage in all that 'unsophisticated' behaviour because of his upbringing, but i just don't agree. at the end of the day he's still a kid, and slowly letting go of the negative practices enforced on him by the league. of course he's going to still have childish impulses, i think he just learns to give into them more the longer he stays at the manor.

i think if he were to get into hand-on-hand combat with any of his older brothers (even if it be over something stupid), he would sooooo resort to biting them if they had him in some kind of hold. he might even do it as robin. i've seen people who say he wouldn't diminish his training by resorting to that, but once again i don't agree. he's resourceful, biting is just another skill in his arsenal, and he's 100% aware that it adds to his little shit reputation™.

and he definitely just. acts like a kid sometimes, and is SO odd about it. whether it be by going up and down the stairs weirdly, meowing to alfred the cat, making race car tracks out of household items that span several rooms, getting overly excited about a certain tv show or book series, choosing outfits that clearly don't match but make him happy, etc etc (i have a post about how damian might act like a regular kid, in more detail)

#i'm not sure if this one is in response to my robins biting people post or not #also big autistic damian wayne truther but that's a WHOLE other thing #asks #where-that-old-train-goes #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #robin #the robins #batboys #batfam #batfamily #dc comics #dcu #dc #dc batman #gothihop speaks

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misshoneyimhome · 2 months

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I am really feeling a whole situation with like Joseph Woll where the reader is like his friend and is trying to get his attention with a new outfit. Maybe it’s a bit hot and heavy and I’m definitely feeling it being set to “dress” by taylor swift….

Oh, absolutely, bb! 🤍 Friends to lovers with Woller - yes, please 😉 This also goes out to the anon who asked for soft smut with this cutie!

Joe's such a Prince Charming, and I'm def here for it! I hope I've managed to convey your vision, with just a hint of heartache and a whole lot of romance, spiced up with a touch of smut 🤭 Please, enjoy 💓

Warnings; 18+ smut; f masturbating, fingering, unprotected sex (p in v); 🤍

Word count; 4.4K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Dress - “I don’t want you like a best friend” I Joseph Woll 🖋️🌺⚡️

"WOAH! What a save from Woll! The game's flipping like crazy, and the Leafs are battling the Islanders! Who'd have thought it, eh? The home team was cruising with a 4-0 lead halfway through the second period!"

You found yourself holding your breath, listening to the commentators bellowing on the telly. The Leafs had been trailing for most of the game, but out of nowhere, the tables had turned, and now they were tied 4-4 going into overtime.

It was another Thursday night, glued to the TV for the Leafs' away game, and another night spent cheering on your best friend Joseph Woll as he pulled off incredible saves. And to everyone’s surprise, the game ended 4-5, all thanks to his amazing comeback.

No one could’ve prepared you.

When you first met Joseph Woll, you never expected the whirlwind that would follow. Not only was he a goaltender for the Toronto Maple Leafs, but he was also the kindest, most charming, and good-looking guy you'd ever met. His smile could effortlessly light up a room and his personality had you smitten right from the start. And life just wasn't the same after that.

Because Joe seemed miles out of your league. Despite the laughs and friendly banter, he never showed any romantic interest beyond friendship. So, you instead accepted your role and stood by him as his best friend.

Truth be told, navigating your feelings wasn't easy. Ever since you became friends through mutual connections, you'd been riding waves of highs and lows. You were nothing but an ordinary person, getting on with life after finishing your studies, figuring out this whole adulting thing. And he was a pro athlete, admired by many, especially the ladies.

However, his last relationship, which nearly turned serious, had ended painfully, so you remained the steadfast friend, always there to listen and support him as he concentrated on his career and avoided getting emotionally entangled.

Little did he know, his heartache only served to deepen your own feelings for him. Now that he was single, a spark of hope ignited within you, despite knowing it was ill-timed while he was still healing.

Despite the ache in your heart, you continued to be his rock, offering your shoulder whenever he needed it, whether it was about hockey or his personal struggles.

Watching Joseph from the comfort of your sofa in your small studio apartment, a glass of red wine in hand, was a balm for your soul. His infectious smile as the final horn sounded, and his teammates surrounded him with pats on the head and hugs for his stellar performance, warmed your heart deeply. Yet, it also stirred something more intimate within you.

You almost felt a pang of guilt as you watched the post-game interview on your phone from your bed, your hand gradually finding its way under the duvet to your lacy underwear, gently exploring your sensitive spot.

Allowing the video to loop, you listened to his voice as you increased the intensity, edging yourself closer to pleasure.

Part of you wished to stop, to redirect your thoughts away from him as you indulged in self-pleasure. However, even after switching off the interview, his image lingered in your mind, haunting your thoughts as you closed your eyes.

You pictured his long, dexterous fingers teasing your most sensitive areas, his hands exploring and stimulating you with care and desire. Imagining how he would make love to you, with tender motions and passionate kisses, filled your mind with longing.

But it was only you, your own touch, yet with thoughts of him filling your mind, you reached the peak of pleasure, his name slipping from your lips as you released a sigh of satisfaction.

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Only the thought that you were the only one privy to this intimate moment provided some comfort, but it didn't fully alleviate the feeling. As you gradually opened your eyes and returned to the reality of your own apartment, a soft "shit" escaped your lips, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation.

The boys were returning from their short road trip with a renewed vigour, just in time for the annual ‘A Night with Blue & White’ gala. A night that promised to be a dazzling affair, with the venue adorned in the team's colours, heartfelt speeches about community outreach and opportunities for children filling the air, and the Toronto Maple Leafs players dressed to the nines in their finest suits.

And to your great surprise, Joseph had asked you to be his date for the night just before they went on the road. At first, you couldn't quite believe it. He wanted you to accompany him alongside his teammates and friends for the evening, to which you naturally, eagerly accepted, the words almost tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. You had to apologise for your overzealous response, but Joe, always so sweet, simply chuckled and flashed you his charming smile.

"Don’t worry, it's just as friends, so you don’t have to be nervous, y/n," he reassured you.

As if that was supposed to ease your mind? If anything, it only made the sting sharper. Yet, with your knack for putting on a brave face, you brushed it off with a friendly smile.

"Well, I can’t help it, Joe… now I have to find a dress! I mean, I don’t have anything to wear for a gala!"

There was a moment of shared laughter as you enjoyed a quick dinner together, catching up on a few episodes of your favourite TV show.

"Oh, no need to panic! Y/n, you'll look beautiful in anything!"

Joseph's words echoed in your mind for days, accompanied by his laughter and broad grin. Did he truly mean that you'd look good in anything? Even beautiful?

You tried to push the thought aside. You knew you had to let go of the hope for his romantic affection, as he consistently reinforced that you were just his friend.

However, you couldn't resist one last attempt. Seizing the chance to dress to impress, you searched for the perfect outfit to catch Joe's eye. And if this didn't work, you resolved to find a way to move on from your unrequited feelings.

So, as the event was only a day away, you settled on what you deemed the perfect combination of elegance and allure: a long, silky black dress, with a chic neckline and a hint of skin. It struck the balance between sophistication and allure, hoping to capture Joseph's attention, as you promised yourself to go all out, bring your best self – and if Joe still saw you as just a friend, at least you could say you gave it your all. Well, except for directly telling him how you felt; but you weren't quite that bold.

Yet as the night approached, you felt nothing but confident and radiant, putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup. Tonight, you hoped to gain clarity on your deep feelings, whether for better or worse, and you were prepared to face whatever came your way.

You allowed yourself a few minutes to pep-talk yourself and make a few power poses in the mirror, however, interrupting your thoughts, a knock sounded at your door. Joseph, as expected, had come to pick you up, and when you met him at the doorway, a smile automatically spread across your face.

"Wow, love the look, Mr. Caveman," you chuckled lightly, noticing how he'd let his dark beard grow out.

"Yeah, well, all the boys were doing it, so I thought I'd give it a shot as well," Joe laughed, running his hand over the scruff.

As always, he looked impeccably handsome in his dark grey checkered suit, his hair perfectly styled with just the right touch of ruggedness from the beard. Which only made it harder to accept the possibility that he didn't share your feelings.

"Well, it suits you," you merely replied, flashing him a sweet smile.

There was a moment of silence as you both exchanged smiles, until Joe shook his head, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your outfit.

"Oh, and wow, you look…" he struggled to find the words to describe your appearance. "Wow…"

It was the exact reaction you'd hoped for.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," you chuckled in response.

"It... it definitely is."

And after a few more moments of sharing admiring glances, Joe, ever the gentleman, offered you his arm as you walked to his car, ready to embark on the evening ahead.

To describe the venue as breathtakingly beautiful would be an understatement, as the blue and white lights illuminated the Fairmont Royal York Hotel, casting an elegant glow and creating a stunning atmosphere.

Everything about the night seemed perfect, except for the reaction you longed for from Joseph. Despite his proximity in the crowded room, he felt simultaneously near yet distant, leaving you yearning for more. You wanted him to see you, to truly see you.

And as the evening slowly wore on, you felt your hands tremble and your heart race as you watched him softly play tunes on the piano in the dim light. Thankfully, it seemed no one else noticed the depth of your connection to the goalie, but as everyone stood in awe of his talent, you reached your breaking point.

You'd held back for so long, the patience and desperate longing eating away at you. So, taking a large sip of the expensive champagne, you excused yourself to catch some fresh air. Perhaps you weren't quite ready to confront your own emotions, to face the truth of whether Joe felt the same for you.

So, you resolved to let it go. That was, until Joseph caught up with you just outside in the yard.

"Hey, y/n, are you okay?" he gently took hold of your hand, causing you to turn halfway to meet his gaze. But you couldn't muster the cheerful smile you usually wore. You had surrendered to defeat, allowing tears to well in your eyes and trickle down your cheek as you looked up at the tall man before you. "Oh damn, what's wrong?"

Under the starlit night sky, your gaze locked with Joe's, his hand resting gently on your arm. Despite the cold January air causing a light shiver, your mind was too preoccupied to notice. And with a final mental push, you mustered the courage to speak your truth.

"I don't want you like a best friend, Joe..."

Joseph seemed taken aback, his concerned expression shifting to one of stunned surprise. "What?"

"I can't keep doing this..." your voice trembled, struggling to hold back tears. Instead, you offered him a smile, though your eyes betrayed nothing but defeat. "I can't pretend to be just your best friend when... when I'm in love with you."

The words hung in the air, your heart laid bare and open, as your deepest secret was exposed. Now, you would discover whether it would all come crashing down or if there was still hope.

But Joseph remained silent, his deep brown eyes reflecting the shimmering lights of the evening.

Meanwhile, tears welled in your eyes. With each passing moment, the ache in your heart intensified, as if a knife were being twisted, digging deeper and deeper.

The pain was unbearable.

You couldn't fathom what was going through Joseph's mind. And just as you were on the brink of giving up all hope, he finally broke the silence.

"Y/n, I..."

"It's okay," you interjected quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand..."

Just like that, the knife was pulled out, leaving your heart shattered into a million pieces.

"No, you don't understand..." Joseph's words cut through the air, his hands reaching out for yours, holding them tightly as his eyes bore into yours. "Y/n... I'm in love with you too."

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You had already resigned yourself to your fate, but Joseph suddenly turned everything on its head.

"What?" you gasped, barely able to comprehend what he was saying.

"Yeah, I... I think I've been in love with you for... God knows how long," he admitted with a mixture of laughter and sigh, running his fingers through his hair as if he were just realising the depth of his feelings.

"Wait... You're in love with me?”

You were utterly stunned; your head spinning as you tried to process what Joseph was confessing to you.

"Well, yeah! I was just worried you didn't feel the same... Every time I tried to flirt with you, you just... laughed it off and carried on with a joke or something," he admitted. "And... truthfully, I was afraid you wouldn’t want, you know, this kind of life, one with me and my career."

It was all too much to take in. You felt like your heart was bleeding, yet Joseph was slowly piecing it back together with his own admission of feelings. And suddenly, a rush of joy swept over you, as if all wounds had been healed, and you almost couldn't resist throwing yourself into his arms.

Closing the distance between you, you reached up to wrap your hand around the back of his neck, leaning in to connect your lips with his. You felt a hint of embarrassment at how eager you must have seemed, but in that moment, you didn't care. Finally, you were free, and Joseph shared the same desire as you.

Breaking apart from the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, the sound mingling with Joseph's laughter. "Shit, I'm so sorry... I just... I've wanted to do that for so long," you confessed, briefly looking down.

But Joseph's hand under your chin gently lifted your head, allowing your eyes to meet his once again.

"Don't worry... so have I," he murmured before leaning in to place another kiss on your lips, this time with more depth, his hand tangling in your hair as yours rested on his chest.

Both of you were lost in the moment, oblivious to the biting cold that surrounded you. And as you slowly pulled apart once more, your reverie was interrupted by cheers from some of the players who had come to find you.

"GO JOE!"

"Woohooo Woller!"

"Now you can finally stop whining about her!"

You and Joe turned to face the teammates, both of you unable to suppress your laughter.

"Oh, this is embarrassing..." Joe chuckled, a blush rising on his already pink cheeks from the chilly weather.

"Well, at least you haven't been crying..." you laughed along, still feeling the remnants of tears on your cheeks.

"Hmm, you're right about that, but then it's lucky that you're a lot more beautiful than me when you cry," Joe said with a sweet smile, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Yeah, that's probably a good thing." Another tender moment lingered between you as the other players began making their way back inside, and suddenly your body shivered uncontrollably. "Maybe we should head inside..." you suggested, giving Joe a pleading look, to which he nodded in agreement.

And true to his gentlemanly nature, Joe first removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, his arm still around you as he guided you indoors.

"How about we get out of here?" he softly suggested, and you couldn't agree more. The event was winding down anyway, and right now all you wanted was to be alone with your newfound love.

There were no words that could adequately capture the overwhelming joy coursing through your body, the sparkling endorphins igniting every nerve as Joe drove you home and walked you to the door.

There was so much you wanted to express, so many feelings you longed to articulate. Yet, in that moment, as he leaned in and your lips met in another heartfelt kiss, words became unnecessary.

Well, perhaps except for, "Want to come inside?"

Your voice was low and soft, cautious not to betray your eagerness. But you knew your desire for Joe was shining like the brightest star on a cloudless night. And thankfully, he shared the same longing.

The air in your small apartment felt heavy and charged as you both entered. Skipping the formalities, you simply took his hand and led him towards the bed. The sensual tension hanging thick in the air, as Joseph's eyes were locked onto yours, his breaths heavy with anticipation.

He could feel the rush of blood to his member as his mind raced with thoughts of finally making love to you. And as you turned around, your back to him, pulling your hair to one side, he understood the unspoken invitation.

"Take it off?" you whispered softly, and without hesitation, he let his long fingers find the fabric wrapped around your neck, gently untying it to reveal your naked breasts. Then slowly moving further down, he delicately unzipped the small zipper holding the dress to your curvy figure, letting it fall to the floor around your heels.

Left in nothing but a delicate pair of knickers, you turned around slowly, letting him admire your nude figure.

Joe had to swallow hard as he looked at you, his eyes tracing every curve before meeting yours again. "You're stunning," he murmured softly, before tangling his hands in your hair and drawing you into a passionate kiss.

You easily melted into his embrace, your tongues moving sensually as you shared the warmth of your mouths. Meanwhile, your hand automatically sought him out in the dim light, starting to loosen his tie. And Joseph felt the eagerness and desire rising within him, deftly assisting you in removing his blazer and tie.

With each passing moment, the air grew hotter, your lips seeking each other in between deep breaths, as Joe guided you backwards until the backs of your knees met the mattress. With gentle motions, he encouraged you to lie down, lifting your legs into the air, before he tenderly removed one of your heels, placing a soft kiss on your ankle, then repeating the gesture on the other foot.

You couldn't help but smile. Joe's touch felt amazing, and you hadn't even fully experienced it yet.

Standing there, your legs on either side of him, the tall goaltender admired the sight of your nearly naked body before him. It was everything he had fantasised about for months; your skin shimmering in the moonlight, adorned with tiny droplets of sweat from the chemistry between you.

And Joe felt the same warmth coursing through him. So, while maintaining eye contact, he slowly undressed in front of you.

You had to bite your lip, propping yourself up on your elbows as you admired his face and physique. And what particularly caught your eye was the growing hardness in his boxers, a clear sign of his desire for you. Merely seeing it made your pulse quicken, your cunt pulsating even without his touch.

Your heart pounded in your chest again, but this time, it wasn't from anxiety or fear of heartbreak. No, this time, it was your intense longing for Joseph about to be fulfilled. And as he gently let his fingers find the waistband of your knickers, effortlessly pulling them off, before kneeling on the mattress, prompting you to shift so he could settle between your legs, you found yourself craving more.

It was a moment both of you had been anticipating, yearning for so long.

Yet Joseph took his time. Although neither of you were novices in intimacy, he wanted to ensure it was nothing short of incredible for you. So, as you lay there, your legs slightly bent and spread open for him, he let his fingers delicately explore your sensitive heat, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

Reclining on your back once more, your hands resting on either side of your head, your body surrendered to his deliberate touch, your mind focusing on your breathing. However, it was futile as he gently pressed a finger against your entrance before slowly sliding it inside.

His movements were unhurried and cautious, causing you to softly plead for more. And your wish was his command. Adding a second finger, Joe tenderly stimulated your inner walls, feeling the wetness of your cunt as he savoured the soft sounds of your pleasure. He felt his member almost throbbing with anticipation as he let his fingers glide in and out of your centre, watching your expressions of pure pleasure, while he couldn't help the small patch of pre-cum forming on his boxers.

"Mmm, yes Joe…" you softly moaned as his fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure through you, occasionally causing your eyes to roll back in ecstasy.

The atmosphere grew hotter and heavier, your moans growing louder with each passing moment, filling the room. But you couldn't contain yourself. You'd been dreaming of Joe's touch for so long, and now that it was finally happening, it surpassed all your expectations.

His fingers alone were steadily bringing you closer to the brink of orgasm, yet you yearned for more; to feel Joseph inside you, filling you completely and holding you close.

"Joe," you breathed out softly. "Please, I need you inside me…"

And you didn't have to ask him twice. His pulsing cock was already eager to be enveloped by your tight walls. So, with careful movements, Joe withdrew his fingers, leaving you with a sense of anticipation. Yet, you knew what was about to happen would feel even better.

Stepping back onto the floor, Joseph kept his eyes on you as he gently lowered his boxers, revealing his proudly erect length. You almost wanted to call it beautiful, if such a term could be applied to a penis. Your mouth almost watered as he returned to the mattress, positioning himself between your legs, his larger frame hovering over your smaller one, before descending into another deep kiss.

Your hands quickly moved to grasp his brown locks as you felt the tip of his manhood teasing your entrance. And as you sensed the pressure of his length, you instinctively pressed your body against his, urging him to penetrate you.

"Oh yes…" you moaned, breaking the kiss as Joe stretched your core, filling you completely as your tight muscles embraced his member.

"Damn, y/n/n… you feel incredible," he muttered softly upon reaching the depths of your walls.

It was an overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation, but what truly sent your mind spinning was when he began to withdraw, only to thrust back in and establish a steady rhythm.

Moans grew louder as you shared this intense intimacy, the heat radiating from your bodies with each thrust and movement. Your hands couldn't stay still, yet eventually settling on his broad shoulders, while your legs instinctively wrapped around his lower back. The lift from your hips provided him with the space he needed, and as the intensity increased, so did his actions.

"Mmm, yes…" Joe moaned as he picked up the pace, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as he felt the waves of pleasure building within him.

"Shi- Joe, you feel… oh, yes…" You couldn't even manage a coherent sentence in the heat of the moment.

It surpassed all your wildest dreams. The perfect combination of desire and passion intertwined with deep, romantic feelings hung in the air. And as Joe maintained his steady rhythm, the sound of your bodies colliding with each thrust, you felt yourself edging closer to climax.

And Joe could sense it too, feeling your walls gently tightening around his shaft, bringing him closer to the edge as well. "Oh… fu-" he hummed between moans. You felt absolutely wonderful, and he worried he might reach his climax too soon.

So, observing you close your eyes, he slid an arm down between your bodies, supporting himself on the other arm as his hand found your clit. And as he could sense your nails lightly digging into his skin, he knew you were close. Then slowly circling your bud of nerves with his skilled fingers, he watched as your breaths became erratic and desperate, your moans disjointed, and your back arching, causing your head to fall back onto the pillow.

"Oh yes! Joe, yes, I'm coming…" you cried out, as he continued to stimulate your clit.

"Yes, come for me…" he whispered along with your moans. And within seconds, you let out a loud cry, holding your breath for a moment as you reached climax.

It was intense few seconds as time seemed to stand still, your mind soaring while Joe made love to you through the rush.

And the sight of you reaching climax almost pushed Joe over the edge, causing him to thrust harder and faster, driving himself towards his own release. And it didn't take long before his motions became desperate, his need for release matching the intensity while your muscles clenched around him.

So, with a final loud groan and a few deep breaths, Joe allowed himself to let go, releasing as he spilled into your depths.

It was intensely passionate, both of you sharing loud moans, surrounded by sweat and the heat of your bodies as you gradually calmed yourselves, slowly returning from your euphoric states. You didn't even realise how long the two of you remained still in that position, your core still pulsating around his shaft as Joe caught his breath and regained his strength, eventually lifting his head to place a soft kiss on your lips.

Satisfied smiles graced your faces as you shared light chuckles, and Joe gently withdrew his cock from within you, coming to rest beside you and wrapping an arm under your head, pulling you close for a cuddle.

"That was…" he breathed out softly.

Turning your body towards his, you placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him. "Perfection?"

Joe chuckled again at your sweet word, his other arm resting behind his head as he gazed down at you. "Perfection, indeed."

It was the perfect conclusion to a perfect night, yet also the beginning of something deeper and more profound.

#my asks #18+ smut #joseph woll smut #joseph woll imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey imagine

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welcomeabyss · 1 year

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Continuation to this post ❤️

Themes: Angst, replaced Mc! Au

When The Stars Didn’t Align Part 2

Lord Diavolo had held a thank you party for the exchange students.

Mc was there by themselves, drinking small sips of their drink, as they watched the brothers and others around her: the woman who had won over their hearts, not too long ago. Mc watched, as she laughed with them. So gently, so genuinely. Not a single sign of an ill intention could be sensed from her, but she still made Mc sick to their stomach.

The brothers had of course given Mc some gifts for this party, maybe simply out of good manners. But it was obvious that Mc hadn’t had been the top of the brothers’ minds, when they were thinking of ways of showing their appreciation: Pressed on the laughing woman’s skin there was a necklace, which Lucifer himself had putten on her. It had a magnificent red stone, in a shape of a heart. Mc felt their throat tighten, so they took another sip.

Soon Mc noticed, him. Mammon was now surprisingly by himself, as the woman had gone to dance with Satan. This is it, Mc thought: This is my chance.

Mc hadn’t told it to anyone, but they had feelings for Mammon. Even though he hadn’t given much attention to them anymore, Mc still had this ever lingering love for him. Now how could Mc just forget the way he used to treat them so specially, ready to do anything to get Mc to stay with him?

Suddenly Mc had this urge to go up to him. Maybe it was because of bravery, a need of closure, perhaps? Or maybe it was simply because they felt desperate, for any kind of attention from their previous number one. They stopped listening to any words of wisdom in their minds, Mc’s legs just started moving on their own.

Their heart was beating so loud, that they could feel their entire body tremble to it. But Mc didn’t care, they couldn’t stay back in the background anymore, not this time.

Mammon looked up to Mc, as he noticed someone approaching him. There it is, Mc thought, as the two had locked eyes for a moment. Mc felt that feeling again that almost ripped them to pieces: a spark of hope.

“Hi”, Mc had simply said. Their eyes didn’t look away from him as if fearing, that if they looked away even for a second, Mammon would have just disappeared. He looked away and responded, bluntly. But the flame of hope was still there.

Before Mc could do anything. Before they could give him the simplest smile, ask him how he’s doing. Before they could ask him out to dance, or anything, his face hardened. His eyes became cold, as he now had brought them back to look at Mc. The edges of his mouth tightened just by a little, his eyelids lowered, not even by an inch. Mc thought to themselves: He isn’t feeling this same spark is he? No, he is trying to suffocate mine.

“What do you want?” Mammon had asked. If Mc didn’t know any better, they could have interpreted his reaction as him having been simply busy or irritated by something unrelated to them. It didn’t matter was their intuition right or wrong, because Mc could almost touch it. His indifference towards them.

Mc’s heart sank. The fire that was burning before, had now created a gaping hole in their chest. As the happy memories of the past were racing on their minds, Mc realized that all of their fears had been real this whole time. They couldn’t do anything else, but put their hand on their chest, as if it was their only way to keep themselves protected from the eating hurt in their heart.

Mc turned around and started instinctively walk away. They couldn’t hear anything, think of anything. They couldn’t even notice the sudden burning sensation on their eyes, as the tears that had waited so patiently, had finally started to let themselves free.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me replaced mc au #obey me angst #obey me mc

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asheepinthenight · 2 months

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Remedy (Talon's End Extra April 2024)

Some short fluff for this month's extra! MC comes down with a bad cold, and Hawk doesn't know what to do about it. Contains mild spoilers for post-game Hawk/MC relationship. Mostly written for the romantic version of their relationship but could also be queerplatonic (maybe even platonic, depending on how you feel about cuddling and forehead kisses) if you ignore a couple lines near the end.

You sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour, and Hawk's head immediately snaps up to look at you. They put their book aside and lean over to put their hand to your forehead. The difference in temperature between their cold skin and your feverish body makes you shiver. They tuck the covers around you more tightly and look down at you as if, should they blink, you will come untethered from this mortal coil.

"It's just a bad cold, Hawk."

They narrow their eyes at you. "Many animals feign wellbeing in their final days. Self-preservation instinct to avoid predators' attention."

"I don't think I'm feigning 'wellbeing' very well."

Hawk gives you a rueful smile. "No. You're not."

You reach over to pat Hawk's hand where they're unthinkingly pulling a loose thread from the edge of the blanket. "I'll be well in a few days."

"That's what you said yesterday."

"And it's still true—it's only been one day so far."

Hawk scowls at the accuracy of your statement, and your laugh initiates another round of coughing. Once it passes, you look up to see the same look of deep alarm that you've seen in Hawk's golden eyes too many times since yous tarted falling ill. "You're sure this is normal?" they ask

"Very sure."

Hawk manages to sustain a few seconds of anxious silence before resuming their questioning. "And you don't need a healer...?"

You shake your head. "Just rest. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I want to. If you want me to."

You nod, and they reach out to take your hand in theirs. Though Hawk's body isn't warm, it's not unlike a blanket: once it takes on enough of your own body heat, it holds it there, insulating you from the cold outside the bed. As you close your eyes and try to relax, you can feel the anxious static of Hawk's energy fade toward their usual calm.

You drift in and out of sleep, the fever and cough keeping you from resting deeply. After some time, you wake up sweating and kick all the blankets off, only to later wake again shivering. You sit up to hazily claw the blankets back over yourself, but you feel yourself being pulled into Hawk's arms as they lie down next to you, sweeping the blankets up over you both.

"Ridiculous," Hawk says as you bury your face against their chest. "Just rest."

"I'm trying," you say through chattering teeth.

Hawk sighs. "I don't know anything about... any of this. I don't think I'm helping."

"You are." You hold onto Hawk tightly as they rub your back, the warmth slowly returning to you.

"There are times I've wished I were born mortal, but I don't want this part."

You laugh—carefully, so you don't start coughing again—and pull away just enough to look at Hawk. "You'll have to leave the bed when I get too warm again."

"The human body makes no sense."

"Did you just realize that?"

Hawk scoffs and kisses your forehead. "Hardly, but I'll endure the whims of your fever and leave when you ask."

"You'll stay nearby, though?"

"Of course. As long as you want me to."

"Forever, then?"

Hawk chuckles. "You don't need to waste energy courting me; I'm already yours. So yes." They press their lips to the top of your head. "Forever."

#talon's end #te: extras #te: snippets #hawk

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4dkellysworld · 10 months

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Self-realization vs derealization

I saw an ask @adadisciple about derealization and thought I'd add my 2 cents here as I have experienced derealization in the past and might be able to offer a bit more insight. I didn't want to reblog that ask for personal reasons and also the response is really long. Disclaimer: I am not a therapist either, my thoughts are based on personal experience alone so take whatever feels right and leave the rest. Also I can't speak from the perspective of full realization as I am not there yet but hopefully this helps in some way.

When I first found non-dualism, I also had similar concerns as someone who had experienced derealization, I thought: was this another thing that was going to induce it?

Let's start with the definition (thank you Google) for those reading who may be unclear:

Depersonalization/derealization disorder involves a persistent or recurring feeling of being detached from one's body or mental processes, like an outside observer of one's life (depersonalization), and/or a feeling of being detached from one's surroundings (derealization).

From personal (human/ego) experience, this condition is purely of the mind and body with blocked awareness (? not sure if this is correct terminology, I am not talking about pure awareness in this case but more mindfulness*) and is often just a symptom of another mental or physical condition/illness such as depression/anxiety etc. The mind and/or body are just completely detached however, there is clouded awareness (due to the mind/body) and you just feel like you are existing and floating around. You very much still feel a part of the world and identify as such (although feeling detached & disengaged) even if you have lost faith in everything you feel as real. It's sort of hard to put into words but if you have experienced derealization too, then hopefully you can relate and understand what I am getting at. When I experienced it, I didn't know of any truth. I just lost faith in the world and didn't know what was real anymore. So, I was completely checked out.

*Mindfulness is paying full attention to what is going on in you and outside you, moment by moment, without judgment. (thanks Google)

Ada made a really good distinction here (I suggest reading the full ask)**:

The point of this all was to let go of concepts, let go of believing in things, investigating their validity, experimenting. Disbelieving you are Vanessa and denial are not the same thing. Denial is when you deny reality to something you're already giving reality to. Disbelieving was meant as an experiment, you never thought yourselves to be anything but this body, what will happen if you did?

**Actually, re-reading that ask made me realize maybe a reblog of an exercise I recommended is not the best since it instructs denial of what ego believes to be real instead of disbelief and experimentation (eep, Vanessa is still learning and evolving!). See my edit on this post :)

Here is another relevant and helpful ask by 4dbarbie:

I don't teach to do anything to the 3D, not even deny it. Not seeing the world as it is, is an aversion to it. - Lester Levenson Your 3D is right and perfect, what you see is what you are so even if you're seeing what 'you' don't want, the 3D is not wrong in being what it is. Fearing it, trying to manipulate it, lying to yourself about it being something different - all useless and vain attempts. See it as it is and it will fix itself. And no, being delusional is not good, it leads you not to trust your own judgment OR senses. Which is not right, why shouldn't you? What is wrong with your vision? Being delusional from your ego self is really harmful, someone could be abusing you and you would go "i'm sure that's not right he loves me so much in my 4D!!!"

So lets clarify the distinction:

Derealization = denial of everything while still identifying as the ego (and the world as reality) although not wanting to => ego experiences confusion/chaos/mental condition/disorders

Self-realization = disbelief of current reality concepts => letting go of such concepts and quieting the mind => experiencing the true Self (the creator of the mind) => permanent identification with Self, not imaginary concepts (including the ego) => Knowing Reality, and therefore realizing full peace and freedom

Now let's move onto practicing non-dualism. The basis of the practice is let go of thoughts, quiet the mind and focus on being awareness/I AM. It is all about letting go, not denial.

From a non-dualist perspective, derealization is just another mental concept/creation. When the mind is completely silent (and sustained) and pure awareness is realized and embodied, when Self is your permanent identification, when you (Self) know you are not your body not Vanessa feeling dissassociated from mind & body or just intellectually knowing it from learning concepts (important distinction!), it is not derealization, in fact it is the only reality, the only truth.

I have experienced short moments of experiencing myself as the pure witness where the mind was completely quiet and those short moments felt so peaceful, whole and true. There were no feelings of derealization in that moment because there was no active mind then. Right now, I do think my ego feels a bit derealized at times but this is because I have not fully identified with Self yet and it is also because my sense and understanding of reality is in the process of being recalibrated on this journey. When this happens, I sit in silence and go back to the one truth 'I Am' and feel myself into it and everything else melts away. The more you do this, the more you will feel the truth and peace until it becomes permanent (when you realize Self).

But no one can give you the whole truth but yourself.

Lester: Yes. However, knowing what you're telling me helps one let go of that obstacle of intellectual knowledge. I prod you in this direction, don't I? I say: “Don't believe anything. Start from scratch. Build up your knowledge on the solid foundation of proof, step by step.” Everyone must do this. Q: You can't take someone else's experience? Lester: Right, you would be working on hearsay, on what they have said, and the only useful thing is that which you experience. I relate it to driving a car. If I say I know how to drive a car after reading a book that directs you to turn the key on, start the motor, shift into drive and step on the gas, do I know how to drive a car? No, not until I experience it can I drive a car. It's the same thing on the path; we must experience everything. We must, of course, adopt the attitude that what the Great Ones say is so, that they have experienced it. However, you must check it out and prove it for yourself. And the basic Truth is that there’s only one Reality; there's only one absolute Truth, and that is that this whole world or universe is nothing but God, but better than that, is nothing but my very own Self. God could be far away; He could be miles and miles away in cosmic space, but my very own Self is right here, is something I know about, is something I can perceive, it is my very own Self! So, using Self as God is far more practical than putting Him out there, putting Him apart from us. But each one must start from the bottom and prove this whole thing for himself. As the proofs come, the more they come the more we accept until we experience the whole thing. - Lester Levenson, Session 11: Meditation with Quest - Keys to Ultimate Freedom

"And the basic Truth is that there’s only one Reality; there's only one absolute Truth" I literally didn't even read this excerpt before sharing it (searched the book for the keyword 'proof' because I was looking for another excerpt) but came to the same conclusion after practicing and experiencing it for myself. And that is what you must do if you want the truth too. Experience and then decide for yourself.

This perceived and experienced knowledge is the only knowledge that does us any good. We can read everything on the subject, but it doesn’t help. Our life doesn’t change much, and it doesn’t because we don’t integrate the knowledge into our beingness through realization. Realized knowledge is nonintellectual, although the means we use are intellectual. We use our mind, we direct our mind toward the answer, but you will discover that the answer does not come from the mind. It comes from a place just behind the mind. It comes from the realm of knowingness, the realm of omniscience. By quieting the mind through stilling our thoughts, each and every one of us has access to this realm of knowingness. Then and there you realize, you make real. You know and you know that you know. - Lester Levenson, Session 6: Realization - Keys to Ultimate Freedom

If you want to understand more about the process of realizing Self, I recommend reading my 4dbarbie remix post. If you have already read it, reread it, maybe even read some of the referenced posts/asks and see if you get any new understanding. Or better yet, just sit in silence and stillness, quiet the mind and focus on 'I Am'.

I must emphasise that in non-duality, letting go of the ego is the basic foundation of practice as it is very much a journey of self-transformation (this is just another concept to help the ego understand, but you are always, have always been and always will be Self, you just do not see it as you are currently identified as the ego).

If you (the ego) are not willing to do that, then come back when you are ready. It is not up to anyone to convince you to adopt this practice and way of life.

#writings #non duality #non dualism

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vypridae · 4 months

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I can’t believe you got me into brokerdoll smh another ridiculously obscure hazbin hotel sapphic ship …….. I never considered them as a ship but they’re really cute 😔 dya have any headcanons for them? I imagine the other vees would tear vel a new one if they found out

BAHAHAAH UR WELCOME :3 its so cute actually . i thought of them late at night one day and went IM A GENIUS and scoured the internet but twas NOTHING

anyway !! do i have hcs? kind of ?? (half of these i came up with on the spot sorry if my phrasing sucks or if The Hcs suck)

i like to imagine brokerdoll started as velvette having an obsession with carmilla like vox has with alastor or val has with angel

(val and vox saw the signs immediately)

it eventually just delved into velvette asking vox to show her cameras on where carmilla is because she just "needed to know"

probably started shittalking her 10x more online after that

i dont have much for carmilla's side of the initial enemies-to-lovers but i can imagine her daughters see it very fucking clearly

they know their mother

anyway!! actual ship stuff

they keep this secret from EVERYBODY (including carmilla's daughters, including voxval) because it'd just be so fucking shocking if it got out

(as much as velvette wants to post about carmilla online she will refrain as best she can)

vox getting into the vees penthouse(?) super late at night and seeing velvette laying on carmilla on the couch passed tf out with some stupid tv show playing that they were probably shittalking

(he did get screenshots for blackmail)

also ill be so fr val probably knew the day they started dating BAHAHAH

hes not smart but like, i can imagine he saw the signs. he works with people in porn and there have probably been points his actors have (tried to) start dating so he probably knows that sort of stuff at least a little bit

velvette steals carmilla's hair bands i rest my case

she probably steals her shirts too honestly

carmilla loves styling velvette's hair, especially when velvette is going out somewhere

she'll have some idea for the style she wants and carmilla will execute it perfectly

carmilla won't admit how good it feels seeing velvette post 50 times in one night and, even though she's getting progressively fucked up, her hair still manages to stay perfect

(velvette doesn't wanna mess up her gf's hard work)

I'M SET ON THE IDEA BTW THAT CARMILLA IS A ROMANTIC

brings velvette flowers, maybe chocolates, just because she can

(velvette always yells at her and freaks out when she does because she's just not used to that kind of affection. she knows attention well, but not when it's this loving)

velvette having like, a voxblr blog set specifically to ramble about carmilla and no one has discovered her because it's completely anonymous and she changes up her typing patterns for it and everything

also they can both cook i think. really well

once voxval find out about them, velvette manages somehow to convince carmilla to come over and cook with her

(voxval are pure amazement that they work so well. both as a relationship and in their ability to make the best tasting food fucking EVER)

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thedreemer-artrequestsopen · 17 days

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Chucky tumblr…

Can we STOP making the BOLDEST CLAIMS KNOWN TO MAN. Listen I’ve been in some fucked up fandoms. Steven Universe, Undertale, Warrior Cats, the MCU… but oh my god I’ve never seen a fandom so like… wish washy. Like one post will be an entirely different brand of WILD than another. Like… The TiffNica DNI’ers! I understand NOT liking the ship, it’s a Hostage situation, not killing stalking. Yknow? But making claims that’s whoever ships it has a fetish for torturing women and that they’re mentally ill is just… erm… AND DON MANCINI. THE NUMBER OF CLAIMS IVE SEEN ABOUT THIS OLD GAY MAN IS BUCK WILD.

Absolutely buck wild. Like YES, as a Nica Pierce enjoyer, she’s been through SO MUCH. BUT SHE’S A FINAL GIRL IN A HORROR MOVIE FRANCHISE. Sydney’s boyfriends in Scream all turned out to be killers, does the creator of scream have a kink for murderous boyfriends???? Like YES Nica’s been through way too fucking much. Her getting her limbs cut off is CRUEL. unnecessary? Possibly, yeah, I could agree with someone who said so. But I think it’s to show that- Despite how LOVEABLE of a character Tiffany is, she’s still a murderer and a monster. Like with Freddy Krueger, you sometimes want to be able to love your slasher, despite the many cruel things they do. Which is why we keep coming back to the Child’s Play franchise again and again.

all I’m saying is… it’s just SO WEIRD to me. Seeing people call Don a fetishizer and all this shit it’s WILD. Like take a step back and genuinely think about what you’re saying about a man you’ve never personally met. And who these actors have and are (to my eyes) comfortable with.

Like does Don Mancini hate women or does he just like torturing his oc’s???? I CAN SAY. Reading everyone’s posts. I do see a bit of a disproportionate level of trauma with the female cast and characters. But also I’m pretty sure in the show there’s just more women I think…. Like Jake and Devon and Chucky. And then Lexy, Nica and Tiffany okay there’s NOT more. But❗️ Devon doesn’t get any screen time let’s be so ffr. Maybe we SHOULD be talking about the lack of attention black characters get in this franchise. The two major ones (the kid in Chucky 3, and Redman) have just been objects of chucky’s attention.

I AM IN N O WAY WITCH-HUNTING OR HATING! You can BE critical of the show! I love reading people’s solid critiques! Which is why I’ve read a lot of these posts, this is just me- pointing out a kind of weird pattern. An ick, I may say. This isn’t against anyone. Please don’t tumblr cancel me

#chucky #chucky series #chucky 2021 #chucky season 3 #chucky syfy #chucky tv #chucky tv series #charles lee ray #nica pierce #cult of chucky #seed of chucky #bride of chucky #Like guys #c’mon

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capt-mactavish · 1 year

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Teeth

I've been sitting on this messy werewolf!soap ghostsoap drabble for awhile and I'm tired of looking at it in my drafts so I'm just gonna post it.

Something was wrong with Soap.

Well, not exactly.

Not wrong.

Off, maybe.

Specifically with his teeth.

It sounds absurd, but really, Ghost is very observant, and there was something peculiar about Soap’s teeth.

Ghost had only seen it a handful of times. But he was sure of what he saw.

Canines that were just a bit too long to be normal. A bit too sharp. Not overtly so, but enough for someone who was paying attention to take notice.

Not that Ghost was paying closer attention to Soap than anyone else, no!

It was just that…

There was something about the way, that when the Sergeant would smile, lips pulling back to reveal the pointed pearly whites, that Ghost’s heart would thump just a bit harder, fluttering inside his chest. His fists would clench tightly, as if aching to touch, sometimes to the detriment of whatever happened to be in his hand, such as newly wrinkled paperwork.

It was a curious thing, how something so mundane could pull such a visceral reaction from the hardened soldier. And yet, he found himself enamored by it, seeking it out instead of trying to bury it down like he’d do any other time.

He’d tell himself it was Soap’s fangs that had him so captivated by the Scottsman, beguiled by their origins and… implications.

He’d tell himself that, but deep down he knew it wasn’t just his teeth Ghost had taken a fascination to. After all, there were other peculiarities surrounding Soap that Ghost had taken notice of as well.

Like the fact that he was so much warmer to the touch than anyone else.

Ghost remembers the first time he had experienced it, grabbing Johnny by the forearm to hoist him up after getting knocked down in the field. His skin so hot, feeling it even through his gloves, Ghost had thought the Sergeant had broken out into a fever.

“Christ, Johnny, you’re burning up!” he had said, ready to fall back with Soap in tow and get him to the medic asap.

But Soap had just waved him off, “‘M fine, sah. Really. No need ta worry.”

And so Ghost had let him go, and Johnny was fine as he had said. No sign of a fever or illness whatsoever as the Sergeant carried on as usual.

Nothing except for the lingering heat on the Lieutenant's gloved hand. Like a burn, singed into his skin.

Of course, when they got back to base, Ghost had tried to insist that Johnny be checked out anyway. But the Scot refused, swearing there was nothing to worry about. Even Price had dismissed him, which Ghost thought odd, but eventually he let it go.

And Johnny was, indeed, just fine.

Another was the sheer amount of meat that Johnny consumed, and his apparent preference for it to be concerningly rare.

Only this time it was Gaz who had noticed first.

Soap had sat down at their table in the mess with his plate, the only contents a thick cut of bleeding steak and nothing else.

“Where did you get that?” Gaz had exclaimed indignantly. “How come you get steak? I wouldn't mind a steak!”

But Johnny just winked and replied, “Go’ a special arrangement with the cook.” Before cutting into his meat, so red it was practically still mooing.

“That’s going to make you sick, Johnny,” Ghost had said, his morbid curiosity making it difficult to look away.

“Stomach o’ steel, L.t. Dinnae you worry,” was the response from Soap.

Gaz grimaced at him, but nothing else was said, and it just became the norm.

And then there was the fact that about once a month, Johnny would simply just disappear for a day or two at a time.

A solo operation, Price had explained, and that was that on the matter as far as he or anyone else was concerned.

But Ghost wasn’t so convinced. Especially when Soap would come back looking better than before he left. Practically glowing, like an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And especially since Soap seemed to always be a bit on edge, aggressive, just before leaving on one of these “missions.”

There was also the fact that the Sergeant possessed a strength Ghost had not imagined the Scot capable of.

The first time they had spared, he had pushed Soap to his limit, testing him.

He succeeded in that, managing to rile Soap up to the point of fury.

And when Soap had pinned him, slamming Ghost’s wrists into the mat on either side of his head, he was surprised to find that he had been rendered completely immobile.

Flexing his arms did nothing, there was no budging as Soap held firm. Even the body sitting atop Ghost's chest seemed impossible to move.

The Lieutenant even thought he had heard an inhuman growl come from the man as the back of his head hit the mat, but at the time it had gone unnoticed, too stunned by his immobility and how Soap had gotten the upper hand so quickly.

“Soap!” Price had shouted, an edge in his tone, sounding much like a warning.

“Sah!” Soap responded, releasing Ghost immediately and letting him up.

Ghost had stood, rubbing his wrists as he watched Soap and Price speak hushedly to each other for a moment before the Scot returned, looking very much like a scolded pup despite his victory over the Lieutenant.

After that, Soap had not pinned Ghost again. Not even as Ghost did his damndest to provoke him into doing so.

It frustrated him, his interest piqued and curiosity left unsated, but it was another one of those things he had to just let go.

Another of Soap’s peculiarities was that Ghost had noticed that the Sergeant had a almost supernatural sense of hearing.

At first he chalked it up to nerves and Soap’s own imagination, but when Soap’s acute hearing had saved their lives, more than once, he was quick to become convinced of the man’s abilities. Putting absolute faith in him from thereon out when he said he heard something.

With Ghost leading, all Soap had to do was silently take hold on the Lieutenant's shoulder, and he would have Ghost’s undivided attention.

His face would say it all. Eyes unfocused, listening. And Ghost would listen too. But he never heard what Johnny could hear.

And then the Sergeant would come back to him, signal, and Ghost would nod and let Johnny take point.

All of those things were extraordinary in their own right, but Ghost kept coming back to Soap’s teeth.

Of all Soap's attributes, they were the only tangible thing Ghost could see and confirm with his own eyes. And he would be lying if he said he wasn't just a bit obsessed with them.

He wondered if they were as sharp as they looked, and how easy it would be to break skin and draw blood. If he’d even feel anything at all or if having Soap close enough to sink his fangs into Ghost’s flesh would numb him to it.

Or maybe, he might even like the pain.

Ghost sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. The clock on the wall read two in the morning, and the report he’d wanted to finish before lights out lay on his desk before him, unfinished, mocking him, as he had descended into his daydreams.

It was no use, and the Lieutenant was tired. At least in his cot his mind was free to wander before sleep would eventually claim him.

But now staring up at the ceiling from his cot, fighting to close his eyes and rest, all the thoughts come rushing back to him, and suddenly Ghost is hit by a thought he hadn’t yet considered.

He can feel his heart rate quicken, a flash of heat running through his body as the realization dawns on him, only now putting all the pieces together.

Soap was something else, in a very literal sense of the term.

He wasn’t human.

So... what was he?

#ghostsoap #soapghost #werewolf soap #werewolf!soap #cod mw ghost #cod mw soap #cod mwii #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #werewolf john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #there's not enough werewolf soap in this fandom #and its a crime #and a shame

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves!

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

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