#Super Crate Box | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everrinsly · 28 days ago

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a/n; dedicated to all your silly boys, thank you for reading!

by your belt loops. fluff. suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

where he redirects you by pulling on your belt loops... multiple times.

♡ For all your (super touchy and handsy) favorites.

more of your favorite boys here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

Grocery shopping with him always felt different than doing it alone.

With him—it wasn’t like you forgot how to function, at least not in that loud ‘oh no, I knocked over a pyramid of cans’ kind of way, but more in that distracted, floaty ‘ooh look, they have fresh milk bread… oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your cart’ kind of way where you stopped watching where you were going or what you were supposed to be doing.

It wasn’t your fault.

You were smart, no doubt. You held more degrees than him, multiple certifications and a licensure under your belt.

You were observant, thoughtful, organized to the point of being endearingly meticulous—he always said so, in that clipped tone of his like he couldn’t understand why it surprised you every time.

But when he was beside you like this—sweatpants slung low on his hips, jacket rolled at the sleeves, hood half up—walking the fluorescent-lit aisles of the local grocery store, your brain just… slowed.

Like your mind had kicked off its shoes and curled up somewhere quiet, trusting him to take care of the rest.

It was a relief, honestly.

Until it wasn’t.

Like now, for instance.

You’d gotten so distracted by the in-store bakery display that you didn’t notice the towering stack of promotional soy milk crates right in front of you as you walked and stared at the same time.

You were completely absorbed, eyes tracking a particularly fat custard bun that looked like it might collapse under its own delicious weight.

That’s when your foot hit something solid. It wasn’t a forceful hit, not enough to send waves of milk crashing down the aisle, but enough to make one of the bottles at the base wobble, the whole stack teetering ever so slightly.

You blinked.

Oh.

A display. Organic soy milk. Little beige bottles stacked up.

You hadn’t even seen it.

But he had.

Without breaking stride, he reached for you, two fingers sliding smoothly into the belt loop at the back of your jeans. He gave a gentle tug, guiding you out of collision range with practiced ease, pulling you back against him, so your spine slotted into his chest.

Like it belonged there.

His arm wrapped low around your waist, palm pressing against your hip.

Warm. Steady. Deliberate.

The way only he could be.

Because touching you was his reflex.

“Careful,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice low with amusement, breath brushing the side of your face.

You mumbled a soft apology, cheeks warming.

“Mm,” he hummed lazily. Then, casually, he gave you two small, absent-minded pats on the underside of your ass.

You whirled around to glare at him playfully.

“Your ass is cute,” he said, entirely unbothered, mouth barely hiding a smirk. “Also, if you’re gonna let me drive you, I gotta make sure the breaks work, yeah?”

You covered your face with your sleeve, half mortified, half giddy—mostly giddy.

Still, he didn’t let go, didn’t even pause—just adjusted slightly, hand tightening at your side as he started pushing the cart forward again with his other.

It was ridiculous how easily you melted into him.

Maybe that's why you let him steer you into the next aisle, turning the corner as his hand curved a little tighter around your waist, keeping you steady against the slight sway of the cart’s wheel.

Your eyes lit up at the tea, and you tried to reach for a box of your usual black on the shelf, rising on your toes just slightly to grab it.

But before your fingers could even brush the box, his hand moved—sliding from your waist to your stomach, fingers splaying there like a quiet, familiar reminder. And then, again, with a tug at your belt loops, he eased you back down, pulling you flush against him.

“No, pretty. We still have more at home.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“Mhm. Of course you did, baby.”

You flushed deeper and gave up, letting him guide you away without protest to the next aisle.

He let the cart roll to a stop in front of a shelf lined with protein bars—rows and rows of them, all in sleek packaging, looking aggressively ‘healthy.’

He didn’t say anything right away—just leaned in a little, voice a smooth murmur behind your ear.

“Alright. Let’s see if you remember.”

“Remember what?”

He nodded toward the shelf. “The ones I like.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to study the boxes, trying to calm the rapid skipping of your heart. “You’re quizzing me now?”

“No pressure.”

His thumb dragged lightly along the waistband of your jeans. Then, with the same casual ease, he gave your ass an encouraging little pat—fond, gentle, and soft enough to make your stomach flip.

“Go, baby. Impress me.”

You huffed and scanned the options quickly, actually using your brain, trying to remember the exact brand he always grabbed—the one with dark chocolate and sea salt, not the chalky kind or the one that left crumbs everywhere.

Your fingers closed around a box, and you held it up for him to see, one brow lifted. “These?”

He glanced at it, slow and unreadable.

Then he looked at you.

A twitch of his lips.

He wordlessly took the box from your hands and dropped it into the cart. His voice dropped lower, quiet and almost absently, he added, “Good girl.”

Your stomach dipped.

It was passive, offhand, but smug in a way that made heat flicker behind your ears, especially paired with the faint squeeze of his fingers on your hip—he knew exactly what he was doing to you and didn’t care to hide it.

You opened your mouth, not even sure what to say, but he just brushed his hand over the small of your back before curling his fingers right back into your belt loop like he'd known you’d get it right all along.

Like you were part of his rhythm.

Still touching. Still steering. Still keeping you close.

Sure, you got a little (a lot) clumsy around him; your brain went a little (a lot) mushy. And grocery shopping took a while.

But that didn’t matter. Not to him.

In fact, he wanted you to get distracted.

Because underneath all of that soft, quiet chaos, you trusted him to look out for you.

And he never rushed you. Never pulled away.

Just waited. Just let you be.

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suppermariobroth · 1 year ago

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In Super Mario Odyssey, crates exist outside of time.

In early versions of the game (1.0 or 1.1), a glitch exists whereby capturing a stack of Goombas that are touching a Life-Up Heart results in time stopping. All movement except for Mario's own is suspended and almost no interaction with objects is possible.

Top: note how Mario is unable to interact with NPCs while time has stopped. Not only do they not have collision, but all of their functionality is also removed. This applies to the vast majority of objects.

Bottom: however, crates and cardboard boxes are an exception. When Mario performs a Ground Pound on them, they still react to it and become destroyed even though time has stopped, showing that they are fundamentally different from other objects.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: YouTube user "MatyasYT"

#super mario odyssey #nintendo

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maiiuelle · 1 year ago

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mermaid reader bringing jj super valuable stuff but thinking they’re worthless until he gets super happy

it’s the early days of your relationship with jj, you have yet to sprout legs and you’re still the pogues’ little secret. last time jj visited you at the beach, he had told you about the standstill they’d hit in their search for the gold. it was strange to see him so tired and defeated — and it had been eating away at you since.

so, you’re taking matters into your own hands. you wake up early to sneak off toward the mainland, swimming parallel to the shoreline to search for anything you can find. you end up at a rocky shore on the north side of the island, and a closed wooden crate floating in the shallow water catches your eye. thrilled to have found anything, you take hold of a sturdy piece of driftwood, wedging it into the side of the crate to pry it open.

the inside is underwhelming, full of sand and rocks from the beach. it’s too deep to see what may lie beneath, but either way, you’re upset. you decide to carry the crate with you to the dock behind the chateau, having promised jj you’d meet him there with a special surprise at sunset. now you just feel silly.

jj is already there when you arrive, waving from the dock with a fishing pole in his other hand. “woah — fish on! look at that beauty.” you swim up to the edge, feeling queasy from overthinking. without a word you hoist the box out of the water and onto the wooden platform. as jj comes down the ramp, you sink away back into the marsh just a little, his presence alone making your embarrassment grow. “what’s up, mama?”

“okay, don’t get all excited. i wanted to help — but it's just full of sand!”

jj cocks a brow at you, looking uneasily into the crate like it’s full of eels. his face goes pale once he gets a peek at what’s really inside. you blink at him nervously, now convinced you’ve offended him with such a lousy haul.

the blonde crouches down slowly, slipping a muscular hand into the crate. when he pulls it back out, his fingers are draped in beautiful pearls. you can barely believe your eyes — the swim over must have knocked the sand through the imperfections in the wood, leaving only the treasure hidden underneath.

jj tears his eyes from the pearls to look at you, your sweet face etched in surprise. “full of sand?” he doesn’t know what to do other than laugh, and you do too, relieved that you somehow pulled it off. it’s nice to see a big smile on his handsome face again. <3

#thanks for the message! ♡‧₊˚.#anon #rewrote her a few times eek!#obx #mermaid!reader 𓇼 ೃ༄#jj maybank #jj maybank x mermaid!reader #jj maybank x reader

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mybigsnowman · 3 months ago

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my sweet vet

pairing vet zayne x gender neutral reader

summary Despite your awkward first encounter with Zayne at the animal shelter, your friendship blossoms beautifully. From acquaintance to veterinarian to friend, your rapidly changing relationship leaves you both confused and wanting more.

tags second-person pov, meet-cute at animal shelter, pre-relationship, getting to know each other, some hurt/comfort, animal death, zayne being super cute, and reader overthinking a crush

word count 4.2k

note SFW fic, animal death is non-descriptive but blood is mentioned. reader is left vague, no physical descriptions or gendered words used so that anyone can enjoy it. it can also be read as mc, for all i know this could be another flower in his garden.

cross posted from ao3

“Is it weird to ask my vet out on a date?”

“Well, he's not your doctor…” Tara answers after giving it some thought. “He treats your cats.”

“Sure, but is it weird?” You sigh and place your forehead down on the table. “What if he's just nice to me ‘cause it's his job?”

“Then he’ll tell you that.”

You raise your head to glare at her, she really was no help. You’ve been stressing over this for weeks. You even started searching online forums out of desperation. The consensus was that it would probably end up badly, apparently, vets were nice to all their clients—it came with the job.

But, you weren’t sure if calling Zayne your vet was right. He wasn’t just a vet to you when you first met at the animal shelter. You were a volunteer long before Zayne showed up.

The day you met him was quiet. You’d just shown around some school kids who were interested in walking the dogs before heading back to the main building to check up on the kittens. Someone had dropped off a box of week-old kittens and they were on a strict feeding schedule. As cute as they were, it was exhausting, and the shelter was already understaffed.

You opened the door to the isolation room quietly, trying your best not to wake the kittens up, but it was pointless as someone was already in the room trying to feed them. You watched from behind as the man struggled with the kittens. Two of them were scaling his body. One was already on his head, and another was sucking on the fabric of his trousers.

You held back a laugh as you approached him. “Hey, do you need some help with that?”

“Please.”

“Let me get them off you.” You reached out for the one on his head, and untangled the small paws from his hair, trying not to hurt either of them in the process.

Once you'd gotten all but one of the kittens in the crate, you turned back to him. “You should probably keep them separated and feed them one by one.”

“They didn’t give me a chance.”

He was funny.

“I didn’t get your name.”

“Zayne.”

You introduced yourself to him and began demonstrating how to properly bottle-feed the kittens. “Make sure to keep them on their stomach while you feed them, and angle the bottle like this, it mimics the way the mothers feed them. Just open their mouth with your finger gently if they’re refusing, they don’t have a choice, they have to drink this.”

After your demonstration, you handed him the bottle. “Here, you try.”

He held the kitten carefully and copied you perfectly.

“Good job, you're a natural.” You grimaced at the tone you’d used to praise him, you typically helped out younger people but surely it was embarrassing for an adult to be spoken to that way.

He made no comment about it and you both continued with bottle-feeding the kittens. You showed him how to stimulate the kittens and you both worked at making sure they all used the bathroom before placing them back in their crate to sleep.

Once you were done, the place was a mess. The heavy smell of kitten formula filled the room as drops of it covered the floor and both of your clothes.

“Don’t worry, it’s always this messy,” you said as you stood up. “I’ll get you a towel.”

You left the isolation room and made your way to the storage room to grab a few clean towels. You returned to see Zayne making little snowflakes for one of the older cats in the room. You watched him from behind, not wanting to disturb the moment. As the snowflakes subsided, he hesitantly reached out for the cat, who in turn backed away. There was a shift in his shoulders, he was dejected, but he withdrew, not forcing an interaction. It was sweet—he was sweet.

A few days after your first meeting you’d seen his name on the doctor’s volunteer list and felt embarrassed. You’d talked his head off while teaching him how to feed the kittens but he’d already known all of it. It made sense, minus the out-of-control kittens, he was good at it.

You confronted him about it once you finally found him in the storage room. He was organising the cleaning supplies, going by with his day like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t tricked you.

“Hey, I saw your name on the doctor volunteer list,” you started, your tone accusatory. “Why didn't you say anything when I was acting like such a know-it-all?”

“I appreciated your help.”

“Sure, sure,” you said as you leaned against the shelf. “Must’ve been annoying.”

“I assure you it was not. You’re very knowledgeable.” His deep voice was earnest as he complimented you. He wasn’t trying to embarrass you at all.

Still, you were embarrassed, both by his compliment and your first meeting, and you looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. Your eyes drifted to his hands, and you watched as he folded the towels with ease. His large, skilled hands got through them faster than you ever could.

You felt awkward just standing there so you spoke up again, “Let me help you.”

“You really like helping, don't you?”

You huffed in amusement, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a proper laugh. Your conversations felt too familiar, like you’d known each other for eons. You didn’t feel the need to reply or to keep up a charade of unnecessary social interactions, so you fell into a comfortable silence as you helped each other out with cleaning the storage room. The ease of your actions was apparent, you flowed with each other, never colliding. It came easy. It felt natural.

Although most volunteers tend to come and go, Zayne was diligent. He’d attend every Saturday and help around until the sun had set, and despite your awkward first encounter, you found yourself drawn to his company. You’d even plucked up the courage to join him for lunch after seeing him alone all the time.

You discovered a lot about him from your first shared lunch. It was an unbearably hot day and you could feel the uncomfortable sensation of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin. The heat dampened your mood and you were miserable. However, that instantly changed once you saw a familiar figure having lunch at one of the picnic tables.

You approached him carefully, a part of you hoping to scare him but you held back. “Hey, mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead.” You barely noticed the small smile on his face.

You took a seat across from him, placing your bag down on the bench in the process. Your eyes drifted to his lunch, it was clearly homemade, and surprisingly very cute. You started to wonder whether someone made it for him; there was no way he made those octopus sausages for himself. Perhaps he had a partner, or maybe even children. You were so lost in thought that you didn't realise you’d been staring at his food for a solid minute.

“Would you like some?” Zayne asked as he moved his lunch box towards you.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I've got my own food.”

You pulled out your own lunch and started picking at it. The question kept running through your mind and you felt so incredibly nosy but you needed to know whether someone had made Zayne’s lunch.

“Did your partner make that for you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“What?”

“Your lunch,” you clarified.

Zayne looked down at his lunch, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I made it myself.”

You'd never seen him look that confused—he looked cute. And, for a reason unknown to you at that time, you felt relieved by his answer, you could finally fall back into the loose rhythm of your conversation.

“Even this?” you asked as you pointed at the sausages with your chopsticks.

His ears turned red as he glanced to the side. His voice was quiet when he finally replied, “Is it strange?”

You shook your head, hoping you didn’t overstep and unnecessarily embarrass him. “Just didn't expect that from you. They're very cute.”

You both went back to eating in shared silence. Your concentration was on the phone in front of you as you aggressively searched things up.

Zayne noticed that you look troubled. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just looking for a new vet clinic.” You glanced up from your phone and it hit you—you had a professional right in front of you.

He saw your eyes widen before your phone was shoved in his face. He glanced down at it and raised his brows, unsure of what exactly he was looking at. You’d zoomed in so much that the map was indiscernible.

“Do you know any good clinics in this area?” You zoomed out on the map and waved your phone around. “I’m moving there soon.”

He took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process, and moved around on the map before handing it back to you. “My clinic is close by.”

He took out his cardholder and you couldn’t help but smile when you noticed the snowflake design on it. His taste was surprisingly cute for someone who typically appeared so serious. You didn’t know him well enough at the time, but that side of him became less shocking as you got closer.

“Are you allowed to advertise your services to other volunteers?” You teased him as you flipped his card, examining it with pretend scrutiny.

“Why wouldn't I be?” He teased you back, his tone flat. “I can give you a discount since we're acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?”

Zayne continued, not realising what he said wrong. “Just make sure to ask for me when you book your appointment.”

You were caught up on the acquaintance comment. At that time you’d assumed you’d gotten closer. You’d seen him every weekend for three months and you’d hoped you were at least friends. But perhaps he was joking, you really couldn’t tell sometimes.

“Right, I will.” You replied after a moment, trying to fall back into the light rhythm of the conversation and hoping you didn’t sound too hurt. “Thank you, Dr Zayne.”

You tucked away his business card in the back of your phone case—somewhere close and safe. It felt like a key to a different door in his life and you made sure to never lose it.

Zayne technically became your vet the day you finally visited his clinic. It was four months after meeting him, you’d finally settled into your new apartment and your cat's yearly vaccines were due.

You arrived at the clinic with your pet carrier in hand. After registering at the front desk, you sat down in the waiting area and looked around. The place was small and modern, with a jarring white-on-white scheme that was typical for most clinics, but you noticed a personal touch in every corner. There were drawings behind the reception desk, probably left there by some kids. You saw one that was clearly of Zayne and smiled. You could tell he was loved.

While in a daze, you heard Zayne call your cat’s name. You turned to face the sound of his voice and an inexplicable feeling emerged when your eyes landed on him. Seeing him outside the confines of the shelter felt strange, as if you’d crossed a threshold. He looked different. He never wore his glasses at the shelter. And he looked good in his scrubs. You stood up and walked over to him before your thoughts trailed off any further.

“Please come in,” he said as he held the door open for you.

“Thank you.”

“Here, let me take her.” He reached for the carrier once you entered the room.

You handed her over to him and he placed the carrier on the examination table.

“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

“I really wanted to see how you are at work,” you answered back, your tone too light.

He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge before abruptly changing the subject. “So, you’re here for a check-up and vaccines.”

The obvious deflect of your words caused your face to heat up. You shouldn’t have teased him at work, he wasn’t your friend, he was just doing his job. You should've been serious; you should've played the role of the client without disrupting his work. You answered his question and stiffly stood there as Zayne shifted his attention to the cat in the carrier.

He opened the door of the carrier and peeked in. “Don't be scared, I won't hurt you.”

You’d told yourself you’d be serious—a good client—but the way he talked to animals, the subtle shift in his tone, was so sweet that you couldn’t help but smile.

Zayne reached into the carrier to get your cat out. She was always nervous at the vet and would cling to the carrier with all her strength, but he managed to take her out swiftly. His focus fell fully on her as he started the examination. “How has she been at home? Any unusual behaviour?”

“Nope, she's acting normal. She’s eating normally and playing around like usual.”

He hummed in reply as he placed her on the scale. “Perfect weight, good job. Let's check your heart now.”

You watched him closely as he worked. He always carried himself well, his movements confident and precise. Anyone could recognise that he was capable at his job. He was just like this at the shelter, always working hard even on the menial tasks assigned to him. He finished the examination quickly and vaccinated your cat with ease. Once it was over, he assured you that your cat was healthy and gave her a quick pet before placing her back in the carrier and seeing you out.

You hesitated before leaving the room, a part of you afraid that you’d ruined something by coming here. You’d acted too familiar at his workplace and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped, it was hard to tell where you stood in his life.

“I’ll see you this Saturday?” You asked tentatively, hoping his answer would quell the sudden unrest in your heart.

“Of course. Take care.”

Despite your so-called status as a mere acquaintance, Zayne always seemed to overextend himself when you were in need of help. You’d rushed into the vet clinic one night with an injured dog in hand. It was past closing time and with no other staff left in the building, Zayne had every right to turn you away—but he didn't. He'd seen you from behind the glass door and let you in immediately.

“I'm sorry I know you're closing up but I had nowhere else to go,” you spoke quickly, your knuckles white as you gripped the cardboard box that had the dog in it.

Wordlessly, Zayne reached out and took the box from your hands. It was heavy.

You started explaining yourself again, “There was a wanderer and—”

“I’ll take a look,” he cut you off before you could finish the sentence.

You tried to follow him but he blocked your path. “Stay out here.”

“But—”

“Stay.” His firm voice left no room for arguments.

So you relented.

The door shut behind you and you dropped down onto one of the waiting room chairs. The place was near silent, you could hear your heart beating loudly against your chest. There was no noise coming from inside the room. Your hands were still sticky from the blood but you had no energy to get up and wash them.

Time seemed to stretch out in the waiting room and by the time Zayne emerged from the room you were unsure how long it had been. His footsteps felt deafening as he approached you.

“There was nothing I could do,” he spoke up before you had the chance to ask.

“If I’d gotten here sooner…”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” His words were blunt but you could tell he was trying to rid you of any guilt.

It hadn’t been your fault; it was bound to happen.

A deafening silence stretches between you and you look away; you couldn’t bear to look at him. You should leave. You’re not sure if you announced it to him but he seemed to understand.

“Let me take you home, you're in no state to drive.”

“I can’t leave my car here.”

“I’ll drive you back in it.”

You would've argued back but your hands were still shaking, your body still heavy. His firm voice offered you necessary comfort, so you accepted and allowed yourself to be a burden again. You handed him your car keys, but instead of reaching out for them you felt his hand on your wrist instead.

“Your hands are dirty.”

He left you in the waiting room for a few minutes before returning with a damp towel. He knelt down, reached for your hands again and started wiping away the blood. You let him, your hands heavy in his as he worked gently at getting you clean. You stared at him, a part of you envious of how calm he seemed, another part grateful for the anchor.

He told you to wait in the car as he closed up the clinic. You tried to pay before leaving but he wouldn’t let you; he wouldn’t let you do anything. So you sat in the passenger seat and waited. Your eyes drifted to the steering wheel, the blood on it had already dried up, you couldn’t have him touch that so you tried your hardest to clean it with whatever you had in the glove box.

The car door opened just as you finished cleaning. Zayne got into the driver's seat and adjusted it before asking where you lived. You put the location on the in-car navigation and sank back into your seat. The air in the car felt heavy as he drove you home. Your body became sluggish as the events of the day caught up to you. You were tired so you let your eyes close for the rest of the ride.

The car came to a stop.

“We’re here.”

“How’re you gonna get home?” A part of you wanted to ask him to stay. But it was too much, and far too soon.

“I’ll call a taxi.”

“Let me pay for it,” you insisted even though you already knew his answer.

“There’s no need. Just head inside.” He sounded just as tired as you.

You felt bad; he should’ve been home already but he had to deal with you. So you try to pay it back with any sort of favour, it's the only thing you know how to do. “I’ll wait with you.”

You both got out of the car and stood beside one another in the humid night air. You tried to fill the silence with anything but all you could muster up was a quiet thank you. Minutes passed before the light of an approaching taxi came into view. It was time for him to leave.

He turned to you and placed the car keys in your hand, “Make sure to send your car in for cleaning.”

You thanked him again before he left—not that it would ever be enough. And as you made your way to the entrance, you felt his eyes on you. The taxi took off once the door closed behind you. The hallway felt unbearably dark. You were exhausted.

And when you stopped showing up to the shelter, Zayne was the first one to reach out.

You received a text from an unknown number, an ominous “Are you alright?” that left you confused. You ignored it initially but then the same number called you and you had to pick up. You were prepared to hear a stranger but the voice that greeted you was familiar—it was Zayne. He sounded worried, but still, he didn’t push you to talk. He could tell that you were hesitant to do it over the phone so he invited you out to a coffee shop to talk instead.

You arrived at the meeting spot early but Zayne had you beat. You saw him from the glass windows already sitting on one of the corner tables. Luckily, the place was barren. An old establishment that barely got any visitors and never played any music; it was a perfect place for a conversation. You hesitated slightly before opening the glass door.

“Hi,” you said once you reached his table.

He greeted you back.

There were already sweets on the table, two cakes and some fruit tarts. You could feel his eyes on you as you settled in your seat. You shifted your bag around in your lap, trying to distract yourself from the heavy atmosphere. It’s quiet for a bit, both of you unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered a few things.” Zayne broke the silence as he pushed a plate towards you. “I got us some tea as well.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.”

He poured tea for both of you; an absurd amount of sugar in his mug and a smidge in yours. He mixed it for you and placed the mug down in front of you.

“How have you been doing?” He asked, his tone mindful as if he was afraid to hurt you.

Your answer was vague, you said you were alright but Zayne could tell you weren’t being honest. The conversation stagnated again, both of you unsure of what to say. You picked at the cake in front of you before taking a small bite. You could barely taste it.

“You can talk to me,” he offered, hoping it was the right choice.

“I'm not sure what to say.”

“Anything is fine.”

You tried to organise your thoughts, to form them into a single coherent sentence, but it was difficult. He’d come out here just to see you, so you had no other option but to try harder.

“I can't sleep.” Your hand held onto the mug in front of you, seeking some semblance of security, anything to ground yourself. You couldn’t say anything else. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t everything. You were afraid. Despite your frequent volunteering you’d never seen or touched an animal that was injured to that extent, the most you’d seen were sick ones. Animal death wasn’t unfamiliar to you but it was never that violent.

You felt Zayne’s fingertips brush against your hand and you stiffened up, suddenly conscious of his touch. It wasn’t foreign to you. You’d had passing moments in the shelter, instances where you sat too close together. He’d even bandaged you up when a particularly scared cat had scratched you up. He’d washed your bloodied hands. But this felt different. You could tell that he wanted to hold them for a different reason but he was too afraid. Seeing him try brought you enough comfort.

“It’s not easy to experience these things.”

“Even for you?”

He nodded and took a sip of his tea. He didn’t offer you any advice, you appreciated it. Knowing that he understood was more than enough.

He helped the conversation shift to something easier. He caught you up with things you missed at the shelter and told you about the amusing pet names he’d seen at work. You could tell how hard he was trying so you leaned into it. You let yourself fall into a comfortable conversation as you told him about your week. You ate one of the tarts. You could finally taste it.

When it was time to leave, he mirrored a question you’d asked him before—one you’d asked when you needed reassurance. “Will I see you this Saturday?”

It was your turn to offer it.

“Yeah. See you.”

Your emergency meeting with Tara had been useless. You’d spent the entire walk home recalling every moment between you and Zayne. And now you lay in bed, twisting and turning as you wrack your brain for a decision. Tara told you it wasn’t weird. There technically isn’t any conflict of interest and Zayne does seem to like you, or at least you hope he does and you aren’t reading him wrong.

The moments you spent together were good. The past eight months were nice but having your meetings restricted to either the shelter or the clinic left you yearning for more. You want to break this ordinary routine. You want to see him more than once a week. You want to invite him over. You want to visit his home.

You aren’t sure why you’re still hesitating.

You pull out your phone, hands shaking slightly as you open up your messaging app. You smile once you see his usual default profile picture, still not set despite you telling him how to a few weeks ago. You’ll remind him next time you see each other. You have a lot to tell him. Your fingers hover over the keys as you think of what to type. Something simple; something easy. You won’t hesitate anymore.

Can we meet up tomorrow?

#zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader

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jessesluvr · 16 days ago

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WOW what do you think about Maria and Tommy doing a Valentines day themed party in Jackson for shits and giggles and they do a love mail during the party and Reader writes something for Jesse but doesn't say her nameeeee and he spend DAYS trying to figure out who wrote such thing about his smile and his biceps and he even thinks Ellie and Dina did it to mess with him

to the guy with the smile (and the biceps) | jesse x reader

author’s note : this was so cute ! i super duper liked this request :’)). tysm !!! inbox and requests are always open !! take care my lovelies ! <3

summary : every valentine’s day, jackson gets a little weird—but nothing tops the anonymous love letter jesse receives praising his dimples, his biceps, and the quiet way he makes the world feel safe. when he sets out on a mission to uncover the mystery admirer (totally convinced it’s not you), he has no idea the person he’s been searching for has been right in front of him—watching, hoping, and maybe just a little in love the whole time.

word count : 1.3k

valentine’s day in jackson was supposed to be a joke.

maria had said it herself—grinning, waving her hand dismissively as she and tommy stapled heart-shaped cutouts to the mess hall walls.

“just for shits and giggles,” she’d told you, smirking as she enlisted your help to string paper garlands above the windows. “lord knows we need a little weirdness that doesn’t come from clickers or patrol drama.”

and jackson delivered.

the party was warm and strange and laced with the kind of small-town charm that only came from people who hadn’t celebrated anything frilly or pink in years. dina had worn a cowboy hat covered in glitter. ellie played a painfully off-tune acoustic version of can’t help falling in love in the corner. someone made a pink cake with powdered milk frosting. and in the middle of the party, maria unveiled the “love mail” box—red, heart-covered, obnoxious—and told people to write anonymous notes to their crushes or friends and they’d be read aloud at the end of the night.

you hadn’t planned to write anything.

but then you saw jesse—laughing, flushed from the cold, hair tousled from his patrol with tommy, dimples showing as he shoved ellie lightly for making some dumb joke—and something in you cracked like brittle ice.

so you grabbed a card. and you wrote:

to the guy with the kindest smile and arms that look like they could carry the whole world if you asked him to—you make even the coldest days feel warmer. i don’t know how you do it—maybe it’s the way you laugh, or how you always hold the door without thinking twice, or how you somehow manage to make people feel safe just by being around.i see you. on patrol, in the mess hall, laughing with your friends, helping with the kids, lifting crates like they weigh nothing... you’re steady. good. the kind of good this world doesn’t have a lot of anymore.so this is just... a thank you, i guess. and maybe a little hope that someone sees you the way i do.happy valentine’s day, jesse.

you didn’t sign it. just dropped it in the box and turned away before you could regret it.

the letters were read aloud by tommy, who stood at the front of the mess hall with the kind of theatrical gravitas usually reserved for reading eulogies or bedtime stories to the twins. people were laughing, whistling, elbowing each other at every sweet or embarrassingly thirsty message.

then tommy pulled yours from the box. he cleared his throat, raised an eyebrow, and read it.

silence fell. real silence.

a few soft "awws" drifted from the crowd. you kept your head down, busying yourself with a half-eaten cookie and trying not to combust. you could feel jesse freeze from across the room.

when tommy finished, he whistled and said, "well damn. whoever wrote that—marry 'em."

everyone laughed. jesse didn’t.

he was still staring, brows drawn, jaw slack. like someone had pulled the air out of his lungs.

you peeked.

his cheeks were pink. his eyes flicked around the room, scanning every face. suspicious. searching.

the rest of the night passed in a blur—music, dancing, more notes—but jesse stayed strangely quiet.

and the next morning?

it began.

"ellie."

"no."

"you didn't even let me ask."

ellie raised an eyebrow from where she was fixing her boots outside the stables. "you were gonna ask if i wrote that love letter about your smile and your biceps. no, i didn't."

"you and dina pull pranks all the time."

"sure. but i don't write soft poetry about your arms, dude."

"not even once?"

she made a face. "gross."

jesse spent the entire next week quietly losing his mind.

he asked everyone. he tried handwriting analysis. he inspected every female-leaning patrol buddy he had, making small talk, throwing out baited lines like, "been thinking about how cold it's been on patrol," just to see if anyone bit.

you watched from the sidelines, amused and terrified.

every time he looked at you, you wondered if he knew. if he felt it. but jesse never asked. just smiled and teased and went back to his sleuthing.

you tried to move on. but then you caught him in the library one night, holding your letter like it was made of glass.

"you know," he said softly, not looking up, "whoever wrote this... they saw me. not just the outside stuff. they saw me."

your heart thumped.

he smiled down at the page.

"i'm gonna find them."

you swallowed hard. "what if they don't want to be found?"

jesse finally looked at you.

"then i’ll wait."

by midweek, jesse was spiraling in that weird jesse way: quiet, focused, overly polite, eyes scanning every room like he was solving a murder.

you caught him one afternoon at the dining hall, halfway through a very serious interrogation of poor cat, who had been scribbling in her sketchbook when jesse pointed to her cursive.

"looks kinda similar," he mumbled. "did you write this?"

cat blinked. "what? no. i don't even use hearts when i dot my i's."

you nearly choked on your soup.

he paced the hall, asking maria if she'd seen who dropped what into the box. tried to get dina to confess again. brought up a patrol switch from two months ago as if it held the key to the mystery.

and still, he never asked you.

until that friday.

it was snowing. the quiet kind of snow that muted the world and turned even the harshest light soft. you were walking home from the armory, hands in your coat pockets, when you saw him leaning against your porch railing like some kind of drama protagonist.

he straightened when he saw you.

"hey."

your stomach flipped. "hey. everything okay?"

he looked at you with those eyes—warm, a little nervous.

"i have a question. one you don't have to answer. but it's been driving me crazy."

you bit your lip. nodded once.

he pulled something from his coat pocket.

the letter.

"was this you?"

your breath caught.

you could lie. you could laugh it off. you could pretend.

but jesse—he looked hopeful. not smug. not cocky. hopeful.

so you nodded.

he exhaled like you’d knocked the wind from him.

then, he smiled.

not his teasing grin. not his charming smirk. something soft. real. something that made your chest ache in the best way.

"can i... take you to dinner? or whatever counts as dinner in jackson?"

your laugh came out shaky and bright. "yeah. you can."

he stepped closer.

"you really think i have the kindest smile?"

"and the best biceps," you teased.

he beamed, cheeks pink from the cold and something warmer underneath. "guess i better start living up to the hype."

and when he leaned in to hug you—just a hug, his arms warm and solid and home—you melted. you buried your face against his shoulder, laughing softly when he squeezed a little tighter than necessary.

"i knew it was you," he whispered into your hair. "i hoped it was."

"really?"

he pulled back just enough to look at you, nose almost brushing yours. "you're the only one who looks at me like that. like i’m... worth all those words."

you were smiling so hard it hurt.

"you are."

and when his forehead rested gently against yours, and his fingers slipped between yours like they’d always belonged there, the cold didn’t matter. the awkward party, the pink cake, the glitter cowboy hat—none of it mattered.

you’d found each other.

and the whole town would be talking about it by morning.

#jesse x reader #tlou jesse x reader #jesse tlou #tlou jesse #jesse oneshot #jesse fluff #jesse tlou x reader #jesse tlou imagines #tlou jesse oneshot #tlou fanfics

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