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shu-box-puns · 2 months

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I never would have given you to them; not for anything (Tsu'tey x Reader)

Last Chapter <- Part 5

If you prefer to read on Ao3, the fic can be found here!

Summary: You can choose to stay.

Word Count: 7532

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

Perched upon Eywa’s throne after yet another near death experience, you were officially contemplating if Eywa wasn’t just some neurological connection between the tree of Pandora, and was actually some dormant deity. Because for some reason, She really wanted you alive.

In the last twenty-four hours, you had been released from Bridgehead, captured and interrogated, only to somehow escape the first encounter, only to end up shot and then resurrected over the course of an hour, all so you could be nearly stabbed to death before the day was out. And somehow, you were still fucking alive, despite almost dying more times in one day, than you had in your entire previous life.

You would’ve found it hilarious if you had had the energy to laugh. But instead, you just felt drained. Whatever will to live that had been keeping you going until now, was running on fumes. You were hopelessly hungry and achy from the bullet wounds smarting across your side, and to add insult to injury, you had no idea what was happening.

Tsu’tey seemed to have decided you were returning to camp with everyone, despite how little he clearly trusted you. And for some reason, neither Jake nor Neytiri had objected.

It wasn’t as if you had much of a choice regardless. With Quaritch and the rest of your squad dead and General Ardmore no doubt informed of your betrayal, marching back into Bridgehead would be about as effective as eating a bullet. Not to mention, with your injury, wandering off into the forest would result in a similar situation.

Perhaps if you hadn’t exerted every inch of energy you had left getting Spider out from under Quaritch’s knife, you could’ve managed option two. But that didn’t matter now.

The body of your late comrades remained sprawled across the grass, their blood soaked into the earth beneath them. You felt no remorse for bringing about their end. Spider hadn’t deserved to die so you would have an opening to get away. He was Tsu’tey’s son, and that was enough to make him worth protecting.

At least they would finally be able to rest.

Your gaze flickered away from the bodies towards your own grave. Of course, it hadn’t moved since you found it earlier, where it had silently observed everything that had happened here. Unmoving and indifferent. It offered no answers beyond what had become of your past self.

The skeleton it cradled would not sit up and push the dirt off like a cosy blanket. The corpse would not reanimate and take a seat beside you upon the roots of the Throne. It would not laugh and sigh as it retold its life, filling in all the blanks the Tree hadn’t. Hell, its body wouldn’t even hold the evidence of what had killed it. By now there would be no fingerprints nor injuries to examine.

In your peripheral, Tsu’tey slipped into view, his hands visible and his expression solemn. Without turning your head, you moved your eyes towards him in acknowledgement. The mourning paint from his nose to his forehead had been mostly scraped away, his flying helmet set low above his brows.

“We’re ready to go.” He told you simply, “Jake has room on his ikran for you.”

You hummed, eyes rolling back to the grave. To the source of so many questions and anxieties.

Tsu’tey shifted restlessly on his feet. “Look.” He stepped closer, but at your instinctive shift to keep some distance between you, he quickly stilled himself. His ears lowered in understanding, his hands raised to show his empty fingers again. “I just wanted to thank you for protecting Spider and the others.” Tsu’tey said simply, his tone earnest. “I know I didn’t say so before.” You looked him up and down, finding no ulterior motive in his gratitude.

“It’s what they would have done.” You said simply, knowing that you both understood who you were referring to.

“Yes.” Tsu’tey agreed.

Another beat of silence.

“What happened?” Tsu’tey shifted on his feet, swallowing loudly. “What?” “What happened to them?” You repeated, eyes boring into the carved name of your headstone. In your peripheral, you watched Tsu’tey study you, before he shifted back a step and glanced at the graves. His body was wound tight, as if it pained him to acknowledge them. As if he viewed them as some sort of failure.

“We should head back-” “What happened, Tsu’tey?” You pressed firmly, tearing your eyes from the graves to meet his. “The Tree showed me so much, but it didn’t give me answers. I need you to be honest with me, or I can’t trust you.”

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“What happened to them? What killed them?”

>_<

“What killed them?”

Tsu’tey hated this. He despised the haunted look in their eye. He loathed the pain echoed in their eyes, both mental and physical. All he wanted was to go home. He wanted the safety of the clan surrounding his family. He wanted a warm meal, his comfortable hammock, and the knowledge that this nightmare was over.

“Did She not show you?” Tsu’tey asked instead of responding plainly.

The recom shook their head. “Not all of it. Someone gave me a tea.”

“Yes. It was infused with mucus from the Txumtsa’wll.” Tsu’tey confirmed with a grimace. He hadn’t realised at first, and had found the soiled mug in the compound some hours afterwards, the smell having drawn his attention. “Shit.” The recom breathed, “then why did they stab me?” “The tea alone would have taken too long to kill you.” Tsu’tey replied honestly, “and it is treatable if the patient is given the antidote quickly enough.” He paused to gather himself, stomach squirming as the uncomfortable memories began to resurface easily now that he was talking about it. “Arvok, my brother knew what he was doing. And he knew he would be noticed if he was gone too long. He struck on the night of a meeting between our clan and one of the horse clans. He stole one of their knives and framed their Olo’eyktan for your death. You died in my arms when I tried to get you to Mo’at.”

The recom was uncomfortably silent.

“How did you catch him?” They had finally stopped looking at their grave as if it would offer answers and were instead looking at him. Properly looking at him. Not his ear or the space above his eye, like they had when they feared him before, now they were looking at him like an equal.

Somehow, it didn’t make this any easier to say. “He went after Spider.” Tsu’tey spat, “and it was his last mistake.”

He could still feel the rage of that betrayal simmering beneath his skin, even fifteen years later. Could still feel the chokehold of grief that had blinded him. Forcing him to be reliant on Mo’at and the rest of the clan, to help him care for Spider when the sadness of losing his mate got the best of him.

He could still taste the FURY that had burned the back of his throat when he turned up to Arvok’s hut to pick Spider up, only to find his son suffocating. Arvok had laid the infant out on his back and removed his exo-mask, his face horrifyingly devoid of emotion as Tsu’tey’s son choked to death.

<”WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”> Tsu’tey had snarled, his body moving how he wanted for the first time in weeks. His vision had narrowed down to his son, panic and betrayal making his hands shake as he shoved Arvok aside and dove for Spider. With unsteady but determined hands, he had secured Spider’s mask back to his face.

<”It is for your own good Tsu’tey.”> His little brother had informed him, whilst Tsu’tey had kept his back to him, his attention solely on Spider. With careful fingers, he had combed Spider’s hair back from his face, relief blooming in his chest as colour returned to Spider’s face and his eyes cleared. He was still breathing hard, catching his breath, but humans usually recovered without difficulty at this stage.

At his back, Arvok was still monologuing, basically admitting to the murder he had allowed the visiting Olo’eyktan to take the fall for.

With Spider recovering, Tsu’tey had finally turned his attention to the threat. <”It was you? You did this?!”> Tsu’tey hissed, fury replacing the fear as he turned slowly.

<”Yes.”> Arvok admitted freely. And he was smiling.

<”It was your fault?”> Tsu’tey bellowed, <”I had to bury my mate, because of you? Spider’s other parent is rotting in a grave, because of you? You did this?”>

Arvok nodded again.

<”This nightmare never ends, and it’s your fault!”> He wasn’t entirely sure when he had reached for his knife, but it was in his hand regardless. <”YOU DID THIS!”>

Arvok seemed to have caught on that Tsu’tey didn’t agree with his motive. The coward had startled at his raised voice, his hands rising in surrender as he began to back up.

<”Tsu’tey!”> His mate’s murderer pleaded, <”think about what you’re doing-”> <”NO!”> Tsu’tey snarled, his tail thrashing with rage. His hands ached to kill, his entire body ached actually. From heartache and loneliness and remaining in his hammock for too long. But he was moving. Finally his mind and body were in sync again, listening to him. Willing to help him carry out vengeance. To protect his son from this threat and avenge his fallen loved one. <”I will not think! I will not wait! This ends NOW! I will NOT allow you to hurt ANYONE ELSE!”>

Arvok fumbled to draw his blade, but it was too late, Tsu’tey had already tackled him to the ground. His brother had shrieked and wiggled, pleading for mercy, but Tsu’tey had given up listening. His knife punctured vulnerable flesh with a wet slice, and the body beneath him began to tire.

He recalled the numbness that had followed. How his limbs had refused to cooperate again as he had crawled off the body, tears sliding down his face as grief tore open his chest anew. He had gathered up his unconscious son and crawled towards the hut’s entrance. He had only been able to make it as far as the walkway outside before he was forced to rest, his limbs screaming in exertion as a panic attack threatened to crawl up the back of his throat.

All he could think about was his son choking in his arms. About the promise he had made to his dead mate to look after him. How he had almost failed not even two weeks after they’d died.

He was a terrible father.

He’d curled up outside the hut for what felt like hours, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he protectively curled around Spiders’s little body. Listening to his heartbeat even out and feeling his breaths with every puff of the exo mask.

Mo’at had been the one to find him. She had always been like a mother to him. Even more so in those moments, when she had peered into Arvok’s hut, and seen his body, but had not flinched away from Tsu’tey. Her voice had been soothing and calm as she had helped him up, coaxing him into keeping a firm hold on Spider as she led him away from the scene.

Within minutes, she’d had him sat in her hut with a cup of tea in hand, whilst she sent hunters to deal with Arvok. By the time Spider had spluttered awake, Mo’at already had food waiting for him and Tsu’tey had stopped shaking.

With a hard blink, Tsu’tey was back to the present. Stood beneath the shade of Eywa’s Throne with his family readying their ikran at his back, as he looked upon the reincarnated form of his mate and finally felt as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders.

“I dealt with him personally. He will not be a threat to you, should you choose to remain with us once you are healed.” Tsu’tey continued.

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there.” The recom breathed, “that can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.” Tsu’tey replied simply, because it was true. It hadn’t. And several times, he was sure he wasn’t going to pull through. “But you are now. I asked Eywa for a miracle. For you to stop being dead. And you did.” He smiled, small and private, whilst the recom nodded. “And you came home.”

“I wanted to.” The recom admitted. “Getting back to you was my first thought upon waking up. I wasn’t even sure if the clan had survived the Battle for The Tree of Souls, but I had to know anyway.”

“Thank you.” Tsu’tey said again, and they looked up. He did not elaborate, and they did not ask him to.

And this time, when he offered a hand to help them stand, they took it.

>_<

“Hold tight.” Jake called over his shoulder, prompting you to tighten your arms around his waist as he coaxed Bob into a fluid glide under the belly of a colossal mountain. The wind tore at your hair and bullied your ears into lowering tight against your skull. You didn’t have a visor, so you’d been forced to duck tight against Jake’s back so his bulk would block most of it. Your eyes watered as you peeled them open a crack against the sting, to watch the mountain pass.

Far below, the forest sprawled, and you couldn’t help but feel safe. Even if it was Jake doing the driving. As if to prove your point, your pilot unexpectedly rose higher on his stirrups, yanking you up with him thanks to your death grip around his stomach. Crouched awkwardly behind Jake, you winced as he yipped loudly over his shoulder, prompting the other ikran to fall into formation behind Bob.

With another turn and a great swerve, the flock neatly soaring up into the hidden mouth of High Camp’s entrance.

The camp stretched out below you from wall to wall. A living, breathing community of homes and cooking fires, interwoven with the compounds the scientists used to live alongside it all.

Bob circled once above it all before landing on the lip of the rocks as he had before. The rest of the flock followed suit.

Your hands were ice cold from the wind, but somehow, you managed to peel your frozen limbs out of their death grip around Jake. Sitting back heavily in the saddle, you breathed out a sigh of relief now that there was no longer any danger of plummeting to your death.

Jake turned in the saddle, looking back at you over his shoulder with amusement plain on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream the whole way up here.” “You forget I also used to accompany Trudy on her missions.” You replied sharply. “A little rough flying and a maniac of a pilot hasn’t killed me yet.”

Jake raised a brow at the irony, but didn’t push. “Need a hand down?” He asked instead.

“I got it.”

He shot you a look that clearly said he didn’t believe you, but he dismounted alone regardless. Remaining in Bob’s saddle, you watched Jake stride towards Neytiri’s ikran and raise his hands in preparation to help Tuk down.

Then you remembered that there were things to do and a clan to inform, all whilst you were relaxing on someone else’s ikran. Glancing down, you realised that you couldn’t actually judge how high the drop from the saddle to the ground was going to be. Even the flight up had drained you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of crashing now that your adrenaline rush had well and truly died. Readjusting your grasp on the saddle straps, you yelped when Bob seemed to sense your struggle and smoothly lowered himself to the ground. Stretching your legs down, you scrambled for purchase whilst clinging tightly to the saddle.

Bob was surprisingly patient and remained still until your feet touched cool stone and you slid off him entirely. He cooed softly as you leant against him, the world briefly spinning now that you had moved too much.

At your back, Mo’at’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber. <”Welcome home!”> Glancing over your shoulder, you found the Tsahik and a good chunk of the clan crowded around the landing area.

Despite how gently you had moved, the movement pulled your torso wound wrong and you hissed in pain, ripping a hand away from the saddle to apply pressure. Which was bloody ridiculous because you’d just endured an entire flight without it complaining more than a dull throb.

Your knees buckled without you focusing hard on keeping them straight, but luckily, Bob was a nice tempered ikran and simply followed you down instead of watching you topple over like Jake probably would have if you had instead allowed him to help.

Bob cooed encouragingly, his big head swinging round to lightly push at your shoulder. His scales were cool against your heated skin; soothing.

Distantly, you could hear Mo’at waxing poetry to the clan, declaring some bullshit about Eywa repaying everyone’s hard work and devotion by offering one of the fallen a second chance. The People ate it up with hums of agreement, blindly trusting their Tsahik as they should. She might have mentioned the other recoms, or dragged Jake’s situation into the mix, but you couldn’t really hear.

White noise had swept in and drowned out her loud, regal voice. Your vision swam, but you could feel the stone you were sitting on and the saddle strap still clutched tightly in your hand. You could hear Bob chirping and feel the vibrations of feet approaching.

Shadows flitted across your unseeing vision as a hand soothed down your back, whilst more checked your forehead for a fever. An even smaller set cupped your cheek, encouraging you to look at a small, pale face locked away behind an exo mask. You blinked slowly, feeling horrendously nauseous.

Someone else dropped to their knees by your side, causing the other hands to retreat. The hands that touched you now were uncertain but supportive, encouraging your crumbled form to lean into them. You felt hands on your kuru, lifting and moving the braid, but it didn’t hurt, so you didn’t bother to fight it.

There was softer, comforting talking happening right in front of your face, but your ears couldn’t figure out the words. Not whether they spoke in Na’vi or English, let alone what was being said, but the sound was comforting all the same as you felt yourself beginning to drift.

There was zing up your kuru that flooded warmth into the base of your skull where your braid connected to the top of your spine. The pain seemed to ebb in its wake, leaving behind a sensation that could only be described as soothing.

I’ve got you. Tsu’tey’s voice promised, although it spoke in your mind rather than out loud. Clearer than anything that was happening in High Camp. He sounded kind, like he had in the memories, instead of angry at your very existence.

Hurts. You thought back, letting out a pained shout as you were abruptly lifted by whoever you were leaning into. Their grasp was firm on you, more grounding than painful now that you were being held steady.

I know. We’re gonna make you better.

Spider? He is here.

More vibrations thrummed through your cheek, which was pressed against a cool collarbone, as the person holding you spoke out loud. Almost instantly, a small hand reached up to grab your limp arm, which hung down. Five fingers squeezed down, sending a bolt of relief through you.

You found yourself suddenly grateful that this inevitable crash hadn’t happened in the forest. If they had decided to leave you behind, you would’ve been vulnerable to predators or detected by the RDA. But here you were instead, hidden within the heart of the clan, concealed within the floating mountains. That is right. Tsu’tey soothed in your mind. You are safe here. We will not allow harm to come to you.

And you believed him.

The rest was a blur after Tsu’tey ducked into Mo’at’s hut. Your strength had almost completely departed now, as you hung limply in Tsu’tey’s grasp. Strangely, the Olo’eyktan continued to be unsettlingly gentle as he sat himself down beside the fire, with you cradled between his knees and your head resting back across his shoulder. His touch burned your over sensitive skin, but it was as soothing as it was unsettling.

You saw the hut through Tsu’tey’s eyes, your own suddenly too tired to stay open. You were in the same hut as before, Mo’at’s herbs hanging from the ceiling whilst a pot of something strong bubbled over the flames. Spider had already moved towards where Mo’at kept her instruments, his back tense as he began pulling out various things. You could feel Tsu’tey searching for something to say to soothe his worries, but Mo’at swept in before he could voice anything.

<”Good.”> The Tsahik breathed as the curtains swished shut behind her. There was an unspoken lightness to her tone as she moved further into the room, ruffling Spider’s dreads as she went. <”I will not have to bully you into creating the bond. That shall allow this to go much more easily.”> She paused to take note of what Spider had already begun to pull from her supply, a proud grin tugging across her lips at what she found. <”You’re learning.”> She praised, to which both you and Tsu’tey noticed some of the tension leaving Spider.

Mo’at squeezed his shoulder, before returning her attention to you and frowning. <”Now, let us see the damage.”> She approached on steady feet, sinking to her hunches at Tsu’tey’s side as she began asking questions about your injuries.

Between the three of them, they began patching you up. Tsu’tey kept you steady and the pain at bay, whilst Mo’at cut away your shirt and the old leaf bandages to get at the wounds beneath. Spider handed over disinfectants and cooling salves that she took great care in firmly rubbing into the fresh wounds. The pressure was even and predictable, allowing you to suck in shaky breaths whenever she withdrew her hand for another dose.

As Mo’at carefully bandaged you up, you felt Tsu’tey beginning to relax on the other end of the bond. Until now, he’d been careful to keep his own emotions in check, so much so that you had barely realised he was tense. But now you could feel it. His anxiety came in waves, ebbing and flowing with no rhythm. As soon as he was calming the first, a second would unexpectedly sweep in to drench him, causing his heartbeat to pound against your back. Stubbornly, his face remained unreadable.

With what little strength you had left, you reached up to cover his hand that was gently curled over your stomach.

I’m fine now. You told him mentally with a tight squeeze to the back of his hand. Good as new.

There was no fresh wave of guilt to challenge your claim, and something visibly loosened in him. Through the bond, you got the vague sense that he wanted to bury his face into your shoulder and cling tightly, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

<”Tsu’tey sit them up higher.”> Mo’at suddenly said from closer than you were anticipating. Dutifully, Tsu’tey obeyed, whilst you cracked open an eyelid to find Mo’at holding a bowl of something steaming and a spoon. <”There you are.”> She said softly, <”try and eat something before you go back to sleep. Today has taken a lot from you. You will need your strength.”> As she spoke, she filled the spoon with warm broth and raised it to your mouth. You opened and hummed in thanks as the warmth flooded from your tongue into your body. It was the most delicious thing you’d had since waking up. Hearty and soothing, sweet but not too much so. Worlds better than RDA rations. It warmed you from the inside out, allowing sleep to make your eyelids heavy.

<”Spider, could you clear some space for a spare hammock, of course we’ll need to monitor them-”>

<”Dad and I could look after them!”> Spider rushed out before abruptly cutting himself off. He cleared his throat. <”I mean, we have room. In our hut?”>

You grumbled softly, content to let them figure it out between them. With the broth heavy in your belly, you could feel sleep finally digging its claws in and refusing to relent. This time, you couldn’t have stayed awake if you wanted to.

>_<

For what felt like weeks but could have only been days, you flowed in and out of consciousness like river water around submerged stones. When the current pulled you higher, you managed to peel your eyes open to find a woven hut roof and a warm bowl of something light to eat waiting for you.

And when it pulled you deep down within yourself, you relied on the comforting presence of Tsu’tey to keep you grounded. During those times you shared Tsaheylu, the pain was relieved better than any painkiller, as if Tsu’tey swept it away through sheer force of will. With the connection also came stories, fond memories that Tsu’tey offered to pass the time. Some you recalled from before everything went to shit, and some that were new.

If you were especially lucky, you would drift up enough to hear Tsu’tey asking Spider for memory ideas. To which the boy would happily and animatedly narrate some fond memory he had, whilst Tsu’tey recalled it from his own perspective and fed it down the bond to you.

It was a simple, repetitive existence. So much so that it was jarring to float upwards again and find yourself staying there.

Your eyes were crusty as you peeled them open, your back smarting from lying still for so long. But you could already tell you didn’t hurt as much. There were still bandages wrapped securely around your torso, slightly restricting your breathing, but you didn’t feel wet under them. Your injuries were definitely on the mend.

The hammock you were tucked in swayed gently as the rest of the hut came into view. It was not one you had been in before.

In the pit, the cooking fire had fizzled out into nothing, whereas the repetitive, slow breathing of someone nearby alerted you to the fact you were not alone. Everything hurt as you eased yourself up into a sitting position, surprised to find yourself stripped of your ratty, RDA issued uniform and instead dressed in the traditional na’vi loincloth. Your hair felt clean for the first time in days, the build up of sweat and grime washed away whilst you were unconscious.

The world swayed as you struggled to haul yourself out of the hammock, dark spots floating across your vision as you grasped one of the supports for dear life. The tent your hammock was strung up in was tidy, but clinical, with hooks lining the ceiling supports in uniformed rows and baskets of healing supplies carefully tucked away against the far wall. A long rug covered most of the uneven stone floor, whereas the entrance to your right was pulled to, but not obstructed.

“Zaza?” A small voice groaned from behind you, heavy with sleep. Your ears pricked as you turned, finding Spider half out of a hammock three times too large for him. “Where are you going?” There was thinly veiled panic hidden in his tone, accented with the way he was holding himself dangerously still. Uncertain whether to approach.

“Where am I?” You asked instead of answering, tail ramrod straight as the boy fully slipped out of the hammock. His stripes were dull now, somehow, you could tell even in the low light.

“In the infirmary,” Spider offered easily, hands plainly in sight as he slowly approached. “I wanted to take you home but Dad said you might not be comfortable with it.”

“I see.” You replied neutrally.

“Are you hungry?” Spider offered when you didn’t follow the sentence up with anything else. You found yourself nodding hesitantly, to which Spider smiled tightly. The cuts Quaritch’s knife had left across his throat had scabbed over.

“Can we go to mine and Dad’s tent? We have ingredients there for breakfast?”

“Only if that is okay with your Dad.” It felt weird to refer to Tsu’tey like that. “He won’t mind.” Spider replied too quickly, flashing you a winning smile. Smiling back, you followed him out of the tent and into the main chamber of High Camp.

The camp was quiet considering the early hour, with only the odd hunter milling around and the ikran perched near the cave mouth.

Spider walked noticeably slow ahead of you, glancing back periodically as if you would slip away between the tents if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

The boy’s tent was surprisingly empty of Tsu’tey when he held the curtain open for you. As you rounded the dormant fire pit to take a seat, you noted the two hammocks strung near the back wall, alongside the knick knacks and keepsakes scattered beneath the one on the left - clearly Spiders. Whereas Tsu’tey’s was neatly tidied with his bow stand empty and his arrows gone. The tent felt homely, and well lived in.

Spider was clearly comfortable navigating it. With confidence, he woke a fire and began pulling all manner of fruits out of the various baskets near the entrance. Pausing to tie back his dreadlocks, he neatly pulled out a spear knife from a box and got comfortable on the opposite side of the fire. WIth a steady grip, he ducked his head and began dutifully cutting the closest thing to him - a yovo fruit.

Between you, the fire popped merrily, and you very quickly realised you had nothing to say to him. Besides sharing a near death experience and a common drive to keep each other alive, you realised you had nothing in common. You didn’t really know him.

“How’s your throat?” “Healing.” Spider replied after a heartbeat of silence. “H-how’s your side?” “Better.” You assured him, with a subconscious touch to the healing injury in question. “I’m assuming I have you and your Dad to thank for that?” Spider ducked his head. “Dad did most of the work, I just helped.” “And yet you were standing guard when I came to.”

Spider flushed this time as if he was embarrassed you had noticed. “I fell asleep.” He admitted with a mumble.

The corner of your mouth tugged up at the quiet admission. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, I’m the exact same when I sit still for too long. You’ve had a difficult-” you trailed off, “how long have I been out?” “Two days.” Spider supplied helpfully.

“Thank you, it’s been a difficult few days.”

“It hasn’t been bad.” Spider admitted absently, using his knife to half and scrape some freshly sliced yovo fruit into two nearby bowls. He was quiet for a moment as he picked up the slightly larger portion and held it out to you. Ducking your head in thanks, you reached forward to take it from him, but Spider didn’t let go.

Meeting his gaze, you found him already watching you with a long look. “Thank you for not dying again.” He said sincerely, “I’d really appreciate getting to know you this time around.”

You smiled bitterly at the sentiment, a look that Spider mirrored easily.

“And I, you.” You replied easily, finding that you meant it as he let you take the bowl. “I’ve heard great things about you Spider, it’ll be nice to get to know you better.” He averted his gaze then, scooping up a bit of fruit and stuffing it into his mouth instead of responding straight away. Taking a page out of his book, you lowered your gaze and did the same. The fruit was delicious. It was sweet and full to bursting. With every bite you had to wipe the sides of your mouth because of the sheer amount of juice in every piece.

“Will you stay?” Spider asked when his bowl was half empty. You paused mid-bite to find him looking at the fire instead of you.

Swallowing your mouthful, you wiped your chin and asked seriously, “do you want me to?”

“Yes.” Spider said without missing a beat. His expression was painfully vulnerable, full of hope and what could only be described as longing. “Dad does too. And Mo’at. Jake and Neytiri too, but they won’t admit it because they don’t want to pressure you.” He paused, “you’ll be safe with us here.”

“I would be.” You agreed, “but I have to see if it’s the right decision first. If I don’t fit here, then I can’t force it. Do you understand?” Spider pouted but didn’t contradict you. “I understand.” He said maturely, and you knew he was being honest.

>_<

Recovery was slow, but you’d never been the kind to remain in bed for long. Even with Mo’at barring you from contributing on hunts, you ensured you rose with the sun and helped out around the camp in whatever way your injuries allowed. Sometimes, that was cleaning or servicing stolen RDA weapons alongside other hunters, or you were washing and prepping Mo’at’s herbs.

In those first few days, the clan gave you a wide berth, which you appreciated. In return, you remained unarmed and calmed yourself by sitting with your back to a wall or against someone’s hut whilst you completed your tasks. You kept your head down, and gradually, their unease faded.

Usually, Spider or one of the Sully kids joined you for an hour or two, talking about anything or everything whilst their parents hunted or contributed with patrols. But today, Tsu’tey sat himself down opposite you, a basket of fruit balanced on his hip. He kept his gaze fixed on his work as he crouched a comfortable distance away, and immediately occupied himself with peeling the fruits.

You said nothing, and as you had the last few days, refused to start up a conversation. As long as neither of you opened your mouths, you tended to be able to exist in the same space without dissolving into insults or painful memories. You knew he was trying.

You knew Tsu’tey was attempting to rebuild some of that trust in the only way he knew how, but it was unsettling. You’d never known him to be this quiet. This comfortable in existing in someone else’s space without having to voice his internal monologue. It was just another reminder of how much he had changed whilst you’d been frozen in time.

And what’s more, some of the things he was doing for you, couldn’t be explained away as an Olo’eyktan looking out for one of his own. Even after you’d woken up and spent that first morning having breakfast with Spider, you had been a long way from recovered.

Moving around without long naps in between chores left you exhausted and oftentimes passed out in the weirdest places, such as Tsu’tey’s tent floor when you had been waiting for Spider to finish making lunch. That time - and every time after - you’d woken up in a hammock instead of on the floor.

When a fever had come for vengeance and your wound had gotten a minor infection, he’d been nothing short of doting. Feeding you light meals to settle your stomach. Braiding your sweaty hair back so it was off your forehead and didn’t cling to your neck. Changing your bandages like clockwork. Adding and taking away blankets where needed.

In a lot of ways, it reminded you of how your parents had doted on one another. Performing thankless acts of service without the other ever having to ask for it.

And through it all, he scowled the entire time. Like constantly. And you definitely shouldn’t have found that as achingly familiar and reassuring as you had. You definitely shouldn’t have started looking into it, searching for the fiery, annoying man you’d fallen head over heels in love with all that time ago.

You were submerged so deeply in your thoughts, that you’d completely forgotten where you were and what you were doing, until you managed to sink your knife into your thumb. With a hiss and a jerk, you dropped the fruit you’d been peeling and jammed your bleeding thumb into your mouth and sat back on your hunches.

Across from you, Tsu’tey clicked his teeth. “Idiot.” He sighed, but not with his usual bite, hell, it practically sounded fond, as if you’d done something endearing instead of pathetic. “Here,” he continued, reaching into the pouch secured across his chest strap and pulling out a river leaf. “Let me.” Slowly, he reached across the distance between you, his expression open and sickeningly kind. You let him take your hand without a fuss. Carefully, Tsu’tey mopped up the blood, a soft tut leaving his lips as he assessed the depth of the injury.

“Do I need to go back to Mo’at?” You joked half-heartedly.

“Luckily not. She’s getting sick of only seeing you.”

“Not for long hopefully.” You interjected, “I’m on the mend for real this time.” Tsu’tey hummed noncommittally. “Have you given any thought into what you will do once you’re healed?” He asked point blank, with no warning or prompt to get him to say it.

You blinked. “What brought that on?” Tsu’tey ducked his head, a gesture you’d noticed Spider doing when he was embarrassed. “I overheard Spider asking about it the other week, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted sheepishly.

Just to fuck with him, you gasped dramatically. “You were eavesdropping?” “I was not!” Tsu’tey corrected defensively with a scowl. He bit his lip and averted his gaze again. “I was worried when neither of you were in the infirmary when I went to check. Naturally, I checked home before looking anywhere else for him.”

“I see.”

“So?”

“What?” With a firm crack of his tail, he caught your gaze and held it. “I answered your question, so answer mine.”

He was still holding onto your hand with both of his, you realised absently. He was sat close enough now, that the combination of all three hands had fallen into his lap, the river leaf forgotten and your finger beginning to scab. It was such an intimate position, that you almost forgot what his question was.

“If I were to stay,” you started carefully, intending to see how far he would go, “I would need somewhere to live. Mo’at’s going to chase me out of the infirmary one of these days if I stay there much longer.” “We have spare tents.” Tsu’tey said neutrally, ears swivelling to face you, showing just how eager for your answer he really was. “And if you were comfortable, you could even move in with Spider and I if none of them were to your liking.” He paused, before quickly tacking on a panicked, “but only if you wanted to. There is no pressure of course.” “Of course.” You agreed readily, feeling more at ease than you had yet. With a small smirk, you decided to keep fucking with him. “And I would need my weapons back.” “That can be arranged.” Tsu’tey agreed, before glancing up and stalling at your expression. You tilted your head.

“And I would need to negotiate a relationship with my son if his father was open to it.” Tsu’tey went very still causing panic to slam into your sternum. Abruptly, the tables had turned and it was you scrambling to justify yourself. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes. I don’t even have to see him that often if you’re not comfortable with it. I can take him out for a day, or we don’t even have to do that. I could be like that distant cousin, or the weird clone twin of his dead- fuck this isn’t coming out how I wanted it to-”

“I think,” Tsu’tey cut in sharply, looking more amused than offended. “That Spider would love to build a connection with you.” Tsu’tey’s hands had gone completely slack around your own. The sluggishly bleeding cut completely forgotten now that the air between you was thick with untold tension.

“And what about his father,” you pushed, studying his expression, “would he be happy with that arrangement?”

Tsu’tey’s gaze dragged across your face and circled at least twice down to your lips. “He could be persuaded.” He said darkly, making your stomach squirm from his tone.

His eyes had fallen to half mast during the little back and forth, his pupils swollen as they looked at you. You could feel your tail wagging at your back, and you hated to think how eager you probably looked.

With a hard blink, you dragged yourself off of that train of thought before it could derail off into dangerous territory. Kissing him would be a stupid idea right now, you reminded yourself. In fact, it would be more stupid than marching into Ardmore’s office and openly admitting to treason. Not only would it jeopardise your position within the clan, but it wouldn’t actually fix anything between you and Tsu’tey and might even end with him pulling away.

No, as gorgeous as he looked right now, and how much you could see he wanted you, you needed to wait. There was no room for this, when you were only just beginning to trust each other once again. Maybe soon, but not now. Not today.

Clinging tightly to that reasoning, you sat back and pulled your hand out of Tsu’tey’s grip.

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. With a sheepish clearing of his throat, he also shuffled back and out of reach. Ears lowered, he took up his knife again and continued his previous task of peeling the fruit, dutifully pretending like nothing had happened.

You hated it. But you hated that blank expression on his face more.

Scrambling for something to say - anything - to keep the conversation flowing, you blurted out the first thing that randomly came to mind to fill the silence.

“How did we end up adopting, Spider?”

Startled, Tsu’tey’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed as he struggled to process the question, as if bewildered you were still willing to talk to him after pulling away.

“What?” “I mean, if I’m going to be co-parenting with you, then I should know these things.” Something like relief flooded his expression. “I see.” He said easily. “So,” you prodded, with a pointed wiggle of your ears, “how did we end up adopting a human child together?”

Tsu’tey smiled fondly to himself. “It was after the battle. We went to Hell’s Gate to raid for medical supplies. I insisted on coming along because you were so small, and you fought me every step of the way because I had suffered a shoulder injury.”

Instinctively, you knew which shoulder to glance down at. The bullet wounds were old and faded with time. You could only imagine how long it had taken him to heal them, and how long it had taken to rebuild the strength in that arm.

“The corridors were stupidly small and impractical, but echoey. I heard a baby crying and you followed me when I went to investigate. We found Spider in someone’s bunk room, and you told me he was hungry. From there, it was just a matter of no one else having the time to take care of him, and you stepping up. And as your mate, I did too.”

“Huh.”

“Anything else you want to know?” Tsu’tey prodded good naturedly. You thought for a moment. “What was his first word?” Tsu’tey stopped his polishing to laugh. A proper laugh. The kind that started deep in your belly and burst its way out of your mouth and demanded you to tilt your head back from the sheer force of it. A truly gorgeous expression on him.

“What?” You defended yourself with a chuckle, “I need to know the important information.”

“Of course.” Tsu’tey chuckled, the mood light. “His first English word was uh-oh, because he knocked my bow off your desk. And his first Na’vi word was Sempu.”

“Oh, I see how it is!” You mocked, pretending to be offended whilst Tsu’tey shot you a wicked grin as if he’d won. “So his first word was practically ‘dad’, big deal.” Tsu’tey hummed.

“Alright, what’s his favourite food?”

And it went like that for several hours. You and Tsu’tey basking in each other’s company, learning and reliving fond moments from a time long gone. It was easy and familiar, and it finally felt like home.

~FIN~

Last Chapter <- Part 5

#tsu'tey x reader #spider socorro #dad!tsu'tey #spider #father-son duo #recom reader #gender neutral reader #part 5 of 5 #final part #may the hopeful ending bring you peace #gonna miss these sillies #taking responsibility for that child you don't remember adopting #found family #avatar #avatar twow #canon divergent #Tsu'tey lives

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bysaber · 9 months

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weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

#wbysaber #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #fontaine #neuvillette x you #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #fanfic #oneshot #drabble #imagine

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pinkiemachine · 9 months

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Also, I made something…

Figured that since Ozai looked so young in his portrait, that must mean it was made shortly after his coronation, or thereabouts, so applying that logic here, ZuZu stills looks young and handsome. The dragons, I know, that event was meant to be kept secret, but counter argument, this painting doesn’t necessarily say, “Hey, Dragons are still alive—here’s a map!” It’s just a bit of artsy-fartsy majestic embellishment. Also, I feel like Zuko might want to rebrand the Fire Nation, just a little, you know, after the 100 year war. So instead of just pure fire iconography, he brings things back to their roots, aka, the dragon. More dragon iconography!!! In this portrait, Zuko isn’t the one firebending, it’s the dragons, the first Firebenders. And in the meantime, he’s holding out a White Lotus. Now, I tried to use my Google Fu to find out if there was ever any symbol in Japan or Korea or China that meant “peace,” but my search results came up empty, so I figured that perhaps the lotus could become their version of, say, the olive branch. A discreet and tasteful way to include such a major part of the final battle while having a double meaning. Also, take note of the fact that he’s holding it with BOTH hands. In Japan, when one offers a gift, you always do so with both hands. And while I know it may look a little strange, Zuko towering over his friends—bro—this was always going to be Zuko’s Firelord portrait. He was always going to be the main focus. He just wanted to also include his friends and commemorate the day the war finally ended/his coronation. Anyway, that’s all for now… hope that wasn’t too much… and if anyone has any ideas for how to make it even better, pls let me know.

#avatar #atla #avatar the last Airbender #avatar Aang #aang #Zuko #Prince Zuko #Firelord zuko #fan art #dragons #fire #team avatar #the Gaang

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chastiefoul · 1 month

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—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

#genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader

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rin-and-jade · 11 months

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Heres a reminder for you that being dissociated isn't limited to the common misconception where you are frozen in place, incapable of doing anything or even thinking, or experiencing a significant time gap,, those things. (This is a very important post, read till bottom so im happy!)

And while its hard to spot the milder signs when you're dissociating, don't worry i got you covered by bringing awareness, im showing what those signs could look like:

Dazing/blanking out several times

Hands looking weird (depersonalization)

Surroundings also looking weird (derealization)

Feeling detached emotionally, physically, or both

Light-headedness

Less reactive in responding

Forget things more often

Unable to focus or keep concentration straight

And many more..!

When you have multiple of those signs at once, then chances are you are dissociating (extra note that it can also co-occur with derealization/depersonalization). While it can be caused by various factors, i would like to add that it may or may not get worse as time passes and no one wants that thing to snowball until it got too bad (remember, preventing now is better than dealing later) so having a few tips would help:

Grounding (sensory): listening to music, feeling different textures, paying attention to things in your surroundings, trying different fragrant or scents, have some snacks to occupy your senses

Grounding (physically): feel your chest as you breathe, get your body moving to redirect focus, splash some cold water, hold something you can squeeze (such as a stress ball)

Practice being mindful. As it can help you re-anchor back to reality faster, regulate better, building more resilience, increasing awareness of oneself's state

Sometimes we go do our day without giving a thought that were detached from reality, usually by going autopilot and scrolling through social medias without being aware (well, atleast for me) and forget lots of things while being dysregulated at the end. So by being aware of the mild signs and incorporating grounding skills im sure memory gaps and those funny aftermath stuffs won't be a problem anymore, have a good day peeps.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that another sign is your hearing feels muffled, that you can hear sounds feel more distant despite close, i thought it could be grouped with the “less reactive” before.

EDIT 2: It is true that sometimes these techniques will not work,, so it's recommended to create a peaceful environment in hopes of going away sooner when waiting it out. grab some videos to watch, put some of your favorite musics or cuddle your soft pillows (if any, pets) and stay comfy! Do not stress about it because it'll be counterproductive. Full explanation at here.

- j

#did #did community #actually did #did system #dissociative identity disorder #did osdd #plural #system stuff #sysblr #Jeducates

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deadghosy · 2 months

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WHERE PENGUIN! READER WILL LIVE IN:

Pt5 of Penguin! Reader x Hazbin Hotel

Prompt: The aftermath of the court is where you decided where to live

Note: this will be the final part of the series lol. Sorry if the sections are short, I tried to make it long with the bullet points just being some. 💗

“The court has spoken. The rightful place the reader belongs in, is……” sera say opening her mouth to announce the news.

HELL

Lucifer is fucking happy that sera said that would go with them. Charlie has tears dropping out her eyes as she finally is relived to have you by her side and kingdom. Adam was pissed as he thrown papers on the ground. Lute is screaming mentally as her heart breaks.

Back in hell, every one does a celebration party. You get a bandanna with your name, the scarf wrapped around your neck has the name of Y/N Morningstaryou are officially in the family. Welcome to hell.

Literally you get all the food you love in a week of celebrating before they monitor what you eat 💗

Charlie is such an older sister vibe as she shows you the ropes of being royalty as she gives you an allowance. Which you totally didn’t spend in cookies and cakes. But matter of most is that she even shows you how to run the hotel while you just quack at things from afar. Overall her protective rate is 5/10.

Lucifer may be happy and relived that you can be in hell with him. But he is still worried about your safety in hell as he watches you closely and even has razzle and dazzle to look after you. It’s cute and all for you. But for others, they can tell this man baby’s you so much to the point he even gets you to bed like one. Overall his protective level is 100/10

Vaggie loves teaching you how to use her spear in case the exterminators try to kidnap you. She is always the one who watches you on the playground to make sure you are okay. Her protective rate is 9/10

Husk is the damn grumpy drunk uncle who only has a soft spot for you as you aren’t annoying and is pure. Literally you aren’t a bad kid as you just help clean glasses. PST, he actually bought plastic looking glasses so you won’t cut yourself on accident. Plus he appreciates that you want to help him. It’s just you are so small and he is bigger than you. Overall his protective level is 7.5/10

Angel is like that older brother who knows how to hide bruises. And of course we know why…but like past that imagine you bruised your whole ass knee and you didn’t want anyone to worry for you so you went to angel. He chuckled and took care of it. You are such a cutie that he kisses your head and sends you off. Overall his protective level is 7/10

Alastor loves teaching you about his radio station. He even takes you as a co-host and a regular guest as he makes you quack out a song. 💗 some awesome uncle and nephew/niece moments as he also makes you tea if you can’t sleep. His protective rate is 8.5/10

And the rest of hell, they love you equally as somewhat you bring hope in hell to have them redeemed as they visit the hotel to see you and meet you. Hell, the other deadly sins met you and were in awe at how cute you were. Beelzebub was immediately starstruck as she feeds you some of the best food in hell.

So in the end, you love being in the royal family of the Morningstars. It’s peaceful in the hotel with you around as Angel can now get a lot of days off💗

HEAVEN

Adam is immediately flipping off the two demon royals as he lifts you up in his arms. “SUCK IT BITCHES AHAH!” Adam yells pulling you close to his pudgy body as lute is flipping them off from behind the first man as the two demon royals are sent back in hell.

After exiting court, you are met with getting ice cream with the two angels who were fighting with the demon royals verbally. Adam got you [favorite flavor] ice cream as lute just smiles smugly happy to have you here with them.

Adam has gotten use to you not leaving him like how his other ex-wives did. He won’t admit he feels insecure about you leaving him. But with you now being property of heaven and you living with him personally. He feels like he might actually have a loved one with him. It’s not like romantic since you take form of a gah damn actually penguin. It’s more of a platonically close friendship. He finds you alluring at how sweet you are to others. Even if Adam isn’t. Overall his protective meter is 9.5/10

Lute is still the same ol lute everyone knows. It’s just that she watches you from afar. Keeps tabs on you and where you go. Its like if she’s your personal bodyguard. She always love bombs you in a manipulative way. She just wants you to depend on her. I mean hell, she’s literally crazy at how pure of gold you are in heaven. Her protectiveness level is…200/10😨

Sera is a busy woman, but she keeps tabs on you too. Even sending a angelic guard to make sue you are mentally okay and not unstable of taking you away of your so called “home” down there. But she cares for you endlessly in a mother figure way. her protective meter is 5.5/10

Emily is happy regardless if you went it heaven or hell. This girl literally take you shopping with her as she get you a cute sailor like outfit for your delivery job. She even makes you your own damn basket to give cookies to your regulars with their mail. Overall, this sweet girl’s protective meter 4/10

St. Peter sends you cookies on weekends as it’s the days that you aren’t working as the adorable penguin delivery boy. 💗 St. Peter checks up on you as well as you are just staying home and he comes by just to see if you are liking to live in heaven for years now.

You live with Adam as he and you have some kind of relationship were he wants to look after you. Literally it’s oddly sweet this man has a change of heart kind of. He literally will try to cook only for you to burn out the fire in the kitchen. He’s ordering gah damn take out.

See, me personally you’re still getting stalked a bit from yandere! Lute as she smile smugly seeing you in heaven everyday and replaying the son of bitches face when you got to stay in heaven with them.

The amount of times angels in heaven have gifted you lots of grift baskets for the custody of heaven. It’s crazy as it’s whole bunch of fans just celebrating you staying 💗 it’s sweet but crazy.

Overall you still got your job as a paper delivery person and you get watched 24/7 every day. From afar….😨 but all you know is that you are safe in heaven still missing the people below them.

BOTH

Heaven and hell is shocked, what I mean by that is Lucifer and Adam being shocked. Adam is immediately yelling out profanities at how this is “complete bullshit”. Emily and Charlie did a mutual nod to each other not hating or liking this idea as it seems clear and fair to share you 50/50 like divorce parents.

After court, it was time to hang out with hell only to go heaven for the next day. 😭 honestly, you could stay in hell for a week and go to heaven for another whole week☝🏾😕

Adam gets so salty seeing Lucifer pick you up and take you through the portal to hell. Lute just scowls walking away. Meanwhile Lucifer is still salty as well to share you, he has to be mature as Charlie was just excited to have you the whole week.

HONESTLY IF ITS VALENTINE’S DAY, YOU GET SO MUCH CHOCOLATE AND TEDDY BEARS FROM HEAVEN AND HELL. OMG IMAGINE YOUR BIRTHDAY 😱😨LEGIT A WHOLE CARTOON ASS BIRTHDAY-

You still sleep in Lucifer’s bed when you stay in hell, but there is still a spare room for you. And for heaven you sleep directly in the same room as Adam as he snores holding your chubby and round fluffy body.

Thanks to @gineazu for the idea of this schedule of them sharing reader.

Hell has reader on mondays Wednesday's Friday's and sundays. As heaven has them on tuesdays thursdays and Saturdays like a true ass divorce. But just like I said you could also spend a whole week in hell and another whole week in heaven. And it could repeat.

LMAO JUST IMAGINE THE AWKWARDNESS WITH ADAM HAVING SUNGLASSES WAITING FOR YOU AS LUCIFER IS TEACHING YOU HOW TO CALL HIM IN CASE ADAM TRIES TO “abuse” you 😭😭

You’re literally eating nuggets in the hotel’s lobby until a busted down wall happens as a golden light shines. “Kid, pack ya shit. The shit lord didn’t bring you to me on time.” Says Adam with sunglasses and chewing bubble gum. Lucifer came from the kitchen having lemonade for you only to drop it seeing Adam. “What are YOU doing here!” He exclaims seeing the first man. Adam smirks, “I’m here to collect the bird brain. Duh?” “It’s literally only been 2 days?!” Lucifer retorts.

Yeahh…at first Adam had a problem being clingy towards you and wanting to stay in the blue skies with him.

Honestly it’s funny how Lucifer is the mom who wants to scam the father to make it seem he is abusive as Adam is just a guy trying to be the fun dad. It’s literally tug of war for your affection for crying out loud- 😭

“HAVE YOU SEEN SMILEY?” Is basically the song to describe your relationship between the two places of heaven and hell. It’s so painfully tooth aching and wholesome.

It’s nice spending time with your people in hell and heaven. Like literally it’s cool how you still got your delivery job in hell and heaven at most. Overall you are just happy seeing both of your so proclaimed friends and family. ‼️💗❤️🦆

A/N: I did this because I couldn’t choose lol 💗 hope you guys like this as everyone gets their own happy ending

taglist: @zamadness @ilovelyneysm07 @listenerchan @equkki @ambersison-allejo @froggybich @hah-simp-acc-2 @aria-tempest @chefysawesomeideas @angela075905 @loyx2 @libraryraccoon @indom-eclipse @simpcreator @caffieneaddictt18

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alexisomnias · 4 months

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— "DOVES SING JUST LIKE YOU" . . . | twst

⤷ how they love your voice

characters | overblot boys

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

he listens to your voice while studying, while sometimes its a distraction, he loves listening to you ramble while working. Too some its listening to music, but too him its listening to you. You're such a guiding voice for him and he can't help but want to cloud his head with you instead of the equations being put down. Sometimes even just the sound of your breath is sufficient to help him work more steadily. Perhaps its the overlooking hope to impress that is an encouragement, either way he's not hanging up the phone anytime soon! Nor is he EVER going to admit the affect your voice has on him!

"what do you mean, "why do you call me when your studying?" can I not worry about my dears day? In peace...!"

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

he listens to your voice before going to bed, as obvious as it is. He doesn't like having recordings of it, he'd much rather hear your voice in person. No matter how loud or soft it is he can fall asleep easily, so speak all you want, yap away he'd still sleep. Either way its a clearing of his head, and a purify of his dreams. He adores falling asleep to the sound of your voice, and if it has to be over call you better not hang up... He's also a fan of your breath, the sound of your breath relaxes him. He loves listening to yours voice! So never stop talking hm? you'd never annoy him even if you might think so. your his relaxant.

"don't shut up, keep talking away as you normally do."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

he's SO embarrassed about how much he adores listening to you speak. He keeps all your voicemails to keep and listen to while he works on paperwork. The tweels tease him far too much, but even then he'd never delete them. Don't tell anyone else either, but he falls asleep to them too. Voice messages are highly encouraged, he will save them! He may never bring it up other then in smooth talking and flirting, but oh the effect your voice has on him... is this how the land dweller felt when hearing the mermaid princesses voice? He's enchanted every time you speak... sometimes he'll even purposely call you when he knows you won't answer just to hear your voice message left after the tone. UGH! The effect you have is so unfair!

"89 saved voicemails..? what about them? as a business owner its... important to hold every detail said as a reminder!"

JAMIL VIPER

Jamil will call you while he works. The sound of your voice and the knowing your presence is on the other end of the device motivates him to do whatever he's doing. Sometimes he'll invite you over, but he adores being on call too. Ramble away, please, he loves listening. He's a good listener, he swears. So please, yap away, he'll lovingly listen to it all. After all he adores listening to your voice. Don't tell him I told you, but he ADORES it when you whisper in his ear... just a thing that gets him flustered in ways nothing else could. He'll brush it off, but know he'll be replaying whatever you said for the rest of the 24 hour period.

"Would you mind repeating yourself? I think your voice is nice to listen to while cooking."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

vil adores talking to you during routine. He'll call you in the morning, and night if your unable to stay over. Its apart of his everyday now, for you to be the first voice he hears and the last he hears that day. He wouldn't have it any other way though. He particularly adores hearing you ramble, or talk about whatever happened to you that day during makeup or skincare. Its on facetime or in person, he'll listen like your the only sound around. Conversation with you is always a highlight and he adores every word you say. Vil is also the type to hold onto voicemails if he can, he just likes hearing you speak.

"so how was your day? be sure to include every detail, I want to hear all about it."

IDIA SHROUD

idia is the type to spam call you into vc. bros desperate. the first time he heard your voice he short circuited, and oh dear now is he getting thrown into the fantasies of falling asleep on call like the normies?! ARGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM!? this is unfair! he shouldn't be thinking about how silky,,, and nice,,, and amazing your voice sounds. get out of his head!! your voice is nice okay?! just get in the vc! Don't leave him waiting like a fool, like a desperate blundering fool!

"ah, y..your voice?! its not bad don't worry. no please don't mute! i'm not being sarcastic i swear!!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

malleus loves listening to you ramble. every word you say he holds dear, and sometimes he gets needy to hear it he'll even come all the way from his dorm to yours just to hear you talk! he's not a fan of phone calls, it doesn't feel as genuine as in person. He fucking adores listening to you, no matter what the hell your talking about. He'll just nod his head no matter, he's listening sure, but your voice lulls him into a trance he never wants to be pulled out of. Keeping singing him a lullaby with your wonderful voice! he loves listening to you, and if you love listening to him then oh dear the conversations would never end.

"I love hearing what you have to contribute, its very insightful. So please, what about that topic again?"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #suns pencil.

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bleuu-moon · 4 months

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imagine you’re a civilian who’s held hostage with price, but you don’t know he’s in the special forces, until he’s forced to whisper it in your ear as a way to try and calm you down as you begin to hyperventilate. telling you how if your captors knew, they’d kill him straight away, but he knows his men are already out looking for him.

and then it all starts to make sense, the way he never seemed fazed by the two days that you’ve both been locked up for, the constant reassurance he offered when you began getting overly emotional, the checking in on you, the advice he offered to drink sips, not gulps and ways to conserve your energy.

he knows he gave you hope, as you become more talkative, making conversation about your outside lives. asking him personal questions that he doesn’t mind to answer for you, and seeing how you perk up talking about yours, he reciprocates the questions.

by day five, it feels like ten, but you’ve become a peace for one another. talking escapes you both, temporarily erasing the memory of your current situation.

you’re there, rushing to his side when he gets a blow to the face from one of your detainers, a result of his unsmart mouth, asking him how to help stop the bleeding from the gash on his cheek. he tries to shoo you away, ensuring he’s fine, but once you rip a piece of fabric from your t-shirt and press it to his injury, it’s almost like he rests into your touch.

he begins becoming protective, when a captor makes a beeline for you, he won’t hesitate but to use himself as a human shield. willingly taking another punch or kick a punishment for his distraction. when a small bottle of water and stale food is shoved underneath the gate, he’ll make sure you have more than he does, refusing to listen to your protests. whenever he’s able to sleep, he’ll place himself closest to the door, in front of you, yet always facing you. once you’re tired, he’ll urge you to sleep, making sure he doesn’t sleep for too long at the same time.

the only time that john panics in that cell, is when a gun is pulled up to your head, as a blackmailing tactic for information.

information that your brain doesn’t comprehend as your body is whirling in fight or flight. you watch on as he attempts to bargain with the man behind you, whilst still offering you comfort with the way his eyes soften as they meet yours, and a hand reaching out towards you.

and that’s when the cavalry arrive.

the chance to fall to your knees, free from the enemy’s grasp as he runs towards the gunfire, john lunging forwards to collect you in his arms. cradling you into his chest as you fall apart against him. he soothes you, telling you that it’s all over, that you’re okay.

you don’t leave johns side until you arrive at the hospital. glued to him from the moment he stood you up and walked out the cell with pulled into his side, hearing words of affirmation towards him from those who refer to him as “captain”. in the helicopter, he still had you right there, so close to him, you may as-well be one. that’s why the nurses have to pretty much pry you from him when you land.

conveniently, you both end up on other sides of the building, as your vitals are checked and monitored. not knowing that john was discharged almost straight away, and on his way to find you within the first couple of hours, to everyone else’s dismay.

he doesn’t know the emotion he feels the second he see’s you asleep, but all he knows is that the sight brings him to the verge of tears. the drip that’s connected to the top of your hand, the continuous beeping that mirrors your steady heartbeat, but most of all — how peaceful and healthy you look already. admiring you, he quietly finds himself beside your bed, his hand subconsciously wrapping around yours, instantly noticing the warmth that you now possess. and when you slightly flinch, and flicker your eyes open to meet his, the small smile that forms on your lips almost brings john to his knees.

and that, right there, is how he knows that even though the way you met wasn’t ideal, he wants you beside him for the rest of his life.

#this was one of them things that i wrote read it back got disappointed and then thought fuck it #i will write a longer version of this one day #love these two x #captain john price #this was done in like an hour so bare with meeee #price x reader #captain price x reader #cod prompts

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puranami · 6 months

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✿ It's The Little Things ✿

A/N: My first time writing! Admittedly I'm very nervous, but also so excited!! Kept it simple with a small headcanon list to start, but I tried to write a decent amount for each point, and I hope that everyone is in character :0 Posting at 4am because I have no control over my life...

Summary: Little relationship things with the Strawhats. Can be interpreted as the anime/manga or the live action version of the character.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji

Content: SFW, G/N reader, slightest hint of angst in Sanji's part, but otherwise, pure unadulterated fluff! ✿

(Part 2 - Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk) (Part 3 - Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer) (Part 4 - Crocodile, Rosinante/Corazon, Doflamingo)

Luffy

✿ He absentmindedly draws shapes on your leg, back, or whatever part of you is there as you sit together, whether you are watching the waves, or listening to one of Usopp's stories. He is almost magnetic in the way he ends up attached to you. If you're not feeling it, he will do his best to keep his hands to himself, but as soon as his focus shifts onto anything else, they're back on you, drawing little clouds and hearts. He tried, he really did!

✿ This bottomless pit inhales food like it's going out of fashion, but, much to the bewilderment of the rest of the crew, he will actually feed you from his plate as he eats, even though you are eating your own food. It may be a case of "1 for you, 5 for me," but it's almost instinctive for him; he's sharing something he's passionate about with you, and making sure that, in his eyes, you are happy, healthy and strong. He values your wellbeing more than food; you are one of the most important things in his life.

✿ Despite how chaotic he is in every aspect of his life, his presence brings you to a state of complete peace, even when he's yelling about whatever currently has his attention. Just knowing he is there comforts you in a way that nothing, and no one else can. As long as Luffy is there, being the same old Luffy he always is, you know everything will be alright in the end, and if it isn't alright, well, it isn't the end yet.

Zoro

✿ He always places a comforting hand on your head when he passes by, or ends up in the same general space as you. It's his version of a hug, a reassuring touch that he is there, and that he's happy to see you. Zoro is very subtle with his affection, at least in public, but even when it's just the two of you, he automatically defaults to the head pat. It comforts him as much as it does you, and the simple action alone conveys his feelings far better than he ever could with words.

✿ You both love silently observing everything going on around you, and it's such a comfortable silence. You just enjoy each others company while watching the world go by, with Zoro also keeping an eye out for any threats, as he does. Sometimes you end up passing silent judgement on what you see, and you have both developed this uncanny ability to gossip without saying a single word. It's honestly unnerving at times, but you are just so familiar with each others micro-expressions that it's second nature.

✿ Insults are terms of endearment. If anyone else called either of you such things, all hell would break loose - swords drawn, blood spilt, bodies hit the floor, the whole song and dance. It actually started out as a form of deflection, with both of you being far too stubborn to admit any feelings were there, even to yourselves; "No, I don't like you, shitstain, I tolerate you." - "Whatever helps you sleep at night, arseface." As you connected though, it just became your thing, and you love seeing who can come up with the funniest insults. Zoro is surprisingly creative in this regard.

Nami

✿ Nami has a habit of fixing your clothes and hair if something is out of place. It can seem overbearing to others, but she knows you appreciate the gesture. She spent years putting up walls to defend herself, and this is a safe way for her to have a little moment alone with you, giving you gentle little touches without revealing to the world just how important you are to her. It is a very grounding experience for both of you, and you end up doing the same for her on the rare occasion that she isn't completely flawless. She may purposely put things out of place so you have the opportunity to fix something too.

✿ She has an eye for the finer things, and loves getting you little trinkets, and especially pieces of jewellery, which often match or pair with hers, like pendants that fit together to make a whole shape, and such. Just don't ask her where she got them; "Shhh, you don't need to worry about that." All that matters is that you now have a tangible connection to each other, no matter how close, or far apart you are.

✿ Another person who relishes in comfortable silence. Of course you love chatting with each other, and often do so later into the night than you intended. Nami is very quick-witted and your shared snark is always so enjoyable! But it's the moments when you are doing your own thing together, basking in the warmth of that closeness that brings the most joy. Every so often, you will share something interesting or amusing, depending on what you're doing, but you always return to that silence. It's very domestic.

Usopp

✿ You both end up in regular fits of giggles, that grow into raucous laughter, before devolving into the sounds of various suffocating wildlife, which only fuels the hilarious fire. He doesn't even have to say anything at times; he just has a look, and as soon as he catches your eye with it, you absolutely lose it. The amount of nonsensical inside jokes you have is absurd in itself.

✿ Ever the storyteller, Usopp will wind down the day with you relaxing under the stars, telling you fantastical stories about the impossible feats of the great 'Captain Usopp.' His creativity and imagination are something you greatly admire, and as much as you try to stay awake to appreciate those qualities, the comfort he brings has you dropping off every time. He'll carry you to bed most nights, but sometimes he can only manage to drag you around like a corpse he's trying to hide, and he'll end up waking you up laughing about it.

✿ You automatically link your little fingers whenever you are close enough to. It doesn't even register half of the time, only realising when you need that hand or try to go your separate ways. When this happens, providing there isn't anything that needs your urgent attention, you like to dramatize your parting, playing up that this is the most painful moment of your lives! "Don't you dare let go, Usopp! We can both make it out of this alive!" - "I'm so sorry, I can't hold on any longer, and I refuse to drag you down with me." - "No! Don't say that!" - "I love you so much, but you need to let me go..." Leading to you unlinking your fingers, and exaggerated fake cries of anguish. It annoys everyone around you immensely.

Sanji

✿ You shamelessly flirt with each other, making everyone around you uncomfortable, groaning at how painful it is. You weren't together when you started playing this romantic game of chicken, giving back everything Sanji threw at you, and then some, but once you figured your feelings out, you actually developed it into a legitimate game where you attempt to be as sickening and obnoxious as possible. If there is no one grimacing, angrily telling you both to pack it in, or simply leaving the room; you aren't flirting enough. There is a points system, and you're currently in the lead. Sanji ends up caving over the things you say, and his brain loses the ability to form words, let alone string them together in a coherent sentence.

✿ Sanji always leaves a drink and a bite to eat for you to wake up to, since he isn't there in person, having to wake up much earlier to prepare the food for the day. Growing up in a restaurant, early starts are just part of his natural rhythm, so it doesn't bother him, but sometimes you try to wake up with him to at least watch the sunrise together, before going back to bed for a couple more hours. He cherishes those mornings, and there is always an extra spring in his step on those days.

✿ He takes every opportunity he can to share a glance and a warm smile, a gentle touch of your hands, or a chaste kiss with you. They are agonisingly brief moments, but Sanji needs them to get him through the day, otherwise he would just cling to you, and neither of you would get anything done! Unknown to you, these moments are also his way of reminding himself that you chose him over everyone else, that he is loved unconditionally, and that he is enough, without having to, in his opinion, burden you with his insecurities. He'll open up to you one day, and you will be able to give him verbal affirmations along with everything else~

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #zoro x reader #zoro x you #nami x reader #nami x you #usopp x reader #usopp x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #god usopp #blackleg sanji

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p1utofairy · 8 months

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PAC: your upcoming relationship 🎀🫧🎆

pile 1 🧸 —

ok so i immediately heard let the light in by lana del rey ft. father john misty! this is a very passionate relationship pile 1 wow. your person is very patient, attentive and willing to put you first no matter what. the dynamic will be similar to allie and noah's but minus the toxicity…there's a push and pull but just enough to keep each other engaged and entertained. i'm hearing a lot of witty playful banter, you grinning until your cheeks hurt and not being able to keep eye contact because they give you butterflies. i'm feeling some gemini influence in this pile hmmm communication will be really important between the 2 of you. i think you both are very similar when it comes to your interests and values but have a different approach to how you handle your feelings and express your emotions. you may be a bit more hesitant or resistant to sharing how you feel in hopes of keeping the peace but i feel like your person will encourage you to speak your mind instead of bottling it in. this goes for any scenerio as well, they want you to be able to step into your power and not dim your light for anyone or anything. your person could have prominent water/cancer/or 4h placements because they give nurturing vibes. i just heard "I JUST WANNA SEE YOU SHINE, CAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE A STARGIRL." you mean everything to them. even if you two were to have a disagreement, they'd probably be a bit moody at first but at the end of the day they'd want to talk it out and make up with you. (and i heard make it up to you) they'll never want you to go to bed angry at them or vice versa, this person is very mature and doesn't like to cut corners when it comes to their relationships. this person has an "all or nothing" type of mentality, when they commit themselves to you that's it. all they see you is pile 1, awww it's so sweet. you're gonna have lots of fun with this person.

pile 2 ⭐️ —

love you like a brother, treat you like a friend, respect you like a lover. OOOO pile 2 your person is very suave, they know exactly what to say and when to say it. i feel like they light up every room that they walk in & could definitely charm the pants off of anyone. it might be hard to take them serious at first or you may question if they're serious about you because they seem to be very friendly or more experienced. but i'm hearing that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, because although this person may give player vibes they’re actually a sweetheart at the core. i can see this person having a really bright smile, they'll love to make you laugh and put you in a good mood. you will bring a good balance to them, they need stability and you're exactly that. they're very confident and extroverted but deep down they feel like no one really sees them except for you. i'm hearing infrunami by steve lacy so maybe some of you already know this person. it honestly does give a good friends to lovers vibe. i can see you two texting a lot, going on little dates and having random/deep conversations about any and everything. maybe lots of discussions about movies? i'm hearing some of you really love cinema. i think you'll definitely see this person in a different light as you get to know them, compared to your first impression of them. it’s like when andie was putting ben through all those hoops until they went to visit his family in staten island…and once she saw him in his element/who he truly was at the core she realized her feelings for him. yeahhh this is super cute pile 2, i dig it.

pile 3 🍬 —

heyyy pile 3, right off the bat i keep hearing the word CUTE. like maybe this is what people will think when they see you and your person together? you two are absolutely made for each other, i think your inner child will really come out when you're around this person. i can feel the excitement, the giddiness and anticipation you two will exude when you're in each other's presence. i heard "like a kid in a candy store" lol that's adorable. power trip by j. cole ft. miguel is playing…yeah it's very much THAT. i feel like you both will pinch yourselves thinking is this real??? your person is gonna make you feel like you're on cloud 9 hehe i see them getting you flowers, writing you cute little messages on sticky notes and gifting you thoughtful things that you may have mentioned in passing but didn't expect them to remember. i feel like you (and maybe even your person) have been waiting/yearning for a connection like this for very a long time, i get an almost lonely energy. like you've been single for a long time and now you feel whole/complete. the intimacy between you two >>> not even just sexually but intellectually and emotionally! you're gonna feel so safe and comfortable with them. your person is very sentimental and they will never take a moment shared with you for granted. i see polaroid/photobooth pics of you 2 being all close and cutesy :) this person might be a little lowkey/reserved in nature but you definitely bring them out of their shell. the scene where jenna says “arrivederci” and is so giddy when matty responds back with “au revoir” is coming to mind. AH y'all are gonna be so goneeeeee pile 3 i love it for you.

#pick a card #pac reading #intuitive reading #tarot reading #love reading #pick a pile #pac tarot #love pac #pac

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

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i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

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shadesoflsk · 3 months

Text

HIS MINI WORLD

ft: Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader summary: Leon experiencing fatherhood. From the day his little miracle's heart started beating to her first steps. warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, self doubts but overall this is just fluff and nothing more! wc: 1.4k author's note: Hello! This is me once again bringing dad Leon content. The last time I wrote him was for Christmas hehe. I don't really know what I did here since this like a combination between headcanons and mini drabbles but hey, it's something. Anyway, take care!

masterlist

Leon who ever since you announced you were expecting he switched to dad mode. All of his friends needed to know that he was now a father to be. Claire? The first one to know. Chris? He needed to know that he may as well be the godfather of his little blessing.

Leon who was next to you at every ultrasound appointment. He couldn't even make out where this little bean was but he already called them the most perfect thing. Because, after all, it's the perfect combination of both of you.

Leon who is the first one to buy parenting books. He often told you not so common facts as he read in the middle of the night. Do you know that babies are born with the ability to swim? He made sure to tell you even if you were fast asleep.

“Darling…” Leon gently shook you, his voice was hushed yet it was enough to stir you from your sleep and say goodbye to your precious dreams. “Mhm…? What is it?” Being woken up in the middle of the night wasn’t something you were looking for. Especially since you already grew used to Leon’s schedule. However, you tried not to show any signs of grumpiness. “Do you know that our baby can recognize music? So… if we put some headphones on your stomach they might know what we usually listen to!” His voice was barely a whisper but it wasn’t enough to hide his excitement. “Go to sleep Leon…”

Leon who has all the money in the world to buy the most expensive and glamorous crib, yet he wanted to experience how it was to build it. So, he made it from scratch. Of course, with Chris’ help. Even though both of them ended up with splinters in their fingers.

Leon who would rarely argue with you. But when the time comes when you disagree about something and go to bed a bit mad at each other, he would place a hand on your belly as he whispered: I'm mad at you, not at them. Eventually, both of you would forgive each other, even if the argument was just a silly disagreement.

Arguing with Leon was obviously something doomed to happen in your marriage. As much as you wanted it to be peaceful and problem-less, your personalities sometimes crashed. It never led to an actual fight. But Leon was… stubborn, even if he knew you were right, he'd never admit it. So, as you lay on your side hoping that sleep comes faster, you feel a strong and calloused hand over your belly. “I'm not angry at them so this is only fair.” Leon said, rubbing and caressing the skin that was starting to stretch as it gave the baby more space to grow. After a couple of seconds of silence, Leon started to feel guilty for not giving you attention. You were carrying his baby, he couldn’t act this immature. “Sorry…” Leon sheepishly apologized for his previous banter. An argument should never make them go to bed angry at each other. “I'm sorry too.” You finally responded as drowsiness started filling your mind and body.

Leon who responded “I just want them to be healthy,” when someone asked him about his baby. But he was a bit too happy when you announced to him that he was going to be a girl dad. In his mind, he wanted to have two beautiful princesses next to him. And now, heaven is allowing him to achieve his dreams and leave behind his sorrowful previous life.

Leon who may as well go bankrupt since he buys everything he sees at the shop. Tiny pink dresses and teddy bears are his favorite things to buy. His little princess deserves the world, she’s already his whole world.

Leon who would speak to your bump, his words full of promises and wishes for his baby. And even when you were asleep, he would go on for minutes, expecting his little miracle to hear him.

“You will be so loved… Everyone is waiting for you.” He said one night, a hand caressing the side of your belly. “I have already bought so many toys you will be playing with. Daddy loves you so much.”

Leon who has to go on missions, he can’t just quit. But, he keeps a photo of your ultrasound in his wallet, next to yours. A totem of his love, a physical item that reminds him he needs to return home.

“Shit…” He hissed as the nurse helped him sit down on one of the chairs. He had recently just come back from a mission which took a toll on him. It wasn’t especially hard since he had help from his new team, yet he believed his age was starting to show in his body. “Mr. Kennedy, your belongings…” The nurse spoke to him for the first time as she picked up Leon’s jacket which had fallen as he sat down. Leon thanked her before he started searching for something in one of its pockets. For a while, he paid no mind to the nurse ministrations. The alcohol swab stung just a bit as she cleaned an injury on his side. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out his wallet and there they were, the photos he always carries with him. A proud smile showed on his face as he was reminded that he had succeeded in another mission which meant Heaven granted him one more day to live. He was alive and ready to continue living..

Leon who would practically faint when you told him the baby was coming, that the time has come. He had previously made scenarios about this situation, thinking that he was prepared but dear God… he wasn’t.

Dad Leon who sobbed when he heard his baby’s cries for the first time. However, this time, those sounds didn’t come from someone who was suffering as he is used to hearing in his line of job. Those cries were the living proof that he was once again, given a second chance in life.

The first one was when you agreed to marry him. He held himself from grabbing his daughter out of the nurse’s arms. It’s not that he didn’t trust the medical team, but he has waited almost 9 months to see, to hold his miracle. And even though a part of him fears that his hands are too stained from his job, from his past, and from the near future, he knows that his and your hands will be the ones guiding your baby.

Dad Leon who doesn't know what to do once you were discharged from the hospital. He couldn't spend one second away from the both of you, always checking if you needed something.

Dad Leon who speaks with his daughter as if she was already a grown-up. Her babbles and his words fill the living room as they both engage in a serious conversation.

“Bwaaah” “Yeah, I get it. But you have to understand my point too. If we increase the price of milk people are going to buy even less. “Bwah…” “No need to get so political, miss. I’m simply offering some feedback about the supply and demand of this product.”

Dad Leon who wears matching outfits with you and his daughter. Is the little one wearing pink today? Guess everyone else will too.

Dad Leon who tries so hard to teach his baby how to say dada. Da-da Da-da, that word is starting to haunt his dreams. However, life works in funny ways since his little one decided that her first world would be “No.”

Dad Leon who is terrified when his daughter starts walking. Those wobbly steps make him have a heart attack each second.

Dad Leon who hates it when his kid falls and cries. He would literally just look the other way for a second and boom, his daughter fell to the ground. Between the sobs of his little one, he could hear how she says she got a boo-boo. God, he hates gravity.

Dad Leon who sometimes cries from happiness. Watching his baby girl grow fills his heart with so much joy and pride. The world was a messed up place but whilst he lives, he’ll make sure that no danger ever comes across you two.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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littlemissayu · 3 months

Note

this is my first time requesting so if this sucks sorry! You can ignore it if you want!

I was thinking what the dorm leaders favorite thing about the reader, if you can do this request it is much appreciated! Hope you have a nice day<3

“It’s the Little Things” - TWST Dorm Leaders favorite thing about you

A/N: Thanks for sending in the request!! Besides I love writing fluff, and fluffy headcanons!! I hope you also have the loveliest day <3!!

Warning: fluff, reader is implied to be MC/Yuu

Pairing: Dorm Leaders x Reader

Your forehead - It may seem weird and random but he loves giving you kisses on your forehead. It feels intimate and loving. Every morning and night he kisses you on the forehead to wish you good morning and good night. And sometimes after kisses your cheek he’d look into your eyes and smooth his thumb over his cheek

You groggily open your eyes to see your red headed lover staring at your face, lovingly. In a soft yet raspy morning voice he says “Good morning dearest-“ he kisses you on the forehead “how’d you sleep?”

You loved mornings with Riddle ♡

Your neck & chest - Leona loves to settle his face into your neck/chest. It feels comforting and warm; he can take in your scent that he ever so loves. Leona is always placing kisses there, marking you. He typically naps on your chest to hear your heartbeat, it’s soothing to know your still there inn his arms, safe and sound.

The sun seeped into your vision through the leaves of the trees. You relaxed in Leona’s arms; his head on your chest taking his daily nap. He looked so peaceful, so at home, so beautiful. Little did you know that you lion lover was awake and he knew you were staring, for the single second that you blinked he has moved up to the nape of your neck and kissed it

“You enjoyed your view darling?”

Your hugs - Azul is someone who definitely needs a good hug from time to time(who doesn’t?) and for him your hugs bring him the most comforting feeling ever. It reassures him in ways words can’t. Words can be deceived (he’d know) your actions is what truly reveals your love for him; and your hugs show him how much your truly love him.

Azul was working in his office, seemingly caught in the world of assignments he almost missed the the fact your entered his office until he looked up. “Hello pearl, how are you?” “I’m doing good, how are you hon?” You walked up to him and walked behind him looking over his shoulder, observing the work he was up to. “Just working” he sighed, hou noticed him didn’t seem to be at his best currently so you did the first thing you thought might help, you gave him a warm loving hug and kissed him on the cheek. The blush on his face was evident and unstoppable.

“Thank you pearl, you always know how to make me feel better.”

Your smile - Even though he’s someone who has a smile bright enough to blind the sun, he thinks you have the sweetest smile in all of Twisted Wonderland. Every time your smile he smiles and he’d do anything to get you to smile, it’s his most prized treasure.

The two of you walked around together enjoying the architecture of Scarabia , just talking about random things until you two ended up talking about your home. You find yourself going on and on about everything you loved back home. And feeling that nostalgic feeling while talking about home just planted the biggest smile on your face. Kalim then abruptly spoke-

“Your so stunning when you smile”

Your eyes - You know how they say eyes are the window to the soul(or something of the sort), I think Vil believes that. And in you he sees this amazing person; someone who’s truly beautiful inside and out he finds it refreshing. He’s someone surrounded by fame and fortune and in the industry not everyone is a ray of sunshine. You are so caring and sweet; like a perfectly ripe apple.

He truly admires you.

Your thighs - They're so soft and warm. They bring him comfort when he lays his head in them; and when he’s gaming, you typically sit on his lap and when he gets frustrated he just takes a break to knead your things with his head buried in your neck.

The best way to relax is to simply be close to you.

Your cheeks - He finds them so adorable. He loved to just kiss/pinch/squish your cheeks. They’re so soft and cute. He thinks you're the cutest person ever, if he could he would lock you up forever and keep you to himself(he can’t because you might be sad). He especially loves the way your cheeks are when you laugh or smile (bonus points if you have dimples).

He do anything in this world to keep that joy on your face.

A/N: Happy New Years my darlings!! I wish you the best in 2024!! I will also do my best to upload most frequently since I love doing this<3

Heartsabyul Masterlist

Savanaclaw Masterlist

Octavinelle Masterlist

Scarabia Masterlist

Pomefiore Masterlist

Ignihyde Masterlist

Diasomnia Masterlist

TWST Masterlist

Grand Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fluff #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #kalim x reader #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader

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lizthewriter · 3 months

Text

mattheo riddle as different romance tropes

〉forbidden love yep, you saw it! he's the dark lord's son and most likely a forced death eater. whether your muggleborn or a blood traitor or just someone who could be put in danger by his family, then you can't be together. it's hard for him not to fall in love with you, especially when you're making it so effortlessly easy. he hates it and he hates himself and he hates his stupid family but god, does he love you. he tries so hard to keep himself straight, to not veer off the path his family is so desperately trying to steer him on, but he confesses his love to you either in a hot, steamy, passionate kiss filled with pent up emotion or a calm, peaceful night spent in the astronomy tower, explaining to you how he feels but why you could never be together. either way, you don't care and make it work. your love is secretive, spontaneous, sweet, but tense at times. you two are so kind and loving towards each other but tend to argue about how to behave around each other in public. in the end, of course, the dark lord does not persevere and your relationship can survive out in the open, but know that the beginning of your relationship might be a bit tumultuous at first.

〉enemies to lovers / forced proximity if anyone exemplifies this trope, it's mattheo. the hatred you two bare for each other is so angry and passionate it that it falls along the line of "i hate you so much i almost love you," and your friends can definitely see that. most likely the two of you would be complete opposites yet exactly the same all at once. you hate the parts of him that differ from you yet hate the parts that are similar even more, because you're supposed to be enemies, right? constant bickering, arguing, and glaring. this is where the forced proximity comes into play - i don't see forced proximity being a way you two fall in love without being enemies first. either your friends shove you in a closet together to hash those unresolved feelings towards one another, or it could be a seven minutes in heaven / spin the bottle scenario, detention, or you're forced to work on a school project together. either way, your love confession is either a passionate, angry, almost hateful kiss or something that's wholesome, pure, and totally unexpected. your love would be fiery and serious and the two of you often find solitude in spending time alone together late at night or early in the morning, when you can let bygones be bygones and simply let go.

〉fwb to lovers / pure and promiscuous what else did you think this would be? mattheo is a fuckboy and there's no denying it. he finds solace in sleeping around and smoking (not exactly healthy habits - don't try this at home kiddos!) you could be best friends and find that the two of you find release with each other or more of acquaintances, which would tie in with the "pure and promiscuous" love trope. with the later, i see you approaching mattheo in hopes that he might teach you how to - well, you know. whatever your motives are, he doesn't care, because you're beautiful (and he might have a corruption kink but we won't talk about that). i would think the love confession happens when you're sitting in bed - i don't think mattheo would be the one to bring it up, probably you. your love would be delicate, heart-warming, and wholesome. it may start out with benefits, but it grows to be something a lot more then just that.

[movie rec: 10 things i hate about you]

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanons #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #harry potter #slytherin boys

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voxlvrr · 3 months

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა Adam with a work!alcoholic reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

`` ~ ୨ A/n : thank you all for 100 followers ! <333 also this is genuinely just pure fluff, may be a bit ooc ! ୧ ♡ ·

ꕥ ; Adam HATES your bad working habit, you’ll stay cooped up in your room for literal hours and days! you never take your eyes off the papers on your desk. the only time you actually come out just get coffee. Adam will use every excuse he can in the book so you’ll actually stop overworking yourself and come to bed with him or just eat something. but usually he’ll barge in with food he bought and set it on your desk, and use the time to spend time with you for awhile. but once he genuinely gets fed up with it he’ll just go behind your desk and snatch you up from your chair while obviously ignoring your protests. he’ll honestly straight up tell you that you need to stop your bad habits and that it’s actually starting to “piss him off” but later he’ll mumble that he actually cares about you just wants you stop. and once you promise that you’ll stop he’ll end up dragging you to bed with him cause he knows how many nights and mornings you’ve stayed up. but before you do that he’ll let you take care of yourself, like taking a shower, getting a change your clothes and brushing your hair. once that’s all taken care of he’ll literally never let you leave the bed all night, he genuinely couldn’t sleep at night when you weren’t with him. Often also leaving him restless like you. hell! even lute noticed how he isn’t like his usual self cause Adam genuinely missed your presence and he’s so glad that you’re finally back in his arms <3

ꕥ ; also Adam will try to make sera not give you so much work, which she’ll probably agree too. and once she does, he’ll probably start trying to convince you to take a break for once in awhile, or he’ll just take you out for awhile knowing that you’re stressed about all the work you’ve been given for the last couple of weeks. he’ll get you whatever you want! food?, already bought!,you want new outfits? He’ll buy it for you! literally whatever you want, just don’t stress about work <3

A little one shot under the cut here :)

ꕥ ; it was maybe 3:00 am or 4:00am..? damn it you lost track of time already. you’ve been overworking yourself even more lately since sera decided to move down the stupid extermination day. and now while that’s happening you have to approve some other rules for heaven and other shit that you genuinely don’t care about, as you looked at the window from your pitch black office only some moonlight shining in you could see some early risers up and about in the city. but mostly it’s peaceful and quiet which youre glad about. as you turn your head away from the window.

you then see Adam right in front of you, which scares the LIVING. shit out of you which you almost screamed but you were very. tired to scream you noticed that Adams mask was sitting right on your desk which was piled in reports and other things you forgot about hours ago, Adam then spoke “can’t you just hold off the work for the night? It’s literally fucking almost 4:00am, cmon! just come to bed alreadyyy!” You sighed profusely before you spoke in a low tired voice “listen - Adam. you know how i have to finish these reports and documents so I can bring them all to sera tomorrow, I can’t come to bed with you yet.” you responded before looking down at the papers before you and when you tried to reach the pen across the desk - Adam then snatched it and threw it somewhere across the room and before you could protest - Adam then gently took your wrist bringing you around from the table and towards his chest and then wrapped his soft wings around your figure. which made you even more tired than before. you then started drifting off until you fully fell asleep in his arms..

`` ~ ୨ this is was probably the longest fanfic I’ve made ! ^^ hope you all enjoyed

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sugarlywhispers · 4 months

Text

ex!b.katsuki x reader ; m.izuku x reader — bakugou cheats on his gf, with midoriya's girlfriend.

☆– warnings; ANGST. mention and description of panic attacks, swear words, cheating (bakugou to reader; uraraka to midoriya), description of a fight. But it ends in fluff~ c;

☆–a.n; honestly, i don't know if i'm going to add another chapter... i still have a bit more of ideas for this, but i don't know ._.

in the meantime, i hope you liked this new part! <3

also, i hope ya'll have a wonderful beggining of 2024!!! may this new year bring lots of good thing for everyone, lots of love and adventures, new amazing things and wonderful people to your lives!

love ya'll so much, wish you all ALL the good things life can bring; no more tears, except happy ones. <3

A few weeks go by, and Midoriya and you keep in touch, texting almost everyday. Talking about random stuff, important stuff, whatever the mood is. But it's mostly cute, random stuff, getting to know each other kind of feeling. It's funny how you both have been around each other for so long and did not actually know one another.

The texting was cute. Like a picture he sends one afternoon, when his shift is calm and almost finished, when the sun is setting, taken from up high in a building. A beautiful sunset picture that you use as a lock screen wallpaper on your phone. Or that one selfie he sent when he shared patrols with Hero Shoto; you remember thinking how cute he looked posing next to the hot and cold Hero, with two fingers of one of his hands pulled up on a peace sign. Or a picture of a little puppy Hero Deku found on a rainy morning shift. He took it to the closest vet so they could help the little animal, and you find that so fucking heroic it makes your heart jump from the cuteness.

"I wonder… who has you smiling like that? Oh , I know… Mister Greeny," Mineta mocks, his eyebrows shaking up and down suggestively.

"Shut up," you bark and hit him on the upper arm strongly. He simply laughs.

Three months pass faster than you actually realize. You're better, you feel better. You haven't had a single panic attack since Midoriya Izuku entered your life. Which is good… it means good.

He is good.

Since that first Friday you grabbed coffee together, you both decided to make it your day. Each and every Friday morning, Izuku and you would go to grab coffee at that same shop you went to the first time; then he would walk you home as the gentleman he is.

It's Friday and you're waiting for him, it's a bit late already, but you know he is coming. He had a night patrol but he insisted to not break the new tradition - his words. You found it cute, so you didn't protest.

But now you're worried, because it's almost 30 minutes since you have been waiting and he hasn't come yet. Then it becomes 40, 45, 50 minutes. You feel your neck itchy, but you try to ignore it, looking at your phone. Waiting for a notification, waiting for Mid‐ Izuku to contact you. But nothing.

It's already been 1.10 hours long and no sign of him. You sigh and decide to go home, it's been more than an hour already. Probably he had something coming up at the last minute, or he simply forgot. He probably had a rough night and he didn't have time to meet you. You're not as important as his job, obviously.

You grab your things and exit the place, the kind girl behind the counter smiles sadly at you and waves her hand as goodbye. You smile, or at least try, in her direction and leave the coffee shop.

You feel itchy all over. This… This is… weird . Why are you feeling like this? You have no right to feel… disappointed, hurt . He's a Hero. He's freaking Number One, pro hero Deku. His job will always come first. But you can't help it. It's like…

You're not my priority, Y/N. Understand that you'll never be. I have to concentrate in my job if want to fucking be Number one.

You haven't heard his voice in your head for a long time now. And hearing it again is… painful. Hurting. Choking .

Every sound around you feels a hundred times louder as you walk, every light blinds you and you don't realize you're bumping into almost everyone around. The pressure on your neck is getting stronger and you can't breathe. You can't think. Your vision is turning black, like that night at the ramen shop with Mineta. A panic attack . You're having one in the middle of the street. How embarrassing . How pathetic .

You want the blackness to finally evolve you, and don't let go.

And then you see it, you feel it. Green eyes and strong hands grabbing your shoulders. You know those green eyes, you have seen them before. He's moving his mouth but you can't hear his voice. He looks worried; why is he worried? You feel rough hands that grab your face as softly as he can, and they are cold. You aren't used to the cold, but you like it. It's refreshing.

"...hear me? Y/N, please breathe, okay? Breathe with me," his voice is comforting, so you follow him, you breathe with him. "That's it… You're okay. We are okay."

The sight around you starts to clear, the blackness dissipates and you see clearly. His face is the first thing your eyes find. You know him. "Izuku?"

" Yes! Yes, it's me… Hi, love," he smiles relieved. You look around realizing you're in the middle of a circle, with him. People are watching, some worried, some annoyed. Embarrassing .

You realize then that Izuku's hands are around your face, holding you with no intention of letting go. "Izuku…"

He blinks, realizing then probably your surroundings and nods. "Yes, come one, let's go…"

Izuku helps you stand, his arm surrounding your waist pulling your weight on him so he helps you walk. Everyone starts clapping, clearly recognizing hero Deku even in his civilian clothes.

He walks you to your apartment in silence. Until you walk into the building, "There's no elevator?"

"No, it's been broken since before I got here," you know your voice sounds throaty, and the expression on his face says it worries him.

He sighs looking at the long stairs ahead. He knows you live on the fourth floor. "Okay, then," he says before picking you up, bridal style.

"Izuku! I can walk!"

"No, you can't. You have been putting your weight on me the whole way here."

"Still, I…"

"Shut up. Let me help," his tone it's so authoritative you have no other option than to do that. Shut up and let him help, because you know you wouldn't be able to climb those stairs up on your own even if you tried.

On the way up, you can't avoid watching him. He looks… angry . You have never seen him like that, or better said, you have never experienced his anger, you have seen him angry on the TV, fighting villains.

"I'm sorry," you say, and he stops midway, his eyes traveling to your face.

"You're apologizing for having a panic attack?" He's frowning, his tone incredulous, but serious. It makes tingles run your body.

"I'm… Yes, it's embarrassing ," you feel your voice crack a bit, and you hate that.

"Y/N, it's not embarrassing. It's a trauma response. And it's okay to go through it. But you need to heal…"

You look away from his face, tears already burning your eyes. You can't help but hear his voice again.

Having panic attacks in public is embarrassing, Y/N. You have to control them. Don't be fucking weak.

" He said… he said they were embarrassing."

You know you shouldn't be saying this to Izuku, but you said it even before you could actually think it.

" Who said-…" Izuku stops mid sentence. Takes a deep, deep breath, and continues climbing the stairs in silence. You don't dare look up. He's so tense and angry, you don't really have the courage to witness that right now.

When you arrive at the fourth floor you signal him which one is your apartment. And even when you are in front of the door, he doesn't put you on the ground. He stands there, waiting patiently, as you search for the key card on your bag and when the door is open he enters with you in his arms. He of course takes his shoes off at the entrance and walks inside.

He doesn't say anything as he sits you over the small couch and sits next to you, his arm touching yours and taking almost all the space around you. His smell is around and you like it.

His face is even closer to yours when he asks, worried, "When were you going to tell me you have panic attacks?"

"I… I don't want to bother anyone with them." You tell the truth. You can't lie to him.

"That's what he told you? That they are a bother?" You simply shrug, not really wanting to answer. "Y/N, I'm not angry or feel like this is a bother. I'm worried, you need help."

"I am going to therapy. I've been going since I'm five, Izuku. I had a handle on them, they weren't recurrent until…"

"Until he left you," he finishes for you, slightly shaking his head and you nod.

Izuku sighs, standing up and you watch him. Is he going away? Is he embarrassed and going away, deciding not to involve or do anything with your broken self?

"Do you mind if I make us both tea?"

You shake your head rapidly in answer. He smiles and walks towards the kitchen. You follow his every move, being a small apartment it's easy to do it.

Izuku is… staying . For tea. He's not leaving. He's not leaving you alone after a panic attack. Like Mineta. But he's your best friend, Mineta has always been there; like you have been there for him even after the war he had to be part of at such a young age and he tried to push you away. Izuku doesn't have that obligation. Izuku… is your friend? Well, that's how you like to think of him since you got to know him this past months. But the category of best friend was not there for him yet. You were just getting to know each other. So, why is he here? Why does he stay?

"It's ready," he suddenly says, sitting back next to you with the two mugs of tea. He gives you one and you accept it a bit startled.

The sudden smell of lemon with honey tea that invades your nose as you bring it closer to drink immediately relaxes you. You smile after taking a sip.

You look back at him and he's watching intently at you, like he's waiting for your reaction.

"You remembered," you say and you really want to cry now.

He smiles, a hand flying to the back of his head to scratch it nervously, "You said it was your favorite."

You did. On a text message, when the topic was favorite drinks . But the fact that he remembered that you said it, it is… overwhelming.

Silence again. On your part it's more relaxed, but you can feel him a bit anxious. You decide to give him space, time to say whatever it is that it's inside his mind.

Until he does.

"You're not the only one… struggling still… with all that happened." He says as he sets his mug on the little coffee table in front of you. It's very small, mostly for decoration. Only space for the two mugs you're using at the moment. Izuku then lays his elbows over his knees, fingers fidgeting in the middle clearly showing his nervousness. "I have nightmares. Very bad ones, since the war. Uraraka used to help a lot, she was always there for me when I needed her."

This is the first time he talks about her this willingly, so you just keep silent and give him the space he needs to say whatever he wants.

"I was finally getting better… and then… she wasn't there anymore…"

"The nightmares came back?" He simply nods. You can't help yourself but to direct your hand towards his shoulder in a form of comfort, which he accepts with a small smile.

"I guess… we are two broken people, trying to pick up the pieces left. Aren't we?"

His eyes shine with tears he refuses to set free, probably also what your own looked like. He smiles sadly at you, before patting your hand that still holds his shoulder.

You both stay in silence for a little while before Izuku breaks the silence again.

"I'm sorry about today. I had…" He sighs. "I had a discussion with a partner."

Partner? You know Izuku doesn't have many partners. One is Hero Shoto, who also is his best friend. You doubt he had a discussion with him, you couldn't actually see Shoto in a heated discussion at all. And the other one is… Oh .

"What did he do now?" You don't even have to mention his name. You and Izuku know who you're talking about.

The green-haired man rolls his eyes. "We have been civil. For the sake of everybody around us. And if I'm being honest, we work well together. In fights, we understand each other perfectly. So we decided to just be professional and not bring up anything that happened."

You know this. Izuku had already told you this once, when he called you on his lunch break to talk to you about a cute little butterfly that he would send you the picture of when he was less busy and you heard Bakugou's voice on the back calling for Izuku. They had been on a mission together.

"Until…" Izuku continues, "Until this morning, when he decided to bring up our Friday morning's coffee."

" What?! " You frown. How did he know? Nobody knew, besides Mineta and probably Shoto on Izuku's side. Nobody else knew… unless…

"Paparazzis discovered us. I don't know how. I'm always careful when meeting you. I take a lot of turns and I disguise myself the best I can so they don't recognize me. But they found out." He sighs, a hand sliding his green and black curls back. "They released an article yesterday. About us."

Izuku takes out his phone, searching for something before showing it to you.

NEWLY BACHELOR, NUMBER ONE PRO HERO DEKU, FOUNDS NEW SWEETHEART?

Yes, my readers, this is apparently what it looks like. A young, pretty lady like this caught the attention of the Symbol of Hope quite fast, if you ask for my humble opinion.

We don't have much information about her, sadly. Only that this lady has our favorite Pro Hero on her clutches... Look at the way he looks at her in the following pictures!

Isn't it cute? Let me be honest, as a fan of Deku myself, I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken, but I also think that this man deserves all the happiness anyone can give him. Don't you agree? And after that sudden break up with Pro Hero Uravity that caught everyone by surprise, makes me think… Does this lady have anything to do with it? Did she catch Pro Hero Deku's heart from before, causing the break up? Mmm, so many questions, readers, that we don't have the answers yet! But no mind, we will try our best to find them! Be patient, and in the meantime, show a bit of support for our favorite Number One Hero.

You feel like vomiting. Your picture, clear as day, has never been on the front page of a magazine. Bakugou has always protected his privacy so meticulously, and that included you. The media and his fans knew he had a relationship, but he never let anyone get a glimpse of it.

And here you are now, on the front page of Go-zzip Hero magazine, the picture showing you sitting in front of Izuku in that coffee shop, talking so close to his face it practically looks like you're kissing. Oh, shit . You do that? You actually speak that close to him??

You swallow thickly, looking back up at Izuku.

"I am so sorry, Izuku, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. None of us did. But I'm sorry I wasn't more careful…"

"Don't be silly. This is not your fault."

"Yours either."

You both smile shyly at each other. This is… chaotic. Being involved with him is… OH, SHIT.

"What? What is it?" He asks as he sees your eyes open wide in fear.

"Your fans are gonna kill me..."

"No, they aren't…"

"Yes, they are! Oh my God!" You stand, after putting your mug over the table next to his, a bit wobbly on the legs which makes him react fast to hold you if you fall, but you don't. You start walking one way to the other of your small living room. "I'm so food for the fishes… they are going to kill me!"

Izuku chuckles. "No, they aren't, Y/N…"

"Don't laugh! Yes, they are! Especially after what that journalist said! They even hinted that probably I was the reason you broke up with Uraraka!"

"Which is not true. I'll call my manager and PR team and ask for an interview with the magazine and clarify this. You don't have anything to worry about. Neither does Mineta. I'll clarify that we are just friends…"

That makes you freeze in place, frowning. "Mineta? What does he have to do with this?"

Izuku frowns too, looking confused at you. "Aren't you… Isn't he… Aren't you dating ?"

"WHAT?!" By Izuku's flinching, you realize you raised your tone a bit louder than you intended. "Sorry…Mineta is my best friend, Izuku. He's like a brother to me."

Izuku looks so confused, "But… But you always speak about him. He cooks for you, he is… he is here almost everyday for you, and he did all that stuff to piss off Bakugou for you, like a…"

"Like a brother would." You smile. "I do think that somehow our souls are connected, because I know I could leave apart from anyone, except him . He's that annoying sticky thing you get used to living with and don't want to unstick, because if you do something will miss. Because he's my brother. I wouldn't be able to live without his annoying ass." Izuku laughs with you. You walk back to sitting next to him as silence comes back. Then, you keep talking, "Mineta has been there when I had no one. Even when we were five years old and my parents died in a car accident, provoked by a hero-villain fight." Deku tenses, but keeps his attention on you. "We used to play heroes when we were kids and fantasize about how we were going to be Number One. Both of us, together. And then the accident happened. I was left alone. I didn't have much family around, only my old great-grandma that was barely suitable to raise a child. So I was given to the state. I went to an orphanage."

You don't know why you're baring your soul to Izuku like this. This was a painful, very intimate part of your history nobody knew but Mineta. Not even Bakugou knew. He never insisted for you to tell him. He simply accepted that you were Mineta's best friend, end of sentence. He never questioned anything. Now you wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That's when your panic attacks began?" He asks a bit timidly. You nod.

"It happened that same day, when I was given the news about their deaths. A kind lady had been there with me, explaining what it all meant. She was kind, but she didn't have much experience. Imagine walking into a room as a kid where your parents are lying dead in two stretchers and being told these are your parents and you're not gonna see them anymore ." Izuku flinches again, a chill clearly running down his back. "A few hours later, I had my first panic attack. I lost consciousness for almost an hour. It was the longest one I ever had and doctors were worried not enough oxygen had gone to my brain, considering that even when I woke up I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Until Mineta and Auntie Asiki came to see me at the hospital. The second Mineta lay down next to me in the hospital bed, I started crying, and he held me. We were kids, not knowing anything about life, and he still understood that I needed him. Auntie Asiki offered to bring me home with her and Mineta, but the forms to the orphanage had already been filled and accepted. It would take a lot of money, lawyers and procedures to let her, a single mother, take my custody. And while her heart and intentions were hugely appreciated for even thinking about it, it was impossible."

"I didn't know Mineta's mom was a single mother." Izuku frowns, probably guilting himself about it, because of everything they, as class A, had been through their years at UA.

"He doesn't like speaking about it. He really has to trust you to tell you about it."

Izuku nods, instantly respecting that decision. He then scratches his neck again.

"So, you and him are not…"

You chuckle. "Not even if he was the last man on Earth." Izuku laughs too.

" Ouch , that wounds me so deep, bun," Mineta's voice is heard from the entrance as he walks inside your apartment.

Shit , you haven't heard him at all. The worry on your face is visible, because you have been talking about him, about his private life, and you hadn't consulted him before. You feel so bad, so worried he'll get mad at you.

Mineta sees you and simply shrugs, "It's okay, bun, I trust Midoriya." He then winks at you and you feel the worry disappear completely.

"Thank you, Mineta. I promise I won't speak about it to anyone."

"It's okay," Mineta answers Izuku, pulling his thumb up in his direction. You smile watching their interaction. "I'm not here though to have this conversation." Your best friend gets closer to where you are, a worried expression on his face. "I was told you had another one, in the middle of the street.." You sigh, looking down at your hands that lay in your lap. "Was it because of him again?"

You nod and Mineta is the one who sighs this time.

"About Bakugou?" Izuku asks then, frowning.

You nod again. "My therapist is helping, but yes, they appear after I remember something, random things he once had said to me."

"Why it doesn't fucking surprise me…" Izuku barks as he stands from the couch and walks, just like you had moments ago. Mineta opens his eyes wide, watching amused at Izuku's reaction.

"He's such a fucking jerk… But we already knew that, didn't we?"

Izuku immediately agrees with Mineta.

"I should have punched him harder," Izuku's comment makes you choke on the tea you were about to swallow.

"You what?!" Both you and Mineta speak at the same time. You look worried about the whole situation, the discussion clearly hadn't been a simple one if there had been fists involved. Mineta looks like a kid given the awaited present on his birthday.

"What really happened, Izuku?" You ask, worry clear on your tone.

"He saw the article, clearly. I came back from night patrol and was changing in the locker rooms, the whole night shift was there preparing to go home at the same time the morning shift was getting ready to start their patrols. And he started making comments about you and me, about how I apparently like his leftovers, about how you are a gold digger and now went for me."

"He did not fucking say that!" Mineta stands up, ready to beat some ass, Bakugou's, specifically.

"He did! I couldn't not do anything. I tried to be civil and only told him to stop talking about us, that he didn't know anything. And I told him to stop playing the victim, because he was none. The only victims in this story are you and me," Izuku looks at you like he's assuring you, "They don't have the right to even comment on this."

"Hell yeah, Midoriya!" Mineta cheers, raising his hand for Izuku to high five him, and the green-haired does, animated. You shake your head trying to hold your smile back. "What did corn-head say then?"

Izuku laughs at Mineta's nickname for Bakugou, bumping his fist again with the man in agreement.

You roll your eyes. Jesus , men are such idiots with nicknames.

"He then said that… I don't know if I should repeat it…" Izuku and Mineta both look at you, Mineta already intuitively knows.

"He talked… he talked about our sex life, didn't he?" You ask after a minute of silence.

Izuku nods.

"Tell me you did punch him hard though…" Mineta is fuming, you can see the smoke coming out his ears, metaphorically.

"Of course I did. Twice, before someone pushed me away."

"Well done, man." Mineta high fives Izuku again.

"You shouldn't… you didn't have to…"

"I won't let him or anybody speak about you that way, Y/N. Now that I know all you've been through, I won't even give them a chance to."

You move before you think, again. One second you're seated on the couch, and the next you're hugging Izuku. Arms around his neck strongly, as your face hides in your arm and his shoulder. It takes him a second, but he reacts by hugging back, strong arms surrounding your waist as delicately as he can, but also firm and securely.

You heard Mineta walk out of the living room towards the kitchen to entertain himself with anything.

And you feel… safe . You feel so safe in Izuku's arms, it's so comforting and nice.

You feel him take a deep breath over your head, as if your smell was comforting to him. You like that idea. That at least in something so insignificant like your smell, he finds comfort and peace. Relax and ease.

"Thank you, Izuku," you whisper only for him to listen.

He shakes his head, "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I do, though. Not only for those punches," you say backing away just a bit so you can see his face. He smiles proudly at the mention of the punches. "But because you helped me with my panic attacks… Twice."

"Twice?" He asks confusedly, but you nod.

"The first Friday we went to have a coffee, remember?" He nods, "I was waiting, and because it was my first time out of my apartment without Mineta I was feeling overwhelmed and… and then you appeared at the door. And all I felt was relief… I felt safe with you there, so it stopped even before it began."

You are looking at his eyes, and you can see the emotion in them as you speak. He then rests his forehead on yours and takes a deep breath, clearly pushing his emotion back in so he can speak.

"I'll be there for you… I want to be there for you, if you want me…"

"I want you," you immediately answer, "I want you to be here."

"Then I will."

"I also want to be there for you," you scratch the back of his head softly, as he bites his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He looks like he's trying to control himself from doing something then and there, and that makes you smile.

"I want you . I want you to be there too." He repeats your exact same words, making you feel tingles all over your body as you feel his fingertips caress lightly, timidly, the bit of skin showing at your waist.

"Then I will."

You feel him moving, his nose caressing yours in a cute manner. Slowly getting closer, lips barely touching and…

"Sorry to be a cockblock, but your phone is ringing, Midoriya."

The bubble is popped , so you both back away, clearing your throats and fixing your clothes out of nervousness.

"Oh, yeah, ummm…" Izuku walks back towards the kitchen to search for his phone. "It's Shoto. He's probably heard already about the fight this morning. I should pick this." You nod, signaling to your room for his privacy and he thanks you as he walks there.

Your eyes follow him until the door is closed, and then they go towards the kitchen, where Mineta is standing, hip against the counter and a bowl of snacks in his hands he found somewhere, eating them slowly as he looks at you accusatory. A knowing smirk in his face.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything… yet."

You roll your eyes. "Spit it out." You walk towards him, picking some of the snacks on the bowl and eating.

"I have nothing to say, Y/N."

That's impossible, he always has something to say.

"Or should I call you Ms. Midoriya from now on?"

Ah, there it is.

You punch him in the arm and he laughs out loud.

PART I - PART II - PART III

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