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nexusnyx · 1 year

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moment's silence

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 7 — The night I lost a bet. [“You know what this means, don’t you?”] [6.6k]

— Summary: Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him with the book. Had he rambled about you that much? It seemed impossible—to be fair, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet. Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

— A/n: Canon-divergence; Reader and Tess met Joel at the same time, and all three became a tight-knit unit. | 🏷️ Tags & warnings⚠️: explicit mature content, minors DNI; age gap, mentions of canon-typical violence, confessions, touch starved, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving), slow & deep sex, but also rough sex?, dirty talk, little spoon Joel.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

All he can think about when he sees the bookshelf is your words, even if they were spoken on a whim years ago.

"There's no fucking way you can find a classic in good conditions anymore—not even Joel 'I can find anything' Miller is immune to decay and years of nature taking over. They're all gone, Joel. I just have to accept it. I bet there's not a single one that hasn't been wrecked by either people's ignorance or fucking mold eating every single page."

He remembered those words as clear as the day's first rays of light.

Not because of them, precisely. Because of what came after. He had blurted, "Bet what?" out of sheer instinct, only for you to reply with:

"Anything."

Maybe you were being metaphorical at the time, but Joel took it seriously. He outreached his hand for you to shake. "I'll take that bet."

If he never found a book, nothing would change.

If he won, on the other hand. Well—there's something Joel's been wanting from you for a long, long time.

That's why when he enters Bill's house for the first time, Joel stops dead in his tracks on the corridor leading to the kitchen.

You'd been to the house before with him and Tess.

Just like him, you had stood outside the whole time while Tess and Frank went about their rambles and deals. You, Joel, and Bill were all cut out from the same cloth—death stares etched onto your faces as if you were marble, grumbled conversation that came up here and there between long sips of wine.

Neither you nor Joel had been inside yet.

It's the third time he visits, first one without you, and he sees it—

Bookshelf.

One of Bill's doors is open on the way to the kitchen revealing what used to be an office but now looks more like a symbiosis of an atelier and library. It's — nice, Joel guesses.

It's not his thing.

Books — those are your thing.

Joel has no idea what connects you to the pages, but he knows it runs deeper than just academic pleasure, or snobbiness (an assumption made by many who met you).

It's as if whatever elements existed within paper, inked with words that strung together beautiful stories — it moved you.

Joel was entranced by the way you were able to quote several passages.

Few things remained that were worthy of admiration, or interest. He easily placed your small and precious book collection high above on his list.

That, and your ability to bring those stories to life somehow.

"Are you a reader?" Bill's voice is expected — Joel heard his steps approaching and stopping behind him when he did.

He scanned all the shelves, so he looks back to answer Bill. "Not really. Tess never mentioned who's the little Librarian between us? Our reader's absent today."

"If my, uh... —

If mine... if they brought strangers into our situation... I wouldn't be happy either."

"Oh. Well. They seem to listen to you as well as mine listens to me."

"I hope she feels better soon." Bill says the words and they sound so real. Spoken freely, not through gritted teeth or accompanied by his usual stiff shoulders.

Joel's hands rested on his hips. "Yeah." He hated this part — with Bill and Frank it was harder to not talk about things. He was pretty sure Bill didn't even like him, just like Joel didn't like him that much, but they saw each other. Understood one another. "Yeah, me too."

"The medicine you gave — it helped." That came out through gritted teeth. Joel held back from smiling at the unspoken admission—you sold me real shit. It's saving my partner. Thanks. "Frank's talking about — lavender. Herb garden and all. God."

Joel snickers and they exchange a look. "Good luck with that."

"I'll definitely need it." Bill's hands pat his sides, and Joel recognizes his motion before bolting out of a conversation. "Feel free to look at them," he waves a hand in direction of the shelf before leaving Joel there alone.

He does look.

One by one, Joel checks the titles because if you were here, that's what you'd do, and "when in doubt, always do what you must".

He hated that your words stuck to his brain so easily.

They were sticky like honey, which also resembled your voice. Or maybe that was only the way he heard it — Joel enjoyed listening to you talk.

"When in doubt, always do what you must" came after he left behind some supplies in order to help during a run, and you'd gotten mad at him for the first time.

It was then that Joel noticed how fucking tough you were.

Complete the mission. Help when you can. Do what you must.

If he was here already, he might as well read all the titles. Who knew how long he'd last? If he'd be here again, or if you would?

When his eyes land on Frankenstein, Joel knows he hit the jackpot.

That's when the memory of your bet sparks behind his eyelids, and he's cursed with the way you smiled that day.

Anything.

There was something Joel wanted, badly.

He cut out his own permission to want anything that strayed from finding Tommy again, getting clues to somehow discover a way to find his brother, get him back, but you planted the seed in his subconscious by simply existing — he was powerless to stop it.

One second, you and Tess walked into his life.

The next, he had on one side a best friend who cursed as much as him and on the other a menace who popped into his subconscious state, giving him dreams for the first time in years.

You two brought back a sense of humanity into his day-to-day life.

In return, Joel tried his best to do good for both of you.

Keep you safe however he could. Slip extra ration cards into your stack so you could more.

Small things like that — things that he later realized were only the seeds for the want that blossomed.

Joel wanted you out of the smuggling business.

He wanted you to be safe.

It was fucking ridiculous.

Your hand never missed the trigger timing — if there was anyone around the neighborhoods he lived more skilled in knives than you, he'd eat his own hand, and you were clever.

Quick, sharp, rational.

Despite all of that, he hated the sight of your back whenever a deal had them going outside.

Every time he saw a pistol or any other weapon in your hands, he wanted to throw it away as hard as he could.

And here he was, facing Frankenstein.

Anything.

Fuck. Joel hated how he hesitated.

If it belonged to anyone else, his hands would've already made the book meet the secret parts of his backpack, but he couldn't do this to contacts so good like Frank and Bill.

He couldn't fuck up this one.

Shit.

(Maybe he did like the two men, after all. Just a little.)

Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him the book.

One minute they're sitting alone drinking scotch while Tess and Frank finish up the trade and the next, they're talking about old hobbies they regretted not paying more attention to. Conversing like two normal people. Like Tess and Frank do, only without all the niceness and excitement.

At one point, Bill asks, "Did you see anything you liked?"

It takes a second for Joel to realize he's talking about the room and the shelf. Joel shakes his head. "Wasn't a big fan of readin'." A lie, he thinks. "Even that's a stretch. I — probably should've done it more now that I think about it."

Bill's answer is a hum. "Yeah. Lots of things I wish I should've done. Properly. Piano's one of them."

Joel eyes the item in the room. He recalls you and Tess talking about how Frank was lucky to know an instrument. "Frank's good at it, though?"

"He was rustier when he arrived, but yeah — he's doing good now."

Joel admires that. Some things are probably talent, he figures. "Practice's everything. 's why I feel bad for people whose thing was, like, artsy. Y'know?" He lists you and Frank as examples. "They ain't got means to do what they really love now."

That's when Bill shares that Frank paints. Piano and drawn, painted art — that was nice. Frank probably missed a lot of things.

If what you said was true and artists withered without their art like some plants did without sun or water, then he must be sad nowadays.

The new information sparks up a memory. The abandoned art supply on Canbose with 5th Street — was it possible there were some there?

Joel kept the doubts to himself so as to not spark any hopes of things he'd fail to deliver, but the real surprise is that he and Bill have their first conversation there.

It's a nice one.

Joel loathes that his brain comes up with the knowing looks both you and Tess would give him and Bill if either of you saw the way the two men can converse so easily once the guns are gone.

Bill's — he's okay.

Rough around the edges, sure, but in polished, sturdy ways.

He's also a little box of Pandora.

The last thing Joel could expect was being called aside by Bill before he leaves with Tess, only to find him hiding behind the door waiting for him with a furtive air in his stance, as if there could be any secrets that they'd keep from theirs.

Bill extends the copy of Frankenstein without meeting Joel's eyes. "Here." He all but shoves it into Joel's hands, and then nods. "It's the one you kept touching."

There's no reason to play bargain or pretend this is a gift he's too humble to accept.

He does as he's told, thanks Bill with a long nod, and walks out.

It does beat at his mind on the walk back to the QZ, though—had he rambled about you that much?

It seemed impossible—to be fair, he always managed to keep the conversation away from himself, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet.

Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTWO DAYS LATER

The smell of your apartment envelops him every time.

Everything's open.

You keep plants hung in several places on your wall, and they're all so tall and green. Big, imponent, and your habit of walking through the place and touching one of them, sometimes going as far as plucking a leaf or petal out of them—the air suddenly turned into myrrh, lavender, eucalyptus.

Joel wished he smelled nothing other than here.

"Heard you were feelin' better," Joel says as soon as he has eyes on you.

There's more color on your cheeks. When you smile, Joel sees it reach your eyes even if it remains small in your lips. "Still feel like shit, though."

Tongue sharp as ever, then.

He chuckles and walks in as you move aside in invitation, gaze checking through the apartment as he takes off his shoes.

Joel always pays attention to everything that surrounds you.

While you ask about the trades you missed, he takes note of the spotless state of everything around him. Stainless windows, shiny floor, a sharp citrus scent lingering even around you.

Stress cleaning — check.

"Did you finish the food I gave ya?"

"Of course," you answer. Joel's happy to hear that — you ate very little on the first day you got sick, and he gave you some of his food to make sure you ate.

The two of you take a sit in the kitchen, and as you talk about work, he analyzes you better.

You had your most comfortable clothes on. They came from a box he found not long ago that was your size exactly; the shirt has wet stains on your chest, and your wet hair tells him you felt good enough today for the first time in a while.

Good enough to gather the patience to wash your hair in the sink.

"Don't mind Inoctus, you know he says that shit about the Fireflies all the time. I ain't gonna argue with him again," Joel waves a hand, and then gets to the part he wanted to talk about. "Never mind him, though — did Tess tell you about what Bill and Frank found for us? What Frank fixed?"

"No, not yet."

Excellent. "We've got some good news. Oh — and before I forget. D'you think that art supply on Canbose still has some supplies left?"

"The one that intersects with the 5th?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I don't see why it wouldn't have," you shrug your shoulders. "It's close enough to the QZ for it not be completely raided and I don't see who would prioritize stealing art supplies in the middle of everything." It made sense to Joel, and he felt a rare sense of giddiness tingling. "Why?"

He leans back on the chair. "Frank's a painter."

"No way."

Joel grins — you understood him. "Yes, way."

"Fucking hell. Is there anything he doesn't do?"

He laughs. "I know. I felt the same way."

"He plays the piano, he should be obliged by law to stick to that cool thing."

Joel likes it when you're feeling a little petty — the scrunch on your nose is adorable. He wants to pinch it between his fingers, even if he never did. "Anyway..." He shares the other updates about the trip to their house without you, then talks about the people who contacted him — the ones that gave him any trouble are your expertise, and Joel loves the set on your brows when you're listening.

He has no idea how someone who looks so precious can have such a wicked mind.

"She looks so — I don't know. Not this ingenious. Mean. How the fuck does someone who's always hummin' songs under her breath can intimate grown-ass man?"

"You're the only fucker who thinks she looks like an angel, Joel."

"Nah, we both know that's a lie."

"No, you're just delusional. If anyone thinks she looks angelic you better bet they're comparing her to Lucifer."

Was he? Delusional.

Tess always made him feel like he was faced with a Truth Mirror whenever he opened his big mouth around her.

After a couple of hours, you've already cooked some things — with the little help he could offer — for the both of you, taken notes of the people you need to talk to.

Joel realizes that time passes only when you.

Outside of your presence, it's all a snowball. Stale.

"Ah, shit." You get up in a rush.

"What?"

"Almost lost the time for my pills again," you mutter under your breath.

"You really need a watch." From where he sits at your kitchen table he can see your profile — the roll of your eyes. He huffs in disbelief, ignoring the feeling of his mouth tugging in the corners.

After you take your med, you sit on the couch and find his gaze from across the room. "Clean the table for me?"

Joel never says no to you.

Not for lack of want — fucking god must know how many times he's craved saying it, enunciating each letter with gusto. No.

It never came out.

He cleans the table thinking about how much he's delaying it.

The book's inside his duffel bag that remained next to your door all this time, but it weighs on his back somehow.

He did more than just clean the table as he tried pushing down the little mean jabs his mind took at itself.

You can't force her to stay outta business.

She ain't never listened to a soul in her life—who are you to tell her what to do?

Once every while, you would venture into Joel's personal space and place a finger where his brows pinched together. The first time it happened, the effect had been immediate—Joel was so shocked by the act that his whole face relaxed; not his body, though. His body froze, and he had stood there in a perfect portrayal of a statue.

You do that when he sits on the couch.

Your presence is so damn familiar to him that even lost in his own mind, he finds his way through the maze. He sits by your side, leans back, and drops his head on the couch.

When he feels your finger touching his frown, Joel opens his eyes.

"What's bothering you?" Your finger leaves, and he misses it.

Joel turns his head to the side. "Nothin'." He likes the way the color's back to your cheeks. A week on anti-inflammatory meds made you a little gray, and nothing about you was dull.

"You're a shit liar," you say.

He scoffs. "No, I'm not."

"You really are, though," you argue, fighting a smile. "And just so you know, your accent gets thicker the harder you try."

At that, he frowns. "No, it doesn't—" and fuck, he hears it. How the fuck did you notice that? His frown deepens, and you chuckle at him. "You pay attention to the strangest fuckin' things." It's said in the same gruff way he says most things, but there's enough admiration underneath it that you hear it for what it is.

"And thank god for that — it's what's kept me alive. Us alive," you snort, giving yourself the credit you're due for once.

In the end, he blurts it out. "I found it."

"Found what?" you ask, truly confused at the abrupt change.

"Something you told me I couldn't."

"That's... oddly vague," you reply. "I name a lot of things you can't find. You seem to think you have superpowers."

"No powers. Just talent." He shrugs, and gets up to retrieve the book. "What's the one thing you told me there was 'no fucking way' I could find?"

The second it takes for your brain to connect the dots is the time Joel needs to find the copy in his bag.

Joel sees your eyes dropping to it when he turns around. Widening. Freezing that way. Your lips parting only a couple of inches as your jaw slowly drops.

He sits with more satisfaction on your couch than he's sat anywhere in a long time.

The book falls with a soft thud between your bodies.

All the space he puts between you two is replaced by it —

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asks.

When you look up, Joel's caught off guard.

The moisture in your eyes shines under the light coming from your kitchen. Joel's throat becomes restricted by an invisible force, and his eyes sting in response to the sight.

"What the fuck, Joel?" your hands pick up the book with a reverence that makes his skin tingle. "Where... how —" both times you start, then stop. "My god." He just watches. You turn the book around, eyeing every millimeter. "This is real," you mutter. He's aware you're not even talking to him at this point. "Have you—" you look up at him, and he feels special enough, "have you opened it? Are the pages—it's whole?"

The way you breathe out the word.

A reverence. So sacred.

Joel might as well consider the bet paid if he wasn't so far gone on what he wants.

Kind of.

"It's whole," he confirms.

Joel almost opens up his mouth to make a teasing remark. Ask if you'd like to be left alone with it, maybe. Instead, he lets you examine it to your heart's will, which takes a while.

He's always comfortable in the silence with you.

That's when he started realizing the trouble he was in.

When he came over just to sit at the same table as you. Have dinner in silence while you cleaned your guns. Sometimes, he'd imagine a bottle of scotch would make the two of you end up in whispered conversations under the dim, yellowish lights of your place, but it never happened.

Joel's too much of a coward to let his guard down with you.

He wouldn't be able to do what he did with the others — a sweet release in the dark; an impersonal match of bodies, mingled in sweat and joined in more ways than it should seem possible, but never looking each other in the eye.

You looked him straight into his soul when you spoke to him. Every time.

"This means... you won the bet," you say.

Joel blinks out of his thoughts. "Sure does."

"So." You put the book down gently on your lap, then gaze at him, eyes piercing into his. "What d'you want?"

Tough question. Joel felt the tingle that never left his skin covering him from head to toe. His throat constricts around the words — his body starts to heat up. He shakes his head, and is overwhelmed by how the air seems to charge between you both. He licks his lips, and says.

Like a coward, his eyes fall on Frankenstein before he speaks.

"Can't have what I want." The naked truth. What's the point of lying to you, anyway? You're a shit liar. "So I'll ask for a close second," he adds quickly. Something magnetic pulls at him, and he looks up — a mistake. Fucking mistake—you never looked at him this way. Is that red on your cheeks? "I — uh; I want a voucher. A veto power."

You blink, utterly confused. "What?"

"A veto power over you." It's the closest he could think of on his way here. Some kind of power, since Joel has no right to demand anything from you. "On a decision. I—If you said you're comin' on a mission, for example. I could say 'no. Veto.' and that'd be it. No arguments. I want a veto card over you. Just one."

You stare at him for a few seconds, and Joel can almost see the engines in your brain turning.

Joel sometimes feels you're more than just yourself. The eyes on your head see far beyond what's in front of them, and he feels naked quite often when in front of you.

"Just tell me what you want," you say.

Can't have what I want, he told you. He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

"How would you know?"

"I just do," he argues.

"Maybe you're wrong."

"I'm not!" The storm swirls and lifts him from the couch. Joel turns his back to you, overcome by the reality of it all. "I know I'm not. There isn't—what I want is impossible. There's no such thing anymore. It ain't like the books, or finding fucking chocolate or—it ain't. I wanted you safe. How fuckin' stupid is that—" he chokes on air, gasping around the words. "There's no safe anymore." Softer, and lower, it comes out again. "There's no safe."

Most of the time, Joel's control is kept on a tight leash. His hands have a vicious grip around it because if he loosens it, it'll run off.

His hands are shaking now. He should turn back to face you, to see if he's just said too much or fucked it up somehow, but—you get up. He hears the squeaking of the couch and your steps approaching.

Then, as slowly as you approached him when you first met, he feels it:

Your hands slide around his middle. Your palms spread across his back and contour his waist, and you're hugging him—you hug him from behind, and Joel's chest expands with the air that your presence brings.

"Joel." You hug tighter. He can feel your upper body pressed against his back, and his hands come up to rest on top of yours, shaking as they are. He wants to speak up, but you beat him to it. "I thought I was going crazy, Joel."

Crazy? He is going crazy. You're wrapped around him and the world is yet to implode; Joel feels a knot in his throat that wasn't there before. "Why?"

It hits him — the answer.

Before you're able to say it hits him in the chest, because your hands grip him by the ribcages but not with force; all your fingers need to do is apply gentle pressure on him and Joel feels that you want him to move, so he lets you.

You spin him inside your hold, and Joel goes willingly.

When he's turned and facing you, the answer is there, all over your face.

Your hands stay on his back, but your eyes are searching on every inch of his face for any sign, for anything to deter you from what you want to do.

Joel sees it. He is delusional.

"I want the impossible too," you say. It comes out in a soft whisper, and Joel mentally curses all the moments of silence between you two where he felt the air as palpable as you inside his arms right now. When you looked at him, almost through him, and he turned a blind eye to it in fear that it was exactly what he wanted and craved for. "Is it — too much?"

He's incapable of answering.

His hands come up to your face, and he fits his palm on the set of your jar, where his thumb can touch your cheeks.

You melt to the touch, eyes closing along the way.

All those times you two shared a laugh and a look, and the silence hung in the air as your eyes were unable to leave each other — this. It could've been this.

"Tell me to stop and I will," is all he can say before he dives.

Joel meets you underwater.

The same way you're drowning in his hands with all of your weight supported on his body, Joel submerges as his mouth meets your kiss.

It's a waiting game — you were waiting for the moment he'd realize, he thinks.

Joel may be out of touch with reality itself, but some things can pierce through different dimensions.

Raw things never fail to elicit the strongest form of feeling and your desire pulls him under—real, demanding.

Although he remembers being a vocal partner in bed, he has no words or taunting remarks for you—he'd rather kiss.

Your mouth parts so eagerly for him that Joel wants to shut up.

He has you shutting up, moaning in his mouth as his tongue slides on yours. His fingers grip tighter on your hair. Your arms cling to him, then both of them let go to wrap around his shoulders instead, and Joel feels the despair as you climb up higher, as you press your body harder against him.

He understands it. Empathizes, even — he's feeling it on him the same way.

Your desperate, wet kisses rekindle connections long lost in his brain.

Joel remembers the desperate and insane horniness of youth when hormones mix with inexperience and everything feels new and like a raw, open nerve.

This tastes like those moments.

It'd been so long since Joel was touched and your hands start a mapping of his body that start to get him drunk.

It hits him that it's you. He's kissing you, and you're kissing back with so much force that he has no air, there's no air in his lungs—

He pulls back, gasping, and feels your nails digging into his scalp. The moan scratches the back of his throat and Joel only notices his eyes are still closed when your forehead touches his and your breath starts mingling with his.

Opening his eyes is a blessing. And a curse, most likely.

Seeing your mouth swollen and puffy makes him greedy.

Then — "Are you stopping?" you ask. Hoarse voice. Breathless. "I didn't tell you to stop," you add, whining.

Joel picks you up in one motion, and the laughter that bubbles out of your chest reminds him that you're light — you're the ghost that pops up in his dreams shining with the pink hue of sundown and you're the hope of his mornings, the scent of coffee and pages and herbs that make him feel like this earth could still have a sense of home even if he denies that fact, gritting his teeth at the fact the world still goes on.

He pins you against the nearest wall. One without a shelf, or furniture.

With you pressed against the wall, he has better support. He can trace your thighs with his palm, can get his hands underneath your cotton shorts, your blouse.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you ask him. Your head hits the wall behind you, and Joel looks up to see you watching him as he maps you. You visibly swallow when your gazes meet, and Joel wants to say so fucking much, but nothing comes out at first.

All he wants is to make the pink on your lips become permanent.

He wants to rip every item of clothing on you with his hands, and wants to —

"Joel," you lean forward, capturing his lips in a kiss and stealing all the images he had of you pinned on your own wooden floor, cheeks pressed against it as he took you from behind.

When your tongue meets his, Joel feels something snapping.

He growls into the kiss, both of his hands groping your asscheeks as he desperately grinds his hips against your body.

This kiss is even better than the first, even if it kills all of his oxygen faster.

Joel never kissed like this. Not this messy, this wet and sloppy mess of need, and dry humping, and swallowing your moans only to have them be echoed back to you when you grind your hips down in the perfect way—

When he pulls back for air this time, Joel grips your head by the hair, making a fistful at your nape.

"This is not just now, is it?" he asks. His own voice sounds like sandpaper and pure lust, and he's not even beginning.

"No, no," you shake your head. "I need you, Joel."

"Fuckin' hell," he has more to say, but now he needs you naked. "'m gonna take off your clothes. Then I'm gonna eat your pussy 'cause I've thought about it too many fuckin' times." Your jaw falls open at him, and Joel smiles despite himself. "Yeah. You gonna let me, baby? Hm?"

Your only answer is to nod desperately, grinding against him as your eyes close.

Joel's in heaven. "Did I win what I want?" he asks.

"What?"

"My veto," he pulls you away from the wall and starts carrying you to your bedroom. "I still want it. Can't have the impossible but I can have a veto."

You laugh as he kicks your door open. "You want a fucking veto? Joel, all you have to do is hold me by the chin and say 'no' or 'yes' and I'd do it. It's that simple. Always have been. " You grab his face between your hands and pierce him with those All Seeing Eyes. "I'll give you your veto, if that's what you want." You kiss his lips, sighing softly. "'m sorry I can't promise you I'll be safe, but I can promise I'll try."

Joel knows he's about to do something that can't be taken back when he lies you down.

He nods just so you know he understood, but the knot's formed again and if he speaks, Joel will cry — the words wouldn't come out anyway, even if he wants to say them.

Joel's unsure if they haven't been burned out of his tongue.

He takes off your clothes one by one. Ironic for someone who wanted them ripped to pieces not a minute ago, but to have you laid in front of him soothes the desperation somehow.

His plans get interrupted, though, because once you're naked and all of his brain is mushed into nothing but skin skin you you touch touch touch, you stop him from kneeling down at the edge of the bed with a touch and one request, "You too?" your gaze is so open and vulnerable that his hands go to his shirt. "No — lemme. Please."

Joel does, and you do the same to him, taking his clothes off one by one.

When you drop to his knees in front of him, Joel is powerless.

He's too stunned to say or do anything but look.

Even his hands that itch to touch only manage to do so when they're flying for some support so his knees don't buckle and he falls — you grab his cock by the base with one hand, look up until his eyes are locked on yours, and then licks a wet stripe from his balls to the tip.

Then you do it again, and again, until Joel's coated in saliva, and you can suck around the tip, swallowing him down in one go.

He grips your hair for life support, cursing under his breath.

Joel's vocal about how much you're fucking killing him.

You go at it slowly, which is even more torture, but he gets it. He remembers you talking about not being with a person for the longest time. How it made no difference for you to have the physical or not because the attraction wasn't there unless there something underneath it — for someone who's out of practice, you must have the knowledge.

Your tongue runs on the sensitive skin between the dick and his balls, your mouth suctions when it's taking him down and when you start bobbing your head, using your hand to cover the parts your mouth can't reach, Joel has to physically pull you back.

"Stop, stop —" his hand on your hair pulls you back, and Joel curses again when you whine at having to let go. "'m gonna fuck you, baby, it's okay, 's okay," he gets you up by the neck, and is kissing you right after.

That's how he falls in bed with you — with his cock leaking pre-cum, his back already coated in sweat and your mouth tasting like him.

Joel eases the fall with his hand, not wanting to crush you with his weight. He wants to eat you out — Joel wants to bury his face in you, but when he makes a move to go down, your legs clamp around his waist and your head starts shaking.

You pull back from his kiss, "No — later, you can do that later, just — please," you guide your hand between your bodies to hold him and guide his cock to your entrance. "Waited too long, Joel."

I need you, Joel.

"Wait, wait — " it'll be over too fast if he sees you all the time. Joel has an idea. "A position that's better for you first. I wanna see you too, but I want you to feel good. Turn around for me."

"You want me on all fours?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Just turn around."

You obey him, and Joel grabs one of your pillows to push under your waist. You rest your cheek on the one under your head, and he positions himself first before crowding your space with his head on the crook of your neck.

He dips his fingers in first, spreading your wetness all over you before lining up.

It's sinful how good the position is.

He fills you up, bottoming all the way out. Joel's thick, but not too long, and he knows this angle is as good for you as it is for him. "Feels good?" he asks in your ear.

Your only response is his name.

"Is that a yes?" he pulls all the way out, and slams it back in, wanting to feel the drag. Wanting to feel your walls clamping around him. How you open up to accommodate all of him. "'Cause you feel like — fuckin' heaven, baby — louder, say it louder —"

"Feels amazing, Joel," you cry.

He knows it does. Joel hasn't felt anything remotely close to pleasure in a long time, so this might be too much, he might be in danger of growing an addiction, but he's past caring.

He drags it out.

Joel wanted to fuck you senseless a while ago, but now all he wants is to stay buried in the tight and warm haven of your cunt until you're both too spent to move a muscle. "'m gonna stay — all fuckin' night — inside you, baby — hm, whaddaya think?"

"Yes, please—"

"God, I love — that's all you can say to me."

"Don't stop," you cry out louder.

"I won't." He couldn't.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't.

Joel thrusts into you slow, measured and deep, until the heat in his groin is climbing like your nails digging at his sides. He loses count of how many times he sucks on your shoulders, how many bite marks you must have on your neck, of how many single-worded compliments he spills in your ears as he fucks the words out of you.

When you beg to cum, Joel flips you over and hoists your leg higher so he can go in deeper, and he fucks you the way you've been begging him to — crying around his fingers for harder, and faster, Joel, please, please, I'm not gonna break —

He gives it to you like both of you have been dying to receive, and when your legs start shaking around him and his name drops from your lips in a scream, Joel pulls out, coating your stomach in the hot strings of his cum.

He doesn't collapse on top of you, which is a miracle.

He does lay strategically next to you in order to avoid his own mess until he's able to feel his legs again.

Your fingers thread his hair during that time.

The spasms of your legs make him smile, and the little hums that leave you without you even realizing make Joel float on his bliss.

When he comes back to himself, he gets up to get a warm towel. He cleans you both, just enough so sleeping is okay. He pulls up the duvet and puts you underneath it before climbing under as well.

When he lays, Joel expects you to turn around;

Instead, you wrap around him in octopus style, and whisper, "Turn around."

He obeys, and is rewarded by you spooning him.

Joel thinks he might be dreaming.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" you ask after a while.

Your bodies are as tangled as they can be. Your hands caress the hairs on his chest and your breath is on his neck, and still, you are stared he'll leave.

"D'you want scrambled eggs or you prefer the toast?" he replies.

There's a kiss on his neck. Another on his shoulder. He grabs one of your hand to pull it to his lips, and kisses it.

"Scrambled."

"'kay. Where d'you keep your sugar? I can never find it."

"I'll show you tomorrow," you kiss his shoulder, and squeeze his body. "Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He can feel your smile because your lips are on his skin. He's gonna use that more, he thinks. "I might wake up rubbing myself all over you," you whisper.

He laughs. "Fine by me."

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 💖

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back, you know... or what you thought of this one.. just saying... <3

#usernexusnyx #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #nightskychallenge #joel miller fanfiction

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tojivu · 6 months

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# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagine #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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cryptidcorners · 6 months

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Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

#🎮 josh futturman #josh futturman #josh futturman x reader #future man #headcanons #josh hutcherson #writing #writers on tumblr #future man 2017

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sehodreams · 2 months

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who in riize would you think that will be in a phone call with the reader in the middle of the night just to listen her voice talking about nothing? (maybe i have something about this and this question comes through my mind). And i really, really love "sex, money, feelings, die", it's sooooo good. Sorry english is not my first language.

I'm so happy you like sex money feelings die, I thought people would get tired of their silly conversations on the phone this last chapter but I'm glad it wasn't that bad hahahaha

Don't worry babe, english is not my first language either, we're here doing our best to learn!

This is more a how would calls with them be, I imagined them all and it was so cute 😭👌

Tw and tags: pure fluff, a little suggestive with Shotaro.

Eunseok definitely would be the kind of guy who sends you a text at 2 am to ask if you're awake, and the minute he sees you've read his message he'd call you, ''Why are you calling me at this hour?'' you'd ask, and he'd reply with a ''Why are you awake if you don't want me to call you?'', to make you laugh and then ask you about random stuff just to hear you until you or him fall asleep.

Anton is needier, he likes his daily night call, so every day at the same time you'd receive a text from him asking if he can call you, and when you say yes, he'd immediately do it, but I see him, more than talking, asking you questions to hear you ramble, and if you ask him the same question back, he'd softly laugh a bit embarrassed, ''sorry, got lost in your voice for a second, what were we talking about?''

Sungchan seems like the kind of guy who also loves his daily call, but he also seems like he would rather talk while you listen, and even if he says nothing and you either, he wants you to stay on the phone with him just to feel your company.

Sohee wouldn't call you, you'd call him, and he loves that. I see him more as the type who prefers texting, but he would never say no to you asking if you can call him, patiently listening to you and giving you answers when you need them. However, what I also see, is he falling asleep with your voice, and after a few times like that he'd be stuck to his phone waiting for your name to appear on his screen every night.

Seunghan would call you and plan little activities to not fall in silence, you can't tell me he doesn't make his girlfriend download silly games to play while you two talk for HOURS.

Wonbin doesn't seem like the kind who rambles much on the phone, but he still likes long phone calls, just listening to you breathe or even singing, leaving little comments every now and then and only hanging up when you beg him to let you go (at the end he'd take screenshots of how many hours you've been on the call to show it off to the other boys).

Shotaro likes to hear your voice but I think he prefers even more to see you, so he'd ask for short video calls if you're not busy, and a long one once a week, asking you to model for him if you bought something new or just to see you better (you can't tell me this man won't love those calls to have a... happy ending).

#riize x reader #riize fluff #riize imagines #riize scenarios

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ughgoaway · 3 months

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my favourite fics and writers

hi, y'all!! so I've decided that this year, I want to be more appreciative of all the amazing content we have on this app, and thank the writers providing it. this was inspired by Lily (lastnightwaskindofablur) who shared how long it took her to write her series, and it made me realise how much time and love are poured into these fics.

so this list is basically everyone im following, and my favourite piece of writing from them! I don't think I've forgotten anyone, but if I have IM SO SORRY!! if I am following you- I'm obsessed with you.

anyway, so sorry for tagging 1000 people but I love and appreciate you all so much!!

(so much rambling below the cut)

@64yrsold; “aches” is amazing and “wintering” is heartbreaking in the best way. Also, all of their one-shots are just amazing, I could read them over and over again!!

@abiiors; is not only one of the nicest people on this app (and maybe the world) but also one of the most talented writers. so so many amazing fics that honestly, don't even get me started on bc I will talk for HOURS. but “haunt//bed” is one fic I can't stop coming back to. And “Three’s a Party” is… mind-numbingly good, it actually made me scream into a pillow when I read it for the first time. Vee also creates all the amazing 75 Tumblr activities so really she is to thank for SO MUCH content on here!! one of the kindest people I know, and I feel so lucky to call her my friend :)))

@yourtouchismidas; “ruins” was one of the first fics that had me checking AO3 every day for updates. truly heartbreaking and all-encompassing. and all the blurbs from it are also amazing. The dad! Matty content mixed with the angst is just so well done.

@shinycollarboneapologist; was the blog where I started rambling and sharing ideas, so she is to thank for all the friends I've made on here!!! The Taylor verse is PHENOMENAL and “illicit affairs” is a fav. but “clandestine” has invaded my brain so much I literally dream about it regularly... so I have to say that's my no.1

@imagine-that-100; I first discovered her series "Drunk” on ao3 and then promptly binged everything on her masterlist (multiple times...) “Chicken Shop Date” is just a masterpiece (she and her co-writer are AMAZING on this and I will ramble about her later), but my personal fav is “truth serum”. I have probably read that fic about 50 times over and I love it just as much every time!!!

@heyidkyay; I first read “Who Can Say No to Bridezilla?” and became obsessed on ao3. but then I found them on Tumblr and was completely sucked into "I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name" which is quite possibly the best George series on here. so much character building and back story, and overall just a phenomenal fic.

@justlikemebutsixfootthree; has some of the best smut on this app,” The Birthday Party” is probably my most re-read because it is just an absolute masterpiece. but “insane” and “direction” are also both amazing.

@imightgetbetter; was one of the first blogs I discovered on here, and I fell in love with the whole “Love It If We Made It” series. such an amazing development of a relationship and their writing is AMAZING. but my absolute favourites have to be “Bets are off” and “I love dilfs.”

@butyou-callmewhenyourebored; has such good Ross content all around, truly providing for the Ross girlies!!! but the Leeds au blurb 1 is my fav from them!

@drivelikeiido; has some beautiful fluff, and I just love the way they write Matty. but (not so) important decisions just make my heart warm like nothing else!!!

@toomuchracket; my beloved mads!! the fun wine aunt of 1975 Tumblr. I mean I could talk for 17 pages about my love for all of her au's... birthday party is the perfect supportive husband, d-word is the best slutty old man content on this app lol and flatmate is the friends-to-lovers content we all yearn for. asking me to choose my favourite Mads fic is like choosing a favourite child, but right now it has to be totally wrecked. I think that has altered my brain chemistry in an indescribable way… (edit; since writing this she has put out possibly my no.1 fic of all time, “and this is how it starts” so I just had to mention how much I fucking adore it)

@lottiecrabie; I mean... what else is there to even say about Lottie other than she is one of the best writers I have ever read. truly the mother of 1975 Tumblr. “rockstar girlfriend” and “pray for my soul” both have such special places in my heart, but anatomy au locked a new section in my brain fr. that little loser lives in my head rent free!!!

@tillthelandslide; is so so kind and has some amazing series I would recommend to EVERYONE. “insufferable asshole” is one of my absolute favourites, I love a grovelling man what can I say!!! but “Same for You” has me flipping sides every chapter, I still can't choose if I'm team Ross or team Matty.

@lastnightwaskindofablur; what more can I sat about the whole ATPOAIM universe other than it is quite literally phenomenal. the amount of time and effort poured into the Brittany Jackson universe is so clear by how amazing each fic and blurb is. my absolute favourite thought is "Christmas isn't cancelled (just you.)" from the 12 days of Christmas. it is easily one of my favourite fics I've read!!! She is also the whole inspiration behind this list and made me realise how important thanking your favourite writers really is.

@cowboylor; ohmyLORD the smut on this blog is just... wowowoowowowow. actually made me nervous to attempt smut because of how good theirs is. "Cabin Fever" is probably my favourite, I love a good threesome fic.

@alovesreading; the other half of the JAW DROPPING series that is “Chicken Shop Date”. the hours that have been put into that fic are so clear in how well thought out it is. every word feels purposefully placed, and every chapter fucking HITS. A also writes amazing fics for Alex Turner and is slowly making me an Alex girlie just by how good her writing is...

@bookish-strawberry; such such good fics in the "You and Me Till the End Universe". Ambrose has just created such loveable characters and you can't help but adore his writing. “alleyway” pt 1 and 2 are my favourites, I do love some fwb content.

@hypersonic04; her teacher Ross universe is just great, every blurb and fic just radiates the love between the characters that she has created!! but my absolute favourite fic of hers has to be "Tis the damn season", it somehow made me love one of my favourite songs even more.

@cows-wearing-my-sweater; has some amazing one-shots, and his work on “Eternal Summer” is absolutely beautiful. she manages to make you feel the warmth of summer through a screen, and it's fucking beautiful.

@poisonmedaddy13; Ross girlies do I have the blog for YOU. so much good Ross-tent, but my all-time favourite is the “Mirrorball” series. As someone who HEAVILY relates to that song, that fic is just... so so real and amazing. every chapter is just as good as the last, if not better!

@cryley; her “Petichor” series is just fluffy perfection, I have probably read it over 10 times and will 1000% be reading it at least 10 more...

@thefrontofmymind; has so many great matty fics/imagines, “Helping Hand” jumps out easily as my favourite though. Once again, friends with benefits is ALWAYS gonna slap. especially when they confess their feelings at the end!!!! ahhh so good. “Proof Positive” is such a good Ross fic, if you like pregnancy fics I would HIGHLY recommend it.

@uramilf; did the 12 days of Christmas last year, and every day was amazing!!! But £The Record Shop” is my favourite series from her, love and music combined are too perfect for me not to adore.

@3terna15unshin3; Marcey's fic "then because she goes" had me refreshing ao3 DAILY. este is such a well-rounded and beautiful character, her and Matty's love makes me so lovesick it's CRAZY. that whole series is my favourite, and my fav blurb from that universe is Toothbrush. Este and Matty are so beloved by me <333

@because-she-goes; has an amazing universe with Matty and an OC that I adore, Nora is such a lovely character and every fic about them makes me giddy. "black lace" and "Summer Girl" are my favourites of their fics though!

@theseventyfive; has such a way with words, every fic makes me giggle and kick my feet. but if you saw my tags on my reblog of "not so secret Santa" you know how deeply I adore that fic. the writing on it is beautiful and makes you feel warm somehow??? amazing.

@wrongendofurcigarette; George girlies it's your time to shine!!!! "sun-soaked" and "wet" swirl in my mind whenever I see a pic of George looking... particularly good. but recently she has created an actress reader au that I am BUZZING for. that little snippet was... wowowowowowowow

@automaticllamacycle; OLIVE!!!!! once again, such a nice and genuine human being and I am so so lucky to chat with her because she is the best hypeman EVER. and is amazing to bounce ideas off of. just such a kind person and I am blessed to scream to her over DM. her coffee shop AU might be my most-read fic ever. it was my daily routine at one point to wake up, go to AO3 and read that fic. when part 2 came out???? I DIEDDDDDDD. but also all of olives horny thoughts are... MUWAH chefs kiss.

@red---moon; "after party" is another fic I read regularly on ao3, sleepy matty after a party with flirting and then smut??? hellooooo yes please. also, “Souvenir” as a series is just amazing, so so so good.

@maxverstappensflatbrim; “show me yours” is such a beautiful universe, and has SO MANY CHAPTERS for you to become obsessed with. I just love every character in that universe, and Mac’s writing is amazing.

@justanamesstuff; “All I Need” is such an amazing series, and I would recommend it to anyone who loves Dad! Matty content!! But all her blubs are worth reading too!!

@procrastinatinglikeapro; is so so sweet and has some absolutely mind-blowing fics. I must have read her entire masterlist 10 times over at this point. Choosing a favourite is hard, but “Does it matter” as a series has me HOOKED. (but also I love “mango lipgloss” and “wear my name around your neck”… don't make me choose okay)

@mybrokenveins3000; college ross SUPREMACY!!! She is right when she says she is proud of “everyday rockstar” because it's easily my fav!!

@wrestletotheground; has some absolute BANGERS that everyone MUST read. Once again, the ross-tent on this blog is amazing. “Crime and Punishment” is my fav Matty fic from them, and she absolutely killed it with “Settle Down” for Ross!!

@steel-elle; beautiful writing with everything she does, but my favourite has to be “But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes” (is this also because I love the song New Year's Day?? perhaps…)

@kscheibles; “e la vita” is so stunning I don't even know how to verbalise it. That fic has a portion of my heart FOREVER. But college bf! Matty is truly the man we all deserve, and I am obsessed with him.

@think0fmehigh; molly!!! My love!!! What else is there to say about Molly other than she might be my fav filthy smut writer on this app, and thats a tough competition. Every time I get a snippet in DM’s from her, I feel like one of the luckiest human beings alive. Molly does not have a bad fic (despite her protests im sure) but my top two (because I CANT CHOOSE JUST ONE) have to be “Birthday Girl” and “You Get Me So High.” but honestly if you have the time, bless your life by reading every word she's ever written.

@controlmyfeet; DAD MATTY FIC. thats all I even need to say, it is SO SWEET and it makes me so happy!!!!

@bfiaflbox; sooooo much good content, but my favourites are “Wintering” and “Tonight I Wish I Was Your Girl” !!

@nowshesdoingitallthetime; kirke. This is me BEGGING for more bartender matty!!! “Cocktails, Cowboys and back alleys” is MWUAH MWUAH MWUAH. Bartender Matty is a need, I adored every second of that fic.

@wiintring; I NEED more from Christina!!! Her writing is all wonderful, and “Come here dressed in black now” does live in my mind!!!

@grocerystorelist; “body of Christ” is made for the religious trauma girlies and the fleabag girls. PREIST MATTY DRIVES ME CRAZYYYYY. Leila is so talented, it's crazy.

@forcryingoutlloud; wowwowwowwow the smutty content on this blog… its sooooooo good. “Beg for it” and “greedy” did melt my brain in the absolute best way, like I was genuinely SWEATING at how hot it was. As is everything on her masterlist!!

@hrryshoney; gyno! Matty unlocked a whole new side to me that I had NO IDEA was there. Like… insane. And the newest photographer reader fic also drove me CRAZY because I do love a cocky fictional man and some semi-public sex…

@the1975attheirverybest; Halla’s blog is a great place for discussion, good writing and crazy intelligent analysis of the band. “Education” and “being funny in a foreign language” are just… art. Truly. The character of Amelia and the characterisation of Matty are some of my favourites on this app. Hot smut, good writing and a lovely human being- what else do you need hellooo?? (also the pegging blurb from ages ago… yeah I think about her A LOT.)

@sugar-coat-it; FILTY, AMAZING SMUT. literally, every piece on Belle’s masterlist is worth reading 100 times over. Her newest thigh-riding blurb has been rotting my brain, I can't stop going back to it and reading it. Also, the Kylo Ren fic… mask kink unlocked fr. and the matty helping you deepthroat fic is also incredible. (can I just name everything she's done orrr???)

@cinomn; Nina has some great content, and I would genuinely recommend anything!! My favourite has to be “Summer Nights”, but it's a TOUGH competition tbh!!

@noacfslut; THE WRITING SPEED ON THIS BLOG?? MIND BOGGILING. And not only is Elle speedy, but every fic all absolutely wonderful. “Jealousy jealousy” and “undo” are my favourites, but that might change when I get the chance to read her mechanic au, because from what I've heard, it's also extraordinary.

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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Howdy, so I don't know if you have seen The Last of Us, but if you have, you know the scene where Joel saves Ellie from the hospital and he just ploughs through everyone and its like wow -///-

I just think it would be a really cool like drabble if this was a Din x reader fic? Only if you wanted to write it though!! Also I'm so happy that I'm on your taglist for inevitable because I jump to read it every time that I see that I've been tagged, it has me in a chokehold and the way that you write the reader is so damn good.

Your writing is something that brings comfort to me every week, and the way you interact and talk to your followers is so sweet. I love coming back from a stressful day to sit down somewhere comfortable to enjoy your work.

Anyways thanks for reading this ramble of an ask and I hope that you're doing well :)

[a/n]: combining some stuff here! this is for the anon who asked for this scene AND for @cockscombkingdom who asked for a fic in Din's POV where he takes care of reader and keeps her safe. I started with the plan to make this very sweet and fluffy and I'm not gonna lie a little darkness seeped into it. my bad.

also in case it isn't abundantly clear i am a joel miller apologist thx

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, injuries, mild dark!din (if you squint and/or have a problem with murder)

Word Count: 1,440

Summary: You were selfless. You gave and you gave and you gave. The universe planned to only take more, but Din Djarin would be damned if he let it.

LOOK FOR THE LIGHT

"you'd just come after her." -Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din was worried about you. He was always worried about you because you were always on his mind. It couldn’t be helped. Somebody had to because it seemed like you were perpetually too worried about everyone else. Din admired that about you. He always had. You went out of your way to help anyone and everyone who approached. You had a heart that was always willing to give, and it left you too little to use for yourself.

When the two of you first began traveling together, he noticed that about you. Sometimes you’d get so preoccupied watching Grogu you’d forget to eat. Peli had once put you to work, organizing her tools as part of the payment to fix the Razor Crest, and you had been so focused on getting the work done well that you had taken no breaks and ended up dehydrated and weak under Tatooine’s hot suns. It’s why the mission he was delivering you to made such simple sense to him. You were special, is what you told him. Din knew you were special, felt it, but it was for very different reasons. According to you, there was something in your blood, some type of cell, that could cure a lot of people of some terrible, terrible disease spreading through a world in the Outer Rim.

Din tried to keep his distance from you. Tried to not get attached. But you were so selfless, that it naturally brought out his protective side. He couldn't help but care for you, but caring for you as a responsibility had quickly turned to loving you along the way. Din didn’t know a lot about love. Didn’t have much experience with it, lust was easier to grasp, and that left him confused most of the time. Din had no idea how to express what he felt for you, how to explain it in words, so he did the only thing he could do. Din took care of you. Kept you safe when he stopped to pick up quarries, made sure you remembered to eat and drink water, reminded you to go to bed and when you would eventually forget anyways he’d carry you there himself. Din didn't know what love was supposed to feel like, but what he did know was that being without you made his heart physically ache and protecting you brought him happiness.

Maybe that’s all he needed to know.

‘It’ll be okay.’ You had promised him with a smile that made your features glow. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’

That had been hours ago. Din delivered you to the medical facility as he had been hired, but when you hadn’t come back out he sought after you. It’s why he now sat in a small room, Imperials flanking the door, as he simmered in disdain. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

“Mandalorian.” A man stepped into the room. A doctor from the looks of it with thin, round rimmed glasses. The name ‘Pershing’ pinned to his lapel. Din stayed silent. “I was under the impression that you had been paid. Was there an issue?”

“No.” Din replied. “Where is she?”

Dr. Pershing paused and shook his head as if confused. Din tilted his head a bit, an obvious threat in body language, and the doctor was smart enough to realize this. He nervously cleared his throat. “She is being prepared for her operation.” Din narrowed his eyes in confusion. You told him they’d just need your blood. “There is no reason for you to stay.”

“I promised her a ride back.”

There was a tense silence that filled the room at his words. Din watched the doctor squirm where he stood and he needed no further clarification. He shoved up from the table, prepared for a fight, when the Imperials leveled their own weapons at him before he could reach his blaster.

Dr. Pershing held his hands up in a placating manner. “She will be a hero. After we drain her of all her blood, we can make a cure. There’s a 65% chance this will work and save the people of this world.” Din was fuming under his armor. Drain your blood? They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for something that only had a 65% chance of even working. “She will not be in pain! She’s been put under! She will not feel a thing, and we did not scare her with the news.” Din staggered back as if he had been physically hit. Was this man saying… Dr. Pershing confirmed Din’s thoughts. “We did not tell her this would kill her. We spared her that misery. She went under anesthesia peacefully.”

The words echoed in Din’s head loudly. As if a bomb had gone off right beside him and left him deaf and blind. He walked on autopilot as the Imperials escorted him through the building toward the exit. They were going to kill you. They were going to kill you for a shot in the dark cure. Din was literally paces to the door when his boots stilled. The Imperials shoved him, tried to get him to move, threatened to shoot him, and then Din snapped.

With the practiced precision of a bounty hunter and Mandalorian who spent most of his life in a fight, Din spun and cut down the Imperials in one swift movement. The darksaber glowed angry in his hands, casting threatening shadows down the hall. Never before had the sword worked so well for him, but as Din marched through the facility it was practically an extension of himself. Blaster fire pinged off his beskar and he did not hesitate. If a person stepped into his path he eliminated them. Cold. Ruthless. A predator. Din stalked the medical facility searching for you, and he left a wake of death and destruction in his path.

When he finally caught sight of you, through a window into some kind of clean room. Din felt his heart flutter in his chest. The first twinge of emotion since starting this rampage. It was a reminder of why he was doing this. A reminder that his actions were necessary.

Din stormed into the room, his eyes not leaving your unconscious form as you laid on a table in a hospital gown. The staff in the room panicked in a flurry, and one of them⏤ maybe the doctor maybe a nurse, Din didn’t even register who the kriff it was⏤ rushed him in a poor attempt to stop this onslaught. Din cut them down without blinking. Without taking his eyes off of you. The second you were in his arms, Din felt marginally settled. He wasn’t going to lose you, couldn’t lose you. Din had sworn to himself that he’d take care of you, it was all he knew how to do, and he wasn’t going to stop for the sake of anyone.

Not even the sake of a world.

As Din carried you out of the building it occurred to him that he may be dooming an entire population of people. This world’s chances of survival were dropping from 65% to 0%. He knew that he should care. He knew that this information should bother him. That it should make his steps more hesitant and make his chest ache in indecision, but it didn’t. His choice had never been more clear to him. It was either this world or you. Din was choosing you. He’d always choose you.

When back on the ship, Din had only carried you a few steps when gasping could be heard. He turned around to see Dr. Pershing at the end of the ramp holding a blaster at him. The man was breathing hard, face red, as if he had sprinted all the way here to stop this from happening. Din had to admire his dedication. The man believed in this cause so much he was willing to go head to head with a Mandalorian who had just single handedly cleared out a medical facility.

“I can’t let you do this.” Dr. Pershing snapped. “You’re dooming this world if you take her!”

A blaster fired. Dr. Pershing stumbled back, a hole in his chest, and Din held his blaster firm in his hand. Your legs draped over that arm had hidden his weapon well. A strangled gasp left the man’s lips and he collapsed into a motionless pile. Din shook his head, responding to a dead man’s words, “I don’t care.”

Din would protect you under any and all circumstances.

Was that love?

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #dark!din djarin #sort of #if you squint #the last of us #joel miller inspired #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #female reader #reader insert

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alieinthemorning · 9 months

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Hello! May I send a request for Twisted Wonderland?

Leona and Malleus specifically, reacting to a Gender Neutral Reader with the power of a empathic healer, meaning they can heal people by taking their injuries and placing them on themselves? They used this power very often due to them hating to see people hurt when they can help?

Thank you!

For Thee, Not for Me [Leona Kingscholar || Malleus Draconia]

Content: Blood and Injury, Reader has a Unique Magic | Signature Spells, Strong Language, Inappropriate Use of Unique Magic | Signature Spells, Can Be Read as Platonic or Romantic, Angst

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You liked Magishift. It was a fast-paced game that if you weren’t paying close attention to, you'd miss a play that would have the disc in the other team’s possession. You liked it so much that you usually sat in for the Magishift club’s practice.

Well, that wasn’t the full truth. The reason why you sat in on so many practices, mainly the practice matches, was because you were their self-imposed medic. Most of the time you dealt with injuries that could be resolved with a med-kit, other times you needed to use healing magics.

Then there were days like these,

“Worry not, there’s nothing for you to abide by. Leave all your worries to me. For Me, Not Thee.”

You didn’t even flinch as the deep gash along Epel’s forehead (and other more minor injuries) transferred from him to you. Instead, you immediately placed a hand to your temple, the ever so familiar tingle thrumming against your skin.

You turned to the student who had caused the injury. “I would say be more careful, but that was obviously on purpose.” Your tone was flat, and your eyes were somewhat narrowed.

You weren’t really mad, mainly disappointed. You hated when they got like this, when one of them felt like another was doing better, so they needed to sabotage in order to feel better about themselves.

His lips curled back, obviously surprised that you had the audacity to call him out on his shit. “What the fuck do you know—”

“More than you, obviously.” Leona cut him off as he approached. “If you can’t keep your shit together, then you can go. Don’t need no pussy-footed fuckers on the team.” Despite the vulgarity of his words, his look was something else entirely. Full authority, no room for negotiation.

That student has lost his position on the team.

You sighed internally, knowing that this would cause more problems for you in the long run.

Then, after checking on you and Epel (and making sure Epel thanked you), Leona had practice continue as normal. While you just sat there healing your head wound. Once practice was over, you were escorted back to your dorm by Ruggie. You also found yourself in his company for the next two weeks.

You had to continuously bite your cheek to keep yourself from blurting out your appreciation, not only for him, but his Dorm Leader.

On the days without Magshift practice, you found yourself under a large tree watching Sebek and Silver spar with their batons. You found their dedication to their Lord admirable, that even in a school of adolescents that held no worthy flame to the Prince of Briar Valley that they would so diligently practice the sword.

However, yet again, you had another reason for watching them so closely.

Because no matter how quick and calculated their strikes may be, accidents are always along the horizon.

He didn’t make a sound, just dropped to one knee as he clutched his side. You were at his side in mere moments.

“Worry not, there’s nothing for you to abide by. Leave all your worries to me. For Me, Not Thee.”

This time you did flinch as the injury transferred. You weren’t fully healed from Epel’s injury, alongside others, and taking a new, serious one so soon really affected you. You slammed your eyes shut and clapped a hand over your mouth, bile threatening its way up your throat. Thankfully, with a pair of hands to steady your swaying body and another to rub soothing circles along your back, you were able to weather that storm.

However, even though you had begun the healing process, you had found yourself in a bit of a bind.

“Ah. I’ll have to ask a favor of the two of you.” You hated to do this, but you knew that you were in bad condition. “Could you help me back to my dorm?”

“Of course.” Silver said as he helped you to your feet, then slung your arm over his shoulders.

Sebek was hovering at your other side, biting his lip harshly.

You smiled, “If you keep biting your lip like that, I’ll have to take that injury too, you know.” He stopped, but he was still frowning deeply.

Ah.

Out of all the people who hated when you used your Unique Magic like this, Sebek was one of your most vocal. So this blunder must really be hurting him.

You frowned as well.

Oh, if only you could take away negative emotions as well.

The return to your room was quiet and filled with plenty of quick glances. The long stares had died down after your second year. You had been dubbed “Healer” by your peers, and even the freshmen knew of you. Someone to go to if you were in danger.

Once they had made sure you were fine and settled, they set to leave.

Or rather, Silver did. Sebek lingered at your bedside, working at his lower lip again. You sent Silver off, then waited for Sebek.

He didn’t have much to say. “You cannot keep pushing yourself like this.” His voice was soft, yet firm. “When you fall, who attends to you?”

You smiled, but didn’t respond. He had heard your answer before.

“As long as everyone else is safe” then I don’t matter.

You should have seen this coming. You knew that despite your new-found companionship, that there would always be someone lurking in the shadows.

So when the sudden shove at your back forced you forward, you were only mildly surprised.

Your brain had already begun listing all the injuries you could get from being pushed down the stairs, reacting immediately when one of many was obtained.

You didn’t scream, just grunted as you tumbled to the landing, biting your lip as the splitting headache made its way between your eyes.

The both of you were quiet. You focused on healing and him focused on your silent, unmoving body. Then there was a flash of green, a short shriek then nothing again because you had passed out at that point.

Although, one last thought you had before you relinquish your consciousness was:

“I’m gonna punch the shit outta that fucker once I’m in the clear.”

World traveled fast at Night Raven College. Especially when he was hidden in what he would consider to be plain sight. And regardless of whispers, his ears were sharper than most.

He didn’t even wait for them to leave before he emerged from his resting place and set out to find you. His pace quickened as more and more information slipped from loose lips. You had healed two major injuries within the past week, which meant you weren’t in the best shape. But what was worse, is that you were shoved down a flight of stairs.

By one of his own.

He was going to hold him, but not until after he checked on you.

“Why are you here.” He snarled upon arrival.

Of all the people who could have been at your bedside, this was the one he was least expecting.

The Horned-Bastard himself, Malleus fucking Draconia.

The lizard-fucker turned to face him, head slightly tilted to the side with a small grin. “Fixing another one of your messes, it seems.”

Leona growled, taking a threatening step forward. Malleus’ grin grew wider.

“If either of you start, I swear I will never heal you again.” You croaked from the bed, forcing yourself upright.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Leona groaned, wiping a hand down his face. He crossed the room, ignoring the horned-bastard. “Didn’t even lay hands on’em, and you’re already thinking about healing—you’re the one in bed, dumbass.”

You sniffled. “It’s just a White Cold.” He rolled his eyes. Of course, you would get sick from over healing yourself. “I’ve already taken the medicine for it, so I should be fine in a day or two.” You smiled at him—the both of them. “Thanks for checking in on me, though.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, just turned his back on you. “Why do I even bother…”

“Oh, if you’re gonna go now, can I ask you to do me a favor, Leona?” His ears perked up at that, you rarely asked for anything. “Could you handle the one from before? The pussy-footed fucker?”

“Snrk!” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the laugh. He was not expecting you to say that. Once he regained himself, he answered. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I was already headed that way.” As much as he disliked leaving you with Draconia, he had to make sure business was handled.

And the business was handled well.

A hand on the back of the neck. Magic cracking down the back.

“I am hunger. I am thirst. I am what robs you of tomorrow. King’s Roar.”

“One wrong step, and I’ll put your remains in an hourglass.” Was the only thing he said to him before he let the pussy-footed fucker loose.

Someone removed themselves from the shadows with a sigh. “I’m sure you’re gonna ask me to keep an eye on him, right?”

“No. I want you to keep an eye on the Healer. Make friends.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’ll make sure to compensate you.”

“Oh? Shishishi…aye, aye, sir!” Ruggie gave him a two finger salute before making his exit.

Leona sighed. “I’m tired…”

Request complete! Thank you for requesting!

This was actually really fun to write, especially since I pushed myself to write at least 1,000 words. Well I actually wrote 1.5K!

Also please note that I call Spell Drive "Magishift" and I literally refuse to call it anything else.

This also very quickly became a Leona-centric thing (and also Sebek??? he had his little moment) instead of Leona and Malleus, but hey he at least showed up lmao.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist[Leona] | Masterlist[Malleus]

#alie requests #alie requester: beawesome04 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona x reader #malleus x reader #can be read as platonic or romantic

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carolmunson · 7 months

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you keep me without chains | em.

this is a re-post of a ramble fic of me processing some stuff i've been through and am struggling with in my own healing. if you're familiar with my 'bad at feelings' series, it's in a similar vein of writing except eddie is incredibly soft and sweet to reader who is going through her own stuff. eddie sucks here, i don't think it's a correct characterization of him but it's just me using him as a placeholder.

originally, i didn't want to put this story in the tags because it's sad and explores the mindset of someone in a non-physically abusive relationship. however, since it is DV awareness month, i wanted to make sure to express that if there are people reading this who are struggling that they aren't alone and there are people there that understand and support them. and also that if there are younger readers reading (still eighteen plus!) who aren't sure if they are in an abusive relationship they are maybe able to get some context via fiction. my inbox is always open. DV Hotline US: 800-799-7233 DV Hotline UK: 0808 2000 247 tw: 18+ mindors dni, references to emotional and psychological abuse, minor threats of physical violence.

he left this morning with a kiss on your cheek and your lips, a nuzzle against your temple when you gave him two thermos's, one with hot black coffee and the other with the beef stew you made last night. hot hot hot. the way he likes it.

you made bread, so crisp on the outside, pillowy soft on the inside. he groaned when he popped it in his mouth at the dinner table, soaked in broth and butter. you warmed some in the oven when you put his lunch together, wrapping it in foil to trap the heat -- maybe it'll keep until his lunch hour. he might eat it all before his lunch hour. he never eats breakfast really.

you clean the counters and do the laundry while he's away. no kids to take care of, not yet at least. you mend his spare coveralls, treating the grease and oils stains, resewing his name tag stiched in red thread. you shine your mary janes and stilettos, shine his doc's just to be nice. you fix his patches on his vest from the last show he went to. you clean the stubble out of the sink in the bathroom.

he has the car so there's nowhere to go.

you shower, you do your hair, put make up on, go through the motions while he's not home. he hates to wait for you to do it but you hate looking tired when you're out and about. better to do it when he's busy doing something else.

next door neighbor is heading to the library, knocks on your door to see if you wanna come with. she just wants you to get out of the house for once, stop playing wife to a man who hasn't married you yet.

you hesistate, wanting to be home in time to make dinner, but you can't imagine the library taking too long so you go. she looks at you with a strained pity that you can't stand. he doesn't hit you, so why does she even look at you like that? he'd never do that. he just got back from all that shit with a few screws loose. he never knows what he means when he says it.

he's always sorry. y'know? he's always sorry. sorta.

doesn't hit you but you know how the day will go by the way he says good morning. by the way he wakes up with you -- or without you. know how the night will go by the way he breathes when he comes in through the storm door. by the cadence of his steps on the metal stairs. by the way the van pulls in.

sometimes things break and that's fine cause he just replaces them. he knows he shouldn't have thrown it, he knows he shouldn't have tossed it, he knows. he knows. that's why he gets it the very next day. new plates, new house phone, new coffee pot, new records, new casettes, new picture frames, new flower pots. he doesn't throw them at you. he's only punched the wall twice. he slams his head against it all the time. cause he knows he's not good. he knows. you go to the library and check out some books, laugh at your neighbors jokes, tell her about your weekend in the city visiting his friends. he held your hand in front of everyone and pulled you onto his lap, he joked with you and you laughed the whole time. you went to see a band play that you'd never heard of and he got you a t-shirt and the next morning you all went out for hot chocolate and breakfast and he kissed the whipped cream off your lips and ran his thumb over your engagement ring over and over. he never stopped calling you baby. so charming. so perfect. you don't know what you did to earn it, but you've been chasing it ever since. modeling that week's behavior into this one. tip toes through the tulips of the trailer. jagged. shell like.

you get home from the library and lunch, she even stops with you when you mention you have to go to the grocery store. out of eggs for meatloaf, needed some canned string beans for one of the sides.

it's the best dinner you've made in a while and the mashed potatoes are double whipped and extra buttery because he can never get enough of them. you know that it's little things like that. you love the smile he gets when you tell him you do some things just for him, so blushy and boyish.

'that's so nice, baby,' he gushes, 'thinkin'a me.' and god he gushes. cries when he can't contain it. saw you in a new dress and wiped his eyes. new hair cut sent him into orbit.

so pretty.

you're so beautiful, i don't deserve you.

you're gorgeous i -- i can't even like, think.

presents on your birthday. handwritten notes with tear drops washing over the ink in a wave, blurry letters blue and black, black and blue. he'd never hit you. too in love. too bursting with affection when he looks at you. too nervous when you look at him when he takes you out. when he plays a show. when he sees you get dressed into your pjs at night. you're so good to me. especially when you hold him through those nightmares. when you calm his anxiety, those deep breath panic attacks. the ones that the meds miss when he misses them. you're patient through the mood swings and he always says thank you. he always says it -- you're the only one that understands him. that sees him. sometimes you don't get it. that's what he says at least. you don't get it and that makes him upset. but you're not sure what there is to get. and you try not to get sad about it -- 'bout anything really 'cause you're not the one who got a few screws knocked loose. nothing bad like that happened to you. i mean, sure, maybe some bad things happened to you but not like the way bad things happened to him, right? you wouldn't get it. but he gets you, he tells you all the time. he gets you so well. symbiotic. the only person who knows you, the only person whose been in your skin -- right? at least that's what he says, and he's said it so long you can't help but believe it.

your eyes fall on the newly vased roses he bought you two days ago from the florist near the shop. bright red petals opened and fat, contrasting against the pea green of the walls. you smile at them while you pour gravy over each plate, extra on his mashed potatoes. he kissed you this morning, he was almost late leaving the house -- couldn't stop kissing you. couldn't stop looking at you with those brown eyes, sparkling with a mischief saved for tonight.

the van rolls in as you set the table, still in your outfit from earlier, the books you checked out on the counter need the flowers. the storm door opens off kilter, your throat constricts. you know by the way he doesn't say anything when he comes in the house. work boots kicked off with loud thumps. his jacket swishing with a thwap when he throws it with a grunt to the ground. something bad must've happened at work. 'hey honey,' you say quietly, 'got dinner for you.'

you know better, watching him turn the corner into the dinette, looking down at you from where he stands and you sit. you hold a mug full of orange juice on the table, fingers tapping on it silently while he holds his gaze. 'you goin' somewhere, dressed up like that?' he asks, there's nothing behind those sparkling eyes now. dulled out to hollow brown.

'no,' you shrug, you know how to coreograph your responses now -- still stepping on his toes sometimes, 'went to the library with gina, she just wanted a friend for some errands.'

'you know gina doesn't like me,' he nods, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, 'she doesn't like us together. she hates me.'

'she doesn't hate you, ed,' you assure, voice still calm, mediating, 'no one hates you.'

'your folks hate me, your sister hates me,' he nods, curls bouncing while he takes a swig, like it's normal conversation. so steady, 'you think they like that i got you ever here in this trailer park?'

'my parents don't ha--'

'they do.' and that's final. you don't argue. and he's right. your parents don't like him and that's why you don't call anymore, and they stopped calling you too. so did all your friends from back home.

'so what'd gina tell you about me today, then?' he presses.

'nothin'," you shrug, 'we didn't talk about you.'

'of course not,' he laughs but it's one that sends a chill under your skin, a laugh to not seem so mean when you know he's about to be, 'she was prob'ly tryna set you up with someone. that's why you got all dressed up right? anything to look good for other guys out there.'

's'cuse me?' 'you heard me,' he nods, voice still steady like nothing's wrong, 'that's why you wore all those tight jeans in the city last weekend, right? those dresses? tryna show off to harrington and the guys. don't act like i didn't notice.'

'what are you talking about? why didn't you say anything when we were there?' you heart rate quickens, you try not to get mad.

'i shouldn't have to. but that's how you are, y'know?' he shrugs, another swig, another chuckle, 'makin' dinner and everything, you must've been out there makin' eyes at everyone if you made my favorite.'

'i wasn't doing that,' you urge, voice raising, tears threatening to pool, 'i just made it cause you like it, cause it makes you happy.'

'so you just do anything to make sure i don't get mad? do you even know why you do stuff like this for me?' he asks.

'what are you even saying?' your voice raises again, a mild yell. you're frazzled now, heart racing, head already scrambled.

'don't yell, what're you -- fuck babe, see! this is why gina doesn't like me,' he grits through his teeth, 'cause you're always making a scene over nothing. you're over fuckin' reacting.'

'i --' your voice catches in your throat, quieting, 'i'm sorry? i'm sorry.'

'd'you even know what you're sorry for?' he nearly sneers, 'always sayin' your sorry over nothing. y'know somethin' babe, sorry loses it's meaning when you're sayin' it all the time. it doesn't mean anything from you anymore.'

you nod, losing your resilience, too confused about how quickly you got here -- and he's right. you're always apologizing but half the time you don't even know what you're apologizing for. just that you feel like you need to be sorry. like you need to say sorry.

he holds that stare on you like he's waiting for you to speak again. daring you to say something. you stare down at the wood grain of the table, blank and empty -- numb, even. the mug between your hands is warm from how hard you were gripping the ceramic to keep you grounded.

's'what i thought,' he nods, voice a low rumble while he makes his way to the bathroom.

he'd never hit you.

the slam of the bathroom door makes you flinch.

sometimes you wish he would. maybe it would hurt less than this. at least that physical pain fades, right? at least it wasn't the same dull ache on a bruise that won't go away. are you hemmorhaging? do you just not feel it yet? will it be too late when you do?

he slides into bed with you at night after spending the rest of the evening out back with the other couples and families that were smoking ribs, having a little fire out in the brush. he smells like cigarettes. you could hear his grizzly laugh through the windows while you laid in the dark of your bedroom. too tired after the way he spoke to you to do anything else. everyone's favorite mechanic loverboy in the park.

you feel his fingertips on your shoulder, one of them gliding down the slope of your arm. he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, your eyes shut -- blearing with tears from that dull ache.

'dinner was really good, baby,' he says softly, a whisper.

you try to get out a thank you but it becomes a choke, a sniffle, a gasp. then a cry and then a harder one, remembering how he rolled his eyes at you two weeks ago when you cried after he threw out the love letter you wrote him for your four year anniversary because 'you didn't mean any of that shit anyway'.

he sits up, shushing you softly while his hand smooths over your bicep.

'what is it, sweetheart?' he asks, 'are you mad at me?'

you shake your head no. looking up at him, lying flat on your back. he looks so handsome in the moonlight, concerned eyes and tilted head peering down at you. 'n-no, ed. m'not mad at y-you,' you push out, head still scrambled. you feel guilty about last weekend, about going out today. what if guys really were looking? you know you weren't looking at them but what if they got the wrong idea? gina doesn't know what she's talking about, she's always hated ed. ever since they were kids.

'you just havin' one of your moments?' he asks, soothing voice, 'yeah?' one of your moments. always just one of your moments. couldn't be him, you're just -- maybe you're over thinking it.

'yeah,' you nod, 'm'sorry i went out with gina, baby i -- she didn't say anything bad about you.'

'it's okay,' he smiles, 'm'not mad at you. never mad at my girl.'

'no?' you ask, swallowing hard -- your heart leaps. he's not mad. maybe he just had a rough day.

'no doll, m'never mad at you. you always think i'm mad at you,' he says, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to roll down the sides of your face to your hair line, 'you need me to kiss it better?'

another sob rips through you, nodding, because you do. you need it. and you sort of hate that you need it. you hate yourself for needing it. but he kisses you and it does feel better. he knows how to kiss you just right, he always has. he knows just where to put his hands. just how to pull away and brush his nose against yours. how to kiss your forehead between affirmations. smooth and understanding, like a movie scene. his kisses are his apologies. his sorry. you accept it every time.

because he doesn't hit you and he never would. in the morning, when the bathroom door slams so hard the walls vibrate, you flinch.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #dark!eddie munson #dark eddie munson #stranger things au #stranger things angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction

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anincompletelist · 3 months

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[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv | vol v ]

firstprince fic recs: hurt/comfort edition! :D

some of these have more angst than others before the comfort, so please be sure to check the tags! but I tried to choose some of my personal favorites that I always return to when I need something comforting to read <3

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

talk me down | seafloor | G | 2k

It never gets easier, but with Alex, it’s less exhausting. [Henry gets triggered, and Alex is there for him.]

Mr. Body Pillow | @inexplicablymine | T+ | 21k

Two boys cuddling on a couch right on top of each other because they are in fact very gay™. Inviting over a complete stranger for cuddles because you are touch starved might be the worst idea Henry has ever had, or the best.

the clementine thing | @saintlynomenclature | T+ | 6k

And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company. Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him. [Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor]

sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 85k

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here.

I ask you how you're doing (and I let you lie) | @matherines | M | 6k

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones. “God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.” [Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.]

Aftercare | @whimsymanaged | M | 2k

When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

Dream a Little Dream of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

Burnt Offering | justicefortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service. [A look at FirstPrince’s love through each love language: Acts of Service]

I would stay forever (if you say don't go) | @coffeecatsme | T+ | 6k

The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away. A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was. To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Don't Give Up Your Ghost | @nocoastposts | G | 1k

Healing is not linear. When Henry first heard this phrase, he brushed it off as a cliche. An evergreen proverb for those who didn’t know what else to say. As his anger morphed into crippling sadness, he began to understand the sentiment. Henry never knows when the grief will become all-consuming. A perfectly fine day can shatter instantly, with no preamble or warning given. The most trivial things - a scent, a laugh, a song - can utterly and completely devour him. Learning to accept the ebb and flow was not easy. He knows that the dark days will never cease completely. He also knows that Alex will brave the storm with him, time and time again. Henry is eternally grateful for this. [Or, Henry reflects on some common platitudes of grief - then and now.]

outta luck to spend | potentiallyunloveable | T+ | 9k

“Nora ignorin’ ya?” a voice says from beside him, and Henry startles, turns to his left, is suddenly frozen. The man who’s slid into the seat next to him, silently, without Henry noticing, is quite possibly the most beautiful man Henry’s ever seen in his life. He’s got the widest smile, sweet dimples, soft brown skin and impossibly long eyelashes. He’s wearing a fucking Stetson, and Henry feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Or: Henry (lost, hopeless) meets Alex (bright, hopeful), in a bar in Texas.

thunderstruck | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 2k

“Alex, slow down.” Henry pulls away softly from Alex’s taut grasp. “Are you feeling alright now?” “Y-yeah, I think I’m okay.” Alex smiles back meekly at Henry’s heedful gaze. Alex feels like he has gotten way ahead of himself. “I'm just a huge astraphobic, ever since I was little. I guess I never grew out of it.” [or, Alex has a fear of thunder so Henry comforts him]

fell apart (in the usual way) | @hypnostheory | E | 12k

By the time they’ve reached the landing, Henry is shaking his arm out of Alex’s grip. “The picture of grace under fire,” he says, the words snapping from his mouth. Alex blinks at him, before his face smooths into its professional mask. “You can’t pick a fight with the Queen’s equerry, no matter how averse you are to the concept of the monarchy.” Alex looks Henry up at down, his mouth forming a tight line. “I don’t pick fights, Your Majesty,” he says, adjusting his grip on Henry’s suitcase. Henry can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Shaan called me a few weeks ago to go over every single thing that made you miserable about the holidays. It was a very long phone call.” Henry doesn’t doubt that. “I’m going to help you avoid as many of those items as possible.” [Henry is a mess around the holidays, and he's expecting to have a tremendously horrid time without Shaan. Fortunately, Alex has plans to make his Christmas both merry and bright.]

ocean waves | seafloor | E | 10k

Henry Fox wakes up with a toothache one morning, and has a lot of feelings about certain things for days afterwards.

I'd hold you as the water rushes in | @saintlynomenclature | M | 11k

“—lex. Alex.” Fuck. Where had his mind gone? Alex snaps his eyes to Henry’s, forcing his attention back from where it had drifted. “I’m listening, I’m listening. What were you saying?” Anyone else would probably be offended, or would just laugh at the clearly conflicting statements that had flown thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Instead, Henry’s brow crinkles, lips downturning as he scans Alex’s face. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all night.” Those blue eyes are much easier to deal with through FaceTime. Alex has to look away from them, less he caves and spills everything to Henry. He pastes a smile on, “Fantastic, Your Highness. All this bubbly is going to my head, the sugar’ll get me in the morning.” [Or, Alex drops on New Year's Eve]

never be so polite (you forget your power) | Standinginmoonlight | M | 6k

The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

while you were sleeping (I fell in love) | @kill8a | M | 3k

As their relationship progresses, Alex notices that Henry’s sleeping habits start to progress as well. Notably, more naps, less insomnia, and a knack for falling asleep at any hour of the day.

that's all for now!

hurt/comfort is one of my all time favorite tropes, so feel free to rec me some if they aren't on this list, or to reach out with ideas for other rec lists in the future! <3

-- sarah / anincompletelist xx

#fic recs #my fic recs #rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic recs #red white and royal blue fanfic #Alex x Henry

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