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redstarwriting · 11 months

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the clash | vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you (sort of), you hating hobie, angry hobie, death, there’s a murder, SORT OF GRAPHIC death scene, injuries, ANGST, a plot twist!, sort of allusions to s*icide

a/n: ok y’all. this one’s a lil shorter, but this is where it starts getting whacky. the way i’m writing this is sort of like if i was writing a comic book, so this is a WHOLE ASS PLOTLINE that i could see being illustrated in my brain. i hope you enjoy, bc it’s about to get WILD. don’t worry tho the fluff will come bc i’m soft(ish)

previous chapter: v. ever fallen in love

now reading: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

next chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

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First thing’s first, Hobie needs to find out where the Prowler of your world might be. He could always call Miles and ask him where his Uncle Aaron lived, but that seems a little… insensitive. If there’s anything he knows about the Prowler, he knows that he’s a thief. So, Hobie snatches your police dispatcher and listens for some burglaries being reported. Getting any type of assistance from the police pains him to his very core, but he’s not about to wake you up and let you know what he’s about to do. He crouches on the railing of your balcony and stares out at your city. He hears calls about someone robbing a Bloodega, not the Prowler. Some kids snuck into a club, also not what he needs. “Come on, pigs,” he mumbles, “give me somethin’ useful here.”

That’s when his ears perk up.

“Reports of someone lurking around of Oscorp Labs, suspicions that it might be the Prowler. Units on standby for Spider-Goth, do not engage with the Prowler.”

Do not engage? What the hell? Isn’t he a villain? Hobie quickly understands what’s going on.

He works with the cops.

Fuck this assshole.

He leaps off your balcony, webbing his way through your city. It may not be his style, necessarily, but it’s a nice place. He can see why you like it so much. He’s actually been webbing through it more than he ever expected to with how much he visits you. He knows deep down that he’s visiting so much only to see you, but outwardly he likes to pretend it’s just to see Shadow. He knows more about your world than Miles, Pav, or Gwen’s which is interesting considering he’s known you only about 3 and a half months. Luckily, you live only a short web swing away from Oscorp, so he can’t get too lost in his thoughts about you and can end this guy faster. He lands on the top of the building and glances around. He notices a perfectly cut hole in the glass a few floors down, so he crawls down and through into the building. It’s dark. He tries to stay as quiet as he possibly can because he knows that’s how you would do it, but damn. He just isn’t good at stealth. And this is factual apparently, because he gets the feeling someone is watching him and just barely jumps out of the way from what looks like a whip covered in spikes. He lands on the ground in a crouched position when he hears a somewhat familiar sounding voice. “Who the hell are you?”

“Can ask you the same question, mate,” Hobie says, “The answer will make this whole thing so much easier.”

“You one of that freak’s friends?”

“Something like that,” Hobie responds. “I take it you’re the Prowler?”

“The one and only,” he says, and Hobie rolls his eyes under his mask. “Mate, do I have some news for you,” he snorts, and the Prowler flicks his wrist. His whip makes some mechanical noise and green and purple light starts shining through it in little places where the metal isn’t completely welded together. Hobie motions to it. “Bet you’re proud a’ that. What are you? A cybergoth? cyborgoth?”

“I’ll ask this one more time. Who are you?”

“Name’s Spider-Man, also known as Spider-Punk,” Hobie says, and the Prowler groans. “There’s another one? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“There’s a lot more than just me and them, mate,” Hobie crouches down, ready to leap out of the way if need be. “Why are you here? Where’s my insect at?”

Hobie doesn’t like the way he called you his. “They’re not yours,” he hisses at him. The Prowler is quiet for a moment before laughing. “Oh. I see. Didn’t know they had a boyfriend,” he says, before whipping towards Hobie. He jumps out of the way in time, but almost doesn’t because boyfriend? Excuse me? “Not their boyfriend!” he yells, landing on the ceiling and glaring down at the Prowler. “No? Then why are you here? I figured it was because of how badly I beat them. Their screams were so entertaining.” Hobie hates this man. He clenches his jaw. “Nowhere near as entertainin’ as yours’ll be, dickhead,” he grunts, jumping down and shooting a web at the Prowlers legs. Luckily, the Prowler wasn’t expecting that, and Hobie is able to yank his legs out from underneath him. He falls hard, and Hobie smirks. “Oh sorry, did that hurt?” Hobie says, and the Prowler growls, standing up faster than Hobie anticipated. “I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first, mate,” Hobie says, anger seeping out of his words. “A spider that willingly kills, huh? Is that why you came to find me?” he chuckles, “I feel like you and I could be good friends,” the Prowler’s chuckle turns into a laugh, and it pisses Hobie off even more. “I’d rather die than be friends with someone like you,” Hobie shoots another web at him, but this time the prowler dodges it. He flicks his wrist, and Hobie feels the whip make contact with his side. He grunts in pain. This must be what got you earlier today. “That can be arranged. You’re even worse than your little partner,” the Prowler says, and Hobie can hear the smirk. He wants to punch that fucking smirk off his stupid face. Hobie stands again, grabbing his guitar. If it’s a fight to the death this fucker wants, it’s a fight he’ll get. And Hobie will not be dying tonight. “Oh, what are you gonna do? Power chord me out of existence?”

“More like beat your ass until you kick it,” Hobie growls, “but if ya want me to do it with style, I’ll play ya a song over your dead body.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be the one dying tonight,” the Prowler says and uses his whip again. Hobie jumps out of the way, and his eyes widen as he dodges two bullets in midair. He lands on the ground and sees that the Prowler’s gauntlets are guns as well. He scoffs. “How much that suit cost ya?”

“Would have cost a lot if I didn’t steal it or invent it myself, but I did,” Hobie dodges two more bullets, but lands directly on the Prowlers whip, causing him to slip and fall. “Luckily my agreement with the police got me the state-of-the-art tech that I needed,” the Prowler confesses. “Fuck,” Hobie grunts, jumping up as quickly as he can. “I’m gonna love telling Spider-Goth I took down their boyfriend.”

“Not their boyfriend!” Hobie yells, jumping out of the way of his whip, and more bullets.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Look, how ‘bout we settle this without any gadgets, eh? See who wins then?” Hobie says, and the Prowler scoffs. “If you can’t beat me at my best, you can’t beat me at my worst.”

“Actually, yeah I can. Dunno if you’re realizin’, but I’m still alive and breathin’,” Hobie says, jumping out of the way of his whip yet again. This time, though, Hobie was prepared. He webs the whip and yanks it as hard as he can. The Prowler is airborne as Hobie swings him to the other side of the room. He lands with a thud, and Hobie webs over to him, doing a flip to land a kick directly to the face. The Prowler manages to get his whip wrapped around Hobie’s ankle and flings him back across the room. He crashes into some glass wall and groans. “As much as I fuck with your ‘fuck the establishment attitude,’ Spider-Goth ain’t gonna be too happy with me if I destroy another buildin’,” Hobie says, shaking his head, hearing some glass fall down next to him. Then, the alarms start blaring. ‘Great, probably broke somethin’ important,’ he thinks before noticing a piece of glass stuck in his arm. ‘Gotta make this quick,’ he thinks, grunting as he pulls the glass out of his arm. “Like I give a fuck what makes them mad,” the Prowler says, running towards Hobie. He leaps out of the way, webbing his leg again and causing him to slip and fall. Hobie then delivers a blow to the side of his face with his guitar, but thanks to his armor, it just hurts him more than anything.

Then Hobie hears hissing. He leaps up onto the ceiling just before a mechanical snake was about to sink its stupid metal fangs into him. “Made yourself friends ‘cause ya ain’t got any? I’d be gutted for you if ya weren’t such a dick,” Hobie says, webbing the snake and jumping off of the ceiling. He does a flip in midair, swinging the snake with him and throwing it at the Prowler. He dodges just in time, but Hobie is able to deliver another blow to him. This time, Hobie goes for his leg. And he hears a crack. Just as he wanted. The Prowler shrieks out in pain.

Hobie lands next to him and bends down. “Hope that hurt, fucker,” he spits, striking his other leg in the same fashion. He dodges the mechanical snake again, grabbing it and using his strength to break it in one squeeze. He throws it to the side and dodges more bullets from the Prowler’s gauntlets. Unsurprisingly, Hobie goes for both arms next. He stops when the man is rendered completely useless, rolling the Prowler over on his back. “I win,” Hobie says, and even he is taken aback at how menacing his voice sounds. The Prowler grunts, “You sure you’re a good guy?” Hobie ignores him and stands beside his head. “I do what I want. Any last words?”

The Prowler is silent for a moment before speaking. “Tell them that their boyfriend would have been able to save–”

Hobie doesn’t let him finish.

In fact, Hobie has trouble stopping even after he knows the deed is done. He didn’t even give Osborn this kind of disrespect. But this guy is different. All Hobie has to do is think about the state of your back, how you still blame yourself for what this motherfucker did to someone you cared so much about, and he’s swinging his guitar again.

He only stops when there’s nothing left to hit.

He breathes heavily, observing what he’s done in the flashing red lights as the alarm blares in the background. He walks back to the window, glancing back at what he’s done before leaping out and webbing away as fast as possible. He hopes no one saw him. Doesn’t want anyone confusing you for him.

He lands on your balcony and sees Shadow waiting for him inside the doors. He opens them and hears the cat meow at him. He leans down, giving him a few scratches, before opening a portal to his world. He goes home, falling on his bed. He groans, feeling the injuries he got for the first time. The adrenaline was keeping him going that entire fight. He gets up, and begins mending his injuries. Halfway through the last set of stitches he has to give himself, he gets a call on his watch from Miguel. He rolls his eyes, ready to get yelled at for, ‘interfering with the fate of the multiverse, yaddah yaddah yaddah blah blah blah boring boring boring.’

“Yeah, what d’ya want?” he answers, finishing up his stitches. “Get to Spider Society immediately.”

“I’m a little busy here, mate can it–”

“NO! It can’t wait, Hobie! Get here now!” Miguel screams, hanging up. Hobie groans. He was supposed to go back to your world so when you wake up, he would be there and explain why he did what he did. He could just go back… but then Miguel might show up in your world. And he sure as hell doesn’t want that. Sighing, he opens a portal to earth-2099, walking through and ending up in Miguel’s multi-screened research room. “Do you know what you did.”

“Killed a bloody villain, what of it?” Hobie asks, already annoyed. Miguel pounds his fist on the desk. “You interfered with (Y/n)’s timeline, Hobart!”

“I was protecting them!”

“YOU CREATED AN ANOMALY!” Miguel screams, and Hobie frowns. “How did I–”

“You killed a villain not a part of your own world, a villain who played a role in a major canon event of (Y/n)’s and now–”

“Would you come off it with the fuckin’ canon events?! Whatever it is will be resolved in one way or another!”

“Hobie you don’t understand–”

“He hurt them! Was I just supposed to stand around and let it happen?!”

“YES! We’re Spider-People it’s part of the job,” Miguel screams, and Hobie rolls his eyes. “I thought you hated them anyways, why did you want to protect them so bad?!” Miguel asks, and Hobie freezes. That… is actually a good question. He sees your injuries in his mind again and his frown deepens. Why did he want to protect you? Surely, he doesn’t… like you? No, he wouldn’t have done what he just did for a just a friend, though he would have still hunted the Prowler down. But the thought of him hurting you drove him to do unspeakable things… which he did. Is it… does he like you romantically?

His eyes widen. It would make sense if he felt that way. He was around you 24/7. These past two days were torture. He likes the way you challenge him. He likes the way you look, he likes the way you speak, he likes– “Hobie. Answer me.” His thoughts get cut off by Miguel, and he swallows hard. “I… I actually can’t answer that right now,” he says, and Miguel frustratedly runs his hand through his hair. “Hobie. What you just did…”

“Is bad, I know–”

“It’s not just bad. It’s detrimental.”

“What do you–”

“Do you know who you killed?” Miguel asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Obviously. I killed the Prowler, probably some variant of Aaron Davis or–”

“The Prowler on Earth-666 is not Aaron Davis,” Miguel says, frowning at him. “Did I kill Miles? You know his voice did sound kind of familiar…” Hobie asks, feeling a little worse about the way he handled the situation. “No. It wasn’t Miles, either.” Hobie looks up at Miguel, who takes a deep breath. “The Prowler on Earth-666 was Hobart Brown.”

Hobie feels like he just got hit with a pound of bricks. This is too much for him to process in one night. “I… what?”

“You just killed yourself.” Hobie shakes his head. “I–”

“He sounded familiar because he was you. Just without the English accent,” Miguel says. “Did (Y/n) know?” he asks, less concerned with the fact that he technically killed himself, and more concerned with the fact that he did all of those things to you. Miguel shakes his head no. “They didn’t. They were never supposed to know,” Miguel affirms, and Hobie lets out a shaky breath. He unclenches the fists he didn’t realize he formed. He feels the indents his nails made on his palms, but he doesn’t care. He was genuinely scared for a minute there. How would you react towards him if you know he was the one torturing you for so long? He nods. “Good.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you, Hobie,” Miguel says, and Hobie looks at him. “You changed a canon event. So far, the world seems stable… but you’re not going to like what will happen next,” Miguel says, turning away from him. Hobie jumps up to the platform Miguel is standing on. “Will (Y/n) be okay?” he sounds a little too frantic, and Miguel glances over at him. “You care too much for them.”

“Bollocks,” Hobie retorts, and Miguel sighs. “I knew you would like them,” he mumbles before pulling up information on your Earth onto the monitors. Hobie sees the Venom symbiote pop up and frowns. You haven’t had to deal with that yet. “The Venom symbiote was meant to bond to Hobart Brown on (Y/n)’s Earth. Now, the symbiote is going to bond to (Y/n), which is bad. This symbiote is unlike the other Venoms. It’s angrier. Deadlier. He would have been the worst enemy they ever had to face. I’ve been mentoring them as a secret way to help them train to be able to defeat him because… well…”

“Cause what?”

“Hobie Brown with the Venom symbiote would have been unstoppable,” Miguel says, turning to Hobie and delivering information that makes a chill run down his spine.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

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#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #hobie #spiderpunk #spiderverse #theclashofthespiderverse

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dykeredhood · 5 months

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The guy praising The Archer is named Mr. Dale? Hmmm…

#naturally Commissioner Gordon & Chief O’Hara don’t understand the reference #shoot a crooked arrow #I’m back to classic Batbat #classic batman #personal #jk the character’s called The Archer #with his friends Big John/Crier Tuck/Maid Marilyn #I love comic book land

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yandere-wishes · 11 months

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ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance.

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her?

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that.

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom.

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing.

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe. They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it.

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile.

"What's the old man saying this time?"

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face.

When did you fall in love with him, again?

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless.

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him.

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money.

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be.

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders.

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right.

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero.

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy.

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference?

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now.

Even though you doubt Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders.

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain.

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask.

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek. Sliding from one universe to another.

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home.

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again.

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind.

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror.

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one.

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian.

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth.

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm.

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit.

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside.

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor.

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses.

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul.

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too.

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions.

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms.

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mooshywrites · 2 months

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Hello hello! May I request a Halsin one shot or companion headcannons of how they would react to you having the flu? I've caught the most recent bug going around and it has absolutely floored me 😞🤧 thank you x

How they take care of you when you’re sick

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A/N ~ I’ve been so under the weather lately as well so I love this sm ;~;

Masterlist

Art commissions

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Astarion ~

~ Astarion was a very begrudging nurse

~ He couldn’t deny the fact that being around a sick person disgusted him on some level, but he couldn’t see you suffering alone

~ It was almost comical to watch him, grimacing as he approached your sniffling bundle of sick

~ He was so brave however, even landing a small kiss on your forehead as he situated you to be more comfortable

~ As a compromise, he settled in across the room, reading to you throughout the day to keep you company

~ In your sleepy and delirious state, you would feel him replacing the wet rag on your head, softly chiding you for having such a strong fever

~ Despite his attitude, you knew he was worried about you, rarely leaving you alone for more than a few minutes at a time

~ “Please get better soon, darling. I’m simply not cut out for such affectionate work”

Halsin ~

~ Halsin was a little lost when you came down with a cold that his healing magic didn’t fix

~ He had no basis of what to do when his magic failed, so it was interesting seeing him try to come up with ways to help

~ At first, all he could think to do was bundle you as tight as he could in a fluffy blanket, holding you close to keep away the chills

~ When that didn’t help your stuffy nose, instead of setting you down to try something else, he simply carried you around as he thought

~ You felt like an overgrown baby, bundled up and tucked tightly against the Druid’s chest

~ Finally, he decided the only remedy would be lots of affection and some very warm peppermint tea

~ He fed you the brew spoonful by spoonful, almost as if he didn’t trust you not to choke on it in your feverish state

~ “Sip slowly, my heart, can’t have you dying on me so suddenly”

Gale ~

~ When you started complaining to Gale that you were coming down with a cold, you expected the wizard to be a doting and affectionate partner

~ You did NOT expect him to become some sort of depraved mad scientist

~ After corralling you to the bed and snuggling you up in a plethora of blankets and giving you a smooch on the top of your head, he beelined it to the kichen

~ Your fever had you flitting in and out of sleep, so you didn’t quite know how much time had passed before Gale had returned

~ It took you a minute to realize what he was carrying, your eyes widening at the ray of various soups he had concocted

~ The rest of the day was spent lazily, your wizard reading to you from your favorite books as he rotated the soups for you to try

~ To your delight, most of them were delicious, though some neared the edge of all things bitter and medicinal

~ Gale’s hand never left your own, squeezing appreciatively as you tried every bowl

~ “Don’t eat too much now, I’m not quite sure how those potions will mix with each other, love.”

Wyll ~

~ Wyll was a nervous wreck when he realized you were sick

~ You had to spend most of the morning calming him down, convincing him not to wrap you up and race you to the nearest healer

~ You assured him it was a minor case of the sniffles, a minor fever that probably wouldn’t last the day

~ After he had finally relaxed, he insisted on waiting on you hand and foot

~ He was ever present, refilling your water and handkerchief before you could put it back on the table

~ The duke even poured a basin of warm water, keeping a hot towel over your feet constantly

~ It was nice being cared for so diligently, despite your hellishly progressing cold

~ When it reached evening and your cold hadn’t subsided, Wyll gently carried you to bed, tutting over you nervously

~ “Whether I have to kidnap you myself, you will be going to a healer tomorrow, my sweet.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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sleepyangelkami · 2 months

Text

PERVERTED I c.grimes

☆ WORD COUNT - 3.3K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - you and carl had been best friends for as long as he can remember but lately he's feeling new emotions towards you, ones he doesn't think are too good for a girl like you. as if the world had been listening to his sins, they let him stumble upon your panties, left idly in your laundry basket.

☆ WARNINGS - smut, pervert!carl, innocence kink, corruption kink, masterbation, dom!carl, sub!reader, dirty talk, wet (day)dream, kinda manipulative carl, upskirting, aged up characters, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

you still remembered the day you sat in your dad's farmhouse, surrounded by your family when you heard blood curdling screams from a man out front. you were young then, maybe just after turning eleven when you escaped out the front door, seeing a man carrying what appeared to be his son in his arms, covered in blood.

that was the day you met your soon to be, best friend.

over the years, you and carl grew close. some would say you were best friends, that was what you'd say too. you grew up with all older sisters so you didn't really have anyone your age growing up. not until you met carl and you knew you could trust him with anything. he always told you so. told you that you need no one if not him.

eventually you landed yourself in alexandria. with everything that had happened back at the farmhouse, then at the prison, then the death of your dear sister beth, maggie decided it would be best if you went to live with her and glenn. so that was exactly what you did.

alexandria was unlike anywhere you'd ever been your entire life.

it was blissfull, peaceful.

carl loved alexandria too. it had everything he could possibly need. his own room, his own comics, posters... you. he'd been sitting idly on his bed, flipping through a comic book and not so much as taking notice to the absolute mess in his room. he usually got like this on weekends, letting the room go absolutely horrid with a mess. he knew by any minute now you'd come stalking through the door, brows furrowing at the untidiness of his room.

knock !

ah, there you were.

carl tried to fight back his smile as he tossed the comic book to the side. "come in!" he yelled, flipping himself onto his back as he'd been laying on his stomach.

with no surprise, you stalked through the door. your lips were pressed into a smile as wide as anything, pretty white dress sat across your figure. it made carl remember just how innocent you were to the world around you. you had no idea of what thoughts ran through men's minds when they saw you. he had an overwhelming fear to protect you from it. but if he did, he wasn't too sure if he could protect you from him, too. "hi!" you practically beamed as you came in through the bedroom door.

"hey." situating himself up on the bed. "how was work?"

you worked in the kindergarten near your house. you'd always liked kids, having a certain bond with them that no one could quite explain. you liked taking care of them, you liked playing with them. judith was one of the many you took care of. of course, you were only eighteen so you didn't take care of them full time, you worked with another one of the staff members. "good!" seating yourself on the bed. "i got off early so i helped carol with her pie."

carl couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. his little baker. "that's good, baby."

baby.

to some, that would seem absurd to call your best friend. it would seem like the time of thing that you'd call your girlfriend or your boyfriend. that was what your new friend ron had told you when he'd heard it himself. that night you asked carl if it was odd, if the names he was calling you truly were weird. nobody else called you those names but you supposed you'd never questioned it for how long he'd been doing it. he'd shrugged his shoulders, telling you not to listen to ron and that it was, in fact, normal but if ron or anyone else had called you such names that you should tell carl immediately.

you'd only nodded your head, brain sort of scrambled.

"are you still okay for tomorrow?" you questioned, eyes scanning his face.

every saturday was the same. he'd come over to yours or you'd come over to his. tomorrow was scheduled to be your house, carl was supposed to come over and you'd have your saturday sleep over, filled with movies, junk food, really anything a teenager could get their hands on in an apocalypse. "'course." he practically scoffed out.

it was a tradition, one that could never be broken. "okay." you grinned, eyes flickering across the room before your smile slowly faltered. "carl, your room's a mess!"

carl only groaned in response, picking back up the comic and landing it on his face. he began arguing, telling you to leave it but you were already beginning to clean around the room, shocked by the state it had been in.

knowing he couldn't convince you to stop, he peeled the comic book off his eyes to take a look at you. and that was when he saw it. you bent down to pick up something that had been tossed idly on the floor. he watched as your skirt rode up, giving him a view of pretty pink fabric, covering what he so desperately needed to see.

instantly, his eyes widened slightly.

he'd thought about you like this before. it was only natural for a boy who grew up with you by his side for what felt like his entire life. he had you looking up at him with those doe eyes all the time not to mention the way you paraded around in dresses and skirts as if no one could see.

he slipped the comic book down onto his crotch, covering his obvious hard on. perhaps he was the problem. perhaps the problem was the way his eyes stared at the place he should have been looking away from.

but his feelings had been so... strong lately. it was like something had snapped inside of him and he couldn't stop thinking about it. about you.

more importantly, the sounds you'd make as he slammed his dick inside of you, or how wet you'd get over the simplest of things.

after all, he was your best friend, he'd seen you in many ways. he'd noticed it before, when he was touching you a little too much and suddenly you couldn't get comfortable, the smallest of whimpers leaving your lips as you cuddled into him, thinking the feeling would go away.

he knew exactly what he'd been doing.

his day dreams were cut off by rick entering the room, without knocking. that was how he always knew when it was you at his door, the only one in the world who knew how to knock.

you'd gone home some time earlier, leaving him with his impending thoughts. he'd tried not to think about it, about you, truly. but the way he'd seen your pretty panties lining your clothed pussy earlier had practically sent him over the edge.

"hey." rick walked inside the room, glancing around. "your room looks clean." clothes folded away, nothing thrown on the floor, no cups or dishes sat on the desks. "so i take it y/n was here."

"yeah." carl sat up against the headboard of his bed. "did you need something?" because rick didn't just make his way to his room for no good reason. i mean, he was a busy man.

he scratched his beard. "yeah, was gonna ask because a couple of us are going on a supply run tomorrow and i was wondering if you wanted to come." tomorrow. saturday. you and carl's night.

he contemplated.

the way his mind had been moving lately, perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea to have a sleepover with you just yet. he needed some time to himself, to cool off. he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if you cuddled up against him the way you usually did, your legs hooked around one of his, sighing softly when you had no idea what he was doing to you.

maybe it would be better off if he called tomorrow night off. it was only one saturday, right? "yeah, yeah sure lemme just run over to y/n's and let her know."

rick was somewhat curious when it came to you and carl. you always looked so happy next to him, big eyes lighting up while he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. he'd also seen you two going through the trenches, even when carl was covered in mud and blood, some walkers, some human, some even his own, he'd still pull you aside, grasping your arm and holding you to the side, making sure nothing got to you, not even one of the group members. he wondered sometimes, just what was going on between you two. sometimes, he thought you guys were dating in secret, behind his back which he wouldn't be all too angry about. but there was a longing look in his son's eyes, one that told him he didn't have her to himself, not yet.

"oh, well if you have plans―"

carl was quick to cut the man off, picking up the jacket you'd folded and left on his chair. "no, no it's fine." slipping his arms in the holes. "she won't mind."

he wondered if you would.

surely, you were bound to be upset. you loved the saturday sleepovers. he'd imagine that you'd give him those doe eyes, showing just how upset you were but you'd shrug it off with a little smile, telling him to be careful. you always wanted so desperately to please him. he could see this, he adored you for it.

across alexandria, carl knocked against your front door. he waited momentarily before doing the same thing again. when he received no response, he made it his business to slide the unlocked door opened. he called out for glenn and maggie across the hallway, receiving, yet again, no response.

then his feet made it towards the stairs. he found himself walking around until finally, he stood in front of your open bedroom door. "sweetheart?" he called out, this time much softer.

from the door at the end of the hallway, he heard the response. "one minute!" the yell was from you, behind the door. "'m in the shower!" you had this weird thing about you where you showered multiple times a day, scrubbing your skin raw. sometimes you thought you'd never scrub off the mud that covered you from when you lived on the roads. carl noted that when he'd see your arms slightly red after the shower, not from the hot water. but he never mentioned it.

"okay!" he yelled back, now suddenly aware of the running water. "I'll be in your room!"

he heard a muffled 'okay' from behind the door before entering your room.

the walls were baby pink, everything else being a mixture of white and pale colours. what could you say, you were a sucker for pastels.

the room was like it had always been. he'd been in there a thousand times before, whether it was for a sleepover, for a mere five minutes to pop in when he was on his break or reading a comic book to you while sat perched on your bed, or holding you while you cried.

the point was, carl knew you through everything in your entire life. this room was practically his too. the same way his own was practically yours.

one thing was for sure, there was enough of each other's clothes in the other's room for it to be considered one another's.

speaking of clothes, his eyes snapped over to the basket of clothes that sat idly on your bed, waiting to be thrown in the wash. he assumed that's what you were going to do when you were out of the shower.

his eyes caught a glimpse of one of the shirts he owned. he knew you took it. rolling his eyes, he picked it out of the basket, stepping backwards as a couple pieces of clothes left.

"fucking idiot." he mumbled before picking the pieces up, placing them back inside the dirty basket. then his eyes caught that familiar pink cotton material.

he swore he held his breath.

the panties you'd worn earlier, clad across the part he so desperately wished to see. he couldn't help the way his hand reached down before standing up. every other piece of clothing, he'd tucked back into the basket. but this particular piece of clothing, he held it for a moment.

was it so wrong? to think of your innocent best friend in such a way? had you ever... thought about him like that?

questions swarmed his mind before you entered the room.

he spun around, tucking the garment into his back pocket. he used both his hands to lift the flannel back over his jeans, making sure the garment couldn't be spotted at all, even if someone had looked from behind.

"you okay?" you questioned, now dressed in a pale yellow shorts and a large sweater. it was getting dark outside, he noticed. probably your pijamas.

he watched as your hair dripped onto the floor beneath you. "yeah, yeah, i... needed to talk to maggie about something." he didn't know why he was lying. he really did need to tell you something but his mind was in scrambles, thinking of the piece of fabric in his back pocket, he couldn't possibly respond right.

"oh." you faltered slightly. "well, she's not here but―"

you frowned at how quickly he cut you off. "that's fine, i'll just tell her tomorrow." he crossed your bedroom, passing you to walk out the door.

you followed in confusion, wondering why he'd been so eager to run away. "well, i'll tell her you came by." wondering what was up with him at all. carl never acted like this.

suddenly, the boy swung around. "no, no don't tell her." waving you off. your brows were knit together in utter confusion. "i don't think i wanna talk about it with her anymore so... night!" practically racing out the front door and slamming it in his leave.

you stood stumped at your front door, confusion evident in just your eyes. "night carl..." mumbling before turning around, wondering what all of that had been about.

the sun had set when carl finally took the garment out again.

he knew it was wrong, he had to know. at least subconsciously, anyway because he waited until everyone else in the house had fallen asleep until he took them out. at this point, he'd been dressed down to just his boxers. it was late, time for the sleep he knew he wouldn't get. not when that image of you, bent over, was burned into his mind.

the mere thought had his hand inching downward while his other held the pretty panties in his hands. he stopped himself.

this is wrong. he thought. so fucking wrong.

but he felt so tempted.

the panties sat in his hands were the same ones you'd wore today, the same ones he'd seen you bent over in. he couldn't stop thinking about it, whether his hand continued down or not.

what you didn't know, couldn't hurt you.

surely, you'd never find out about something like this. he was safe, for now. his hand inched down, tracing just beneath his boxers before pulling out his length. he felt himself groan at the mere touch. he'd been hard since you left, it hurt. and he knew if you were here, you'd do anything to make sure he wasn't in pain.

even if he meant the blasted thing he was about to do.

his hand wrapped around his dick, he breathed out before pumping it once, then again, then again. "fuck." he breathed out, his head falling back and his mouth falling open.

he'd touched himself a thousand times before, for as long as he could remember, his mind always traced back to you. it was impossible to escape your grace. but there was something about holding your panties in his hands that made him feel even better.

as wrong as it may have been, he couldn't stop himself now.

if he was going to do it, he was going to go all in.

aimlessly, he used his other hand to prop your panties against his cock. they fell so loosely around his length causing him to groan. with his right hand, he held onto the panties before pumping his cock over and over again. he groaned, loudly enough before practically shoving his face in the pillows beneath his head.

"fuck, fuck, fuck..." his hands were big, long slender fingers wrapping around him. he could imagine you trying to take it. he'd imagine he'd have to coax you, gently running them up and down your thighs before pushing them inside. you'd be so wet, gushing over his fingers.

then he imagined you taking his dick, an impossible task.

he could imagine your pretty virgin hole, so tight. he couldn't even imagine you taking your own fingers let alone his dick. your walls would be so tight around him, clenching as he pulled every last moan out of you. you'd whine and writhe against him, it all becoming too much too quick.

and he wouldn't care. "take it, take it." carl mumbled into the air of his bedroom, eyes shut and imagining you while his hand never stopped its constant attack on his own dick. his hand sped up, so quick that he could barely breathe. "hah, good girl." his voice breaking, slightly higher pitched. "my good girl, mhm, good girl." breaths falling from his lips like chanting prayers.

it was wrong, to think of you like this. he knew that but he was too damn perverted.

he'd imagined what he could have done this morning, you bent down and picking something off the floor. he could have grasped your hips, holding them in place and peeking the skirt of the dress above your hips, getting the view he really wanted.

he'd imagined peeling the fabric of your panties away, getting a view at what he needed the most. the same fabric that was sat around his cock.

he couldn't stop the noises that left his lips, trying so hard to stay quiet but the way your panties felt against him was enough to have his hips rolling even if they hadn't wanted to. it was like you were there in front of him. he could ram into you as he pleased, holding your hips close as you sat on top of him. but he'd do all the work, of course, anything to coax those little whines out of you.

the many times he'd pulled at your hair for a reaction or rubbed your thighs gently, every murmur of a whimper that would leave your lips. he imagined it a thousand times louder now.

he couldn't help himself, flipping over so he was sat propped up on his knees but his hips thrusting forward into the little material.

the head of his dick hit against the mattress with every thrust, your panties wrapped up in his fingers and his cock.

he felt a sudden familiar feeling build up in his stomach. "fuck, baby, feel s'good." practically pussy drunk by now, despite the fact he hadn't even touched your pussy yet. "shit, jus' like that, c'mon, sweetheart."

"please, carl!" he could hear your whiny voice now. "touch me, please, please."

your voice, albeit in his head, was enough to send him over the edge.

he came with his eyes closed and mouth open, a moan falling from his lips. not just any moan, your name. he felt creamy liquid gush out of his dick, landing all over the pink panties that lay in his hands.

he thrust his dick over and over until he ran dry. then, he collapsed with a pant. his lungs were burning, they were raw and his head fell against the linen pillows. he barely so much as glanced down to your stained panties that wrapped around his fingers.

one thing was for sure, he needed to get to this damn saturday sleepover. fuck the run.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

369 notes · View notes

astermath · 1 year

Text

“So? Whatever.”

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader

summary: The preppy girl that just about everyone admires has more in common with Dave than he expects. He doesn’t quite know how to handle this information, but it excites him nonetheless.

word count: 2K

♡ LANDING PAGE♡

notes: I haven’t written something like this in a good while, so please bear with me if I’m rusty or there are some mistakes here and there. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, I tried to be as non descriptive as possible about her appearance. I do love writing a bit of a mean reader like this, but don’t worry, she’ll warm up to him. This fic takes place in senior year for age purposes, I’m pretty much fully ignoring the timeline of the film. Comments and/or requests are super welcome btw!! Hope you enjoy!! <3

(ps this will get a part two don’t worry xx)

To Dave, girls like you were unreachable. You could hear about them, you could listen to them talk in the hallways, sneak a glance their way… But talk to them? Any single one of their group would consider that social suicide. The only reason any of them even looked in his direction was to ask him to do their homework. So why in god’s name were you at his locker? Why were you acknowledging his existence at all?

“What’s that?” You leaned against the locker next to his, pointing at the piece of a comic book panel he’d taped to the door. It pictured Spider-man putting on his mask for the first time, something Dave looked to when he needed some motivation for the day.

He struggled to get basically any words out, still not fully registering that you’re within such close range. He could smell you… God that was really weird to think about, he felt like a creep already, but you just… Smelled really nice. Like vanilla, mixed with something sweet. He realized he hadn’t answered your question yet and was just staring in front of him like a weirdo. “O-Oh, yeah, that’s uh… That’s Spider-man. It’s this… This superhero I like.” He adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep his hands busy.

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Duh, I know who Spider-man is, please.” You couldn’t help but think he was doing anything to avoid looking into your eyes, as if you’d turn him to stone if he dared to do so. Which, yes, was exactly how he felt.

“I wanted to know which comic that was from. The art style looks a lot different than the ones I’ve seen.” Now this part was pretty much making his teenage brain short circuit. He probably didn’t hear that right, there’s no way a popular girl like you read comics, right? This had to be some kind of elaborate joke, like you were trying to pull a prank on him by making him ramble about his favorite superheroes. However, he wasn’t close minded. Even if this was a prank, at least you were talking to him, right?

“Yeah, sorry, I uh… Forget he’s a pretty popular character sometimes. This one’s from a collector’s edition. One of the pages was kinda falling apart so I just… Taped my favorite panel to my locker.” Again, he tried to look anywhere else, but it felt rude not to be making eye contact with the person who’s trying to give you a chance at a conversation. His eyes met yours and he realised he hadn’t ever actually seen you up close like this. You were really pretty, he knew that, but he never noticed these particular things about you before. The way your hair framed your features so nicely, the little beauty mark that seemed to be somehow perfectly placed, or the way a dimple appeared on your right cheek when you smiled.

“Hopefully you didn’t pay too much for it, those things cost like, a fortune.” You followed, snapping him out of his haze as you twirled a piece of hair between your index and middle finger. Dave was much taller than you, so you had to look up to match his gaze, which was already hard since he kept avoiding your eyes. You never realized how much he’d matured since freshman year. He looked pretty cute… Really cute, actually.

“S-So, uhm, I really don‘t wanna be rude, but…” He closed his locker before looking at you with a rather awkward expression. “Why are you here? Why are you… talking to me?” Honestly, not an unjustified question. Dave was often the subject of bullying, and the popular girls clique made no exception to that rule. He doesn’t remember you specifically doing anything, although... He has a vague memory of you being in the car with those jocks when they threw spoiled milk at him.

“What? A girl can’t talk to her fellow classmate? This is a free country, you know.” You pretended to be a little hurt by his assumption that you were probably just here to make fun of him. In all honesty he was still a little dumbfounded by this whole ordeal, and the fact that half the people that passed you were giving you two weird looks really wasn’t helping. “You know I sit behind you in English, right?” He responds by nodding. He is painfully aware of this fact, as your friends had expressed their empathy for you when your seat was assigned behind him, though you honestly didn’t mind. And also the fact that he got a fair share of gossip from you and your best friend always whispering to each other. “Well,” you flipped a bit of hair over your shoulder. “I saw you had a copy of Birth of Venom in your backpack, and I... Wanted to ask if I could borrow it...” You looked to the side, muttering the last part. As much as you tried not to care what people thought, you did have a bit of a reputation that you were stuck to. Liking comics wasn’t for you, you were a cheerleader, you went to parties, you liked shopping. Okay, you secretly liked comics.

Dave looked at you with a puzzled expression. “I-I’m sorry, can you repeat tha--”

“Can I borrow your stupid comic or what?” You interrupted him, clearly looking a bit embarrassed.

“Oh!” His face was getting hot, this conversation was lasting way longer than he imagined it would. Usually he’d have his face shoved into his locker by now. “U-Uhm, sure! It’s a bit expensive, but... Well, just don’t damage it, please.” He took his backpack off his shoulder and was about to pull it out before you grabbed his arm.

“Not here you dumbass! Just, like... Ugh, meet me at my car after school’s over, you can hand it to me then.” You were acting like this was some kind of illegal drug deal, but this truly was something important to you. Your dad had already made it very clear that he didn’t want his little girl becoming some kind of tomboy and have her mind run rampant with superhero stories. Especially with this Kickass guy running around...

The bell rang and you silently thanked it for doing so. “Look, I gotta go. White Corvette, by the vending machines.” You walked past him, and a waft of that lovely vanilla scent hit his nose. He damn near melted into the floor when your arm brushed against his. “Later, Lizewksi.”

You leaned against the hood of your car, scrolling on your phone as you waited for the brunette to show up. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that you were just meeting him in secret like this. It’s not like you were embarrassed to be seen with him, or that you didn’t like him, it’s just that liking comics and superheroes was just about the dorkiest thing anyone could be into. Especially with Kickass running around, and, well, kicking ass, people would probably be thinking you’d be into this whole vigilante business yourself. Sure, you thought it was cool that people were doing something about all the crime, but you’d rather die than mess up your hair beating some thug’s ass.

You noticed someone approaching and noticed that Dave wasn’t alone. With a bit of a disgusted expression, you gestured to his two sidekicks. “I don’t remember inviting the entire geek entourage to come see me. This isn’t some kinda meet and greet, you know.” Todd and Marty seemed, just like Dave before, a little shocked that you were talking to them.

“S-Sorry, they just uh...” Dave began.

“We didn’t believe him.” Todd followed.

“...believe what?” You questioned, crossing your arms.

“That a chick like you was into comics.” Marty said, before Todd smacked him on the back of the head. “Dude! Don’t say it like that!”

You got a bit flustered, and looked at Dave. “You told them!? What the fuck, Lizewski?”

“I-I’m sorry!” He held up his hands. “They were asking me what we were talking about, and... I panicked.” They were more so insinuating that he was flirting with her, and he didn’t want that rumor going around, in case your jock brother caught wind of that and beat his ass for flirting with his sister.

You sighed, looking down and pinching the bridge of your nose before waving your hand out in a dismissive manner. “It’s... whatever, just leave. Before I change my mind and throw a bitch fit.” His two friends gave him a suggestive look before heading out. “Those two better not snitch or I’ll cut off their shrimps.” He nodded, just a little intimidated by the threat.

He got out his backpack and handed you the comic. “I’m still surprised I uh... I never knew you were into this stuff.” His breath hitched in his throat when your finger brushed over his as you took it from him. You flipped through it, keeping your eyes on the pages.

“Yeah, well... There’s a lot you don’t know about me, as much as I’m sure you guys love to assume.” You realized you hadn’t even told him your name, so you looked up at him and held out your hand, introducing yourself. You know, out of courtesy.

“I-I know your name, but uhm... I’m Dave.” Your hand felt so soft, your beautifully manicured fingers being a real juxtaposition to his. His hand was much bigger and rougher than yours. You wondered why his hand was so calloused anyways... He didn’t look like he did many sports.

“Wait... Your name isn’t Lizewski?” You chuckled. “Christ, my bad... I always thought that was just your first name.” Your feeling of guilt for the boy before you flared up a bit again. He was being really nice to you, offering you something personal of his that he probably spent a pretty penny on. And you didn’t even know his actual name before. No wonder some people thought you were a bit of a bitch, you thought to yourself.

“Hey, uhm... I know you got a bunch of these, and my dad would kill me if he knew I was reading them. He hates vigilantes, and he thinks reading comics will get me into the whole thing. Stupid, I know, but... He takes it surprisingly seriously.” You put the comic away carefully. “So I have a proposition for you.”

His eyebrows rose a little. A proposition, alright. No big deal. Could be literally anything though.

“Come to my house this Saturday, bring a bunch of these, and I’ll tell my dad you’re coming to tutor me for physics or something.” You tilted your head a little, your locks falling gently over your shoulders. “I’ll pay you. Money’s not a problem. It’ll be like I’m renting them from you.”

He thought for a second, but in all honesty... How was this not a total win/win situation? He got to be in a pretty girl’s room, read comics with her, talk about them and make money. What kind of idiot would say no to that? “Yeah! Sounds good to me, uh... What do you want me to...” His words trailed off as you pulled out a pen and reached for his hand, writing a string of numbers on the back of it.

“I’ll text you the address, and which series I like. I’ll let you do the picking. Oh, and Dave?”

“Y-Yeah?” He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This is the closest you’ve ever stood to him.

Your grip on his hand tightens, and you look up at him with a death stare. “Not a word to anyone about this.” You followed with a cutesy smile. “Alrighty?” You let go of his hand and put your stuff away before pulling out your car keys.

Dave stands frozen in place, a faint blush already spread across his cheeks. He swore you were going to be the death of him. He looked down for a second and realized that what you wrote down wasn’t just some random numbers. It was your phone number. It all just suddenly felt very real to him, he’d never gotten a girl’s number before. And you were just about the last person he’d expect it from too.

You got in your car and turned on your engine. “See ya on Saturday, Lizewski! Don’t be late or I’ll kill you!” You smile, before driving off at a totally normal and acceptable speed.

He gave a nervous wave before he looked back down at his hand. There was a little heart scribbled behind the phone number. It probably meant nothing.

But boy did it make his heart flutter.

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icyminghao · 11 months

Text

book-club for three two

pairing: jealous!mingyu x gn!reader genre: fluff, drabble word count: 0.6k warning(s): none

summary: mingyu comes back home and just wants your attention, but you seem to be too focused on reading to pay him any mind…

“Baby, I’m home!” Mingyu practically hollers as soon as the front door opens. He hears you let out a soft hum from the living room and turns to the direction of the sound to see you sitting cross-legged on the couch, a book in your hands as you read intently. Mingyu’s heart does a somersault at the ever-endearing scene before him, and he practically rushes to your side, taking a seat beside you on the couch as he stares at you wordlessly.

You glance up from your book for a split second to raise your eyebrow at him, but return back to reading almost immediately, to Mingyu’s dismay. Huffing a little, he wraps his arms around your left arm and rests his chin on your shoulder, willing you to look at him. Your attention remains focused on the book you’re reading, however, and Mingyu suddenly feels the urge to take the book from your hands and throw it across the room.

“Baby…” Mingyu whines, shaking your arm as he does. You let out a hum in response, eyes still trained on your book.

“I’m right here!” Mingyu whines again, leaning his face closer to yours as he pouts at you. Your resolve crumbles as you find yourself giggling at his antics, and you finally give in to his neediness as you close your book (not before bookmarking it with a pressed daisy from a bouquet Mingyu gave you for your anniversary) and place it beside you on the couch, your attention (finally) on Mingyu.

“Sorry, Gyu, it’s just that I agreed to finish reading the book today so I could discuss it with Wonwoo tomorrow,” you apologise for not giving him your attention, and Mingyu scrunches his face comically.

“Baby! You were ignoring me this whole time for Wonwoo?” he grumbles, unwrapping his arms from yours to cross them over his chest, letting out a “hmph!” in the process that just makes him look like the cutest puppy you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“I was not ignoring you for Wonwoo, I was trying to finish the book!” you find yourself gradually breaking out into a whipped smile, absolutely endeared at Mingyu’s antics. “Besides, you were the one who started this two-people book club so I could have someone to talk to about the books I read!”

“And now I’m starting to regret it!” Mingyu huffs, taking both your hands in his, “Talk to me about your books instead, not him, okay?”

“You’re so silly, Mingyu,” you coo, removing your hands from his grasp to pinch his puffed cheeks, “will you understand what I’m talking about? You know you don’t like reading.”

“I’ll read! I’ll read for you,” Mingyu replies without a hint of hesitation, and your heart blooms with love as you wonder just how lucky you were to have landed yourself someone as sweet and whipped as Mingyu is.

“Hm…” you pretend to ponder on his suggestion, and Mingyu’s pout only grows, much to your amusement. “What about Wonwoo? He won’t have anyone to talk about books with.”

“I’ll find someone else for him!” Mingyu rebuts, completely resolved to end this book-club that he ironically started.

“Or,” you let out a sly grin, “we could join him. Form a book-club trio.”

“No!” Mingyu uncharacteristically raises his voice suddenly and winces upon realising it, before adjusting to a softer volume, “We’ll form a book-club, but just you and me. Wonwoo can go find someone else.”

You burst out laughing, completely in love with the man before you, pouting and making himself small in all his six-foot glory. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to this arrangement.”

Mingyu breaks into a dopey grin, leaning forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

“So, what’s the book you were reading about?”

a/n: back from the dead with a little smth that’s completely self-indulgent. i love mingu ☹️

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia

masterlist

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forever-rogue · 11 months

Note

hi miss bee 🐝💛 would you pls bless us w more joel x wife!reader 👉👈

since it was joel being protective of reader maybe this time it can be the other way around where he comes home from a patrol and is slightly injured and she makes a huge fuss over him and then tries to o make him feel better through some sugar and spice 😋🫶

AN | Well, well, well how the turntables have…anyway, I love this concept so much! 💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You paced around the kitchen as you waited for him to walk through the door. You’d already been waiting…and waiting and waiting. You’d done so much that you’d made enough baked goods to feed a small army; it was something to keep your mind and hands occupied.

“Holy shit,” Ellie’s big, brown eyes went comically wide as she stepped into the kitchen and looked at the mountain of cookies and muffins and breads. You turned to face her with a guilty little expression on your face, “that is a lot of food.”

“I…yeah,” you admitted sheepishly, “I was going to go and give some stuff to the neighbors…I needed a distraction.”

“Joel?” she asked hopefully, her eyebrows perking up as you leaned against the counter and shook your head.

“Nothing yet,” you sighed, trying to keep all the bad thoughts and worries at bay, “I’m sure he’ll be back any time. Soon.”

“Of course he will,” she promised, wanting to keep you from panicking while trying to convince herself of the same thing. The truth was that she too was worried about how long he’d been gone. He should have been back two days - he was almost never late, “Joel’s a stubborn old man. He’s coming home no matter what.”

“He is and he will,” you agreed, “I just…I want him home.”

“Me too,” she confessed quietly, “me too.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Long after Ellie had gone to bed, and you should have as well, you were still sitting on the couch. Waiting. After every couple of minutes, you’d look at the door as though you were somehow going to will him to come home. You’d read the same page of your book about ten times, but still weren’t fully sure what was happening.

But then - as you were almost dozing off - you heard it. The unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked and then slowly opening. You tossed your book to the side and jumped, scampering to the door. When it fully opened you found yourself face to face with your husband.

“Joel,” despite your best efforts, tears were rolling down your cheeks, ‘you’re home.”

“You’d never get rid of me that easily,” he smiled, a tired and crooked thing, “hi baby.”

“Oh my love,” you threw yourself into his arms and held onto him tightly, melting into his familiar body, and enveloping yourself in his scent, “I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve been…”

You trailed off as you pulled and looked him over. You could see the grimace on his face, despite his best efforts. It was then that you noticed the bruising and cuts on his cheek. He could sense you growing worried and shook his head, “baby-”

“What happened?” you stood in front of him and reached up to take his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb over his cheek, “who did this? Where else are you hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, but he knew that you weren’t going to relax. That wasn’t your nature; you were caring and nurturing and always fiercely protective of those you loved, “I’m not that hurt.”

“I don’t believe you, Joel Miller,” you reached for his hand and gently pulled him over to the couch. You reached for the hem of his sweater and silently looked for permission to take it off. He gave you a small nod and you tenderly pulled off his sweater, and set it to the side. Your frown only grew when you noticed all the bruising on his left side, “what happened? I hugged - oh no. I squeezed you so hard. Did I make it worse?”

“I did this to myself,” he insisted as he reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I tried and fell - landed too hard on my side. Just a clumsy old fool.”

You huffed lightly - you were still worried. Nothing that he could say would change that, “has one of the medics or anyone taken a look at you? Are you sure-”

“I’m sure,” he tugged you softly towards him onto the couch and you reluctantly sat down next to him, “nothing permanent and nothing terrible. Just a lot of bruising and soreness and some cuts. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

“You know that I’m still going to worry,” you huffed, making a small sound of surprise as he shuffled you so you were perched on his lap. You delicately ghosted your fingers along his ribs, sighing softly at the lavender haze on his skin, “you’ll tell me if it hurts?”

“Of course I will,” he set his hands on your hips and gave them a gentle squeeze, “baby, let me just enjoy being back with you. Let me enjoy you.”

And you almost gave into him - almost. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and shook your head. Your husband groaned heavily as he tossed his head back dramatically, “nuh uh, Joel Miller. Not right now.”

He was a good man through and through, so while he was going to be dramatic, he was going to respect your wishes. He sighed softly as he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you melted under his reverent gaze, “I’m glad you’re home, my love.”

“I will always come home to you,” he promised and you knew it was true. It still didn’t mean, however, that you weren’t going to take care of him. Oh no; as long as he was hurt, you were going to take care of him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel was fast asleep next to you, snoring softly and bundled up in blankets. You, meanwhile, weren't able to sleep and were sitting up and leaning against the headboard, an unopened book on your lap. You were too busy worrying about Joel, and if the extent of his injuries were more than he was letting on.

You'd made him take a long, hot bath before getting into bed, taking care of his cuts and scratches. There wasn't much you could do for the bruising besides be gentle with him.

"Baby," he murmured softly, eyes still closed as he rolled onto his side, "sleep."

You couldn't help the small snort of amusement that escaped your lips. He knew you way too well. The book was tossed onto the bedside table as you turned the light off and snuggled up to him. He wasted no time in throwing an arm around your waist and pulling into his body. He could feel you tensing up with effort to keep from hurting him.

"Relax," he insisted through kisses pressed to your shoulder, "'m alright."

"Promise?"

"Swear."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You slipped out of the house before either Joel or Ellie were awake. You pulled on some clothes and walked over to Tommy Miller's house, going over the conversation you planned on having over and over again in your head. You didn't want to be over the top or dramatic but you also felt instinctively drawn to protect your loved ones.

You knocked on his door and rocked back and forth on your heels, trying to remain calm. When Tommy opened the door a few moments later you reached for his hand and pulled him onto the porch light.

"Hey - hi- what's up?" He looked confused for a moment before noticing the worried expression on your face.

"What happened to Joel?" And yeah, everything you'd practiced in your head faded into non-existence. You sounded as hysterical as you felt, "he c-came home and he was hurt."

"It's okay," he put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a gentle squeeze, "I had him checked out as soon as we got back."

"He's -"

"A stubborn old fool," Tommy insisted as you couldn't help but chuckle at him, "but he's okay. The steps to the cabin on our route were slippery and he fell. He wasn't paying enough attention and down he went. That's all."

"And you're not lying to me?" You visibly relaxed when he nodded. At least now you had the reassurance that nothing was seriously wrong, "good. I know I probably seem -"

"Protective," he finished for you as you smiled softly, "loving. That's all."

"Yeah," you agreed, "thank you, Tommy. Thank you for keeping him safe."

"He does just as much for me. Besides, we're all family," he gently nudged your side as you laughed softly, "but you're welcome."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you made it back home, you heard commotion in the kitchen and were met with the smell of coffee and delicious foods. Your heart kicked into overdrive as you almost ran into the kitchen, expecting to find the worse but instead -

“Hey baby,” Joel wore a lazy smile as he looked at you from over the cup of coffee he was drinking while Ellie was busy making pancakes. You relaxed sightly at the sight of your family, “what’s wrong?”

“I…” you ran a hand through your hair in exasperation before shaking your head fondly at them, “Joel, you should be resting!”

“Hey,” his voice turned soft as he put his coffee mug down and stepped over to you and touched your cheek gently. You pouted at him, and if you weren’t so upset he might have laughed and kissed it away, “it’s okay, I’m okay - I’m right here. Please don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re all…bruised up,” you looked at him with big doe eyes and he sighed wistfully, “I don’t want it to get worse.”

“I know,” he promised, “I know it’s all out of love. I’m sore, but that’s all. It already feels better just being back home with you.”

“I like to worry,” you admitted as your face grew warm and he brushed his knuckles along your jaw, “I can’t help it.”

“And that’s okay,” he insisted, “I love you, baby. You know you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Or me!” Ellie chirped from the stove, a bemused little smile on her face.

“I love you yoo,” you went over to the young girl and gave her a tight hug which she pretended to abhor but you knew she loved it. You turned your attention back to Joel and gingerly hugged him too. Joel responded with a bone-crushing hug that had you breathless and giggling, “Joel!”

“It’s alright,” he leaned down and kissed you softly, stealing away all of your worries and fears, “promise.”

“Okay,” and finally, a real giggle bubbled up as you leaned up to kiss him in return, “I love you too, stubborn old man.”

“But I’m all yours, baby.”

“And I’m yours too.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

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