#nevermind one of his own kids | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rebeccccccaaa · 24 days

Text

Poker Face!

_______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: It’s game night at Rossi’s, a little pasta al dente, poker chips from Emily’s place, and a little too much Italian red wine. Poker after hours becomes a new playing field when you and Spencer decide to finish your game of blackjack back in his place. ::

:: warnings :: smuttt! and super mushy gushy fluff, sex under the influence (both parties drank alcohol), strip poker (kinda you’re playing blackjack), afab!reader, no mention of contraceptives oops...

:: authors’ notes :: i didn’t realize until i finished the story that spencer probably has his own poker set, he’s literally from vegas; anyway thanks for all the love on my last fic too sweet, hope you guys enjoy this one just as much <3

WC~ 3.1 k

________________

“Ok, ok! That’s enough!” Emily shouted, swinging her glass around.

“Careful, Prentiss. This carpet is fine Italian wool. Gifted from my first mother-in-law,” Rossi scolded, Hotch chuckling beside him.

“You guys are relentless,” she continued.

“I can beat him, I know it!” you shouted, your eyes comically wide.

“No shot, sweetheart. Reid is literally banned from every casino in Vegas, you think you can really beat him?” Derek commented.

“I may not be banned from Vegas casinos, but I never lose Blackjack,” you argued.

“Honey, you’ve lost eight games in a row!” JJ shouted, laughing and holding her stomach.

“Nevermind that! I’m gonna beat you Reid, if it's the last thing I do,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at Spencer, who sat as dealer with a giant grin on his face.

“I hate to interrupt this incredibly captivating game of Blackjack, but I’m kicking you out. It's late and an old man’s got to get some rest,” Rossi interrupted, erupting a series of ‘Boo’s’ and groans.

“Come on, come on. Call your DD’s, call your taxi cabs. Or if you want to stay, you can start washing the dishes,” he bargained.

Suddenly, all at once, everyone stood up practically scrambling and giggling like kids to avoid cleaning up. Penelope, Emily, and Derek hopped into a cab and Hotch drove JJ home then himself considering he hadn't anything to drink that night. That left you and Spencer, lingering on the sidewalk nudging each other in a fit of giggles.

“I assume you’re gonna take a cab?” he asked you.

“That’s the plan.”

“So we can share since I don’t live far from you. I’ll walk from your place,” he suggested.

“Oh no, no. Look what I snatched when everyone started leaving,” you pulled out the briefcase of poker chips that Emily had brought for that night out of your tote, “We’re going to your place and finishing what we started.”

“Oh boy, you have no idea how long it's gonna take. We’re gonna be up all night!” Spencer laughed, and you gasped.

“You’re an asshole,” you shoved him, before calling a taxi.

You squeezed in the back of the cab, legs bumping against each other. You felt your skin light up, you’ve always felt a certain way about Spencer. I mean who wouldn’t? Well actually, not a lot of people. You always tried to hide the pangs of jealousy or your faces of reluctance whenever the women you were working with or interviewed on cases would flirt with him, unnecessarily albeit. This happened more often than you care to admit or notice.

You walked into Spencer’s apartment, tossing your bag on the couch before falling to your knees and putting the briefcase on his coffee table. You opened it up and began shuffling the cards, quite intensely to make sure Spencer wasn’t going to cheat. You knew he wasn’t, his brain was too smart, but you did it for confidence instead.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Whatcha you got?” you asked.

“I’ve got a couple of beers, probably a little old. Oh, I still have the bottle of wine that Rossi gave to us for the new year,” he told you.

“Oh! Bring the wine! We’ll drink the beers later,” you winked at him, “Let’s get the fucking party started.”

It was late into the night now. You lost count how many times you’d lost to Spencer already. Just a couple of hours passed, and the wine was almost finished. You and Spencer couldn’t stop laughing and wiggling around. As Spencer shuffled the deck, a request you made him do after every turn, you came up with a devilish idea. One that would definitely get you in trouble should the outcome be anything other than what you would hope.

“Ooh,” you cooed, mischievously.

“What?” Spencer questioned.

“Oh, nothing, just had an idea,” you were smirking, or rather trying really hard not to burst into laughter.

“This can’t be good,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Why don’t we spice things up, shall we?”

“No, no way,” Spencer already knew what you were going to say.

“Strip Poker!”

“No!” he shouted, a big smile on his face contradicting his words.

“What, you scared? Scared that suddenly I’m starting to beat you and you’re gonna have to take all your clothes off?” you teased.

“No, I am a gentleman and I’m not gonna sit through watching you take all your clothes to prove a point,” he argued sassily.

“You are way too confident for your own good, Dr. Spencer Reid. You’re just chicken.”

“Ok, fine then. You dealer, or am I?” he asked, pouring the last bit of wine into your cup.

“Why don’t you hit me this time,” you said.

“You got it,” he responded, “Care to shuffle while I grab the beers?”

“Of course. About time we crack those open,” you smiled widely.

Now sitting down, face to face. Staring intensely at each other for a moment, hints of mischief and amusement in both your eyes. As you shuffled the cards well, Spencer couldn’t help notice the way your eyes were practically sparkling in the warm light of his apartment. How soft your skin looked in the light too. He doesn’t know when it happened. If it happened just now, or maybe he’s always felt this way about you.

Maybe it was those times where he felt a little more protective over you than the others on more brutal cases. The feeling of responsibility for you, to guide you, when you first join the team since you were the same age. Or maybe it was when you let him practically talk your ear off about peculiar facts regarding the case you had wrapped up. The small smile of your face knowing he thrived in these moments. The sweet giggle you let out when Morgan and Prentiss groaned knowing he would begin yet another tangent.

Yeah, it was definitely then he realized how special you were and how much he wanted to keep you in his life; in more ways than one.

But in this moment, when you handed him the cards with the most devilish smirk on your face, Spencer felt a wave of avidity, longing for you more than he ever has before. He felt so conflicted about the game you were about to play. He respected you so much and yet craved to see you, to have you, in this very way for so long already. He didn’t know what to do. He dealt the cards however, entertaining the idea, and you tapped the table for cards before taking a big swig of your beer.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer’s breath hitched.

You took off your earrings first and Spencer quirked an eyebrow.

“What? Were you expecting me to take off my shirt right away?”

“No,” he shrugged before giving you the deck to shuffle again.

“I swear to-” you cursed, pulling off one of your rings this time.

Your shoes came off, then your socks. All your accessories were scattered on the table before you. The last game you stood up unbuttoning your pants. Spencer clenched his jaw, averting his eyes downward as you peeled your pants down your legs. It took quite literally everything in him to not drool over you. You sank back down to the ground, the bottom half of your body shielded by the table and Spencer looked back at you again. He dealt the cards. You asked for a card, and Spencer knew then you would lose. The probability was certain. When he hit Blackjack and you didn’t, Spencer gulped and you sighed in defeat.

Staring boldly at Spencer, you disrobed your last garment that would give you some kind of modesty. Your bra is on full display with nothing else but your pair of underwear. You had a crucial decision to make if you ended up losing again and you were seriously considering that would be the case, the butterflies erupting violently in your belly.

“We don’t have to keep going,” Spencer cleared his throat.

“And why would I do that?” Maybe it was the alcohol in your system that gave you this sudden courage, this seduction. You were starting to have fun seeing Spencer squirming on the couch, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. You suddenly wanted to egg this round on as long as you can.

“Ok, then,” he muttered, as he dealt the cards, slowly this time.

Spencer had a face down card, assuming it was a value of ten like always, and an eight. You had a seven and a three, you were fucked. You needed an ace and you’d hit blackjack, or you could build up; but that’s risky. Maybe Spencer can go over. You had a chance, you know it. Your chest was moving fast and shallow, but your face was stoic and firm. Spencer on the other hand was antsy; his eyes frantic and his leg bouncing. You knew he was staring at your chest. You planned to use it to your advantage. Was it fair game? Yeah, yeah it was. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted.

“Hit me,” you egged.

“You got it,” he responded.

A five. Fuck.

Spencer hit himself and he drew a seven. Those are bad cards. He most likely went over and you might actually finally beat him.

“One more time, boy wonder,” you snapped. A six. A beautiful six of hearts.

“I stand,” he mutters, probably knowing he lost.

“Let’s see those cards, baby,” you teased.

“You first,” he told you, and placed your cards.

“Blackjack, baby!”

Spencer laid his cards revealing his seven and eight and underneath a nine, he busted; the cards of course. You won, you finally won. You jumped up in celebration, prancing in your undergarments around the room giggling and cheering.

“I did it! I fucking did it! I beat the boy genius, fair and fucking square! You lose Spencer, loser!” you shouted taunting him and he couldn’t help the smile painted in his blushing face; he almost forgot you were prancing around almost naked in the middle of his apartment.

“I- I was distracted,” he shuttered.

“Damn right you were,” you joked, squeezing your breasts to flaunt them in his face.

“It wasn’t fair game,” he bantered.

“It wasn’t fair game, my ass. I won and you lost, and you’re being a sore loser,” you mocked as you walked towards him like a panther, playfulness and seduction dripping from your tongue.

Spencer took the moment you walked near and grabbed your wrist yanking you to stumble into his lap. You were shocked, surprised, a little turned on. You held onto his shoulders, your breathing a little quicker than before. You tried to convince yourself it was from the celebratory dance and not the growing bulge from Spencer that poked you from beneath.

“I told you, I was distracted,” he told you, his hands finding a place at their hips. Fingers caressing delicately the hem of your underwear.

“Blah, blah,” you whispered.

“Don’t give me that.”

“Now, Spence, I believe there is something you have to do, is there not?” you whispered.

“What’s that?” he bantered.

“You lost.”

“Right, unfairly I might add,” he joked.

“If all you’re gonna do is talk, then let me do the honors,” you told him.

“Be my guest.”

Your fingers pulled gently at his tie he wore, pulling over his head and tossing it to the side on the floor. You started unbuttoning his shirt, Spencer staring with heavy eyes at you as you did so.

“I thought we were only taking off one item. We should play another round then if you want my shirt off,” he teased you, bringing his hands to gently hold your wrists.

“Like that’s gonna happen,” you rolled your eyes playfully.

Spencer relaxed against the back of the couch as you unbutton his shirt all the way. You brought your lips down to kiss softly at his collarbones and his shoulder. Moving along his chest to kiss the other side. His hands moved slowly against your hips, fingers sliding between the fabric of your underwear and your skin. Your skin erupted in chills, a tingle running through your spine making your ears feel hot. You dragged your nose along his strong jawline before nipping your teeth playfully against his cheek.

He brought his hands up, fingertips tracing your spine until he reached your bra. He skillfully unhooked it leaving you a bit breathless for just a second but a second too long. You could feel it, without even needing to look at him, to know he had such a teasing smile on his gorgeous face. You wanted nothing more than to kiss it off him.

You shrugged your bra off, tossing behind him giving him a playful wink which made him chuckle. You brought his hands to your breasts as you pulled his head towards you by the back of his neck to kiss him feverishly. Something you both had wanted to do for quite some time now. You wiggled your hips a bit, feeling the prodding against your center, which made Spencer groan lowly in the kiss; his hands squeezing your breasts hard in discomfort.

“Fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he told you.

“Let me say hi to your little friend, Spence. Or do you want to play for that too?” you taunted him.

“God, no. I couldn’t wait a whole other hour for you to beat me again,” he bantered making you scoff and roll your eyes; his hands shot straight to his zipper to pull his pants down just enough for the both of you.

You were practically itching to get your panties off. Standing up suddenly, both you and Spencer reached instinctively to pull them off you, his lips attaching themselves to your soft belly and hips. He freed himself from the constricting fabric of his pants and pulled you down, or rather yanked you to him. You couldn’t help the bubbly laugh that came from you making Spencer smile blissfully.

You bite your lip as you reach between your bodies, lining Spencer up against you perfectly. The warmth radiating from you was driving him crazy. It took everything in him to not suddenly take control and rut his hips against you. You sank slowly down on his length, not so little, you thought yourself.

“Oh jeez, I feel like I could come already,” you gasped, the pressure building in the pit of your stomach felt already overwhelming. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had sex in years. You felt starved of this kind of touch, this kind of intimacy. The kind of feeling of Spencer’s cold fingertips touching and gliding across your skin like you were glass. Yeah, that was the feeling you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t realize you craved so much until this very moment.

“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit the same,” he chuckled breathlessly, “If you don’t start moving, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back any longer.”

You took this as the green light to start rocking your hips back and forth. One hand resting against his cheek and the other stabilizing yourself against the frame of the couch. Spencer’s hands rocked with you, his way of helping and understanding the rhythm you were going. He started, with gaining confidence, to buck his hips into you and that’s when the pleasure began to build. You panted heavily above him, moans every now and then escaping your mouth to echo against the walls of Spencer’s small apartment.

“Shit. You feel so good,” he breathed out, “I thought I’d last longer.”

“Please, please don’t come yet,” you begged; bringing your forehead to his. You could see his skin becoming shiny with sweat, his cheeks flush with redness. Spencer, determined to make you come before him, or at the very least with him, reached between your thighs rubbing fast and swift circles against your clit. Your hips jerked with pleasure and Spencer’s name dripped from your lips like honey.

“Oh, that’s it,” Spencer whispered. His free hand came up and pulled you in a passionate and sloppy kiss. His tongue entwined with your and you moaned wildly as did he. His brain was fuzzy, not that your’s wasn’t also, with the sounds of sex, the rhythm of your hips, the warmth of your slick soaking his fingers.

“I’m close, fuck I’m so close, Spence,” you whined.

“Let go, sweetheart.”

“Ngh!” you moaned loudly. You dipped your head forward resting your forehead in the crook of his neck. Your bodies were so close, your bare chests pressed against each other. You both could feel the other’s breath and slowly you began to match each other’s erratic rhythm the closer you got to your climaxes. You messily pressed your lips against Spencer’s one last time before the wave of electrifying pleasure overcame you.

When you came down from your high, all you could feel and hear in that moment was Spencer. His soft pants brushing your ear, his arms cradling you close, his subtle leg shaking from what you assume was him also coming with you.

“That was really good,” you giggled.

“It really was,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna tell everyone about this,” you whispered wickedly.

“What?” Spencer questioned fearfully.

“I beat you in Blackjack,” you reminded him, making him laugh loudly.

“Give it a rest you would?” he sighed.

“No way. I’m gonna tell everyone. And everyone’s gonna tease you because I beat you fair and square. Unless, you wanna admit that my boobs were distracting you from your card counting tricks,” you teased.

“Alright, you won fair and square,” he smiled blissfully at you, his eyes soft and gentle in the warm light.

You giggled sweetly bringing him in a tender kiss, definitely not for the last time that night. Your bodies were entwined for the rest of the night until the tepid sunrays peaked meekly through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom window. The two of you sharing giggles between the sheets with his arms embracing you the way they had been all night. Needless to say, blackjack continues to be your favorite poker game. Especially now more than ever.

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #mgg fluff #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

2K notes · View notes

raynewolfegirl · 10 days

Text

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist

I'm going to go ahead and apologize for how OOC Bane is in this. It originally was Joker but I couldn't see Jazz tolerating his proximity for more than a single millisecond so Bane it is.

~*~*~

The hardest thing about being a Meta in Gotham was responding appropriately during a Rouge's attack, Jazz mused to herself. Or perhaps that was just the hardest part about being a Meta intern at Arkham while studying psychology at Gotham University. Or maybe it was just her, she considered watching the guards and Dr. Rylie whom she'd been shadowing for the past 2 weeks wide eyed, pale, and shaking as theybstared at Bane behind her. It must just be her, Jazz decided, newbie guard Kyle Jennings was definitely a Meta after all. She should probably give him some tips on hiding his enhanced strength considering how often he broke mugs, door handles, and other delicate items used in daily life.

"Weapons down or I'll snap her skinny little neck." Bane growled out, shaking her slightly for emphasis. She very much doubted that. Liminials were built different than the standard Meta, stronger, faster, better endurance, and senses even if they could mostly appear to be standard humans on the outside. As such, their bones and muscles were much were much denser than regular humans or even Meta humans. Technically, she could be considered "invulnerable" much like the Kryptonians are.

"Back up! Let him through!" Dr. Rylie shouted at the guards. "She's my student! Let him through!" His voice was higher pitched than she could recall hearing it before.

Ah. That was panic.

Jazz sighed involuntarily and glanced over her shoulder at Bane. Why the man had grabbed the only person close to his own height nearby was a mystery to her - no, nevermind, he clearly meant to use her as a shield - but it made looking him in the eye more difficult than necessary.

"Mr. Bane, remove your hands from my person, please." Jazz stated calmly, channeling what Danny called her inner mom as she spoke. "I will give you to one to comply."

Bane looked stunned for a moment then laughed.

"Five."

The laughing continued. Jazz could sense a stir of uncertainty through her colleagues as they looked on.

"Four."

"Did you really think that would work?" Bane snorted out, arms tensing more around her.

"Three." She continued, indifferent to his words from her experiences raising her brother. Once the count down starts you mustn't respond to anything the kids do or say until they comply or the count is done.

"What cab you even do if I don't?" Bane asked darkly breathing directly in her ear. She kept her face expressionless despite the urge to express disgust.

"Two."

"Jasmine..." Kyle whispered halfway across the hall from her looking on with a pained and horrified expression. Gun tilting towards the floor. Sloppy.

"One." She finished and Bane gave a derisive snort.

Then she was moving. Hauling the enormous man up and over her shoulder using the arm that had been wrapped around her neck. Bane hit the cold tile hard enough that the tiles, subfloor, structural supports, and part of the concrete foundation buckled beneath him. His shoulder popped out of joint, his wrist cracked - a hairline fracture by the sound of it - and his breath was punched out of him from the force of impact. She released his arm as soon as his was embedded in the tiles and moved forward. Kneeling over him, support most of her weight on her left foot resting on the broken ground, her right knees pressed firmly across his throat without supporting any of her weight. The position put more strain on her muscles than she would've liked but at least Bane couldn't risk fighting back without crushing his own neck in the process. He could hardly throw her while flat on his back with a mangled arm.

"Now," Jazz began, looking directly into the behemoth's pained eyes. "Do you know what you've done wrong?" She asked like she would have done with Danny as a child.

"Yes, Ma'am." Bane choked out. Jazz heard movement and murmuring behind her. She didn't turn to look.

"What did you do wrong?" She asked. It was important to make sure children correctly understood why they were in trouble after all. There was a long pause as Bane appeared to cast around for the exact right answer as if he feared getting it wrong. A bad habit Danny still uses as well, Jazz thought to herself.

"I tried to hold you hostage," He choked out in a rush, words tumbling over one another as he tried to get them all out. "I scared you coworkers and it was very disrespectful."

So he'd gone for the grab-bag response. It wasn't wrong per sey but it did indicate a past history of abuse. The type of answer given by someone who expected to be harmed or ignored if they gave the "wrong" answer. Danny tended to use that method also and their parents had always been negligent at best.

"And are you going to do it again?" She asked giving him a Look as she did. Bane's eyes widened and he tried to frantically shake his head as much as possible with the pressure on his neck.

"No, Ma'am." He promised fervently.

"Alright then," Jazz said giving him a warm smile. She gestured vaguely towards the guards without turning to look at them. "Kyle here is going to take you to see the nurse and then back to your room then. I'm sure you'll behave for him?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll behave." Bane said. Jazz stood slowly asking sure not to put any additional pressure on his neck as she did. Kyle came and stood next to her as the giant of a man slowly pulled himself to his feet then led him away with 5 other guards.

Jazz heaved a sigh. Well, time to find out whether or not she could play all that off as normal, non-Meta human behavior.

1K notes · View notes

ohdeerfully · 3 months

Note

K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.”

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming.

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes.

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response.

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual.

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face.

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #angst #TW: child death #child death #ohdeerfully

2K notes · View notes

snakeredbirdbatkatana · 6 months

Text

So I was thinking Jason kills he is one of the few members who are constantly breaking Bruce's code and if I had an older sibling or younger who is just constantly getting away with murder.

Who you gonna call Jason fucking Todd.

Dick gets a little too pissed off one night and kills a human trafficker. Hey little wing need a bit of a favor. Nevermind one night after too many nightmares calls him up and tells him all about Blockbuster. Jason's kill count is up by one and he's damn proud.

Now Tim can hide his own bodies he doesn't need help but it makes for good brotherly bonding. Soon they have a whole secret cemetery filled with League assassins. And if one night Tim decides as a show of good faith to gift a duffle bag with a clowns head that's no one's business.

Damian on the other hand doesn't even try like the annoying little brother he is drops heads at Jason's safe house. Will just even text him coordinates and tell him good luck. How he hides from Bruce, Jason has no idea. He even on occasion will kill people Jason was looking for and will bring them like a proud cat presenting a mouse.

None of the other bat kids ever do it Cass refuses to kill and sticks to it Duke keeps his options open but never needs his help.

On one hand he finds it annoying but in the deepest parts of him his brothers trust him enough with their dirty secrets, they lay their shame and anger at his door.

They trust him to guard their back and he never thought he would have that. So the next time a stupid bird calls he grabs his guns, then his shovels and walks out the door.

#tim drake #batfamily #jason todd #Jason kills the batboys use that #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #bamf batfamily #batfam #bamf tim drake #bamf Jason Todd #dick Grayson kills #murderbrothers #bamf dick grayson #fuck morals none to be found #dead joker

2K notes · View notes

loaksky · 1 year

Text

— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴

the deets — in which you, a quiet healer in the tribe, have the biggest crush on the upcoming leader. sometimes you think the feelings could be mutual. until one night in the glowing forest shatters that.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — like 7.6k (jesus h. christ)

the tags — idiots-to-lovers (it's teyam, he's the dummy), childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining (reader is a softie).

the warnings — language, a lil kithy kithy, neteyam's emotionally constipated, but he redeems himself! reader's kind of a pushover, but it comes full circle!

the notes — first post for avatar & i'm really excited but a lil nervous bc like ??? i haven't written fanfic in SO long. i imagine neteyam & reader to be a few years older in this fic (eighteen or nineteen), but at the same time the circumstances could fit their current age as well. finally, this is written in a heinous blend of second / third. don't know how to explain, but i think it flows okay? if you like it please leave a request or let's have a chat! (also barely proofread oops).

YOU AND NETEYAM HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN DISTANT ORBIT. Many would argue the two of you are cut from the same cloth; quiet, noble, mature, but you couldn't feel even more disconnected from the tribe's golden boy even if a chasm would crack the earth between you.

It's why you think it's silly that you'd develop such a yearning, your heart thudding like a war drum every time his amber eyes flit to yours. There's never any weight to his gaze, just fleeting glances among frequent observation, but you can't help but stare.

It doesn't help that his youngest siblings cling to you like a second and third skin, chattering excitedly about whatever piques their immediate interest. You just listen and hum your acknowledgements, a comfort to the two as you move through your studies.

Oftentimes he's sent to fetch his siblings, clearing his throat outside of the tent's flaps to announce himself, then wiggling a few fingers through the opening before peering in.

He's always in a hurry, never biting when you offer him opportunities to linger. You understand, how busy it can be when the whole clan begins to rely on you. So you bask in the short-lived moments in his space, skin scented with salt and the tang of the foliage.

But there are moments when you truly think he sees you. When you cross paths during clan meals, and the smallest of smiles twitches in his lips when you cut fruit and he's the first you offer to. When it's time to train to shoot your bows and he adjusts your form with a brief brush of his fingers on your elbow. When all of the older healers are unavailable and he shyly peeks his head into your tent for a quick patch up.

Nevermind the small tells stored in your short-term, but the little slivers of time when you were both growing into yourselves. When you were seven and he'd carried you to the elders when you hurt yourself. When some of the older kids in the clan would pick on you for keeping to yourself and he'd tell them that it was unbecoming and cowardly to pick on someone weaker than them. When he picked a flower during a group excursion into the deep depths of the forest and stuck the glowing stem in your satchel.

You had fallen so hard for Neteyam and your only hope is that he'd be at the end of the fall to catch you.

“You're not listening, ________!” Tuk whines and you look up from the scrolls you unfurled from the basket moments before she walked in.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I have a lot on my mind.”

There's a small giggle from somewhere else in the tent and you peer from Tuk to Kiri who beads an anklet on her own.

“Yeah, like big brother,” Tuk teases, turning her attention back to her own beadwork.

Kiri's face splits into a grin.

“You've been lost in thought a lot more recently,” she observes. “Could Tuk be correct?”

You don't bother to deny it, the obvious flush in your cheeks a dead giveaway. Kiri's always been perceptive and the more you fight her on it, the longer she'll draw it out.

“I think it's worth a shot,” Kiri says. “Neteyam’s always had a soft spot for you.”

It's a million degrees hotter in the tent.

“You don't have to do that,” you say quietly, slouching in your seat.

“Do what?” Kiri challenges.

“Pretend I have a chance.”

Kiri makes a face.

“You do!” she argues. “Neteyam's just shy.”

You're silent for a moment, fingers twitching over a tear in the scroll. You want to believe her, tell her that you think it could be worth a shot, too. But you scent him before you hear him, and then you hear him before you see him.

Four blue fingers wiggle in the tent's opening before Neteyam is poking his head inside.

“Tuk? Kiri?” his voice rumbles. “Ready?”

Kiri glances at you as she stands to her feet and begins gathering her things. Her eyebrows do a little dance, eyes widening as she tilts her head discreetly to her brother.

“I'll see you,” you say quietly, patting Tuk on the back of her leg as she drops her finished anklet in your lap and giggles at you.

You follow their movements as they exit the tent through where Neteyam holds the flap open for them patiently.

He simply lifts a hand as a silent greeting and you wait until they're out of sight and earshot to expel the breath you'd been holding and slump down on your pillow.

In hindsight, you should have been more careful. Neteyam was a skillful hunter, the tribe's best warrior after his father. It's only normal that he'd be in the dense forest when you were plucking flowers and herbs for your salves, speaking quietly to Eywa about your concerns.

“Please, Great Mother,” you whisper, the woodsprites caressing the skin of your arms. "Please give me a sign, any form of motivation to be brave about my feelings."

The grass below your toes lights up and tickles the pads of your fingers as you pluck the glowing flowers.

There's a trail of them, purple and pink, and you pluck and pluck and pluck until you're led to the mouth of a clearing.

Something salty and tangy circles your figure and like usual, you scent him before you see him. When your gaze latches onto his lithe figure, you grin a little, lips parting to announce yourself. This must be your sign, of how vast and great the forests are surrounding your looming home tree, it must be fate that you stumble upon him at this hour.

But his name dies on your tongue when he shifts and you see the silhouette of another pressed to his side.

It's another Omaticaya girl, pretty and tall. You'd know her anywhere, the waves of her thick hair, the tinkle of her dainty laugh. But she is fierce all the same, far from perfect, but gritty enough that it doesn't matter.

Te'feyra draws a bow and one of Neteyam's hands come up to adjust her front grasp, fingers closing over hers and the arrow.

“Steady hands to make up for the recoil,” he says softly and your heart is in your throat.

He's engulfing her as she takes her aim and sends the arrow flying through the air.

Somewhere unknown to you, the arrow sticks its landing and Te'feyra jumps excitedly, pressing her lips to Neteyam's briefly.

You back away from the clearing, eyes burning as you fist the flowers so hard they wilt in your hands. A twig snaps underneath your weight and from your distance, you see the glow of Neteyam and Te'feyra's eyes through the brush.

You take off running without a single word, and despite your stomach tearing itself to ribbons, you thank Eywa for the clarity.

“Something's wrong,” Kiri says to you days later.

Instead of the tent, you two are sitting on opposing branches of a thick tree, observing the flora and fauna of your corner of the forest. You decide that you need some time away from the bustle of the clan's circle and venture off into the opposite side of the woods.

“Why do you say?” you wonder, scribbling onto one of your scrolls.

“You're naturally quiet, I get that, but the past few days, I feel like I've been in the presence of the dead,” she sighs, staring down at you from the branch above. “And Ewya's given me the feeling that all may not be well with you.”

You lick your teeth, then roll your lips nervously.

“I told you Neteyam didn't like me,” you admit.

Kiri's eyebrows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw him,” you sigh, fiddling with your pen. “In the forest with Te'feyra. She kissed him.”

Kiri curses under her breath.

“This is stupid,” she huffs. “He's just being stupid. Neteyam likes you and I'm going to prove it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kiri's already jumping down from the branches of the tree and dragging you with her through the darkening forest.

“Kiri, this isn't necessary,” you finally pipe up. “It's okay if the feeling isn't mutual, I never expected it to be.”

Kiri stops in her tracks and her pinched face softens, braids swinging by the set of her jaw.

“________, we all grew up together,” she says softly. “I know my brother, and I know you. You two belong together, I feel it.”

You swallow around nothing, allowing her to drag you through the forest and back into the clan's main circle.

“Hey, Kiri! ________, where are you two headed off to in such a rush?” one of the elders calls from where they're working on tools.

Kiri smiles politely.

“Very important business,” she replies quickly, fingers tightening around your wrist to pull you across the grass.

You stop in front of their family's hometree and Kiri guides you through vines and steep inclines before pausing in front of their family's tent.

Lo'ak's voice sounds from within, whiny and irritated.

“Bro, are you being serious right now?” he squeaks and Neteyam grunts, obviously bored.

“Frankly, Lo'ak this has nothing to do with you,” he says.

“Dude, yes it does,” Lo'ak argues. “You've inadvertently involved everyone in this affair because you won't get your head out of your ass for three seconds and just admit that you like her.”

“I don't like, ________,” he says simply and Kiri freezes in front of you.

You chew the inside of your cheek, fingers twitching in Kiri's loosened hold.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lo'ak moans. “You're really going to commit to Te'feyra even though you have no interest in her?”

“Te'feyra is a great huntress,” Neteyam says simply. “She's well-loved, a strong leader. What's there not to like?”

“________ is all of those things,” Lo'ak says. “She's a talented healer, always patches you up when you get yourself in trouble. The clan loves her, Tuk and Kiri love her, Mom and Dad love her.”

“The clan barely knows that ________ exists,” Neteyam says and you wince.

Kiri makes a move to infiltrate the heated conversation, but you put a hand on her shoulder and shake your head.

“Dude, that's low,” Lo'ak scoffs in disbelief.

“________ is a sweet girl, but she's weak. She's hollow and does what she's told. I wouldn't want to spend my life bonded to someone so passive,” Neteyam says plainly and Lo'ak lets out an exasperated hiss.

“You're kidding right? ________ is amazing,” Lo'ak challenges. “She's quiet, but she's caring. She's resilient and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be bonded to someone like her, your stupid ass included.”

“Maybe you should focus more on training for your rite rather than trying to play matchmaker,” Neteyam says, showing the first signs of annoyance.

“You just won't admit that for the first time you're scared,” Lo'ak finally says.

Everything seems to still and Lo'ak presses on.

“Everyone loves you, you're the clan's golden child and you can do no wrong. You like ________ so much, but you're afraid that you'll let her down,” Lo'ak says fiercely. “But you don't realize that being a pussy about your feelings is the ultimate let down!”

“You'd know a lot about being a let down, wouldn't you,” Neteyam grumbles.

There's a split second of silence before Neteyam lets out a loud grunt of pain. The flap to their tent flies open and Lo'ak freezes before you and Kiri.

His eyes meet yours and his gaze softens before stalking past.

Neteyam stands stunned in the middle of the tent, lip bruised and bleeding. His gaze swings to the arch way, face falling when he finds you standing behind his younger sister.

“Wanna go swimming?” Tuk asks you the next evening, after dinner.

You smile down at her weakly, heart melting when she pets your hand. You can't deny her, nodding gently as you stand from where you're sitting on the outer circle of the scattered clan.

“Carry me?” she asks sweetly.

You heave her up with a grunt and she grins at you, playing with one of the braids in your hair. Her small fingers caress the skin of your cheek and you blink when she ghosts over your eyelid.

“Pretty,” she whispers, head nestling on your shoulder.

“I think you're prettier,” you tell her, readjusting her growing form as you walk through the brush, towards the rush of the waterfall.

You don't realize that there's a set of eyes on you, watching as you disappear through the trees with Tuk.

The cliff that houses the waterfall towers above you two in a semicircle, the water rippling gently as Tuk squirms from your grasp and splashes through the shallow pool.

“Stay close, Tuk,” you coo, toes wiggling through the pebbles washed up on the tiny shore.

“I've been practicing!” Tuk tells you. “Wanna see how long I can hold my breath under water?”

“Stay in shallow waters,” you advise her, wading into the pool until you're waist deep.

Tuk dramatically inhales and then sinks down under the surface. Something cracks in the distance and you glance around, met with the stillness of the forest and the chirp of bugs.

When you turn your attention back to Tuk, you smile fondly as you wait for her to emerge, counting the seconds diligently to report to her chubby cheeks.

Fifteen pass, then thirty. Your smile begins to fade as your arms feel around in the water around you.

“Tuk?” you call out, chest tightening when you're met with the subtle rush of the glittering cascade from the waterfall up above.

You push forward in the water until your chin touches the surface.

“Tuktirey!” you shout, thrashing around the pool, searching for her tiny frame through the illumination. “Tuk!”

Your toes lose purchase as the water deepens and you begin to panic without the youngest Sully in sight. You turn when you hear a splash, Tuk giggling on the shore.

Your stomach churns hard and Tuk's face falls when she sees your panicked expression.

“Tuk, I-I can't swim well!” you cry out, legs flailing as you splash through the water. You try to dig your toes in the earth below, but you're just shy of the mark.

Tuk looks scared on the shore, fidgeting as she looks around desperately.

“You're too deep, ________!” Tuk whines, voice laced with tears.

Your legs ache, head lolling under the water for a moment before you emerge with a splutter.

“Get– Go get help!” you instruct her, feeling your calves begin to burn as you try to keep yourself afloat. You don't know how long you'll be able to tread water. “I'll be okay, little one. Hurry!”

Tuk turns, picking up her satchel as she makes way for the path you took. When she's out of sight, you fall slack, chest heaving as you try to use your skinny arms to paddle at the water.

Meanwhile, Tuktirey runs through the forest, tears spilling down her rounded cheeks as she trips over sprawling roots and nudges low-hanging vines from the pathway.

She skids to a stop when Neteyam, who had finally worked up the nerve to excuse himself from dinner, comes into view.

He turns when he hears her wailing, face scrunching when he registers his youngest sibling's anguish.

“Tuk, wha—”

She grabs at his hands, tugging him towards the path to the waterfall.

“________ needs help!” she cries. “She can't swim!”

Neteyam's ears prick at the mention of your name, scooping up his youngest sibling in his arms before breaking into a sprint through the brush of the brightening forest. The woodsprites begin to emerge and he barrels into the clearing of the waterfall breathlessly.

It's still, like it's been untouched and his heart hammers nervously in his chest, eyes searching the pool for any sign of you.

He's setting Tuk down quickly before splash desperately into the water.

“_______!” he calls.

He ducks underneath the surface, eyes open wide as he searches for you. And there you are, body slack as you sink slowly to the bottom of the rocky pool.

He dives forward, lungs burning as he cuts through the waters with lean arms. His fingers circle one of your wrists, the other hand winding around your waist as he propels you two up above the water. He chokes on a breath, hand coming up to touch your face.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes shut as Neteyam holds you close.

“Neteyam!” Te'feyra calls from the shore, having followed him after being rebuffed during dinner.

Kiri and Lo'ak are close behind, eyes wide when they see their eldest brother wading quickly through the waters with your unconscious form in his arms.

“Neteyam,” Te'feyra repeats, hand coming to grasp his bicep.

“Not now,” he grunts, tugging his arm from her grasp to march through the brush of the forest.

Woodsprites surround you two as he takes you back to the village, a silent plea to the Great Mother not to take you away weighing heavy on his lips.

You awake to a shining sun and a wet towel on your head. You squint against the beaming light and sit up abruptly as the prior night dawns you like a swift strike to the gut.

“Whoa, wait, slow down,” a thick voice rumbles.

You scent him before you see him.

Neteyam's hands are on you, guiding you back to rest on the pile of pillows that had propped you up before.

You shoot up again anyways.

“Where's Tuk?” you ask anxiously.

“Tuk's fine,” Neteyam says. “She's eating breakfast with Kiri and Mom.”

You lean back in relief, eyes squeezing shut as you wheeze out a sigh.

His hands are on you again, gentle, warm as he takes the towel from your forehead and wipes your face to refresh you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, hesitantly.

You pause a moment, but then nod.

“Yeah,” you affirm hoarsely. “M'fine.”

Neteyam just stares at you, yellow eyes unblinking and you know this isn't like one of those fleeting moments. He sees you and it makes your gut churn hard.

“I'll be okay here,” you say quietly. “You may have...someone, you know, waiting for you.”

Te'feyra's name is a silent implication and Neteyam doesn't look amused.

“I told them I would look after you until you're fully well,” he counters, wringing the towel into a bowl that sits next to the mound of blankets your rest on.

You fiddle with your fingers, fully disheartened because even in times like these, he remains the diligent leader-in-training that he is.

The air in the tent is think and you can't breathe.

“I'd like some air,” you whisper, crawling from the soft mat to climb to your feet shakily.

“You need to rest,” Neteyam says crossly, seemingly annoyed at your persistence to put as much distance as you can between the two of you.

You don't respond and finally he seems to burst.

“You can't swim and yet you still went after Tuk,” he calls after you like an accusation. “Why?”

You pause.

“Tuk is like a sister to me,” you say quietly. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

You make a move to exit the tent, but Neteyam's voice stops you in your tracks.

“You could have died,” he says quietly, and you can't place the emotion in his voice.

“I'd do it again,” you admit, craning your neck to face him. “I'm not that weak.”

Neteyam's face falls and you duck from the tent.

Neteyam becomes restless after that moment. He loses his focus, agility taking a hit as he hunts one on one with his father.

He goes to shoot another arrow, but Jake stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Neteyam, I know I can be hard on you,” he starts. “But I’m always here.”

“Yes sir,” Neteyam nods.

“Something’s bothering you,” Jake observes. “You’re not yourself. You’re losing focus.”

Neteyam swallows.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, head hanging.

His braids form a curtain around his face and Jake gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Son?”

Neteyam swallows again, head tilting up to look is dad in the face.

“I don’t want to be with Te’feyra,” he admits quietly.

Jake's lips twitch.

“Well I could have told you that,” Jake scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a soft smile. “You look about as dead as a washed up fish when she’s around.”

Neteyam recalls the kiss she’d given him nights ago and how he'd internally recoiled, body stiff under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Jake prods.

“Because I know Te’feyra is who the clan wants me to be with, who is my most suitable match,” he says. “I just— I don't want to let you down.”

Jake gives him an impish grin.

“Neteyam, let me give you a word of advice. There are things in this world that are suited well for each other; you and Te'feyra are one of those things. But your heart and your mind are the two most powerful things about you,” he says. “You will not be punished for giving into your heart.”

Neteyam thinks of you. He thinks of your face, the lines of your timid smile, the idents that dimple your cheeks. He thinks of your touch when he's wounded, gentle and expert, warm against his skin. He thinks of your voice, airy, soft, a low rasp.

He thinks of when he'd called you weak. Of your face, wounded and hurt. He's stricken in this moment as he realizes that strength doesn't have to be audacious. It can be quiet, small acts that become mighty.

Tuk had told him about the waterfall, how she'd wanted to pull your leg a little. You'd accepted your fate if Ewya deemed it time, you'd even sent the youngest away in the chance you wouldn't surface.

You were far from weak. Your strength ran nearly as deep as the roots of Ewya herself, yet you'd taken the criticism in stride. Let Neteyam paint you as a coward, a pushover with no spine.

“I think there’s someone you need to clear the air with,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “She should be in her tent.”

Neteyam's hands are clammy. It's been nearly a week since he'd last seen you. You'd reserved to spending time inside of your tent to brush up on your studies and refine your work. He'd catch glimpses of you, but you were used to blending in the background and Neteyam's used to overlooking you.

Was he being presumptuous? Maybe you only admired him as a warrior. Or perhaps it was a duty to the clan to revere him. He feels sick to his stomach thinking of confronting you. But Lo'ak wouldn't try to convince him of his own feelings if it wasn't mutual, would he?

And when had the feelings become mutual? He's recently began to think that perhaps he'd always liked you because you were the only one who didn't actively vie for his affection. Who only saw him as Neteyam, an equal, not Neteyam, the Olo’eyktan's son.

Maybe it was whenever he'd see you wandering in the forest during his hunting trips, murmuring to yourself as you picked herbs and flowers for you studies. Or maybe when he'd spot you still high on the branches of the lofty trees with a tablet of paper and ink. Maybe it was when you'd smile at him shyly when he'd adjust your form during archery and it'd melt his insides. Or when you two were little and he'd plucked flowers for everyone and you were the only one who'd smiled at it sticking out of your satchel.

If he recalls correctly, it's pressed to a scroll hanging in your tent and that alone makes his heart race.

Maybe you two are inevitable and he'd only prolonged it because of his own fears.

“Neteyam!”

Te’feyra steps in his line of sight, standing before him and the hometree that houses your tent. He glances away when she stops in front of him.

“Te’feyra,” he greets cordially.

“I haven't seen you since the incident with ________,” she says. “Are you alright?”

Neteyam nods.

“Never better,” he says simply.

“After dinner we should–”

He spots you, satchel thrown over your shoulder. You glance his way momentarily, but scurry in the direction of your tent when you lock eyes with him.

“If you will excuse me, please,” he says politely, extricating himself from Te’feyra to follow after you.

He catches up to you right outside of your tent.

“________!” he calls.

You freeze almost imperceptibly, but continue on your way, climbing the flattened incline spiraling around the center of the hometree.

“________,” he murmurs, fist closing around your skinny bicep.

You jolt to a stop, golden eyes razor sharp as you glance down at him. Your fist is wrapped tight around the strap of the satchel, knuckles stretched taut.

“Neteyam,” you reply softly. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that his tongue weighs heavy behind his lips.

“If you seek help, there are elders available for healing,” you inform him, making a move to remove your arm from his grasp.

He instinctively tightens his grasp and you shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, pulling away. “I just want to speak with you.”

A few beats pass as you blink at him.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he swallows. “Can I come in?”

You turn to face the flap of your tent before craning your long neck over your shoulder to nod.

“Sure,” you agree, holding the hide open to let him in.

You step in after him, table scattered with mixtures of finely-pounded dust, scrolls of research and bundles of materials.

You set your satchel down and begin unloading your finds from you excursion.

Meanwhile, Neteyam paces nervously, trailing the circumference of your tent, eyes flitting every which way to take in every piece of you.

A thick silence envelops you and you clear your throat when the satchel is empty.

“You wanted to talk?” you ask, watching as he stops in front of a scrolled tacked to one of the beams.

It's the pressed flower he'd given to you all that time ago as children. It's central in the room, catching the sun so beautifully and Neteyam uses this as the last bit of courage he needs to continue.

“You kept it,” he says, voice shaky.

“Of course,” you say simply, picking through your different finds. “You gave it to me.”

Neteyam turns, looks you head on and he feels his resolve crumbling.

“You like me,” he says bluntly, afraid that if he beats around the bush, he'll cop out.

“Everyone does,” you deflect.

Neteyam's jaw locks.

“No, ________, you like me,” he repeats.

You feel small, sorting the petals by color, fingers nimble against the soft grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Presumptuous,” you hum, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“________,” he presses.

You bite your lip, tears clouding your vision as your fingers begin to trembling through the sorting. He's being so unfair and he doesn't even know it.

“Why?” you ask shakily.

“What do you mean why?” Neteyam counters, voice taking on the same edge he did with his brother days prior and he'd interrogated him about you.

“Why are you doing this?” you croak, and he hears the tears in your voice.

He's across the floor before you can blink.

“Are you crying?” he asks, shocked.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” you choke, poor petals strangled in your vibrating fist. “Is it not enough? To know that I yearn for you silently? That everyone pities me because my heart belongs to someone who's already spoken for?”

Neteyam is stunned.

“I like you, Neteyam. I always have,” you say, voice raw with emotion. “It's my biggest defeat to say I always will. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your eyes are tinged red and his throat feels stuffed with cotton.

“I've always admired you,” you say quietly, between hiccuping breaths. “But I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Neteyam winces, every word he’d practiced earlier, completely obliterated from his short term. He knows he should just tell you, tell you that his heart yearns for yours, too. That he'd been too blinded by his impending duty to feel the full effects of what a first love could be like.

“You should go,” you say when he's silent.

You brush your tears away and pat your cheeks dry with the back of your hands as you carefully set the wilted flowers the the edge of the table.

“I–”

“Neteyam, spare me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” he finally says.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes swollen as you gaze at him unjaded. Who he believed to be so stoic and passive now baring every possible inch to him.

“You're–”

“I don't want to be with Te'feyra,” he finally spits, fists clenched. “I won't be with her.”

Your gaze softens, lips parting to ask what's gotten into him, but he cuts you off.

“You,” he answers firmly, before the question clings in the air. “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

"Stop," you whisper, shaking your head furiously. You take a step away from where he's quickly closing in on you. “Don't–”

He pauses mid-stride and the expression on his handsome face is absolutely devastating. His chest rises and falls shakily and you take a moment to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before,” he says desperately, “I was scared and didn't fully realize it, but I do now.”

“That’s unfair,” you hiccup. “This isn't just on your terms. You can’t— you can’t just tell me you like me and expect me to be with you.”

These passing moments are the most he’s ever heard you speak, and he’s afraid that he's severely underestimated you. It doesn’t taste so sweet now that he’s faced with the reality of things.

“You will be the future leader of this clan,” you continue. “That is a great responsibility that you've prepared for your entire life. Who you decide to be with is a permanent fixture that cannot be undone.”

“I know, I know,” he assures you.

“You find it in your heart pity me, Neteyam,” you breathe quietly. “But do you really want to be bonded to someone passive and weak?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you've squared your shoulders, stomach caving and expanding with a deep breath. You turn to your prior task.

“You should go,” you repeat. “Duty calls.”

“What do you mean you need help?” Kiri asks incredulously, eyes widened at her older brother.

“________,” Neteyam says. “She's icing me out.”

Kiri's face melts in relief and she scoffs a laugh.

“Do you blame her?”

“Kiri!” he pleads.

Kiri stops her movements, falling back on her haunches to meet Neteyam's desperate gaze. It's so unlike him, being uncertain, nervous. He's picked up the habit of fiddling his fingers and Kiri snorts to herself.

“Actions,” she says simply.

“Huh?” he vocalizes.

“Words mean nothing to ________ if your actions don't support them,” she says. “This entire time you've acted so lukewarm towards her. Of course she won't believe you when you decide to acknowledge that you love her.”

Neteyam's throat bobs as he stares down at his sister.

“And how will I do that?” he presses.

Kiri shrugs.

“Not so mighty warrior now, are we?”

As the days progress, you begin to grasp at finally coming to terms with the tattered remains of what's left of you and Neteyam's frayed relationship. Your heart hasn't stonewalled him completely, but the yearning for him has dulled to a slight ache.

His eyes are piercing every moment you share the same vicinity. Kiri would even try to argue you that it's longing, but Neteyam's a slave to his honor and you aren't convinced.

“You should pity the poor boy,” an elder tells you as you cut up ingredients for the evening's dinner.

You pause, fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. You roll your lips together before briefly meeting her gaze, warm under firelight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, clearing your throat.

She laughs, peeling a purple fruit.

“Neteyam,” she says forwardly. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off you in who knows how long. Will you continue to let him suffer?”

You want to argue that it's you who's suffering. That the heart that beats inside the hollow of your ribcage feels like it'll tear in two every time you recall the venom in Neteyam's voice when he'd called you weak.

“I doubt his suffering has anything to do with me,” you say instead. “We are only acquaintances.”

The elder laughs again.

“Is that why he's been pestering the elders for input on how to sway your heart?”

Your head shoots up from where you've focused on the fine cuts of vegetables.

“What?”

“He’s been slacking on his duties, instead poking around the elders and villagers trying to pry information about you,” she says. “Heard him muttering about what kind of flowers you like.”

“It will take more than flowers to sway my heart,” you mumble.

“So you admit that there's something there, hmm?”

Your cheeks heat, caught like a fish in warm waters.

“I–”

“I'd argue that Neteyam’s liked you longer than you've liked him,” the elder says simply.

You bite.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's always asked Eywa for courage, and it seems like she gave you as an answer.”

The elder climbs to her feet, leaving you near the open flame. You open your mouth to call out to her, but the scent of salt and leaves envelops you before you can say anything.

You crane your neck and find Neteyam a few paces from you.

“Do you have a few moments?” he asks politely.

You want to say no, tell him that you'd offered him an infinite amount of moments that he'd spent building bridges between the two of you, but if he's a slave to his honor, you're bound by heart.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, abandoning your task.

He holds his hand out for you to take and your fingers slide across his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Once he secures your hold in his, he tugs you along.

You don't know where he's taking you, or what he could possibly want with your time, but you feel a thousand times more nervous than ever now that the tangled web of your feelings drapes the both of you.

After a few moments of rugged silence, climbing through bushes and brush, he punctures the quiet.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer after a moment. “You?”

“Truthfully?” he responds, pausing to face you. You realize his hand still engulfs yours. “No.”

“No?” you parrot shakily.

“No,” he affirms. “I've been hurting actually.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“You should seek help if you have an ongoing–”

“Here,” he says, the hand still caught in his being guided to lay flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage. “It hurts here.”

You swallow, pulling away from his grasp when you realize his insinuation.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He breathes a shaky sigh before taking a step towards you. He's corded muscle and warmth as his palm comes to cradle your jaw. Your bottom lip twitches as you stare up at him.

“It’s always been you,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your chin as his eyes map every curve of your face. “I think I’ve always known it deep down, but...”

Your hand comes up to meet his, gently prying his touch away.

“Neteyam,” you sigh. “Had the last few days unfolded differently, I don't think you'd been saying this now.”

“Maybe not now,” he agrees. “But one day, I would. I know I would. Because when I recall every fond moment, you’re there. No matter how close to the background you get, you’re always there.”

You look skeptical, and Neteyam knows he's losing you. So he digs in the small knapsack he has slung over his broad shoulders and pulls out something thin.

When he holds it up with shaky fingers, your breath catches in your throat. Strung through the taut brown of tree vine is a line of beads identical to the one that he wears on a braid tucked behind his ear. Upon closer inspection, you notice the blue and purple beads formed to create your favorite flowers.

“Wha—”

“Until you decide you want to be mine,” he says, voice trembling nervously as he takes your arm and gently slides the band up until it fits snuggly around your bicep. “So that you remember I'm always yours.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as he brings your fingers up to his lips.

“I won’t push you,” he says when he realizes your words have evaded you. “But I’ll wait for you.”

“Neteyam–”

He simply smiles at you, golden eyes shy as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. He seems satisfied, triumphant, when you eye the band but make no moves to remove it.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats, giving your fingers a squeeze before running off.

“He did what?” Lo’ak shrills a week later.

The younger three Sully's had hunted you down and brought you to the clearing dedicated to archery training.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and elbow to turn your arm to examine the band with wide eyes.

You can’t help but smile gently to yourself, watching the way the sun catches the reflection of the pearlescent beads and reflects them brightly.

“I knew that dummy was planning something,” Kiri grumbles. You bite your lip when she meets your gaze. “Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, arm still in Lo’ak’s grasp.

He twists playfully and your laugh glitters in the air.

"Are you going to put my knucklehead brother out of his misery or what?" Kiri hisses, arm drawing to shoot a arrow that stabs the target about a centimeter too left.

Tuk giggles as she runs up to the target to examine the damage.

“Yeah, please do, he's in love and it's disgusting,” Lo'ak grumbles, still eyeing the cuff.

Your heart skips at the mention of love, cheeks going warm when both Kiri and Lo'ak notice how you've gone quiet. They begin laughing, dealing you playful punches.

“Stop that,” you scold, swatting their hands away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Oh, get real!” Kiri huffs. “You are so in love, you know you'll say yes.”

“Please put me out of my misery,” Lo'ak moans. “I'm tired of being his therapist because he's a little bitch.”

“Lo'ak,” you warn, eyes narrowing.

He giggles and Kiri stifles a laugh as you flounder, cheeks blooming under the siblings' teasing.

“You are both so awful,” you say petulantly, arms crossing one over the other. “How are you so sure I’ll return his feelings?”

It's Kiri's turn to groan, eyes rolling.

“Sure enough that I know if I let you in on a little secret, it'll light a fire under your ass,” she says seriously.

Your spine goes rigid, arms loosening as you wait with bated breath.

“Neteyam may choose you, but if you don’t choose him back quickly enough, someone could swoop in and claw that chance from you,” she shrugs.

Te'feyra's name is an ugly insinuation and something green coils its way into the pit of your stomach as you recall the chaste kiss she'd pressed to Neteyam's lips all those nights ago in the forest.

“Gears turning?” Lo'ak lilts.

They definitely are and suddenly you feel small, digging your big toe into the dirt to drag lines through the forest floor. You nod hesitantly, band suddenly tight around your bicep.

In your ruminating, Lo'ak and Kiri pass a knowing glance.

“Well?” Lo'ak prods.

You fidget, rattling with nerves.

“I suppose...”

Lo'ak sighs and his hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you squeak.

“To put everyone out of their misery,” Lo'ak huffs.

The forest seems way more alive than usual, glowing so bright it almost overpowers the sun. Woodsprites gather around as Lo'ak nudges you through the thick foliage and you can't help but think about the sweet smile that curled on Neteyam's lips as he assured you that he was yours. All yours.

The fire crackles in the distance and you know that the morning meal is in the works when voices roar quietly meters away.

Neteyam sits near the center, surrounded by elders and the dreaded girl.

Te'feyra's obliterated every single centimeter of space available, nearly melded to his side as the elders talk animatedly over the two.

You want to turn back, uncertainty vice-like, but Lo'ak squeezes your shoulders as a silent plea. Not even a moment passes before Neteyam peels himself away and begins putting distance between them.

When Te'feyra gives him a curious glance, he gives her an uneasy smile.

“Be courageous, ________,” Lo'ak encourages. “You're one of the strongest people I know.”

With a final pat on the back, he pushes you towards the circle and the sudden movement catches everyone's gaze.

“________,” one of the elders calls fondly.

You smile and bow your head, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Hello,” you greet quietly, eyes swooping hesitantly to Neteyam who rises to his feet, already watching you intently.

That's when you notice it, the choker fastened around his throat. The vine is identical to yours, but it's strung with a line of beads that mirror the ones woven into a singular braid at the nape of your neck.

You hadn't realized that he'd noticed it all this time, but it's the ultimate confirmation that Neteyam sees you. And when he notices that you notice, he smiles softly.

The elders notice as well, drawing the link between your arm band and the necklace that Neteyam wears, now that you two stand opposite each other.

“May I borrow Neteyam for a moment?” you ask politely.

The same elder you prepared with the evening prior gleams a wide smile when Neteyam takes a step towards you, fingers brushing delicately with yours.

Te'feyra remains seated, lips twitching as her gaze flits between the two of you.

“By all means,” one of them says. “Take your time.”

You bow your head again, heart thudding when Neteyam's fingers twine with yours and he lets you drag him out of the circle and deeper into the forest.

When you deem that no prying eyes or ears surround you, you stop, Neteyam bumping softly into your back. The hair on the back of your neck bristle when he makes no moves to extricate himself from you, simply moving your braids from your face to reveal the string of beads tucked near the nape of your neck.

“You needed me?” he whispers, fingers still ghosting the skin of shoulder.

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you relish the moment. Your fingers are still locked and for a fleeting second, you pretend that it's always been like this, the two of you.

“I am nothing extraordinary,” you start, and Neteyam's fingertips pause at your elbow.

“I'd argue differently,” he responds.

“I value time alone and I get overwhelmed often,” you continue.

“We all have our moments,” is his rebuttal as the hand covering yours squeezes gently.

You sigh.

“I could—”

Neteyam turns you and you're met with the the choker, beads glinting under the light. Your eyes drag up the column of his strong neck, flit past his soft lips and finally lock with his searing gaze.

“You can try all you want to run me off,” Neteyam laughs quietly, cupping your jaw. “But I'm not scared anymore.”

Your expression is skeptical and Neteyam decides to bite the bullet. He's closing in on you and your heart pounds violently in your chest.

“Neteyam,” you whisper weakly, hand coming up to his chest.

He traps your fingers against his heart, lips slotting between yours before you can protest some more.

It's like the forest comes alive around you, grass tickling between your toes as you melt under his touch and lean up into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere at once, branding your cerulean skin as he kisses you like it's your last moments. There's no hesitation, no feeling it out, just his warm breath and his soft lips as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I'll take you as you are at any moment,” he says breathlessly between kisses. “You just have to say you want me back, ________. Please.”

You nod, nose brushing against his as one of his palms splay at the small of your back and the other grabs your chin, pulling you back to plant another burning kiss on your lips.

“Say it,” he begs.

Your eyes begin to mist as you nod again eagerly, parting for a moment to whisper the words.

“I'm yours,” you hoarse, hands on either side of his neck. “I'm yours if you'll be with me.”

Neteyam simply kisses you again, a satisfied hum rumbling from his built chest.

“Fucking finally,” a whisper sounds from the brush.

A LIL' BONUS

“You think they would have figured it out on their own?” Lo'ak asks, wolfing down his food.

Kiri shrugs, feeding Tuk a piece of fruit from her wooden plate.

“Maybe,” she says, unable to suppress her proud grin. “Maybe not. They're both stupid."

“I think so,” Te'feyra laughs watching you and Neteyam fondly from across the fire. “They were a long time coming.”

an – thank you SO much if you've made it this far! again, leave a request or let's chat hehehe. up next is lo'ak so stay tuned! :)

#neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water

8K notes · View notes

saigethearies · 9 months

Text

osamu and you leave your daughter with her uncle atsumu for the weekend. chaos ensues.

___

“i woulda felt better leavin’ her with kita or aran.”

you let out a snort at your husband’s statement. “over your own brother? her blood relative?”

you and osamu were driving to a weekend getaway in the mountains. while the two of you were excited for a break and some quality time, there was no denying that there was some apprehension in the car.

it was the first time you’d be away from your baby daughter. as great as a vacation sounded, it would be a lie to say the two of you weren’t reluctant to go.

in order to ease your nerves, a suitable babysitter was chosen.

only osamu didn’t have a lot of faith in your choice.

“exactly, he’s ma brother, so ‘m the only one who understands just how much of ‘n idiot he truly is.”

“but you saw how happy he was to offer to watch her! atsumu loves being a uncle, he won’t half-ass taking care of her. besides, if he ends up needing help your mom is just a call away.”

“ma’s hostin’ her book club this saturday, she can’t just drop everythin’ if tsumu’s dumbass ends up needin’ help.”

you let out a sigh. “samu, just try and relax. i’m sure everything over on his end is fine.”

____

“COURT BABY! COURT BABY! COURT BABY!”

hinata and bokuto chanted as they watched your daughter crawl across the shiny floor of the msby practice gym.

having grown tired of the play mat and toys her uncle atsumu had laid out for her, the little one decided exploring her surroundings would be far more exciting.

“she’s crawlin’ earlier than most babies would,” atsumu chimed proudly. “must’ve got ma athlete genes.”

sakusa rolled his eyes from behind the fake blonde.

“she’s really going fast! let’s time her to see how quick she can move!” hinata suggested, fascinated by the little human on the ground.

“we’re supposed to be doing passing drills-“

“GREAT IDEA HINATA!” bokuto shouted.

“i give up,” the masked brunette said, moving to sit down on the bleachers since apparently no one was going to actually bother to follow instructions.

atsumu smirked while watching his teammates fawn over his niece. he knew it would be a good idea to just bring her to friday practice. the vibe for fridays was always a little more laid-back, and he knew having a cute little baby around would earn him brownie points with his excitable teammates. who didn’t love babies?

his brown eyes shifted over to sakusa momentarily, who was gazing at his niece with a look of disdain on his face.

okay, maybe he didn’t enjoy kids, but the rest of the team sure did!

“hey hey hey, baby miya! let’s see how quick you can crawl to your uncle tsum-tsum!”

atsumu grinned, moving to kneel on the ground so he can encourage his niece to move towards him. seeing the familiar face of her uncle- who shared a face with her father- had her happily babbling away as she pushed towards him.

“awe, she’s trying to talk!” hinata cooed, lip wobbling as he watched the precious exchange.

“alright, everyone,” a voice boomed. everyone turned to see a muscular figure with a head of spiky black hair enter the gymnasium.

“your coach asked me to come over to ensure you boys were actually practicing,” iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer stated. “i have some specific stamina exercises i want everyone to participate in. we’re gonna start by-“

movement in the lower peripheral of iwa’s vision caught his attention and the former ace found his gaze turning toward the floor.

“…why the hell is there a baby here?”

“don’t fuckin’ curse in front’a ma niece!”

“you just- nevermind,” iwa grunted, trying to be as patient as possible considering there was a literal infant present.

slotting his clipboard into the junction of his shoulder, the athletic trainer bent down to gently pick up your daughter. balancing her on his hip as if he’d done it a million times before, he turned back to the team.

“alright, jumping jacks and high knees, i want those heart rates getting up!”

before atsumu could open his mouth, iwa shot him a pointed look.

“i’ll hold your niece, miya, now get moving.”

the squeaking of shoes against the linoleum floor began to sound off. after ensuring everyone was properly following his instructions, he turned to the baby in his hold.

everyone knew iwaizumi was tough, but few knew how much of a complete softie he could be at times. giving your daughter a small smile, he lifted his hands to wave his fingers at her, to which she smiled back and tried to mimic his movements.

he let out a light laugh. “motor skills coming along there, i see-“

“iwaaaaa-chaaannnnn,” a voice sounded off from behind him.

iwaizumi froze. that voice, that stupid nickname, he knew it from anywhere. he began to turn his head to look behind him, gradually as if he was moving in slow-motion.

there was no way…

“guess who flew all the way from argentina to surprise you with his presence,” oikawa boasted as he stepped into the room. “that’s right, me-“

the seijoh grad fell silent as his chocolate colored eyes fell on the small human in his best friend’s hold.

oikawa blinked once. twice. three times. then-

“since when did you have a kid?”

“tooru, this isn’t-“

“how could you keep this from me?”

“will you please just-“

“a whole child? when?”

“shittykawa just shut up-“

“STOP CURSIN’ IN FRONT’A HER!”

“-and listen to me for a second!”

oikawa finally stopped his tirade, moving towards iwaizumi to study the baby in his arms. he bent down to be eye level with her, the both of them staring at each other curiously.

the brunette hummed to himself, reaching a finger out to poke your daughter’s cheek. “she doesn’t look like you.”

“wow, what an observation, it’s almost like she’s not my kid.”

“then who’s is she-“

“she’s my niece,” atsumu growled out, pushing oikawa away from the baby he was prodding at. he fixed the other man with a glare, well aware of who he was and what position he also played. the fact that this potential rival thought he could casually touch his flesh and blood had the fake blonde heated. “i’m takin’ care’a her for the weekend, which means i ain’t letting no lesser setter lay’a hand on her.”

“lesser setter?”

“oh boy,” iwa said, moving away from the two ego-fueled players. he could tell they were about to scuffle and he couldn’t let a baby be anywhere near that.

placing your little girl safely to the side, iwa crouched in front of her, sounds of “never saw ya at spring nationals” and “let’s see what your stats are, huh?” airing in the background.

“you stay right here, i’m gonna go get them to knock it off.”

standing a few meters away from all the chaos, sakusa watched as iwaizumi tried to wrench the two setters apart. sighing, he shifted his gaze to your daughter sitting unattended on the ground, babbling at nothing in particular.

sakusa grimaced. he really didn’t like babies. they were so…germy. and gross. but, he supposed the babies themselves couldn’t really help that fact. it wasn’t their fault they were so little and had such new immune systems.

a shadow then loomed over your daughter, bokuto and hinata standing over her. now that iwaizumi was too distracted to lead them in workouts, the two’s attention was back on the infant.

“i know!” bokuto exclaimed. “let’s do passing drills with baby miya! we can pass her back and forth to each other!”

“she’ll feel like she’s flying! like she’s a little crow!”

“or an owl!”

“you two will be doing absolutely no such thing with this child,” sakusa interjected, scooping your daughter up and going to sit down on the bench with her.

“but ki-“

“no.”

he wasn’t a fan of babies, but considering your daughter’s uncle was currently holding oikawa in a headlock, sakusa figured he could keep an eye on her for just a few minutes. it wouldn’t be too much longer before iwa finally decided he’d had enough and smacked the shit out of both of them.

hearing a little gurgle from below him, the brunette cast his eyes downwards. your daughter’s sight was transfixed on him, a smile coming onto her face when she saw she had the spiker’s attention.

from behind his mask, sakusa felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

okay, maybe babies were a little cute.

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya #atsumu miya #atsumu miya fluff #hinata shoyuo #bokuto koutarou #sakusa kiyoomi #msby #msby fluff #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa torū #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

2K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 10 months

Text

Alfred's Boy Part 4

"Master Bruce, would it be alright if I had someone over?" Danny's soft voice breaks the chatter around the table. Bruce is honestly surprised to hear the boy speak up without prompting. It takes him a moment to answer how unexpecting the request is.

The boy seems to think his silence is an answer, for he ducks his head and brings up his shoulders. "Nevermind. It was stupid. I'll tell Clockwork to forget it."

"No. No. This is your house as well, Danny. You can invite any of your friends. I'm just surprised Clockwork would allow you to contact guests from your old home." Bruce assures. His eyes flicker to the rest of the table, showing how everyone is focused on their own plates, but all conversation has died.

He is sure half of his children are attempting to develop super hearing with how much they are straining to eavesdrop.

"He's not really a friend, per se." Danny pushes some of his food to one side of his plate. It's a nervous habit Bruce had realized he does when speaking of his old home. Not just food but anything he can fiddle with, as Danny seems unable to hold still when nervous. "Wes and I have....a history, you can say. Clockwork said that he was allowed to visit because he knew what was happening but wasn't too involved with the situation. Not like Sam and Tucker, my best friends, or my sister Jazz. "

A history? Oh no, was this "Wes" an ex?

Bruce looks again at his youngest and fights a wince at Damian's dark sneer as the boy stabs his broccoli. Please let Wes just be anything but an ex. He doesn't want to follow the other kid around to make sure he doesn't have to fight off his children from bringing him harm.

Dick speaks up, likely thinking along the same lines. "I'm glad you can still have someone to see you! When will he be here? Will he be alright with Gotham's....everything?"

A smile is fighting at the corner of Danny's lips, and Bruce swears he can hear his children's hearts shatter as the boy flushes slightly. "Trust me, Wes can handle a lot. Clockwork said he would let Alfred know the details if Master Bruce agreed."

The butler pulls out an old-looking pocket watch. After checking the time, Alfred snaps it close with an impassive smile. "Clockwork will have the boy here in three days. I believe Danny will have a few days off then to enjoy his company?"

It's not really a request, but Bruce still nods. "Of course."

Danny's entire face lights up. It's the most joy he's seen on the boy's face since his arrival. "Thank you, Master Bruce. Thank you, Alfred. Can you please excuse me? I want to prepare his room."

"Of course, dear boy," Alfred nods his head. Danny is gone in a flash, a secret smile pulling at his lips. He waits a few seconds, so Danny's footsteps can fade away before leveling a stern stare at everyone at the table.

Bruce straightens his back out of reflex when that all-knowing stare passes over him. He barely contains a sigh of relief when Alfred slightly lingers on him to transfer his gaze to Damian.

He feels terrible for his son but cannot step between the butler and him. Damian will have to fight this battle on his own.

"I trust everyone here will not give Danny or his guest any grief during his break." It's not a question. It's a camond. Everyone shivers slightly out of fear.

"No."

"You don't have to worry about me"

"I have some stuff to do."

"Of course not Alfred."

Alfred doesn't precisely threaten them, but he does make his eyes a little darker "Danny's guest will not find shadows following him."

A few of his kids look heartbroken, while Jason has an expression of manic glee blooming on his face.

The following night, Danny is asking for ideas on where to take Wes on his tour. Apparently, both are from a small town and are used to having fewer options for entertainment.

"Kids usually either went to the mall or the local burger place. The mall wasn't even that big too, so after a while it got boring" Danny admits.

"You have to take him to Batburger," Jason tells Danny. Bruce fights the urge to leap over the table and punch his child. Jason knows that Danny hadn't gone to the restaurant so a lot of his siblings had been dreaming of taking the boy on a date there.

He's just rubbing salt in the wounds at this point.

"I think I will. I'll take him to museums too. Wes loves history." Danny writes some ideas down in a little notebook. He's taken to carrying it around, brainstorming a perfect weekend there.

Bruce had glanced at it earlier that day, when Danny had been busy cleaning and had read, "Make out point- Dick said the stars are the clearest there."

He almost had a heart attack. For all that Danny was Alfred's boy, Bruce still felt very protective of Danny like his own. He did not want his somewhat son to be going to any place with the name make out point.

No one speaks after that- primarily due to his younger children trying to shift their sobs and the older ones trying to comfort them without letting Danny notice.

Eventually, Cullen gets up from the table, excusing himself with a half-baked excuse of needing to do homework, and Harper chases after him. The two are followed by Tim- whose eyes are glossy- Steph, who looks to be biting her lip. Duke, whose hands are curled into fists, and Damian, who stomps out like a bull about to charge.

Bruce leaps to his feet but is stopped by Dick, who pats his shoulder. "I got this."

"The plot thickens," Jason says before he, too, goes after his siblings. For all his teasing, his second oldest adores his brothers and sisters, so he'll be there in their time of need.

"Is something...wrong?" Danny asks after a moment of hesitation. "I can tell Clockwork and Wes not to do the visit."

"No. You have Wes over. We talk." Cass tells him, giving the boy a wink as she, too, steps away. "Tonight, all ice cream."

"Yes." Alfred sighs. "I do believe that would be best. A frozen treat to soothe the pain of heartbreak. I'll bring up the tubs for everyone in a moment."

Bruce fights the urge to bury his face in his hands as Danny spring to his feet offering to help with the ice cream, unaware he is the cause for the comfort food.

Despite the apparent tension in the manor, the promised weekend does arrive. Danny is beside himself with excitement. He's not wearing a suit for once- he's gotten to copying Alfred in a misguided attempt at a butler uniform- and is wearing street clothes.

Besides, when the first day, Bruce has never seen Danny in street clothes. He's surprised that Danny dresses like a punk rocker- complete with a black leather jacket, big combat boots, and various chains.

He looks like the type of person fathers warn their daughters away from. Bruce hates how that only makes more of his children bestowed.

Danny had given everyone a happy smile when Bruce handed him the keys to one of his sports cars- he saw no reason why Wes and Danny should take a bus to the airport when he had plenty of vehicles to lend him. Alfred had allowed the boy to go alone since Danny needed to go through a particular gate for Wes.

Apparently, Clockwork would be sending Wes on a private plane. It burned not to know who Clockwork was or what he did, but Bruce fought the urge to snoop to get Alfred to stop glaring at him.

"I bet you he's not even that great," Tim grumbles, stuffing a chocolate cookie into his mouth. "Bet you he's ugly."

"With buck teeth" Steph adds stealing her own cookie.

"He likely never even seen a sword," Damian spits.

"Come on guys, I know it sucks, but we can't just dis on Wes 'cause Danny likes him," Duke says though it's not very convincing, seeing as he dropped over the couch in a depressive slouch.

"Why are all the good gays taken?" Cullen sighs, ignoring the meta.

Bruce opens his mouth to offer some comfort or maybe lecture them, but the front door opens before he gets a chance. Everyone sits up only to slump down as Dick strolls in with a cheerful smile. They all glare at him, which makes Dick flauter in his steps for only a second.

"They're waiting for Danny," Bruce tells him. Dicks smile regains his cheer as the oldest throws himself on the couch.

"He's outside with his guest. Lovely guy."

"Is he ugly?" Tim asks hopefully. His dreams are dashed as Dick shakes his head.

"He could be a supermodel."

"Of course, he can."

Jason snorts from behind a book. Bruce knows he is not reading it, simply by the fact he hasn't turned a page in the last ten minutes- his son speed reads whenever he adores a book- and is likely enjoying the show.

The door opens again, this time accompanied by two sets of laughter. An unfamiliar voice wheezes "-Dash then reads out love poems he wrote about Phantom!

"No!" Danny gasps. "Not Dash Baxter. What did the other A-listers do in retaliation?"

"Nothing that's the crazy part. They had poems too!"

The two voices are carrying, so Bruce has a few seconds to prepare himself. So do his kids, who all sit up at attention, a few with not as welcoming expressions as he would like. The voices round the corner, and Bruce looks at Wes first.

Dick was right. He's a handsome young man with ginger hair and flickers of freckles. He is dressed similarly to Danny, but a little less black and slightly more burnt orange to add color to his punk look. A worn-out backpack is swung over his shoulder while the same arm is tugging along a suitcase behind him.

Wes is also holding Danny's hand with a free hand.

Damian makes a slightly wounded sound that digs a dagger into Bruce's heart. His baby's first heartbreak.

Danny looks surprised to see them all, seeing as the family usually prepares to go out as the Bats at this time- but he smiles widely after a moment. "Everyone I like you to meet Wesley Weston. Wes, this is my boss, Bruce Wayne, and his kids, Dick Grayson-wayne, Jason Todd-Wayne, Casandra Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane, Stephine Brown, Damian Wayne, Cullen Row, and Harper Row."

Wes smiles at them, waving the hand he has interlocked with Danny. Bruce winces as most of his kids give half-hearted greetings. Thankfully Alfred is in the kitchen and misses their terrible manners.

Wes pauses and squits at the youngest of the house before he sighs. "Of course, it happens in this dimension too."

"What?" Danny asks confused

"Danny and I aren't dating," Wes tells the room, ignoring the startled boy he's launched onto. "Danny just needs to have physical contact for his mental health. So we hold hands. He also needs to have someone sleep with him. Otherwise, his core doesn't recharge correctly."

"Wes!" Danny protests. "They don't know about cores!"

"Oh," Wes shrugs, waving his hands at them, "Never mind. Processed as normal, Danny and I will cuddle in his room. Danny lead the way."

Alfred's foster son flushes a bright red but quickly tugs the guest away. Jason shakes from unrestrained laughter as Damian stabs the table on which he is sharpening his knives.

Bruce yells after the two boys.

"The door stays open, Danny!"

"Master Bruce, it's not like that!" Danny yells back, mortified, and Wes breaks into impish laughter.

"I hate him," Duke hisses, and Bruce gives in to the urge to bury his face in his hands.

It's going to be a long weekend.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Alfred's boy #Part 4 #Wes is just here for the cuddles #Yes Danny is from a different dimension in this.#Everyone from that dimension is hot #Bruce is trying to dad

2K notes · View notes

erwinsvow · 2 months

Text

“I want them to like you,” you say, tugging on Rafe’s arm to drag him away from his truck and towards the beach. “I want them to love you.” He’s standing still, feet planted firmly on the pavement.

You’ve wanted Rafe to meet your friends for the longest time, so much so that it’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about recently. It’s not exactly accurate—he has met them before, many times, actually, but they’ve never been good encounters. You recall a bruise on Pope’s back and JJ’s busted lip, back before they knew Rafe was your boyfriend and he was just public enemy number one.

But things are better now—really, they are. You try to convince yourself all of those incidents are in the past, that everyone’s over it now. You want your friends to like your boyfriend. You want your boyfriend to like your friends. You want it so bad you’re willing to drag Rafe to the beach yourself, if that’s what it takes.

“They can’t stand me,” Rafe replies, scanning the surroundings. He doesn’t like them, but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings either, if they overhear the two of you right now. “Can’t stand them, either, y’know.”

“But you like me, don’t you?” you ask, smiling wide, all cheery and bright. Like he has to tell you again. He rolls his eyes, making you laugh.

“Not at all. What gave y’that stupid idea?” You roll your own pretty eyes in a matching response.

“C’mon, Rafe, look, they’re already here-” you whine, pointing at the giant, junky thing your Pogue friends call a car. He doesn’t let you anywhere near the thing anymore if he can help it—drops you off and picks you up because that thing is a death trap, even more so with one of the stoned idiots driving it. “I don’t wanna be late, so move-” you start pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t give you an inch.

You huff, hot sun beating down on you, muscles tired from trying to move your entirely too strong boyfriend.

“Fine,” you finally let out, giving up. “I’ll just go by myself.”

“Good girl. I’ll swing by to get you in a couple hours and then we can go for dinner-”

“Sounds good,” you interrupt, causing Rafe to look at you with an eyebrow raised—you never interrupt him. “I’ll just have Pope put the sunscreen on my back for me. Since you won’t be there.”

“Wait a minute-”

“And JJ’s been dying to teach me how to surf. Y’know, last time I tried though, my top fell off. But I guess it’s no big deal. I bet John B can put it back on for me.”

Rafe thinks he’s mastered the look of not caring sometimes, face blank, eyes showing nothing but mild disturbance. This is not one of those times. You smile, because you can’t help it, watching your boyfriend’s ears turn bright pink, the muscles in his jaw clench, his fist tighten around your pink beach bag.

You put your hand over his, gently, trying to take the bag so you can walk away with it. You’re not sure if your plan worked until he snatches the bag back, hand holding your wrist tightly.

“Come on, kid,” he mutters, heading in the direction of the beach. “Pain in my ass,” you hear him say quietly, but you feel giddy that he agreed to join you after all.

Your friends are set up by the water, towels haphazardly thrown on the sand, a case of beer resting in the shade under the umbrella. JJ is waxing his board, Pope is standing next to him, critiquing his method. John has just crushed a beer can down, and chucks it at Kie, who ducks and starts yelling about how inhumane littering is.

“Hey!” you hear Pope beam, a smile lighting up your face. “Look who’s here-” and Kie joins in with an excited yell, tossing the empty can back at John B and hitting the back of his head.

“Thought you’d never come back to us now that you’re a fancy Kook girl. Where’s that-” JJ goes silent, watching Rafe walking behind you, staring blankly, looking pissed. “-asshole boyfriend. Nevermind, I found him.”

“I brought Rafe,” you say, a big smile taking over again. You look expectantly at everyone, and then stare until they give you the reaction you want. They mumble hi and hey, Kook, and you turn back to Rafe, taking your bag and figuring out where to put your towels—pink, like the bag, like your bikini. Rafe’s shorts are white, with little pink stripes to match you.

You both sit down on the sand before you finally offer him the bottle of sunscreen and lay flat on your stomach so he can put it on. He squirts some onto his hands, rubbing them together to spread it out and then first slaps your ass, leaving a sandy, white handprint on the skin. Your body jerks, whining against the towel.

“Had to. Practically asking for it. M’not apologizing,” he says, quiet enough that only the two of you can hear. His hands rub the sunscreen onto your back and arms, but then you decide everything he does is too erotic for public, so you turn back, insisting that’s enough sun protection. You just got here and you don’t want to leave because you can’t resist your boyfriend just yet.

You turn your head, noticing Kie walking towards you with a can of hard seltzer, the fruity kind she knows you prefer. The boys are by the other umbrella, tossing beers at each other. You tug on Rafe’s arm again.

“Why don’t you go get a beer with them. You can talk. It’ll be nice!”

There’s nothing he’d rather do less.

“Came here to hang with you, not them,” he says curtly, head resting back on the towel.

“Rafe!” The things he does for you. “Please?” He shouldn’t have looked at you—that was his mistake. Five seconds of your pout and your sincere eyes is enough to make him do whatever you want.

“Five minutes, then I’m coming back. That’s it.”

“Thank you,” you sing sweetly. Kiara comes and settles down next to you. “Is it strawberry? My favorite!” he hears you say, followed by the hiss of you opening the can, as he gets up and stalks towards your friends.

Their conversation dies when Rafe steps up—something he doesn’t like. He could care less about these idiots, but he really doesn’t want you to get caught in the middle of this shit. He can see it already—your pretty face covered in tears, crying because you care too much about him, care too much about your friends.

Rafe knows you’d pick him over them, he just doesn’t want to force you to make that choice.

“What’re you drinking?” he questions. Three pairs of eyes stare at him blankly. A retort bubbles inside him angrily—Stupid and deaf? You losers can’t catch a break, huh? He turns to look at you, hoping you’re in conversation with Kie and sipping your sugary drink. You’re not. You’re staring at the four of them with a hopeful smile.

He swallows the comment and turns with a forced, hard smile. “Beer? That’s great. Toss me one.” Pope does as he says, and then goes back to drinking his own.

“S’like weird, to see you smile. Didn’t know you could do that,” JJ comments, crushing his own beer can up now that it was empty. Rafe wishes you were here, listening, because-

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?” John B lets out a laugh at that, Pope joins in. Rafe cracks another smile, they’re pretty goofy, just like you had said. “Nah, I’m just saying, like, didn’t think you could be nice. Must be, if she likes you.”

Rafe turns to look back at you again, quickly. You’re talking to Kie now, head thrown back, laughing. You look prettiest like this, when you’re happy.

“Yeah, for her.” Then he takes another long chug of the beer, looking back at them. “You idiots don’t make it easy.”

“It’s not easy for us, either,” Pope interjects. “I mean, you did hit me with a golf club.” Rafe runs a hand through his hair, unsure what to say, because he did do that.

“Yeah, I, uh-” he trails off. “Sorry, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” JJ says.

“All in the past,” John B tacks on.

It must be several beers later, because you hear the boys laughing and… getting along? You decide to walk over, just to make sure your eyes and ears aren’t deceiving you. The box they had just bought earlier today was filled with the empties, the unmistakable sound of your boyfriend’s laugh filling your ears, your friends all engaged in conversations. You decide to turn back rather than interrupt, giddiness filling your heart that everything worked out. You don’t catch the end of their conversation, already back to your towel and opening another drink with Kie.

“And then I went there,” JJ starts, “-and I was like should I leave, because then her parents might wake up, because I forgot the condom-”

JJ stops to take another sip of the beer, and Rafe cuts him off.

“Wait, you guys use condoms?”

Three pairs of eyes turn on him.

When you two walk back to his truck a little later, he swings his arm around you and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“What was that for?” you ask, happy and tired.

“Yeah, I don’t think they like me much.”

#<3 #silly n short lol #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #this is def in the pogue reader universe haha

585 notes · View notes

filmbyjy · 2 months

Note

Hehe imma send multiple

Maybe something like bf Jungwon & y/n being shy w skin ship but like both of y’all are clingy idk how to explain it

HOLD ME TIGHT

a/n: why is this me. like I am clingy but I am so shy on skinship and plus I constantly overthink things😪 also so sorry if this was bad 😭

both you and jungwon were currently at a cat cafe. since, you wanted to play around with the cats. jungwon nuzzles his nose right on the kitten in his hands. He smiles and continues to do so over and over again as the kitten attempts to lick his nose. All of this happening right in front of you and you can’t help but feel a little sad.

well the better term would be jealousy. as you could say since the kitten was pretty much getting his attention way more than you. you were just a witness to the cute action that was happening in front of you. you craved for this type of cute affection with jungwon. however, you weren't that brave to voice out your own thoughts.

while other couples in public could easily display affection, you can't help but get shy over it. it made you feel disappointed in yourself. why couldn't you over come this awkward feeling. you had a boyfriend that was probably more than ready to give you affection you craved but you always hesitated to do so.

"(name), look. this kitten keeps meowing back whenever i meow." jungwon calls out, seemingly pulling you out of your small bubble of thoughts.

he meows and the kitten meows back. he laughs before pecking the kitten's small head. oh how adorable he was. you didn't understand his cute little tangents he liked to go on whenever you two hang out. sometimes, you even wondered if he was a cat. he seemed so...cat-like and playful.

you opened your mouth to say something but nothing really comes out, it was like the words that you wanted to express to him were not coming out. "jungwon?"

he hums, "yes, baby?" he continues to give the kitten a little more attention but stops a to look up at you.

"i- nevermind." he could sense the slight hesitation in your voice and so he carefully puts the kitten down.

"is there something wrong?"

"it's nothing. just something stupid." you brushed it off but jungwon goes to hold your hand which he rarely does since he too was shy with skinship. this was a big step that jungwon took and it was completely out of concern and love.

"tell me, i want to know whenever you're struggling." he lightly squeezes your hand. his adorable cat-like eyes staring into yours.

"i- can we cuddle?" you hesitantly voiced out.

"of course, we're dating. why can't we do that?"

"i know but...i'm scared that you might not want to cuddle. besides, we are still early in our relationship." you pout.

jungwon tilts his head. "are you kidding me? of course i do. you're my girlfriend. i wanna cuddle with you."

"what if you don't like it?"

jungwon playfully scoffs, "how could i hate anything about you? you're just saying random things now." he gets closer to your face. "i like everything about you. now, will you let me be your first ever official cuddle buddy?"

you nod and so jungwon goes to wrap his arms around you. you laid your head against his chest as the multiple cats were lazing around the both of you. jungwon's heart beats were calming. it actually made you sleepy. you could feel jungwon leave a small little peck on your forehead. just a light one.

"we should back to your home. you look tired." jungwon whispers.

"mmm, we should." you tiredly mumbled.

and so you and jungwon went back to your apartment.

"we're taking steps to our relationship. i'm proud of you for voicing out what you want to do." jungwon says.

"i tried to. i don't know if i'll be ready to fully voice out. after all, you are my first boyfriend and the only person i've done some sort of affection."

"don't worry, if you can't do it. i'll initiate it first. i tried my best today too. i'm not that great at showing affection too." jungwon admits.

"really?"

he hums, "yeah, i usually some sort don't do affection. you can ask the hyungs. they probably can tell you about it."

you blushed. "so this is a first time for you too?"

"yup. honestly, i think i'll do my best. i wanna see you blush and get flustered more often. it's cute." you groaned at jungwon's words. "that blush is reserved only for me, right?"

"yes." you looked away from him. jungwon laughs.

"good. now, let's get you to sleep. my little princess."

my little princess...

you liked the ring to it. jungwon's little princess. you couldn't wait to see how the next few months and even years would go with him.

361 notes · View notes

giyuji · 2 years

Text

KING-SIZED — 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢

pairings. keigo takami (hawks) x reader.

synopsis. your tiny apartment didn’t possess over a huge bed, not one that’s big enough to accommodate you, your boyfriend and his wings. so, the only solution? getting a new one for him, of course.

cw. none! just tooth-rotting fluff.

author's note. hawks deserves a hug. and a kiss. and just—somebody who takes care of him :( i'll do it for free, too

wc. 1.7k.

There were very few things in the world that you loved more than your charming menace of a boyfriend.

Your darling boyfriend, who took the time to ask you how your day went, every time without fail, nevermind the tiredness he felt. Your darling boyfriend who spent what little free time he had helping you with dinner, despite your protests for him to go lay down. Your darling boyfriend, who worked himself to the bone, and endured the brunt of his fatigue by himself whenever his shifts ended—always feigning nonchalance as he stumbled into your living room.

You didn’t know why he did it, didn’t know why he always chose to come to your place instead of his own. You were very well aware of the apartment he owned, the big, king-sized bed he hardly ever slept in. Still, he insisted on coming to yours once he finished his patrols. To your apartment, where a bed that could hardly be classified as a queen-sized one was waiting for him.

It’s because your place is closer!

You recognised his words as a lie immediately. However—it was an oddly endearing lie, so you chose to let it slide. For some reason, Keigo adored sharing your smaller bed with you, to have you close to him, to feel you cuddle into him as you ushered him to get closer so his larger frame wouldn’t fall off. And, well, if you were being honest…so did you.

The lovesick bubble you wrapped yourself in each night popped when you caught sight of his wings on a particular evening. His pretty, fiery red wings laid mostly on the ground as he slept. On the ground. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, as the bed was barely big enough for the two of you—let alone for the two of you and the entirety of his wings.

That didn’t mean you weren’t bothered by the sight, however. Then and there, you decided that it simply wouldn’t do.

Keigo over-worked himself—day in, day out, and he started the cycle back up again the day after with the same smile on his face. So, you settled on taking a page out of his book for the next few weeks.

Aside from your regular job, you took on a couple of extra side-jobs; small things—such as babysitting your neighbour’s kids, or walking their dogs. And right before the next month was over, you’d gathered enough money for a big, king-sized bed you knew for sure would be big enough for your boyfriend. You’d looked at him often enough to know his wings and their size by now.

Yet, even though you’d chosen the right size, it seemed your newest purchase wasn’t as compliant as you’d hoped it would be. Its next move was rolling the screwdriver you were using far and far away from you and off its frame. With widened eyes, you reached for it, cursing under your breath as it rolled out of your hold. You couldn’t exactly move much, as you were pretty sure the structure would fall apart if you did.

With bated breath you watched as it rolled closer to the edge, fingers twitching to reach it but never quite covering the distance. You sighed in absolute relief when a single, red feather drifted in front of you and caught it right before it fell off. The joy was short-lived, as your relaxation caused your posture to change, and thus a few of the screws fell from the frame you were holding upwards. You watched in disappointment as the planks fell down, not even bothering to catch them.

“So…whatcha doing?”

A frustrated groan left you, and you kicked one of the wooden beams aside in annoyance. With a pout on your lips, and your arms crossed over your chest, you sought out your boyfriend’s pretty golden eyes.

“Battling IKEA,” you huffed, sighing as you watched another screw fall from the barely-standing build. You pinched the bridge of your nose, shaking your head with closed eyes to compose yourself. “And losing.” The baby feather put the screwdriver down next to you, earning the first smile of the evening from you. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Keigo answered. There was a newfound pep in his step as he walked towards you, a heavily amused smile gracing his mouth as he sat down on the ground in front of you. “Now, mind telling me why I saw a couple loading our old bed into their car?”

You shrugged. “I sold it to them.”

“Why?”

“Wait—Since when was it our bed?”

His cheeks flushed at your words, the bridge of his nose covered in a soft pinkish colour. “Don’t change the subject,” he grumbled, a hint of a pout slowly fighting its way onto his lips. “Why did you sell our bed?”

“Because I got a new one?”

Keigo looked at you; he wasn’t as amused at these antics of yours, not like he was a few seconds ago. He sighed. “And why did you get a new one, sweetheart?”

You briefly contemplated whether you should give him the real reason for your new piece of furniture, or if you should mutter a quick-witted lie. The decision was quite easy. He looked at you, head tilted to the side, wings partly on the ground and as fluffy as ever whenever he was around you. Both legs spread out while he leaned back on the palms of his hands—the look in his eyes made you melt, and suddenly lying to him was never an option to begin with.

Taking a final glance at his wings, you sighed. “We didn’t fit on the other one,” you admitted. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Was all of this ridiculous? Did you overreact? Fuck—did he think it was weird?

Keigo frowned; that cute little crease between his brows appeared again. “Huh? What do you mean? We fit in there just fine.”

You hummed in disagreement, and glanced at his wings again. “No. We didn’t,” you grumbled. “Half of you laid on the ground every night.”

It was clear he didn’t grasp what you were hinting at immediately. All expressions were given free reign as soon as he stepped into your home, as soon as he was shielded from the outside world, and thus it was remarkably easy for you to notice the whirlwind of emotions he went through in approximately 0.2 seconds. Confusion, curiosity, realisation, adoration.

“What do yo—oh,” he whispered in the last part, voice softening as the thought settled in. His eyes softened considerably, wings and shoulders sagging as he scooted closer to you. “You got a new bed because…because my wings laid on the ground?”

“Mhm.”

“…Why? Why—why would you do that?”

The waver in his voice tugged on your heartstrings, and you smiled at him. You brushed a few locks of his hair out of his face, cupping his cheek with one of your hands shortly after. He melted into the touch almost instantly, and brought both of his hands up to engulf yours as a measure to keep it there.

“Because I wanted to,” you admitted, voice kind and gentle. You didn’t miss the way he swallowed down a lump in his throat. “You work really, really hard, and for some reason you insist on coming here instead of your own apartment—”

“This is closer!”

“—Yes, yes, whatever you say, babe.” He pouted at your disbelief, and you chuckled briefly before getting serious again. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone and he blinked rapidly at the feeling. “I just figured that…if you were going to come here after working all day, you at least deserved a comfortable bed to come home to.”

Keigo didn’t respond instantly. He sat in your hold a bit longer, nose twitching as he sniffed. “Thank you,” he mumbled after a few seconds. Turning his face, he nudged the palm of your hand with his nose before pressing a soft kiss to it. “Thank you. That’s—Thank you. You’re…I love you. Very much.”

You supressed a giddy smile. Making grabby hands at him, he took the hint, and the both of you leaned in. He captured your lips in a kiss quickly, having done so countless times before.

“I love you, too.” You mumbled in-between the kiss. “Very much.” You added, and he smiled against your lips, bumping your noses together. With a sharp intake of breath, you placed your other hand on his other cheek, turning serious all over again. “Now, help me assemble this bed before midnight. I get cranky when I’m not in bed by then.”

Keigo laughed. It was airy, and light, and full of joy as he nodded. “Of course, baby,” he sighed happily, pecking your lips again. “‘M on it.”

+ + + BONUS!

It was midnight. You’d finished it just in time before your inevitable grumpiness arrived, though, with your current view, you felt it rising up all the same. Blinking at the red, shiny feathers, you frowned. They were on the bed now, but that was about it. You could still see them—meaning they weren’t covered underneath the cosy blanket the two of you huddled under.

“What’s wrong?”

Having sensed your disdain, Keigo mumbled a quick check-up. His voice was groggy, still heavy and thick with sleep as he was nearing the start of his own slumber.

“…They don’t have a blanket,” you murmured into his shoulder. At this time of day, you were far too tired to start another guessing game. “It’s—It’s too small.”

“Hm?”

“Your wings.” You whispered; frowning and chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. “The blanket is too small when it’s all bunched up around us.”

“‘S alright,” he breathed out. Moving a bit before pushing you tighter against him, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. His arms squished you against him, and he huffed in amusement at your squeals of protest. “‘S alright, baby bird, you don’t need to get a new blanket, too. I’m perfectly happy like this.”

You didn’t respond. A part of you felt challenged at the sight, a part of you felt irritated at seeing a shimmer of failure. You still hadn’t fully achieved what you’d set out to achieve.

“Baby bird?” Keigo called out, opening an eye to look down at you. “You don’t have to buy another blanket. Okay?”

Eventually, after a few seconds of silence, you sighed. “Fine. Okay. I won’t buy you another blanket.”

He smiled, closing his eyes again, and kissed your temple. “Good.” He mumbled against your skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Mhm,” you hummed against him. “Good night, Kei.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

…You were definitely getting him that blanket.

— REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

#wanna give him a kiss on the nose #and watch how he scrunches it up all cute #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #hawks fluff #keigo takami fluff

5K notes · View notes

1whore1gang · 6 months

Text

it’s the little things 🤍

Part 1 is here!

in which the 141 turn into toddlers and you and price must figure out how to make it work

I’m sorry this one’s a bit short! 😕

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl

(if i forgot anyone i apologize)

You had woken up in the middle of the night to feed Gaz, trying to keep his crying to a minimum so he didn’t wake up Soap and Ghost. “Shhh… you’re okay.”

You were rocking him on your hip in the kitchen as you waited for the bottle to warm. “It’s almost ready, I promise!”

As soon as the microwave was about to go off, you opened it so it wouldn’t beep and wake up Price. You mixed together everything and gave it a good shake before adjusting Gaz to feed him.

The kitchen was dark, only the moonlight peering it lighting the space. The compound was quiet as everyone slept, giving this moment some slowness. You stared down as Gaz drank, his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

You’d be kidding yourself if you said you never wanted kids, but it hadn’t been in the cards for you. You quietly cooed at Gaz, rocking him as he held his own bottle. Sighing, you watched as he tried to get every last bit out of the bottle, taking it from him and washing it out quickly before returning to your room.

Turning to set Gaz down, you see Soap standing up, a giddy look on his face as he grasped onto the top of the playpen wall, bending his knees to make his body bounce. You laugh a little as you set a sleepy Gaz down and pick up Soap. “What’s got you all energized huh?”

He was giggling and grabbing at your face. Excitement was written all over his little face. You laughed quietly as you sat down with him and held him as he laid against you. “And I thought you had energy as an adult. Simon sleeps more than you right now.”

Soap let out a noise in response to your voice, looking up at you. “I wonder if you know what’s going on, or if you’ll even remember any of this.” Soap moved his arms to lay flat on you as he turned his head to lay on your chest as you began to lay back down in your bed.

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” You moved to put him in the playpen when he whined. “Nevermind.”

You woke up to feel a wet spot on your t-shirt, looking down to see Soap still laying on your chest, a pool of drool taking place on the collar of your shirt. “Great.” You slowly sat up, putting Soap down, seeing the other two boys still asleep. Yawning, you stretched your arms out, seeing it’s only 5 am.

You leaned over the side of the playpen gently, staring down at the littles when a stench hit your nose. “Uh uh. No way.” One by one, you lifted each boy up to smell who did the deed.

Once you picked up Ghost, it made the scent stronger. “Oh come on.” You carried him stretched out from your body, his little head lopsided as he slept. You looked around, realizing you left the diapers in Price’s room. You sighed, propping Ghost on your hip as you walked down the hall to Price.

A small knock landed on his door as he opened it. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama pants and messy hair. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“What the fuck is that smell?!” He looked down at you in disgust.

“Ghost. I left the diapers in here.” You chewed your bottom lip.

“Right.” He moved to go retrieve them and handed them to you.

You both stared at each other for a moment before he raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never changed a diaper before.” You say shyly.

Price’s eyebrows raised for a moment in comprehension, then took in a deep breathe. “Come here.”

You entered his room as he took Ghost from you, laying him down on a towel spread on a side table by his couch. “This is going to weirder than it has to be.” He said as he began to change the diaper. “You see these little tape straps? You gotta peel those back.”

He snapped and signaled for the wipes, which you quickly grabbed. “Hold his feet.” You took ahold of Ghost’s tiny feet and held his bum up away from the towel. You watched as Price discarded the diaper, quickly wiping away any mess and applied the new diaper. “It’s not super hard.”

“You made it look easy.” You laughed.

“You’re gonna need to learn to do it. Especially with the three of them.” Price gave you a pointed look.

“I know. Thanks for your help.” You swooped up Ghost and began to head to your room.

“Wait, why don’t you bring the buggers in here? You can use the couch. That way if something like this happens again we’re close. Share the caretaking.” You nodded as Price took Ghost from your arms.

You began to bring things in trips to Price’s room. The boys in one trip, the playpen in the other, and then finally your belongings.

“I had blankets for you, you didn’t have to bring your own.” Price said as he saw you making the pullout couch up.

“It’s okay, I had to bring some other things too.” You say, setting down a change of clothes in case Gaz spit up on you again.

“Do you need anything else?” Price spoke, crawling into his bed. “We could both stand to get a few more hours of sleep.”

“All good here.” Your voice was quiet, watching as he arms flexed as he adjusted himself to become comfortable. He hummed in response and laid on his side.

You sighed as you laid down yourself.

Suddenly, you woke up to crying, violent screaming if you will. You shot up, seeing Price already halfway out of bed. You both bolted to the playpen to see Ghost crying his eyes out, clinging onto Soap.

You picked him up, shushing him and bringing him out of the room to comfort him. “Hey it’s okay Simon, you’re okay!” You made sure he didn’t need a diaper change. “Are you hungry?”

“Y/N!!” You hear Price’s panic. Bursting back into the room, he’s got Soap sprawled onto his bed.

“John?!” The use of his first name slipped past your lips as you saw the evident worry in his expression. “What’s going on?!”

“He’s not breathing!!”

The world stood still as you watch Pric perform CPR on Soap’s little body. Everything slowed down around you.

Soap wasn’t breathing…and Ghost alerted you both.

The sound of your pounding heart was the only noise you heard as panic swallowed you whole. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process the situation.

You feel Ghost being taken from you, but you can’t react. You fear the worst, that you’d lose one of your best friends, and he won’t even know what happened because he isn’t an adult anymore.

God, Soap won’t even know he’s dead. He won’t even know what happened.

Suddenly, you break out of your spell due to two big strong arms pulling you in. “Hey, you with me?”

You can’t respond, your body is trembling with fear. “Y/N? Hey, come back, come back to me Y/N.”

Finally, the strength comes upon you to look up to see a teary Price. “John?”

“Y/N.”

“Is he…?”

A hand comes down to turn your head towards the playpen where Soap and Ghost are clinging to each other, cooing with wide eyes. Soap’s breathing.

You let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding as you lose control and begin to sob. A hand flies to your mouth to silence yourself. “You saved him.”

“Sshhh…” Price holds you tight against his chest. “See? He’s okay. He’s alright.”

You are too focused on Soap moving and being alive to notice how sweet Price is being. “Soap…”

“He’s alright, he had a small toy stuck in his throat. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh my God, I put those toys in the playpen! It’s my fault!” You quickly began to crumble as you backed away from Price in horror.

“Y/N, breathe. It’s okay.”

“It’s not! I almost killed Soap! If Ghost hadn’t of started crying, we wouldn’t have known!!” You we’re violently shaking at the ordeal.

“Look at me.” Price’s voice rumbled out his chest. He wasn’t asking, it was an order. Your eyes snapped up, wide in horror. “It’s not your fault. Besides, he’s okay.”

“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

“Stop talking.”

“I didn’t think he’d try to swallow it-“

“Y/N!”

“Oh, I, oh God-“

“Shut up.”

“But I-“ Price came up to you and put a finger to your lips.

“Next time your captian tells you to stop talking, I’d listen.” He was dead serious. His military side coming forward. “Now lay back down, rest up. I’ll stay up for a bit to make sure Soap doesn’t try to kill himself again.”

You nod, still visibly shaking.

This was all your fault.

But why didn’t he yell at you? Why didn’t he reprimand you? Tell you you were useless? Insult you?

Instead he took you in his arms and shushed your crying.

Something was changing inside of John Price, and little did anyone know, it went deeper than the three littles laying in the playpen.

#captain price x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #tf141 x reader #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley

466 notes · View notes