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tinycozycomfort · 8 months

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rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week.

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all.

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room.

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess.

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special.

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest.

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps.

Was he that easy to pick apart?

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf.

But you’d chosen to show him.

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful.

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint.

It was you.

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality.

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting.

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you.

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched.

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave.

His back hurts when he stands.

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded.

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap.

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant.

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach.

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track.

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged.

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing.

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery.

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup.

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.”

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.”

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection.

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.”

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday.

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural.

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing.

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.”

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.”

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.”

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time.

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed.

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood.

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow.

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition.

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation.

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why.

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body.

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers.

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation.

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome.

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut.

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them.

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger.

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to.

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists.

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal.

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered.

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?”

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right?

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit.

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind.

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity.

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips.

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape.

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you.

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time.

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass.

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness.

He picks up within two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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softshuji · 1 year

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4:06PM | HAITANI RAN

Summary: Maybe you and Ran are just two broken things, and maybe enough is enough. Likes and reblogs appreciated! Link to my masterlist here!

cw: afab!reader, use of petnames (Princess, baby), implied infidelity (nothing happens), angst with comfort, both Ran and reader cry, mentions of marriage and divorce.

Ran has known for some time but he’s been ready for this conversation for none of it. It should come as a surprise when you sit him down in the garden, grass blowing gently, faint scent of fresh flowers tickling your nose, but it doesn’t.

He sits on the bench in your garden and looks up at you expectantly, as if his heart isn’t crashing and racing in his chest. Every second that prolongs this conversation only serves to make him feel more nauseous, more anxious and he can’t seem to stop the jittering, the bouncing of his knee on the slabbed floor. There are weeds growing between the cracks, little dandelions and shrubs, moss that peeks out between the brown soil, and he watches you absent-mindedly stamp on a patch of moss that pops up between two broken slabs.

‘Ran,’ you say, your skirt swishing in the breeze as you move to sit next to him.

‘Y/n,’ he replies in tandem, and looks at your pinched brow, the corners of your mouth turned down and the visceral urge to kiss your lips, your forehead, is so great that he looks away. He chooses to focus his attention on the cigarette he’s pulling out from a silver tin, engraved with a neat italicised ‘RH’ in the corner. An anniversary present from you many years ago, now worn and lined with scratches and dents and he’s so sentimental that he can’t bring himself to replace it.

Maybe he just loves you too much.

You take his hands in your own. They’re rough, callused, just as worn as his cigarette tin. The same hands that he touches you with, cooks with, kills with. Every line holds a memory of the two of you. You’re fidgeting just like he is, biting your lip anxiously, tapping your foot on the broken slab.

At first you don’t speak, neither of you do. You just stare at each other, at the faces you’ve woken up next to for the last four years and your hearts are both breaking at the same time. If you were to put your head to his chest, you would hear the crack as his heart splinters, the erratic beating of it as it descends into the pit of his stomach.

‘It’s okay…’ he smiles, a watery and thin smile and traces his thumb along your knuckles. His touch is soft as a feather.

‘S’not okay,’ you say and all it takes is the sensation of his hand on your back, comforting as it always is, for your resolve to slip and the tears to gather in the corners of your eyes.

‘It is Princess.’ He presses a kiss to the back of your hand. ‘No matter what, I’m always going to love you.’

Perhaps it is a testament to his grace and the love he has always given so freely to you that allows him to say it, and to smile knowing what you’re about to say, knowing that this is the end of the line.

‘I’m sorry Ran, I’m so sorry.’ The first tear slips from your eye and falls onto your pallid cheek and on instinct, he brushes it away with his thumb.

‘Don’t be Pretty baby, it’s my fault. I should have done better.’

‘No, no, it wasn’t you, it was me- I should have tried to understand you more-’

Truly you could go on all day like that, taking the blame, both of you caught up in the whirlwind of your love, of trying to save the other from more heartbreak. Was that what love was?

‘So this is it huh?’ His eyes are so soft and kind, and the lazy sunlight hits them at just the right angle. Luminescent purple and lilac, framed by dark long lashes. He’s always been beautiful, always been elegant, always been something so ethereal that it’s almost hard to believe he’s real. Especially on the warm Sunday mornings, when the splices of sunlight drift through the slat in the curtain over his shoulder and his lips are just about parted, as if waiting for you to brush yours against them.

You nod your assent and he sighs and it is so broken and tired but he tries for a smile again. You can see his eyes filling with tears and his hands trembling as he puts the cigarette to his lips and inhales a lungful.

Your shoulders shake as you cry and you look so small and vulnerable sitting there in your skirt and flats, with a flower in your hair that he had put there that very morning.

‘I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I’m sorry,’ you say and it’s all you can think as he pulls you to him, holding you close with an arm around your shoulder.

‘You don’t need to keep saying it Pretty.’

‘I do- I should have loved you harder-’ The words are thick and heavy in your throat but all he does is shake his head adamantly.

‘What would that have done huh?’ He rubs your bare arm and feels the goosebumps on your skin. ‘I just want you to be safe and happy, and if that means it isn’t with me, then s’alright.’

And oh how it hurts to say those words when he wants nothing more than to hold you forever, to make love to you every night, wake up to you every morning.

‘Its my fault.’ He kisses the crown of your head and your hair tickles his nose as he does so. ‘Should have been here more often, should have cared for you more.’

‘No-’ You shake your head and the sob sitting at the base of your throat trickles out as you wipe your nose.

‘It is. I’m an idiot-’

‘Ran-’

‘S’alright Y/n, let me finish.’

This is by far the hardest thing he’s ever done, the scariest and for the first time in his life he feels the visceral fear, the terrifying sensation of being out of his depth and adrift. You’re slipping through his fingers and there is nothing he can do about it but he'd rather die than force you to stay where you’re unhappy.

‘I shouldn’t have been so absent. I did this, and you deserve better. So much better.’ There is no playfulness to his tone, no sarcasm and that’s what saddens you the most.

The tears are fast and free-flowing and you hiccup and sob against his chest, the spike of anxiety that gnaws at his stomach only growing tenfold when you clutch his shirt for support.

He had known in his heart that things would never work between you, because he had always loved you more, had loved you enough for both of you when things started to change. Sometimes you felt selfish and guilty and the knot of self-loathing in your stomach only seemed to double every time he gently caressed your back as he passed, or told you he loved you when you lay together at night, sleep pressing on your eyelids like a vice.

You don’t correct him. Maybe because he’s right, or maybe because it’s pointless. Maybe because love is so complicated and neither of you really understand.

You love him. He loves you. Once you’d thought that the simple act of loving was enough to maintain you, that love could sustain the relationship when other things could not, that the days and weeks spent away working would not add up, that you would not crave and miss him like you did. He loves you, but he doesn’t choose you.

‘I’m an idiot,’ he says and mentally curses himself.

Did the fact that this conversation was weeks in the making make it any easier to have? No it didn’t. Despite the fact that this was the end of the line for you, you still want him to stay. No matter what happens, you will always look for him at night and perhaps that codependency, that you once thought was love, was exactly what love wasn’t. You didn’t know.

‘You can keep everything,’ he says, taking a shuddering breath. You need him to be strong, he thinks. You need him to be sturdy when you cannot be. So he will. ‘Whatever you want you can have. You’ll always be my Princess.’

‘Ran…’ You don’t mean for it to sound so desperate and full of yearning, and perhaps it’s because you’ve been crying over this for weeks, that you’ve lain awake on the nights he wasn’t here, but a choked sob rips its way from your throat.

What was the issue here? That he didn’t love you? Or that he did and that that love wasn’t enough to make you love him in return? Yes it was true he had accepted you, every part of you. The part of you that was a dreamer, the part of you that would rather die than show it. Was that not what love was? Acceptance of a sort?

All his life he had spent climbing this insurmountable mountain. But he would jump off in a heartbeat if it meant he’d meet you at the bottom.

There were times of course, when you could caress the concept of happiness with gentle but tentative fingers, when you could reach out and touch, ever so lightly, that blanket of comfort that hung in the sky just out of reach. Those times when happiness was a just about perceivable thing. But it wasn’t enough. Because no matter how hard you tried, the puzzle pieces just didn’t fit,as if you were knocking together two things that shouldn’t be there, that wouldn’t fit together.

‘It’s Rindou isn’t it?’ he asks and instead of feeling the numbing fear of being found out, you only nod against his chest, resigning yourself to whatever he might say next.

‘I’m not mad Y/n. Maybe once I would have been but I’m not. I love you, and I love my Brother.’ Even though he’s putting on a brave face, his heart is breaking. His lips are a firm line. ‘He deserves you, and you deserve him.’

It would be easier if he was green with jealousy, if he was angry and thrashing and hurtful, if he just hated you because hate was so easy, would be so easy to swallow and accept and maybe you could leave him knowing he would still be whole.

‘Ran I’m sor-’

‘Don’t Y/N-’ he interjects and his grip around your arm tightens just a slight. Despite how much you loathe yourself for this, and he himself too, neither of you wants to back out, to go back to pretending.

‘How did you know?’ Your voice is so small, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Are you prepared for the answer? No, not at all, but you still need to hear it.

He looks down at you nestled against him and gives a weak but knowing smile. ‘I know Rindou better than he knows himself. Saw the way he looked at you, and you looked at him.’

Was there a way he could have prevented this? Maybe. Maybe if he was less neglectful and Rindou didn’t have to pick up the pieces every time the job took priority, if he wasn’t always the one in your company giving you the love you should have received from him.

‘Why did you never say anything?’

‘I wanted to,’ he says. ‘But I didn’t want to have that conversation.’

‘Is that it?’

Say it Ran, you plead mentally. Tell me you didn’t love me enough to care. Say something horrible to me. Punish me for it.

‘And I didn’t want to take away someone who made you happy when I was too stupid and neglectful to do so.’ That lump in his throat is so thick with unshed tears that he feels like it’s choking him. He clears his throat, hoping the hoarseness of his voice can be mistaken for his cigarette smoking and not the fact that his ribs are crushing his heart.

The gravity of the situation and his words hit you like a sledgehammer to the chest. This is happening. You are separating after four years of marriage and the weight of the years descends on you like a stormcloud.

You whine against him and he only kisses your forehead.

‘Why do you not hate me?’ Your voice cracks and your eyes sting for the umpteenth time.

‘Could never hate you Princess. Ever.’

It’s a testament to the years, to the fact that experience in love has taught him so much that’s softened him into who he is now. Still playful, still devious, but with a heart that lets in love, your love and only yours. It had taken so long to get to that point and perhaps that’s what hurts the most. The time spent trying to build something, the time you both feel you’ve wasted considering the circumstances.

You love him, you do. But you’re not in love with him. Not any longer.

Not since Rindou.

There was the crux of the issue.You could tell Rindou loved you too. You were old enough to know what it meant when his gaze lingered after you when you left a room, the attentiveness in his actions, the deep cadence of his voice that softened when he spoke to you, the smile he reserved for the days when he kept you company by the firelight. Too many times the light had caught the softness of his lips and you had wanted nothing more than to close the distance and kiss him outright. You never did, and Rindou loved his Brother too much to do it himself.

Shame boils in your gut.

‘I’ll call the lawyers tomorrow,’ Ran whispers and removes his arms from around you, opting to take your hand in his instead. You’re grateful for the fact that he’s taken the initiative, realizing that maybe this is how it’s always been. Him racing ahead and you trailing behind after him, driftwood lost at shore.

‘Ran?’ Your voice quivers on his name.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you…’

‘For what Princess?’ He doesn’t expect to be thanked for anything, least of all during the moment where he’s breaking your heart and you’re breaking his.

For some of the best days of my life. For being my first love. For loving me when I felt unlovable, in the moments I was unlovable.

‘Everything,’ you say and even though you want to cry, to sob, to wrench open a tear in the sky, you smile at him and the tension dissipates a little when he returns the smile, albeit hesitantly. Because even though you’re both in pain, you know that it doesn’t last.

Maybe love between people like the two of you is eternal. Maybe there is no end. Maybe there will always be a string of fate that ties you together.

a/n: I actually wrote this six months ago lol, how d'ya like it guys? I may write a part two (I have an idea already) depending on how you like this. I promise I do like Ran even if I'm constantly hurting him. I hope you all like it!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @islascafe @swqllen @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @crown5 @clovly @oikawascutie @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @tetsutits @burnishedcrown @sweet-seishu @megshikigami

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #ran haitani #haitani ran #haitani rindou #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev #haitani ran x reader #tr

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cosmerelists · 10 months

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If Cosmere characters had mundane hobbies...

And by “mundane” I just mean “non-extreme” (aka, no base jumping, no paragliding); we’re talking, like, doing puzzles or going for a pleasant hike. If all these hobbies existed and Cosmere characters weren’t busy fending for their lives all the time, what might they get up to?

1. Szeth: Frisbee golf

We already know that Szeth is great at paintball; I just feel like he’d be weirdly good at frisbee golf as well.

2. Renarin: Speed Rubik’s Cube

Renarin likes to fiddle and have something for his hands to do--I think solving a Rubik’s Cube would be fun for him. And I threw in “speed” (aka, trying to do it as fast as possible) because Renarin loves to jump into things wholeheartedly.

3. Kaladin: Indoor Rock Climbing

Kaladin has already gone rock climbing in two books--he makes his own rock wall in the chasms in Book 1 and climbs down Urithiru in Book 4. He even knows that he should be using “rock dust” for his hands. I think some nice, non-extreme, indoor rock climbing would be good for Kaladin. Bonus: he’s not afraid of heights!

4. Shai: Stamp Collecting

(I’m sorry)

5. Eshonai: Hiking

Eshonai loves to go out into the woods and explore, see new places and people and things. I can see her getting into hiking.

6. Raoden: Coding

Before he even had powers, Raoden already liked to memorize Aons--and from what I understand, AonDor is basically coding.

7. Tien: Rock Collecting

I mean, this is literally just canon. I have to imagine that he’d also enjoy whittling since that is again, simply canon.

8. Shallan: Crochet

Okay, so Shallan does already have hobbies in canon: like drawing, for example. But I think she’d also enjoy crochet--all those patterns coming together, her Spren humming excitedly...

9. Adolin: Sewing

Even while trapped in Shadesmar, Adolin is able to sew himself a new outfit. If he had time and materials, he could definitely make some cool clothing.

10. Mare: Gardening

I mean, she loves flowers. If she were alive when her planet could support flowers, I think she’d love to grow some.

11. Sixth of the Dusk: Birdwatching

If he wasn’t, you know, desperately trying to survive at all times, I feel like Sixth of the Dusk might enjoy some nice, relaxed birdwatching.

12. Wax: Puzzling

Normally Wax is putting together the pieces of deadly mysteries that will impact the fate of his planet. Maybe he’d find it a nice change of pace to just put together colorful cardboard instead!

13. Rysn: Extreme Couponing

Listen, Rysn once leapt off of a cliff to talk to a god to make a deal. Clipping coupons would at least have the advantage of being safer than that, no matter how “extreme” she gets.

14. Rlain: Amateur Radio

Amateur radio tends to use morse code, which is a form of communication Rlain might find comfortingly rhythmic. Plus, amateur radio lets you connect with people, but no one can see you or judge you for being a crab person.

15. Vin: Parkour

Even without powers, I can see Vin running across buildings and climbing things she’s not supposed to climb. I think she’d have a good time.

16. Jasnah: Crossword puzzles

Yes, I am basically calling Jasnah a nerd here, but also, I think she’d probably really like crossword puzzles--knowing things, understanding obscure trivia, solving puzzles that aren’t about the end of the world...

17. Dalinar: Tunnelling

I dunno if this is just a Reddit phenomenon, but apparently some people just really like to dig long tunnels underground? And Dalinar sure had a great time digging out that latrine that one time. Perhaps that was a sign that his true love is burrowing deep, deep underground.

18. Taravangian: Fantasy Football

I don’t know a whole lot about Fantasy Football, but I believe it involves creating your own imaginary team of players and then using their actual, real-life performance to get points. So you have to be good at predicting how people will act, skilled at long-term planning, and have a deep desire to win. It’s like Taravangian’s diagram, only nobody (hopefully) dies!

#cosmerelists #cosmere #Szeth #Renarin #Kaladin #Shai #Eshonai #Raoden #Tien #Shallan #Adolin #Mare #Sixth of the dusk #Wax #Rysn #Rlain #Vin #Jasnah #Dalinar #Taravangian

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kitixie · 8 months

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Gardens of Babylon / T.S.

word count: 4k

information: whew. y'all, this one is long but i am so so proud of it. i loved getting to write this, and i feel like "cowboy like me" now belongs to Tommy. please enjoy!!

warnings: sadness, a lot of self introspection

There had been parties around Birmingham all year, but this one was poised to be the best. Large, white tents covered the ground of the luxurious backyard, the grass freshly trimmed. The pristine flower bushes were banked in sprays of purple, pink and yellow flowers, filling the air with a refreshing scent. Taking in your surroundings was one of your favorite parts of the job. You learn so much about people based on the smallest detail, like how they arrange tables, how well they dress for their own event, how well people try to hide the skeletons in their closets for the night.

When you were 16, you became your fathers right hand woman. Taking charge of stake-outs, surveying the people your father saw as a threat, and other tasks that most fathers would never let their daughter do. But your father was blinded by his power, only seeing what he could gain, never seeing what others would lose. That’s how you wound up here, five years later, striding through a stranger's yard, using a fake name to get into the event. You just had one specific mission tonight: make contact with Thomas Shelby.

You found him an hour after the party had started, lounging against an outdoor wall with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. You waited, pulling your own smoke from your small purse, and lighting it up. Standing casually with your shoulders relaxed against the wall, you breathed in, deeply inhaling the nicotine. Immediately, any of the nerves you had relaxed. Thomas was just a man, albeit a dangerous one, but he would never even know your real name. No matter what came from tonight, you would end up back home in your bed. Closing your eyes and opening your ears, you could hear the sounds of music. It was a slow tempo song, but the melody was beautiful. It was a familiar song, although you couldn’t put your tongue on the name of it. Softly humming the song, you stamped out your cigarette and followed the music past Thomas towards the courtyard. Just as your kitten heels touched the dancing floor that had been laid over the grass, a tall figure stopped beside you.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” The man asked, only visible in your peripheral.

“It is, I-“ You turned to face the man, it was Thomas.

You took him in, he looked much different up close. His file only said ‘brown hair, blue eyes, average build’, but you could see nothing average about the man. He was thick, with wide shoulders and a well defined waist. His eyes weren’t just blue, they were pools of sky and ocean and reflections of the string lights hanging above your heads. His hair was varying shades of brown, ranging from lighter pieces of caramel to deep strands that were almost black. His eyebrows were dark and prominent on his face, but they weren’t too much like some men. His pink lips were turned up into a small smile, and your eyes scanned his face again before catching on his mouth for a moment. You looked him in the eyes as the music changed, the new song catching your attention.

“Care for a dance Miss….?” He trailed off, waiting for you to tell him your name.

“Dancing is a dangerous game, Mr. Shelby. But yes, I’d be happy to dance with you.”

He offered his hand, and the two of you stepped into the crowd of swaying people. He placed his left hand on your waist. The right hand gripping yours. He slowly began swaying the both of you in time to the music, before he spoke.

“I still don’t know ya name, Love. How come ya already know mine?” He asked, meeting your eyes.

“My name is Taylor, and I’m not sure if ya know, but you're quite famous around here, Mr. Shelby.” You said, trying to rain in your anxiety.

Had you fucked up by calling him by his name? He knew he had enemies, and if he was smart, he’d see right through the little innocent girl facade you were using. But maybe, he wasn’t that smart. Maybe, he’d see you, you’d be his perfect type, and there would be no more questions. Maybe the two of you would spend more time together after this and you could cover for yourself even more… no. The rules your father had given were very specific, and you were to stick to them tightly. No unauthorized time with the subject of the mission, at any point in time. The rules were rules for a reason, and there was no questioning them. You had worked to hard, come home too many times with your hands caked in both literal and metaphorical blood to stray now. But this was different, he was different. He wasn’t the usual rich prick who got off too far in debt or the typical middle men who worked for your father than needed to be eliminated. He was someone, something, else entirely. He was kind, and his hands were gentle. His voice was soft yet commanding, and you knew that this man could tell you to drop to your knees and you would, even if your father was standing right behind you. Perhaps dancing with him was more of a dangerous game than you thought.

“You’re right about that one, Love. Sometimes I just forget who I am when I see a beautiful woman.” He crooned, swinging your arm and making your skirts furl around you as you twirled.

A blush crept across your face, a laugh breaking through your lips.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby, I-“

“Please, call me Tommy.” He interrupted.

“Tommy,” you repeated, letting his name run through your mouth, “I appreciate the compliment but I’m sure there are prettier women at this party.”

“I didn’t say pretty, Taylor, I said beautiful.” He spoke, sliding his hand from your waist to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to hold his gaze.

“Actu-, never mind. Thank you, Tommy.”

Fuck. You had almost corrected him on your name. You needed to get away from him, his scent filling your head and making you feel almost high. It was intoxicating, and it was trouble. No man had ever made you feel like this, not ever. No one had ever taken away you sharpness, and without your wits you felt naked. You inhaled a deep breath, and thanked God when the song ended and he stepped back from you.

“Taylor, if ya would be willin’, I’d like to spend more time with ya.” Tommy spoke, something sparkling in his eye.

You swore you knew that look, it was the same look you always gave to targets, to draw them in and make them trust you. To make them do as you said. Before you could even think about it, your mouth opened.

“I’d love that, Tommy.” You smiled, willing that feeling of mistrust to go away.

You deserved this, to enjoy him. Even if he was wrong, even if he was your target. You had never wanted love, you had always wanted other things for yourself. But you wanted Tommy, and so for tonight, you would allow yourself to have him.

“What’ll ya have to drink, Love?” Tommy spoke, turning his entire body towards you.

He had taken you to a place called The Garrison, which you knew he frequented, but ‘Taylor’ had to act like she’d never heard of it. You’d spent many nights holed up in the dark back corner of this bar, watching him and his brothers pass in and out of the back room.

“Just a whiskey, please,” You smiled at him, “Whatever kind you’re having is fine.”

“So and Irish then?” He asked, and you nodded your head in response.

At least that wasn’t a lie, you did enjoy whiskey on occasion, but never while you had been working. Always the professional, you were thinking of how to use this to your advantage. Drunk Tommy would surely divulge some sort of weakness? Right?

Tommy grabbed your drinks, and led you to the backroom of the pub. The room was empty, now except for the two of you. He sat down, choosing the table that was circled by a booth seat. He sat with his back to the door, which was an interesting choice that didn’t go unnoticed by you. You sat on the opposite side of the semicircle, and that small creeping feeling came back into your mind. You knew him, more than he would ever know. Thomas Shelby would never put himself at a disadvantage, never. So why put his back to the only door in the room? Why let you be the one with a clear path to escape if somehow this all went wrong? Was he that confident in his ability to charm and wow you, that he would dangle an exit in front of your face, only to be sure that you wouldn’t take it? Your brain was running a thousand words a second, never letting up on the thought that Tommy, who had yet to show any hint of cruelty towards you, was one step ahead. Had he figured you out? It wasn’t possible, your father made sure you stayed hidden until he wanted you to be seen, and even then, you were only seen by those you wanted to see you. How would he have known you were an operative for your father? Did your stumble earlier when he said your alias give you away? Was it the way that you clearly did not belong in the crowd at that party, feet slightly swollen by the tight heels, shoulders hunched over due to the many days you spent curled in a chair by the window? How could he have kn-

“Drink, Love. A blind man could see that somethings on your mind. What is it?” He spoke, sliding a glass of whiskey across the table toward you.

You shakily wrapped your fingers around the glass, pulling it to your lips and taking a long sip.

“It’s nothin’, just reliving some family troubles in my head. I’d much rather be focused on you though.” You said, allowing a sultry tone to enter your voice; men could never resist.

“If it's botherin’ ya, it’s not nothing. Tell me about it, believe me, I understand family troubles.” He laughed, taking a swallow from his own glass.

“I don’t want to rehash it, Tommy, if it’s all the same to you.” You put a stern face on, not liking him questioning you.

He raised his hands in an apologetic movement, sitting back in his seat. He grazed his eyes across your face, looking over you. Suddenly you felt small, sitting in front of him, telling him half-lies and half-truths. Not that he’d ever know, but you did. The realization that you felt bad for lying to him shot a sharp pain of sadness through your chest, only to be beaten by the overwhelming sense of anger that you felt for feeling bad at all. This was a job, and while yes, you had agreed to let yourself enjoy tonight, that didn’t mean forgetting your assignment.

“Tell me about you, Tommy. You have this sense of mystery that I can’t figure out for the life of me.” You said, tracing your fingertip around the rim of your glass.

“Not much to tell, darlin’. I live here in Birmingham with my family, we run a small business. No mum or dad to speak of, I spend a lot of time here, just watchin’.” He spoke, and you felt like he was telling the truth.

Not that he had said anything you didn’t already know, you knew about his mom and dad, and you knew a hell of a lot about his ‘small business’ as he put it. You knew all about his family, you had almost decided to go for Arthur instead of Tommy, but then you realized that just because Arthur was older didn’t mean he was in charge, and then Tommy became your main target.

You nodded your head at him, storing all of the information he had said in exact detail in your brain. Tommy studied you, almost as if he was doing the same thing you were. Except now, you thought that he was only studying you because he was interested in you. He watched your eyes, holding contact anytime you accidentally met his. He looked at your cheeks, your mouth, all the way down to your slightly exposed collar bones. He gave you another moment, before speaking up again.

“Would you like to dance with me, Love?” He asked, extending his hand to you.

“There’s no music Tommy, what do ya want to dance to?” You laughed, accepting his hand into yours regardless.

A spark of electricity flew between your connected fingertips, and instead of flinching, you pulled him closer. Now standing in front of him, you had forgotten how tall he was in the short time the both of you had been sitting.

“I was thinking you could sing, or I can hum if that’ll suffice. I just want to dance with you, Taylor.” He spoke, his shining eyes looking into yours with what seemed like only adoration.

“Start humming then, Tommy, because I can’t carry a tune in a bucket,” you laughed, “My mother could sing wonderfully, but I never inherited that talent.”

Tommy began to hum, a soft song coming from his lips. It sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Not that it mattered, if you ever recognized the song, this would be the moment it was tied to. This second in time, burned into your brain for the rest of your life. His hands delicately on your waist, with your hung over his shoulders. Your fingers lightly scratching the nape of his neck while he rubbed his hand up and down your back, slowly swaying the both of you in rhythm to the song he was creating. The skirt of your dress swishing around the both of your feet, the quieted sounds of the pub outside going silent in your mind. Here, in your space, it was only you and Tommy. Over the years, you had charmed countless men, telling them anything they wanted to hear, even doing some of the questionable things they wanted to do. Whatever it took to get the job done. This felt different though, this felt soft and warm and inviting. Tommy felt like he belonged in your arms, and that if he were to leave them, the awkward limbs would never fit against your side again. He felt like a home, a breath of fresh air, a lover. This was romantic and sweet, and the longing in his eyes and gentle touch of his hands only escalated that feeling for you.

Tommy stopped humming a few minutes later, but he continued swaying with you in his grasp. He leaned his head towards yours, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your hair. You nuzzled your head into his chest, inhaling the scent of tobacco and whiskey. He let his lips linger on your crown, not moving from his spot.

“I think I should take ya home, aye Love? It’s pretty early in the morning.” He softly said, almost not speaking loud enough to hear.

“If that’s what you want, Tommy. I’d be content to stay here dancing with you for a very, very long time.” You tilted your head up at him.

Tommy slid his hands up your back and over your shoulders, ending with his palms against your cheeks. He stared into your eyes for the hundredth time that evening, and there was something unfamiliar in them. Whatever he was feeling, you couldn’t read it, but you didn’t care. All caution and sense gone to the wayside, you perched on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He deepened the kiss, pulling your entire body into his. The two of you fit together perfectly, bodies molding into each other, forming one being. This kiss was only your second kiss ever, so there wasn’t much to compare to, but it was mind blowing. His warmth spreading all over your body, from your connected lips to the spots his hands rested to the way he had situated you with your legs on either side of one of his lean legs.

Eventually you pulled away, finally needing air. He still cupped your face, both of your foreheads pressed together. His chest was heaving, panting breaths coming from both of your mouths.

“It’s time to get you home, Love. Before I lose all composure and ruin this perfect night.” He breathed, untangling your bodies and pulling his face from yours. He still held your hand, leading you toward the door that would lead into the main pub, then out of the bar altogether. You took in the scene one last time, knowing that this could never happen again after tonight. You had let your ambitions slip, almost too far to come back from. Your heart beat wildly, the organ not caring about the betrayal you were imposing upon your father. How could you care about that miserable man, when the God that was Thomas Shelby was holding your hand, escorting you to your apartment?

Tommy deposited you at the door to your small apartment, the walk to your home having been mostly silent. No words needed to be shared between the two of you, both of you having the dreading feeling of something coming. You didn’t know what was coming, but none of it mattered as he pressed his lips gently to your cheek, before pulling back to speak.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Love. Would you mind if I called you sometime to do it again one day?” He smiled, softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“I’d love that, Tommy.” You grinned back, writing your phone number down onto a small piece of paper you had in your purse.

He took the paper, pressing one last kiss to your lips. His mouth was firm against yours, yet it moved so softly and swiftly that the fierceness in his actions didn’t scare you. Your body reacted, back arching into him while your mouth matched his movements. You gripped the side of his face, daring him to try and back away before you were done with him. His hands clasped around your waist, tugging on your already arched back, trying to get you as close to him as possible. The both of you tugged and moved against each other, not caring that you were in a hallway and that any neighbor, all of whom worked for your father, could step out at any moment. Almost sensing your tensing, Tommy slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes while his chest heaved.

“I’ll see you later, Tommy?” You asked, hoping and praying that he’d say yes.

“Goodbye, Taylor.” He smiled, kissing your hands before turning and walking down the hallway, your paper still tucked in his left hand.

It had been four days since you met Tommy, and two days since you started being paranoid. You would not leave your machine unattended for more than 10 minutes at a time, and when you had to leave its side for things like food and cleaning yourself, you made sure no other noise was going on so that you’d be able to hear it when it rang. He had to call eventually, he had said he would. You knew he was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of his descriptors in his file. He had never been known as a man who didn’t tell the truth, his truthfulness was honestly one of his greatest downfalls. It got him in trouble quite often, causing him to blurt off whatever he was thinking, with no care for the consequences.

This time wasn’t different, right? Surely he didn’t charm you all night, walk you home, ask for your number, make out with you outside the door of your apartment, then just not call?

The anxiety had begun to take its toll, your skin becoming more pale and dreary than usual, eyes slightly hollowing from the lack of proper food and sleep. No time could be wasted, not when he could call at any hour. You waited, and waited, and waited. He would remember what the two of you shared, surely. He would.

On day seven, you found a small paper slid under your door. It wasn’t from your fathers office, and you didn’t recognize any of your few friends stationary. Cautiously, you unfolded it, reading the words scrawled in ink.

‘Taylor, or should I say Y/N, I hope this letter finds you well. Truly. However, I do not like being lied to. You have not received any calls from me because I never intended to call you. I let my wits leave me that night, and it will never happen again. You are not who you said you were, and for that I cannot ever trust you again. If you ever see me in Birmingham, do not approach me and pray my brothers do not see you first. I liked you, Darling, I am damn near certain I loved you, but that does not matter if I cannot trust you. I know who your father is, I have known from the moment I saw you smoking in that courtyard, yet you were so beautiful I could not help myself. Do not worry, for your sake, I will not speak of this to anyone if you do not. If you do, I will know, and I will be forced to retaliate. I wish you the best in this life, Love.

All the best,

Thomas Shelby

& The Peaky Blinders’

You dropped the paper, letting it flutter to the floor. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. How could you ever be so foolish? You had let this man control your life for the past seven days, dictating how you ate, how you slept, how you looked at yourself. Every doubt of his character from that night came rushing back. You had been right to think those things of him, to not trust him, but he was so beautiful and gentle, and he sucked you in. He devoured you, and you were happy to offer yourself up for him. You would have been happy to do anything he asked of you.

Your breaths began to become short and exasperated, your face hot and wet from the tears. It felt like a chokehold around your throat, but there were no hands on your throat but your own. You clawed at your skin, willing it to tear open just so you could breathe, but it didn’t happen. You scratched and scratched until you bled, only stopping when you saw the crimson underneath your fingernails. Breathing still did not come, so you laid on the floor, sobbing and heaving, until you had no more tears and oxygen entered your lungs once more. You clung to the piece of paper, the last bit of Tommy you would ever have. You could not have him, but you had his words and his handwriting. You had the faintest smell of him in the paper, the littlest bit of him still with you. His words would be all that you were left with, while he was saddled with his love and your guilt. You wished you had just told him your name, just told him who you were. Damn all of this if it meant you could have him, but it was too late. You would never get to see him again, never get to smell him, never get to touch him. You would never have any part of Tommy Shelby ever again except for this letter and your memories. No man would compare to him, no man could. The way he held you, the way conversation was so effortless and comfortable. The way that even in silence, he filled up a space, never letting you feel alone. He was something so special, so tangible, and you had lost him. There would never be another love for you, never be anyone else. He was your love, even if only for that night, and you knew in your soul that you would never love again.

#tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders #kitixiewrites

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diagonal-queen · 1 year

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THIS IS OBSCURE but may you write hcs for jouno, ranpo and/or chuuya with a s/o (gn prefered but) that. just randomly meows to get their attention?? LMAO. idk i always do this to my partner or friends so 💀💀

Them with an S/O who meows

♡ pairing: Saigiku Jouno, Ranpo Edogawa, Chuuya Nakahara x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: These boys with an S/O who meows like a cat to get their attention. What do they think about it?

♡ cw: Swearing.

note:

Sorry that this is shorter than normal Anon, I tried really hard but I couldn't think of much for this prompt o(TヘTo) my day was long and imma be real it was pretty shitty, but I REFUSE to let anybody down ever, and thus this list of headcanons was born. Apologies for my absence and lack of answering reqs, apologies for errors, and I hope you enjoy x

Jouno:

God help him he's so utterly confused at first. He hears cat but all his other senses indicate human and he really just bugs out for a second

If you tell him it was you he's like 'Okay...but why?' and when you tell him it's just kind of a thing you do he's no less confused

Pretty quickly though it kind of becomes instinctual to him to immediately acknowledge meows as you wanting his attention. Even sometimes if he knows it's not you and is actually a stray cat or something he'd still turn around to check

Absolutely refuses to acknowledge any questions anybody has for him about it, mostly because he doesn't have any of the answers

Not that that stops anyone from asking (by 'anyone' I mean literally only the other Hunting Dogs)

He never really says anything about it to you following his first line of questioning because he actually doesn't know if he wants to know. But let it be known he's not judging you at all. At least you're not drinking soy coffee right

Jouno might actually grow to like the habit a little bit but he would NEVER EVER admit it lol

Ranpo:

Actually thinks it's cute (and you also get Fukuzawa's stamp of approval)

Might tease you about it a little, not in a mean way but he'd start calling you 'kitten' and stuff like that. Soon enough he might start doing it unironically

Would absolutely bring Atsushi into this. He would ruin your guys lives (lovingly) and you two might become closer due to this (which, plot twist, was actually his secret plan all along muhahaha)

He might actually start doing it too out of habit (again, Fukuzawa's cool with it but like everyone else, Atsushi included, is like 'fuck now there's two of them')

Like the opposite of Jouno he will actually hear a cat meow at him and assume it's you. And then he'll be shocked when it's not you (he is always thrown off whenever Fukuzawa's phone pings)

So basically he's very much onboard with this habit. He really just likes all of your characteristics that make you...you

Chuuya:

Finds it off-putting, I won't lie. Would probably prefer if you barked instead (I'M JOKING kinda)

He would definitely take some time to get used to it, but after a while would find it adorable

Also at first might get a little flustered if you did it in public and people heard, but soon he'd grow to lowkey snap at anybody who questioned you about it lol

What really gets Chuuya is that other than the meowing you don't really have any other...cat traits? Like you don't have a cat-based ability or anything like that, and he's so curious as to why you began doing it

He might ask if you can actually communicate with cats to mess with you (he's soft and silly on the inside guys)

He especially loves when you do it when you're sleepy because he thinks it's the cutest thing ever actually

Overall. He is definitely a dog person but shiiii you might just change that

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

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howlingday · 7 months

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turns out every member of team rwby had a massive crush on the rusted knight and wanted to date/ be railed by him and even had self insert fanfics about it. now that they know it's jaune how do they try to make their fanfics real?

"What are you drawing, Ruby?"

"A picture of me an the Rusty Knight!" Showing off her crayon portrait of the Rusted Knight, his mount, and herself standing together in a flower field, Ruby's mother cooed at the drawing.

"My, my, what a wonderful drawing!" Summer smiled. "And what are you three doing together?"

"We're on an adventure!"

"Hmhmhm!" Summer chuckled. "You must have really loved that story last night, didn't you?"

"I'mma marry him, and then we'll adventure forever!"

Summer chuckled at her daughter's daydreaming of the fictional hero. Not even six and already dreaming of marriage. She was still so innocent, and Summer hoped that would never change.

---------------------------------------------------

"Would you like a kiss for your wounds, my lady?"

"No! Because I'm a big girl! Kisses are for babies!"

"Could you kiss me then? After all, only the coolest girls can kiss the coolest dudes."

"Yang, lunch is read-"

Yang slammed her notebook shut, twirling in her seat with a red face and a squeaky voice. "DAAAAAAAAAAD! KNOCK ON MY DOOR!"

"I did knock, sweetie~!"

"NO, YOU DIDN'T!" Yang stamped her feet.

"Sorry, sorry!" Taiyang stepped away. "Lunch is downstairs when you're done doing, er, whatever."

Yang huffed as she jumped off her seat, carefully hiding her notebook under a bunch of arts and crafts material in a drawer. She stamped to the door, looking back at the drawer to make sure it was safe. Nobody could ever know her dark secret.

---------------------------------------------------

"The Rusted Knight?" Nicholas looked down at his granddaughter. "Of course I've heard of him! In fact, it was his armor that inspired my set!"

Weiss rubbed a tiny hand against the white shirt her grandfather was wearing. It was soft, and underneath was soft, too. He wasn't wearing his armor. He hardly did in his own house.

"Lügner." Weiss softly said, pressing further into his belly.

"Ach!" Nicholas shouted, placing a free hand to his abdomen. " Mein bauch!"

Nicholas fell over to the floor, holding Weiss in the air. She giggled as she stared at his bearded face. Looking at him, he reminded her of the Rusted Knight, and his statements on his modeling after the fairy tale hero would only become more and more true.

"Say, would you like me to read you that story for you?"

Weiss' eyes lit up and she nodded fervously. He chuckled as he swung himself to his feet. Walking to the library, he pulled out the book and was about to read it when a pair of eyes stared at him.

"Come on, Winter. There's enough room for all of us." The older girl hurried over, taking her seat on the other side of their opa. To this day, it remains Weiss and Winter's most cherished of their shared memories.

---------------------------------------------------

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mister and Misses Belladonna."

Blake sat between her parents, red in the face. To think it would actually come to this. Her parents were going to kill her. Or worse, take away her books.

"Is everything alright?" Mom asked with worry in her voice.

"It is, but... In a recent assignment, Blake was tasked with writing a short story about herself and a fictional character in an interview." The teacher slid the assignment forward. "If you'd like, I can tell you without your reading."

Dad took the paper and gave it a quick read. And by quick read, he shoved it into Mom's hands after reading half a paragraph. Half of him was red with embarrassment and the other green with disgust.

She took the paper and almost immediately responded with, "Oh my!"

"As I'm sure you are both aware, we always encourage creativity in our students, but this..."

"No, no, we understand." Dad said with a burp. "We'll be sure this won't happen again."

The teacher and Dad spoke furthervon the subject, moreso than Blake EVER cared for. There was a hiss at her side, and she looked to Mom. She was pointing at a word. A very bad, bad, naughty word.

"This is spelled with an i, not an e."

#rwby #ruby rose #summer rose #yang xiao long #taiyang xiao long #weiss schnee #nicholas schnee #winter schnee #blake belladonna #ghira belladonna #kali belladonna

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breakfastteatime · 1 year

Text

"You know what this reminds me of?" Cal asks as he follows Cere and their tour group through the museum. "Field trips on Coruscant."

Cere laughs. "You're right. I do feel like a youngling again. How many times did you visit the botanical gardens?"

"Ugh, so many. There's only so many times you can look at the same flowers."

Their guide takes them into the area they're here for, an area dedicated to the Jedi. Cere listens with interest as they're led to a display of lanterns, the most beautiful standing proud at the heart of the group.

The tour guide, an elderly Human male, makes sure everyone has a good view before he continues. "They say this lamp is the one used by the ancient Jedi Master who brought peace to our planet three centuries ago. She used it to guide our people through the darkest of times, the light never once wavering. Since then, our people have celebrated our emergence from strife during our Lantern Festival, and you can see many of the lanterns we have created over the centuries before you. Despite the times we live in, the Jedi's lantern is considered this museum's greatest artifact."

Cere looks to the lamp. Tall and elegant, it is a gorgeous example of High Republic craftsmanship, burnished with gold designed to resemble sparks. Cere remembers hearing the tale of the Jedi Master who guided an entire people through a howling storm of evil as a youngling. And to see it here, now, is a true honor, and well worth the trip. She works her way through the tour group to get close. It truly is a marvel, and a testament to this world's bravery to so brazenly display it when the Empire could arrive any day. She wishes they could've brought BD-1 to scan everything, but the museum's liberal attitudes toward displaying Jedi artifacts did not extend to droids being allowed access. So, he'd gone into the city with Merrin and Greez to help find supplies.

Thankfully, she had another way to learn more. She glances over at Cal. Moving around their fellow museum visitors, he steps up to her. "This is why we're here, right? What you wanted to know about?" he asks quietly.

"Yes. Let me know what you find."

While Cere distracts the guide and group with questions, Cal brushes a hand over the lamp. He pulls back moments later and takes a loop of the other lanterns, none of which are particularly grand. Leaving him to it, Cere follows on with the tour group. Cal returns a short while later, merging seamlessly with the group. Somehow, Cere keeps her attention on the guide, even though her curiosity burns. The guide prattles on, Cere and Cal both nodding diplomatically along with the rest of the group. It takes nearly two hours for the tour to finish, and by the end of it, Cere is almost ready to combust. They make their way out of the museum via the conveniently located gift shop.

"Well?" Cere asks Cal as he surveys the store's offerings.

'Huh?" He looks up from the candy display. "Oh! Yeah, it's a fake. Made on Coruscant ten years ago and put here by a relic hunter who stole the real one. I don't think the staff know. Shall we tell them? Cere? Uh, Cere?"

Fake? They wasted hours of their lives for a fake? "Here." She tosses Cal her wallet and heads outside. When he comes bounding up a short while later, he holds out a packet of sherbets stamped with the museum's logo and makes Cere take one. "You ready to hear the rest of it now?" He doesn't give her a chance to say no. "The guide was wrong. So was the thief. That lantern wasn't Master Lorcan's, though it was very pretty. Did you spot the really broken one that was a miniature of the big one? That was the real Lamp of The Way." Popping a sherbet in his mouth, he grins. "I think there's a lesson in here somewhere, Master Junda."

She stares at him. "Cal, did Jaro Tapal ever teach you the story of the Jedi who boasted too much?"

"Why no, Cere, he did not. He did tell me about being a sore loser though."

When they get back to the ship, she's hiding his lightsaber.

(For @mistressorinoco who I somehow accidentally banned?! I have NO idea!)

#star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo minific #jfo headcanon #cal kestis #cere junda #UGH I wanna write more about cal's all too brief time in the temple

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terraxcloud · 19 days

Text

A Few Many Things...

There are 5 or more timelines, and it's not worth counting them anymore.

Biggs dies in one (the middle) but Zack at the church immediately talks about him being alive (this is the Zack that meets Cloud in the final battle I believe). The first image is the last Aerith date and the Stamp bag is to the left. Johnny appears with a plushie of a dog to show it's a different timeline instead of using a bag.

The reason it's not worth counting them is due to what Sephiroth says:

In this scene the FF9 Terra/Gaia "two planets becoming one" thing is shown again.

They represent the timelines as worlds, but what they're showing is an FF9 thing involving actual planets. I'll look at DFFOO Act 4 Chapters 4 & 8 again to see what's up there. Of course, they wouldn't say it's planets because of the implications, but that's not to say these timelines aren't coming together...they just need a reason since most people just think the devs are changing things just to change them. Gilgamesh has already appeared in this game from his own rift anyway.

After the Temple of the Ancients, Aerith and Tifa aren't able to stop Cloud from giving the Black Materia to Sephiroth. The date scenes between Aerith and Cloud are more than likely for Yuffie than Terra, especially since we have no idea of Terra other than the main theme lyrics.

The descriptions Cloud gives about what he prefers and how he acts matches what they show of Yuffie's interests (chocobos, getting paid for jobs or acting like a merc, smiling, seeing Red XIII as a dog, staring at Cloud, the poses for the photo with Aerith, being pissed off, etc.

This isn't saying that Terra is supposed to be like this. Yuffie was always a reflection of "real Cloud", however, both Terra and Yuffie are similar to him (the whole "siblings" dynamic). It could be that the Terra we got in other games isn't the same as the one when FF6 was being developed before the main character vanished (Kefka may have sucked her personality away).

The thing that makes Cloud "regain himself" is remembering the flower Aerith gave him in the beginning of Remake.

I don't know if Aerith will find the "real Cloud" herself. Tifa represents that part, but it's clear they're changing things with her. Obviously, they're going to use the "dream" this time around, which is what Aerith represents (she already has a shared dream with Zack), not Tifa. They also put a small shooting star bit with Aerith instead of Tifa, but if Aerith's technically dead the only character that can do these things is Yuffie.

The dialog Yuffie gives immediately gives after Cloud wakes up before the Lost Capital is the hint. It couldn't be encapsulated in a small scene, so they just left Yuffie out of it. If she's not going to do anything, why would she say it immediately?

Another hint was after the Demon Gate boss when Cloud starts banging his sword on the wall to break through. The two characters they show reacting to him are Barret and Yuffie, but the camera goes towards Yuffie in particular. Before this Yuffie was shadow boxing with Barret, which is what she does with Cloud at the end of her date scene (it also happens with Barret after leaving the Mansion at Nibelheim before the final Roche boss fight).

I believe Red XIII represents the change Cloud has personality-wise ("you don't always have to play the badass") while Barret represents the anger he feels at Sephiroth. Having Yuffie shadow box Barret for fun while Cloud is going crazy for the Black Materia shows that Yuffie will have a big role in preventing Cloud from doing this in the 3rd game.

The Corel sidequest with Cloud Jr. shows Barret's change to being "softer" as he explains that he was always hard on others and going after everything that ticked him off, making others suffer in the process. It makes sense why they show him and Yuffie reacting.

The other sidequests that show this "anger" issue are the Chocobo Billy ones with Yuffie in Nibelheim and the last one at the Gold Saucer with Tifa. The Yuffie one is more about the anger issue while the Tifa one is more about learning what happened in the past.

If you think about it, the only thing Cloud doesn't "remember" is being a normal Shinra foot-soldier, the one with motion-sickness (maybe the memory of him defeating Sephiroth from Remake is gone due to the whispers? He does react to the tubes in the Shina Mansion a bit).

The dialog Yuffie has about Chocobos are also noteworthy (since if we go by the symbols, Yuffie is the Moogle and Cloud is the Chocobo).

Btw, these two scenes are kinda similar:

Another "Yuffie represents the Moogle" hint is made at the Gold Saucer intro. Cait Sith summons a Cactuar, a Tonberry, and a Chocobo, but what about the Moogle? It's Yuffie since the moogle is on her pop star outfit. These four on the orphanage chalkboard in Remake. With the characters we've seen so far it may be like this:

Cactuar - Zack Tonberry - Sephiroth Chocobo - Cloud Moogle - Yuffie

The Tonberry King boss battle has MAI dialog that sounds similar to Sephiroth's dialog when he goes insane in the mansion basement. It's kinda fitting that this is a Yuffie sidequest and you need to steal his crown.

The Cactuar thing is Zack due to the "pose" which Cloud, Yuffie, and Red XIII also do in the last proto-relic quest. People know that's something Zack has done.

Every sidequest has it's own meaning. The one similar to Cloud's Dissidia story is the Barret one in Gongaga with the weaponsmith.

#FF7 Rebirth #FFVII Rebirth #FF7R #FFVIIR #Cluffie #Clerra #FF7 #FFVII

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liyuee-qixing · 2 years

Text

“Fatui Beloved ”

You're the tsaritsa daughter And Married to one of her loyal faithful servant harbinger,how would your life become?

Character:La Signora,Childe, scaramouche

La Signora

your mother is probably relief that you pick to marry Signora instead her other ten harbinger

She'd shower you with love and affection<3,she just love to forget about her harbinger duty and leave them behind for her to spend time with you,holding your hand and play your hair while you're sleeping on her lap..

She'll make you afternoon tea and sweets after a long and exhausting work, everybody need a rest,so did you. Surely spending time with her for few hours eating sweet and drinking tea is no problem

She used to love singing,so when you have trouble sleeping she'll always sing you lullaby that rang inside your mind giving you chills and drive you to sleep slowly..

She'll make you flower crown,a princess need her crown of course.

"Good afternoon,my Love anything interesting happen today?" She asked as she poured your cup warm tea

"nothing really happened,it was a longggg boring paperwork, Fontaine people is just so hard to deal with, they'll complain about the smallest ever existing problem ever,like the color of stamps,me being two seconds late.."you rant about your day to her,no matter how long is it,she always listen to you no matter what.

Tartaglia

Your mother has to make sure 1000 times you're sure to marry him.

He'll always buy you random gift,that pink night gown he saw at the market,hey! That'll look nice on you! That white sweater you have your eyes on for the past day,that definitely going to his cart list

He's just so sweet and he also a family man,how could you resist him!? He introduced you to his family, let's say his parents is quite shocked about it since they never heard anything of him dating you.

"hey! So you're my brother wife? I have a request to make" one of childe brother said,Childe and the rest of his family were already gone leaving you two in the living room,the child is known as Teucer

"what is it?" You replied at his request,he look a little hesitant at first but eventually said it

"can you not leave him? He look so happy when he's with you! I bet he'll be very sad if you leave him.. plus you both look perfect together!"he requested,he look genuinely on his words,huh,were this kid spying on your both?

"of course not,why would I leave him when I love him so much?" You giggled,his frown turned into cheerful joy smile now

Scaramouche

He was not one to Love nor cares about relationships with other people. Not caring about how other people feels or think.

Yet when you accepted him,he felt like he was given other Chances to prove himself worthy as a living being,to prove himself that he's worthy of loving and being loved by you. He is a little bit stiff at first,but eventually he'll learn to change,he doesn't wanna lose you of course,this is a rare opportunity where someone able to love and see him as if he was a human.

He'll buy you stuff he thinks you'll like or related to your special interest,no matter how expensive the price may be,your happiness matter

He also changed his goal,he no longer need the electro archon gnosis for himself to feel real thing, the burning sensation of love he felt for you was already enough.

"Good morning Kuni! Ah,I forgot you have a mission today"you creeped out behind him,placing your hands on his shoulder.

"yea,indeed I do,is there something else in the way?" He asked as he tilted his hat a little bit lower than before,still busy preparing for the mission

"no,,I'm just kinda sad you're leaving.. I still hopes you the best though!" You said, placing a kiss on his cheeks that surely leave a lipstick mark

"can you do that again?" His face was all red but he still manage to spit out what he wanted. you gave him a playful smirk

"do what?" You asked,still with playful smirk painted on your face

"don't play with me right now"he pointed at the lipstick mark, waiting you to kiss him again,you giggled but you still do it,you kiss him again on the lips this time,now his face is all red and flustered

I'm bored so I write this,so the plot didn't make sense

#genshin imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin drabbles #genshin fluff #childe #childe fluff #childe x reader #la signora x reader #la signora fluff #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader

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chiquititaosita · 3 months

Text

La Bruja jean kirestein x latina reader

Reader is a healer, and uses herbal remedies and folk magick/medicine to help cure Jean’s empacho (blockages) from las jefas (bosses) he’s afraid of anything that’s not a doctor. He’s a skeptic fr fr. However this little curandera is just healed his wounds but did she heal his heart too?

@honeybleed @killxio @imissyuuji @timietate

he’d see you in the village of wall rose inside of the Karaness district. So kind. So loving. And so sweet. You were passing out food and crops to the poor, and you were always busy. But now he sees you in Marley. You both are in disguises. Cleaning and organizing the food stamps. It’s because you’re so intellectual they call you La bruja. A witch. you’re not even a witch. It’s just the home remedies you Perform it’s perfect. However there’s one particular day Jean and his squad had set up camp. And you come in.

“Mr Kirestien?” A calm sweeet voice pops into the tent. Jean is full of sweat on his face coughing, and feeling like a dying mess. And he never gets sick.

“Yup..” cough ”that’s me.” You just chuckle as you’re starting to sit up him up.

“how are you feeling?” She asks him with her two braids with the ribbons.

“Could be better to guess.” He grumbled sitting up, and flinched when you have an egg in your hand. “You’re not going to squash that on my head right??” you just chuckled.

“No, I’m going to cook you and feed you to Los pollos.” She laughs and shakes her head rubbing the egg all over him slowly saying a prayer. “Why so tense?”

Jean was always tense for real. Maybe it’s the pressure of the military police, or is that how he is after witnessing death so much. “Why so nosy?” He thought it would be adorable to be such a smart ass. You rolled your eyes. “You have a lot on your plate…” she mumbled as she’s now cracking the egg into a cup of water. “Ahh I see now.” Jean looks at y/n with a dumbfounded face

“Let me guess i got a curse placed on me.” He snorts, starting to wheeze. And then cough. “No. You actually have empacho. A blockage.” She explained and made the young man prop up as she poured him some water into his mouth. As he’s just been feeling queasy. Nodding. Then hacking because of how much mint is helping him breathe through his nose.

“Gah!! What the hell!” You then respond ”is something wrong?”

“You mad mad woman you’re supposed to make me feel better not try to kill me!!” There he couldn’t help to hear you giggle, and then that giggle would turn into a cackle. A true laugh a man hasn’t heard.

“What? What’s so funny?” He cocks his head. As you calm down and sigh wiping your eyes. “This.” You breath as you make your finger into a circle. “This is funny.” You then just sit down in the tent. Reading and performing your prayer rituals. “I will be here for at least two days. Three days including today.” She smiled winking at him and then grabs the the big plants to smack him.

“Lay down.” You command him, and you sounded like you were on top of his case. He smirks at you. “Or what, Missy??” He gives you that arrogant smile haughty laughter. You just slapped him with the leaves since they are palm leaves. Stinging his skin..

Then it happened day after day. During those three days. He’s felt a connection with you. Mamacita. Homeboy even loves your cooking. So when he finishes. And it’s your last day. “So um. I wanted to say thank you.” He coughs out his thanks.

“Did I hear gratitude?” He rolls his eyes as a playful scoff escaped his lips. “W-what no.” He crosses his arms frantically like he’s panicking. And then reveals his flowers of tulips in his back pocket.

“These are for you.” You blush smiling all sheepishly and hop up to your step and kiss his cheek. He stammers and looks at you with a sheepish look that made him all smitten. “S-say, I was wondering… since you saved my life…? How about I get you a job on the force??”

“Is this your way of asking me to come with you?” You giggle, and you also said yes.

#⋆˚✿˖° osita’s chisme time #. ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ♡ ositas aot master list #jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #aot x poc!reader #jean kirschtein x latina!reader #farmer jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein scenarios #aot masterlist #aot x reader

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wc-m0ch4 · 2 years

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Silver the Hedgehog x gn! Reader Headcanons

This was self-indulgent lol I love Silver (and Shadow but we'll get to that 😏😈 )

⁂ He fucking adores you

⁂ Follows you around and asks about what you’re doing all the time

⁂ Pretty clingy but after Blaze talks to him he tries his best to give you some space when needed

⁂ Probably gets you little trinkets and what not, usually nature related (“Y/n, look! I found this cool rock on the beach earlier today! You can have it if you want.”)

⁂ You get him some packets of seeds and he goes bonkers

⁂ “Y/n! The lilies sprouted today! Which flower do you think will be next?”

⁂ There aren’t really any plants or greenery in the future... or anything alive, honestly

⁂ He already was fighting for a better future but now that he has you, he’s ten times more determined

⁂ “I’ll make sure our future is good, then, we can grow all the flowers we want, and everyone can come and look at them!”

⁂ Silver likes to borrow your clothes; they smell like you and they’re comfortable

⁂ Helps you around the house with chores and stuff using his telekinesis

⁂ You don’t want to sweep? He’s got it.

⁂ He likes physical touch and words of affirmation

⁂ Cuddling while you pet his head and compliment him 😩🙏🙏

⁂ He likes holding hands and just clinging to you in general. If you let him, he’ll sit in your lap or have you carry him around

⁂ If you’re a human you're like double his height so if you bend/crouch down to talk to him he gets super flustered

⁂ As much as he loves physical contact, he’s not a huge fan of PDA, social anxiety and all that

⁂ He’ll always hold your hand but if you see him glancing around, please don’t be offended. He loves you he’s just nervous someone will make some snide remark about him or, God forbid, you

⁂ On that note, he’ll capture anyone on the spot with his telekinesis if they insult/hurt you until they apologize

⁂ Silver is always ready to listen if you need to vent and try to make you feel better

⁂ Not the best if you want actual advice (You should probably go to Blaze for that) but will try to calm you down

⁂ Speaking of Blaze, Silver will be so nervous that she won’t like you. She’s a little cold at first, sticking to small talk and formalities for a while, but eventually she comes around. Once Blaze has given her stamp of approval Silver is so excited

⁂ He’ll plan out little friend outings with you three (and is even more excited if Blaze and you are laughing and chatting like real friends)

⁂ Of course, not every outing will include Blaze, but he does want to occasionally include her

⁂ Something I think would be funny is how you two would handle bugs

⁂ Silver would be terrified so either

A) You’re fine with them and he’ll ask you to catch them (not kill them cuz even tho he’s scared of them he still values their life) Or

B) You’re also terrified and it’s just you two screaming while you stand on the couch

⁂ You gotta introduce him to modern things, you just gotta

⁂ In the future, he doesn’t have social media, music, or just the internet in general

⁂ Any pop culture references go straight over his head

⁂ Introduce him to Tik Tok and he’ll be on that shit for HOURS

⁂ Definitely asks if you have games on your phone LMAOO (probably plays Candy Crush or something lol)

⁂ He gets insecure sometimes if you’re a human cuz he's a hedgehog so just reassure him that you’re not gonna leave him and give him a big hug

That's all I got for today, I lowkey forgot I had a Tumblr LMAO

Anyways, send in a request if you want something written (I mostly do headcanons for stuff, it's just easier)

I have a list of fandoms that I'm in/will write for so go nuts lol

#silver #silver the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog x reader #x reader #headcanons #silver the hedgehog headcanons #silver the hedgehog x reader headcanons #Sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sth #fanfiction #sonic headcanons

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

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Imagine if Aemond and Strong/Velaryon niece are engaged since childhood, and really Love one another, but after the incident, her mother sends her t marry some old creepy lord and Aemond is beyond himself! It’s only years later that he manages to get her back (and the creeps entire house destroyed) but she’s traumatized by the experience and we see a soft ,caring side of him, and since she doesn’t anything to do with her side of the family, she sides with the greens ,and Alicent gets a daughter

AN: Hi, I hope you like it

6 YEARS AGO

You had only just flowered; something your mother thankfully hadn’t realised yet with all the hectic movements around you both. “Aemond.” You giggled at the sight of him and quickly as ever made your way to his side. The funeral had now finished and you were free to move away from your family.

His smile was soon moving across his face as you noted Aegon moving from his side. “What is that brother of yours doing?” You reached for his hand to hold as you played with his fingers. “His usual self.” You hummed in amusement and softly shook your head. “Of course.” You whispered.

You stayed together in comfortable silence for a moment as you looked around. Your mother comforting your brother held your attention. “When we get married, my dragon will be big enough for two.” You whispered into his ear. “We can ride together.” You promised him so sweetly.

“I would like that.” Aemond whispered and ducked his head for a moment. It was only you he would be so sweet with. “I’m so glad I get to marry you. The idea of some old stranger..” You left everything unsaid as you shivered in disgust and slight fear if you were being honest.

“This will never happen.” Aemond hummed and you could only smile; your mind and body relaxing at his words.

»»————-　★　————-««

Childhood promises were broken that night. As well as anything else you were made of, you thought to yourself. You could still remember the cries Aemond gave out as his injury was forgotten about. “Shhh.” You whispered to your baby boy who was running to you. “Father is angry.” You hated the way your body stilled at those words. Your son followed suit as he grabbed at your hand. “Shh, he’s not angry at you.” You tried to comfort your love. “At you?” He whispered. It was moments like this that you wished your dragon had been able to come with you,

You only played with locks of his hair. Your own was tied in an elegant bun; your disinterest with appearances well known. It wasn’t as if you had anyone to impress. Your husband had his whores and you had a lonely bed. You were thankful for it; the abuse he gifted out to you was enough.

“We have visitors.” He continued to whisper; playing with your fingers when you finally turned back to him.”We do.” You hummed; confusion moving over your face as you tried to remember any talk. “I suppose we should go and greet them.” You pressed a loving kiss to his temple.

Your little boy was still ever so shy; it was endearing truly. You ruffled those locks of his before making your way through the thankfully quiet corridor. You kept the growing fear to yourself and tried to stamp on it. “We should get you some food after this.” You whispered into your son’s ear, hoping to distract him as the entrance to the hall was soon upon you both.

“Lemon cakes?” He whispered to you; his tone dripping with innocence and excitement that you wanted to protect. “Anything you want.” You whispered and kept him close against your side.

“Wife.” The horrid, loud voice of your husband echoed in the hall as you finally stepped inside. “My love.” You whispered softly. Your tone was sweet but held no real emotion as you stepped closer. Your son stayed at your side and you heard the scoff your husband gave.

You hold only tightened as your head finally lifts up. Those eyes of yours that used to be so bright moved across the room.

The sight of your family before you was enough to break your heart all over again and take your breath away. “Y/N..” You heard your mother’s voice from the side of you but made no move to turn your head. The woman that had abandoned you with no other communication didn’t deserve your attention.

“A royal visit. I was not expecting this.” Your Lord husband moved to stand; bowing his head but you could see the annoyance. “Yes, it seems an urgent matter was brought to our attention.” Otto’s harsher voice entered the room whilst you only grew in confusion. Your hand gently stroked your son’s back without noticing.

You were also unaware of the stares coming your way. The Prince you were promised to couldn’t keep his eye off you. His fists curling in anger at the sight of you so darkened. The light he had longed for seemed so dim now. Not that it changed his intense desire and love for you. Nothing could ever do that, not even the small boy at your side who clung to his mother.

Just as he had clung to his own all those years ago when everything changed in the worst ways. It seemed he wasn’t the only one affected. He prayed to whatever Gods existed that you spared him a glance. “There are whispers of treason coming from these parts.” Otto continued whilst you only grew in confusion.

“Treason?” Your husband scoffed but even you could hear the slight quiver in his tone and your head snapped to him. “There is no treason here.” He began to babble now whilst your eyes finally turned and saw him. The silence that followed was deafening as you kept your son close; protecting him from any harm.

“We have evidence.” Otto finally announced whilst your eyes never strayed from Aemond. It seemed that was enough for your husband as he moved to run. But Aemond was quicker even as his own stare had never moved from you. A soft gasp escaped you as you watched him pounce.

“Aemond..” You softly gasped out and the air became thin and quiet as he slowly moved to stand. His hand around your husband’s throat. “Take him away. And the rest of them.” Otto ordered. “Mama…” Your son gently sobbed and burrowed into your dress. It was the only time a flash of light came over you.

“Come with me sweet love.” The sound of Alicent beside you had you turning your head; still in complete confusion. “Alicent, what…?” You began before she gently took your arm. Your eyes finally met your mother’s eye. You could tell she was itching to step forward but you only followed the Queen.

“Where is grandfather?” You whispered out. Your fingers moved through your son’s locks as he continued to look around. He looked over his shoulder without you realising and locked eyes with Aemond as he watched you leave. “He is quite ill now. He couldn’t make the trip.” Alicent softly informed you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered; the words tumbling from you before you ducked your head down. Alicent could only watch and mourn the girl you were; the girl she had been herself once upon a time. “Who is this charming boy?” Alicent moved to change the subject. She knew you didn’t hold any love for your husband but mother’s always loved their children.

She could see it with her own eyes. “This is Caelon.” You proudly introduced your sweet boy as you moved into the chambers.

»»————-　★　————-««

The journey back to the capitol was quiet and interesting. You had locked yourself in the chambers and entertained your son. He had taken the news of the death of your husband incredibly well. “You can be upset.” You gently whispered as you settled on the bed with him. Your fingers moving through his locks. “I can’t be. He was no father to me.” Caelon whispered before burrowing his head into your neck. Your hold on him is only tightening. “Shh, I love you.” You whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

“Y/N..” A familiar, more deeper voice interrupted the moment. “Aemond..” You whispered out; quite breathlessly. You noticed your son looking between you both as you slowly moved to stand. “Go to the Queen.” You gently told your son and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. With one last look at the towering Prince; your son slipped from the room. His little feet carried him hopefully to safety. There was silence that followed when it was just the two of you. The once familiar relationship was awkward, well, for you anyway.

The Prince could only stare. His fingers itching to touch you. “Your dragon was kept safe.” Aemond finally whispered. It was the only time he saw some flash of emotion he recognized come over you. “She is?” You whispered out; stepping closer without even realising it. The Prince’s smile tugged on his lips. “She’s waiting for you.” Aemond continued as he slowly reached for your hand. “I was waiting for you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He began to babble. The Prince was completely softening as if he was that little boy again from all those years ago. He wished you were the girl but quickly he was falling back in love with you; as if he ever fell out of it.

“It is no fault of yours.” You whispered out. You hated how quickly you were melting for him as you didn’t flinch in her closeness. “I should've tried harder.” Aemond continued; hardly hearing your words. “You are here now.” You whispered and gently placed your head onto his chest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x Y/N #request

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iamthecomet · 10 months

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I‘ve had a terrible day and literally nobody I could contact so I’m honestly super Sorry for coming here but I just felt like going to the ask box of someone in the ghost fandom would be my safest bet

(There were just literally more childhood things triggered today than I even know fucking EXISTED and I had two attacks that were lots of fun /s)

Could I maybe get a bit of ghoulette comfort? Any pairing of your choice, and I’m very okay with comfort sex

Again, I’m very sorry if this is weird or overstepping any boundaries, or if you don’t take requests, I just really really felt the need to contact someone

Please don't be sorry for coming to my ask box--you're welcome here any time, really. I'm sending you lots of good vibes and hugs (if you want them). I'm sorry you're having such a shitty day. I don't know if what I wrote can really be considered comfort. But I tried and then everything got away from me (imagine that). It's a little angsty, a little smutty, and a little sweet. I hope it helps. 1.8k of ghoulette "comfort"--just for you, under the cut <3.

Sunshine keeps it together as best she can. It's for the best, she knows that. Knows that if she tried to go up on stage every night of this tour with her still healing knee (twisted, badly on a run through the woods with Mountain) she'd damage her vessel irreparably. Knows, that the way it still aches late at night is a sign that she wasn't ready. But it's hard. Hard to video chat with Cirrus, Cumulus, and Aurora and not wish she was on those plush looking hotel beds with them. Squished between them. Aurora's silky hair slipping through her fingers, Cumulus' heart beating under her ear. She misses them with every part of her body. Something she didn't realize was possible until they were gone. She'd never felt this in the pit. This connection, this love that seems to have dissolved into her blood. Her pack. Her girls. They're everything. The Abbey is so empty without them. Aether's here--and the other ghouls--the older ones. But they largely keep to themselves. And having Aether isn't the same as having everyone. And besides--he's distracted. More shifts in the infirmary. More time spent talking to Imperator. She thinks he's keeping himself busy on purpose. So that he doesn't have to feel what she does--an ache where her family used to be. And it isn't like they're not coming back. Not like she doesn't talk to them every day. Dew and Swiss are constantly sending her pictures of stupid shit from the road. Bad license plates. Strange tchotchkes in various gift shops. Rain sends her pictures from museums, historical sights, and gorgeous sweeping architecture. Mountain sends her pictures of flowers, and trees, and every animal he can. Cumulus and Cirrus talk to her on video every single day without fail. They are thinking of her. They are out there. They are coming home. But in the silent moments it's hard to remember that. The ghoul wing echoes like a tomb on some days and Sunshine feels like the caretaker. If purgatory is real, she's found it. It's late, several weeks into the tour. She hung up with the girls hours ago, and since she's been staring at the tin ceiling. Tracing the patterns in it. Stamped scrollwork, vines, flowers, a sunburst in the center of each one like this room was made for her. It's about the time of night that she'd usually crawl into bed with Aether. But she can hear him still on the phone with Dewdrop. A low murmur drifting through the walls. Her room feels too small. Like the walls are closing in around her. Too warm, stuffy. She thinks about throwing open a window but that isn't going to help. She wants the sky stretched out above her. Grass beneath her bare toes. She wants to be thousands of miles away from here, curled up in scratchy hotel sheets with Cirrus in her arms.

She stands at the window, looking out at the way the moonlight slants across the grounds, the way it glitters off of the lake. The moon is full, and it's the only reason she sees her. Pale skin luminous under that light. Mist.

Sunshine doesn’t make a decision. She lets the way her heart starts hammering do that for her. She foregoes shoes, or pants. She steps out into the hallway and head toward the door in just a button-down shirt she stole from Swiss ages ago, and her underwear. The grass is cool and wet against her toes. Mowed recently judging by the way the clippings stick to the sides of her feet. She walks into the Abbey grounds. Toward Mountain's favorite garden, and the lake just beyond it.

Sunshine and Mist aren’t particularly close. Mist doesn’t seem to be close with any of the newer band ghouls except for Dew. She keeps to herself mostly. But she and Sunshine have shared moments. In a cramped closet or Sunshine’s bed. Frenzied and quick. Mists teeth sharp on her lip. Her mouth tasting like clean cool water.

Sunshine feels like she’s dying of thirst. Mist is on the very edge of the dock. Her legs drawn up tight, toes curled over the edge of it. Pointed chin resting on her knees. Sunshine stops halfway through Mountain's flowerbeds and looks at her. The way her tail curls, serpentine, around her own arm. The strange blue tinge to her hair--her skin. Long fingers curled around her shin bones as she hugs herself. She’s so compact. Smaller even than Aurora. Slight but not fragile. Built of wire swimmers muscle. Sunshine once watched her throw Ifrit into the dirt.

She makes it a point to stay on Mists good side—for more than one reason. "Are you coming down, or are you just going to stare?" Mist calls out. She doesn't move. There's a musical lilt to her voice that always reminds Sunshine of Rain. Siren song. Inviting her closer even though her tone is cold, flat. Sunshine forces her legs into motion, ignoring the way her knee twinges when she steps wrong as the ground beneath her starts its descent toward the lake.

“I wasn’t—” she starts when she gets closer, but the words die as her feet hit the dock. She was. She was just standing there staring. Sunshine watches her more often than she’d like to admit. It seems easier than talking to her. Easier than asking for what she wants. It worked out the first time Mist backed her into a dark corner—and every time since.

She wants that again—doesn’t want to have to talk about the reason she’s out here in the middle of the night seeking Mist out. It sounds bad when she thinks about it.

Everyone else is gone. So, I came to you. Sunshine sits on the dock next to Mist, dangles her legs over the edge and finds the lake surprisingly warm. She leans back on her hands and looks at Mist again. Looks at the savage ridge of her spine where it sticks out from the low collar of her tank top. The shirt is loose, the armholes reaching almost to Mists hips, exposing the aqua tinged gills along her ribs. Borrowed clothing, Sunshine realizes, just like her own shirt.

“You like to stare.” Mist says, matter-of-fact. Sunshine winces.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” Mist offers with a shrug. She looks over at Sunshine then, for the first time. “It sort of feels nice to be seen.”

“I see you,” Sunshine whispers, “A lot. I—always see you. Why don’t you—”

Mist shakes her head. “You didn’t come out here to ask me stupid questions.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Mist slowly unwraps her arms from her legs. Lets them slip off of the dock and into the water. She sighs. “Bath water,” she says mostly to herself.

It isn’t the word Sunshine would use. Closer to lukewarm—body temperature. But she imagines Mist runs cold the same way Rain does. And it must feel warm soothing to her cool skin.

“So why are you out here? Isn’t it past your bed time?”

Sunshine bristles at that. At the way it feels infantilizing. She decides to ignore it. Knows Mist doesn't actually mean anything by it. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m…lonely. I guess.”

“What about Aether?”

“Not the same.”

Mist hums in what sounds like agreement. “No, I guess you’re right.”

They fall into silence, it’s surprisingly comfortable. Easy. Sunshine lays back, puts her arms behind her head. For a while she looks at the stars. Allows the gentle shift of the water around her ankles to lull her, to calm the strange ache in her chest. But after a while, she finds her eyes drawn back to Mist. To the soft curve of her breast, the slope of her stomach, all that skin visible through the side of her shirt. The way her gills shift as she breathes. The ones on her hips are just barely visible, and Sunshine is hit with the nearly uncontrollable desire to touch them. To reach over and run feather light fingers over that delicate skin and remember what it feels like.

“I get lonely too, sometimes,” Mist muses. When Sunshine drags her eyes away from the shadow of Mist’s nipple she finds the water Ghoulette looking down at her. Sharp features drawn soft. Full lips down turned just a little, more of a pout than a frown. “It’s the way it is. You should get used to it.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sunshine whispers, breath catching in her lungs. “I’m right here. I’m always right here.” She props herself up at the same time Mist bends. They meet in the middle, lips slotting together. It’s gentle—she’s never kissed Mist like this. This easy press of their mouths. Their tongues sliding together lazily. Mist reaches down to put her hand on the back of Sunshine’s head, sliding her fingers into her hair to hold her close. Mist slings one leg over Sunshine’s hips and putting the other knee between Sunshine’s thigh. Sunshine pulls her close, circles one arm around her waist and slips the other into the side of her shirt, cupping one of her breasts. Dragging her thumb over a pierced nipple and reveling in the way Mist gasps into her mouth.

Sunshine shifts her hips, presses down against Mist’s firm thigh. She has to pull away from Mist’s mouth on the first grind, her head snapping back against the dock as she drags her clothed cunt over Mist’s bare thigh.

She feels Mist doing the same thing to Sunshine. Little rolls of her hips. Sweet noises falling from her lips as Sunshine drags her hand down, ghosts her fingers over those gills she longed to touch. Feeling the way the delicate skin moves beneath her palm and the way Mist gasps just a little when she presses against them.

“So pretty,” Sunshine gasps, looking up at the way Mist moves above her. Sunshine can feel the how wet Mist is against her thigh. Cool slick pooling against Sunshine’s overheated skin. Sunshine wants to press her back into the dock. To bury her face between Mist’s pale thighs and drink her down.

“Mist—hang on—” Sunshine tries, gets cut off by the way Mist pushes her thigh against Sunshine’s cunt, by the way she reaches down to unbutton Sunshine’s shirt, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Mist bends and seals her mouth around one of Sunshine’s nipples and every thought of pausing flies from her mind.

Sunshine cums first, pulled over the edge by the way Mist drags her thigh over Sunshine’s clit, and those sharp teeth on her nipple. Mist isn’t far behind her. Back arching, slick gushing onto Sunshine’s thigh, into the hem of her shirt. A high sharp moan falling from her lips.

Mist allows Sunshine to pull her down, to curl her warm arms around her. It feels like a gift. Sunshine nuzzles her face into Mist’s curls.

“You don’t have to be lonely either,” Mist says, breath cool against Sunshine’s clavicle. Her long fingers dragging up over Sunshine’s exposed ribs leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I’m right here too.”

#comet writes #ficlet #Sunshine Ghoulette #Mist Ghoulette #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #Sunshine/Mist

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