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ckret2 · 9 months ago

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I might tweak some details later (jewelry? take the ribbon off the bow?) but I've about got a Scalene design I like. The lipstick is really the centerpiece of the design. Now let's infodump! With more art!

🔺 Notice her lines are a a little curvy. It's not for artistic effect. She's got a Fictional Polygon Physical Disorder that makes her bendier than she should be—meaning, among other things, sides that curve and flex.

🔺 It's also the kind of condition with symptoms that are romanticized by people who don't grok that it's a debilitating medical condition. Sides that curve and flex? How exotic! This went to her head in the wrong ways.

🔺 Bill was born with the same condition. You know how squishy and blobby he was as a baby? Thaaat's genetic! He was a lot squishier than most babies! And, consequently, more adorable.

🔺Scalene dreamed of being a famous super model. Was actually a teen beauty queen at mid-tier beauty pageants. She thinks it's always somebody else's fault she wasn't more successful.

🔺 She took Bill to his first baby beauty pageant the day he was born. He did, in fact, have a Best Baby Ever award presented to him by the mayor, but to be fair he was only competing against like 6 other babies and who's going to withhold a trophy from a newborn on his birthday? Anyway the 6-12 month group and 12-24 month groups also each had a Best Baby Ever award.

🔺 This was an absolutely bonkers thing for Scalene to do.

🔺 What's that small scrunkly thing doing at a pageant, he can't even see color yet.

🔺 Their fictional squishy medical condition doesn't just accidentally make shapes cute. It's the kind of condition that affects just about all parts of the body: sides won't stay straight, poor muscle tone resulting in instability & weakness, poor motor coordination & clumsiness, back aches & pains (well, triangles don't have "backs." side aches?), easily dislocated joints, and increasingly skewed sides with age. Just about everyone in Scalene's family is born equilateral and ends up extremely scalene after young adulthood. The rest of her family have normal relationships with their condition, she's the only one who's weird about it

🔺 She was very rough on her body in pursuit of pageantry success, but her physical symptoms & associated chronic pain got a lot worse due to having a kid; she had to retire from pageantry for good. She doesn't blame Bill for this at all. Out loud, to his face. (If she hadn't been so rough on herself in pageants, having a kid probably wouldn't have impacted her health this much. She doesn't consider this.)

🔺 She's weirdly intent on seeing Bill become the success she wasn't. He's her little golden child, he deserves to be seen as the greatest! He'll show them how great he is for mommy, won't he? He won't let mommy down, will he? When he's very young, she takes him to child pageants—he'll appreciate the lessons they taught him when he's older—and this lasts until he finds out he can get out of it by pyrokinetically setting the stage on fire.

🔺 She jokes ("jokes") that she didn't realize that when she was having a kid, she was firing herself from the pageant circuit so she could hire & train her own replacement. These jokes had no long-term impact on Bill at all!!!

(Compare/contrast: how we're told Stan's "You watch the movie, you scare the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart" is repeating something he heard his dad say.)

🔺 Did you know that squeaky baby shoes are sometimes medical devices? Squeakers help children with poor muscle tone and delayed motor skills learn how to walk correctly: it makes them want to walk on their heels instead of their toes so they can hear the squeak. Did you know sometimes oversized squeaky baby shoes are worn by young kids who need ankle braces? Did you know that kids with poor motor coordination can take a longer time to learn complicated motor skills like tying shoelaces rather than using shoes with velcro straps? It sure is interesting that baby Bill's most defining visual feature is oversized squeaky sneakers with velcro straps and that he kept wearing velcro shoes until he was 16!

🔺 As a baby, Bill's angles were technically supposed to be equilateral,* but thanks to his inherited condition, his angles were so loose his top corner practically formed a right angle. Not good: the closer a triangle creeps to being obtuse, the more likely he'll have muscle strain and medical issues from his organs being squished out of place by his own exoskeleton.

(*supposed to be equilateral: but after receiving treatment, they discovered his angles were still 60º, 60º, and 60.1º, which is mathematically impossible for a triangle... on a euclidean plane. But on a non-euclidean 3D plane, such as in spherical geometry, a triangle's angles can add up to more than 180º... and it's this slight 3D flex to Bill's body that lets him see up into the third dimension.)

🔺 For his first few years of life he actually had a hypotenuse, until physical therapy and side braces helped him improve his muscle tone. Sometimes he still reflexively refers to his base as his hypotenuse. It's fine, sweetie, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, mommy had a hypotenuse too. Don't tell anyone.

🔺 Scalene took baby Billy to a lot of doctors as a kid, just like how she was taken to a lot of doctors! Doctor for his side braces, doctor for his physical therapy, doctor for his shoes... doctor for his eye when he started talking about seeing white glitter at the edge of his vision. Scalene didn't have that symptom, but the eye doc said their condition does occasionally come with visual problems—blurred vision, lazy eye, visual field defects... It sounds like Bill's main field of vision is unobstructed, but if the visual snow he's getting in his peripheral vision is distracting him and confusing his little toddler mind into thinking it's something real, they can give him a medication that'll narrow his field of view. From the sound of it, he's not seeing anything important at the edge of his vision, anyway.

And she only wants what's best for her golden child.

🔺 Scalene's "bow" is actually a medical device: sort of like a medical corset, it helps tug and press her anatomy into place to reduce pain. Bill started wearing one preventatively—if he can keep everything in place when he's young, it'll take longer for his angles to skew when he's older. Like wearing a retainer when you get your braces out.

🔺 He has a cane for the same reason—he doesn't need it NOW when he's young, but he might as well keep it on hand, by age 35 he'll probably want to stand more often than float and when he's standing he'll probably want the extra support! Even if he doesn't need it by 35, he will eventually!!

🔺 Bill doesn't medically need a bow tie in the third dimension either; but he adapted it to help tie his 3D exoskeleton on.

🔺 A trillion years later, Bill suspects that his mutation to see the third dimension came, at least in part, from his mom's medical condition. Except, she didn't have that vision. Nobody else with the condition on her side of the family had that vision. It's not a known symptom of the condition. His dad had stuff going on with his eye too, did he get it from his dad's side? A mix of both? Just a standalone random mutation? He doesn't know; and with the rest of his species dead, there's no way for him to find out.

But back to Scalene!

🔺 She's not quite red, she's rose gold. However she doesn't like it. She thinks it's a sort of pinkish brown and very dull. She uses makeup to make herself look redder. Note how bright red her sides are: in a species where only your edges are visible, body paint is the most common form of makeup+fashion. She's pleased her baby came out gold-gold, it's much cuter. Bill knows she's rose gold, but he only saw her with her makeup off when she was tired or sick; he remembers her painted red.

🔺 She adores her Billy; but she somewhat sees him as an extension of her will. She thinks he's just perfect and will tell anyone who asks; but she also demands he be perfect and is furious when he isn't. She'll protect him from ANY perceived external threat; but she'll tough love him into being the kind of success she thinks he should be. He learns early that when he screws up, he can often redirect his mother's anger by pointing his finger and saying it's someone else's fault, and she'll bring the wrath of heaven down on them. Woe to the teacher who gives Bill an F on a test.

🔺 I'm on a quest to write Bill as a foil to the entire cast of Gravity Falls, and that extends to writing his family as a foil to the entire cast's families. Scalene's a blend of Pacifica's mom and Caryn: beautiful, proud of her beauty, afraid of losing her youth, self-aggrandizing, quick to lie about her & her family's (false/exaggerated) accomplishments—and very aware of the fact that you can say anything about woo-woo mystical matters and nobody can prove you wrong.

🔺 So she takes it great when they figure out Bill is, like, legit psychic. And by "takes it great" I mean "starts a cult."

There's what I've got on Scalene. Fortunately, I got to keep all my pre-TBOB headcanons about Bill's mom, I only had to change her shape & color. I already had medical trauma baked right into the family!

(Preemptive disclaimer before I get any "but she doesn't look 2D" comments: we all understand that the baby Bill picture we see in the book is a psychically-generated 3D approximation of Bill's 2D Euclidean form, right? And that drawing a 3D baby Bill design alongside rigidly 2D parent designs would make it look like even in the second dimension Bill already had a 3D body, right? So, if we're drawing a 3D baby Bill and want to convey that they looked similar to him, we have to draw his parents in a similar art style, right? Okay, great.)

#gravity falls #the book of bill #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #scalene cipher #bill cipher #euclydia #scalene and euclid #(euclid's only mentioned in passing but at some point i'll do a matching post about him too)#(scalene's made up fictional condition's inspired by like 2/3 scoliosis and 1/3 ehler dahlos)#(but again it's a fictional condition for fictional aliens. not an accurate 1:1 reflection of anything irl)

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amazinglyashy · 7 months ago

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Hi , I love your LADs works it fits the would be characters reactions according to their personality and I look forward to your work. Can I request a LADs men reaction to reader reading smut manga or BL smut , only if your comfortable with it. Thank you and All the best for your future endeavours 🥰

I have a tab I'm going through right now of a bunch of josei manga and then I open tumblr to this ask LMAO I feel personally attacked, so of course anon! Thank you for the sweet words, and for the request!

Love and Deepspace Li’s reactions to discovering you being an avid smut reader

Sylus -

He is such an evil person.

If he manages to find a physical copy that you own, he's going to read it and he's going to do it in his own time when he knows you'll be coming over soon. He times it just right where he'll be near the ending by the time you get there.

You walk in to him looking absolutely exquisite in reading glasses, a small smile on his lips as he leans back in his chair to ask you how your day has been- book in hand.

The embarrassment is real, even if you claim to not care about 'cringey' things and consuming them. Your love is sitting there with a smutty book in his hand and a knowing grin, and you can't help how hot your face is getting.

"You know, if you like something, you should just tell me, kitten."

Maybe he's referring to the contents of the book, maybe he's referring to your general enjoyment of the genre, you can't tell. He does mean both, though. He would buy you a library worth of smutty books if it made you happy, and he would get all the needed supplies to commit the same acts the characters do for you the next time the two of you have a session.

"Did you really think I'd be upset by something like this, sweetie? You're cute. I'm glad you found something you enjoy. In the future though, don't keep secrets from me. I want to know about you. Everything, about you."

Rafayel -

He will come up behind you to ask you something, and realize that you can't hear him due to being engrossed or having headphones in. He doesn't mean to snoop, but your screen is on display for him, and you don't know he's there.

Oh, he's so happy he decided to try and ask you something.

By the time you realize he's behind you, it's too late, and attempting to shut off your phone proves unsuccessful because he's already giggling.

"How much did you see?!"

"Not much."

"Liar!"

And you're right, because after a moment of silence, he will proceed to recite the last page you had been reading, ducking out of the way as you jump up, your face reddening, as you chase him around the room.

He doesn't care in the slightest. In fact, he will absolutely surprise you with shipping merch from whatever it is you've been reading, and remind you when new chapters are about to drop in case you forget due to stress at work.

Rafayel will also ask you how certain characters are doing, or how certain relationships are coming along. If you enjoyed watching soap operas, he's absolutely the one to watch over your shoulder and ask you questions to catch up.

He still makes rude quips here and there, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it, and the involvement is strangely comforting.

Zayne -

He's known for a long time. Benefits of knowing you when the two of you were younger, he has a pretty good read on the things you might or might not enjoy without needing an explicit answer.

That, and you left a doujinshi on his coffee table once after you used his spare key to break into his home to clean and surprise him with dinner after you had gotten off of work surprisingly early.

No, he won't let you live it down.

He will find a way to calmly bring it up in the most absurd and unnecessary situations. It's his own little running joke that makes you so adorably frustrated, he can't help but continue it.

He'll find other ways to tease you about it, much like how you occasionally tease him over his sweet tooth despite you loving snacks just as much as he does.

Sometimes though, he likes to throw you through a little bit of a loop.

"But also, if there is any content in what you've been reading that you believe you would enjoy, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"I enjoy all of it, that's why I read it, Zayne."

"I assume you misunderstood me, so allow me to restructure my sentence. If there's anything in what you've been reading that you would like done to you, I would like to know. I would love to do those things to you, whatever they might be."

Xavier -

He has purchased you some of these books and ebooks.

Probably the Li that would know the soonest out of all four of them aside from Zayne, just because he kind of just... assumed, much to your own mortification when he told you this fact months ago.

He doesn't give a crap though, it's something you like. He doesn't see any difference between it and the claw machines, even though there is an extremely stark contrast between the two. He used to see no point to the claw machine games you'd love to play, but quickly saw the appeal when he got to play with you.

Maybe he can't share your enjoyment for this, but he does love sitting in the same room as you, reading together even if the two books being consumed are vastly different in content.

He just enjoys your company, it really doesn't matter to him what you both do, or in this case, enjoy during that time.

He thinks its really cute and endearing, especially if you reach a point in whatever you're reading that gets you squealing out loud. Because not only is it absolutely adorable to hear, it's also nice because he knows it means you're comfortable enough to react out loud to your reading, even if it's a rare occurrence.

It's nice to know you're relaxed around him, in every capacity.

#.writey #love and deepspace #lads #lds #x reader #lnds #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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theonlyhonoredone · 7 months ago

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Yuji BF Headcanons

Pairing: Yuji Itadori x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: my idea of how Yuji is as a partner

Masterlist

bf!Yuji is crushing hard, he’s down so bad it’s actually pathetic. He fumbles his words in front of you, stutters when he tries to compliment you, and is the first to like any and everything you post. He thinks you’re the funniest person alive and sticks to you like velcro. He’s always asking if you want to hang out or train or anything else he can do to get you in the same room as him. He waits for the absolute perfect opportunity to ask you out, either taking you to some big festival or saving up for months to take you to some fancy restaurant.

bf!Yuji who fakes being totally confident when he asks and then freaks out when you say yes. He’s gasping and asking if you really mean it and then hugging you so tight you almost pass out. Things fall into place quickly after that, you two are a natural fit.

bf!Yuji always keeps you on your toes. He likes for dates to be really special and exciting so he always wants to do something grand. He won't admit it to you, but he knows he's going to die young. He's living on an extended death sentence which means he won't get the long happy life he truly wants with you. He hopes to create as many special and lasting memories with you as he can, hoping that he'll be able to relive them on his death bed and you'll be able to find comfort in them when he's gone.

bf!Yuji does not consider nights in or casual hang outs as dates because they aren't special enough. That doesn't mean he loves those moments any less though, in fact nights in with you are one of his favorite things on earth. The man is glued to you 24/7 so of course he’s excited for any chance to cuddle. He needs every part of his body to touch every part of yours, he’ll smother you any chance he gets. If you have to get up to pee or anything really he’s whining and asking you to stay. He gives you the sad puppy eyes whenever you escape from his arms and pouts until you return to him.

bf!Yuji uses his crazy athletic ability to show off to you any chance he can get. He’s always telling you to watch him do something he's sure you'll find impressive. He'll offer to carry you everywhere you go. He gets butterflies every time you call him strong or tell him how cool he is. If you go to an arcade he will drag you over to every game that involves any amount of athletic ability and make you watch him set a new high score. You always love it, except for the time he broke a machine and got you kicked out.

bf!Yuji is constantly coming up with new pet names for you. They are sometimes sweet but more often over the top and totally ridiculous. He’s constantly changing your name in his phone too, and he spends hours editing pictures of you to make your profile picture. He likes adding all sorts of little stickers and drawing little hearts around your face.

bf!Yuji also loves to post these and add a long caption calling you his little schmoopy schnookums pie while he declares his undying love for you. His over the top gestures are how he shows you that you’re always on his mind. He doesn’t care if anyone else thinks it’s embarrassing or cringy, he just cares that you know how much he loves you. He loves you so much that he sometimes feels like he might explode if he doesn’t express it.

bf!Yuji is clingy to the point of annoyance. You do have to remind him that you need space and time alone and while he might not understand (he wants to spend every moment with you), he respects your needs and wants. He wants you to be happy all the time and if that means leaving you alone for a few hours then he will.

bf!Yuji tries his best to let the two of you have quiet moments together too. Even though he is a yapper at heart, he manages to sit for hours without saying a word, sometimes. As time goes on he starts to treasure these moments and find a lot of comfort in just sitting beside you, not talking about anything. It’s enough just knowing you're right there with him.

bf!Yuji is not the kind of person to get insecure. He's more nervous in the begging of your relationship, but once you tell him you love him the first time that flies out the window. You love him and he loves you and to him that’s enough to know things will always work out.

bf!Yuji gets incredibly anxious anytime he has to buy you a gift. Birthdays and holidays are a nightmare for him. He never knows what to get you and will spend hours pacing around countless stores to find the perfect gift. He tries to remind himself that it’s the thought that counts and that you’re always happy with what he gets you, but it never settles his nerves. He’ll second guess himself until the moment he hands the gift over. Watching your lips curl up into a big smile as you open it up is what finally makes him relax.

bf!Yuji is never possessive and almost never jealous. The only thing that really makes him jealous is when you go to the movies without him. It doesn’t matter who you’re going with either, he's jealous. He loves the movies and he loves you so of course he loves going to the movies with you. He’ll never admit he's jealous, but he’ll definitely pout and tell you how much how much he wanted to see the film. Of course you can see right through him and will always offer to go see it again with him. That always brings him back to his usual chipper self.

bf!Yuji turns into the biggest baby when he gets sick. The common cold is a death sentence as far as he is concerned. The only possible cure is you feeding him soup and rubbing his back. He will beg for snuggles and kisses but dramatically tell you not to come near him so you can’t catch whatever deadly virus he has when you actually try. As soon as he’s better though he’s expecting you to help him make up for lost time by letting him smother you to his heart's content.

bf!Yuji will do literally anything for you. He’d figure out how to rearrange the planets if that was what you wanted, and he'd do it with a smile. If you need help with anything at all he wants to be your first call. You want to redecorate your room? Call Yuji. You want a late night snack? Call Yuji. You want to rob a bank? Call Yuji. He's the definition of ride or die and he never lets you forget how treasured you are.

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ronearoundblindly · 2 months ago

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Forgot to add In our modern days please

So we've got: ☑️ relaxing ☑️ domestic ☑️ established relationship ☑️ with Steve

Since it's *me,* there's some deep feels in there... plus hearty laughs.

No warnings. It's just headcanon-style fluff!

He likes the warmth of the clothes right out of the dryer, so Steve always thunders over to the laundry room the instant the machine stops. There could be a no-holds-barred action sequence blaring from the TV. There could be real gunshots outside. Doesn't matter. He heard it. As long as you're not in immediate danger, he's going to run and plunge himself shoulder-deep into toasty fabric.

That wasn't a thing when he was a kid. Now, Steve would rather wear out sheets faster than dry them on low heat. He will pay the money. It's worth it.

For the holidays last year, you bought him a huge, fluffy, heated blanket, and he absolutely uses it--keeps himself tucked in until sweating then kicks it off in frustration--but the laundry addiction never stops.

Every time he showers with you at home, you warm his towel in the dryer for a few minutes.

There is nothing, nothing, quite as cute as Steve Rogers burying his face in a fresh towel and hugging it to leech out each extra degree Fahrenheit...or Celsius. He's not picky.

When it's a load of mixed clothing, he scoops it all up and carries it like a boulder over to the bed, bending at his Disney princess waist to press himself in.

Just a minute. Just give him a few deep breaths and a minute.

He likes to fold sheets with you taking one end and him taking the other, coming together in the middle, because no matter how long you two have been a couple, Steve still gets a thrill at his fingers grazing across yours as he takes a corner, as he hands you another. He's a simple man with simple pleasures.

Now, sweaters are a different story.

Steve will wash and dry those however keeps them softest for longest, even if it means putting them on that rack he constantly stubs his toe on. Worth it. Sure. Can we just always put that stupid thing away quickly? He's going to keel over one night trying to get to the bathroom in the dark. Seriously, it's a hazard!

Steve won't wear shoes in the house, which might seem obvious to a lot of people--he's a pretty clean and considerate man, of course he'd want to not bring crap inside, both physically and mentally--but Steve also likes to be barefoot in his home. He doesn't have slippers, but he insists on the floors being pristine.

He vacuums the rugs and carpet constantly because it feels best on his feet that way. Wiggling his toes is part of a grounding ritual he does once home.

Sometimes it's as simple as holding you for a while, savoring a long hug, methodically rubbing your back, and letting you lightly scratch at his.

He prays, in his own way, at that time. What he's grateful for. What he's hopeful for. Thanking whoever or whatever is out there for you.

He's a research fiend. As good as he is about keeping the floors clean, Steve will litter every other surface with books, newspapers, files, magazines, printed articles, and anything else necessary to get the answers he's looking for. He does not like to just search online. He's the weirdo who makes note of the citation online and finds that source at the library.

At some point, you have to put a moratorium on bringing books home when he's deep in that research phase. He's a fast reader; he can scan some there. Steve may be able to check out unlimited volumes, but your home has a finite volume.

You're not discouraging learning, though, just trying to keep it reasonable. No need for him to be possessed by the Ghost of Knowledge Past...

You can tell he's good and properly lost in an art project when supplies are everywhere. Unless it's going to stain/damage something, Steve does not clean-as-he-draws. The colors are out and they are accessible.

You love this; he's happy like this. You let him do it.

Steve gets really, really picky about what art hangs where in your home. He's knows you like his art, but it's nothing compared to the printed and canvased work of the masters. He pitches a fit if you try to display his as predominantly, but you refuse to stick them on the fridge like he's a child.

It's his hobby, he loves it, and he improves in different ways every time he picks up a pencil (or pen). He often has the most casual and fun conversations when he's splitting his brainpower. Steve doesn't particularly know he's doing it (how could he? he'd stop and overthink it if he did), but you can see the stress-thickened aura on him melt away if he's distracted for long enough.

Focusing on cooking with you has the same effect. These activities have become therapy for him--and you--and act as multitasking which is wonderful in the sometimes limited spans he gets to stay at home.

Once almost everything inside your home is setup nicely--there's always room for improvement or redecorating 🤗--Steve makes you two a nook outside to stargaze. He loves to stare and let his mind wander, but he especially loves to have you there in his arms. It's not limited to nighttime either. He's equally thrilled with watching clouds or, if you're under cover, watching storms roll in.

He likes to have you sit between his legs and lean against him. The pressure on his chest is soothing, but he can rest his cheek to yours. Steve gets to use a soft voice then, not his usual, commanding one. With you so close, he can whisper. It's just you two in the whole wide world.

Steve may not be much of a singer, but he uses that same, sweet whisper to share lullabies from his Ma as you fall asleep at night. Not every night, but still. It's magical.

He insists on trying something new every single time he goes to the grocery store. Doesn't matter if it's a condiment or a side dish or a little treat, a new cut of meat or fancy nut milk, Steve has to explore (safely).

He is, of course, still appalled at the price tags, but he also can't judge when something is too expensive since it all is to him. This is how he ended up with a single, $12 dipped pretzel, and you nearly fainted.

It was quite delicious, but never again!

There's a code, a safeword of sorts, for really bad days. Doesn't matter the reason, could be as simple as your brain just can't brain, but it means the user (you or Steve) get to call the shots. You might want to be alone, you might want him to hold you until the sun rises, you might want to watch the cringiest romcoms or ugly cry reading your 'stories.' No questions.

Shawarma.

It came from an early moment once Steve was out of the ice. The whole battle was a disaster from start to finish. He was so overwhelmed, but so was the makeshift team. They all sat in silence. Ate. Didn't eat. Fell asleep sitting up. Fell asleep in their food. No one cared. That's the idea. He needs that sometimes, as he figures everyone does.

Whatever the other wants.

Unsurprisingly, this often winds up mutually beneficial. Sometimes being quiet for the other's sake lets both just breathe. He looks at you and can see your pain, your strain, your fatigue. Steve always ends up smiling, though, because he loves you. There's a type of beauty in your sadness--this gravitational pull to bring him closer, to let him in, to let him lift you back up--that makes him feel needed. This home is where he shields you from the world. On his worst days, he still gets to protect you, to do good, and to make you happy. That is all he's ever wanted in his whole life

Also sometimes shawarma sounds good for dinner, but if that's the case, it's specified. No one is surprised when the whole night is spent just caring for each other. The 'code' means you're starting at an ultra-low place that day or night, but with understanding and respect, you always balance back out.

And finally, a freebie for shiggles: Steve finds flatulence hysterical. Not all potty humor, not jokes in bad taste, but he just cannot keep it together if he or someone else farts. I'm sorry, he can't. It's too funny. The noises???? He's dying laughing.

The team at some point figures this out, and at a dinner at your home--a perfectly reputable affair with proper china and all--the group proceeded to fake (or not fake) fart noises. Steve almost peed himself. Tears of joy were streaming down his face. It was adorable.

See, he doesn't care that it happens; the human body is the human body is the human body. Obviously, he can be concerned if there's like a medical issue, and he's allowed to poke a little fun if your toots (or his) smell, but mostly...he just finds them hilarious.

That is the most childish thing about Steve Rogers, a holdover from a bygone era, and that's kinda the best part. After all he's been through, Steve has an inner child. He just needs to let it rip! 🤭😂

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic

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bobur-the-berry-guy · 2 months ago

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I'm writing abt all of them, might be a bit slow but let me cook🔥

Eugene relationship hcs!

‧₊�� ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•🍰•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Ok first of all

How did you bag him?? Like let me shake your hand??? Share your secret please???

You won at life. Congrats

My gorgeous wildcard of a man i love him

Ok so for pre-relationship.. i don't think he's that obvious

Like, sure, you could catch onto it at some point but for the most part he's actually subtle enough about it for it to fly over ur head, especially if you're dense

He's the most normal out of the club anyway, so you don't have to be too confused

He would be helpful, but you could always think he's like that just because you're friends

But would he really go so much out of his way to help for stuff like that?

Think staying up well after the time he normally goes to sleep just to help you understand a lesson or tutoring you for things you could probably learn yourself

He's explaining the subject well too - he wants to make sure you understand everything well and actually remember what he's explaining

And he's so patient about it too

He also strikes me as the type to be a bit flirty sometimes

Like look at him with his whole "adults will appreciate you trying so use it against them" thing and tell me he won't give blatant hints in such a way you won't be able to decide if he's being for real or he's just joking

And i don't mean only verbally

He'd hold your hand to not lose you in the horrid school corridor crowd and just forget to let go

Or when he's explaining a question from your homework he'd be just close enough for you guys to touch lightly but he's pretending to not notice so you don't say anything about it either

I saw someone mention so smth about him and dating rumors.. purposefully not correcting people about them

And whoever said that is SO on point

Someone could ask you guys if you're dating and he'd just smile at them like he's an angel

He's not an angel.

Internally he's giggling like the chibi pic i put in the middle of his banner

Anyway back on track

On the being helpful note i think it would extend to everything but he wouldn't really overdo it

Let me explain

He really wants to help you out whenever he can, and why wouldn't he?

Be it schoolwork, new hobbies, anything he can help with he will do his best

That doesn't mean he's going to do it for you - absolutely the opposite

He wants to see you grow and become even better at whatever the thing is, and that won't happen if he does the work instead of you

Also even if he can't really help you best believe he's gonna be there - quality time baby!

He's gonna hang around you, do something parallel to you or chat with you!

But then again.. i don't think there's many things he can't help you with

He is a prodigy for a reason and best believe he's gonna show that off

He won't be cocky but if he can do all that why wouldn't he show you and miss the chance to make himself look even better in your eyes?

And when he finally has you everyone and their mom will know

Not because he's telling everyone but it's gonna show because he's absolutely not hiding just how happy he is to have you

Now if someone decides they're gonna try their nonexistent chance with you that's when he's really making a show of it

He may not seem like it but he's lowk possesive ngl

Not like,, crazy or toxic possesive but he's definitely not having it if someone's getting too friendly with you

Suddenly his arm is around your shoulders and he's leaning into you or he's fixing your uniform and he keeps staring into whoever's decided to try

And thing is, he IS subtle enough for it not to seem weird but the vibe of "go tf away" is definitely there

And even with all that cunning thinking and that pretty genius head he's got, he's still SO easy to fluster

Despite all the talk so far, let's not forget that not only is he a teenage boy that doesn't seem to have any experience in romance but also he's such a nerd💔

No matter how comfortable he is with you there's still these random times he's all cute and flustered and it's over nothing

Kiss on the cheek? Poof he's red

You're gushing over him? Steam out of his ears like a cartoon

You're looking at him lovingly? Please give him time to cool down

If you're staring at his lips long enough and he catches on you'll probably have him rebooting his brain for a few seconds before he actually gives you a kiss

His poor heart can't take it

Despite the fact that his love languages i think would be quality time and acts of service, i think he's affectionate

Just in private

Remember him helping you study?

He's holding your hand, and if you're writing something he's kinda leaning on you

And most of the time the study session turns into a cuddle session when you're done studying

Usually it would be spooning while you guys are watching a movie or your head on his chest and he's either scrolling oh his phone or reading something

It's just so relaxing

Also he's randomly so? soft??

You could be laughing so hard you sound like you're choking on air or stuffing your mouth like a hamster or yapping away on something

And when you look back at him he's looking at you all warm and fuzzy and he makes your heart jump

"I'm so lucky to have you." "I love how your eyes crinkle when you smile, you know that?" "No, no, please keep laughing. I wanna listen to you."

Immediate heart attack

And when he catches on how flustered it makes you he's gonna do it even more too

Please let him be, he just wants you to know how happy he is to be yours

๑Requests are open btw(⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)✧⁠*⁠。

#phantom busters x reader #phantom busters #korekishi eugene #eugene korekishi #korekishi x reader #eugene korekishi x reader #korekishi eugene x reader

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theoceansluvr · 6 months ago

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Multi-Character x Nerd! Reader

warning; none except my endless yapping !! author's notes; *comically loud gulp* it's finals season so i decided to drop this before grinding my grades and whatnot😿 gave all the characters different random interests of mine sooo yay !

PERCY JACKSON- Flowers

i like to think percy is pretty neutral about flowers; not his favorite, but doesn't hate them

but when you stepped into the picture ? ALLLLL of that changed !

probably has a flower language book sitting on his bedside table just because of you to be totally fair

because of you, he buys really specific colors (or asks the Demeter cabin to grow him some) of flowers for you because of their meanings

for example, he ABSOLUTELY got you yellow tulips when he asked you out :3c

as much as he's a blue guy, he knows what they stand for (hopeless love) and thought it'd be sweet

sometimes you name a flower he knows NOTHING about like what on earth is an azalea ??

listens to you carefully regardless since he finds it cute how often you ramble about why orchids are associated with royalty

received flowers for the first time from you and he's kept them ever since, claims it's because he keeps forgetting to get rid of them but he's just a sap like that

very supportive of your interests and WILL stay up for hours to hear you talk !

ANNABETH CHASE- Astronomy

at first she thought you were talking about astrology and wasn't all that interested, but then she saw the massive amount of books you had on the stars and understood

dare i say she takes you on stargazing dates where you just point out all the constellations and all the stars we'll never see

has watched about 8 space documentaries in one week, and still isn't tired of it

also ! when ever she's drafting up home designs, she ALWAYS puts a room with a glass ceiling or balcony so you can put your telescope there

she swears it's just for the visuals but she not very good at hiding it(i love you sappy annabeth chase <9)

bought you one of those little star projectors when you guys moved into New Rome !

you guys also made paper lanterns of all the planets + pluto and hung them up on the ceiling since you rarely get to go out much one you go to college

speaking of pluto.. you guys didn't speak for three days over an argument over the basis of it being a planet or not. annabeth refuses to say it is because scientifically it's not, but you say it is because "emotionally it's a planet to me !" (real conversation i've had btw)

takes you to the planetarium whenever you guys have the spare time mainly just to see to get all animated over all the facts you've probably already told her

she absolutely adores you no matter how many times she's heard about all the dwarf planets..

CONNOR STOLL- Comics

deep in my heart he's a flash or spiderman nerd, so it's perfect !

safe to say, if you like anyone else, you guys might dispute who the best superhero is every other day- lovingly of course !

dates probably consist of walking around comic books shops and talking about your favs or reading them in your cabin

swapping off comics whenever you finish one so you can talk about them

has absolutely stolen merch for you on numerous occasions because he can he let the love of his life go without that batman mug ?

definitely makes up insane theories about what happens whenever his favorite character dies..

"no, no, no, he's gonna come back in the next one, trust me !" "con.. he literally blew up." "SO DID JASON TODD BUT HERE WE ARE"

dare i say y'all have matching spider man and gwen or batman and catwoman keychains ?

you probably got him really into young justice on accident because you mentioned him reminding you of wally west(PLS TELL ME SOMEONE SEES THE VISION-)

honestly, you guys are just nerd for nerd but he won't admit to it as easily

LEO VALDEZ- Sharks

scratch what i said about connor being nerd for nerd, you and leo are THE nerd for nerd couple !!

made you a wind up shark toy as a gift because he was bored, and it was basically a marriage proposal to you

has definitely fallen asleep to you talking about sharks before ! not out of boredom, just because he likes your voice

moving on ! y'all know those cardboard sharks people were making ? well, he made you a metal version of your favorite shark !

takes you to aquariums whenever he can, which is rare, but he thrives off of hearing you get excited.. like a kid in a candy store

he also has a crazy supply of gummy sharks in the bunker now for whenever you come over

he has also made you shark shaped string lights because why would he ever let you buy anything ?!

let's you cover his well, everything with shark stickers ! workbench ? sure ! festus ? might protests, but if festus like it, alright !

you told him he'd be a hammerhead shark, and he now has a keychain of one on his belt loop at all times

he rambles to you about mechanics, so in turn you talk about sharks; it's a win-win situation :3c

YAYYYYY PSOTING AGAIN AND IT'S ABOUT MY INTERESTS !!!! this was actually in the drafts for a minute and WAS supposed to drop saturday but i got impatient- love y'all and uhh see you after finals !

#pjo #pjo hoo toa #poems from the sea #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x reader #annabeth chase #annabeth chase x you #annabeth chase x reader #connor stoll #connor stoll x you #connor stoll x reader

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pomefioredove · 1 year ago

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lily of the valley

bonjour et joyeux premier mai! in france and belgium we give our loved ones lily of the valley flowers on may day to wish them luck in the upcoming year. sooo I thought... why not treat a few of my favorite boys?

summary: gifting them a lily of the valley type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, epel, rook, vil, lilia additional info: platonic or romantic, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, not proofread

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

"...Oh? And what's this?"

your first "victim" of the day is none other than the strict and formal Heartslabyul housewarden himself

as a man of tradition, and an enjoyer of flowers, you figure Riddle is the perfect place to start

as you're already well aware of the gardening culture in the Queendom of Roses, you even make an effort to read up on botanical facts about the gift ahead of time, if only to impress him

and... well, you didn't have the time to paint these ones red

or is that only for roses...? these rules can be quite confusing...

When you hand him the gift, he's simply surprised. Flowers? But he doesn't remember asking you for these...?

Riddle inspects the sprig of lilies in his hand, rolling the stem between his fingers as you explain their meaning

and, much to your delight, he's pleasantly receptive

"They're not roses, but... I suppose they're very nice. Thank you,"

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

"Now, what's all this for?"

if there's one thing Epel Felmier is absolutely tired of, it's flowers

well... it's not that he hates them, it's just... they're a girly thing, right? not to mention that Vil keeps them everywhere- the lounge, the rooms, he'd bet even that creepy basement under the dorm has a pristine porcelain vase full of the seasonal picks

ah, but flowers from you...?

and ones with a special meaning, no less

he'll never admit it aloud, but he's honored you chose him, of all people, to call a loved one

and so, Epel doesn't fuss too much when you take the liberty of putting the sprig in his front pocket, displaying it like a medal of honor

he might even chuckle at the whole thing

this is almost like something an old couple would do... it reminds him a little of his grandparents, even

"Well... alright. Aren't you as sweet as apple pie today?"

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞

"Ah? A gift for me?"

his immediate reaction? how delightful!

how long it's been since he's received flowers like this... ah, they remind him of his youth!

despite his initial excitement, though, Lilia soon becomes far more invested in the meaning behind the gesture than the gesture itself!

he's fostered quite an interest in other cultures and traditions, after all, and he'll be more than glad to listen to you talk about your own for hours, and hours, and hours...

his curiosity is quite charming, isn't it?

perhaps he and his cuteness can convince you to exchange more stories sometime!

Lilia takes such a liking to the tradition, in fact, that he passes it on to Silver, Sebek, and Malleus, giving each a new sprig of lilies with a brief (and somewhat confusing) explanation

(Malleus may have to ask you about that later)

but, of course, Lilia reserves the bragging rights of getting his own flowers directly from you

"Fufufu, I hope this won't be the last time I get flowers from you, Prefect,"

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

"Oh, my. For me? They're lovely,"

Vil has received wreaths of roses, bouquets of the finest arrangements, even entire rooms full of flowers from devoted fans and management

but... something about the measly little sprig of lilies you're handing him first thing in the morning is all the sweeter

if there's anything he'll give you credit for, it's your taste in flowers. you must have chosen the best of the bunch especially for him, the way it's practically glowing

as soon as he's done admiring your pick, he pins it to his lapel, and keeps it there for the rest of the day

this color just accentuates his uniform so nicely, doesn't it?

and once you're done reciting your knowledge about the flower, he'll be sure to add his own, explaining the symbolism of such a beauty

"Lily of the valley: a return of happiness... Hm, much like yourself, no?"

(he will not elaborate on what he means by that)

but he does have a little spring in his step for the next few hours

"Oh, and, dear? You can be sure to expect ten times as many of these from me at your door next year,"

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

"Ah, such a lovely shape! you have an incroyable eye for beauty, mon trickster!"

quite frankly, it doesn't matter what day it is; to gift Rook a lovely flower out of the beauty of your heart is enough to send him into a never-ending soliloquy

and now you say these are meant for your loved ones? do you mean to kill him with your thoughtfulness?!

he admires the flower for as long as the day will permit, and then presses it for preservation

he wouldn't want to lose this precious memory, after all!

in fact, he'll frame it riiight next to his bed so he may wake up to the sight of your kindness every morning!

and, just to be sure you know exactly how his heart is overflowing for you, you can expect a poem and dozens of flowers waiting for you on your doorstep the next morning

really... where does he find the time?

if you ask, he'll insist he's only expressing himself to you in the same way you have to him

"I only wish to show my utmost appreciation for your beautiful heart, miel!"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #epel felmier x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #queued

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rottenstrawberrymilk · 9 days ago

Text

sleeping

slasher x reader

michael myers (halloween), jason voorhees (friday the 13th), thomas hewitt (texas chainsaw massacre), brahms heelshire (the boy), pyramid head (silent hill), chris walker (outlast), daniel robitaille (candyman), harry warden (my bloody valentine), bo sinclair (house of wax), bubba sawyer (texas chainsaw massacre), kazan yamaoka ('the oni' dead by daylight), philip ojomo ('the wraith' dead by daylight), quentin shermer ('the blissfield butcher' freaky)

preferences

not healthy not condoned

Michael Myers

Michael sleeps like a fucking plank. Back flat to the mattress, facing straight up, arms stiff at his side, like he doesn't know how to sleep like a normal human being. If you're lucky, sometimes he'll close his eyes, but for the most part he just stares up at the ceiling, breathing heavy throughout the night. He won't take off his mask either, so that doesn't help at all.

Something about the embodiment of pure evil laying motionless at your side just keeps you up and you can't sleep unless he's sleeping. You absolutely refuse to let your guard down when he's awake near you on the off chance he decides he's tired of you and wants you dead.

It kept you awake for the first few nights and you considered asking him to go sleep on the couch a couple of times. You know now he's lying there awake for no other reason than to keep you awake as well. He's a spiteful fucking bitch like that. If something bothers you, he actually goes out of his way to continue doing it. Just his sense of humor apparently. Making you miserable seems to be a kink of his.

Trying to leave doesn't work either. If you get up to go sleep on the couch instead, you probably won't even make it to the living room. He'll grab you by your arm as your leaving the bedroom and yank you back onto the mattress and then not let go of your wrist for the rest of the night. And if by some chance you do actually make it to the couch, he'll just pick you up off of it (doesn't matter if you're actually asleep or not) and carry you back to bed. If you're somehow still asleep, it wakes you up most of the time. There's been very few times where his manhandling hasn't woken you up.

You notice you have significantly more nightmares with him around. Often, you wake up shaking or gasping for breath, even though you hate looking weak or vulnerable around him. You pull it together as quickly as you can and hope the dark circles don't show as obviously in the morning. Concealer is becoming your best friend realll quickly.

Michael knows he's the cause of them and obviously is fine with it. He might even be pleased with it. You're not actually sure, he's fucking impossible to read. You don't really want to be able to read him anyways because it means you've gone out of your way to be close to him which you never want to happen.

Still, there's occasional night terrors that he knows he doesn't cause. He can tell which ones they are based on whether or not you reach over to check if he's still in bed next to you. You're not the cuddly sort, at least not with Michael, so he knows it has to be somehow worse than him for you to want to willingly touch him or seek out any sort of comfort from him being there. He allows you to hold onto his arm--maybe his hand if you're lucky during those nights. And the two of you just lay in silence as you blink back tears and try not to sniffle too loud.

Sometimes like once a week he actually does seem to sleep. You're normally not awake to notice this, but a couple of times you've caught him.

Michael isn't one to have nightmares because he's usually the one causing them, but there are nights where he dreams and wakes up not remembering. And he's left with an awful feeling that is very very different from his usual black numbness. It's gone quicker than it comes, but the fact that it's able to happen at all is...odd.

He'll put a hand over your neck and feel your pulse increase if you're awake. It's a familiar feeling. A way to remind himself of what he's capable of and it makes the feeling in his chest go away. It makes him feel powerful again. You don't like it, but some part of you knows it comforts him in some sick way. It's not like you can just swat his hand away anyways unless you want the knife in your throat instead.

All you can do is lay still as his grip tightens slightly every now and then and your heart rate spikes. His thumb rubs slowly under your jaw, against the skin of your neck.

Jason Voorhees

Jason doesn't really need to sleep, but he does like to rest sometimes after rough nights when he's aching and hurting. Mostly, he just lays there, staring at the ceiling, breathing raggedly. Originally, this concerned you, but eventually you just realized after decades of being drowned or choked or killed in various ways he just...sounded like that.

He used to hold his machete when he rested, but now he holds you too. The machete can go in the other hand because he's not letting go of it while he has his guard down. Usually, it's rested over your side or overtop your back. It used to make you nervous, but now it's basically like a weighted blanket to you.

Normally, you sleep with your face to his chest, head bowed, fingers gripping loosely at his torn shirt. He thinks it's cute, but can't really tell you that, so his palm usually just rests overtop the hand clenching at the fabric.

Ever since you came around, he definitely takes the opportunity to rest more. Especially if he's lucky enough to walk in on you napping somewhere already. It's sort of a bonding activity since he's often too busy tending to the rotting camp or the tunnels or hunting or murdering and such. Sleeping with you is always an option, of course, but he tends to be the one to shy away from this and simple stick to cuddling.

Sometimes you have pretty rough nightmares that wake you up in an icy sweat. They're never about him. About something else that you definitely can remember every time you wake up, but you don't dare to explain. It's something you don't have to tell Jason, because a part of you believes he already knows the reasons behind your night terrors.

Luckily, Jason is usually always there and so is his machete so you're quick to calm yourself and press closer into his chest, trying to forget the nightmare as quickly as you can and fill your nose with the smell of earth that clings to him.

Jason doesn't actually sleep, so there's not much of an opportunity for him to dream. He sees things sometimes, though. Hallucinations maybe. Of his mother obviously. Of water in places where water shouldn't be. He loses himself in old thoughts and memories when nothing else is going on.

There's not ever much to indicate this happening. He sits quietly at your side most of the time. If you're awake, however, you can usually sense the change in his energy and his demeanor. Tentatively, you'll wrap an arm around him and offer him some comforting whispers, even if you know he won't respond.

"You're okay, Jason."

"I'm here, Jason."

It's everything to him.

Thomas Hewitt

Between the coldness of the basement and the fact that Thomas is a giant heat generator, you can't think of a better sleeping arrangement than with him in that basement. He's only down there on nights when he doesn't come up to the main house to sleep in his actual room, so you have to play your cards right to catch him down there at the right time. He's unpredictable and comes and goes with little to no plans so there's not much of a schedule to memorize. During the summer, though, he tends to sleep down there more so you can always look forwards to that.

You think he might enjoy your company too. Especially during those summers because there's hardly ever a night where it's not sweltering hot and everyone is miserable. The flimsy fans just aren't enough. So when there's no dinner in the basement or anything alive inside of it, you and Thomas utilize it often. The rest of his family tends to keep away from it, so it's even nicer. It's like a little private blood stained suite that Charlie can't burst into unannounced.

Thomas seems to notice that your mood improves when you can sleep in the basement with him, so he actively works harder in the summer to make sure the basement is always cleared out of intruders or whoever's next on the plate. He wants to keep the basement to himself and you as much as he possibly can.

While he may not be overly touchy when he's awake, that all changes when he's sleeping or getting comfortable alone with you. He's constantly got his arms wrapped around you tight or your body pulled into the curve of his while his soft breath stirs at your hair. Sometimes, he strokes over your soft skin or pulls his fingers through your hair--something you become increasingly attached to and appreciative of.

You learn quickly to get comfy when he gets his arms around you because you're not going to be able to break out of his grip until he's awake.

Brahms Heelshire

He's been practically begging to sleep in the same bed as you for weeks. You hadn't been the biggest fan of this idea, not even when you were letting him sleep with you. Your own bed had been special to you when it came to Brahms' clinginess. Sharing it with him felt like you were going to give up the very last stronghold against him you had. You knew that when you were sleeping, he often spied on you through the walls anyways, but at least you'd had a few hours where he wasn't constantly all over you.

Reluctantly, however, you'd soon agreed to this after getting annoyed with his antics. He'd gone quickly from simply staring at you from behind cracks and keyholes in the walls to just straight up hovering over you. At one point, you caught him lifting the sheet off of you in what you assumed was an attempt to sneak into bed with you. You figured that he was eventually going to succeed, so the least you could do was have a little bit of control over this and act like it's all on your own terms. It's stupid, but it makes you feel better.

Holy fuck, he is a snuggler for sure. If you think he's touch starved and needy when he's awake and on his feet he's on a whole other level when he's sharing a bed with you. He's always got a leg hooked over yours and often he presses his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. His hands seem to constantly be moving over your arm or down your side, like he can't actually believe you're real and laying in bed with him.

Brahms doesn't really hide his "excitement" to be in bed with you for the first few nights, and it makes it awkward to fall asleep with his cock usually pressed to your back. Lucky for you, he soon realizes that being in the same bed as you is not an automatic invitation to fuck you.

Obviously it still happens, you have your needs too and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't getting good at pleasuring you. But at least he has a bare minimum understanding of the importance of your consent.

You will admit he's a really good cuddler, though. He makes you feel...loved. For a lack of better words. Wanted. And needed by the way his fingers pressed into your skin and the porcelain perfect lips of his mask grazed softly over your neck.

When he sleeps, however, he's not as gentle. He has nightmares, often, seemingly violent ones that often wake you up before he wakes up. The first thing he does when he finally wakes up his sit up and wrap his arms back around you, pulling you back under the sheets with him. You can hear his quick, shallow breaths from behind the mask and sometimes you feel him trembling against you.

Once you asked him what it was he dreams of. He responds with one word, softly in the darkness, the child-like tone completely missing from his voice.

"Fire."

Pyramid Head

You don't think he sleeps.

Sometimes he'll stand still for awhile, like he's listening for something, but you've never actually see him lay down or give off any semblance of sleep. It makes sense after all--he's an otherworldly monster why would he have to sleep anyways? It does always give you a bit of a giggle though, trying to picture him laying down with that big ass helmet.

You're not sure what his deal is, but once again, him not ever getting tired or being plagued by exhaustion familiar to human isn't a downside for you whatsoever. It honeslty makes you feel safer.

You're not immune to this human exhaustion however. You'd think being stuck in purgatory hell town would have just some benefits like maybe excusing you from basic human functions, but apparently not. Either way, when you do have to take a break to sleep or nap somewhere, he'll usually stand over you or at least patrol nearby.

There's this...need in him to just. Make his rounds and punish. Like a shark needs to move in order to live, kinda.

For most, it'd be harder to fall asleep with a giant menacing monster with a giant knife standing watchfully over you or dragging said giant knife around obnoxiously on the hunt for the damned...but not for you. He's looming and terrifying and possibly hell personified, but his presence is comforting considering the other monstrous shit lurking nearby.

Chris Walker

You're not actually sure if Chris sleeps but sometimes he lays down on flimsy beds or in whatever pathetic, bloodstained cot is nearby and just kinda breathes in and out raggedly while he stares up at the ceiling.

He doesn't exactly pull you onto the mattress with him (can those springs even take your combined weights?) so you're never sure what to do during these moments. You do find out rather quickly, however, that when his guard is down like this, the safest place to be is probably on top of him, head nestled into his chest. Even being at his side is too far away from him, too risky--anything could grab you.

You're somewhat of an insomniac yourself, and between that and the uneven, raspy breathing and the rise and fall of his chest, you don't often sleep well. Normally just a power nap here or there or dozing off.

Sometimes one of his clawed hands will find its place over the small of your back. It stays there until he's ready to be on the move again. At first, you think it's to keep you firmly there--to keep you from escaping. But he knows better than that. He knows you'd have to be really stupid to try running away from him for real. It's more of a precaution to keep any variants from trying to kill you or steal you from him. He's very sure that anything that isn't him is out to get you for themselves and he's not even wrong about it--that's probably the worst part. But the point is, nothing is taking you away from him while his guard is down without moving his massive, weighty hand off you first.

He's a very light sleeper, so something like that would no doubt wake him. Even you can't move without making him stir. He'll give a low, warning growl and you'll instantly go still again, not wanting to disturb him once more.

As stressful as the sleeping situation might be for you, it's way less stressful than any other idea you have. Things could be worse, you often tell yourself as you lay with your head pressed to his chest, listening to the thump of his great heart.

You don't know how either of you manage to get any amount of rest between all the screaming and moans echoing through the asylum.

Daniel Robitaille

Where he resides seems to permanently be cold. Even when the sun beat down during the summers, it was icy and your fingertips and toes seemed to go numb every time. He warms them in his hands, often, when he greets you.

It's strange that although Daniel met his end in a funeral pyre, a supernatural chill still seemed to follow after him.

At first, you were scared to sleep near him. With long work hours, spending time with him only added onto the exhaustion and the temptation to shut your eyes when he held you in his arms grew stronger and stronger. You didn't think it was cold enough to kill you if you happened to fall asleep, but your paranoia still held you tight in its clawed hand.

At first, Daniel's insulted, thinking you're too scared or wary of him to let sleep take you when you're around him. You're his one and only, he'd never hurt you, you know that don't you? He asks you this and you only give him a shivering nod. He glances down at your trembling fingers and suddenly wraps his coat around you.

You're relieved that he doesn't attempt to keep you warm with his own body. You still haven't gotten completely use to the gentle hum of the bees that have made their home in his chest. You don't think he produces any sort of body heat either. But at least his coat smells like him and that's enough for you when you snuggle into it and finally get some shut eye.

Sometimes he sleeps besides you. At least, you think he does. You're not actually sure, but from the way his breathing seems to slow and the way his eyes stay peacefully shut you feel like he does. It's a convincing show, if he's faking.

Can ghosts sleep? Do they need to sleep? Apparently. Sometimes you wonder if he's getting irritated that all you do when you come to see him now most of the time is snooze. But honestly, he didn't mind. He knows you're either working two jobs or one overly demanding one in an attempt to scrape by. If he could, he'd sweep you off your feet and take you away to some manor--you and him could live luxuriously off his inheritance. But unfortunately, he was a very dead man and there was little he could do to help you. Other than maybeee taking out a few annoying workplace friends of yours that seemed a little too close to you.

The point is, no matter what it is you're doing, as long as you're in his line of sight or touching him he's fine with it. When you sleep you look cute all bundled up in his oversized coat anyways...

Harry Warden

Although they were dark and scary at first, the caves became oddly soothing to you. It became pretty easy for you to sleep and it became one of the biggest ways you passed the time. Something about the drip of moisture from distant stalagmites to the ground dragged you into a sweet, unconscious bliss without fail.

However, they are cold. Even without the drafts from the long gone outside, where the sunlight you'd never touch again lived, it was freezing. You'd been too nervous to complain at first, simply happy with being alive in the first place, grateful that Harry had the sense to even spare you. But eventually, your shivering became obvious and you worked up the nerve to say something.

You'd complained to Harry just once, softly as he rubbed at your shaking arms with gloved, sooty hands, streaking black down your skin. He left and came back with what you thought might have been shock blankets or some type of sheet meant to cover cargo being transported. Not the most comfortable in the world, but neither was living like an actual fucking bat and you managed that just fine.

Sometimes when you fade in and out of consciousness, you'll feel him against you, hands traveling all over your body under the blankets, as if he really can't believe your still here, that there's still breath in your body. What choice do you have? But you're so touch starved you lean into his touch, you let him do whatever he wants to you because at least you're not alone.

He's warm.

You don't ever actually see Harry sleep (not that you see much all in the dimly lit cave you stay in). He's constantly on the move, patrolling the mines, pickaxe swinging loyally at his side, searching for his next kill and (let's be real) his next meal.

Bo Sinclair

Bo's bitter and malicious and all things wrong but all that seems to fade away when he's in bed with you. It's like his mean streak is on break until he's up again in the morning ready to cause problems for the sake of causing problems. You savor those hours.

For once, that permanent scowl and furrow in his brow seems to leave his face when he's sleeping. There's very few times when you've been able to observe this, considering you often fall asleep before he does. You think he might stay awake longer than you on purpose--some weird dominance thing or some trust issue. Either way, it's hard to keep your eyes open for long with his fingers working steadily into the muscles of your shoulder and back, with his lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck.

And when you're actually asleep? He's still all over you. He's 24/7. The mean streak may have an off button but he sure doesn't. Sometimes, when you're partially awake, slipping into unconsciousness, you can feel his lips on your cheek and murmurings that you can never quite understand because they feel so distant. His voice sends you into a comfortable sleep as easy as it can send shivers down your spine and wake you up.

Bo's hand will always be on you in some way, shape, or form. There is absolutely no leaving the bed without having to move his hand off your body and waking him as a result moments later. You know it started out as an indication of his wariness and distrust towards your own loyalties, thinking you'd attempt to run off in the cover of night when the opportunity presented itself. But after months of your...surprising cooperativeness and obedience, it became more of an affectionate gesture.

Often nights you sleep fine. Others? Not so much. The nightmares you have are few and far in between, forgotten memories of a long gone past. But when you do actually have them? Oh. It's anything but fun. They wake you up in tears. He's always awake before you, usually because of your thrashing and whimpering. He'll be there to shush you and pull you into his chest as he sits up against the headboard. The first few times he did this, all you'd wanted to do was escape to be alone, to be anywhere else, to not be touched. But now...it calms you down. Struggling doesn't help anyways, it just makes him grip you tighter.

It's not just you that gets nightmares either. As tough and macho and callous as Bo tried to be (usually successfully to the point where it actually intimidated you), he wasn't immune to his past--to the horror stored in subconscious away from his waking mind.

He's a killer and a monster and he's evil, you tell yourself again and again late in the night as you watch his face contort. But he's still human.

You have a decent idea as to what his nightmares may be about, judging by how quickly his fingers fly to the scars on his wrists when he wakes up. You don't really know what to say to him when he settles back into the mattress, trying to act like his chest isn't heaving in fear. You don't want to say anything either. There's nothing to be said that can make him better.

All you can do is reach back and pull his hand over your shoulder gently, and press your lips to his scarred wrist--a strange little gesture that he's completely in love with.

Bubba Sawyer

It's always hot as all hell. It's worse during the daytime, but the night offers little relief still. Sweat still runs down your back uncomfortably and the fan seems to do nothing to help. Sleeping with the sheets (or God forbid) a comforter is a death sentence so either you or Bubba tend to kick off the sheets every time. It also doesn't help that Bubba absolutely has to be next to you or touching you at all times.

Weirdly enough, you sleep a thousand times better when he's got a massive, scarred hand on the small of your back or chin in the crook of your neck. He sleeps better too, and he's always been a pretty lousy sleeper. He thinks you're the reason he can actually sleep through the nights and that's the reason that under no circumstances will he let you sleep in a separate one. You prefer him close to you anyways on the off chance one of his brothers decides to make an attempt on your life.

Waking up in the morning, he's usually star-fished out across the bed and you've usually somehow ended up on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. He's a heavy sleeper and only ever seems to suddenly wake up when you try to get up and off of him and leave. Normally, one of his hands will come down on your back, pushing you back down before his fingers reach up to sleepily curl through your hair. You can only sigh and wait for him to get up because if he's not up, you're not up, period. His fingers do feel pretty good against your head though and it starts to become your favorite part of waking up.

Bubba doesn't seem to have dreams. If he does, he doesn't remember them and they're never enough to really wake him up. You, however, experience the opposite, especially after the traumatizing chainsaw incident. It's never him you see in your nightmares, just the fucking chainsaw. You'll wake up often gasping or in a cold sweat, and your hand goes to your scarred arm. It's hard to go back to sleep snuggled up against him after those nights.

There's times when you can't sleep at all and you'll just lay there, fingers tracing lazily over Bubba's chest, your eyes half shut with exhaustion.

You often catch quick naps during the day due to your newly erratic sleep pattern. You try to keep out of sight. Last time Drayton caught you napping you never heard the end of it and ended up catching hell over it because it was an apparent testament to your "laziness". As if your hands aren't raw from the hours you spend cleaning dishes under scalding water. As if your fingers aren't constantly aching from constantly being pricked from all the times you've had to sew up holes in clothes or...God forbid. Damage to the mask Bubba was so fond of.

You keep your naps to Bubba's room when you can. You pretend you don't notice whenever he locks the door from the outside. Probably better that way anyways at least no one but him can come in.

Kazan Yamaoka

As far as you know, Kazan doesn't...like...sleep. You're actually not sure if any of the killers do. You've tried to figure it out before, between trials. Sometimes you sneak onto his estate, into his realm, hoping to catch him in a moment where he's free of his usual murderous rage. You figure that might include him sleeping. Unfortunately, those moments don't seem to exist because the most that ever happens every time you do this is you run into him being very much awake, and he either has another go at...er...continuing his bloodline or he just straight up drives his katana through your chest.

Once or twice though, you think you've seen him low on energy when he hasn't had the chance to feed on blood. Sometimes, his head will dip slightly when he leans against a wall. With his mask, it's honestly impossible to tell whether or not his eyes are shut. When he smells nearby blood though, he's alert once more and on the hunt like nothing had happened.

So maybe he doesn't need to sleep because he gets all his energy from blood. And honestly? With you around, constantly scraped up by your own folly or his claws, Kazan's got a steady flowing supply.

His new affinity for draining you, however, results in your own exhaustion.

Sometimes it gets so bad, you fall asleep at the start of trials. It makes any runs with the Nightmare extra difficult and you usually don't make it through his trials anymore. Even though Kazan causes much more problems for you, there are some benefits. You know the Nightmare is one of the vulgar killers--the ones that say the most uncomfortable shit possible just to see their victim squirm in their grasp. Once you saw him open his scarred mouth to say something nasty, but he recognized the marks of Kazan's katana and claws in your skin, and quickly shut it. A strange, sick sort of pride flushes your system with smug endorphins. He knows not to fuck with what's Kazan's. With each passing trial and each new killer, you find that they all know as well. Not even the Ghost Face had shit to say to you.

Are they scared of Kazan too?

During his rounds, if one of your teammates doesn't find you and wake you first, Kazan usually will. When he picks you up, it's enough to stir you from your sleep. You recognize the pinprick of his claws at your ass almost instantly and know not to struggle. You don't dare. A soft sigh simply slips from your lips as your hands drift absentmindedly over the hard, scarred muscle in his back. Honestly, you're just relieved that he took mercy on you and didn't decide to stab you first.

You think you might imagine it, but sometimes he rubs gentle circles in your back and you can hear a gravelly hum, muffled behind the mask. It's enough to put you asleep again, his touch is so needed.

Then he hooks you and you're wide awake as pain floods through every one of your systems and the moment's over and ruined but it was nice while it lasted.

Philip Ojomo

There isn't much of a reason nor a need to sleep in the Entity's realm. It's like there's permanent adrenaline in the air. It's not like you can't--you're obviously not the only survivor that naps around. It's just unnecessary. The most it does is pass "time" between trials, if that's even a thing in this realm. There's no clocks and it's always permanently night so you don't think time passes.

You used to regularly try to nap after trials. You soon stopped when one of your teammates warned you of the dangers and brought up the possibility of being transported to a trial in the middle of sleeping. You thought it was stupid--there's no way to sleep through getting summoned for a trial. This awful chill always sweep through your body maybe thirty seconds before a round starts...

Sometimes you sneak out of the survivor camp when no one's paying attention. You try to make it a regular, normal thing for you, these little fake walks. Saying that you "need some air" or you need to "clear your mind" normally works well as an excuse. No one really cares. You've never made much of an effort to get too attached to any of your teammates and they're all too rugged and used to the way this world works too care. Being attached to someone is the worst pain. Having to see them die over and over again and writhe in pain and watch their blood soak the ground? Not ideal, to say the least.

So maybe that's why it's not as bad when it's with a killer. You don't have to see Philip's blood spill or his bones break. You don't have to see him with a hook through his shoulder like everyone else. You imagine that it still might be a little painful for him to have to do these things to you, but he's one of the oldest killers in this realm and at the end of the day he has a job to do. Even before you became closer with him, he never seemed to take pleasure in this job, however.

That makes you feel less terrible about being in the arms of a monster that murders people constantly for the favor of a cruel god that has ultimate dominion over him.

Philip tends to lay with you between trials. You don't ever actively try to find him. Doing that just makes it less likely he'll show up. You just walk with a sort of dazed, unfocused energy and he seems to show up on his own. He finds you before you ever find him.

You don't realize until later, but the reason behind this is because he actively cloaks himself and follows you around before uncloaking. You think it might be his way of warming up for a trial, but eventually come to realize it's just a habit that makes him comfortable. Philip does not like to be seen. Simple as that. You know you could just get better at spotting the shimmering trail he leaves when cloaked or listen a little harder for his sighs--but you don't want to.

The two of you have a favorite area--just some ruins in between the realms of different killers where it's just dark forest and shrubbery. There's a fire going in a barrel in the middle of the ruins and it never seems to burn out.

There you settle with him, pressed into his side. He usually keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head will fall into the crook of his neck as you begin to doze off. You fall asleep faster around him, because as much as he shouldn't, he makes you comfortable and feel safe.

You don't dream in this realm. It's strange. Laurie dreams--nightmares of the Shape. So do most of the other survivors. Sometimes good dreams. You've heard Yui often groan and talk of how she misses her bike and the road. But it's just black nothingness for you. Maybe it's a blessing.

You don't know if Philip dreams at all, but when he does close his eyes and lean his head back, he seems very peaceful. If only you knew the fire and machinery, vibrant and loud and terrifying, in his unconscious mind. It doesn't show on his face whenever he wakes up, though, so how could you? He knows you can't read his face very well. It's not your fault--he can't move it that well.

When Philip does wake up, it's normally because of a calling to trial. You think he gets the same chill as you do--just earlier and more intensely because he's deeper connected with the Entity. When he starts awake, normally waking you up as well, the first thing he does is pull you closer, long fingers biting into your arms, and his other hand goes for the spinal cord at his side.

It makes you feel somewhat protected as you push your face into his chest, wishing it didn't have to end all so soon. You always know him waking up is a telltale sign of the next trial starting. And before you know it, the Entity's swept you from his arms and back into the cold. Ready to face new hell.

Quentin Shermer

Weirdly enough, if he happens to be sleeping in a bed with you, he's so close to your body that there's barely a centimeter of space between you and him.

It's somewhat of a welcome change compared to how cold he normally is towards you when he's awake. You figure maybe it's his way of letting his guard down around you. Or just another freaky way he likes to exert power over you. Maybe it's to keep you from wanting to run from him. Maybe it's a way to get you to let your own guard down. You could have fucking chained yourself to him and he'd still think you'd try to finally leave him.

Either way you're not going to read too into it. You'd rather just enjoy it while it lasts. Because these are the moments you think of when you lay alone at night without him. You'd rather his suffocating grasp on you than nothing at all.

It used to be practically heart attack inducing to suddenly feel his arms wrap around you--especially when it's at your place. He's always just...shown up unannounced in your house before but it had taken you awhile to get used to it. You noticed it became a lot more common after you'd started fucking him.

Still, he was unpredictable. As creepy as his place was, it was obvious to you that there was oddly a lot of care put into all the little ritualistic pieces strewn about the room he'd laid claim to. It would take a lot more to get him to abandon something like that. Having two places to switch between also seemed to keep any potential police investigations off his ass if he had a sloppy night.

Sometimes you find yourself going to sleep alone in your bed and then waking up in his. It'd been terrifying the first couple of times, but eventually you learned that he just...did that to you sometimes. It's almost flattering--especially because you've never once woken up when he's been stealing you out of your own house. It means there's some part of him that's capable of being gentle enough to pull that off.

It's all a matter of possessiveness. It's fucked up. Plain and simple. It's worse that you're just...fine with it. But why fight it when you could fuck it, right? Because what the hell else is there other than him?

Sometimes you wondered if you should get some fucking therapy. But how were you supposed to explain all of this to a professional? Chances were you'd end up in the same fucking asylum the Butcher had broken out of. And you didn't want the police to catch him through your weakness. You wouldn't let them take him from you.

It's not harming anyone if you wake up next to him in the morning right? Just you. Only you. And that's fine.

It's all fine.

Sometimes it's like the not-so subtle guilt of being with him creeps up on you in your sleep. You can't remember the nightmares. You can just recall the hopeless sort of feeling that follows when you finally wake up. It feels like you're slowly rotting and tearing inside. There should be a 'but'. Like 'but then he's there, he's there and it makes you feel better and it makes it all go away'. But it doesn't. Sometimes you'll feel his fingers through your hair and his breath on your skin.

The feeling of complete emptiness doesn't go away.

#slasher #preferences #not healthy not condoned #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #pyramid head x reader #chris walker x reader #daniel robitaille x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #harry warden x reader #kazan yamaoka x reader #philip ojomo x reader #quentin shermer x reader

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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I love your writing so much but I’m curious person what would happen if monsters (König or 141) had a deaf reader as their pet? (it’s okay if you don’t wanna write this but I’m curious person)

monster!141 would be the best option for a deaf reader, and the worst option at the same time. At one side, they are more balanced in their needs and desires - Gaz at least tries to accommodate for you, learning sign language and cherishing(and exploiting) the connection it builds between you and him. We like a manipulative bird in this house, and he would often use the fact he is the most willing to accommodate you as the reason why he should be your favorite - he isn't a dick like the others, right? But Price tries his best, too, understanding how confused and helpless you might feel while being the mate of a bunch of predators. You are often startled by them - despite all of them being pretty large beings, both in human and monster form, they can still sneak up on you easily, with you having absolutely zero idea they're coming. Sometimes, they use it to scare you - but you can clearly see in Soap's puppy eyes that he didn't mean it. Poor pup just forgets all the time, he is very sorry that he startled you( will you accept him licking your cunt as an apology?? Ghost doesn't look like he cares, at first, but he is the one who actually worries the most for you. He won't ever let you out of his sight and will always be somewhere around when you're allowed to roam almost freely on the base. They almost never give you the opportunity though - other monsters are assholes and no one in 141 wants you to get hurt, so Simon always walks with you, either visible or hiding in the shadows. You always feel so pleasant while walking, everyone are so chill and nice to you - you have no idea about the loud stomping of his boots or the swirls of the wind right behind you as Simon follows you around. He will admit that he worries though - although he truly believes you to be a fragile pet that constantly needs his help. They are kinda demeaning like that, all humans are helpless to them(

#cod #cod x reader #monster!141 #gaz x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #price x reader #141 x reader

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rosenclaws · 8 months ago

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Nightmares || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan has a nightmare and finds comfort his his new child.

warnings: fluff, comfort, his child is adopted

Part if the Moonlight series (coming soon lol)

a/n: So i did things a little backwards. This should have been a oneshot after the og story of them finding the baby but I got this idea in my head and I couldn’t shake it so you’re getting some things out of order. You don’t need any context other than shes a baby and adopted tbh. Her name is Diana and i did take that from league of legends

Logan shoots up, chest pounding as a nightmare lingers in his head. He doesn't remember what this one was about. Probably just like all the other ones. His dead friends, the blood on his hands. Something along those lines.

He feels you stir next to him and freezes. You've been absolutely exhausted the last couple of weeks with the baby so the last thing he wants for you is to wake up because of him. He gently rubs your back, watching you relax under his touch until you're back to a nice deep sleep.

Loud cries start to come from the next room. His brows furrow as he pulls off the sheets.

Worry building in his chest as he hurries to the next room. Is something wrong? Is she sick? Hurt? He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her in her bed. He places his hand on her forehead to check for a fever. No sign of sickness which is good but he's hyper aware as he checks her over.

"Hey there kid, what's with all the crying?" The crying starts to subside the moment she lays eyes on Logan.

He shushes her gently. Picking her up from her crib and holding her in his arms. He walks around in circles, gently bouncing her in his arms.

She's wearing some stupid onesie that Wade bought her. Red to match his suit. Stuffed animals sit perfectly in her crib but she clutches hard to one in particular. A damn wolverine plushie that you had searched forever for. He rolled his eyes at the idea but the moment Diana saw that stupid plush she squealed with happiness. Now it's her best friend.

"See no tears, no reason for tears. I'm here." He wipes away the stray tears from her chubby little cheeks.

He moves to put her back in bed but her faces scrunches up like she's going to cry again so he keeps her in his arms. He slowly sinks into the rocking chair sat next to her bed. Cradling her as he slowly rocks back and forth. The chair creaks beneath his weight and he makes a note to get a stronger chair.

"You hungry?" He tries to feed her the bottle you keep for emergencies but she won't budge. She doesn't need a diaper change so he has no clue why she woke up this time.

“Did you have a nightmare?" He asks softly as she grabs onto his finger. Looking up at him with big glassy eyes.

"That's okay, I get them too." She babbles nonsense in response.

Sometimes Logan wonders what she dreams about. Does she have memories of her parents? Does she ever miss them? Can she even miss them? She's just a baby. A poor, innocent child who was left for dead. The idea makes his blood boil. How could you just leave a child like that?

They're born into this world helpless and the people who were supposed to protect them left because their child happened to be born a mutant. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He was upsetting her, like she could sense his anger.

"Sorry kid, didn't mean to make you sad." She puts his finger in her mouth, sucking on it like a binky.

"Having fun there?" She gurgles and he takes that as a yes.

She shows no sign of being tired which is bad news for him and you. You just got her on a good sleep schedule and now it might get ruined.

"I know how scary nightmares can be." He brushes her little cheek and she giggles.

"But I promise they can't hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you." Her eyes start to flutter shut, the grip on his finger loosen as she listens to him talk. He moves her so that her head is resting on his chest. His hand rubbing up and down her back. She yawns and snuggles closer to him.

"Back to sleep kiddo, there we go."

"Logan?" Your sleepy voice calls from the door. You rub your eyes as you take in the view of Logan holding Diana in his arms.

"Nightmare.” He says looking at you. You walk over and gently rub his arm.

“You or her?” He doesn’t answer. You stay with them for a while. She’s fast asleep by now but she looks so comfortable in Logan’s arms that you can’t even think of separating the two.

“Do you want to talk about it?” No. He doesn’t. He’d rather focus on the good in his life than remember the past. In fact holding Diana puts him at peace. Quieting his mind in ways normally only you can.

“Maybe she’s good for more than just throwing up and making a mess.” Logan jokes and you lightly hit his arm.

“Shut up you love her.” He stares at her sleeping face.

She’s looks so peaceful. He does love her. So much. So much that it scares him. What if she grows up and thinks he’s a monster? What if he fucks up somewhere and ruins his perfect girls life? As far as he’s concerned everything he touches gets ruined. He still wakes up in disbelief that you’re by his side everyday.

“Okay Princess, we need to get you back to bed.” You try and take her our of his arms but he pulls back.

“No.” He holds her protectively to his chest. A flash of anger in his eyes fades as soon as it comes.

“I’m sorry. I. I just need a little longer.” He feels guilty for snapping but you understand.

You sit on the floor and rest your head on his lap. He doesn’t even try to tell you to go back to bed because he knows you won’t listen. So he sits back and watches his girl for a little longer.

His perfect family.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #worst!logan howlett x reader #dad!logan howlett

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lycheeloving · 1 year ago

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another continuation of this AU, this time; yandere!Superman!

-I think he takes you out of the Watchtower sometimes to go on picnics (in super secluded areas). He's fast and strong enough for you to have absolutely no chance of escaping and he thinks it's important for you to spend some time in nature! Yes the Watchtower is built in a way so you get the perfect amount of sunlight in there and there are a lot of plants in the darlings common room, but going outside on planet earth is important to him! To get some fresh air! Walk around a bit! It's a wonderful reprieve from being in the same place all the time, but has the unfortunate side effect that every time the word "picnic" is mentioned you perk up like a dog who heard someone say "treat".

-Will fly you there. If you enjoy it he's happy that you two have that in common and that you're having fun with him, but if you're afraid of heights he's also happy, because you're holding him so tightly. It's a bit like a little trust exercise to him! Look, he won't drop you! See? You know you can trust him, right? :)

-You're so cute and weak to him, he needs to protect you!! In comparison to him, everyone is weak, but with you his protector instinct goes completely haywire. You'll have to deal with him hovering next to you and telling you to be careful all the time, even if you're not doing anything dangerous. Like using a fork. (It could easily pierce your skin!!)

-Absolutely loves cuddling with you when you're sleeping. Like to fall asleep he has to has his arms around you, or better yet you lying on top of him. I also headcanon that when he feels safe and content he starts flying/hovering a bit in his sleep, so sometimes you'll wake up to find you're not on the bed anymore. But don't worry he won't let you fall, even in his sleep he's holding on to you.

(Sometimes you worry he'll lose control in his sleep and hug you too tightly and accidentally kill you, but luckily he's spent all his life learning how to control his strength + his subconscious recognizes that it's you he's holding, so that won't happen. Phew! But you still worry sometimes, like after watching him rip open a car on the news as if it was made of paper. What if one day he gets tired of you and... No. That won't happen... right?)

-Probably the softest with his darling out of all of them. Tries very hard not to overwhelm you.

-That said, he tries his best to control his powers around you as to not be intimidating! He wants you to see him as just some guy. If your universe doesn't have a Superman you don't even realize how powerful he is until you see him fight against a villain on TV. What do you mean Clark can do all that stuff?? You knew he could fly, sure, but laser eyes and super strength? You had no idea! (Clark doesn't like it when you watch the news, but Flash turned them on in the common room to show his darling "how heroic he was today", so for once you were able to watch them).

-Hopes you never find out about his superhearing. Or at least about the fact that he's literally listening to you all the time. Doesn't matter where he is, part of him is always focusing on your heartbeat to make sure you're ok and exactly where he left you. He thinks that would probably freak you out a lot and he'd rather not make you upset. (Won't stop though.)

-Teaches you a lot about Kryptonian culture. It's important to him, so you should know about it as well! Especially as his partner! Might make you wear some kryptonian fashion, probably something that signifies that you're in a relationship with him. Maybe even something that implies you're married to him. Might not even outright tell you what it means before giving you the clothes and you have to piece it together yourself after a bunch of kryptonian lessons.

#yandere dc #yandere superman #yandere clark kent #yandere!superman #yandere!clark kent #x reader #reader insert #yandere #lycheewritings #yandere superman x reader #superman x reader

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yeyinde · 2 years ago

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6knotes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

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#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire #gazfics

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