#but i cling to him?? i mean in an emotional way. like i never put up walls in my mind to numb my feelings for him the way i do w avpd

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Pairing: Moze x reader

Description: You’re fatally injured

Notes: Um I don’t have a comment for this one lol

Warnings: Blood, very vague descriptions of injury

Moze tries not to think about the blood—pooling around you, dripping and smeared across your skin and clothing, and onto him. Now that the adrenaline of the fight has worn off, the thoughts are clawing their way into his mind. Filthy. Grimey. Unclean.

But the blood can be washed away, the clothing can be replaced if necessary. You, on the other hand—you can never be replaced. So he pushes past the sick feeling in his gut, trying instead to focus on that—on you.

“Moze…I’m sorry.” you say, softly, so softly that he almost doesn’t hear you.

But he does.

For a moment, Moze is truly, terribly afraid that you’re gone. “What?”

“I’m bleeding on you…” your words are slurring together in the haze of blood loss. He almost feels relieved that you responded.

But that relief is overshadowed by your words. That shouldn’t be your main concern—not now, while you were bleeding out. While you were so close to dying.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says.

“But…you…”

“Talk about something else,” he interrupts. “Stay awake. Just…talk about something else.”

You’re quiet for a moment, but you lean your head closer to his chest. “You’re warm,” you hum. “I think…I could stay like this forever. If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms…”

He reminds himself that you’ve lost a lot of blood, and that some of that blood is from a head injury. That your words mean nothing, that you’re too delirious to know what you’re saying.

Hopefully you’re also too delirious to notice how his heart betrays him, pounding in his chest in response to your rambling.

When Moze arrives at the infirmary, and hands you off to the Yaoqing doctors, you cling to him, reluctant to let go, but you’re too weak to put up any real fight.

It isn’t until later, when he’s finished cleaning all evidence of the fight and injury, and is scrubbing the blood off of his skin, that he realizes for a moment, when you breathed in his existence and thought it might be the last thing you ever knew, that he’d forgotten all else. That the world around him stopped, because the thought of really, truly seeing you die, overpowered all else.

Somehow, even when the blood is gone and his skin scrubbed raw, he doesn’t feel any less uneasy. All he can think of is you, the pool of blood that had surrounded you, the emotion he can’t quite place twisting in his gut even now, compelling him to stay by your side.

So Moze returns to the infirmary, keeping watch from the shadows.

-

It was a few days before you awoke, and were actually lucid.

Moze stood in the corner, leaned against the wall. He didn’t realize he drifted off until he was startled awake by the sounds of movement. His hand twitches toward his daggers instinctively before he realizes that it’s only you, sitting up in your bed.

You’re similarly startled when he emerges from the shadows, and your eyes land on him. You also reach for a weapon on instinct—though yours isn’t there—but you visibly relax when your mind catches up with you, and you realize it’s only him.

“You should still be resting,” he admonishes.

You raise a brow. “And you shouldn’t be in here. I doubt they’ve cleared me for visitors yet.”

Moze ignores your comment. “How do you feel?”

“Like I almost died,” you joke. “But really, I don’t remember much. It’s all kind of a blur. I’m not certain the things I do remember even happened.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and not for the first time Moze takes in the state of you. Bandages wrapped around your head. He knows from his memory of your injury that beneath the blanket, you also have them around your abdomen and chest. Moze had known even as he made every effort to save you that your survival was far from guaranteed.

The phantom feeling of your blood crawls back onto his skin. He crosses his arms, tries to fight the urge to scrub and claw at the skin, because he knows it’s not there.

You’re the first to break the silence. “The medics said you brought me here. I owe you my life, Moze. I know it couldn’t have been easy…”

He remembers your apology. I’m sorry. I’m bleeding on you.

“There was no need to leave you to die,” he responds.

You smile. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.”

Your smile suddenly twists into a frown, your hand reaching up to brush against the bandages around your head. “I…didn’t say anything strange to you, did I?”

If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms.

“…No.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank the Aeons! That would have been humiliating…”

He suspects that you remember more than you’re admitting to, but if you would rather believe it never happened, then he’s willing to pretend it didn’t.

Somehow, though, he knows the memory of you, clinging to him, saying you’d be fine with dying if he was the last thing you saw, won’t soon fade away. That your blood will continue to linger on his skin long after he cleaned it, that the fear of losing you is now realized and forever ingrained in him.

That he really wants to hold you close, and feel you clinging to him like that again.

He’s quick to bury those emotions, and try not to think about it any further. But he knows they’ll surface again, and unlike the blood and grime, these emotions will not be so easily washed away.

[bunnihearted]

🍓

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon, size/strength difference

gn reader

Thinking about breaking things off with your fuck friend 'cause you feel he's been catching feelings you have no intention of pitching...

“Why.” He asked, and the cross you’d made on your fingers in a wish to avoid the entire conversation untangled with a sigh.

“Please, don’t act dumb.” You groaned, exasperated and slightly irked. “You know why….” 

“No. Tell me.” He argued, and you sighed again in regret of your own common decency – wishing you’d taken the entire break-off over text instead, or at the very least taken the time to think about what you would say or do if and when he got this way. 

“You...”

You hesitated, taking a second to decide whether or not you really ought to voice it out loud – not because you had any doubts of it being true – but because the man in front of you was still very much a large brawny beefcake with temper issues no matter your sneaking suspicion that he saw you as something more than just a fuck friend.

“You’re getting too...” You continued, still scrambling for better words. Coming up short. “Clingy.”

He paused, his expression going from searching to a mix of offended and scrutinous.

“Clingy?” He repeated, forced disbelief a present factor in his tone. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who clings to me- screaming my name- begging me to cum inside you and-”

You cut his rant off with yet another sigh accompanied by a shake of your head. “That’s not what I mean by clingy. I’m sorry, I should have said emotional, and your comment just proved that.”

You folded your arms across your chest, watching him reel.

“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. We’re done.” 

You left him on the sofa to go put your shoes back on – admonishing yourself for coming inside in the first place when you could have just as quickly done this on the doorstep and walked away.

“You're not going anywhere until we talk this through.” He followed, his stronger hand latching onto your upper arm in a grip that was unnecessarily harsh.

You didn’t really mind, though – it was his lack of charm that had charmed you to begin with – you only wished he’d remained that same savage he was and not gone all lovey-dovey soft on you.

“There's nothing to discuss.” You felt as though you were repeating yourself, getting more annoyed by the fact. “It was fun; now it isn't.” You underlined, looking back into his eyes, cringing when seeing the gloss of something that you really hoped wouldn’t amount to tears while you were still there.

“I'm gonna need more than that.” He said, the grip on your arm still kept firm with no inclination of letting up.

You didn’t really want things to get more awkward by asking him to let you go – feeling as though maintaining the position of strength was important so he not mistake your resolution.

He had a nasty habit of never taking you seriously.

“You’re being childish.” You stated.

“Childish?!”

His grip tightened with his outburst, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have your heart jump to your throat.

"Let go of me." Your voice had significantly diminished.

"You think you can tease me like this and then tell me to piss off?” He seethed, your arm aching in the bruising grip he had on it as he pulled you close until your face was an inch from his. “Think again."

Your breath thinned under his glare, and you felt nearly too stiff to do anything except stare back up at him in wait.

“Calm down.” You tried, but it seemed choice words were too little too late to save you.

“I am calm.” He hissed back into your face before pulling you back to the sofa.

Throwing you down on your back – you didn’t even have the time to gasp before he was on top of you.

“Get off me-” You whined, your hands shooting forth – trying with all your might to heave him off, but ultimately amounting to nothing more than a slight annoyance to the much larger man on top.

“It's all about sex with you, right? You want to have fun, right?” He said in a craze, and you cringed while he leaned down to graze your chest with chin-stubble and lips, whispering at your peachfuzz until goosebumps rose. “So let's have some fun.”

“Stop it – I said I don't want to anymore – I’m being serious.” You tried, once again – appealing to his reason.

But it would seem he was beyond reason…

“Oh? You're being serious?” He mocked with a sneer and a laugh. “You don't look it. If you want me to stop so badly, then stop me. Come on~ try a little harder. Show me how serious you are.”

You’re not sure why you took him up on the challenge, as you’d long known of your differences in build – how you posed as much of a threat as a bug in a mason jar...

But even a bug will try to escape still after the lid has been sealed.

“Come on~ you're not even trying~” He grossly crooned, smiling at your pitiful attempt at twisting him off with the useless help of your silly hands – how your much smaller body writhed beneath his weight and tried wriggling free.

Laughing dryly, he took your hands by the wrists and pinned them to the cushion beneath you. Sagging over you, his breath fanned your lips.

“What was I to you, huh?” He asked in a murmur, his face blank but his eyes swirling. “Just a toy?”

You were afraid to breathe, only keeping your gaze terror-wide of what he might do – still grasping to fathom how he’d even felt possessed enough to do this much – confused as to how you’d missed the signs while having not a single clue what more he was capable of.

“Guess now you're my toy, huh...” He muttered coldly.

And you just couldn’t help the whimper that it tore from you – finally understanding exactly what position you were in.

The disorienting knowing of what was soon to happen dawned on you mercilessly – and you completely broke under the hefty weight it had. 

“Oh? You’ gonna cry now?” He scoffed before hissing. “That's cute, seeing as I’m the one who’s had his heart stepped on.”

“S-stop it, get off me-” You cried, whole body shaking where you squirmed to no use nor end.

“Not so cold-hearted now, are yah, fuckin' bitch?” Was all he had to say while leaning into where thick streams of tears rapidly ran down your cheeks in stingy streaks. “You scared?” He whispered in licks at your ear. “Gonna start begging, hm?”

You only shook – eyes squeezed tightly to a close.

“Nah…” His tone scraped, similar to how the shaven stubble on his chin scratched lightly against your neck as he started placing small kisses there despite your whines. “'Cause you want this too. I know you do.” He insisted. “You're just scared I'll break your little heart at some point.”

You’re breath hitched as his hands parted with its twin – leaving it to keep your wrists pinned by itself as the other one traveled down between your bodies to undo your zipper.

You wanted to say something, but you were too scared to – listening to him and his lovesick speech – full of so many things you feared could trigger much sicker things.

“But I promise you that no one’s heart is gonna break here.” He vowed, still with his lips pressed wetly against your throat. “Not yours or mine.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Shinso, Kirishima

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo

HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

BLLK – Reo, Isagi

AOT – Eren

[verysium]

attractive things bllk characters (unintentionally) do?👀

i received this ask and decided to write this entire thing through a caffeine-powered fever dream. may have gone a little overboard. please pray for both your sanity and mine. thank you anon for your strong sense of imagination (or delusion, whichever you prefer.)

nagi lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, and you accidentally (or not so accidentally) get a good look at the droplets running down his abs and v-line. he also does the doorway lean while waiting for you to get ready. since he's so tall, he puts his one arm up on the top of the door frame while scrolling through his phone. when he feels drained of energy, he clings to you like a koala, face buried into the crook of your neck.

rin pushes his hair back when his bangs get in the way, and it shows off his ridiculously sharp side profile. sometimes you have to pause mid-conversation because the direct eye contact gets too intense. he has the brightest turquoise eyes in existence, and they stare right into your soul. pair that with the height difference and him towering over you. hang onto your ovaries because this man is about to snatch them. if isagi or sae are anywhere remotely close within your vicinity, he will personally drag your chair closer over to him. you know, the whole nick jonas chair pull thing? he also unintentionally clenches his jaw when pissed, the vein popping out and everything.

barou is polite to his elders. he holds the door open for others. he tips extra at restaurants. he is kind to service workers. he's just a gentleman overall even though he likes to act tough. he rolls up his sleeves while cleaning or cutting up vegetables, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearms. wears those form-fitting aprons where you can see the outline of his waist and the muscles in his back. he is not immune to raging pit bull moments, but he will calm down immediately when you ask him to.

kaiser requires physical touch to function. all concept of personal boundaries goes poof in his little ego-driven brain. he holds your chin so you look up at him while he's talking. also has that husky growl when he wakes up in the morning. he speaks german. what else is more attractive than that? if you stroke his ego, he will puff his chest out like an emperor penguin and flash that movie star smile. does not slow down his pace for you, and will laugh at your expense when you trip in heels and fall. but then he feels guilty about it and begrudgingly picks you up and carries you home. however, before that he will make you swear on everything holy to never tell isagi about his moment of weakness. (tbh kaiser is a menace and has some serious self-esteem issues. pls avoid dating a man like him in real life until he is fully mature. i still love him tho.)

reo mansplains but not in the condescending way. he does so in the "omg i'm so excited to finally get to share something with you and you're never going to believe it" sort of way. rambles on and on about his interests and gets that little glint in his eye when he's passionate about something. also not sure if this counts but he gets extremely depressed when you don't message him back within five minutes. what do you mean you were busy? he was out here dying from a literal famine. he needs your affection to survive. last but not least, he is good at styling. he knows what colors work best for you, and he will put together three new looks for you in record time.

hiori dreams that you left him for good and wakes up crying with his arms around you. will refuse to let you leave the bed even if it is just to get a glass of water. his rare moments of emotional vulnerability are what gets to you.

shidou does not condone any of your bad decisions. you want to get shit-faced and party until early morning? no complaints from him. you want to wear sexy outfits to the club? say less because he's about to enjoy the view and knock out the front teeth of every guy who dares to ogle you. i don't know if this qualifies as being attractive, but he would never be the controlling type. you can dress and act however you want. unfortunately for you though, this is also a textbook case of the blind leading the blind. if you get horrendously hungover, so does he. if you get pulled over, he's going to be too blackout drunk to even comprehend the officer's words. you can count on him for a good time, but not anything else. do not take any of his advice at face value.

oliver likes to show you off even if he doesn't notice it himself. any talk with his team, and he will find a way to make the entire conversation about you. at this point, the entire u-20 team is done with him. they placed bets that you two wouldn't last more than a month due to his philandering reputation, but the universe seems to think otherwise because you and oliver hit the six-month mark and are still going strong.

ness guards your drink with an unnecessary amount of protection. while you left to go use the restroom, he was looking left and right, and the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling every time someone even came close to your cup. he also shoos away any person who opens their mouth while standing next to your drink because apparently the condensation from their breath could be dangerous. definitely covers your cup with both hands even if it has a lid. no suspicious shit is happening on his watch.

yukimiya is well-read, and he wears glasses. he has a copy of every single classic out there in existence and will fangirl along with you over your virginia woolf collection. he was written by a woman with two cats and a wine glass. not much else to say.

loki absolutely clears the entire carnival/arcade game. you want that giant teddy bear that costs over three hundred ticket points? say less because he's about to win the whole damn pot. of all characters, i would say he's one of the only green flags. like celery green.

isagi always looks for you when he enters the room. intentionally or not, he always seeks your presence. if someone says a funny joke, he turns to you to see if you're laughing or not. also does that somewhat creepy stare thing where he just looks at you quietly while you do mundane tasks. internally he is screaming cus what do you mean you actually like him?

chigiri gives you that thankful little smile whenever you stand up for him. i feel like people don't understand how goofy he can get as he's canonically good at doing impressions/impersonations. also has the prettiest laugh. if he ever cuts his hair, i think i'm going to get a nosebleed.

noa unconsciously says yes to every question you ask of him. he'd be giving bastard münchen a hard time (and denying isagi's requests) but then immediately once you come over, he's automatically acquiescing to everything you say. the rest of the team is low-key shocked you can win him over so easily. when they confront him about it, he just shrugs and goes "y/n is always right."

kurona's entire existence is attractive. he's just perfect. nothing is ever wrong with him. will let you check out his shark teeth and lightly pokes your finger to leave an imprint. hopefully you'll always remember him that way. he's also quiet so he will listen to everything you say and give ample weight to your words.

sae is my baby girl so he gets a whole section dedicated to himself:

absentmindedly plays with your hair. when you're sleeping in his lap, he'll gently run his fingers along your scalp. sometimes in the morning when you're sitting up on the edge of your bed to do your makeup, he'll come up from behind you and brush back your hair. might also press a kiss to the back of your neck.

helps you put on your face mask. when he's shopping, he will buy you lotion along with his own skincare products. says that it was just a convenient store run but you know he personally made sure to get you the best quality ones.

this is canon because i said so: when he gets out of the shower, he slings the towel over his neck or his shoulder. he also involuntarily flexes his biceps when he bends down to grab something. has the world's most defined deltoids.

when you're stuck in large crowds at the airport, he puts his hand in your back pocket to keep you two from getting separated. if the TSA pat-down is anywhere too personal for his liking, he will openly glare at the officer once you've passed the security checkpoint.

bonus point: when you two brush your teeth early in the morning, he has that little bed head where his shorn-off bangs stick up in cute little tufts here and there. will have a dead look on his face, but his eyes soften when he catches your gaze through the mirror.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.1K]

Jealousy, reassurance and Steve. Prompts: “why didn’t you tell me where you were?” And “I’m not being overdramatic.” Was this supposed to be a 500 word prompt? Yes, we don’t talk about it.

You hated it, you hated it, you hated it.

It was a gross feeling, an awful sensation that felt thick like tar, clinging to your chest, enough of it to make you ache and feel heavy. It crawled up your throat, making you feel too hot and by the time you’d spotted your boyfriend in the food court, standing talking to a pretty blonde girl, the lunch you’d brought him had went cold in your hand.

Anxiety? Perhaps not. Jealousy? You hated that that emotion seemed to sit better on your tongue, bitterly so.

And when Steve waited for you in his car later, the engine running and the heating on full so it was warm enough for you, jealousy still clung to you in an ugly way.

“Hey, babe,” Steve greeted as you slumped into the passenger seat. He was reading the back of a new cassette tape, absent minded as he scratched off the price sticker and leaned over to give you a kiss. He didn’t seem to notice - or mind - that you turned and gave him your cheek. “How was work?”

You hummed, non committal and fussed with your bag, pushing it down into the footwell. “Was fine,” you mumbled. “Yours?”

You wondered if this was when Steve admitted to rendezvousing with a girl in secret, if he’d try to deny it. The logical part of your brain told you that there was absolutely nothing secret about meeting someone in the middle of the busy food court on a Saturday afternoon, but the jealous bubble that had grown inside of you was having none of it. It grew and grew, a blue-green ball that took up all the cracks and crevices between your ribs until it felt like you’d burst from the pressure.

Steve was backing out of the parking space, his arm thrown around your headrest and he nodded, eyes on the rear window. “Yeah, yeah, it was alright. Got busy after lunch so it wasn’t too slow, y’know?”

“Right.” You nodded, suddenly finding breathing a weary task. Your throat was tight, your eyes hot. Lunch. “I, uh— I came to visit you on mine. My lunch.”

Steve blinked, chancing a quick glance at you now he was on the straight road back to Hawkins. He blinked in surprise. “You did? I hate that I missed you, babe, m’sorry.” His hand found your knee and squeezed. “I must’ve been in the back or something.”

You didn’t say anything. Not for a few minutes. Because Steve was your first real relationship you didn’t know the rules and you didn’t know what to say and you’d never, ever experienced the kind of fizzing, hot dread that was clawing at your throat—

“Did you go out at lunch?”

Steve turned to look at you once more, a fleeting glance with knitted brows and a small, if not unsure, smile on his face. You were being weird. Your voice was quieter than normal, soft and formal all at once and you hadn’t put your hand over his as it sat on your knee still.

“Yeah,” he told you, wondering why you asked. “I forgot mine at home, ran to the food court and grabbed some fries.” His thumb rubbed over you. “Must’ve been when I missed you, huh?”

“Mmm,” you hummed again, head ducked, fingers tangled in your lap. Steve was frowning. “Did you go back to the store? After?”

“What?” It was becoming harder to concentrate on the road. The street lights flickered to life as the evening set in and the orange-white glow of them made the wet in your eyes shine. Steve was alarmed, wondering why on earth you looked like you were close to tears. “Baby— after I got my fries? I mean, yeah?”

Steve would’ve almost missed the way your bottom lip trembled if he hadn’t slowed for the stop sign. “Honey? What? What’s going on?”

You broke then, watery eyes and lip tucked between your teeth as you tried not to let out the audible sob that was stuck in your throat. It was a silly thing, to feel such intense emotions, especially over a scenario you knew little about, but that heavy feeling had clawed at your chest all day and you felt smaller than you ever had, too hot and itchy to be in your own skin and something - somehow - had to get out—

“Baby,” Steve was more than alarmed now, wide eyed as he pulled over to the side of the road, the wheel turning dramatically in his hands as he killed the engine and unbuckled his belt. “Baby, what is it, huh? C’mon, talk to me—“

He was leaning over the console to you, brown eyes shining with concern as one big hand chased your wet cheek, pushing at you softly until you lifted your chin for him. Steve made a soft noise at the sight of you, glassy eyed and huffing as you tried to tamper down your shaky breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?” It wasn’t what you had planned to say, but it was the only thing that made it past your lips in the moment.

The boy’s face crumbled in confusion, brows creased. “At lunch? I did…what?”

You sniffed, immediately feeling silly but you were too far gone, too deep in. You swiped hastily as your cheeks, too meanly for Steve’s liking and he chased your fingers with much kinder ones.

“You said you went back to the store,” your breath hitched, a shuddering thing as you pulled in a gasp of air. God, this was so silly, this was so stupid. Your body burned. “After your lunch— you said you went back.”

Steve looked at you a little plainly, the little gears that most men had in their heads whirring into overdrive. He looked confused, grasping at your words and trying to decipher what they meant. “Yeah?” He tried weakly.

“But I saw you,” another hiccup, another fresh tear that you managed to catch before Steve did and the boy frowned deeper when you pulled your face away from his touch. “I saw you in the food court, you were talking to a girl.”

You were very aware of how childish the sentence was as it left your lips. But you were tired, defeated. You’d held onto the jealousy and fear and anxiety all day and now that it was out, you were exhausted, shoulders slumping and mouth twisted into a pout that Steve really wanted to be able to kiss away.

But recognition settled over him at your words and his lips fell into a small ‘o’ of understanding. He tried not to smile, he really did, knowing how much it would upset you further, so he pressed his lips together and nodded before speaking.

“You saw me with Tammy Thomson.” It wasn’t a question.

You sniffed and shrugged, suddenly playing indifference now you knew the blondes name.

“Baby,” Steve tried again, bringing his hand back up to sweep along your jaw, his thumb pushing gently against your cheek. It was a fond touch, dripping in affection and you so wanted to lean into it. “She was an old school friend.”

You scoffed. You might have not went to Hawkins High like Steve had, but you’d had enough conversations with Robin and Eddie to know the list of people that had crushed hard on Steve. Tammy Thomson’s name had come up on serval occasions.

“You weren’t going to tell me you ran into her?” You mumbled, staring at your skirt.

Steve floundered for a second, lips moving without sound as he tried to find the right words before settling on the honest to gods truth. “I actually kinda forgot.” He shrugged, apologetic. “I wasn’t thinking about it. It, uh, it wasn’t an important part of my day, y’know?”

Embarrassment washed over you in a hot, sticky curtain, leaving you just as teary as before. You hated what you were insinuating with your words, what you were accidentally accusing Steve of. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, despite what your brain had told you all day. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“God— urgh,” your eyes watered again but you squeezed the heel of each palm to them before the tears could fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I, I’m sorry. Can you take me home? Please.”

The car drop sat at the side of the road, the inside cooler now the engine wasn’t running and you hated the idea of someone you knew driving by and seeing your tear stricken face - or worse, thinking that at this was the spot you’d chosen to make out with your boyfriend.

Although, you’d much prefer that right now.

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s voice was achingly soft and closer than before as he moved in. His hands found your wrists and gently pulled them away from your face, easing the pressure you’d put on your poor, swollen eyes. “C’mon now, talk to me? Please?”

You blinked as the world and the boy came back into view, lip still trembling and you felt too soft, too delicate, way too vulnerable. Steve’s gaze was just as gentle though, kinder than you thought you deserved.

“I shouldn’t have—“

Accused? Spied? You weren’t sure what you were going to say but Steve interrupted you regardless. “Wanna know what I was thinking about?” His thumbs stroked over the soft skin on the inside of your wrists as he held them between you both. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You.”

You could’ve cried again if Steve had let you, but he seemed to sense the stuttering of your chest and he smiled, a little teasing, a lot loving. “You, fries - of course, how much I hate my boss, where I wanted to take you out for dinner tomorrow, how I heard about this new movie I thought you’d like.”

Adoration filled the cavernous space your jealousy had once been.

“I think about you a lot,” Steve told you, grimacing playfully like it was something shameful and secretive. It made you smile, head falling forward to rest against your joined hands. “It’s sick, actually, right?”

You nodded, face still hidden and joining in on the joke because you didn’t know what else to do or say. Not in the car at least. Maybe, you thought, when you got back home you’d invite the boy in and cover him in kisses. Apologetic ones, loving ones, doting ones, from head to toe if you had to.

“You okay?” He asked, more serious now. “Can you look at me?”

How could say no?

You lifted your head and Steve tutted, lips pressed thin as he took in your puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks. He used your hands in his to wipe away the damp tracks, so much softer than you’d done before, making you treat yourself with so much more care and kindness.

He raised his brows, waiting on an answer.

“I’m okay,” your voice was raspy from emotion and you coughed, embarrassed. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head shrugging. “It’s okay. Just— just talk to me next time, yeah? Don’f tiptoe around what’s making you sad, babe. I wanna be able to fix it for you.”

You nodded, still aching with all the emotion, both good and bad. The self conscious side of you couldn’t help but ask, “do you think I was being overdramatic?”

Steve’s lip quirked up, something he managed to tame quickly. He frowned, leaning in to press a kiss at your hot cheek. “You?” He murmured into your skin, nose pressed to the soft skin by your mouth. “Overdramatic? My crybaby? Since when?”

There was laughter laced in his words, a light teasing you’d taken months to get used to but you recognised it for what it was. Fondness, familiarity, a way to break the heavy tension and make you smile.

So you did, lips lifting and brows crinkling all at the same time. “I’m not being overdramatic!” You watched Steve grin as he started the car again, looking both ways before pulling back into the lane. “I thought— I thought you were—”

“What?” Steve glanced at you, grinning. He caught your hand and lifted it to his lips, stamping a kiss on the back of it and held it on your lap, not letting go. “You thought I was gonna get my fries and runaway with Tammy Thomson? Never to return?”

You didn’t say anything, you just say back in the chair and tried not to pout, because, yeah, that’s exactly what you thought. You just hated how stupid it sounded coming from someone’s mouth and not your own head.

“And leave you?” Steve tutted, head shaking as he kept up the playful tone. There was a lot of love on his eyes when he looked over at you. “Baby, c’mon now.”

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[sunnyangy]

Can you maybe do hcs for togame and umemiya. Like general relationship hcs, how they came to like y/n, how they are in a relationship kind of thing and maybe nsfw hcs too

of course ! hope you’ll like it, and don’t hesitate to tell me if it’s ooc, i’ll change it :) I already did Umemiya NSFW hdc, but i’ll make another post for Togame’s NSFW hdc !

——————————————•

Relationship Headcanons 🍃

- Umemiya, Togame

- Umemiya 🌱

• The first time he saw you, was when Sakura had brought you up to his office. It was unusual to have a girl in this school, so when you started asking him too much advice, he got fed up and brought you to the leader, the famous Umemiya.

• He was since the start a sweetheart to you, greeting you with his usual bright smile. You seemed quite surprised to see that the leader was a man like this, with dirt on his shirt and gardening gloves. Of course, the first thing he did was showing you his tomatoes.

• But when you seemed to be interested in it, and to have some knowledge about it, he was like stunned in place, holding the tomatoes in his hands. He was probably as red as them.

• You then used to go to his office at lunch to talk with him about plants, share advice, and garden together. Every day, he waited for lunch more and more. He quickly realized he was more excited about seeing you than talking about the summer barbecue. His heart was pounding whenever you knocked on the door, the butterflies in his stomach flying around as he went to greet you.

• After around 3 months, one day you were as usual watering the plants, before putting back some soil. As you were filling your bucket up, you felt arms go around your waist, his body gently pressing against your back, his chin on your shoulder. It felt natural at this point, you just smiled and blushed at his contact. But what he said did in fact surprise you, as he said it with no warning whatsoever.

« I love you, y/n. »

You froze for a second, before setting your bucket down and turning towards him. Your answer was to put your hands on his cheeks, and kissing him.

• Since then, you two never leave each other.

• Umemiya’s love language is physical touch, he can’t resist just holding you in any type of way, even if it means touching your feet with his under the table if you’re in a group. He will always have an arm around you, a hand on yours, on your thigh, and if he can, he will always be kissing you in some type of way. On your lips, your cheeks, your temple, your forehead, your shoulder, whatever, as long as he can kiss you. He’ll always be hugging you and cuddling you, even if it’s not the time or place.

• He also comes to your house uninvited often, usually to gift you things or just to talk. He doesn’t mind if you do the same, but he takes the initiative way more.

• He is always very protective of you, he is sometimes reluctant to let you out on patrol, he’d rather you doing the not dangerous jobs like painting over graffiti’s.

• He likes to takes you out on dates often, bringing you to bars, restaurants, swimming pool, wherever you can have fun together.

• With you, he lets out his weirder side. He’s so energetic, always jumping around and smiling, always making jokes and annoying you teasingly.

• Of course, he loves PDA. He loves to show people that this beautiful girl right here is HIS, and that he is YOURS. All the school knows you’re the leader’s partner, everyone respects you and protects you.

• You’re the only one she shares his concern and bad emotions with, his past and what annoys him. You always try to give him a solution as well as calming him down, and you always succeed.

• Just like he says « Ko - to - ha ! », he will always come to you like this, chanting your name as he shows you something on his phone.

• Overall is the most golden retriever boyfriend ever, always clinging onto you, teasing you with a big smile on his face.

—————————————•

- Togame 🦁

• You’re not part of Shishitoren, as you are just a student working in a convenience store after school to pay your studies. And this store happens to be the one closer to the Shishitoren’s place, the abandoned cinema.

• They always came in groups, and you were kind of scared of them but always tried to stay polite and oblige their demands. But once, someone came alone, which was rather unusual. He was not wearing the orange vest, but you recognized him. A tall man dressing in a traditional kimono and wooden shoes, with yellow glasses and his black hair in a braid.

• He came back everyday, without his vest, buying drinks and snacks. At first he was always quiet, but after a while he started talking to you. Telling you Hi, how are you, talking about things like the weather or whatever was going on the city, just trying to make conversation. One day, as he was leaving, he turned back to you, and spoke.

« By the way, my name’s Jo Togame. Nice to meet you »

And before you even had the chance to answer, he waved you bye and left.

• After a month, he was once again at your counter, and bought a card. But when he left, he didn’t take the card. You tried to run after him to give it, but he already disappeared. You sighed and went back at your counter, putting the card on your desk. But when it slightly opened, you saw there was written something.

« If you want, you can meet me tomorrow at the new cinema at 8pm. I’ll let you choose the movie »

Even if he never told you personnaly, you knew he was part of the Shishitoren, so you were quite scared, but you judged that there was less chances to get beat up if you accepted his advances than refused. So you went. And it was the greatest date of your life. He was gentle and all throughout the night, bought you snacks, even taking you to the restaurant after the movie.

• For months, you two learned to know each other, before one day, he finally spilled it out.

« Hey y/n.. um.. I.. fuck you know what, I’m just going to say it. I’m part of the Shishitoren. »

You looked at his green eyes, slightly laughing. He was clearly confused on why you laughed, but you simply answered

« I know, Jo. »

• Since then you two grew close to each other naturally, he didn’t even ask you out. You just went onto dates, met each other after your shift, even before, and met on weekends.

• He loved that you saw him not for his affiliation to a gang but for his own person. You reminded him of Chōji, you reminded him of a sun. And you became his new sun.

• Togame’s love language is acts of service. He will always be doing things for you, making your life easier on whatever he could. He had a bit of trouble with physical touch but learned to appreciate it from you.

• He loves whenever he sits on the floor between your legs as you are on the couch, as you gently brush his hair as you hum a song. He loves the feeling of you braiding his hair, running your hands on his nape and shoulders.

• He likes gentle kisses filled with love, as it’s a rare time when he actually fully touches you, his hands on your hips pulling you close.

• He likes to tease you, pull some pranks on you, always laughing after. And you could never stay mad at him, his smile way too rare to ignore.

• He is REALLY protective of you, no one better lay a finger on you. He is also very possessive and jealous, you have to calm him down sometimes if even just a customer talks to you.

• He has trouble talking about his emotions but you always help him, he feels comfortable enough to talk to you about his worries. Sometimes, he’ll end up crying in your arms about how he felt guilty that he couldn’t help Chōji. The sight of him crying is rare, but it’s heartbreaking.

• He is overall a calm and supportive boyfriend, who loves to do things for you, and love when you help back. Other guys must beware, as he knows how to show his fangs if someone even approaches you.

[feyhunter78]

Aftercare

Artist cred: Lxstari_

Description: A soft moment with Nerd!Miguel. Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You look beautiful. He always thinks that, but especially now as you fit yourself into his side, watching as he flips through Netflix for something to watch.

It wasn’t like this before, with Ava she would leave when it was done, put her clothes back on without sparing him a second look. But not you, you stayed, slipped his t-shirt on, climbed back into bed with him, clinging to him like a teddy bear.

“Do you want any more water?” Miguel asks, turning his head to you.

You shake your head then rest it on his chest. “No, I just want to stay right here for a bit.”

He’s pretty sure you can hear his heart pounding against his chest, his face burns, and he wants to melt into the mattress, his affection for you overflowing. “Yeah, no problem, you know you can stay as long as you like.”

You hum in response and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“How about this movie? I’ve heard it’s good.” He suggests, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Whatever you think is best, I trust you.” You say sleepily, curling further into him.

I trust you. Is he dead? Is this heaven?

He clicks the movie and settles in, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed and draping it over the both of you.

You and Miguel chat back and forth for a while pointing out inaccuracies in the movies, laughing at the jokes, cringing at the cheesy acting then fall silent, absorbed in the movie playing on the screen mounted to the wall.

Miguel gently trails his fingers up and down your back, the TV casting a soft glow across the floor, rain tapping against the window, the fuzzy blanket arranged haphazardly, your head still resting on his chest, flooding his senses with the scent of your perfume.

“As if you could splice DNA that quickly.” He snorts, eyes still locked on the screen.

When you don’t respond, he glances down. Your eyes are closed, your face half-buried in his sweatshirt, your fingers gently curled around the fabric keeping hold of him, your breathing soft and even.

Miguel smiles, warmth flooding through him, his heart skipping a beat as he takes in the sight. He never thought he would be here, with you, the pretty popular girl from his lab, the one every guy wanted, every guy fantasied about. But here you are, in his room, wearing his t-shirt, curled up and sound asleep on his chest.

How did he get this lucky? You could have anyone you wanted, he’s seen the way guys on campus look at you, but you never seem to notice. You say it’s because you’re always looking at him, and maybe you’re right. It’s intoxicating, the way you look at him. All pretty and perfect, looking up at him through your lashes, a smile toying at your lips. Or when you’re concerned, the emotion brimming in your eyes, the way you latch onto him, cling to him.

He bites the inside of his cheek as images from earlier make their way center stage. The feeling of your nails digging into his skin, the warmth of your walls desperately trying to coax him deeper, the hunger in your eyes as they met his. Of course, you’re tired, he did everything he could to pull climax after climax from you until you begged him to stop.

He pushes the memories away, wanting to soak in this peaceful moment. The sound of your breathing, the way you sigh softly and bury more of your face in his chest.

You’re so beautiful, so perfect, he wants to freeze time, wants to never let you go, wants to live in this moment forever.

An explosion lights up the TV screen, the sound rousing you from your slumber, and you lift your head blinking at him blearily. “What’s going on?”

He brushes his lips across your forehead, already missing the comforting weight of your body resting on his. “It’s just the movie, I can turn it down.”

“Oh no, the movie, Miguel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You tell him, smoothing your hair down with your fingers, now wide awake.

Miguel shakes his head, his voice dipping low. “Don’t worry about it, you obviously needed the sleep.” A catlike smile spread across his face at your flustered expression.

You smack his shoulder playfully. “Perv.”

“You like it.” He teases, slipping his hands under your bare thighs and pulling you closer.

You yelp at the sudden movement, but soon relax into him, tracing his facial features with the tip of your finger. “I guess I do.”

He marvels at you, at the beauty of you. Even with smudged makeup, and your hair a bit tangled, you’re still breathtaking.

“What?” You ask, smiling down at him, radiant as the sun.

“You’re just so…beautiful.”

“Miguel.” You drag out his name, smiling embarrassedly, turning your face from his.

“Y/N.” He mimics, turning your face back towards his, and kissing you.

You melt into him, like you always do, as if he’s the only one who knows how to kiss you, the only one who should ever kiss you.

“You’re really handsome, you know? Insanely so.” You say between kisses, wanting to return his compliment, unable to just accept his praise.

“Oh really?” He asks. He can feel himself blushing, so he presses his lips to the corner of your lips.

You nod the best you can, eyes fluttering shut when Miguel’s lips drift lower, tilting your head instinctually, allowing him more access to your already marked skin. “Yeah, it’s not fair.”

“Dulzura, dulzura, dulzura, have you not heard the saying all is fair in love and war?” He presses the words into your skin, preening at the sight of his earlier marks. Later you’ll chide him for leaving such obvious hickeys, but right now he knows you don’t care.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just kiss me.” You say, cupping his cheek and bringing his lips back to yours.

He does so happily, humming against you, endorphins and dopamine blooming, traveling across his synapses with unparalleled speed. “As you wish.”

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho, @chooalvina

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous issue] [Next Issue]

According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window. 

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man... 

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are. 

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you. 

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up. 

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

--

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too. 

You take the cupcakes. 

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction. 

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door. 

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks. 

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set. 

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop. 

You didn’t put that there. 

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one. 

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you. 

 “And the cupcakes," you add. 

There's no reply. 

~ To be continued.

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[angyo]

I unironically love csm 167. Not for horny, but because it's so fucked up on so many layers and if it follows up on even 1 of those layers of fuckery it's gonna be explosive.

Denji:

He's already been sexually assaulted so many times. Every time he has a dream it gets monkey's pawed into fucking him up worse. He doesn't know what he wants. Deep down he just wants to be loved and be able to trust that if he puts his soul into the hands of another person it won't get crushed. But his love for aki and power was used to break him. His love for reze and makima betrayed. His love for nayuta and the dogs used to goad him into violence. Everyone he opens his heart to either dies or uses him, so all he has left is this hope that sex gives him the love he so deeply needs without the commitment that makes it dangerous. He thinks getting his rocks off might give him the same love he needs without the possibility of having it stolen from him. An orgasm is an orgasm, even if the other person immediately betrays you you still got "love" in a far more transactional and solid sense.

But that's not how it works. Post-orgasm is a very vulnerable time, especially if it's from a high tension surprise hand job (rape) in a backalley. It's his last dream that hasn't been ruined yet and it happened after a castration attempt and will likely end with Asa looking at him like a disgusting monster and vomiting on the ground.

Yoru:

Of course the war devil can't process love. She and Asa share a body and swap a lot of emotions but they're still different people and when something they now feel strongly goes so directly against all of their lives experience they'll react in unpredictable and possibly dangerous ways, ESPECIALLY war. Yoru got the memory of the first kiss meaning asa probably got it too. Asa's not stable, she's so desperately lonely this revelation that denji never stood her up must've felt so relieving. But yoru was in charge when asa got this flood of emotion. War isn't about love or compromise, it's about stealing from the weak and kind, asserting absolute authority, and a lot of rape and pillaging. Of course when faced with such a human and kind emotion as love war doesn't care about anything but satiating the most immediately available impulse in a way that asserts her "superiority" and leaving before she'd have to actually confront the emotional turmoil she caused.

Asa:

Oh she's fucked. Just like denji she is desperately lonely and always has love ripped away from her in the cruelest ways. But unlike him, she just pretends she doesn't need it and tries to feel superior so she doesn't have to feel the real depth of her loneliness. Yet she can't help but love anyway, and every time she falls into the trap of caring it dissolves all of her defenses and when it's betrayed it breaks her core. She is sex-repulsed, which is understandable for a teenager and possibly a sign of asexuality but thematically can be tied to her fear of opening her heart to damage. There's a difference between finding it disgusting on a reasonable level and being so viscerally disgusted by the thought it can drag you into hell. Sex is vulnerable. Your expose a lot of really sensitive organs to each other and stimulate hormones that make you open yourself up and expose yourself to risks like stds. When it feels like all her vulnerabilities get hammered against her of course she'd be scared of such a vulnerable act.

And now she's got cum on the only hand she has left, denji's spit in her mouth, and the lingering feeling of his dick on her, again, ONLY REMAINING HAND. And he's going to need aftercare, and really substantial care because she just sexually assaulted him and he doesn't know she's 2 different people. He's either gonna be so immediately depressed by the anticlimax of his first time he starts isolating or so desperate for this sex to be the time it finally means love he clings to her but it's gonna be terrifying to her because yoru took her subconscious vulnerability and externalized it to hurt the guy she just realized might be the only person to actually give a shit right now. She loves him and as soon as she lets that emotion wash over her it gets used to melt him into a puddle of desperation and vulnerability right in her arm that is so far beyond anything she can emotionally handle it could make him hate her forever. The only one who ever gave a shit and in the span of a couple minutes her body has been used to deconstruct him into a million little pieces she couldn't possibly put back together.

Not to mention the fact that in assaulting denji yoru also sexually assaulted Asa but denji doesn't know that. They both need immediate calming that isn't going to happen.

And she can't run away from yoru. The girl who assaulted her, exploited every vulnerability she has, and ruined her only chance is in her head. Even if denji realizes his worth and runs away asa is still stuck. Her assaulter is in her head, and the only hand she has left is covered in jizz.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: apparently it is easier to push out a new chapter when its a juicy one!!!! sorry for this but did you really think i was done with the angst? oh naur babey we're just setting up the scene i envisioned when i had the original idea <3 strap in babe!

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

CHAPTER SIX :: BETRAYERS

One glimpse at your shelter as he winnows into the forest, the snow crunching loudly underfoot, and Azriel knows it deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He stands amongst the pines of the forest behind your shelter and even from the distance, he can sense the change in the air. The wind, wilder than usual, tastes faintly like danger. It's snowing. His shadows wisp about, whispering and twittering, doing nothing to ease the twinge of panic.

There are boards in the back window.

Azriel stalks forward through the snow, his ears keenly sifting through the noises of the forest around him but nothing gives way. Just like he had felt all those days ago, there’s a warped agony that clings to the sides of your shelter.

Last time, there had been blood in the snow. A trail, that led him right to you.

Today, there are only the boards in the windows.

His mind jumps to the other warriors in the camp, wondering if this is their doing— trapping you inside as some sort of sickening test. See if the bastard can fight his way out or starve to death in his own four walls.

Something like pure malice glimmers just beneath his skin, ready to rear up, but—

—But no. As he gets closer, Azriel realises he’s wrong.

This is not the work of the brutes in camp, this is you. The boards have been put up from the inside.

A series of emotions stutter and slam into each other, wrestling with one another in his chest. Confusion shares the top spot with an unwavering concern that seems to grow with every step closer. Boarded up from the inside... what possible reason could warrant you to do this?

Uneasiness coats his every nerve, an uncomfortable prickle rolling along his raised hackles. Something stirs in his chest. Azriel stalks closer to your shelter, snow slushing beneath his boots, torn between calling out and biting his tongue. He goes for the latter.

His shadows glide around him agitatedly, circling his hands where they hover over his weapons. His wings are pulled in tight. He slows as he reaches the front of your shelter.

There's no sound coming from inside. No scent of blood, no crackle of fire. Yet somehow he knows, without question, that you're in there.

As his concern winds down a notch, his rational brain begins to tick. There might be someone else in there with you. As the different scenarios get considered and discarded, Azriel lands on the most likely one. It's a trap.

The reasoning builds up the motive, spinning a story that makes sense. A Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, caught off his guard by using his latest confidant against him.

Azriel turns over the idea slowly and decisively, thinking of Brudam, of Lord Mylind, wondering if they've been buying their time all this while— and he's been too distracted with you to even notice.

Azriel curses himself for being so careless.

There's still no noise from within the shelter.

If it's a trap, it doesn't matter; the only way out is through.

Letting his hand curl around the Truth Teller, Azriel grips it tightly and pretends that the loud thump in his mind isn't the echo from his afraid heart. He can't afford to be afraid — not with what it would mean, not with how it betrays how he feels for you.

Not when it distracts him from doing what is needed from him.

His shadows spiral up around him and Azriel weaves the darkness, folding the fabric of the world til it aligns as he needs, his anger sharpening his resolve. He steps through the rippling darkness and into your boarded-up shelter with one swift motion.

It's dark inside. There are slivers of light that curl around the planks of wood, reaching in the dance upon the floor, distorted by the motion of falling snow. The air is stale, undisturbed.

Azriel's gaze scours the environment for enemies, his grip tight around his knife, prepared to unsheathe it without hesitation. His shadows fly around wildly, whispering the details of the room— each corner empty, except for the one he knows your bed is tucked in. Something loosens in his chest just a fraction.

There's no one else in here but you.

His eyes go right to your bed. It's hard to see within the darkness but your figure is there, hunched up even tighter than the last time he had found you wounded, wings pulled up in an uncomfortable hold around yourself.

As the possibility of a trap tapers away, another scenario creeps in — you've been attacked and holed yourself up before they can finish the job.

Almost as the thought crosses his mind, the scent of blood reaches his senses. Azriel stills, each limb locking up as the information filters through his mind, aided by the murmurs of his shadows. Blood, they chant, new blood.

Not blood from an injury, not from an enemy.

A sickening type of surprise coils up Azriel's spine.

"Y/n?" He dares to speak. Your name comes out like it's completely foreign in his mouth.

There's a stunned web that seems to cling to him, dulling all his usually keen senses, as the pieces of this puzzle whiz around and begin to slot into place. New blood— new blood means— it means—

"Azriel?" Your voice sounds from the darkness in the corner. It's smaller than usual, thick with emotion.

There's the sound of you shifting. Azriel can't move at all. Even his shadows have slowed in their surprise.

With his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dimness, he can just see the features on your face as you untuck it from your curled-up position.

Someone is beating loudly against the walls—or at least it sounds that way with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, valves working in overdrive. Is it his heart? It feels like something else, something deeper.

New blood, new blood, new blood. A thousand different instances burst from his memory, glazed in a new light.

"He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected,"—

—"You're smaller than usual Illyrians,”—

—Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males—

—You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you—

—A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Each one threatens to send him staggering to his knees. How the Cauldron did he miss it? How could he have missed it? He's the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court. You've been lying to his face from the very beginning and he's believed you hook, line, and sinker.

You're smaller than the males in camp because you aren't one at all.

You're so driven to help the others, to mend the clipped girls because... because...

His hazel eyes catch on your wings, snaked around yourself protectively and Azriel suddenly feels very, very sick.

You seem to realise all of a sudden that he's real and not just some hallucinated fever-dream version of him. Despite the efforts to keep everyone out, he's here, on the inside with you. He knows.

"Azriel," You say his name again, like a plea this time. Wings uncurling a fraction, you make a move to stand but an invisible pain cripples you and he watches as you shudder, a pained whimper leaking out your mouth. An instinct within him roars to rush to your side but his feet are rooted to the floor.

"You..." He begins, his voice far away.

Something is unravelling in his chest with an alarming speed, something growing and churning, fiery hot. It feels like dread—panicky, horrified fear boiling in his stomach. He doesn't realise that it isn't his own.

"You're not a male."

His words look like they cause you more pain, agony shifting across your features, and Azriel wishes he could take them back the moment they leave his lips. But he's not wrong.

Even from across the room, he can see the quiver in your bottom lip. You're frozen in fear, he realises.

Tentatively, you shake your head. "I'm- I'm not."

You're not. Perhaps, he was wrong about you and you're not some beaten-down warrior, striving for justice against the tides that try to hold you back. Maybe you're a snake in the grass, hiding yourself, cocooning in a lie. You've been lying since the first moment you met him.

Azriel can't tell why it hurts so much in his chest, why it feels so close to betrayal, why it feels like his heart is bleeding. Who are you really?

"I—" Your words get cut off with another wince as you slump over, your cycle ravaging your body with pain. "Azriel, wait—"

He's taken a step back without even realising.

Who are you? Stranger, ally, friend; all the titles you've earned feel like they're getting stripped back forcibly and his heart warbles agonisingly in response. His shadows have picked up speed, darting around him. His wings have risen an inch, flared a little wider.

"Please," You gasp, trying to shuffle forward again but halted by the waves of pain. One of your hands grips around your midriff tightly and there's a sheen on your face that tells him you're crying. He's never seen you cry before.

Who are you? Is your name even your real name? Azriel doesn't know where the hurt is coming from, why it's so strong— except he thinks he does.

He's known from that first week with you. Known from the first time he laid eyes on your face and his very soul seemed to call out in response. He's known and he's been ignoring it all this time. His mate.

"You— you have to understand," You're still grasping at words desperately, even as you give up trying to move through your afflicted torment. Azriel takes another step back. What is he doing? "Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings."

Choked sobs begin to claw their way up your throat and Azriel feels the thickness in his own throat, connected from the inside. You're connected. The pounding on the door, on his chest, in his heart, is the only thing he can focus on, getting louder and louder. Bile threatens at his throat.

He can't be here.

"I just- just wanted to keep—" The words keep coming, even as he steps back once more, shadows swirling. Words lurch up his throat, questions, explanations, accusations. None of them escape. His mouth is dry.

His wings rustle as he tucks them in and forces his gaze down to stare at the floorboards. He's been here, lived here, in your lie for how many months? His mate, a liar.

He shifts the space between inside and elsewhere, scrunching the fabric so it aligns with somewhere, anywhere he can think of.

"P-Please, you have to understand—Azriel!"

Your call echoes as he steps through his magic, letting it carry him away from your shelter, from your agony that he can feel from the inside, from the lie he's been fed.

He lands on a hilltop and when he opens his eyes, he's looking at a familiar cabin. His shadows move about almost limply, his magic and siphons depleted from overuse in such a short time. He can feel the chill of snow on the tips of his wings which drag behind him.

He's...drained. Stunned.

And where he's always dreamed of a golden thread, a lover's tug, rooted deep in his being that connects him to his mate... there is only a pull of utter misery.

—

You had thought of this before; what it might be like to have him find out.

The trust severed. Your friend, the only one you've ever truly had, lost to your betrayal. The first couple weeks in his company as you learnt slowly to let your guard down had been the first times in decades you had been freed from night terrors.

You had thought of it then, during one of those nights—you did not want to lose him in any way.

The cost was too high, the sheer magnitude of your secret that you never intended on him finding out. You had promised yourself you couldn't, you wouldn't tell him, no matter how much you yearned to.

You wonder now if you would have been better off if you'd never met him at all.

Never trusted him, never took his hand, and stood by his side to learn how to fight. No learning how to trust after years of desolate solitude, just to have it ripped from you. No shared smiles in the dim light of the evening, glancing away when you're caught looking for too long.

No hurt, no pain, no replaying the look on his face as he uttered the secret you had kept hidden for nearly three decades.

The burning spasms of your cycle seem almost dull compared to the ache in your heart. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You feel like you're burning up from the inside, like there's a hurricane of regret building in your chest and its' howl is as torturous as it is loud.

Time passes. Outside, the snow turns to heavy rain.

The painful throbs that wrack your body ebb and flow but the heaviness in your heart never seems to fade. You can't decide between being angry at Azriel or at yourself.

How could he be so... so unfeeling? So merciless, not giving you even a moment to truly explain?

There had been a time where you thought when he looked at you, he saw beyond the surface; more than a mutt, more than just another bastard. You half hoped he saw through your facade and didn't care anyway.

You're a fool for that, you realise now.

Your consciousness wanes as you burrow as deep as you can into your blankets, wanting them to swallow you whole, wrapped in half-hearted warmth and ribbons of pain. He's never coming back, you realise. The tears start up all over again, your heart sobbing out for a piece of it that's missing. He's never coming back.

You know that for sure— so when there's a slushing of feet through the snow and a pounding knock on your door, your hackles rise in pure fright. Your wings tuck around yourself a little tighter, right as another spasm of agony rocks through your bones. You cry out weakly, teeth gritted tightly.

There's someone at the door who's come sniffing for a fight. It's not Azriel.

[NEXT PART: MATES]

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@aomi-recs

[yayakoishii]

hi! could i request for fluff and comfort with ace? there was this one reddit post i saw abt a guy who rambled abt being so grateful and happy that he's loved by his girlfriend, and the post described how he felt that way when they were having a bath together (nonsexual, i promise! feel free to look the reddit post up). i thought the prompt suited ace so much, esp since the guy in that reddit post mentioned that he cried out of happiness, so maybe smth like this with ace x fem!reader?

ofc, feel free to skip if it makes u uncomfy ^^

~ ♠️ anon

shower me in your love | Ace x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warning(s): Nudity (non-sexual)

A/n: I loved this idea so much anon, I was so excited to write it for so long TT but post-exam creativity block really hit hard so this is a bit later than I had hoped to put out. Also, you asked for fem!reader but I think this fic never specified any body parts or pronouns at any point, so it ended up gender neutral haha... This is my first time attempting to write Ace, so please forgive any oocness ><

Please do not ask me the mechanics of a bathtub on a pirate ship and let's just pretend that can work out because the sea is on my side, 'kay? I hope you enjoy ♡ and thank you for the request!

also available on ao3!

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon but the sky was still clinging onto a fading orange. Above him, it was already starting to look like a dark midnight blue mixing into violet. Ace's shoulders slouched, the tension seeping out as he made his way to his sleeping quarters. The day had been hectic, and even the usually energised division commander was feeling a bit exhausted.

Ace couldn't wait to drop into his bed and fall asleep but the plan went out the window when he opened his door to find you sitting on his bed, your back to him.

"Hey," he called out, making you snap your neck around. Just the sight of your bright smile got a little more tension out of him. You bounced up to him, hands immediately coming up to cradle his face. You pulled him into a soft kiss and Ace exhaled slowly, pressing his body into your own soft one.

Out of the two of you, Ace was definitely the one with the higher body temperature but somehow, when you hugged, he couldn't help but feel that you were more… warmer. It was a different sort of warmth than physical– more emotional, he supposed. You felt a little bit like coming home, like coming to a fireplace after a day out in the snow.

"Hey," you said quietly, pulling back just enough to admire his face. He didn't have to say anything; he could see the understanding on your face with just one glance. "It's been an exhausting day, huh?"

"Mm," he didn't feel like talking about it, instead opting to drop his head on your shoulder. Ace pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, taking the familiar light scent of you. You giggled at the sensation, playfully pushing him without any real strength to it.

"That tickles!"

"You smell amazing," he whispered. You blushed, pushing at him with a bit more strength now.

"I'm sweaty, what do you mean?" You huffed out another short laugh. "And so are you, mister. C'mon, how about a nice hot bath, hm? I already set it up for the both of us while waiting."

Ace finally pulled away, looking at you with the softest expression. This time, he was the one to cradle your face in his hands. Pressing a light kiss on your forehead, he murmured a quiet admission of love. Gentle hands guided him toward the bathroom, shutting the doors behind him. Ace stood there as you removed his clothes and accessories with somewhat practised hands. When the both of you were undressed, you pulled him into the bathtub and sat down in between his legs.

This close, you could feel that Ace was running warmer than even the hot water around you. He quickly pressed a peck on the tip of your nose to surprise you, then grabbed the bottle of shampoo and soap to start but you stopped him. You took the shampoo out of his hands and smiled warmly when he looked at you with curiosity.

"How about I wash you today?" There was a hint of shyness in your voice, along with a sparkling in your eyes. Ace just nodded dumbfoundedly, watching you carefully squeeze out some of the shampoo into your hands. "Alright, stay still, I'll go sit behind you."

You stood up, the water splashing a bit as you carefully manoeuvred around to sit on the edge of the tub that was attached to the wall. Ace let your free hand guide his frame in between your legs and waited for a few seconds.

The moment your shampoo lathered finger dipped into his hair, he felt boneless. You weren't even doing much, just carding your fingers and working out the tangles as you ensured that the shampoo properly washed the roots and the tips, but it felt so good.

Ace couldn't really remember the last time someone touched him with such gentleness, such care and love. (He couldn't even remember who would have touched him like that the last time. Was it his mother?) You hummed a song he had heard you singing in passing, as you pressed your fingers into his scalp for a slight massage.

Another shaky exhale left his mouth along with the last remaining tension in his shoulders. Ace closed his eyes. With a soft hum, he pressed his head back into your stomach, heart singing at the sound of your giggle echoing in the small bathroom.

"Hey!" You said indignantly, pushing at his foam covered head. "Don't put your shampoo on my stomach."

It made Ace smile and he obliged, leaning his head away. You didn't touch him for a few minutes and he cracked his eyes open to look around at you, to find that you were shampooing your own hair now. You slid down into the tub and he made some space between the wall and him so you could sit properly. Once you were done, you wiped off the foam on your hand and switched to the soap.

"Alright, c'mere, my big baby," you grunted, trying to pull him by his arm. He blinked then let you pull him into the position you wanted. And then you are sitting in his lap, soap being lathered onto his skin with diligent hands. He didn't say anything and just stared quietly at you from the close proximity.

Normally, having you in his lap would get him a little… excited, but today, the action was so non-sexual and domestic, it seemed to hurt. Every movement and word you had said felt mind-numbingly relaxing. Half a year ago, if someone had suggested he would be in this position with you, he would have laughed and called them to get their marbles checked.

Right now though, he couldn't believe his own luck as your fingers dragged over him with a gentleness he had yet to experience from elsewhere. He was strong. Everyone knew that. You knew that. But even knowing that, you always touched him so softly, so gently, that it made him feel like he was made out of fragile brittle glass.

He kinda liked it.

To be vulnerable in front of you only was something he could agree to. No one had ever been this patient and loving towards him, and the fact that he loved you too much to even put it into words crashed around inside him as he watched you soap yourself up.

You were beautiful, obviously. He had to be blind to not notice how gorgeous you were. But sometimes, he couldn't help but think that your real beauty lies in how you just fit in with everyone so well. You were understanding, you were kind and you were there whenever anyone needed you. You were there when Ace needed you. And even though you were there for him, silently understanding what he needed, you never expected anything back for it. It was purely an act of love.

He wasn't talking much like usual today, but you didn't say anything about it. You only continued in your actions, washing away the soap and the shampoo with the water. Ace continued to stare at you, wondering if you were really real.

You were so good to him. He remembered when Marco had mentioned after you announced your relationship that you were good for him. He hadn't really understood the depth of that sentence until now. Until this moment, sitting in his bathtub that was definitely not made for two people, as you washed him even though he was a grown adult who could do it himself.

And it wasn't really about the ability to do it, was it? It was more about the feelings and the thoughts behind the action– it was about the care you felt. Of course you knew he could do it– but you wanted to do it for him anyway because you loved him.

You loved him so much, he couldn't help but feel thoroughly loved and blessed. You, who could have fallen in love with anyone, had fallen in love with him. On his down days, he couldn't help but think that you deserved better than him. Right now though, he couldn't think of anything else but the fact that he was so grateful that you chose him out of everyone.

Whatever made you choose him– he would forever be grateful to it. You were the best thing to happen to him.

"Ace?" Your concerned voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked at you. You were done cleaning off both of you, but you were back in his lap. Familiar hands came up to wipe away what Ace realised were tears streaming down his face. He felt a little mortified that he cried over something so small but, like always, it was like you could read his mind. "It's not insignificant if it makes you feel something so strong. Just let it out, hm?"

He didn't really need your 'permission', but the moment you said that, his body seemed to take it as the cue to cry even more. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks and he felt you guide his face into the crook of your neck– you knew he felt embarrassed about crying in front of you. You just did it to let him save face; you let him hide his face in your embrace.

Ace sobbed into your neck, body shaking as he felt your fingers card through his hair and draw hearts into his back, over his tattoo. The two of you stayed like that for a while until the tears finally stopped.

"Let's dry up?" Your eyes were soft as you helped him stand up and out of the bathtub. "And then we can cuddle in bed all night. How does that sound?"

You didn't need to say it out loud to let him know how you felt. Ace watched you wrap a towel around him and then yourself, the unspoken words lingering in the air alongside the steam.

"Sounds amazing."

I love you too.

°•❀•°

all likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

★ Taglist for Ace:

@toertchen | @boomboom-tanjiro2019 | @katiemrty | @writingmysanity | @akaashi-todorki

let me know if you want to be added/removed!

[rayassecretlife]

Do you still love me?

Pairing: Aged up!Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omaticaya!reader

Summary: You and Neteyam’s family has stayed the same for many years, only one daughter who was now 4. But you fear that Neteyam doesn’t want more, scared he had fallen out of love with you after the birth.

Warning(s): Mature language, mentions of miscarriage, dad!Neteyam being a warning himself, just a lot of fluff and angst etc. not proof read

“Mama!” Your ears twitched at the voice, your daughters crying voice echoing through high camp. You had been working on one of the hunters but quickly excused yourself at her call, pushing past the groups of people to get to her voice. “Where is mama!”

“Aratakai!” The people moved away from you once they noticed, all bowing their heads as you passed and apologizing for stepping in the way. You finally got to the center of the circle, a sigh of relief leaving your chest as you made eye contact with her. “What’s wrong?” She runs to you, clinging to your leg like she had been scared somebody would take her away. You looked up at the other person, forehead creasing at him.

“Look, Y/N-“

“Bad men! Bad men!” Your four year old cries against your leg and your eyes quickly glare at him, watching his ears fall. “Try to get uncle Lo’ak”

“Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean to bring her in the middle I-“

“You brought her on your scouting trip?!” Your voice is enough to alert the whole village and everyone around you is staring at Lo’ak, watching in fear of when Neteyam would approach. He was nowhere to be seen, which was a surprise being that he could feel your emotions and most definitely could feel your rage. “I won’t even let Neteyam bring her outside the barriers! Her own father!”

“She was already out there!” He interrupts, kneeling down to your daughter who had been clinging to your leg. “Arat, tell her what you were-“

“Enough!” You hiss, reaching down to pull her into your arms. Your heart was beating terribly fast, and her cries only made it worse. “I thought you grew out of your immature faze, Lo’ak. I guess I was wrong-“

“T-try get the fruit, mama” You looked down at your daughters face, tears staining her small cheeks. “Uncle Lo’ak take me home” Your ears flatten at her words, taking a second to look back at your brother in law. He understood your frustration, he wasn’t mad at you for snapping.

“Lo’ak-“

“Make way!” One of the hunters called, the very large Ikran coming to the group. Lo’ak gave you a reassuring look and you nodded, hand pulling your daughters head to lay against you, making sure she felt safe.

“Ma’Tìyawn, what happened?” Neteyam’s voice makes her lift her head, now allowing him to see her tears. You could feel his fear and anger raise almost instantly, looking around to find the route of the problem. “Arat-“

“She got into the forest, Neteyam” You tell him, now feeling your own tears ghost your eyes. You were so worried, so angry that someone had brought her down there. She was only 4, there was no way she could’ve made it herself—not without an Ikran. “Somebody brought her down there”

Your husband looks around at your clan, jaw clenched tightly with his eyes strained on each and every one of their faces. When Arat was born, he set strict rules to never bring any harm to her. The people were sworn to protect her at all costs, so who the hell put her in danger?

Whoever it was, he was going to find out—and he was going to kill them. There was no debate about that.

“Lo’ak found her… brought her home” His eyes turn to his younger brother, watching his eyes soften at the sight of him. When Lo’ak found her, he didn’t know how she had even gotten there—so confused he searched the area for the person.

But he got caught between sky people, and Arat almost got hurt. He had never been more disappointed in himself—never been so terrified something could happen.

You and Neteyam kept her secluded from anything that involved danger. It was your biggest fear that something could happen to her because even though you’d feel like this with any child of yours, she was your only one.

You needed to protect her.

He thanked his brother before turning back to you, noticing how badly you’d been holding your tears back. “If you saw anything of my daughter leaving high camp, I suggest you tell me” He raises his voice to the clan, anger even worse now that his family was upset. “I will find whoever did this. And if not me, you better pray she doesn’t find you” The clan chants to him and his word, knowing their fear of you and neteyam was much greater then their fear of the sky people.

“As I’ve said before, my daughters safety is all of your priorities in battle! Let one finger touch her, I won’t hesitate to retaliate against you, do I make myself clear!” You close your eyes as you stroke your daughters hair, letting a few tears fall from your eyes with a sigh. You just wanted to go home now. “You are dismissed”

Lo’ak places a hand on your shoulder and presses a small kiss to his nieces head before leaving, Neteyam finally turning to tend to you and your daughter.

“Y/N-“

“I want to go home” You ignore him, turning to walk back to your cave with Arat still in your arms. He followed of course, but very confused as to why you were acting so angry at him. Why were you so upset? He understood, but there is nothing more he can do.

“Fruit?” Your daughters voice is soft against your ear and you sigh, nodding your head with a sniffle as you set her down onto her feet. Neteyam leaned against the doorway, watching your every move as you put out some of the fresh fruit you had from before. “Thanks, mama” her little lisp surfaces and Neteyam couldn’t help but chuckle, watching you wipe off her tear stained cheeks.

“Excuse me” You cleared your throat before making your way into you and Neteyam’s shared room, not even making it to the bed until his voice chimed in.

“Can you talk to me?” You continued to ignore your mate, walking over to the basket that sat on the floor to pull your small cover up from it. You already knew this argument that was bound to happen. Always doing this around in circles bullshit. “Y/N”

“Leave me alone, Neteyam. Please” yeah, now he knew you were mad. Usually you’d be all over him by now, knowing that he had to work a lot and most of the time wasn’t home to spend time with you unless it was at night before going to bed. What he didn’t know, are the thoughts you’ve been having the past couple of days.

Before you gave birth to your daughter, Neteyam would talk about wanting a huge family. He wanted boys, girls, even a pet. You wanted all those things with him, but as soon as you gave birth—it was like everything you had planned changed.

Neteyam never showed interest in mating any more, barely even seeing you during the day due to his duties. You’d cry when he wasn’t around, wishing you still had that teenage fever love. Was it the birth? Did he not love you anymore? It was so unusual for a Na’vi to lose interest in their mate, but your relationship just felt so one sided.

And then there was the miscarriage.

The loss of your second baby took a huge toll on your relationship for the worst. Neteyam and you would be constantly fighting, and you didn’t work for the longest time just trying to get out of the cave. You felt useless, the people hadn’t seen their Tsahìk for many two weeks.

That is the reason you were so protective over your daughter. She was the only child you had and probably would ever get to have. It stung, you loved the idea of a big family. You never even bothered to confront him.

“Y/N, I can feel your upset with me. What is wrong?” He grabs your hand, turning you to face him. His face was full of worry, taking in the sight of your tears in front of him. Eywa, how he hated it when you cried. His hands reach to cup your face but you push them away.

“Don’t act like you care now” His forehead creases at your words and he’s already shaking his head, more then confused as to what you had been talking about.

“What? Your crying, My love. Of course I’m gonna care-“

“Really? Because you didn’t the last few weeks” Now he was full on mugging you, knowing for a fact that if you had been crying he would’ve known. He would have felt your sadness… he should have felt everything. “Our daughter could’ve gotten hurt today, Neteyam. Where were you?”

“She’s here, isn’t she? I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but you know I have duties and you cannot worry so much. I will find out who took her-“

“Not worry so much? I don’t have a choice, Neteyam! She’s our only daughter! Our only child! If I lose her… Oh Eywa, if we lost her…” You shook your head, wiping your tears as they quickly began to fall. “She’s all I’ve ever wanted, Nete. I can’t lose her”

“That’s what this is about? Why were you crying before-“

“Because you don’t love me anymore!” You snap, your husbands jaw dropping at your accusation. Didn’t love you? Was that a joke? “Y-you promised me a family, and I give birth and you just lose all interest in me!”

“Y/N-“

“I’ve gone through so many heat cycles, Neteyam. If you don’t want more just tell me!” He was took aback by your sudden outburst, hand pulling your waist so you could be closer to him. “And then the miscarriage… Am I just not good enough anymore?”

Eywa, you were so clueless. “Not good enough? Was that a joke?” He reaches up to cup your face in his hands, finally being able to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Y/N, my mate, my wife, my beautiful fucking Tsahìk—you really believe I don’t love you anymore?”

“Everyday I wake up to you sleeping next to me, praying to Eywa that she keeps you safe while I’m gone. Telling you how beautiful you are everytime I see you, bringing home gifts for you and Arat, talking peoples ears off about you. I can’t even remember what my life was like when I wasn’t in love with you”

“And mating? I’ve always wanted to, but it’s been so long I didn’t think you wanted to anymore… and Arat’s birth hurt you so much I didn’t want to hurt you again” He thumbs away your tears, lifting your head so you could stare directly at him. “The miscarriage was not your fault, Baby. I promise you, everything you’ve been feeling, is the exact opposite of what I feel”

“Because I love you, and I want to build a family with you. I still want it all with you, Y/N. You hear me? Don’t cry, don’t cry because of this” His confession only made your tears worsen, arms wrapping around him tightly so you could cry. You were so naive, so stupid to believe he didn’t love you. Neteyam was a busy man, you should have known.

“I don’t want to lose you, Teyam” he shushes you, hand caressing the small of your back and your hair. Lose him? As if you could get rid of him that easily. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, I wish you would’ve told me before so I could’ve fixed it” He sighs against you, pulling away after awhile and almost instantly taking your head back into his hands. “I love you so fucking much, Y/N. Do you hear me? Never say something like that ever again”

You sniffle, nodding your head with a small smile, leaning into your mate to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you so much more” He only pulls you back in, hands gently resting on your throat just to hold you there. He wanted you to know he was there, not going anywhere anytime soon.

“So, about baby number two?”

This is probably bad, I threw this together randomly butttttt finished in an hour so new record 🤭. Enjoy this little fluff while I prepare my smut writings!!

[kazelvr]

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ let the light in

synopsis. relationship headcannons with 3 of my fav csm characters (strictly fem reader for quanxi, gender neutral reader for the rest)

cw. suggestive in quanxi’s part, im just absolutely in love with her lol, mentions of vomit in denji’s part, implied modern au in aki’s part

note. my writing may be a bit different, because i’m trying something new.. i apologize 😭. i also made this half asleep.. time check 4:11 am

denji (デンジ)

to be real, denji has no clue about healthy relationships. that’s putting it mildly, right? the only ‘relationships’ he’s had were all about manipulation and brainwashing.

but hey, he really does put in the effort for you! denji’s going to do whatever it takes to make you happy, such as going bankrupt for the sake of a gift.

despite being in a relationship, denji still feels awkward around you. his shyness towards you was evident from the beginning, and now it has only intensified. please bear with him, he’ll come around eventually!

but when he does get comfortable.. denji forms a deep emotional connection with you. he’s faced many challenges, and all he’s ever wanted is to feel loved. you have become that source of comfort to him, and that means the world.

at first, his kisses can be awkward, unsure of where to put his hands, and he might even keep this eyes open. you might need to show him how to kiss properly, which can be even harder if he’s your first kiss.

he always craves cuddles, day in and out. he’s a true cuddlebug. he likes feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his skin. whether if he’s the little spoon, or the big spoon, his sole desire is to sleep while being in physical contact with you. he finds it impossible to sleep without you.

on those days when you’re super busy and can’t cuddle with him, denji gets all pouty. it’s quite dramatic, really, how he gives you the side eye and ignores you when you try to talk about it. but, he can’t stay mad at you forever. eventually, he’ll give in and cling onto you like a koala. he’s not letting go, by the way.

he is keeping you away from power at all costs, even if you two are friends. if she ever found out that denji has a partner, she will not leave him alone. power will definitely embarrass denji in front of you, telling you about all of his flaws while he tries to stop her from saying anything else… he was never able to stop her.

on your birthday, aki attempted to assist denji in preparing a meal for you. unfortunately, it was a complete disaster and the food turned out to be unappetizing… despite aki’s desperate attempts to persuade denji not to serve you his charred creation, denji, being denji, stubbornly refused to listen. when you took a bite, the taste was so revolting that your stomach couldn’t bear it any longer. you regurgitated the ill fated meal… it’s the thought that counts, right?

overall, he’s trying really hard to be a good boyfriend, please appreciate him.

aki hayakawa (早川アキ)

this man…. phewww…

aki is the epitome of a respectful boyfriend, always seeking your consent before engaging in any action, be it a simple kiss or a gentle touch.

if you happen to be someone who tends to be disorganized and messy, rest assured aki will gladly take on the responsibility of tidying up after you. regardless of the severity of the mess, simply tell him, and he will promptly begin cleaning it up, without any judgement.

bathing together has become a regular routine for the both of you, a frequent occurrence that follows a long day of hunting devils. aki, in particular, finds comfort in sharing these type of moments with you. the soothing warmth of the bathwater coupled with the gentle sensation of your hands massaging shampoo into his hair, while he rests against your chest, brings him a new profound sense of relaxation. it’s not always about being sexual, but rather the feeling of closeness with you that brings him a sense of tranquility.

aki is like a dad sending text messages. when he’s not around, he would text you to ask if you need anything from the store. when he receives your response, he replies back with a simple “👍” emoji. that’s it.

aki is all about being the big spoon— it’s just who he is. aki has experienced too much loss and he can’t bear the thought of losing you. he holds you tightly in his grasp, afraid that if he loosens his grip, he’ll lose you, even though that would never be the case. your presence alone brings him a sense of security, and all he wants is for you to be safe.

every morning, this man never leaves for work without giving you a gentle kiss, even if you’re still groggy. you’re the sole reason he can maintain his sanity while battling devils all day.

to aki, you’re like his home, his safe space. you are the one he can confide in, and shed tears without any guilt, and that is one of the many reasons why he loves you.

aki is tall, standing at 190cm (6’2). every time you talk to him, he lowers himself to your level so he can hear you more clearly. sometimes, you think he’s doing it to make fun of you, but in reality, he just wants to be close to you.

aki has a reputation for being aloof, but in reality, he is the complete opposite. he’s a dork. a dork who can’t help but smile whenever your name comes up, a dork who finds himself captivated by your every feature, analyzing them with great interest. a dork who’s madly in love.

quanxi (クァンシ)

quanxi has a deep admiration for her girls’ body, and it’s no secret - especially to you, who has personally felt her touch. every inch of your body is your favorite, from the curves of your breasts to the softness of your thighs. she revels in worshiping every aspect of you, leaving you feeling loved.

when someone utters even the slightest offensive remark towards you, quanxi’s protective remarks kick in, particularly if it comes from a man. she wholeheartedly defends you, regardless of whether you were in the wrong (gotta stand up for your girls), she becomes so defensive she almost resorts to physical confrontation, refusing to let anyone disrespect under her watch.

quanxi’s touch is ever-present. usually, it’s her hand on your waist in public, marking you as hers. behind closed doors, she explores every inch of you. it makes you wonder if she’s a different person outside of the public eye. but, who’s complaining?

i like to think that when quanxi gets drunk, she gets awfully needy and with you. she enjoys holding onto your arm and leaning against you, gently nibbling your ear, while softly expressing slurred compliments about your beauty.

quanxi is your ultimate protector, in every sense of the word. facing a menacing devil? before you can even blink, quanxi is by your side, fearlessly slaying the creature. your girlfriend takes pride in being your number one protecter, regardless of your strength.

making out sessions happen 90% of the time you two are together. quanxi simply can’t resist when you give her that irresistible look, with your lips appearing soft and pouted!

titty lover

[heartpascal]

i think any sort of joel x overly sensitive reader would be so cool, platonic or romantic. like they've survived through the apocalypse and you'd expect them to have hardened up a little but they're still so easily brought to tears 👀 joel is like annoyed by it at first but starts to realize that he'd rather they be a bit sentimental than shut off and guarded like himself

break beneath the weight

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel struggles to deal with someone who isn’t as emotionally constipated as he is

▹— a/n: idk what i was doing with this. but. here!!! thank you for the req i apologise if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind :’)

▹— warnings: mean joel, emotional reader, FEDRA lockup, corrupt guards, dare i say… comfort?, (not sure what else! lmk if i missed something) not proofread!

▹— taglist: (ALL) = @rhymingtree (PEDRO) = @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel Miller knew from the moment he saw you that you weren’t made for life in the apocalypse. He could see it, clear as day, in the way you held yourself, in the way emotions played loudly across your face, in the way your fingers trembled around the blade in your grip.

Perhaps it was pity that led him to take you in, or the absence of his younger brother, who had always had a harder time keeping his emotions in check in comparison to his older brother. Whatever it might have been, he wasn’t sure it was a wise decision. In fact, if it hadn��t have been for Tess’s unexpected care for you, he might have kicked you to the curb already.

But instead, he found himself stuck with your presence. For whatever reason, which he couldn’t begin to understand, you had taken to clinging onto his side, following him wherever he went. Which included going on jobs during the day, and tearing up when he put his foot down after you tried to follow him to a deal.

It was irritating.

And while you had never openly burst into tears in front of him, it wasn’t like it was a secret when you went down the hall, shutting your door behind you.

Maybe, if he had met you before the outbreak, he wouldn’t have been so frustrated by you. Maybe, he could have been kinder to you, could have been the person you deserved. But the reality wasn’t going to fade any time soon, and Joel knew that. He just wanted you to realise it, too, before something happened that made you realise it.

But Joel had to realise that you had lived through this apocalypse just as he had. That you, too, had lost everything. The family you once had, the home you once lived in, and you couldn’t bear to lose yourself, too.

“No.” Joel said, before you had even had the chance for the question to leave your lips. He didn’t even glance in your direction, only continued packing the the bag in front of him. He glared at the bag as he spoke again, cutting you off as you opened your mouth to respond. “—What did I just say?” He asked, finally turning his head to look at you.

“You didn’t even give me the chance to—” You started, brows furrowed and throat tightening at his dismissal.

“—That’s right, I didn’t. So don’t start.” Joel reprimanded, tone flat as he turned back to his backpack. His brows were furrowed, expression practically made of stone, and you wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking.

You frowned, “Joel.”

“Mind your tone.” Joel responded immediately, still unbothered by your persistence. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it was the same tone he used for Sarah, when she was younger than you are now, to remind her of her manners.

“Can’t you just listen to me?” You asked, practically begging him, which might have been dramatic, but you couldn’t help how desperation arose at his carelessness.

“No.” Joel said flatly, unimpressed by the emotion crowding your words. Dealing with your overly emotional nature was so low on his list of priorities, in fact, it wasn’t even on there. It was the very last thing he needed to do with himself, given the demanding nature of the deal he was headed to, courtesy of Tess’s orders.

It was frustrating for you, too, having to dampen your reactions when you were upset, just for his and Tess’s benefit. It was hard to be so alone in your emotions, to feel so isolated even when living with the only people you trusted.

They didn’t understand how you were still so capable of emotion, after everything that had happened. It left you vulnerable, which meant they were vulnerable. But you couldn’t help the way you felt, could you? Was it fair for them to ask you to numb yourself just to be more convenient?

All you were trying to do was ask to join Joel on his deal, ask him to show you the ropes. That was all. But he would never even hear you out, and it upset you. Why shouldn’t it? Joel and Tess may have taken you in if their own accord, but that didn’t mean that you wanted to remain completely unhelpful to them.

“Seriously, Joel, I’m just trying to—”

“How many times do I gotta tell you no before you’ll listen?” Joel huffed out, voice raised, as he whirled around to face you. It was instinctive, the way you flinched away from his almost-yelling. He stared at you with unreadable eyes, his expression changed from anger to something you didn’t recognise.

You bared your teeth at him, nose twitching with the effort of holding tears at bay. “Fine! Whatever.” You spat out, spinning around and storming down the hall, slamming the door behind you before you slumped down against it, hands covering your eyes, as if that could stop the inevitable. The tears fell regardless, the tight feeling in your chest making your throat ache. You just couldn’t understand him — you hadn’t even done anything.

There was no need for him to make you feel so… small. He didn’t need to dismiss you like that, and he certainly didn’t need to be so loud about it. Joel knew well enough by now that you were easily upset, a fact which seemed to be a great annoyance to him, which only made you more upset. You were trapped in one prolonged, vicious cycle with him.

The door to the apartment slammed shut only moments later, leaving you in the deadly silence that followed Joel’s exit, without his pottering around to provide any background noise. It made the ache in your throat worsen, and you sniffled, cursing yourself for your tears even as more fell down your cheeks.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel was ready to kill you, really.

He told you to stay inside, to hide in the apartment where there was the slightest semblance of safety, and this is what you do? You directly go against his word?

Now, he didn’t tell you why he wanted you to stay in, which he knows, may have been a big mistake, but really… was it so hard for you to just trust him? When had Joel ever done anything that wasn’t to ensure your safety? He told you to stay inside. That shouldn’t need a discussion, in his eyes. After all, he was the adult, you were the kid.

But instead, Joel had come home to an empty apartment, with no sign of your presence for the past hour, at least. And given the gunfire that had sounded just as Joel ascended the creaking steps with his equally aged knees, he knew that if you were out there, you were in danger.

He knows you’re not with Tess, either, because Tess was in another sector, closing a deal with another smuggling ring to bring them into the fold. She had left Joel with the responsibility of keeping you safe, and he had already been nervous the moment she had stepped out. After what happened the last time he was solely responsible for a kid, who could blame him?

Yet, Tess had silenced him with a “Get over yourself, Joel.” So what choice did he have? It was a reminder that Tess had lost just as much, and a reminder of how much better she was at coping.

If Tess got back, and you were still gone, what would he say? What could he say? She would be back by tomorrow evening, which meant Joel had a limited time to find you. Even worse, Joel had that sinking feeling that if he didn’t find you in that time, he never would. Which was something he couldn’t even consider.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to collect you from FEDRA custody, the very next morning, after searching all night for you. His time had been spent ducking into tunnels, speaking with contacts, avoiding FEDRA guards who were on patrol, and yet he caught wind of your presence in a facility just as the sun broke the horizon, reflecting the break of curfew.

When he walked in, approached the desk with a familiar FEDRA guard sat on the other side of it, he didn’t notice you immediately. But when he looked past the guard, into the crowded cage, he saw your tear-streaked face, staring at him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Miller,” The guard greeted, sending a grimy smile his way, eyes showing a spark of interest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked distastefully, fingers splayed across the dirtied pad of paper in front of him.

Joel knew this guy — and he also knew that he preferred to deal with Tess. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here. But Joel had no qualms with convincing this guy to do what he wanted.

“Sorenson.” Joel grunted out, nodding his head. “Kid’s mine. Let ‘em out.” He demanded, crossing his arms as he stood casually in front of the desk. Joel glanced in your direction, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the way fresh tears were rolling down your face.

“Oh, is that so?” Sorenson asked, glancing back and meeting your eyes. He smiled, maliciously, before turning back to Joel. “What do I get, if I do?” He questioned, as if he was in any position to negotiate. Which, to be fair, he kind of was. Only because of your presence, which limited what Joel was willing to do, in the way of putting you in unnecessary danger.

Really, he was probably making a mistake revealing his hand. Claiming you as his. It was just ammunition for dirtbags like Sorenson to come at him with, to come at Tess with, but what choice was there? He couldn’t well let you rot in this cage, even if you did ignore what he told you, because who knew when FEDRA would let a kid like you out? They’d try to recruit you into one of their schools, if nobody came for you.

Joel sighed through his nose, clenching his hand into a fist and ignoring the way his skin stung with the motion, a reminder of the last guy who had gotten in Joel’s way. “I can give you the next two weeks, free of charge.” Joel relented, expression stony as he glanced between the guard and you, as you stood with your face pressed against the bars of your cage.

“Two weeks? C’mon, Miller, I’m doin’ you a favour, here! Help me out!” Sorenson said, voice low, but louder than ur should’ve been. He glanced nervously around as if somebody would come and snap him up, before setting his sights on Joel once again. “Your kid’s in a lotta trouble, man. Four weeks.”

“Three.” Joel replied, firm.

Sorenson tilted his head from side to side, before shuffling through his papers with a nod. He took out a stamp from the drawer at his side, and pressed it onto a piece of paper with your name written at the top. He stood up, making his way over to the cage with a heavy sigh, and counted through his keys until he finally found the correct one.

You practically leaped out of the cage, the moment the door was open, and you headed straight for Joel. He said nothing as you gripped onto him, only putting his arms by his sides as opposed to having them crossed in front of him.

“Three weeks, Miller. Don’t forget.” Sorenson said as Joel ushered you away, and Joel said nothing to him. But Sorenson had dirt on him now, so it wasn’t like he could go against the deal. Tess was going to lose her shit.

He said nothing to you, the whole way back to the apartment, instead choosing to stew in his anger as you clutched his arm, sniffling.

You flinched when the door shut behind you with a slam, letting Joel go and practically curling in on yourself. It wasn’t entirely your fault, you might have argued, if Joel didn’t look so angry. He didn’t tell you that he knew about a Firefly attack in FEDRA, if he had, you would’ve never gone out! You only wanted to go and trade for some new shoes with the cards you had been saving up.

“Joel, I’m— I’m sorry.” You finally said to him, when he was quiet for far too long, when picking at your fingernails wasn’t enough to distract you from his silence. Vaguely, you noticed that your fingers were still trembling when you stopped picking at them, likely from the leftover fear.

Joel scoffed, rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. What he was looking for, you had no idea, but it was distracting him from giving you that scathing look, so you were glad for it. “You’re sorry.” He muttered out, disbelieving. He shook his head, glaring at the drawer in front of him when he finally stopped rifling through it. “What’d I tell you?” He asked, glancing up at you, eyebrows raised.

“To stay in the apartment.” You murmured in response, feeling your eyes well up once more. It wasn’t your fault, not entirely. You couldn’t help the way your body responded to people being angry at you! It wasn’t exactly something you could control.

“To stay in the apartment.” Joel repeated, staring at you with wide eyes. He shook his head again, apparently exasperated by you. “And what’d you not do?” He questioned, staring accusingly at you by now, his hands resting on the counter in front of him.

“Stay in the apartment.” You repeated, frustration coating your words. You knew full well that you had made a mistake, so did he really have to do this? Did he have to rub it in your face? That he was right, as always, and you were wrong? “I said I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Joel wipes a hand down his face, feeling his age like never before, and sighs at the distinctive tremble in your voice. You were going to start crying, any moment, Joel knew it. And it seemed, given your desire to get away from him as quickly as possible, that you knew it, too.

“I—I made a mistake. I should’ve listened to you, I know.” You continued on in response to his silence, to his exasperation. He didn’t know what to do with you. Raising a kid before the apocalypse was hard enough, but here you were, a kid he hadn’t raised, who he was trying to parent, nonetheless. He doesn’t remember it reaching this level of difficulty, before the outbreak. Maybe that was why.

Joel didn’t exactly understand you, and he had never really bothered to try. After all, his time was spent keeping you and Tess as safe as possible, providing for you as best as he could. He may not understand you, may not know the ins and outs of your mind, but he cared for you. He wasn’t your dad, not exactly, and he’s not sure you could ever be his kid, exactly, but it’s about as close as he thinks it’d ever get.

Joel looked back at you, softening the slightest bit. “You gonna start listenin’ to me, now?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. It was more of a you are.

You nodded, movements jerky but without an ounce of hesitation in them. He frowns at the sight, brows furrowed, and sighs once again. “Are you alright?” He asked, then, after everything else was out of the way. With the way your eyes immediately started brimming with tears at the question, he was leaning towards the answer being no.

He stepped around the counter after a moment, in front of you in mere seconds, and his hands on your shoulders ushered you towards his chest with certainty. You gripped his shirt tightly, holding on to any ounce of comfort as if it was the most you had ever been given, and he said nothing even as your tears wet the material.

“I was so scared, I—I didn’t know what was hap—happening.” You confided, and it was exactly how he knew you would be in that situation. It was exactly the reason he had told you to stay in. But still, he’s somewhat sure that you know that by now, so Joel just gripped you tighter, as if he could squeeze the remaining fear out of you.

“I know,” Joel murmured, another sigh leaving his lips, blowing into your hair just below where his chin was resting on your head as he practically curled around you, hiding you from the world. “It’s all alright, now.”

He was still annoyed at you, still irritated by the way you disregarded his direct instructions, and the way you’re so easily emotional, but this was more important. He knew that much. So, he’d hold you as long as he needed to, as long as you needed him to.

And when Tess returned later in the evening, brows quirked at the way you were sound asleep already, Joel’s only response was a tired sigh.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s late one night, when Joel comes to a realisation.

The sun had long-since disappeared into the horizon, and he and Tess had been asleep for at least a few hours when he woke up to movement in the next room over. It was concerning, because you were usually asleep long before either of them. So, why you were up, Joel had no idea.

Whatever the reason, though, he couldn’t imagine it would’ve been a good one.

Which is the reason he got up, waving Tess away when she stirred awake from his movement. She squinted at him, as if questioning what he was doing, but settled back down soon after. She’d had a long day on jobs, Joel knew, which was another factor contributing to him dealing with whatever was going on with you.

He knocked your door, shuffling it open after less than a moment, and froze when he saw you kneeling on the floor, frantically shoving things back into a space below a loose floorboard. Your expression was scrunched up, as if you were trying to physically hold in your emotions before Joel could be exposed to them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said, hesitantly, “Everything alright?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed, and hand still holding onto the doorknob. He frowned when you nodded wildly, squinting past tears in your eyes to look over at him, to silently urge him to just go. Instead of obeying the silent request, Joel made his way inside after shutting the door until it was just ajar. “What’s all this?” He questioned, peering down into the gap in the floor.

Your lips were trembling, eyes downcast, and you didn’t respond, even as Joel took a seat on the edge of your mattress in front of you. It might have been the most closed off Joel had ever seen you. It was certainly the most effort you had put into hiding your emotions from him, and especially into hiding the cause of them. It was… concerning. Not like you, actually, and Joel found that, as much as your emotional nature irritated him, you being distant was much worse.

His eyes were stuck, for a moment, on a single photo amongst the things in the gap. There you were, far younger than you are now, stood with a gap-toothed smile, beside who Joel could only assume was your father. He had never asked what had happened to your family, and there had only been a handful of times where you had hinted at it. Still, he had never taken the bait, instead choosing to avoid dealing with your emotions.

Today, Joel decided, would be different.

He reached down, plucking the photo from the gap, not saying anything when your hand hovered as if to stop him. He quirked his brows as he studied the photo, glancing between the present-you and the past you, and found more than one similarity. In the photo, he could see the shine of emotion in your eye — happiness, back then. Now, however, the gloss over your eye was one of sadness, despair. Nostalgia, maybe, or even grief. Joel wasn’t the best at detecting emotions.

“This your old man?” He asked, tilting the photo, watching the way the glossy print of it caught the dim light in the room. Joel looked back at you, then, focusing on you properly for the first since grasping the picture, and he found you struggling to hold onto the control of your feelings. “It’s alright, kiddo,” Joel said softly, smiling as best as he could at you, as comforting as he could manage. It had been a long time since he had tried to comfort his child. “You can talk about him, if you’d like.”

You shook your head, rising to sit beside Joel on the lumpy mattress. You plucked the picture from his grasp, turning it over and looking at the faded handwriting on the other side. It was unmistakably the writing of a child — of you, Joel realised, but below it, faded until it was almost invisible, was a translation of whatever you had been trying to say.

“I miss him.” You said, instead of anything else. You thought, perhaps, that this was something Joel could relate to. That it was something he could share with you.

“I know,” Joel sighed, placing an arm around your shoulder, squeezing as gently as he could manage to. He wasn’t good with emotions, not anymore. Feelings weren’t a Joel Miller special, and he preferred it that was. He preferred not to linger in his pain, in everything he had ever suffered through. He didn’t want to feel it.

But you… you were something else. Something purer, than him, he thought. While you were quick to tears, easily scared or stunned, you also radiated a certain happiness. It had taken over the apartment, so much so that Joel couldn’t even remember the shade of grey it had looked before you started staying with them. No, with you here, everything seemed warmer. And Joel Miller wasn’t an emotional person, anymore, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be again, but you made him feel something. Even if it was just a bit of warmth in such a cold world.

Despite your tears, Joel thought that you might just be the strongest of all of you. After all, he didn’t possess the strength to face his emotions, not like you did. He couldn’t bring himself to feel. But if you could, if you could manage to retain some sort of happiness, if you could hold on to some of the happiness that came with these tragedy-tinged memories, why shouldn’t you? Why should he shame you for that? For being stronger than he is?

“I know.” Joel repeated, frowning down at the picture in your hand. Not for the first time, he wished that he had a picture of his Sarah. “I miss her, you know.” Joel told you, lightly, voice right. It was possibly the most you would ever get out of him, but as you looked up to him, teary eyed and aching heart, you knew it was enough for you. Even this slight glimpse into his feelings, it was enough.

“I know.” You responded, squeezing Joel in return, and you felt the way a slight smile lifted his cheeks at your gesture. “It’s going to be okay, right?” You asked, glancing back down to the other bits and bobs you had kept, all to remind you of what you had lost, of what you had had.

“I think,” Joel paused, shaking his head at himself after a moment, before he squeezed you tighter. “You’ll be just fine.”

[cowgurrrl]

More domestic Joel Miller headcanons because I can’t stop thinking about him

When Tommy and Maria have their daughter, Joel absolutely falls in love with her. You two take turns helping the new parents out so they can get some sleep which means you get to watch Joel hold the tiny baby

He will bounce her around the dimly lit room, humming whatever song is stuck in his head, and his curls are a mess on top of his head and he looks so tired but he’s so happy

As she gets older, she clings to him and cannot get enough of him

One time you were walking through town together and you heard a very loud “UNCA JOE” coming from behind you

Joel lit up like a Christmas tree when he turned around and saw the little girl abandoning Maria to rush across the town square and into his arms

She and Ellie become fast friends and the two become little trouble makers despite their 14 year age gap

Speaking of trouble, Ellie constantly makes fun of how affectionate you and Joel are at home. On patrol, you keep it professional and barely even kiss each other goodbye. But, once you’re in the comfort of your own home, all bets are off

This man was so touch-starved for so many years but now that he has you, he is the clingiest man alive

Joel will come up behind you when you’re doing something and wrap his arms around you, kiss your neck, tickle you, whatever he needs to do to distract you

He LOOOVVVEEESSS laying his head in your lap and letting you run your fingers through his hair while you ramble about your day

Can’t fall asleep unless he’s touching some part of you

He has a horrible habit of smacking your ass any chance he gets (poor Ellie)

“You guys are gross,” she’s yelled across the room so many times you’ve lost count. Joel thinks it’s hilarious each time

“You’re gross,” he’ll accuse before letting go of you and turning to face her. “You don’t have to be so jealous. There’s enough Joel Miller to go around.” He teases before wrapping her in a big hug and spinning her around the room

Her squeals of laughter could power a whole city as she screams at him to put her down

Loves cooking even if it took him a long time to learn

You and Ellie grinned your way through some truly awful meals but he got better and now you actually look forward to when he cooks

Teaches Ellie how to cook even though she’s more impatient than he is

You manage to snap a Polaroid of the two of them at the stove with their backs to you and under it you wrote “Chefs Miller + Williams”

Oh my god the nicknames they would come up with for each other

Ellie Bellie was the first one and then it quickly divulged into Elle Belle, Bellie, Smellie, Smell, Elle, and so many more

At one point, you were each calling her Beleanor Roosevelt

Joel’s nicknames get cycled through pretty quickly: Joey, Jo Bro, Joel Bowl, Bowl, Grumpy McGrumps (curtesy of Ellie), Goel (Joel’s drunk alter-ego) and whatever else ends up sticking

Joel is one of the most intelligent men you have ever met and you would (and have) trusted him with your life but Jesus Christ is he oblivious when Ellie starts dating

Sarah wasn’t really interested in dating so Joel never had to talk to her about anything but with Ellie EVERYTHING is different

Ellie never really came out in the sense that she never sat you two down to have an emotional conversation. She just kinda came home with Cat and told you she was her girlfriend

You were being a typical protective figure for Ellie and asked Cat lots of questions but even then you weren’t sure if you thought Cat was right for Ellie. Joel, however, was surprisingly quick to welcome Cat and didn’t have any qualms about Ellie dating

When you asked him about it later, he shrugged and said, “I think it’s nice that Ellie has good girlfriends like her”

“No, Joel. Cat is Ellie’s girlfriend not a girlfriend”

“I’m lost”

Once you explain it to him, he goes into Ellie’s room and they talk for a long time about God knows what

Joel Miller may be from Texas but that man supports his daughter, no matter what

Neither of you ended up being a huge fan of Cat but once Ellie and Dina start dating, it’s over

Joel invites Dina over for dinner every chance he gets and embarrasses Ellie each time but Dina loves it

Subtly tries to teach Ellie love songs on the guitar

Ellie subtly lets him

You subtly fall deeper in love and the life you have built with them

In conclusion, Joel Miller would be the sweetest little domestic guy if given the chance.

Give me my last paragraph back or give me death 🍓🍓🍓