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mar-iiposa · 1 year

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prompt: the boys find out that their s/o snorts when they laugh

tag(s)/warnings: GN reader, suggestive comments/themes/jokes, vv fluffy

requests: open

authors note at the end for readers!! stay tuned :D

Leonardo:

he’s trimming his bonsai (you know how much he treasures them)

he’s slightly humming “boy’s a liar too

you’re reading a book whilst in the dojo

the dojo is quiet except for the calculated snips

you decided to save the next chapter of your book for later, so you quietly go on your phone

until you see a cute couples date idea on your ‘for you’ page

“hey, leo?”

you didn’t expect your voice to come off as wayy louder than intended

and neither did your boyfriend

the blue-masked ninja jumps at the unexpected noise

so much so that he knocks his bonsai over

his heart stops and he swiftly dove to the floor and scrambled to juggle the plant before finally catching it

he wipes his forehead and breathes a loud sigh of relief

however, you’re laughing your literal ass off

never have you seen him so visibly stressed

you were convinced he was gonna have a heart attack

hunched over and gripping your own sides, you’re hollering

and out comes snorts while you laugh

but as soon as you realize you’re snorting, you put a hand to your mouth

as you blink in embarrassment and security,

leo smiles over at you in adoration

with those criminal cute dimples too

“what was tha-?”

“you heard nothing.”

“babe, I know what I heard.”

you look away in pure embarrassment, heavily avoiding eye contact

“I know it’s weird-“

he’s now visibly confused

like wtf??? wdym ‘weird’??

he thought, if anything, that he’s the weird one

considering he’s a mutant turtle

“how is that gorgeous laugh weird?”

you’re about to respond when you pause

your cheeks grow warm

“what-“

“you heard me.”

and he’s giving you that little coy yet sincere smile of his

“you should laugh like that more often, princess.”

your jaw has dropped

he takes a few steps towards you

and he gently holds your chin, lifting it so that you look up at him

eye contact (l o r d)

“I like that raw beauty.”

you sink into your seat, oh my god

he chuckles softly and pecks your lips with a kiss before walking out of the dojo

you’re stunned.

and why are you turned on-

Raphael:

so we all know raph

and he is the biggest “gym rat”

( no offense to master splinter )

and you guys know those squats that you do with weights???

yeah, well, raph wanted to try those out today

and so he did

but it didn’t go by unnoticed

you were spotting raph (gym term) when mikey passed by

and my god, does mikey always have something to say

right as raph was mid-squat

“nice ass-popping, raph”

you

you LOST IT

in tears laughing

mikey instantly fled from the scene

the look on raphael’s face just made it so much better

and so did it make you laugh much harder

thus, you began to laugh your “real laugh”

snort after snort surrounded your laughter

uncontrollably snort-laughing

“ya got the hiccups there?”

and just as quickly as he mentioned it, you were just as quick to stop it

you stood from your seat and your brows furrowed together

he knew that look

that was when he knew he was screwed

and off you went, grabbing your things and ready to head up go the surface and back home for the night

he strides after you, reaching out for your arm

but you pull it back before he can get the chance

“babe, what’s wro-“

you stop briefly outside of the lair’s entrance, tears pricking at your eyes

you feel the droplets on your lashes, and you can’t look at him

so, he stands in front of you

and his heart stings

“I feel like a pig,” you cough slightly as you begin to cry

raph’s expression instantly softens

“baby… yer speakin’ nonsense.”

he gently takes your hand in his big, rough and calloused one

“everyone always says that when they hear my real laugh.”

your pout quivers as your lips do so, your shoulders shaking slightly as you cry

you move to cover your mouth and half of your face with your other hand as you cry

but he stops you

and he carefully places it on his cheek

and his left hand rests on your cheek too

“raphae-“

“I love ev’rythin’ about ya. sweet cheeks, look at me.”

your gaze flickers to meet his amber eyes

“you could have a million laughs… but this one right here? jesus, that one’s my favorite. now that’s for sure.”

you get on your toes and desperately hug your much-taller boyfriend

now this is one of the reasons he’s the love of your life

“I love you, raphie.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Donatello:

that’s it

he’s convinced you are 110% his soulmate

and here he thought that he had the worst and dorkiest laugh

this snort-laugh of yours occurred when donnie had accidentally taken a sip of scorchingly-hot coffee

he was sleep deprived

thus, he forgot how hot coffee could be

directly after pouring it

and you weren’t quick enough to stop him

so you snort laugh, stomping a little as you throw your head back in your chair

he used to hate his own laugh that involved tons of snorting sounds

but now you’ve effortlessly convinced him that it’s the best laugh in the entire universe

“what was that?”

donnie’s got the biggest and most goofiest grin on his face

“I can explain-“

his grin expands

“yeah, huh? give me another demonstration, darling.”

you shake your head in disagreement

just as you open your mouth to further reply, he continues

“oh, I bet I can out-snort you, jellybean.”

a wicked grin plastered on his face

and a mirroring grin begins to grow on yours too

“how much are we talkin’?”

“un-licked poptarts.”

“annddd?”

“annddd I’ll have to be out of the lab for a week.”

woah

this dude was serious

“deal. pleasure doing business with you, an-“

“nuh uh, no stalling. let’s hear it, you first.”

donnie gestured towards you to start off the competition

you give a purposely-snarky little laugh, snorting near the end

your boyfriend gives a nod of approval

“very cute, might be hard to beat.”

then he gives it a go

“such a rookie”

he shoots such a devastatingly-cute yet playful grin over at you

he then cracks his knuckles

“game on.”

and so now this just sparks your competitive side

you two spend the next 15 minutes just going back and forth

and those passing by right outside of the lab are so confused

“what the hell’s going on in there-”

Michelangelo:

thank god he’s a comedian

you’ve giggled countless times around mikey and towards his jokes

he’s a funny one

indefinitely getting giggles and chuckles straight out of you

but your actual laugh???

it had yet to be unleashed

until today

your boyfriend’s trying to show you how to get creative with your art

lately, you’ve been out of the zone

and who better than than the master of creativity himself to help you out of your art block?

so here you are in the sewers, spray painting on the walls

“angelcakes, you’re too stiff! you gotta relax, chillll”

“but I’m trying!”

he moves to stand directly behind you, covering your eyes with the tails of his mask, his hands over them as well

“what’re you doing?”

“just spray with your eyes closed and move, babes.”

you inhale and then exhale

with a few movements here and there, you decide to start off small until you could hopefully gain inspiration from there

instead, all you got was a surprise

“IS THAT A PENIS?”

apparently, you accidentally drew one

mikey yelped, falling to the floor as he banged his fist against it in fits of laughter

he had the humor of a middle-school boy

and so did you

top tier comedy imo

you kneeled down to the floor beside him

clapping your hands, you feel yourself losing control of your body

and that accounts and goes for your laugh too

least expecting it, you begin to snort as you uncontrollably laugh

some squeals in there too as you try to regain your composure

he laughs harder, pointing at you

you nearly feel the insecurity start to seep in

that is until you hear him go “awee!”

and your heart melts

but not as much as his has

“you like my snorting??”

“who wouldn’t?! it’s the cuuutest thing ever, baby!”

you swore that you fell deeper in love with this man

somehow

you both just sit there in those sewers

laughing over an accidental penis drawing

and continuing to laugh like a couple of fools

lovesick fools

author’s note: hello, everyone!! glad to be back! I’ve been on hiatus recently, but I hope to be more active and produce more fanfics and headcanons for you guys :) I am currently open to requests, so please send them my way! and don’t limit yourself, you can send as manyyyy requests as you want!! please leave comments and stuff, they fuel my motivation and validation tbh 🫶 thank you for reading, thrilled to be back!!

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theorphicangel · 5 months

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“𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

[ 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

tags: strangers to lovers, roommate au!, best friends brother, fluff, mutual pining, smut, 18+

synopsis: In a desperate search of a new roommate, you have little to no choice but to accept your best friend's / best barista in the world's offer of letting his older brother rent out the room, who just so happens to be conventionally attractive.

You swear nothing will happen between the two of you but one thing eventually leads to another and you find yourself in his bed, leading to an unofficial roommates with benefits situation.

You know deep down it's wrong and you're worried when you start catching feelings...but it's okay because it's only temporary, right?

ao3

chapter one: a partridge in a pear tree. (that doesn't know how to fly)

chapter two: two turtle doves (that awkwardly get along)

chapter three: three french hens (being you, him and the walls that never talk)

chapter four: four

…

#angel writes #a temporary situation.#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv headcanons #atsv miguel #atsv x reader

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sunflowergirl522 · 1 year

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New Watch

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Spiderperson!Reader

Summary: Hobie goes to your universe instead of his own after quitting.

Word Count: 1201

No use of Y/N and I didn’t really write his accent in all that much. There’ll probably be another part of how they met and readers whole backstory. Thinking it’ll be a miniseries because I love the spiderperson I created.

“Just for the record, I quit.” Hobie types in all too familiar numbers before backing into the portal and tossing his watch.

You’re in the middle of pouring water into the pan below the bread in the oven when the familiar sound of a portal opening in your living room greets your ears. A smile crosses your face as the heavy footsteps from your favorite Spider-Man variant make their way into the kitchen. You continue humming to yourself as you close the oven and remove your mitts and the steps stop meaning he’s probably leaning against the doorway instead of coming any farther in.

“Hey Hobie.” You turn around and focus your bright smile at him. He smiles at seeing the state you’re in, taking in your apron on top of your brown cami and floral print skirt and the flour smeared on your face. It only fades when he spots the bruise on your cheek from earlier that morning.

“What happened ‘ere, Turtle dove?” He crosses the room and cradles your face tilting it up so he can get a better look while softly brushing it with his thumb.

“It’s nothing, really. Just had a run in with Man-wolf this morning, I got a gnarly slash in my side too which finally stopped bleeding a couple hours ago.” Hobie huffs out his displeasure, as much as your universe is the prettiest he’s seen, you sure have some of the more monstrous villains. Your hand holds onto the one caressing the bruise and you turn to place a kiss on his palm. “I’m okay though. How’s everything at the society?”

“I quit.” He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal before walking past you and starting to go through your junk drawer. “Where’d you put that da-” He gets cut off as he glitches.

“Jesus Christ Hobie, you got rid of your watch?!” You rip the apron off before rushing off to your bedroom in a panic. “You shouldn’t have come here without it, you know how dangerous this cell decay stuff is. You should’ve gone back to your own universe instead.” You pull out the day pass he stole and stashed here about a month ago from your bedside table while you go on about how dangerous it is that he came here instead of going home.

“Had to come see you, fill you in.” Hobie comes up behind you plucking it from your hands and sliding it on. “Besides, knew you had one o’ these lying around.”

“Hobie this is serious, you gotta go home.” You go to open up a portal to send him home when he snatches your own watch from your wrist.

“Nah.” His hands go into his vest pockets before he turns and heads back towards your kitchen.

“Nah?” You follow shortly after finding him sitting at your kitchen island. His chaos of changing colors clashes with the pastel surroundings of your cottage and it was almost jarring to see the first few times but has since become one of your favorite sights. “What do you mean ‘nah’?”

“Pix, as cute as you are when you’re mother henning me, you should stop and come sit with me while I explain.” He dangles your chunky green sweater in one hand while his other pulls out bits and bobs from his pockets.

“Fine.” You sigh while grabbing the sweater and folding your wings against your back from where they spread out in your worry.

“Remember that kid Miles I told you Gwendy talks about?” He starts as you sit down next to him. You hum your confirmation because while you still haven’t met Gwen he’s brought up her mentioning Miles a few times. As he continues catching you up on Spot and Miles following Gwen through a portal into Pav’s dimension he works on putting all the bits and bobs together. Once he has the screen together you realize what he’s making.

“Woah, hold on. Are you making your own watch?” You interrupt his story just as he’s getting ready to tell you about how Miguel just about lost his mind and snag the work in progress out of his hand.

“Ay, been nicking parts for it for a while now.” He leans on the counter watching as you turn what he has together around in your hands, studying it.

“Babe, this is cool and all but why wouldn’t you just hack into your old watch and take the tracker out of it?” He’s about to respond when you eye the small spikes in front of him. “Oh, I see. You just wanna make it punk rock to fit your whole vibe.” He rolls his eyes and takes it from your hands.

“It’s the principle of the thing. Why continue to use something given to me when I can stick it to the man and make my own?” He looks back over to find you nodding because you get it. “When’s your bread supposed to be done?”

“Probably soon.” You hum and turn your head to look at the oven timer over your shoulder. “You care if I start cleaning my mess while you work?”

“Better get on with it love.” You smile and kiss his cheek before getting up.

The two of you work in silence for a while. With you cleaning and taking the bread out of the oven when it went off and him putting together the watch. Every so often he’d fiddle with your spider society watch to make sure he’s putting it together properly. Each time you passed by him you’d either give his shoulder or arm a squeeze or place a kiss wherever you could reach, his cheek, his shoulder, his head, sometimes he’d turn his head so you could get his lips. By the time dishes are done and your countertops are all clean the bread’s cooled down and his watch is complete.

“So if it’s done what’s with all the extra pieces?”

“Gonna drop this one off for Gwen for if it don’t work out then come back and make my own.” He stands and puts in Earth 65 for the destination. “I’ll be in and out, back in five minutes tops.”

“Alright, you might as well take my watch apart and make me one when you get back. Miguel already doesn’t care much for me and the feelings pretty mutual. And I don’t wanna be a part of his little club if I’ll be stuck going on missions with Ben.” You cringe at the idea of having to go on another mission with him. The last couple of times you’ve been forced to have been borderline torture.

“Have I told you I love ya’ lately?” His arm drapes around your shoulder and he leans down to be nose to nose with you.“Hmm, you may be lacking there.” You can’t help but tease him to see the smile he always gets on his face when you do. “I love you too. Go drop the watch off and when you come back I’ll make dinner while you work.” “See you in a minute, love.” He gives you a kiss before opening up a portal and stepping backwards through it.

Marvel Taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @bigpoppajes @alienoutlet @mazerunnerrose @20fandomfangirl @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson @bubsonnobx @practicalghost @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x you #spider man: across the spider verse

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courtlyharlequin · 1 year

Note

Can you do vil, rook, and epel with a s/o who has tattoos because they used to be in a gang please ?

Permanent Ink

A/N: I hope you don't mind that I slightly changed your request to just the reader having a tattoo. The origin is unknown. To be frank, I don't know anything about gangs and I'm a little hesitant to research about them for fear of coming across anything triggering (T⌓T)

Vil Schoenheit:

He's the type of person that thinks that tattoo sleeves are tacky. Too much of anything especially in beauty, fashion and aesthetics is going to come off as tacky. Too much makeup can make your face look cake-y. Too much crystals on a wedding dress will take away from the fabric's beauty. Things like that. So, tattoo sleeves are a no-no for him, but that's just him personally.

If you have a sleeve, cool. That's how you express yourself and if you feel confident with it then good for you. Vil won't make you feel bad about it– especially if there's meaning behind it.

If you just have one, two, or a few tattoos spread out on your body, he'd probably like that more in terms of artistic taste. Vil is fond of the smaller tattoos like wings on your back, a ring of ink around your fingers or some writing on your rib. They're discreet, but they're enough to make a statement

The first time Vil ever saw your tattoos, he was a bit surprised. He never expected you to have any for some reason. Perhaps it was because he never saw them so he just assumed you never had any.

He'll ask questions right off the bat. What's the meaning? Or did you simply like the design?

Don't hesitate to ask him for thoughts on a design or even help making one! Though he's not a tattoo artist, he can work with a pen and paper and give you some ideas

Rook Hunt

He would... stare and your tattoo(s) the first time he sees it. No questions just examining the details, the lines, the curves, and the colors. Whether how obvious it is depends on how observant you are.

But if you did catch him, Rook would tell you that they were just so mesmerizing that he couldn't help himself. Then, you could welcome the basic questions people usually ask about tattoos: "did it hurt?", "what's the meaning?", etc.

But what shocks you even more is when he starts asking about which parlor or artist did it? He's quite knowledgeable about tattoos, leading you to asking him if he's had any... a question that he skillfully dodges.

If you had a small tattoo on somewhere discreet like your collarbone or wrist, Rook would kiss your tattoos there. He would also absentmindedly trace along the lines of the ink whenever he's deep in thought, sending shivers down your spine with his dexterous and light touch.

One day, out of the blue, he might even coin an idea of getting matching tattoos. It could be your initials or something symbolic like two turtle doves that make a heart when you put your hands next to each other's.

"It's romantic, isn't it?"

Epel Felmeir

Epel would be the most vocal reaction out of the Pomefiore trio when it comes to finding out you have a tattoo. Something like "WOAH!"

If you have a sleeve or colored tattoos, his reaction will be even louder. He had always assumed tattoos only came in one color.

It's honestly a really cute reaction. He asks if he can touch it and spends a good amount of time examining your skin. He then asks if he can try something then unironically does a Chinese burn on your forearm to see how the ink holds. And surprise... the ink is still there! It didn't rub off! But your wrist is a little sore...

In general, he's just super curious and inquisitive about your tattoos. His grandmother never allowed to even think about getting one... but yes he wants one. Just a tiny one.

Maybe one that his grandmother can't find so easily. Epel hasn't really thought of the design yet, but maybe you can help since yours is so well thought out? Making tattoos designs together seems like a cute date idea!

He'll even go with you to a tattoo parlor to check things out if you ever invite him or decide to get another tattoo. He wants to watch and see how it's done!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #pomefiore

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luckycharms1701 · 1 month

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I saw your requests were open and was wondering…..

What kinda of nicknames do you think the bayverse turtles would use for their s/o? Do you lean more towards the cute talk or a form of their s/o’s name? Do you think the turtles would use these nicknames anytime, or just in private one on one moments? 🤔 also, do you think they’d get flustered if their s/o gave them a nickname? (Alright. Sorry that last one was fishing. I know they would get flustered 🤣, but I also wanted to see what type of nicknames for them you like)

I hope you can have fun with this one! :D

yorshie my dear i love it when you come into my askbox and spoil me 🥰 nicknames are one of my favorite topics, and so are the bayverse boys! Let’s discuss.

Leonardo: Leo goes for more whimsical nicknames. He doesn’t have a lot of that in his life, whimsy and sweetness, so he gets it where he can. Blossom is one I used recently. My heart. Honeybee. Pretty bird. Princess if you’re lucky. If he’s in a teasing mood he’ll call you something sticky sweet like honeybunch or cinnamon bun. All of this is in private though, Leo is a deeply private turtle and not a fan of PDA. If you’re with his family and friends he’ll stick to a form of your name or just honey if you’ve done something to make him especially soft.

In bed, now. In bed. Pretty girl. Sweetheart. Mine.

As for nicknames for him, he’ll melt into a pile of goo if you call him sweetheart as you kiss him on the cheek. Call him ‘my hero’ when he gets something down from a high shelf for you and he’ll give you that bashful smile. But really, he likes it best when you just call him Leo. Especially when you whine it into your pillow as he- [is shot]

Raphael: Princess. Shorty. Sweetheart. They start out as teasing or even condescending nicknames, and slowly morph into genuine terms of endearment as he falls in love. He doesn’t care who hears him call you these names either. You’re his, and he wants everyone to know it. Raph is the kind of person who prefers a few well-used terms over variety, so he doesn’t really add any terms of endearment when you get together. However, if you catch him just right he’ll call you ‘my love’ in private.

In bed, it’s sweetheart, babygirl, or baby.

He loves being big and strong, so he loves it when you make him feel big and strong. Big Red. Hunk. If you call him something silly like ‘Mr. Muscles’ he’ll scoff but hide a pleased smile. You’re allowed to call him something like Raphie or Raph-a-doodle, but only in private. Call him handsome, though, and it’s a one-way ticket to Meltsville, population Raph.

Donatello: I know it’s very popular in the fandom for him to use dove. It’s cute, I don’t mind it, but personally I don’t see him using that. Donnie is the kind of turtle to use the more traditional nicknames most often. Dear. Darling. Hon. Sweetie. If he’s feeling especially fond he’ll use ones with a more whimsical and celestial bent. Starlight. Moonbeam. Sunshine. Like Raph, he’ll use these terms at any time. However, he also likes using your name, in full. There’s nothing else that encapsulates you quite as well as your name.

In bed, he still sticks with the traditional. Baby. Darling. Love. Good girl.

Like Leo, Donnie likes it when you call him by his name. Donnie or Donatello works just fine for him. He is very fond of his name. But secretly, he loves it when you unconsciously parrot whatever nickname he just used back at you. i.e. “How was your day dear?” “Better now that I’m with you dear.”

Michelangelo: I’ve spoken a bit about my mans before, here. He’s a big fan of nicknames, and will use a variety. He loves coming up with new, silly nicknames. Angelcakes, of course. Banana muffin. Cupcake. My personal favorite, Starburst. He’ll also use any he hears his brothers using or hears on TV. Mikey’s always looking for inspiration for new names to call you. If he can find one related to your interests, like songbird if you love to sing, he’ll use that one frequently. He uses them all the time, anywhere, even when referring to you when you’re not there. Sometimes you wonder if he actually knows your name. (He does. He just wants to make sure he has your attention.)

In bed, he likes to use babe and baby a lot. Gorgeous. Babygirl. My love if he’s feeling sappy.

Mikey doesn’t really care what you call him, but he loves it when you match his energy. Get in a cute little contest where you try to outdo each other with the most ridiculous nickname, and he’ll have the time of his life. He does like variations on his name. Mikey, Mike, Mikes, Mikester, any variation will get him to grin at you.

#thank you yorshie i love your asks #talking tag #theory tag #tmnt #bayverse leo #bayverse raph #bayverse donnie #bayverse mikey

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unseededtoast · 3 months

Text

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Five

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

The man is wearing a dark green flannel, medium wash jeans, brown boots, and a broken watch. He's got a rifle leaning against the table beside him.

With the back of my hand I wipe sweat off my brow. Unfortunately, I was not placed on graffiti cleanup today. Instead, they're making me dig holes for new fence posts on the QZ border. FEDRA is trying to rebuild what the Fireflies blew up, and digging deep holes for hours on end only makes me more bitter towards the wannabe mercenary group. Manual labor paired with no sleep for the past two days is not working in my favor. I have to constantly fight to not pass out from overexertion. But, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered passing out to get out of work.

The hours pass by slowly, but surely. As soon as we get cleared to leave for the day I make a beeline for my apartment, wanting to at least get a shower before I start my activities for the night. I've got a list of things I need to accomplish, and I'm hoping to do so before curfew. However, with the luck I've been having lately, I'm not holding my breath about being back before curfew.

After I've showered and made myself presentable again, I leave my apartment and head towards area four. I'm counting on someone to have reported those poor girls in the alley today, there's just no way nobody found them. And I'm hoping my contact will have some good information for me. As an incentive for information, I brought along a few pills. Information like this is sure to come at a hefty price, and free narcotics usually does the trick.

I locate the familiar apartment and knock on the door. It's not unheard of for regular people to be in area four, but it is unusual. Thankfully, the soldier opens the door and lets me in quickly without asking questions. I stand in the doorway of the rickety apartment and nod to the man standing across from me.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is callous, but curious. We had just delivered to this guy last week and I know he isn't due for another round of pills until next week, so it is weird for me to be here right now. I clear my throat,

"I need information, and I'm hoping you can be of assistance." I start off. The man's eyes narrow,

"What kind of information?" His eyes briefly look me up and down, probably searching for obvious weapons. I move from the doorway to the man's living room, where my voice is less likely to be heard by bystanders.

"I know there have been bodies found. I need to know what FEDRA is doing to find the killer." My voice is stone cold and serious. On our drug runs, I try to stay friendly to the clients, so they keep quiet and keep coming back. But this is something else entirely. The man scratches the back of his neck and takes a few steps towards me.

"How do you know about that?" His voice is equally as cold. I look right into his eyes, trying to pierce his soul so he sees just how serious I am about this.

"I have my sources." I decide against confessing what I really know. He licks his lips and shakes his head,

"Noelle you know I can't tell you shit like this." He sounds frustrated, he has to know something. Otherwise he'd be asking for more elaboration.

"What if I gave you these?" I pull out the small bag of pills from my back pocket. The man's eyes grow wide as he sees them. His gaze flickers between me and the pills.

"What's the catch?" He asks and I shake my head innocently.

"No catch, just information." I say, hoping that the thought of free drugs is enticing enough to get what I need from him. He paces back and forth before he gives in.

"Fine. I'll tell you what I know." He says, eyeballing the pills. I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and motion for him to continue on.

"You'll get these after you fess up." I explain my terms more thoroughly to him. Thankfully, he starts talking without argument.

"Three bodies found, ages fourteen to seventeen. Two girls, one boy. All had the same marking on their forehead. All killed brutally. I heard from another guard today that they had concluded the girls had been sexually assaulted before they were killed. Same with the boy." He explains, and my blood boils at his words. It's bad enough these children were ruthlessly killed. But to have been defiled before? It's sickening and awakens a rage in me I've never felt before.

"List of suspects?" My voice is uncharacteristically dark and I take a few steps towards the soldier. He shakes his head,

"I don't have names, nobody has a name. But, I did hear something about a man, or some small group, staying out near the wharf in area five. I guess we've been having perimeter issues around there. It's no surprise, there are a few empty warehouses out there and nobody ever patrols them. My best guess, start there if you want to find who did this. As far as I know, all FEDRA is planning to do is to sweep the warehouses tomorrow and then call it if they don't find anything. They don't want people knowing about this, they're hoping it just stops. They're worried a riot will break out. We don't have the numbers to go investigating this, we still have our orders. My guess is that we're just going to blame the first man who looks at someone the wrong way." He spills more information. My fists clench involuntarily as he says FEDRA is basically trying to sweep this under the rug to stop a potential riot. It seems that good old-fashioned vigilante action is going to be needed after all. Appreciative of his cooperation, I toss the pills over to him.

"Thank you. Those are on the house." I say as I make my way out of his apartment, on a newfound mission.

I feel as if I'm practically flying to area five, near the wharf. I'm familiar with the empty warehouses, there are plenty of transactions I make there. But, I've never noticed any sign of someone living there before. Usually, even just one straggler leaves some sort of evidence. Unless they're dumping their evidence into the water.

I begin searching the warehouses one by one, knowing that this might take a good while to be thorough. I intend to search each warehouse with a fine tooth comb. Those children deserve someone to fight for their justice. And if FEDRA isn't going to get these families justice, then I sure as hell will. I know I would want someone to do the same if it were my child.

The sudden thought of Lucas makes my heart constrict with sadness, and I find myself clutching the necklace that never leaves my neck; a constant reminder of my family who are only with me now in spirit.

The first warehouse proves to be empty, every surface is covered with a thick layer of dust and nothing has been recently disturbed, save for rat droppings here and there. The second warehouse is also empty, but I did find some spent shell casings. Probably remnants of some shootout, but I don't know if the killers had anything to do with it, they seem to be keen on using blades.

With hope, I step into the third, and final, warehouse that sits on the wharf. The creaky old building looks like it could fall over at any second and so I'm careful of where my steps land. I take my flashlight out to look at every minute detail, looking for anything that suggests someone is staying here. I take a deep breath and stand up straight as the faint scent of a fire tinges my nose.

Carefully, I make my way up the warehouse stairs to where a small landing overlooks the rest of the building. To my surprise, there's the remains of a poorly constructed fire. It looks like it's been put out for a while, but was lit recently, as evidenced by the warmth of the wood. The floor surrounding the fire suggests that there were at least two people here, there are two different shoe tracks imprinted in the dusty floor.

I walk over to what looks like a makeshift mattress, made out of broken down cardboard boxes. Crouching down, I examine some scattered papers. There's a hand-drawn map of the QZ and there are circles drawn around areas with accompanying notes. I read the notes scribbled on the edges of the paper and realize I'm looking at the killer's plan. I feel like I could throw up as I read what it written on the paper.

They had singled out their victims, made note of their physical appearances. The notes imply that the killer wanted nothing more than to defile the victims in any way possible. It's almost like the killer, or killers, were playing a game. After I've read everything, I fold the map and tuck it in my back pocket, looking for any other evidence they might have left.

Sticking out of the cardboard boxes is another piece of paper. I turn the paper around in my hand and read what's written on it. It's a checklist, or more of a goal list, and it's clear as day to me now that these killings were a game, and that there are definitely two people in on this. The listed goals include finding suitable victims, seeing who could stab their victim more, who could kill their victim the quickest without a headshot, and who could get their victim to give up the most information.

On the left and right hand side of the paper there are numbers listed, along with words. The numbers correlate to the listed goals, and the words are all about what they learned from their victims. The killers got information about their victims' personal lives, it seems they weren't after much more than that, which I find to be a little odd. Usually infiltrators want to know where the armory is, where the food is kept. But it seems these people may have a steady flow of food and weapons if their focus was on personal information; making it all seem more like a sport. Like they chose this QZ as their hunting ground. I fold this paper and put it in my pocket as well, and search for anything else. However, that seems to be it.

The lack of personal belongings, weapons, food, paired with the lack of additional fire wood tells me that these people left and don't plan on returning here. Perhaps they knew they were going to be tracked down and so they left before anyone could find them. Maybe they were satisfied with the carnage and fear they created, so they just left before they could get caught. If my experience in this world has taught me anything though, it's that people as vile as this will never stop hurting others. It's possible they may even return here, maybe with more people. Maybe this was some sort of test run, to see what they could get away with. It's hard to know for sure.

I fall back so that I'm sitting flat on the floor, and tears make their way down my face. These predators killed those children for sport and just left without any sort of repercussion.Tears of sadness and frustration fall for the children who lost their lives, for the families who lost their dear loved ones. After a few minutes of anguish, my sorrow turns to anger, and I stand to my feet, wiping my face and making my way back to area one.

Each time my foot hits the pavement, the anger intensifies. These people will not get away with what they've done here, they will face consequences. I will hunt them down until I find them, even if that means I must go to the ends of the Earth. In this world, there is no place for evil offenders such as them, it's bad enough the infected threaten our lives everyday. Life is valuable, and those who don't treat it as such must be taken out of the equation for the greater good and the order of civility.

With one last sniffle, I knock on James' apartment door. He doesn't answer after a few minutes, so I knock again, louder this time. I hear a chair scrape against the wooden floor, and heavy footsteps come my way.

"What?" James' gruff voice demands before he even sees its me. His hard exterior immediately softens as he sees me standing there. I let myself in and am surprised to see an unfamiliar man sitting at the table.

The man is wearing a dark green flannel, medium wash jeans, brown boots, and a broken watch. He's got a rifle leaning against the table beside him, which should intimidate me, but in my current state, it doesn't phase me.

The man stares back at me like he's angry I'm here, like I interrupted something. But, I can't seem to find it in myself to care what I interrupted in this moment. My mind is on one track and one track only. James closes the door and stands between me and the unfamiliar man. He clears his throat and for the first time, I think James is uncomfortable. I tear my gaze from the stranger and look to James.

"I need to talk to you." My voice cracks as I speak. James nods and glances back to the other man.

"Can it wait?" He asks and I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep my anger at bay. I cross my arms, not backing down.

"It can't actually." I keep my words vague because this other man doesn't need to know anything about what I'm doing. James lets out a huff of air and runs a hand through his hair. The other man shifts in his seat. The two men exchange a glance, and I can tell it's loaded with some sort of silent communication. James nods his head, as if he's coming to some sort of conclusion.

"What is it then?" James asks, taking me aback. He knows what's going on, and I'm surprised he even suggested that I talk in front of whoever this man is. How do I know this man isn't going to go talking about everything I say here? I glance quickly at the man, who's now leaning forward on the table.

"Really? You know what I'm here about." My voice is tinged with anger and I set my jaw tightly. James takes a seat across from the other man and gives me a reassuring nod.

"It's okay Noelle, he's a friend. And he's leaving the QZ tonight, he won't talk." James promises me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, struggling with what I should do. But, I don't see any other option but to tell James what my plan is. With an exasperated sigh, I uncross my arms and start talking.

"Fine. I went back out after curfew and found two girls, both killed like the boy was. I let someone else report them, I couldn't be the one to do it. And so later I went to area four and talked to one of our clients to see what's being done about this. He gave me more information about the kids, led me to the wharf in area five. I searched them all and this is what I found." I take the papers out of my pocket and spread them out on the small kitchen table, giving extra space to the unknown man. The two lean in to see what I've presented. I give them time to read the papers, and I see James' face grow pale. The other man's face seems to be set in anger.

"It was more than one." James states as he finishes reading the papers. I nod my head in confirmation.

"I think it was two. There were two sets of prints on the floor. But I think they left the QZ. The firewood was going cold, and there were no possessions left behind." I take the papers back and put them in my pocket. James scrunches his eyebrows together.

"So if they're gone, what's the issue?" His question shocks me.

"What's the issue? Three kids are dead because of them. One of them died in my fucking arms. They're just going to keep doing this. Maybe not here, but to others. I came here to tell you I'm leaving. I'm going to hunt them down." I stare right into James' eyes as I tell him I plan on leaving. Immediately, he shakes his head.

"No, Noelle, you can't leave." He practically begs. I shrug my shoulders,

"Why not James? I do the same damn thing every day here. I do my duties and then I run pills. Over and over again. These children deserve justice, someone has to fight for them. Why not me?" I tell him, feeling only slightly awkward that a stranger is present for this conversation.

"Who's going to keep things going? Theresa won't." He says, only caring about the pill smuggling operation we have going here. I shake my head, he just doesn't get it.

"There are plenty of others who can run pills just as good as me. Get one of them to do it, James. Hell, I'll even give you a list of who gets what and when." I say, more than willing to leave behind the schedule I've got going with our clients. James throws his hands up in frustration.

"So after all these years you're going to leave? Just like that?" He incredulously asks. I'm almost at a loss for words, he's acting like he's never going to see me again.

"I won't be gone forever. Once I kill these bastards I'll be back and it'll be like I never left." I tell him the truth. I do fully intend on coming back here. This shouldn't take me but a few days. James runs a hand through his hair and then focuses his attention on the man across the table from him.

"Man, do me a solid. Go with her." I'm almost offended that James thinks I need a security detail to go with me. Before the man can reply, I interrupt.

"No James, I can handle myself. Have some damn faith." I protest, but James keeps his eyes trained on the other man. Feeling patronized, I turn on my heel and leave James' apartment before either of them can say another word, slamming the door behind me. Sure, it's a little juvenile, but so was James' blatant display of his lack of confidence in me.

I go to my apartment to gather things I'll need, being sure to bring all the ammunition I have, my good hunting knife, and other survival necessities. I was planning on leaving first thing in the morning, but I know James will just come over here and bother me, so I'll leave tonight before he gets the chance to.

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, how things left off between James and I, but once I return I'm sure we'll be able to patch things up, we always do.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #tlou #tlou fic #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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ashensgrotto · 11 months

Text

A Merfolk's Melody (Part 2)

Characters: Yan!Floyd x Reader, Yan!Jade x Reader, Yan!Azul x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Intro Floyd Leech (You are Here) Jade Leech Azul Ashengrotto Epilogue

Synopsis: The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath its depths would want the same as well…

Author’s Note: Another 4-part fanfiction courtesy of @merakiui ‘s headcanon of the reader being stuck in a room/wall (I’m sorry, but I just enjoy your headcanons and they always give me these ideas) -> https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722393818829373440/in-addition-to-being-stuck-in-a-locked-room?source=share & https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722677892623056896/about-the-stuck-in-a-wall-trope-in-the-oceani?source=share

Here’s how it’s going to work: each character is going to get their own part following the intro. It is going to focus on the Octrio again (bc it’s my current liking, sorry guys). If you want to read a certain character’s part, feel free to jump around and select the one you’re most interested in.

Again, as stated before, this is a work of fiction; I disagree with any and all behaviors that are represented in this story.

*****

Just as the shore was lined by rocky terrain, the same could be said beneath the waves. Rocks and heavy stones climbed up toward the surface like mountains reaching for the sky. Sea grasses waved with the movement of the tide like it was wind while small fish and crabs swam and scuttled along the rocky beds. Coral and sea anemone peered out from dark crevices, the colors of sea green, blue, pinks, and cream stark against the backdrop of black, gray, and dark green. Never before had you ever seen a more beautiful sight as your body dove further away from the shoreline, your eyes intaking every little detail and imprinting it to memory to recall later.

The sea grass tickled your feet as you kicked by them and you touched the rocky walls that housed the creatures of the deep before a school of fish swam by, some of their colorful bodies brushing against you as the feeling of scales and coating left their marks along your body. Other sea creatures like mantis shrimp, seahorses, and the occasional sea turtle or dolphin appeared beside you - as if to welcome you to their little hidden paradise among the waves; some waving in your direction while another would slip under your hands or body, guiding you further and further into the rocky caverns before leaving you to your own explorations.

Every few minutes, you would stop and lift your head above water, gulping in deep breaths as your lungs drank in the air like a drowning man, before you would duck back below the surface. As you ducked beneath the surface for another time, a flash of sea green catches the corner of your eye from a little ways below you. You blinked, turning your head in the direction where you saw the flash, wondering what you had seen. It could have been some sea grass - but it seemed much bigger, maybe a fish? You pop back above the surface, looking around as the waves crash around you, judging your distance from your location to the shoreline.

You were a bit away from the shore by now - but not too far that you couldn’t swim back - making you think that what you saw may or may not have been a shark. However, to your knowledge, you didn’t know of any green sharks that existed in the real world. The stories and tales of the merfolk came flooding back to the forefront of your mind, as well as the story of the old fisherman. You looked down into the water as you felt a set of eyes watching you from beneath the waves as a feeling of unease crept over you; however, that strange tugging sensation you felt on land was now pulling you down - towards the rocky caverns beneath the waves.

Would you dare follow your instincts? They had never been wrong before when it came to this sort of thing. Steeling your nerves, you take a gulp of air and dive beneath the waves - unaware that this was to be your last time above the waves.

Your lungs burned as you held your breath, disappearing into the dark caverns that made up the rocky mountains of the ocean. You let the tug within your body guide you through the dark crevices and through long winding tunnels; following the unknown path blindly. As you traveled, you swore you could hear a clicking noise behind you - often turning to look over your shoulder to see if there was another sea creature you had to meet behind you, but you were unable to make out anything in the darkness of the waters. However, when you did continue onward, a shape that was long and menacing appeared behind you, a wicked grin reflecting off a row of sharp teeth - a pair of heterochromia eyes that glowed in the dark locked on your form as they followed behind you quietly.

At the end of the tunnel, an open area that appeared to be a large cave with a small opening - large enough for you to fit through. The tug had ended here - at a dead end; you floated there for a moment, looking around in the darkness as your hair spread around you, no longer confined to the restraints of the air above. However, your heart nearly stopped when you heard a voice snicker before a familiar and unfamiliar voice called out, “Oh, Shrimpy~!!”

You spun around, creating bubbles as you whirled, as a creature appeared from the darkness behind you in the entrance of the cave. It was hard to see, but you were certain it was the strange green creature you had seen earlier; it had the upper body of a man and the lower half of some sort of frilled fish and close to about seven or eight feet in length, fins peeking out from the sides of his head like ears and on his forearms. Small stripes stretched across his cheeks, shoulders, arms, and waist with two thicker ones on his tail, dipping near his hips and over where a set of thighs may have been had he been human. Hair the color of deep teal floated around him as a longer strand the color of seaweed fell over the right side of his face. His eyes, one brown and one gold, studied you for a moment, brows curling inward.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that some - if not most - animals, even sea creatures, could be territorial; especially if they had a nest or a grotto nearby. This thing probably had been out hunting for food for its young - meaning very likely that mers were not so different from the sea creatures that had made their homes within the rocky caverns. Based on what you had seen - this was no ordinary merfolk, either; it was a moray mer - and a deadly one at that. Moray eels were known to attack when provoked, but the mers were known to hunt anything that trespassed into their territory - watching from the darkness before striking unexpectedly. You had heard stories about them when you were a child - the locals believing that they typically traveled in pairs, meaning that there was likely a secondary one close by and you had to tread carefully now that one of them had found you.

The two of you stared at each other - you nearly turned blue from holding your breath so long, but not wanting to move in case the moray mer tried anything as well as caught up by his features. In the darkness of the cavern, you could still make out strong, sharp features that border-lined what appeared to be boredom; his mismatched eyes drooping downward to indicate as much. A pointed nose stopped above a thin lips that twisted into a smirk, the hint of sharp teeth protruding from behind them - high cheekbones were lined by twin deep teal markings that stopped just beneath his eyes. You could see the faint ridges along the mer’s neck that fluttered from the movement of the water - the gills that permitted him to breath.

His heterochromia eyes suddenly lit up - glowing brightly as a smile bearing the frightening sharp shark-like teeth spread out before you - his stripes slowly beginning to glow a bright neon teal, “Found ya.’”

The mer dodged at you, frightening you into moving quickly to try and avoid him. You allowed yourself to sink for a moment, trying to swim back the way you came. The mer was quick, stopping you from exiting by cutting off the escape route, eyes glowing in the darkness as his long tail curled above him. You spung and swam in the opposite direction, toward the little hole in the wall that was your only way to escape.

“Shrimpy… Please don’t try to run away from me,” the mer growled as he gave chase - much faster than you, “I don’t like it when my prey tries to run - especially you.”

‘What is this thing’s problem?’ you propelled yourself forward, toward the only other exit, ‘Damn it - I likely crossed into its territory when I wasn’t thinking. I have to get out of here!’

You were close to the hole when a webbed clawed hand grabbed at your leg, pulling you downward and into the mer’s chest.

“Hehe~ I got ya, Shrimpy,” you heard the mer whisper, his cold nose stroking along the outer shell of your ear as his hands rested against your neck, his thumbs pressed against the back of your neck as his nails on his fingers curled against either side of your throat - right were your heartbeat was thumping wildly as his next words sent you thrashing, “You’re mine…”

You balled your fists together and pushed your elbows into the mer behind you, his hands scratching your throat none-too-gently as he released you, grunting from the impact. You pushed yourself up and out of his reach, away from him and towards the hole in the walls. You spread your arms forward, your hands, wrists and arms passing through the entrance with no problems - head, neck and chest following shortly after with little difficulty. You urked then, gasping as a surprising pain shocked through your waist, stomach, and hips as they refused to go forward. You press your hands against the outer side of the wall of the cavern, pushing against the hard rock that digs into your skin as you attempt to free yourself from its hold and the creature that lurked behind you. You could hear him giggling behind you, feel his tail wrap around your ankle like seaweed as his hands came to rest on your hips, nails digging into your clothed skin. You kicked at him to push him away, but his tail wrapped tightly around your legs - keeping them contained.

"Ah, shrimpy, shrimpy," you heard him tut behind you before you felt his thumbs run circles over your clothed hips, "If ya had wanted to mate with me so badly… why didn't ya say so?"

'M-mate?!' You thought, trying to struggle against the mer’s hold.

"Now, calm down - unless ya want me ta be rough with ya?"

You feel the back of your shirt raised before something slimy and smooth run along your back before something coarse follows shortly afterwards, the feeling of cool lips pressing against your exposed flesh makes you shudder. You feel long noble fingers dig into the fabric of your cotton shorts, a ripping sound bringing you back to focus as you attempt to struggle against the mer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for ya to come to me - it’s been soo long since I last saw ya. But now - here you are, right where ya belong… but, don’t worry,” you hear a giggle behind you as something cups you between your legs - long and sharp claws slowly stroking the sensitive flesh of your clit, “I’ll take good care of ya - just like I promised a long time ago. Ya need to be still though - ya wouldn’t want to make me angry, hm?”

I feel something sharp press against your rear - making you jump in fright as pain and pleasure courses from the likely bite the moray mer has given you.

He giggles, “So cute… so cute when you jump like this…”

You feel his fingers slowly begin to move against your hot spot, moisture from within gathering to kiss the mer’s fingertips as you whimper out loud, trying and failing to get away from his touch as your body arches from the contact. Another stinging sensation comes from the other side of your rear as sharp teeth dig into the flesh, making you cry out as a finger slowly slips into your entrance - swallowing the intruder like a snake with a mouse.

“Mmmm… so sweet and hot,” the mer whispers against your skin, nibbling on your butt for a moment before pressing a kiss to both marks and curling his finger within you as his lips move towards your back, “Precious… my precious shrimpy…”

A second finger is inserted inside you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head as you spread your legs further apart, not completely under the moray’s control as his tail releases you for favor of keeping your legs spread with one hand and his hips as his lips press kisses along your back here and there before his teeth scrapes against your skin, tugging and tear the fabric of your shirt away to get at you. Your hands, still planted on the outer side of the wall, grip the rock as you feel your face fall forward, your chest heaving from the gasps you were inhaling.

- But how could that be?

Before you could ponder it, the mer’s fingers slipped from your entrance - making you feel your clit grasp at nothing as a stroke of pleasant fire burned in your belly, making you whimper in response. However, it’s short lived as the lips of the mer trail back downward as his hands rub against the skin of your thighs, his sharp nails digging into the flesh and drawing blood as they move upward to your hips and stomach - tearing the remainder of your clothing as shreds of your shirt and shorts float to the bottom of the cavern. The mer’s sharp nose runs along the folds of your lips, kissing the sensitive flesh as another set of shivers run along your spine, making gooseflesh pimple along your arms. Before you can register the pleasure, you feel his teeth sink into the sensitive flesh, causing a howl to escape your throat as you arch - your head hitting the rocky outer wall before you wince at the impact. Something long and slippery teases your folds, flicking over the button and making you whimper as a fire begins to burn in your thighs. You try to push away, but your legs are held apart by the mer’s strong hold - your legs infinitely trapped over his biceps as his clawed webbed hands grip your thighs tightly.

You feel him hum against you with every stroke, drinking you in like a dying man as his tongue slips into your main entrance - tasting your essence as it drips from your body like honey from a beehive - as his nose nuzzles the other entrance below you. When he does pull away, you have only a moment to pant before three long sharp fingers are pushed within your body roughly, forcing another whimper to escape your lips as they are pulled back before thrusting inward.

“Ah, shrimpy… you’re ready.”

The fingers leave you as you feel them grip your hips, his own pushing your thighs apart as something long and thick makes its home at your entrance. You shake your head, internally pleading for the creature to stop - to let you go.

The chuckle that echoes across your backside makes you freeze for a moment, “Now, why in the world would I want ta do that?”

One hand strokes along your spine as a comforting gesture, the voice of the mer ringing in your ears as if he was right beside you, “Shrimpy - ya made a promise ta me a long time ago, however I think ya have forgotten about it. Jade always said humans are so whimsical, so I can see where and how he would see that. The good thing in all of this, though, is the bond that we made once upon a time - when I was just a little moray fry and you were just a lonely little girl in a cabin by the sea. You came back… came back for me, and now - now I can have you utterly and completely, just like ya promised.”

You gasped as something thick, long, and ridged slipped within you. You could feel it intrude all the way to your core as strong arms released your legs in favor of wrapping around your wasit, your body being pulled backwards to all the mer to rest his forehead against your back as bubbles and soft hot breath caressed your skin. He pulled out for a moment before thrusting back in, keeping you tightly to his body as he grunted and moaned against you - the tightness a welcoming comfort. You gritted your teeth as wave after wave of fiery hot pleasure began to seep into the skin of your belly and thighs, making your toes curl and tingle with each of the mer’s thrusts as your hips connected.

“Shrimpy… shrimpy,” the mer kissed at your shoulder blades before he pulled you further into him, his head coming to prop itself beatween your shoulder and your neck, “Ah, shrimpy… so tight - just wanna lay ya, fill ya with my eggs…”

You moan softly as a particular hard thrust forces you to squeeze him tighter, which pushes the mer forward harder and faster as his hands dig deeper into your skin - the claws holding you in place but drawing blood from within. You whimper as your walls tighten around him further squeezing him hard as you gasp - feeling the peak shortly arriving.

“F-F-Floyd…”

A name that was once long forgotten echoes in the cavern - the moray stopping for only a moment, his eyes wide at the sound of his name from your lips before that familiar wicked smirk spreads across his features.

“That’s right, (Y/N)... say my name…”

***

Several hours have passed as Floyd has curled his body around you like a large feathered boa, keeping you confined as you lay asleep in a bed of seaweed and grass. His fingers stroke through the loose wild strands of your hair, leaning forward every so often to press kisses to your face and neck - leaving little bites along your cheeks and throat to mark you as his.

He had lost track of how many times he had gone to the surface world to find you nearly six years ago - watching from the rocky shore as he waited for you to return. With each passing day, a piece of him had begun to shatter - breaking into a thousand more tiny pieces with each failed find. It got to the point where he thought he had been abandoned - even though his brother had attempted to convince him otherwise.

It was only about four weeks ago that something within him cried out - forcing him to jump up and stay alert in the shared cavern he had with his twin. He and Jade had gone to Azul about it - Floyd had been spooked quite a bit from the feeling of a pull in his chest like someone was wrenching his heart in two. The octomer explained that such symptoms were because of a bond that were shared between destined souls - ones that made pacts together during their childhood and would eventually bare fruit when the time had come. It only happened every so often, the octomer had explained, and it needed to be taken care of properly - otherwise the bond could sever and one of the two souls could die. Floyd had taken this as a sign to renew his searches for you in the world above.

It was only about three weeks later when he saw you from his hiding spot behind the rocks - amazed and in awe of how much you’d grown and filled out - no longer the shrimpy little girl he had teased when he had been a fry.

He began the preparations then, making a home in the caverns near the surface so he coils always be near to you and vice versa. He gathered pretty shells and sea flowers - made your shared bed and tugged large rocks that would make a perfect home for you. He began thinking about children then - knowing that the time would come soon when he would want to have fry of his own; fry that was made from the love you shared with him. The thoughts, and being in warmer waters for prolonged periods of time, eventually forced Floyd into his heat - his heterochromia eyes now locked on you completely.

All that was needed then was… a little push.

Floyd curled himself closer to you, fingers tracing the gills that now lined either side of your neck where he had scratched you - a temporary remedy that would last until he could strike up a deal with Azul for a potion that would turn you into one of them - before his hand moved further down to press against your belly that was now bulging with his seed. His eggs would stay within you - incubating within your body until the time to lay them came; he imagined watching over the clutch with you, seeing your soon-to-be fry slowly developing within them as his fingers would graze over the outer shells. Of course, all of your fry would have to leave this place once they hatched - taken by the sea to develop and grow before returning to you.

He secretly hoped all of them would come back. Floyd returned his gaze to fixate on your features, his nose running along your cheekbone before pressing a kiss on it, “Sleep well… my precious shrimpy.”

#twisted wonderland #floyd leech #twst floyd #floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd x reader #twst n/sfw #n/sfw

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waterchestnut123 · 1 year

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Excerpt from Chapter 16 of "To Catch a Turtle Dove"

I'm SO EXCITED to be able to say, not only do I have a new LawNa Fic nearly complete at over 20k words, I ALSO have the next chapter of TCATD nearly complete! The writing mojo is back, babey! So please enjoy this excerpt :]

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Despite her confrontational first dinner, she fell quickly and smoothly into routine under Lami’s strict tutelage. Every morning she was roused at dawn and, after her morning ablutions, was served breakfast in her chambers by Bepo. He was an amiable-enough guard, often sitting with her as she tucked into her meal, engaging in timid small talk about the weather or how she slept. His efforts at making her feel welcome and comfortable were both painfully obvious and undeniably endearing; and his teddy-bear features only helped endear him further.

Lami arrived punctually every day after breakfast, keeping her busy with “lessons” straight through the day until shortly before dinner. Despite her better judgment, Nami couldn’t deny she was softening toward the woman. She could never detect anything but genuineness behind Lami’s kindness and friendly encouragement, and unlike her brother so seemed to enjoy doing, never dared to use force to get her way. On the (not infrequent) occasions that Nami insisted she was done with one activity or another, Lami never did worse than match stubbornness for stubbornness in her attempts to persuade her to give it just one more try.

Also to Nami’s frustration, this usually worked.

After all, Nami was neither blind nor heartless. It was Lami who took all of Nami’s snappy irritation, frustrated outbursts, and outright defiance in such stride—particularly given that she was not the instigator of Nami’s capture nor the enforcer of her indentured servitude.

The more time they spent together, the more clearly Nami could see, despite Lami’s efforts to hide it, an omnipresent loneliness hiding behind her ever-gracious smile. And Nami couldn’t help but notice that the more time they spent together—the more they bickered and worked and shared, the less heavily that loneliness seemed to weigh upon the lady.

Thus, as days passed and successes slowly mounted, a bond began to grow between them, and Nami found her level of cooperation gradually but steadily rising.

God she was such a pushover.

#To Catch a Turtle Dove #TCATD #One Piece #Fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #victorian au #longfic #lawna #lawnami #law/nami

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soft--dragon · 4 months

Text

Snow Day

Just a small drabble for you guys to snack on before I post the bigger one :D

Word Count: 1,177

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Casey was practically vibrating with excitement, booted feet doing mini stomps - a stim he’d picked up from Donnie at a young age - as he looked out over the white powered landscape of New York City Park. Mikey, who was stood right beside him snickered at his child-like behavior, giving a friendly grin.

“You’ve really never seen snow before, huh Junior?”

Casey shook his head rapidly, eyes so wide as if he was trying to memorise every single detail of the park. “There was never white snow in the future, it was like ash, but this… Michelangelo, this is amazing!”

Mikey’s brow dipped slightly at the mention of the harsh, desolate future Casey had come from, but he gave the boy a gentle nudge to dispel the memory. “Mikey, Casey, call me Mikey,” he reminded lightly.

Whether Casey registered the soft words was up for debate, the boy’s spellbound expression never wavering when Leo seemed to drop out of nowhere to sling an arm around Casey’s shoulders.

“Not a bad view, aye Casey?” he grinned.

“It’s incredible,” the young warrior murmured, his smile lifting his eyes.

“Well what are you waiting for? Come on!” Leo grabbed his students hand and ran, dragging along Casey who almost fell flat on his face from the sudden force.

“Wait up Leo!” Mikey yelled after his brother, taking off right behind the pair, with the rest of the family in tow.

Leo didn’t even hesitate before he dove into the snow with a gleeful whoop, dragging Casey into the soft powder and laughing when the boy just about screamed.

“JESUS! It’s cold, Leo!” “Welcome to the ice age, Jones!”

There was an audible scoff from above the two. “Incorrect Leo, the ice age was thousands of years ago when creatures such as mammoths used to roam the earth and- hey!”

A snowball smashed into the back of Donnie’s head from non-other than April who was grinning similar to a Cheshire cat. “Sorry, did I interrupt you?”

“Yes actually, I was trying to educate Leo on his very historically inaccurate claim- ow!” A second snowball had splattered straight into Donnie’s face, the teen being thrown to the ground with the force of it. “APRIL!”

Raph high fived the girl in passing, moving to Leo and Casey who were still lying in the snow. “Don’t you two go catching a cold alright? We don’t want to get the whole fam sick.” “We’ll be fine, Raph, don’t worry,” Leo smirked up at his older brother, “We’re well protected from the cold.” “Yes, but some of us aren’t that used to winter, remember?”

“Oh, I know.” Leo’s hand planted itself in Casey’s mop of unruly hair, messing with the black locks and making the kid yelp and squirm in protest. “I’ll keep an eye on the snow baby.”

Casey baulked from under Leo’s fingers. “The- the snow what?” Raph sighed with a small, fond smile. “If he gets sick you’re taking care of him.” “Don’t I always?”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m right here you guys.” “Hush snow baby,” Leo scooped up some snow and shoved it in Casey’s unsuspecting face, trying and failing to hide his grin at the boy’s wild screech of alarm and offence. “The adults are talking.”

The snow removed, Casey tried leaning away only for Leo’s hand to come back and to pinch his cheek. “Augh! Stop! Your hands are freezing!”

“Oh, are they actually?” Leo’s hands were then diving under Casey’s scarf to press them against his neck, and the scream the boy gave was almost ear splitting.

“NO! Off, off, off! Get away from me!” Casey scrambled across the snow to escape, only for Leo to follow with an evil gleam in his eyes. “Guys help!”

Casey, who had fallen victim to Leo’s schemes more than once, knew the outcome of this dilemma, and scrambled off the ground in an instant. He was running laps of the park, laughing over his shoulder at the turtle who was pursuing him with outstretched hands and taunting loudly.

“Should we stop them before they fall into the lake?” Mikey asked with a laugh.

Raph shrugged, smirking. “Eh, let em tire themselves out, it’ll be easier to get them to sleep later.”

“I concur, I do not want to deal with a hyperactive Leo,” Donnie raised a hand from where he was still lying on the ground from April’s snowball attack.

The green jacketed girl rolled her eyes. “Donnie, get up.”

“Can’t. I’ve been shot.”

A scream echoed through the park, making the group whip around in alarm to where Leo and Casey were tussling on the ground, the blue coded turtle pressing his fingers underneath Casey’s scarf to target his neck. The raven haired teen was screeching at the chill spreading through his skin, bursts of laughter mingling with his yelps as Leo refused to let up.

“LEHEHO! Stohohopihit!”

“What? Can’t hear you Snow Baby, sorry, I’ve got ear muffs on.”

“YOU DON'T!”

“Invisible ear muffs are the modern style Case, I thought you’d know that cause you’re from the future.”

One of Casey’s hands came up to shove at Leo’s face, the other trying to push away the turtle’s fingers assaulting his sensitive skin. “Thahat’s soho duhumb!”

Leo’s mouth dropped open and gasped loudly. “How dare you insult my invisible earmuffs, that is so mean.”

Casey cracked an eye open to peer up at Leo smugly. “Thought you couldn’t hear me with those ear muffs?”

Scoffing an incredulous laugh, Leo furrowed his brow playfully. “Alright, wise guy, you asked for this.” Leo lightened his touch enough so that his fingernails were just grazing along Casey’s neck, causing the boy to try and turn into a turtle himself and scrunch his head down, all the while in fits of panicked giggles.

“DahAHAamnit LehehEHEO!” He cried, grappling with the turtle’s arms to dislodge his freezing fingers. “Nohohoho!”

Using the tassels of Casey’s scarf to dust along his cheek just to be annoying, Leo cooed, “I warned you bud; insult the muffs, get the fluff.”

Pressing his cheek into the snow, Casey batted at his mentor with horribly uncoordinated movements. “Yohou suhuck!”

“Ouch, what a burn. Good thing we’re surrounded by so much ice that I can treat it.”

Casey landed a smack on his shoulder, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t roll right out of his head. “Dork,” he bit out between peals of laughter.

“Oh I’m a dork now am I? Wow, really laying it on thick with the insults today, kiddo,” Leo snorted. The attempts of ‘insulting’ Leo really weren’t really that cutting at all, he was gonna have to teach this kid some curse words to help him along. Raph may kill him for it, but he was the sensei of Jones Junior, not his big brother. Casey did end up catching a cold from the snow, though Leo held up his promise and was vigilant during the boy’s recovery. This was his kid after all, he was always going to look out for his Snow Baby.

#my fanfic #rottmnt tickle #rottmnt #tmnt tickle #lee!casey #ler!leo #casey jones #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph #rise april #april o'neil

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blueywrites · 1 year

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turtle dove and the crow, interlude 1930

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

Set in 1930 - ten years before the events of Turtle Dove and the Crow - this interlude is the first of two glimpses back to their humble beginnings.

INTERLUDE 1930: MUSIC BOX (5.7k)

There’s a music box in the bedroom

It’s playing songs from 1922

And if you listen for long enough

You’ll fall asleep and might wake up

Walking in a wonderland

Music Box — Leith Ross

Before he was your crow, and you his turtle dove, Edward Munson was the strange new boy next door.

The morning he arrives is colored the clear blue of late May. It’s one of those first few days after school has let out for the year, and you’re stuck half in a daze, acclimating to a sense of freedom that has not yet seeped entirely in. That irreality keeps you inside for now, and thus, you’re perched in the formal sitting room, occupying one of the stiffer chairs chosen for its proximity to the window offering a view of Mr. Wayne’s front porch. Your eyes are fixed not to its neat row of balustrades standing proudly from the white-painted decking, or even the gnarled branches of the forsythia where some yellow petals still cling stubbornly despite the lateness of the season. Instead, you’re looking at the lattice that protects the porch’s underside, at the place where it meets the corner of the house’s red clapboard. The wood there is broken at one criss-cross, leaving a small gap.

From there, a rabbit is slowly emerging. Breath catches in your throat as it shimmies its small russet body from beneath the broken lattice into the open air. Your eyes widen; tiny fingers find the window pane, leaving tiny, heedless smudge marks on the glass. Raptly, you watch its nose wriggle, head dipping to the grass and nudging around before coming up again. It ventures forward with staccato little hops before halting with its head perked high.

You hear what has alerted it a second later: a muffled rumble begins to permeate the glass between you and the rabbit. The sound grows gradually louder, and your eyes dart from the red house to the yard and then to the dirt road beyond, where the source is now visible. It begins as a vague blue shape, sharpening slowly but steadily until it resolves itself, finally, into a familiar truck. The truck putt-putt-putts gradually up the dirt road before turning with a crunch of thick dirt and gravel into the unpaved drive of your neighbor.

The rabbit stretches its neck and freezes warily for a long, tense moment, legs bunched and ready to flee. Interestingly, though, it never does. Even when a metallic creak draws your attention from the rabbit back to the parked truck, it eases back into the grass, seemingly unbothered now.

This is when you see him for the first time.

It's a silent affair, his arrival, but the new boy next door rolls in with all the beautiful violence of a summer storm. Face wedged between your Mama’s gauze curtains, you watch the passenger door of the truck pop open to allow the chaos inside to tumble out in a whirl of thrashing limbs. And those limbs become a boy. Pale and jagged, thin and angular, he stalks ahead with clenched fists and a strange backward tilt to his upper body— a posture which implies that, while his feet may carry him toward the front door, the rest of him wants nothing more than to rebel. His face, what little you can see of it from this distance, is contorted into a fierce scowl. It cuts pale beneath a wild mop of dark cloudlike curls, slashed by red lips snarled open as if in the middle of a tantrum.

Yet you cannot hear him. Mr. Wayne catches up to him quickly despite the stiffness of his hips; he dwarfs the smaller boy’s roiling shadow, containing his tempestuousness with a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to mount the porch steps before him. You hear the creak of the wood under their feet, and you hear the crack of the screen door as it bounces off red clapboard, and you hear the vague rasp of your older neighbor’s voice before the gentle click of the handle closes the red house up again behind them. But the boy does not make a sound.

Strange.

In your eight-year-old mind, strangeness does not beget caution; it beckons curiosity.

For that reason, Mama doesn’t have to drag you reluctantly with her to deliver a peach pie welcome, though she still plies you with one of her little decorum lessons nonetheless. “It’s the polite thing to do. And never go empty-handed,” she informs you as you slip your hand into the crook of her elbow without resistance, shuffling alongside her across the grass. Together, you mount those same steps you’d watched a summer storm thunder up yesterday; the recollection causes wonderings about the strange boy to whip through your mind like wind touseling your hair. You end up too sluggish for Mama’s taste, and she gestures impatiently for you to knock on the door for her since her hands are occupied. You rush to comply, rapping quickly but for a little too long, so that she has to shoot you a sharp look to get you to stop.

Your curiosity mixes with both wariness and excitement as you hear movement from within the house, and you find it bubbling over as the sounds come imminently closer. Anticipation thrums as the bolt clicks and the knob turns, but when the door finally opens, Mr. Wayne stands there alone.

Your neighbor, Mr. Wayne, has always seemed a calm, steadfast presence to you. It’s a combination of his homely, dirt-dusted clothes, his tanned forearms and weathered knuckles, his thinning hair that leaches color too fast for his age, and his downturned mouth that feels comfortingly familiar but is also a shade less severe than your papa’s. You aren’t unhappy to see him now, but your insides sag as your expectations are thwarted.

Above your head, you watch the adults exchange pleasantries, but the specifics of their conversation are lost on you. You’re consumed by that sagging disappointment; you’d been so sure you’d see your new neighbor standing beside Wayne like you stand with Mama, or perhaps half-hiding behind his legs, had he a shyer disposition. You could forgive that easily. But only a glance is needed to tell you that he’s nowhere in the vicinity of the front door. Perhaps, you suppose, he’s concealed behind a nearby wall to listen without being seen. Or maybe he is loitering at the bend in the staircase, too hesitant to come closer. It’s possible; you begin to hope it is so, and your hope emboldens you.

The pie plate has passed from your mother’s hands into Mr. Wayne’s, but you don’t see that because you’ve begun inching your nose past the threshold of the doorway, craning your neck around Mr. Wayne’s sturdy legs as you search for a peek of that tumultuous boy. You don’t get far before Mama is tugging you back with a sharp yank of your collar, and you stifle a surprised yelp as you yield to her quickly. She clears her throat— a clear chastisement— and as your face creases with remorse, Mr. Wayne huffs with amusement.

“No harm,” he rasps, and your mother’s squeezing fingers drop from your neck upon seeing the easiness in his crinkled blue eyes. “Why don’t you both join me for a slice o’this pie? Looks might fine.”

You brighten visibly, which makes Mr. Wayne chuckle again; when your wide eyes meet your Mama’s, the surge of your excitement is clear, and she is left with no choice but to accept the invitation. Her tiny wry sigh, fond and exasperated, is likely borne of the false assumption that you are excited by the prospect of dessert. That is, in fact, not what has you excited at all.

Your head whips this way and that in search of that elusive boy. You crane and twist, peeking around corners as best as you are able without slowing down as Mr. Wayne guides you toward the dining room. But your seeking yields no results. You plop at the table without having claimed your prize, feet swinging in impatience as a slice of pie is placed in front of you. The large fork is clumsy in your fist, but you manage to eat your desserts with dainty bites that Mama would approve of as she continues to exchange more pleasantries with your neighbor. It doesn’t take long for them to begin discussing the new arrival, and your eyes dart between them intently as you grasp for explanations— who the strange boy is, where he came from, why he wasn’t at the door to greet you, anything to sate the curiosity that has been growing since your first glimpse of the storm.

It quickly becomes clear that there is little for you to glean listening in on this conversation. You grow disinterested with their murmuring, their painstaking way of speaking as if each word must be turned over like fruit to appraise, and each each possible selection must be examined slowly before being settled on. Your disappointment returns with a tinge of frustration as the discussion continues on nonsensically, growing less clear with each successive comment.

“I’d give Joyce and Lonnie a ring,” your Mama suggest to Wayne, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug with a tiny chip along its rim. “Their older boy is goin’ through a spurt, outgrowin’ his clothes quicker than they can keep up with.”

You crinkle up your nose. What does that matter? You can’t understand them, and you give up trying soon enough.

As they continue talking, Mama and Mr. Wayne cast you occasional glances as if they’re assessing whether you will react. But you’re preoccupied now with sweet peach filling and flaky crust, which coats your lips until you rub it off with the back of your arm. Once you’ve consumed the entire slice and licked up all the crumbs, you manage to sit quietly for a minute or so before your curiosity, without that distraction, grows too insistent to ignore. In typical fashion, you’ve just barely conceived of a question before it’s already being voiced.

“Is your son gonna come eat pie with us?” you ask baldly.

Mama stiffens beside you, but Wayne remains unruffled. “He’s my nephew,” he corrects you gently. “And I don’t reckon he will.”

The next question— “Why not?”— is begging to burst from your mouth. But one quick look at your Mama’s face tells you you’d be in for it if you give in to that impulse. Mr. Wayne must read the discomfort in your pouted lips, so he offers you a morsel to tide you over.

“He’s not up for visitors just now,” he explains, and his blue eyes leave you to fix on your Mama’s in a weighty way. “M’tryin’ to get him settled in here first, make sure he’s comfortable. Then y’can meet ‘im, if he’s willing.”

There’s a silent conversation then that passes between their gazes. There is a shade of fear and hesitation in the blue, a hint of vulnerability burdening the short silence following that vague explanation. It’s met with empathy across the table, with tinges of experience and reassurance offered without reluctance.

“You will, Wayne.” Your Mama sounds decisive, and your eyes follow the movement of her hand as she reaches across the table and pats him briskly on the hand. “The boy’ll be fine.”

You are ignorant to the significance of these things. All you know is that you’ve been denied that which you want, and you will need to wait to get it. You manage to contain your frustration until you reach the sanctuary of your bedroom; only then do you let your limbs flail against the comforter and pillows, beating out your impatience like rain pattering a roof.

On the third day after the boy’s arrival, you awaken the way you fell asleep: to the melody of a song. But it’s not the soft plinking of the music box your Mama always winds to lull you to sleep at night. Instead, it’s some twangy, uneven notes, starting and stopping in awkward cadence. As daylight streams in warm stripes across your comforter, they filter through wood and glass to rouse you from your slumber.

It’s the first evidence you have, besides Mr. Wayne’s word during your visit, that your new neighbor is actually still residing in the house across the way and that he was not, in fact, a walking daydream conceived by your own boredom. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since he’d tumbled from the truck; you’ve been spending many hours outside now in the midday, and you know beyond a shadow of doubt that he has not ventured into his front yard, and likely not into his backyard either. There has not been even a ruffle of a curtain, or a silhouette in a lit window, or a slivered door opening through which he might peer out to provide evidence of his existence.

But now, you can hear him. You hear him in this indirect way, in the fumbling of his fingers on some instrument, a sound that has you rising early despite the lazy minutes you could steal before Mama expects you to start on your morning chores.

It’s almost worse now that you can hear his invisible presence because it makes the silence of his arrival feel even more frustrating. And the more elusive he is, the more you want to see him. You find yourself looking toward the fence that separates your properties as if compelled; you walk slowly on your way to the goat pen, eyes tracking the gaps between the posts, desperate for a glimpse of dark curls and pale angles. This endeavor has yielded nothing but the vague unease of unfulfilled wanting.

Your curiosity can never settle. It haunts you, sustained by the knowledge that as you close your eyes at night, drifting off to the sound of that dainty music box, you will awaken to a twirling of staccato notes too intangible to grasp.

It isn’t until May has eased into the sticky warmth of June that you properly meet your new neighbor. As you’re cutting through your sitting room, slinking toward the kitchen in search of a covert midday snack, you catch a glimpse of him through the flimsy gauze of that same window which afforded you a view of his arrival. The sight is so unexpected that it nearly gives you a fright, and your heart thuds wildly until you realize what that vague shape must be. You stare until your eyes blink clear and reveal a boy hunched in the front yard across the way, pale and topped by a wild mop of wayward dark. That swooping of fear quickly gives way to familiar curiosity, and curiosity then to eagerness. Soon enough, the slight rumbling of your stomach is forgotten entirely as you find yourself turning sharply on your heel and redirecting toward the front door.

The grass is soft as it creases under your small bare feet, and you cross the yard with your eyes fixed on your prize, who crouches in front of the leafy forsythia lining his front porch. He doesn’t seem to notice you, occupied as he is in his task, and you seize the chance to drink in every detail you can as you approach. The boy wears gray pants, which have been gathered at the hems into thick, sloppy rolls but still drag across the grass like he doesn’t have any feet. He wears a rumpled white shirt, slightly yellowed from age and wear. His curls dust the nape of a gaping collar, which sags even farther open as he leans forward to poke around in the bushes. From this angle you cannot see his face properly, only the slope of a soft nose and the suggestion of dark lashes above it.

Your appraisal ends when you grow too close to continue. You stop a short distance away, looking down at the crown of his head as you watch him push aside branches. This yields a new observation, which is that his hands appear too big for his thin wrists— overlarge, they twist and grasp, long bony fingers moving restlessly as if searching for something in the greenery.

Absent any prior consideration and with the baldness only a child can possess, you announce your presence with a loud question. “What’re you doin'?”

The boy’s short curls flop against his ears as he looks up sharply in your direction, and your directness is rewarded with a view of his face. Though he doesn’t appear to be startled, there is something close to that in his brown eyes— something shifty and skitterish. Under the left is a healing bruise a shade lighter than the streak of dirt on his cheek, and his red mouth is a little too wide for his face, moreso when he opens it to answer you.

“Lookin’ for bugs,” he replies, and his voice rasps like Wayne’s but isn’t as deep, nor as pleasant.

“Why?”

He squints that bruised eye and matches your baldness. “‘Cause I’m makin’ ‘em a home, and I wanna see who’s gonna be movin’ in before I put together the furnishings.”

“Oh.”

As your reply falls flatly into the space between you, the boy eyes you warily for a moment longer before returning to his quest. If he moves a little more brusquely than before, it either escapes your notice or you pay it no mind, and after an extended beat of silence, your next question comes out— again— bald and loud. “So where’s the house?”

The next look he shoots you is less sharp, though somehow also more impatient, with the way his red mouth is set in a long, flat line. “Hmm?”

It’s not so much a hummed question, more a vague grunt, but you interpret it correctly. You repeat yourself with more emphasis. “Where’s the bug house? I wanna see it,” you declare.

The boy’s face scrunches up in a scowl then, and he makes no attempt to sweeten his reply.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snaps, and you’re dismissed with a shake of those messy curls.

You fall back on a hip, crossing your arms as he pushes aside forsythia branches with increased aggression. You huff impatiently. “Well, how’s I gonna help you if I don’t know what size bugs to find? I dunno ‘bout where you come from, but there’s lots of bugs here.” Dramatically, you grab onto your fingers one at a time as you count, drawing out the words as you recall them. “We got… worms,” you snatch up your index, “rolly-pollies,” you switch to your middle, “ants…”

You pause there, twisting your ring finger in your opposite fist as you cast your eyes upward, trying to think of another bug to illustrate your point. The boy’s rolled trouser hems drag against the grass as he shifts restlessly in his crouch, but your next example never comes. Instead, you pull your finger out of your grip, crossing your arms and staring down at him with an air of triumph you really aren’t entitled to. “See? Loads of bugs,” you finish almost smugly.

The boy twists his lips and narrows his eyes at you. He drags those eyes from your bare toes to the top of your head in a slow, appraising path. It feels distinctly like you’re one of the bugs you’d mentioned, and he’s trying to puzzle out whether or not you’ll sting him.

You want to ruffle up your feathers and squawk your protest, but this brief conversation has not satisfied that yawning pit of curiosity inside you. Instead, you just plant your hands on your hips like your Mama does when Papa’s not listening fast enough. He stares up at you, and you look right back, staring down at your new neighbor’s guarded face.

This you manage for a fair while. But, inevitably, you cannot contain yourself for too long. Soon enough, your next question of the day sees fit to burst and pop from you like the first bubble in a pot set to boil.

“Well then?”

Your voice is loud; your sass is too potent to ignore. When his scowl returns in earnest, you clamp your lips shut too little too late. Mama always did say you need to be more patient, after all, and now you’ll just be left to mourn the permanent disappointment you’ll feel when he barks back. He’ll send you away unkindly, and you’ll have to retreat with your tail between your legs—

The boy next door straightens to his full height, and it’s only then that you realize just how much bigger he is than you. He is still lanky and angular, with ill-fitting clothes that don’t disguise his thinness, but the sudden shift from looking down into those guarded umber eyes to looking up, up, up ‘til your neck cranes is enough to make a teensy twinge of foreboding tighten in your chest.

This boy, you realize, is under no obligation to tolerate your sass. He isn’t your kin, and though he is Wayne’s, that doesn’t automatically speak to his nature.

Your composure falters for the first time as he frowns harshly down at you, and you begin to shrink. You shink like you do when Mama’s caught you doing something wrong and you know her admonishment will be swiftly followed by Papa’s until you’re left feeling hollow and thoroughly castigated. All of you presses in— your shoulders, your elbows, your knees, your brows where they pucker in the middle of your forehead. It’s the perfect opportunity for this strange boy to seize hold of the cracks within you and shatter you to pieces.

But at the sight of your breaking, those umber eyes do not harden further as you expect. Instead, the stormcloud clears; where you shrink and tighten, he gentles, and the furrows of his face ease into smoothness. Silently, he jerks his head to the side in a clear indication for you to follow.

You do.

It feels like grace when he bids you to follow him, and you resolve not to waste it. ‘Y’could use an attitude adjustment,’ you think to yourself, and so you let your sass leech through the soles of your feet as you follow the boy around to the side of his house opposite yours. By the time he stops in front of a small mound of rubbish piled near the concrete foundation, your manners have returned. You regard it with a carefully neutral expression in case he happens to look at you as he explains its purpose.

“M’gonna build the walls out of bark I stripped from that big oak,” he tells you. “And the roof’ll be leaves, so they can eat their way out if they’re clever enough.”

You appraise the rubbish heap, which, you quickly realize, is not rubbish at all, but is, instead, a carefully gathered pile of supplies meant for building a bug house. A hollow acorn cap catches your eye. “Could use that for a trough in case they get thirsty,” you suggest. You turn wide eyes to him, craning your neck back to look into his face and holding there until he meets your eye. You’re hoping he can tell from the bright tone of your voice and the earnestness of your expression that you’ve left your rudeness behind in the grass.

He appears, thankfully, quick to forgive and move on. The boy nods a little too hard in his haste to agree with you, and when his unruly curls flop in front of one dark eye, he blows them out of the way with an impatient puff. “Was thinkin’ that very same thing,” he replies, and there’s even a touch of warmth in his voice.

With that hint of warmth, the foreboding within you finally wisps away as if it had never been. In its absence, the full force of your self returns.

You crouch eagerly to examine the pile more closely, heedless of the way your pink skirt drags over the dirt as you carefully spread out each supply he’s gathered. He wavers nearby hesitantly before joining you near the ground, though he keeps his hands hanging between his knees, seemingly content to let you organize things yourself without interference.

“Looks like it’ll be big enough for a whole lot o’bugs,” you say, and your voice is eager, swollen with your obvious intent to be generous. “Which kind d’you like the most? We can start with those.”

Thus begins the hunt for your neighbor’s bug house residents, a venture that occupies half an hour of your young lives and concludes as a resounding failure. You search first all along the forsythia beds and the edges of the porch. When this yields nothing, you move on to the taller grass at the edges of the yard near the treeline, and then even venture into your own yard. But all you and your neighbor manage to find is the husk of an old worm stuck to the lowest step of his porch and some elusive beetles too quick for even him to catch. Frustration builds within you both over the course of that half-hour, a shared irritation at the difficulty of what should, by all accounts, be a fairly simple endeavor.

“Y’always get ants all over when y’dont want them,” you grouse, flopping yourself down onto the bottom porch step and planting your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands. You quickly wriggle your hips away from that dried worm as he comes to stand in front of you.

“I know!” he exclaims, throwing his hands wide and letting them slap against his thighs. You sigh heavily together, a near simultaneous sound of defeat, and for a moment you listen to the distant cooing of a mourning dove, allowing yourself to wallow in disappointment.

“Y’know…” you say suddenly, looking up at him from the cradle of your palms, “there’s a bunny livin’ under your porch. Maybe it ate all the bugs ‘round your house.”

The boy’s soft nose wrinkles with a frown, but it’s not critical like before. “Do bunnies eat bugs?”

You stare at him and shrug, a sharp tug and fall of narrow shoulders. After a moment, the boy shrugs back as if in acquiescence. “Well,” he offers, “we could just make a house for the bunny then. In case it wants a ‘change of scenery.’” The phrase trips inelegantly off his tongue like it’s something foreign, something he’d heard once and is now repeating.

You, however, pay that no mind, because a blooming of color fills you at his suggestion. It’s blooming so big and bright and fills you so insistently that the tumultuous boy startles visibly when you leap from the step and scrabble off without a word of explanation.

Some swift minutes later, you’re returning at a trot, your hands laden with a new companion who swings at your side with flopping brown ears and a billowing red cloak. The corner of his eye is caught by your approach; he straightens up whip-sharp and shields his face with an overlarge palm to watch the remainder of your journey back to him, dropping his hand only once you skid to a stop one pace away. Eagerly, you set your bunny doll carefully atop one of the flat rocks lining the garden bed, nudging her arms and legs so she’ll sit there primly without assistance.

Breathless still from the quick run to your house but smiling nonetheless, you explain as if he’d asked, “If we’re buildin’ a rabbit house, Mopsy’s gotta watch! She’s my best friend.”

“Mopsy?” the boy asks curiously, “like from Peter Rabbit?”

Again, you bloom; your eyes light from within as you turn to him. “Yes, that’s exactly it! Oh, Peter Rabbit was my favorite book Ms. Willard read w’me this year!” You blink at him, eyes big and wide and so earnest. “Did you read it too?”

His head tilts just slightly, and the frizzy curls shift across his forehead. “How old r’you?” he asks in lieu of answering your question.

“M’eight,” you reply, still earnest if not a bit confused at the question. “Why? How old r’you?”

“Eight,” he answers, “same’s you.” He scratches at the corner of his wide mouth with a dirty fingernail, eyeing you as if he wants to say more but is holding back. You don’t know it, but it’s because your neighbor is trying to reconcile how you’ve just told him that you read this book with your teacher just this year, but it’s been quite some time since he had need of reading together with a teacher, and even longer than that since he last read Peter Rabbit— something he very much considers a ‘baby book’ now.

You don’t know that. But what you do notice is that he seems to be appraising you again, though not in the same way he had when he checked you for a stinger earlier. This appraisal is gentler and over much more quickly; at its conclusion, he changes the subject yet again. “If we’re building the rabbit a house,” he tells you, “we’ll need sticks f’r the walls. Bark’s not gonna be good enough.”

It’s an adequate distraction, and soon enough, you’ve forgotten the dangling conversation about Peter Rabbit as you and your neighbor collect sticks and branches, gather more leaves, and tear long grass from its roots to lay it down for cushioning in the bottom of your construction project.

The process is not entirely smooth, as it never is between two people who are still learning to work with one another, but you and your new neighbor share a common desire which helps to ease it. Despite starting your acquaintance firmly enclosed within your own tough shells, since then, common ground has been discovered. As such, both you and this strange boy are reluctant to trample the new seed of friendship freshly planted between you. As you work alongside one another, you tend that seed with the best of yourselves: you resist the urge to insist on your own way, and he resists the urge to assume the worst in you.

You are, as Ms. Willard would put it, acting on your very best behavior.

Mama would be proud.

By the time the sun has reached its highest point in the sky, your makeshift rabbit house has three walls and a soft bed of grass at its center. The leaf roof he’d intended to make was more difficult than anticipated, so you used them instead to adorn the ground and create a path from one side of the red house to the other, with the intention of leading the bunny to the new sanctuary you’ve created. How likely it is to take you up on the offer remains to be seen, but you are pleased nonetheless with the fruits of your labor. The gleam in the boy’s eyes seems to indicate that he’s pleased, too, and you watch him begin a meandering circle to admire your hard work from all angles.

He’s pleased up until the point that tragedy strikes.

On the back end of the circle he’s making around your shared creation, an accidental knock of his calf sends Mopsy tipping slowly backward. He feels the impact and spins clumsily, but his scrabbling fingers are too late to prevent her from falling off the flat rock into the garden bed

Mopsy only lays there in the dirt for maybe a second before the boy snatches her up and cradles her to his chest in a crushing hug, holding her close and then yanking her back out to look her over. Yet the damage has been done: dirt is smudged into her red felt cloak, and it also marrs the pale cream of her long ears and the entire back of her head.

The boy tries to clear the stains away with hasty swipes of his hands. But his fingers are dirty, so all he manages to do is streak her with more brown filth. The more he tries— the more frantic he becomes, desperate to correct his mistake— the worse she gets. Helplessly, he turns to you, and you take in the crinkle of his brow, the pinch of his wide red mouth, the panicked look in his eyes as he waits for your reaction.

It’s not unreasonable for him to assume you will be angry. You had, after all, told him that Mopsy is your best friend, and now she’s been soiled by his hand. And he has, after all, already caught a glimpse of the impatience, the stubbornness, the hotness of temper that lives inside you. But what he doesn’t know is that life has already taught you that accidents happen. You remember all the times Ms. Willard has soothed hot tears, or helped you and your classmates clean up spills. And despite— or, perhaps, because of— the ire you face when your accidents make Mama and Papa so angry with you, you accept the earnest apology in his expression without any further fuss.

“Oh, that’s all right,” you tell him, and there isn’t a hint of sourness in it. When you take Mopsy from his loose fingers and look down at the new stains on her fur and clothing, your expression doesn’t even flicker. “S’just an accident. Accidents happen, y’know,” you add when the worry in his dark eyes doesn’t ease.

And then, just to make sure he really, truly understands, you smile at him. Big and wide and uninhibited, you smile.

Though you’re missing one front tooth and the effect is borderline manic, it is so poignantly obvious that the reassurance your smile offers is an instant balm. The worry clears; the boy smiles back, crinkly-eyed and wide. It warms you like a ray of sunshine has overtaken his whole face, like dark clouds have broken to reveal the wild beauty left in the sky after a summer storm has passed.

In the end, that's all it took for inevitability to take hold: a single bright smile echoed on two faces.

You don’t know the name of the strange new boy next door, but it little matters. Because when two like souls finally find their rest on a common wire, fluttering their wings as they descend to perch together and rest in the comfort of sweet company, what one calls another becomes nothing more than an afterthought.

#blueywrites #td&tc #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #farmer!eddie munson #farmer!eddie

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tottymatsuno · 1 year

Text

Sextuplets reacting to you quitting your job!

Osomatsu: aaah, that sucks! Maybe my mom will take me back in

Karamatsu: worry not my fiscally irresponsible karamatsu turtle dove, your champion and passionate beau shall remedy this mishap by…begging my mommy for money! As for getting a job, I have…NO plan!

Choromatsu: get another one.

Ichimatsu: let’s dumper dive together

Jyushimatsu: I just lost four million in NFTs you can’t

Todomatsu: don’t worry, we can be homeless together! I still remember all the best spots to catch rats at!

Bonus totoko: go home.

#in light of my recent employment situation

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theorphicangel · 5 months

Text

“𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

[ 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

tags: strangers to lovers, roommate au!, best friends brother, fluff, mutual pining, smut, 18+

You swear nothing will happen between the two of you but one thing eventually leads to another and you find yourself in his bed, leading to an unofficial roommates with benefits situation.

You know deep down it's wrong and you're worried when you start catching feelings...but it's okay because it's only temporary, right?

séries | previous chapter | next chapter

chapter two: two turtle doves (that awkwardly get along)

You were right about not expecting to receive a reply from Gabriel.

You had actually tried to call him a few times, yet it ended up going to voicemail. Your best bet would be that he actually turns up for work today.

On returning back to your apartment last night, you had tried the best you could to remind yourself that you were living in an empty space again. Remembering to not make a meal for two, remembering to switch off the lights, remembering not to turn your head searching for someone to listen to the random thought that had just popped up in your head. It was hard. You couldn’t lie about that.

But with it especially being the holiday season, you can’t help but feel the prickles of loneliness brush up at your skin as you skim through the shows and movies to watch, with all the recommended Christmas romance movies popping up on the home page. Being petty, you turned off the tv and decided to give yourself an early night.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you’ve decided to decorate your apartment this upcoming weekend for Christmas. Due to MJ’s moving you would’ve had it done all up last week, but instead you were focused on helping her pack during her last few days at the apartment.

Checking the time, it’s currently 8:15am and you’re on your way to O’Hara’s. As you stroll down the busy streets of New York city, you can’t help but cross your fingers and pray to the gods above that Gabriel is in for his shift today. You don’t think you could really stand another cup of terrible coffee, no matter how compassionate you’re feeling.

Stepping into O’hara’s, the familiar ding of the bell above the door announces your arrival. Once again, it’s a small queue and you can’t help but notice the familiar cheery tone of the barista which most certainly contrasts the rough, bored voice which you had heard yesterday.

A wave of relief fills your body as you move to the front of the queue, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Buenos días.” Gabriel greets with a smile, “Did ya’ miss me yesterday?”

“Pftttttt of course not.” you murmur. “It’s not like I’d much rather the new barista yesterday who had made the world’s worst cup of coffee word to man– I don’t even know if I can call that a coffee.” you grunt, pulling a disgusted face.

Gabriel lets out a loud laugh as he taps in your regular into the till without even asking you. “You must be talking about my brother, Miguel, m’sorry about that, he was called in as an emergency. We’re low on staff.”

Your face drops at Gabriel’s words. “Your brother?! Oh shit m’sorry—”

Gabriel waves his hand at you, stopping you mid sentence. “Don’t be, we all know he’s shit. Mama couldn’t find a replacement at the last minute so she was desperate.”

“And it was an emergency?” you repeat, crossing your arms as you look him up and down.

“It’s not my fault that I got forcefully dragged to a bar against my own free will!” He exclaims. “It was bottomless Wednesday!”

You hum in response not really believing him. “So that was really your brother then?” Grabiel nods.

At the sounds of footsteps behind him, Gabriel turns his head and then quickly turns back.

“Oh, speaking of the diablo.” He mutters before calling out to his brother. “Oi Miggy, no vas a creer lo que esta chica dijo de ti." [you won’t believe what this girl said about you]

“¿Qué?”

“That you’re shit at making coffee.”

“If you’re gonna continue complaining about me then I’m not coming in to help you next time, Gabi.”

“I’ll tell mama.”

“Uh–huh.” Miguel hums in an unbelieving tone.

Now that you had Miguel standing next to his brother, you could really see their similarities and you almost wanted to kick yourself for not spotting it beforehand. They were almost the spitting image of each other, though Gabi was a little shorter and Miguel seemed to be like a total gym rat in comparison.

Miguel now looks at you, deadpanned as he was the previous day. “I’m sorry about the coffee yesterday—”

“Oh no worries, it was fine.” you lied.

“I mean, it would’ve been better if someone had actually taught me how to use the machines.” Miguel says.

“It’s common sense in my opinion.” Gabi replies hastily.

“Good thing no one asked you for your opinion.”

“Ay, callate.”

“Whatever.” Miguel trails off to the backrooms, tired of the conversation, muttering the excuse that more oat milk is needed.

“Ignore him. He’s a dick but you’ll get used to it once you’re around him more.”

“Is he working here permanently?” you ask, curious about the mysterious older brother, “You never spoke much about him, Gabi.”

“Yeah, well he wasn’t around a lot. He was at university doing his post-graduate degree at Stanford Uni–”

“Stanford?” you practically shout out the word, a few heads turn in the cafe to look at you.

“Hey, keep your voice down.” Gabi warns. “But yeah, yeah, studying genetics or whatever he’s obsessed with at the moment. He’s moved back in with us…in fact that’s what I wanted to tell you—”

“Hold on, hold on, you can’t just move away from the fact that your brother just graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in the country.”

“He got a funding grant–”

“A funding gran–”

“Shhhh!”

You mouth the words, “fucking hell.” to yourself.

“Yep, he’s truly raising the standard for the family.” Gabriel awkwardly chuckles. “It’s weird having him around after being gone for so long but…” Gabriel looks back through the door to the backroom, there’s a sound of things falling and spanish curses which echo from the storage room. “I’m glad he’s back and so is mama, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

You hum along, your expression becoming soft. “Just make sure you teach him how to make good coffee now.” Gabriel chuckles loudly at your comment.

You turn your head and scan the cafe. Your eyes widen. Today, it seems will be a good day as your favorite spot in the corner is available today. Making your way over Gabriel doesn’t take long to come over with your drink.

“Anyways chica, I saw your missed calls and—”

“Oh, did you?” You say aloud sarcastically, playfully swatting him on the arm, “And you didn’t think to be bothered to reply to me? After three years of my loyal friendship this is how you repay me?”

“Okay, one: ow!” He pointed a finger at you. “And two: it wasn’t like that. It was bottomless Wednesday and don’t reprimand me because I’ve already had that from my mother and my brother.”

“Serves you right.” you snort.

“As I was saying, if you’d ever let me speak.” he says, still wincing. “I have good news and bad news regarding your roommate situation.”

“Oh…”

“So, what do you want first, the good news or the bad?” Gabriel offers.

You take a sip of your coffee first as you debate.

“The good news first please.”

“I found you a roommate.”

“Really?!” you exclaimed, your face lighting up with excitement. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“As serious as I can be.” Gabriel wincing again as you hit his arm. “You really have to stop doing that to me.”

“Maybe I can forgive you for ignoring me yesterday.“ you mutter to yourself, a smile now tugging at your lips. “So what’s the bad news?” You’d think that after hearing that good news you can barely think how you would even be affected by the bad news now.

Gabriel points back to the counter, where Miguel stands serving another customer. His face is currently in a state of pure confusion, as his fingers aggressively tap at the till.

“That’s your new roommate.”

Your face dropped as Gabriel’s words sunk in.

“Are you–”

“Serious? Yes, yes I am.” He exhales. “But look, he really needs someone to cheer him up.” You raise a brow at his sentence.

“Listen, but you didn’t hear this from me so this stays between us, okay?” Gabriel held out his pinky finger in front of you.

“Okay.” your promise, not hesitating to join your own pinky finger with his. Gabriel twists a little, as if to seal the promise for definite.

“He wasn’t really meant to come back at all, not even for the Christmas period. It was just random. His roommate back in California moved out and he had no choice but to move back with us because the rent is so skyhigh over there— but anyways, his girlfriend also broke up with him and he never really said why but I just think she can’t be bothered going long distance. Buttttt to be honest who would? Miggy is so boring over text, like I don’t even think he can understand the meaning of emojis–”

“Wait, so he needs a place to stay?” You interrupt, your brain trying to process all this information.

Gabriel nods, “And for someone to cheer him up!” he adds. “Pleaseeeeee, you’d be doing a really big favor for me, it’s so awkward between him and my mom, they’ve barely spoken since he’s moved back in. In fact since he left for uni I’m not even sure that they spoke at all. But please get this tension away from me.”

“What makes you think that I’ll be able to cheer him up?”

Just from looking at him you could already tell that he's a grinch. Totally miserable. A total opposite to what you had with MJ.

“Because you’re you andddd it’s only temporary. That’s another piece of good news actually. By New Year's he’ll probably find a place of his own.”

You wince as you repeat the word. “Temporary.” Another roommate who’s ready to leave before even signing the lease.

“I know that he’s not the ideal roommate but it’s just something for now whilst you look for someone a little bit more permanent.”

You hum at him in agreement. It does take the stress of your back for now….what’s the worst that could happen?

“Por favor, ¿para mí, mi dulce mujer?” Gabriel pulls the one trick move that you can’t resist.

[please, for me, my sweet woman]

The puppy dog eyes.

You let out a sigh as he stares at you, curling his bottom lip which makes you roll your eyes even more.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do you want help with that?”

You wince at Miguel carrying four large boxes in one hand. You can’t see his face, his large veiny hands gripping the bottom stack of the boxes.

“No, gracias.” he mumbles, managing to lug them all to his room without a struggle. You knew he was a…big guy, but you still felt uncomfortable at his refusal for your help. Miguel left you no choice but to stand in the corner awkwardly as you watched him make multiple journeys to and fro the apartment.

It had all happened so quickly. Once you had agreed to let him move in, Miguel agreed to sign the contract the next day, albeit it was only for one month. At least that gives you more time to look for a future tenant for next year.

Once he was all moved in, you both awkwardly waited for one another to speak. Thankfully, he began first.

“I guess I’ll go…tidy up my stuff.”

You nod apprehensively. “Right. Uhhh, dinner's at six if you want it.” Miguel nods along too, not adding anything more to the conversation and disappearing into his room.

At six, he didn’t emerge. You knocked on his door as a reminder and a muffled voice replied indicating that he was busy.

You know you shouldn’t take it personally, but it was hard to ignore the feeling of loneliness that surrounded you despite having a new roommate. You let out a deep exhale as you ate at the kitchen table alone.

This was going to be one long Christmas.

taglist: lmk if you would like to be tagged!

@nakimushiohime @keidilla

#a temporary situation.#angel writes #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader fluff #miguel x reader #atsv headcanons #astv miguel #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara

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