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cl3fairyyy · 3 months

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˗ˏˋ routine // edward nashton x GN! reader ˎˊ˗

summary // edward has always gone through life in solitude. he has the same routine, day in and day out, and he doesn't change that for anyone. he doesn't have time for friendship and looks down on his coworkers; their shallow gossip and strained smalltalk isn't worth his time. his way of thinking is soon flipped on its head when KTMJ hires a pretty receptionist to greet him every morning before work. what starts as innocent pining (as innocent as it gets for edward, anyway), soon spirals into something more, faster than he can control. alternatively, you score a cushy receptionist gig and start crushing on your cute coworker lol.

warnings // very brief mention of healed sh scars. edward and the reader smoke- reader is GN but is described as "pretty" multiple times. eddie is a little strange in this but that is just customary for him atp lol. a little angsty but mostly fluffy coworkers to more bc eddie deserves more soft fics :c no use of y/n!!

word count // 4.5k

notes // I haven't written a fic since my wattpad days so my apologies if this isn't great </3 I have been pining after the green man for far too long and have so many ideas in my system that need to come out !! I hope Edward isn't too OOC and would love any feedback on how to write him better :)) I might do a pt 2 if anyone is interested hehe

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Edward has never found any substance in socialising at work. He has never found the tedious break room small talk and uninteresting (probably fabricated) gossip that floats around the office to be very meaningful, and for the five years that he has worked at KTMJ, he has never had so much as a conversation, let alone friendship, with any of his colleagues.

His daily routine is fairly simple: wake up, go to work, come home, eat (if he remembers), and sleep. All without interacting with anyone. Edward lies to himself, convinces himself that he prefers, even enjoys, living like this. He has crawled through this city, through this life, in solitude, and he has always been fine.

But the ache in his heart and the lump in his throat when he lies awake at night, running calloused fingers over faded scars, say otherwise.

Edward is lonely.

His mind tends to wander when he turns in bed to look out the window. He watches groups of friends, drunk and stumbling down the old, cracked streets of Gotham, their rapturous (and rather obnoxious, he thinks) laughter echoing through his open apartment window. He imagines himself drunkenly walking alongside them, sharing inside jokes and funny anecdotes that make their cheeks red with laughter, and when he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of waking up in another body, another life, where he simply belongs.

He wakes up on a day like any other, in his cold, empty apartment, alone. He begins his routine, shoving a piece of expired bread in the toaster as he neatens his tie and pulls on his loafers. He is happy with this routine. He eats alone at the table, checking his watch, mindful of the 8:15 bus. He leaves his apartment and catches the bus just as it arrives at his stop. The driver, an older lady, offers him a smile. He keeps his head down. He is happy with this routine. He enters the office earlier than usual, hoping to get in some extra work to avoid staying any later than he must. He is happy with-

He pauses.

The receptionist, a woman far too old to not be retired, does not greet him with the flick of her pen as she completes the morning crossword.

The routine is disrupted.

His coworkers are crowded around his boss' door, straining to see through the tiny window separating "us" from "them." Edward's mind is clouded with confusion as he catches the eye of one of his colleagues, a man named Will, a man he can't stand, a man who acquired his position (as Edward's supervisor) straight out of college, through daddy's money and connections.

The routine is disrupted.

"Word is that we have a new receptionist." He fills Edward in. Edward wonders if he only tells him this through some feeling of obligation, rather than wanting to share the latest office gossip with him. He simply nods, making his way to his desk.

Back to the routine.

After possibly the most intimidating introduction to a boss you have ever experienced, you are given a brief tour of your new office and shown to your new desk. You are given your new tasks and set to work on your new job.

To be honest, it isn't entirely difficult. You are certainly overqualified, but you can't complain about being paid above minimum wage, in Gotham, in your twenties, for such a simple job. You remember reading that the best way to make a good first impression at a new job is to introduce yourself to your new colleagues, and, despite the anxiety welling in your throat, you put on a bright smile and set off to do just that.

For the most part, your colleagues are nice, a bit bored, but they seem interested in you and that surely must be a start, right?

The girl whose desk you're currently standing in front of (her name is Kate, you think?) perks up suddenly, seemingly remembering something. She gestures for you to sit next to her, and you do just that.

"You seem nice. Like, really nice. But you seem like the kind of person who is so nice that it borders on naiveté." You tilt your head in confusion but nod for her to continue. "I want you to, y'know, actually have a chance of fitting in here. So let me give you some advice."

She glances around inconspicuously before lowering her voice and tilting her head back ever so subtly. "That guy over there. Glasses. Yeah- okay, try not to make it so obvious that I'm talking about him. Don't bother trying to get a word out of him. The guy doesn't talk to anyone, and believe me, we have tried getting him to. I don't know if he's shy or thinks he's better than us or what, but he seriously is, like, mute. All he does is come to work and go home. He even eats his lunch at his desk."

You try and mimic her subtlety, glancing up to catch a glimpse at the desk tucked neatly in the corner, and you're met with eyes behind glasses staring right back at you. You quickly look away, your cheeks burning at the embarrassment of being caught talking about someone.

She smiles sympathetically at you.

"I know this schtick you've got going on. Introducing yourself to the office so that we all like you."

She snorts at your expression and continues.

"Hey, chill out. It's seriously endearing. I was the exact same when I started and, to be fair, it seems to be working for you. I just don't want you to get offended or anything trying to talk to Edward over there, and getting nothing out of him, y'know?"

You offer Kate a grateful smile and rise from your seat.

"Thanks for the warning. I think I'd like to at least say hi to him anyway."

All she offers you is a shrug, as if saying, "don't say I didn't warn you," as you wander over to Edward's desk.

You smile at him, introducing yourself and holding out your hand to shake. Okay, he's actually pretty cute up close, you think, with big green eyes concealed by glasses that have slipped slightly down his faintly freckled nose. He meets your enthusiasm with a blank stare and a readjustment of his glasses, and your shoulders deflate a little.

"You're, uh, you're Edward, right? That's what it says on your name tag, anyway."

Silence.

You giggle nervously.

"Well, I- anyway, I'm the new receptionist. I'm really happy to be working with you."

You're surprised at the sincerity in your tone, and Edward must be too, because you swear you notice his stoic expression falter for a second.

Your hand begins to shake as it remains in front of his face, and the air grows thick with awkwardness. It feels like every single pair of eyes in the office is on the both of you. You begin to retract your hand when Edward gingerly reaches forward and shakes it limply. His bored expression doesn't change as he does so.

"Likewise."

With that single word uttered, he carries on typing away at his computer, completely ignoring you. Your legs seem to work at their own volition as they carry you back to your desk, your cheeks pink.

Unbeknownst to you, Edward has been observing your every move since you stepped out of the boss' office. His desk is at the perfect angle, giving him a direct view of your own, and he had watched you approach all of your colleagues to give your little introduction speech. He had seen you chatting discreetly with Kate, and he had caught you peeking up to look at him. He had figured Kate had warned you to steer clear of him, and the thought had made his stomach sink.

He thought you were very pretty, and since he had first caught a passing glimpse of you, his mind instantly had began to wander to thoughts of him approaching your desk, introducing himself confidently and charming you all within your first interaction.

He had shaken his head at that, embarrassed by his little fantasy. He has never known the feeling of confidence in his life, and he had quickly resigned himself to thinking that you would be yet another coworker he would never interact with, besides a quick "good morning," and "good night," at the beginning and end of each day.

The routine continues, and he is happy with that.

The routine continues until it doesn't, until you meekly approach his desk and smile at him, and oh God up close you are so much prettier, he thinks, and then you're extending your hand for him to shake, that same dimpled smile on your face fading when he doesn't even acknowledge the action.

Of course he manages to make you uncomfortable within the first five seconds of interacting with him. Before his mind can catch up with his body, he is shaking your hand and uttering the first word he has spoken in this office in a long time.

He instantly has to break the intense eye contact he has held with you, pretending to type numbers into his computer, praying the colour of his cheeks doesn't betray him.

When you walk away he feels guilty, he wishes he could will you back to his desk so he could play off his awkwardness as a joke, so he could pretend he is someone much cooler and much more interesting than Edward Nashton.

But he can't.

He has to watch you walk away, back to your desk, your head down to hide your embarrassment.

When 5pm hits, you stand from your desk, stretching. God, that spinny chair does something awful for your back. You're packing up your things when Edward passes your desk. You offer him a smile as you wish him goodnight, fully expecting him to ignore you.

Instead, he pauses and turns to give you a small nod before exiting the building and all of a sudden it feels like your face is on fire and your heart is pounding like you've just ran a marathon.

Oh no.

Of course you get a crush on your first day, and of course it has to be on the one person in the building that has uttered one singular word to you.

You lie awake that night, tossing and turning in bed as thoughts of your colleague cloud your mind. Sure, you've always had a thing for nerdy guys, but nerdy guys who have a reputation around your office for being a complete recluse? Seriously?

But he had spoken to you, he had acknowledged your existence. So what the hell does that mean? You sigh, rubbing your eyes before popping a melatonin. Your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute and you know there is no way you're getting to sleep otherwise.

Edward's mind swarms with thoughts of you as he lies in bed, willing himself to fall asleep. He picks up his phone, reading the time, and sighs, opening up your social media page for seemingly the thousandth time that night.

He has already scrolled through your entire account, has already studied every single photo and video you have posted until he has them memorised. He swipes through pictures of you at bars with your friends, videos of you dancing on vacation with tan lines and pink cheeks, and the countless selfies you have with your dog on your page.

He imagines you introducing him to your friend group and him befriending them over drinks in your favourite bar. He imagines taking you away on lavish trips to Europe, Asia, South America, all the places you have on the bucket list posted on your profile. He imagines a domestic life built together, sharing an apartment with you and your dog, and he falls asleep with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, hope rushing through his veins for the first time in a long time.

Over the next few months, you grow closer with your colleagues- close to the point that you even see them outside of office hours. Close to the point that, when deadlines are met and the entire office throws a party to celebrate, Kate always manages to convince you to tag along. Close to the point that, after a long week, you and the small circle of friends you have made go out for drinks to unwind- and you have even found yourself inviting your other coworkers to join you.

All of your coworkers, except one.

The guilt consumes you every time you pack up to leave, smiling and laughing with your colleagues, when you catch a glimpse of Edward hunched over his monitor, ready to log even more hours of overtime. You have always considered inviting him along, but the only words he ever utters to you are quiet greetings every morning and the occasional "good night," when he leaves the office before you do. You don't even know if he likes you.

You certainly like him.

You're sure the blush on your face is undeniable every time you accidentally lock eyes with him when you swivel absentmindedly in your chair, or when you hand him his mail (which is rare for him to receive, you've noticed). You always try and find excuses to talk to him, and every time you do, you're left stumbling over your words and pink in the cheeks while he remains completely unfazed, unbothered and silent.

You're determined to at least invite him for drinks. At any rate, if he says no, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that you tried to develop some kind of friendship with him (while secretly hoping for more).

It is such an easy task, one you have discussed frequently with your coworkers many a time, who have repeatedly encouraged you to offer an invitation to Edward- so you don't understand why it feels like lead weights have been tied to your feet and sandpaper has dried out your mouth when you mentally prepare yourself to go and speak to the infamous office recluse. 'It's no big deal! It's just drinks with colleagues!' you remind yourself, but the rapid beating of your heart does nothing to comfort you.

You finally internally berate yourself enough to stand up and, as casually as you can, wander over to Edward's desk, a friendly smile on your face. Your shadow over his desk forces him to acknowledge you.

You clear your throat somewhat awkwardly before saying with as much (casual) enthusiasm as you can muster, "me and some of the others are gonna head out for drinks pretty soon. We'd love for you to come!"

You notice his eyes subtly squint behind his glasses as he sizes you up, before shaking his head, his gaze flickering back down to his monitor.

"Can't. Got some messy paperwork here that needs correcting, and it can't wait until Monday."

Your smile falters slightly and you manage to nod in understanding. "That sucks. We would've really liked you there. I wouldn't want it to eat up too much of your evening, so I won't keep you from it. Have a nice weekend, Edward!"

His head lifts at your mention of his name, and when you smile at him, turning to leave, he clears his throat. quietly

"I'm, ah, I'm sorry about that. Maybe some other time..."

You nod in agreement, giving him one last smile before heading out with your colleagues. Oh well. At least you tried.

Edward screams at himself internally for being stupid enough to turn you down, for having so much work on his plate that he has to reject an offer to spend time with you. His logic tries to argue with him that you are just a distraction from his greater plans, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself listening to his heart rather than his head.

The routine is disrupted.

The following Monday, instead of clocking in at 8:30am, Edward finds himself in the office at 7:45 that morning to begin his work day. When you enter the building (earlier than usual, he notes), you manage to shake off the shock of seeing anyone else here at this time, and give Edward a little wave.

You sigh as you sink into your chair, lazily replying to the emails that have piled up over the weekend. While this cushy job has its benefits, God, the actual work is boring.

You catch yourself repeatedly turning subtly in your chair to watch Edward work. Even though he's so far away, you recognise that concentrated look he has on his face when a particularly messy set of fraudulent taxes have him stumped. Before you can register what you're doing, you're walking across the empty office right up to his desk and Jesus, your hands are sweaty as hell.

You manage to discreetly wipe them on your slacks before he looks up at you, his stressed expression all the greeting you need to begin talking. "I know we usually say good morning at my desk, but you were clocked in even earlier than me this morning." Your sentence ends with an anxious giggle, and when he narrows his eyes in confusion, you continue. "I, um, couldn't help but notice that you looked a little stressed... can I get you something to help? Water, coffee, anything? I'm all finished catching up on my emails so..."

You trail off a little awkwardly and you swear you see Edward's lip quirk up in a tiny smile before returning to his usual poker face. You mentally slap yourself for expecting to get anything out of him; it's not even 9am and you've already annoyed him. Great.

"If it's really no bother... I take my coffee black, one sugar. Thank you."

He says the last part quietly, looking down. You smile, and head for the break room to get his drink, your hands shaking giddily. You have somehow gotten more words out of him in five months than any of your colleagues have in five years. You see that as a win.

Edward sees it as the complete opposite. His brain is in chaos trying to focus on work but constantly wandering back to new daydreams of you. Daydreams of living together in your shared apartment, where you make him coffee every morning and bring it to him in bed. He can't help admiring you from afar, the way your well (tight) fitting slacks cling to you in the best way, and he has to physically rest his head on his desk to remind himself of where he is before his thoughts get too carried away.

You place the styrofoam cup down in front of Edward and he nods gratefully. You take a sip from your own cup, watching him work, before you realise you're being weird, still lingering around his desk like some creep. You cough awkwardly. "I'm, uh, going to go sit back down now, let you get back to it. I hope the coffee isn't too gross."

It's perfect, Edward thinks as he watches you wander back to your desk, and well after 5pm, when everyone has left, he fishes through the trash can uncer your desk and retrieves your styrofoam cup from that morning, placing it in a ziplock bag and taking it home with him.

This is Edward's new routine. He comes into work early every day and sits in the empty office, doing as much work as he can so that he can muster up the courage to one day, finally join you after work instead of being swamped with tasks. For weeks, every Friday, you invite him to come drink with your little group, and every Friday he finds some flimsy excuse to flake on you, anxiety tightening his throat and dampening his forehead.

You begin thinking you must be bothering him- he hasn't once accepted your invitation, and you tell yourself after each awkward encounter, 'this is the last time.' Yet, each week, you find yourself stood at his desk, legs trembling and mouth dry, anticipating rejection.

Until, one Friday in late February, he gives you an awkward smile, shuffling the mess of papers on his desk.

"I, ah, managed to wrap up these returns... I'll come along, if you want me to."

You can barely believe your ears, and your shock must be evident because Edward begins to flush under your gaze. You clear your throat, a bright smile on your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet. "Oh, that's great! We're ready to leave when you are."

Your small group bursts out of the office, your noses red from the February chill. You notice Edward lagging behind a little, and slow your pace to walk alongside him.

"I'm really glad you took us up on our offer finally. We found this sweet little hole in the wall bar only a little way from here, and happy hour lasts until 9 on Fridays." You grin at him. "I know I don't know much about you, but I really think you'll like it. The vibes are super chill, and they play some decent music. You like The Cure, right?"

Edward tilts his head curiously, and you flush as you scramble to explain yourself, so you don’t come off as an actual stalker.

"I, just, um... I could hear you listening to them last week when I came into work early."

He smiles, and the sincerity of it makes your knees go wobbly.

"Yeah, hah, I- um- listened to them a lot when I was young. I guess I never really grew out of it." He chuckles nervously, fiddling with the strap of his work bag.

You find a booth in the corner, and your group crams in, sharing the latest office gossip and complaining about how heavy the workload has been recently. You find yourself sat next to Edward and you smile at him as you settle back into the cracked vinyl of the booth, sipping your drink.

"I can't imagine coming into a bar and ordering water after how much you've worked this week. How are you not halfway through a bottle of whiskey right now?" You laugh lightly, beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed. Edward readjusts his glasses and thanks God that the red LED lights hide his pink cheeks. "I'm not really a big drinker... I prefer to be in control of my actions." He pauses, eyeing you clutching your drink in his peripheral vision, before clearing his throat. "N- not that there's anything wrong with drinking. I just, uh, have never really been a fan. I don't think it tastes very nice."

You giggle, slapping his arm lightly. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, Edward. I was only kidding."

After an hour or two, and a few more cocktails, the bar begins to liven up a little. Most of your friends have gotten up to dance, but you ignore them, deep in conversation with Edward about Gotham's current political climate.

"I thought I was the only one! Seriously, that shitbag of a mayor gets nowhere near enough criticism. They're corrupt, the lot of them, and I can only hope they get what's coming to-"

You pause, realising Edward is distracted. He fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket while rapidly bouncing his knee up and down, and you notice him cringing at the volume of the music.

You lean forward, resting a hand on his arm, your voice quiet as you whisper in his ear, "wanna go for a smoke?"

Your voice is a lovely contrast to the music blaring from the speaker, Edward thinks, and he can smell your perfume with you in such close proximity. It's sweet and flowery, and he wishes he could have you this close to him forever.

He nods, quickly standing and leading you out of the packed bar. The cold air hits you like a slap in the face as you make your exit, and you immediately regret leaving your jacket on your seat as you hug yourself, trying to stay warm under the broken heat lamps.

Edward fishes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out to you. You smile gratefully, plucking one from the box and holding it between your teeth. Your freezing hands tremble, fumbling the lighter in your hands, and you groan in frustration as the wind keeps blowing the flame out. Edward watches you from the corner of his eye and chuckles lightly, a newfound wave of confidence surging through him.

"Want a hand?"

You sigh, shutting your eyes and nodding in defeat. Edward laughs again, and it is a lovely sound; his laugh has an almost falsetto quality to it, and you can't help but smile back at him, your cheeks warm.

Edward takes the lighter from you, his other hand reaching to cup over your own, protecting your lips from the biting wind as he lights your cigarette for you.

It is such a simple action. 'There's nothing behind it!' you think, but it holds such an undeniable sense of intimacy. His warm hand lingers on yours, warming your entire body, and he doesn't break your gaze when he finally pulls away to light his own cigarette.

The two of you stand in silence for several moments, watching the smoke you breathe out dance into the night sky, disappearing from view. You feel so relaxed around him, and you turn your head to watch him study the night sky, his eyes darting this way and that before landing on you. He smiles shyly.

"I had a nice time tonight. I... honestly wasn't expecting to."

He notices your face fall slightly before he quickly continues. "I wouldn't usually call this kind of place my thing, but... I found myself really enjoying myself. The company certainly didn't hurt."

You smile at that, and he eagerly returns it.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but... I'd like to take you out sometime. Just me and you, away from all the noise."

Edward can hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and he's convinced he's dreaming. The smile on your face only grows.

"You mean, like a date?"

The redness of his cheeks deepens, and he nods, his knees feeling weak. You begin jotting something down in your notepad before pressing a folded-up piece of paper into his hand, blowing a plume of smoke just past his face. He can almost taste the nicotine and tequila on your lips as you lean towards him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm looking forward to it."

With that, you flick your cigarette on the floor and turn on your heel, heading back into the bar. Edward unfolds the slip of paper to be met with the phone number he has had memorised since your first day working at KTMJ five months ago.

The routine is disrupted.

#dano riddler #dano riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #paul dano #riddler 2022 #riddler x you #batman 2022 #edward nashton x you #riddler x reader #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the riddler

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 4 months

Note

could I ask for hcs for how day to day life would change for erwin, hange, and levi's s/o after dealing with their notable injuries they get during the story? IE erwin's arm, hanji's eye, levi's scars, eye, and fingers ect? I hope this was clear enough I hope you have a nice day/night!

Sure thing and don't worry I understood you're request just fine, thank you. I hope you're having a nice current timezone anon :)

(Gender neutral reader)

Erwin Smith

Things are... mostly the same as the were before for the most part. Not right away though because of course all the stuff with Rod Reiss, Historia, the man hunt for Survey Corps heads, and the fact Erwin was quite literally sentenced to death not that long after losing it so things were of course very hectic to where there wasn't really a good adjustment period until the two month preparation period to reclaim Shingashima.

It's a shame really, it was his dominant hand too, now all his paperwork is signed with a slight messiness to it he isn't exactly a fan of. But he makes do, relearning and rewiring how his brain works to make up for the lost limb. But even if he doesn't say it out loud, you know more than anyone exactly how hard it is for him - even if to so many people he has so many different airs and appearances to keep.

"Oh it's just an arm, a small sacrifice for the greater good of Humanity. Many good, amazing, talented people have lost more. This is a minor scratch compared to that."

That's what he told Nile that night over dinner together with you and Marie too after Erwin's charges had been offically cleared off the records. Truth be told, none of you at that table bought it, even if he really did intentionally mean it - you three knew him, and it was subtle but with how he struggled to pick up and properly use the fork in his sole surviving hand spoke all it need to. It was a very human struggle - one he did everything to hide.

He can't shave his face by himself anymore, he has trouble putting his uniform on every morning, he needs to relearn how to use ODM gear in a modified way, he has to do an awkward version of the salute now, he struggles with how to maneuver and get himself clean in the shower for the longest until he comes up with a routine on how to do it one handed, he still has enemies so he has to rewire how he thinks of defending himself, he has to learn how to deal with this odd... phantom feeling of his missing arm still being there like in the stories he'd hear from injured soldiers. It's all hard, but he manages, braves through but he's very thankful to have you and so many close others at his side that are willing to help him through it.

Also misses holding your hand. During a meeting with Queen Historia, her Majesty speaking excitedly about her plans to help out orphans - specifically those from Underground, as Levi had made sure to suggest - that as the core members of the Survey Corps stood in audience, he couldn't help but to glance over at where you stood at one side of him, nodding supportively along to Historia's desires about letting the children have fun on her new acquired farm lands, that does he stare at you - at your hand more specifically, as you are standing at his side with the dangling green military coat sleeve. It's rude, he knows, not paying attention as the Queen speaks about her noble causes but he finds himself not being able to help it. For just a second - and maybe, probably, he's deluding this - but for a second he feels the empty sleeve move on it's own to graze at your hand as to grab it - immediately gaining your attention as you stare over at him with your gorgeous eyes that every time he looks at him he falls in love all over again, over and over and the way your head questioningly tilts as if to ask him if something was wrong does his throat turn dry but his lips slightly part until-

A rough kick comes subtly to his paralleled ankle at his other side, Levi. The Captain doesn't look at him, he just keeps his arms crossed over his chest and intently listens to Historia's plans, however, he quietly scolds under his breath: "Pay attention."

Right... he was being very rude. He shouldn't get lost up in silly stuff like this in such important professional times such as these. But... when you suddenly reach over and hold onto the sleeve just as it were his flesh hand only weeks prior, so sincerely and lovingly... he can't help but the dumb smile on his face.

Everything will be fine. He's still the same man. There'll be struggle, some more getting use to - afterall, it's only been a couple weeks if not a month. There's plenty of recovery time in the future, he knows it. After Shingashima, he decides, maybe then he'll take some time off - spend with you and truly attune himself with the lacking arm. And maybe... maybe if he practices a bit first with his still lack of balance... he can still properly get down on his knees and take out that heavy ring in his breast pocket and ask you that question that's been on his mind.

Hanji Zoë

Going to be perfectly honest, the missing eye is the least of Hanji's issues at the moment. It's still a struggle, yes, the now partial blindness that they have to now wear a patch over and it takes a couple weeks to properly get accumulated and not bumping into walls, doors, tables, and other stuff on accident. But it becomes something that's like second nature to the new Commander very quickly on.

Now... the sight isn't the issue. The mountain of other things that came with Shingashima is, both mental and physical.

The obvious is the new Commander position, taking over Erwin's role puts so much on their shoulders and not just that - having to put on this brave face for the only - ten, including themselves, Survey Corps members that survived that bloodbath. They're in charge, everyone's looking up to them them for advice, for orders, for their command. Meanwhile... Hanji hasn't even had proper time to grief for not just one but two of their best friends... Erwin. Moblit... that first night was the roughest, coming back home, to their now old office and practically broke down crying where you had to comfort them all night - they didn't sleep for the next four days straight. They stayed cooped in that office while everyone else was on leave to go properly recover and only let you attend to them. Hanji isn't... the same after that - and everyone notices but doesn't dare to speak on it. They aren't the quirky titan-obsessed quack anymore. They were the calculating 14th Commander of the Survey Corps, Hanji Zoë.

Hanji is also particularly deaf in their right ear now, even if they were - mostly - uninjured from the Colossal Titan nuke, the sound of the impact definitely damaged it a bit before they were tossed in deep the well by Moblit. They've never said the fact out loud to anybody, only you and Levi are aware of the fact, but they read lips more often than not now. So you make sure you always make it able to where they can properly read your lips when you speak to them, and if you can learn a bit of sign language that would also be very helpful.

Doesn't sleep as much as they used to. They say it's because they're too busy - Commander work and still helping out ironing out political matters and issues that still came with Historia's crowing as the new Queen of the Walls and the hectic readjustment period of getting Maria's old settlements rebuilt and ready for resettlement - but that's not just it. There's the nightmares now. Keeping them awake just to not wake them up screaming in the middle of the night and you have to loose sleep comforting them. They should be fine with it, they tell themselves, after all what they said back on that roof to Mikasa was true; they've seen hundreds of their comrades die - no actually, not a hundred... too many more than that to count. And each time they've been strong about it... distracting themselves in their research not to let themselves dwell on it too long. But now... no matter how hard they tried, nothing worked. Maybe it's because it was Erwin and Moblit, the closest two other people they had besides you and Levi. Or maybe it's because only ten fucking people out of the entire fucking Regiment survived that damn day.

And now that the truth is out there, what titans actually are, titan research isn't fun anymore. They could very easily drag one in a captured area and poke amd prod and maybe learn a little bit more on how the transformation process actually works - Connie Springer's mother would be a good example but just looking at that boy they can't bring themselves to even suggest it - but they don't. They just... sign off on papers all day. Try not to think about overseas that much. Not yet anyway.

Things are slightly better by the time you've made contact with the volunteers and the core Scouts had made their way to embark on Marley. Seeing new sights, new people, new inventions none of you could possibly even dream of was quite thrilling. Hanji has a great time, holding onto your hand and sporadically yapping on and on about this "car," or this "tele - phone," or this "controllable electricity." in the exact same manner and way they use to about titans - that wide shit eating smile that goes from ear to ear plastered to their face for the first time in years you love to see as you nod along and just listen and let them ask Onyankopon every possible question that comes to their head - the man having trouble even keeping up with them. It's nice while it last... but it's not too long until the 14th Commander comes back when reminded about why you're all here in the first place...

It's late at night one night, the night before you were all supposed to go back to Paradis does Hanji stare up at the ceiling of your shared room in the Azumabito astate. They have their eye patch off - feeling comfortable around you for you to see the mangled socket that normally rests underneath - as they lie back in bed and listen to you shuffle around to get into your night-wear to get ready to join them.

"I'm thinking..." They finally speak, you look back over your shoulder at them - sprawled out on messy sheets with only wrapped circuit of bandages around their chest to hide the shape. "...I'm thinking that Armin should be my successor. What you think?"

You tell them he's a smart kid, very talented at what he does but... given, past history... you express your feelings that it might be a lot to put on him, given the position of it's weight. Erwin's weight. Erwin's impact. Hanji's impact.

Yeah, probably true, they tell you. And they reminisce on how they felt when Erwin had dropped the sudden bombshell on them... God. They were turning more into him everyday... but you crawl over to the bed and start to kiss their face before the Commander can sulk in it. You love them, you tell them that every chance you get and it never fails to leave a gentle look in Hanji's remaining eye, their expression softening. They joke, saying how much you probably miss the old up-beat crazy Squad Leader Hanji... but you shake your head, hands so loving on their face as you tell them straight up you love them now just as much as you did back then - damaged and all.

Without hesitation they ask you to marry them.

Levi Ackerman

Hard. Very hard at first. He can only particularly see, for the first year or so his stitches itch to a very grading degree, he has only eight digits on his hands where using the left is... very difficult, especially with his unique ways of holding things, and he can't walk. Humanity's strongest - that ridiculous title... now look at him. He "entered" the Survey Corps ten years ago and now every single person around him then is dead - except you. During those first few days of the Rumbling he didn't really think about it - with all the shit going on he had other things to think about than have time to really... process. But here he is now, couple days after the "Battle of Heaven and Earth," as he's hearing people call it. Now in his time to heal does it really set in. And at first he doesn't take it... well.

Once he's well enough to be off bedrest and he's in that "damn chairwheels," you and Onyankopon manage to buy him (hard to come by given how... very much damaged the world still is post Rumbling) you're going to have to have to keep your eye on him because for the first couple weeks he will try to get up and walk around - only damaging his hurt leg more. He feels restricted in it, he wants to go where he damn well pleases - you tried crutches for a while but... he's actually too short for the ones you manged to find post Rumbling, so he's left to that chair. It just takes him time to get use to, that's all. Eventually though, months after the Crisis has been over, it's when you start taking him out places - steering him through the rebuilding cities of Marley, talking about God knows what, that he starts to come around... maybe it's not that bad, annoying, sure, but he feels a lot calmer now. Those kids - Gabi and Falco, they help too. Sometimes they drive him around but he isn't exactly the biggest fan when they clumsily knock him into shit though but they're cute kids, they remind him a lot of much younger versions of Isabel and Farlan, how they'd bicker all the time...

The two of you have a cabin together in Marley, a nice cozy cabin that with the help of Onyankopon - who smuggily calls himself a bit of 'builder' - is modified a bit so that it's more accessible for Levi to move around, plenty enough ofvplace to roam so he doesn't feel couped up like he expressed he didn't want when getting the place. It's nice though, Levi's never had a real house before - only somewhat exception being that dingy little apartment he and Kenny used to live in Underground and then he lived with Farlan and Isabel in it too before joining the Corps. Besides that it's always just been either a whorehouse, military base, or temporary spots he wouldn't even shit in. All shared spaces. Not something that was... his. Though of course he lives with you, you are his s/o but you're different. No, he lived... with you. You own this house together. It's his. It's yours. It's yours (plural).

He can't clean as properly as he use to, getting down on the ground and scrubbing top to bottom and every single crack in the room, of course he can't do that anymore so - and to make him feel better, feel good and comfortable in your own home together you do it, you keep the place always spotless. And he still wants to actively clean of course, the process has always been therapeutic for him, he just can't do it as thorough as he once did but he still will do what he can from the confines of sitting down while you do all the very high and very low lifting.

His senses are still sharp, even with his half blindness. But even still, you always make sure to stand on his good side and if your on the blind you make sure to audibly announce your presence even if he could probably still sense you - Ackerman biology boosting it by tenfold, after all - you do it because it's polite and he does appreciate that.

Mostly handles things with his good hand anyway but is in the habit of dropping things whenever it comes to his less-good one, there's only so much you can do with only three fingers (including thumb) on one hand without being issues. It takes awhile before he even let's you hold that hand again and when he does the first several times he always hesitates, but it all flutters away when you carefully and gently intertwine your fingers with his good ones and your pointer and middle finger lovingly folds over his numbs. Or when you kiss delicately at each of his knuckles on that hand... it's weirdly sweet, weirdly romantic, he thinks.

It's been three years now. Domestic bliss is something Levi never thought existed - or he he did, never, never ever in his thirty-seven year life would he ever think he'd get to live such a thing. The two of you sit in front of the lake off to the side of your cabin, sitting on a lunch-bench watching on as Gabi and Falco are completely red in the face, awkwardly and loudly confessing their feelings to one another in only that embarrassingly sweet way teenagers could. It's sweet... to watch on. You look over and see the small, subtle yet warm, soft smile on Levi's lips. Proud of them, those two dumb kids that's been helping the two of you out for years now. You laugh, causing him to look over at you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing,"

The giggling in your chest dies down as you watch as the two kids untactfully bump their faces together in an attempted kiss but Falco jolts back holding his forehead in pain, and Gabi's face to turn an even darker red as she yells something at him.

"Do you think we're too old now to act like that?"

Grey eye rolls. "When have I ever acted like that?"

"Oh I can name quite the few times when we first first started dating-"

He suddenly grabs at your face with a: "Hush." before kissing you, the worn stitches on his lips against yours always feel nice. Then he leans back, staring at you with lingering thoughts before his eye flicks back over to the kids now sweetly in each other's arms.

"You know, I was going to ask you something today but those brats decided to go ahead and make it about themselves..." He says, no real malice in his voice, just teasing. But you tilt your head out of curiosity.

"Ask me what?"

He sits back on the bench and stares out onto the lake. His wheelchair is parked off to the side, it's in a bag. He could reach over and pluck it out now. It was something he actually picked out years ago... something he never thought he needed because he never expected to reach this point together with you but Hanji talked his ear off into buying it and Erwin gave him this... teasing encouraged look with that weird smile of his that he'll never forget for the rest of his life. And he's kept it with him, all the time, it's always been on him in some shape or form. Honestly he wasn't sure how you didn't manage to find it already.

He looks back over to you and you're still intently staring back over at him. Maybe. Maybe he still could now.

"Ask me what?"

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #erwin smith #erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #hange zoe #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe #hanji zoe x reader #hanji x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #erwin #hange #levi #mine #gender neutral reader #attack on titan fluff

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hey-august · 30 days

Note

August I will not make you persue ideas you don’t want to pursue further but I gotta admit Tattoo!artist Buggy is just. NNF. Personal basic bitch au right here. Guy who needles you (…. HAH!) about your shitty stick and poke you got from your even shittier ex boyfriend, but then makes you laugh when he asks you what he did and then openly mocks him in a nasally voice. The hot guy with long hair, a full- ,nautical themed, sleeve and a bunch of piercings. The flashy artist who will always try to put his own spin on his tattoos, lest someone walk out of his place with something unoriginal. The hardass, Mr. “Chop Chop” alluding to the many scars he’s acquired in his (even more) criminal youth, who makes a big deal of being able to take it all. “Fuck yeah it hurts” and “No crying in the chair.”, signs on the wall. Probably named his studio something like “Circus of pain” or equally edgy…

And then he has to stop his knees from trembling when your sessions are done and you shyly ask him if you can give him his number. He hates that! He was supposed to be all suave and badass and ask for YOUR number!!

Oh anon, you have got ALL THE IDEAS. 🩷🩷🩷

Not actually a story, but your wonderful ideas got the thoughts running... WC: ~700 Warnings: SFW, a little bit suggestive here and there

A shop like “Circus of Pain” has quite the reputation. The awning is a nostalgic red and white with string lights underneath.

Flash sheets everywhere - crocodiles and hawks, ships and compasses, fruits and botanicals, lions, knives, anchors… There’s just so much. Every place you look, something new catches your eye. Until the tattoo artist comes in. The whole reason you chose this place.

He’s talented. That’s why. That’s definitely the reason why. He’s also funny. Someone who embraces the nickname Mr. Chop Chop has to be funny. He says you can call him Buggy, though. That wink. Wow. And his smile. But you came for the talent.

Buggy loves to show off. When you ask for a tattoo tour, he was more than thrilled to oblige. You don’t miss the subtle flexes as he shows his full sleeves. Or how he hikes his shorts up extra high to show you his legs. You were not prepared for all the sweet extras when he pulled up his shirt, though. Pierced nipples and a happy trail that was covered all too quickly when he dropped his shirt.

You recover when you see the dusting of blush cross his face when you shower him with compliments. You throw in a few roasts and watch his cheeks get even redder. It’s cute how he can't control the volume of his voice when he gets flustered. Especially when he remembers that you’re getting a piece on your thigh.

Buggy is a professional. He has a reputation to uphold. As much as he wants to run his hand on your leg a little longer, to feel your skin against his, to dig his fingers in your thigh…. Phew, it’s time for a break. Just a few minutes. He needs to go clear his head. Get some cold water. Spend some time alone.

You ask if it’s alright to order food now, which is more than fine. And even better when you order extra for him. The break is extended so you two can chow down and chat.

Buggy is so funny. And talented. He keeps you laughing and talking, anything to keep you distracted from the pain. He keeps an eye on how your body moves, when you seem too tense, when you hold your breath, when your hands clench.

That means he catches all the moments that you glance at him. When you stare a little longer than normal, admiring his long lashes and beautiful eyes. The focused faces he makes. Buggy’s emotive - frowning and smiling every other second. Your eyes hang on his hands as they work. His arms as they move. And those shorts that creep a little high when he sits down.

These thoughts give Buggy plenty to think about in between your sessions. Maybe you’re looking at him because he’s a weirdo. Because he’s not good looking. Maybe you laugh at him because he is the one tattooing you. Maybe you’re afraid of him messing with the tattoo, so you try to bribe his kindness with food and laughter. Maybe he should pick different outfits. Maybe…

Maybe you do like him. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back. Why you arrive early. Why you pick the food places he recommends. Maybe you don’t stop breathing from pain, but because he’s so close. And you like him.

Buggy hopes that’s the case.

He swallows that hope at the end of your last session. That tattoo is finished and absolutely fantastic - flashy, even! You like it, he likes it, and…

Before he could offer you his number, you are already offering yours.

Buggy had a whole plan! He was going to be so smooth, offering to give you his number in case you had any questions while you're healing, if you wanted to book another appointment with him directly, if you ordered too much food and needed his help finishing, if you wanted to grab a drink some time and talk.

All those thoughts fly out of his head as you sit there nervously, waiting for his answer.

Maybe he didn’t like you. Maybe you were just a client and this was incredibly rude and inappropriate.

But maybe he did like you. And maybe he did want to see you again.

Buggy nearly fell apart. He was head over heels trading numbers. Struck with one last bolt of suave inspiration, he suggested taking a selfie together so you could both use it as a contact pic.

The first picture was fine. A little stiff, if anything. The second one was silly, you each made goofy faces. And the third one…that's your favorite. At the last moment, you turned and kissed him on the cheek. Now you have a rare and treasured picture of Mr. Chop Chop looking surprised and blushing like an absolute fool.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown

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pumpkinbxtch · 20 days

Note

apollo, more apollo or lester please???? without conditions or anything specific just apollo thank you, you write him so well

is the tune of my heart, can you hear it? ♪｡･:*˚

— apollo x fem!reader

warnings: none

a/n: hi baby, thank you for you sweet sweet SWEET words. don't worry, heres your girl. enjoy bby.

✧

You felt like a real nymph. You know, those ones sitting by the rivers on a rock with the water trickling over their toes and the sun bathing their skin, but mostly for the company they used to have. You glanced over, and even though he was still focused on his thing – pursing his lips and grumbling – you thought he'd never looked better.

You wondered how you ended up like this and fixed your gaze on the way the water bounced the light. It was funny because Apollo used to boast so much about how handosome he looked that you ended up trying to avoid him, even disliking him (nothing new among other campers), but now he was definitely a new person.

Lester or Apollo, whichever name he preferred, now presented himself with less pretense, and the simplicity of both his appearance and attitude seemed ten times more attractive.

He let his golden curls mingle with the chestnut ones, kept those eyes as blue as the sky, and toned down the exaggerated muscles for a more athletic body. You knew he had truly changed when he left some of the scars he had acquired during his quest, setting aside the perfect texture of his skin.

You hugged your knees and felt the urge to sink into him; his beauty was so ethereal that you resisted reaching out to confirm that he was real, that he was indeed beside you, creating beautiful sounds with the lyre and that you weren't delusional. He was like a dream, he was a dream. God, you could think about that all day.

Do, re, do...

His eyes were fixed on every note he made resonate on the instrument, as if he feared making a mistake, as if he weren't the god of it all.

Totally distracted, his hair began to cascade like a curtain of gold and bronze. You leaned in gently, and before you knew it, you were already running your fingers through his hair behind his ear. He immediately looked up at you, and the tension in his gaze eased, almost you could see a smile. Were you that remedy for him as he had become for you?

— Darling — minutes had passed in silence before he said it just audibly, the sun beautifully lit up his eyes, leaving you breathless. His hair brushed against your fingertips back, resisting being contained, or maybe, that small gesture was enough to make you lose the strength to take something as light as that. You just smiled at him.

You were good friends, but you no longer felt that way, how is it possible to fall in love with a god? If that was one of the views their ex-lovers had, now you understood all the parents of Apollo's cabin children. Ugh, you felt bad for having that thought and hugged yourself again as you watched him return to the lyre.

— This melody...— he said, breaking the silence, —it always comes out better when I'm in love.

You rested your head on your knees as you tightened your grip on them.

— But it sound beautiful.

And he nodded with a radiant smile. Wait, was he in love?

— Oh,— your disappointment choked you, and you raised your eyebrows pretending interest. — Who is it?

Apollo closed his eyes, letting out a laugh, shaking his head mockingly as if it were obvious and you had to know the answer. That annoyed you, how the hell were you supposed to know who he was in love with if he could be there and in Alaska at the same time?

— You're hopeless, aren't you?— He left the lyre by his side, and it was his turn to crawl towards you. You lowered your gaze, watching as the lake snaked, you could almost see your chances being dragged away by it. He touched your shoulder to get your attention, and you wanted to resist, you didn't want to see him, it was embarrassing.

— What? — you snapped.

— You get in a bad mood so quickly — he teased, affectionately taking your hand, making your heart race even though you knew it wasn't uncommon for him, that's just how he was, so you just sighed. He smiled, trying to find your eyes as you avoided them, then he leaned back and directed your hand to his cheek for you to cradle him, Apollo didn't stop pleading until you looked at him. — It's been better since I met you.

You returned your gaze to him, confused. How could he say that so calmly and with those sparkling eyes? Damn the way he looked at you, you wanted everything from him.

Apollo kissed your knuckles and traced your arm with small kisses, when he started laughing, he stopped to look into your eyes once more.

You weren't a nymph, to him, you were a goddess.

— And do you love me? — he asked, innocently.

You knew the answer.

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #apollo x y/n #apollo x you #apollo x reader #apollo #riordanverse #percy jackson #pjo #lester papadopoulos x you #lester papadopoulos x reader #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x y/n #lester x reader #lester x you

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tired-biscuit · 11 months

Note

general!kiba becomes a soft sex addict when he finally realizes that the rubbing n kissing and cuddling you love doing feels better than just fucking you <3

18+ fem!reader / cw: soft, lovey-dovey handjob and fingering, mentions of an imbalanced power dynamic. royalty AU.

series masterlist

your husband’s tenderness comes out to play at nighttime — when he’s absolutely sure that it’s safe from being seen by prying eyes.

hand to heart, you must admit that you’d thought of his initial reluctance to exhibit actual, proper intimacy towards his own wife as an oddity of sorts. being the softer sex by default, or perhaps it being the consequence of how you’d been raised, his hesitance has left you feeling somewhat baffled in the beginning of your arranged marriage.

after all, his way of caring is, in fact, nothing like what you’ve read about in the romance novels you still shamefully hide in the darkest corner of your dresser even to this day. he is not even anything remotely similar to the things you’d picked up from hushed bits and pieces of gossip coming from the young, giggling maids that are constantly running about the halls of your new home, as well as the subjects merely brushed over in the chatter of the noble ladies you’re sometimes burdened to sit down to engage with over lunch, simply because your high status — and your birth right — compels you to do so.

and speaking of those women; no matter which company you end up in, they all end up looking at you in the exact same way. with saddened eyes, both the maids and the prestigious women of the court all gaze at you like they almost pity you.

to be fair, how can they not? to a stranger’s eye, your spouse is seen as nothing but a big, intimidating brute that’s acquired himself quite the reputation of being utterly ruthless on the field. every inch of him is covered in scars, deadly weapons and grime, and he’s always wearing that irked scowl on his face that makes him look older than he actually is. his footsteps are so heavy as he walks alongside you, they make the iron that he carries on him at all times clink.

in contrast, you’re such a delicate little thing when compared to him. with your inexplicable poise, gentle mannerisms, kind face, pretty gowns and the blue blood that’s coursing your veins, you could be called his polar opposite.

but all of that grace of yours is to be used for what, exactly?

to be mounted by some common man every night, who just so happens to have lucked out only because he’s great at wielding a sword and shouting orders at an army of men who are just as dirty as him? to have all of your sinless attributes tarnished and besmirched by his greedy hands that have surely been covered by someone else’s blood more times than yours had been with soap?

he’s a warrior. you’re unblemished royalty — well, not any longer. the only embrace you’ll ever receive from a man like him is the suffocating kind. an embrace, whose only purpose is to hold you still on top of the bed as he proceeds to tear through your expensive regalia, and has his way with you again and again; breeding you until you birth him a child he’d never even considered of helping you raise in the first place.

well, that’s what you’d thought before, at least. what everyone has thought.

however lately, not as much — as far as your opinion about him is concerned. others still see him as a bastard who’s only good at baring his teeth and putting up a fight, sure, but for you, the turmoil doesn’t last as long. no, being his wife, you get the fortune of quickly learning that there actually is some kindness hidden inside your supposed brute of a husband’s heart, as well as the fact that there are plenty of reasons as to why he tends to keep that kindness at bay — at least until you’re alone, that is.

for one, it’s not seen as proper for a person of his and your rank to publicly fawn over their spouse in this day and age; that much is obvious. secondly, he’s actually awfully clumsy and remains stuck in the wrong mindset. your union is still fairly young and thus makes him rather addled and inexperienced when it comes to handling a wife and fulfilling her needs and wishes, as well as the overall married life that she brings into the house he’d never even once dared dream of owning before. sometimes he simply forgets that it isn’t just him that he has to worry about anymore.

lastly, being the top brass of the royal military, working under the command of your father, his position makes him obligated to represent all things virile and pertinacious whenever he finds himself in the company of others; all things so stereotipically — and insufferably, much to your dismay — male.

that one is the peskiest of the three. it’s a lesson that’s been drilled into him ever since he’d been a young boy. a lecture that’s taught him that he must function in this world with no squeamish reactions, no fear, no mercy, no tears, and the most important one of them all — definitely no heart; with the rare exception of it being laid down on a silver platter for the sake of the kingdom whenever its rightful ruler demands it.

all that matters is devoted loyalty. utter submission and respect towards the hierarchy. now that you think about it, perhaps he’s not all that much different from you, despite being male. he’s just as much of a prisoner to a system with a defined set of rules just like you are.

but while you’re attending your fancy tea parties, he’s willing to die for his homeland if it were to request his life as sacrifice, and has made that deference evidently clear with his actions every single day. while you’re attempting to charm numerous social circles, he’s willing to draw his sword, face war head-on and kill in the name of his country, too.

and that last part, the cold-blooded killing of soldiers and young men — sometimes boys, for fuck’s sake — that are just trying to serve their rulers exactly like he does and that he sometimes has to do as a goddamn job, really tends to bring out the worst in his nightmares.

———

he’s thrashing on top of the bed by the time you finally get him to wake up.

the room is dark. dawn barely peeks at the corners of the limitless night sky that still has a long way to go from appearing bright and clear. and whilst the semi-darkness is supposed to bring a sense of tranquility to your private chambers, comfort and whatnot, you can’t help but notice how there’s palpable tension hanging over the entire space as you reach out a wary hand for your husband.

you watch as he pushes up from the bed and starts to gasp for air in a series of short, and what you could almost call petrified, breaths the moment he comes back to. shock riddles you — you’ve never seen him act so disheveled before. he’s trembling all over, visibly squirming in his attempt to realize his surroundings. the way his palm presses to his forehead with a soft smack before he runs his fingers through his now-mussed chestnut hair causes your lungs to tighten all of a sudden. it’s even worse when you see him shudder again and rub it in self-soothing circles over his heart instead.

he looks… scared. jittery. your fearless, strong as a bull — and stubborn just as one — war general looks terrified.

“hey… hey, it’s all right; you’re all right,” you try to whisper towards the shadowy silhouette of him whose shoulders you pretend not to see involuntarily shake once more at the merest sound of your voice. he’s skittish like the herd of deer that you sometimes see hanging around the edge of the woods during your walks in the garden; that is before they see you as well and scurry off to god knows where. it’s so peculiar.

and as a result of it, you’re talking to him, cooing and whispering as if he’s a wounded animal. perhaps he is one, because when he turns to look at you, the expression that sits on his face makes him look like he didn’t expect to see you there at all; much less to see you extending a helping hand in his direction with eyes so kind that he’d melt on the spot if he were any more conscious than he is as of this exact moment.

the sight of the pure confusion mixed with the evident fear and disapproval that now swirls in his wide open brown eyes saddens you greatly. it’s as if he’s already so used to consoling himself all on his own that he’s been almost caught by surprise by the fact that there’s someone else there this time around, willing to selflessly soothe him without any hidden motives at all.

his chest keeps rising and falling in a way so rapid that it causes his nostrils to flare and the vein in the side of his neck to protrude against the tan skin. you can see the ridge of it in the moonlight whenever he tilts his head at just the right angle and swallows the saliva that’s gathered in his cotton-filled mouth. it’s not supposed to be there in what should be the most serene hours of the day. he’s supposed to rest.

perhaps you can help with that.

“it’s all right,” you repeat. your tone falls flat but remains calm for the sake of his dignity that you know matters to him immensely as you apply weight to your hip so that you can lean over and caress his face. it’s probably better than treating him like a baby; the last thing you want to do is upset him. “it was just a dream; whatever it was, yes?”

sweat immediately sticks to your fingerpads as you touch him. he’s slick with liquid salt; is absolutely drenched in it. it makes his hair damp. his skin is so hot that it feels like he’s running a fever. the dead that he’s put into their graves have come to haunt him in his sleep as punishment, so he flinches against the touch you place on his cheekbone, producing a low sound that almost reminds you of a whimper, but immediately gives at the tenderness you apply behind it.

the noise he’s just made melts your bones. you try to shut it out because indecent thoughts start to pour at it, as well as simpathy.

still only half awake, he rubs the sleep from one eye with twitchy fingers and another quivery exhale before you ease him back onto the pillow with a small amount of effort and a gentle push to his chest. you rub the space where his heart lies, the silken soft hairs tickling your digits. the goose feathers inside the pillows rustle under his weight as he turns to his side and presses himself against you so closely that there’s no space of emptiness in-between anymore; not even a ghost of it.

it’s pure instinct to push closer towards the sense of almost motherly safety that you exude now and that he hasn’t experienced ever since he was a child. it’s an action he does without thinking, because if he did think about it, he wouldn’t initiate it in the first place. he’s curled up into himself like the house cat does whenever the room gets too cold because the flame in the nearby fireplace gets snuffed out. with his nose smushed against your chest, he sighs as you hug him and rest your chin on the top of his head.

his hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles his face even deeper into you, and you can’t help but secretly relish the vulnerability he’s putting out into the open at long last. minutes pass, the blue on the sky gets lighter. every breath he takes turns depeer and more calm as he inhales your scent — subtle notes of lavender soap mixing with the warmth of sleep — and listens to the sound of your peaceful heartbeat whilst trying to tame his own into a similar rhythm.

he catches the way your pulse stutters as he wraps his arm around you at some point and digs his fingers into the small of your back, but he’s simply too exhausted to acknowledge it in that cocky way he tends to use as of late. his callouses make your skin tingle; the sensation causes your thighs to rub together almost unwillingly as he falters for a mere second before he strokes along the curve and leaves feather-light touches that make you want to shiver in the same way he did earlier, though for an entirely different reason.

his almost unbearable body heat pours into you, limbs sticking together because of the sweat that hasn’t gotten the chance to dry up yet. shamefully, you must admit that it warms you up on the inside, too. you’re not sure if your sudden greedy arousal has arrived, plaguing your mind, body and spirit alike, because of the intimacy that stems from how open he is with his emotions at this exact moment, the late hour, or the fact that you’re both completely naked underneath the covers, but it causes you to drag your nails across his strong back until you’re reaching the nape of his neck and digging your fingers into his hair like a whore which you certainly aren’t.

you’re trying to soothe him, to not make him feel scared anymore, but instead he’s kissing your chest, leaving small, warm patches of saliva across your collarbone and everything to surround it. with each messy kiss and lazy flick of tongue, you can feel the subtle graze of his canines dragging across the skin, making a certain kind of heat begin to pulsate at the apex of your thighs.

he just wants to feel you beside him. feel your warmth, scent, love, soul intermingling with his. without any words spoken because it’s too early for that and he’s not ready for it yet and his brain still feels far too sluggish. without any consequences and shame for being a soft-hearted kind of man for a change. he wants to thank you in the best way he knows and to not feel as alone.

arousal grows and grows inside your core, whether you want it to or not. it drips, turning you slippery between your legs; so wet that all you can do is trouble your bottom lip with your teeth and breathe through your nose as you feel a droplet of it slide down the inner side of your thigh. it’s embarrassing and sinful — how hot and bothered you are getting during what is supposed to be a sweet and tender moment between a wife and her husband. how dirty you’re becoming; all of your princess teachings lost to a mere thought of a cock stuffing you full.

kiba doesn’t seem to mind the sin, though. he only grunts something incoherent in reply to your soft whimper and the needy tug that you place upon the roots of his hair as soon as he wraps his mouth around your nipple and starts to suck.

you can see how goddamn innocent he looks despite the scar; pressed against the fat of your breast and with his eyelids terribly heavy both with sleep and lust. can see how comfortable he’s gotten; with his face buried between your tits in a way that makes him seem like he’s right at home. it makes his thick eyelashes flutter. makes his cock hard, until it’s poking against your tummy, leaving a thin trail of sticky wetness behind.

his cheeks are pink and warm, and his cupid’s bow has been smoothed out from the way he languidly keeps suckling on your sensitive bud. sometimes he even nips at it gently, making you not only feel, but also see lightning flash before your very eyes. he’s still stroking your back with his hand, reaching over to slide his fingers over your hip and to sneak them right between your legs where the shameful wetness gathers in copious amounts you’d never admit to yourself of being able to produce.

all of his affections are slow, sleepy, but they drive you absolutely wild. pulsating, white-hot heat drops upon you like the most treacherous mistress as he cups your pussy, spreads your lips gently apart and starts to rub small circles over your clit, making you unknowingly part your legs just so that he can touch you better. you squirm, lifting slightly, and he uses the chance to slide his other arm under your side, pressing the flat of his palm on the middle of your back just so that he can keep you from pushing away.

“so wet, princess,” he rasps softly, his voice still deep from slumber. “what are we gonna do about it, mm?”

everything is a blur after that. somehow you end up with his cock between your hands; smearing the precum that’s gathered from tip to base, making him grunt gruff obscenities as he presses his forehead against your own. your hips wiggle from the way he’s stuffed your tight princess cunt, as he lewdly calls it, with two of his thick fingers; pumping nice and easy, still spoiling your clit with his thumb.

he looks so good with his jaw locked in tight like that, kiss-bruised lips slightly parted and a subtle tick of concentration and obvious strain repeatedly appearing in his cheek. his muscles are taut, brow furrowed, hair slicked back and sweat of a different kind than the fearful one earlier sits on his skin now. his eyes are so dark, they make his pupils barely visible even if they’re blown wide open.

you’re just touching each other — exploring, taking your time, not fucking nor talking. instead you’re kissing. panting. he’s throbbing as you use both of your hands to stroke him, leaking precum whilst his hips keep pushing in and drawing back so that he can fuck your fist better, his balls tightening at the feel of it. you’re throbbing and gushing slick because he’s bullying that soft, squishy part inside of you that makes you want to wail in absolute pleasure even though you’re still so embarrassed by the wet squelches it produces.

he’s left such big lovebites marking your neck and bossom that the maids will surely talk about it in the morning, as will the ladies of the court. they’ll call it ghastly and bestial and an insult to god. they’ll say it’s blasphemy, which will only spur him on to give you more of them because he’s a good-natured but annoyingly wicked delinquent by heart, not a killer.

surprisingly, neither of you seems to care about what kind of consequences you’ll invoke later when it’s time to face your duties as princess and general — yes, even you. you just can’t bring yourself to care whilst quickening the roll of your hips so that you can fuck yourself faster on his fingers, still learning the mechanics of it, whilst he whispers your name like a chant with a voice so hoarse that it cracks as he watches you do it. you just can’t do anything else but listen and cling onto him for dear life and just feel.

he wants to say so many things. that he doesn’t sleep well because he sees the faces that had begged him for mercy, and sees the throats he’d sliced in response to said pleas, and feels guilty because he did in fact drag the knife across from one end to the other so many times that it’s become muscle memory. that he feels like he tosses a chunk of his own life into purgatory each time he has to take someone else’s life for the sake of the country, even if he roars in apparent delight as he does so.

he wants to tell you that he’s fond of you for not questioning him why he comes to bed so late at night and leaves long before you’d even begun to stir awake. that he appreciates the things you do — like the way you copy his actions that he does during the day and wrap yourself around him like a human shield when the night is long and the nightmares plague his defenseless mind, even if his body is armed and there’s a blade always hiding underneath his side of the bed. that you’re a good wife. that he might learn to love you, if he’s actually capable of it and lives long enough to do so.

but he can’t say it. the pride is drilled too deep, the soldier in him holds the leash too tight. the walls he’s built around himself will come crumbling down at some point; some hidden, more genuine part of his psyche knows they will. not yet, though. not so soon.

so for now, all he does is watch as you break into a million little pieces on his fingers and scream for god to help you like the pure little thing you are. all he does is hope that the way raw affection pools and glimmers in his amber eyes at the sight of your fucked out face is enough.

it’ll turn into love at some point, the affection. it’ll smooth out the sharp lines and edges of his face, brighten his grin into something a little more charming instead of feral, and will turn his eyes into a golden shade of honey.

a sugary kind of nectar, that he now swears he tastes on his fingers as he pulls them out of you and licks them right clean.

it’s sweet enough to drive the tastebuds wild. it’s sweet enough to give him equally as pleasant dreams.

#my entire biscuitussy went into this drabble all rightttttt #biscuit’s royalty au #kiba smut #biscuit drabbles #kiba x reader #naruto smut

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rin-fukuroi · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: serial killer!Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: !dark content, i guess!, descriptions of murders and bloody wounds (of strangers).

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Point Blank - Liar

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Oh, I'm so inspired by this Blade's image that I want to write even more works with him in this role... I love the creepy, disgusting and frightening Blade as much as possible (≧◡≦) ♡

✦ He doesn't hide from you the disgusting things that his hands do. Blade is frighteningly good at things you can't even bring yourself to say out loud. He's cold-blooded, smart, and too into the taste to stop, despite how you slowly go crazy being next to him while he drags you down to the bottom of a sea of blood and corpses.

Blade no longer remembers what his first murder was like. These faces… disfigured by agony, mutilated and losing touch with this world, merged together in his mind, acquiring a completely new appearance that should haunt him in nightmares, but only you can disturb his sleep when you try to get out of his steel grip, almost breaking your bones, but every time he attracts you back, hugging tightly to his body.

— Where are you going?

Blade was never verbose, but his scarlet eyes sometimes tell you more than his words. Every time you try to escape from the metallic smell that has settled somewhere deep under his skin, from his cold body, from hugs akin to the most cruel torture, his gaze burns a hole in your nature, nailing you back to his chest, in which the barely audible beats of what should be to be called the heart.

✦ He likes to look at you when your face is distorted with disgust. You're chained to Blade like a faithful pet that follows him around, forced to just watch as his pale face is stained with splashes of scarlet blood. A weak-willed spectator who feels complicit in every atrocity that Blade's hands, which know no mercy, do. He beat, hacked, then smeared your wrinkled face with still warm blood, wanting to know when the day would come when your stomach would no longer be sick and your heart would no longer be pounding in your chest, ready to burst apart. When you finally break down.

But deep down in his mutilated soul, Blade doesn't want that day to come.

✦ He is aroused by the sight of your disgust for him, aroused by the fear that takes root in your veins, which has not left your body since your destinies intertwined. Your tears are the best part of his every performance for you. Although you start crying even at the moment when his blade pierces the body of another stranger, your tears, settling in wet spots on his cloak, are something for which he is ready to kill again and again.

— They're all dying because of you, and you can't even look them in the eye. Do you really think you can escape from this?

✦ How low do you have to fall for the universe to finally bring down its punishment on you for all the deeds that you had to witness? Aren't you guilty enough?

After all, he's right.

You really are the reason all these people are dying. And you've never even done anything to stop it, just feeding the monster, filling the void in his chest with sinful pleasure, when Blade enjoys every sound of despair, every plea uttered in a voice hoarse with sobs, every tear running down your fear-scarred face.

✦ You are the only reason Blade has become addicted to this feeling. Watching the fire go out in the eyes of his victims is so boring and has almost become routine, but the way your candle smoulders is what his blade is ready to chop fragile human bodies over and over again until he sees your eyes dim, soaked in darkness that devours his soul.

At some point, you still open your eyes, looking at his victims as if into your own reflection. They're all you. The same wounded, now devoid of soul. The only thing that distinguishes you from the corpses that Blade's heavy footsteps mercilessly tread on is your heart, which for some reason still continues to beat in your chest.

But one day, he promises, you will become a jewel in his collection.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail x reader #honkai:star rail #blade x reader #blade #blade x you #dark content #hsr drabbles

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marshmellowjay · 1 year

Text

Sorry for the long wait! Here's the long awaited headcannons!

MCYT react to Neon-Beatboxer Reader

Ft- C!Technoblade, Bench trio, C!Philza, NTT!Brutus/Orpheus, Accelerate Dream Team.

C!Technoblade

Now he doesnt really get it at first, like why so...neon

Like in regular daylight it kinda looks strange but then he saw you at night and was like "ohhhhh ok"

He honestly loves the style and is down with dying his hair again to make it glow in the dark, it'll just take alot of convincing lol.

The beat-boxing part though.

He is all for it. Loves the competitions and there is a really reaallly slim chance of him joining in. Never zero though so you test your luck ALOT.

Graffiti is his favorite part over all.

He loves the designs and colors. He may even let you graffiti his builds a bit if you beg enough.

So overall he loves the aspect of it all and would try it out himself sometime.

10/10 he loves it.

Bench Trio

They love your clothes like they think you are so cool. New role model acquired!

If you do underground secret (maybe illegal) Beat-boxing championships they will BEG you to go!

Especially Tommy.

Now if you do cave in then they will again beg you to dress them up appropriately for the championship, neon body paint, glow up eye contacts, temporary glow up hair dye and all the glow up clothes! Maybe even some glow up graffiti paint cans.

They are so hyped during the whole thing! Especially if you are in the championship!

They cheer the loudest for sure!

If you let them do graffiti for a bit afterwords they are gonna be so excited! signing their twitch/youtube names and all.

Be prepared for Tommy to tell sbi though and being a babysitter the whole time lol

9/10

C!Philza

You already know the drill with dadza.

He goes full parent mode making sure the body paint and hair dye isnt lethal and making sure you stay out of trouble.

But other then that hes chill.

No he wont dye his hair but he will entertain your ideas by painting his nails glow in the dark green and putting on glow body paint on his hands.

Best know he will show up to every championship ship to make sure you stay safe but he does enjoy it non the less.

He does have sensitive eyes though so he wont stick around for to long but he will be there most of the time.

If he can't make it he'll just send one of the sbi to watch you. (never tommy though, hes learned the hard way)

9/10 hes chill

NTT!Brutus/Orpheus

The moment you guys started getting along is the moment he knew you would rope him into something like this.

He does like it dont get him wrong, he even drags his band members to the championships and does all the get up. He does like to use the getup as an excuse to cosplay himself though.

His scars are is neon and glowing.

He even adds the pink hair strip. He blends right in with the crowd lol

but he is responsible and makes sure you are alright and he is the getaway driver when the feds show up to crash all the fun.

He loves your style and is shocked to find out your hair dye isnt temporary

he also thinks your beat-boxing is really cool and fun.

10/10 best getaway driver ever

Accelerate! Dream Team

They LOVE your style so much!

They also ADORE your car. (which is neon (f/c) and glows)

You obviously met at a race so they were really hyped when they saw a new competitor/racer

After the race they had went up to your car and knocked on the window to try and greet you.

When you got out of the car they were flabbergasted by your style, you were in full outfit ready to go to your underground championship. Glowing hair,body paint eye contacts outfit and all.

They immediatly knew they needed to go where-ever you were going so they introduced themselves and asked where you were heading, you took them to the championship and they loved it!

Sapnap got bodypaint that made him look like he had lava all over.

Dream just stuck with the green glow eye contacts

while george did the glow up nail polish and blue splotches of body paint on his face and the rest is history.

Sapnap definitely joins in on the beat-boxing championship though lol

11/10

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meetinginsamarra · 4 months

Text

update december 2023

sorted by word count/series

———————

Mutual Attraction 94k , pre ASiP, different first meetings, casefic, pining

The day when a homeless drug addict and a suicidal ex-soldier met was the beginning of something until then unheard-of: Mutual Attraction. Of course, not all was what it looked like in the first place but the days of boredom, loneliness and lack of purpose were history. A case had to be solved, lives had to be saved and a developing relationship had to be tackled.

———————

Here I Am -series, the pornwithoutplot which evolved into pornwithplot with feels and whump

The Toe that didn´t belong 6.9k, Part One

Every time John thought back to the occasion the funny thing was that the first thing he had noticed to be out of place had been a…toe.

The Embers still glow when I´m sober 14,5k, Part Two

When Sherlock woke up the morning after he actually felt good. Which was completely unexpected. Although he was sort of anxious about John´s reaction when he would notice that the punk who did not belong in his bed and who had coaxed him into having shameless sex last night was still there.

Gravity is missing from everything 23.5k, Part Three

People bumped into him, cussing and throwing death glares. Blocking their way, Sherlock stood frozen in a throng of commuters. “Are you high?” one shouted into his vacant face. Funnily enough he actually was not. This was all John´s fault. Inflicting a date on him. To have dinner.

———————

Learn My Scars, 38k, written for whumptober 2022, Serbia and the aftermath

After being thrown down and strangled, Sherlock leaves John in the restaurant, angry and deeply hurt. When John follows Sherlock to 221b, he learns that Sherlock’s scars have not been acquired by “gallivanting around” for two years.

———————

The 13th Book 26.5k, a magical realism AU with demon Sherlock

Summoning a demon was actually quite simple if you could avoid getting killed in the process. Therefore, only the powerful, the desperate or the stupid would attempt it. John Watson was likely the first, definitely the second but hopefully not one of the third kind.

———————

Wretched and Divine – series punklock and doctor John

Wretched and Divine 5.1k, Part One

Dr. John Watson is on call at the A&E when he attempts to treat a very special patient. Instead he finds himself a very special treat.

The Aftermath is Secondary 19.5k, Part Two

Will John and Sherlock really go on the agreed date in the infamous punkrock club “The Misfit”? Will their sexual tension finally be resolved? Is it really going to be dangerous? And will Sherlock really wear the promised fishnet top? (Oh God, yessss!)

———————

Sherlock’s Secret Laboratory Journal 6k, my outlet for writing cracky hilarious Sherlock, will become a series with adding a chapter for each new experiment

What does a helplessly pining but absolutely clueless Sherlock do in order to woo an oblivious John? He turns to the internet for advice on the art of seduction and notes the experiments in his secret laboratory journal.

Oyster and Mushroom Soup 9k, Sherlock’s latest attempt at seduction, Part 2 of the Secret Lab Journal series

Sherlock’s second try to win over John involves a lot of special cooking recipes.

——————

Slowly Suffocating 9.5k, TLD fix-it, written for whumptober 2023

Getting suffocated took some time. Enough time for Sherlock to ponder what went wrong. Hopefully also long enough for John to arrive and rescue him. Culverton Smith applied more pressure, impatient to turn Sherlock into a dead thing.

———————

Winning a lost bet 8.2k, pole-dancing at the XMas party

A lost bet makes Sherlock and John perform a pole-dance in costumes at the Yard´s Christmas party. It was supposed to be humiliating but instead the couple nailed it.

———————

Until the final breath escapes 1.9k, spooky Halloween fic

In a world turned hostile they hold onto their love until the final breath escapes.

———————

Sherlock Ficlets for Writing Challenges 20 ficlets under 1000 words

#my Sherlock fanfics #masterpost #as of dec 2023

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laura1633 · 2 months

Note

Ohh please do soulmate for the prompt. I never get tired of soulmate aus they might be my fave trope <3

Thanks anon ♥️ Bit of a random lestappen soulmate au below for you, I also enjoy this trope <3

Fourteenth Random Lestappen AU summary: Soulmate

Charles sits and watches his soulmate timer tick down to zero. He was hoping to have found his soulmate by now but it just hasn’t happened. He still has plenty of time though, the counter hitting zero only means that the body swap will begin, it will take months before him and his soulmate morph into one another and the soulmate bond is broken forever.

Charles stands naked looking in the mirror, all he knows is that one part of his body will be exchanged for one part of his soulmate's. Which part is anyones guess, it is different for different pairings. As he waits he suddenly feels tingling in his legs and glances down to see his thighs growing bigger and bigger until they are nice and thick. Whoever his soulmate is seems nice and curvy, which in Charles' mind can only be a plus. It is kind of impossible to identify whose thighs he now has though, it’s not like they have particularly distinguishing features on them - no tattoos or scars - just soft hairs and lots of soft muscle.

Charles knows he will have to wait until the next body part changes before he gets his next clue. For now, so that nobody gets wind of the fact he is morphing into his soulmate he just decides he will need to wear slightly baggier jeans to hide his newly acquired curves.

Every few weeks a new part of Charles changes - after the thighs he gets a slightly more rounded ass and then his feet change shape and after that he wakes up with a much more pronounced chest. He still hasn't worked out who his soulmate is which is a strange feeling because he knows there is someone out there walking around with his ass and thighs and feet and chest.

The next body part to change is Charles' lips. In place of his normal lips he now has much plumper ones. As he looks in the mirror and sees the tiny freckle adorning them he freezes as it hits him that he is slowly morphing into Max.

The Monegasque panics as he realises he now needs to pluck up the courage to go to Max and kiss him so that they can reverse their gradual body swap and cement themselves as true soulmates.

#anon asks #Lestappen au game #Lestappen fanfiction

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alienaiver · 3 months

Text

Heart-shaped Narutomaki

Shinsou Hitoshi x gn!reader

warnings: light mentions of detoriating mental health, poor self esteem but not a main theme wordcount: 2k content: fluff, valentines day special!, sfw, gender neutral reader, poc and body type friendly reader, established relationship, soft love, affirmations, surprises, giving men flowers is important to me, no use of y/n, timeskip, pro hero shinsou, canon compliant with few canon divergences (shinsous acquired a scar that isnt canon), time to treat the male on valentine i think!, reader is bff with midoriya, COMFORT, reader is described to wear jewelry but not which kind, not beta'd

notes: hewwo! :3 another shinsou fic straight from my shinsou-obsessed brain juices. in this universe it's a rather new relationship, albeit established! reader is best friend with midoriya and who helps with the elaborate shenanigan. happy valentines day yall ily!!!!1 im smooching you and giving you a bouquet of flowers i found in the wild<!!!!3333333

You turn the corner of the hallway with a bright smile, giddiness giving way to the spring in your step. The cellophane wrapper of the bouquet in your hands make a crinkling sound as you pass it around in your arms, being as gentle as you’re able. Midoriya spots you from the end of the hall and waves excitedly before signaling with a pointer the location of your boyfriend. He’s in his office to the left, writing up a report with a false deadline. He thinks he needs to turn it in before his patrol tonight, but it’s not due until tomorrow. There’s perks to being best friends with the number one hero, after all, and you’ve been given permission to utilize them to the fullest tonight.

Shinsou has an evening patrol that he absolutely cannot dodge and the apologies he spouted a month ago when he found out still makes you ache. The date itself isn’t important to you, you’ve always thought you could celebrate any other day of the month and it’d still be as romantic. But at the same time you and the people around him have noticed the burn-out he’s close to reaching, and decided he needs to be treated.

And then the planning came into play. It helps that Shinsou works at Midoriya’s agency, giving you full opportunity to utilize aforementioned perks.

Midoriya hurries to disappear as to not seem obviously complicit as you reach the entrance and hide the flowers behind your back, leaning against the door frame in what you hope is an attractive pose. Your outfit’s inspired by his hero costume, complimenting the black and grays with purple jewelry and accessories sprinkled in.

If Shinsou notice you, no movement betrays it, face glued to the screen in front of him as he scrolls rather aggressively with the mouse in his hand. You clear your throat and wiggle the flowers to get the crinkles to catch his attention. He looks up unhurried with confusion laced onto his face before he realizes who’s standing by his door. His expression immediately softens as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” he says gently, leaning back in his chair and clears his throat, “what brings you here?”

If you wanted to keep it cool, you’re unable to with how bright you’re smiling, shoulders tensed from the excitement of the surprise. You giggle as you enter his office, revealing the bouquet of flowers from behind you, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

His eyes widen for a split second before he laughs, “aw, you came with these for me?” he hurries to get up and greet you, a hand to your hip and a chaste kiss to your lips, “lemme go see if there’s a vase in the kitchen.”

He accepts the bouquet from your hands with the utmost care, eyes twinkling in a way you hadn’t expected. He looks like a child on Christmas Eve who sees Santa Claus putting presents under the tree. The magic seems to be shining through his every being.

As he exits the office you take stock of the surroundings; it’s usually abundantly clear how he’s doing based on the tidiness of his work space, but there’s no glaring pointers when you look around. You circle the desk to see the picture he has of you framed; a candid shot taking at Eri’s 18th birthday party and next to it the picture of him and his dads from his U.A. graduation.

You smile as your fingers trace absentmindedly over the desk, hoisting up the bag on your shoulders. He comes back with a laugh, “there was a vase that fits the color scheme of his bouquet perfectly, isn’t that amazing, babe?”

You pretend to be surprised and not reveal to him the part about Midoriya planting it in the office kitchen specifically for Shinsou to find it after your arrival, “what? No way!” you smile, watching him put it gently at the desk, sighing out almost wistfully.

“It’s the first time I’ve gotten flowers.”

You circle the desk again to reach him and wrap your arms around his neck to give him a kiss on the cheek before he turns his face to get one on the lips. It feels meaningful and deep. After you pull away, you see that his eyes are still closed, chasing the feeling. You smile and whisper again, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

Shinsou leans his forehead against yours and smiles, huffs out a small laugh, “thank you.”

You let the moment linger, basking in this point in time of being with him, feeling his warmth on your waist where he’s holding you, listening to his breathing. When he pulls away slowly to, presumably and regrettably, kick you out you hurry to interrupt him with a playful pat to his shoulders, “I brought you a change of clothes. The reservation’s in 15 minutes so you better hurry.”

Shinsou’s brow raises at you and he shakes his head, “can’t, babe. I know my patrol’s not for another hour but I have a report to finish.”

You smile,”your patrol��s not for another two hours. Starting when you sit your ass down at the restaurant. That’s a bargain I made,” you wink and hand him the bag of clothes. Puzzled but complying, Shinsou takes the bag and looks into it. The dress shirt he once confessed he feels the most handsome in is there, folded and pressed, together with his favorite pair of ripped, black jeans. He looks up at you with wide eyes and the excitement you’re exuding is warming him from the deepest part. With a disbelieving laugh he pushes the bag back towards you, “still have that report, though.”

You sigh theatrically with your shoulders poised before you push the bag against him again, the game of reverse tug a little fun. Your hands travel over his arms back to his shoulders, “you know I love your work ethic,” you catch his eyes, “but trust me when I say I have this planned out, okay?”

You peck him on the lips and let your arms fall back to your sides, “this is the thing I’ve been planning for weeks,” you wink and Shinsou laughs. It’s more a huff of breath out of the nose, but the smile indicates that he’s finally processed what’s going on. You’ve planned a Valentine’s surprise for him.

The restaurant isn’t fancy or typical of Valentine’s. Your friends all recommended all kinds of cliche spots that would be sure to blow your boyfriend away, but you know him and his preferences. He likes when it’s personal and home-y. His obsession with having a home only started to make sense to you in the recent months of your relationship. You hadn’t known of his past or his life at the orphanages until very recently.

So you decided that this, the first place he took you on a date would be perfect. When he realizes where you’re headed, he keeps squeezing your hand in barely contained excitement and laughs bashfully whenever your eye catches his. It’s absolutely adorable and your own butterflies are soaring at the unmistakable happiness and love he emanates towards you.

When you arrive at the local ramen shop hand in hand, the local owner, an uncle type of man greets you excitedly, giving you a not-so-subtle wink as he maneuvers you to your regular seat at the back. When you’d come down a few days ago to reveal your plans to him, he’d gushed about how honored he was to host such a thing and even suggested to make you a special ramen, which only made you all the more sure that this had to be the special spot.

The owner waits on you as if you’re at a real restaurant, bringing you the chopsticks and the glasses from the counter where it’s normally a self-serve kind of function. Shinsou can barely look the man in the eye, embarrassed to be treated with such high regard at his local eatery.

You talk about his day, of the coming patrol tonight, the report he needs to finish and you tell him of the cats at home. How you made sure to feed them before leaving and how long you’ve been planning this date. He reaches for your hand as you start to tell him of the trip to the florist for purple flowers, of the chats with Midoriya on how to make this work. It’s all very relaxed and comfortable, smiles and glances exchanged between sentences.

When the food arrives, you both gasp. His more silent than yours but no less surprised. You know there’s a style to prepare ramen bowls, but he’s taken it to the next level. Not only has he taken his time to cut the narutomakis into small hearts, he’s also cut your nori seaweed into heart shapes too. It is so beautiful and endearing that you can’t help but bow your thanks excessively at him. He sheepishly scratches his neck as he announces how it wasn’t a big deal and that his two favorite customers only deserve the best on such a special night before he retreats to his kitchen.

After he’s gone, you fish out your phone from your bag to catch a picture. Shinsou starts pushing his bowl gently towards yours so that you can get a picture of them both but you push it back towards him to indicate you want a picture of him with the bowl. He looks at anything but you for a moment, a shy smile playing on his lips as he shakes his head, “I’d ruin the picture,” he admits sadly and you lower the phone to look at him properly. The scar that he’s attained on the left side of his face from a particularly nasty fight with a villain has yet to heal or completely disappear, and ever since then he’s been reluctant to be in pictures.

You try not to sound condescending as you coo at him, “you are the most handsome man I know. You would compliment this beautiful bowl and I promise you can check and approve the picture afterwards, okay?”

He sighs and lets his shoulders fall before he complies. You smile at him and raises the phone anew, angling the camera perfectly. The light falls on his right side, making the scar less visible in the low light of the room.

“Say cheese.”

The picture comes out absolutely wonderful and you’re unable to hold back a squeal of excitement as you grip the phone close to your chest, letting the love you have for the man in front of you rush through you. He patiently waits for you to show him the picture and when he does, your heart aches at the way he visibly relaxes, eyes softening at the way you caught him looking naturally relaxed and handsome despite how tense he felt. He nods approvingly before you both get ready to eat.

“I almost don’t wanna ruin it,” you whine and Shinsou laughs, “me too.”

Full of both the deepest broth, noodles and love, you walk back towards the agency hand in hand. The silence is comfortable between you, the hum of the town surrounding you.

Before you reach the agency, Shinsou stops in his tracks and retracts his arm, scratching his head. “I… I’m not sure how to properly thank you. I’ve never… uh, never had a proper Valentine’s date before.”

You smile mischievously as you lean in to catch his eyes, “I’m amazing, right? But really, there’s no need to thank me – seeing you enjoy the night is way more thanks.”

He rolls his eyes before he pulls you in close, “I mean it, thank you. You make me feel so many good things and I’m so terrible at voicing them. Thank you for planning this.”

You snuggle your cheek into his chest with a warm sigh, “you’re welcome. I love you.”

He kisses the crown of your head and squeezes your hip, “I love you, too. So much.”

#taking a break from con crunch to spit this out #but now i have to continue sewingbye <33333 #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #shinsou hitoshi fluff #bnha fluff #reader insert #mha x you #shinsou x you #nohr.writing #nohr.bnha

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bananafire11 · 6 months

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Summary: A small look into the night after the chupacabra episode with Carol taking care of a very out-of-it Daryl.

Warnings: Daryls loopy on pain meds, reference to past child abuse, Daryls scars and mention of injury

Pairings: Caryl, can be seen as either romantic or platonic.

Care

"You've done more for my little girl than her own daddy ever did his entire life."

"..didn't do nothin' Rick or Shane wouldn'ta done."

"I know. You're every bit as good at them. Every bit."

That's what she'd told him before she had left him to himself.

Carol had been horrified by the sight of Daryl all mucked up with blood and dirt, caked head to toe in mud and dry leaves. Blood covering his chin and temple, crusted under his fingernails and fresh bruises forming across his pale skin like black ink across paper.

Even once Hershal had stitched the worst of his injuries and cleaned the majority of the filth off Daryl he still looked like a masterpiece of black and blue. Carol had caught a glimpse of scars, old and new, that covered his back and chest as she'd entered his current room with his food. He had clenched the pale blanket to his chest but she still saw.

It pained her to see him like that because he had gone looking for Sophia. And had still brought her little girl's doll back even amidst the shitshow he must have endured. One step closer to finding her baby.

"Hey," Carol jumped, cocking her head to see Maggie peeking around the corner of the kitchen entrance. The young woman waved her hand. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Carol sighed, snapped out of her spiraling thoughts. "No, it's ok. Do you need something?" Carol stood up straighter where she'd slumped against the kitchen counter.

Maggie gave her a small smile. "I was goin' to tell you that Daddy sent me to ask if you could freshen Daryl's bandages? He would do it but he's busy with the generator outside. It's been a real pain lately." She fiddled with her tank top's strap.

Carol hummed, "of course. I'll get to it right away."

Maggie nodded, brown locks bobbing with the movement. Carol listened as she exited the house, the old screen door squeaking as she did so.

Carol acquired the medical kit from the kitchen pantry and quietly padded her way up stairs to where Daryl resided for the time being. She reached the old tawny door and knocked twice before entering. The lights were dimmed except for the soft warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Carol saw the plate she'd brought him for dinner last night except now it was completely cleaned, the exception being a few spare crumbs.

She hummed, glad that he had taken her advice and eaten. It seemed she were right to assume he'd been starving. Speaking of the man himself, he was passed out in the white sheets, drooling into the pillow. She smiled, he deserved the rest.

But she'd have to wake him in order to tend to his bandages. She'd rather do anything but that, but the wounds he had could easily become infected without proper treatment.

Carol stepped closer to the bed, settling herself on the edge, the mattress dipping slightly under her small body. She gently pressed her palm into his bare shoulder, jostling him just enough for him to wake and not to disturb the stitches on his side.

Daryl groaned into the pillow, shrugging her hand off his shoulder, mumbling something she couldn't quite decipher. She snorted at his stubbornness. Carol leaned forward just enough to be able to call his name, hopefully without startling him.

"Daryl, hey, wake up," she coaxed. Soon enough he scrunched up his nose and his eyes opened to peer over his shoulder at her. His stormy blue eyes were foggy and he made a face at her. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Daryl stared at her for a few moments more before blinking at her like she wasn't real. "Wha'..," his voice was thick with sleep. Carol watched as he furrowed his brows and shut his eyes and she wondered if he had a headache. She figured a bullet to the temple would do that to you.

The bandage wrapped around his head had turned a muted red where he'd been shot. She couldn't see the other bandages but they probably aren't looking too great either.

Carol prodded at his arm, rousing him again and she vaguely remembered Hershal giving Daryl some painkillers. That must be why he was so loopy and out of it. Daryl grumbled and swatted lazily at her hand, trying to brush her off. Carol huffed, he was stubborn as ever.

She needed him to sit up in order to reach all the dirty wraps. She rested her hand on his shoulder blade, ushering him gently to lean forward. Eventually she had gotten him to settle on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off.

Carol gathered the medical supplies and reached for the bandage around his temple first, gently peeling it off. She couldn't help but grimace at the way the skin had been torn, even cutting through his hairline. Applying some gauze onto a rag, she covered the fresh stitches before getting a new clean bandage to wrap his head.

She glanced worriedly at Daryl's face, trying her damndest not to cause him anymore pain then necessary. His eyes were still glossed over when she finished moving his hair out of the way and securing the wraps.

"How are you feeling?" She prompted, almost smiling at the way he blinked dumbly up at her. He licked his lips before humming in response.

"Like shit," he slurred. Carol couldn't help but but smirk at his thick southern drawl, even more pronounced than usual with the drugs faltering his speech.

"I figured as much," she gestured at the large bandage around his waist. "Can I?"

Daryl turned his head to look at where she was looking, like he couldn't register in his head fast enough to keep up with her. He probably couldn't. Both his hands came up to cover his torso best he could. Carol frowned, "What is it?"

The man's brows tightened into a scowl and his bottom lip jutted out. Carol couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Daryl Dixon was pouting.

Despite the hilarious and admittedly adorable image, Carol knew why he was covering himself. After all, she had seen all the scars littering his body the night before. His shoulders were hunched and he suddenly reminded her of a stray dog, distrusting and wounded.

She slid forward, just close enough so he could move away if he wished. Carol tilted her head towards him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. She held her hand out and touched his bicep, warm to the touch.

"Daryl, let me help you. Please."

His blue eyes widened at the sincerity in her voice. The man peered at the hand holding onto his arm, gentle but firm. Grounding.

Carol held his blue gaze even as he dropped his hands to his lap, fiddling with the hem of his pajama pants. She smiled softly at him, her heart swelling with the fact that he trusted her enough to let her see his scarred skin.

She slowly reached for the material around his waist. Delicately removing it and setting it aside to throw in the bin later. She stood and moved to his left side so she could see the stitching up close so as to not disturb anything and have them tear open. With small precise movements she repeated what she had done with his head. She admired the small freckles that were sprinkled across his skin and the warmth of his thigh against hers while she worked.

She couldn't help but grimace at the impale wound. She lightly circled her gauze-covered fingers around it, careful of the tenderness of the flesh there. She let her nails rub along the small scars that were scattered along the soft skin of his belly. She recognized knife slices and cigarette burns and her heart ached inside her ribs.

She wouldn't dare ask him about them.

Finally the job was done and he was wrapped in clean bandages. Carol humphed with triumph at her accomplishment. Daryl cocked his head at her, tongue just about lolling out of his mouth.

"All done," she announced. He hummed in response, clearly not up to speed with what was going on around him. Carol smiled fondly at him. She stood up and stretched her legs which had gone stiff with time. She leaned around his frame, gathering the off white blanket into her arms. "Let's get you tucked in now."

Daryl huffed at her, "M' ain't a baby." He glared at her through his dark lashes and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Of course not," she carefully ushered him to lay down on his right side, "but you need to rest after all you've done for my baby."

She fluffed up his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chest. "Still treat'n me like a kid," he grumbled. "Tuck'n me 'n an' shit."

"Well, everyone deserves a little care every now and then. Even tough guys like you," she replied. She thought he was more than tough though. Clever, brave, sweet, even.

He only hummed in response, falling into unconsciousness as soon as he closed his eyes. She congratulated a job well done as he fell victim to sleep he very much needed. Carol leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, small stubble rough against her chapped lips.

He certainly deserved more than a little care.

#fanfic #daryl twd #daryl dixon #carol twd #carol peletier #daryl dixon fanfiction #carol twd fanfiction #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #season 2 twd #twd season 2 #twd farm era #caryl #daryl and carol #daryl x carol

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emjayewrites · 11 months

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Flashin’ Lights In A Midst of Darlin’ Nights (3/?)

A fated encounter in The City of Lights changed the lives of an actor and singer forever. And with those darlin’ nights comes even more delights.....

Synopsis: Will Poulter can count on his hands the amount of times he’s been rendered speechless, yet that was until he met singer-songwriter EmJaye. He soon finds himself speechless and dazzled every time he’s in her presence. For Mahalia-Joy, Will hooked her in with his quintessentially British banter. However, in this ruthless industry, a couple needs more to hold onto besides quick laughs and simple awe.

Pairings: Will Poulter x EmJaye (Mahalia-Joy Washington)

Warnings: cursing, adult content, mentions of drugs/alcohol. (Rated 18+)

Taglist: @vargskelegore, @pocfansmatter, @afro-hispwriter, @unfriendlyblkhotti3, @sarcasticmrfox, @blackpearlbutterfly, @melancholymelanin, @mochachocolatteyaya, @goldentriostan, @multi-culti-girl, @chaneajoyyy, @mauvecherie-writes, @4ftwonder, @jasmindaughteroftheworld, @valkryienymph, @colorfullydone, @earl-aive, @queenshikongo3, @blackreaderatrisk, @pulparindos, @cocobutterqwueen, @xsweetdellzx, @certifiedlesbianbaddie, @realhotgurlshit, @aieshawilliams2001, @imatrisk

A/N: I do not know Will or his family personally. This is solely fiction and any similarities are coincidental. EmJaye was previously mentioned in a Yahya fic, but her character arc is completely different/changed to fit this fic. Thank you all so much for showing me love for this story! I missed writing and I’m happy to be back. If you would like to be tagged, please comment or DM me. Enjoy this chapter.

New York City, NY, London, UK & Los Angeles, CA — Mid/Late July 2022

Will reclined on the plush sofa in his London home, his injured knee propped up on a soft cushion. It had been a long day, starting off with a early gym session with his trainer, Dr. Benjamin Carraway, and the whirlwind of events and appearances afterward had left him longing for a moment of tranquility. His body served as a reminder of the injuries he had acquired over the years. The torn ACL and ligament in his ankle, the sprained rotator cuff — battle scars from his dedication to his craft. As he settled in, his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. A smile brightened his face as he saw EmJaye's name lighting up the screen.

With a swipe of his finger, he answered the call, and her radiant face filled the display.

"Hey, Will," she greeted him, her voice filled with concern. "How are you feeling? I saw your text about having a rough day and dealing with those old injuries.”

Will chuckled softly, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "I'm hanging in there, sweetheart," he reassured her. "It's just a little sore today. Nothing I can't handle."

EmJaye's brow furrowed slightly, worry evident in her eyes. "I don't want you pushing yourself too hard."

"I know, and I appreciate it," Will replied, his voice filled with affection. "But you don't have to worry, Mahalia, I've learned to take care of myself. Besides, I have you to keep me in check."

A playful smile danced on EmJaye's lips. "Well, that's true. Someone's got to make sure you don't get too carried away."

Will feigned a dramatic sigh. "You know, I'm starting to realize that maybe I’m getting too old for all this," he said.

EmJaye's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Old? Please, you're just getting better with age," she retorted with a laugh. "And speaking of age, when's your birthday?"

A mischievous glint sparked in Will's eyes. "Well, I'll have you know that I'm twenty-nine. But not for long," he added with a smirk. "I’ll be the big 3-0 on January 28th next year."

EmJaye's face lit up with excitement. "No way! I’m turning twenty-six on January 29th!" she exclaimed.

Will's smile widened, their connection deepening with the realization of their shared birthdays. "Well, it looks like we have another reason to celebrate together," he remarked.

"That’s crazy,” she said in amazement. “Anyways, I may have something special to share with you."

Will leaned closer to the screen and he noticed that she was in the recording studio. "What is it?"

EmJaye's eyes twinkled mischievously as she placed her phone against a keyboard. From this new angle, Will was able to see the rest of the recording studio as well as her sound producer. “Do you want to hear something from my album?”

“Seriously?!”

She chuckled at his disbelief and shock. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m debuting a new single on Jimmy Fallon’s show later this week. I figured you’ll want to hear it.”

At a loss for words, Will gasped at this amazing opportunity she'd shared with him. “I’d be honored. Let’s see.”

“Alrighty then.” She gestured to her producer and he began playing a snippet of her latest single. The melodious sound filled the air, and Will's eyes widened in awe.

“I've been holding back, playing it safe, But now it's time to let go, find my own space. Gonna rise above the noise, break the chains, Embrace the unknown, no fear remains....”

When the song broke into the chorus, he watched intently as she mouthed the lyrics, her body moving in rhythm with the tempo and bass of the beat. As the music slowly dissipated, she let out a nervous giggle.

“So? What do you think?”

"Mahalia, that sounds incredible!” he exclaimed, his admiration evident in his voice. “Your voice, the lyrics...."

Her cheeks warmed from his praise, a mix of excitement and vulnerability washing over her. "Thank you, Will. Your support means the world to me. It’s still cookin’ though; we may change the hook and second verse, but I can't wait for you to hear the full song."

“I can’t wait,” he grinned. “I’ll try to watch your debut performance too.”

Her nose crinkled adorably in confusion. “Wait, how would you do that? I thought some American TV shows weren't available in the UK."

“I’ll find a way,” Will shrugged nonchalantly. “Better yet, if some things get switched around, I may be in L.A. by the time this week is over, so I can always watch from my hotel room.”

Their conversation meandered from music to their day-to-day lives. Will shared stories of events he attended in London, and EmJaye spoke passionately about her upcoming projects and the creative process behind her album.

“That single will be called ‘Get In The Way’”, she told him, slouching in her seat. “I have about a quarter of my songs and features done, but there’s still so much to do.”

Their conversation continued to flow effortlessly, and Will couldn't help but express his longing to see her again.

"I miss you, Mahalia," he confessed softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "Paris feels like a lifetime ago, and I can't wait to see you in Los Angeles later this month."

Her heart swelled at his divulgence, making her feel delirious and giddy. EmJaye adored how comfortable Will was with his feelings and his entire being. He never made her feel unsure or uneasy.

Her eyes softened, and a gentle smile graced her lips. "I miss you too, Will.”

Will couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation and excitement. The connection he shared with EmJaye felt deeper than anything he had ever experienced, and he couldn't wait to explore where it would lead.

With their conversation drawing to a close, they exchanged promises of continuing to stay in touch before saying their goodbyes and ending the call.

Leaning back in his sofa, Will raked a slow hand through his hair, smiling from ear to ear like a crazy fool.

_______________________________________________

As the days flew by, Will and EmJaye stayed true to their promise of keeping in touch. They exchanged messages, photos, and even recorded video snippets of their daily adventures, bridging the distance between London and New York City.

Across the Atlantic Ocean, EmJaye found herself preparing for an appearance on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. The anticipation swirled within her as she did a last-minute rehearsal of her performance, eager to share her new single, "Get In The Way," with the world. Donning honey blonde hair and an orange jumpsuit, she and her sound technician checked the microphones and her earpiece as the stagehands prepared for her performance.

EmJaye took a moment to compose herself backstage. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, electrifying her nervous system, and causing her chest to rise and fall with rapid breaths. The thought of sharing her new music with millions of viewers only heightened her anxiety, and even though she enjoyed making this song, she craved for the public to love it just as much as she did.

Minutes ticked by until the lights dimmed, and one of the show’s producers cued her to go. She stepped onto the stage with confidence, her vibrant presence dazzling the audience.

“And now singing her debut single, ‘Get In The Way’, please welcome EmJaye!” greeted Jimmy Fallon, earning her screams and shouts.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Will watched the performance and interview in his hotel room with a mixture of pride and longing. As the opening chords of the song filled the room, Will's attention was immediately enchanted. The vibrant melody intertwined with the smooth, richness of her vocals, created a mesmerizing blend that resonated deep within his soul. He marveled at her, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen. Seeing EmJaye shine, her talent and charm evident for all to see, only intensified his feelings for her.

But it wasn't just her voice that enthralled him. Will couldn't help but notice how stunning she looked, her new hairstyle framing her face in a way that accentuated her radiant beauty. The way her bouncy curls cascaded around her shoulders and honey-blonde hair that complimented her rich brown skin left him wonderstruck.

The camera panned to the audience, and the thunderous applause washed over her, a testament to EmJaye's captivating stage presence. He could see the confidence radiating from her, the way she commanded the stage with an effortless grace that only added to her allure.

After the performance, EmJaye took a seat next to Jimmy Fallon, her smile lighting up the screen. The chemistry between them was undeniable, their playful banter drawing laughter from the audience. Will couldn't help but be proud of EmJaye, how she effortlessly connected with people, her genuine personality shining through.

As the interview progressed, Jimmy couldn't resist asking about EmJaye's recent trip to Paris and the connection she had formed with Will.

A blush graced EmJaye's cheeks, a delicate hue that made her even more invigorating. “Now, Jimmy...”

Her trailed-off statement earned her hoots from the crowd and she ducked her face behind her hand.

“We saw the pictures of the two of you on TMZ,” said Jimmy as he displayed a copy of a photo of them together at the sneaker store in Paris. “You guys look cute. Are you guys friends or....more than friends?”

EmJaye ignored his question at first, staring directly at the camera.

"Paris was a magical experience," she finally admitted, a fond smile playing on her lips. "I had the opportunity to explore the city and create lasting memories. That’s all I’m saying, Jimmy, sorry.”

Jimmy frowned at the answer but decided not to broach the subject further. Will let out a pleased sigh at her decision to remain coy and private about their budding relationship.

When the interview came to a close, Jimmy expressed his excitement for EmJaye's upcoming album and newest single. Will's heart swelled with pride, knowing that he would be there to support her every step of the way, and as the screen faded into a commercial, Will couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. He missed her deeply, longing to hold her in his arms and celebrate her success together. Yet, there was also a sense of anticipation, as he knew their reunion in Los Angeles was drawing near.

Comic Con loomed on the horizon, and the excitement bubbled within Will's chest. The opportunity to promote Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3, surrounded by passionate fans and immersed in the world of pop culture, was a dream come true. In the midst of it all, his mind wandered to the moments he would share with her.

He found himself daydreaming about their time in Paris — the laughter, the stolen glances, the effortless connection they had forged. The memories replayed in his mind like a movie, reminding him of the joy he felt in EmJaye's presence. Reaching for his phone, he dialed her number, smiling widely as her familiar voice greeted him on the other end of the line.

______________________________________________

EmJaye's plane touched down in Los Angeles, and as she stepped off the aircraft, the warm California air greeted her with open arms. Making her way through the busy airport, anticipation swirled within her. Her footsteps quickened, her eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. And there he was, Will, standing tall and handsome amidst the sea of people, a smile spreading across his face as their eyes met.

They embraced tightly, their arms wrapping around each other as if they were two puzzle pieces finally finding their perfect fit. The warmth of his touch and the softness of his lips on hers whispered promises of the adventures that awaited them.

“How was your flight?” he asked as they parted.

“Not too bad,” she responded, adjusting the straps of her shoulder bag. Noticing her struggle, he extended a hand to help.

“Let me get that for you,” he states, taking the bag swiftly before she could react. “Do you have any others?”

“I have a few, but my driver should’ve gotten them by now,” EmJaye told him.

To their surprise, there weren’t many paparazzi snooping the premises for a photo and they managed to avoid them once word got out that one of the Kardashian sisters landed at LAX.

Walking towards the exit, they immediately found her awaiting SUV and hopped inside, and she let out a sigh of relief. With her flight from LaGuardia to LAX delayed by one hour, EmJaye thought that they wouldn’t have enough time to reach Van Nuys Airport to catch another flight to San Diego. Luckily for them both, they were on the highway in ample time, arriving at the next airport by the skin of their teeth.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, y’know,” EmJaye told Will as they walked into Van Nuys Airport from a private entrance. He gave her a dismissive wave. “I’m serious, Will, I don’t want you to get in trouble with Marvel.”

At this, Will let out a hearty chuckle. “I’m not going to get in trouble, Mahalia.” To ease her worry, he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her cheek. “Besides, I told Feige and Gunn that you were hitching a ride; they’re cool with it.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “They are?!”

“Yes,” Will concurred softly. “We have a lot of space on this plane anyways.”

The private jet was settled on the tarmac as if patiently biding its time for their arrival. Emblazoned on the side, in huge font, was the Marvel logo. Jogging up the stairs, EmJaye reveled at the sleek aircraft.

Stepping inside the luxurious private plane, her eyes widened in awe at the sight before her. The plush seats, elegant decor, and the unmistakable air of exclusivity enveloped her.

“Fancy,” she drawled in delight, touching the wooden accents. “Marvel got that money-money.”

As she made her way through the plane's cabin, she spotted Chris Pratt, the charismatic star of the Guardians franchise. His infectious energy seemed to radiate, lighting up the whole space with his charm. He greeted her with a warm smile, instantly putting her at ease. His genuine warmth and playful banter made her feel like she was part of their tight-knit family.

Next to Chris sat Karen Gillan, whose captivating presence as Nebula in the film had left a lasting impression on EmJaye. Karen's vibrant red hair and fierce gaze mirrored the strong spirit she portrayed on screen. EmJaye admired her talent and found herself drawn to the kindness in her eyes as they exchanged introductions.

Pom Klementieff, the embodiment of Mantis's gentle yet powerful aura, greeted EmJaye with a warm hug. Her serene presence and contagious laughter instantly made EmJaye feel like they were old friends. Pom's genuine enthusiasm for the project and her fellow cast members was evident, and EmJaye found herself embracing the positive energy that surrounded her.

Maria Bakalova, a newcomer to the Guardians family, extended a hand in greeting. Maria's humility and down-to-earth nature resonated with EmJaye, and they quickly struck up a conversation about their shared passion for storytelling.

Amidst the group, Chukwudi Iwuji, a respected actor known for his versatility, exuded a calm and grounded presence. His warm smile and genuine interest in EmJaye's journey in the music industry made her feel seen and appreciated. Chukwudi's wisdom and grace created an atmosphere of profound respect, reminding EmJaye of the power of collaboration and the beauty of shared experiences.

Once their baggage was safely stored onboard, the plane soared through the skies and the conversations flowed effortlessly. Surrounded by these talented actors, she realized that she was not just joining Will on this adventure but becoming a part of something much bigger.

Comic Con greeted them happily, and as the plane landed in San Diego, EmJaye felt a surge of excitement. She knew that this journey was about more than just a film or a single event — it was about the connections they had formed, the stories they had yet to tell, and the impact they could make together.

At the convention center, the energy was electrifying. Fans gathered in droves, dressed as their favorite characters from the realms of comics and movies. Hand in hand, they ventured into the vibrant storm of Comic Con. The crowd buzzed with excitement, their eyes drawn to the magnetic couple strolling through the halls. Fans recognized them, their voices rising in joyous exclamations and the flashing of cameras capturing the magical moments.

They explored the various booths, their steps synchronized and their laughter contagious, EmJaye couldn't help but be swept up in the whirlwind of the event. It was a world unlike any she had experienced before, a celebration of pop culture that ignited the passions of fans from all walks of life. News outlets clamored to have them interviewed together with journalists lining up, hoping to capture the chemistry that emanated from the couple. But amidst the flurry of attention, EmJaye and Will remained grounded in their choice to decline.

In between Will’s interviews and panels, their love bloomed amidst the chaos. They stole moments alone, hidden from prying eyes, where their lips met in tender kisses, their affection a flame that burned brightly.

The fans' excited cheers echoed through the halls as EmJaye and Will navigated the venue. She noticed the gleam in Will's eyes as he interacted with his fans, his genuine appreciation for their support was evident in every word he spoke. She admired his dedication and humility, realizing why he was so beloved.

As the day wore on, EmJaye and Will found solace in each other's presence, seeking refuge from the intensity of the event. They retreated to a quiet corner, their hands entwined as they shared their mutual excitement for what lay ahead for the two of them. The love that had blossomed in Paris had now spread its wings in the city of dreams, captivating hearts, and inspiring dreams of their own.

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice a soft murmur. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?” wondered Will as he carefully tucked a wayward strand of hair back in place. “By the way, did I mention that you look gorgeous? I love your hair.”

“I am.” Her smile mirrored his own and she tilted her head slightly, appreciating the sincerity in his words. "Thank you," she added. "I wanted to try something different, and I'm glad you like it."

Their eyes locked, a gentle warmth filling the space between them. EmJaye's heart fluttered, affection swirling within her. The desire to kiss Will was undeniable, an unspoken longing in the air.

But before their lips sealed in that tender moment, a familiar voice broke the spell. "Hey, lovebirds! Mind if I join the party?"

Startled, EmJaye and Will turned to find Chris Pratt, grinning mischievously, making his way toward them. They exchanged a knowing glance, a combination of amusement and mild frustration dancing in their eyes.

"Chris, always finding a way to interrupt," Will chuckled, releasing EmJaye from his embrace, though their hands remained intertwined. "Of course, join us."

Chris playfully nudged Will on the shoulder. "Just making sure you're not getting too carried away. We've got interviews to do, buddy."

EmJaye couldn't help but laugh at the banter between the two friends, and she admired the genuine friendship that Will shared with his co-stars.

Following behind Chris, they made their way back to the rest of the group for their interview with Entertainment Weekly.

“I found them, y’all!” announced Chris as he entered the room.

The journalist from Entertainment Weekly greeted them warmly, eager to delve into the world of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3 and the dynamic between the cast members.

Will took his seat between Chukwudi and Maria, a smile playing on his lips as he glanced at EmJaye who sat away from the cameras, her presence a source of comfort and inspiration. The interview commenced, and the questions flowed seamlessly, drawing out laughter and insightful responses from the cast.

The journalist couldn't help but notice the undeniable chemistry between Will and EmJaye, their stolen glances speaking volumes. Sensing an opportunity, she decided to steer the conversation toward their budding romance.

"So, Will, there have been some rumors swirling about your connection with singer-songwriter EmJaye. Care to shed some light on that?" the journalist asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

Will's smile remained intact, but a subtle shift in his demeanor indicated a guardedness. He glanced at EmJaye, a mix of affection and protectiveness shining in his eyes. "I understand the interest, but I prefer to keep my personal life private," he replied, his tone polite yet firm.

EmJaye admired Will's commitment to safeguarding their relationship from prying eyes, and understanding the importance of maintaining a balance between their public and private lives.

The interviewer nodded, understanding Will's boundaries. "Fair enough, Will. Let's shift gears then and talk about your experience filming Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3. What can fans expect from the film?"

The conversation flowed seamlessly from that point on, with the cast members delving into their characters, the intricate storyline, and the excitement of being part of such a beloved franchise. EmJaye beamed with pride as she listened to Will's passionate descriptions and watched his enthusiasm light up the room.

After an exhilarating day at Comic Con, EmJaye and Will found themselves in each other's company. Their connection had deepened, and they craved a quiet moment away from the hustle and bustle, deciding to head out for a romantic dinner. They approached a quaint Filipino restaurant tucked away on a charming street, the scent of delicious cuisine wafted through the air, enticing their senses. Will held the door for EmJaye, and she walked inside.

The ambiance was cozy and inviting, with soft lighting and intimate seating arrangements. They were greeted warmly by the restaurant staff and led to a private table adorned with flickering candles. They settled into their seats, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.

An attentive waiter soon approached, presenting them with menus filled with delectable dishes. Will chose to try the chef's special, a flavorful fusion of local ingredients, while EmJaye opted for a vegetarian delicacy that caught her eye.

As they awaited their meals, they engaged in lighthearted repartee, effortlessly transitioning from the joys and challenges of their respective careers to their dreams and aspirations. When their meals arrived, they delighted in the exquisite flavors that danced on their tongues, savoring every bite. The food served as a backdrop to their conversation, adding to the richness of the evening.

Will reached across the table, his hand gently grazing EmJaye's, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "This has been such a perfect day," he confessed, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

EmJaye smiled, her heart brimming with happiness. "I couldn't agree more. Thank you for this beautiful experience," she replied with gratitude.

EmJaye and Will’s lips drew closer for a passionate kiss, yet the familiar buzzing of their phones shattered the peacefulness of the evening. They reluctantly pulled away, their brows furrowing in confusion.

Her eyes widened as she read the message from her publicist, her heart racing. "Will, you won't believe this," she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

EmJaye held up her phone, showing him the tweet and an article that had just been published by People Magazine. A rush of emotions washed over them as they saw the headline, "EmJaye and Will's Blossoming Romance: Caught in a Moment of Passion at Comic Con!"

Their breath caught in their throats as they stared at the photo accompanying the article — a stolen shot of their kiss, captured by a stealthy paparazzo. The world had caught a glimpse of their private moment, and they were thrust into the spotlight in a way they hadn't expected.

Will broke the silence. "Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag," he said, his voice laced with a touch of irony. "We knew this would happen eventually, but it's still a shock."

"This can't be happening," EmJaye murmured, her voice trembling. "It's surreal seeing our private moments exposed like this.”

Will's hand found hers again, offering support and reassurance. "I know, sweetheart. It's overwhelming, but we'll get through this together."

After the initial shock subsided, they realized that they would have to face the consequences of their newfound exposure. They understood that their personal lives would now be scrutinized, analyzed, and speculated upon by the media and the public.

Exhaling a deep breath, EmJaye looked into Will's eyes, determination shining through. "No matter what happens, we'll stay true to ourselves," she vowed, her voice filled with resolve.

Will nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "Absolutely. Our relationship is built on trust and honesty. We won't let outside forces define us."

With their phones still buzzing with messages and notifications, they made a silent pact to confront the situation together. Their publicists would guide them through the storm, but EmJaye and Will would hold onto their connection, staying grounded amidst the chaos.

Hand in hand, they left the restaurant, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. The world may have discovered their romance, but EmJaye and Will knew that their love was worth protecting.

TO BE CONTINUED....

#flashin’ lights in a midst of darlin’ nights #will poulter #will poulter x black!ofc #will poulter x singer #will poulter x emjaye #will poulter fanfiction #will poulter imagine #emjayewrites #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock #guardianofthegalaxy3 #gotgvol3 #willpoulter

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ichorai · 2 years

Text

family tree ; bruce wayne.

track six of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x gn!reader

synopsis ; bruce didn't think he'd find family in you, of all people.

words ; 2.1k

themes ; fluff, slight angst, sorta childhood friends to almost-but-not-yet-there-lovers ??

warnings / includes ; mentions of death, allusions to childhood trauma, one mention of scars, bruce is a dramatic emo softie, alfred is just worried™, reader is a smartie, bruce is on the "save the bees" agenda from now on, an extension of the found family trope i'd say

main masterlist.

Bruce didn’t like it outside.

He wasn’t a fan of the way the sun would glare angrily into his tired eyes, nor was he too keen on the way the wind was blowing the dark strands of his hair away from his forehead. The birds were too loud, the ground felt uncomfortably soft beneath his boots, and he constantly had to raise his palms to gently wave away a bumblebee that merrily buzzed past his nose every five minutes.

But he liked you. He liked the way the sun looked on your skin, bathing you in a warm honey glow. He liked how you’d pluck at blades of grass and toss them for the wind’s mercy. He liked how you’d comment on how pretty he looked in his black hoodie despite it being so very hot outside.

So he bit down all his complaints and sat down beside you on a picnic blanket you’d spread out on the grass as you sketched into a large drawing pad, tapping the edge of the pencil against your bottom lip in thought. Bruce watched in rapt intrigue as you scribbled with mute concentration, creating a new design for his vigilante costume—something that he hadn’t ever meant for you to get involved in, but you found out nonetheless after connecting the dots (those dots being his runny black mascara he forgot to take off and the large collection of scars he steadily acquired). You were always the more intelligent of the two, anyways.

“What are those?” he asked quietly, pointing to the small bumps on his utility belt.

“Hidden storage units,” you responded at an equal decibel, sparing him a glance and a knowing smile that left his heart stuttering desperately against his ribcage. “A place where you can hide small devices people can’t find if you were to be searched. You know… just in case.”

“That’s smart,” commented Bruce, face remaining stoic as ever. You read him plain and clear, however, and nudged his shoulder affectionately before ducking your head back down to keep sketching.

It wasn’t often that he spoke on your little outings. That was perhaps one of Bruce’s favorite things about spending time with you. He didn’t feel like he was out of place with you—nor did he ever feel pressured to speak. If he had something to say, he knew you’d listen, and if not, he knew you were still there for him. Besides, he’d much rather listen to you talk—he quite liked your voice and highly respected your thoughts and opinions. And sometimes, just sometimes, you made funny jokes that’d make him let out a little laugh.

You’ve been a constant in his life ever since… well, ever since he lost his parents. Alfred had taken you in on a cold and stormy night more than two decades prior—you were drenched and shivering to the point of no return. The Wayne Manor was a desolate building, no place for a child so young and afraid. Nine-year-old Bruce watched from the shadows of his ghastly mansion that night, observing the moonlight on your tear-soaked cheeks, the stiffness of your fingers as it lifted the steaming mug of sweetened tea Alfred had fixed for you. He recognized the anguish in your youthful features—it was the very same as what he saw in the mirror every day.

As the weeks droned by, and Bruce came to realize that you were here to stay, you became a familiar figure in his life. In the beginning, he pretended like you were never there. He lived life like he did before—an emotional little boy with no idea what to do with said emotions. Only now, he was the very same but just… bigger and somehow even broodier. Oh, and with time he began talking to you, too, albeit barely more than two-word phrases at once. It took an excruciating ten years or so of walking on eggshells before Bruce finally grew close enough to you to call himself your friend. You were all quiet smiles and thoughtful gestures; it wasn’t that much of a surprise when he found himself falling head over heels for you, even though he was appalled at himself for feeling such a thing.

“Do you think we would’ve met if Alfred hadn’t taken me in all those years ago?” you postulated in the gentlest of tones, snapping him out of his reverie.

It took him another second to realize that you’d already packed away your sketchbook, now shuffling so that you could lie down on the blanket, staring up at him with a look that meant nothing good for Bruce. It was the look that always made him stumble over his words—the one where your eyes went all wide and inquisitive and affectionate. You were close; so close that your knees brushed against his side and your arm was pressed up next to his thigh. It didn’t help at all when Bruce inhaled sharply, the scent of park flowers and your honey-like perfume invading his senses. You were driving him crazy without even realizing it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted tentatively, voice hoarse from neglect. You briefly wondered if he’d had anything to drink today. “You’d probably know Batman. Not…” He trailed off before he could say his own name, gesturing vaguely to nothing.

“Not Bruce Wayne?” you murmured for him, hand reaching upwards to brush your knuckles over his sharp jaw, relishing in the way he leaned into your touch ever so slightly. “I think I prefer my Bruce over your dark alter ego.”

His heart nearly gave way when you called him yours. You weren’t wrong, though. He was yours.

“I’m not quite done with the new suit design yet, by the way,” you said, dropping your hand to trace random, mindless shapes into the blanket. “But I’m thinking of giving you more kevlar reinforcements—heat resistant and bullet proof. Besides, extra protection never hurts. What do you think?”

“Yeah, ‘s good,” he grunted out bluntly, nodding once. You hummed in response, a lazy smile curling at the corner of your lips.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence once more—with you watching the clouds drift by above and Bruce observing you do so.

When your phone buzzed in the pocket of your jeans, you twisted to fish it out, propping yourself up with your elbow resting across his lap, answering it with a swift, “Hello?”

Alfred’s concerned voice buzzed from the other end, and Bruce could faintly hear him ask where you were right now—and that dinner was ready and it’d get cold if you didn’t hurry back.

“Don’t be a worrywart, we’re coming!” you said with a mellifluous chuckle. “Bruce says hi, by the way.” Your eyes locked with his and an amused grin painted itself golden over your lips. “Alright, Alfred. I’ll tell him that. Love you, too.”

When you hung up, you removed your arm from him, and he had half the mind to grab your wrist and pull you closer once more. Obviously, he didn’t. His hands fidgeted anxiously in his lap. “What did he say?”

You fixed him with a humorous faux-glare. “He told me to tell you to stop drawing on the floor. Who knew spray paint was so hard to wash out, huh? I swear, I thought you grew out of that habit when you were fifteen!” you burst into several peals of laughter, clutching at your own abdomen at the thought of Alfred walking into a room full of random violent words and arrows spray painted all over the floor. Against his own will, Bruce could feel a grin twitch at his lips.

“Don’t laugh,” he gently admonished, prodding your arm. “I didn’t have any paper.”

“I literally live right across the hall from you,” you replied pointedly as you got up, ushering him off the blanket so you could fold it up. “You could’ve just asked. I have plenty of paper.” Then, after a considerable pause, you tacked on, “In fact, you could come to my room whenever you want. Whether you need paper for your nancy drew-ing or not, my door’s always open for you.”

Sometimes it felt like Bruce was constantly dangling on the very precipice of emotional turmoil, feet just barely skimming the surface of agony. But you were his tether to reality, his anchor to shore, the beam of light to guide his ship back to land. What did he ever do to deserve someone like you in his family?

Wait… did he just call you his family?

Family was the most fickle thing, Bruce mused. Family meant pure, undulated love and care—family didn’t have to only mean blood of his blood.

“You’re my family,” he said, so uncharacteristically sudden, flushing deeply when you looked back at him with those inquisitive, round eyes.

It was ridiculous at this point—he’d known you for upwards of twenty years and it was still hard to speak to you without losing his damn mind. Quite reminded him of how he still refused to tell the waiter at the local diner the two of you often frequented that he always orders a burger with no pickles (the acidity of the brine made his head hurt), even after receiving a burger stuffed to the brim with the accursed things, despite being a regular customer there for ages by now. You’d urge him to say something every single time, but knew not to push him too far—besides, he needed to learn how to deal with things like that himself.

He sucked in a breath. This time, slower, he added, “You… You mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.”

He cautiously waltzed around the word love because he’d probably combust into spontaneous flames if he professed his love for you in the middle of a bee-infested park. What made it all the worse was the fact that you’d often casually say the dreaded L word to him as if it were a regular greeting. It frustrated him to no end because he wasn’t entirely sure if you meant platonic love or romantic love. Or both. Bruce was just happy you loved him at all, if he was to be honest. Don’t get him wrong, he was very much content with platonic affection, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the latter kind of love from you.

And it wasn’t like he’d never tried to tell you about his true feelings before. There was that one time he made you sit down and listen to Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana after hours of psyching himself up, carefully watching you for your reaction. If sharing his utmost favorite song from his most favorite band with you wasn’t enough for you to take the hint of his extremely profound and complicated feelings, Bruce supposed it was hopeless for him.

He’d always had a flair for the dramatics, hadn’t he?

The blanket you were holding crumpled beneath your tight grip. You blinked once, then twice. Bruce wanted the ridiculously soft ground to open up and swallow him whole. How embarrassing—this was probably the most he’d ever vocalized how he felt for you. He wanted to run back home and lock himself into his dark room that stank of toxic spray paint chemicals.

Recognizing his subtle distress, you stepped forward and placed a hand on his pectoral, the other coming to tenderly lodge itself beneath his chin, maneuvering his dark gaze to look away from the grass and to you. “Oh, Bruce. You’re my family, too,” you assured him with a sweet smile that made his insides cave in on themselves. “And you mean the world to me. More than you can ever know.”

The last sentence was said with somewhat of a bittersweet, hollowed tone, and Bruce could feel his mind gear up into overthinking panic mode. What did you mean by that? Was there even the slightest chance his feelings were reciprocated? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but oh—he could already feel his hopes getting up.

“Now, c’mon, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Alfred is at his wit’s end with us right now. We should get back before he ruptures a blood vessel or something.”

His stomach coiled into nervous knots when you slipped your free hand into his, lacing your fingers together, tugging him out of the secluded park to go back home. A bumblebee flew past his ear for the millionth time since he stepped out of the comfort of his expansive manor. Bruce didn’t like it outside, but with you—with his family that he L worded—he supposed he’d be able to tolerate it.

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