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mellowwillowy · 7 months

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Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader HCs

CW: mafia related stuffs

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Husband is a gentle soul to you, he can't and will never lay a finger with the meaning to hurt you! He just doesn't have the strength to do so, almost as though he was set to be so. It's another whole story when it comes to the others though, can you guess how many times he has pulled the trigger of a gun?

Yan! Husband who spoils you rotten with everything you could ever think of. Luxuries, reputations but never the forbodden knowledge he has tried so hard to keep away from you. No, he won't clip your wings. You are his songbird who gets to only fly inside the gilded cage but never in the outside world. He will create a stage of the outside world for you, but never the real deal.

Yan! Husband who paints a portrait of you whenever he's stressed over the cases he has to handle. To move the brush without any problem as your form starts to appear on the blank canvas, he has no trouble remembering you. Sculpting is no problem for him as well. He has spent all his lives honing his artistic skill just to eternalize you as pieces of art.

Yan! Husband loves you so much that he deems children as a burden and bothersome (adoptive too). He only needs you to build a family, he had no need for children to continue this lineage. His whole life revolves around you. If you pass away, he too, will pass away shortly after. That's how much he loves you to the point that death cannot separate you two.

Yan! Husband who might not look like he's able to do it but he is actually an S-rank gaslighter. He will trick you into believing that what he is suggesting is only to keep you safe! He doesn't really enjoy taking your autonomy directly unless it's needed (of course, in a way where you will not confront him about it).

Yan! Husband who will cover and remove all your bad track records (if you have any). He has the power and connection to erase any kind of dirt that is on you, you are his pristine pure lily-of-the-valley and you should not be defiled with those records. Live without any worry clouded in your mind dear, the laws will never tarnish your reputation when you have this lawyer backing you ^^

Yan! Husband who adores any sort of physical touch when it comes to you, yes, anything. Even if you hit him silly, he'd still love every moment your skin feels his. He loves hugging you the most, his face buried into the crook of your neck while taking a scent of you.

Yan! Husband who enjoys humming lullaby of yours to the point everyone's ears around him is bleeding from the repeating lullaby. Can this guy please hum something else for once?

Yan! Husband who will read for you whenever he has the time to sleep with you. He doesn't know what to say to you as his work is either foreign to your brain or a tad too shady. Childhood memories are not great too as he has long forgotten about everything the moment he pledges eternal vow to love you. He abandoned everything and lives only for you.

Yan! Husband who prioritizes you as his number one, even above his own well-being and career. He can still live even if he falls ill, his career would never fall out of track as he has the mafia under his grasp, but you can slip out of his grasp. And he doesn't want that to happen again.

Yan! Husband is without a doubt an infamous lawyer. Especially with how many times he has let the ringleader of that renowned mafia group slip out from the prosecutor and judge's grip? If you seriously think you'll be pronounced guilty of that murder, you better throw that thought out just like how he throws all the scapegoats and falsified evidence into the court. (Should I write a fic for this?)

Yan! Husband who will always make time for the two of you. While vacations are not as often as he wishes he could have, cuddles and tea parties sound nice enough for him to kill time with you.

Yan! Husband who has this cute journal that's filled with what you have been doing every day instead of his own daily stuff. Oh, your diary is almost his if you know how he reads it daily like a refreshment.

Yan! Husband who as much as he hates having to show you to the people at the official parties and events he has to attend, he just can't shake away the butterflies in his stomach as well! You are not just some trophy spouse, you are his beloved! A hand on your waist and a face that is seen whispering sweet nothings into your ear with a glass in his other hand. Oh, he looks so o-godly-handsome like a man who comes out from a romance novel!

Yan! Husband who is a man of greed, the embodiment of Mammon. Wealth is not something that he has never not possessed. So whatever the fuck you do, gambling or blowing it off somewhere in a dumb investment or stock, he won't make a fuss out of it. Instead, he'll teach you more about money management instead :/

"Do you want to learn how to invest? I know a way or two from my predecessor."

He will let you play all the money game you want and gives you the illusion of success despite all the trials and errors you made (he's the one who clean up all the mess lol)

I know that this is AFAB! oriented BUT Yan! Husband never wishes to impregnate you even once. No, he doesn't like the idea of you being in pain over a damn baby(ies) that could just take your life as well. He does enjoy fucking you without any protection on but that is after he tracks your safe day (man is literally fighting the fate of having you pregnant). He prefers you to not consume any birth control for just in case it causes harm rather than good to you. (Shots are a pass if you are scared of syringes)

He is A-OK with adopting if you are persistent enough about this matter and is B-OK if you want to get pregnant (AFAB). He just can't refuse and upset you...

So please don't imagine what would happen if darling dies during delivery :)

Yan! Husband who will always open his pocketwatch and kiss the picture of you in his pocket watch. How many times and lives had passed just for him to enjoy the solace of being your husband?

𝐀 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫.

Yulian de Alpheus is a man of ambition. While he does share the same look as his 'father', the ambition he has is the complete opposite of Castiel. Castiel created him to seek the truth of life, Adam existed to be the Genesis of Life, Alan existed to be someone he didn't recognize and Yulian existed to live beneath the shadow of his spouse.

𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Taglist: @vinivave @destructa1 @szde8-blog @luminous011 @ush0 @annbourbon @randomnl @cassanderasblog @maam-appreciator @lem-hhn @fanatic-fan @flesh-eating-ladybug

(send ask/message to be removed from taglist)

#yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere works #yandere writing #reader insert #x reader #oc #x gn reader #LIfE Project #yandere husband #Yulian the Corruption

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 10 months

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Hii i was wondering if you could do the slashers with an s/o who likes being carried around everywhere (Brahms Bo and any others of your chosing)

slashers with an s/o who likes being carried around everywhere

mentioned: brahms heelshire, bo sinclair, thomas hewitt, stu macher, michael myers, tiny firefly

warnings: mentions of murder

a/n: thank you so much for the request, this was so fun to write!

also, i had to put tiny in here because i just love him so much :((

brahms heelshire

the one thing brahms yearns for in his life is closeness, somebody who will never leave him

so when you express that you like to be carried around he can't really believe his luck

he loves being close to you and this is just another opportunity for just that

he'll probably carry you one of two ways; he'll either carry you in his arms bridal style, or he'll carry you chest to chest (i don't really know how to actually describe it)

he hates being alone so he loves being able to have you with him most of the time

he won't carry you around all the time though because he still has his own things to do

bo sinclair

he hates it...or at least, he claims he does

bo usually spends his days alone, either working in the gas station or playing his part to lure unsuspecting victims into the town

he never really has much going on, and if he's being honest, it gets lonely

his brother vincent rarely comes out from his workshop and lester rarely has much to do with the town itself so he's left to his own devices most days, with nothing but his own mind to slowly drive him crazy

the second he discovers you like being carried everywhere, he takes a lot of enjoyment in doing exactly that

he doesn't really carry you properly, he kind of just drags you

it's somewhat like a half-assed piggy back

and although he'll spend the majority of the time grunting and groaning about it, cussing you out under his breath, he actually really loves finally having somebody so close to him

it certainly makes his days less lonely

whilst he's very uncaring though about how he carries you, if you're ill or you're injured, he'll make sure to be real careful with you

day to day though he really couldn't give a shit about being careful but he'll never admit to how much he loves carrying you

thomas hewitt

thomas doesn't like being away from you much, so being able to carry you around is just a bonus for him

he takes every opportunity to pick you up and carry you places, even if you haven't asked

sometimes he'll pick you up bridal style and sometimes he'll simply sling you over his shoulder because it's easier

his family get on at him for doing it so much because you need to pull your weight and such and he's just letting you laze around but he doesn't listen to them

he continues to carry you around because he really just loves having you with him all the time

he hopes you never stop enjoying being carried everywhere because he loves it

stu macher

he loves carrying you around

he's always offering to give you piggy backs

sometimes he'll take you by surprise and throw you over his shoulder and carry you like that

either way, he finds it fun to carry you around everywhere

he has requested a piggy back or two in the past though, which ultimately ended with you almost collapsing beneath him

michael myers

he doesn't really care either way, but there's no way he'll put any effort into carrying you. you either hang off the back of his shoulders or nothing

michael's pretty strong so having you on his back wouldn't really affect his day to day activities

stalking his sister? no problem. you're not even there

murdering someone who happened to get in his way? he barely even notices you

simply walking down the street, having you on his back makes no difference as he simply couldn't care less

he does secretly enjoy having you with him though as he gets lonely sometimes

you're like a little companion he can just take with him wherever he goes

tiny firefly

tiny likes to be helpful so he definitely doesn't mind carrying you around

he's used to anyone outside of his family shying away from him because of his appearance, so when he learns that you want him to carry you around places, he practically jumps at the chance

he loves that you're not afraid of him like most people and is honestly happy to help you out in this way

he enjoys having the company and he also enjoys being able to be close to you, so this is really a win win situation for you both

[Main Masterlist]

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norrizzandpia · 7 months

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Happy Birthday (LN4)

Summary: It’s his favorite person’s birthday

Warnings: literally none just language

Note: my bday being a few days ago has nothing to do with this!!!!!!!! I know it’s short but I got a late start to this tn 😭😭 hopefully I can get some much needed writing time tomorrow

landonorris happy birthday to my person! I told myself I would just say all of this to your face but on second thought I want the world to know just how much I care about you. To be honest, when we first met, I never thought we would be here; in love and prepared to spend the rest of our lives together. I just didn’t think you would like me that way. However, the day you said yes to going on a date with me will forever be one of the greatest days of my life. That was the day my life truly started because, as cliche as it is, you are my life. I’ve never cared or loved someone as hard as I do you and I’m eternally honored to be the person you come home to at the end of the day. Being your boyfriend over these past few years has taught me a few things. The first thing being that someone’s laugh actually can become your favorite sound. Always thought that was an over exaggeration but hearing you laugh and knowing I was the one to make you laugh is completely different from the happiness I feel when I win a race. The feeling’s better because you’re better. The second thing being that loving someone doesn’t have to be hard. I feel like people think love is a hard thing but with you it’s not. From the start, loving you has been easy because you understand me and you love me wholly for who I am. There has never been a time where I had to force myself to love you or work to strengthen the love I harbor for you, and there will never be a time that will happen. Loving you is like watching the sunrise. It’s peaceful and quiet, beautiful to look at and experience, and, most of all, it’s relieving because you know there’s going to be the hardships of the day, but that’s ok because you can always come back to the memory of waking up, starting your day, with such a gorgeous view. I don’t have to say that I think you’re the most stunning person to grace this Earth, you already know. But, if somehow you don’t, I’ll repeat it to you for the rest of our lives. Lastly, sorry I know this is long, the third thing you have taught me is to enjoy life. People seem to think that mentality came from my own mind, but, no, it didn’t. It came from you who said it to me one night when I had a panic attack over the stress of racing and performing well. You sat with me in our bed, held me as I freaked out, comforted me, and told me that I had forgotten to enjoy life. In the moment, you had related that statement to me enjoying the privilege of being able to do what I love as a profession especially when what I want to do is so hard to get in to. Although, after thinking on that statement, I realize that enjoying life has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with you. Enjoying life is cherishing the moments where I get to wake up to you, cherishing the times when you tell me you love me, cherishing the ability to love you, cherishing the calls I get in the middle of the night because you don’t care what time it is where I am, all you want do to is tell me the gossip you heard that day, cherishing the fact that I’m the person you want to spill those secrets to, cherishing the knowledge that I’m the person you trust enough to confide in, and cherishing you. Anyways, I should stop now because you’re actually calling my phone as I write this. Probably going to tell me something about your high school arch nemesis coming back into your life to ask for F1 tickets. Don’t worry, I’ll act surprised and tell you she’s out of her mind if she thinks she’s coming anywhere near a race circuit dressed in our colors. Happy birthday, baby.

Loved always by me,

Your biggest fan 🧡

Comments:

mclarensgirlyy SO BASICALLY ILL JUST GO THROW MYSELF OFF A CLIFF THEN

f1fan22 i will never recover.

ynnn LANDO THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING I HAVE EVER READ I AM FUCKING CRYING I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH LAN THANK YOU I LOVE YOU

- landonorris I love you more baby

- mclarenfan4 STOP THIS MADNESS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

ln4andop81 he is so gone for her like I just genuinely don’t even think winning is top priority for him anymore it’s her

- landonorris ofc I’m literally so in love with her she’s my end all, be all

- ynnn so I’ve passed away.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 x reader #mclaren #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fic #lando imagine #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit

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zaynesevol · 3 months

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Hiii !!

I really love your writings and i was wondering if i could request something :3? Zayne is sick and he's hiding it because he doesn't want to anyone to know and since he's a doctor, he thinks he can treat himself. But of course mc sees whats happening and they're taking care of zayne! Take your time if you accept this one :33 but its okay if you dont !

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊-𝐔𝐏!

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you taking care of a sick zayne !

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, zayne’s embarrassed about being sick, reader feels like they did something wrong, you end up taking care of zayne

𝐀/𝐍: this was such a cute request omg

lately, you’ve noticed that zayne has becoming a little distant. it makes you wonder, did i do something wrong?

i mean, who can blame you? whenever he doesn’t go to work he stays cooped up in his bedroom. for when he does, he’s instantly rushing to get out of your sight. it’s almost like he’s hiding something from you, but you don’t know what.

today, you’re determined to figure out what’s going on. you’re not letting him sneak away so easily this time.

you sit down on the couch awaiting his arrival. as soon as he comes home, you’re sure he’s just going to mutter a quick hi and dash to the bedroom.

over the past few days you’ve been a bit stressed about what’s going on. so, you tried a few searches but nothing seems to give you an answer.

why is my boyfriend ignoring me?

how to tell if your boyfriend is mad at you

reasons your boyfriend may be ignoring you

groaning as you shut your phone off, you hear the sound of his keys inserting into the lock and twisting. you shoot up from the couch, prepared to start interrogating the man.

when he enters the house, his immediately starts taking off his glasses, hanging his coat on the rack. he doesn’t even seem to notice the intense stare you’re giving him.

when he turns around, he jumps slightly. he wasn’t expecting you to be so close to him. now he sees you are, he grows a bit panicked. and you can tell he is.

“what’s going on with you?” you question, eyebrows furrowing with your crossed arms waiting for a response.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “there is nothing wrong, y/n. now, i really need to get to the room. there’s things i have to do.”

there it is. he’s trying to escape from you, again. you know damn well he doesn’t have to do anything, he’s just trying to get away from you!

“no you don’t! tell me now, why have you been avoiding me? is there something wrong? did i do something to upset you?” you’re throwing millions of questions at him at a time, and he only has the mental capacity to answer one.

“no, you didn’t do anything wrong. i just really need to go.” he replies, trying to head off before you grab his arm.

“please, if i did something just tell me. i’ve been worried sick about what’s going on, and you won’t let me know.”

he sighs, seeing your clear upset expression. he doesn’t want you feeling this way, but, he also wants to avoid any embarrassment from what he’s about to admit.

“fine. i’m…sick.” he admits, closing his eyes nervously so he can avoid seeing whatever type of reaction you have.

you can only gasp. there’s no way he was trying to hide the fact he was sick, you can only think, why?

“seriously? why didn’t you tell me? is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“i didn’t want to take the risk of getting you ill. the reason why i’ve been going to work less is because i’m actually going to appointments. i’m a doctor myself, so i was a bit humiliated to tell you about what i was feeling.” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“and for the reason you refuse to come out of your room?” you ask, demanding an answer.

“to be honest, i thought i’d be able to take care of myself.”

you instantly throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest as you look up at him. “don’t ever do that again. okay? i’ll take care of you. no matter what happens.” you state, dragging him to your bedroom.

“that won’t be necessary. believe me, i don’t want you to waste any time trying to tend to someone who was too careless on avoiding getting sick.”

“and believe me, i won’t be leaving you alone like this anytime soon.” you retort, laying him down on the bed.

you bring out your phone, searching up, how do i take care of my sick boyfriend?

seeing the results, you immediately snatch the pillows from under his head and start fluffing them. he watches you with amusement, not understanding what you’re trying to accomplish, but he appreciates it.

“do you feel hot or cold?” you ask, needing this information to take on your next steps of helping him feel comfortable.

“cold.” hearing his answer, you immediately rush downstairs, preparing him some water and heating up something warm to place below his feet in order to warm him up.

after what seems to be around fifteen minutes, he hears your feet rushing upstairs to the room. he chuckles, wondering what type of mischief you caused while being downstairs.

when you open the door, he sees you cooked him his favorite meal along with numerous warm items to help him stay toasty.

“y/n, you didn’t have to do all of this.” he softly mutters, watching you prepare everything to help him recover.

“yes i did! it says this may help you recover fast!” he can only smile at your determination, feeling incredibly lucky on how he was able to fall in love with you before anyone else.

after a few minutes, he’s sighing in content.

“everything feels great. unfortunately, there’s only one thing i don’t have that would certainly help me get better way faster.” you perk up, wondering what crucial thing zayne needs in order to make him feel better.

“what is it?”

“you next to me.” hearing his answer, you giggle, sliding into the bed right next to him, laying your head on his chest as he sticks an arm around you.

“you do realize you have a high chance of catching what i have, right?”

“yeah, but it’ll be worth it. as long as you’re here with me.”

#love and deep space #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne #zayne fluff #zayne x y/n #dr zayne #lads #lnds #꒰ঌ zayne works

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lovelybrooke · 10 months

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The way things were before (Platonic Yandere Muzan x reader)

This was inspired by the last episode of the latest season where we get some Muzan lore. This is kinda my first time writing real angst so tell me what you think. Keep in mind this is based on the anime and I haven't actually read the manga.

Pt.2

Check out my other works here: Masterlist.

Anger.

Ever since Muzan was young, one emotion he always felt was anger. It stuck to him like a tumor, destroying him from the inside out.

He felt anger for his illness that prevented him from having a real life. He felt anger for having to be tested on by doctors nearly daily. He felt anger that people looked down upon him as he grew weaker and weaker. But more importantly, he felt anger that nothing changed. He never got better, he never got stronger, no matter how much time went by.

As he aged, and his illness got worse, Muzan accepted the fact that his anger, his hatred for everyone would never leave him.

That was, until he found you. His beautiful, wonderful child, the only thing that could quell the rage inside of him.

You weren't his biologically, no, but that didn't matter to him. Before he was too sick to leave his bed, Muzan found you orphaned living on the streets and took you in. Ever since, you've been repaying him by taking care of him.

"Father, it is time to take you medicine." There you were, right on time. Muzan refused to take his medicine from anyone else, even his most notable doctors.

He was too weak to sit up, simply moving his head to acknowledge you, watching as you sat down in front of him. Muzan didn't complain as you moved his head so the medicine could travel done his throat more smoothly.

Once done, you lay his head back down, putting the small bowl down next to you, blessing him with a kind smile. "How are you feeling today father?" You question.

"I'm doing fine now that you are here, my child." You giggle, the smile reaching your eyes. A small smile graces Muzan's face at your happy demeanor. Even if it is only for a second, Muzan is happy.

"Oh, I almost forgot." You gasp, "The doctor has new medicine for you, he wanted to give it to you himself."

Muzan let out a childlike groan, rolling over to face the balcony. It was beautiful outside, but Muzan couldn't help but feel annoyed. The sun was too bright, the wide was too strong, the birds were too loud. Even the thought of having to interact with his doctor for a second caused his blood to boil.

You roll your eyes at him, "Father, you have to take your medicine, the doctor knows better than me." He does move to face you, but you could tell he was annoyed.

"The doctors are incompetent." He moves back on his back; his brows cross in frustration. "They have been treating me for years, but here I remain, trapped in by bed." He laments.

You frown at his words, looking away from your father with sorrow. You remember a time when he was still healthy enough to spend time with you, your favorite days being when he would grow flowers with you, teaching you about their meanings and medical uses. But now, just standing was enough to strip him of all his strength.

You've been forced to watch as your father grows more resentful for the people around him, hating his doctors, maids, even gardeners for simply existing, being able to live the life he most desperately wanted. On days where his illness is at his worse, he mumbles about wanting to destroy them all, something you assumed was delirium caused by the medicine.

Even though your father has changed, you still love him, and you can't help but see him as the carefree, happy man he was when you were younger, even now. It's why you so desperately want him to get better, so that maybe you could go back to the way things once were.

"Father, I promise they just want to help." You try and talk some sense into him, though his resolve doesn't budge. You sigh, "it would make me really happy if you let the doctors give you the medicine." You put emphasis on the word really, in hopes it would motivate him. To your luck it did, Muzan moving to face you, sighing at your pleading face.

"Fine." Was all he said, feeling warmth bubble up in him as you smiled. You leaned down and hugged him the best you could.

"Thank you, father." Muzan smiles, happy once more.

---

You haven't visited you father in days, him forbidding you from entering his room a few days after he took the new medicine. You didn't mind though, it probably had some bad side effects, so you left him alone. Though, you couldn't help but question whenever he ordered for a worker to enter his room, especially when you swore, they never left.

Today was the final straw, you had to see your father. Workers had been disappearing left and right, and you knew your father was not going to be happy about it if you kept it from him.

As you get closer and closer to your father's room, a stench more disgusting than anything you've smelt before entered your nose and caused you to gag. You would've thrown up than and their if you didn't cover your mouth quickly.

The smell only got worse as you slowly crept towards the door, it nearly becoming unbearable. You swallowed down you fear as you knocked at the door. You could hear the faint sounds of crunching, like someone was chewing on something tough which made heartbeat against your ribs.

"F-father, are you in there." The chewing stopped and your heart sank. Your hands shook as you heard someone move towards the door. Slowly, the door opened, revealing your father covered in blood. He smiled down at you creepily, a stark contrast between the horror that covered your face.

Muzan moves to cup your cheek in his hand, blood smearing on your face. He could hear your fearful breathing coming from your nose as you inhale and exhale in rapid succession. He rubs your cheek, trying to calm you down as you look into his room, seeing the mangled-up bodies behind him. Your breathing became even more erratic at the sight, Muzan simply sighing with a frown.

"(Y/N), you don't understand-"

"You killed them, father." You whisper, backing away from him.

"I am much stronger now; I can protect you." You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. What was he talking about?

"You killed them." Your repeat you back hitting the wall. Muzan was directly in front of you, looking down intimidatingly. For the first time in your life, your father scared you.

"I had to, my child." He answers, his voice calm, but you could sense his annoyance. "It's the only way I can remain strong."

You don't say anything as he moves closer, hugging you into his chest as your world went dark.

---

It's been years since that day.

Your now older, more aware of the situation you're in. You father was now a demon, forced to consume humans in order to live. You realized quickly it was from the medicine the doctor gave him, and you curse him everyday for doing so.

He took your home from you, forcing you and your father out of your village. He took your life from you, forcing you to remain hidden with you father. Most importantly, he took your father from you, him now a husk of the man he once was.

Along with the myriad of strange side effects, your father couldn't go out in the day, the sun causing him immense pain, one of the only few things that could hurt him.

You learned to treasure the mornings, them being the few hours away from your father. While he was busy learning all he could about his aliment, you were trying to maintain the image of a normal human being. Working, socializing, anything you could do to forget about the atrocities your father committed when the sun set.

You wish things would go back to the way they were before.

"-N)? (Y/N)?" Oh, you were in the hospital, getting blood work done. You look over at the doctor in front of you, him attempting to get you attention.

You've been feeling terrible for the past few days, constant headaches, hot flashes, soreness. You could barely move without pain. You got blood work done, now waiting for the results with anticipation.

"I just wanted to ask you a question before giving you the news." His voice is solemn, not giving you a good feeling. "Does your family have any history of illness?"

You want to answer yes, but that would we wrong. You're not Muzan's child, so you shouldn't have inherited his illness. "No, my father was plagued with illness years ago, but he's...better now and I'm not his child biologically."

The doctor nodded, looking away dejectedly. When his eyes finally met yours, they were serious, "You've developed a rare blood disease." You heart sinks, but the doctor continues, "I suspect about a month or so is what you have left."

You could feel tears in your eyes, but surprisingly you didn't feel all that sad. Ever since you were young, you've accepted the fact that you would die, it's something you've learned from your times on the streets. The doctor continues talking, but you don't hear a word, to busy wondering how you're going to tell Muzan.

---

"Father, I'm home." No response, but you know he heard you.

On your way home, you accepted that you weren't going to tell Muzan. You knew if you would, he would try to turn you, and you couldn't accept that fate. To you, even death was a better fate than becoming a demon.

You slowly make you way up to your father's study, knocking on the door before entering. Like most days, your father is hunched over his desk, books and papers strewn about.

He doesn't acknowledge you when you enter, even when you move to stand beside him. You take a look at the scientific papers, not understanding a single thing about any of them. The only recognizable thing was the blue spider lily that for some reason was crucial to father.

"How was your appointment?" He doesn't look at you, flipping through pages of a book.

You sigh, shaking your head, "It was fine. Apparently, I was overreacting." You let out an awkward laugh. Muzan nods, before moving his attention back to his book.

It's like he was consumed by this flower, it was the only thing he cared about. You missed you father, even though it's been years since he's felt like one. In a way, you feel like death would be more welcoming than the life you have now, one that is consumed by fear for the man your supposed to feel safe around.

You left without telling you father, silently hoping you wouldn't see him in the morning.

---

Your hopes were not answered.

It's been week, but death does not come, all that greeted you was endless pain.

Your father found out when you collapsed one morning, and while he was mad you lied to him, he was livid when you refused to be turned into a demon. He's never yelled at you before, it surprised you when he screamed and threatened you, but you didn't change your mind.

In the end, your father was forced to watch you slowly succumb to your illness. You attempted to brighten his mood by framing the situation as repaying you. You took care of him, now he is doing the same. The only difference being you won't make it out in the end.

"Father, do you remember when I was little," You murmur to him; you voice raw and quiet. Your room was dark, blocking out any light so you could barely see your father looking at you. "You used to grow flowers with me." Your giggle sounds almost painful, but the smile on your face was one Muzan had nearly forgotten. "I'd get so sad when mine would die."

He doesn't speak, he can't, "Then you'd tell me not to cry, because death is normal for all living beings." Your voice is getting quieter as you speak, but he doesn't acknowledge it. "You were trying to comfort me about your death, I didn't know that at the time."

Muzan wants you to stop talking, he hates the pain in your voice. "I wish we could go back to the way things were before." You said, before finally going quiet. Muzan hears your breathing stop before letting out a sob.

---

It's been over a thousand years since your death and ever since then, Muzan has been filled with anger.

Anger for this imperfect world that took you away from. Anger at you for refusing the life he could've given you. Anger at himself for making your last few moments miserable.

He doesn't know who to blame for his misfortune, but he knows that if he lets anger consume him, he'll find someone to blame.

Muzan chooses to remember you when you were younger and at your happiest. When he's alone, his mind often wanders to these moments, when you were just a child, so small he was afraid anything would hurt you. He never let you out of his sight, wanting to protect you from the world.

Though in the end, he still lost you.

Since the day you died, Muzan was filled with rage. And he will continue to be until the day he sees you again.

He just wishes things would go back to the way they were before.

---

A/n: I don't even know if this counts as Yandere but whatever.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #kny muzan #kny x reader #platonic muzan x reader #muzan x reader

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meanbossart · 3 months

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i just need to take a second to gush about how much i love durge drow and astarion, they feel so fleshed out and perfectly written together in their fucked up wretched ways. They really inspire me to write more for my own tavs, hopefully one day ill be able to say im as happy with my own work as i get when seeing yours. I have to ask though, do you have any tips on drawing head shapes and faces? or maybe about wrinkles? i find i really struggle with that stuff when drawing and i adore how expressive and grungey all your art looks!

First of all thank you so much, I love hearing what people think of the two of them together 😭

Honestly you've hit on something that's quite near and dear to my heart, I love developing and figuring how to draw and stylize different faces to get the most unique, interesting looking results - everything about the details is highly rewarding to me. What does x type of nose look like from this angle? In this style? How can this eyeshape best translate to my art? How different does a face look when its making this expression? What does that MOUTH DO? etc etc.

In fact you kind of inspired me to put a little tutorial/guide together the last hour lmao and what a blessing it is that the two current subjects of this blog serve as great models here, being that their faces are basically polar opposites!

When it comes to heads, you've probably heard it a dozen times before that you want to think of them in terms of geometry and facets; my process to drawing them is pretty conventional so I won't spend too much time on it, but it goes something like this:

Obviously I don't do every single one of these steps most of the time, which is just something that comes from practice/developing muscle memory, but it is helpful to start off this way for two main reasons:

By making these guide lines and splitting a head into pieces like this, you'll have an easier time seeing and understanding it as a multidimensional object, and in turn, facilitate It for you when you venture out into doing wacky angles and lighting.

Making different headshapes starts HERE. notice how Astarion's "face" slate is narrower and longer, how my durge's jaw pieces sit lower on the head, how all of the same pieces came together in the same way but we ended up with one real pointy elf and a real brick of a drow - making characters look different successfully begins very early in the sketching process.

The next thing you want to do branches out into every day life: start noticing yours and other people's facial features. How does an upturned nose look from a high angle? How does the size of someone's cheekbones affect what they look like when they smile? How about when the light hits them a certain way? Does someone's lip shape changes when they pout? When they laugh? How does a person's hairline change the shape of their face? You do NOT need to creepily sketch every stranger you see on the bus, but get into the habit of actually noticing what people look like when you talk to them - when you look at pictures, when you watch movies - make a mental list of interesting ways mouths, noses, and eyes can come together in a variety of different proportions to make completely distinct looking mugs, and how they change depending on how you are looking at them.

Light and shadow play a HUGE role in how faces look, too, basically as crucial as actual bone structure does. As you see up there I tried to rough out how natural, head on, and underhead light would look on these two very different looking guys, and while we can see definite patterns, there are small differences that come to be because of the sizes and shapes of their features.

Here is a very, very basic look at how some of these features come to look the way they do, how they interact with one another, and how they compare between a blocky, rather conventionally "masculine" head and one that's much softer and slimmer.

Note please that it is not one or two characteristics that give a chaarcter their "look"; you can reduce a face to eyes, mouth, and nose through stylization and still have them be recognizable, but if you want to do more than that, you have to consider the whole package! Chin, cheeks, brows, direction of the jaw, slope and size of the forehead, depth of eyes, ridge of the nose, etc - I know this is probably far more than you bargained for, but if you start making note of a FEW of these things now and slowly add on, this will eventually become second nature to you.

Similarly, understanding how these characteristics come together will help you with rendering light and shadow in a realistic way, and predicting what their facial expressions may look like - if no two people are alike, neither are their smiles. :)

Lastly, remember that I'm no expert - I have developed my own methods and semiotics and yours may look slightly (or vastly) different, and that's fine! I hope only that by sharing this it has given you a base to work off of.

Anyways, I HOPE this has been helpful and not just the unsolicited ramblings of a face pervert.

#ask #art #advice #tutorial #astarion #DU drow

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howtofightwrite · 1 month

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Is it possible for a character who is 18cm shorter and not as muscled as their opponent to pin said opponent to the ground in a few calculated moves? Both characters are fit and exercise regularly, but the shorter character has trained in various martial arts (with and without weapons) and the taller one is more proficient in sword duelling. My intent is to write a sparring scene where the shorter character humbles the (overconfident) taller one. Any specific martial arts I should look at?

So... being shorter doesn't matter. In fact, in this situation, it is an advantage.

I'm going to point out here that if you're not careful, your character that you want to have a badass moment is going to look like an complete asshole because they are humiliating another character who they actually are better than. If they haven't been trading off humiliations to build tension (safely so no one gets hurt) then you're going to have a lopsided “sparring” session. Or, you will, if you haven't been building up your narrative to support the humbling. (And there is a lot that goes into these scenes to make them work, which, if you're not familiar with how martial arts training works then you'll approach it from the wrong mindset and hit Starke's pet peeve.)

Let's hit the ground running with the high points:

Sparring is not dueling.

Sparring is not play fighting.

Sparring is not so you can humiliate your opponent.

Sparring is not about fighting anyone or anything.

Sparring is a training exercise so that both of you can work on improving specific techniques.

Do people in real life get carried away sparring? Yes, they do. Are they complete competitive idiots about it? Yes, they are. Do they get punished for it? Absolutely, they do. This is especially true where they'll be expected to put their lives on the line. Treating violence like a game is detrimental, and leaves the trainee ill-prepared for dealing with real danger when in the field. Make no mistake, that is exactly the mindset you are describing in this question. Your characters (at least your minor ones, the trainers in this situation if your leads are too young or too dumb to comprehend their reality) should care about stomping this attitude out. And you as the author should to. Why? Because if you don't take the violence in your narrative seriously neither will your audience.

There are rules, as a writer it's imperative you establish the rules (and there no rules means you haven't established them for violence in your setting and therefore won't be able to establish the baseline that can be built upon later) and one of the rules is that you're not going to spar someone with a weapon (wood or otherwise) unless you both have weapons. There's not a lot of value in having one character spar with a weapon and one spar without one unless it's a knife, and the point is learning the dangers of knife fighting. And knives make sense because they are in the same distance range as fists. Swords are in a completely separate distance category. They are mid-range weapons.

You don't practice disarms by sparring, you practice disarms by practicing disarms in a controlled setting where you're repeating the motion over and over. Can you humiliate a person by being good at practice disarms? Yes. You do it by being a complete dick. It also requires the character in question to be better at the moves in question than the other character performing them because they need to be able to confidently, or at least believe they can, counter the other person's growing anger while taking the move a step further or two than they're supposed to. It also means they can get away with it without arousing the suspicions of their instructor (or act with their instructors approval) and no one gets hurt. (We hope.) For a character to do this is a sign of overconfidence, FYI. As is trying to humiliate someone in a sparring session. The characters that are good enough? They don't do it.

In fiction, good sparring scenes serve one real purpose. They establish a baseline of skill in safe setting so the audience becomes comfortable only for that to be disrupted and thrown into chaos when the characters encounter real violence. There's two paths for this. Either the character is a big winner only to be brutally beaten later, or they get dumped on their ass to find that they're actually much better prepared than they thought later when it matters. That's why so many stories with these scenes dump their MC on their ass, especially in any Wuxia or Shounen manga. This is because the authors of these stories understand that sparring has no reflection on how well a person will do when they're allowed out of the training safe space. If your baseline is: my character is awesome. Then it's all downhill from that point on.

Say it with me, Losses Create Tension. If your character is winning all the time, you have no tension and your fight scenes will be boring. The goal when it comes to creating a character who is good at fighting is to make other characters look better. Or, from an antagonistic/mentor point they exist to establish the height our MCs must eventually reach/how much further they have to go in their journey. Kakashi's fight with Zabuza or the first fight between Itachi and Sasuke in Naruto are both great examples of how to do this well.

I'm not saying you can't write a sparring scene like the one you intend. I can't tell you to do anything, what I want to you to start doing is considering the implications of the scene, what it may say about your world and characters that you didn't intend, and it's overall impact on the whole of your narrative. Narrative gratification here is work you'll need to do to build back your tension later. Is it a win your MC can afford?

Now, you can look at any martial art that has a ground fighting component for what you want to do unless you're planning on having the duelist spar with their sword. If you want that, you're going to have to do a lot more work with a smaller pool. This will be doubly true if your characters are of European descent and you want to avoid the East Asian martial art styles.

Type: “how do you knock your opponent off balance?” into Google and you'll find a lot of variations.

The basic concept behind putting someone on the ground isn't strength, it's balance. The key is disrupting your opponent's balance. If you're skilled enough or your opponent's footwork is bad enough, it can be done in a single move. In fact, it can be done a variety of different ways from a variety of different moves from countless different martial arts. The question isn't can it be done, the question is how does your character want to do it? The fact they are short only helps them because their center of gravity will be lower than their opponent's, they don't have to work as hard to maintain their balance, their stance doesn't have to be as deep, and they will have an easier time knocking a taller person over. Most people who've never practiced martial arts have no idea how foundational the footwork is or how important the feet are to staying upright.

I personally like reviewing Silat for studying balance, not necessarily for techniques, but because I find their instruction on the concept easy to grasp/digest. They do the string on the top of the head and the balance triangle, which if you can wrap your mind around that you'll be able to conceptualize fight scenes where the character focuses on knocking an opponent off balance better.

The above is a more advanced video, but if you have no martial arts background or even a sports background whatsoever then you want to aim for instructional videos that focus on concepts over techniques. The advice is always write what you know and if you don't know learn. Copying techniques onto the page won't create a great fight scene. Understanding the concept, philosophy, and basic body mechanics behind the techniques will get you much further. None of them are stand ins for real experience or doing it yourself. If you really want to be good at it, find a martial art you like, find a school nearby, and invest the time.

All of your characters' martial arts moves (whether they are dueling with a sword or fighting hand to hand) function around the body's center of gravity. Your center of gravity is slightly above your hips and in your core muscles i.e your abdominal muscles. They will be trained so maintaining their balance is second nature. When martial artists talk about overextending, they're talking about putting your weight past your balance point which puts you in danger of losing your balance/falling over or being grabbed, kicked, etc and getting thrown, tripped, or forced into a fall. This can happen when you're throwing a punch, doing a kick, lunging with your sword, or doing any other sort of movement. You end up in a position where your balance between your front and back leg is destabilized, which creates the opening for your opponent to throw you. Or when you fall over on the ice, because that happens too.

Some other martial arts to turn to:

Judo

Jiu Jutsu

Aikido

Baguazhang (Seen in Avatar the Last Airbender as the basis for Air Bending)

Tai Chi Chuan

Northern Shaolin

Taekwondo (if you want to do it via kicks, all kicking martial arts innately focus on balance)

Krav Maga

Ninjutsu

The list goes on.

I also recommend dipping your toes into live action martial arts flicks to start getting yourself accustomed to more complex choreography. This is getting yourself out of the animated space (like in anime) and into the space where you have to watch a live person perform the techniques. Asian cinema has a different choreography style than the US does, because there are different cultural expectations. Overall, the choreography is more intricate and they break the action down a lot more (as opposed to American media where they zoom out to cover for the stunt double.) It's easier to see how the bodies are working and they put a lot more focus on destabilizing balance as part of the fight sequences. Hollywood doesn't get into the weird martial arts shit unless it's an actual martial arts action film. You can also do an Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra deep dive because the action there is also usually on point, but I'm a proponent of going to the source when you want to learn something. So, you know watch Alchemy of Souls instead.

-Michi

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #michi answers #martial arts #sparring

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y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

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D&D Vampire Lore Dump #1

Feeding and Diet It's actually more complicated than just "they bite you and eat your blood." Plus what they're able to eat; how often they need to eat; what happens to you if they bite you and what happens to them if they don't feed- spoiler: it's unpleasant. Incidentally, you should reload and kill Cazador again.

(I was comparing stuff across editions and compiling it into something more coherent and then figured I'd info dump about it in case my fixations are useful to somebody out there.)

DISCLAIMER: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

They only need to feed once in a 24 hour period. Vampires can survive between 3-9 months of starvation, but it's a terrible idea. -

There are three different categories of "Undead Hunger." Vampires have two of them and actually need to consume more than one thing to stay "healthy": Blood and life force. -

The blood is obvious. This is categorised as a "diet dependency." It's required to preserve their bodies and powers, and without it their powers* are suppressed as their bodies begin to shut down. *This refers to the powers a vampire gains with age; they cannot lose power they had as a newborn (the base stat blocks given for vampires and spawn given in the monster manual) A vampire requires the equivalent of 12 hit points of blood a day, or it begins to revert into a corpse-like state. Mentally they slowly regress into a desperate, mindless animal frenzy where they'll kill and drain anything containing blood they can get their hands on. Ultimately, if they don't get any blood then they revert into a corpse and they're trapped in their own body as it begins to wither and mummify. They're trapped in a coma, vaguely aware of the passing of time in flashes of awareness until somehow they are fed blood. If they ever wake up again, they will probably wake up feral and absolutely ravenous. -

Vampires rely on the victim's blood pressure to expel blood from the wound they create, lapping and mouthing at the wound rather than actually sucking on it. Being bitten is a highly pleasurable experience that victims can't help but desire, even when they know they shouldn't. -

While the damage done remains, the wounds from a Vampire bite closes itself quickly after the feeding (assuming you're still alive). It does however leave a mark. The bite mark itself is often "less than half an inch in length", and leaves behind a significant bruise that causes no pain or sensitivity to touch. Other side effects include fatigue and a weakened immune system. -

Vampires typically target sleeping victims (less likely to fight back) and favour the blood of their own race above others. So theoretically, Astarion finds elf blood tastes best. -

Drinking animal blood tastes bland and is health-wise akin to drinking tainted water: yes it might keep you alive in desperate times, but it's ultimately bad for you and will probably make you ill. That said, it has no mechanical detriments and a vampire that's forced to live on animal blood will be just as strong as its kin, but considerably bad tempered about it. -

A vampire's secondary feeding requirement is called an "inescapable craving", which means that if a vampire doesn't get that fix then their hunger begins to devour them instead. The pain is described as a spike boring into the vampire's brain, obscuring their awareness. They begin to obsess over feeding to the exclusion of everything else, they become willing to take ridiculous levels of risk to stop the hunger as they become more and more desperate. As they are consumed they become progressively more feral until they're just a rampaging mindless horror driven only by horrific hunger. For vampires, their inescapable craving is life force, which a vampire leeches from their prey through touch leaving the victim weak. Direct skin contact isn't required, if you're wearing full plate and/or the vampire is wearing gloves and they lay a hand on you they can still drain you. Mechanically these were combat abilities, energy/level draining occurred when a vampire struck a target with their own body (usually their hands). Before 5e hit them with a nerf bat, vampires could permanently weaken you this way (you could lose character levels from this). 5e also seems to have rolled life drain into the biting, so a vampire can consume your blood and energy at the same time. -

Post feeding, a vampire starts to look alive. Their skin is flushed and warm and they feel elated and energetic. In contrast, a vampire that hasn't been feeding properly becomes more corpse like and feels "sluggish" (I'm interpreting that as flu-like symptoms). It's purely emotional however, the vampire is no less capable and dangerous and suffers no mechanical penalties. -

Vampires can feed on other vampires, which is actually more filling than living humanoid blood and gives them the ability to communicate telepathically for a few hours. They don't like it though. If a vampire drinks from another vampire then they can be controlled by that vampire and the link forces them to feel affection for each other against their will until it wears off. The results of both vampires in question feeding on each other is described as "debilitating" since they both paradoxically become enslaved to the other's will and forced to "love" each other creating an absolute dysfunctional mess of control, obsession and resentment. The good news is that it only lasts a few hours. -

Some vampires can eat regular food (no nutritional value in it for them) while others would regurgitate it if they tried. As they retain their tongues, vampires can also taste food. That said, it's a bad idea for them to eat garlic, even if they can eat solid food. -

Some kinds of vampires don't drink blood. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff a vampire might be required to consume instead. Spinal fluid stands out. Or the bit about ones who drain the ocular fluid from your eyes. Gale might find interesting things to talk about with the magic eating ones who prey on mages. They're much less common, probably something to do with most people not finding that very sexy. I don't think any of them exist on Toril.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #vampire tav #long post #the screaming into the void will continue until the hyperfixation is out of my system

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mokkkki · 6 months

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the way you write is so beautiful... tips for somebody new to writing who wants to write like you?

YOU are so beautiful, thank you so much! im not sure about any tips i have, but ill give it a shot. these are what i personally believe to have been the most important things:

find your wavelength my writing became a lot more stylized and personalized after i found an author that i resonated with, as well as a couple of themes. it just helps to know what you are actually interested in writing in, versus what you think other people would like to read. im personally interested in writing about relationships and dynamics, so my writing will always be more character than action driven. also, it helps, because youre always going to end up writing what you want to write, even in the smallest of ways, so why not embrace it fully? write what you want to read. otherwise, you wont have fun. and writing is SO MUCH FUN. knowing what youre into and what youre trying to channel gives you a really strong basis for all of your writing - not only will it take time for you to find your wavelength, meaning that youll have to expose yourself to many different genres and authors, which is a must, youll always be able to look back at that ONE creative piece and grab some motivation from it.

expose and explore creativity is everywhere - tv shows, movies, books, fanfics, comics, art, architecture, history (!!!), mythology, sports, reality - literally everywhere you can think of. dont wait for inspiration because its everywhere if you look hard enough. familiarize yourself with the seven basic plots, the thirty-six dramatic situations, basic foreshadowing elements, and other essentials. this isnt something to study or memorize, just to KNOW - its good to be aware of the foundations of literature.

embrace the brainrot and maintain a balance become obsessed w your own ocs, your own plots, your own everything. be your own biggest fan. to enter an abusive relationship with your own work is extremely upsetting, because youre doing wrong by the wonderful world youve made, and doing wrong by that part of you that just wants to be creative, too - and if that happens, its probably because you arent writing what you want to write, or controlling what doesnt want to be controlled. let your characters be individuals, let them go where they want to go, just follow and note what theyre doing. sometimes writing is a passive activity rather than active creation, and thats okay! thats when you know youve built a solid world that can run by itself and you just contribute to. that being said, while theres nothing quite like the hours spent ravenously typing, you need to find a balance. you are as important as your work, because without you, the work wouldnt exist. i also reccomend forcing yourself NOT to write on specific days. some ideas need to marinate, and some people need to rest.

i hope this was helpful <;3 if you ever need more help (and this also applies to those reading), feel free to reach out! im open to being a beta reader or just a brainstorming partner. lots of love!

#writing tips #ask

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ladamedusoif · 2 months

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able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story.

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

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Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders.

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being.

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness.

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now.

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes.

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did.

Jackson stands before you.

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey.

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can.

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes.

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street.

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.”

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before.

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation.

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground.

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him.

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones.

Raiders.

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name.

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off.

Joel takes aim.

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening.

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not.

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle.

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground.

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick.

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg.

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle.

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being.

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you.

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol.

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking.

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe.

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours.

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance.

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?”

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood.

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch.

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…”

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you.

Fuck it.

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now.

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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lazybutsmexy · 1 year

Note

NOOO NO NO NO TAKE IT BACK APOLOGY W TEARS RN IM SOBBING CRYING DON'T DO THIS TO ME THIS IS A PERSONAL ATTACK(it was delicious, scrumptious wow i love seeing sadness) MAKE IT BETTER OW OW BRING THEM BACK(it was so good i love your writing eating it up yumyumyum) I crave more of them all being platonic (HURT/COMFORT?!??!) plsplspls begging for crumbs in tears ill do anything

Hmmm... I am a slut for hurt/comfort myself...

Task Force + affectionate reader Pt. 3

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Warnings: HURT/COMFORT, bit of cursing.

The people who smile the most are often the saddest. The people who share the most love often don't feel any towards themselves.

Or: it's your team's turn to show affection

It was one of those days.

One of those days where you didn't have the energy to care about yourself. You were able to keep up with your little routines around base, somehow. But it was dimmed, a matte finish to what was once all shiny and sparkly.

Because it was one of those days.

You always became like this after taking leave for longer than two days. You'd visit your family during that time - or rather, they would come to you as soon as they realized you were at your place downtown and not the barracks - and bombard you with anything they set their minds to.

No matter how grueling your missions were, your family always managed to make you feel even more drained during leave. Their constant demands and mental games, the guilt-tripping and manipulation, always made you feel as if you were walking on eggshells around them.

Tracking down and dismantling human trafficking rings seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with them.

You personally tried your best to keep your personal problems away from your work, greeting everyone around you with the same cheery tone, and going about your little routine with the others as usual.

But they had started to notice how your smile didn't reach your eyes, and how you seemed unable to shake off the frown in your brows.

And to avoid unwanted questions that you were too ashamed to answer, you simply chose to distance yourself.

Price shared a look with Ghost, who stood across the room from him, and he shared the same concern in his eyes as they watched you walk into the debrief room

you sat yourself at the back, whereas you'd usually choose to sit in the middle of your team

they immediately knew what was going to happen, you were about to start isolating yourself.

they were having none of that.

Price had always kept a close eye on the family relations of his team members.

it was a security measure, after all, to make sure that not only they weren't targeted by dangerous people, but also to make sure they were no connected in any way to their missions.

but in your case it was different, he monitored your family to make sure they never stayed close to you for too long.

it seemed it hadn't been enough this time, and he saw your haggard state as the consequence of that failure.

he would definitely fix that

he began talking to both Laswell and his superiors to get you one of the smaller houses within base

even though you were unmarried and didn't have any children, he knew it would be impossible for those pesky family members to get close to your home without permission

your parents had managed to talk your landlord into giving them access to your apartment - that would not happen under Price's watch

he would actually blacklist them if he had the chance to do so

he wouldn't let you know he was trying to get you a house, at first - he didn't want you to feel like a burden

but he was not exactly subtle when he began asking what colors you preferred on your walls, if you minded only having a shower head or if you preferred a bathtub, etc

Soap wasn't subtle at all, oh no

boy got you hooked in a one-arm hug for as long as you'd let him

that could be a few minutes or all day long, he didn't mind one bit

endlessly squeezed and smooched on your hairline whenever he caught you lost in thought

definitely the one to (lovingly) manhandle you into a blanket burrito and snuggle you into his lap to watch movies

surprisingly a great cook, he would go all out and cook you whatever your comfort food was

it didn't matter if it was 3 AM

you would be fed, and you could almost taste the love he poured in it

definitely wore a 'kiss the cook' apron to make you giggle and try to get a smooch from you

Gaz is the king of self care

you would not let your skincare/hair routine go under his watch

he would do it for you if you didn't have the energy to do so

he would just sit you on the toilet and he'd take care of all the steps of your skincare routine

if he didn't have all the steps memorized, he definitely had a bulletpoint list of specific instructions to guide himself

same with your hair - trust this man with your hair, you won't regret it, ever

this man had magic hands for scalp massages fight me if you disagree

if you aren't comfortable being nude in front of him, he would simply put a chair in front of the sink like a makeshift hair wash basin and work like that

if you were comfortable being nude in front of him, he would make it into a full-body wash

after working with your hair, he would scrub your body down

every now and then he would massage your tired muscles while telling you how much he appreciated you as both his teammate and his friend

after shower cuddles were a must

you would very likely doze off in his arms while he held you impossibly close to him

Ghost didn't see himself as a person capable of comforting others

but all doubts flew through the window the moment he saw your downcast gaze and a tired hunch of your shoulders

at this point in time, you had become about 80% of the team's moral incentive

of course he knew it was quite unfair to dump all of that on you, he supposed you would have your down days too

but you were part of a team, and no one fought alone - be it terrorist organizations or their own inner demons

he would work alongside Price to get you a new living place

any person trying to ask you stupid and/or unwanted questions would find themselves at the other end of one of his famous death glares

or at the aim of his fist

when you approached him to pat him on the shoulder like always, pretending that everything was all right, he placed his own hand on your shoulder

he looked into your eyes and spoke to you with such sincerity that you were shaken to the core

"...You know that you are just as deserving of love as everyone else, right?"

moments later, you were clutching his middle, with your face buried in his chest while he hugged you tightly

he didn't mind that his shirt felt a little wetter with your tears

he focused on stroking your hair and rubbing your back, while glaring at anyone who dared to look at you questioningly

he would let you hug him until your arms fell off if that's what you needed

more cuddles!!

...he wouldn't mind it too much either if Soap and Gaz joined in a cuddle pile - he pretended to be annoyed, but he thought it felt nice

imagine how much nicer it would feel for you :)

#ask #answered #anonymous #nonnie ask #task force 141 headcanons #captain john price headcanons #john soap mactavish headcanons #simon ghost riley headcanons #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #gaz headcanons #captain price headcanons #ghost headcanons #soap headcanons #cod mw2 headcanons #cod mwii headcanons #cod mw2 #cod mwii

1K notes · View notes

qtboni · 9 months

Note

hi AGAIN.

ugh i cant get out of your fucking page. its like i live here like a rat

im back, hi, have another req bc i just thought of it and needed it in my veins.

how about some comfort from fatherfigure!price? like reader is sad kinda and he helps? maybe reader "accidentally" calls him dad, nothing to /srs

(im mentally okay i swear😭)

idk if you even do price tbh, i haven't seen it on your page tho

anyways i needed to write this somewhere or ill forget and like wither away into nothing or sum shit

im being dramatic. i think.

okay thats it bye bye dearest boni.

(sorry im constently blowing up your asks😭😭)

HAI LOVIE !! THIS WAS SO FUNNY TO WRITE AGHSHS ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LOMG OMG.

╰﹒ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐃 𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 ?

PAIRING: Captain 'John' Price X Reader

C/W: comfort & humor! + gn!reader, explicit words, price playin' wit chu, somebody ate your cake (it was soap don't tell him tho /hj)

W/C: 1.3k

"What's got you looking so down today, sergeant?" Captain Price asked in his usual stern voice as he entered the living room, noticing the dejected look on your face.

You had been sitting on the sofa for hours now, cleaning your holster and moping around. He approached you with a glass of water in hand.

"Somebody ate my cake," you slowly replied, your voice heavy with emotion. You didn't usually get sad over such small things, but today, you feel so tired.

"Are you telling me that you're this upset over a slice of cake?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. Captain Price raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to hear something like that coming from you.

"I guess I am," you said, your voice barely audible. You shrugged and looked down at your holster, not wanting to admit to being such a crybaby. "I was saving it for this specific rest day to ... indulge myself with sweets.."

Captain Price's expression softened as he placed the glass of water down next to you. He sat down on the sofa next to you and put an arm around your shoulders.

"Listen, sergeant," he said in a comforting tone, "It's okay to be upset about something. Everyone has their own quirks and things that are important to them. And in our line of work, we need to be able to deal with any situation and not let little stuff like this get us down."

"Thanks, Cap'," you said, a hint of embarrassment in your voice. You smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance.

"Any time," He replied with a soft smile. He then stood up and left the room, returning a few minutes later with two fairly large cookies, handing it to you. "Here, this should cheer you up."

"No way," You were overjoyed, your face lighting up with a smile.

"Yes way," He replied, playfully eyeing the cookies then to you. "Have it, yeah?"

"Dad, oh my god," You squealed excitedly, taking a bite out of the cookie, savoring the taste of the sweetness and the tenderness. "This is so sweet of you. Thank you so much!"

Oh no. Dad? Did you just call your captain, 'dad'?

Avoiding the embarrassment of calling your captain 'dad' in a moment of vulnerability, you silently prayed that he hadn't heard it. This was going to be awkward, and the thought of having to explain yourself was making you cringe.

Just play it off...

Now as much as Price wants to give you the other cookie for you to eat, he retracted his hand away from your grabby hands, not letting you get one.

"Cap?" Your hands stay levitated, clearly ready to munch on the cookie on your Captain's grip.

Did he caught on?

"Hm?"

You had to think fast. Change the subject before things got too awkward!

"Are.. are you going to eat that?"

"Nope."

"Then why- actually no, just- isn't that for me?"

"Correct," He chuckles as he continued dangling the pastry infront of you.

Silence.

You stared at him incredulously, your hand visibly itching to just pounce on the cookie and munch on it.

What was your captain doing?

"See, the funny thing is, kid," He trailed off as he waves the cookie back and forth with his hand up in the air. He smirks when your eyes followed the cookie's movement. "I haven't thought much of being a father."

Shit. Play it off...

You hummed in confusion, tilting your head in curiosity.

Where was he going with this? And also, can he just give you the cookie? After all, he gave it to you, right?

Just give me the cookie, dammit.

"Let alone..." He paused and looked at you in the eyes. Shit. "Someone calling me one, aye?"

You feel like you could sink into the ground and vanish from existence. The embarrassment was too much to bear!

"...Who?"

Bye.

Captain Price chuckles at you, "Don't play dumb on me now, sergeant."

Your mind is racing, trying to think of something to say. You stuttered a reply, "I- Capta-"

But before you know it, he interrupts your thoughts with his sharp wit.

"Oh? It was 'Dad' a second ago, wasn't it?" He retorded with a proud smirk playing across his lips, looking at you with an air of amusement and teasing. He knows exactly what to say to get under your skin and he's not afraid to use it to his advantage.

It's clear that he wants an answer, but all you can do is sputter a few incoherent words before retreating back into your shell. You feel a mix of embarrassment and frustration, wishing you could come up with a clever come-back, but the only thing that's clear right now is that Price has you stumped.

"Sergeant?" He calls out to you teasingly, awaiting for your reply to his question.

"Mhm?" You can feel your ears slowly turning red as your Captain's teasing hits a nerve. You can't seem to quite meet his eyes, instead looking at the ground with an embarrassed blush. You fidget with the straps of your holster, unable to quite figure out how to respond.

"Wasn't it 'Dad' a second ago?" Captain Price repeated as he raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and confusion.

You blush in embarrassment as you realize he wouldn't let you get off easily withyour slip-up. You look down at the ground.

"I'm sorry, sir," You quickly clear your throat, hoping to regain your composure. Still unable to break your gaze from the floor, you mutter, "It won't happen again."

Suddenly, the cookie appeared in your line of vision that was still situated at the ground. You heard your captain sigh and tutted, drawing your attention back to him.

The cookie! The cookie?

He held the cookie out to you, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to accept it. You were initially taken aback, feeling a surge of warmth and gratitude toward your captain.

"Didn't ask for an apology, kid," He said with a playful frown, seemingly amused by the situation. He took your hand and placed the cookie on it, his gaze locking onto yours. "Was just surprised is all, hm?"

"Still," You cleared you throat as straightened your posture and looked up at him, albeit still feeling the sting of embarrassment. "It's my bad."

"Mhm," He hummed softly and raised his hand up to your head. He gently pats your head affectionately, yet his hand ruffled your hair, leaving it disheveled. "Whatever floats your boat, kid."

The soft pat on your head sends shivers down your spine, and you give him a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Cap', again." You beemed up with a smile, raising the cookie to his vision.

He gives a small nod before turning to leave, leaving you with a sense of warmth and contentment that stays with you long after he's gone. You watch as he offered a small wave goodbye and you respond the same, feeling a sense of gratitude for his kindnesses and understanding.

You were about to take a bite out of the delicious cookie he had given you. But just as you were about to revel in the sweet taste, you heard his voice once more calling out to you and startling you.

Turning around, you saw him standing there infront of the doorway, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he continued to speak.

"Though," he began, his voice low but full of laughter spilling through, "The cake's delicious, kid. Would have it again, 10 out of 10," he finished with a wink, and you couldn't help but gape at his leaving form.

What.

"Motherfuc-"

navi / masterlist

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