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gremlingottoosilly · 1 month

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Maid-up problems (Konig x maid!Reader)

Konig goes to a maid cafe. Billions must perish. Tags and CW: yandere Konig, obsessive and creepy behaviour, Konig is a bit of a perv, colonel loser Konig, maids and maid cafes, general fluff, slight age difference, slight size difference, mostly from Konig's pov. AO3

— Welcome home, master. What your maid I get for you today, hm? König just died and went to heaven. Heaven consists of pretty girls running around in fluffy skirts, little aprons and putting on adorable headbands with white ruffles. Heaven filled with the smell of reheated pastries and pre-made snacks, with neutral sweet perfume and the stench of sweat from the customers. Heaven is filled with angels who run around in maid costumes and call him master – and all of this without going through the hassle of finding a cosplay-friendly prostitute in Vienna.

He honestly rolled his eyes the first time he saw the post about a new maid cafe opening in town. Horangi was the one to show him - the bastard didn’t even live in Austria and yet had followed all the news, maybe to only make fun of his colonel. He knows that the tiger has his dirty secrets too – ido girls, idol boys, some new band every week that he’d spend his paycheck to get all possible merch. Changing his gambling addiction to a k-pop one – all while his glorious commander is going crazy from the new maid hentai he just watched. Honestly embarrassing at his age…but he doesn’t care. He has money for the exclusive translations and elite figures – and he has some time on leave to visit the damn maid cafe. Then König meets you. He died, went to heaven and was greeted with an angel…no, a goddess. In a frilly apron, short skirt and adorable, albeit a bit embarrassed smile. You had your persona on – dorky and clumsy, useless little maid that customers liked to scold when you’d almost drop their drinks and then fake cry while apologizing. Some sadistic bastards like to play pretend by calling your manager while you’d beg for them not to. Some perverts with a hero complex would play into your pleads. König stares in awe as you drop the menu accidentally, not forgetting to show off your cleavage as you pick it up. Brushing it off with your finger, looking so tiny and shy…god, he fucking adores you already. — S…so sorry, master. Please, forgive me for dropping the- — It’s okay. Don’t worry, ja?

He reaches for your hand, but you shoo it away. No touching – the cafe policy, as dumb as it sounds. He knows it’s for your own good, to protect you from perverts and creeps – but you shouldn’t be so scared about touching him. He would have to train you to do this after. nothing that a few touches of a good military discipline wouldn’t fix though – and he is very good at breaking down dumb recruits and annoyingly stubborn people. Oh. Right. He still kinda has to order. His gaze immediately flicks to the most expensive thing on the menu – an exclusive dessert, probably too sweet for his tastes. He will have to make do though – there isn’t much on the menu, certainly is zero alcohol so drunk guests wouldn’t harass the maid girls, and a tiny portion of an omelet with some ketchup hearts squeezed all over it certainly isn’t to his tastes either. No, König had his eyes – covered by glasses, of course, he didn’t want to show off his scars and the expression of a serial killer forced to work in mercenary forces to cute girls in ruffled aprons – on a different prize. You.

And the exclusive photos and a hug from any waitress of the fine establishment that would come with this overpriced order.

König has never seen the manager of this cafe, but he is ready to give them all money he has – just for implementing this feature into the menu. Just for selling off their girls to any customer who is willing to pay almost 50 Euros for a piece of a pretty regular cake and some coffee.

You stare at his order for a few seconds, your mouth going agape. He is not hurt – it was weird, after all, for a guy like him to order something as silly as this. You’re probably weirded out, thinking that he accidentally put his finger on the order – but you know better than to ask again and risk him changing his mind. Your cafe gives off bonuses if guests want to take a picture with you so, naturally, you’re all smiles and nods, tilting your head to the side as you say, ever-so-sweetly, that you’d be back with his order. Now…is König ashamed of liking the pretty little maid so much? Not really, to be completely honest, he kinda adores having you around, and he’d pay even more for the opportunity to touch you. Too bad your cafe isn’t a front for some other body business – he’d be happy to raid it on the part of special forces and then save you from such a gruesome fate by making you his wife.

König wonders if your cafe has themed days. Maybe catgirls, cosplay, maybe housewives.

König wonders if he can get your number. Then his gaze falters to the reflection of his face in the screen of his phone – and, no, not going to happen. Not when he is fresh out of deployment, barely showered, and thrown a clean hoodie on which does very little to cover the smell of blood clinging to his body. It’s his cross to bear – his victims scratching at his ankles as the colonel sips on complimentary water from a pink glass and looks at all the other losers who coming to this fine establishment.

You’re lucky it’s a slow day – if König saw you being so sweet and touchy with some other lousy customer, he might have shot the whole place up. Master does not tolerate his silly servant being so nice to others, after all.

— Your coffee, master.

He whips out a stack of bills already, way more than what he was supposed to pay even with the exclusive offer he ordered. Your mouth opens to stop him, to remind him of the actual price of everything – then he breaks whatever good intentions you had when he starts to speak, his voice muffled a bit because of his black surgical mask.

— Do you have a boyfriend?

Oh.

Now, under normal circumstances, you’d yell for the manager to come and pick you up. You’d scream bloody murder and alert other girls and clients that you’re having a bad customer who is going into harassment mode very quickly – asking such personal questions at this place is something that shouldn’t be happening, no sir. Totally not happening.

But…the work has been a bit slow lately. You didn’t get as many bonuses as you wanted to, and the rent is coming up, and the phone bill is getting more expensive…sometimes you just got unlucky and his a streak of customers not liking your particular archetype – so if this weird dude who is totally killing people in his spare time wants a bit more than usual service and is definitely ready to pay for it.

You might have had a thing for guys in masks. Big, muscular guys in masks who looks like they can choke you with their thighs and then fucking destroy you. With money who can get you a bit closer to your savings goal. So, you’re not calling your manager, your friends, or the police. So, you play into the fantasy for a little bit, remembering all the acts your supervisors drilled into your head. — Of course I don’t, master. I’m here for you, remember? You smile and nod, hoping it will be enough. Hoping a guy like him could be satisfied with something as silly as this, something as tiny. You touch his hand a bit later, making sure to hold him for a while longer. A simple trick to enhance the amount of tip you can get – even tho you feel like playing with fire when you touch this guy so sweetly.

And, oh, König is…done for. Smitten. Shot right in the heart through his cock, somehow. This man survived battle after battle, destroyed more small countries than there is letters in his real name, but he was defeated by a pretty girl in a maid outfit in a cafe made for incels and otaku wannabees. If any of his lower officers saw him right now, with ears and cheeks burning angry red, with his heavy breathing and obvious, but concealed by table hard-on, he would be done for.

But, oh god, aren’t you just beautiful?

Obviously embarrassed and maybe a bit shy – he thinks it’s probably just your persona, a way to milk tips from the customers who like to play dominant, but König doesn’t even need to play. He knows he’d have to take you by the end of your shift, whatever this time might be. He is not the best person for the romance job, but he’ll be damned if he let a pretty thing like you just run away like a silly girl you are.

— Can I have your phone number? You want to say no, he can’t have your phone number. The guy smells of gunpowder and blood, looks like he is going to shoot the entire venue down if you disagree with him, and you do not want to die like a hero for a job that pays barely above minimum wage for the amount of public humiliation you have to endure to ensure good tips. The guy smells like danger and a bad time and a long conversation with your manager about the types of guests that they allow into this fine establishment.

You want to say no and yell but, then again, there are multiple factors that are screaming against such rush decisions. A huge chunk of money he still has in his valet is, embarrassingly enough, one of the biggest decision-making points. — We’re not really allowed to give our phone numbers, master… His hand goes to his pocket.

You’re not sure if he is touching his cock, his gun, or another stack of bills right now – but all of the options are kinda making you want to die before you can check your answers. It’s going to be bad either way, so you tilt your head to the side, trying to look as innocent as possible.

— But I can make an exception!

He actually startles, looking at you like you just agreed to marry him. You probably would, with enough bullet threats – but you still bite your tongue, not wanting to give the crazy guy an idea. You actually don’t know if he is crazy or not – but taking your chances isn’t something you want to do on a nice Monday dead work day.

You can see relief in his eyes. A little wrinkles of smile, too – his mouth is covered by a mask, but you’re almost sure he is grinning like an idiot under this thing. Oh no…you just insulted a customer in your mind. It’s really bad for business.

You write your number down and pass it right to his hand without anyone noticing…you hoped so, at least – you don’t want other customers to order the same special treatment and you know that the manager would have your head for overstepping the rules so much. No one would care that you’re saving this fucked up place from a massacre – they would only care about arbitrary rule-breaking. You lick your lips and smile as his hand lingers on you a bit too long.

His hands are big and warm, too – you’re getting lost in the touch, as he carefully caresses the back of your palm with his thumb. He is…surprisingly tender. As much as a killing machine can be tender, of course – but you do appreciate a softer, milder touch. You do appreciate his hands on your body, caressing it softly and maybe even leaning you for a kiss and a quick…

Oh god, what are you thinking. You need to stop, immediately.

He pulls from his table suddenly and you almost feel like you fucked up, somehow. Maybe he did wanted something a big more than what you were willing to give, maybe this guy wanted you in a way that was not friendly for the cafe – but he swoops you by your waist before you could say anything before your hands could go upright and smack him – and you stop right before hearing him saying the dreadful words. The words you wished he wouldn’t have enough money to say.

God, this is hopeless.

— Can I get my special offer now?

König makes it sound like the special offer would include you on your knees, choking on his cock. König makes it sound like it would include you on your back, taking pounding from him while he tugs on your dumb apron and tells you to cry for your master. König makes it sound like the short skirt of your outfit was not covering you enough, he makes it sound perverted, horrible, utterly despicable, he makes it sound like…

God, he doesn’t have enough self-control for you.

You just…look so scared. Nervous. You play with the fabric of your costume in your hands as the other maid – some faceless pretty thing for him, with his eyes glued to your side anyway – was making pictures. Polaroid, is overpriced for a couple of photos he will get…but he doesn’t care if he has to blow off an entire contract bonus if that means getting some bonus from you.

He gets to hold your waist and it’s so easily to imagine digging his fingers to your sides as he fucks you with as much passion as he could gather. It’s easy to imagine his cock pumping into you, your tummy bulging from the sheer size difference between you and him – poor thing, you’d probably be terrified as he would force himself onto you. Maybe you’d clutch your little apron adorably and beg for him to stop. Maybe you’d ask him to be rougher and more passionate – to make you his in all sorts of ways. He just…he can’t imagine not taking you home after this.

He hugged you, it’s basically a marriage proposal already.

You try your best to ignore the way his hand slips down, almost to the point of groping your ass. You ignore it, the girl who is taking the pictures ignores it too. No one wants a scandal, no one wants to point this out – everyone knows how tips are made here, and you sure as hell won’t be putting yourself in danger just because you feel his giant hand fondling you through the fabric of your silly dress. You forgot the protective shorts too - so there is only a matter of underwear and skirt between his hand and your ass.

Somehow, the sensation isn’t as terrible as you want it to be. Somehow, you feel like tips aren’t the only thing that keeps you from screaming at him.

König died and went to heaven – this much is obvious. He is taking a picture with a pretty girl, he touches a pretty girl in maid's suit and she doesn’t even say anything to him. He just went out from a successful contract that would keep his pockets full for a few months and went straight for his savings, and he killed more people than the last week – god, life is fucking beautiful. He fondles your ass with his hand, other is awkwardly limp to his side, and he already knows that he will be a regular here.

He hates getting his pictures taken – it’s normal for people in his line of work, being a mercenary and a socially active person isn’t something wise if you don’t want an enemy finding out where you live, but he doesn’t really care anymore – he will keep the pictures with you, hold it in his wallet and put a spare one in his vest pocket. You can be his little guardian angel, the pretty girl who is waiting for him to return.

And he does have your number with him.

— Are you happy with the pictures, master?

You tilt your head and König forces down the urge to squeeze your cheeks and kiss you. They way you say this, the way you call him master – he simply can’t resist, not when you’re too fucking adorable to miss out on. He knows it’s inappropriate, he knows you’re just working here, but it doesn’t stop him from leaving a hefty tip and making sure you know exactly what made him leave so much.

God, he can’t wait to make you his.

König wonders if you’d agree to wear a skimpier outfit once you’re at the safety of his house.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #loser!konig #konig smut #konig x you #cod konig #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #yandere imagines #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #maid #maids

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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

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What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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whereflowerswenttodie · 15 days

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will you remember my name when the sun comes up?

[ft. gojo satoru] [angst]

ten months ago, your doctor had diagnosed you with early onset dementia, ten months later you've begun to forget aspects of your life you'd wanted to cherish.

or gojo satoru spends the night worrying if you will still be his wife when the morning comes around.

content warning: dementia, angst, miscarriage.

word count: 2.6k

The moonlight bounces off your skin, illuminating the curves of your sleeping figure in a yellow-tinted glow. The scene is reminiscent of most nights when he stayed up gazing at your sleeping face after hours of making you his. The night is silent today, the air is hotter too; he cannot tell if it's the heat of the summer air that is suffocating him or if the fear of your possibly doomed future is choking him to a premature death.

He looks at your face, peaceful, as you snore through the night, your eyebrows twitching here and there. He wonders what dreams you might be having tonight. Gojo likes looking at you; it is probably his favorite thing to do, and he enjoys it the most. Your resting face brings him joy, hope, and with deep shame and guilt, it also brings him happiness. An almost nostalgic feeling strikes him as he gazes at your sleeping form. Your expressions in the moment fall in such contrast with the mask you wear during the day, one of helpless confusion and anguish that it baffles him and makes him want to break down, scream and claw his heart out to cease the empty feeling that takes over his existence.

He remembers, with utter vividness, your face the first time he saw you. Looking more beautiful than anyone he had ever laid eyes on, you were cladded in a pink summer dress — you later told him was your favorite (he had followed through with buying you a dozen of those dresses you liked to wear so much in the first month of your relationship, albeit with resistance and scoldings from you.) — you were buying pastries in the streets of Harajuku. A hearty chuckle ignites from him at the memory, lucid as if it were last week when he had met you.

It was a Wednesday, he remembers, boring as every other day of the week. Gojo thinks he had been bored after Geto had forsaken him in Shinjuku, but your presence had brought with itself euphoria that he loved to indulge and drown in.

You had bought the very last of his favorite mochi, Kikufuku. Well no, let’s let him correct himself over here, you had bought all but one Kikufuku, and Gojo Satoru — true to the nature and entitlement that came with being the only Gojo Satoru — had tried to jestly dispute with you over the ownership of the said dessert. But one look at your puzzled face and his tantrum was forgotten. He had physically felt his annoyance melting away as his heart skipped one too many beats.

And God he remembers you, yeah? He does. Ever the sweet you, who had felt terrible for having bought the very last of his treasured Kikufuku, so you had offered two of your five pieces to him. Your brows furrowed in confusion and sadness at having to give away your portion of the dish, and for the very first time in his life, he had refused to accept his favorite mochi. But you had insisted, not taking no for an answer, it was your first salary you had told him. You said you didn’t want to make anyone sad by your first purchase.

“Please take them, please?” your sweet voice had reverberated through the crowded streets. He doesn’t think your voice was loud, but he remembers it being saccharine, akin to bells tinkling at a shrine, but bells he would want to wake up to every morning, bells he would want to lull him to sleep every night.

You had looked up at him with the most adorable puppy-eyes he had ever witnessed, little Megumi’s supposedly threatening face had fallen in surrender to that look. Oh he sounds captivated by you, and he swears by his six eyes, that had frozen in on your face for moments too long, far too many times, that he was and he will always be.

At the end, Satoru had relented, but he had asked convinced you to enjoy those with him at the end of the street. And unbeknownst to him, he had spent another two hours just chatting up with you. This was the happiest he had been in months, years even. You did not ask him to stop talking, or to keep his voice low. No, in fact you had been excited, not like the random women he met at the bars on rare nights, not even like–

Oh, you reminded him of Suguru at that moment. Talking to you felt nostalgic, he felt at peace the same way he did with Suguru, his one and only. His best friend. He can still recall the guilt that had engulfed him in that moment, the fear of possibly replacing Suguru with a non-sorcerer, the kind his best friend hated. And it all sounded too impractical, too reckless, he needed to pull back. To cower away from your touch. He wanted to, but you had been too captivating, too addictive.

He would have pulled away, would have left you to become another faceless woman he had met, would have let you become a memory bound to be forgotten, but you–

“So is this a date?” you blurt out. Satoru knows the words are thoughtless, spoken in the spur of the moment, he can see you recoiling, he six eyes can perceive the fear of possible commitment clouding your senses, “Oh my God, that was so–”

“Only if you promise to go on a second one with me,” he cuts you off, his own offer an impulse, just as reckless as yours.

Those dates turned into a hundred more and then a series of events that led to today, where you lied in his bed, as his lovely wife. And tomorrow you might not remember him, your husband.

He remembers all your dates, your smile, the first time you met the kids, how gracefully you had made his almost family your own. His six eyes remember you far better than you remember yourself–

Gojo chokes at the thought. The pain is unbearable for him, the fear of oblivion takes up the space next to him in the form of his own wife.

Gojo Satoru has been hailed as the strongest in this world, nobody has ever surpassed his strength, he can vaguely recall Jogo’s words to him before he was sealed on that fateful night.

“Is there anything you cannot do, Gojo Satoru?”

He feels like a maniac wanting to laugh at the words of an arrogant curse, one he could have easily squashed. He is the strongest after all, there is nothing he cannot do.

He knows he tampered the balance of the world when he was born. He also knows that within this universe among curses and sorcerers: he is all alone. The honored one. The man nearest to the glory of God. Gojo Satoru knows the world better than most do, and yet as he looks at your sleeping face, he cannot even reassure himself if his wife of seven years will remember him next week or next morning.

He wants to pray.

But who does a God prays to listen to his pleas?

Gojo Satoru doesn’t know if he’s a God or an undefeated monster.

But who ever prays for the devil to be forgiven for his sins had he committed an act of treachery?

Gojo Satoru cannot make his wife remember him if she forgets him, and the fear keeps him up every night.

It is very lonely at the top, and he fears come tomorrow and he might forever sleep in isolation, albeit beside the one he cherishes and worships like the goddess of the mightiest glory.

Life was not supposed to be difficult, not like this, it was supposed to be simpler. You were supposed to be sleeping with him beside you, and Satoru was supposed to be less anguished.

You were supposed to have twins. Crying in the room beside yours, keeping the two of you up at night, he had promised you he would be the one changing diapers, because in the initial stages of your relationship you had playfully told him a baby would require changing diapers so you didn’t want a kid.

And no, they weren’t a part of your family planning, Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. But they came, and you learned to love them, a welcoming thought. He did too, but he feared for you, you were weak and they were the children of the strongest.

You were six months into your pregnancy, when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, you tried calling him while he was stuck fighting a special grade. He got off to see the twenty-four missed calls from you, and seven from an unknown number. He tried calling back to you, his heart getting heavier with fear and anxiety as he got sent to voicemail, one that you recorded with him screaming in the background. He dialed the unknown number, the words of the woman on the other line still scare him just as much.

Gojo Satoru has only ever felt fear thrice in his life: once when Toji Fushiguro killed him for the first time, the second followed with the exit of Geto Suguru, and the third came as a curse in the form of his said best friend appearing in front of him to seal him into that cursed box, all while he thought about you.

Yet none of them could’ve compared to that moment when he heard those fateful words for the first time, you had been into a life threatening accident, everything that followed after it was a blur.

“Your kids did not make it,” the doctors told him they had passed away much before the accident, that your car collided with a tree and toppled over from the possible shock of that incident.

Gojo had tried his hardest to restrain himself from cursing his unborn children, you would want better, he had told himself and he still does to this day.

The relief that followed him as the doctor informed him that you will soon wake up was only partially taken over by the grief of losing his unborn children. And he wishes to curse himself for it still, but he cannot as he looks back at your sleeping face.

The signs were unnoticeable at the beginning, they started out slow, with small things.

You didn’t remember where you kept Megumi’s uniform (he lived at the dorm), but you had both shrugged it off at the time.

You couldn’t remember where you had kept the flour in the cabinet (Satoru cooked), you both shrugged it off again as a possible confusion in case you had tried cooking without letting him know, you didn’t even think about it.

But then you started to forget the names of his coworkers. You couldn’t recognise Utahime, you had both once, a long time ago bonded over teasing him about the silly, little schoolboy crush that he used to harbor for her in his high school years. An information that was passed to you by Shoko. Utahime was one of your closest friends before the incident.

Then you forgot where your bedroom was in the house you both shared together, and he remembers watching your lips quiver and he told you that you will see the doctor in the morning.

And he remembers the doctor breaking the news to you, two days later, you had early on-set dementia caused by your head injury.

And he remembers–

God, he too wants to forget, there’s so much he’d like to forget, like the look on your face as you realize you might lose your memories in the way you had not planned to. Who even makes plans for a possible dementia?

He remembers watching you lose yourself time and time again. Moments where you would gaze into an abyss not being able to remember where you were, instances when you would look into the mirror and try to recognise yourself.

Nobody had ever watched him weep. But that first night when you weren’t able to remember you were both married, he had left your shared bed after you had fallen into a deep slumber, and had spent about thirty minutes crying in the shower of his guest bedroom.

He wailed. He screamed. He punched his tiled wall until he bled, and he didn’t heal the wound, You had asked him how he got it in the morning and he lied to you that he slipped. You didn’t remember his infinity. You probably hadn’t for a long time. You possibly also forgot about his reversed curse technique.

He wishes his RCT could heal your brain injury.

He looks back at your sleeping form again, and a familiar grief pools into his heart as he realizes you will one day lose all cognitive function, that one day he might lose you to this illness.

“She has about eight years to live before she will most likely forget basic functions like eating, sleeping, or even–”

“What are you trying to imply?” he cuts off the doctor, very rudely one must mention.

“I am just saying that she might lose her life to this.”

The doctor’s words haunt his mind, keeping him awake at night. As does his fear that tomorrow you might not be able to recognise him anymore.

He shudders as the memory, fresh from the morning, seeps into his head. You didn’t remember your–

“Where are the kids?” you ask him, perturbed and frazzled as if you had spent hours looking for something important. A lost memory, another unfamiliar instance.

“Megumi is at the dorm–” he speaks, vision hazy with sleep.

“I’m not talking about them, I am asking you where my– our babies went,” he felt his heart drop in that moment, because in another such moment he had held you as you sat on the hospital bed, wailing and screaming for your babies.

“Baby…” he begins, his own voice soft with grief, one that is much different than your own. How many times will he have to break your heart before it is too broken to ever heal?

“Yes?” you speak, confusion clear through your voice, as your face wears that same mask of pain and puzzlement.

“They didn’t make it,” he tells you once more, as he scoops you in his arm, in order to save himself from watching you die all over again. He goes through the pain of it all once again, as do you. But only one of you remembers.

It’s only ever just one of you grieving the loss of life, a tragedy always gone unforgiven.

He remembers the promise you made him to always be with him on the day before your wedding vows.

But, a promise is a promise until one of you forgets.

He looks at the clock beside him, 6:49 AM, he can only hope that when you wake up this morning you’ll remember who he is. That the diary you keep will help you never forget him.

He needs you to remember him, he doesn’t think he can survive a day where you do not know him. It is a necessity. You are his light, and you have slowly been shutting the door to your embrace close on him, you can barely see him trembling in this darkness that you leave him in anymore. He does not want to be left alone, but he knows that once you leave him alone, he will still be visiting the grave of the love that the two of you shared; one where you had thrown away all your memories, if only to look down at the forest of your remains or perhaps to find you running across the field with all that you once cherished.

a/n: idk why i wrote this. this wasn't proofread, because we die like everyone in jjk, and also because my adhd-suffering-self could no longer keep up with this, and i really wanted to go back to writing houses without fathers.

@nanamis-baker had a sneak peak!

credits: @/benkeibear, @/firefly-graphics.

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rynbutt · 16 days

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mansplaining. | spencer reid.

request: @a-second-hand-sorrow "hey queen, just wanted to say i absolutely love your spencer stuff, you write him so well!! as a fellow aussie I was wondering if maybe you could write something with spencer and an australian reader? just something cute and silly, maybe with him infodumping everything he knows about australia ahaha, love your work!"

you can find my other fics on my masterlist.

requests are open!

cw: fem!aus!reader, none really, fluffy, silly fr

a/n: short and sweet hehe

Henry held your hand tight as you guided him to the elevator.

JJ had just gotten back from a trip to Michigan for a case. She ended up sleeping for a couple hours before she had to go back into work again, all before little Henry woke up for the day. Since she hadn’t seen her son in almost three weeks, you thought it would be nice to bring Henry to her with some lunch as a surprise.

You had been JJ and Will’s nanny for almost 8 months now. Since Will had returned to work and JJ’s job was still incredibly demanding, they started looking for a nanny for their 3-year-old son. You just so happened to be looking for a job and to finally put your experience as a nursery assistant back home to good use.

“You excited to see mummy?” You asked Henry as you stood in the elevator, his little FBI visitor badge far too big on his little body.

“Yeah!” He replied excitedly, jumping up and down while still holding your hand. You had taken Henry to pick up some lunch at JJ’s favourite place then let Henry pick out a pastry for each of you to have for dessert.

“Alright, remember, you have to hold on tight to my hand, okay? There are lots of people around,” you reminded the young boy, crouching down to his level.

“Uh huh,” Henry nodded, his tiny hand squeezing yours.

The elevator dinged and you gently guided Henry toward the bullpen, silently searching for JJ’s office. Henry stayed close to you as you swerved through the busy agents. You decided to ask someone who you thought looked vaguely familiar.

“Uh, Emily, right?” You gestured toward the dark haired woman sitting at her desk.

She glanced up at you, seeming to recognise you and little Henry almost instantly, “Oh hey! You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of JJ’s office-”

“Did you know the Australian mainland extends from west to east for nearly 2,500 miles?” someone behind you said, obviously hearing your Australian accent.

Emily rolled her eyes and looked at you, “don’t mind, Reid.”

You turned around to look at ‘Reid’, he was cute, probably the young doctor JJ told you about. You pointed at him, “Dr. Spencer Reid, right?”

He ignored you, “And most of the rocks forming the foundation of Australia are from the Precambrian and Paleozoic time… about 4.6 billion and 252 million years ago respectively,” he looked up at you, “yes, I’m Dr. Reid.”

“Mm,” you hummed.

“I’ll go get JJ for you,” Emily sighed, frowning disapprovingly at Reid. You sat down next to Emily’s desk, picking up Henry to sit him in your lap.

“Where are you from?” Another man asked, “I’m Derek Morgan, you must be Henry’s nanny?”

“Yeah, I am… I’m from Melbourne,” you smiled.

Spencer interjected, “Melbourne isn’t said like that. The spelling negates that.”

“Kid… she’s from there, I think she knows how it’s said,” Morgan retorted.

You just chuckled softly, “I’d love to hear you mansplain my country to me, Dr. Reid.”

“I’m not mansplaining,” Spencer replied, seeming offended.

“You kind of are,” Morgan added, leaning back in his chair.

“Mansplaining!” Henry exclaimed, making both you and Morgan laugh. Henry bolted from your lap the moment he saw his mum. You stood up to greet JJ as little Henry tackled her in a hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” JJ asked, cuddling Henry close to her.

“We thought we would surprise you for lunch,” you smiled, “Henry picked some pastries out for us too, for dessert… I hope it’s okay?”

“No, it’s perfect,” JJ replied, “it’s just what I needed honestly,” she sighed, giving you a side hug as she guided you to her office.

Henry sat on the floor playing with a few toys you brought along for him while you and JJ talked, “so, that Dr. Reid? He’s a character.”

“You met him, huh?” she leans back in her chair with a laugh.

“Oh yeah,” you replied, “he seems…” you trailed off.

JJ nodded knowingly, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

“He’s cute though,” you shrugged with a small laugh.

“Mm, I’ll make sure to tell him that,” JJ teased.

“Don’t you dare,” you retorted quickly.

You spent the last half an hour of JJ’s break sitting with her and Henry on the floor helping him do a puzzle he had left from the last time he was here. It was nice for JJ to see her son, she missed him terribly but she knew he was in good hands with you.

JJ had to get back to work shortly after and she squeezed Henry in a tight hug, reminding you she might be late again tonight, which you didn’t mind.

“Say ‘bye-bye’, mummy!” You held Henry’s hand, waving at JJ.

“Bye-bye, mommy!” Henry called, waving his little hand around.

You spun around, guiding Henry through the bullpen again before an idea popped into your head. You turned on your heel at the side of Spencer’s desk.

“Hey, Dr. Reid?” You asked softly.

“Yes?” He peered up at you.

“Ever heard of drop bears?”

a/n: i hope you liked it! i know it was a short one but i think it's funny. another chapter of pierced coming soon >:)

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #x reader #spencer reid fluff #cm spencer #dr reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #australian reader #spencer

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 month

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Id love to see how DOG! Konig actually first saw Reader or even when he knew he fell in love with her <3

König saw reader first time on TV :)

It was one of those boring moments when the latest mission was done and he was coming down from his adrenaline/testosterone/cortisol high, channel surfing at the base with a blank stare.

He passed this one channel that never had anything worthwhile to watch, except this time—wait a minute—there’s some cute girl whipping egg whites there. He changed the channel out of habit but immediately changed it back again, his eyes boring to the screen where this woman was making lemon tartlets.

He pays attention to the nice voice… Nice lips… Her hands, very delicate when she decorates each tart with raspberries and mint leaves. It’s always hot in his opinion when a girl prepares dinner or dessert, and this cutie is doing both. She has a sad smile and a pair of depressed eyes, her body language reminds him of tortured prisoners on the brink of confession. The despair in her eyes resembles the look on women just before they cum, and it drives him fucking nuts.

She’s fucking perfect… So weak, just a poor little thing who’s trying to hide, probably hates the camera and her audience, every small prick she has to work for and with.

König binges her whole show within a few days from some streaming service, even faps during or after watching – just a few times because in a few episodes, they filmed her breasts and hands a lot, although it must be said it’s that helpless look in her eyes that truly makes him cum hard… He fantasizes about arriving at her studio with his guns blazing, wondering how she would react when he stains her cute little tarts with blood. How she would react when she sees a big, able man come to take what’s his – would she kneel and beg him to save her life, or would she gasp and look like a stupefied goldfish when he pulls his dick out after the bloodbath and tells her to give it a kiss?

Next thing he does is he googles her, finds a few articles in some lousy girl magazine where she mentions she has “learned to make peace with solitude” and that “time spent alone feels good nowadays”. Ja, sicher! Poor little thing is lying her eyes out, anyone can see that. She tries so hard to be brave, looks so fuckable when she sighs and looks down at the food she just made like it’s the only thing in this world she can do right. Just cook some food and decorate dumb pastries, looking like a spoiled little princess while she’s doing it.

He gets his hands on the actual, physical articles and keeps them in his locker because they include pictures of her. Finds her on social media and looks at her Instagram feed first time in the morning and last time before bed, chuckling to himself from how pathetic she is, so fucking desperate to get attention... He has a collection of screenshots on his phone: one of his favourites is, surprisingly, not a picture of her delicious ass, trying another dumb hobby that’s supposed to be trendy. It’s the one where she’s smiling at a big mug of coffee in front of her, looking like a cute little kitten who’s been offered a treat. Or her on the beach with a big straw hat on her head, looking at the waves and smiling a big, silly smile, her worries forgotten for a moment. Her at a party, all dolled up and practically begging to get fucked, holding the waist of some weak civilian he could kill with one punch.

But his ultimate favourite is a selfie she took while she was out on a walk. She’s without her makeup, wearing a simple old faded t-shirt, looking up at the camera with a fake smile and those sad, pleading eyes, silently begging for someone to take the pain away. She’s unprotected, and lonely, so pitiful that König would do anything to teleport beside her right now and haul her away like a sack of whimpering potatoes thrown over his shoulder.

Is no one going to fucking come to her rescue and spoil her to bits, is no one going to fuck those dumb little thoughts out of her head? What the fuck is wrong with men these days, he doesn’t understand, but he’s not going to watch this ridiculous shit for a moment longer…

(If you asked König when he realized he was in love with her, he would answer it was love at first sight. Or… maybe… that one time when she asked where she put the cream. She was talking to herself while the cameras were rolling, looking helpless, lost, and dumb because she literally had one job... König found that very endearing.)

#dog fic #stalker!könig

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hopeluna · 2 months

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𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐼𝑆 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐸 (𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆'𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏)

✘ Part of the writing event by @carolmunson ! You can find the prompts n dialogue here, pls feel free to join in and write your own version <3

✘ the scene: a romantic night-in at the trailer.

✘ CW: eddie munsson x fem!reader, very much rom com vibes cause come on it's me, first time writing for eddie pray for me, was tryna do fluff but turned into hurt/comfort, mentions of financial insecurity, eddie being the best bf material out there. 1k

The trailer door creaks on it's hinges like it's going to fall off any moment. It hardly registers in Eddie's brain, pulling the door more forcefully open with a beaming grin to let you in.

He's practically vibrating from the pent up anticipation. It's been a few days since you both have properly spent any time with each other. Between you being busy with college and him playing to a steadily growing crowd at The Hideout, the past few days consisted only of short kisses and exchanging i love you's in passing.

Eddie didn't really wanna pester you much either. Even though he missed you these days like a starved man, the relationship was fairly new and blooming and he didn't have the heart to somehow accidentally mess it up right from the get go.

"What brings you to the freak's humble abode, my fair lady?"

He gives you a toothy grin when he sees you telling him to silently shut up. You weren't a huge fan of the 'freak' title. "I come with gifts!", you hold up the small pastel paper box like a medal.

Eddie lets out a low whistle, with a whisper of 'gimme', making animated grabby hands till you place the box delicately in his outstretched hands. He immediately digs in with hurried but careful hands, cautious to not damage the paper cause he knows you probably took hours to get it just right.

A soft smile pulls his lips up at the small pastries. It looks absolutely delectable. Whispy vanilla frosting coated all over the soft sponge, the scent of vanilla bean hitting his nose, little flecks of edible glitter and sprinkles all tied with a plump strawberry at the top.

"You made these?"

"Mhm! We did chocolate last week and red velvet the week before that, so I thought we could go for a classic vanil-"

Giggles fill the quiet space of the trailer, Eddie placing light, ticklish kisses all over your lips. His grin only stretches more when you shriek his name to let you go, "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem!"

"Oh yeah, sweetheart? And what is that problem?"

"I will-" you push Eddie away enough so that only your noses are touching "- revoke your kiss license." You let out a soft snort at your boyfriend's devastated expression.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would, baby."

Eddie's huffing away with a quiet 'meanie' as you shake your head fondly at him, nudging him silently to open the pastries. He carefully sets two out, putting the others in the freezer for Wayne when you come back from the kitchen with two chipped mugs. Eddie's heart falls a little at the thought of you maybe judging him for this.

"Eddie."

"Mhm?"

You roll your eyes with a smile, "don't just stand there, open the damn thing!" You nudge the poorly made cat themed mug in his hands- his favourite. You watch with wrung fingers as he practically balances more than half the dessert on the fork to shove in his mouth, leaving flecks of whipped cream and frosting on the corners of his mouth.

"It's so....sweet."

You wince without meaning to, "and you like that?"

Eddie lets out a amused laugh at your anxiety ridden face. "Baby, that's probably the second best damn thing i've tasted." He shines a gleaming smile on you at your own grin of accomplishment.

"What's the first?"

"You." Eddie's loud laugh fills the silence at your disgusted but flustered expression.

His face falters a little when you shove the throw pillow on the couch behind you to get comfortable. Eyes follow your hands as you tighten your grip on your own mug, the handle chipped away from wear. Eddie's gaze flits around the trailer- the old video player, the less than impressive flooring, the comfy but worn out looking blanket that you've draped over yourself. It's definitely not the white picket fenced dream most want. He feels comfortable here but do you? Maybe you sometimes wished to hang out somewhere els-

"Hey."

Eddie snaps his gaze over to you, expression nervous and concerned. "Um- yeah." Clearing his throat, he shifts a little forward to pick his notebook from the table, mindlessly going through it in an effort to seem busy.

"I-uh, i ran out of like, nice cups,-" he briefly gestures to the one in your hand, "-is that okay?"

He would've found your furrowed, confused expression cute if it wasn't for the small ball of anxiety etched in his throat. "Yeah- i mean, of course it's okay." You look back at the cup in your hand, then to him and back at the cup again. "Are you okay?"

The curls on his head seem to bounce a bit as he nods frantically, twisting the cover of the notebook in his hand "it's just, you know, that thing isn't the nicest " he gestures vaguely with his hand around you, "i mean-none of this is-"

"Eddie."

"The place isn't the most romant-"

"Eddie." His eyes go from looking around in the trailer to you, you who inched closer to him without him realizing. "I like- I love the trailer."

"But-"

"No, don't be like that. That's not even true. Just because it's not a house with a big front yard and white roofs doesn't mean it's nothing. It's home." You smile as Eddie's eyes widen almost unnoticeably as you cup his face in your hands.

"It's home because it has you in it. And I wouldn't change that for anything."

A breathy chuckle escapes you, Eddie now burying his face in your chest with arms snaked around your waist firmly. His voice is muffled against your shirt that you have to strain to hear what he says, "sometimes, I feel like you being my girlfriend is a very detailed fever dream."

You feel his smile against you as you press a kiss on the top of his head. The silence stretches for a while before you break it, fingers making mindless circles on his back.

"I also come here for the trailer park cats."

The gasp Eddie lets out, finally releasing you from his hold, makes it hard for you to not burst out ugly laughing.

"You would choose the cats over me?!"

"Maybe."

#stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fics #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #joe quinn

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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AITA for drinking milk with my vegan brother’s food? warning for very brief ed mention

my (15f) brother W (17m) is vegan and has been for about two years. I’m cool with that, I have nothing against vegans whatsoever, but he is very VERY adamant about me going vegan too. we’re sort of at an awkward point where I just avoid conversations about it because the subject makes me very uncomfortable, he always resorts to guilt tripping me and making me feel shitty about the subject instead of actually presenting points (he calls me an animal abuser very frequently which I’ve expressed I’m really hurt by) and I am recovering from an eating disorder and don’t need another thing to worry about in regards to my diet (I’ve also expressed this to him and he doesn’t seem to give a shit about it, treats it like an excuse)

that aside, I try to be chill with him about it and just avoid the subject. more recently he’s started cooking more and particularly experimenting with pastries, which he lets me eat. I appreciate it a lot when he lets me have some, but recently he saw me drinking milk alongside some plant based muffins he made. I always drink milk with pastries— it’s probably a sensory thing, the specific feel of milk is the only thing that feels right to drink with pastries n desserts and stuff and I genuinely cannot enjoy them without milk because the mouthfeel bothers me a lot, but that’s kinda besides the point— so he saw me drinking milk with the muffins and blew up at me, said it’s super disrespectful that I’d do that while eating his food. I had never thought of it that way and was pretty damn guilty about it in the moment. I told him I was sorry but he still seems upset. told him about the thing I have regarding pastries and that I have a hard time enjoying them without milk. then he forbade me from eating anything he cooks again because “my muffins aren’t for animal abusers” (yes he said that and says the same thing rather often when he doesn’t wanna share other food with me)

I may be TA because idk that might actually be disrespectful to his views to drink milk with his food and I do feel like maybe I’m in the wrong for that, but I’m also really bitter about how he guilts me and is so aggressive about the whole thing and feel like that’s unnecessary and rude of him. aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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trsrina · 3 months

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not-so secret admirer h. yujin

your friends think you have a secret admirer but little did they know, all those anonymously given gifts left on your desk every morning are from none other than your secret boyfriend.

written in second person pov, gn reader, fluff, established relationship, high school au, requested !! mentions of food

“ha! it’s here again! i told you it wouldn’t be a one-time thing,” a paper bag labelled with the logo of the bakery near your school sits there on your desk with a mini heart-shaped letter clipped to it.

it was still quite early in the morning as the clock ticks half-past seven, most desks empty with the exception of a few school bags messily littered on the floor.

you smile unknowingly upon being embraced with the warm gift.

“open it! open it! this is so sweet! this whole secret admirer thing is straight out of a kdrama,” your friend jumps up and down excitedly by your side as she waits for you to unveil the gift.

“okay, okay, calm down. why are you even more giddy about this than me?” you chuckle as you delicately take the letter and hold it close to your chest as you read it secretively.

“hey! let me see it too,” she tries to peek at the handwritten letter as you hold it closely to your heart, scanning through every messily written word on the thin piece of paper.

it wrote, ‘good morning. i got this for you on my way to school. please eat it while it’s hot. i hope you like it xoxo,’ signed off with the single letter ‘h’.

the letter was snatched away from your hands before you could properly process it and soon, your ears were attacked with a dolphin-like squeal.

“oh my god, you lucky bastard! you bagged a green flag,” your friend pretended to be jealous of you as she pout and softly hit your shoulder, returning the heartfelt letter to you as you unwrapped the paper bag to be met with the sweet aroma of the strawberry flavoured dessert, warmth still radiating from the pastry, fresh out of the oven.

“he’s just a secret admirer. i haven’t technically ‘bagged’ him or anything. i mean i probably don’t even know him,” you playfully bumped your shoulder against hers.

however, while your friend was too busy in her little world fantasising about all the possibilities of your love life, you knowingly grin to yourself and internally gushed over the boy who just so seems to be the culprit.

“han yujin, what has gotten into you?” you murmured to yourself and shook your head as the morning bell rings.

after an eternity of sitting through your morning classes, lunch started and so, you and your mini friend group gathered at the halls to get lunch together at the cafeteria.

it consisted of a few friends you’ve made last year in your old class, now all having been separated in the new school year.

said friend group also included han yujin, the very boy who you fell for last summer and has since been secretly dating throughout the summer.

upon making eye contact with him as you all walk up to each other, your other friend from another class enthusiastically skipping up to you to sling an arm around your shoulders, the both of you bashfully offer a small smile to each other and hide the pink hue decorating your cheeks, looking down and avoiding eye contact.

with the rest of you friends walking up ahead and chattering away, passionately rambling on about how boring classes were, yujin sneakily took the place by your side and walked right next to you.

“hey, did you like the little gift i left for you this morning?”

you softly beamed at him, trying your best to hold back the grin peeking on your face, “thank you, yujin. i really liked it but you really don’t have to do this every day.”

“hmm, i’ll think about it,” his eyes finally looked into yours, lovestruck and just so in love, you were surprised your friends didn’t notice you two making heart eyes at each other yet.

mesmerised by the way his gaze lingered on you, you drifted away from the conversations of your friends.

you both sneaked glances at each other, looking into each others’ eyes for a millisecond before looking away. your hands did the same too, swinging by your sides and gently bumping into each other, the back of your hands touching for a millisecond and then pulling away only to do the same once again.

your newly blossomed relationship didn’t start long ago so you were both still quite shy.

setting down your plates on your table, yujin speed-walked over to your side and raced your friend to sit on your left, they only side-eyed him and snickered as they sat on your right instead, letting him have his way with a snarky smile on his face.

as soon as everyone was seated and started digging in, you felt warmth enveloping your left hand that was placed in your lap, a larger hand interlocking their fingers with yours, the intertwined hands resting on your thigh.

you almost spit out your rice upon feeling yujin boldly taking your hand in his and immediately turn your head to look him in the eye.

your wide eyed gaze meets his smiling ones, innocently grinning at you and holding in his giggles.

calming yourself down, you turn back to your previously neglected plate and continue digging in.

however, your heart still beats at 100 km/h and the pumping in your chest distracts you from the conversation of your friends.

“why is your face so red? are you alright?”

the look on your face resembles that of a deer caught in headlights, eyes shot wide open as you face the concerned gazes of your friends.

“i’m fine! it’s just a little hot in here, you know. um, let me just go get a cold drink from the vending machine real quick, bye,”

you untangle your hand from yujin’s in a rush and your chair screeches as you push it back to stand up, and you speed walk out of the cafeteria.

“it’s 2°C?” your friend questioned as you left.

reaching the vending machines area, you let out a sigh and lean on the wall near the vending machine, hand resting on your heart to feel your pacing heartbeat.

“what is wrong with you,” you speak to yourself in the empty area as your head hangs low with the lights of the vending machine reflecting off of you.

hearing footsteps nearing the area, you immediately regained your composure and tensed up.

“hey. are you okay?” it was yujin.

“yujin? why are you here? go back before they get suspicious.” your words were cut off when yujin walked closer to you, the proximity taking your breath away.

“relax. don’t worry about them for now. it kills me that i can’t be close to you when i haven’t seen you for so long.”

“it has only been a few hours, yujin,” you chuckled as he pouted at you. his hands grabbing yours.

your head tilted up to face him and his tipped down to get closer to you, lips simply hovering over each others’. “but i still miss you,” he mumbled.

you felt the air from his mouth when he spoke hit your lips, reminding you of the close proximity between the both of you. and so, yujin made a move and leaned in, eyes closed, your eyes closing too in response.

you could feel the warmth from his face transport to yours, his hand creeping up your arm to hold your chin, thumb gently grazing your flushed cheeks, you both leaned in closer and- clack!

your heads swiftly turned to the source of the sound, snapped out of your trance, only to be met with the surprised look of your friends, eyes wide open and jaws dropped, speechless at the sight of two of their friends having such an intimate moment.

the sound came from your friend dropping her belongings on the floor due to the shock and honestly, you could not blame her nor the rest of your friends for the dramatic reaction.

you and yujin exchanged awkward glances after taking a look at your frozen friends, yujin nodded his head at you as if giving you approval.

“um, well, surprise?”

i am so so sorry this took so long to write i hope you like it and this is my first work after my very long hiatus so hopefully my writing didn’t get too bad 😨

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slavic-roots-western-mind · 3 months

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Desserts in China

There's quite a large variety of treats and desserts in China (more than you can imagine), so here are some of the most common ones!

Almond jelly/tofu - 杏仁豆腐 - xìngréndòufu Despite the name, almond jelly doesn't actually have almonds in it. Almond jelly is made from gelatin and almond milk, although some recepies use dairy milk instead.

Glutinous rice balls - 汤圆 - tāngyuán These rice balls are made from glutinous rice balls with a sweet filling, such as red bean paste (a pretty popular filling in desserts, I've been fooled more than once when purchasing what I assumed to be a chocolate filled pastry).

Red bean buns - 豆沙包 - dòushābāo One of my favorite desserts so far. These are steamed buns with a sweet red bean paste filling that I'd definitely recommend.

Egg custard bun - 流沙包 - liúshābāo A sweet and savory bun, with a lava-like egg yolk filling. A pretty interesting dessert, as it's both sweet and savory.

Pumpkin cake - 南瓜饼 - nánguābǐng I haven't tried this yet, but it definitely looks good. A fried and crunchy cake with a sweet filling such as red bean paste.

Eight treasure rice pudding - 八宝饭 -bābǎofàn This is a pretty popular dessert, especially during the Lunar New Year. It gets this name becase of the toppings, which are eight or more different types of dried fruits and nuts arranged on top of the sweet rice, with (once again) red bean paste.

Hawthorn stick/ Candied Haws/ Sugar coated haws/ Bingtanghulu - 冰糖葫芦 - bīngtánghúlu This treat has quite a few translations and you may have probably already seen it. This is basically candied fruit covered with a sweet, crunchy and sugary syrup. Traditionally, Hawthorn is used but other fruits such as grapes, strawberries and oranges are also popular options.

Sachima - 沙琪玛 - shāqímǎ I haven't tried this snack yet, but it looks quite fascinating. Sachima is made from fried batter stuck together with a sugary syrup, with an interesting texture.

Sesame balls - 芝麻球 - zhīmaqiú Similar to the rice glutinous balls, this treat is also made from glutinous rice flour with varying fillings including lotus seeds, mung bean and red beans, and sesame seeds.

Water chestnut cake A sweet pan-fried cake made from chinese water chestnut, with a unique semi-transparent appearance.

Wintermelon puff/ Wife cake/ Sweetheartcake - 老婆餅 - lǎopóbǐng This cake has many names, mainly because it has several different origin stories, each more fascinating than the next. This dessert is a flaky pastry with wintermelon, almond (not red bean this time!) paste and sesame filling.

Fortune cake - 发糕 - fāgāo Not a fortune cookie! This is a spongy steamed cupcake cake commonly made for the New Lunar Year celebrations and occasionally other events. They're usually a white-ish or brown-ish color, but they're often dyed bright colors to add extra festivity.

Mooncake - 月饼 - yuèbǐng This is a pretty well-known dessert, commonly prepared for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Mooncakes are smallish steamd/fried (depends on the region) cakes with a sweet filling that can also sometimes have an egg yolk inside.

Osmanthus cake - 桂花糕 - guìhuāgāo This is a unique traditional pastry made from glutinous rice flour, honey and osmanthus. This cake has a really interesting texture, as it's quite dense but also airy in a way? I'd definitely recommend trying it, as it's not super sweet and goes really well with tea.

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words-4u · 10 months

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right person (1/3)

pairings: luca x reader, marcus x reader (platonic)

wc: 1.4k

a/n: immediately started planning a three part series on luca while watching the bear s2. that's what a tatted will poulter does to me (the bear is an incredible show btw pls watch if you don't)

warning: swearing

part 2 / part 3

"denmark?"

"yes! we are sending you and marcus to denmark for two weeks to stage at this really great restaurant. you're gonna learn to do three new desserts for us. carmy knows the head pastry chef. says he's really cool so it should be fun, right?" sydney explained.

"that does sound fun! i'm in!" you smile.

you look at marcus who was deep in thought. if you had to guess what he was thinking, his mind is probably on his mom who was currently bed ridden at a hospital.

you put a hand on marcus' shoulder. "you good with that?" you ask your co pastry chef.

he broke out of his thoughts and nods. "yeah, i-i'm great. i'd love to."

"great! cause you guys really didn't have a choice. your flights are already booked for tomorrow afternoon sooo thanks!" sydney offers two thumbs and an awkward smile before she leaves what used to be the kitchen.

"holy shit," you whisper in shock. "staging at a michelin star restaurant in a country i've always wanted to visit. could this be any better?"

"i have to go tell my mom but give me a call if you need a ride to the airport tomorrow. chester will probably take me and we can swing by your place if you want?"

"dude, yes! that'd save me a shit ton of money that i would've spent on uber."

"cool, see you," marcus grabs his bag and heads out the door.

after helping fak, riche and gary with fallen ceiling debris, you decide to leave a bit early to pack and clean your apartment before your travel.

it was noon on the dot the next day when marcus calls to check if you were ready for the airport. since you packed the night before, you had a rather peaceful morning. chester talks your ear off the whole way to the airport and you guys get there he demands to see your passports because he wants to make sure you and marcus actually had it on you.

"chester, can you do me a favour and check in on my ma when you get the time?" marcus asks.

"dude, i'm way ahead of you. gonna check on her every morning on my way to work,"

"i appreciate it."

chester looks at both you. "now, i want you take a deep breath and let the good in. you guys are gonna kill it."

you grin at marcus' friend. "thanks chester. okay we're gonna have to leave now before we miss our flight."

marcus says his farewell to his best friend and the two of you head to your gate.

the plane ride to copenhagen was smooth despite marcus' worries. you guys hop on a train to explore the city before heading to where you were staying.

"trains here are way cleaner than the ones in chicago," marcus leans over to whisper.

"waay cleaner," you agree.

the two of you exited the station and stood in awe of your view. clear blue skies. cool fresh air. colourful buildings. and the smell of hotdogs which was incredibly appealing after your long journey.

you and marcus lock eyes. "oh yeah."

marcus got a hotdog with dried onions and pickles on top while you had a plain jane moment with just ketchup.

"this is the best thing i've ever put in my mouth," you say with in between bites.

"just what i needed honestly," marcus says.

after your quick meal, the two of you continue to wander the city taking in the architecture most of all.

marcus was using the maps feature on his phone to find the place you were supposed to be staying at.

"uh i don't see any apartment buildings near," you say. "are you sure we are in the right place?"

marcus led you to a canal where some boats were docked. "i am 99.9% sure. you're staying in 286 and i'm in 287."

you glance at the boat in front of you and saw the gold numbers plaque on the side. "well, mystery solved. this is your place and i'm guessing this one is mine." you moved further down to the boat behind marcus' one.

"sick," he smiles.

"i'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"night, y/n!"

you walk down a couple of steps before unlocking a door that lead to a kitchen and dining room. it was spacious and you were grateful for the many windows it had. the stairs to the left led up to the bedroom which was a lot smaller than you anticipated having only space for your bed and a small cabinet for clothes.

you flop on your bed and exhaled. you didn't realize how tired you were until your head hit the soft mattress and while everything in you wanted to knock out, you knew you had to get up and unpack because you wouldn't have time tomorrow.

one thing you were not was a morning person and yes you should have gotten used to it by now working in the restaurant industry but getting up at 4 a.m. will never feel natural. regardless, you had a twinge of excitement for your new job and excited to learn under this new chef that carmy spoke so highly of.

once you got ready for the day, you hear three soft knocks.

"morning," you say. "you ready?"

"born ready," marcus says as you lock your door and head to the restaurant.

it was only a 15 minute walk from where you were staying so the two of you arrive with time to spare.

you walk into the bright kitchen and suck in a breath. the kitchen was stunning with it's high-end equipment, gorgeous green tiling and the young hot chef moving bags of flour from one table to another.

"chef. i'm marcus brooks and this is y/n y/l/n," marcus begins. "and we're from-"

the chef looks up for a quick second. "i know. i'm luca, pastry. we start at 5 a.m. your section's at the end of the bench."

the english accent takes you by surprise. your knees could have buckled right then and there.

"yes, chef," the two of you say in unison.

now your excitement turned into nervousness. not only were you to create three star-worthy desserts for the bear, you had to learn from someone who is so extremely good looking it hurts.

marcus and you head to the back to change into your uniforms which was a basic indigo t-shirt and a green apron like luca had.

when you went back out, you immediately wash your hands and got ready for whatever luca had in store for you guys.

luca had marcus rollout croissant pastry while he led you to a table where he had prepared a dessert. your task was to place pieces of peanuts at a certain angle as part of its presentation.

you study luca as he shows you what to do. he had small black tattoos scattered up and down his arms. that alone is having an effect on you.

"here, you try," he says passing the tweezers to you.

your fingers brush as you took the small tool from him. luca didn't make eye contact but you did notice his jaw clench.

"nuzzle that sliver into the pudding just to lock it in."

"yes, chef," you say.

taking one of the small nuts from the bowl, you place it on the pudding but it slipped last second.

"no. again, chef," he says in a calm yet assertive tone.

"sorry," you say and try again and it's worse which luca picks up on.

"hm, worse."

he takes the tweezers from you and picks up the piece. "don't be afraid to just stick it in there, you know," luca takes the nut and slides it in perfectly. "just be confident about it."

"don't second-guess yourself," he says finally locking eyes with you.

you nod. "yes, chef."

you took the tweezers back and third time was the charm because you placed the nut in the pudding just like he'd showed you. smiling to yourself, you put the tool down.

luca's face stays expressionless. he looks up from the dessert. "you know how to make shiso gelee?"

you absolutely do not know how to make whatever he just said but there was no way you were gonna let him know that.

"yes, chef."

"alright."

luca steps away to grab some ingredients which gives you the opportunity to whip your phone out and google the gelee. "dextrose? what the fuck is that?" you whisper to yourself.

luca came back and places a tray in front you. "recipe," he says tapping some blue index cards.

you felt your face burn. "thank you, chef."

end of part 1 omggg. not much luca x reader but it’s warming up trust me. i already have ideas for part 2 and 3 with some potential alternate endings... stay tuned

if you enjoyed, please let me know (through my bio) if you have any the bear requests, send them my way!

#the bear #the bear season 2 #luca #the bear luca #will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter imagine #the bear imagine #the bear fanfic #the bear fx #the bear sydney #sydney adamu #luca x reader

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clearexpertarcade · 5 months

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matt weekends were filled with partying and beer he was in love with the college nightlife but Matt was steadily increasing his waistline without him realizing it I mean all that beer and getting high which would lead to a pig out at the end of the night Lucky for Matt the first 5 Ibs he gained went straight to his ass only making matt hotter.

Matt had managed to gain a respectable 15 pounds, covering his formerly shredded abs with a bit of a belly but no one would have called him fat or probably even noticed

Matt's love of burgers and pastries was steadily increasing his waistline without him realising it the ex-jock’s belly grew steadily each day he was growing inch by inch how could he not when Matt's diet slowly turned into one of beer, pizza, pasta, McDonald’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, and burritos. And all the partying Matt did Left him with little time to work out not that he gave it much thought

Matt said to his roommate ''am getting pizza you want anything''

Roommate “Shouldn’t you be laying off the fast food?”

Mate “Sure beats having to make my own dinner”

The roommate walked over to Matt lifted his shirt reached out and gave Matt soft layer of extra pudge a squeeze

Roommate “Maybe you ought to think about laying off the pizza a bit.”

Matt lowered his shirt “ Yes, fine Whatever Um, yeah, I’ll take 2 large meat lovers with extra cheese and the dessert cookie cake …. You want anything''

Roommate ''“That’s all for you?”

Matt “Yeah bro what do you want?”

Roommate '' am good''

Mate '' oh and a bottle of diet coke''

Roomate “Haha you enjoyed yourself.''

and enjoy himself he did Matt quite happily and stuffed himself with pizza lifting piece by piece, watching the multitude of cheeses stretch away from the rest of the pizza. He used his finger to sever the excess and toss it back into his mouth.

Matt would be meandering about the dorm room with his bare beer belly on for show. Matt would belch and rub his way around the room. Matt's roommate walked up to him and patted his belly which was starting to droop a little over the elastic waistband “Careful buddy, you’re gonna get fat.” Matt shrugged, taking another sip of his beer “I’ll still hit the gym and run, you know? It will all balance out in the end.”

Matt didn't listen to his roommate's warning and continued pigged out in every sense of the word and his belly grew wider and wider, drooping lower and lower, his once flat chest was developing into a heavy pair of moobs.

Matt kept convincing himself that his 36" pants still fit he’d suck in his growing belly and grunt and groan “Damn it,” he grunted, attempting to get the button in his jeans to reach the hole. Matt tried buttoning them but they wouldn’t close ''Just suck in. Just suck it in''. These fit the last time Matt wore them.

Matt tossed himself against his bed pushing himself onto the bed. Sure enough, he managed to get the ends to meet and do up his pants. Sitting up was a little uncomfortable, but at least his pants were fastened.

Later that night Matt and his roommate kicked back watched TV down some beers and got high. Time melted away as they talked and In what seemed like no time at all, Matt had downed two beers The button of his shorts groaned audibly but didn’t give. As Matt leaned forward to reach for his third beer but suddenly he heard the button on his shorts groan. There was a pinch at his waist, then a loud snap, and the pressure dissipated immediately from his waist as his button went flying across the room. His zipper gave under the pressure of his surging belly and jiggled wildly on his lap, jutting forward even farther than it had before, leaving his belly completely exposed, pale, flabby, and jiggly right before his roommate's eyes.

“You’ve gotten fat, man Looks like you could use some new shorts I can't believe you just busted out your pants. You need to lay off the burgers and beer, big guy.''

“Man,” Matt gave his belly a jiggle, “I am getting’ fuckin’ fat dude. I need to hit the gym. I didn’t notice how big this puppy was getting!”

Matt stood shirtless in front of his 3-sided mirror with his shorts busted open and gave his belly a squeeze and grabbed a handful of his flesh. He gasped and he felt his fingers press deeply into his soft stomach. It felt like bread dough being kneaded between his fingers. It was then that Matt realized that the Fat Gut he saw looking in the mirror was his. He screamed aloud in shock when he realized that he was fat.

#fat belly #fatboy #letgo #fat #fatboystory #fatty #pop #exjock #fat guy

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