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moirasdolly · 2 months

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˚ ⋆ﾟ୨୧ Vampire Heart ୨୧ ˚ ⋆ﾟ Arlecchino x Fem Reader

Synopsis: You lay out your whole past for Arlecchino and bare your soul. It gives the other woman even more of a reason to help you get healthy again, and even offer you a permanent home with her. Of course you agree, but as you live together you begin to find little secrets Arlecchino is keeping.

Contains: NSFW (men and minors dni), graphic depictions of blood sucking, hurt/comfort (only slight angst).

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: Rosemary - Deftones

Previous Chapter: 1

Notes: Yes yes yes I know I’ve written her to have very cliche vampiric traits but that’s what a vampire fic is all aboutttt! Like yes she has to carry an umbrella in the sunlight and yesss she lives in a gothic mansion and yesssssssss she’s secretive and strange, but anyway I enjoyed writing this chapter so much <3 I love this fic so far and I hope yall do too

❤︎ Chapter 2: Understanding

By the time you woke up the next morning it was still raining. To your surprise of course, you would have thought after the heavy showers from last night, it would have been calmer by now. You groaned softly as you shifted in the large bed you had been resting in for the night. Your body felt incredibly weak and it felt like a chore to even adjust your position. Your sleepy, doe eyes scanned the room for the woman who had taken you in, but there was no sign of her, admittedly you felt a pang of guilt in your heart when you realized she had probably slept somewhere else once you fell asleep. You felt horrible for intruding on her privacy and even taking her bed to sleep in for the night.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even noticed the tall woman enter the room. “What thoughts are in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” She hummed upon stepping in. Your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of her. She no longer donned her sleek attire from the previous night, but instead she was dressed in a long, black nightgown. The top framed her breasts in delicate black lace and dark silk cascaded down the rest of her body, all the way down to her ankles. Rendered speechless for a moment, you blinked at her before registering what she had asked you. You cleared your throat to play off the fact that you were indeed staring her down. “I just feel bad… you’ve already done so much for me, but I can’t do much to make it up to you since I’m still sick.” You sigh before trying to sit up before making a pathetic noise of struggle and falling back down onto the bed.

She watched in amusement as you put on such a sad display and just shook her head slowly. Her light footsteps carried her to you before she bent down at the waist to loom closer to you. You tried to keep your eyes on hers, but even in your feverish, sickly state, you still found time to look at the way the neckline of her dress hung down, exposing her cleavage to you. If she noticed, she didn't say anything and instead placed a gloved hand on your chin and tilted it up to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry…” You mumbled out realizing you don’t even have a name to match the beautiful face. “Arlecchino.” She states simply, and you give her your name in return. “There is no need to repay me for anything, I just wish to see you healthy again.” You furrow your brows slightly, confused at why she was being so kind to you. “But… I don’t understand. I’m completely causing a disturbance for you and taking up space in your private home.” A frown had been creeping on your soft lips.

Instead of standing beside the bed she had taken a seat beside you by now and was keeping her gloved grip on you. It was odd she had gloves on, but again, you ignored it just like every other odd little detail about you. “Little doe, if I thought you were a burden it would have been made clear by now.” She whispered into your ear before pulling back to study you. Her eyes raked over your hair that suited your features perfectly, your blushed cheeks and slightly dewy skin from the fever, and your body… She wondered how cute you were under that long dress of yours as well. Oh how she wished she could slide her hands under to find out. She knew she’d have the chance once you were well again though. She noticed how silent you were for a moment and decided to fill the space with her own words. “So, what were you doing out there in the middle of the night? Don’t you know what dangers lurk deep in the woods late at night?” She moved her hand to soothe over your hair gently.

You knew she would eventually want to know what you were doing out there, but you thought she’d wait a bit longer before asking. There was really no point in hiding it though since she seemed like a no-nonsense type of woman. She also intrigued you in a way that made you want to spill your heart out to her, you didn’t know why though. A sigh pushed its way past your lips and you turned your head away from her. You didn’t want to be facing her just in case you started to tear up, the wounds were still fresh after all. She tutted slightly before gently guiding your gaze to her once more, “Eyes on me, doe.” The pet name tumbled from her lips so easily it almost made you melt. You nodded slowly before retelling your story and how your parents wanted to marry you off to a man twice your age.

“They never cared for me as I was the middle child.” You mention. “Not old enough to be the responsible example set for the younger ones, and not young enough to be the perfectly adorable youngest daughter.” I sniffled slightly as the tears began to fall. “They just wanted to toss me away so they could get a fortune off of me.” You try to turn your head away again, but when you look up at Arlecchino you catch a glimpse of something on her face that you can’t quite discern. Her brows were furrowed and she looked like if you spoke of your family anymore she’d snap. “I’m sorry if I said too much.” You say finally after a beat of silence, you had misread her expression for annoyance with you rather than your pathetic excuse of a family. “Never apologize for feeling.” Arlecchino says quickly, wanting to dispel any ill thoughts she thought you might have. “Your family should be the ones apologizing for treating someone like you so terribly.” She spat out, her voice full of venom for the ones who did you wrong. She surprised you and her own self with how much emotion she was feeling for you in such a short span of time. “I apologize for raising my voice, dear, but it is completely unacceptable.”

Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, and perhaps it was because you had never received this type of care before, but you liked how strongly she felt about how you were treated. “Thank you for listening and taking me in. It means everything to me… I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t stumbled into you.” I might have even gone back home, you thought to yourself. Of course you didn’t say it because the taller woman would have gone into a rant on why you would be a fool to do that. “Well, you’re free to seek shelter and companionship here with me for as long as you’d like.” Her deep voice is sincere, and it sends butterflies straight to your tummy. “I want to stay.” You blurted out before averting your eyes. Embarrassment was present on your face as you blushed even deeper than you already had been. Your eyes snapped back to her once a soft chuckle rumbled in her throat. “I see,” she starts before letting her fingers smoothe over your hair once more, “now rest up, little doe. You had a rough night and your fever isn’t improving at all. Call for me and I’ll be here to help you.” You nod your head, not trusting your voice to properly reply, and just like that she vanishes out of the room. You almost wished she had given you a kiss on the forehead, or any sort of affection, but you knew that was just your touch-starved mind running wild, and you decided to let yourself sleep more since it was still early in the day.

For the past week you had been in Arlecchino’s care and she was nothing less than attentive. Everytime you groaned about your head hurting she would be there with a cold washcloth and pain medicine for you. If you felt too cold, she’d be there with blankets, and if you were too hot she’d be there with remedies to cool you down. And even though she was highly attentive, it felt like she was a bit secretive. During the day she spent her time chatting with you, taking care of you and if you were resting she busied herself with her own affairs. When she thought you were asleep for the night she would leave the house into the dark, misty forest and return several hours later. On the occasions that she left during the day, she was always fully covered with a dark colored umbrella, and all these things were starting to make you question her. You didn’t want to prod at her too much though, so you asked simple questions such as, “Where are you off to?” or, “I heard the door late last night, what was that?” She would always answer your questions vaguely, explaining she was going out to do business with someone or running errands, but she never came home with anything, so you felt she was lying to you.

Your fever had lasted an awful long time and only after a little less than a month were you beginning to feel well again. You were able to wander through her home now and explore every little detail of it. She gave you a full tour eventually and you were in awe of how beautiful it was. She had an old library with an extensive collection of novels in it that you had no problem indulging in whenever you were bored or if Arlecchino was out. On one particular night she was gone longer than usual, and you had already finished the book you had been reading all day. You were growing bored of reading and you weren’t sure what else to do until she came home again so you decided a little snooping wouldn’t hurt.

When she toured her home for you there were a few places she either brushed past or outright stated were off limits, and as much as the latter was interested you, you didn’t want to be an absolute pest and break her trust. Instead you wandered to the old, dark wood desk Arlecchino had in the corner of her library. You ran your fingertips over the smooth wood before sauntering around the corner to sit in the chair. It was quite comfortable, and maybe you’d take advantage of it in the future if you ever wanted to write or journal at the desk. There were compartments on either side and you jiggled each of them, and to no surprise they were locked. All with the exception of one. She must have forgotten to lock it last time she was in there. You opened it slowly to reveal a black leather booklet. You brought it to the desk and examined it carefully. It opened up easily, and there was no dust in sight, so she must have been using it recently.

The first page was signed by a name you didn’t quite recognize and you wondered who this “Peruere” person was. The first entries detailed quite a mundane life, and you flipped the pages quickly until something caught your eye. The dates that had been signed at the beginning of each entry were from 1832. You wondered what Arlecchino was doing with an old diary from so long ago, but you didn’t have time to dwell because you heard the front door open and close swiftly. It seemed as if she had other business to attend to before coming upstairs to meet you. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding when you realized you wouldn’t get caught. Footsteps ascended up the steps and you knew the first place she would check was in here. You quickly made sure the diary was returned to the correct drawer before snatching a random book off of the shelf behind you and reclining in your seat at the desk. You tried to make yourself familiar with the plot of the book you were reading just in case the older woman asked you about it. You were halfway through a random page in the book before she had entered. She was surprised to not see you in your usual chair that you had taken a liking to.

She called out your name gently, but loud enough for it to fill up the large library with her deep voice. “Over here!” You called out to her, and she was there in no time. “ Ah, dear, what are you doing over here?” She questioned, slightly confused as to why you’d choose to sit at this old desk rather than the plush, spacious chair she had arranged for you. “I dunno. I was just wanting to read something from this section, but I didn't feel like walking back over there….” Arlecchino studied your features to see if there was any indication that you were lying, and once she was satisfied she hummed softly. “Very well. I brought home a meal for us, I don’t know if you have eaten yet though, my apologies for being gone so late.” She extends her hand to yours and whisks you out of your seat and close to her side. You shake your head as a no, and she leads you into the dining room, but not before she spares a glance back at the desk you were sitting at.

It was nothing too fancy, but she had brought home your favorite soup and bread to pair with it. Your mouth watered at the sight and you turn to hug her, but you stop yourself, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. The only physical touch had only been initiated by her, so you didn’t want to cross any boundaries.

She softened slightly at your cute behavior and pat you on your head gently. “Eat well, I already ate while I was out, but I wanted to bring extra for you since I recall you liked this dish when I made it for you from scratch.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you giggled softly. Arlecchino truly did take care of you so much that she had begun to notice your favorite foods in the short month you had been staying there. “Thank you Arle, you are the best.” You say softly before taking a seat and digging in. Your belly was full and warm by the time you finished and you felt yourself feeling a bit tired already. Granted it was pretty late at night and you always felt a bit sleepy after eating. You lean back in your chair before eventually taking your dirty dishes to the sink. Once they were cleaned and dried, both you and Arlecchino parted ways to get ready for slumber.

About 40 minutes later and you were freshly showered and adorned in a sweet little night gown that didn’t leave much to the imagination. You had your own room now in her home and you had made it entirely yours. It was filled to the brim with pink, frilly, princess like decor that contrasted nicely with the dark walls and gothic light fixtures. Arlecchino had made it easy for you to get everything you wanted and you had questioned just how wealthy she was, but you weren’t complaining at all. You heard two knocks on the other side of your door, and you were giddy for Arlecchino to see you in the slip dress you were wearing. “Come in!” Your honey-like voice rang out and the other women entered the room. She was wearing the same black slip dress from the first morning when you woke up in her home and your eyes wandered all over her just like the first time. The glances were mutual apparently because Arlecchino was looking you over as well, but there was no hiding her gaze. Her intense eyes were focused on you, and only you. If you played your cards right, you would be in for a long night.

#vampire heart ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 #dulcet fics ♡#arlecchino x fem reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #arleccino genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics

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pandadrake · 1 year

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They're talking about boys~~♪

...or just one specific boy

This was supposed to be just a quick sketch because I wanted to learn how to defeat my nemesis, drawing teenage girls. Then perspective and line art became my enemy. I am beset on all sides.

Too tired to render it fully, so I wont. Sometimes I draw a thing and it isn't going anywhere, but then I go to sleep, then look at it again in the morning and then I know how to fix it pretty much immediately. Remember kids, always go to sleep. Hobie pin textures from official movie concept art by Jake Panian: instagram link

#across the spiderverse #my art #spider man #spiderman #atsv fanart #spider gwen #spider punk #gwen stacy #hobie brown #atsv hobie #atsv gwen #miles morales #spider man atsv #spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles spiderverse

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hatsukeii · 2 months

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jigsaw falling into place / tsukishima kei x reader

genre(s) - frenemies to lovers if you look at it one way, and soulmates/twin flames if you look at it another, which means it's fully up to whatever you want pookies, also they are both ex dancers which is a fun little thing i had an idea for but i can't tell if it's an au, angst???

warning(s) - injury??? ankles?? yeah, injury and ankles, mentions of blood, iirc there are very slight references of reader being female but it's probably just one or two mentions at most, not a warning but it'll be more fun if you recognise the music references in this, they’re almost exclusively from radiohead because jigsaw falling into place!!!

wc: 7.0k~ (give or take)

tldr; breathe in, and surrender, let the jigsaw fall into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The first time you meet, the two of you are fourteen at De La Soul dance studio. For what reason Tsukishima has ended up in regular hip-hop rehearsals, he has never disclosed to anyone. Perhaps he was coerced into it, or maybe he had time to kill. He sticks out like a sore thumb from his first day onwards, tall and lanky, topped with a glaringly blonde mess of hair, and a pair of clunky, taped up glasses. He always sits at the mirror, his back never further than an inch away from it, wired earphones dangling from his ears down to his pockets. Of all the dancers at the studio, he is the least dancer-like. His gigantic limbs render him nothing short of stiff, and never once has he taken those earphones off during practice. Yet his feet are always quicker to adapt than his arms, and his arms are long enough to lift everybody on the team. One of those days, you sneak a look at his phone while he naps in front of the mirror, a bottle of water hanging from his loosened fingers as his feet tap rhythmically.

“Radiohead?”

His head rises groggily from his arms as he yanks his earphones off. He takes a swig from his bottle, clearing his throat from his rudely interrupted nap

“You like them too?”

“I’ve heard some.”

“Cool.”

He plugs the earphones in again as his head threatens to lower into his arms for a second nap, and you settle yourself comfortably next to him. Your original plan was to ask him for a spot, but this will suffice for now. Two tired bodies sprawled out against the cold ground, backs pressed up against the mirror. He turns to look at you, you extend a fist to him.

“Y/n.”

“Kei. Tsukishima Kei.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Bloody fingers, stained finger tape. The webs of his hands are torn, the ball won’t stop for him. He stands small as a giant amongst a court of Gods. Breathe in, breathe out. Let the blood dry as it trickles down to lace his knuckles. It’s not over yet, far from it.

His hands bleed as the water runs a murky shade of brown beneath his hands. He unravels the soggy, blood-stained tape from his fingers, and flings them into the bin, clicking his tongue when it sticks to the inside of the garbage bag.

“Get it together, Kei. What the fuck are you doing?”

His reflection does not speak back to him. All it does is stare blankly, stupid thing. He rips his glasses off, pinching his eyes with his dripping hands. Let the water in, let it wash him over. It stings in streaks of red, settles over his irises in a blurry film. The blood has dried around his cuts, clotting around skin and flesh. He cups running water in his wounded palms, and throws his face in. He stays there, unmoving as he stares at his palms. He sees you in the crowd, clear as day in his closed eyes. He sees you watching as Ukai pulls him out of the game, he sees you as he walks off the court, and into the bathrooms. He holds his breath, letting out little bubbles until his lungs become nothing but shriveled pink discs beneath his ribs, before whipping his head out, filling his lungs with oxygen again.

He wraps fresh tape around his fingers, tightening them until his fingers are stiff, and puts his glasses back on. It is far from over.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“You don’t look like you like Radiohead.”

You kick the back of Tsukishima’s knees, and they buckle slightly beneath his stiff torso.

“Shut up and learn this first.”

Three weeks since joining the studio, and those are the next words he says to you. The other dancers have migrated out of the room, taking the twenty-minute break they were promised an hour ago. You push his torso in, and tiptoe to adjust his arms. Much better.

“Look in the mirror, and remember how this looks. Then do it again, and again, every time.”

You flick the music on, letting it rumble through the dance room. This is the fifth time you have run this sequence with him, yet he just doesn’t seem to understand. He is almost there, and you will not give up on him. As the beats resonate through your skull, and the melody pulls at your ligaments and muscles, you watch Tsukishima through the mirror. He is only mimicking your movements. He is almost there, but it is not right yet.

“You’re off, go again.”

The music rewinds. He hops in place, awaiting for the cue to begin. Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up.

“It’s not right, go again.”

Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up-

“Stop it. This isn’t how you dance, Tsukishima.”

He throws his arms down in surrender, crouching down as his knees tremble beneath him. The oxygen in the room is thick, but scarce. Only traces manage to slither their way into his lungs as he breathes in, breathes out. He has done everything right, hit every move, every beat, every lyric. What could be wrong? What could possibly be out of order?

“Stop rushing the moves, and just let yourself go. You need to let it fall into place.”

“Like a jigsaw?”

You grin at his earphone, dangling haphazardly from his right ear. Of course, he loves Radiohead.

“Yeah, like a jigsaw.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It has been ten minutes. Four rounds have passed without his presence. You watch Hinata desperately sprint across the court, dashing across lines of green, white, and red. Daichi has screamed until his throat is hoarse, and wheezes are beginning to form in the back of everyone’s throats. Kageyama’s fingers are beginning to get lousy, his fingertips are flexing more than they should as he sets the ball too far, too short, too high, too low.

They need a wall. Karasuno is a kingdom without a fourth wall, and the volleyball is knocking the other ones down with every spike. Eyes are darting across the court. Feet are squeaking beneath the polished ground. The claps of skin on leather ring prominent with each receive, each hit, each block.

Tsukishima’s shadow emerges from the edge of the court’s entryway, and Ukai calls a timeout.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

His eyes flutter open from beneath his arms. His earphones have fallen off. Is break still going? A pair of feet stomp and squeak beneath the ground, yet no others follow along. He looks up. It is a lonely performance.

“You need to let it fall into place.”

Arms collapse around your torso, locking and releasing as they travel along your body from your hips, to your chest, to the air. Your arms are vines crawling up a wall, leaping across the border between greying streets and falling into the sanctuary of your garden. The shuffling of your feet guide the vines, the crevices of a brick wall paving the path for them to snake up the wall in a map of green.

It is unlike anything Tsukishima has seen, or done before.

Every move falls into place.

You turn, and he rests his head beneath his arms again. He understands now that he is not done yet. He is not even close to being there. His earphones lie pathetically on the ground beside him. Out of place. He shoves them back into his ears, letting the music wash through his head. He etches your every move into his mind, so that maybe one day, his arms may move like vines on a wall too, draping into bushes like roses in a garden.

Falling into place like a jigsaw.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The fresh tape has begun to rip again, but he must stay. The tape can’t help Tsukishima now, only his eyes can. Target their morale. Build frustration. When the frustration spills over, Shiratorizawa’s walls will falter. The redhead blocker across the net has a manic look in his eyes as the ball approaches him. Creepy. Kageyama freezes in place, as though mesmerised by the toss. Get it together, and move.

The ball is out of place, the angles are off. It’s a lagged attack, and anyone with half a brain should know. The redhead jumps, and Tsukishima follows suit. Just a bit more, get the hands over the net. Reinforce the barrier, keep it rigid. He cannot, and will not, let the wall collapse again.

The crowd behind you roars in chants and cheers as the ball is deflected, shooting into Shiratorizawa’s court as their own attack turns its back on them. The redhead clicks his tongue, sneering at Tsukishima, who approaches the net, hands shoved into his pockets. You vaguely make out Tsukishima’s remark, which sends the redhead into a tantrum.

“Hi, I’m the normal guy. Good to meet you."

He is getting cocky again, like he was before, like he always has been.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Four months in, and the team has moved from basics, to breakdancing. Tsukishima operates gracefully now, hands falling into place as pillars for his body while his legs swing in tandem with every switch of his hands.

But he’s been rubbing his elbows for the past minute, and you aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore.

As his hands settle around your waist, his wrists swell in shades of red and pink, burdened with the role of being residential breakdancer. He has been rubbing his elbows for the past two minutes. You really aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore.

“Tsukki, are you sure you can-”

“How many times have I told you already? It’s nothing, I got this.”

He adjusts his wristbands, massages his wrists one last time. He has done this countless of times before, so why are you nagging at him now? He’s perfected the shape of his hands, the way they rest under your arms, and on your waist. He’s done this more times than most dancers in this team have spoken to you. It’s just a lift.

“Three, two, one-”

The weight of your back crumbles beneath his fingers. The dull throb in his wrists extends with a pop, piercing through muscle as it blitzes its way down in pulses from his wrists, to his forearms, to his elbow.

“Fuck!”

Your body falls with a thud from approximately eight feet above ground, the side of your ankle making first impact with the floor. It does not make way for you, and your foot twists with a shuddering crack. The rest of your body follows suit, knees slamming into wood veneer as your head whips forward into the ground.

The rest of the team huddles around you, and you almost manage to muster up enough strength to beg them to leave. The oxygen in the room is running out, instead replaced by a thick fog. It rots in your lungs, poisoning your arteries as it makes its way through your bloodstream. Murmurs and shrieks are choked out from the horrified crowd, some frantically scrambling for their phones.

“...fuck.”

Tsukishima stares in horror, staggering backwards towards the mirror. It was just a lift. A lift he had done hundreds of times before. It was one lift out of hundreds, the only one out of place. His earphones dangle from his pocket, but he does not plug them in.

He reaches for his bag, and he runs. He runs until he reaches home. He doesn’t go inside, he doesn’t enter the gate, he doesn’t plug his earphones in. He stares at his hands, and his wrists don’t hurt anymore, while the stinging in his elbows is reduced to a dull soreness.

It was just one lift. One lift out of the hundreds he has done before.

He cradles his face in his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, and holds his breath until the air in his lungs goes purple.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Touched it!”

Shiratorizawa are tiring out. He can hear it in their huffs of discontent, the curses beneath their breaths at every block, their cries at every missed save. The redhead sneers at Tsukishima with every jump he makes, and each dirty look fuels him with buzzes of adrenaline. Push them a little more. Shiratorizawa’s fortress will crumble, and Karasuno will rise from the rubble.

“I hit it!”

Keep going, do not stop. Pick up the pieces of Shiratorizawa’s wall, and reinforce Karasuno’s defence with them. Deflect their attacks, use their own power against them. Watch the ball, wait for angles to align, and strike. They will falter soon, he can see it in their panicked eyes, feel it in their impatient strategies.

“Touch!”

His calls echo through the court. Your eyes dart between the ball, Tsukishima’s hands, Shiratorizawa, Tsukishima’s hands, then the ball, an unending series of attacks and counterattacks. Your breath hitches with every jump he makes. He moves powerfully, his timing precise on every block. His eyes are attentive, nimble fingers swipe left and right automatically at Shiratorizawa’s feints and tricks. You can almost hear the gears overclocking in his head, stopwatches ticking and springing him off his feet as they ring.

It is unlike anything you have seen before.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Another jigsaw puzzle for me?”

Tsukishima hovers over your bed, a jigsaw set in hand. Your cast pokes out from beneath the blankets, glaringly obvious. Third degree ankle injury, complete tear of the ligament on impact, is what the podiatrist said.

“Just the sixth one this month, you’ve got another month to go in that cast. It’s a thousand pieces this time.”

His weight sinks the mattress beneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him unbox the jigsaw set. Across your bed, two other assembled puzzles sit atop your dresser, jigsaw albums framed in glass panels. The loose pieces tumble to the ground, and Tsukishima peels the blanket off you, sitting next to the pile of jigsaw pieces on the floor. Lifting your foot up, and off the bed, you settle on the ground across him, the pile sitting between the two of your legs.

“Corners first?”

“Yeah, corners first.”

The pieces fall into place quickly. One tends to become acquainted with the rough edges of jigsaw pieces in times of boredom, especially when their friend brings a new set to their house every week or so. The colour scheme keeps you guessing. What album is it this time? The Bends? Room On Fire? The two of you assemble away quietly, carefully lifting portions of the puzzle into the glass frame.

“Kei.”

He lifts his head from his work, the centre of the puzzle laid delicately over his palms.

“You know, they told me I probably can’t dance like that again.”

He freezes, the puzzle falling from his hands and shattering on the frame. He sees the vines, but they wither, retreating back into the concrete streets, limping into the road where cars will drive over them without a care. They will never return to the garden again, replaced with thorns on a bush instead.

He cannot fix this. No amount of forcing the oxygen out of his lungs after every lonely dance practice, or buying puzzles of different albums, or sitting on your bedroom floor for hours every week, building puzzles by your side silently, or reimagining how he should’ve refused to do the lift, how his hand should have cradled your body the same way he had done it hundreds of times before, will ever fix this.

“And you’re just…okay with that?”

You smile melancholically, tilting your cast-adorned ankle. Picking up the pieces of the centre, you reassemble them quietly, head bowed as your lips quiver and your eyes droop. Tsukishima watches in horror, his hand reaching behind him for his bag.

“Do I have a choice?”

You place the final piece in place. In Rainbows, classic.

You look up, and he is not there.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Kageyama turns to glance at Tsukishima. A follow up attack after a net bounce will certainly tire them out. His foot pivots, having just hit the ground from a futile block attempt. The tape is loose on the sides now, peeling off around the edges and the rips. The redhead’s manic glares from across the net have since progressed to tired psychopathy, and he intends to milk every last drop of energy from his mind. May the best mental processor win.

You watch him sprint, and he leaps, higher than he ever has. Tsukishima is agile, six foot two but light as a feather on his feet. His waist twists with his shoulders, his arms pulled back into a bow, ready to shoot. Yet something is odd. He is holding back. You watch the ball travel away from Tsukishima across the front court, positioning itself right in front of Tanaka’s hand as he strikes. There is a hole in Shiratorizawa’s defence, and the redhead knows it. He sneers, eyes darting wildly across the court as he runs to block, but the ball breaks through their fortress, slamming into the ground.

Another hole in the wall.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The next time you and Tsukishima meet, it is your first year in Karasuno. You hadn’t seen, or spoken to him since the night he ran away from your house. Calls were sent straight to voicemail, messages were left on received, before not being sent at all. You waited day and night for his next song recommendation, his next album review, his next puzzle. The In Rainbows puzzle sits amongst the rest atop your dresser, and every time you glance at it from your bed, an unsettling weight settles on your chest.

Was that all you were to him? An ex dance partner?

To think that all those hours spent with a pair of earphones stretched between your heads as you assembled thousands of puzzle pieces into mosaics of music, tucked away into the corners of your lives, would have amounted to something. All the silent celebrations at each completed set, the late nights that the two of you worked in, gluing each jigsaw piece in place until they fitted together perfectly, all that made you believe the two of you had something special, something that quietly encompassed the space between your working minds and gentle fingers. You did not know him enough to amount to more than friends, but you knew enough about how he thought, moved, felt. You knew enough about the music he liked, his preference of building from corners, the way his palms cushioned your waist as he lifted you into the air. You knew enough for a friendship to have sufficed. Nothing more, nothing less, if he so desired.

How audacious. How audacious of him to waltz into your life, a perfectly assembled puzzle, and watch it shatter on the ground, all without a single apology.

The first Friday at Karasuno high, you are silent. The limp in your right leg goes unnoticed by most, yet the crowded halls prove a challenge, after-school rush is a true menace. You stay back, waiting for the crowd to die down, as your head turns to the billboard.

“Hip-hop Wednesdays! See you after school at the gym’s dance hall!”

Your mouth twitches, the unravelling of arms and shuffling of feet rushing into your head again. No, this won’t work. Doctor’s- no, podiatrist’s orders. The poster is alluring, however, and your eyes seem to linger at its warm invitation, until they are rudely knocked away from it.

“Why are you standing in a crowd rush, idiot?”

You turn to the voice, clear as day amongst the chatter of students and the quickening steps behind you. Amber eyes meet yours, narrow at first, then widening in shock as they register your presence. You bite the inside of your lip, pushing down his name as it claws its way up your throat. He stands taller now, towering over you as his eyes travel between your left and right irises. The wired earphones have been replaced by a shinier pair of headphones, a pair that won't dangle from his ears, or stretch between two heads anymore.

He stares, just long enough for the green-haired boy beside him to notice. Your name threatens to spill out of his mouth, but the letters tangle up in knots, blocking his windpipe. He imagines what it will be like to blurt it out, to let the words ring in your eardrums as he runs towards you. He hears himself in his head, his voice returning to its prepubescent meekness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

He stares, just long enough to imagine the contempt in your eyes, the disdain in the curl of your lips, your sharp, stinging voice, shattering his final sliver of hope.

“How could you do this to me?”

He stares, just long enough to replay the lift again. The way your ankle twists and pops on impact with the ground, your panicked wheezes, his frantic sprint home at the realisation of what he had done. He has replayed the lift enough times to know where he should put his hands this time, how he should prop your body up against his palms, how he should admit that his elbows hurt- have hurt for weeks, even months. And his wrists, and his fingers, and his chest.

He stares, just long enough to rethink blurting out your name, and running towards you, but not long enough to regret turning away, and blending into the crowd again, speaking of volleyball instead of dance, Lamp instead of Radiohead.

Yet regret is a wisp of thick fog, trailing him insidiously as he descends the stairs, far away from you, from his guilt, from the mistake that will haunt him for as long as he lives.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

You see yourself in front of the gym anyways on Wednesday. You decide that you will not dance, you are only in your uniform and leather shoes after all. The gym door swings open to the sight of sweaty teenage boys donning sweatshorts and t-shirts, smacking volleyballs left and right, and you wonder how you are supposed to make your way into the dance room, tucked away in the corner of the gymnasium. You step inside, shuffling along the wall as balls shoot over your head, and land next to you, in front of you, behind you.

Yamaguchi nudges at Tsukishima's torso, watching you jog through the chaos of serving drills. He senses something wrong, something horribly out of place.

"Isn't that the girl? From last week?"

Tsukishima's eyes are trained onto the roll of tape, pulling it taught around his fingers. He chucks the roll onto a bench, and bounces the ball in his hand three times exactly, before holding it up with an outstretched arm. He pretends to aim his serve, but his eyes follow you as you scurry your way across the gym, and into the dance room.

"Who?"

Yamaguchi frowns. Tsukishima hits the serve out of bounds.

The dance room is empty, spare of around eight people. Their sneakers squeak against the ground, and you wince at the familiar noise. You set your bag down in front of the mirror, plugging a pair of earphones into your phone as you stick one in your ear, and shove your phone into your pocket. Leaning against the side of the mirror, you watch the members intently. They laugh, sweat dripping from their hair as their feet tangle together in shuffling drills. You wonder how it feels to join them, to loosen up the gears in your system- no, podiatrist's orders.

But they are happy, just as you felt when you once could move your feet as you pleased. They are content as they adjust each other's arms, and roll their hands across their bodies, just as you were when you used to push Tsukishima's torso into the right spot, and guide his arms through from his head, to around his chest- this is not the place for him to be. He ran away from you, left your puzzle pieces shattered and unruly, just to run back and remind you of what could have been. Cruel.

Fuck podiatrist's orders. A bit of light footwork can't hurt.

Music blares from your earphones, and your body moves with it intuitively. Arms first, popping and dragging as your feet glide across the ground with ease, then fingers, curling up and releasing in waves. The beat thunders through your skull, and it is only a matter of time until the others notice you. They cheer, they clap, they holler, and the limp in your leg fades away as the pieces of your puzzle begin to come together again.

A lonely figure watches you, ten feet from the doorway, before being joined by a green-haired boy

"Who is that, Tsukki?"

Yamaguchi doesn't notice how Tsukishima's eyes threaten to brim with tears. The vines have regained their life. They have returned to their rightful garden, receding from the road and into the rose bushes again, where they wrap around thorn-infested stems. He rolls his shoulders, squeezes his elbows, massages his wrists until the knots untangle. You never needed his lift, or his jigsaw puzzles, all you needed was a pair of earphones, music, and the floor was yours again.

"Yeah... yeah, just somebody that I used to know."

He walks back to his side of the gymnasium.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Tsukishima's feet hit the ground, hands unscathed. Ushijima glares at him from across the net, meeting eye to eye without so much of a lift of his head. The twitch of his mouth speaks his mind as he eyes Karasuno's blockers up and down.

Don't fuck with us. Know your place beneath the doves, you scrambling crows.

How despicable.

Letting two clean hits strike their court has knocked down Karasuno's walls, and Tsukishima can feel the foundations beginning to crumble again. Shiratorizawa are reclaiming the rubble that Karasuno has collected, and he is unable to reconstruct the craters that are forming in their defence. He is using his mind, moving as the information wills him to, watching the ball, visualising the parabolic trajectory as the maximum height aligns with the palm of Shiratorizawa's hitters, springing to defend as the stopwatches click and ring in his head.

So why is nothing working?

No, don't let your own tricks fool you, Kei. Target their minds, when their morale crumbles, their walls will follow. Clear your head. Breathe in, breathe out.

His head turns to you, watching from the stands. Your eyes widen, a deer in headlights being caught in its glare. It is a long shot, he knows, but he needs his mind to flood with your words. Something, somewhere in there, must be the answer to his bleeding prayers. He is missing the central jigsaw piece. Think. Remember.

You freeze, his eyes burning holes into your own. You know him well enough to notice his knuckles trembling, and his eyebrows twitching erratically, and the confusion in his eyes, barricaded by the glare in his glasses, but evident nonetheless. You think you are hallucinating. Why is he looking at you? How did he notice you from the stands, amidst the chaos of their battle on the court?

What does he want?

Ukai's whistle blows, and his hands form a T, calling for a timeout. Tsukishima's eyes do not abandon yours. His lips are separated, just a bit more than usual as he drowns in the air around him. Think, Tsukishima. Where is the answer?

Where is the missing piece?

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It takes you another five months to speak to Tsukishima again. The thought of him has been suppresssed until it is nothing but a snowflake drifting to the ground, the summer of your partnership reduced to nothing but a bleak, inglorious winter. You make friends, more friends than you have ever had. The eight members of the dance club become your new family, the ones who collect your shattered jigsaw pieces, and gently place them back in order, one by one. It is good. You are good.

But why is it that every time his blurry figure passes your eyes as you leave the gymnasium, tall, and lingering, and familiar, a piece falls out again?

Every Wednesday, you wait for the dance room to empty, for the others to pack away their things and make their way home, the sun descending behind the horizon of the school. You wait until they are out of sight, away from the vicinity of the gymnasium, and you stay.

You stay, and watch his figure from behind the door, tall, and lingering, and familiar.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. You know that you didn't deserve it, what Tsukishima had done. He had, for a lack of a better word, crippled you, and you forgave him. He had never apologised, yet you forgave him as if he had anyways. You were never a fan of jigsaw puzzles, yet you amused him as he relentlessly brought them to you, day after day, week after week. The two of you would stretch a singular pair of worn out, flimsy earphones between your heads every night, sprawled across your bedroom floor. His fingers would tap the floorboards beneath him, syncing with the rhythm of the music, and yours would follow.

"Thanks for the puzzle, Tsukki."

"I'll come back with another one next week, okay?"

And he did, he really did, for weeks, until one day he didn't. Until one day, he decided that it was too much, too heavy of a burden, and he ran. And the days became weeks, the weeks months, and the months into an uneventful Friday, when he rudely runs into you amidst the crowded halls of Karasuno High.

And still, somewhere deep in your chest, your heart feels no contempt. Not even a trace of disdain. It has every right to, yet it lets go, and you forgive him silently.

You catch yourself staring now, your eyes refocusing as four eyes meet your own. You have been caught.

"Tsukki, go, now." The green-haired boy speaks imperatively. He can sense it everywhere, from the way Tsukishima freezes, to the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows hard, to the way his hands instinctively massage his wrists for no reason. Something is balanced, but horribly out of place. Something is so fragile that the mumble of a name will shatter its carefully sustained equilibrium.

So you run.

You run until they are out of sight, until all you hear are the confused murmurs of teenage boys, chattering amongst themselves as they stay behind to hone their techniques in the sickly white light of the gymnasium. Heavy steps follow behind yours, equally as desperate.

“y/n, please!”

A hand reaches out for, and just barely misses your wrist, limbs stretched as far as they can to catch up. Moths flutter around a wall mounted moth trap on the school building, aimless, persistent. You wish in that moment that you too can participate in their aimless worship of a buzzing trap, bask in the scathing heat of its radiation, deadly as a running current to your fragile body. Anything to avoid this. You swing around, and he staggers back.

“What do you want from me, Tsukishima?”

The words tangle in this throat again, blocking his windpipes. He is running out of time. He can see the stars on your converses pivoting away, threatening to leave him behind in his own pile of jigsaw pieces. Get it together, Kei. Untangle the words, pick them apart with every finger you have, force the knots through the throat if they won’t come apart. Anything to face this.

“I’m sorry."

You stop in your tracks to face him. He can't even look you in the eye. Pathetic.

"I’m so sorry, y/n. I’m sorry I ruined your life, and I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it.”

"What?"

The words rush out of your throat, the force of a million tonnes unable to suppress them any longer. You step up to him, disliking how your closeness makes you want to falter, to openly forgive him, to acknowledge that you need his fingers to put it back, so that the final piece will fall into place permanently.

“Fix it?”

Your finger jabs at his chest with every scathing sentence. He doesn’t retaliate. He stands in place, pitiful, expectant. He is smaller than you, compressed into nothing but a moth attracted to a trap.

“I didn’t need your fixing, Kei! I didn’t ask for you to fix me!”

The air between you is congealed, heavy with your frantic breaths, and the deafening silence from Tsukishima’s pursed lips. A moth touches the light, and falls to the ground, twitching lifelessly as the electricity surges through its fragile body.

“All I wanted was to finish another puzzle with you!”

He grabs your wrist, your finger jabbed into the dip of his ribs, and your fist loosens. What now? Should he pull you towards him, so he can be sure that he knows where to place his hands this time? Should he grab your shoulders, and beg for your hatred, after all that he has failed to do? Should he turn away, shriveled and cowardly, knowing that there is nothing he can do that will ever make amends for what he has done to you?

"I loved watching you dance. All I wanted was to be like you."

He smiles sadly, releasing your wrist from his grasp as it falls to your side. He takes a step back, away from you.

"Don't let me hold you back."

He has never held you back, not his mistake, not his abandonment either. And he will not hold you back now, not like this, even if you want him to.

You turn away, and leave him under the light of the moth trap.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Ukai's words drone on as Tsukishima shoves the ribbon of limp, ripped up tape from his fingers into his pockets. He wraps a new piece around his palms this time, that is what is holding him back. He is lying to himself.

Don't look up. Don't look at the stands. Keep your head down, and your mind intact. Reinforce Karasuno's walls to break Shiratorizawa's fortress.

"Tsukishima! Are you hearing this?"

He looks up from his hands, yes, yes he is hearing it. He is definitely hearing it.

"Sorry?"

Ukai rubs his temples, and adjusts his hairband.

"Fuck, whatever, stay off for a bit until you're ready. Hinata, take his place. Let's get it going again."

Look up, y/n is right there. They're watching. They have the answer.

His head lifts towards the stands, and you are gone.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The green-haired boy, who you now know is Yamaguchi, practically begs for you to watch the Shiratorizawa finals. You aren't sure how he finds you, but he does, bumbling and clumsy as he shuts the door to the dance hall behind him, careful not to attract any attention.

"Please, not for Tsukki, but for us. We need him, or this game may as well be over before it even starts."

"He's been doing fine without me there, what makes you think I need to go?"

Yamaguchi has returned to his usual, meek self, rendered speechless by your retort. He doesn't think that you need to go, he knows it. He knows it in the way Tsukishima rubs his elbows before every round, and the way he squeezes his wrists until they are all the shades of pink. He knows it in the noises that plague Tsukishima's mind as he estimates the angles of contact, predicts the trajectory of the ball. He knows it in Tsukishima's movements, the movements of a machine, but not a player.

"Please, I'm begging you, just this once."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

And that is how you end up here, staring at your own reflection in the Shiratorizawa changing room mirrors.

"Get it together, y/n. What the fuck are you doing?"

Should you go back to the stands? No, he'll find you, and you aren't sure how you will react this time. You haven't rehearsed the clever things that you can say to him, nor the articulation of your rampant, conflicting emotions. Why did he find you? How did he find you, hidden so well amongst the roaring crowd of Karasuno students? You twist the tap open, disgruntled, and shove your face into the running water, letting it roll down your chin, seep into your shirt, enter the canals of your ears. Whipping your head out, you shut the tap, running your dry hands over your face and wiping it down with your arms.

"y/n?"

How?

"I need help."

You shove your hands in your pockets, stepping away from the mirror and turning to face Tsukishima, who stands at the wall outside the doorway. His glasses rest above his head, hair pushed back by the frames. The same look of confusion paints his face pale, and his hands surrender by his sides, fingers twitching erratically.

"I don't know what's wrong. Nothing is working. The angles are right, I know exactly where the ball is going, but I can't stop it. It just keeps coming, and I'm throwing the game away because my body just won't fucking work with me," He collapses to the ground, knees buckling beneath him as his back slides down along the wall. He props his elbows up by his knees, wrists pressed together in frustration.

You know exactly what it is. Fuck it.

You walk up to him, his body hunched in desperation, hopelessness, embarrassment. His eyes dart around, avoiding yours, and he hangs his head low as a last ditch attempt to turn away from you.

No, this won't do. He needs to go back to the summer.

Your crouch to his level, and your hand grabs his chin, fingers pinching it tight as you push his head up to face you. His eyes are teary now, like a dog begging for its owner to come home. You think carefully about your next words. It is now, or nothing.

"Breathe in, and surrender."

You can see the disillusionment in his eyes as his gears turn again, grasping at your words as he tries to decipher them. No, he is still not getting it.

"No, stop it. Stop turning the gears."

You pull his face towards yours, and you can feel his breath hitch, inches away from your own.

"This game, it is all just a dance. An extended routine with a prop that hovers back and forth above the ground. There is no order, so stop turning the gears. Let it go, use your senses."

His eyes widen as you release his chin from your grip. And for the first time in almost a year, you smile in his face. He understands now, you had the answer all along. You stand up, and offer him your hand. Neither of you notice Yamaguchi at the entrance to the hallway, grinning knowingly. He was right to convince you.

"You need to let it fall into place."

That cocky smirk slithers onto his face again, but there is a tinge of something else there. Something that encompasses the inches between the two of you. Something that is rearranging the shattered pile of jigsaw pieces that Tsukishima has been standing in for as long as he has left you. He should have found you sooner, approached you earlier, bought you the next puzzle that you waited for.

"Like a jigsaw?"

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

As he re-enters the court, Tsukishima is a changed man. You watch from the stands, holding your breath as he takes his place in the front. The redhead scoffs at his return, the others roll their eyes, rub their temples, click their tongues. All Tsukishima does is adjust his glasses, hands by his head in anticipation for the first smack of the ball.

They will tire themselves out. Watch the ball, envision its path. Let your body move as it wills.

The ball flies across the net, landing on the platform of Shiratorizawa's fortress. He watches its path. It is in the air. Let it be, it is not in place yet. He can see the frustration in Shiratorizawa's eyes at his return. Push them, just a bit more, until the frustration begins to overflow and spill around the edges of their defences.

The ball approaches the small one on the side, and you watch as it slips from his fingers. They are getting impatient, the toss is too short, too tight to hit perfectly, even with Ushijima's formidable strength. You smirk as the ball curves in its path, ever so slightly out of place for Shiratorizawa, perfectly in place for Karasuno. This is what you have been waiting for.

And it seems that this is what Tsukishima has been waiting for too.

"Let it fall into place."

This is it, this is the place, and the time, and the position, and the angle, and everything in between. He glances at you for a millisecond, and your gaze is clear as day, amongst the hundreds that surround you.

"Like a jigsaw?"

Ever so subtly, you nod. He understands now.

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

These are the final pieces, falling into place in tandem with each other.

He jumps, and the ball strikes his palm like a canonball, deflecting back into Shiratorizawa's court, too quickly for anybody to save it, too close to Ushijima for anybody to reach. The others stare in shock. His own team, those on the other side of the net, those in the stands. The court is pitch silent, the sound of leather on hardwood reverberating through his skull.

It is only one block. One block out of hundreds he has done before. One point out of twenty five.

Yet as he raises his fist, gripping it hard, your chest swells with pride.

"LET'S GO KEI! LET'S FUCKING GO!"

Your cry leads the crowd behind you as a flurry of cheers and applause commences. Even amongst the roaring cries of excitement from above, from behind, from beside, his mind trains onto your voice, and your voice only.

The lift of the final jigsaw piece that falls into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

author's note:

man this was so fun to write, too bad i need to go back to studying for my high school finals after this </3

omg also i need to gush about @starlysama because their sunflower fic fully threw me back into my fanfiction writing frenzy and it was so good and i spent like twenty minutes with my eyes trained to my phone no blinking while i read their work it was INCREDIBLE and i love you

also i really did put my heart and soul and tutoring hours into this so i really hope you guys like it ngl or i will cry please don't get scared at the word count it's not that bad I PROMISE also please feel very very welcome to comment or reblog because i love reading them so much

okay bye bye everyone see you soon

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mischiefesse · 4 months

Text

♫︎ ◞ ⸝⸝ MISS ROBIN TUMBLR LAYOUTS

° ♬ ◞ Self Indulgent

♪ ◞ ∘ Interact and CREDIT to use

° ♩ ◞ PSD(isomalt glass) by Ylva

♫︎ ◞ ⸝⸝ NO kin Id Me tags unless fraise or rosey

Render credits:

#❛ 𔓕— my edits ꒱ˎˊ˗ ❜#layouts #Tumblr layout #pink layout #blue layout #hsr layout #robin #robin hsr #honkai star rail #hsr

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ashipiko · 3 months

Note

would you draw... a single august a3! 🤲

<3 of COURSE user augustmishas

WOULD AUGUST DO A THUMBS UP. sure hope so

#don’t look at the clothes too hard the rendering was a time killer #😭😭 it’s so??? MAYBE RENDERING DARK CLOTHES IS JUST HELL FOR ME #ANYWAY. first time drawing august very cute would do again #hope you enjoy <3 #august a3!#a3 art #a3 #a3!#a3! art #a3! fanart #a3! act addict actors #ashipiko draws ♪

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

Text

He Tells Me

Masterlist

You've fallen into psychological stalemate with a man who does things for you without needing to be asked, and neither of you want to give up the last say.

Joel Miller x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, fluff, overgiver!joel & yn, ellie 'JUST FUCKING KISS ALREADY' williams, typos, etc.

A/N: ive fallen into this song again. ITS SO JOEL CODED

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @multifandom-fangirl4

▶ ♪ Play touch tank by quinnie ♪ ◀

I love you isn't always I and Love and You; it isn't always the words that tumble out of your mouth or the lump that's stuck in your throat.

I love you isn't always a kiss and a hug; it isn't always the way lips brush against skin or chests press against chests.

Sometimes it's good mornings. Good morning, I love you. Did you sleep well, I love you. Have you eaten, I love you.

I love you, I did the dishes.

I love you, I fixed your faulty light.

Hey, let me carry that for you.

This reminded me of you, here.

I think you'd like this.

I love you.

But somehow, those I love yous read to you as you owe mes, and now, you were paying back every bit of your debt with blood, sweet, and a burnt hand.

Ellie opens the door and smiles, immediately calling your name and pulling you into a side hug. You lean into her embrace as much as the steaming casserole in your hand will allow you.

"You made it just in time for dinner!" she says, pushing you in with her.

You chuckle, "oh, Elle-machine. I'm just here to drop this off and-"

"Don't be silly," a voice cuts you off. Joel comes down from the stairs, barely glancing your way as he overtakes you both, heading for the kitchen. Still, you notice his faint smile and a shot of electricity ripples down your spine, a swell of warmth crawls up your ears.

Joel walks off, grunting as he did, "you're staying for dinner. End of story."

Ellie watches you be rendered frozen in your spot. She does not hide her grin, "he just called you silly."

You turn to her, finding the pot in your hand was feeling heavier, "... he did."

You and Ellie make it to the dining table and you set the food you prepared on a table next to the other dishes.

"Wow," you mutter, "roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a salad," you look up at Joel, who was walking over with another pot. He sets the pot down as you turn to Ellie, "is it your birthday or something?"

"No," Ellie sit down with a smile, "Joel just knows I'm a growing child who needs her food."

You bring a hand to your mouth to hold in your giggles. Joel catches this and furrows his brows.

"Consider me jealous, honey," you tease her.

"Well, you could always move in with us," Ellie props her elbows on the table.

Before you can reply, Joel takes your hand, making both you and Ellie turn to him. Your heart pounds. His expression hardens as he takes in the cloth wrapped around your palms, "what happened to your hand?"

You watch him examine your hand a second too long. Joel looks back at out, ripping a response from your lips, "I- uh- the... the casserole."

Joel raises his brows, "you burnt your hand cooking?"

The worry in his brown eyes ate away at your heart. You clench your jaw, unwilling to admit you were a useless and bad cook, "... no."

Joel thinks back to the contents of the first aid kit in the compound.

"I- I was doing something with the pot and then I-"

"I think Tommy has burn ointment somewhere," Joel trails off, immediately releasing my hand and marching off.

Your stomach drops. You immediately catch his arm, "wait!"

Joel stops in his tracks, looking back at you.

"It's not a big deal!" you say through an airy chuckle, "I put it under running water for a while. I just put a wrap because it hurts when I-"

His hand, warm and gentle, coming atop yours cuts you off. Joel shifts in his spot; your ears perk, as they were sensitive to the sound of his boots. He gives you a look, a kind one, a patient one, a tender one, "it isn't a big deal. I'll be back in two seconds."

The moment Joel walks off, Ellie pipes up, "you should just take a seat. You know you can't argue with him. Well, I mean you can but that normally doesn't end up well." She pats on the empty chair beside her, "want to hear about what I did in school today instead?"

You release a soft breath and smile, "of course, darling."

When Joel came back, he announced there was no burn ointment, but he did find an ice pack. The only problem now, there was no ice. And so as the three of you began to eat, he explained he'd fix the broken ice cream freezer in the warehouse and make ice for you tomorrow. To which you said-

"You really don't have to," you shake your head, suddenly too embarrassed to get anymore food than you already had on your plate. You had one scoop of mashed potatoes.

Joel moves the bowl of mash closer to you then takes off the lid of one pot, "I meant to do it anyway. They found spare parts for it. Now I have a reason," he turns to you, "have some pasta. I made it for you."

Your eyes land on the pot. You begin to feel a nasty little feeling claw up your nape at the thought of Joel going out of his way for you. I mean, you made the casserole to repay him for helping you do your laundry, and if it wasn't bad enough that he saw your underwear, he made you food, one of your favorites. You offer Joel a smile, "thank you, Joel."

He reaches out to your for your plate. You hand it to him wordlessly. He mutters, "you're welcome, sweetheart."

Your lips part. He's never called you that before, only Ellie.

He stills the moment he has your plate in hand, "I- I mean-"

"NAH," Ellie cuts as she rips off a chicken leg, "you called her sweetheart. No take backsies."

Joel clears his throat as he puts pasta on your plate.

When you all finished eating, not a lick was left on your plates. You obviously insisted on washing the dishes and Joel countered you wouldn't be because you were a guest. The back and forth became so insufferable Ellie stepped up and volunteered, insisting instead that Joel walk you back home. You had no means to insist your way out of that.

And so you waited by the front door for Joel to get his jacket from the second floor. When he got it, the two of you headed out, walking quite leisurely.

"You know," you shove your hands in your pockets. You couldn't help it, "my house is literally, like, two steps away from here. You don't have to walk-"

Joel draping his jacket around your shoulders silence you. He pulls the thing by the collar, making sure it was snug on you, "yeah. All the more reason to walk you, since it's so close."

You watch him pull his pants up as he looks around. He offers, "but if it's a challenge you want, we can circle 'round the compound a bit before heading back to yours."

A warmth envelopes you, and it's not because of his jacket.

He turns to you when you don't respond, immediately blurting, "only if you want," he wipes his lips, "I'm not trying to make you do-"

"No, I know," you shake your head, "I know what you mean."

You and Joel look at each other in the quiet while walking. He takes a moment before nodding. He chuckles rather uneasily, "okay... good- that's good."

Seconds pass with just the sound of your footsteps between you.

You decide to say what's on your mind, "Uh," you turn to your feet.

Joel immediately locks his gaze on you.

"Next time," you purse your lips, "just leave the pasta to me."

Joel knits his brows. Damn.

"You know..." you look away, "like, I'm glad you invited me over and all, but you-"

"Was it that bad?"

You finally turn to him, "what?"

"Was my cooking that bad?" Joel feels his insides churn. He feels so stupid suddenly for not following the recipe to a tee. Damn his personal tastes.

You shake your head, "no. No! Your cooking was great! It wasn't bad at all. I enjoyed it. This isn't about your cooking."

He makes a face, "oh..."

You nod, clarifying, "I just- you don't have to do that for me."

He takes a moment to think. Oh... He snorts and rubs his nose, "ah... I see."

You knit your brows at that.

Joel's shoulder's slump. It was him then. Well, he doesn't blame you for not being interested. He releases a breath. It was stupid of him anyway. He thinks of a flimsy excuse to break the tension. It a horrible lie, "sorry, uh, it's just-- Ellie just really wanted to eat with you."

His words make you knit your brows deeper. You blink twice, "Ellie... wanted me to join?"

"Yeah," Joel huffs, "she thinks your great."

You nod slowly.

"But... if you don't want to eat with me, I'll make sure to-"

"Wait, what?"

The both of you stop walking.

Joel feels his insides disintegrate when you look at him the way you do. He looks away and clears his throat. Man up, "I... don't want to make you uncomfortable with any... unwanted advances."

"Wait," you quickly step forward. You rapidly shake your head, "no! I..." you raise your brows, "I just- I don't want to burden you with... with- d-doing things for me."

A deep line forms between Joel's brows, "burden? Who said anything about burdens?"

You look away as you continue to shake your head, "I- I don't know. I just- I don't want to bother you-"

"JUST KISS ALREADY!"

Both of you snap to the side There, from the second floor window, was Ellie, head sticking out of the window. She cups her mouth with her hand and screams again, "KIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSS!"

You look away from her. You turn to your feet as you feel your face burn.

Joel's loud voice surprises you, "GO TO BED!"

"I'M NOT 4!" Ellie screams back.

Joel decides to end the screaming match with a grumble, "well, you're damn acting like one." He turns back to you, "sorry about her, she's-"

"I really like you," you blurt when you look back at him, "I really like being around you."

Joel feels his fingers tingle.

Your impulsiveness only now begins to feel like a bad idea, "I-" your voice gets smaller, "it's not unwanted advances... not per se... It's just- when people do things for me, I don't- well, I don't know, I-"

"You can't just accept it?"

You stare at each other for a moment. You nod. Joel nods too.

"I'm usually the one giving, ya know," you say.

Joel nods again, "I do. I feel the same way. I don't like needing to get help from anyone," he crosses his arms, "but, you know, being with Ellie... she's taught me that sometimes-"

"FUCKING KISS HER OLD MAN!"

You can't contain the snort that leaves your mouth. Joel shoots a glare to his side. Still, he breaks into a chuckle, "I'm gonna kill her."

Ellie makes a face and waves her hands, "NO! DON'T LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT- oh my god he actually did it."

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