#I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN EVEN EXPLAIN /WHY/ IT DELIGHTS ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”

“...What’s that?”

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.”

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x fem reader

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r3ynah · 3 months

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What's wrong with clones? what's wrong with me?

Dani was greatful for her mom, she was greatful that he was supportive and living when she first met him, and even after the fight she was happy that Danny didn't throw her away with hatred in his eyes, she would've understand it nonetheless, just imagine someone assaulting your DNA to make a copy of you? it was traumatizing or the both parties, based on experience.

But if it wasn't for Danny, she wouldn't be here at this place were she stands. It has been about 20 years since she was born, and her mom step backed from heroism and passed it down to her which she accepted with pride. Her mom deserves a break.

And without her she wouldn't be part of the Justice League, and wouldn't be meeting all this amazing people, they have loved dani and took care of her ever since she joined. and she was happy. what more could she ask for? well she was a bit lonely afterall.. and that was selfish of her, she already have her mom, her friends, what else could she even ask for?

Dani, Hero name Wraith, walked down the halls of the watchtower when she heard a ruckus in one of the meeting rooms, letting her curiosity get the best of her she took a peek in the room, where she found a bunch of Heroes surrounding a boy that looks a little too much like Superman. and Superman in the corner holding his head in stress? Agony? Dani doesn't know.

She stepped into the room, only for Wonder woman to notice her, She gave Dani a wave which she returned with a smile, she moved near Wonder woman in curiosity and asked: "What's going on? why's the Adults surrounding a kid?"

Wonder woman looked at her with a stare she didn't understand, before she answered. "He's a clone of Superman, we found him trying to kill the man, just last week, and this is the first time he's let out." She explained while pointing at the kid.

Dani let out a gasp of delight, "Really? Holy shit. I got to talk to the kid!" Before Diana could stop the girl she was already at the new clone's side, pushing the other heroes away.

The Clone angrly stared at the new person, infront of him. "What you'll interrogate me too?."

"What? Why would you think that?" Dani giggled as she circled the boy, her eyes darting back and forward to superman and the boy to see the similarities. "Ancients, you really look like Superman, what's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean by that?" The kid asked very confused.

"I mean you're healthy and fine, i don't get why the league is going haywire towards you." Wraith chuckled, as she floated upside down infront of the kid.

Silence embraced the room, as the sound of a steel chair echoed throughout the room.

"Didn't you hear what Wonder Woman said Wraith?" Superman walked big steps towards the two making other heroes take a step back, from the man of steel. "It's a clone."

"okay, Okay, Wait i feel i said something wrong?" Dani returned to her normal position, making sure she's not levitating upside anymore as she looked at older man infront of her in confusion. "What's the problem here?"

The room was quiet huh that was unusual with, there was a thick atmosphere that you can cut it with a knife.

"The problem? This is the problem." Superman angrily stated as he pointed at the kid, who looked ready to fight the man infront of him any second now.

"What? superman i don't get its just a clone and a child-" Wraith was cut off rudely. by the man infront of him.

"Ofcourse you don't get it, you don't get how it feels to be cloned, you don't get how traumatizing it is for your DNA to be stolen, That is not a child." Superman snapped, making Dani take a step back. "So stop acting like its a normal kid, that thing will never be like us, because its a mistake created by some lousy villain, who tried to stop and kill me, clones don't deserve love nor respect, and they certainly don't deserve families. Now Stop acting like you get it."

Silence, surrounded the room as Superman finished letting his anger out at Wraith who stared at him wide eyed confusion seen her face, she looked at her peers who only looked apologetic and those who looked down the floor and then there was batman

she shifted her gaze towards the, boy who she can see was trembling, The boy was crying. oh no. no. please don't cry.

"I get it." Wraith stated, keeping her ground, only babies cry she wasn't a baby now, she grew out of that phase.

She returned her gaze back at Superman who still was looking at her. it really looked like he didn't mean to snap at her. But that shit Hurt who knew he had it him, is this what Danny felt when he found out about her, was he in reality sick of her? no. No. Danny loved her, he said so himself.

"Wraith please no-" Wonder woman, called out trying not to get the girl in more trouble.

"No. I get it. I'm really sorry for you Superman, and how you got traumatized by some of your DNA getting stollen, I am really. But with all due respect you can't treat him like a thing, because he's a clone." Wraith spoke back, now more confident than ever. the kid perked up from this and raised his head, he was really crying.

"And what do you know about that? Wraith." Oh no Hero names, She knew she struck a nerve, Superman was back at being angry.

"What I know, is that you're right, clones don't deserve love and respect, clones don't deserve anyone because all they do is hurt and destroy." For a second everyone thought Wraith changed sides. Wraith glared at superman, he wanted her to agree with him, oh she'll agree with him alright. "Clones like me, don't deserve anything."

"What?"

Everyone in the room was shocked but to scared to speak, afraid to start something.

"Thank you, Superman. For showing me that I didn't deserve my mom, Because to be honest you're fucking right, all I did for my mom was pain and agony." Dani was now raising her voice, at the man infront of her.

"You're a clone?" Superman managed to ask, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline.

"Hell yeah, And you know what age he got me. Fourteen, He became my mom at the age of fourteen, he took care of me at the age of fourteen, he loved me like his own daughter at the age of fourteen" Wraith laughed out loud, tears threatening to stream down her face. "You know what's funny superman? I tried to also murder him, I tried to also kill my template. And yet he took me in, and said that it wasn't my fault. it wasn't my fault that i was born, It was never my fault, he comforted me as i cried to him about my other brothers who i watched slowly die and melt apart infront of my eyes, he didn't hate, he didn't isolate, he only loved and cared."

Wraith was now crying. as she gritted her teeth.

"Wrait-"

"you we're right. I didn't deserve my mom. if he had just killed me from the start, he would've been more happy and not worry about me, My mom is the kindest being in the world in my own eyes, and he'd done everything for me ever since he was fourteen." Dani looked down at the ground, with clenched hands. "I was born as a six years old, but in reality i was only two months old. it's funny how im the same age right now when my mom first had me. My body maybe 20, but my brain is 14, keep that in mind Superman."

She looked around her peers, but couldn't see anyone but her reflection in those glass walls, she's crying, she didn't want to cry. "You've been hating on that kid, but Superman let me remind you that kid." She looked at the child who was still sitting on the chair but now with a look of confusion, eyes red from crying. "Is only a few months old despite its physical appearance, you've been hating on a newborn baby, like a deadbeat dad, and that's just sad."

Dani can hear a snort in the background. She swore that sounded like her mom.

Superman looked defeated and guilty, Dani was tired she wanted to cry, in the arms of her mom, but she can't leave the other kid here, so she made a rash decision. "If you don't want him, I'll take him."

Protest engulfed the meeting room, but Dani didn't care, she passed Superman and headed towards the black haired kids, direction. "Wanna come with me?" she asked, while having her hand out for him to take.

The kid looked at her hand, before grabbing it. Dani smiled and summoned a portal, she took the kid with her, her mother's not gonna like this and she might take a break from JL a couple of months, Oh well its all worth it.

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churipu · 2 months

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★ ─── KILLSWITCH LULLABY . . . ( 02 )

warnings. cursing, toji vs parenting, in a world where toji actually takes care of baby gumi, gumi is at least 8 months old, non! sorcerer au, infant doctor! reader, toji uses the zenin clan name, but baby gumi is a fushiguro (takes after his mother).

note. i'm gonna leave it to your creativity to give your own cousin a name

-> series masterlist.

toji didn't know when the price of baby formula had spiked up — but in this economy? he wasn't even surprised, sighing out loudly in annoyance he eyed his groceries.

"take out the eggs," the male points out, and the cashier did exactly that; counting his groceries again.

still too much for him.

megumi was strapped on his chest with the same baby carrier he used in the clinic a few days ago, silently watching the cashier. thankfully enough, the store wasn't too crowded or he'd have people fussing behind him, "uh . . . y'can take out the bread."

"why not the baby formula? it costs the most." it was safe to say that the cashier clearly did not get paid enough for the job — and was the only person fussing in here, "you're holding up the line."

toji looks back to see nobody behind him, then he stares at the cashier. he swore that if megumi wasn't around, he'd beat the hell out of this person, "why don't you just do what the hell 'm telling you to do, because i have a fucking baby strapped to my chest — and if i take the baby formula out, the hell is he gonna eat?"

megumi squirmed on the carrier upon hearing his father's harsh tone, the two adult males staring into each other's eyes, obviously full of despise.

"and why don't we all move along? put everything back in, and charge the remaining funds into my card."

the two instinctively looked back, and there you stood. leaning your elbows on top of a trolley, the cashier undeniably scoffed — but he wasn't in a place to refuse your order, and so he did just that. toji on the other hand, was a little surprised to see you, megumi's doctor.

on the other hand, megumi was delighted, clapping his hands as his memories of you hazed back into his mind. toji watches carefully as you swipe your card onto the machine, tapping in your pin with ease. your swift movements is one he's jealous of, where he didn't have to hesitate to purchase things.

along the lines of that, you paid for your own groceries. grabbing the brown colored plastic bag with you, walking out of the store with toji beside you.

"uh . . . thanks. can i repay you in any way?" toji scratched his nape uncomfortably — ashamed that you had to step in and pay for his groceries.

"don't mention it, zenin. it's fine," you cheekily told him.

toji fished his phone out of his pocket, shoving it towards you, "give me y'r number, i'll pay you back when i have the money."

you shook your head, gently pushing the phone back, "it's okay, i swear," his brows furrowed further at your refusal — his digits slipping around your wrist as he slips in his phone inside your palm, "you know, if you wanted my number, you could've said so."

"what . . ? no." toji's blatant refusal made you laugh softly.

"'m kidding, and you don't have to return the money. i swear it's fine, zenin," his surname slipped out of your tongue, and there is one thing he hates more than his own parents — his own surname.

"just call me toji," he mutters out.

megumi gargled cutely, pointing his chubby finger at you, "hi baby gumi, you look fine — the effects of your vaccine's worn down already then, i guess?"

the infant giggled loudly, "yeah, it wasn't so bad. a little fever but it disappeared in a day," toji explains, palming megumi's head. the infant whining out in response, trying to gnaw on his father's hand.

"that's good to hear, then i'll see you next time? maybe." you slipped the phone back into his grasp, and toji grunted out softly, "bye baby gumi."

the word 'bye' didn't sit well with megumi — he reaches his hand out to you, making grabby motions. as if trying to tell you "don't go". toji eyed the teary eyed infant, immediately reaching his hand out to wrap his finger around the back of your collar.

"megumi's cryin'. don't go yet."

megumi cheered happily seeing as you were halted in place, clapping his hand, "and i'm the father," he grumbled under his breath — a little baffled at how his son seemed to be attached more to his doctor instead of his own father.

"give me your number." toji mutters out, he didn't know why he decided to say that, "i need . . . help with megumi's behavior, and i'll return your money once i have it."

you arched a brow, "i can do the baby gumi one, but the money? it's okay. it's on me," once again, toji slid his phone inside your palm.

toji shook his head, "i don't want to be in debt to my son's doctor. i'll return the money somehow," he replies, scratching the back of his head.

chuckling, you gave in to him (although partially because he kept on pushing and you still weren't going to accept his money), "fine, just know that i accept money based on my mood."

toji scoffs, "is that normal?"

"normal on my side," you replied, typing in your number and name.

the male heaved out a loud sigh, "i don't like being in debt," he muttered out, no matter how things get; toji's always made sure of one thing — to never borrow or let any other person pay for his things, "i'm trying to find a full time job, and once i have the money, i will pay you back."

"stop, think of this as an— an early christmas present, yes, that." you marveled, pointing your index finger at him, "an early christmas present for you and baby gumi."

toji clicked his tongue, "christmas is at least . . . eight months away."

"hence why i said an early christmas present!" you're not wrong.

"i don't know you like that for you to be giving my son and i an early christmas present," he retorts, rolling his eyes. megumi craning his head up to look at his father, "i don't even know what to call you . . ."

you shove your hand out, the brown colored plastic bag dangling just underneath your wrist, "i'm y/n l/n, since you insist on me calling you toji. y/n is fine, are we familiar enough now? we're on first name basis, and we've exchanged numbers. how familiar do we need to be for me to be able to give you and baby gumi early christmas presents?"

instead of toji, at the sight of your hand not too far in front of his face — megumi reaches his chubby fingers out to take your finger, "oh, see? your son agrees on this, don't you, sweet boy?"

it was completely repulsive at the fact megumi has warmed up to someone he just met a few days ago, and is seemingly more content to be around them more than someone who's spent eight months taking care of him. toji.

shaking your finger in front of the infant's face, your eyes lit up as if realization had dawned upon you, "hey, have you ever worked in food and beverage service?"

toji shook his head, "can't even cook for myself."

"how about working with people? customer service and those stuff," toji shook his head. he hated the customer service more than anything — having to deal with ugly personalities every single second. frankly, he'd rather deal with a hundred megumi instead of childish adults, "cashier work? behind the bar work? like a barista?"

"been a cashier at a grocery store, got fired 'cause of customers complaints about him," toji looks down at megumi who was fiddling with your index finger happily.

"no babysitters?"

toji shook his head.

"family members?"

again, he shook his head, "'ts just me and megumi."

"oh." you pulled your finger back, "my cousin owns a cafe near my clinic, he was looking for more employees and all — i'll ask him if it's still available if you want."

toji swallowed the non-existent lump in his throat, "thanks."

"you must be toji, oh my god, y/n told me so much about you last night — not really, but yes. they told me some things about you," a male, approximately in his twenties, judging by his looks, gushes out, wiping his hands onto the beige colored apron he has on before walking over the bar and towards where both you and toji stood.

"that's me," toji replies, a little unfamiliar with the sunshine and rainbows the male was emitting.

"and this must be megumi. oh, he's so adorable, how old is he? a year? six months?" the male bombarded, a little giddy.

"eight months."

"you're hired." toji almost choked on his saliva hearing the male's sudden statement — this isn't how a normal job interview works at all, is it? or has he been going to the wrong interviews? he shot a look towards you, "on one condition . . ."

you were just standing beside toji, unmoving, stealthily smiling, "just go along with him, he's always like this," toji hears you whisper.

"in every shift, you bring this little guy with you."

this time toji actually does choke on his saliva, breaking into a string of coughs, "megumi? but— how is that normal? how is this normal? don't i have to do an interview or anything?"

the male chuckles, shaking his head, "we don't do things like that here, i do it my way. you're hired with a side note that little gumi here comes along every time, deal?"

" . . . is this real? are you real?"

you held back a laugh, and your cousin— the male — did not hold back his laughter as well as you did, and so the cafe was filled with the melody of his laugh, "this is real, all real. so deal or no deal?"

as much as he wants to believe in this, it was too good to be true. all throughout his past job experiences — never once did toji ever meet a boss who's so willing to let him bring megumi along. if not his boss, it's the customer.

apparently, it's not "professional" enough.

"uh yeah, of course . . . deal," it's not like he had the money to hire a babysitter anyways.

"good, good. come by tomorrow for training, yeah?" toji felt a double pat on his shoulder, "i'm (cousin), i'm thirty-two years old. we're technically family and i'm megumi's unrelated uncle now."

"thirty-two?" toji asks out in reflex.

you smiled at him, "he looks young, doesn't he? he's actually married— with two kids. they live in another city not too far from here, so they only come over during the holidays when his wife gets a work leave."

"thought he was in his twenties," toji replies.

"i get that a lot, not to brag. it's the skincare doing its job, y'know?" (cousin) clicks his tongue, "plus, you look young too. how old are you? twenty four?"

"seven." toji corrected.

"how old do you think they are?" (cousin) juts his chin out towards your figure, "two guesses. if you get it right, choose anything you want on the menu for you— and yoghurt for little gumi. it's on me."

you laugh, throwing your head back slightly, "so? go on."

toji eyes you, narrowing his eyes, "twenty-two?" he guesses.

"oh, good guess. close enough," (cousin) replies, leaning his hand on the bar, propping his cheek to the palm of his hand, "one more shot."

"twenty-four?"

"close. they're twenty-six." (cousin) shrugs, "i'm starting to think it's not the skincare y/n, i think it's our genes."

you shrug, "maybe."

"doesn't matter, choose anything you want, it's on me. it's a welcoming mini party for you and little gumi, yeah?"

toji huffed out in amusement, "'ts fine. i can get food out later."

"nonsense. go on, choose something. or a couple of things, it's on me."

"do i get a mini party too?" you chime in, leaning over the bar top, "i mean — i am your favorite in the family, right?"

"you get full price, y/n."

#KILLSWITCH LULLABY.#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #toji #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro series #toji fushiguro x you #toji series #toji x reader #baby gumi #baby megumi

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alexawynters · 2 months

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Mommy Knows Best - w.m x r blurb

Summary: Wanda convincing R to let her to all the thinking for her

Warnings: Ehhh... allusions to manipulation, kidnapping, stalking.

A/N: So ahhh... I wrote this in 15 minutes while at work in a part of the office I very much didn't want to be in. This isn't connected to anything. I don't intend on expanding this bc I have no spoons and the plot bunnies won't settle on anything definitively. But if anybody wants to take a crack at it, pleeeeaaase do! Just like.. link me so I can read it because I am thirsty. Also all of this was typed up on my phone so sorry for any typos, or formatting issues. I left my laptop at home today like a dumbass..

Wanda's hand cradled your face with a gentle yet possessive grip. "I knew that you needed me the moment I laid eyes on you in that coffee shop."

Your eyes widened at the older woman's confession. Out of all the times you had met up with Wanda, it had never been at a coffee shop. Her implication that she had been watching you sent a bolt of fear down your spine.

"Such a sweet little thing, so easily flustered." She appraised you with a keen eye, searching for any hint that you might try to run. "You were just trying to substitute the milk in your coffee order, yet you couldn't even do that without nearly breaking out into tears. Poor thing. You just needed your Mommy to do all your difficult thinking for you, huh?"

The older woman's voice had taken on an almost saccharine quality, while simultaneously dripping with condescension. You couldn't have explained it if you tried, but something about her tone, her words, turned your head all fuzzy.

Alarm bells that should have been clanging loudly were but a distant detail in your peripheral, not worthy of your attention when the alternative was listening to Wanda's honeyed voice. You should be concerned. A normal person would be leaving this crazy woman as fast as their legs could carry them. Yet instead, you practically meted into Wanda's touch, almost craving it.

The witch gave a subtle smirk at the way your eyes glossed over when she talked down to you. This was going to be even easier than Wanda had thought. She might not even need to use her magic if you were already this responsive to her. Frankly, Wanda was delighted.

"Use your words, kotenok. I know you're just a dumb baby, and words are hard, but when Mommy asks you a question, I expect an answer."

Her grip turned firm, border lining on painful. Glassy eyes snapped open.

"Y-yes, Mommy. I just needed you to do all the thinking for me."

Your face flushed bright red as you spoke the words, but you couldn't bring yourself to take them back. Now that they had been released into the universe, the words rang true for you. They simply felt... right. Your trusting gaze met Wanda's domineering one, seeking any sign of her approval.

The older woman gave a salacious grin, very much reminiscent of a cat who caught the canary. "There's my good girl," she cooed, caressing the apple of your cheek with her thumb.

Lulled into a false sense of safety and security, you tilted your head. Leaning into her touch, you were practically simpering from her praise and touch. Why had you ever been concerned, you wondered? This was Wanda. She would always take care of you. She would never even dream of harming you. If only you knew the extent of the very real danger you were in, you might have tried to run. Not that you would have gotten far, but Wanda might have enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

Nevertheless, she had you right where she wanted you and why make it unpleasant when you were so... willing? The witch reveled in how pliant you were. Like putty in her hands, ready to be shaped and molded into the perfect plaything for her.

"Now kotenok," she said softly. "Why don't you go get changed into something comfortable and we can watch movies? I took the liberty of bringing over some of your clothes from your apartment as you won't be staying there anymore."

The former Avenger patted your cheek gently, sending you off on your way. It was only a few feet you had made before hesitating, turning to look at the older woman.

"Mommy...." You tried the title, and it rolled off your tongue surprisingly easily. "Why. won't I be staying at my apartment anymore? I'm still paying rent on it for another seven months." Uncertainty rolled off of you in waves.

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, reigning her temper in. She needed to be understanding, but firm with you if she planned to get you completely under her thumb without scaring you off.

"You let Mommy worry about all of that. Those are big girl thoughts, and you wanted Mommy to do all the thinking for you, isn't that right?" Her voice was filled with exaggerated patience and condescension.

Part of you wanted to push the question. If you weren't going to be staying at your flat anymore then Wanda must mean for you to stay with her. Unfortunately, you couldn't afford rent in both places, so if you needed to sublet your flat, the sooner you knew for sure, the better. Not once did you question how, when, or why the redhead had picked up your clothes, being so focused about this rent situation.

Still, as you caught Wanda's steadily hardening gaze due to your lack of immediate cooperation, you could have sworn you almost saw a subtle flash of scarlet in her eyes. Opting not to upset the woman you were quickly falling for, you promptly turned on your heel, intent on doing as she had asked.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda Maximoff was observing your trailing form with a razor-sharp gaze. She felt triumphant, everything was going according to plan, and you were honestly making it too easy on her. Soon you would belong to her, and by the time you realized, it would be too late.

A/N 2: What are we thinking? Bin it? Try to write it from the beginning? Or maybe keep going and only have the beginning appear in flashback format? I know I need to update Scarlet Whispers and I'm gonna, I swear! Just... effort. lol

#Wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #dark wanda x reader #yandere!Wanda #yandere wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 3 months

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Broken Hearts and Valentines Cards.

Steve sends you a card for Valentine's day, it's just as a friend... Eddie isn't so happy and his mouth runs away with him, which you overhear.

Eddie Munson x Reader, Jealous Eddie, Kinda mean Eddie at the end, sorry 😌 bit of an angsty fic instead of a fluffy Valentines.

❤️

Steve had overheard you speaking to Nancy and Robin about Valentines Day. It was a few days before the big day, and you were mentioning that you hadn't been sent a card before.

"It would be nice wouldn't it? Even to receive just one card, normally it never used to bother me but-'' You trail off, your chatty demeanour soon becoming shyer, hesistant to speak.

"But you wouldn't mind a card from a certain metalhead'' Nancy teases and you nod, then sigh.

"Never going to happen though" you reply, and Steve stays in the background so you don't realise he's heard. Robin catches his eye and must realise he's scheming after hearing your confession.

If you wanted a card then Steve was going to send you one. After all what could go wrong?

...

Valentine ''cupids'' were wandering the cafeteria handing out Valentines cards. The cupids in question were some reluctant and some eager students, they were holding indivual boxes labelled Valentines mail.

Eddie was ranting at the Hellfire table, he dreaded this day and all the bullshit consumerism that came with it.

"I can't stand this shit. It's just another day that corporates use to trick the gullible into buying manufactured shit" he snaps.

"Tell us how you really feel dude" Gareth jokes, then quietens at Eddie's sharp look, Eddie doesn't notice how quiet you've grown, the sad look on your face at his words.

Then something unexpected happens, one of the cupids comes up to the Hellfire table and drops a card right in front of you.

There's a stunned silence, you pick up the card and hold it gently. You've never had a card before... Who sent it?

You open it and smile at the cute picture of a kitten and puppy snuggled up together. Hearts surround them, it's really adorable.

The card is signed from an Admirer, heat floods through your body and you beam. Even if it's from a friend, it's still very sweet and you hold it reverently.

"Who sent it?" Jeff asks curious, he peers over your shoulder. ''Ooh an admirer" he teases.

Eddie frowns "Why not just sign who it's from then?" his big brown eyes narrow at the card. You tuck the card into your bag and shake your head.

"It's romantic, or just being sweet. People can be sweet and not have a motive Eddie" you point out to him.

Robin passes you and grins in delight.

"I'm glad you got it! Steve will be pleased, he was like an anxious mother hen this morning" you blink surprised, oh.

"Harrington sent it" Eddie yelps and Robin nods to you, beaming.

"Mmm, overhead you saying about Valentines Day, got it in his head to send you a card" she explains.

"That is so sweet" you beam, remembering to thank Steve next time you see him. Meanwhile, Eddie was still quiet, which with him was never a good thing...

❤️

Family Video was one of Eddie's favourite places, he loved finding new horror movies that he hadn't seen yet, along with D&d and playing the guitar, it was one of his favourite things to do to pass time.

Steve was working today with Robin and Eddie discreetly watched him. Dustin sung Steve's praises and Eddie had gotten to know Steve, knew he was a good guy-better than Eddie ever thought. Rich, goodlooking and the chick's loved him but he was a genuine nice guy.

So Eddie couldn't explain why he was so angsty at the thought of Steve sending you that card. Did he like you as more than a friend and wanted to ask you out or something?

"Hey Steve, what's the deal with you sending that card?" he blurts out. Steve raises an eyebrow, folds his arms across his chest and frowns.

"I don't see the problem? I was being a good friend" Steve shrugs and Eddie follows him around as he puts away the videos.

"Do you like her? Is this what it's about?" he demands. Robin, who's listening to the whole conversation is quiet. Until Eddie keeps going on about it and she finally snaps.

Robin rolls her eyes. "Eddie, I'm going to be completely blunt, because you're annoying me right now with how much of a dingus you're being. You're jealous. Sooner you admit it to yourself, the better you'll feel"

Jealous, there was no way he was jealous Eddie scoffs. Robin didn't know what she was talking about.

"Jealous of what? I don't see yn like that at all, she's not my type. She's too into romance, fairytale shit. Nope, no fucking way" he doesn't notice Steve's wide eyes or Robin's furious look.

Confused he turns around, you're standing shock still, looking at Eddie with heartbreak in your eyes.

"Nice to know what you think of me Eddie" you murmur quietly and leave. Robin curses him out as she follows you, leaves Eddie with a horrid sinking feeling in his chest.

Fuck.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x y/n

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zeawesomebirdie · 4 months

Text

Superbat Fake Dating + Identity Porn Rec List

Thanks to @jourquet for asking for this!! I hope you find something here to read!! (And paging @steine-druff as promised!)

These are in no particular order, but generally organised by trope. I tend to read longfic as a general rule, so these recs will reflect that :) the titles contain links to each fic.

Fake Dating

1. A Common Misconception by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 91,114 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

When Bruce Wayne comes out, he accidentally becomes the poster child of bisexuality and realizes his lifestyle of sleeping around needs to come to an end. Clark, being the supportive friend that he is, volunteers to pretend to date him for a year.

You know the rest.

This fic has everything that one could want in fake dating: idiots in love, mutual pining, one bed, fake vacations, miscommunication. It also really captures the superbat dynamic of trusting and yes and-ing each other, even when they probably didn't need to be!

(And if you like this fic, any of rotasha's other works are just as good! I've got a few more of them in this list too)

2. over this threshold by orphean; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 59,283 words; 7 chapters; complete

Summary:

'I don't understand how tax evasion relates to you going on a date with, do I need to remind you, Bruce Wayne.'

Clark bit his tongue.

'We're going to get married. It's a tax break, not tax evasion.'

'Are you kidding me.' Lois stared. 'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'

———

Bruce asks Clark to marry him for tax reasons. Clark, against his better judgment, agrees.

Exactly what it says on the tin. Some highlights include Bruce buying Clark ridiculously expensive suits, Clark taking forever to tell his mom what's going on, and of course the wedding itself which was just delightful, with speeches from Lois, Alfred, and Dick that had me crying.

3. A Rich Man's Game by malicegreres; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 63,942 words; 13 chapters; complete

Summary:

The editorial staff of the Daily Planet, currently owned by Bruce Wayne, is trying to organize a labor union. Clark can't explain to his coworkers why he can't participate without jeopardizing the campaign—or tell Batman why he's been so cagey around him lately. When Bruce finds out what's been going on, Clark recruits him to resolve his conflict of interest in the only way Clark can think of: by pretending to date him.

This fic is truly glorius. Of all the ways Clark could have solved this problem, he chose the most convoluted. And surprise surprise, it works!

4. mission parameters by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 33,394 words; 6 chapters; complete

Summary:

"Bruce." Clark turns towards him, leaning back against a bank of consoles. "We're not actually going undercover. We don't need an elaborate backstory– if anything, it'll be harder to keep straight. It doesn't have to be complicated." He spreads his hands. "Here's a story: we're members of the same elite fighting force. After years of saving each other's lives in the field, we fell in love. That's it."

Bruce swallows past the almost-truth of it. In Clark's warm smooth radio voice, it sounds plausible. It sounds like something that could happen.

—

Bruce and Clark pretend to be married for diplomatic reasons. When they return to Earth, things are a little different.

Of all the things that normally Bruce says, Clark is the one to insist on a simple coverstory. And of course, from such simple things spirals out a whole entire adventure that doesn't stop just because the mission is over! This fic features a domesticity that neither of them knew they needed until they had it

5. tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter [@susiecarter on tumblr]; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 33,007 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

*slapping this fic like that one meme with the car* this fic can fit so much miscommunication into it, it's truly delightful to read!! Also, yet another fic where Clark fails to mention what's going on to his mother. And of course the constant worrying about each other without actually expressing it, which is truly such a golden trope when it comes to these two!

I'm adding a cut here because this is already very long and we are still only just starting, so click the read more to see the rest ^.^

6. there ain't no star that shines by amosangius [@amosanguis on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 11,713 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

“I'm not the same person I was back in high school,” Clark says, “and I doubt they all are, either. What would be the point?”

“Oh, Clark,” Bruce is suddenly holding Clark's face with both of his hands, “the point is that I'm going to land us in a helicopter somewhere for all your classmates to see.”

Clark sighs and closes his eyes.

“Say 'yes', Clark,” Bruce orders.

Clark doesn't open his eyes, just says, “Yes, Clark.”

If you thought Bruce buying Clark expensive suits just for their fake dates was excessive, you ain't seen nothing yet!! This fic also features casual bed sharing (and so many references to casual intimacy oh my goodness it's lovely), Bruce Wayne being Rich As Fuck, and Bruce casually being overprotective of Clark in social situations

7. my heart is an open wound by yukla [@yuebings on tumblr]; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 13,367 words; 1 chapter; complete

“—I’ll see you kneel again,” Luthor is hissing, eyes hungry, and Clark is swaying back in discomfort—and as Lois checks their surroundings again, she notices that Wayne is still standing across the room, staring uselessly, as though he believes the sheer force of his murderous gaze would be enough to laser-blast Luthor into oblivion.

Jesus Christ, Lois thinks. I have to do everything around here.

5 times a Daily Planet employee protects Clark Kent, and 1 time Clark Kent protects the Daily Planet.

Or: Clark's coworkers watch as he fake-dates his crush with limited success.

It is probably obvious by now that miscommunication and Bruce's emotions getting in the way of everything are two of my favourite things to read. All of Clark's coworkers are the best, and once again Clark is a self-sacrificing idiot (affectionate)

8. flash in the pan by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 15,951 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Here’s the thing. Clark does understand. Superman and Batman are fucking. Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are not. Clark can handle this. He keeps parts of his life separate all the time.

It’s possible, Clark thinks, as he glares at a lurid tabloid cover of Bruce’s latest scandalous yacht party in the grocery store checkout aisle, that he can’t handle this.

—

At the Wayne Foundation's annual holiday party, things come to a head.

Okay there is so much I want to say about this fic and yet there are no words that could possibly express just how incredible it is. Bruce coming up with the worst case scenario for literally everything? Check. Clark agreeing to fake date even though he's majorly head over heels and this will likely end in flames? Check. Ma Kent giving the best relationship advice ever? Check. Dick yelling at Bruce when he tries to self sabotage again? Check. Truly one of the best fucking-but-still-pining fics I've ever read!

9. Operation Sponsalia by Brenda [@brendaonao3 on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 13,610 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

"When did you first realize you were in love with me?"

Bruce coughs up his wine.

"I mean, in this...whatever this is," Clark clarifies, blushing to the roots of his hair. "I don't think you're really — I mean, I know this isn't —"

"It's alright." Bruce's voice is raspy, but steady. "I know what you mean."

Clark's glad one of them does.

Or: Bruce and Clark have to fake an engagement for ~reasons — featuring a metric ton of very romantic dates, enough floral arrangements to start a flower shop, SO MANY puns, and Clark finally getting to know the real Bruce. :D

Clark doesn't find out that Bruce said to the press that they had been dating long enough to be teasing enagagements until after it's already been said. Was there a better way to explain why Bruce just happened to help save the Kent family farm? Absolutely. And yet they follow through on it anyway, and I love it for them

10. Sham-pagne by ChrisLeon; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 8,248 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Superman is spotted visiting Wayne Manor, prompting speculation about how exactly he knows Bruce Wayne. To protect their secret identities, they need a plausible explanation and it seems easy enough to go along with the tabloid theory that they’re sleeping together. All they have to do is pretend to be in a relationship until the speculation dies down and then they can break up move on.

Or: Superman fake-dates Bruce Wayne, we all know how this ends.

This one was fascinating to me because instead of Clark and Bruce dating, it's Superman and Bruce dating, and let me just say I'm so incredibly hinged about it!! I think there is so much potential in that particular version of their dynamic, and this fic was such a beautiful exploration of it!

11. Speaking in Code by Mithen; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 7,459 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Clark and Bruce must go undercover at a newlywed resort to try and stop an assassination attempt. Hijinks, UST, and reluctant making out ensue.

First of all, Mithen is a superbat master. Pick any fic of theirs and it will be delightful. Second of all, I could write an entire essay about how much I adore the way they go from irritable about this mission to incredibly enthuasiastic over the course of their two days at the resort, but then we'd be here all day so: if you like banter, one bed, and a case fic this is a brilliant read

12. Kind Truths by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated G; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 6,478 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs help with an undercover mission. Clark can never say no to him even though he probably should before he does something stupid. Like tell Bruce he's in love with him.

“Why me?” Clark can’t help but ask. He tries his very best to keep his voice level, to not sound as desperate as he feels.

“Because I need someone there to watch my back,” Bruce says, a little exasperated. He really shouldn’t have to explain this to Clark of all people, it’s not like they haven’t been on missions together before.

“I get that, but what about Diana? Shayera?” Anyone who doesn’t have a big fat crush on Bruce would do.

Is it obvious I have a thing for Clark agreeing to fake dating despite his big crush on Bruce? This fic is glorious, and features delights such as Bruce metaphorically putting his foot in his mouth, Clark wanting nothing more than to defend Bruce's honor, and one of the most beautiful confession scenes I've ever had the pleasure of reading

13. where i come from by soetry [@soetrys on tumblr]; E; no archive warnings apply; 52,494 words; 11 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce doesn’t have a soulmark, and Clark doesn’t have a soulmark, on an Earth where everyone has a soulmark. Somewhere in there is a simple solution. Somewhere to that solution is an overcomplicated journey. Surely two of the world’s leading superheroes will not take the overcomplicated route?

Surely not?

This one is a little bit of both. The identity porn in this was really well done - Dick is a massive Superman fan, Bruce is unimpressed with both Superman and Clark Kent, and it all goes downhill from there (affectionate). Highlights also include Bruce using a dubiously legal site to crossreference soulmarks, him getting the Superman crest tattooed on his wrist using Kyrptonian tech, and Clark being a self-sacrificing idiot. This is also one of the best soulmate AUs I've ever read!!

Identity Porn

1. Get Over It by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 32,378 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

Of all the identity porn I've read, this is one of the best! Bruce dating Clark to get over Superman is one of the best things ever and this fic really does a good job of their dynamic!

2. Lost Time Without You by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 68,792 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

In a universe where your soulmate’s injuries show up on your skin, Bruce is convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate, and Clark is seriously concerned for his soulmate’s well-being.

This was my introduction to soulmate!AUs and oh my goodness it was spectacular! The build up to the reveal of their identities was brilliantly done, and the chance encounters that pepper through the lead up to that point were captivating. This fic also features Bruce being a good parent and I really love that for him

3. the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 95,533 words; 10 chapters; complete

Summary:

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are all tired of watching Bruce struggle with the stress of trying to handle the newly formed Justice League. He needs an outlet, he needs to relax, he needs to get out of the house, he needs... he needs to start dating. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think I am, but I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Bruce, right?” the guy says, albeit less confidently this time. He looks slightly concerned and if Bruce is not mistaken… a tad embarrassed. “Bruce Wayne? You look just like your pictures.”

“My pictures?” Something finally clicks in Bruce’s mind, and he takes a small step back and plasters a smile on his face as to not rouse suspicion. Stalker. “Ah, of course, I’m sorry but I’m late for an appointment.”

This fic features the batkids catfishing Clark on Bruce's behalf, Bruce being a good parent, and the utter chaos of miscommunication that can only come from these two being idiots! It was a delightful read, and of course the batfam in action is always a joy!

4. ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 62,737 words; 12/13 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better.

Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

Oh my goodness okay. Where to start with this fic. First of all, Clark writing Batman/Bruce Wayne fanfiction is such a brilliant concept. Then add to that the fact that Clark is secretly crushing on Batman at the same time, and the entire comedy of a trainwreck is a delight to witness!

5. I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 12,920 words; 3 chapters; complete

It was like living in the Twilight Zone. Everyone else believed fervently in Bruce Wayne’s reputation. He was a flirty, stupid, and entitled drunk whose only redeeming quality was his bleeding heart. And yet every time Clark spoke with Wayne, the man was clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive.

And no one believed Clark. Not Lois, not his parents, not even Batman.

Clark insisting upon defending Bruce to everyone much to everyone's dismay is one of my favourite superbat tropes ever, and this fic really does it well! And of course, this fic also features Batman shit talking Bruce, which is always a joy to see!

6. Don't Quote Me by metropolisjournal [@metropolisjournal on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 77,131 words; 20/21 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

Bruce Wayne has weathered scandal before, and Wayne Enterprises can handle another publicity crisis. What Bruce can’t handle is one crashing up against his plans to infiltrate Lex’s estate. Set during Batman v. Superman.

This was the fix-it for Batman vs Superman that I didn't know I needed until I read it. The identity reveal was so incredibly well written, and the whole fic was stupendous from the very first chapter!

And that's all for now! I hope you find something in here to read, may you enjoy!!

#superbat #rec list #thanks for your patience too!!#this was fun to put together!!

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall.

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up.

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-"

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?"

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock."

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs."

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants."

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?"

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all."

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager.

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously."

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-"

Dustin starts squealing.

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat.

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?"

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve."

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile.

"Baker boy, hi!"

Steve's mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone.

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves.

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner?

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?"

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk.

"Told you I was the best."

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-"

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?"

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-"

"We'd love to stay!"

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy.

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?"

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate.

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite."

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!"

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-"

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor."

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first."

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though."

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail.

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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ozzgin · 8 months

Note

heya...!!!! Sweetypie 🍓🥧🧁.... It's me again, i want to make a request again...if you don't mind 😃.

Can you make a request regarding creepypasta with ticci tobby and eyelash Jack .Previous request for a creepypasta

Most certainly! Though my drafts are a mess so I’m no longer sure what the previous request refers to. ;-; Hopefully this is close to what you pictured.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Reader

Featuring Ticci-Toby and Eyeless Jack and a clueless reader that caught their attention. TW: dubious consent, gore and violence

Ticci-Toby

Oh, he really can’t explain it but you’ve tied his heart into a knot. His chest is tight and it’s almost as if his lungs struggle to get enough oxygen. You seem kind and he can’t help but daydream that he’s the subject to your friendly gestures. He feels like a spoiled child, drinking up every drop of affection, tipsy with delight. If only those doll eyes of yours looked at him.

He’s hesitant to approach you because his moods are so unpredictable. He’d love to shower you in adoration and spend the rest of his life protecting you from any threats. Then comes his rage and he’s tempted to scratch your face off for smiling to anyone else but him. Why are you trying so hard for other people? No one appreciates you as much as he does, (Y/N). Is his attention not enough? Does he need to hold your gaze in by force?

Suffice to say that Ticci-Toby can be extremely jealous and possessive well before you’re even aware of his existence. Unlike Eyeless Jack, however, he is very open about his displays of love and doesn’t wait too long to introduce himself. His impulsive desires take over any consideration he’s had regarding your safety in front of his mood swings. He can worry about it when it actually happens. Now matter the anger, he’d never hurt his darling, would he? It’s the others that will have to pay.

If he’s feeling particularly hyperactive he will begin parroting his reasons for your fated romance and why you were meant to be. If anxiety equates in, the narrations turn into regurgitated, repetitive questions stemming out of insecurity. Are you really certain you haven’t gotten tired of him? Truly, without a doubt? Perhaps you were thinking of leaving him? The interrogations culminate in desperate begging for reassurance. Please let him know you’ll never, ever abandon him. Otherwise he will have to guarantee it himself one way or another.

Eyeless Jack

You happened to be the next victim on his list. The creature stood above your sleeping form in absolute silence. You barely shuffled at the sudden coldness from the edge of the scalpel coming into contact with your abdomen. The blade, however, remained still on the surface. The hollow sockets were fixated on your unconscious face, seemingly deep in consideration.

He can’t quite pinpoint a reasoning to it, but your presence has caught his interest. On the bright side, you get to keep your kidney. The only caveat is that you now have a rather dedicated admirer with a less orthodox approach to his growing crush.

Jack primarily enjoys watching you from afar and leaves only vague hints of his presence. Which, of course, depends on your definition of vague. At first you didn’t make the connection between the people wronging you in your daily life and the mysterious packages you’d receive in the mail containing frozen raw organs. You had assumed some neighbor might’ve gotten some subscription for their dog and messed up the address. As the news piled up, often involving these particular people as abruptly missing, your suspicions increased. Especially after noticing that none of your neighbors seem to have pets. And then the love notes started and you nearly threw up next to your mailbox.

Jack is fidgeting like a schoolgirl upon seeing your reaction to his confessions. Could you be that overwhelmed by his love? It wasn’t a big deal, really. He’s just doing what he’s best at. He’s just glad to ease your life by erasing the factors that upset you. You don’t have to worry about returning his favors. Humans come with two kidneys for a reason, after all. They were made for sharing.

Now that he’s gotten his answer, he can confidently approach you. He can’t wait to get his claws on you. You look stunning from a distance, too, but nothing compares to actually feeling you. Hearing your whimpers of shy protest, sensing the increased pulse tumultuously running through your veins, observing your pupils contract in mild…fear? No, most likely just excitement. His spiraling black eyes (or rather, lack of) devour your presence with anatomical curiosity. If he’s careful enough, he might even play with you a little. He’ll be extra careful with his darling.

#creepypasta #yandere creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #ticci toby x reader

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wonwayne · 4 months

Text

whatever you say ☁️ park jongseong

pairing : bf!jay x fem!reader genre : tooth-rotting fluff warnings : none! word count : 0.85k

a/n : i don't really know what this is. but it's cute. (just HAD to write on this thought [creds to @atrirose] because husband material jay !!)

home. nothing felt better than coming back from an achingly long work day to the smell of you. closing the door softly behind him, jay let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. comfort always seemed to creep up on him like this, with subtle reminders in the air that you would always be there for him, ready to—

“help me build the titanic?”

you beamed up at your boyfriend, legs crossed on the living room carpet, encircled by seemingly infinite lego pieces in red, white, yellow, and black.

not quite what jay was expecting to come home to. but he approached your little recreation ground anyway, lunging carefully towards the box packaging. “another 2000+ piece lego set?”

“9000!”

“oh—”

“9090, to be exact.”

jay nodded, kneeling down by the carpet to match your eye level. “... that’s really—”

“wait no, 9092! sorry i keep correcting myself, it’s just that i forgot to add the jack and rose minifigures.” you pointed proudly at the thumb-sized people. “once i’m done with the ship, i’m going to have them at the bow like that iconic scene. and then maybe every few days i’ll move them to the floor and put rose on a little door.” you held lego jack up to your boyfriend’s face. “you look just like him.”

he glanced to the side before mirroring its boxy grin. “do i?” you nodded vigorously. “well that’s very flattering, y/n, but i should say,” and he looked emphatically at the heap of legos strewn between him and you, “you’re making it very hard for me to hug you. any closer, and i’m bound to step on a lego here.”

your expression morphed instantly from disquiet to delight. god, you could never get over how adorable he was when he said the sweetest things in the sternest voice. “i’m sorry!” you burst out, sweeping the pieces to the side and jumping into your boyfriend’s arms. “i’ll be right at the door to hug you next time.”

“thank you, love,” he murmured as he kissed the top of your head, “keep working, i’ll make dinner and help build as soon as i can.”

even more adorable, you thought, for calling your lego-building “work.”

tragically, jay found you breaking your promise just a few evenings following. anticipating your pretty face peeking out of the doorway, he practically raced out of the apartment elevator. but instead of anything to look for, he was met by faint screams and hearty laughs — your laugh among them, and panic consumed him. who would she be laughing with in OUR apartment besides me? why the screams?? what if she’s—

bursting the door open, he was yet again unable to make sense of… you. you, belting taylor swift at the top of your lungs, dappled with rainbow light under the mini disco ball you’d set up in the far corner, mid-cartwheel with a wireless mic in one hand, dangerously close to crashing into both your partners in crime, jake and sunghoon.

they steered clear of you swiftly before freezing at the sight of a narrow-eyed jay.

“uh, y/n,” sunghoon began (poor boy), “i think—”

“—BUT THIS LOVE IS BRAVE AND WIIIIIIIILLLLLDDDDDD,” you persisted, thoroughly unaware of your boyfriend’s presence, and nearly assaulting the sofa as you landed from the cartwheel.

it took you till the end of the song’s bridge to notice your friends’ conspicuous silence. following their uneasy gaze, you saw jay maintaining the hardest poker face you’d ever seen him wear before.

but forget the “oh hi”s, skip the “let me explain”s — you glided over to where jay stood by the entrance and, offering the mic to him, sang quietly: “and i neverrrrrr saw you comiiiiiiiiiiing.” you sounded impossibly good.

“you should’ve,” he said, voice low, and with the hint of a pout, “seen me coming.” at a louder volume, he addressed the boys while his arms wrapped around your waist, “why do i have to come home to these two losers making a mess on a respectable thursday evening?”

jake opened his mouth to protest, but jay’s attention was already back to you. “you invited them?” he asked casually, pulling you closer in.

“i was getting bored without you,” and it was your time to pout, “had to unwind somehow.” you conveniently left out the detail that you had organized the whole “mess” in the house, and that the other two had played absolutely no part.

“with karaoke at the ungodly hour?”

“well, only because you arrived at an ungodly hour.”

he paused for a moment, then conceded, “right. of course, love, i’m sorry.”

you missed jake’s priceless expression as he made eye contact with jay across the room.

“P A R T N E R P R I V I L E G E,” he mouthed as aggressively as he could.

jay scoffed, and buried his chin deeper into the crook of your neck.

the only privilege, he would tell the boys later, was that of him having you in his life.

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luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you call your boyfriend eddie from a party in need of saving. or, you lose your t-shirt under mysterious circumstances and eddie has to get you dressed and take you home [3k]

warnings drunk!reader who is a little bit handsy and a lot in love, fem!reader, eddie pov, pure fluff, idiots in love, newly established relationship, some pet names (baby, teddy, handsome), implied of-age drinking, implied weed use

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Face to the ceiling, heart not racing but close to it, Eddie's half adrift in a memory of you from a few days ago.

You'd been sitting on the floor by his dresser with your hair all pretty in your soft clothes, asking him questions nobody else has ever bothered to ask and listening to the answers like this: face tilted, eyes at attention but creased with a contentedness (or so he'd like to think) and your hands under your chin.

An honest to god angel.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by the shrill, near piercing ring of the phone. Panic spikes like a knife in his chest at the sound. He scrambles to pick up the receiver where it rests on the amp beside his bed, legs caught in the sheets and hand holding his weight on the bedroom floor.

He slams the phone against his face and winces at the undue force. "Yeah?"

His legs inch forward. The palm of his hand aches and he's eager to get off the phone before he falls off of the bed, so when nobody speaks he gets a smidge irritated.

"Hello? Henderson, if this is-"

"Hi," someone says.

"Who is this?"

A laugh that's most certainly yours echoes down the line. "It's me."

Eddie presses the phone closer to his ear, as if that'll somehow summon you.

Despite missing you, messing with you is his main prerogative at all times. "I don't know any me's, sorry. If that's-"

"Eddie," – more giggling — "it's me, Y/N."

"And why are you calling me at home?"

"You're incorr- incorrgi- incorribigle."

You hiccup.

Eddie's eyes blow wide and a smile made of what can only be called pure delight stretches over his face.

"Baby, are you drunk?" he asks.

"A little! Okay, a lottle."

"I thought you were only going for iced tea?" After all, it's a Sunday.

"A Long Island iced tea."

He can feel the blood rushing to his head. "What's the difference?"

"Vodka, rum, tequila, gin… Oh, and about three quarters of an ounce of triple sec!"

"That sounds like a party."

It sounds like you're close to, if not totally, wasted.

"Such a party! I have a slight problem, though?"

"What's that?"

"I can't find my jacket."

"What?"

"Or my t-shirt."

Eddie's arm finally buckles and he topples to the floor, cheek crushed to the rug and leg still twisted in blankets. He winces at the clatter and thump of his knees as he climbs into a sitting position, head tilted to one side, breath bated. When it's clear he hasn't disrupted Wayne's backwards sleeping schedule he brings the phone to his ear again.

You're midway through an explanation. Maybe. "–So I said who puts hot sauce there? That's maso-twisted!"

"Did somebody put hot sauce on you?" he asks worriedly.

"What? Eddie, are you even listening to me?"

He rubs his stinging cheek. "Bad connection."

"Anyhow, I'm too embarrassed to go back downstairs."

"Yeah? Listen, I can come and bring you something to wear. Are you still at Amanda's?"

"Would you? She doesn't have anything that fits me."

"Sure will," he says.

Really, he's dreading the idea. If there's one thing Eddie doesn't do it's parties. Preppy parties. But if you're walking around shirtless, isn't that, like, his boyfriend duty or something, to come and bring you clothes?

"You're the best! Do you still have my hoodie with the white flowers?"

He looks at said hoodie where it's balled suspiciously close to his pillow. "I'll find it."

"Yay."

"Hang tight, alright?"

"Okay. Hey, you'll never guess-"

"Babe, I have to hang up."

"Why?"

"'Why?'" His bemusement is obvious. "I'll explain when I get there."

He goes to put the phone down when you say his name with a startling amount of urgency.

"What?" he asks.

"I miss you."

He imagines you, half naked and in your giggling disarray at a random house. The want to take care of you grows and grows. "I miss you too. Now I really have to go."

"Okay bye," you say, and hang up.

–

Eddie parks the van, daunted. He hadn't realised what kind of party you meant when you'd asked him to come originally, and he's doubly glad he said no when he realises the sheer magnitude of it all. There's people everywhere and Eddie doesn't recognise a soul besides the stoners on the front lawn. He closes the van door behind himself and feels like he's just stepped onto another planet.

Eddie had tried to mitigate his own unpopularity growing up by spending as little time around his peers as possible. Something about his general existence seems to irritate and antagonise them, and Eddie's not one for the fuss of it. Or, he hadn't been. It's hard to play doormat forever, and by his third and final senior year he'd learned to take the offense instead.

It might not always work in his favour, but sticking up for himself has done a lot for his self-worth.

Almost as much as meeting you.

Eddie knows you're not gonna be standing around out front in the nude. He weaves through partygoers of all shapes and sizes with your hoodie thrown over his arm, the smell of beer like a cloud. He tries not to make eye contact with anyone as he slinks up the stairs, the pounding thump of music – not by his definition, but music – fading with each step.

There's a small line for the bathroom and two of three bedroom doors are open wide, likely pilfered. Eddie squints at the 'Stay Out' sign on the third and closed door, a skull and crossbones crudely drawn beside it, and grins. He's always been a rule breaker.

Pushing open the door, Eddie finds you crushed between a bookshelf and a twin-sized bed with a phone shaped like a racecar in your lap. You look like you're sleeping.

Your eyelashes flutter as he sits carefully in front of you.

He works his hand under your chin and lifts your head. He's gentle, worried you've summoned a crick in your neck from sleeping the way you have.

"Baby," he says softly, "you really shouldn't be by yourself like this."

He pushes his fingertips up to the highest point of your cheek and rubs the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You rouse slowly, as if suspended in jelly. He helps you lift your head.

"Hi," he says as your eyes open clearly.

"Hey," you say. Your eyes close again.

"Why are you on the floor?"

You tug against the phone. The line makes a snapping sound as it resists. "Can't reach from the bed. Wanted to…" you drift off. Eddie pats your cheek until you finish, "Stay in case you called me back."

"I don't know this number."

You drop the phone unceremoniously. "Oh."

Eddie feels bad for the phone's owner but doesn't pick it up. He's too busy stroking your cheek, trying to work you out of your shell so he can get you dressed and sleeping soundly in your bed, rather than on someone's younger brother's floor.

His affection has the opposite effect to what he'd wanted; you start to doze in his hand, pretty face scrunched up and chin slowly creeping toward your chest.

"I brought your hoodie," he says, pulling his hand away reluctantly.

"'M tired, Eds."

He softens like butter in the sun. "I know," he says, glad for the small privacy you've both been allowed. "Do you wanna go home?"

"With you?"

"Whatever you want."

You sit up with the most suffering groan Eddie has ever heard you make, arms lifting above your head. Your back arches a touch and you moan as your neck clicks.

Eddie looks at his lap with wide eyes, a blush rising thick and fast to his cheeks and the tips of his ears – he can feel the skin blooming with heat.

You're still very much shirtless.

"Where did your clothes go?" he asks.

You've more clarity about you as you settle. "I don't know."

"Did someone take them off of you?"

You must clock his fear. You sit up on your knees and take his ring-heavy hands into yours, fingers clumsy but well-meaning as they curl around his. "Nobody touched me. Teddy…" You smile and your eyes squint just so. "You worry too much."

"I actually worry the right amount. Where did your friends go?"

You drag his hands to your hips and place them with a high focus. He gives into your whims with his cheeks now fully pinked, hands cool over the warmth of your doughy flesh. Your stomach has rolled into a pouch from the way you're sitting and he resists the urge to lean down and kiss it, hit by a momentary lapse in judgement due to the pure, unadulterated adoration coursing through him.

You're cute.

Sitting here as you are, pupils blown and hair a lovable mess, all smiley and pretty and expectant, what else is there for him to do but take you in? He lets his eyes travel up the length of your navel, over the valley of your chest rising with each breath, and the curve of your smile until he's eye to eye with you.

You let his hands go and spread your arms. "Hug?"

Giving him no time to respond (though he would've said yes without question) you slide your arms over his shoulders and fall into his embrace. He supports you with a hand behind your back but otherwise remains where he is, happy to let you get comfortable, let you nuzzle your face against his and murmur to yourself too quietly for him to hear.

You smell nothing like iced tea, that's for sure. There's a distinct stick of alcohol lingering. He inhales the smell of you, that sharpness, and finds the softer, familiar scents of you underneath.

"This is nice."

He couldn't agree more. He drags the flat of his palm up your back and grins.

"I would've said yes if I knew parties were like this," he says.

You giggle, the sound overloud in his ear but never any less sweet. "Stick with me, babe, and every party is like this," you promise, an air of salaciousness to each word.

"Is that so?" he asks. He squeezes your hip until you're laughing again.

"Totally!"

"Do I have to get naked too, or is that just for the girls?"

"You definitely have to. I'm a feminist, you know? I'm about equality. Please."

"Take me out to dinner first," he mumbles.

You burst into laughter, a rush of abrupt sound. You cling to him as you do, your chest pressed hard into his and your face sliding into his frizzy curls.

"Dinner," you start when you've calmed, "that could be fun."

"You're hungry?"

"I wasn't until you mentioned it."

He pulls away from you reluctantly. You look as half-cut as you did when the hug began but your tiredness seems to have abated for now. Your adorableness remains as all encompassing as before, and he has to stroke down the length of your face with his hand to stop from aching.

You're lax at the affection. He traces the half circle under your eye with the side of a knuckle, the skin so soft it feels like silk.

"I'll get you whatever you want," Eddie says, and means it.

"Really?"

"If you get dressed."

"My arms don't work, handsome. You'll have to dress me."

"That so?"

You nod gravely.

He bites the inside of his lip to contain a smile and grabs your hoodie from under his thigh. He shakes it out and opens it up. You bend to push your head through first, cheering victoriously when your disorientated face appears.

What follows is a process in which he thinks maybe your arms have been replaced by spaghetti.

"No. No. Sweetheart, no, oh my god. What are you doing right now? You're not even trying," he says, giggling.

"Your laugh is the nicest sound in the world."

"I'll try and take you seriously when you can get your hands through your sleeves. How old are you, two?"

"And a half."

"Stay still. I'm gonna bunch 'em up."

He bunches your sleeves as he'd said and finds your hands to pull them through. He feels like this is what it must be like to dress a toddler, only the toddler is tall and too drunk to keep her head up for long amounts of time.

"And… There." He neatens your sleeves and collar. "Done. Good job, baby."

You beam wide enough to apple your cheeks and throw yourself into his lap all over again. He's surprised and bends from your weight, receiving you with a mixture of apprehension and glee.

"If you throw up on me we're gonna have to break up," he says, smoothing his hand over the back of your neck.

"Really?"

"No."

You can't stop laughing tonight. You giggle breathlessly and pull back enough to cup his cheek. Your hands are heavy but what you've lost in your inebriation you make up for in love; while your motor spatial skills have taken a heavy blow, your kisses are as syrupy as always. You kiss his cheek in an inelegant triangle and make these tiny, lovely sounds that give him butterflies.

Lips pressed to his face, you say, "You're my boy."

He feels shy in a way he hadn't realised he could as he brings his hands up your back to hold you.

"I'm your boy," he agrees.

There's a short silence where he breathes you in and rubs your shoulder. He'd missed you more than he realised.

"Want KFC? I'm paying."

He rolls his eyes and pushes you away from him gently. "Whatever you want."

You stand on unsteady feet. Eddie offers his arm and you stand hip to hip with him and let him hold you up. You're not so wobbly as to need as much help as he's giving but he doesn't mind and you like the connection, head dropped to his shoulder. He gets you past the bathroom queue and down the stairs, pausing at the coat rack where he spies your purse. You sway at the sudden stop.

The contents, to your unbelievable, infallible good luck, have been left alone. Even your loose cash. Eddie can't comprehend it.

"I told you before, I'm paying," you brag.

He chucks your chin, enamoured with your cocky smile. "You're soooo confident that I'm gonna let that happen."

Its always like this. Surrounded by people and somehow you might as well be the only two people in the room for how it feels.

Your answering laugh is loud and sympathetic. "Duh. I get away with everything all the time 'cos you have a crush on me."

You stride out of the open front door and onto the stone pathway bisecting the lawn. He catches your hand before you can get too far away and you spin to look at him.

You're walking backwards. Staggering, really, Eddie's hand the only thing keeping you upright as you croon, "You like me."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody needed to tell me, I already knew. It's obvious."

He yanks you toward him and you huff into his chest. You're more giggle than girl tonight, gasping breathlessly as you threaten him. "Watch it!"

"You watch it. Who do you think you're talking to?" he jokes, staring down at you with a pretend scorn.

You pout and brush a loose curl behind his shoulder.

"Nothing to say?"

"Nothing to say to you."

"Really?"

"Nuh-uh."

"What's obvious about it?" he asks, leaning down until your noses touch. He blows a hot breath out of the corner of his mouth.

You squeeze his hand. "I'm tipsy–"

"Tipsy!"

"But I'm not stupid, Munson."

"You're going down the list tonight." You've called him everything. Eds, handsome, baby, Teddy, now Munson. He'd much prefer the second, third and fourth, but any name at all sounds like a pet name when you say it.

"Move, loser," someone says, shouldering him suddenly and roughly out of the way.

Eddie doesn't have time to think about it, he takes an unwilling step forward and you go back, too drunk to shriek. Your breath catches as your ankle twists and you trip and fall onto the small of your back. Unfortunately for Eddie, your hands are still twined together, and he falls into you like a domino, knees hitting damp grass and face smashed into the space above your shoulder.

He doesn't have the cushion of alcohol.

"Ow," he says, peeved. Not at you, but peeved all the same. He screws his eyes shut and sulks.

"Thought I had to buy you dinner first."

"Shit." Eddie springs up off of you. "Shit, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

You stay lying in the grass. The party lights splash across your bare skin, pink and green and orange-yellow painting your lips and your nose and the curve of your neck.

"Why'd you do that?" you ask curiously.

"Some asshole pushed me." He looks over his shoulder for a culprit and finds no one.

"Like I believe that!"

"Stop laughing! This isn't funny. I think I might've winded you."

You grab him and dig your fingers into his hips. "With this skinny waist? Unlikely."

"Hey," he chides through a laugh, "what?"

"So trim."

"You're totally gone."

"Gone on you." You sit up and slide your hands under the fabric of his t-shirt.

"We're in public, perv."

"And?"

"Stop feeling me up."

"But this is the best part."

Eddie shivers at your cold fingers gracing the lines of his sides and then inward. You massage his abdomen with a feather-light touch.

"Nice," you murmur.

Eddie pushes you down into the grass and kisses you chastely. Then a little less than chaste. Nothing serious, he's not a sicko, but he just can't hold it in. To be liked in the way that you like him feels like a privilege he can't begin to deserve.

"Thanks for coming to pick me up," you say as your break apart, smiling at him fondly.

He rubs your foreheads together. "You definitely pulled me down with you. This is your fault."

"My bad," you say. Your flippancy drives him mad.

He kisses the corner of your mouth and then leaps off of you to half-carry you to the van.

Half an hour later in the bright fluorescents of KFC when you're covered in fried chicken grease and grass stains, you make a heart with your hands and hold it upto your face. "Smile, handsome. I'm taking a mental picture."

He smiles.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks so much for reading!

if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a big difference!

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader imagine #eddie munson imagine #edie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson lives #fem!reader

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convolutedblasphemy · 3 months

Text

Ace in the Hole

notes: originally didn't plan to write abt hazbin or interact with the fandom because i've... heard tales... but for a show with a canonically aroace character my fellow asexual brethren deserve more content that caters to them. don't let this flop please.

synopsis: playing cards with the radio demon, you decide to make a harmless ace joke after rosie informed you that alastor is aroace. you soon have to realize that he has no idea what you're talking about and now he wants an explanation.

contains: alastor x reader (platonic or queerplatonic), gn!reader, aspec reader (left as vague as possible), shenanigans

warnings: alastor's eating habits, i left it vague where exactly on the ace / aro spectrum reader is but they do make jokes about allonormative society in the story so be warned.

"Come in", you heard Alastor's voice from behind the door, along with the familiar radio static you could perceive whenever you walked past his room. However, you had never actually been inside. But following the offer, you pushed the door open and stepped into the radio demon's quarters.

The sight that greeted you was something that was half bedroom, half forest. It was as though someone had ripped the hotel room in half and put it into the woods. Alastor was sitting at a small table on the grass, in front of him a plate with a raw deer head on it. His metal fork was buried in the creature.

"Ah, it's you", he exclaimed with a tone that sounded overjoyed, "how can i be of assistance on this fine day? Excuse the mess, my dear, I'm just enjoying a nice brunch."

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the lifeless deer head and the questionable things that Alastor considered "brunch". You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the radio demon and the dead animal. Pressing your lips together to a thin line, you shook your head. "You know what... I'm not even going to question this anymore", you let out a sigh, "deer cannibalism... why the fuck not, I guess?"

The last part you mumbled to yourself but Alastor's ears perked up when he heard the statement. "Oh, would you like some?", he offered, holding the plate up, "I still have the eyes left. They're the tastiest part."

You cringed upon hearing those words, trying to limit the amount of disgust that showed on your face. "No thank you, Alastor...", you rejected his offer awkwardly, "I would like for my stomach to remain intact."

"Your loss. More for me!", he shrugged with a satisfied smile on his face and plopped one of the eyes into his mouth. A quiet ew escaped your mouth and Alastor looked up to you again. "Did you say anything, my dear?", he turned the fork in his hand, inspecting it, though you were unsure what he was hoping to find.

"I was just wondering when you'd be finished with our poor furry friend over here", you explained and Alastor, who had noticed how you felt about the beheaded deer on his plate, was kind enough to cover the rest with aluminum foil and put it in the fridge. Damn right, you better not put this thing in the community fridge downstairs, you thought to yourself.

"Oh, what's the rush?", he wondered and looked at you with a curious glint in his eyes. "I was just wondering if- god, you're so questionable", you interrupted your inquiry when you caught a glimpse at the inside of Alastor's fridge, containing many such "meals" as you had just seen, "I was wondering if you'd like to play a game with me. Board games, card games... you can pick. Just nothing where I have to sell my soul."

Alastor let out a laugh. "Ah, you know me too well", he put a hand on your back and led you over to a bench in the corner and a table, "well, I'd be delighted to. So long as it's not Monopoly, that game is a crime against humanity."

"How so?", you asked raising an eyebrow. "It has led to countless divorces and at least one case of someone being burnt alive", he explained. "I'm just going to assume you had nothing to do with the latter?", you chuckled and Alastor gave you a proud smile.

"I can assure you, it was one hell of a barbecue!"

"I trust nothing that you would label a barbecue", you sighed.

"And why is that?", he asked and you gestured towards the empty table where he had just devoured the deer head, "ah, good point. So, what game would you suggest we play? Will anyone else be joining us?"

You shook your head. "No, it's just us. Angel is making the others downstairs watch his 'best performances of the last decade' and I did NOT need to see that. Also one of Pentious' Egg Bois apparently has the measles- no fucking clue how that works- but I didn't want to risk it", you let out sigh, "and then I was bored so I'm glad that you have time to indulge me."

"Always a pleasure, dearest", he hummed, manifesting a deck of cards out of seemingly nowhere, "so what you're saying is that I am your last and only choice of entertainment?" He smirked at you from across the table.

"Well, considering that the other options are worse, I'd say you're my first choice of entertainment", you reasoned with a smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere, darling", he chuckled.

"Why is it so hard to be nice to you?", you rolled your eyes, which only made Alastor laugh again. "Would you like some coffee or tea?", he asked, summoning a cup of black coffee for himself. You nodded. "Tea would be nice." Alastor snapped his fingers once and you could now find a small porcelain cup in front of you with some tea.

"Just so we're on the same page here, this is normal tea, right?", you inquired. "What do you consider 'normal' tea?", he looked at you with an amused smile. "Well, tea that is made from herbs, has no meat in it and won't give me Prion's disease", you elaborated, resulting in Alastor snickering and holding his hand in front of his mouth. "It's just hibiscus tea", he assured you. You were satisfied enough with that answer and took a sip, realizing that it was indeed just regular tea. It had a nice taste and made you wonder why Alastor would dislike it.

"You seem to enjoy it", he remarked, watching you from across the table. You nodded. "It's nice. Thank you", you smiled at him and then shot him a challenging glare, "who knows, if you keep doing nice gestures like this for others, maybe you'll go to heaven after all."

"HA! Heaven?", he let out a laugh and leaned back into his seat, "I have a better chance at becoming the next queen of England!" You found the mental image of that amusing. "Who knows?", you shrugged, "the afterlife is long and if Charlie eventually intends to be able to redeem everyone, you're going to be the leader of the angels before there's any chance of progress on Mothman's ugly nephew."

Alastor gave you an amused chuckle upon hearing what nickname you had just used to refer to Valentino.

"If that happens, heaven's lost all sense of self-preservation", you could hear static over his laugh and his image seemed distorted for a moment, his pupils replaced by radio dials. He returned back to his usual form just mere seconds after.

"As for the game", you suggested, "how about we play Rummy? Haven't played that in a while."

Alastor nodded. "That should provide plenty of entertainment for me", he began handing out the cards, "especially when you lose and sink into the miserable pit of despair." The last part had his voice distorted by the radio static.

Alastor handed out the cards and you began playing. Unfortunately for you, he already had plenty of melds on the table when your hand was still full of cards. You watched him curiously as he was focusing on his hand, planning his next move. You noticed how the ears on his head twitched a little, one of them flicking back as if something had irritated it. That's so adorable, you thought to yourself, suppressing a smile.

"Don't think I don't notice you staring", he chuckled without looking up from his cards. You denied it. "Are you going senile or having hallucinations?", you teased and Alastor played three aces on the table.

The Radio Demon was ready to tease you in return when you interrupted him. "Oh look! It's us!", you pointed at the three aces. Alastor looked a little confused but ran with it. "And who's the third ace?", he asked.

"Well, technically I don't know any other aces in hell so far...", you put a finger to your chin, "I was making a joke. It was a little flawed but I thought it was funny." "So we're two aces?", he asked for clarification.

You nodded.

"So you view us as the most valuable cards in the deck?", he further questioned. Rosie had told you that Alastor was what people would nowadays classify as aroace. What she didn't mention with any word, however, was whether or not Alastor was aware of that and as you now had to realize, he had no idea, which put you in an awkward position. "Oh god, you don't fucking know...", you mumbled and Alastor's ears perked up.

"Know what? Which part of the joke am I not getting?", he wondered, tilting his head to the side as the static got louder and his tone seemed more threatening, "I hope you aren't trying to mock me."

"Not at all", you raised your hands defensively and sighed, "I just forgot you're from a different time period and unfamilar with the terms. Rosie told me you're aroace."

"A what now?", he blinked in confusion.

You sighed, whispering to yourself. "I should have a PowerPoint ready for scenarios like this- never mind!", you found your enthusiasm again and began explaining the terms to him.

Alastor nodded slowly when you were finished, as though he was having an epiphany. "So you're saying I'm not experiencing sexual and romantic attraction because I am aroace and not because I am unhinged and clinically insane?", he asked with a wide smile on his face.

"The clinical insanity is in fact its own separate thing", you confirmed. "Good to know", Alastor seemed delighted, "back in the day it might have been considered a mental illness, so I never brought the topic up with my psychiatrist, after all I wouldn't be able to do my radio show from the psych ward, right?"

"Priorities...", you remarked dryly, "wait- you had a psychiatrist? And you still ended up like this?"

Alastor shrugged. "I was there for my irrational fear of bees, not because of the homicides."

You raised an eyebrow: "And you really didn't think mentioning the homicides was necessary?"

"Of course not!", Alastor exclaimed gleefully, "they didn't cause me any distress."

"Right...", you gave him a slightly concerned gaze, "did it at least help with the phobia?"

"It did. I am no longer scared of bees."

"That's great."

"I eat them now."

You buried your head in your hands. "Well that's just wonderful, Al..."

"So asexuality... it's pretty rare from what I understand? During my lifetime I've never met anyone else who felt this way, at least not that I knew of", he explained and you smiled at him. "Estimated to be about 1% of the population", you answered. Alastor smirked at you. "Why do you seem so excited?", he asked.

"Solidarity!", you exclaimed and held your hand up so he could give you a high-five. The fact evaded you, that Alastor also didn't know what a high-five was, so he just ended up linking his fingers with yours and holding your hand. "So what now?", he asked, staring at your hands with a confused smile.

"You're a little confused but you've got the spirit", you brought out with a wheeze, trying to hold back from laughing. Alastor chose not to dwell on the gesture any longer.

"Well, I suppose you're right, it does feel nice to have somebody who is also immune to the flesh vessels of the feeble mortals", he admitted, and you raised an eyebrow in surprise at his description. "That's one way to put it..."

After losing the game of Rummy to Alastor and answering a variety of other questions he had such as "Why are there flags and what do the colors mean?" and "Does it still count if the garlic bread and cake has raw venison on it?", you decided it was time to join the others downstairs again, as Charlie had another exercise planned for today. "I must say, you're a delight to be around", Alastor remarked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder like he would with an old friend, "do feel free to stop by any time, my dear."

You thought it was a pity he didn't intend to join you downstairs, but you felt as though the two of you had gotten a little closer by finding something you had in common. And Alastor refused to show it on his face, but you had a feeling, that there was a little relief and peace inside him, knowing that there wasn't a big part of the human experience he was told he was missing out on after all.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated! If this gets enough notes I'll write Alastor QPR headcanons.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #asexual #ace #ace alastor #aroace #aroace alastor #aromantic

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auteurdelabre · 6 months

Text

SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR (series) Joelxf!reader Part 1

Word Count: 5.3K

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) Tommy x Maria, Bill x Frank

Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel. You have been warned. There is swearing, there is smut, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning. (That is if there is interest in my story!)

A/N: This is part of a sweeter series (lots of angst, pining and smut ahead) Also despite Sarah's young age Joel is early 40's in this because slightly grey babygirl DILF Joel is the best Joel.

"Please don't make me do this."

You shoot Maria a dark look as she drags you to her wardrobe, ignoring your plea.

"C'mon, it'll be fun! Plus I need your help picking out what to wear."

She opens the gleaming wood doors with a flourish and indicates with her head for you to look. You give her a once over with her luminous dark skin, hair in tight braids and roll your eyes.

Like it matters what she wears.

Maria is stunning. Arresting. Whatever other adjectives you need to describe someone who is not only beautiful but kind, brave, opinionated, strong... and occasionally manipulative.

How else can you explain why an hour later you're seated in her car on the way to the cheapest Italian restaurant in town for a double date?

"Tommy is so cute," Maria giggles, actually giggles. "I bet his brother is too."

"Mhmmm." You stare out the window with a frown, watching the rainstorm outside. The dress you're wearing feels itchy and you wish you were back at home with a book.

But you've agreed to this: a blind date with Tommy's brother.

You haven't been on a date since Paul. Paul with the light eyes and delicate fingers. Paul who promised to love you forever and then taken off to Manhattan, leaving you with rent you couldn't cover by yourself and a heartbreak so devastating it took Maria living with you for a full two weeks to get back to the land of the living.

Six months later her basement suite is where you currently call home, a place you often find yourself laying in bed at night wondering what the fuck had happened to your life plans. Maria had always been your most successful friend, running her own business, owning this huge house all on her own. She plans on flipping it once the renovations are done.

And when she'd known you couldn't pay your rent alone she hadn't even asked you how she could help. You'd woken up from a long depression nap amidst the breakup one morning to find your belongings packed and labeled and Maria telling you that you were moving in with her.

Moving into her basement wasn't exactly how you'd imagined your life at this age. But then again you didn't expect to be single and working at your same low paying job then either. She won't accept rent money either.

She's a fucking saint.

So of course you had to say yes to this favor. Of course you had to pull on your uncomfortable dress and look your best because she’s your closest friend and because she never asks you for anything.

Maria and Tommy met during renovations at Maria's place. She told you it was an instant connection, a jolt that went through her the minute he'd come through the door to give an estimate. Tommy and Maria's relationship is new, only a few weeks. But you've never seen your friend like this, all bright and cheery and giggly. She's normally more subdued, more of a quiet observer.

Love does strange things to people you suppose.

You know it did to you not so long ago. But yours didn't have the happy ending you're sure your friends’ will.

The truth is despite your own heartbreak you are delighted for Maria. Genuine joy flows from you when she tells you about Tommy and his dark eyes and his sweet shy way of talking.

Maria backs the car into the spot, humming nervously under her breath. You scan the large windows of the restaurant hoping to catch a glimpse of Tommy. You've seen a few photos on Val's phone, but those can be deceiving.

You cell rings shrilly in your purse and you retrieve it just as Maria puts the car into park.

"Hey, just gimme a sec, I'm just getting dinner with Maria," you say as you answer the phone, glancing over at your friend. "Sorry it's my mom calling. I just need a minute if that's okay?"

"Of course," Maria says nodding solemnly. I'll meet you inside."

She hands you the car keys before running a nervous hand through her braids and heading for the restaurant. You watch her leave, holding in a smirk at her obvious nerves.

"Hi bug," your mom's throaty voice sounds out through the earpiece when you put it back to your ear. "Thought you'd want an update."

"I did yeah, thanks for calling. Did they say anything?"

Anything your mother was going to say is immediately washed out by the most obnoxious sound of "Back in Black" playing at high volume.

"The fuck - "

Your eyes go to the silver and blue truck that's pulled up next to yours in the crowded parking lot.

A man with a short beard and tousled brown locks sits behind the wheel putting the vehicle into park. The music is still blasting though, and it's no wonder you can hear him; his window is half down.

Your mom is still saying something but you can't hear her. You try plugging the ear facing the driver and pressing the phone more harshly against your temple but it's no good.

Irritation is going like lightning through your body at the actions of the asshole next to you. Another quick glance tells you he's just sitting there, his one arm slung over the wheel as he stares into space.

"Mom just a sec," you interrupt before rolling down your window and calling out to him.

"Hey!"

The man in the truck doesn't turn his head in your direction until you call out another sharp 'hey'. As he glances at you his brows lift in question.

"Turn down the fucking music! This isn't a concert."

Thinking back, you could have gone about that in a much kinder way.

You could have politely explained you were on an important call. You could have asked him nicely to turn it down. But you're so anxious about the importance of this phone call, that your manners leave you.

The man is looking at you as if he can't believe your vitriol. His dark eyes are soulful as he stares at you, unblinking. The music is still pumping in his truck, perfectly matching the tempo of your rapidly rising pulse.

"Are you deaf or just an asshole?" you shout, your hand still holding the phone to your chest, praying your mom can't hear you verbally lambasting the man next to you.

The man looks like he wants to say something back at you. A tic in his jaw flexing. He parts his mouth before clamping it shut and glaring openly at you. He jerks the key out of the ignition, the music immediately silencing.

"... in the hospital," your mother is saying.

Immediately your attention is back on her and what she's saying. You only notice the man has exited the truck when you hear the slam of its door and the heavy sound of his footsteps diminishing towards the restaurant. You're too fixated on what your mom is saying, or rather, isn't saying.

"Do they know if . . . " you trail off, not sure if you want to know the answer.

"Not yet."

The two of you lapse into a gentle silence that your mother is first to break. "Did you say you were having dinner with Maria?"

"Uh yeah," you say, still processing the information. "Blind date kinda thing."

"Good for you," she says warmly. "Go on then, bug. I don't want to keep you. Give her my love."

"I don't really want to go inside,” you admit. “Rather just stay in the car all night.”

"Enough of that," your mother chides gently. "I didn't raise a coward. Now go on. We'll chat later, I love you."

You respond similarly and place the phone back into your purse. You take a few steadying breaths, glancing at yourself in her rear view mirror and then pulling yourself from the car.

/////// /////// /////// /////// /////// /////// /////// ///////

The restaurant is dimly lit with gentle cliché Italian music playing in the background. You and Maria have been coming here since college; it's a familiar haunt so it's no wonder that she set the date here. It's some of the worst Italian food in town but also the cheapest.

You come to the table to see just the two of them sitting across from one another and you feel your heart leap and sinks all at once. Did the brother not show up? Are you off the hook?

Or worse, did he see you and leave?

Maria smiles at you, her hand still in Tommy's. She nods her head at the chair beside her. "Come sit."

You do, looking nervously over at Tommy and introducing yourself. Tommy reminds you so much of a puppy dog in the best possible way; all smiles and eager energy as he greets you. He's lithe with broad shoulders he covers in a jean jacket over a white t-shirt. His face is clean shaven and his dark hair fans into his equally dark eyes. He's sweet looking, boyish and nervous.

"My brother's just making a phone call," he explains when he notices you glance at the empty seat beside him. "He'll be right back."

Relief mingled with trepidation goes through you. The waitress comes over with everyone's drinks, leaving a beer in the empty space on the table for Tommy's brother and a berry-colored glass of something in front of you.

"I got you the sangria," Maria shrugs.

"Sounds good, thanks."

You take a sip, feeling nervous as the flavor coats your tongue. The restaurant is busy tonight, not really a shock for a Friday night. You glance around, your eyes darting to Maria and Tommy before you adopt an authoritative tone.

"So Tommy, what are your intentions with Maria?"

Tommy's eyes blow wide in surprise, blinking and stammering.

“I, I uh –“

"You're so mean," Maria says as you both burst into giggles. "You're fine, honey. She's joking."

At Tommy's stricken expression, Maria pats his hand affectionately. Relief instantly floods his face.

"Couldn't resist," you say, shooting a glance at a still recovering Tommy. "If it helps, she's crazy about you,"

Tommy's face breaks into a wide grin that he shoots at Maria. "Is that so?"

Maria looks flustered, opening up her menu and pretending she doesn't hear him.

"Let's order I'm starved."

You nod, looking down at your menu with a smile. You know that tonight is going to be awkward, as any blind date with another couple would be. But you like seeing Maria smiling, you like hearing her laugh as Tommy murmurs something to her about the garlic bread. Maria has been through a lot, she deserves this. You resolve to do whatever you can to make this night go well.

"Ah, there he is," Tommy says shooting a smile at someone behind you. "This is my brother, Joel."

You look up from the menu at the figure who slides into the chair opposite you. You're ready to be as charming as needed to get through this dinner but the smile immediately dies on your face.

It's the man from the truck.

He's broad shouldered, wearing a dark green button down rolled at the sleeves. It's tight across the arms, emphasizing the width of his chest. He and his brother don't look much alike to you aside from the coloring. Joel's face is pleasant if not serious-looking with big, sad eyes. He's attractive enough, a bit older than you and seems rugged with his beard and tousled locks, threaded with bits of grey.

He seems to be doing the same mental gymnastics because he goes from looking confused to angry within a microsecond of seeing you.

So much for a pleasant evening.

Normally you would have wanted to know more about him than the vague description you'd received from Maria on the ride over, but right now you want the earth to swallow you whole. You just screamed at this guy, called him an asshole in the parking lot less than ten minutes ago. Now you have to sit here and pretend to be polite.

His eyes move swiftly to Maria who looks at him nervously.

“The infamous girlfriend,” Joel says with a small smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The even more infamous brother,” Maria says warmly shaking his proffered hand.

“That’d be me,” Joel says with a soft chuckle. You wonder if perhaps you overestimated how rude you’d been. Joel seems perfectly nice right now, smiling at Maria and Tommy and apologizing for taking so long on the phone. Maria introduces you to him in a tone that sounds almost proud.

The smile that Joel has been wearing immediately slides from his face and you clear your throat nervously, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Uh, hi. Nice to meet you."

He gives you a sharp nod by way of reply.He doesn't look at you for long. More a cursory glance at your face before he picks up his beer and takes a swig before turning to ask Tommy something about the job site.

Great.

You crane your neck, leaning back in your chair hoping to see your waitress in the rapidly filling restaurant. You want this evening to speed up and be over. Maybe you can order an appetizer and dash out. But you can see your waitress deep in conversation with another table of eight and know you'll be waiting a bit. You hold in a sigh as you look back at Joel Miller.

He's started peeling the label from his beer in tiny scratches. It's obvious to you that he's just as disappointed as you are that you're his date for the evening. Even if you two hadn't experienced the altercation outside you doubt he would have been your type: too serious, too hard.

Paul had been the opposite: open and funny and immediately putting you at ease.

Stop thinking about him.

You take another sip of your drink, deciding that while Joel is a shit blind date he's actually perfect for practicing on for any future dates. Ones that you may have with men who are a helluva lot more pleasant than he is.

Maria and Tommy are looking at their menus, obviously trying not to watch the two of you interact. But you can see Maria's eyes darting to you out the corner. You know that she’s silently willing you to make an effort with Joel.

"So Maria says you guys work for a construction company?" You look from Joel to Tommy.

"We own a construction company," Joel corrects, his dark eyes still glued to the label of the beer bottle he's picking at with a short fingernail.

Off to a great start.

Tommy joins in, noting his brothers' reluctance to keep the conversation going.

"Joel takes care of the carpentry and the invoicing. I'm more drywall and marketing," Tommy smiles wide and friendly at you. "We have a few other guys on the team that do the rest."

You already like Tommy. He's sweet and soft and judging by the way he's still holding Maria's hand across the table, he's very interested in her.

"Must be nice to be your own bosses," you offer, hoping that if you're complimentary that Joel won't tell them about your incident outside.

"Way better than the old subcontractor we had to work for before." Tommy takes a sip of beer, shaking his head. "That guy was such a dick."

Joel flashes Tommy a nod of agreement before looking distracted. You wonder if it's you doing it to him or the phone call he took right before this. When it's clear Joel won't be asking you anything, Tommy speaks up.

"And what do you do again?"

"I work at a humane society here in Austin," you say between sips of your drink. "The job doesn't pay great but I love animals."

You trail off noting that Tommy looks frustrated with himself. "Shit, that's right. Maria said that."

"Don't beat yourself up," you laugh. "It's not exactly the most memorable job on the planet."

Joel makes a little scoffing noise of agreement. As if his job is so much more enthralling.

You hold in a biting comment as the waitress approaches your table and this time you see her name tag reads Felicia. She's a pretty girl with bright red hair who clearly has interest in the man across from you.

"Bruschetta for the table?" Tommy asks with a glance in everyone's direction. You all nod because who would say no to bruschetta?

Felicia's eyes linger on Joel even as she takes everyone else's orders for dinner.

Good. She can go home with him for all you care. If anything she'd be doing you a favor.

The silence is back when she's gone and you can't miss the strained look passing between Maria and Tommy. You don't blame them; this entire experience feels tense and uncomfortable. Maria is subtly nudging you in the ankle with her boot, flicking her eyes from you to Joel and back again. The meaning is clear: make an effort.

Only for Maria would you suffer through this dinner. Only for Maria would you try to engage the stone-faced man across from you. You take a deep breath before forcing a smile in Joel's direction

"So, Joel, what do you do for fun?"

Joel looks as if he's getting the same amount of non-verbal grief from his brother because he straightens a bit, looking at you from under thick lashes.

"I hunt."

You cringe. Not even inwardly, you full-out wince at that. Hunting has always been one of those things you've never seen the point to in modern society. Sure, when food had to be hunted or families starved it made sense. But nowadays? It seemed barbaric.

And knowing what you do for a job, you're shocked at the lack of tact. Hobbies were a dime a dozen and that's the one he brings up?

Asshole.

He seems to notice your recalcitrance because that same cool appraisal is back on his face.

"And what do you enjoy?"

You don't miss the sarcasm in his tone betraying that he really doesn't give a fuck, but decide to answer him sincerely regardless.

"I read. I hike, I paint, I watch zombie movies."

Joel winces at that. "Can't stand 'em."

What a shock. Something else you don't have in common.

You almost feel like this entire date was devised just to make Tommy and Maria feel less guilty about being so in love and your feel a stab of resentment. Tommy seems to notice the tension building because he jumps in a little too eagerly.

"Joel plays guitar. He's really good."

"And you sing," Maria adds, nudging you again before looking at Joel and Tommy. "Her voice is so beautiful."

Both you and Joel answer almost simultaneously. "Not anymore."

Your eyes flick to one another in surprise before the meals are brought to the table by the far too peppy Felicia.

"Careful," she tells Joel with a purr. "Your plate is very hot."

"Thanks," Joel says flashing her a quick smile. You note the dimple in his right cheek when he does.

"What kind of animals come through your job?" Tommy asks, spearing a piece of chicken.

"The usual, cats, dogs, small animals like hamsters, ferrets," you list these off with ease. "With some of the other sites in we house sheep and horses."

"That would've been our dream job as kids, huh Joel?" Tommy says with a faraway smile. "Being surrounded by animals, helping 'em."

Joel gives an agreeing grunt by way of a reply, chewing his dinner with a frown. It's so obvious that he would rather be anywhere but here.

"It's not all dreamy," you answer, pretending Joel isn't even there. "I work at the main office so I barely get to see the animals. Most of the time I'm grant writing because we're so underfunded."

You frown, thinking about the difficulty of going into work knowing that you can't save every poor animal that crosses your path.

"Plus after the flooding last month the office is trashed, but there was this grant for office restoration." You talk excitedly, knowing exactly what you'll do with the money.

"Guaranteed that even if she gets the grant for the office reno's she'll put it all to the kennels they need," Maria says to Tommy but she's looking at you fondly. "That's why I love her."

You feel shy under the twin gazes of Tommy and Maria and you want to turn to Joel and scream: "See! I'm not as horrible at you thought! I'm not just a bitch who screams at people in parking lots!" but you have I'm feeling even if you did that he wouldn't believe you enough to care.

"Well, when you do get the grant, I know a great contractor," Maria says with a wink in Tommy's direction. Tommy blushes slightly in response, offering a quick nod.

"I'll definitely keep you in mind," you say to Tommy, stabbing your pasta with your fork. "Everything is so expensive to build; maybe you'll give me the 'Maria's best friend' discount."

Tommy and Maria laugh but Joel remains stone-faced.

"What about you guys?" You address them both but its Tommy you look at. "I don't know much about what you do aside from restorations like Maria's place."

"We have a few bids in this month," Tommy says through a mouthful of his chicken. "Really hoping for this one build at a military site, but the lead on it is kind of a nightmare. We worked with her once before. Needs to have constant meetings about every little thing right, Joel?"

Tommy looks over at his older brother.

"It's a good gig," Joel nods, sliding a piece of bread through the marinara sauce on his plate. "Kathleen's usually a dog with a bone, but pretty harmless overall."

He goes back to his meal, eating quickly. Tommy looks dumbfounded by his brothers behaviour.

Fuck this guy.

Yeah, you were rude to him in the parking lot. But that was just between the two of you. Now he's making it horrible for an entire table of people who are just trying their best to have a pleasant evening.

There's a faint buzzing and you watch Joel fumble for his phone, an old blackberry. He reads whose calling and excuses himself. You all watch as he leaves, heading for the exit.

"You sure he's not a drug dealer on the side?" You joke. "Last time I saw a guy react like that to a phone call he was selling weed outta his mom's basement."

Maria shoots you a grin.

"It's Sarah," Tommy replies with a glance after his brother. "It's the first time Joel's left her with a sitter that's not me."

Sarah? A sitter? Wait, Joel has a kid? That miserable jerk found someone to willingly procreate with? You don't remember that part of the information Maria gave you in the car.

"He's pretty protective of her," Tommy continues. "He's worried she may be a lot of work with new people."

With Joel as her father, you're hardly shocked. You imagine a little girl with serious dark eyes and a bad attitude.

"Has he been divorced a long time?" Maria asks, and you realize she knows very little about Joel as well.

"Almost four years, but apart longer."

You nod and the three of you eat quietly, listening to the sound of bland Italian elevator music in the background. Joel reappears a short time later, sliding into his seat as Tommy looks over.

"Sarah okay?"

"She's fine," Joel nods, his voice low and rumbling. "She just couldn't find toad."

"She has a toad?"

Joel's eyes slope over to you in irritation. "It's a stuffed animal."

"Oh."

"The sitter's a moron," Joel says to Tommy with a dark look. "Got her all hopped up on sugar."

"Connie isn't a moron, Joel," Tommy defends. "She takes care of her own mother practically full time."

You and Maria exchange a look as the brothers disagree.

"I shouldn't have left her alone with them." Joel is getting more agitated by the second; he's not even hearing what his brother is saying. "They have that old dog of theirs."

"She's fine, Joel."

"I shouldn't have come," Joel mutters as he pulls some cash from his wallet and drops it on the table beside Tommy's plate. "This was such a bad idea. Such a waste of time. I gotta go."

You say nothing, but the blood is rising in your cheeks as you stare down at your plate. You want to believe that Joel is leaving solely because of his kid, but a large part of you knows she's just a convenient excuse to cut the evening short.

"I'll see you later" Joel grumbles to Tommy before he's left the table without a backwards glance or a goodbye to you.

As he strides off you want to laugh. This entire evening has been a joke from start to finish. Tommy is shooting Maria a sheepish look of silent apology. Obviously the evening hasn't gone how anyone anticipated it would.

"I'm so sorry," Maria starts but you cut her off.

"It's fine, just exhausted from work. Mind if I just take off?"

"Of course," Maria looks inconsolable. "Just take the car, Tommy will drop me off later."

You nod, holding out a twenty to her that she won't accept. You pocket it after a brief goodbye to Tommy you head to the entrance of the restaurant. You only exit when you're sure that Joel's truck is gone from the parking lot.

/////// /////// /////// /////// /////// /////// /////// ///////

You pull up to the house, thankful the rain has stopped. Maria's place is on a quiet, suburban street with identical lawns and mailboxes. She doesn't do much with the exterior of the home, but it's a nice navy blue color with bright white shutters. It feels especially welcoming after your horrible dinner.

You can't stop thinking about Joel. His miserable face and the way he practically ran out of the restaurant. You kick a rock angrily on your way up the sidewalk as you move towards the house.

"You look like Bill after Bush got elected."

Your eyes dart up to house next to Maria's. The neighbor Frank is standing there on the front porch holding a cigarette elegantly between his fingers

His home is a similar in shape and color to Maria's, but that's where it ends. Where Maria's house is plain, this house is immaculately kept with bright flowers under the windows. The door is a lacquered black and a simple green wreath hangs in its upper center. It feels sophisticated and welcoming all at once.

Frank gives you another sharp look, a smirk quirking his lips.

The first day you'd arrived at Maria's, your eyes puffy and dressed in three-day-old sweats, he'd sent over a basket of goodies with a note that simply said: straight men ain't shit, your neighbors Frank and Bill. You'd liked him straightaway ever since. He's funny and charming and never seems to be in a bad mood.

Maria has nothing but good things to say about him. Best neighbor she's ever had, according to her. You often find them on either side of the fence that separates their lawns, gossiping about things in the neighborhood. Frank always seems happy, always seems upbeat.

But right now you don't feel like being happy. You want to climb into bed and be sad.

"Just a bad night," you frown, pulling your purse further up your shoulder and moving towards your place.

"Where I come from, bad days usually call for a drink."

You've never been a drinker. You occasionally have beer with fish and chips in the summer. Hot chocolate with a splash of rum at Christmas. Sangria at dinner with a bad blind date. But you've been to Frank's before and you know that whatever they have will taste amazing.

Frank's eyes are playful as he watches you pause. You shuffle back in his direction, a wry smile on your face before you glance at his door nervously.

"Is Bill around?"

Dumb question. Bill is always around. Always frowning, always building something and muttering about elaborate anti-government theories you don't always follow but smile politely at. Bill makes you nervous, but then again, he makes everyone nervous.

"Basement," Frank smiles beckoning you with a wave forward. "If he comes upstairs I'll handle him."

You don't need much more invitation than that. You bound up the stairs to his place, placing your bag at the entryway and following him into the kitchen.

While the outside of Frank and Bill's place is beautiful, the inside is breathtaking. The color of the walls is a soft green, the wood stair railing boasts intricate details of florals and the piece de resistance is the gleaming black baby grand piano that sits in the living room.

You think about pressing one of the ivory keys as you walk by but stop yourself. Everything in this home is so beautiful, so wonderfully cared for that the thought of moving any if it, even a fraction seems cruel.

"Does Bill ever play for anyone?"

"He does." Frank is in the kitchen bringing two large wineglasses down from the shelf.

You roll your eyes. "You don't count."

"Rude," Frank says with an arched brow, but there's no power behind it. "If I get him liquored up enough he might be persuaded to play for an audience of more than just me."

You watch him pour the crimson liquid into the dual glasses before handing it to you. You follow him to the sitting room by the piano, your eyes glancing longingly at it.

"It's a Beaujolais," Frank says sitting across from you as he swirls his glass with the finesse of a professional sommelier. "Very fruitful with a few smoky notes."

You twist the delicate stem between your fingertips and peer into the glass. "Looks . . . Red."

Frank laughs at your unrefined palette. He and Bill and wine connoisseurs, their home stocked with all manner of wine and other spirits.

"You look especially dressed up," Frank offers warmly at the wine slips over your tastebuds. "Hot date?"

"If my date tonight is any indication of what's out there, I think I might just stay single forever."

"Was he really that bad?" Frank's handsome face is concerned.

"He's a grey sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake."

Frank laughs loudly, his head tossed back. You smile around your wine glass, secretly pleased you could elicit such a response.

"Was he cute at least?"

"No," you answer a bit too quickly.

Frank looks about to reply when the door to the basement is shoved open with a bang.

A stout man with shoulder length brown hair and a scraggly beard looks around the room wildly blinking, as if his large blue eyes are adjusting to the lights.

He's wearing an old grey sweatshirt, threadbare with holes in the collar. He's such a stark contrast to his husband whose facial hair is meticulously groomed, his patterned orange shirt pressed and smelling like expensive cologne. If you got close enough to Bill you know he'd smell like sweat and oil from whatever he's been working on downstairs.

Bill approaches you both, his eyes sliding to your figure at the table and frowning, the crease between his brows deepening. You raise your hand in a small wave.

"Evening, Bill."

"What are you doing here?" His eyes drift to your wineglass. "And is that my wine?"

"Manners," Frank warns with a teasing lilt. "And last time I checked, Bill, it was our wine."

"Yours and mine. Not hers," Bill grumbles as he lumbers over to the kitchen to pour himself a glass.

You assume he'll head back downstairs but he shuffles to the table and plops down next to Frank, the chair squeaking under him. Sitting next to each other they seem like such an odd pair, and yet when Frank absently moves hair behind Bill’s ear and they look at one another smiling softly, you think there has never been a couple better matched.

"Our girl here finally went out on a date," Frank says like a proud father.

"A blind date," you explain with a wince. "And a bad one. Almost makes me remember Paul fondly."

At least Paul had never insulted and then walked out on you in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

"Paul," Bill scoffs into his glass, shaking his head. "Idiot man-child."

You smile at this, appreciating Bills acerbic tone when it's directed at a common enemy. You take this moment of unexpected civility and indicate to the piano with your wineglass.

"Hey Bill do you think you'd ever play for me?"

Bill turns his hardened gaze on you.

"Not a fucking chance."

#fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #fanfiction #dad joel miller #smut #pedro pascal

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clockwayswrites · 21 days

Text

Masked- unmasked After 'wrong'

Dick cupped Phantom’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the too pink lips.

“What?” Phantom asked. He shifted heavily lidded eyes from the t.v. to Dick. They were so blue. The hint of green was there, just around the pupil of one looked close enough, but Phantom’s eyes were so blue.

“Just observing,” Dick said. He didn’t know how to sum up even a fraction of everything going through his head right then. His mind scrambled to catalog every difference in Phantom: the lips pinker, the eyes blue, the blush redder, the skin warmer. He leaned down to kiss the scattering of freckles; freckles that were a rusty red rather than a pale scattering of light.

There was no faint glow that bled through Dick’s eyelids.

“I can go.”

Dick pulled back with a frown. “What?”

“If you don’t want to be around me like this, I can go,” Phantom repeated.

It still didn’t make sense to Dick.

He stroked Phantom’s cheek gently. “Why would I want you to go?”

“I just mean—” Phantom cut himself off with a huff of air. It was a long pause before he tried again. “I just mean, it’s okay if you don’t… like this version of me. I know that all this isn’t what you… agreed to have in your bed.”

“All this?” Dick asked, brow furrow. “All this is still you.”

“Sure, but it’s not special, not like my other form.”

Phantom’s sour smile begged to be kissed away so Dick did just that. He leaned in and kissed Phantom’s lips until Phantom gave in and opened up his mouth for Dick. Dick twisted, sitting up further so that he could press down into the kiss. He slung a leg over Phantom, mindful of the stitches and he settled lightly on Phantom’s stomach.

Phantom was the one who broke the kiss first to pant for air. Another difference.

“Boo, you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful in your other form and you’re beautiful like this. I was just enjoying taking in all the differences,” Dick tried to explain. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you out of my bed. You’re still you.”

Phantom still looked unsure. “You might not like the differences.”

“I will,” Dick assured him. “Let me show you.”

“You might eat those words.”

“I’d rather eat you,” Dick said with a smirk. He laughed as Phantom shoved him, letting himself be pushed back. “I mean it. I don’t care that you look different. I still want to kiss you and blow you and fuck you and be fucked by you. I still want to spend time with you and talk to you and keep you close. You’re still you. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen this side of you yet. It’s just a whole new part to explore. So, let me prove it to you, okay?”

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Phantom complained, though he was finally smiling again.

“Yep,” Dick said, popping the ‘p’. “So it’s best you give in and just lay there like a good pillow princess while I fuck you.”

“Don’t make me crush you next training.”

“Worth it,” Dick assured him with a roll of his hips that had Phantom groaning. “Are you really going to say no to me spoiling you.”

Phantom did his best to glare but there was no heat in the look. Finally he sighed as if giving in to the biggest favor. “Fine, just don’t call me pillow princess.”

“Pillow Prince?”

“N.”

“Bedroom beauty, sheet sultan, night—”

Phantom pulled him down into a kiss that Dick was certain was just a move to shut him up, but he went willingly. He’d never say no to those lips, whether they were tinged a cold magenta or a warm pink.

--- AN: tossing this up before I try to sleep. Pain is very bad right now so we'll see. I'm sure there are errors, but I don't need them corrected, ty. Hope all you darlings are being delightful!

masterpost

#dp x dc #death defying #Danny/dick #masked

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miscreantroses · 7 months

Text

put a ring on it (Zoro x Reader)

A/N: We're back with another Zoro fanfic.

genre: fluff

"All I'm saying that you should put a ring on it." Sanji sighs as Zoro downs another bottle of sake. "You're married to Y/N."

"Yeah. I'm married to her." Zoro replied. "Why are you so worked up about it?"

"Because you can't just say that she's your wife without putting a ring on it." Sanji exclaims. "After that covert mission you two went, she declared as your husband just not to raise any suspicions and You just went along with it.".

"I mean she is my wife." Zoro clarifies. "What's your problem curly brows."

"No she's not." Sanji interjects. "You two haven't been married. You haven't even proposed to her."

"What's the point of having a marriage proposal?" Zoro stands up. "I love her. That's already enough."

The two continued to argue until you entered the kitchen, they immediately halted their arguement and you raised an eyebrow. "Sanji, Nami told me that you'll need to restock on food? We've already arrived at the island."

Sanji smiled and sneered at Zoro who was back drinking his sake. "Thanks for letting me know, Y/N." You nodded and sat beside Zoro. "Care to share your little arguement babe?"

"Its just a trivial matter." He sighs, putting down his bottle. "Nothing to worry about."

You only smiled and ruffled his hair and made your way out. "I'll also be going to the island. Need anything?"

"Nope." He smirked looking at you as you stand near the doorway.

"I'll buy some good sake if I can find one." You winked and exited the kitchen. "Don't miss me too much."

You left the room and Zoro planted his face on the kitchen counter. "Stupid lovecook. What's the point of ring?"

___

You made your way to the island and see a town up ahead. You decided to check out some books since you've read all of the books at the ship. You noticed a pile of books and reached one of them.

"To love." You read the book title and skimmed through the pages. "What a weird title..."

"Oh, you picked a good book." An old woman approaches you. "You've got a good eye."

You smiled and placed the book back into the pile. "I mean what's the story all about?"

"It was all about two lovers, the guy went such lengths to prove his love towards his lover." The old woman explains. "I don't want to go into further detail but you'll love it."

You raised an eyebrow and stared at the book. "I mean... Okay? I'll take it."

The old woman was delighted at your response. "Wonderful, take it. No need to pay, its on me."

You smiled and took the book with you and continued to venture around the town.

Hours after, you returned to the ship and Zoro greets you. "Had fun?" You nodded and gave him a bottle of sake.

"Yeah, managed to find a book." You hummed as Zoro takes a sip from the bottle.

"That's some good sake." He smiled and looks over at your book. "You usually go for historical books. That's new of you."

You scratched your head and laughed it off. "The shop owner said that this is a good book. I'll trust her judgement." You smiled and find a good spot to start reading.

____

Days had passed and you're glued to reading the book. Zoro had noticed it too. You've carried it everywhere. The shopkeeper was right, it was a good book. The trials that the male lover had to go through to prove his love kept you on wondering. Until you were down to the last few chapters of the book. You were sitting at the kitchen, still reading. Sanji was meal prepping and Zoro was drinking his sake. You could hear their bickering over something but you didn't really mind it. You read over a passage where the male lover didn't even bothered of proposing to his lover, despite how much his lover adored and also went great lengths to prove her love to him.

"Oh come on just propose!" You shouted referring to the book. Sanji stopped chopping and Zoro choked on his drink. "I mean, you two love each other. A ring perfectly symbolizes their declaration of love."

Sanji snickered and saw Zoro catching his breath. He mouths at him 'I told you so.' You looked up and see them both lost and you covered your face in embarrassment. "I'm sorry I said that out loud. I got a bit pissed."

Sanji laughs while Zoro remained silent. "Still glued to the book?" You nodded and told him that you're almost done reading. You excused yourself out of the kitchen.

You left and Sanji bursts out laughing. "I told you to propose to her."

Zoro looks at Sanji, pissed at him. "It's just a damn book. Give me a break love cook."

____

You entered at the ship's aquarium bar and continued on reading. Hours had passed and you didn't noticed that night had fallen. Zoro found you and you were still glued to reading the book. He sighed and sat beside you. "Still not done reading?"

You only hummed in response. "I just need to finish the book." Zoro smiled and intertwines his fingers to yours and glances at you every now and then. You took notice of your husband's glances.

"You've been stealing glances, babe. Mind sharing?" You asked, still reading the book.

"That book of yours... what are your thoughts about it?" He asks. You paused your reading and looked at him. "You've been reading it for the past week."

"I mean... its good. I just don't understand why the guy haven't proposed to his lover yet. They already proved their love and declared it but..." You sighed. "Its a woman's dream to be proposed by their lover."

Zoro saw a hint of sadness in your eyes as he also remembers that you two haven't made things official. Even though you called each other as husband and wife. You sighed and smiled back at him. "I guess the guy had his reasons. But I just hope he'll take the hint." You continued on reading and Zoro stayed silent as he holds you close. You managed to finish reading the entire book and you just fell asleep in Zoro's arms.

"Guess I should also make my move too." He smiles and kisses on your forehead.

____

A month just passed and Zoro had been acting weird lately. Everytime the ship arrives on a new island, he quickly goes to town. This was nothing like him since he usually doesn't want to venture around town. You tried to ask the crew what's up with him and they also have no clue. You decided to confront him one night.

You climbed up to the Crow's Nest and see Zoro looking out to the sea.

"Zoro, you've been acting weird lately." You said which made him startled a bit. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He replied. "I mean, it is but I don't know."

You approached him and sat beside him. The both of you looked at each other's eyes. "I mean, I guess I messed up."

You were confused at Zoro's statement. "To us?" He nodded. "Babe, you didn't messed up anything."

"I did." He took my hands and bend on one knee. "I should've done this a long time ago." He took out a velvet box and sees a pair of silver rings.

"You've tolerated me and showered me with your love." He looks up to you. "I'm lucky to have you, Y/N. Will you marry me?"

Tears started to fall. You weren't expecting Zoro to propose. You knew he has a different way of showing his love. You tried to talked but you were overwhelmed with emotions. You mouthed to him, 'Yes', he smiled and puts on the ring on your finger and kisses your hand. You hugged him and started to kiss him.

Zoro laughs and hugs you back. "I love you." He whispered to your ear.

"I thought you hated the idea of proposals." You break away from his embrace.

"Well, the crew told me that I should do it properly." He blushed. "I was about to shrug it off, but when you also shared your thoughts. I decided to give it a go."

"But..." Zoro kissed you as you tried to make your rebuttal.

"Woman, you drive me crazy. Just enough to make me propose to you." He laughed and places a kiss on your forehead. "And its worth it."

You smiled and picked up the other ring from the box and slid into your lover's fingers. You smiled as the two of you intertwined your fingers and shared another kiss.

#anime #fanfic #one piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #fluff

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