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ceilidho · 5 days ago

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Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him.

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression.

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway.

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair.

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply.

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat.

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch.

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap.

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings.

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months.

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days.

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief.

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly.

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften.

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son.

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby.

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t.

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again.

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now.

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself.

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on.

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice.

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details.

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it.

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck.

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive.

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down.

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy.

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth.

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile.

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting.

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are.

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass.

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down.

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends.

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back.

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you.

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness.

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture?

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding.

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way.

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous.

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs.

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait—I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin.

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place.

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel.

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do.

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet.

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations.

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy.

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—”

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep.

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts.

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest.

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun.

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric.

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent.

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple.

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root.

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better.

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room.

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead.

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs.

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast.

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep.

“Not bad,” you whisper.

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader

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muppetebbtide · 4 months ago

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I think often about the heavy irony of John laughing at Wake's name and mocking BOE's naming systems. BOE are trying to preserve lost Earth culture, but clueless of context, their fragmented merging of high and low culture comes across as silly to John (and us. But it's a noble attempt to preserve everything, even the stuff that wouldn't necessarily seem 'worth' saving. But what does John rename his friends? Pyrrha and Cassiopeia and Ulysses and Augustine. He also names almost everything after Earth culture, but it's literary/religious/historical 'high' culture. BOE is scrabbling to save everything possible, but John has the privilege of context and memory, and so he picks and chooses what's 'worthy' of being used or shared. Low culture is reserved for his little jokes with himself— though honestly, a lot of his references to earth culture full stop seem to be inside jokes at the expense of others. I doubt Cassiopeia knew she was named after the infamously vain ancient queen, for example. John also quotes things at people without explaining what he means, like when he quotes Shakespeare and Hans Christian Andersen at Harrow; he's not really sharing it, he's mostly using it to isolate the other person in the conversation, or make himself seem unknowable and superior. It's honestly very telling that when given the choice John will name most things biblically or classically. It does partially feel like he's desperately scraping to preserve something of his childhood and the home he destroyed (especially with the renaming of Gideon to the Māori translation Kiriona, but... well, he literally renamed her and made her into a walking corpse teenage soldier so :/), but when you look at how he deploys earth culture on the whole, it usually becomes weird and imperialistic and weaponised. He's not really preserving lost art, he's selectively using it for his own agenda, and he's often using the two biggest things that were ever co-opted by conservatives and imperialists, the classical world and biblical convention.

#I wonder if you looked at the people who make the most 'low' culture refs if they'd all be people who pose a severe threat to John?#pyrrha for sure. gideon and ianthe are currently having their imperialist prince eras but are both probably double agents to various degrees #a lot of em are just there to be funny though and that's fine w me shfjdjjd #the locked tomb #john gaius #gideon the ninth #does this make sense. I'm tired #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #tlt #commander wake #my post

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starlitscars · 2 months ago

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Made of ice

Jackson era! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you.

Word count: 5.2k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, implied age gap, canon-typical violence, Joel Miller needs his own warning, protective! Joel, soft! Joel, angst, fluff, smut, finger sucking, fingering, pet names, praise kink, language, no use of y/n, soft dom! Joel, negative thoughts, dea*h wish, self-doubt, self-confidence issues, Joel is a sweetheart here (but he doesn't think he's worthy of peace), rain, lots of rain, lightning, stormy weather, kinda established relationship, let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: This is my very first attempt at writing for Joel Miller. I've had the idea in my mind for a few weeks now and it's hard to resist when it comes to him (did I say Pedro Pascal?) So I hope the details are accurate and if you decide to read this one shot, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it. If you want to be mutuals, I'll be more than glad <3

Divider by: saradika-graphics

Made of ice

You should've seen what you made of him.

The calm, slow beats in his chest are strikingly different from how he remembers them. In fact, he vaguely recalls the way those racing, dreadful patterns had carved themselves into his memory. With a rigid heart made of ice, it was nearly impossible to find the pulse in him, even at his most frightened, disappointed state.

Joel used to walk into the face of danger with a rifle clutched in his dying grip, a life to save and thousands to destroy, and in all those moments any sign of life was nonexistent in him. There used to be rage, hatred, regret, and frustration... Oh lots of frustration, running through the veins in his body. He used to walk, talk, and breathe. But he wasn't alive.

Now he doesn't find it in himself to call it miracle. But somewhere between the lines, you happened. You happened and fuelled the dying fire in the far corner of his heart. He used to keep it empty and dark, like a deserted house with no furniture, a perfect place for the noises in his head to become loud and maybe help him stand the never-ending days of what everyone called life.

You entered his life and now most of what he feels in these old veins is warmth, safety and attachment. Yes, he doesn't call it miracle, because his past doings are too stained and unforgivable to deserve a miracle. To deserve you. The real miracle. The fathomable idea of what it feels to be alive.

Joel feels alive.

Some days, it feels like his wretched past is clawing its way back into his mind, calling those demons to end his days of peace with you. Some nights, he's restless... So terribly restless. What if you get injured on your next patrol? What if the Raiders attack you when you're out of the gates of Jackson? What if something bad happens to you the moment his eyes close? What if these damn what ifs come to life? This old mind tricks him into seeing pictures of what has never happened and probably never will. You always assure him that you'll be careful. He trusts you and your abilities, but he does not trust his fears. Because if life is too good, it scares him.

It scares Joel Miller, way more than it would if he was trapped in a dark room with all of his fears and demons creeping on the cold hard floor towards him. He'd rather spend every day fighting off the Clickers and Raiders and every nasty threat out there, instead of pacing around the room and waiting to see if your patrols end well or not.

So he has no choice but to either convince Tommy to pick him as your patrol partner every damn time you have to do it – which he makes sure is as limited as possible – or occasionally keep an eye on you from a distance and let his thoughts consume him at the same time. Just like what he's doing now.

His persistence in being close to you tends to earn him annoyed eye rolls and "She's more capable than that, Joel." comments from his brother... almost all the time. But he simply can't help it, and he thinks that you know it. Because you never complain nor haul him over the coals for his instincts and worries and the immense amount of care his rigid heart feels for you. He's silently thankful for that understanding.

You are safe here, he thinks. Even though he feels restless, his heartbeat has never been this calm. He sits and watches you on nights like this and there's only one thought ringing in his head. All the scolding is worth it. You're sprawled out peacefully on the bed. His bed. It must be straight out of a fucking impossible dream. You're here, in his atmosphere, in his menacing, guilty, dark presence... And you have chosen it knowingly. It's all he can ever ask for.

The dim moonlight is swimming in through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery shadow over your face. Your hair is falling all around you like you're knowingly doing it... Posing for an artist just to paint this delicate beauty on a canva.

Despite his bitter mood, a content smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tearing his gaze from you, he downs the remaining whiskey and silently places the empty glass on the table, deciding that he needs a short walk to free his troubled mind. One morning, Maria woke up and decided that Joel needs to stay behind and help Tommy in fixing the issues in the town's only library. So you should have another partner for your patrol days for god knows how long. He fucking hates being told what to do. He fought tooth and nail to prevent that, and if you weren't there to stop him, he would as well turn the mess hall into another ruin that needed to be fixed – which only meant more time away from you.

So it's going to take only two weeks, at worst. Only a terrible fortnight before things go back to normal. It's almost unbelievable how you have managed to awaken a sense of normalcy in him that he hasn't known in decades. Your absence is an instant threat to this normal life.

Maybe it's about time he gets used to it. He's not that weak. He shouldn't let his angers and worries run him. More importantly, he shouldn't ruin your much needed sleep with his usual problems right now. You've still got the weekend. He'll take a walk and be back here before you as much as stir in your deep slumber.

Oh. The damn library.

...

Jackson is eerily quiet in the middle of the night, enveloped by darkness and as isolated as it can be in this corner of the world. It's a stark contrast to how busy the whole community is during the daylight – bustling with happy greetings, careless jokes, movie days, small parties, and lots of work to do. It all asks for social interaction and he deeply hates it.

He hates when every passer-by's attention turns to you every time you step out in the open. He hates how prying eyes rove up and down your frame every time you walk into the bar. He hates how... He shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes at the loudness of these thoughts. Joel has to remind himself that he is the one you hold onto and introduce to everyone in every social gathering. The proud gleam in your eyes always placates him. There's no need to break a jaw in this town... Perhaps.

Lights flicker by the porches and the sound of his boots on the ground is the only sound that disturbs the silence. The sky is clouding over, distantly promising another stormy night in its gloomy wake. Occasional flashes of lightning light up the road and before Joel knows it, he's passing by the Tipsy Bison. It's 3 past midnight, no wonder why its doors are locked and closed. Either way he comes to a halt, letting the gears turn in his head as he opts for a very familiar path.

Your house. It's a short walk away from the bar.

Joel still recalls that day. How long has it been? Five, six, seven months? It feels like yesterday to him.

He'd had a terrible conversation with Tommy, not at all the way he'd planned it on his first day in Jackson. Things got heated up pretty quickly, leaving a bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue, the burn of the whiskey only worsening his mood.

"Just because life stopped for you, doesn't mean it has to stop for me..."

The words were ringing in his head as he stormed out of the bar. Shrugging his jacket on, all he wanted was to walk as far away from that area as possible. This affronted, begrudging, irrational sting was boiling in him and in that moment he was more than ready to leave the gates of Jackson even if it called for more danger. Life had really ended for him years ago, but to hear it from Tommy right after the hell he'd went through to find him... It really hurt.

The pain was resurfacing in rapid tides.

If his boots could dig deeper, get stuck in the snow and propel him into the cold biting blanket of the earth, he'd welcome it. If life had really ended for him, he had to make it make sense by ending himself as well. This... There was this distant melody echoing in the air and cutting through his troubles thoughts. The wind was harsh against his ears, and each step brought the melody closer.

It really could be the last song that played before his funeral.

Joel was surrounded by all the colors, and all he could see was white, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't pay much attention as he bumped into someone. He barely lifted his head to apologize, and then his gaze settled on the crackling fire on the left side of the road.

Red and orange and yellow hues. It was a fresh contrast. His eyes were hurting from all the white snow.

He came to a halt, mindlessly waving at the person he'd bumped into. A dozen of kids had gathered around the burning logs in a barrel on the porch, rubbing their hands together and listening to the same melody he was entranced by. The same melody that he thought would be his burial hymn.

Joel's eyes followed their excited faces, wondering who they were looking at. He saw you mirroring their hopeful gleams first, and then he registered the guitar on your lap.

To make the matters worse, you had tilted your head, shooting him a funnily quizzical look. He might've looked weird back then. The town's newcomer, with a permanent scowl on his face, maybe plotting murder as well (considering that it was the main topic in all the words that already flew around about him).

He didn't answer, still dead in his tracks as if he was immobilized by some invisible force. So you shifted in your seat, silently offering him a spot among the children as if to say "You can come over and join us."

He had two choices in that moment, either a polite decline was on the table or a dismissive frown. He looked over his shoulder at the bar and finally opted for the third choice – or so his mind created another choice for him – and he nodded, joining in on your little gathering without as much as saying a word. He really wanted to hear that song.

He never asked whether you knew the words to that song, but that night when he lay in bed and his thoughts were far from the idea that he wanted to bury himself in the snow, he vaguely remembered the lyrics. And it hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

He wanted to ignore how the words affected him in the middle of the night. It was the first night he could feel some semblance of peace, not sleeping with an eye open in case someone attacked them. Ellie was safe in another room. So he really considered that. He considered the possibility of staying. He was relatively new to the community... And so damn unaccustomed to the whole arrangement. He almost woke up the next morning and started packing before he remembered where he was.

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Those words stuck with him.

And his first encounter with you was a harbinger of different things to come.

One day of patrolling with you led to another, one night of inviting you for a drink led to another. One peaceful afternoon in the stable led to another. One gloomy evening in the clinic did not lead to another. He was way too protective of you to let that happen again.

He truly feels lucky. You could be anywhere else, better off if you picked anyone other than this grumpy, old man. And yet you still want him. You silly girl. You've melted his heart with your warmth.

But he's like a lake, deserted in the middle of a haunted forest and engulfed in coldness. Even though the center is warm and gooey, he keeps the surface frozen and rigid and menacing. Hard enough to keep his instincts sane and alarmed. Cold enough to let everyone know that you're his and he will not fucking share.

Lightning strikes again in the sky.

He lifts himself up and off your front stairs with a heavy grunt. An hour has passed since he left for a walk. The clouds have fully gathered in the sky and he thinks that he should be by your side now.

Joel really cares little for the details, always asking Tommy and Ellie to spare him the explanation and get straight to the point. But with you, it's hard to forget a couple of things. One night, a few weeks ago, you were pulling him past the threshold of your house. So adorably drunk and inviting. He was still a little pissed by how the rainstorm had ruined your nightly walk. Despite your complaints about sharing a kiss in the rain, he'd dragged you back to the nearest shelter possible, because he just didn't want to get fucking soaked. Joel didn't find it romantic at all. He was frowning, still pinning you against the wall for a begrudgingly needy kiss. You giggled into his mouth, playful fingers pocking at his chest. "Come on Joel. Let yourself enjoy it... All these neverending drops on the roof, the fresh earthy scent that comes after it... It's just really beautiful. One of the few things that kept me sane before I came here..."

He's not really against the idea. But the changing weather doesn't bode well with him. One day is sunny, and the next is rainy and it just goes to show how he has no power over the situation.

Hell. A part of Joel is really terrified of the changing weather. One day it was scorching hot, and the next his boots crunched against the white blankets of neverending snow, reprimanding him for his carelessness. Time would pass whether he wanted to or not. He is still terrified, wishing he could stretch the time he could spend with you. God knows he wants an eternity with you.

He has seen enough rain for a lifetime. He hasn't seen you enough. How could he enjoy getting soaked in tiny drops of water when all he wanted was to bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for a while – maybe forever and a little more?

But he has considered it since then. If there are a few things that keep you happy and rainy days have to be one of them, he'll give you that. He'll get used to that. There's no pattern with the rainfall in here, and the weather forecast is pretty much nonexistent. He has promised himself to tell you whenever it rains, even though he despises the idea of you catching a cold after minutes or hours of dancing in the cold, letting droplets of water wash over you without a care in this wretched world.

He also despises the idea of waking you up.

But he knows you'll like it. You careless, adorable girl. He lives to see that excited gleam in your eyes. Everytime you show it, this old heart pounds impatiently in his chest and it all feels like the first time it has happened.

He's back home in no time.

So, kicking his boots off as silently as possible, he trudges over and settles down by the edge of the bed, suppressing a low groan. His knees still ache from all the never-ending effort he's put in repairing the library over the past few days. Jesus, he just wants it to be done as soon as possible. It feels like he's losing so much time when he's away from you. Now that you're still pretty much asleep in the same position he last saw you, all Joel wants is to lie down by your side and melt in your warm embrace instead of having to fight with his thoughts and the world to not take away yet another precious piece of him. He can't afford to even think about losing you.

Each flash of lightning illuminates the contours of your beautiful face and he can't help himself when he lifts a hand and lets his knuckles gently stroke your cheek. Your lips are parted ever so slightly and you look so innocent in your unconscious dream. He almost backs down, part of him hoping that it rains throughout the day, just so he doesn't guilt trip himself for the pout on your face if you miss it. You need to rest.

As if you sense his hesitation, you stir in bed and lean into his touch. A low hum escapes you, and Joel is too weak to deny himself the softness it brings. His wounded knuckles are soon replaced with a calloused thumb and he wonders what's so interesting about these hands that never ceases to catch your attention.

One night at the bar, Joel had caught you actually staring at them and when he teased you a little about it, you just shrugged and grinned mischievously. "I mean... I just like them so much. Your hands are always warm, and... and that's all."

He shrugged it off that night. Ellie had also considered it a flex for him to have warm hands even in the coldest days of winter, but with you and the way you looked at him... It was different. He knew it was more than that.

And when the nights he shared with you went further than his sinful thoughts had planned, you showed him that it was more than that. It was more than the warmth you found there. If anything, your helpless whimpers were an indication of how capable and strong these hands were.

Heat blooms in his chest. It simply is endearing. The way you always seem to recognize his touch and send his head spiraling with the idea that you want him to do more. You've never been afraid of him. You've never pushed him away. You've never judged him for the horrible things he's done. Jesus, it should terrify him. Joel should've pushed you away at some point, because he knows you'd be better off without him, but how could he muster the strength to do so? Since that fateful moment on your porch, your presence keeps on inviting him for more. More than simply existing. And God, if you knew how he wants to do more than that every second of the day... Only if the world lets him breathe a little.

There's another bolt of lightning and raindrops finally begin to drum against the window pane.

Joel shakes his head to get rid of those worrisome ideas. Propping himself on one elbow, he leans over ever so slightly and lets his thumb trace its way to your chin, up to your jawline, and then back to the soft skin on your cheek. He draws circles over the blooming flush and then his thumb is traveling down to your lower lip. Your mouth parts just a little more, breathing even and content and if he gets a grip on himself, he may notice that there's a ghost of a smile in there as well.

"Baby..." He whispers softly, his gaze drifting all over your adorable face. You really are a piece of art, tangled in the sheets, in the safety of his house, and your innocent hums are doing something to him. Some obscene voice that silently pleads for more. More and more... Just to give you more.

You stir a little more.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, the sweet, fruity scent he's come to like a lot about you engulfing his senses. He watches every little movement with amusement. "My sweet baby... You want to see what's waitin' for you outside."

"Joel," you mumble sleepily, voice drowsy and laced with a hint of confusion as you rub your eyes and stretch your arms before looking around the dark room with a quizzical expression on your face. It doesn't take long for the realization to hit you and the familiar gleam in your gaze makes him smile. You stare a him, wide-eyed. "is it- again?"

He chuckles and gestures at the window. "Yes, a heavy one at that."

Again, there's that hum of delight as you follow his gaze. The pitter-patter of the rain cheers you up like a lollipop would do to a child. It's maddeningly adorable.

You should be running to the backyard by now, but instead you stare at him for a while. It's his turn to be confused. Your smile gets broader by each passing second as your delicate hands trace his face and run over the salt and pepper patches of his beard. When you playfully ruffle his hair, your eyes are still droopy and dreamy and so damn kissable that he just can't help himself.

His other hand fondles with a loose strand of hair beside you on the pillow before twirling it between his fingers. You bite your lower lip and lift your head just enough for a brief peck on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, letting his fingers draw a line over the column of your neck, down to your chest, and at last they disappear beneath the sheets, settling comfortably on the warm expanse of your belly.

Joel assumes that his presence is not too close to lock you in place, and yet not too loose to let you drift back into unconsciousness. You just have the perfect moment to escape. For goodness sake, rain is the one thing you choose over anything else. The thing you like a lot.

But you're still here, dazed eyes flickering all over his face and it just gives him a second thought. A new idea to test your patience. Seeing you still pinned under him and unmoving, was not really in his list when he decided to walk back home and wake you up. He chortles with amusement. If you want what he thinks you do, he could give you that... "Come on sweetheart, what's stoppin' you?"

His fingers drift lower, exploring the bare flesh of your thigh, right where his mouth was hours ago. Still as warm as he remembers, maybe a little bruised too. "It's all rainy outside. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"I know..." You mumble, an undertone of need sewn in your voice as you look down over the sheets that cover every movement of his hand. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway. He could easily toss the covers aside, but it's wickedly satisfying this way. "I'm- um, just feeling a little under the influence...and it's- uh, it's distracting."

His hand caresses its way to where he knows you need it the most, and you barely repress a shudder when his fingertips glide over your folds. But he barely feels you, a ghost of a touch hovering there as a smirk threatens to flicker at the corner of his mouth.

"Wonder if my hand's makin' a good influence or a bad one. What d'you say, baby?"

It pelts down steadily outside, but you don't seem to care the slightest about it. Neither does Joel. A low gasp emanates from you when his touch becomes proper, rubbing circles and spreading the slick over your clit as slow and unrushed as he physically can manage. You're still indecently wet after he'd brought you over the edge again and again before you dozed off... and the fact that some of his cum might be gathering in his hand is fueling his lewd thoughts.

You naughty girl.

"A very bad one, I see." He tuts, feeling your chest heaving up and down beneath him. It's easy to rile you up this way. Desperation is written in your expression... and he hasn't even started yet.

"She needs fixin', doesn't she?" Joel asks, bringing his movement to a sudden halt. You're too distracted by everything he does to form a coherent thought. He lifts an expectant brow, now actually waiting for an answer.

"Yes- yes Joel... need it so bad... so bad it hurts." You breathe, a helpless pout forming on your lips.

"I know baby. I know... Jus' lay down and let me take care of it, hm? How's that sound?" He demands again, but this time he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he pushes two fingers past your weeping hole, burying them knuckles deep within your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, eyelids heavy as you grasp his arm, squirming like a helpless, needy girl.

What a cruel man he is.

"Not off to a good start, angel. I know you can be more patient."

You nod quickly, biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from wriggling and twisting on the bed. For a split second, Joel considers pulling out to nuzzle his face between your legs and let the heat consume him. A perfect place to brave the cold, restless seasons.

But his fingers aren't shy either. He starts with slow thrusts, effortlessly sliding in and out before picking up the pace. He makes you adjust to his rhythm, and when you let go and open up, the obscene moans and chocked out cries are all that fill the silence of the house. Jesus, he lives to hear them every day. He rewards you by curling his fingertips to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

You shudder particularly hard at that, more arousal pooling inside you and soaking his fingers. You're losing your grip with reality, and he can sende it as your legs begin to shake and your knee brushes over the denim of his jeans, but you still remember to abide by his "No squirming" rule.

You're so pliant and obedient in his hands that it does nothing but to spur Joel to give you more. And so he does.

"I like these sounds," He adds a third finger, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. "I dream about them all the time."

You whimper and tighten your hold around Joel's arm. When he feels that your orgasm is creeping impossibly close, his thumb joins and rubs rapid circles over your bundle of nerves and that's your undoing. You clench around him, walls tightening and squeezing his fingers deeper – if that's even possible – as waves of white-hot euphoria crash over your worn out body and take over your senses. Your back arches involuntarily into him. A sound between a groan and a curse escapes his throat.

"That's it. Atta girl... that's it, so fuckin' beautiful."

His touch is unrelenting as he talks you through it with a string of sweet nothings.

Only when you come down and rest back on the bed he slowly pulls out. You're panting heavily, face flushed and heated and so effortlessly seductive that Joel is sure no fucking artist could ever capture it in words of a poem or colors of a painting. Joel is the only one to witness this moment and it swells his chest with pride. He wants to drink it in, let it run through his veins like never-ending liquor.

He lifts his hand, smirking as you gape at the way it's glistening under the dim light. You're in awe. He softly places the tips between your swollen lips and you waste no time in swirling your tongue around them, licking the slick off as if it's a delightful lollipop. And the hazy look on your face says that it's more than just a sweet treat.

His own breathing hitches when you open your mouth a little wider and take him fully in, sucking and humming and driving him absolutely crazy. He shakes his head slightly, catching the playful gleam in your gaze.

"Hm. Still a very bad influence."

When you're fully recovered and satisfied, Joel lifts you up in his arms and walks towards the backyard, chuckling at your confused expression. You give a squeal and wrap your hands around his neck to keep yourself steady, at the same time trying to gauge what his next plan would be. You really have forgotten about the rain, haven't you?

He comes to a halt, making sure the blanket he'd just picked off the bed is not leaving any part of your body uncovered. The rainstorm has eased off considerably over the past hour, but he doesn't want to risk it. Keeping you warm and safe in the cold is and will always be his top priority, no matter if his back or knees protest from how much they ache. Hell, he aches for you and that content smile on your face. Nothing beats it.

"My girl still wants to go out, hm?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the half-open door, filled with excitement and delight and a tiny flicker of doubt. "Yes Joel... but...you sure you want to join in?"

"I don't know," He feigns innocence, pretending to think for a short while before his face lights up with an idea. "Do I get a kiss for it?"

You laugh and lean up to press your lips into his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's so tender and reassuring that he has to pull back before changing his mind and taking you back to the bed.

"Then it's settled."

It has been settled for a long time.

Maybe he can get used to it. Maybe you get a better idea of what you've made of him with your presence at times when he easily complies with things that make you happy. A heart made of ice, molten enough to experience the world with you all over again. Even if he gets soaked in the rain, he's alright with it. You kiss him and all the discomfort is forgotten.

He should give it time and learn to breathe again. Learn to stay, to settle. To let you know that you're all he sees.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

The words are carved in his head. He chances a glance at the living room before walking past the door. Your guitar is placed on the couch. Maybe one day he'll bring himself to play his melodies for you too. He think that he's got a lot of time for it now. He wants an eternity with you, and in this wretched world, eternity lasts as long as you'll have him.

One, two... Ten droplets fall over him. He kisses you again, harder and longer. His ice-cold heart melts just a little more at your careless laughter. Just stay with me.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #the last of us #joel miller smut #tommy miller #ellie miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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valsverse · 11 months ago

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𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ I WANNA BE YOURS | percy jackson x gn!reader

percy jackson looks at you like you were the one who put the stars in the sky.

the son of poseidon gazes at you with so much awe and admiration in his eyes that most people would think you had just defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, or cured cancer or saved the world from total destruction, something that would be remembered for centuries to come. but in reality, all you did was toss a few nuts to the squirrels that scurried around camp. percy jackson looks at you in such a way that even aphrodite herself would point and squeal.

though, he'd never admit to that. the only telltale sign of his infatuation is the rosy tint that creeps up the tips of his ears every time you you pass by, and his lips that struggle to stay in a straight line whenever you flash him that smile—the one that makes his heart leap up and into his throat. even after four years of friendship, percy still hasn't figured out how to sit next to you and not be totally in love with everything you do.

it's as though you have some sort of magic power over him—a power that he's powerless to resist. and as much as he'd like to deny it, he secretly revels in the feeling.

but percy jackson would never confess his desires for you—not when kronos is still actively seeking to wipe out the demigod population. he can't afford to display any signs of weakness.

but it's worth it, he thinks, to risk everything just to wrap his arms around you and plant a kiss on your lips that would set the world on fire. yet he knows he can't—not without endangering you. not without putting you in harm's way. so why is it so unbearable to imagine life without you, when you were never really his to begin with?

and in those moments, when his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, memories of your touch and your gaze playing on repeat in his mind, he's left thinking, 'did i imagine it?' did he dream up the way your touch lingered on his arm as you adjusted his armor? the way you looked at him across the dining pavilion before turning away, as if you'd been caught in the act of something secret and sweet? he must have, right? because you would never look at someone like him with such tenderness. not at someone hot-headed and impulsive, someone with so many rough edges. no, you couldn't have looked at him like that. it must all be in his head.

you couldn't have looked at him the same way he looks at you.

despite his best efforts to conceal it, percy's convinced that everyone can see right through him. he knows that everyone can see right through him. the teasing from his fellow campers has been relentless—nicknames hurled his way, each one more unflattering than the last. romeo, hopeless romantic, loverboy..

loverboy.

he's no loverboy. not some kind of lovesick puppy at the mercy of some unattainable crush. no, that nickname is only reserved for the truly whipped, those who are wrapped around someone's finger, glued to their side at all times. he's no..

and then his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, suddenly alert. and there you are, all dazzling and gorgeous, a beacon in a sea of identical orange t-shirts and jeans. you stand out as though a spotlight has been trained on you alone. which is weird because to most people you're just another camper. albeit, an incredibly beautiful camper, but still, just a camper. so why is he so infatuated with you, specifically?

maybe he is a loverboy.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost groans out loud. can't he just carve his heart out and be done with it at this point? isn't that what the poets do?

but since he never really cared for those dead old men taught in school, like edward allan poe or whatever his name was, he'll settle for just daydreaming now. he'll settle for stolen glances across the room and the brush of your hands as you reach for a book. he'll settle for relishing in your little touches and how your lips shine in blueberry chapstick until he's ready. he'll admire the curve of your nose and the triumphant hugs you give him after your team wins capture the flag. he'll settle for it until it's not enough anymore. he'll settle for it until he needs more.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson fluff #pjo imagine #riordanverse x reader

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bourgeoisiebirdie · 2 months ago

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Agatha All Along Episode 5 Theory: Why It’s Weird and Short

So Episode 5 was by far the shortest episode we’ve had so far for the series. It feels different from the other trials so far which causes it to feel…scrambled in a way. Now you could blame poor writing for the craziness of this episode (along with the abrupt ending), but I usually reserve that judgement for after a series ends.

Here’s what I think is going on. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Agatha’s trial being in this episode was a bit of a surprise, but let’s be real, the show is called Agatha All Along…do we really believe that our favorite dramatic sad backstory mommy issues-filled witch only gets ONE episode for her trial?

The Ouija board makes the objective for this task clear: Punish Agatha. A task that some of the coven clearly have no qualms carrying out. But let’s think about the sequence of events after that message is delivered.

The coven tries to tie up Agatha which fails after Agatha becomes possessed by her mother. Agatha’s mother says Agatha must be left behind which causes her to freak out. Alice tries to save Agatha which results in Agatha accidentally(?) killing her. Agatha is only stopped when Teen says her son’s name and the door to escape opens after Teen says Goodbye on the Ouija board.

Notice anything?

Agatha is never *technically* punished by her coven. Each trial so far involves a task that 1. is specific to one witch’s ability, 2. involves a clear objective that the coven eventually recognizes and reaches together, 3. ends with growth, both power and character wise, of the witch/coven. This episode feels off because the formula is off. And the formula is off because none of it’s real.

Episode 5 IS Agatha’s punishment. Every trial has stirred up unwanted tragic memories from the witch it’s related to. It is no coincidence that this episode hits every. single. one. of Agatha’s problems.

It starts with an Ouija Board - Agatha has killed a lot of people, not all of them on purpose. We already know Agatha loves to pretend to not feel anything, but now she is forced to directly interact with her victims.

Punish Agatha - The coven turns on Agatha surprisingly quick to carry out the trial and surround her while she is on the floor…just like her old coven betrayed her. She fears betrayal.

Evanora Harkness - Self-explanatory, she not only forcefully possesses Agatha (which could tie in to fear of lack of control thanks to Wanda), but tells her she was born evil, something that Agatha looks devastated to hear. Mommy issues galore.

“I’ll be good” - upon hearing that her coven may leave her behind, Agatha freaks out and begs for them to not leave her. Fear of abandonment.

Alice’s Death - Agatha seems horrified after killing Alice with her powers (just like she killed her mother and coven in the past), and the rest of the present coven, especially Teen, are horrified by her actions and don’t believe her.

Nicholas Scratch - A devastating name to hear. And his voice calling to her is just the cherry on top.

And after she leaves the trial? Teen turns on her using magic similar to Wanda’s and then throws Agatha off the path to kill her. And Rio is suddenly nowhere to be seen? Another tumblr user made an interesting point that the aspect ratio doesn’t return to normal like it usually does after a trial. Because all of this has been the precursor to Agatha’s actual trial.

This may be all in her mind and it’s up to her coven to help her, guess we won’t know for sure until next week.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #billy maximoff #marvel

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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A little bit of angst here, could I get one with cregan and rhaenyras daughter where, after their first child, reader and cregan are having difficulty making a second child. Eventually reader gets pregnant a joyous day for winterfell. As the weeks pass, cregan and reader are frequently spotted by the folk of winterfell sharing tender moments between one another, maybe a kiss to readers belly, maybe cregan almost always has a hand to her stomach etc. one day (maybe cregan is at the wall or on a hunt) reader receives a raven from dragonstone saying Jacaerys is dead. Readers grief overcomes her and she loses the baby. After news reaches cregan about Jace, he rushes home to comfort his wife, knowing she’d be overcome with grief, and he is met with the aftermath. Cregan is filled with grief and anger and a lust for revenge for the person at the hands of the death of his friend, the grief of his wife and the loss of his child.

The Gullet's Price

Requests are closed!

- Summary: The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The snow fell gently outside the thick stone walls of Winterfell, casting a blanket of white over the sprawling castle. Inside, however, warmth radiated from every hearth. You sat by the window, watching the snowflakes drift lazily in the twilight, your hand absentmindedly resting on your belly. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant sound of footsteps from the courtyard below.

It had been months—many long, aching months—since you and Cregan had first tried for a second child. After the birth of your son, the heir to Winterfell, you had both longed for another, but it seemed the gods had been slow to answer your prayers. There had been whispers among the maesters, suggestions of herbs and tonics, but nothing had come of it. Each passing moon only deepened the ache in your heart, and though Cregan never showed it, you could see the worry in his eyes, the way his hand lingered on your shoulder a moment too long, the way he would pull you into his arms as if holding you close could somehow solve what was out of your control.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Cregan, your husband, lord of Winterfell, with his ever-brooding presence softened by the sight of you. His dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his grey eyes—so often stern in the face of duty—softened as they found yours. Without a word, he crossed the room, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor, and knelt beside you, placing a warm hand on top of yours.

"Still watching the snow, love?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a tenderness reserved only for you.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It reminds me of the first night I spent here. You used to say the snow welcomed me to the North."

Cregan smiled at the memory, his fingers gently entwining with yours. "Aye, and it seems the North has claimed you as one of its own ever since."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the snow drifting outside, and the fire crackling softly beside you. Then, without warning, Cregan shifted slightly, his free hand coming to rest on your belly—just as it had so many times before, a hopeful gesture, though for so long it had brought neither joy nor comfort.

You looked down at his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch. "Perhaps it's not meant to be," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps one child is all we were granted."

Cregan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your dress. "You’ve always been stronger than fate, Y/N. If we are meant to have more children, we will. And if not..." He paused, looking up at you with such intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. "Then we will cherish the family we have."

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow. "I love you, Cregan Stark."

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against the skin of your belly as he spoke. It was such a simple act, but the tenderness of it, the love that radiated from him, made your chest swell with emotion.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next. Winter held the North in its grip, and though life within Winterfell continued as always, there was a quiet hope that lingered between you and Cregan, an unspoken understanding that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had not forgotten you after all.

Then one morning, as the sun barely crested the horizon, you woke with a strange feeling in your stomach—not pain, but something else. Something new. You lay still for a moment, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest as realization dawned upon you.

"Cregan," you whispered, nudging him awake beside you.

He stirred, groggy from sleep, but the moment his eyes met yours, he was alert. "What is it?"

"I... I think I'm with child," you said, the words feeling foreign and yet so familiar on your tongue.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Cregan sat up, his hand already moving to your belly as if to confirm what you had just said. His grey eyes were wide with disbelief, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was unrestrained joy in his expression.

"Are you certain?" he asked, though the hope in his voice was undeniable.

You nodded, tears already welling in your eyes. "I'm certain."

The joy that erupted in the days following was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Winterfell, normally so cold and solemn, felt alive with the news of your pregnancy. The people celebrated quietly at first, but soon the halls were filled with laughter and congratulations. The maesters confirmed your suspicions, and Cregan all but swept you into his arms, grinning like a man who had won the greatest battle of his life.

From that day on, it was rare to see you without Cregan by your side. He was never far from you, his hand constantly finding its way to your stomach as if to remind himself—and everyone else—that life was growing within you. The people of Winterfell spoke of it often, how their lord was more tender with you than they had ever seen before. Some swore they saw him press soft kisses to your belly when he thought no one was watching.

You, too, felt the change in him. His protectiveness over you grew tenfold, but so did his tenderness. He would sit with you by the hearth in the evenings, his hand resting on your belly as the fire crackled beside you. "I can't wait to meet our child," he'd say softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if they'll have your eyes."

"And your stubbornness," you teased, smiling as he chuckled.

Every tender moment between you was a reminder of the love you shared. The people of Winterfell watched with quiet admiration, and as the weeks passed, it became clear that this child—your child—would be born into a house filled with love, protected by both the Starks and Targeryens.

One evening, as the snow began to fall once more, Cregan knelt before you, resting his head against your belly. "Our child will be here soon," he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "And I will love them just as much as I love you."

You smiled down at him, your hand stroking through his dark hair. "I know you will, my love. I know."

The sky was a cold, slate gray, reflecting the heaviness that weighed on your heart. You had been restless all day, your hand unconsciously drifting to your swollen belly as you paced the stone floors of Winterfell. Cregan had gone to the Wall, seeing to matters with the Night's Watch, and while he often left for such duties, his absence felt more pronounced today, leaving you feeling uneasy.

You paused at the window, watching the snow swirl in the bitter northern wind. There had been no ravens for days, no word from Dragonstone, and though you had tried to push away your fears, the growing knot in your stomach told you something was amiss.

And then, it came. The raven. Black wings against the pale sky.

When the maester handed you the scroll, your fingers trembled, sensing the weight of it before your eyes even scanned the words. It was from Dragonstone—your mother’s seal—but it was not her handwriting. The letters blurred as you read them, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the devastating truth in front of you.

Jacaerys is dead.

He had been slain at the Gullet, struck down during a battle with the greens. The words felt unreal, distant, as if they were written for someone else. But no, they were meant for you. Your Jace, your closest friend, your blood, was gone.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your body trembling as the grief hit you all at once. The scroll slipped from your hands and fell to the floor, unnoticed. All you could feel was the crushing weight of loss—the loss of your brother, of someone who had been part of your life for as long as you could remember. The one you had grown up with, laughed with, fought beside. The one who had been by your side during the most difficult moments of your life.

Jace.

You pressed your hand to your belly, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the sorrow became overwhelming, twisting inside you like a blade. The baby... your baby. You could feel it—something was wrong. The sharp pain in your abdomen stole your breath, and suddenly the warmth you had cherished, the life growing within you, felt cold. Empty.

"No..." you whispered, stumbling backward as another wave of pain coursed through you. You clutched your stomach, but it was no use. The grief, the heartache—it was too much. You collapsed to the floor, clutching at your belly, the realization sinking in that the life you carried had slipped away, just as Jace had. Gone.

Servants found you there, unconscious and bleeding, their screams echoing through the halls of Winterfell as they rushed to fetch the maesters. But no maester, no amount of care, could undo what had already been done. By the time you awoke, it was too late. You had lost the baby.

When Cregan finally returned, having received word of Jacaerys's death at the Wall, his heart was already heavy with the knowledge of how devastated you would be. He had pushed his horse hard, riding through the night to return to you, knowing you would need him now more than ever.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.

The moment he stepped through the gates of Winterfell, he knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, the usual quiet bustle of the castle replaced with a heavy, oppressive silence. The servants barely met his eyes as they bowed, their faces pale. His chest tightened, fear creeping into his heart as he made his way through the familiar halls.

"Cregan," a voice called softly, and he turned to see the Maester Kennet approaching him with a grave expression. The look on his face confirmed Cregan's worst fears.

"She..." the maester began, his voice shaking slightly. "She lost the child, my lord. It happened shortly after the raven arrived from Dragonstone. The grief—"

Cregan didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed past the maester, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way to your chambers. He flung the door open, and there you were, lying in bed, pale and weak, your eyes red from crying. The sight of you like this, broken and devastated, was like a dagger to his heart.

You looked up when you heard the door, and when your eyes met Cregan’s, the dam broke again. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you whispered, "He’s gone, Cregan... Jace is gone... and... our baby..."

Cregan crossed the room in an instant, gathering you into his arms, holding you as you wept into his chest. His own heart shattered as he held you, feeling the weight of your loss, your grief. He didn’t speak; words wouldn’t help, not now. All he could do was hold you, his strong arms wrapped around you as if he could somehow protect you from the pain you were feeling. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shield you from this.

Inside, Cregan’s own grief began to twist into something darker—rage. Jacaerys had been his friend, one of the few he could trust in the turbulent world of war and politics. The news of his death was a blow to his own heart, but seeing you like this—broken and empty, having lost not only your brother but your child—it was unbearable.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. Whoever was responsible for Jacaerys’s death would pay. He would see to it. The rage that simmered in his veins burned hotter with every passing moment.

"I swear to you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury, "whoever is responsible for Jace’s death will pay. I will see to it myself."

You lifted your tear-streaked face to look at him, and for a moment, you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. Cregan was always strong, always steady, but now—now there was something else in him. Something dangerous.

"Cregan," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. "Don’t... please, don’t go."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from your cheek. "I won’t leave you, not now. But justice will be done, Y/N. For Jace, for our child. I promise you."

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace even as the world around you felt cold and desolate. Cregan held you tightly, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of the blood that would be spilled in the name of those you had lost.

He would not rest until the one responsible for this pain had paid with their life.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x y/n

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schoenpepper · 2 months ago

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Jade Leech and the Three Breakups

Intro: He was going to break up with you on your first anniversary. He was going to break up with you before he went to internships. He was going to break up with you after he graduated.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, does jade count as a warning, reader is not yuu, established long term relationship, depression jokes, not proofread

A/N: Sorry, the brainrot got to me. College apparently cannot stop me from thinking about my least favorite character ever. Also, my favorite trope is 'i think they hate me' and 'i want them so bad i'm about to kill someone'.

Masterlist

There's a thick notebook in one of the boxes. Curiosity killed the eel mer, sure, but Jade is attracted to its plain leather cover. On the corner is your name, etched in an elegant cursive he's sure isn't yours.

After four years of romantic partnership, of course he knows your handwriting.

He gingerly fishes it out of its pile—your pile of clutter to get rid of before moving into your new shared home—and decides that of course it is fully within his right to open your journal. Diary, perhaps?

He can't help the grin pulling up the corners of his lips.

Oh dear, you've gotten so lax with such things, darling. Are you banking on his love for you to stop him from borrowing your private thoughts? Such confidence. Misplaced. Such a shame.

The first page has his name.

It takes him aback, but he delightfully relishes in the thought, the possibility, that all your feelings for him over several years would be gathered and spilled into its yellowed pages. Was there a stage of hatred? Rivalry? Were you crushing on him like a little schoolgirl? Such cute (excellent) memories (blackmail) from your youth (material)~ He flips to the second page and reads with unparalleled attentiveness he usually reserves for documents on his favorite projects.

September 1st, 20x1 Sunny : | It's orientation, and I'm following my ma's words about keeping a diary of sorts to keep track of interesting things. I wore the cultist uniform of NRC (fugly ass robes) and stood in line to get sorted to my dorm by the mirror. I got into Octavinelle. I don't know if it's the dorm I would have chosen for myself to be honest, but sure. I can't argue with the magical artifact. What I would like to argue about is the vice housewarden.

His brows furrow slightly in intrigue. Did he do something wrong? He remembered being nothing but a kind, angelic upperclassman to your batch of freshmen.

He's so fucking pretty.

Jade chuckles.

He looks like he's about to eat me whole and fuck, I don't mind if he does!!! He's so tall, and so so attractive, and sevens I thought I came to NRC to study but I think I'm here to fulfill my destiny of becoming his <3

He launches into full-blown laughter. He takes his phone out from his pocket to snap multiple pictures, saving them in a locked folder labeled rather inconspicuously in his gallery.

There's a series of entries after that. Nothing too interesting (he's scanned every single page), just you detailing every second of your (at this point, nonexistent) love life. You write about how many times you'd seen him in a day, and how 'cute' he looks in his school uniform, and how 'adorable' he is when he's hanging onto his broom for dear life in PE. He ignores the fact that you shouldn't have seen him in PE classes because his schedule didn't match yours at that time. Then, there's one that you'd written right before realizing you'd fallen into his love trap~

October 3rd, 20x1 Cloudy :< I think I got tricked into being someone's s/o. I thought he's been inviting me to random outings and stuff, alone, together, as like, a threat maybe. Today I found out Floyd (and therefore Azul, and definitely also him) think of me as Jade's significant other. Which is so weird. I'm so confused???

There's a little chibi drawing on the corner of your face with a blank expression.

I thought we were friends and then his brother tells me that the guy I like doesn't think of me as a friend. Okay?????? JADE LEECH IS TREATING ME LIKE HIS PARTNER AND I DON'T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED. (but i like it :D)

Well, you've always been a bit slow, haven't you, darling? You never even noticed when Jade began to take an interest in you, slowly steering you towards his own hobbies, even his club activities. After all, he studied your interests, so isn't it only fair? He likes being able to converse with you. He likes the sound of your voice. He likes the movement of your lips. Is it so bad, then, that he did a few perfectly legal things to somehow shoe you in right by his side?

In the diary, you detail every feeling in every date. You like picnics. You hated the hike up that mountain with poisonous snakes. You liked the parfait he made for you. You disliked the slightly poisonous mushroom he sauteed and put into your chicken alfredo. Shame.

July 23rd, 20x2 Rainy :(

It takes its first turn about a week before the first anniversary of the day you met him (you don't have a 'real' anniversary since you don't even know when you started dating him).

I think he's going to break up with me soon.

His breath hitches in his throat. He's not sure how to feel upon reading that sentence, but he doesn't like it.

(Why were you so sure, darling?)

He leans back slightly on his chair. He needs to take a few deep breaths before he can even continue to read your writing.

He's going to be in third year by the time the school year comes around again. He'll be busy with the lounge and studying and vice housewarden stuff. Maybe he won't have time for me anymore.

But that's okay.

I realized something. The twins are not the type of people for long term relationships. After knowing more about Jade, I've learned he's not too different from Floyd concerning several aspects. 1.) He only likes interesting things. Jade likes weird, and fun, and spontaneous. I think he liked me then because I was new and so strange. After all, I didn't know that the guy I loved at first sight was such a feared figure, for good reason too. There was nobody in school who would stick around him so much like I do. 2.) He gets bored just as easily. Jade is the mirror image of Floyd here. Floyd is more moody, but Jade is good at pretending. He likes to play around. Until he doesn't. I know I won't see it coming, but one day, I will be predictable. And he'll get bored. I will no longer be interesting.

Has he always struck you that way?

If he doesn't want to play with me anymore, what am I supposed to do? I need to prepare myself. Someday, he'll leave me, and I need to be stronger then than I am now. Right now, I'll break if he abandons me. Surely if I desensitize myself to the scenario, I can mitigate the damage.

You talk of your own heart like a building in the middle of the Ring of Fire, and Jade's the biggest earthquake that's about to arrive since millennia.

It's not often he finds himself questioning his own morality. Gray is his preference, but then, why does he see this version of himself in your eyes in all black? Has he been anything but kind to you? He's tried, really. If it wasn't enough, he should've seen it in your eyes. He should have known.

The following pages go back to their previous light-hearted tone, slowly leaving the saccharine sweet honeymoon phase and dipping into comfortable and warm. You don't mention that entry again, or even that line of thought. He likes that. Jade would prefer you refusing to humor such blatant nonsense than actually spend time worrying your pretty little head about it. It's just a bit worrying. Like a volcano with lava filling up, is it not dangerous to block the outflow?

Why have you never discussed your thoughts with him?

August 3rd, 20x3 Sunny :<

He has to consider that it might be seasonal depression if the entries keep getting darker around the same time. Like a switch has been flipped, the words turn into blades again, cutting into his skin as though they could never draw blood.

I think he's really going to break up with me soon.

Oh sevens.

He has internships, which means he won't even be at school most of the time. It's upsetting because I think he'll find so many people out there. And they'll be much more interesting than me. And then what? I don't know where he's interning, it's probably because he doesn't want me to be a part of his life any longer.

How did he never know how prone you were to overthinking?

He hasn't gotten bored of me yet, but that's not to say it won't happen when he gets a taste of the real world and realizes how limited he is by this place. By me. Am I holding him back? I never say anything to him about these kinds of feelings because it might burden him. Which is a really funny sentence to write considering this is Jade Leech I'm talking about. It's not like he cares about other people's opinions enough for it to be a burden to him.

Why then, Jade wonders, would you ever consider yourself as 'other people'?

I hope he lets me down gently, at least.

Why would he ever let you down at all?

It's a shame to say but I think I love him.

And again, like nothing ever happened at all, the following recorded dates speak nothing of your plight. Instead, you jot down your visits to Jade in his chosen workplace, since obviously, he'd given you the details despite your previous doubts. The records of your life when not with him are few and far between, as you usually opted to write about Jade when together with him. There's an entry about the time you went to the amusement park with him, and threw up all over his jacket. There's one about the cake you failed horribly at baking during his birthday.

There's an entry about the first time you explored intimacy with him.

So it gives him severe whiplash when the entry after that is back to the same 'break up' tone as before, right around the same time as the other two.

(He should call a therapist for you.)

August 1st, 20x4 Sunny >:( He will definitely break up with me soon!

Why is this one so enthusiastic about it, though?

Maybe it's been in his plans all along. Only until graduation! This time, he'll definitely, definitely break up with me. Yes! I mean, I shouldn't be happy about it, but my two predictions beforehand were incorrect, and it makes me very nervous. So I have a plan. On his graduation, I'm going to give him a bouquet of flowers and a terrarium that I personally made.

Yes he remembers that. He still has the terrarium in his collection room.

And then, I'm going to confess my love for him.

Yes he remembers that too. You said 'I love you', and though slightly taken aback, he returned your sentiments.

And it would be the perfect gateway for him to talk about breaking up with me.

Huh. That's definitely not what he thought of it then. Is that why you were so surprised when he said 'I love you too'?

And it would probably hurt, but I think I can get away with not crying in front of him. I really love him. But I think it would be for the best that he leaves now, when I can still let him go with grace. Someday, I'll be in love with him, maybe to the point that I'd break down at his feet and beg for him to pick up the pieces. But I don't want him to see me like that.

He doesn't want to see that either.

(But rest assured, should it happen, he will pick up every piece of you and glue it back together with his love. Rather cheesy, though.)

Wish me luck!!!

Jade's lips curl up into a lazy grin, flipping to the last page on the notebook. There's not much, but he reads through it with a soft chuckle and writes in the corner with a blue pen. "Jade! The moving company will be here soon," you pop your head through the doorway, only glancing at him briefly before walking away, "I'm almost done with the kitchen."

He places your diary into his box of 'to keep', sealing the cardboard shut with some tape.

August 2, 20x4 Cloudy :o He said he loves me too. I could be wrong, but I think Jade's never going to break up with me.

June 16, 20x5 Sunny :) Let's get married soon, darling. I'm looking forward to the rest of our life together.

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #jade leech

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belovedblossoms · 2 months ago

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Blaze's Absolution (Sonic Rush Drabble)

After the arrival at the Dead Line zone, Blaze now had a much stronger focus--the final Sol Emerald is near and will be within her grasp soon enough. The sooner to retrieve them all and return home, the better before any such consequences were to come between this and her own dimension. Despite her determination, she probably wouldn't have made much progress if Cream weren't her guide and continuously getting lost in this world. She'd certainly have her to thank for that, yet she couldn't keep that girl involved in her duty nor the danger any further. She would send her straight home after this to keep her safe. And speaking of danger, finally she encountered 'Eggman' as he held the final emerald in his hands. Him and the Eggman Nega are unfortunately not too far from the same tree, but fortunately she could handle either with the same ease.

Blaze stood her ground, her hand reached out palm facing up as she demanded, "The last Sol Emerald...return it to me!" Eggman sneered at her, a sinister chuckle as he held the emerald as if mocking her. "I never thought a girl could be so tough but I'll never give up this last Sol Emerald!" "Hey Eggman, looks like you're up to no good as usual." Blaze stiffened at the familiar voice, Why is HE here? she thought, annoyed. He'd only be in the way when she has the last one right there! As they had their ridiculous banter with the villain sharing of his goal, the princess grew speechless, her tail twitched as her anger only grew more. "You stole the Sol Emeralds and jeopardized my world…just so you could get ultimate power?!" Blaze bared her teeth to him, golden eyes glaring as she clenched her fists "I'll destroy you!!"

"That's pretty harsh..." Again, must he include himself into everything? And how harsh could she be to want to finish off the one who's willing to take over both worlds if possible! Blaze turned to Sonic with similar anger, "He's MY opponent, go away!! I said I would resolve this on my own! I must protect my world and I don't need anyone's help!" What did he know? Everyone she has met so far has spoken so fondly of this Sonic when he has been nothing but an easy-going nuisance. "If you won't leave..." Flames developed within her palms, threatening as a step and two towards him. As much as he recommended her to 'chill out', that wasn't going to be possible at this point when she began to launch herself at him, throwing off a flaming punch before he easily sped backwards to avoid. Ultimately, this had initiated a battle between the two for some time.

The two briefly paused catching breaths as Sonic urged, "Stop it! This isn't going to change anything!" Blaze hissed angrily continuing her explosive rant, "What do YOU know? I am the guardian of the Sol Emeralds, it is a fate that forces me to live with my curse, my flames…" The memories of her as a child constantly becoming bullied by other schoolchildren, the tiny flames she believed her once cool were not good enough. Following another memory of her enflaming another student due to a combust in withholding her power much too long, to being withheld in the castle and provided with her violet cloak to smother the volume of her power among her body. Despite being a princess, she had little to no faith in her own worthiness if it meant she wouldn't prove to reclaim the emeralds herself--she shouldn't be counted as a proper royal to her world. "...because of my powers, I have always been alone. It's also why I must do this alone! It is my responsibility!"

Despite Sonic's next smart words the battle had ultimately ended with her raging flames to defeat him and retrieve the final emerald with force from Eggman launching him away with a swift kick to his Eggmobile. Then, she grew tired, exhausted. Somehow, the win didn't feel...satisfying or accomplished. She had them all and can go home but...maybe it was a bit much. "Ughh!" She fell to one knee, attempting and failing to stand once more as her body forces to catch a breath. "Hey, don't bite off more than you can chew and be yourself. Don't need to do everything on your own." Sonic reminded her gently, that look of his was mixed with concern and kindness. He was still here, even after she defeated him? He wasn't angry? She then heard Cream's voice calling her as she and Cheese flew over to her side. They remained here with her despite everything. "...perhaps you're right. I can...rely on friends if I let myself." Blaze accepted the rabbit's and chao's help back on her feet. She could have burned that hedgehog, she could have frightened Cream too or worse. And yet...nothing quite as terrible as she feared could have happened at this time. Perhaps she has somehow controlled her flames through her emotions much better than originally.

"I'm Sonic, Sonic the hedgehog." He offered a toothy grin, extending his hand out for a shake.

"...I-I'm Blaze. It's...nice to meet you too." she introduced with a soft smile, her own hand reached to his to initiate a firm handshake. Maybe it really wasn't too bad being here, she really can have a chance to start anew to be open and accepting of help and with new friends by her side.

#//I remember the panic in me pressing those buttons like my life depended on it lol #//but yeah this moment (along with few others) just locks in how much I love Blaze. but I also realize how alike her and Elsa are...#//I think I have a type lol. plus I wanted to write this as Sonic Rush is one of my fave games and wanted to try writing in her POV more.#【 headcanons. ❀ ║ secured & crafted by the heart. 】#【 saved. ❀ ║ memories to reserve. 】

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lisa-cuddys · 10 months ago

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People have said many times how Fourteenth Doctor is so much more open with feelings and emotions than Ten. But it is especially huge when it comes to Donna specifically. Ten was so reserved and held back so much when it came to expressing feelings and voicing them, that his companions never fully understood how much they meant to him. Ten was very flawed and very HUMAN and while he had so much love in him, he was equally afraid to express it, show it unabashedly. Did Donna ever truly understand how much he loved her? Did he ever tell her how much she meant to him on screen? When Ten knew he was losing Donna, and she was about to disappear in front of him, he knew this was his last moment with her, and the best he could do while she was conscious is hold her at arm’s length and tell her “We had the best of times”. You could see he was dying inside and this moment is killing him but he NEVER SHOWS it to her. While it’s all in his eyes, Ten still doesn’t tell her anything that would have an emotional weight or reveal the whole depth of his feelings.

Ten kept all his feelings bottled so deep inside, that when they finally started to bleed out, he made the worst mistakes possible. It ended up killing him. And the breaking point was losing Donna. He carried so much guilt over the way he lost her and the way he let her, his best friend in the whole wide universe, down, that it echoed over to the next regenerations, in Eleven’s guilt and Twelve’s face. That scene in the TARDIS in “Let’s Kill Hitler” where Eleven is poisoned, and the TARDIS is showing him images of former companions when Eleven asks “Give me guilt”. The TARDIS shows him Martha first, and there is so much to be guilty about when it comes to Martha, and then Eleven asks for “also guilt”, and the TARDIS shows him Donna, and when Eleven asks for “more guilt”, the image doesn’t change. It is still Donna, TARDIS is showing Eleven the best friend who got let down so hard by the Doctor. And the Doctor still carries that guilt and regret and heartbreak with him, because he loved his best friend and her attachment to him almost got her killed and hurt her in the worst way possible. “Stand too close, and people get burnt”, just like Martha said.

Fourteen though. He is a completely different person. He doesn’t just love Donna, he ADORES her, he is here FOR HER, this face is here BECAUSE OF HER. He tells a complete stranger he just met that he loves his best friend Donna, and repeats it twice.

When Donna honestly asks who would care about her 'cause she thinks she is just no one, Fourteen angrily cries “I DO!” because that’s his brilliant and amazing best friend who after all these years still thinks so little of herself and he hadn’t been there to remind her of that, and it is all his fault that she doesn’t remember how fantastic and special and extraordinary she has always been and how many times her brilliance saved worlds and lives, including the Doctor’s.

Fourteen is crying and screaming and breaking down, when he thinks Donna is about to die in front of him, all because he is so afraid of losing her again. Fourteen cradles Donna’s body and cries when he thinks he had lost her and tells the Meep’s soldiers to kill him, because he doesn’t care anymore, because someone he loves so dearly is dead in his arms, and it is all his fault.

When Donna gets her memories back, Fourteen almost immediately confesses how losing her KILLED HIM and how he remembers every second with her. He tearfully confesses that he has missed her for all those years they were apart, it’s been millions of years they spent apart for the Doctor. All those years the Doctor needed Donna who would make him laugh again, Donna who would keep him grounded, Donna who would call him spaceman and silently hug him when he needed it the most, Donna who would understand and be there and be his touchstone and anchor and guiding light.

Fourteen knows that she can’t stay with him forever like she used to want to, but he still gives her both of his hearts and tells her how much he cherishes their time together. He offers her coffee just the way she likes it, he remembers such small details about her after literally thousands, millions of years! And he shows it to her. Fourteen is so full of love and he is not afraid to show it, he is rushing to love, to express it before Donna is gone from his life again. And he is trying to make up for all those years as Ten when he couldn’t say these things to Donna, and she never knew just how much she meant to him. Donna never knew that she was his soulmate, that her presence made such an impact and her absence led to Ten’s death and that he died saving her grandad.

Fourteen kisses Donna’s hands and hair and hugs her like she is the most precious thing he knows. His hugs are also different from Ten’s. Fourteen wraps himself around Donna and holds her tight, this is how he shows his affection. He wants Donna to hear, know AND feel how much he cares. Because he already knows what it’s like to lose her and he wants her to know in case he has to let her go forever again.

When there is a threat of the world ending and his wonderful selfless Donna once again stresses that it is not about her, the Doctor solemnly replies that it really is. Because here right now in mortal danger he is willing to put her first and thinks of her wellbeing before anything else, because Donna Noble means the world to him.

Fourteen loves Donna so much, that he is willing to stay with her forever, staying still is not so bad when it’s with her. Fourteen is so tired and weary and bruised and exhausted but when he looks into Donna’s eyes, he doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

Fourteen got Ten’s face because he needed rest, but also maybe, just maybe, because Ten didn’t want to go so badly that he broke through and got the chance to come back so he could have another chance, to have a life and be with his best friend again and come home. Fourteen was born out of love that Ten had for Donna. And that love (and the TARDIS) brought him right to Donna’s doorstep, so he can hear her call him spaceman again and have the best of times for as long as they live and have a laugh with his family in their shared garden and find out what it’s like to be happy. Fourteen gives his love so openly and freely and he gets to receive it too, he gets to bask in it and revel in it. He finally gets the reward Ten was dreaming about.

#doctor who #dw meta #fourteenth doctor #ten #donna noble #dw diaries #text

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belovedblossoms-m · 1 year ago

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When it came to holidays, there were a lot of them, and several different types too. Some granted people time off of work and school, which would often help relieve the stress and escape the hard-working vices every day of Japanese society, a much-needed breather. Other holidays provided no day off, but still helo some sort of unique o special meaning on their own, and today's national holiday was just that, and Minato wanted to celebrate, with the only person he knew exactly who he was going to celebrate it with.

The only person he could ever see himself happily spending any given holiday with was his precious girlfriend Chiaki Nanami. He went to their usual spot, knowing for a fact she'd be there since she wasn't in her dormitory bedroom.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Ooooh Chiaki, it's National Kissing Day today, so how about you help me celebrate?"

With a smile, he pulls Chiaki in close to him, arms wrapping around her, hands resting gently on the lower back of her small frame as he leaned in to plant a passionate kiss, locking lips with the gamer girl he had come to love so much ever since the very first day he saw her.

The kiss is held and last several seconds before it gently broke, allowing them both to get air. After the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers, still keeping her in his arms.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Happy National Kissing Day Chiaki~"

It felt like any other day for Chiaki: waking up, going to classes and doing some gaming in between and after they end and retreat back to her dorm. And even though she does have a new significant other that is Minato Arisato, she still hasn't quite kept up with the romantic events and holidays such as today. She treated everyday so casual often engrossed into her gaming unless it was a huge holiday to involve with others. As she was already at their spot expecting to see him there today, what she hadn't expect to see him pull off such a move.

"Ah, hey Minato. Kissing day? What do you--" Before she could question further, she was already pulled into his arms, locking in a deep kiss pressed against her lips. Her eyes went wide from the surprise initially, then softened as her own arms relaxed upon his shoulders and returned the kiss with similar passion until they parted briefly for air. Her pale skin on her face gradually turned red soon after, laughing a little as their foreheads rested against. Her heart was racing and she felt like she was on air...so that's why it felt so nice to celebrate those kind of holidays with someone.

"Hehe...happy national kissing day, Minato."

#dxfiedfxte #( ic. )┊communication is the key to success.#( saved. )┊memories to reserve.#//they're both just the absolute cutest I can't take it x3

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soobnny · 2 years ago

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kiss me — lee minho.

trope. established relationship. just fluff and a lot of making out. minho is needy

synopsis. your favorite genre of lee minho is when he’s needy and begging for your kisses after a long exhausting day

word count. 1.4k words

warnings. kind of suggestive but not rly ? just lots of kissing so neck kisses and making out but nothing more

note. i can’t defend myself im sorry minho’s lips r just so pretty and kissable that i had to write about it

You think your favorite genre of Lee Minho is when he’s needy.

He barely makes an appearance, but when he does, he always takes you by full force. It doesn’t help that with this neediness comes a softness that had always been in the boy, but rarely showed.

Now that you’re dating, though, this intertwine of softness and neediness shows a little more often than when you were tiptoeing the thin, undistinguishable line between friends and lovers. It’s different from the care he displays to his friends, where he’s teasing, but you know he’s listening. It’s not quite like the one he shows his family either.

With you comes a particular softness that’s reserved for you only.

Like right now.

It’s an odd hour in the night, just close to midnight when he comes home. It’s the nth time he’s complaining about practice, sputtering loud whines about how coming up with the choreography had taken a much longer time than he had anticipated, stretching practice out longer than usual, and how this could’ve been time to spend with you.

Disdain drips from his tongue as he peels his jacket off of him, shamelessly zipping it down in front of you before tossing it aside in the laundry bin. “Just gonna shower, okay?”

His statement comes accompanied with a kiss to your jaw, and then he’s off to the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long before he’s walking out with wet hair arranged messily over his forehead, and you admit without shame how good he looks shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants with a towel in hand to continue drying his hair.

“Stay awake for me, pretty girl.”

It is with selfishness that Minho asks you to stay up for just a little longer as he searches for a plain shirt to wear to bed. How could he not act on it? He had been thinking of kissing you hours ago, and he couldn’t wait until morning to feel your lips against his.

“Mkay…” He smiles at your persistence to stay awake for him, that gentleness peeking just a little as he takes a mental note of the way you scrunch your nose to keep your yawn in. He’ll save this memory to think about if practice runs a little too long again tomorrow.

The whiff of his laundry detergent is strong enough to peel your eyes open as he places himself beside you on his bed, and automatically, his arm makes its way around your waist.

You wonder what his motive is – it seems like he’s expecting something from the way his fingers tap at your hip, and the way it seems like he’s holding himself back from doing something. But Lee Minho is an impatient man, and it only takes about two minutes before he’s tugging at your shirt, sporting a feigned pout.

And then it all clicks.

You know this is his way of asking you to sit on his lap. Lee Minho has always been much more comfortable with showing his love through acts of service, however, he is still a man in love and in need of physical touch from the one person that matters the most in his life from time to time.

And years of knowing him would teach you that he has always had trouble with voicing his more physical concerns as he has never been outwardly touchy. Those years have also taught you of his little hints.

Like right now, when he’s tugging at your shirt.

A relieved sigh escapes his lips when you finally comply. Especially when most of the time you’d let him fight for it, enjoying the way his face would glow in heftiness over your demands of him telling you what he wants – but you really don’t think he’s in the mood.

He must’ve been so exhausted after practice to allow his neediness to make an appearance, even to the point of a whine almost spilling at his lips when you don’t respond to his tugging right away.

But you’re on his lap now, and that’s what matters the most to him. His hands immediately hike up your shirt, fingers sliding through your bare skin to claim their home in the curves and slopes of your body, the ones he’s memorized all too well.

“My needy boy is so cute.” You giggle.

There’s teasing laced in your voice when he leans down to comfortably rest his head on the crook of your neck, taking your hand and dropping it on his head as a sign for you to run your hand through it.

“Shut up.” Minho grumbles in response, fingers tracing little patterns over the skin he can reach.

He hums in satisfaction when you tug at his hair, the way he likes it, and you feel the ghost of a smile form on his face. When he lifts his hips up, you know it’s another hint that he wants you to move closer than you already were.

“Want me to kiss you?”

“Don’t make me say it.” He groans as he peels his head from your neck, lips moving to press against yours the moment you mention it but you move away just as quickly, dodging away from his kiss.

“So, you don’t want me to kiss you?” Minho’s groans grow louder, grip tightening on your waist gently to tell you what he wants. “(Name), please.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You laugh quietly, leaning forward this time to place a wet peck on his lips.

The simple gesture makes him fumbly, fingers moving to stroke your back before coming back down to caress your waist. Lee Minho is always so vulnerable when you kiss him like that, hands feeling him up after long hours at practice.

He looks at you with so much fondness beneath his hooded eyes before he makes a move to drag his lips down your neck so you don’t take notice of his unusually red face. His damp hair tickles a little, but you don’t mind – not when the sight of the man sitting beneath you, so hazy and soft, was entirely different to the Lee Minho the world thinks they know.

“You did good today.” You tap the back of his neck to get his attention, and almost immediately he’s looking back at you, at your eyes, then at your lips, and back to your eyes.

His eyes are a little blown out, but you can’t quite tell, not when he’s closing them and leaning in to kiss you. And his lips slot against yours perfectly, like they always do, but there’s more fervor and desperation in the way he’s kissing you right now, tongue running over your lower lip just so he can get more of you.

“Not tired yet?” You mumble against his lips, and he simply shakes his head, only pulling away when he can no longer control his breathing. He has a stupid smile on his face.

He allows himself to look at you for a few seconds, and the sight of your gentle smile and your messy hair and the flush pinkess of your lips, and the way you look down at him – mirroring the same amount of love he feels for you.

A sharp breath leaves his nose at the intimacy of the moment, and he’s hit again with just how much he really loves you that he feels the need to say it out loud. He doesn’t say it enough. He thinks he should work on saying it more.

“Love you.” Minho says it so softly, but in the quiet of his bedroom, you hear it clearly.

“I love you too.”

“You love me too?” He still feels the need to verify, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder before moving to work their way back to your lips.

“I do. A lot.”

“Hmmm.” The atmosphere is silent when he pulls away from your skin, head tilted back, open-mouthed and eyes hooded as he breathes you in. “Come give me another kiss.”

And you do.

Lee Minho would never admit out loud, but you’ve got him terrifyingly wrapped around your finger.

He is so, so stupidly in love with you, in a lovesick, comforting kind of way and from the way you’re smiling and giggling right now, he considers giving his needy and soft side more screen time in the future just for you.

And only ever for you.

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songsofadelaide · 6 months ago

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Soshiro wasn't a stickler for rules. However, he didn't like seeing officers flout rules, either. He always stood somewhere in between sticking to the rules while not being a strait-laced, by-the-book kind of leader.

With that being said, he really had no qualms about workplace relationships as long as they didn't get in the way of his officers' jobs.

Soshiro couldn't be completely against the whole thing. Not when you were around. If he were being honest, though, he would've been one of his Captain's biggest headaches if not for his great respect for her. Mina liked order, and she always took pride in an orderly Third Division. For her own Vice Captain to become the main source of mayhem would spell trouble for her.

Good thing he liked staying out of trouble. Save for a few exceptions. Involving you, his favourite Platoon Leader. Not that he'd ever outright admit it, too.

He did admit to how you piqued his interest the moment you decided to enlist in the Defense Force. You were a retired fencer, your papers bookmarked with a recommendation by the Japan Fencing Federation— but whatever skill with a sabre you have would prove useless, seeing the force's growing preference for automatic firearms. Fortunately, that wasn't the case for the Third Division. They'll always have room for blade masters, or at least that's what you've been told during the Presentation of Enlistment Certificate Ceremony.

And Soshiro liked how good you looked in your formal uniform. He'd never admit that outright, too, unless he wanted to be accused of favouritism for real. (Or worse: predatory behaviour by a senior officer.)

While you were mostly a reserved and unassuming person off the field, many of your colleagues called you a raging tempest in missions, the kind they'd get swept away in if they ever got in your way. You endeavoured to accomplish every task as swiftly and efficiently as possible— without breaking ranks, of course. Your tenacity was rewarded in the form of a promotion to Platoon Leader, an unexpected but welcomed opportunity. Soshiro seemed to agree with the Captain that you were a worthy investment and that other officers could stand to learn a thing or two from you.

You tried not to pay too much mind at the Vice Captain's growing interest in you, though you had to admit that it was pretty flattering. The second strongest person in the Third Division placed a lot of stock in your ability to get the job done. And though you've had your shortcomings, your accountability endeared yourself to him even more.

(So much so that Mina had to remind him of his position. She had no qualms about workplace relationships as long as they didn't get in the way of her officers' jobs. As long as order was maintained, too.)

Even you couldn't help your curiosity when you caught wind that this year's new recruits were an exceptional bunch— and that one happened to share tremendously intimate history with the Captain. It was a sizzling hot press release you couldn't help but sink your teeth into when Tae started talking your ears off about it.

You tried not to make that much noise as you both made your way back to your personal quarters that evening, but your topic was far too interesting to just stop and drop— it was about your usually pensive Captain...

"Do you think the Captain will start softening up?" You couldn't help but muse as you helped yourself to your canned coffee.

"Doubt it! This is Captain Ashiro we're talking about," your fellow Platoon Leader remarked. "Then again, she's still a woman..."

Pretty much, you thought to yourself. Woman or not, a person's relationships shape the way others view them. Officer Hibino's revelations about his shared childhood memories with Captain Ashiro painted her in a new light, unveiling her as a tender girl in her youth— more human than machine like everyone else thought her to be...

"I heard something interesting about you, too," Tae said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "One of the rookies said they already knew you from before. When you were still a professional fencer."

There's only one, you sighed to yourself this time. "It must be Haruichi-kun. If you must know, Tae-chan, Izumo Tech sponsored my fencing journey, especially when I was just starting out."

"That's not all, too," she chuckled at your slight change of tone. "Last I heard, the kid might even have a crush on you."

"That is not true at all," you elbowed her and laughed at her statement. "That's probably the most absurd thing I've heard in my entire life. Haruichi-kun is—"

"Why do you think it's absurd? I think it's ridiculously truthful," came the voice of a man from behind you.

"Vice Captain! G-Good evening!" You squeaked and managed a salute as Soshiro made his approach. He didn't look like he was ready to retire for the night just yet, but was just hanging around.

"Kafka's tales have made the rounds, huh?"

"It's hard not to get roped into the gossip when it's so interesting," Tae said with a grin. "And with a Captain like ours who's so well-loved and well-respected, it's pretty tempting to hear what kind of person she was when she was just a kid."

"Yeah, she really went for her goals and succeeded," you nodded in agreement. "She's awe-inspiring."

"We're all aware of how amazing our Captain is," Soshiro stated with the same recognisable cheer in his voice. "But what's that thing about you and one of the rookies again?"

"Y-You mean about me and Haruichi-kun, Vice Captain? I-I mean Officer Izumo—"

The redhead standing right next to you could only purse her lips to prevent herself from laughing out loud, because by the gods, only she and a handful of other superior officers were aware of their Vice Captain's vested interest-turned-infatuation with you. And this was their Vice Captain getting all jealous and territorial with you.

"I'm just gonna go ahead and turn in for the night," Tae said as she nudged you before breaking out into a salute directed at Soshiro. "Good night, Vice Captain!"

"T-Tae-chan?!" You could only call out to your fellow Platoon Leader as she disappeared into the darkened hallway leading to your quarters. A little whimper of defeat left your lips as you turned back in the direction of your Vice Captain. "Vice Captain—"

"Are you two close?"

"Huh?"

"You and the rookie."

Close wasn't exactly the right word for you two. Haruichi was your main sponsor's son. You've met a lot of times before and have nothing but great respect for each other. A silly crush doesn't do him any justice. That rumour was made in poor taste and faith.

You shook your head at your superior. "We're familiar with each other, but not really as close as everyone thinks."

"Is that so?" Soshiro said, not at all sounding convinced. "If I ask him, will he say the same thing?"

"I suppose," you replied to him with another small sigh of resignation. "I'm sorry, Vice Captain. It's not a nice rumour, if you ask me... I feel sorry for... the rookie for being embroiled in this mess."

"Don't apologise because of that," he said as he reached out for your hand. "If you're going to apologise, at least say sorry because I heard it and believed it."

You can confirm now that he wasn't there to reprimand you at all since his hold on you was both tender and solid. There was a storm in his wine-dark gaze— languid but brewing, and the way he looked at you made you want to dive right into the depths of his eyes.

"Hoshina likes you."

It was a thought you pushed at the very back of your mind ever since your Captain first let that slip when you took a bath together once. You thought she was joking at first, but she didn't take it back at all.

"But you didn't hear that from me."

And she even followed it up with, "don't let your personal feelings get in the way of your work"— like hell this revelation won't get in the way of your work!

You didn't want to think about it at all but here it was, staring you right in your face.

"Vice Captain, can we t—"

No, what were you thinking? The moment you say you want to talk about it will change everything. You'll blur the fine line between superior and subordinate. He'll cease being just your Vice Captain and become something else.

Something more.

"If you want to talk, let's do it somewhere more comfortable," he told you as you caught the twinkle of expectation in his eyes. You were likely playing into his hands now, so what else could you do but dance to his rhythm?

"Yes, of course. My personal quarters are nearby," you said, pointing in the direction of the dimly lit hallway that Tae disappeared into moments ago. "If... If it's all right with you..."

Soshiro didn't speak as he eyed your embarrassed face, but his mischievous, victorious cat-like smile did all the talking for him. It was he who opened the door and led you in, his hand warm on the small of your back even though you extended the invitation to him. And though you said you wanted to talk to him— to clear the air and rid yourself of this trepidation and hesitation that you felt— very few and far between words were exchanged that night.

You liked him too, after all. Now all those times your eyes met even though you were just about to look at him made sense. He's had eyes for you ever since.

You drank deep into his wine-coloured eyes while he helped himself to your warmth, the tempest that you were now in his arms as a single beam of sunlight he wanted to keep all to himself.

And keep you he did.

When word got out that the female rookies caught Vice Captain Hoshina leaving your room early the following morning, you already expected to be summoned to the Captain's office that very day.

But instead of being vexed about the situation and her Vice Captain's unusually poor judgment, Mina had a rather amused expression on her otherwise normally calm face as she sat across from you two.

"What happened to not flouting the rules, Hoshina?"

"Hey, it's not like I wanted to get caught!" Soshiro shot back at her, though there was very little he could do in the face of his Captain's evident thrill at his predicament.

"I can turn a blind eye to this, but the rumours are already out there," she continued. "I suppose I'll have to mete out some form of 'punishment' for you both. Just to make an example out of you."

"I-I'll accept whatever punishment you have in mind, C-Captain!" You exclaimed with a stiff and deep bow. You've never been reprimanded by the Captain ever since you first started out in the Third Division. For you to be sanctioned for the very first time... I've really done it this time!

"On second thought, I'll just have you two file this instead," Mina stated as she handed you a single sheet of paper with a header in bold letters that read Workplace Relationship Disclosure Form. "As a formality. It's also a written promise that you won't let your relationship get in the way of your jobs."

"That's it? Piece of cake!" Soshiro said with a smile as he read out the form. "We'll file it now and—"

"You'll file it at headquarters yourselves," she said with a small smile as she stood up from her desk. "Other than that, I hope you two managed to talk things out. You're dismissed."

"Headquarters?! Captain Ashiro! We'll do anything! Just don't make us go there! It's such a pain to get there!" He pleaded with the Captain this time. "We'll tell everyone if we have to! I mean that's not a bad idea, too, so they'll know that we're together! But we're just going to be normal about things, we swear!"

"Just how normal are you two going to be?" The Captain said with a small laugh, just like the one you heard from the rumours. "Just promise me you won't let this affect your work. I have great faith in you both, after all."

"Roger!" You exclaimed in unison, followed by your shared tender laughter.

"Good. Now do 30 laps each before training starts again this afternoon," Mina replied to your enthusiasm with another small smile. "I'm really not letting you guys off the hook that easily."

"Th-That's fine, Captain! We-We'll make a start now!" You stammered before she could change her mind about your choice of consequence, throwing her a salute before eventually jogging out of her office.

"Don't make her run your laps, Hoshina. She'll do it for you without even you asking."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Captain. As if I'd let her do all the heavy lifting herself."

"What do you plan on doing about the rumours?"

"Let them talk. It's even better for us. At least they know now who she belongs to."

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#mari's prompts 🎠#kaijuu 8 gou #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju number 8 #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 spoilers #kaiju no.8 x reader #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro #soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #he is both cute and sexy... a perfect combo if i may say so myself lol #things i can't stop thinking abt lol #starry divider by @/cafekitsune

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dickgraysonsbitch · 6 months ago

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Hi! Just found your blog and it’s the best thing ever honestly. I was wondering if you could do a Jason Todd x reader where the reader deals with migraines and sensory overloads? If not that’s totally cool, have a nice day!

thank you so much for your ask!! this was actually my first request ever 😭 nonny you will go down in history 💖 a psa that while i do have mild sensory issues, i don’t have migraines, so any and all criticism is welcome!

warnings: pills/migraines | 1.2k words | dividers by @cafekitsune | requests open !

You fell onto the bed, tucking your knees in close to your chest. Fifty minutes. This goddamned headache had been the bane of your whole existence for fifty minutes, and you couldn’t even catch a bloody break. Every week, it would come back like clockwork, and while you had your routine (two advils, an eye mask, and soothing ocean noises all while sitting in a dark room with a singular, mildly-scented lavender candle with two out of three wicks lit) it didn’t change the fact that every minute that you lay there, the throbbing sensation around your head came back worse than before.

Grasping the tip of your nose, you tilted your head back in order to swallow the pills next to you. If you didn’t, you’d eventually gag on the water, and that wasn’t really a pretty sight to see. It was a miracle that you could even work as a hostess, especially on the graveyard shift, because it was taking every ounce of your willpower not to throw up at even the most tamest memories—a sleepy child with food flying out of their mouth, or a costumer shouting about how ‘insane’ you were when you had only gotten through your second advil of the day. It wasn’t enough, clearly, because if it had been, you wouldn’t be holed up in your dark room like a vampire with chronic pain.

One knock on your window jolts you from your ibuprofen-fueled haze. Two knocks. Three knocks—god, who doesn’t have patience in this stupid city? Not everyone can be a metahuman that travels at the speed of sound.

You open your window, head still pulsing, but all thoughts of another cup of mildly sweetened honey tea dissipates when the Red Hood smoothly slides into your living room/kitchen (it’s Gotham! Rent may be low, but you are poor as hell), removes his helmet, and shakes his head like a wet dog, the domino mask he was wearing underneath somehow not falling off. He shoots you a crooked grin before plopping himself on your couch, resting his legs on your coffee table.

“Shoes off,” you grumble. “And for the millionth time, I have a door for a reason. And I put food on that table, and I don’t want to see your nasty feet on it.” While other people might be a bit more reserved when talking to a Bowery drug lord, you had never given yourself the same boundaries. He’d crashed into your apartment when he was injured one night a few months ago, and since then, the Red Hood swore to one, pay off your window, and two, make sure you were safe. In his words, it was the best way to repay you for saving his life—even though you didn’t really do anything of the sort. Basic stitches that you learnt in high school, because that was what they taught when a vigilante could collapse in your house due to blood loss any minute in Gotham.

“Woah…” he raises his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes glinting with mirth. ��What’s wrong? Rough shift?”

He can always tell, and you’ve decided to refrain against trying to lie to the only crime lord that you’ll likely ever be friend with, unless the Penguin unexpectedly decides to lumber up your fire escape. (Hood’s gotten you a spiked baseball bat for occasions like that, because you complained about any firearms). A pang of pain from you head. Mental note, put out the candle, no wicks. Darken the room even more, try and fail to go to sleep. You have your second job in the morning tomorrow. Mental note, take a melatonin if you can’t sleep, pack a few pills of ibuprofen and acetaminophen if you can’t get through your morning shift. It’s two AM right now, you could still get three hours of sleep if you—

A rough, calloused hand gently caresses your cheek, sending a tingling sensation down your jawline, all the way down to the base of your spine. Okay, woah. “Take a deep breath, baby.” Hood’s deep, gravelly voice shakes your from your stupor. Oh. You were slipping back into your anxiety induced panic attacks, and you hadn’t even noticed. You take one deep breath, but instead of feeling like you’re stuffing an oversized pillow into a kid sized cover, you’re at ease, letting fresh air flow into your lungs.

“How you doin’ tonight, huh baby? I saw your kitchen light on, thought I’d stop by.” Red Hood rubs a simple circle pattern into your back, letting you lean onto him.

“I bet…” you take a shallow breath. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

A smile cracks through onto his face. “Nah, baby, just you. All the girls have nothing on you, baby. You want to tell me about your day?”

Maybe it was just his voice, but you were almost immediately more at ease than you wee moments ago. Red Hood would’ve had a great calling as a therapist, or even a guidance counselor, but you weren’t sure that he’d like it if you called him, arguably the most fearsome man in Gotham, a service worker. Men were weird that way.

“C-can you talk to me, Hood? I don’t know… you have a nice voice, I guess. Makes me feel safe.”

You could swear that you heard his voice crack before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that. So… I guess I didn’t do much today. Oh! This one sleaze-bag was trying to rob this eighth grader, and I’d never seen this old guy, okay? The kid, his name’s James, he immediately just swings his backpack at him. And I come in, this dude’s already gotten a broken nose…”

He keeps talking about the unexpected things that happened during his day, but your eyes are just trained on Hood. His sharp jaw, his toned arms, his hair and the decent-sized white streak that runs through it, his soft lips and the J scar that covered his left cheekbone, and you wondered what it would be like to know him without the mask on. Would he still be the same, sweet guy that you knew?

In a sudden moment of courage, you take Hood’s hand and squeeze it, your heart pounding nervously against your ribcage. “Thank you, Hood.” You whisper. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I would be done if you weren’t here. I’d probably be still having a killer headache right now.”

He smiles, something that you’ve been seeing him do a lot more often than he’s known for. Red Hood, vigilante, drug lord, crime boss? Nowhere to be seen. You try your hardest to gaze past the white lenses over his eyes, concealing his eye color.

“Jay,” he mutters softly, soft enough that if you hadn’t been sitting so close, you wouldn’t have been able to hear a word that he said. “Call me Jay.”

The head comes come back sometimes, but you usually tend to ignore the headaches after a dose of acetaminophen and a head massage from who might be the world’s best vigilante, Jay. You may not know his full name yet, but you know his heart, and under all that armor, under the Red Hood, is a man with a heart of gold.

please please please let me know if i got anything wrong so i can edit it!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #dc robin #jason todd x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood imagines #cinna’s asks #dickgraysonsbitch

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