#and i cannot stress this enough: i CANNOT be in the same room as someone as they read something i wrote | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Average visit duration of Tumblr.com is 10 mins and 25 secs.

#and i cannot stress this enough: i CANNOT be in the same room as someone as they read something i wrote

writinganything · 1 year

Text

Best friend with benefits!Ethan Landry

Warning: Ethan having an oral fixation, Ethan being a munch, Ethan being pussydrunk, reader has female anatomy, porn with small plot, kinks

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who understand you to a certain level

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who always walk you to your classes

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who notice every little thing about you

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who often catch himself looking at you

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry whose gaze is fixed in your lips when you talk to him

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who imagine both of you doing things together

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who doesn’t realise you felt the same and cannot take the hints

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who doesn’t understand his feelings. Why does he wants to fuck his best friend?

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who was happy when you suggested to become friends with benefits

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who fingers you as he’s watching TV and ignore your pleading about letting you cum.

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who loves edging/orgasm denial

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who also loves overstimulation

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who has an oral fixation

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who eat you out at every chance he gets. Talking to the phone? One of you leg is hooked on his shoulder as he sucks on your clit. Studying/stressing about econ? He’s your personal stress reliever. Having problems to fall asleep ? He’s already in between your legs. At school? He’ll pull you somewhere just to have a taste, but you know damn well it’s not just a taste and he always ends up pussydrunk with your legs shaking around his head and cum-mixed-with-spit drooling to the floor

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry and you who have a morning routine of doing a 69 every morning because is there any better way to start the day than pleasuring each other at the same time? The number of times, y’all were late somewhere because you both lost track of time as you were edging each other and now having to hurry up…but ends up only overstimulating each other’s genitals :(

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who loves being buried deep in your pussy. You cockwarming him anytime of the day and being careful not to be caught is so exciting to him!

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who helps you take all of his large cock down your throat by pushing your head down until your nose touch his lower abdomen.

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who whimpers as he violently fucks your throat and hearing the obscene sounds that fills up the room

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who cannot get enough of you and you cannot get enough of him

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who loves that y’all fuck every day without getting tired

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who is happy to have someone with the same high sexdrive as him

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who chuckles by seeing the way your pussy throb and pulse only by taking off your panties

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who nearly cried when you said he couldn’t eat you out because you were too overstimulated from the previous round

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who often pull his fingers out of you to suck on them and taste you on them, since he couldn’t suck on your pretty cunt instead

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who moans only by sucking your tits

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who edges himself as he jerk off while thinking about you in the most impossible positions

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who fucks at incredible speed

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who has multiple photos and videos of you guys going at it

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who push your head down on him when he drives and keep you there until he cums at least 3 times

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry whose car have tinted windows

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who have both a praising kink and degrading kink

“Yeah just like that, suck my cock”

“You’re such a good girl”

“You couldn’t wait until we got home before fucking me? Didn’t know you were such a whore Ethan”

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who calls you mommy when you dominate him

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who also loves hearing you calling him daddy

“Oh daddy I love your cock so much” you cry out loud as he pounds your cunt like there’s no tomorrow

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who loves it more when you initiate sex and shows him how needy you are

“I need you so bad” you nearly cry as you grind yourself against him and he smile

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry asking you to bend over when you’re in lingerie and spreading your pussy lips to fuck you with his tongue

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who doesn’t understand why his other friends don’t love (more like obsessed) oral as much as him and you

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who passed out once as you were riding his cock and it was his eighth orgasm in an hour

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who came to your appartement once with a box full of toys

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who makes you wear vibrating panties and turn them on when you’re talking to someone or when you’re in public

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who starts to feel more than lust and friendship over you

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who accidentally screamed “I love you” as he came in your pussy for the fifth time today

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry and you who took the habit of saying how much you love each other when having sex, but it was only because of the adrenaline and heat of the moment…right?….

“I love you so much baby! I love you and your perfect pussy!” He cries as you ride him and his eyes are close with tears falling out of them. His hands were on your hips to guide you “I love you too Ethan! I love you so much it hurts” you say back while going up and down on his dick, milking him dry

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry and you who tried nearly every position in the kamasutra and try to create your own

“Put your other leg on my shoulder too” he instructed you. “Ethan it’s impossible” you laugh as you try

Nah cuz now, you guys have done sexual things literally everywhere. You’ve done it in every room in your appartement and his, at school, the cinema, in a dark street hallway, in the car, at the library, at the mall in a fitting room, the restaurant, a hotel…you name it 😭👆🏾

You teasing him by flashing him with your tits or panties

When y’all have an argument, it always ends up with make up/angry sex

Bestfriend!Ethan Landry who takes care of you because best friends are supposed to care for each other and help them no matter what right? From helping with homework to helping you cum, he doesn’t mind one bit

———

…Sorry guys I was horny 🧍🏾‍♀️

Anyways should I make this a series/fanfic?

3K notes · View notes

anticanonsposts · 6 months

Text

Random Fluff Headcanons-König

Completely SFW

If your bed has a bunch of pillows and blankets he falls asleep so fast and will be dead asleep until he wakes up. It gets to the point where he just needs to be in your bed smelling you to fall asleep.

Like this man will become dead weight on you if he falls asleep on top of you, to the point that you end up squeezing out from under him just to get some of his body heat off of you, and so you can breathe easier.

Speaking of sleeping on you he can fall asleep on any part of your body as long as his head is resting there. Chest, butt, thighs, shoulders, back, ANYWHERE

You’re pretty big but he has stressed so many times that that’s what he loves. And since dude is built the way he is he lifts you like you’re nothing. He consistently tells you that you are physically perfect for him and that he loves a woman with curves and rolls.

(I've seen a few relationship counselors on tik tok talk about how gym rats sometimes love bigger women, and König is so strong why wouldn't he want to do a few extra sets at home with you, using you)

This mountain of a man will kick his feet and cover his face whenever you text that you are coming over or you invite him over.

When you two travel together you usually opt to drive since its cheaper and planes are very uncomfortable for him. In the car you can stop whenever you want to get out and stretch your legs, once you taught him the term ‘passenger princess’ he is obsessed with it and puts your name on the glove box on the passenger side of his car (probably truck let's be honest). Thankfully you like to talk a lot so that keeps him occupied when his mind wanders and he gets antsy while driving

The few times that you do fly he is the brawns and you are the brains, you keep track of the boarding passes and gate changes and he is in charge of the bags, he usually needs to have something in his hand to fidget with whether it be a fidget toy or your hand, he gets more nervous on planes since once he enters a plan all eyes usually go to him. And he is cramped the entire time.

This obviously doesn’t help with his body dysmorphia issues and you usually try to distract him once you find your seats with little quips and how excited you are to reach your destination.

It does help that you two always get at least 3 seats (sometimes 4) to share between the two of you, so that you both are more comfortable and so you don't have to deal with any other people.

Concerning love languages this man is the king of parallel play, he doesn’t care what each of you are doing as long as you are in the same room together, just your presence is comforting to him.

One of your love languages is principally touch and he at first had no problem with you touching anywhere below his neck, it took awhile for him to get accustomed to someone touching his face and head so gently.

But at this point in your relationship he loves nothing more than a hand on his cheek.

Loves loves loves that you treat him like your guard dog, but especially when you go out and bring your friends with. At first you thought this might make you nervous but come one at the end of the day he is a man, and a man surrounded by (and protecting) women is gonna be happy.

If any man is dumb enough to approach or harass you....

They shit themselves once they see the man you have with you.

When you guys go to a club he often gets mistaken for a bouncer by other patrons walking up asking him questions, or other bouncers and bartenders come up to him, asking him to deal with rowdy people, at first he doesn’t understand why this keeps happening, and you just give him a sly smile and he understands.

Speaking of clubs, he loves to get drunk but it usually takes him double what it takes you to get buzzed, which can get pretty expensive so he always insists on paying when you go out

Why would you pay if I eat and drink double?

This x2 when you guys go out to eat or if he goes with you grocery shopping, (I cannot imagine the caloric intake a man that big takes in in a day)

Like many people, once you are both drunk, many of your insecurities and mental health issues diminish (obviously just for the short term) and he is no longer as conscious of his size and is able to better tune out the world and just enjoy himself without much encouragement.

Next part only pertains if you take edibles/smoke and if he does it with you..

When he’s high

The way that when girls cuddle and they want to be IN the other person’s skin, this is how he is when he’s high, his face is just glued to the nape of your neck, loving the smell of you and how close he can be to you.

When it comes to cuddling he just loves to be held by you, his favorite is when he's nestled on your chest.

LOVES having your fingers in his hair.

If you have fake nails on and he loves the way scratches with those feel on any part of his body but especially on his scalp

When spooning he can go either big or little he likes things about both, he loves feeling you wrapped in his arms just getting to gaze at your pretty face, and the likes the security of having your arms wrapped around him.

The meme about dick on the butt and hands on the titties while cuddling is in full swing when you are the big spoon, your hands just rest on his pecs as it's laced with his.

Speaking of your nails, he loves everything to do with them, loves watching you do them, try new designs, and whenever you get a fresh set he admires them and tells you what he likes about them.

As mentioned before he loves quality time even if you are doing two separate things, so when it takes hours to do your nails, he loves it.

When you are out in public, especially likes fidgeting with your nails, particularly when they have charms on them.

He also tends to fidget with your hands while you are in public and/or if he gets nervous.

He actually does let you paint his nails once he gets comfortable with you, but to your surprise he doesn't want them to be black bc he thinks its ‘too basic’ (you have no idea what content he was consuming to come to this conclusion) he ended up picking a pale iridescent almost opal color with a green tint, it's a lot more subtle which makes him more comfortable to show them off.

#cod x reader #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x reader fluff #fluff #comfort #headcanon #cute #sweet #konig my bbg

376 notes · View notes

deeply-unserious-fellow · 4 months

Text

NO BUT LIKE ADAM AND LUTE REALLY ARE JUST HATER AND PEEPERS IN A DIFFERENT FONT LIKE-

Biggest asshole alive x Pick me bitch that prevents them from getting themself killed

HEIGHT DIFFERENCE

They. They dress the same. They literally dress the same I cannot stress this enough tHEY ARE WEARING THE SAME OUTFITS

Like Lute and Peepers even both have Slight Differences in their uniform to set them apart from the rest of the army so everybody knows they're Adam/Hater's #1

They're also all terrible people. Just absolutely the worst.

Commit war crimes on the regular

Hater and Adam both have their own rock band

Tell me Hater wouldn't guitar solo someone out of a room. Look me directly in my face and tell me with complete honesty that he wouldn't do that. I fucking dare you.

Highschool bully energy despite all of these people being very much adults

Peepers/Lute being pretty much the only people that Hater/Adam respect in any capacity

Sir

Charlie and Vaggie kinda have Wander and Sylvia vibes. Idk how much this contributes to the post but probably worth noting-

Like- this is the closest to Deathglare I've gotten since Goosepowers I think. And considering Vivziepop did an animation test or smthn of Wander years ago, there's a huge chance these two were actually based off of Hater and Peepers. Idk what to do with this information-

#hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #guitarspear #wander over yonder #lord hater #commander peepers #deathglare #death glare #late night ramblings #<- its only 7:30 but Im tired enough that this tag can in fact be used #gal overanalyzes random shit

312 notes · View notes

star-girl69 · 4 months

Text

Cowboy Like Me

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader

—-

Part One - The Last Time

Part Two - Cowboy Like Me

Part Three - Tomorrow Never Came (coming soon!)

Part Four - Living Legend (coming soon!)

Part Five - Pretty When You Cry (coming soon!)

—-

synopsis: 15 years later, you’re still climbing into clarisse’s arms and knowing she’s gonna leave.

a/n: personally i love life but idk about y’all and creds to @nvirskies for helping me w bits of this 🫶

Cowboy Like Me - Taylor Swift

warnings: y’all already know what’s happening

—-

“And I… I’m scared.”

You hum, adjusting yourself in your seat so your heart doesn’t break.

“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared all the time.”

Jane is one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever met since becoming the Camp Half-Blood therapist thing. After your traumatizing years, watching Clarisse come and go, years spent in her bed- you found yourself wanting to tell someone.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to feel safe, especially when she was gone.

You wanted to tell someone that you hated Clarisse La Rue’s guts and also you loved her so much you weren’t sure if you could ever get over her.

So, you became that person.

“You’re allowed to be scared, though,” Jane continues. “I can’t. I’m a daughter of Ares, Y/N. If he sniffs out weakness then he’ll never love me.”

Your conversations with Jane have by far been the hardest sessions you’ve ever had. They remind you so much of what you went through 15 years ago. Of what you watched her go through.

“And you’re human, Jane. To fear is to be human. You’ll always be part human, the same way you are part god. That’s what being a demigod is,” you smile.

“It’s just… human?” she says, nose scrunching.

“All of the emotions you feel, the ones you hate, the ones that distract you- those are the ones that come from your mortal parent. Ares cannot take those away, no matter how hard he tries.”

You let the kids spread around the rumors that this room is magical and soundproof. In reality, the Gods just don’t care enough to listen.

—-

It took a long time to get Chiron and Mr. D to see the benefits of having an actual licensed therapist at Camp. They were hesitant, but you insisted, so they gave you a one month trial. It took even longer to get someone to actually come talk to you, but after Jane blew up on one of her siblings and hurt them, she came to you.

She came to you crying, saying she hated being like this, she hated being so explosive. And it was slow, but you helped her, and now she has coping mechanisms and now the entirety of the Ares cabin and a good portion of the camp scrambles for appointments with you.

Jane always comes at 6:30 on Fridays. She eats her dinner quick and runs across camp to your office at the Big House. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she squeezes a stress ball so hard she might actually crush it, but she always talks. She always opens herself up, she learns and she grows.

After that hour, you turn around and lay in your bed, and you think about Clarisse.

You think about when she comes back, you’re not so cold anymore but your heart is frozen over. You cry, she asks you not to cry, not when she’s here. She did the impossible, she survived.

But you see it in her eyes. The thrill. She will do it again and again for him and you will be left there.

And as much as your aching heart tells you to forget about her- she’s yours. You’re hers.

She calls you baby and pretty girl even though years of stress has caused crows lines around your eyes. You are still trapped with her, like some sort of wretched mirror- except you’re gazing into another world where you’re both still young. Where you’re both still happy. Where she didn’t leave.

You think about that alternate reality a lot.

You think about it tonight.

You come to your room and you lay on your cold bed, wrap an arm around your waist and imagine the pillow under your head is her chest. It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to love her so much that you pretend she’s still here. It’s embarrassing that you pretend you have all the answers- the campers look up at you like you do have all the answers, but you really don’t. You know absolutely nothing. But you’re good at pretending.

The first time she visited camp she came to your room, cockily leaned against the door, and said something about how she had to meet the woman all of her younger siblings were gushing about. That night ended with her crying softly against your chest while you ran your hands through her hair.

And before, you went to colleges only an hour away from each other. When you were stressing about exams, when you got a bad grade, when the nights were cold and you missed her- you drove an hour and knocked on her door, and she let you in, into her bed, into her arms. She didn’t have let you into her heart, because you were always there.

When her roommate left for a few days for a family emergency, she asked her friends to take notes for her and drove to you. She stammered when you opened the door, tried to explain that she just couldn’t be alone, not anymore, not without you- and so she spent the next few days waiting in your room while you were at classes. You would sit in her lap while you did your homework, or she would just stand behind you at your desk and play with your hair. And you would spend your nights in her arms.

The second time she visited camp she didn’t say anything when she knocked on your door, and you just let her in. You spent the night laughing and reminiscing until you cried and she smiled sadly and asked you not to, and you tried for her, but you couldn’t. How can she expect you not to cry when she’s the one making you cry? When she’s cried herself over what happened between you?

The third, fourth, fifth, all the times she came to camp she would come to your door and sometimes you would cry, sometimes she would cry- sometimes you both would cry. Because how cruel is it to be held by the woman you love and know it’s not the girl you love? How cruel is it to know change?

—-

It’s not that you choose to love Clarisse. If you could choose, you wouldn’t love her. You would forget all about her. You dream about falling and hitting your head, waking up with a blank slate that’s untainted by her.

You don’t choose to love Clarisse.

Your skin doesn’t love her, not anymore- your cells replace every few weeks. And it’s been 2 months since she last came to camp. It’s your bones that love her. It’s something fundamental inside of you. Loving her is like moving- it takes so many little nerves and neurons to make it work- but it feels like nothing to you. Your bones love Clarisse.

And your bones surround your heart, and they trick you into loving her.

Every time she comes back you’re shocked by the way she isn’t her younger self. She’s older, there’s lines on her face, and she cut her hair a few inches shorter a few years ago. She carries herself different, partly because she’s grown and she’s learned to appreciate life a little more- she walks softer. And almost because you know she hurt her hip years ago, and you’ve spent nights kissing it and saying that she’ll be fine if she just gives it a little longer to heal.

You like to think that the reason she’s still able to go on quests and do everything she does is because of your healing touch.

But you see it sometimes, the way she walks softer, especially now after a long day. Its not that it hurts her, she’s just scared of putting a bit too much pressure on it so it does hurt her.

You watch her from the window. Smaller kids run past her, she’s listening absentmindedly to Abby James, the current counselor of the Ares cabin.

You giggle as she puts her hand on Abby’s shoulder and firmly says goodbye, pushing her off into the other direction- Abby is probably the most social Ares kid you’ve ever met. She’s a chatterbox, not in a bad or mean way, just a fact. Her long black hair swishes behind her as she turns, crossing her arms, and you’re sure you’ll be hearing about it in your next session.

You move back to the small couch- right by the door of your room. You sit there like you’re not expecting her, and you wait until you hear her footsteps up the stares to fix your hair and breathe in and out slowly.

She knocks.

“Come in,” you say, throwing your feet onto the coffee table and picking up a book about the history of psychology.

“Y/N,” she says. The door shuts behind her, she leans back against it.

“Hi, Clarisse,” you say, reduced to a child now that she’s in your presence. Now that you can look at her and see that she’s not her. “How are you?”

She snorts, walking past you and sitting in the armchair you sit in for your sessions.

“I don’t wanna play that shit tonight.”

“Hospitality?”

“Whatever you wanna call it,” she smiles, her feet touching yours on the coffee table. You feel a little breathless. You close the book, you weren’t even reading it, throwing it onto the coffee table.

She stares into your eyes.

“How have you been?”

You roll your eyes, but that just makes the tears more prominent.

“How is that any different?”

“‘Cause it’s you. ‘Cause I like hearing your voice.”

She leans back in the chair and gestures to you, so you cross your legs and sit up. You bite back the tears like a hyena with a fake laugh.

“Uh, I don’t know. The usual. All of my sessions are going good, not that I can really tell you. Why don’t I turn on some music?”

“Sure,” she says, leaning her face into her hands.

You walk past her and towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall, body screaming at the way your bare legs brush against her clothed knee.

It’s an old record player, somehow making the cut as not electronic enough to attract anything bad.

You don’t bother checking what you were last listening to. You just put the needle at the start of a song and hear the organs, the grand piano.

“I like this guy,” Clarisse says.

“Jeff Buckley,” you chuckle, smoothing down your camp t-shirt, adjusting your pajama shorts.

Looking out the door I see the rain // Fall upon the funeral mourners

You stand there for a moment longer, pretending to adjust your bookshelf, because you know you’ll start crying when you turn around and look at her.

So I’ll wait for you, love // And I’ll burn // Will I ever see your sweet return? // Oh, will I ever learn?

“Come back,” she says. She was just watching you avoid her. You could feel her eyes on you. You stiffen. “Please,” she adds, softly.

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, wiping the tears away.

“I’m just as embarrassing then, seeing how many times I’ve cried in this room. We cancel each other out.” You don’t turn, you can’t do it, you can’t let her see how much this effects you. “I don’t like it when you cry. Please, Y/N, come back.”

You take a deep breath and turn around, wanting to walk past her again, curious to see if she’ll reach out and pull you into the chair with her.

But she doesn’t get the chance too, because your eyes are blinded by tears, and the place where the rug curls up is always making you stumble. Except on days when she’s here, you’re so drained of everything, so you trip completely.

Your knees slam against the hardwood floor, Clarisse tries her best to catch you, but she was a foot too far to reach you- even with her fast reflexes.

And now you’re on your knees in front of her, crying even louder with burning knees.

“Y/N,” she breathes, and you drag yourself towards her, sobbing like a baby until you’re at her feet, resting your head in her lap. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s fine. I trip all the time.” You both know you’re not crying about that.

You press your face into the space between her leg and the cushion to muffle your loud cries.

You grab her legs, feral, nails digging through her cargo pants- but you don’t even reach skin.

“I love you so much, Clarisse,” you sob. “I love you. Don’t leave me tonight. Don’t leave me.”

She breathes out, it’s silent and you bite your tongue.

“I’ll stay tonight,” she says. “I was always gonna stay tonight, you don’t have to ask, baby.”

“Say you love me,” you whisper. “Say it, please.”

“I love you,” she says, her lips in your hair. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

There is a certain desperation with demigod relationships. And you feel it now, you feel the desperate hands and the yearning hearts as you cry at her feet. And you feel your knees burn as you kneel before her. You listen to Jeff Buckley croon about love gone while you cry at her feet.

You can’t be embarrassed in this moment. Part of you feels like this is all just Clarisse’s problem, for being so beautiful you still love her, for leaving you and never putting you first. She has to hold you and fix you, she has to deal with the wet pant leg full of your tears. But really, you just want her to hold you. You just want to pretend she never left in the first place.

It’s never over // She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

—-

“Are you hungry?” you ask when you finally let go of her, pushing her away as you wipe your wet face.

She studies you for a moment.

“Yeah,” she says, honestly. “What’cha got?”

You reach under the coffee table for the box of snacks you always keep incase someone gets hungry during a session. You’ve both moved to the couch for more space, Jeff Buckley is still going in the background- you’ll have to get up and flip it over soon, or put on something else.

She rifles through the bags of mortal snacks until she finds a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

“Thanks, baby,” she mutters, tearing into the bag. You lean against the couch and just watch her. It could be like this all the time. If she would just stay.

She tries to feed you one, but for some reason that feels too intimate and you shake your head. She shrugs and eats it, even though it was pressed up against your lips a second ago.

That’s the one thing you don’t do. You kiss each other everywhere, except for the lips. You touch her everywhere, except for her lips.

You cry in her arms and she kisses your head, she runs her hands down your body but doesn’t kiss you.

And you’re scared of it. You’re scared of kissing her. You still feel like you can leave, even after all the nights together, if you just don’t kiss her.

She gestures to the curtain that separates your bedroom from where you see campers. “I like the new curtain. Flowers,” she says.

You rake your eyes over the carefully crocheted patterns, pink and blue and yellow, purple and green and red, all turned into pretty flowers.

“A few kids from the Demeter cabin made it for me,” you smile, thinking of how proud they had been to give it to you. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” Clarisse says, but she’s not looking at the curtain anymore. “Jane was talking about you all day,” she says after a moment. “She really loves you.”

“I love her. If she hadn’t come to me, then no one else would have, and I probably would have gotten thrown out. I don’t even know where I would have gone.”

“You could’ve come to me. You can always come to me.”

You have her address pinned to a bulletin board next to your bed.

“Yeah,” you mumble, playing with a loose thread on the back of the couch. “She reminds me a lot of you, you know.”

“Really?” she chuckles. “How?”

“I can’t tell you, silly. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Well, you said she’s like me. So just tell me what I’m like.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thinking over every moment you’ve spent with Clarisse, every session with Jane. “Well, you have very big emotions. It’s hard for you to control them. But, you never really feel them. You never get to the root of the problem. So, when something actually happens, all you know how to do is recognize that you’re angry. You can’t figure out why.”

“You’re good at this shit,” she mumbles. You laugh.

“Hm, you forget that being a demigod means you’re half human, too. And you’re very loyal. You’re loyal to the wrong people, sometimes.”

She crunches up the empty bag of chips and drops it onto the coffee table.

“Don’t do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

She rubs her socks against your knees. “I jus’ wanna be here with you, right now. Don’t say anything else.”

“You asked me about Jane.” You scoff and she glares at you, but her feet are still touching you, and you sigh. “I’m sorry. I jus’ wanna be here with you, too.”

She stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. When she finally looks away, she’s rubbing tears out of her eyes. You move to sit on your knees, leaning towards her.

“Clar, don’t cry,” you say. “What happened?”

You take her face in your hands, so she can’t wipe away the tears. Staring into your eyes, she’s forced to let them fall. She puts her hands on your waist.

“Sometimes I jus’ think about how you’ll never forgive me.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Clar. C’mon.”

“Is this room soundproof?” she asks, suddenly. You frown at first, not knowing what that has to do with anything- but then you remember.

You let the kids assume it’s soundproof in your early sessions. But eventually, when they ask, you tell them the truth. You tell them it’s not.

And when they get scared and ask if their godly parents will hear them- you put your hand on their arm and say no. No, they won’t hear you. It’s not that they can’t, it’s that they won’t. They won’t care.

“No. It’s not.”

She shakes her head and laughs.

“So, what? You just sit here and tell these kids that their parents don’t love them?”

“Because they don’t. A God’s love is not a human’s love, Clarisse, why-why dont you get it? It’s different. It’s just different. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just not what these kids need.”

“You make them think that their parents don’t care about them.”

“Because they don’t! Fuck. They don’t, okay!”

She stares at you for a long time after your outburst.

“What is wrong with you?” she mutters, not necessarily mean but more genuinely curious. She truly believes your wrong in your hatred of the Gods.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? I spend my entire day helping kids. I spent my entire day handing them tissues, hugging them, teaching them coping skills. I have devoted my entire life to making sure no one ever felt how I felt. How am I the bad guy for helping them place the blame on who it really should be placed?”

“How you felt?”

You shuffle, sitting up taller.

“Yes, how I felt. How I feel. You don’t know what it was like for me, Clarisse. You don’t know what it was like to sleep without you and know that you were probably gone-”

“What the hell do you think I did every night of that quest?”

“But I didn’t leave you, Clarisse! I didn’t leave you. I have been waiting for you for years. You are the one who leaves me over and over again. And you- you have someone. I have no one, except for you. No one.”

Clarisse has a father. She has someone to blame, if she chose. She has someone to pray to, to cry to, to guide her.

What do you have? The unclaimed daughter of no one? The only person you belong to is Clarisse. And here she is, staring at you like you disgust her.

The anger falls away, because at your core you’re still a lonely 16 year old who needs her to come back, who needs to be claimed, who needs to be loved.

You’re a licensed psychologist. You know that you have deep, deep abandonment issues. You know that Clarisse is at the root of them. But the part of you that’s just a girl, your bones that will always love her, she��s everything to you. She’s all you have.

“Please don’t make us fight,” you cry, hands pressed to your cheeks. “You’re making me cry, Clarisse. Don’t make me cry.”

You watch her change entirely. It goes from the woman who can’t understand you to the girl who knows only you.

“I hate it when you cry,” she says, softly, a gateway back into her arms.

You throw yourself against her, trying your best not to cry for her, but you fail. Her lips are in your hair, your head against her chest. She smooths down your hair and begs you not to cry. Because for some reason, this feels like too much. For some reason, this hurts her the most.

Clarisse is self destructive just like you.

She helps you to your bed. She touches the flower curtain as you walk past.

Clarisse knows she’s hurting you and she knows you’re hurting her. You know you’re hurting her and you know she’s hurting you.

She takes off her uncomfortable clothes and slips under the blanket with you.

Clarisse loves you the same way you love her. Not by choice, but by nostalgia, by hope. She loves you because of what might be. You love her the same way. You both hope that one day it’ll all work out.

She tucks the blanket around you and cups your face. She tells you she’s sorry and whispers “I love you” one more time. You put your hand on her hip, the other pressing against your chest. You say you love her too. You say you love her so much you’re reduced to this less-than thing in her presence.

Clarisse doesn’t understand you. You don’t understand her. She’s nobody’s son, and you’re nobody’s daughter. You try to go about your day without her but you think about her on you so much.

It’s hard to do well on these nights when you know she’s gonna leave you. So you cry, you pretend, you relish this one night in her arms.

“I promise I don’t mean to hurt you,” she whispers. “I don’t. I love you so much. I want you to be happy, but I can’t let you go.” She traces her nose along your jawline. “I can’t let you be happy away from me.”

And it sounds so horrible and cruel, but the way she hurts you is so beautiful you can’t be bothered. She only hurts you because of love. Because she loves you, because she loves her father.

“I know,” you breathe. “I know everything. I don’t mean to hurt you either, I know exactly how you feel.”

A single tear falls down her face. “I can’t help but hurt you. I can’t help but let you hurt me.”

“I know, Clarisse,” you mutter. You press your lips to her cheek and swallow the salty tear falling down her face. “It feels so good, I know.”

Clarisse is a sadist like you. Clarisse is a masochist like you.

Clarisse is addicted to the pain just like you.

—-

me when i’m in an toxic and cosmically doomed relationship contest and my opponents are clarisse and y/n: 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

let me know if you cried in the comments below! 😘

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

400 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 6 months

Text

authors note: oh hey. enjoy!

ask me about commissions!

--------

this is Daryl's fault.

all Daryl's fault, as most things tend to be nowadays.

this isn't the first time you've been held captive in the three years since you joined Rick's group. in fact, you get captured at least once every fortnight, but you always took it as a sign you were doing your job right; hunters cannot be hunters without a brief spell of missteps, and getting caught by the enemy is usually high on the list of scenarios that could take place. by now, you are used to it.

but this is different, because it's Daryl's fault, and that makes it ten times worse.

the rope holding your wrists together is painful, skin already red raw despite the fact you've only been tied up for an hour. Daryl tells you it will hurt less if you stopped trying to maneaveur your wrists enough to flip him off, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your attempts.

the walls are oozing condensation. it drips onto your head, slides down your nose, gets in your eyes, and it smells like damp. mould grows in the cracks in the floor. mice dart in front of you, as if boasting the fact they are free to roam and you aren't.

the worst part is, your knives are nowhere to be seen.

"i didn't even see them take them off me!" you exclaim. beside you, Daryl has barely moved. his hands and feet are tied in the same way yours are, but he's putting up no fight to get free, or even loosen them. he keeps his head down, shoulders sagging, shifting every now and then with his ragged breaths. you can't make out his expression due to the curtain of dirty brown hair shielding his face, but you would like to think his expression is one of pure guilt and sorrow for being the idiot who got you both captured in the first place.

"oi," you hiss. "a little communication would go a long way right now."

"what do you want me to say?" he bites; anyone else would back away from that tone, but you're not anyone else. you're the person put on this earth to be a pain in Daryl Dixon's ass, and that's exactly what you plan to be.

"i want a plan," you reply. "the others are expecting us back before nightfall."

"we're not getting back before nightfall."

"not with that attitude." you sigh, doing yet another pointless scan of the room - well, dungeon more like, considering the amount of rock and concrete there is. "how long has it been since they left? do you think they'll feed us?"

"we're not dogs, y/n," he grumbles. "we're hostages. chances are, next time we see them, it'll be so they can slit our throats."

"i didn't really get that vibe off them, to be honest. i know we're tied up and everything, but i think we can negotiate."

finally Daryl looks up, bloodshot eyes bored. "don't even try. things always go tits up the minute you open your mouth."

your jaw drops open. "are you serious? how can you say that when you're the one who got us into this situation in the first place?"

Daryl rolls his eyes, looking away. "i never asked you to come with me."

"yeah, well, someone has to keep you from killing yourself."

"you can keep me from killing myself, but not getting kidnapped?"

"i'm not a miracle worker."

Daryl scowls. you scowl back, even though he's not looking at you. it would be so easy some days to just punch him square in the face, but you've never let yourself get that far. at the end of the day, and as tough as it is to admit it, Daryl is the only one in the group you can properly talk to, whether he likes it or not. everyone else is too. . . flowery, too keen on sparing your feelings. they know what you've been through, and that effects everything they do when in your presence.

Daryl isn't like that, and for some reason, it feels safer to be with someone who tells you the truth, and nothing but the truth. sometimes, it feels safer to be with someone who hates your guts.

still, that doesn't mean he doesn't drive you completely mad. the way he chokes up in stressful situations, offering no help or communication - this is a life or death situation, and yet he still insists on kneeling there with his thumb up his ass. you could scream. in fact, you're so mad at his silence that you're being driven into your own silence, unable to come up with a plan when you're so angry at the idiot beside you.

he's a domino effect. a bad one. a domino avalanche.

you sigh heavily, closing your eyes, tilting your head against the concrete wall behind you. Daryl glances over, but neither of you get a chance to continue arguing - as much as you'd love to - before the rickety wooden door on the other side of the room creaks open. light spills in, blinding you, but you don't let your discomfort show. instead, you stare right into it, waiting for the face of your captor to appear, because you don't remember it all too well. they were wearing balaclavas for one, the smart bastards, but you can imagine they're young with the shabby way they've tied you up, and the complete whim of which they decided to-

"what the fuck."

two people come into view once the door is closed. their faces are lit only by the flashlights they carry, but the puny yellow light is enough to show the wrinkles indented in their leathery skin. the flashlights shake from elderly trembles, held by veiny, pockmarked hands damaged from years - years - of hard labour never soothed by retirement.

you and Daryl share a look; something isn't right. these can't be the same people who managed to pin you to the ground and tie you up.

that would be too embarrassing to even fathom.

"are you awake?"

the voice is frail but commanding.

"yes," you reply, earning a glare from Daryl that you ignore. "quite hard to sleep on concrete."

the flashlight pivots in your direction. you wince.

"right, stop blinding me, would you?"

"what's your name?"

"who's asking?" Daryl grunts.

the stranger - the male - steps closer. "the people who have the power to kill you, or let you go. i suggest you cooperate."

you stare at Daryl, hoping to God he can feel what you're trying to say through gaze alone; he needs to work with these people. they didn't come in here guns blazing, which means there is room for release if they just cooperate, but that word has never been something Daryl fully understands. right now, you need him to understand. right now, you need him to use his brain, need him to-

he spits on the concrete, right at the mans feet.

you close your eyes, resisting the urge to start cursing.

"go to hell," he growls.

the man steps back and wraps an arm around the female's waist. she curls into him, shooting daggers at Daryl as she places one hand on her husband's chest, as if protecting him from Daryl's lack of manners. you really can’t say you blame her.

“there’s no need for the hostility,” the man says. “we did what we had to do; you can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“the wise thing would have been to leave us. kill us, even.”

“he doesn’t mean that,” you hasten to add.

daryl shoots you a glare before continuing. “instead you tie us up and bring us to your base. what good is that going to do?”

“it keeps us in control,” the female replies. “just because we want the upper hand, doesn’t mean we want you dead.”

daryl scoffs. “biggest load of horseshit i’ve ever heard.”

“do you want us to kill you? because, young man, that can easily be arranged,” the man growls.

your heart jumps in your chest; this isn’t going as smoothly as it could be going, all because daryl can’t keep his mouth shut. he’s the quietest guy in the group when he shouldn’t be, and the biggest loud mouth when he should.

your brain work at a mile a minute as daryl and the elderly couple have a stare down. it’s your first instinct to scan the room for any weaponry, but then you imagine yourself actually slaughtering this elderly couple, and your stomach twists; there has to be another way, some kind of reasoning you can find, even ground you can all agree-

your eyes land on the wedding bands on the couple’s fingers.

you don’t even fully process the next words out of your mouth, just dive head first into the ridiculous idea that has suddenly sprung to your mind. “look, i’m so sorry about my husband. he gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

daryl’s head snaps around, mouth open,ready for a retort, but you’ve stated digging the hole, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin it now.

“i’m sure you understand, being a married couple and everything.” you laugh nervously. “we were actually just talking before you came down - we think i’s so admirable that you two have grown old together. it’s the kind of marriage we want. of course, the cards we’ve been dealt make that a little more difficult, but hope prevails.” you look at daryl and smile. “hope prevails. isn’t that what you said, dear?”

daryl only stares.

the elderly couple share a glance. if you’re not mistaken, they look almost sympathetic, and when they look back at you and daryl, their expressions have changed entirely, watered down to something you can certainly work with.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. “i always get carried away when it comes to taking about him. we’re newly weds, you see - got married just a few weeks before the news broke about. . . well, everything.”

“oh, goodness,” the female gasps, wrinkled hand covering her mouth. “you poor souls. did you at least get to have your wedding?”

“a tiny one,” you reply. “people were isolating, you see. my own mother, god rest her soul - she never made it. we had to put her down the day after.”

the woman shakes her head like this is the worst story she’s ever heard come out of the apocalypse. you glance at daryl, urging him with your eyes to play along, though you have very little hope you’ll ever get him to tart spewing bullshit marriage stories. the least he can do is stay quiet - that’s all your asking.

“we’re married, though, and we’re together,” you continue. “that’s what we’re focusing on.”

“yes, of course,” the man says. “do you . . . do you have a home to go back to?”

“a group, actually,” you reply. “we have a few young’un’s waiting for us. don’t tell anyone, but i think of them as our children now. they’re probably worried sick.”

the couple share yet another glance, and you know you’ve got them. when it comes to old married couples, the idea of a young couple mirroring their experience with marriage is always an easy fix; if you want anything, just tell them it’s because you want to end up like them, old and in love. they fall for it every time.

the woman inhales shakily, letting her hand drop to her side before she pulls a knife from a tiny sheath in her leggings; you almost whistle appreciatively at the blade, how shiny and well-kept it is, nothing like your own which have grown almost completely dull with age and overuse, and very little care on your part.

she walks over and slices the ropes from daryl’s hands, and then she steps back and waits. you blink at the scene, waiting patiently for her to make her way over to you to do the same, but she doesn’t. she just stares at daryl, lips pursed.

she’s waiting for him to make a big scene about being released.

what would a young, married man do in this situation? probably rush to his significant others side, smother them with kisses, ask them if they’re okay. daryl just rubs the raw skin on his wrists, cursing quietly under his breath, seeming almost oblivious to the audience watching him.

panic grips your chest. you have to do something before they realise something isn’t right.

“baby, you’re free!” you exclaim.

daryl’s head whips around. “huh?”

“you’re free!” you repeat. “come here, let me make sure you’re alright.”

daryl raises a brow, but he’s at least got the common sense not to say anything in the presence of your captors. slowly, he crawls over and kneels in front of you, confusion still etched on his expression. you rake your eyes over him dramatically, feigning worry; in truth, he looks to be in better form than you are, his wrists not even raw from the ropes.

“what are you-“ he begins.

“you’re okay!” you throw yourself forward, letting him catch you, and then you do the extreme part of the plan. without warning, you press your lips to his. he grunts against your mouth, eyes widening, fingers curling around your biceps, but he doesn’t pull away, and you almost sob in relief. you were fully expecting him to shove you to the floor, probably fight his way out of this dungeon and leave you for dead. instead, he goes still against you, but his lips don’t leave your own. you’re almost tempted to push your luck and stick your tongue in his mouth just to piss him off, but there’s a time and place for things like that, and it certainly isn’t here and now.

you keep the kiss short and sweet, pulling away with a smile you hope is convincing. the elderly couple are looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars in the sky; apparently the kiss was all they needed, as the man walks over and finally cuts the ropes binding your wrists. the cold air against the raw skin makes you hiss in pain, but you don’t let it take you from the character you have suddenly developed. as soon as you’re free, you throw your arms around daryl’s neck and drag him in to a hug. his hands hover at the small of your back.

you turn your head and whisper in his ear, “play along, you son of a bitch. i’m trying to get us out of here alive.”

he drops his hands, wrapping you in his arms. a warmth spreads through you, an odd sense of relief tat you don’t want to acknowledge when you’re in this position with daryl dixon.

“you two get home safe,” the man says, his voice being the only thing to remind you and daryl that you can actually let go of each other now. “tell your folks we’re sorry. we didn’t mean no harm.”

you pull away from daryl. he keeps his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side like the old little actor you never knew he could be. “thank you. honestly. we appreciate this.”

daryl gives a nod, which is probably all you should expect from him.

and with a final goodbye to your captors, you walk up the stairs and into the night.

——

daryl doesn’t speak the whole way back to camp. you didn’t really expect him to.

nonetheless, you still try. you would hate to go back to camp with all this tense energy between you, a direct result of daryl’s inability to communicate like a regular human being.

he barrels ahead of you, letting all the branches swing back in your face. usually you would tell him to fuck off and stop being a child, but it’s obvious what happened has shocked him, and the last thing you want to do is make it worse.

maybe you shouldn’t have kissed him. maybe you shouldn’t have let things get that far. hell, you probably could have worked out some way to get free without telling lies, but in the heat of the moment, it was the only thing you could come up with.

it worked, didn’t it?

“daryl!” you holler after him. “daryl, come on. slow down.”

“keep up,” he shoots back.

“are you mad at me?”

he tugs on the ropes holding the prison gates together; in the distance, glenn stands atop one of the watchtowers, watching you like a hawk.

you grip daryl’s arm. “are you mad?”

he pulls away and glare before finally getting the gate open; he doesn’t give you a reply, instead storming off without another word, which you suppose is answer enough.

you follow him into camp, eyes cast to the floor in any attempt to hide your emotions from anyone you might come across; it doesn’t matter that you’ve been gone for hours - you don’t want to explain why daryl has marched off in a huff, because that will be the first thing they ask you. always you, like you’re tied to the man in some way.

you make your way to the canteen without seeing anyone. you slump in one of the metal chairs and finally take time to rub at the raw skin of your wrist; it burns, but the sting is familiar at this point. you could easily go another few days before having it looked at, but of course hershel has other plans.

“you’re like a bloodhound,” you say, sensing his presence in the doorway.

the click of his cane echoes. “what happened?”

“what always happens - we got in shit, got out of shit. now we’re here.”

“now you’re here.” hershel kneels in front of you, taking your wrist for examination. “where’s your other half got to?”

you wince. “don’t call him that. he’s nothing of the sort; especially not right now.”

hershel raises a brow. “no?”

you sigh, looking at the ceiling; hershel is one of those men you are able to trust with anything, the grandfather of the group after dale died. you have told him secrets, confided in him with embarrassing questions, but he has never judged you. in fact, nine times out of ten, he knows what you’re going to say before you’ve even said it. still, he expects you to make an effort, which is why he doesn’t fill in the blanks, just inspects your wrist whilst waiting for you to speak.

“it’s complicated.” your go-to statement when it comes to daryl. “we ran into some people, and we had to. . . play pretend, and i don’t think daryl appreciated it very much.” you wince, cheeks burning. “did i violate the poor guy?”

“i’ll need more details before i can answer that.”

you hesitate. “we kissed.” hershel’s head snaps up, but you’re quick to clarify. “we had to kiss. the only way we were going to get free was by pretending we’re a married couple.”

hershel blinks. “i’ve. . . never heard of that tactic before.”

“either have i, but it worked like a fucking charm.” you sigh. “only problem is-“

“daryl’s huffing.”

“yep.”

hershel shakes his head, muttering almost to himself. “i don’t understand that man. he makes absolutely no sense.”

“he has every right to be mad,” you say. “it took him off guard, and we all know daryl doesn’t like surprises.”

“yes, but. . .” hershel shakes his head, taking your wrist again. “never mind. i’ll have a chat with him; i want to check him over anyway.”

——

the days pass, and daryl continues ignoring you.

you’re very good at pretending this doesn’t bother you; the group are absolutely none the wiser, not mentioning daryl to you once. however, you refuse to be in denial - you have greatly pissed daryl off, and you don’t like it.

your hunting trips aren’t the same without him. they’re lonely, and boring, and too quiet; you never realised how often you turned to him when it was just you in the woods, and no one else, how often you leaned on him to take your mind off everything going wrong in the world. without him, these hunting trips are almost scary.

of course, it would be easy for you to approach him, just ask if he wanted to hunt, but you can’t throw your pride away like that.

so you spend the next few days trying to distract yourself from his ever-looming presence. he stands in the corner of the room during group meetings, arms folded, avoiding your gaze. the fact he finds it so easy to completely block you out is a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let it get to you.

you will not be the first one to break.

two weeks pass with no disturbances at the prison. days actually start to grow boring, a repetitive cycle of prison upkeep and hunting that drives you insane. you tell carl this as the two of you sit on the floor of the courtyard, watching the small pile of walkers cling to the gates; you and rick fixed them up yesterday, so you’re in no rush to get up.

carl scoffs at your complaint. “have we not earned a little boredom?”

“yes,” you grumble. “i knew you were going to say that. make me feel all bad and stuff.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” he shrugs. “i’m enjoying the boredom.”

“not like you.”

“keeps dad calm. can’t ask for much more than that.”

you nod. “fair enough, i suppose. fair-“

carl suddenly lurches forward, eyes narrowed. immediately your knife is in your hand and you're joining him, one hand on his shoulder, the other curled around the hilt of your knife.

you don't need to ask him what he's looking at, because you see it instantly, the one breathing being amongst the dozens of corpses clawing at the gate.

"fuck," says carl.

"watch your mouth." and then you're both on your feet, sprinting for the gates. you catch glenn's attention up in the watch tower and wave your hand above your head, signalling for him to get the others. your heart pounds with an adrenaline you haven't felt in days, you're dizzy with it, on the verge of-

you nearly trip over your own feet when you finally get a glimpse of who the person is.

the same woman who watched you kiss daryl. the same woman who took you captive and forced you into this situation.

the same woman who let you go when she could have easily slit your throat.

"carl, wait!" you grab his arm and yank him back. "i know her."

carl doesn't lower his gun, merely glances up at you with a raised brow.

you step forward, pushing him behind you. the woman meets your eyes and continues to yell, slamming her hands desperately against the wire fence; a few walkers have already noticed her, slowly peeling away from their group and making their way towards her. by the looks of things, she doesn't even have a weapon; she's come here out of pure desperation.

"what's going on?" rick hollers, sprinting down the hill with most of the group close behind. "y/n?"

"open the gates!"

"what-"

"open the gates!" you demand, before thrusting your knife through the fence and into a walkers brain.

you ignore the confusion happening behind you and just hope they're following your orders. you continue to stab and yell, drawing the dead away from the terrified woman and towards you.

it doesn't take long for daryl to join you, though you aren't sure who he's doing it for. even though this woman showed you kindness, she is still the one who kidnapped you in the first place; you aren't sure if daryl would appreciate her presence near him again. and yet he takes the walkers down without hesitation, even helping glenn and rick rip the gate open, allowing the old woman in.

she's disgruntled to say the least, gasping and stumbling. she collapses at your feet, and that's where she breaks down completely. tears streak the mud caking her face, dripping into a mouth held open in absolute horror. her grey hair is matted with blood, and her husband is nowhere to be seen.

you glance at daryl, and for the first time in days, he looks back.

"someone grab her," rick orders.

"no," you bark, pushing maggie back. "can't you see she's distraught?"

"that doesn't matter," rick fires back. "we don't know who she is, how she found-

"y/n said no."

all heads turn to daryl. he meets everyone's gaze, letting them know he is not one bit intimidated before looking back at the woman. too caught up in daryl's overall presence, you hadn't even noticed the woman go silent, flicking her gaze between you and daryl like you're some kind of spectacle.

you kneel next to her. "hello again."

----

you and daryl decide to talk to her together. nobody else allowed in the room.

he's nervous, or furious - you don't really know which one. he paces back and forth, crossbow not leaving his hands once; rosalie stares with wide eyes, glancing at you like she expects you to do something about it.

you have a sip of your water. "you can ignore him if you want. he never really adds anything to the conversation anyway."

daryl whirls. "you know, your little jokes really aren't handy in situations like this."

"good thing i don't give a fuck-"

"no, of course not. everything's just a big game to you."

"why are you yelling? you think that's going to-"

"please."

rosalie's voice is barely a whisper, but you hear it nonetheless. she sounds so fragile, so broken - so much so that you actually feel guilty for being so hostile in front of her. you have been in this interrogation room for nearly twenty minutes, doing nothing but bicker with daryl.

"please," she repeats, not looking up. "don't fight. we don't need any more of that in this world, especially between two people who love each other."

daryl stiffens, and you wince. that's right - she thinks you and daryl are married.

you fold your arms on the metal table. "rosalie. sorry. look, you have to understand why daryl and i have been sent to talk to you. this - you showing up out of nowhere. . . it looks a little weird. we just need some answers."

"why are you here?" daryl demands.

you shoot him a glare and repeat the question, softer this time. "why are you here, rosalie?"

she sniffs, wipes her nose on her blood stained sleeve. "our base got ambushed. patrick didn't make it; they got him while he was trying to protect me." she squeezes her eyes closed. "i ran out and just. . . kept running. your prison was the first place i came across that looked like it had any sign of life." she opens her eyes again. "i didn't know it was you two. i promise i didn't."

"bullshit," daryl scoffs. "it don't matter that you just kept running. this place is in the asshole of nowhere. you couldn't have found it unless you had us followed that day."

rosalie's eyes widen, darting to you for support you can't give her. despite daryl being a known drama queen, he also has a point right now. rosalie could have ran for days, but the chances of her finding the prison without forewarning of it's whereabouts are slim.

daryl stalks over, leaning close to rosalie's terrified face. "what do you want?"

she pulls back, and you don't miss her wince when she does. "i-i don't want anything you're not willing to give. i just needed a place to rest. i'm exhausted."

"you think we should give you anything after-"

"where are you hurt?"

daryl looks down at you, that familiar glint of frustration in his gaze. it's a look you've become accostomed to, so it's easily ignored, especially when you're focused on something else. you didn't notice it at first, but the wince rosalie makes every time she moves is becoming increasingly suspicious.

rosalie stares for another few seconds, as if waiting for you to retract your question. you lean forward, pushing your knife closer with your elbow.

"i've been nice to you," you say. "and i'll continue to be nice if you tell me where you're hurt. why you're hurt."

daryl stiffens. "a bite?"

you narrow your eyes. "i don't know."

rosalie shakes her head violently, fresh tears beginning to leak down her face again. "i'm not bitten! i swear i'm not bitten!"

you grab your knife. "show us."

immediately she scrambles to her feet and yanks up the hem of her pink jumper, revealing not a bite, but what looks like a nasty burn mark. still, you and daryl have been through this before, are both well aware that there's no such thing as being too cautious when it comes to injuries. it's an unspoken routine when daryl grabs rosalie's arms and tosses you the flashlight always strapped to his belt. you catch it with ease, shining it on the throbbing, wrinkled mess on rosalie's hip.

"well?" daryl grunts.

"looks like a burn." he drops her; she lands back in her chair with a clatter.

you glare at daryl.

he plucks his flashlight from your fingers. "now what? we keeping her here or not?"

"you're letting me decide?"

daryl shrugs, but you don't miss the tiny blush rising to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by going back to his pesky pacing.

you decide to leave the teasing till later, instead turning to rosalie. "hershel will want to check her over."

"why does hershel have to know? send her out on her ass without telling him, he's gonna be none the wiser."

you raise a brow. "you're not really that evil. the tough guy act doesn't work on me." and just to add salt to the wound, you add, "we're married, remember?"

daryl scowls, but that blush only gets more pronounced. you're finding this quite fun.

"okay," you say to rosalie. "we're gonna get our medic to look you over. that burn doesn't look too good. once he's said it's alright, the group should have some idea of what to do with you."

rosalie hollows out her cheeks, slumping back. "thank you." "don't thank us yet," daryl grumbles. "we aint decided yet."

----

daryl lets you in his cell that night.

it's the first time in a while he's let you follow him to bed, the first time in a while you've actually wanted to. after everything that happened when you were captured, it seems almost. . . inappropriate, even though these little sleepovers have never been anything more than a platonic comfort for you both, just having someone there to exist with.

daryl doesn't invite you in or anything, simply lets you hover in the doorway as he sits crosslegged on his bed, busy sharpening an arrow.

you fold your arms, watching him. it's always jarring to see him like this - sitting still, doing something slow paced. he's the type of man you expect to always be in motion, like he might cease to exist otherwise. when he's sitting still, you can admire everything about him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"you didn't like it, did you?"

you say it because that's really the only thing you need to say, the only elephant in the room. judging by the way he freezes, it's obvious he knows it too.

"i thought it was our only chance of getting out of there." you shrug. "you know me and my stupid ideas. i should have asked you first."

"you admitting you were wrong?"

you hold your hands up. "just 'cause the word 'sorry' melts your brain, doesn't mean it melts mine."

he glares through the tops of his eyelids, making you grin.

you step into his cell. "i'm just messing. i really am sorry."

"stop apologising," he grumbles. "fuck, it worked, didn't it? we got out alive."

"alive and wed."

he scoffs, but it's close enough to a laugh that you make your way over to his bed and take a seat. he goes back to sharpening his arrows, and suddenly it's just like old times. it was only two weeks of his silent treatment, but you still missed the evenings spent just like this, watching him work, those calloused hands so skilled in anything he puts them to. you can imagine a ring on his knobbly finger, though you aren't sure why the image sends heat racing through you.

"have you ever been in a relationship before?"

the question takes you by surprise; it's not the kind of thing daryl would ever ask about, not a topic he particularly cares about. when you look at him, he keeps his head down, tongue gliding across his bottom lip.

you shift on the bed, bringing your feet under you. "not a serious one, no. i'm better on my own, i think."

"ain't that what they all say?"

"what about you? have you ever had that special person?"

he pauses a moment too long. your heart jumps, a flood of some dark, grim feeling filling your body before you can get a hold of it.

you clap a hand over your mouth, gasping dramatically. daryl groans, lifts his head to tell you to shut up, but you need to bury this burning jealousy somehow, and the only way you can come up with is by embarrassing the shit out of daryl.

"you have, haven't you?" you grab his arm. he lets out a hiss of pain, drawing his arm back to reveal a droplet of blood welling on his finger.

you flinch back. "shit, sorry!"

daryl glares, placing his finger between his lips, and holy god, why is the room getting so stuffy? why can't you stop staring at his lips? those same lips you kissed only two weeks ago, those lips you have tasted, those lips-

"i've never been in a relationship," he grumbles, snapping you out of your daze.

"i don't believe that," you scoff. "a fine, sociable man like yourself? surely the ladies were dropping at your feet."

daryl rolls his eyes. "funny."

"seriously though. never?"

"don't act so surprised. you haven't either."

"yeah but that's. . . different. i'm . . . me."

daryl freezes, eyes snapping up to meet yours. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, i'm not exactly the best person to-"

"shut up y/n. you're ridiculous."

your eyebrows rise. "woah, okay. fuck you, dixon."

he just shakes his head, going back to his arrow sharpening. this is what he does, one of the many things that infuriate you about him; he will say or do something entirely out of pocket, and then go silent when you confront him on it.

but it's been years, and you're used to it by now. taking a deep breath, you try steering the conversation someplace safer. "you know if rick decides to let rosalie stay, we'll have to pretend we love each other."

he flicks his eyes up. "why do we?"

"well, she thinks we're married."

"who gives a fuck what she thinks? she's our prisoner now."

you roll your eyes, exasperated. "don't call her a prisoner. we're not tyrants, daryl."

"everyone's a tyrant."

"she came to us." you sigh. "we could just stay away from each other if you think that's easier."

his reply is quick, almost panicked. "what good will that do? married couple it is."

just to really seal the deal, you shake hands. it goes quiet after that, neither of you knowing what to say or how to proceed. still, you don't leave his cell, enjoying his presence more than you would ever willingly admit. despite him being a complete pain in the ass, he's still your closest friend in this place, the guy who knows you better than anyone. the guy who somehow managed to break down every wall you've ever put up, all whilst keeping his perfectly in tact.

---

rosalie is released from the infirmary and put under watch, but she is still free to roam the halls of the prison. rick decided an injured, unarmed, grieving old lady isn't much of a threat in the grand scheme of things, and you weren't going to argue. you have no problems with rosalie besides the fact you have to get uncomfortably close to daryl when she's around.

again, this isn't something that ever bothered you; once upon a time, you and daryl would spend hours with each other, out in the woods hunting, or just sitting in each other's company. however, after your last little sleepover, being in daryl's presence has become a very confusing experience, one you don't have time to face head-on. all those weird, warm feelings you felt just don't make any sense.

nonetheless, you keep up the charade when rosalie's around, because it's easier that way. even daryl agrees, which is why he sits beside you now, an arm thrown loosely over your shoulder. you can hear glenn and carl snickering behind you, but rosalie is talking, so you can't do anything about it.

she's in the middle of a story about the travels her and patrick used to embark on, how they aren't even from atlanta, but got caught there after the first wave of walkers made an appearance.

she's explaining how they didn't fret, because at least they had each other, when she turns her attention to you and daryl and says, "i'm sure you two understand. this world could really do some damage if we didn't have people we love."

daryl's grip tightens, and you purse your lips. you can appreciate rosalie's optimism, but her naivety takes the forefront; how can she say such a thing to a group of people who have lost everything, have watched their loved ones get ripped to shreds one by one? it wasn't that long ago rick lost his wife, carl his mother, you a friend.

you sniff, grabbing daryl's hand to keep your angered trembles at bay. "very true, rosie, very true."

"such a good thing that daryl and y/n have each other," glenn chimes in, amusement dripping from every word. "not so lucky for us - they can be loud when their - uh - love takes over."

carl chokes in his attempts to keep from laughing.

"oh!" rosalie gasps, abashed. "goodness, well, at least that spark is still there. i loved patrick dearly, but when you're busy surviving everyday, you don't get time to . . . you know."

"i wish you'd tell that to these two," glenn continued. "almost every night its-" and then the little bastard starts slapping his hand against the wall just to really get his point across.

you spin around and punch him right in the leg. carl bursts into laughter as glenn cries out. even rosalie laughs, a nervous little titter that tells you she doesn't want to get on your bad side.

you slump back in your seat, and daryl immediately wraps his arm back around you, tighter this time, like he needs something to hold on to or he'll lose his temper. you flick a glance his way, but he doesn't meet your eyes, jaw set and gaze straight ahead.

you turn back to rosalie, shaking your head. "ignore them."

"they're just jealous anyway," daryl pipes up. "couldn't make someone moan if they tried."

you choke and bury your head in your hands; this is not where you expected the conversation to go. around you, everyone besides daryl is doubled over in fits of laughter, a sound you would have treasured if it wasn't for the fact it's aimed at you.

you glance at daryl through a crack in your fingers. he smiles smugly, chewing casually on a toothpick. you hate that he looks so good after embarrassing you like that, putting the image of that in your head, and now you feel all warm and gooey, like you might melt straight into his arms.

rosalie excuses herself to help maggie and hershel with dinner, and glenn and carl follow suit shortly after. you dislodge from under daryl's arm, ignoring the way you instantly crave the weight of him again.

"didn't realise you had such a sense of humour," you say, plucking your shoes from the floor. "good job by the way; arm over my shoulder and everything. you're really sticking to the character."

he shrugs. "might as well have fun with it."

"fun?"

"watching you get all flustered?" he trails his eyes down your body, back up again in a slow, almost sensual way. "my idea of fun."

you blink. he stares right back, and the thing is, he isn't even doing anything he wouldn't normally do. the man is just sitting there, waiting for you to reply to his teasing remark, but there's been something in the air these past few days, finally coming to immobilise you for good. you can't even keep the eye contact as heat crawls up your back.

"right," you mumble, looking away. "that's all good then. glad we got that over with. i'll see you later."

he lifts his hand in an amused little wave, ending the conversation and allowing you to scramble from the room.

----

"you were stomping too loudly the entire time. no wonder we didn't get anything."

"if anyone was being too loud, it was you."

"bullshit, daryl. i would have had that rabbit if you hadn't-"

daryl shoves past you, storming towards the prison. you grit your teeth and follow close behind, desperately trying to keep calm. another unsuccessful hunting trip, and daryl is clearly losing his patience - still, he doesn't have to take it out on you, and you're not going to let him.

"you can be such a child, you know," you call after him. "there's still plenty of food in the kitchen, so you don't need to be throwing all your fucking toys out of the pram."

"oh, shut up!" he exclaims. "all your smart little remarks ain't helping!"

"i'm not saying them to help, i'm saying them 'cause you're being a fussy little-"

he whirls around and pushes you against a tree.

you gasp, but the noise comes out weak and choked by the fingers gently tracing a line along the column of your throat. daryl presses his knee between your legs, all but holding you up at this point, because suddenly he is so close you can see the tiny green specks in his blue eyes. you have half a mind to shove him away, tell him to go to hell, but the words fail you when he drops his forehead to yours like it's the most normal thing in the world.

you swallow thickly. "w-what are you-"

"no more yelling at me," he says quietly. "rosalie is standing at the gate."

you go to turn your head, but daryl catches your chin, keeping your gaze pinned to his.

"don't look over," he orders. "that'll be too obvious."

without another word, he trails his fingers down your throat, hooking them in the neckline of your shirt. you rise on your toes, you can't help it. you've never had him so close to you before, never had the opportunity to crave this proximity so much, but there is a fire lit in your stomach right now that is impossible to ignore.

"y/n," he croaks, sounding just as desperate as you feel.

"daryl," you manage. "i-is she still looking?"

he nods without looking over, but you take his word for it, because you don't want the moment to end just yet.

you watch the movement of his eyes, the way they slowly slip to your lips, lingering there. he wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue, throat bobbing, and suddenly this isn't a performance. suddenly you are overcome with the urge to grab him, drag him into you, audience or not.

you have the strange, impossible feeling that he might want the same thing.

but that doesn't make sense, because daryl doesn't like you in that way. from day one, his boundaries have been clear when it comes to you - you're his hunting partner, someone kept around to make life a little easier, his pain in the ass. not once has he ever expressed feelings for you. not to your face. not like this.

his hands fall away from your throat like leaves tumbling off a branch. your breath escapes you in a rush as you wait for him to step away, but he does no such thing; his hands find your waist, and he oh-so-gently nudges your hips back against the tree.

"y-you're taking this roll very seriously," you manage.

he huffs a laugh, breath fanning your face. his eyes slip closed. "right."

you cup his cheeks. "hey, open those eyes or she'll think we're breaking up."

he looks at you then, the eye contact more intense than it has ever been before. daryl isn't an emotional person, but he could fool anyone with the gaze he levels on you, like you're the only person in the whole world.

you draw back, hand still holding his face. "hey. what's wrong?"

"nothing."

but his answer is too quick, too orchestrated.

you furrow your brows and finally risk a glance at the prison gates; rosalie is nowhere to be found.

"coast is clear."

daryls eyes snap over, and he immediately stumbles away. "right. good. let's get back."

you watch him leave, legs still too weak to follow. he runs a hand through his brown hair, tugging on the strands, a complete demeanour change that leaves you stunned. you don't want to acknowledge your racing heartbeat, but it's difficult to ignore when it is so all consuming, so confusing.

you have to take a few calming breaths before heading to the prison. you duck under the gap daryl made in the fence and head to the canteen, desperate for a distraction. you think you've managed to sneak past the group until you actually enter the canteen to see hershel sitting at a table, all on his own. you have half a mind to walk away, avoid any conversation, but then you remember this is hershel.

"need company?" you ask, sitting across from him.

he looks up with a smile, though that expression is quickly replaced by furrowed brows and a frown. "what's wrong with you?"

you don't meet his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"you look like you've ran five miles."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

he lowers his head in an attempt to get a better look at your face. you do everything to hide away, but you should know better when it comes to hershel greene - nothing gets past him.

he slowly leans back, having clearly inspected your flushed cheeks and frazzled hair enough to make his own conclusions. "oh."

"don't start," you grumble.

"you know i hate gossip, but could you explain. . ."

you chew your bottom lip, twisting the ring on your finger. "just. . . daryl. rosalie was at the gate, so we had to keep up appearances, obviously. he's just. . . really good at his role. got me a little flustered, that's all."

hershel is silent for a beat too long. you risk a glance up and catch his sceptical eyes, all furrowed brows and a frown so deep you think you may have accidentally hurt his feelings somehow.

"what?" you ask.

"rosalie was nowhere near the gate."

you pause. "huh? yes she was. daryl-"

"rosalie's arthritis had a flare up this morning; she's been out cold all day. hasn't even left her cell."

your heart stops, because surely that isn't right. daryl wouldn't have gone anywhere near you if rosalie wasn't watching. you were having an argument, for crying out loud, and lord knows the only way daryl settles an argument is by blanking you, not pinning you against a tree and making your insides turn to complete sludge.

you go to tell hershel this, but the words die the moment you see the amused little smirk pulling across his face.

"what?" you spit.

"is it not so obvious?"

you know exactly what he's referring to, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "clearly not."

hershel chuckles. "my dear, that man is head over heels for you."

please don't.

"that's not true."

"you don't believe me?"

"it's not like that with me and daryl. we're hunting partners at best." you don't mention the way your heart races when he's around, the way you aren't comfortable with anyone in the same way you are with him, the way you would call him your best friend.

hershel tilts his head, but you can't meet his eyes. that would give too much away.

"y/n," he says softly. "come on now."

"you're looking too deep into things."

"i would agree if daryl hadn't confessed his feelings to me personally."

you open your mouth to shoot back a reply, but again, the words die the minute you process what hershel has just said. a confession from daryl? daryl dixon talking about his feelings? the idea is so bizarre you nearly start laughing, but the shock has left you almost immobile, so all you can do is blink, waiting for hershel to get to the punchline. he stares back, not a trace of humour on his face.

realistically, you know this isn't something hershel would joke about, but you can't bring yourself to accept any other possibility. it doesn't make any sense. it doesn't fit in the puzzle that is you and daryl.

"he. . ." you shake your head. "what did he say?"

"will you believe me if i tell you?"

"what did he say, hershel?"

"that he thinks he's in love with you, and it scares him." a soft smile graces his lips. "that's why i was so confused when he reacted the way he did to you kissing him. i would have thought he would be over the moon." "but that's. . . why wouldn't he just tell me?"

hershel scoffs. "when has daryl ever made his own life easier?"

you close your eyes, letting your head fall into your hands. "holy fuck."

"rosalie was nowhere near those gates today, my dear. i can promise you that."

you stand before you can think better of it. you are suddenly overcome with the need to see him, to look him in the eyes and hear this confession for yourself. you don't care that he'll be put on the spot, that his anxiety will probably morph him into a hostile beast. you need the truth, because going one more day without it might just drive you mad.

hershel doesn't even try to stop you. you storm out of the canteen and make a b-line for daryl's cell, pushing past a confused rick and carl on the way.

of course, daryl is laying on his bunk, crossbow held over his face as he inspects the weapons underbelly. he looks over when you storm inside, opens his mouth to no doubt yell at you, but he doesn't get the chance as you grab his crossbow and chuck it onto the floor.

"do you love me?"

the colour drains from his face in an instant. it is answer enough, so answer enough, and you nearly crumble under the weight of it. part of you wants to kiss him, another part of you wants to yell at him for making all of this so complicated, for denying himself something good just because he's less in tune with emotions than the corpses walking around.

you trail your hands through your hair. "oh, daryl. . ."

"did that old fuck tell you?" he sits up. "i swear to-"

you push him back onto the bed. "don't you dare start on hershel. you wanna know where rosalie's been all day? nowhere near those fucking gates, that's for sure." daryl looks away, but you're not playing games any more, not when your heart is beating so fast, and you don't know if it's out of anger, or excitement, or dread, or all of the above. you just need things to be straight forward from here on out. you just need the truth.

"daryl, what was that?" you demand. "why . . . why would you play along instead of just telling me the truth?"

"it's a lot harder than that," he grumbles.

"how long?"

he narrows his eyes. "huh?"

"tell me how long you've felt this way. since i kissed you?"

he scoffs like the suggestion is ridiculous.

you raise a brow. "before?"

"a long time before," he replies. "that's why the kiss. . . freaked me out so much. i ain't used to that shit. especially not with someone. . ."

you pause. "someone you love."

he squeezes his eyes closed. "it's so fucking stupid. hershel should have kept his goddamn mouth shut."

"rosalie's on bed rest. i would have found out eventually." you take a step closer and reach for his hand. he stares for a moment before slipping his hand in your own; his fingers are rough, yet the minute he intertwines them with yours, you realise you never want him to let go. "it's nothing to be intimidated by. it's not stupid."

"it is stupid. it should be the last thing on my mind. the dead are up and walking, but all i can fucking think about is you. it's always just you." he shakes his head, grip tightening the smallest bit. "i'm caught in a hoard and all i can think about is where you are, if you're safe or not. do you know how fucked that is? how in my head you are?" he scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head back. "christ, and you don't even try. you never have tried; you just managed to completely take me down without a care in the fucking world." he rakes his hands down his face, groans into his palms. "i should hate you for it."

"but you don't."

he drops his hands into his lap, dejected. "no. no, i really don't."

he looks up at you then, expectant, like a child waiting for their next task. you can only stare back at him, because there isn't an awful lot a person can say after an admission like that. you wish you could reply with something coherent, something that would get your own feelings across, but for the first time in history, daryl has articulated your emotions for you. every experience he so heart-wrenchingly described is one you have experienced yourself, so there's nothing you can add.

so instead, you guide his hand to your waist and let him draw you in. he's hesitant at first, never taking his eyes off you as you step between his knees and take his face in your hands. for a man so muscular, his cheeks are soft and round, a feature you've always found so amusing and appealing at the same time.

he inhales shakily. "you're still a pain in my ass."

"but you love me."

he scowls, but there is no denial.

you grin, and finally your mind clears enough for you to kiss him. for real this time.

he stiffens for just a moment before easing into it, grip tightening on your waist to pull you closer. you slide your hands over his shoulders, deepening the kiss, feeling his body against your own. you taste the cigarettes on his tongue, a flavour so perfectly him that it doesn't even gross you out. your nails bite into his back, forcing a growl from his throat that nearly has your eyes rolling into the back of your head with how desperate it leaves you.

that's how you know it's time to pull away.

he chases your lips, hands never leaving your waist even when you gently push him back. he groans, pressing his head to your stomach as he says, "why'd you stop?"

breathless, you reply, "it's the middle of the day, daryl, and these cells aren't exactly private."

"so? as far as everyone knows, we're a married couple." his hands slip lower, making you gasp. "and according to glenn, we're known for being loud anyway."

you swallow thickly. the only response you can give is another kiss, only this time you do let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

249 notes · View notes

levisforgottentea · 5 months

Note

Switch Eren who is an absolute simp for reader, being super loud when he’s fucking into her

Who would even write about ere-

I LOVE YOU ANON😍😍‼️

Switch!! Eren who is an absolute fucking simp for reader, absolutely whipped. I cannot stress this enough. Absolutely WHIPPED. Like u see that speech about mikasa in the last rp? he is one obsessed babe. He would go absolutely feral just thinking about you. I just know he was biting the bars of his enclosure so hard😍

Switch!! Eren who tries subtly hinting to you that he’s whipped for u. Even Levi is invested at this point. I just know he’s the type to almost pull out his hair when you walk away, biting his fist from screaming and everything. (Might accidentally transform once or twice when he just got the powers)

Switch!! Eren who at the same time as he’s whipped, just wants to keep you so safe. Someone spoke badly about u? Man’s FIGHTING and he’s got them on the floor or something like ‘say it again. Fucking say it again’

Now onto season four Eren😍

Switch!! Eren who pulls you aside when you have important shit to do just to kiss you, feel you up before you leave him so fucking hot and bothered. He’s running laps. Might even kick his legs and giggle and twirl his long hair while talking to armin. (“Didn’t think you’d say something THAT pathetic”)

Switch!! Eren who finally manages to get a hold of you while you’re doing some rapports with Hanji and he just rips you from your work as he pulls you almost by the hair to his room. Throws you inside and absolutely munches. This man is such a munch I know it. Like I’m talking he has that pussy DRIPPING down his chin and he doesn’t care and just fucking leaves. If he had a beard it would be red like ginger. Omfg cannot get enough of it

Switch!! Eren who is finally done eating you out and you jump at the opportunity to get on top of him(lol if you have the strength after all that) and wrap a hand around his throat as you feel that grumble of his moans get caught. Man might even whimper as you choke him.

Switch!! Eren who is so easily fucked dumb as you ride him. He’s just nodding and agreeing to everything you say. He’s whipped. Then you switch positions and man has this pace like LAWD. And he’s loud, so loud. Not just the bed slamming but the whimpering. Man after all that he’s probably gonna be moved to that basement like in season 1 of the new hq. Captain Levi couldn’t look him in the eye for a few weeks after that.

Switch!! Eren who finally comes back to his thoughts and he smirk, biting his lip and slaps your ass so hard, yapping about how you’re all his when in reality you have him wrapped around your fingers.

Switch!! Eren who cums inside you, when he’s done you’re gonna pull your doe eyes “more please” and man is GONE. Rutting against you like an inexperienced virgin.

But when all comes crashing down he’s a good lover afterwards. Definitely clean you both up and help you to the bathroom.

“Stop watching me pee, Eren”

“You’re so pretty with those hickeys, and that bed head. You’re so gorgeous I’m gonna implode- you-“

“Shhh you’re so loud”

Then there’s a harsh slam against the bathroom door and a stern shut-the-fuck-up-it’s-4am from Levi

————————-————————

AN: Bros the definition of 😍 love eren though. Thanks for putting the thought in my head👩‍🍳 ALSO MY FIRST ASK IN SO LONGGGGGG THANKS ANON😍

299 notes · View notes

sideeve · 11 months

Text

SELF CONTROL ⭑ MILES MORALES

⭑ maybe love isn’t the only thing that can keep someone tied to you .

miles morales x f!reader

part 1 — part 2

⭑ miles’ pov , cheating , normal spider-man violence , the spot , miles attempting to win reader back , major spoilers for atsv , arguing

miles’ pov

every thing was stressing him out. fighting with spot wasn’t helping either. while basically punching himself, he was trying to text his parents that he would be a little late.

“can we finish this later? i have a meeting with my parents!” miles yells, trying to web the villain to the wall.

“no! we cannot! i have to kill the thing that-wait! we’re not finished here!” spot attempts to wiggle out of the webs keeping him stuck.

“i’ll catch you later.”

with the spot “done”, miles finally had a moment to breathe. he got a message from you.

mrs. morales 💓 : miles. where r u? ur parents keep asking me and idk what to say😭

mr. morales 🕷️ : just tell them i’ll be there in a moment. had to pick up the cakes :)

he huffs.

everyone needed him at the exact same time. from juggling the responsibility as spider-man and being a boyfriend and son, school. he couldn’t do it all.

his hand slide down his face. “if only gwen were here right now. she’d know what to do.” he looks down at the boxes of cake in his hands before making his way to his apartment.

grounded. for two months. just because he couldn’t tell his parents that he’s spider-man. rage filled in his body. no one understood him. no one. but her.

fuck! he shouldn’t be thinking about her. he has a girlfriend! one that lives him to death too.

but him and gwen are just friends…right?

that thought leads him here. an inch of space left between him and gwen. he would make a mistake tonight that he would gravely regret.

“¡miles! ponte aquí ahora mismo.”

his mouth pulls him out of his trance he gasps out of shock. what the hell was he doing? why is he kissing someone else? where is his girlfriend? what is he going to do?

his eyes looked blown out. thoughts clouded his head, making him unresponsive. “i’m not going to call for you again.” the party fell silent, looking at miles in disbelief.

he didn’t even say a word to gwen nor his mom. he just ran as fast as he could (while also swinging) to you.

out of breath, he knocked on your door.

"hey babe. my mom wanted me to check on you. she said you left early." he lied. he just wanted to know if you knew what he did. "we're done. i can't be with a cheater."

fuck!

"baby. you don't understand-" "go!" you slammed the door in his face. he heard you sobbing behind the door. his heart broke.

what did he do?

he walked home like a kicked puppy. he lost the only one he loved. once he opened his house door, his parents stood in front of him, arms crossed and disappointed. "mama, i-" "no, go to your room. and make it 4 months."

he wasn't even upset, he understood why he was in this situation. he had hurt you. and there was no way to take it back.

cut to when miles meets miguel

"every spider person has lost someone close to them. that is what makes us who we are." miguel stands before miles, making him look small. the holograms of spidermen and women crouching over their loved one's dead bodies. then there was him. crouching over you.

"my canon event is my girlfriend dying?" "ex-girlfriend. and yes. i'm sorry miles. but this can't be changed." every ounce of rage when to his fists. "no! it can't be her! i gotta save her."

“miles. you know we can’t let you do that.” a disk slides under him, creating a force field around him.

“miguel! that’s enough!” the yelling from the spider society was overwhelming him. ontop of the fact that you are going to die.

in his arms.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfiction #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderverse x reader

524 notes · View notes

gayhoediaz · 30 days

Note

nieeeee. i literally cannot stop thinking about of solace and amelioration. like. i've read it three times and i always skip to the end and cry because buck and tommy are. so full of love for each other, it literally makes me Ache. and. the little details you wove in there about tommy's backstory? just.. annihilate me. do you have any more tommy/bucktommy headcanons to share pls 🤲🏾🥺

jaaaack my loveee 🥺🥺🥺 yess of course anything for you!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

tommy spent a lot of time alone growing up so he can solve a rubik’s cube in like absolute record time. for some reason buck finds this just… so hot. he loves it when his man is capable and confident. (and he loves his hands.)

tommy doesn’t necessarily mind being alone because he is so used to it - spending christmas alone, watching love actually and cooking just for himself doesn’t make him sad. he’s certainly not someone who feels sorry for himself. but when he does have people around him? oh god he loves it so much. he loves taking care of people he loves loving people and he loves it when he gets the same right back.

buck is not a huge fan of muay thai either but he still learns a little bit - mostly because he likes seeing tommy all hot and sweaty (and capable) in as many situations as possible (and yes it always ends in sex, in fact i think eventually “muay thai” stops meaning muay thai altogether. it’s just code for dicking each other down.)

buck loves running his fingers through tommy’s hair and tommy loves it when he does it. after a bad day, he’ll just walk in through the door and drop himself on the couch with his head in buck’s lap.

a few years ago tommy went to the animal shelter to maybe get a cat cause he was a little lonely, but he came home with an irish wolfhound and he named her keira because bonus hc: keira knightley is his favorite actress. (buck and keira take to each other immediately, and since buck does more cardio than tommy, he takes up a habit of running with her whenever he has time - usually in the morning, dropping a kiss to a half-asleep tommy’s temple as he tells him he’ll be back in a bit.)

tommy loves buck’s ass (what he sees, i don’t know, there is literally nothing there) but by the time they’ve been together for a few months, he’s comfortable enough to stop holding back, and he’ll just fucking live down there. often it’s sexual but sometimes it’s also not - sometimes they’re having a sick or lazy day, watching the tv in tommy’s bedroom, and buck is fully dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and he always ends up on his stomach so tommy can use his non-existent ass as a pillow.

they shut keira out of the room when they fuck, but when they’re done they always let her back in to sleep in bed and she takes up 85% of the space but that’s okay ❤️

tommy meditates and buck tries too but his brain moves too quickly it doesn’t really work for him. when meditation doesn’t work for tommy either - he smokes. it’s a terrible habit left over from rebellious teenage years and stressful time in the closet, and he’s done a good job kicking it, but sometimes buck kisses him, and he can smell it on his breath and he just. sighs. and runs a hand through his hair and asks if he wants to talk abt it.

the longer they’re together the more “cracks” start to show in tommy, i think he’s a lot better at hiding it than buck is - but he struggles not only with ptsd, but with depression and anxiety and he has worked on himself and continues to do so, but he still keeps a lot of that stuff to himself - it takes a while but when buck starts opening up more, tommy slowly starts to do the same, and evan is the first person he feels he can truly rely on and trust, and he’s never really had that before, never felt as if he can be all of himself with someone - not like this.

tommy is plant dad. he has so many plants and he takes such good care of them, and of course, since buck loves learning things, it quickly becomes a shared hobby. their monstera is their pride and joy.

tommy drinks his coffee with so many extra shots of espresso that buck usually makes a little bit of a face when he kisses him right afterwards.

tommy has a lot of small skills he’s kinda good at but not really but kind of (usually, again, born out of boredom and/or loneliness) painting, baking bread, playing the harmonica. he knows how to do these things, but whether or not his own results will be great is… a toss up. however combined with buck’s love of learning and adhd brain, they learn a lot more small skills together. kind of. for a while. until they drop it and move onto the next thing.

tommy is really good at playing the guitar and the first morning buck wakes up in his bed, he asks him about it, and he plays for him. until buck wrestles it out of his hands and puts it to the side because his boyfriend is even hotter now and he needs to get dicked down again thanks. (when they’re done, buck asks tommy to teach him and they end up doing the classic “hands over hands” move and it’s very cute but tommy keeps pressing soft little kisses to bucks shoulder and telling him he’s doing so good and it’s hngggggg… very distracting.)

tommy used to be on the swim team in high school.

tommy is indeed abby’s tommy cause i think it’s funny. it throws them both off a little bit but then tommy says something so smooth that buck forgets all about it. it doesn’t matter. they are each other’s now, fuck her. (i think tommy ended things w her amicably probably cause he was figuring out he’s gay and doesn’t have any negative nor positive feelings abt her, but when buck eventually tells him how she ended (or didn’t) things w him, tommy decides that he does have decidedly negative feelings about her actually.)

#nie answers 💕#mutuals 🏷️#jack 🎑#writing tag #bucktommy

92 notes · View notes

fuxuannie · 1 year

Text

↳ pairing : miles morales x (filo) reader

↳ synopsis : general headcanons / random rants of dating him

↳ authors note : this is me self projecting yes yes u can call me out on it ♡♡ i lovelovelove atsv!! i mightmight write gwen, hobie or pavitr next,, probably another miles one though <3

↳ warnings : some r angsty w/ mentions of blood & etc! beware bewareee 👹

-> i think that a relationship with MILES is more chaotic than the spiderman aspect of himself.

For starters, Miles loves you SO bad that it's not embarassing but he clings onto you a lot, (you enjoy it) however you also want to study for your upcoming quiz without your boyfriend leaning against you, pulling you in for a hug and mayble blowing against your ear to mess with you. He's a bit of a loser whos addicted to your attention and does everything to grab it.

-> but if you have to deal with mr clingy every single day, miles has to suffer with your silly filipino cheesyness.

"Hello bebeloves-" You'll say with a snort, already giggling at the groan Miles lets out as he pushes you off him with ease.

"Huuuyy, di mo ba ako mahal?" ("Huuuyy, do you not love me?")

A pout is evident on your expression, and Miles just looks at you with a puzzled look. "???? I do NOT know what you are saying, please translate."

"I love youu-"

"I know that's not what you said >:("

-> texting and swinging is more than a common occurence.

"Local Hero 'Spiderman' was seen swinging through the streets of Brooklyn, seemingly texting on his phone before directly hitting a pole while distracted."

So now you're here, arms crossed and your boyfriend with an icepack on his forehead and an awkward 'I'm not an idiot' smile on his face.

"Babe, there's a whole lot of Spiderpeople out there-"

"How many of them are stupid enough to text while doing dangerous swings through the city?"

"You'd be surprised!" You shoot him an unamused glare, he sighs as he's well aware you're just worried for him. He knows that seeing him hurt all the time more than enough stress one person should handle, but he can't control the damage he takes whether outside or inside of a fight.

Miles stands up and pulls you in for a hug, the way you continue to still cross your arms makes him a little sad but he rests his head on top of yours and quietly tries to pick the right words to say. "I'm sorry, I'll try to take better care of myself."

That's all you wanted to hear, and you hide your smile as you return the the hug.

-> your safety was placed above all else, no matter what.

Miles knows he can take a hit, he can take several depending on the enemy, but he will take every single punch that he cannot take just so you wouldn't have to.

"You're- hngh... okay. You're okay, look at me, tell me you're okay." He whispers to you while literally bleeding from his torso and you're crying while holding him, going hysterical because he's ignoring his spidey senses that's supposed to protect him to protect you.

There are times where you're by his side in the recovery room, holding his hand as you sob and beg for him to start putting himself first. Just to be even a little selfish and think of himself for once before other people, before you. But you know you couldn't ask that from him, or you could and he wouldn't listen. It was natural in his heart to protect those who needed it, because he knew there was no one else who could do it, not to his care and extent.

It sucks that the very same traits that made you fall inlove with him are the ones that make you cry at your worst.

-> he was terrified the day he thought of revealing his spiderman identity to you.

"Will they think I've gone insane ???" Was his main thought, mostly on the fact who would think that someone like HIM would be the Spiderman swinging outside your window everyday, 'coincidentally' meeting you whenever you needed to clear your head on the rooftop of your apartment, dropping by those anonymous gifts at your door signed with a Spider logo.. who would've guessed?

I think that when he tells you he's Spiderman, he also confesses to you that he likes you. It's a two in one package deal! He could get rejected, but at least you now can say you rejected Spiderman at some point in your life. But of course, you knew Miles Morales before you knew Spiderman, and goodness did you love the boy under the suit more than the persona he wore with it on.

You've had to restrict his daytime Spidey visits though, if enough people take note that Spidermans been visiting YOUR room when you and Miles start dating.. it could spark some rumours. (it doesn't stop him, he does it anhway)

-> "don't worry, i'm not jealous." you always knew Miles was a bad liar.

Miles Morales, Spiderman, Straight A student (minus spanish but we don't talk about that) and the most handsome boy in Brooklyn.. jealous of the way you admire Gwen Stacy.

Don't get him wrong, he loves that his best friend and his partner get along, but you and her are WAY too close sometimes. Do you really have to be laughing that way with her? like come on, he thought that laugh of yours was reserved for him alone. :(

Obviously that's just Miles wanting your attention every 3 minutes, but also he knows he can't control who you're friends with anyway and he knows dang well he's the only person who gets to hold you at night in his arms.

He doesn't wanna be controlling and he trusts you so he lets you do what you want, if some boundaries are crossed though he'll talk about it with you. :)

But you won't deny how you are so so inlove with the jealous glare he gives to some people that you're talking to, you never intentionally make him jealous but the way his hand immediately grabs yours and the passive agressive smile has you giggling n everything.

-> DATES!!! dates are sososo fun with him!

"Trust me, I found this new place and a friend told me it's really good!" And you either come out with a full stomach and happy tastebuds or being on the verge of throwing up. Dates are always something new, Graffiti dates, picnic dates, study dates and such.

All of them are always full of joyful memories because Miles does everything in his power to make sure you laugh until your sides HURT. He knows how much memories can mean to people, it's all he has left of his uncle and so he wants to make sure that if something goes wrong, you'll have enough memories of you and him to last a lifetime. :')

His favorite kind are the ones where you sleep over, his parents are always bugging him on when you're going to visit and he's happy to see the widest smile on his mothers face when she sees you.

Of course he's happy for you to spend time with his family, but when it's finally just you and him in the comfort of his bed he feels calm and relaxed. There's so much stress in his life, not only as Spiderman but the upcoming rise as a teenager and only you bring a sense of relaxation for even just a few hours.

-> lowkey flirting in tagalog b4 u guys got together!!! 🤞

Miles used to hear you say random phrases in your foreign language while you looked at him, one that seemed to stick with him for a while was; "Ampogi mo talagaaaaa.." Which he wanted to ask you about, but figured it was just a silly joke or insult.

Surprise surprise, while he's learning how to speak your language, you can imagine his shock when he figures out just exactly what pogi meant.

"YOU WERE HITTING ON ME THIS ENTIRE TIME????"

-> love languageeez !!!!

Miles practically has all of the love languages, especially giving them!!

Words of Affirmation? He promised to himself to let you sleep without a heavy heart, whispering into your ear about how you're enough for him and how he believes you're genuinely the perfect person for him.

Quality Time? Boy is glued to you TWENTY FOUR SEVEN, not a day you don't spend atleast 10 hours with him because that is what he DEMANDS!! That's a joke, but he really does try everything he can to be by your side.

Acts of Service? His mama did NOT raise a boy who doesn't know how to care for someone, he'll take care of all your worries and chores whenever he comes over. Whatever you ask, it will be granted as soon as possible. ♡

Gift Giving? He prefers handmade gifts over anything, he'll spend nights during patrols that have nothing going on to make tiny presents to give you in the morning. He loves to make you mini scrapbooks with doodles of you and him together.

Physical Touch? His favorite, words cannot EXPLAIN how much he loves to hold you. PDA isn't a problem for him, whether or not you like it will depend if he does PDA w you or not. He doesn't really mind if you aren't into it, Miles himself actually prefers to be affectionate behind closed doors but he's happy to do the smaller things like hand holding or hugs.

#˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ bailu's candy stash #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles x reader

569 notes · View notes

ametrictonofaudacity · 1 year

Text

Gaps

Platonic Yandere Batfam x Mentally Ill/Forgetful Reader

Warning: This work is a yandere work, hopefully part of a series, as as such will contain themes of manipulation, abuse, violence and obsession. Stay safe, and enjoy!!

Your ID was missing.

You stand in the middle of your room, every drawer open and rifled through. You had gone through every bag, every purse, every wallet it might have been it. You had moved the bed, moved the couch, moved every piece of furniture that it might have fallen behind. Nothing had worked.

“Fuck..” You groan, sinking onto your couch. “Fuck, this cannot be happening. I’m so screwed.”

You had a doctors appointment coming up, to get your anxiety meds refilled, and you were already starting to run low. You had been hoping to manage, but with your ID missing and no way to find it, you were shit out of luck.

Your phone rings, and you glance down, staring at the caller ID. It was Dick.

“Hey.” You greet, trying to force the appropriate amount of cheer into your voice. The older man was nice, pleasant to talk to and attentive, but he had the irritating habit of picking up on your moods eerily well, even over the phone. That would lead to him fussing, and while you appreciated the thought, you were an adult and would prefer to be treated like one.

“Hey! Everything alright? You sound stressed, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.” You huff, putting the phone on speaker. You, for whatever reason, despised things touching your face, even phones.

“Uh-huh. What’s going on? You’re never this quiet.” Dick presses, and you press your lips together into a fine line, starting to put up your stuff. It wouldn’t do to have someone come over when you had torn apart your apartment. You may live in Gotham, but you refused to have your apartment look half as bad on the inside as it did on the outside.

“My ID is missing. Don’t have a damn clue what happened to it.” You hear Dick suck in a breath, and you curl your shoulders in, wanting to sink into the floor and die. Dick was always so nice that any time you upset or disappointed him, it was like a punch to the gut.

“(Y/N)…” He starts, and your shoulders twitch up higher, and you dig your nails into your forearms.

“I know! I can’t find it anywhere, but I know it’s in the apartment because I literally had it last night.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Me and Dami will come over, we’ll help you look, alright.”

You groan. You didn’t want them coming over, especially not both him and Damian, and seeing you so freaked out and panicked. While Damian was, you knew, extremely mature for being 14, he was also judgemental as all hell and had the very annoying habit of implying that you shouldn’t be living alone. Which wouldn’t bother you all that much, he was a kid, but Dick seemed to be of the same opinion and it drive you absolutely insane some days.

“You guys don’t have to bother, really. I’ll find it, and if I don’t find it, I’ll set something up at the DMV to get a new one.”

“Just let us come over, (Y/N). Maybe we can help you find it.” Dick wasn’t asking now, and you huff, crossing your arms.

“Fine. Just let yourselves in when y’all get here, I guess.”

You hear Dick snicker, probably at your use of the word “y’all” and roll your eyes. For someone who was nearly a decade older than you, he sure had a childish sense of humor sometimes.

“Alright. We’ll see you than.” The phone beeps when he hangs up. You set it down, an ugly knot in your chest.

“Damn it.” You had been trying, so hard, to distance yourself from the Wayne family. They were nice enough, always willing to help even if they were always busy at some point or another, but they had the irritating habit of inserting themselves into anything you did. If you went out shopping, they were somehow there. Doctor’s appointment? They somehow met you outside the office. On a date? They were at the same restaurant. You weren’t sure if it was intentional or accidental but anytime you tried thinking about it you would nearly spiral so badly you had to stop.

“Fuck.” Your chest was tight, and you snarl, frustrated at the way your heart rate was starting to pick up and your hands were starting to shake. You knew, well and good, that the likelihood of it being anything nefarious was low, the Wayne’s were reknowned for being good people, from a multitude of backgrounds. That didn’t stop the way your mind latched onto the possibility though. You tried to ignore it. Your meds had been getting less and less effective, lately.

The doorbell rings. You get up off your couch, ignore the mess, and open the door.

“Hey.” Dick ruffles your hair, and you scowl. He doesn’t seem all that put off, but you suppose he wouldn’t with Jason and Damian as his brothers.

“Hey. You know I said to just let yourself in, right? I gave you a key for a reason.” This had been early on, in knowing the Wayne’s when you hadn’t realized that giving Dick a key meant surprise visits without a call and very little warning.

“Yeah, I know. I left it at the manor, though, I was using one of Bruce’s cars and don’t have my keys.” He explains, and steps inside, not even waiting for you to open the door further. Damian follows silently, and you mentally curse the fact the kid was 14 and already your height. He was going to be so damn tall, it was almost insulting.

“Cool. As you can see, I’ve been looking for it, and..” Your hand motions uselessly. Surprisingly, Dick nods, his face sympathetic. You had expected more scolding.

“Why don’t you just go and sit down, yeah? Me and Damian can search. Did you take your meds today? Set your alarm and everything?”

“I took my meds, Dick. All of them.”

“Including the Methylphenidate?”

“Dick, if I didn’t remember to take that, I wouldn’t remember to take anything else. I took all my meds today, and not only did I take my meds, I actually went to therapy this week instead of forgetting.”

“Good. You need it.” Damian hums, rooting through the couch cushion. You begin to get up to help him, and he sends you a sharp look. You sit back down.

“When do you need your meds refilled? Did you have it in the house?” Dick asks.

“It was in the house. And I need them refilled soon. I can probably try and stretch them out-“

“Don’t. We can get you your meds if we need to, just keep taking them on schedule.” Dick rebukes, and you cringe. You didn’t doubt they could, but you didn’t like feeling like a charity case

“Dick, y’all really don’t have to do that.”

“Relax.” He huffs, standing and squinting at the drawer angrily. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. ‘Sides, you’ve helped me out more than a few times.”

“Yeah, by covering a shift not by buying your psych meds. These are not at all the same.” You laugh. You and Dick had met working at the YMCA in Bludhaven, and when you had moved to Gotham due to the extraordinarily cheap rent, you both had stayed in contact.

“May as well be.” Dick shrugs. “You cooking anything tonight?”

“Was gonna put some meat out to thaw.” You admit, flushing. The judgemental look Damian sends you says more than enough.

“Why don’t you come on over to the Manor to eat? I know Alfred has missed you helping him wrangle everyone together.” Dick offers, and you want to protest. What about your ID, which he had offered to help find? Wasn’t it late at night?

“Sure.” You say instead, reaching for your keys even as Dick cheers, and Damian smiles.

You can’t shake the feeling something is wrong even as you close your front door, locking it behind you, and let Dick lead you to the car.

#yandere platonic Batfam #yandere x reader #yandere platonic x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam

935 notes · View notes

shinjisdone · 4 months

Note

Hello, could i have "Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?" with Idia, please and thank you.

@justm3di0cr3 , @a-small-tyrant , @twistedcece , @savanaclaw1996

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling? - Idia Shroud

An interesting idea for someone like Idia. I imagine Idia to be rather reserved in every way, doubting and somewhat self-destructive in his ways to get you but ever so emotional and longing in the first place - if he keeps everything in, he will explode red.

So as reserved and shy as he is, he daydreams a lot. Talking to you, hell, even writing to you leaves him in a mix of giddiness and nervousness, somewhat being a perfectionist in wanting to approach you but also thinking nothing he will attempt to do will be good enough. He believes too much that all will end up negatively for him. But in daydreams, oh, in daydreams everything can go his way perfectly without any doubts in his way.

Perfect would it be if he could - just have you. Have you here with him inside his comfort zone. I think that'd be a crucial want of his. Change is terrifying and Idia only has a few things in life he knows he wants to do and likes to do, things he is confident it. That would be his brother, his hobbies and skills, his room and you. If everything could be just those things, it would be perfect.

Idia does not like to think any futher into the future. Inheriting his family's duties, potential jobs, confronting other people...people that want to have to do something with you. No, no he can't have that. It's all too stressful, too anxious-inducing and too upsetting to think about. It makes his stomach churn.

It sounds so, so pathetic but he wants to stay in these four walls with nothing but you. You, you, you, and Idia does not care how pathetic it is. He knows he wants it to be like that...he cannot allow something that happened to Ortho to also happen to you.

The chances of that are low and he knows it, but he still does not care.

His intense emotions carry out his actions in the end no matter how much logic they may lack.

You and him could wake up in the same room, in the same bed and play video games together...s-s-sit on his lap (on his lap!) as you both read manga and only have your eyes on him. Could you imagine a day where it is just you and him in his room? Where there are no others, no duo sharing one braincell taking away your attention and dragging you along to some 'adventures'...could you imagine? Just you and him, outcasted by the rest of the world indulging in the simple things in life?

You'd only see Idia...and as embarrassing as the thought is and as flushed as it leaves him, he'd take that chance in a heartbeat. Seal you with him in a room...just you two...well, for a day. You could try to do that for a day!

And when that turns out to be good (which for Idia it will) then could you imagine if that were prolonged to a week? Could you imagine it being a month where it is just you and him?

Could you imagine if it was forever?

Forever and forever and forever...

The more he thinks about it, the more tempting it becomes.

Idia attempts to fight back against his insecurities this time...and might plan to invite you to hang with him for a day.

And when that turns out to be good...then maybe a week...and then a month...and then...

Well, he may not have the confidence to seal you with him in his room now, but he certainly has the brains and skills for that.

#request answered #twst #twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #idia shroud #yandere idia shroud #yandere alphabet

111 notes · View notes

solomons-poison · 1 year

Note

Obey Me request (if you're accepting rn)

Do you do Headcanons? Side characters comforting MC that had a cockroach fly on their face

If not then just Barbatos comforting MC with that same scenario?

If you don't like that scenario then maybe with something you're okay with?

Comforting S/O After a Cockroach Attack

A/N: Hi! I was accepting headcanon requests (closed upon posting this). This gave me the shivers, I cannot stand bugs touching me and especially not on my face, so I can only hope my loves would save me :( I went with side characters as I couldn't really come up with enough content or ideas for just one character for a headcanon ask, I'm sorry, but I hope you enjoy these sweet short headcanons

Featuring: GN reader || Diavolo x reader, Barbatos x reader, Simeon x reader, Solomon x reader, Mephisto x reader, Thirteen x reader, Raphael x reader

Warnings: mentions of bugs/cockroaches; relationship with suitor not specified, up for interpretation

══════════════════

Regular human world cockroaches are awful enough to deal with. But being in the Devildom, you often come across some truly monstrous equivalents of animals and bugs, some you've grown used to and even liked. But some of them were truly terrifying, and unfortunately, your worst nightmares came true when you had one of those monstrous Devildom cockroaches flying down at you. It took what felt like hours to escape the damned thing, and your shaking form immediately sought out the comfort of your closest confidante...

Diavolo

When you go to Diavolo and tell him what happened, he may laugh a little at first, but don't be angry. He's just always delighted to see all the different reactions you have. It's especially fascinating to him to see how unfazed you are when handling a multitude of demons, especially the likes of the Seven Avatars, but the likes of a bug scares you instead. But he's reminded of a certain butler who also has a certain, unexpected fear...

He'll offer to protect you from them in the future and comfort you for now by cuddling with you. He may even make some dumb jokes to try to distract you and help calm you down, or have you sit beside him while he's working. And if you'd like, he'll also share with you about something that he can't stand, as well (so long as you promise not to tell anyone else, including Barbatos).

Barbatos

When you come running to Barbatos, he's convinced there's a war going on with how worried and freaked out you seem. But once you get the chance to tell him what happened, he's thankfully understanding. He knows too well about dealing with attacks from.. unwanted creatures, and can only imagine how he'd freeze up if he dealt with a rat.

He takes you to his room and makes you some soothing tea or other hot drink to help calm you down. He might invite you to a little baking date to get your mind off of what happened, both by making yourself busy and getting the reward of a delicious treat at the end.

He'll also be sure to educate you on how to prevent and treat bug infestations. After all, he's very familiar with dealing with unwanted pests, so he wants to be sure you're prepared to deal with them in the future in case he's not around to protect you.

Simeon

Simeon, the sweetheart that he is, deeply sympathizes with your fear and is very very sweet about it. He'll provide you hugs, back pats, or even just lend an ear if you want to tell him about what happened. His empathetic self will even shiver after hearing about the bug's description, truly feeling for you and the ordeal you went through.

He may also offer to handle the bug for you, but please don't take him up on it 😬 He might get just as freaked out as you, and then both of you are screaming and running away, which only stresses Luke out. Instead, it's best to let him recruit someone else to handle the bug and perhaps settle down in his room while he reads you some poetry or maybe even TSL.

Solomon

Solomon may laugh a little, like Diavolo, when you tell him what happened, but he'll be quick to apologize if it makes you angry. He's lived a long time and been to so many places, he's so used to all manner of creatures and is completely unfazed by the things found in the Devildom. Once you've calmed down some, he'd be happy to teach you about other crazy creatures commonly found in the Devildom, hoping maybe some prior knowledge will help you at least a little bit in future encounters.

If you'd like, he'll happily teach you a spell to destroy the bug the next time one attacks you, or he may even offer to find and take care of the one that had come after you. Once that's taken care of, he'll be sure to take you on an outing to somewhere fun so you can forget about what happened. At worst, he may try to cheer you up with baking something for you, in which some distractions might be needed. But maybe you can give his cooking to the cockroach...?

Mephistopheles

Mephisto won't make it known to you, but just the mention of a cockroach is enough to get goosebumps on his skin. He sympathizes with you about dealing with such disgusting creatures, and immediately takes you out of there to somewhere perhaps with open air, particularly if its the gardens or a park, somewhere that has a more peaceful feeling to it.

He may be a little mean though and tease you about getting scared by a bug when you're surrounded by demons. But it's easy to see he's just doing that to distract you and make you feel at ease rather than actually insult you, if the gentle look in his eyes is anything to go by. He'll take on a big brother role that he's used to and be your protector for the day.

Thirteen

Thirteen is also loathe to admit it to you, but she hates those cockroaches as well. Anything that flies at her face is a big NO. But luckily, she has her trusty inventions to deal with those pests, all manner of fly swatters, just general melee weapon-looking tools, or traps.

If you ask her nicely or feed her ego a little, she'll help you bug hunt to get rid of the gross things. After all, she doesn't mind the idea of you owing her a favor for her heroic efforts. But really, she's a sucker for you and will hunt down anything that threatens you or your wellbeing.

Raphael

... What do you want him to do about it? I'm kidding. Raphael is a little underwhelming in regards to how comforting he is, but it's mostly because of his stony facial expressions. His eyes show that secret gentleness he has, and although he's not great about verbally comforting you, he'll provide a brief but sweet hug.

If you'd like him to, he's willing to hunt that cockroach down with his spears, although the idea sounds a little nasty to him. But if you don't want to go the murderous route, then he'll just provide you pleasant albeit quiet company until you've calmed down. He's not great at small talk, and he'll be very awkward about it, but he'll try to find things to distract you with and get your mind off them, like puzzles or telling you stories about working with Michael.

#diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #solomon x reader #simeon x reader #mephistopheles x reader #thirteen x reader #raphael x reader #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me hcs #tw bug mention #tw bugs #the minx can write ✍️

404 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 7 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.62)

(Sneak Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: love becomes guilt, predator becomes prey, and Jin becomes...

Tags: Hospitals, medical talk, seizures, angst, hurt/comfort, assassin! jimin, implied autistic! jimin, meltdowns, Mafia shit, murder, Dead bodies, Guns, violence, blood.

W/c: 10.0k

A/n: I cannot even begin to tell you how much less stressful the next chapter of bily is than my life, like i would rather GET SHOT AGAIN then be where i currently am, with the same level of anxiety that i have.

Previous part ~ Masterlist

Part 62 sneak peek: Two birds, One stone (Two Secrets, One Gun)

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enters the room along with someone who Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon and refers to him by name.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi. Tae opens the door and geastures.

You step out, because it’s surely more important that Namjoon Jin and Yoongi get at Jungkook right now even if your heart clenches painfully at leaving jungkook.

Jimin is still vibrating out of his skin but Tae tugs him in for a hug in the hallway. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you watch him hug her back. but Jungkook was Tae and Jimin’s packmate first. It’s no wonder that this has shocked them both closer, their fight forgotten.

Or mostly forgotten, You watch as Jimin wraps his arms around her slowly, like he's not sure he's allowed.

Hobi jogs you out of your staring, turning your face towards his and, looking intently. You forget what he’s looking at until his fingers skim your chin and you feel pain. You drag your arm across it and it leave a small rusty trail on the sleve of tae's jacket, just another stain on it.

Oh, you forgot that happened during the blast, you'd almost forgotten.

“Tripped, banged my face on the sidewalk.” it's close enough to the truth that the lie goes unnoticed. Hobi makes a sound, holding your elbow. Squeezing it reassuringly.

“I’m gonna get some snacks from the vending machine, can I get you something?”

“Didn’t eat dinner” you say, staring down at Hobi’s red converse. there are scuffs on the linoleum and a drop of blood someone must have missed. You wonder who it’s from, another person from the emergency room.

“You sure Jin and joon won’t be angry?” Tae is close enough to overhear, and she rubs her cheek across the top of Jimin’s head, scenting him sweet (or trying too.)

“Yeah- junk food isn’t exactly the most nutritious.” you stumble, stepping close, swaying suddenly on your feet. Hobi catches you around the shoulders and for a second, you must look like the mirror image of Tae and Jimin.

Hobi's scent smarts with worry. and he pushes you back, making you sit down. “They can live with it, she deserves a special treat. I’m getting you a bandaid.” Tae looks like she wants to argue with Hobi, then doesn’t.

Hobi gets skittles and peanut eminem’s and two bags of funyunions. the coloful packages are scattered across your laps as he tilts your head to put the Band-Aid on your chin (gotten from a helpful nurse). Fingers that tenderly curve under the wide part of your jaw, drumming there. Tae nibbles on a peach ring. Inside Jungkook's hospital room it isn't quiet, but the four of you are silent with the devastation of this.

Jimin still isn’t speaking much, but when you say you feel nauseous, Hobi gets up and gets you ginger ale too. You know there just isn’t much for him to do, alpha instincts and no omega to cool them but you. Hobi holds your hand, he doesn’t say that Jungkook’s going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything but

“Which are your favorite?”

The back of skittles jingles and he picks out all the green ones, lining up his pants in a orderly little row for you to grab when the ones you suck on go small enough.

You don't realize you're crying until he gets you a tissue, dabbing at your cheek. "There you go, Kookies gonna be fine. He's always fine." His voice goes slower, honeyed.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, and he lets you. “You got a pair of headphones?” Your breath is shaky, and you think you might be shaking apart right now if it wasn’t for Hobi.

Namjoon stares at the packages a second too long when he exits the door. His hair is pushed up like he’s run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t smell quite as worried as he did before.

he looks at the package and you shrink underneath his disaproving stare.

He all but snaps his fingers, “Tae, would you please go get some real food before they get a sugar high.” Hobi does not flinch at Namjoon’s cross tone, even as Tae shoots to her feet. Hobi doesn’t do anything but put a pink starburst on his tongue, slowly.

Jimin keeps pacing.

Coming Saturday October 28th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

153 notes · View notes

evankinard · 11 months

Text

We as a society have failed by not giving the dinner scene with Taylor the acknowledgment it deserves in the buddie moments hall of fame and I will now explain why. With 9-1-1, the golden rule is always to view the episodes' themes through the lens of the episode titles - almost every scene, call, and interaction can be traced to some interpretation of the episode title. With 511, it's clear that as the A plot of the episode, Eddie is the outsider looking in and this is also shown in the latter half of the dinner scene with him telling Buck to move on (now that I think about it, they're both outsiders in that scene. Eddie is alienating himself from the 118. Buck is being alienated from Eddie.) But in the first half of the dinner scene, with Taylor, Buck, Eddie, and Christopher around the table, Eddie is clearly not the outsider, Taylor is. What's more, being the outsider is her only role in that scene.

Food has always been a primary love language in 9-1-1, and, this scene being the first time we see Eddie cook a meal, it's clear that the choice to have Buck and Christopher eating it is just another way to highlight the family dynamics that exist between them, a family that is separate from the found family of the 118. Including Taylor in the scene could have been a way to symbolize her integration into the most intimate parts of Buck's life - Buck, Eddie, and Christopher are a package deal and Taylor being a part of that dynamic would narratively show her as on the same level as them (something to point out here - if this was any other show/ship, some would read this the other way around. Taylor is his girlfriend so it would be more significant to Eddie and Christopher's place in Buck's life to show them on the same level as Taylor. But this is 9-1-1 - the scene takes place in Eddie's house and leaves no room for doubt that Taylor is the one being allowed access.) But instead, the deliberate narrative choice was made to make Buck be the one to exclude her from the symbolism of the food. He tells her to eat before coming, presumably as a favor to her so she wouldn't go hungry, and because of this she's left awkwardly swirling her fork on her plate while everyone else digs in.

Which brings me to the main point of why I made this post and the most important most insane most brain-rotting part of this scene: Buck himself didn't eat before coming. He fully expected Eddie's food to taste like garbage and he still went in there and filled up his plate to the brim. He probably heard Eddie's excitement about finally learning how to cook and making an edible meal and steeled himself to shove every last spoonful down his gullet no matter the cost because Eddie wanted to make a meal for him. Because, and I cannot stress this enough, it's not about the food. It's about the act of making the food, making all that effort so your loved ones will eat well. It's about receiving the food and showing your appreciation for the labor of love that went into it. It's about taking care of someone and being taken care of, both of which require a vulnerability that hides nothing. And when that time came, Eddie sat there with a satisfied smile watching his boys eat and tease him, and Buck and Christopher were giddy with their enjoyment of the food and the chance to tease Eddie together. And Taylor sat there awkwardly making dessert jokes.

(the most important thing about the above post is that I came up with none of it and it all came from the beautiful brain of @colonoscopys, who peer-pressured me into making this post instead of her via my innate and all-encompassing desire to give her everything she wants)

#not my best but also idc i wrote this for one reason only #crazy this is also the same episode buck cheats on her with eddie's replacement and then asks her to move in #but we dont have time to unpack all that do we #weewoo brainrot #911 fox #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

335 notes · View notes

ellejos · 9 months

Text

my year of rest and relaxation without rotting and ravaging

Truth be told seeing a person with healthy habits, an organised life and a graceful personality and suggesting that this lifestyle is easy to accomplish is absolutely misleading, because it's not.

We're watching short videos of morning routines created by patrick batemans. We're reading inspirational prompts and quotes from the safety of our couch. We're scrolling through pinterest creating lists destined to dust on our profiles.

I came to the conclusion that the self improvement movement can be just as toxic as self destruction and there is a high risk for developing a depression and/or OCD (failing your goals and ambitions can push you into a downward spiral of rotting and ravaging).

» visualise activites for your relaxation

take a piece of paper and write down what is relaxing for you personally without being to critical towards yourself. If someone tells you journaling is relaxing it doesn't mean it has to be for you. Take your time and take notes whenever you are doing something that lightens your mood. If sitting on a bench and watching people is your way of relaxation suit yourself. Do not choose activites only by the appeal towards your desired aesthetic.

» stay true to yourself

Stay true to yourself and don't neglect your own personality. Self improvement is not about becoming a better version of yourself, it's about finding and refecting yourself in this abyss of modern society. Please be kind towards yourself and do not misconstrue self improvement as perfection, because that's definitely not the same. Considering self improvement as a life lesson and experience is a way healthier approach.

» resting ≠ sinning

Having a long and extended nap, as a treat. Binge watching your current favorite tv show, as a treat. Have a cheat meal, as a treat. Go on a spa day, as a treat - you get the point. Please consider that habits are only healthy if they are in balance. Don't restrict and torture yourself if you feel the need to rest. Professional athletes know, that without resting there is no rising.

» It's ok not to be okay, but it's not okay to stay that way

We all have our past, we all have our skeletons. Previous experiences that shaped our personality are like pieces of clothing that are not fitting anymore but you're afraid to throw them away because of the emotional bond. Fun fact, if your warderobe is full, ypu don't have enough room for new garments. If you cannot let go it's time to clean out your clothes. I'm recommending you to seek professional help through a therapist if your past seems overwhelming or if your feeling mentally unease.

» the sixth sense of relaxing

focus on your senses before or after they are stimulated for a long amount of time by letting them relax. Try sensory exercises (for example breathing exercises), focus on something tacticle with your hands, catch the sunrise/sunset, go into a tea shop and smell the herbs, do yoga, drink water, take a bubble bath, listen to asmr or a new album. Whatever is stimulating your senses in a positive way helps to reduce stress.

Bisous!