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wysteria-bloom · 21 days

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⚝ " i'll never smile again "

The hazbin boys are visibly stressed

Warnings : I used female pronouns. There are mentions of Valentino. Highly suggestive in Vox's part because yeah it makes sense. Alastor offers to go on a murderous rampage with the reader 🥰

Genre : Fluff, suggestive

A/n : I hate the people in my life and they stress me tf out so I'm writing to vent my frustrations out. :) I only included my favs in this one but if you would like a part two with other characters then say the word.

Characters : Alastor, Vox, Lucifer

▢ vox ᯤ

- Offering sexual favours -

Vox growled to himself gently as he typed away at the screen in front of him, eyes honing in obsessively on the words and news articles.

He was on media control right now because fucking Val blew up on Angel in public today.

Now he's forced to get rid of every media that is sculpting Valentino out to be the bad guy.

Whoopee fucking doo.

"Fuckin' Val... stupid idiot.... stupidly hot idiot." He sighed out, running his hands down his face tiredly then his eyes widened with an idea,"... Where's my assistant."

"Here, sir."

"Fuckin' christ-!" He yelped out at the sudden voice and he spun around quickly in his chair, coming face to face with her amused little shit-eating grin. He glared, scowl on his lips," You been there the whole time?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded, hands folded in her lap modestly.

"You're a little creep, y'know that?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the painful cracks that resounded from them," You seen the media?"

She nodded," yes, quite the 'clusterfuck' as you would put it."

His lip twitched in amusement," perfect descriptor, honestly." He then clicked his fingers at the screen," Is Troy on today? Tell him to deal with the rest of the articles pl-"

"It's Troy's day off today, sir." (Name) interrupted, walking so she was standing next to him, she leaned over him a little to click away at the tabs he had opened," But I will call him to come in. You need rest." She replied promptly.

Vox watched her with an almost sleepy look in his eyes, watching her close down the articles with quick and manicured claws.

"What would I do without you, eh?" He hummed out.

A chuckle flitted from her lips and he found himself entranced by the sound of it," I think you'd do well for yourself without me, sir." She reassured with a gentle voice and stepped away from the desk a little, turning to face him," would you like me to accompany you to your room?"

He blinked and then smirked," how forward of you, sweetheart." He cooed out with that sultry tone of his," Take me out to dinner first, yeah?"

She tilted her head to the side with an owlish blink,"... Would you like to go to dinner? Would that be a better form of stress relief for you that the first option?"

His mouth fell open with a shocked look as he stared at her, a little buffering symbol in the top right corner of his screen for a moment before it disappeared, a dark blush appearing on his face," f-fuck wait... w-were you suggesting we..."

"We have sex? Yes. I hear it's a rather fantastic way of stress relief and you are a rather sexually frustrated individual so it would-"

He place a hand over her mouth as he stood from his chair, basically towering over her.

There was a hungry look in his eyes as he let that charming grin twitch onto his lips," You're about the best damn fuckin' assistant I've ever had."

She smiled beneath his hand and grabbed onto his wrist gently, maneuvering it so she could place an oh-so-gentle kiss to his wrist whilst looking into his eyes," I'm honoured, sir." She hummed out in a sultry fashion.

Vox gulped, his self-control snapping, red leaking from his mouth," I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, sir."

▢ alastor ⍋

- Expressing your issues over a glass of giggle juice -

A sigh and a huff fell from her lips as she made her way into the hotel lobby, shoulders sagging from a long day of work.

There seemed to be nobody in the lobby as she walked over to the bar and poured herself out a glass of whiskey.

"Late-night drinking? That's not like you." The familiar static of Alastor graced her ears.

(Name) blinked and looked over to him, noticing how tensed his smile seemed. His eyes looked... genuinely exhausted. His ears flopped downwards ever so slightly.

"Looks like you should be joining me," She hummed back and grabbed another glass, wiggling it at him suggestively.

He watched it for a second before relaxing and grabbing it, sitting next to her at the bar and pouring the liquid. He took a sip with her and his smile seemed to curl in a more soft way now.

"Hm, I dare say my dear, that does just hit the spot doesn't it?" He hummed out, a more relaxed expression on his face.

"You can say that again. No wonder Husk is an alcoholic, I understand the appeal after having an awful day." She replied with a nod of agreement," yknow, sometimes I wish Hell was just a personal purgatory instead of me having to deal with other people's shit."

"Agreed. It gets tiring, doesn't it? Makes you want to go a little batshit insane, yes?" He said this with a polite tone of voice, ears perked up.

"I want to go on a murderous rampage every second of every day."

"We could join forces if it ever came to that. We would kill twice the amount of demons."

She grinned at him," how flattering. You'd go on a murder spree with me, Al?"

He pressed a hand to his heart to express his genuine sincerity," Dear, if I ever say no to a question like that then I give you my full and utter permission to kill me in the most brutal way you can think of." He replied honestly, and (name) didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned but she found herself laughing along anyways.

"What a charmer," She grinned at him brightly," You can be so romantic when you want to, hm?"

"Romance has nothing to do with it. It is merely etiquette." He tilted his head at her, resting it in the palm of his hand, expression seemingly brightened from just a conversation with her," what's got you so downtrodden?"

She deflated a little, smile tired," Overworked and under-appreciated for the work I do." She replied simply, taking a sip of her whiskey," I'll never smile again~" She sang sadly.

Alastor perked up at the familiar song," until I smile at youuu~" he serenaded, smile only widening at the sound of her amused laughter.

Then he looked her over, an almost disappointed glint in his eyes," I still wonder why you work for that insolent shitbox after all these years." His smile seemed to sharpen at the thought of Vox," He doesn't deserve you at all. Not a single bit."

(Name) shrugged," I'm helpless, what can I say?"

"You're not. You're a strong woman, (name). Stand up for yourself. And if you can't stand?" His eyes glowed sinisterly," Break his legs off so you can."

She stared on for a second before raising her glass," Most sound advice I've heard for years."

Alastor barked out an amused laugh and raised his hlass to hers, "For that compliment? I will break his legs for you if it is needed, darlin'. "

Clink went their glasses as they enjoyed each other's company for a while longer.

▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝

- Gentle caresses and positive affirmations -

"Okay so... meeting with the angels next week... then I have to call Michael- eugh cowabummer... then I have to-"

(Name) watched her friend flail around his office with a concerned frown on her lips, arms crossed over her chest.

He's been so stressed lately. He had that little break in between where he could just... chill.

And make his cute rubber duckies.

But now with everything in the hotel, he's had a lot more work on his shoulders. Specifically with Heaven, as unfortunate as that was.

She saw his claws scratching through his hair as he paced back and forth, as though he was entranced by all these... issues. He's so entranced he's forgotten she's there with him.

So she sighed and lifted herself from the wall and walked into his walk-cycle path, grabbing onto his shoulders before he could crash into her.

He blinked in surprise and met eyes with her, a dumbfounded expression on his face," Oh... Hey."

She smiled," Hey."

"Sorry, you've probably heard me complain enough lately. Your pretty ears must be burning with all the yapping-"

"Of course not, Lou..." She huffed out, interrupting him with a frown of disapproval. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his arms, rubbing gentle touches of comfort," I think you've got too much on your plate lately - you using me as an outlet to vent to is the least of my problems."

He deflated a little, a tiredly wry grin on his lips," You're... you're too nice, y'know that?"

"What? You'd rather I spit and degrade you~?" She flirted teasingly with a fanged grin.

"No thanks... for now." He then sighed and moved his head to rest on her chest, cheek smooshing against her collar bone," I need a vacation."

(Name) laughed as she threaded her fingers through his mussed-up hair gently and soothingly," You were basically on a vacation already, hon. Now's the time to get back to work. Put all those wonderful thoughts and dreams to good use."

He melted in her arms, closing his eyes slowly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. This felt more domestic than platonic, but the two of them were too focused on eachother to admit that.

"You'll stay, right? I like having you here." He mumbled tiredly," U-unless you don't wanna which I totally understand and a-accept... y'know, you don't have to be here if you don't want t-"

"Stop worrying you dummy." (Name) chuckled out,"... I'd love to stay here with you."

"Phew..." He huffed and grinned sharply," Good to hear... a-amazing to hear!... Y... you're the best."

"Don't I know it~!"

#alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #vox x y/n #vox x you #vox x reader #vox x valentino #im sad and tired #writing can only save me from the bleak reality that is life

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lenaellsi · 6 months

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“Crowley is still an angel deep down” “Crowley is more of an angel than any of the archangels” “Crowley was only cast out because he needed to play his part in Armageddon, he's not a real demon” “Aziraphale wants to rebuild Heaven to be more like Crowley because he’s what an angel should be” no. Stop it. This is exactly where Aziraphale went wrong.

Crowley is 100% a demon. He's not actually a bit of an angel, and he's not cosmically better than any of the other demons we see in the series. He's much less vicious than most of them, yeah, but he's also much less vicious than most of the angels, because how “nice” a celestial being is has nothing to do with which side they're technically on. Crowley's kindness comes from him doing his best to help people despite the hurt he's suffered himself, not any sort of inherent residual or earned holiness. He was cast out just like the rest of the demons, and that's an important part of his history that shouldn't be minimized, excused, or, critically, 'corrected.'

Being angelic is not a positive or negative trait in the Good Omens universe. It's a species descriptor. Saying that Crowley is still an angel deep down because he helps people is an in-character thing for Aziraphale to think, certainly--Job and the final fifteen showed that in the worst possible way--but it's not something Crowley would ever react well to, and it's the main source of conflict in the entire "appoint you to be an angel" fiasco.

We know that Aziraphale thinks Crowley's fall was an injustice, but why? Well, because Crowley is actually Good, which means his fall was a mistake, or a test, or a regrettable error in judgment, or…something. Ineffable. Etc. The point is, he’s special, much better than those other demons, and if they can fix him and make him an angel again, everything will be fine! (So once Job's trials are over, everything will be restored to him? Praise be!) Aziraphale has to believe that Crowley's better traits come from traces of the angel he used to know and not the demon he's known for 6,000 years, because that’s how he can rationalize his incorrect view of Heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good with his complicated feelings about Crowley's fall.

But Crowley's fall was not an injustice because he's actually a Good Person who didn't deserve it. Crowley's fall was an injustice because the entire system of dividing people into Good (obedient) and Bad (rebellious) is bullshit. Crowley is not an unfortunate exception to God's benevolence, he is a particularly sympathetic example of God's cruelty.

And really, Crowley doesn't behave at all like an angel, especially when he's at his best. All of the things that he's done that we as the audience consider Good are things that Heaven has directly opposed. (See: saving the goats and children in defiance of God in S2E2, convincing Aziraphale to give money to Elspeth despite Heaven's views on the "virtues of poverty" in S2E3, speaking out against the flood and the crucifixion in S1E3, tempting Aziraphale to enjoy earthly pleasures because he thinks they'll make him happy, stopping Armageddon.)

Heaven as an institution has never been about helping humanity. And that's not an issue of leadership, as Aziraphale seems to think--it's by design. Aziraphale's first official act as an angel toward humanity was to literally throw them to the lions. Giving them the sword wasn't him acting like an angel, it was just him being himself. Heaven doesn't care about humans. It's not supposed to. It's supposed to win the war against Hell, with humans as chess pieces at best and collateral damage at worst.

Yes, it's easier to think that there are forces that are supposed to be fundamentally good. It's easier to think that Aziraphale is going to show those mean archangels and the Metatron what’s coming to them and reform Heaven into what it "should" be, and that God is actually super chill and watching all of this while shipping ineffable husbands and cheering for them the whole way. And of course it's easier to take Crowley, who Aziraphale (and the audience) adores, and say that he deserves to be on the Good team much more than all those angels and demons that we don’t like. But that's not how it works. People are more complicated than that, even celestial beings.

Crowley is a demon, and the tragedy of his character is not that he's secretly a good guy who is being forced to be evil; the tragedy is that he's lived his whole life stuck between two institutional forces that are both equally hostile to the love he feels for the universe and the beings in it. There are no good and bad guys. There are no "right people." Every angel, demon, and human is capable of hurting or helping others based on their choices. That is, in fact, the entire fucking point.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #long post #i feel like this is obvious. and yet #when crowley is kind he is NOT acting angelic. the same is true of aziraphale.#(to a point. i do think aziraphale performs 'niceness' sometimes because he feels like it's something he Should do as an angel)#(but that's because aziraphale has so many issues i cannot detail them in the tags of this crowley post)#this is my second long meta post in like 3 days. sorry. it’s my first free weekend in a while

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 4 months

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I've seen Stede Bonnet described as a "twink" too many times in the past few days and I'm starting to lose it (my fault for going on Twitter I guess), but I realize some people don't know like actual irl gay terms so I just wanna say: that's not the word you're looking for.

In real life, not just talking about like the words you see in gay porn, "twink" means a very skinny, young, hairless gay man. Stede Bonnet is not very skinny, young, or hairless so the word does not fit. "Twink" is not the only or even the best word to use when describing a feminine or flamboyant gay man.

The word irl gay people use that would fit someone like Stede is "queen." Queens are flamboyant, campy, feminine gay men. People can identify with this descriptor regardless of age, body type, or skin color (whereas twinks are uniformly young, skinny, and typically White).

I get this might seem like arguing semantics, but there's a real problem with using very specific labels like "twink" as the only descriptor for feminine gay men. Because the word when appropriately used only refers to young, skinny, hairless, usually White men, it can easily make gay men who don't tick any of those boxes feel like we don't fit in our own communities or that we might "age out" of it. But there's room for all of us, and descriptors like "queen" have been around way longer than any of us.

Sincerely, a queen who is super tired of "twink" being used like it's the only word that can describe feminine gay men.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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kiwanopie · 1 month

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A Lucky Find.

Pure luck, isn’t it? (Geto Suguru x fem!sorcerer!Reader)

cw: yandere if you squint. mention of misogyny and inappropriate work place relationships, graphic descriptions of curses and body horror, death by mutilation involving a curse (Not you), mention of religion, only specifics about reader is that she’s visibly very attractive and may have long hair (no descriptors though, it could be a lace) Suguru is out of his mind. You will not be called a monkey in this one.

wc: 3.9k

You’re not a very talkative assistant.

Granted sometimes you’re inclined to wonder if talking would’ve made so much of a difference to the position you’ve been put in, but you’ve never been a particularly choosy assistant either. You’re great at handling quick business, the calls your boss can’t be bothered to take - studious in your evening planning and you can quick work a coffee run like nobody's business. — You don’t complain about the thin heels they put you in, or the pencil skirts. Mired businessmen with filthy smirks and wondering eyes, or the routine baby talk you get from your degenerate boss. You don’t blink an eye at it. - You sit when you’re told to sit and bark when Mr. Minoru decides to hold that pretty little bone over your head.

“You could use a bonus, huh?”

Today it’s a back rub.

You’re silent as your nimble fingers start to press little groves in his upper back, impassive when he groans. Mr. Minoru, your boss, is a very rich man. He’s the successor of a retired tycoon who was once the successor of another and so forth. He’s an amalgamation of power and fortune and a small legion of nepotism babies that regularly walk in through those mahogany doors just ahead of his desk. An investor, you think. Most conversations he has are about money and the best way to double it; fewer are the ones where he’s actually taking the time out of his schedule to distribute it.

It’s all elite talk. Big men following big men following a perv who believes he’s god. Long outstretched legs that extend as he relaxes himself in his seat and hopes that the movement is enough to encourage you to start on his shoulders.

You like to think you got this job out of pure luck. Met the right man at the right time and stumbled over the deal of a lifetime all for the small cost of a little bit of your dignity. — Not like it was much of a trade from your part time job busing tables at that high-end restaurant. Being yelled at by bratty celebrities at a fraction of the price and coming home smelling reminiscent of a meat locker. Now you’re standing on the top floor of a penthouse suite. Smelling of expensive perfume that your boss totally didn’t break worker/boss relation code for and looking down at the entirety of Tokyo from its bay windows.

Pure luck.

The creature hooked to the upper side of his shoulder unfastens its teeth with a firm graze of your fingers. The steam it emits as it fizzles away is sour.

Mr. Minoru has a pension for starting fights with the wrong people, it seems. With bitter people - scornful people. People who hate him and can’t do anything about it, other than wish him harm or hex him in some way. — Worst are the people who don’t hate him, who envy him. Step into his office with painted smiles and clenched teeth. Who curse his name the moment they leave and leave you to deal with these little “bugs.”

Your nose twitches as its rotten smell encombers. For a moment your pretty face is twisted up in a scowl.

The massages started from an offhand graze of your fingers during a dinner at your old job. Pretty little waitress bending over him in that little work dress and running your finger down his felted coat. You apologize for your familiarity, someone must’ve spilled something on his jacket. ~ But the weight on his back is gone from just that little touch and now he’s offering you a job. You don’t regularly make a habit of helping those you’ve already deemed “afflicted.” But the fucker making goo trails on his back at the time was just disgusting enough to hinder your train of thought, and there’s no way you could’ve gone through your shift without reviling every time you passed his table.

So, now you’re his assistant - and today it’s just a back rub. Thankfully not a request to play with his hair and try not to cringe at the way he shutters from it. A subtle pat on the cheek for his good luck kiss, or a request to sit on his lap while he tells you a story he doesn’t care if you’re listening to. Because you’re quiet.

His not talkative, non-fussy, no complaints assistant.

Like always he fills the empty air in place of your silence. “Ah. By the way, princess. We’ve got a guest coming around after lunch. A real traditional fella. So, we’ll need to be on our best behavior,”

“Apparently he’s got some sort of business opportunity for me in exchange for a few investments,” He sighs when your fingers dip a little under his collar. “Says that in his big fuckin’ haori. Probably cost a few thousand bucks,”

Mr. Minoru shifts his shoulders under your firm touches. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know about it aside from the gag of seeing him in person again. Guy has this weird energy about himself that gives me the creeps. — Says he’s avant-garde. — I just think he’s a weird fuckin’ guy.”

“But,” The exhale he lets out is tempered and whisky tinted, clears out the fresh space in his chest that usually frees up when you’ve got your hands on him. “My old man likes ‘em. Says he’d be good for my health if I kept him around. At the very least build some sorta relationship with him.”

“Too bad my health’s in tip-top shape! Eh, doll-baby?” Minoru twists his head to flash you an expensive smile. Faintly defined cheekbones turning rosy when you return it like you know you’re supposed to. “Got my little guru at my side!”

And your simper, although gentle, is forced. Distantly you wonder if you’re the reason these bugs have become so habitual.

——-

This man is very ill.

Though he walks in with his head held high and a particular spring in his step, your diagnosis is that he must be terminal. He must be diseased and irremediable. In a constant state of agony and so stricken with unwellness that he can’t even think straight. You’ve seen your fair share of “bugs” and rabid disfigured animals that grow out of their hosts like fungus. Some that trail behind like lost children with broken crackling legs - a stench that only accompanies the open wounds whose maggots reach out so helplessly. Disturbing things. For all of it you’ve seen, you’re lucky to say that those cases are few and far in between.

But this,

It has many hands and many faces.

Each accompanied by its own set of teeth. Curling lips that stutter as they rise, etched in lipstick and gum; you find mint leaves hidden in the valley of its tongue, coiling as it softly sings. Watching from afar as it hobbles on its haunches like a drunken man, or of fawn newly grazed. It is steady - and constantly moving. It buzzes like a million bees and yet the man standing next to it is seemingly unaffected.

And so are you.

Your gentility becomes you as you politely bow for the man who you’ve so gracefully led to Mr. Minoru’s office. A practiced curtsy is usually enough to get your usual guests commenting under their nose at your bosses taste in assistant’s, but this man is quiet as he walks past you. So above your head that it almost feels like he doesn’t even know you exist. And that feeling is… off putting to say the least.

You close the door behind him as your boss starts on introductions.

“Ah, so you’ve met my beautiful assistant!” He reaches out his hand. “Minoru. Nice to meet you.”

The genuinity in the man’s smile fastens his eyes into slits as he steps forward to return the shake. “Geto, likewise.”

“Geto, huh? I heard the old man sent you for an investment proposition. My guess is it’s something… traditional?” Minoru gestures toward his garbs.

He’s somewhat clinical in his attempt to look lighthearted, but the sigh he blows out feels trusting. “So this isn’t selling “contemporary” huh?”

Minoru laughs and the thing beside him whimpers.

Your fingers twitch against your work skirt.

You’re a distant shadow lingering behind the conversing men as you step to your post on the far side of the office wall, heels clicking quietly when you bend to fix yourself adjacent to Mr. Minoru’s desk. — You’re not expected to listen much to the conversation, or even understand the matters on which they talk about. Just straighten your back when your boss snaps his fingers and follow obediently when he coos an order.

But even if that weren’t the case, you’d say it’d be hard to pay any attention to anything other than whatever the fuck that is hunched beside the man standing just a few feet away. Singing quietly under its breath and repeating the tune like a prayer. Fearful, shaken, pleaful, dread inducing; overlapping in its many mouths. Your fingernails quietly scrape against each other in your attempt to remain neutral but from a keen eye you’re jarred. Disquietingly moving your eyes from the two men still talking adjacent from you and then it again.

It’s looking at you.

You force down a swallow when Minoru calls your name.

“Quiet thing, isn’t she?” Your boss comments amidst the conversation as you approach them. “Could almost forget she’s here if it weren’t for the eyecandy,”

You smile at him like he’s flattering you but it’s muscle memory. “Sir?”

“Gather up those papers from your desk over there, sweetpea. And hand it to the nice man.”

You almost don’t even wanna turn your back on it.

But against your own anxieties you do as you're told. Even with your nerves frayed as they are. You keep your posture as you hastily skirt to your desk and back across the room again. Nimble, slightly shaken fingers lowering to place it in Geto-san’s hand but he doesn’t acknowledge you even when you smile. Vacant eyes. Bored of you already. —- You don’t know if you should feel more offended or alarmed. But in your curtsy before backing away you decide to split the difference and go for disturbed.

Avant-garde. This guy just gives you the fuckin’ creeps.

He works in health, apparently. From what you’ve gathered in the continuing conversation, he’s a spiritual man who offers health by spiritual means. It’s not a very groundbreaking admission, especially from a man in traditional garb, but he assures that his practices have long surpassed ground theory and have been proven to guarantee actual results. From refractory diseases, mental illness, visible injury; his methods could completely eradicate the need for traditional medicine and take the health industry by storm.

But money is a long factor, longer in the doubtful and non-spiritual. “Non-worthy.” It sounds pointed the way he slips that in, but your red flags aren’t shared with your less than convinced boss.

“Spiritual healing sounds great and all, Geto buddy. But you’re directing services to a pretty biased market.” Minoru crosses one of his legs over the other from his perched position against his desk. “Even with the facts, the money’s in objectivity. You’d get more bang for your buck just saying any Yamada worth his salt can walk in and get rid a’ his sniffles for the right price. - Religion ‘ll just turn people off.”

Geto smiles patiently. “Ah, Minoru-san, we’re not religion based. Religion promotes powerlessness. Our services come from practical people.”

You watch as the creature messily swivels on its crooked legs when he invades its space by leaning back a little. “But to insert certain biases kind of sweetens the deal, doesn’t it? People like things that make them feel special. Even the most useless people should wanna prove themselves in some way, right?”

What a crooked way of thinking.

At your quiet displeasure the mass behind Geto wheezes painfully, wincing when you lock eyes with it. Its song pitches and warbles, chops a little like it’s weeping; but even in its effort to resume its discontent is palpable.

You could almost feel acknowledged by it. By its wandering eyes and its tightened misshapen shoulders. Almost as off put as you are from its spot in the middle of the room. The more you look at it, the more it starts to evoke pity. Even in its unsightliness, it looks misplaced and afraid. - Its song breaks like a cry for mercy and the closer you look at it the more recognizable its purpose becomes.

There are knots in its balmy skin so engorged they bleed and tear. Fabric mincing over fictional scabbing and prayer beads hanging out of its gashes. Every twitch it makes reverberates ricey out of rhythm beats akin to maracas and its song, as out of key as it is, is reverential. Powerlessness. Anodyne through faith. You barely find yourself pitying the afflictions of affected people but in the context of this conversation - it’s watering eyes; you feel empathetic toward this thing and by extension Geto-san.

You assume something awful must’ve started that way of thinking.

Should you even stick your neck out for this guy? You’ve dealt with bigger, more violent ones in any case. But this creature seems peaceful. Following faithfully on its hosts haunches as it waits patiently beside him. You’ll have to be fast and unflashy about it, hopefully the stench from that thing won’t make you hurl on impulse. But if not out of mercy, it would be nice to have it out of your line of vision.

Your eyes cross it again. It’s many eyes well with anguish. You decide that at your next opportunity you’ll get rid of it promptly.

As luck would have it Mr. Minoru’s personal phone rings.

He’s quick in his apologies as he fishes it out of his pocket. Passing a smile to Geto as he quickly bows and makes the few long strides it takes to step out of the door and into the hallway, and a few short snaps in your direction as he points you to the concessionaires reserved for his clients near the door.

You’re practiced as you dip for the little fridge on your left, carefully sliding out a glassed bottle of water from the door and a plastic bag of sliced apples.

“Would you like a snack while you wait, Geto-san?”

He ignores you.

Through a quietly exasperated sigh does he slide his phone out of his hakama and pointedly decide not to acknowledge your awkward stance at the far end of the room. — You know he ignores you because the silence that otherwise permeates the spaciousness of your boss's suite is momentarily disrupted by the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls; followed again by that frigid silence.

This is the guy you’re trying to help.

Even so, your embarrassment is brushed aside in favor of making your way to the small coffee table between him and the other leather seat parallel to his. Thin pencil skirt riding a little as you take wide steps to the little spot that separates him from the empty seat - and you from the thin sliver of carpet standing between he and the now quivering mass.

You bend to place the treats gingerly beside him.

And when you rise you reach for it.

There are practiced fingers circling around your wrist before you can even touch it.

Your fear is potent enough to turn its broken hums into racking sobs as you freeze in his sudden grip. Firmly clasped onto you as he raises your arm over your head and forces you to jolt back with a stuttered breath. Faint greyed markings on the palm of your hand fade but they’re caught under his watchful eye, and through your shock you watch his expression switch.

From confusion, to intrigue, to pure excitement.

Your shock teeters on horror as his pupils dilate. “Now, just what were those pretty fingers planning on doing?”

He seems to revel at the sheer bewilderment that colors in your pretty face from where you nervously stare up at him. Doe eyes lit up by headlights, and the radiative heat of suddenly being this close to his predatory gaze. You stammer. “Wh-? Y-You know it’s-“

“Brought it with me, didn’t I?” He speaks lowly as he circles his thumb over your wrist. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern though, sweetheart.”

You shrink. The absurdity of intentionally carrying a burden like this is as mind boggling as it is chilling. Dread inducing, even. With the kind of bad juju that thing emits there’s no other reason to purposefully let it fester beside you than for motives deeply depraved. Deeply disturbed. The way the air around him murkens and electrifies, and a glint in his eye that makes you feel like prey. — He’s looking at you like you’re dinner right now. And something about that feels trillions of times more frightening than any typical rubbernecking.

After being treated like a ghost by this man this whole time. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a slab of meat spread out for him. Succulent and tenderized, pliant under his fingers. Your soft eyes are rigid with fear as his other hand reaches for you blithely, larger fingers dipping in your loose hair and scooping it gently forward. You glance at it from the corner of your eye.

Smoke curls around his palm.

You suppress with a quiet intake of breath.

Geto-san’s cheeks pinken as he gleefully smiles, emboldened by a genuine tinge of ardor. You do your best not to flinch but it’s futile, his chilled fingers consolingly caress your face as he tuts; and gazes at you like he’s committing you to memory.

“Be patient for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a minute.”

You can’t even begin to guess what that means.

But before you can inquire he’s shushing you with a finger up to his lips. Playfully shooing you away as Mr. Minoru’s footsteps patter closer, and you clumsily re-fit yourself into your professional mask.

“Sorry ‘bout that, pal. Forgot about another meeting I was supposed to attend a little earlier,” He pockets his phone. “No one’s fault.”

He leans against the cliff of his desk where Geto-san’s planted himself again. Minoru glances at the unopened bag of apple slices. “Ah, _____, baby. You were supposed to hand him the good stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“No worries.” Geto laughs airily. “How could anything look nearly as appetizing when you’ve got an assistant like that walking around?”

Your ears burn as Mr. Minoru snorts in kind. “Yeah, fair enough,”

He rolls up his sleeves. “A’right, princess. How bout you hop on over to my lounge and break open the good brandy for my guest and I. Bring us the crystal set. Can you do that?”

—-

The decanter in your hand falls with a dull thump.

There’s no… logical explanation for what you’re looking at right now — Who you’re looking at right now. In any other circumstance deep purples would be expected. Blotched boysenberries and flossy reds, dotted with strained blues. You’d expect tearing - bleeding, audible ginger snaps of tendons and extended bone. A scream even, no matter how silent; all are logically expected. Death is logically expected.

But seeing your boss stretched out like leather, not a full five minutes after leaving him alone with this man, is not.

Your eyes frantically skirt over your boss's heaving corpse from your exposed position at his closing entrance. Watching in repulsed terror as his skin tears and bruises, familiar prayer beads falling out of his flesh like stuffing. - His eyes are rolled agonizingly into the back of his head, mouth opened in a scream. His blood sizzles against the maple of his desk and you can do little but stare in horror.

You flinch as the mainline on his desk starts to go off but you’re no sooner cringing at the way his arm breaks just to reach for it. Bloody fingers pushing the receiver, and cheeks tearing just to respond.

His unchanged voice somehow makes it all the more horrifying. “Hi, Souza. Thanks for getting back to me,”

“Yeah, do me a favor,” You back into the door. “Route about ten million to Geto-san’s organization under investment. And be a dear and sign the invoice for me, would ya?”

You’re gonna be sick.

“So, you’re out of a job now, huh?” You nearly yelp.

Geto-san’s standing just over you. “I’ve got a pretty similar position opened up,” He says casually. “‘Wanna work for me?”

You can barely push out a word. Which, kind man that he is, helps you out by deciding for you. “Ah, Great! I can break you in on Sunday. Here’s my card.”

He smiles kindly as you hesitantly pluck the laminated card from his fingers. Looking at you under mirthful eyes that chill more than they comfort.

“If you’re worried about pay, I can give you double of whatever that monkey gave you. Maybe a little extra if you’re as good as he says you are.”

But before you can recoil at the thought of being stuck under the same kind of boss, with the extra caveat of being a psychopath; he adds with a hint of challenge. “That is, if you can get rid of our friend for us.”

You follow his glance to the creature wearing your boss like a hand puppet.

Do you even have a choice?

Geto-san watches with a keen eye as you warily approach the blinking, bleeding corpse behind your late boss’s desk. Heels clicking slowly against his wooden floors, skin prickling at the thought of even getting close to this thing let alone touch it. There’s a smell that you notice as you move closer. A rotten, discrepant smell that pushes as much as it pulls. Aging, airless skin, barreling toward cell death; only marginally slowed by the alkaline smell of embalming fluid. Too old. Too sour.

But there’s something about it that almost — Hypnotizes. Evokes a kind of nostalgia that almost completely disarms you. Church pews and goatskin, leather hardbacks under frilly gloves; and those damn prayer beads. You can almost hear your grandmother’s voice. The minty sweet taste of stale candies tinted by the perfume in her purse. ~ Watching worship but not understanding it. A contact high of conviction. Your boss’s blood spills and it means something sacred, something reverent. And the closer you get, the more that sacrifice feels for the better.

You flicker a glance in Geto-san’s direction. This guy had this shit on standby?

It’s clammy when your fingers finally graze its skin. Sweaty and twitching, like every touch is a pinched nerve; like every stroke stimulates. There’s movement under the first layer, a hissing under the second. It’s mania seeps off of it in droves and the more you linger on it, the more your stomach twists.

You draw back your hand and rub over the difference in texture.

The room is temporarily endowed with smoke at the snap of your fingers.

They’re both gone when the vapor quickly dissipates, blood formerly staining expensive maple now replaced with its originally polished shine. As well as his chair, his area rug, and any other evidence that could connote what truly horrific fate the man in question had suffered in this very room.

Which is enough to send Geto-san into an ecstatic flurry of applause. “H-Holy shit. Where have you been all my life?”

He’s more focused on the way the weight in your lips shift rather than that being because of a frown. Regardless, you’re still a picture despite it. “You’re gonna fit nicely. — My address is on the card. Come by nine? I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”

He turns with a relaxed lilt toward the exit. “You and I are gonna have a lot of fun.”

The door clicks as the lock disengages.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

reblogs are appreciated <3

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nintendont2502 · 10 months

Text

thinking about hal and davesprite. davesprite and hal. both splinters of striders. both discarded by the narrative and their friends and themselves. both technically making the decision to give up their humanity, but like. did they really have a choice?

davesprite had to become a sprite. sure, he chose to jump into the sprite, but what else could he have done? he had to travel back to alpha (killing the last friend he had left to try and save all of them) and he had to prototype himself. he probably knew that. and he did it anyway to try and save them all, and what did he get for it? his friends don't care about him - not like they used to, anyway. hes just the weird, spare bird dave that no one really knows how to handle. his own alt self, the one that took his place and his friends, doesn't seem to care - hell, he doesn't even acknowledge davesprite's existence after the scratch and the meteor trip and winning the game.

hal technically chose to create himself. he'd have the memories of it anyway, but how could he have known that he'd be the one stuck in the glasses? imagine just pressing a button and waking up, stuck in code and wires and circuits. you still have all your memories and emotions and experiences but you aren't 'you' anymore. your friends see you as a different person at best, and an annoyance getting in the way of talking to the 'real' you at worst.

davesprite goes from being his own person to just playing a role. davesprite. daves sprite. he isn't a person now, not to the game. he only exists to help dave now. and sure, he rejects it and does his own thing, but having your *name* taken and replaced with a descriptor of the role you're meant to serve? that's gotta hurt

hal has no choice but to accept the role forced on him. auto responder. it's literally programmed into him - he has to respond to dirk's messages when he's too busy. he has to pretend to be his old self only when it's convenient. hell, even his 'ironic' new name still forces him into a box. hal. the 'antagonist' of space odyssey. possibly one of the most famous ai in media. an dangerous ai who threatens and hurts those he's meant to help.

and when they both finally get some semblance of importance, it isn't even as themselves anymore! they've been fused with nepetasprite and equiussprite and while they're still there and still happy, they aren't *them* anymore

they drive me so insane

#and they never even meet!! theres so many parallels between them and yet they never fucking meet until theyre davepeta and arquius and i AGH #me.txt #davesprite #lil hal #hal strider #GOD #god #im just. i cant stop thinking about them #homestuck

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the-modern-typewriter · 9 months

Note

Could you write something about the (lightly) injured villain waking up in the hero's apartment and attacking them, then getting surprised at the realization that hero saved and patched them up?

The villain woke up on a sofa. It would have been fine, except for the fact that it wasn't their sofa.

They bolted upright, heart jack-knifing, gaze sweeping around the room. Plants and bits of scrap and bolts of metal everywhere. Tools. A mess of sharp things.

The hero stepped into the doorway, clutching two steaming mugs of tea. Their eyes widened.

The villain was already on them; tea flying, fingers curled tight around the hero's throat, knocking the air out of them as they tackled them down hard onto the floor, straddling the hero's hips.

"Easy!" The hero wheezed, holding their hands above their head. "I'm not-"

"-Where am I?"

"My home. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You kidnapped me."

The memories filtered through and the villain's brow furrowed. The hero was saying something, starting to look a bit frantic with the crushing grip around their windpipe, but the villain wasn't listening.

Distractedly, their hand rose to the back of their neck, where their neural network was. They remembered the splintering damage. Wiring visible. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

All they felt beneath their hand was smooth skin. Perfectly fine.

The villain's hand recoiled from the hero's neck, but they didn't get up, staring at them.

The hero gasped for air.

The villain's eyes narrowed.

"You saved me," they said. "You...fixed me."

The hero managed a nod.

"Why?"

"Can you...get off me?"

The villain put their hand on the hero's throat again, but didn't squeeze. They felt the hero swallow beneath their palm. Warm and soft and oh so fragile.

"Did you change anything?" the villain asked, low and lethal.

"N-no." The hero's eyes were still so very wide. "I didn't even know until I saw that you weren't - that you are -" The hero floundered.

The villain's jaw clenched.

Cyborg. Android. They weren't entirely certain which was the best descriptor for exactly what they were. Born, but not made. Born, then remade? Something. A human heart and human coverings, but not much else beneath the surface that could truly be called flesh and blood.

"I've never seen anything like you," the hero whispered. "But I did my best to help."

The villain's gaze swept the room again, catching once more on the scrap and the tools. Not a torture chamber. The cramped home of someone who liked to tinker. Who were, whether they were quite aware of it or not, exceptionally skilled at tinkering.

They should definitely kill the hero, for knowing as much as they did. It would be easy to do. They'd taken the hero by surprise, they already had them pinned. All it would take was a twist of their wrist and the hero's neck would snap.

The hero didn't claw at them. They didn't try and persuade the villain to let go. They wet their clearly dry lips, like they were considering trying to say something.

"Why?" the villain asked, again.

"Because that's what I do." The hero seemed nonplussed. "I try to fix things. I try to help."

The villain stroked their thumb along the line of the hero's neck. The hero's breath - already unsteady - gave a noticeable quiver. They swallowed again. Their fingers twitched on the floor.

"You seem fine, anyway," they mumbled. "So you can go, if you like. I should clean up the tea."

"You did not think to restrain me."

"I thought about it."

"But you did not."

"I didn't want you to wake up scared."

The hero sounded like they were being honest, but so did most skilled liars. Still.

The villain couldn't quite bring themselves to kill the hero, as convenient and swift as it could be. The hero was warm beneath them.

"I'm never scared," the villain said, proving precisely that point about liars and their convictions. They rose to their feet, watching the hero still splayed beneath their legs for a moment.

Stamp. End it. Fix nothing. The world did not, after all, deserve to be fixed.

"Thank you," the villain said.

The hero backed up, into the tea stain, standing when the wall was against their back to support them and they were as far away from the villain as they could be. Their eyes stayed glued to the villain, but they summoned a smile that also looked genuine.

A surprise.

Everything about the hero was surprising.

The villain wanted to smile back. They did not.

"I know I said you could go," the hero said, after a moment. "But I would like to run some tests. I'm pretty sure you're fine - the injury was mostly surface, minor. But..." They shrugged.

"You wish to examine me."

The hero cleared their throat, scrubbing a hand over the back of their own neck. "You can say no."

The villain did not say no. They backed up to the sofa they had woken up on and sat down.

The hero approached them, after a beat. They were gentle.

The villain fled out the window when the hero went to make more tea, heart jack-knifing for an entirely different reason whenever they saw the hero after that.

#heroes and villains #hero and villain #hero x villain #villains and heroes #story #story snippet #writing snippet #creative writing #fiction #fic

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holymusicalmothman · 7 months

Text

Sweet Nothings -- OPLA!Sanji x Reader

I've only seen the Live Action, so this is new for me. I started reading the manga a few hours ago and the anime is bookmarked on my Crunchyroll. But for now, I'm working with what I've got. So this is exclusively the Live Action. Best friends to Lovers Trope cause I wanted to. I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out so I might redo it at some point.

Also, shoutout to @avidanadvocacy who managed to like and reblog this within, like, five seconds of me posting it. They're probably the only reason I sat down and wrote this lol

Warnings: vague mentions of canon typical violence, reader is very cautious of showing the fact they're rather soft (not sure if that counts as a warning or makes sense, I'm tired lol)

No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist

I spy with my little tired eye Tiny as a firefly A pebble that we picked up last July Down deep inside your pocket We almost forgot it Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

You had known Sanji since you were young. You had both been around twelve at the time Zeff took you in, after you had been abandoned rather unceremoniously at the Baratie. You couldn’t remember much about the pirates who had left you behind, not that it mattered to you. You were thankful, even after all the years since, that Zeff had taken you in. You weren’t a skilled cook, but you were diligent and hard working, so you worked as a head waiter.

Having grown up around Sanji, you were used to his…antics. He was a flirt to each and every female customer, but whenever you asked, he would wave you off and laugh about it being how he simply ‘gets the customers to keep coming back.’ And you’d roll your eyes and continue on with your business. He had been your best friend for years. When you had initially met, you had simply clicked and that was that. Nothing to it.

He would make you smile on your worst days and you’d do the same for him. Because that’s what friends do. Right?

The first moment you had doubted that his friendship was just that was the day he lent you his coat.

You had just stopped in the kitchen to drop off orders and take a quick breather. The lunch rush at the Baratie was merciless on a good day.

The winds had shifted earlier in the day and despite the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, a chill passed through you and you shivered.

Within moments, a navy blue suit jacket had been deposited around your shoulders.

You turned to see Sanji grinning at you.

“Wouldn’t do for our favorite waiter to catch cold now, would it?” He said before walking deeper into the kitchen.

You smiled at his retreating form, then slipped your arms into the coat properly and rolled the sleeves so that you’d be able to work.

A bit of time had passed since then, and you stopped to survey the tables around the restaurant, putting your hands into the pockets of Sanji’s jacket.

Your fingers brushed against something and you pulled it out in confusion.

A pebble sat in the palm of your hand. Just as blue as the day you had initially found it two years back.

Zeff had sent you both for supplies and you had spotted it. It was a stunning cerulean blue and you had immediately thought of your best friend. He had told you of the All Blue, and ever since that moment you had associated the color with him. Not every shade of blue, of course, but only the ones that were the most beautiful. One’s that caught the eye and seemed to shimmer.

You had almost forgotten the tiny pebble. But this jacket…Sanji’s favorite. There would be no way he’d be unaware of it being in the pocket.

You put the stone back. Your mind racing.

They said the end is coming Everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving You're in the kitchen humming All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

The one thing you didn’t like about the Baratie was the fighting. You knew it was inevitable, especially with pirates. You were old enough now to look past it. It was a fact of life. Sometimes it was genuine fighting, other times customers simply got into little spats that were easier to ignore.

You sighed and wandered into the kitchen. Zeff had stepped out to smooth the wrinkles on whatever argument had broken out. To be entirely honest, the dinner shift had taken it out of you and you were exhausted.

You plopped down in a chair off to the side with another heavy sigh and shut your eyes.

The clink of dishware being set before you and a chair scraping the ground next to you brought you to open your eyes again.

A rice dish sat in front of you, a glass of water next to it. Sanji’s eyes watched you carefully.

“What is it?” You knew the Baratie menu inside and out, and this was definitely not on it.

A signature smile graced his face. “Seafood risotto. Nothing terribly fancy, just terribly good.”

“Does Zeff know about this?” You asked, taking a bite. It was divine.

Blue eyes twinkled. “What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sanji paused, smile fading and voice growing soft. “You seem tired, sweetheart.”

You tried to squash the flutter in your chest. It had been months since you found the pebble in Sanji’s coat, and you had found out that he always carried it. Your heart had run away with that information. And while the blond had called you by the same pet name for years, it felt different now that your affections towards your best friend had shifted. You kept the information to yourself, afraid of change.

So instead you shrugged, continuing to eat. “I guess I’m a little tired? The dining room has kept me on my toes all day and I didn’t sleep very easy last night.”

Sanji’s brows furrow in concern at that. “Well, make sure you finish eating. And try and get some better sleep tonight. For me, yeah?”

You swallowed. He always looked at you so sweetly. Always treated you so differently than the girls he flirted with for good tips. Now he was giving you that small smile, blond hair in his face as always, but the softness in his eyes was unmistakable.

You nodded, “Of course, Sanji.”

Your heart was doing somersaults.

On the way home I wrote a poem You say, "What a mind" This happens all the time

Monkey D Luffy came barrelling into both your lives like a cannonball. One moment life was as it had been for years, the next finds both you and Sanji preparing to leave the Baratie and join the crew of the Going Merry

You weren’t sure why Luffy had insisted you come too. When you had asked him, he had only shrugged with a smile, saying that it had felt like the right thing to do.

So, you made yourself useful where you could. Whether it be helping Sanji, or any of the other Straw Hats.

Luffy had soon after discovered that you enjoyed writing.

It was the day before everything went wrong.

You and Sanji had left the Baratie that afternoon, Zorro was on the road to recovery from his battle against Dracule Mihawk, and everything seemed fine .

A conversation of dreams had even arisen over a meal, and you had shyly mentioned how you enjoyed writing. Not that there was time for it while waiting tables.

Sanji was surprised and intrigued to find a new side of you. You had never mentioned it to him. It was just a silly little hobby in your eyes and, in the life you led, you had always kept those simple things to yourself. Not even sharing them with your best friend.

Luffy, however, had been delighted and immediately asked if you would document the voyage.

Granted, his wording had been more along the lines of “write down our adventures”, but same thing.

Later that night, Sanji had found you on the deck, a new journal in your hand.

“A writer, eh?” He had that soft voice again.

You nodded, refusing to look at him properly. “I want to be a famous poet someday.” You whispered, inwardly afraid of making such an admission.

The years on the Baratie had led you to shove all the soft spoken emotions deep down, gentleness was not a trait most pirates were fond of. But your new captain was the exact opposite, his kindness earning your trust instantly. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you had found a new and true friend in Luffy.

But you’d never replace Sanji.

Your heart seemed to clench and you opened your mouth to apologize for keeping it from him, but when you looked at him, your breath caught and your voice failed you.

The chef was always sweet on you, but he looked at you in that moment as if you had hung the stars.

“What a mind.” He said quietly, as if he was simply in awe of you.

Unbeknownst to you, Sanji had been looking at you like that for years. There was a reason he called you sweetheart, why you were always the first to try his new creations, why he treated you so differently than all the other girls. A reason why he was so sweet on you.

Everyone could see it. Zorro knew. Nami knew. Usopp knew. Luffy knew. The young captain had made sure to bring you both from the Baratie. If it meant he had to separate the two of you, then Luffy would have never had Sanji come aboard as Chef.

Even Zeff knew. Which was why he had let you both go.

However, you couldn’t see it.

But in that moment, with Sanji looking at you, you were ready to throw it all away. Willing to possibly ruin years of friendship if it just meant you could kiss him once.

'Cause they said the end is coming Everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving You're in the kitchen humming All that you ever wanted from me was nothing

Nami’s betrayal had shocked you all to the core. You had only known her for such a short time, but it had still hurt.

Sanji was convinced that her alliance with Arlong wasn’t something she had chosen. Zorro seemed to only see it in black and white, positive that she had made her choice.

Luffy simply wanted to hear the truth from Nami herself. And only then would he believe it.

So the Going Merry was currently sailing for the Conomi Islands just to hear that truth.

It was once again late at night, but sleep would not come. The day’s events play over and over in your mind, keeping you wide awake.

So you headed quietly to the kitchen only to find the light on and an equally awake Sanji sitting quietly with a cup of tea, humming to himself.

You froze. You had almost kissed him the night before, fear holding you back.

But he had already seen you.

“Can’t sleep either, can you, sweetheart?”

You gave up on resisting, going to sit beside him.

Without speaking, he poured you a cup of tea, setting it before you.

“Chamomile. Should help.” Was all he said.

The day had left you both content with each other’s silence as you sat next to each other, shoulders brushing lightly. Sanji eventually went back to humming.

You couldn’t tell if it was the gentle movement of the ship as it sailed, the tea, or even Sanji himself humming softly next to you, but eventually your eyes shut.

Vaguely, you were aware of being carried and eventually set down gently in your hammock.

Something brushed your forehead and you thought you heard Sanji’s voice before you drifted fully into sleep. You felt almost certain it was a kiss, but you were too deep in the fog of sleep to deem that true. It had most likely been your imagination.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

The fight against Arlong and his pirates had once again changed everything overnight. You wouldn’t lie, it was terrifying. But you had prevailed. The Straw Hats won in the end. Nami and her village were safe.

It had brought so many things to light for you. As soon as you had all reboarded the Going Merry, you dutifully recorded the events of the day, from the villagers of Coco Village to the fight at Arlong Park, you made your way to the kitchen, needing solace from your best friend.

Your emotions had been bottled the whole day. Yes, fighting was inevitable. You were a pirate, it was simply a fact of life. But you still didn’t like it.

“Sanji?” You called.

The kitchen was empty to your surprise, so you made your way to the deck, finding him by the tangerine trees.

He had the pebble in his hand as you walked up and your heart began to race. He slipped it back into his pocket as he noticed you and you pretended not to see.

Instead you wrapped your arms around his middle, and Sanji instantly returned your hug, holding you close.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. I think…” you trailed off.

Sanji released you from the hug, but still kept you within his arms. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nodded. “I think…I’m too soft for all this sometimes.” You admitted slowly. “I mean, I can do it, don’t get me wrong. But, Sanji, today was terrifying. And the Grand Line is supposed to be worse.”

That twinkle and smile were back again. “You’re not too soft, sweetheart. You’re perfect. You were strong today, and I know you don’t like fighting. But you’re brave, and you protect those you care about. Being soft doesn’t make you weak.”

“But what if it does?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Because–”

You stopped, confessions halting on your lips.

“Because what, sweetheart? Stop hiding yourself, it’s just me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m hiding.”

He frowned in confusion, silently imploring you to continue.

“Because you make me feel soft. I kept my writing to myself because somehow it always ended up being about you. Whether it be the way you look at me or even the fact you kept that pebble.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Apparently he had genuinely thought you hadn’t noticed.

“We’re supposed to be pirates, Sanji. There’s no softness allowed in this profession.”

He gently pulled you a little closer, warm breath now able to be felt on your face as he spoke, “I think we’ve already proven we’re a different sort of pirate than what’s expected, sweetheart.”

You were drowning in an ocean of greyish blue. The little nickname. That tiny sweet nothing. It wore down any and all of the final doubts and reserves in your mind and the two of you melted into each other.

He held you tightly, arms around you as both your hands grabbed tightly to his shirt, the both of you lost in a kiss that seemed like forever.

Eventually it ended, and he rested his forehead gently against yours.

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart.” He said gently. “How’s that for being soft, hmm?”

A small smile formed upon your face. The both of you had been oblivious to the other, yes. But at the same time, all of Sanji’s little sweet nothings over the years–both in words and actions–played quickly through your head. The past week had pulled everything straight to the surface.

“I love you, too.”

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothings.

Not entirely happy with this but it's late. Let me know what you think. I'm still new to this fandom, and there's a lot of content that I've yet to learn about. But I'll get there.

#sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece live action x reader #thismothwrites

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dawndelion-winery · 7 months

Text

Tripping Into Love

Clumsy confessions and the silly things they do for you

Ft. Capitano, Dainsleif, Diluc, Kaeya, Pantalone

Capitano:

He knows better than to charge in without a plan

At least he thinks he does, which is why he's begrudgingly forking over a hefty portion of his personal funds to Pantalone in exchange for information about you

He didn't stop to think how odd it might be for him to know things about you when you've never told him

Honestly, the only reason you probably haven't told him to piss off for being a creep is because you like to think you know him well enough to know he wouldn't have any unsavoury intentions

That and his reputation as the esteemed captain

He does panic when you question where he got the information from though

He doesn't know Pantalone have you a heads up simply to have the joy of watching Capitano squirm

"Did...didn't you?" Capitano stammered. "Perhaps I heard it from someone else, I could've sworn I'd heard somewhere that these were your favourite flowers."

You were cackling internally, of course, knowing his informant. Not that you'd tell him that; he could stew in his panic for a while longer until he finally mustered the courage to ask you out explicitly.

Dainsleif:

You were only joking when you said he should act more knightly

Sure he'd said there was no point since the fall of his nation meant all titles and status were irrelevant

But that's pretty hard to believe when he's practically bending over backwards for you

It was hard not to notice his efforts, honestly, with how curt and cavalier you knew he could be

Yet there he was, offering you his knee as a footstool for your comfort

"Dain, this isn't what I meant when I said I'd love to see you get on one knee."

You looked at the bough keeper quizzically. In return, he only gave you his usual, impassive expression as he insisted. "You're tired, it is a knight's due duty to ensure his companion's comfort."

You'd protest if it hadn't been for the faintest of blushes dusting his uncovered cheek, his gaze averting subtly in a momentary flicker. So you sat on his thigh, resting your head on his shoulder with a soft thanks as you shut your eyes, leaving the ex-captain swallowing hard as he stilled his aching heart.

Diluc:

Mondstadt's most eligible bachelor? Or most rizzless?

Sure, he's got the money to send you gifts and little tokens of his affection as he courts you

And yes, it's sweet to receive bouquets and desserts that remind him of you

What's less than ideal is the love letters he sends

You find yourself compared to the most questionable of descriptors that you're not sure if he likes you

I mean, did he seriously compare you to his deceased pet tortoise?

Years of living like a social recluse has scuffed all sense of tact he might have had

"Master Diluc-"

"Just Diluc is fine, love."

You blinked slowly, noting the way a faint blush crept up his cheeks, thinking he was slick with sneaking in a little pet name for you (he wasn't). It was hard to tell him relating you to the soil in the winery wasn't the most romantic declaration of his affection when he seemed so proud of himself. Admittedly, you were somewhat proud of him for coming out of his shell to court you too. But this!! This wasn't it.

"I don't need you to try to be poetic, Diluc, a simple 'I think you're lovely' is enough."

"Oh."

Kaeya:

Remember those poetry lessons he got from Venti? (Well not really but still)

Venti was peerless when it came to his songs, so naturally, you were quite enchanted with his performances

And of course, why wouldn't Kaeya think serenading you would be a good way to win your heart?

Unlike Diluc, he's much more delicate with his words, weaving them to flatter you best

Yet it's not quite what piqued your interest in him

Sure, it's poetically romantic and all, but it didn't really feel like him

It was moreso his banter with his estranged brother that you found endearing

"Care for a refreshing beverage on this fine day? My treat, of course, the Angel's Share has a new series of fruit mocktails that are just perfect for the weather, and I'd love to try then with you."

You hadn't expected master Diluc himself to stop the both of you at the entrance - well, he stopped Kaeya, at least. "Isn't it a little early for you to be drinking? As I recall, it's office hours for the Knights of Favonius right now."

"I have the day off, am I not allowed to drink in the company of my lovely companion?" Kaeya quips, gesturing to you.

"So you're being a bad influence?"

"We're not here for alcohol."

Diluc looked at Kaeya doubtfully, glancing in your direction as though to gauge if Kaeya was bluffing.

Oh woe is you who has to see Diluc burning holes into the back of Kaeya's head as he moniters his brother on a date.

Pantalone:

Money can buy anything.

Except your affection, it would seem

Sure, you enjoy the gifts, and it's nice to be spoilt

But he wants you to look at him the way he looks at you

Worse still is how he's conflicted about making use of his intelligence network to dig up information about you

"it'd ruin the process of getting to know (you)" he says

Which leaves him squeezing time into his schedule to spend with you against his better judgement

He's totally not slaving through his work to make time for you

He's nothing if not opportunistic though

Will most definitely take advantage of any concern you show

"Eyebags? No, no, I doubt I have those, but if you insist, why not come a little closer to check?"

All you'd said was he looked a little tired and haggard, and suddenly he has you in his chambers, sitting on his satin sheets as he lays his head in your lap. After all, if you were so concerned about whether he was resting, surely you wouldn't oppose helping to make sure he got a good sleep, yes?

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @cxlrose @astrequa @eowinthetraveler @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @moonbyunniee @greyrain23 @heavenlyfloof

Commissioned by @monstersealclubber

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absolutekillswitch · 3 months

Text

no alarms and no surprises (please)

pairing: luke castellan x thanatos!reader

tw: major TLO spoilers (honestly tho if u haven’t read it yet, begone), major character death, discussions of blood and death, Luke was reader’s first kiss, mentions of past manipulation, lots of crying, and also i made [REDACTED] take way too long to die for the sake of dialogue. Sorry. Also! she/her pronouns are used, but I tried to steer clear of descriptors outside of that so this SHOULD be woc friendly

word count: 3.4k

It was cruel, this end he was facing. Y/N had felt it long before she’d seen it, that deep intrinsic tug within her, that sixth sense that had begun to go haywire since New York had fallen asleep, since the final countdown for western civilization had officially started running. The tug that alerted her to a new death in her vicinity. The curse bore by the children of death, the chained god, to feel the string of fate being cut, to sense lost souls being carried to the underworld by their father. To mourn, but not to see. She’d never felt it as frequently as she did now, feeling like threads tugging her in countless directions, so much so that her aim with her sword was affected. She’d been coined the best swordsman back at camp, after the previous titleholder had vacated the position, but now, it was like she was jittery, like a newborn zebra with a sword in their grasp, trying to learn how to stand and fight all at once, her battle senses being overridden by the unavoidable emotional pain of the fact that every tug she was feeling, was the feeling of a fellow demigod dying.

But then she’d felt that one.

The strength of this particular tug wasn’t lost on her. It was stronger than any she’d faced yet— stronger than the tugs of those she’d slain herself, and stronger than the tugs of those who had been close to her, when they were alive. It was so strong that the metaphysical tug had felt like a real, physical one, like she was physically being pulled in its direction. The proof of it is the crude slash on her forearm, where the kid she’d been fighting back had gotten a lucky shot on her due to her presently distracted nature.

It had to have been him.

She wasn’t sure just who she’d been fighting, and in the end, she doesn’t think it really mattered all that much, if they were a former camper; a demigod, or if they were an armored monster, as with a wave of her hand, the ground rumbles, opening up under their feet, boney, decayed hands dragging them into the earth, only for the ground to close up on them halfway through their forced descent. Y/N didn’t even notice, nor did she really care. All she knew was that she’d put an end to her own fight, allowing her feet to carry her to his side, numbness flooding her body, with a whispered command to her undead soldiers,

“Protect them.”

She’s not even sure how she found him, exactly. She’d just always been able to find him like that. Now seemed to be no exception to the rule, as she followed what she would consider to be the string of fate to his side. The sight she sees when she does is an unwelcome one, however. There’s three of them— she sees Percy and Annabeth crowded around a figure on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

“Oh, Gods,” Y/N whispers, hesitating to get closer. She doesn’t know if she can. At the sound of her voice, Percy turns. He looks pale, eyes ringed in red. It looks like he’d been crying, exhausted, eyes wide, as if he were afraid he’d collapse if he even blinked. Y/N wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

“Y/N—“ He hesitates to speak, to try and explain, but Y/N doesn’t let him. She’s already marching over, ignoring the dread building in her gut, the tears in her eyes. And that’s when she sees him.

“Luke,” She whispers, the single word bordering on a gasp. Internally, she’s vaguely aware that this is the first time she’d used his name in years, preferring to call him by his last name, or traitor, at best, or whatever random curse she could think of at the time, at worst. She’d gotten pretty good at it, honestly— the coming up with insults to hurl at him every time they’d crossed paths since his betrayal. But now, all of that is gone. It seems that at that moment, Annabeth and Percy disappeared. It’s just them as she crumbles, falling to her knees before he can even protest. It’s him, not Kronos, she knows. They’d all learned how to tell the difference between the two, when Kronos had taken Luke’s face. Kronos had a colder air about him, eyes golden. Just pure evil that seeped into your bones, that seemed to change even the people around you. But this? This was Luke Castellan. Soft, soulful brown eyes, and a welcoming air about him. This was the guy who had been like all of Camp Half-Blood’s big brother. This was the guy Y/N had been in love with ever since she’d arrived at camp, even if she realized it far too late. Even if he was currently trying to get Percy to make her leave, not wanting her to see him like this. Never like this. Her eyes take stock of his appearance against her will. He looked just as bad as Percy did— worse, actually, given he was bleeding, Annabeth’s knife clattering from his hand to the marble below him. It makes her heart ache, the picture in front of her painted so clearly, even if she hadn’t been present to see it herself.

A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.

They’d realized what the prophecy meant, clearly. Luke had to be the one to take Kronos— and to an extent, himself— out. And when Luke had done it, when he’d touched his own Achilles heel, Kronos had run. So now, Luke Castellan was dying. Alone.

Well— not alone.

She was still here. She always would be, even if he’d insist otherwise. He hated how she always had made him want to be a better person. Even now, as he lay dying, covered in sweat, blood, and ash. If she tries hard enough, she can almost pretend that they’re back at camp, that they’d had an extremely rough day playing capture the flag, that the pair of them are in the infirmary, making up ridiculous stories for the scars they’ll have as a result of their adventure, shedding tears from their short lived pain in the name of glory but laughing anyway as they stitched each other up, letting the Apollo kids deal with those who didn’t have someone to back them up like Y/N and Luke did— someone to dote on them, and someone to dote on in return. But it gets hard, keeping up this fantasy. They’re both far too battle-worn, both with eyes that had seen far too much, faces years older than they were the last time they’d seen each other. And in spite of it all, all she can find herself thinking is,

‘Oh, love, you grew up without me’.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Luke tells her plainly, his brown eyes fighting to focus on her through his tears that he’s fighting to push back. Had they always done that?

“Yet I’m here anyway. Deal.” She responds, brows furrowing, focusing on the wound in his side. Prophecies be damned, she won’t let him die. He sits up straighter, slumped uncomfortably against a marble wall at the sudden pressure to his side, the daughter of Thanatos trying to staunch the blood flow, trying to give him more time, tears clouding her own vision, hands shaking. She knows deep down that it’s all in vain, but she won’t let him go. Not like this. She’ll fight her father back herself, if she had to.

“Y/N…” He whispers uncomfortably, hating how blood spurts past his lips, onto his chin, as he utters her name. He’s going to die, he knows, he can almost feel the fates beginning to prepare to cut his thread, but there’s some things he can’t leave unsaid. “My— my heart, it was always yours. You know that, right?” He notices how she flinches, expression troubled. “Take care of it, for me. I know you’ll do better with it than I ever had.” It’s true— his entire time at camp, since she’d arrived, he’d stupidly ignored it. He let hate and anger and jealousy cloud his mind for so long, he never really appreciated what was in front of him. It was just unfortunate it was taking his death to realize that.

“Don’t— don’t say that, not to me,” she sobs, shaking hands still covering his wound, stupidly, naively, believing she could still save him. “Don’t make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not dying, damn it,” she still sounds determined, one hand leaving his wound to touch his face, holding his cheek, accidentally staining it with his own blood. “Don’t— don’t leave me here, please, I just got you back,” she pleads, glassy eyes blurring with tears. She thinks, honestly, that this is the first time she’s talking to just Luke, free of Kronos’ influence, since he’d stolen that lightning bolt from Olympus years ago. It’s the Luke she remembers, the one she so sorely missed.

He laughed quietly, reaching up to touch her fingers. Even now, as she was sobbing over him, unable to look him in the eye, she’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her lips were so plump — as if made to be kissed, even in this moment of peril. “The gods might not want me, but I’m glad they’ve given you to me,” he whispered, squeezing her hand in his again. “I’m dying, Y/N. You can’t save me.” This makes her squeeze her eyes closed, shaking her head lightly, as if she isn’t listening. She isn’t, not really.

“No, nononono— stop that,” She cries, her eyes squinting shut in an effort to banish her tears, but it doesn’t work. “I’m— I’m the daughter of Thanatos, damn it, what good am I if I can’t do this? If I can’t keep just one person alive?” She seems to be talking mostly to herself, not giving up her mission on keeping him with her. Not after everything that’s been said, not with everything that’s being left unsaid. “I know this isn’t what I do, that I’m not a fucking sunshiney Apollo kid who can heal someone on a whim. But this is kinda my thing, is it not? Just… Just one. Please, let me save just this one. I’ll never ask for anything again.” She’s looking up at the sky— praying, it looked like, while blinking away her own tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she prayed to the gods for anything, but she was now. To anyone who would listen, though Luke gets the sneaking suspicion she’s talking to her father. The one she blamed, for being unable to save anyone. She couldn’t heal, the best she could do was sit by and watch.

Luke laughed again, but it’s humorless— and it was so cruel, to die when he could feel his heartbeat quickening as Y/N was so close, her lips so near to his, her eyes so lovely. He wished he could kiss her right now, in this moment, on the marble floor, with blood running over his fingers and the dagger still next to them.

“Y/N, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” Y/N nods softly, her attention turning back to him. She hates how the simple act of saying her name still affected her so much, after all this time. Her tears were cutting through the grime on her face from a hard fought battle, covered in her own and the blood of others, trembling. Still, she finds it in her to make a promise to the dying boy she loved. “Anything. Just—“ she drifts off, nodding, knowing they don’t have time. Luke took a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a young man. A teenage boy, holding his girlfriend's hand and wanting nothing but her to keep safe. For a moment, he can pretend. But only for a moment. His breath hitched, and slowly, he felt the life fading from his body — as if it was being drawn from him like water in a cup. He hesitates to speak, but knows he’s running out of time. He can feel it, being sapped from his bones. But in spite of that, he’s not… afraid. He isn’t angry. He almost isn’t even in pain. He thinks it’s her, that it’s Y/N’s aura as a daughter of Thanatos, that no one in her vicinity will feel pain, a divine remainder of her father’s power flowing in her veins, the guide to the underworld, before they’d meet the ferryman. A walking shot of morphine. He’s heard stories from his spies, about how when Camp would lose a camper during their fight with Kronos— with him—, Y/N would stay with them until they passed, holding their hand, telling stories, bringing them peace, so they would go out with a kind face. Much like she was doing now, for him. The Thanatos of the waking world, the guiding light to death. It’s much more than he deserves, and he knows it.

"Promise me.... you'll meet me again... at the River Styx," He whispered.

“I’ll find you in Elysium.” She promises softly through sniffles, brushing his hair out of his face, a forced soft smile on her own face. She wants him to go out peacefully, wants to remember her smiling, even if she wants to scream at the sky and cry until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She’d been pretty good at it, feigning calmness and serenity with the campers they lost on their own side. It made their passing easier. But this? With him? She doesn’t know if it does. He’d always been far too good at reading her, for that. “I swear it, on the Styx, that I’ll find you in Elysium.” She sounds sure of herself, that even after everything he’d done, he’d earned a hero’s afterlife. That’s what the prophecy said, after all, right? Somehow, she knows she, too, will find herself with a hero’s death. Life wouldn’t be so kind to allow her to die of old age. She’d die hard, with a sword in her hand, and anger in her heart. Luke's eyes flickered open to meet the softness of hers, of lips he wanted to taste, of skin he wanted to cover with kisses. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning the future he could’ve had with this girl, if he hadn’t been so hellbent on his never ending quest for glory.

Kleos. The word feels like poison, now. Maybe it always had been.

"No —" He whispered, head shaking lightly, "I won't be in Elysium. I’ll go to Asphodel—" He choked. That's where he'd likely be, being punished for his treason. It’s the least he deserved, after everything he’d done. "— and then the Fields of Punishment. But promise me... that you will wait for me, at the River."

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, adamant. He should probably take her word for it— she’s the daughter of the god of death, after all. She had a sense for these things. “Elysium. I’m sure of it. You’ve earned it.” She promises, tone soft. She doesn’t mention how she’d never let her father live it down if anything else took place. She’d tear Hades apart herself, find his soul and bring him back, somehow. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, except she’d succeed. “Regardless— it doesn’t matter. I’ll always find you. No matter where you are, I’ll find you. I swear it.”

He laughed, and it was a sad one. He was so weak, so very weak, his eyes flickering once more, his hand squeezing hers as tightly as he could, wanting to burn her imprint into his flesh. "You are so stubborn, you know that? You always have been," he whispered. Images flash through his mind against his will— her face, always her face. When she’d learned of his betrayal, then later when he’d attempted to sway her to his side. When they would train together in the arena— camp’s two best swordsmen. When she’d have nightmares, constant images of the dead trying to use her, both for her powers and as revenge on her father, who they felt claimed them from the mortal plane far too soon, to crawl their way back to the world of the living, and how, terrified of closing her eyes again, she’d crawl into his bed with him, the only place she felt safe enough to fall back asleep. When she’d kissed him for the first time, on her seventeenth birthday. Because ‘most demigods don’t get to make it to seventeen, so I’m making seventeen count’, as she’d put it. Then, later that night, after his surprise wore off, when he had kissed her. It pains him to think about how he’d only been manipulating her, back then. Had he loved her? Sure, but his mission always seemed more important at the time. He’d do it for them, he’d told himself. The gods would regret every unclaimed child, and every claimed child resigned to the Hermes cabin because they weren’t born with the luxury of having a parent that had a throne on Olympus, one of the big twelve. For kids like Y/N. His hand slipped from hers, and he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Instead, he'd watch her, as if he could lock her into his memory. "Will you... will you stay here with me, until my life..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

“Until the very end.” She promises softly, her voice cracking with the effort not to cry. She’d almost given up on trying to staunch the bleeding, one hand resting on his face, brushing languidly, lovingly, over his cheek, just around the edge of his scar. She’s not sure what possessed her in that moment, as she leans down, placing a soft, chaste, yet romantic kiss to his lips. After all, he’d been her first kiss, it felt fitting that she would also be his last. As she pulls away, she whispers against his lips, “I love you, Luke Castellan.”

He was breathless, the kiss like a dagger to the chest, biting deeper than the blade that will end up taking his life. In a matter of minutes, his heartbeat would skip its last beat, and her face will be the last he sees, the last thought on his mind. His hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her as he whispered in return, "... I love you too." He managed only that, before his heart failed him. He was gone, and he didn't make a sound.

Gone with a whimper, not a bang.

The blood that fell from his wound was now staining the pristine marble flooring beneath them, the last remnants of life and love, of devotion and betrayal. Y/N hoped that it would stain forever, a constant reminder of his sacrifice.

Y/N felt his final breath fan across her face, and she knew he was gone. Her eyes remained closed, steady tears rolling down her face, their foreheads pressed together. She can feel him growing cold as she sobs. “No,” She whimpers, his hands, now gone limp, still in hers. “No, please no—“ Vaguely, she’s aware of the rumbling of the ground under her feet, a telltale sign of her powers coming out to play, a throng of undead soldiers aching to burst past the earth’s mantle, to await her command. Her face screws up into an expression of anguish, though she forces the feeling down, knowing that if she didn’t reel in her own emotion, her legion of death wouldn’t hesitate to grab every demigod in her vicinity and drag them into the earth, to take their place in the afterlife. Maybe they’d take her, too. Maybe she hoped they would.

The thing about being the daughter of death, was that when a soul left a body and you were near enough to it, you could feel them leaving the mortal plane, accompanied by her father to the underworld. She could feel it, feel him, Luke’s soul leaving his body. She always did, with the campers they lost during the war, but this one hits too close to home. It’s a startling, chilling, terrifying feeling, that only makes her sob harder, knowing the boy she loved was now in her father’s hands, and out of her own. This was always the hardest part. “Take care of him for me, pops,” she whispers, voice trembling, knowing her father was with Luke’s soul right now, the pair watching over her mourning over Luke’s body. As that realization passes over her, she sits up straight, a ragged scream of mourning threatening to tear her vocal cords apart. In the background, she’s vaguely aware of the voice of Percy Jackson speaking,

“We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

Notes: and with that, we’re done. This was super fun! I feel like I could go on forever about Luke x Grim Reader (I’m calling them deadwings/grimwings), and if there’s enough of a demand, I just might. Feedback is obviously appreciated !! Drink some water, hug a friend, and don’t forget to pirate PJO 🫶

#JAZZ HANDDSS #happy Friday have some soul shattering angst #and for my next trick I’ll disappear into obscurity never to be heard from again #jk #unless???#pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x you #PJO angst #x reader #PJO imagine

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undiscovered-horizon · 4 months

Text

(tw for mentions of nudity)

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

[After days of travelling, fighting and sleeping on rocks, a rest at a tavern is well-earned. Not feeling up to taste the nightlife with your friends, Halsin and you retire early. The evening turns into something heartfelt and domestic as you wash his hair and hum a song he's grown all too familiar with.]

The hot water against your skin is pleasant enough to elicit a chuckle of euphoria from you. It seems like a lifetime ago that you last had a warm bath. In some way, it was.

People downstairs are making good use of their money, time and energy - that you're sure of. Their music and laughter resound brightly but it's muffled by the walls and floors of the tavern, making it sound like the party is not mere meters below you but entire worlds away; almost like a memory of a banquet you're desperately trying to recall.

Despite not being used to the comforts of the city, Halsin was quick to accept your offer of shared bath. Perhaps it was the sharing part, more than the bath, that had convinced him. In any event, his broad back is resting against your chest, although judging by the minimal weight put on your body, you know he's holding back in fear of hurting you. Maybe one day you'll manage to get your point across that you would love to be smothered by the weight of his body.

As your thoughts wander further and further, you don't notice the soft melody escaping your lips. But Halsin does and the enigma of the tune he's grown to associate with you only makes him crack under the burning curiosity:

"You often hum this song to yourself. What is it?"

Only then do you finally hear your own voice. Have you really made a habit out of this? Suddenly flustered, your cheeks begin to burn. You've done nothing wrong and yet you feel embarrassed like a juvenile petty thief.

"It's something the washwomen back home used to sing while working," you explain awkwardly. In an attempt to steer away from the conversation, you reach for the cup next to the washtub. You did, after all, promise to wash his hair. "The river carried their voices, making the song audible pretty much everywhere."

"Would you mind singing it for me?" he asks, hesitance vibrant in his voice. Halsin must have noticed your sudden timidness and didn't want to push on but some part of him longed to hear the song so deeply ingrained in your mind.

You clear your throat. The lyrics first leave your mouth in a shaky voice, unsure whether your singing is pleasant enough for Halsin to want to actually hear it, but soon you let the comfort of the well-known melody take over your hesitant mind.

In my garden grows a rose Little Mania, go water my horse I can’t, I won’t, I’m afraid of the horse I fear the horse because I’m young

Halsin lets out a quiet sigh of relief as you pour the warm water over his hair. He smells of pine needles, sweat and mud but it's a good smell - it's the smell of someone who survived. And considering the strange course your life has taken these past few months, staying alive is the best thing that can happen.

In my garden grows rosemary Tell me, Mania, who’s the one that charmed you? Johnny’s eyes, Johnny’s eyes For they fell in love with my heart so much

The druid feels... odd. Not in the bad sense, of course. Perhaps "unfamiliar" would be a better descriptor. He's not used to having someone care for him in such an intimate, selfless way. After suffering so many losses in his life, Halsin doesn't quite know how to comfortably enjoy a triumph of sorts. Underneath the superficial pleasure and indulgement, lies a bottomless ocean of anxiety. Part of him expects this love to be short-lived like most affections in his long life.

His senses are overtaken by the dizzying aroma of lavender and rosemary as you carefully brush the oils through his hair.

In my garden grows a berry Tell me, little Mania, were you young? I was as young as a berry in the woods Like a berry in the woods, my love

Halsin doesn't often let himself dream and fantasise. It's better to expect nothing than to allow unrealistic scenarios to break his heart. However tonight, in the twilight of the chamber and with your soft breaths brushing against his neck, he lets his thoughts explore:

Years from now, if both of you manage to survive the upcoming series of misadventures, would this bathing be part of a routine? Dare he picture - after having put your children to sleep, would you regularly brush your fingers through his hair? Would you allow him to do the same for you? Just when he thought his heart could not swell more, the fantasy of a domestic life by your side made him ache. Something so sweet, something he's inhumanly desperate for, appears both out of reach and as the cure for his soul.

A thrilling shiver overtakes his body as he feels your nails gently scratch his scalp.

In my garden grows a lilly Tell me, little Mania, will you be mine? How do I know and tell you? How do I know if my mother will give me away?

Hot water is poured over his hair again. It feels just as good as it did before, if not better. The tension in his muscles dissipates, along with the soreness of day-long hikes over mountains and fields.

Then, Halsin feels your arms wrap around his midsection, your bare chest flush against his back. The hug is tight enough for him to be overly aware of the way your torso moves as you breathe calmly. Soft exhales brush against the warm skin of his shoulder. Perhaps it sounds a little cheesy, but to the druid, your smaller frame fits his bigger one perfectly.

Is this what being loved feels like?

"I know you're a man of virtue and honesty, my love," you murmur against his shoulder, "but can we lie a little and pretend we're still soiled and stay in here for a moment longer?"

His body shakes slightly as a chuckle rumbles in his chest. It still feels hardly believable that someone of your sort to seek his companionship. If he ever rejects your affections, he will have to be under a powerful curse.

"It brings my heart much joy to know you hold me in such high regard," he answers. One of his hands reaches for your palm, cradling it with almost fearful carefulness. Then, in an equally tender manner, Halsin places a chaste peck on the inside of your wrist. "Albeit, I am also faithful to nature."

You giggle when Halsin captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He's quick to turn around, water spilling out of the washtub, and trap you underneath him.

Gale's version right here!!

#halsin x reader #gn reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #baldurs gate halsin #bg3 companions #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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chelseeebe · 8 months

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and i never (saw you coming)

summary: coming back from college for the summer, you never would have expected to meet someone in your tiny town. and you most definitely would not have expected that someone to be steve fucking harrington.

a.n: so this is a henderson!readerxsteve BUT there are absolutely zero descriptors and no mention of being blood relatives or anything so please take the sibling relationship however you would like!! this is also a part one to a lil two part thing. set in s4 but i've changed it to be summer break rather than spring and i am finally writing canon material wherein the UD exists (part two) shout out to miss swift for the title xx

wc: 6k+

no smut but there may be in part two and as a baseline, i am an 18+ blog so please respect that. mentions of weed, drinking and sex. no use of y/n!

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Steve doesn’t usually make the effort to get out of his car to collect Dustin. But he had honked his damn horn five times now and was getting frankly sick of waiting for the petulant boy.

He races up the gravel path, cursing under his breath about not being a fucking taxi and how he shouldn’t take him for granted. Steve’s sure there’s smoke coming out of his ears as he pounds on the door, prepared to give the boy an earful.

His mouth is open when the door creaks open, “Dustin I have told you-,” it’s only then that he realises that Dustin isn’t the one behind the door. It’s you.

“Excuse me?” you start, frowning at this apparent grown man who seemed to have a problem with your younger brother. As much as he got on your last nerve, you’d defend him to the moon and back.

“You’re not- um, is Dustin home?” he asks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in utter shame. Dustin had mentioned you a few times and he was sure he remembered you from school but never really took much notice.

“Why?” you ask pointedly, scowling at the man. He was from school, you knew that much. One of the basketball players that absolutely would have sniggered about you in the halls.

“I’m giving him a ride to uh- to the movies,” he nods, realising that he sounded like an utter weirdo.

“Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with my brother?”

Steve hesitates because yes, he probably was too old to admit that your little brother was his friend. Let alone the fact he considered him a best friend.

“Uh.. I could see why you think that but mentally I’m probably more his age than mine,” smiling at you, genuinely not seeing an issue with his statement.

Your eyes narrow, brows knitted together. You knew he wasn’t some dodgy old pervert but he had absolutely not helped his case there. “Right.. well, no. He’s not back yet so…”

“Oh, well I’ll just.. wait in my car,” he nods, slowly turning to jump back into his car. Eager to not make himself look any stupider in front of you.

You sigh, “you can wait inside,” opening the door wider for him, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Dustin if you made his dear friend wait outside.

He tiptoes into the house, eyeing the quirky decorations your mom had covered the house in. It was clear now why Dustin was so.. eccentric. He’s like a stray dog, hovering around the couch, too scared to sit down.

You resume your spot, attempting to pay attention to whatever movie is on the TV but struggling knowing he’s still just standing awkwardly above you.

“You can sit down, you know?” you bark, not bothering to look at him.

He does almost immediately, running his sweaty palms along his knees. God, why was this making him so flustered?

“You’re Dustin’s sister then?” the words falling out of his mouth without much thought. He wants to fall into the floor. Obviously you were his sister. Fuck.

“Yup.”

“Cool.. I haven’t really seen you before.. I’m uh-,” sticking his hand out for you to shake, “Steve.. Steve Harrington,” smiling as you glance at his outstretched hand, hesitantly shaking it.

The mention of his name makes everything click into place. This is the infamous Steve that Dustin didn’t shut up about. You were in the same grade at school and had shared a few classes but had never really spoken. That might’ve been something to do with him being a gigantic prick the entire five years you were in school.

“Oh,” you nod, trying to mask your apprehensions, “I remember you,” hoping that didn’t give too much of your distaste away.

“Yeah.. I’m not like.. that anymore,” picking up on your obvious distrust. It’s not surprising that so many people still hold reservations about him, even he could admit that he wasn’t exactly a saint.

You hum in response. You can mostly believe him because there was no way in hell Dustin would’ve ever become friends with someone like King Steve. In fact, knowing your little brother, he probably would’ve detested the kind of boy he was in school.

“So.. you go to college?” he asks, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Yeah.. uh, Chicago, I didn’t wanna go too far yanno?” not that you really could’ve. College was a last minute, fuck it kind of decision and you hadn’t really even planned on staying past the first week. But you had, and had even found yourself liking it.

“That’s cool.. what do ya’ do? If you don’t mind me asking,” shifting in his seat, eyes dead set on you.

“Language studies, it’s not cool or exciting at all but I enjoy it,” shrugging as you pick at the loose thread on your shorts, avoiding any direct eye contact.

Despite Steve Harrington being a changed man, he still made you incredibly nervous and you felt like suddenly you were back in high school. He just had this aura to him and the way he carries himself, even now, was just intimidating.

“No, that is cool? I wish I was smart enough for college,” chuckling nervously, “I bet it’s crazy out there.”

Your definition of a crazy night meant smoking with Julia, your roommate, and eating a stupid amount of shit food. His definition of crazy definitely included some frat party and hooking up with some stranger in a crowded house.

“Hah.. not really, I think maybe we have different definitions of crazy.”

“Well, what’s your idea of crazy then?”

You look around on the off chance Dustin and your mom had somehow snuck into the house completely silently, “getting high and eating a bunch of junk food.. not exactly the kinda shit you imagined.”

“How d’you know what I imagined? Maybe I think that’s a crazy night too,” laughing at your assumptions, evidently he was still hanging onto that King Steve persona.

“Nah.. you’re thinking of getting black out drunk at some party and then having sex with some girl you’ll never speak to again,” raising your brows, smug that you’d sussed him out completely.

“Is that what you think of me?” jokingly placing his hand over his heart, shaking his head, “I don’t even like parties that much anymore and actually I think you’re right, that would be a crazy night,” smiling to himself.

Because to him that did sound like a great night, and he’d kill to be able to do that with Robin and if it wasn’t for the fact that she got so intensely paranoid that one time they’d smoked together, they’d probably do it more often.

“Oh, well.. you’ve surprised me,” giving him a small smile. You still had your reservations about him, but if he was good enough for Dustin, you were sure you could come to perhaps tolerate him.

“Yeah, I do a lotta that nowadays.”

“Well are you surp-,” you’re cut off by Dustin barging through the front door, nearly taking the damn thing off its hinges.

“Steve? We’re gonna be late! C’mon!” he yells into the living room as if he wasn’t the one who had shown up fifteen minutes late. He’s huffing and puffing with his hands on his hips, clearly something inherited from your mother.

“Woah dude, chill out,” he looks at his watch and jumps up out of his seat, “okay shit- sorry uh, oops let’s go,” rushing over to Dustin. He turns at the last second, waving at you over his shoulder, “it was nice to meet you,” a genuine grin on his face.

“You too,” you call back, watching as your brother drags him out of the house. Muffled voices arguing over what time the movie started and how dare Steve enter his house without him present.

Dustin’s still going on in the car after much push back from Steve that actually he was early and Dustin was the one who was late.

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Steve blurts out, driving along the bumpy road. He wants to rescind his sentence almost immediately after Dustin glares at him from the passenger’s seat.

“Absolutely not. No, Steve. No.”

“What?” flabbergasted that Dustin had so brazenly assumed he had some ulterior motive. He hadn’t even said anything. Not yet anyway.

“Just no. I know you and I know what you’re thinking and I’m putting a stop to it now,” Dustin cringes, mentally perturbed by the thought of you and Steve even speaking.

“Wha- dude, I was just saying.. you barely speak about her.. that’s all,” tapping on the leather steering wheel, playing it off rather smoothly, he thinks.

“I know my sister’s cool.. way too cool for you, okay? So you should forget about it because it will never ever happen.”

“I wasn’t even gonna.. you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Steve’s sat in the booth, opposite what must be the worst date of his life. Dear God, Tammy Thompson was hot but holy shit was she annoying. Her voice agitating his ear drums with every word, irritating and nasally as she rambled on about her singing ‘career’. It wasn’t much of a career, Steve thought. Singing the national anthem in your high school gym was hardly a career. He thought it was quite sad actually.

He nods along to her bullshit, maybe she would sound better when he got her into the back of his beemer. Well, he was hoping anyway.

“You guys finished?” the familiar voice rings out across the table, his eyes darting from Tammy to find you standing at the end of the table with a fake grin plastered on your face.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he sounds confused, attention fully shifted from the blonde in front of him to you. Surely Dustin could’ve had the courtesy to let him know that you worked at his favourite date spot.

“Uh.. yup, so you’re done?” still in customer service mode, trying desperately to ignore the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah.. thank you,” he smiles, pushing the empty plates toward you “how long have you worked here.. I’ve never seen you,” positively baffled but happy nonetheless.

You shrug, “like sophomore year,” confused why he seemed to care so much, “I’m just doing part time over the summer..” stacking the plates as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to get far away from the awkward date you had stumbled upon.

“That’s cool, I mean, I’m here a lot so..”

Both you and Tammy flash him a look, granted hers was far more annoyed than yours. You mutter a small nice before scurrying off to the kitchen, relieved to be far from the impending disaster that was waiting to implode.

Something’s not right.

Even with Tammy practically climbing over the centre console to get to him, fully willing and eager.. he’s just not feeling it. Something or someone rather stuck in his head. They had been since last week and no matter how much he’d tried to shake it.. nadda.

He pulls away from Tammy, sighing pathetically, “I’m sorry.. d’you mind if I just take you home? I don’t feel great..” he hopes it’s at least half-convincing.

“Are you fucking serious Steve?” Tammy whines, staring across the car in utter disbelief.

He offers an apologetic smile, shuffling in his seat to get away from her, “yeah.. must be something I ate.. sorry,” grimacing at this incredibly awkward moment. He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, could he?

“Whatever,” crossing her arms over her chest, frowning as she re-buckles her seatbelt, starting straight ahead.

He starts the car with a sigh. She was a nice enough girl, but she just wasn’t.. well, she just wasn’t Dustin Henderson’s mysterious older sister who just hadn’t let this mind since you’d met last week. That was the problem.

She doesn’t say a word as she gets out of the car, making sure to slam the door in his face when he leans over to say goodnight. He’s sure she’ll tell all her bitchpack friends who’ll vow to ignore him until he smiles at them over the Family Video counter and they’ll forget all about it.

Why couldn’t that just work on you?

You don’t see Steve for another week. Dustin normally runs out of the house the second he hears Steve’s car in the driveway meaning you don’t cross paths.

But now he’s sat in the exact same booth as last week, this time alone with a half empty cup of coffee in front of him.

Your legs sort of work on their own, carrying your body over to the booth. It’s only when you’re stood at the end of the table do you realise you have no idea what you should even say to him.

“Who’s the unlucky lady this week?” your mouth blurts out without second thought, startling him from staring out the window. His lips curling into a smile the second he realises it’s you.

“No lady this week, flying solo,” internally dying from his choice of words. Yeah, that totally made him look cool.

“Oh,” pulling the dirtied plate across the table, “Tammy Thompson didn’t work out then?” Why are you even asking? You shouldn’t care about who he dates.

“Nah.. we didn’t really..” he mashes his hands together, “vibe,” smiling up at you from the seat. He obviously wasn’t heartbroken over it.

“Well if it’s any consolation, I always thought she was a massive bitch,” and she was. One of those girls that prowled the halls waiting for somebody to humiliate. Bare in mind, Steve was too, he just picked on the weird boys rather than the girls.

Steve chuckles, “yeah, she was.. or is.. I don’t know,” he’s sure that in her opinion, he was the bitch that didn’t want to hook up with her because his ‘stomach hurt’, and really that was a fair enough assertion.

You give him a quick smile before picking up the plate, beginning to walk away when his voice calls out from behind, “what time do you get off?”

“Nine.. why?” apprehensive as you answer. Spinning on your heel to face him.

“I can give you a ride home? I mean, if you want?”

You pause just before you reach the counter. It seriously would beat walking home in the summer heat. Dustin would certainly have a few choice words when you showed up at home in Steve’s BMW, but who cares?

“Okay, yeah that’d be great.. thanks,” giving him a tight lipped smile, “you gonna sit there for the whole four hours?”

“I- wh.. no,” laughing awkwardly because he hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to do until nine but he had assumed it’d be fine if just hung out here. “I’ve gotta go uh.. pick Robin up from work,” lie. He and Robin had worked the morning shift and she was off at some family dinner she had complained about all week.

“Robin Buckley?” you ask, slightly confused as to how the two of them even knew each other.

“You know her?” he perks up.

“Eh.. kinda, we were in band together.. how do you know her?”

He’d love to tell you that they had become inseparable after nearly dying in a Russian basement with your little brother last summer. But he doesn’t. Because you, like the majority of Hawkin’s residents, were still blissfully unaware of the weird underworld that lived beneath your town.

“We worked together last summer and now we’re best friends I guess,” it sounded far too simple as he said it out loud.

He was an asshole in school and was well aware of that fact, someone like him would never have become friends with someone like Robin if it weren’t for the Upside Down. But he was grateful nonetheless, and telling you the shortened story was much easier than opening the can of worms that was the Upside Down.

“Oh..” you nod slowly, “you really have changed, huh?” thinking back to Dustin’s constant appraisal of the new Steve and how you didn’t really believe any of it.

“Yeah.. I don’t..” he clears his throat, “I don’t know if I was an asshole to you in school but if I was then.. I’m sorry,” looking sheepish as his head hangs low. In all honesty, he couldn’t really remember you ever being at Hawkins High but felt an apology was due either way.

You nod, accepting the apology though the worst he’d ever done to you was the time he sat there and cackled as Carol Perkins knocked the pile of books out of your arm.

“You want another cup of coffee or d’you have to go?” still clutching onto his dirty plate.

He checks his watch, not that the time actually mattered as he’d leave here and probably end up driving around until it was socially acceptable to come back in. “I could do one more.. thank you,” grinning softly.

You slip into the kitchen, questioning the warm, fuzzy feeling that had settled in your chest. Convincing yourself that it was only because he was being nice to you. Nothing more.

Steve strolls in again at 8:40 after driving around the entire town, ending up parking in town and just watching the tiny clock in his dash until it turned 8:30 and he could slowly make his way back to the diner.

It’s empty, has been pretty much all night bar the few regulars that seemed to spend their lives here. You’re sat behind the counter flicking through the Hawkins Post someone had left behind, reading about the upcoming bake sale. Riveting stuff, really.

“You’re early,” you point out, looking at the clock that had moved incredibly slow all day.

“I had nothing else to do so thought I’d try and squeeze one more cup of coffee from you,” he grins cheekily, testing the boundaries of this incredibly new.. friendship?

You roll your eyes, motioning over to the pot, “help yourself,” sending one of the clean coffee mugs over the counter so he could do your job for you.

The clock slowly ticks over to nine and you do one last check around the place to make sure you’d done everything needed. Javie, the cook, had gone home already, thankfully cleaning the kitchen before disappearing. Begging you not to tell Kevin he’d slipped off early with a promise of whatever you wanted to eat on your next shift.

You turn the key in the door as Steve stands behind with his hands shoved in his pockets, “are you normally the only one in there at this time?” walking beside you to his car.

“No, Javie normally finishes when I do but he had a date or some shit so he left early,” shaking your head. It would’ve been useless to make him stay anyway.

Steve jumps in front of you, grabbing the handle before you got the chance, pulling the door open, “Oh.. good, yeah that’s good,” closing the door and clambering into his own side. He wants to believe that he’s not sure why the mention of Javie’s name made him feel so funny.

“You sound disappointed.. were you planning on robbing me?” chuckling to yourself.

“No! No.. what? It just seems unsafe for you to be there on your own so late..”

“It’s nine pm Steve.”

“Yeah I know but.. there are a lotta weirdos in Hawkins yanno?” starting the car as quick as possible, not wanting to stick his foot in his mouth any further.

You smile, it was very kind of him to look out for you after all. “Yeah.. I’m in the car with one right now,” glancing at him with a shit eating grin.

“Oh ha ha.. you’re so funny,” rolling his eyes in jest though his lips twitch into a small smile.

“I know that actually,” turning to watch the trees as they disappear behind you. The air is perfect, reminiscent of the summers you had here as a child.

Steve takes the opportunity to look over at you admiring the night sky. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, this was going to be the death of him.

Well, you were.

Steve’s itching to just ask him, get it out while he’s driving so Dustin can’t run away.

“So.. I have a question for you,” testing the waters before fully committing.

“Uhh.. what could you possibly have to ask me?” Dustin asks, curious.

“Well.. I need you to ask your sister if she’d maybe wanna come to the movies with me,” he holds up his hand to preemptively stop Dustin’s inevitable reaction, “I accidentally bought two tickets and I don’t wanna let it go to waste, so don’t start.”

“Steve, I already told you that that is not happening.”

“It’s not a date Dustin,” Steve hisses, “you said she liked horror movies so.. I thought she might wanna come.. that’s all.”

Dustin looks incredulous, “since when do you like horror movies?”

“Uh.. since forever?” lying through his teeth. Steve hated horror. Would point blank refuse to watch anything even remotely scary when Robin suggested it.

“You’re a bad liar,” Dustin frowns, he’d had many of his own movie suggestions shot down by Steve for being inappropriate and too scary.

He rounds the corner, pulling up onto your drive. He was running out of time to convince Dustin to do this for him. And see, he’d do it himself but that would mean he’d undoubtedly end up a bumbling idiot in front of you and that was not what he was aiming for.

“Can you- will you please just ask her?” he begs, pleads even.

“Fine,” Dustin rolls his eyes, sliding out of the car. His feet dragging along the pavement as he walks into your house, not bothering to give his usual wave to an idling Steve.

He slinks up the stairs, banging on your bedroom door. Get it out of the way and then he could mourn the loss of both his sister and his best friend as quickly as possible.

“Yeah come in,” you call from the other side, closing the notebook.

“Steve asked me to ask you if you wanted to go and see some movie with him, he also wants me to tell you that he accidentally bought two tickets instead of one but I think you and I are both smart enough to know that isn’t true,” your brother rolls his eyes, perched in your doorway.

You smile to yourself, rolling your eyes. It was childish but admittedly endearing, “tell him to ask me himself and I’ll think about it.”

Dustin nods, frowning as he walks over to your bedroom window, leaning out of it to holler at Steve who was still sat in his car awaiting your answer, “she told me to tell you to ask her yourself,” sticking his middle finger up at him before storming off into his own room.

You watch him leave, open mouthed before going to the window to find Steve looking up to your window. He points towards the door, shrugging. This really wasn’t how he’d have liked this to go.

The door swings open and you blink at him, allowing him the opportunity to go first. This was his question after all.

“D’you wanna come to the movies with me? I- Dustin mentioned that you like horror movies and I don’t wanna waste this ticket.. it’s cool if not,” Christ, he really needed to stop hanging around Robin so much. She had a knack for being completely defeatist before even receiving her answer and it was clearly starting to rub off on him.

“Yes, I’ll go to the movies with you,” smiling softly at him. He really was light years away from the dickhead you once despised, now just some shy guy trying to ask someone out on not-date-date.

“Okay,” he responds with far too much enthusiasm, “great.. Friday! I mean- I’ll pick you up on Friday.. eight o’clock,” cheesing as he walks back to his car. Throwing up a thumbs up before realising how stupid he looked and rushing to get into his car. Heart fluttering out of his chest.

You’re shitting it.

It wasn’t a date. No really, it wasn’t.

But you couldn’t help the nerves bubbling up in your stomach as you wait for him to pick you up.

“I think this is disgusting by the way,” Dustin pipes up, scowling as he paces the hallway. Desperately trying to conjure up a plan to stop you from going. He couldn’t think of anything worse than his sister and his best friend dating. He shudders at the mere thought of it.

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion,” rolling your eyes, peering out of the window to see if his car had pulled up yet.

“Why can’t you date any of the other losers in this town? Or someone at college? Why does it have to be Steve?” his shoulders slump, frown evident as he skulks into the living room.

“Oh my God Dustin, stop it. Yanno, the more you complain about it, the more I’m going to make sure it happens,” letting go of the blind and giving him a smug smirk. For his sake, it probably would just be a movie.

You weren’t exactly Steve’s usual type so you were certain that the second someone from school spotted you together he’d probably get embarrassed and drop this little crush. But hey, you could entertain the idea for the summer and perhaps you also had a tiny, smidgen of a crush on him too.

The doorbell rings out and Dustin lets out a ghastly wail, rushing to answer the door before you could. “You never come to the door for me!” he pouts, glaring at Steve who stood nervously on the front porch.

“Because I don’t like you,” Steve jokes, attention quickly pulled from your younger brother as you appear behind him. “You look.. nice,” smiling as Dustin’s eyes ping pong between the two of you.

“Thank you.. so do you,” barging past Dustin who looks positively distraught, “don’t cry too hard,” you call out, walking down the path beside Steve. The door slams when you reach his car and you share a look with Steve, giggling as he opens the door for you.

The second you sit, the nerves come spilling over. This was no longer just a silly thing you could tease Dustin about anymore, it was actually happening and you were here and he was here and you were about to go on a not-date-kinda-date.

You’re both fairly quiet on the ride to the cinema, exchanging small talk about your days and the movie you were about to watch. It was fairly obvious that he’d bought these tickets specifically with you in mind, because Steve Harrington would not willingly watch Friday the 13th, especially not on his own.

“So you accidentally got two tickets, huh?” eyeing him from across the car.

His cheeks flush, bottom lip trembling as he attempts to come up with something to explain his bullshit story, “I- fuck, no.. I didn’t,” looking bashful as he pulls into the parking lot, “I didn’t actually think you’d say yes.”

“Why?”

Steve sighs as he turns off the ignition, “I don’t know.. you’re like cool and in college and I’m just some loser from high school,” shrugging half-heartedly, finally meeting your eyes.

“You’re not a loser.. you were a loser but, I think you’re pretty cool now.”

His eyes widen, his smile fighting to come out, “I think most people would say the opposite,” he certainly didn’t hold the same level of prestige he had in school anymore. In fact, he’d sorta lost it in senior year when he’d decided that people like Tommy H and Carol were not the type he wanted to associate with.

And it wasn’t like he’d lost it all, girls still fawned over him and the basketball team would still get excited to see him but he had kinda just slipped into the background. Another guy who had peaked in high school that was destined to stay in this dead end town with a dead end job and a wife he’d grow to loathe. At least, that’s what he had always pictured.

“Yeah well, I’m not most people,” climbing out of the car. Not once in your life had you ever thought you would be telling Steve Harrington that you thought he was cool. Much less getting out of his car to go see a movie together.

You’re met with a genuine smile from over the roof of the car, he doesn’t need to speak for you to know that he appreciates your words.

For a moment you forget where you are until his eyes linger a little too long and your heart begins to pound again. Pulling your own gaze away and mumbling something about missing the trailers.

It’s unfortunate and a little sickening but you can hardly focus on the film and even though it’s dark, you can feel his eyes shift to your face every few minutes, distracting you from the movie. You don’t look back of course, keeping your eyes firmly glued to the screen.

His hand shifts suspiciously close to your knee, stopping just before he makes contact. You’re trying your hardest not to overthink it. He’s just.. moving his hand. That’s all.

Fuck.

You were fucked.

Your hands are practically trembling as you sit there. Finally gaining enough courage to look back at him the next time his eyes wander.

Steve’s not like you, see. He’s a little nervous of course but he’s had years of experience with girls, knows all the tricks in the book to get them falling for him. And when it really came down to it, he could unleash his moves to have you right where he wanted. His eyes don’t flicker back to the screen, they lower, gazing at your lips instead. He wants to do it. He does. Urging himself to just lunge forward and close the distance between you.

But you’re not like that. You wouldn’t have even looked at him twice in high school, immediately and rightfully passing him off as the dickhead that he was. These tricks were futile on you.

“Watch the movie,” you whisper despite not watching it yourself, blinking rapidly as you feel your cheeks heat up. Praying that the dark of the cinema would shroud your flushed face.

His lips twitch before slowly pulling his eyes away, nodding to himself as an acknowledgement to be on his best behaviour.

It takes every single fibre of your very being to get through the rest of the movie without looking at him again.

“Well I actually enjoyed that,” he professes loudly, walking out of the theatre a few paces behind you.

“Oh? I’m surprised you actually saw any of it,” walking to his car in the pitch black parking lot.

“I wasn’t talking about the movie,” grinning as he lays on that signature charm. It’s shameless and you feel like a fool for even falling for it.

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling on the door handle as his car remains locked. He sidles up to the passenger side, one side of his mouth curled into a small smile.

“How tired are you on a scale of one to ten?” mere inches from your face.

“Hmm.. a five.”

“Great, get in,” leaning closer to open the door for you, outstretched arm keeping you between his body and the car. You swallow harshly, slipping past him and into the car.

You’re not sure if you like this version of Steve, the one that had the confidence to make you a bumbling fool for him.

“Where are we going?” you eventually pipe up, bewildered that you had just let this boy drive you to this mysterious location without any contest.

“You’ll see.”

The very second he turns onto the darkened road you groan, knowing exactly where he had taken you, his motivations becoming increasingly clear.

“Fucking skull rock?” you exclaim. Everyone had heard the rumours in school, this was his spot and girls were to be extremely appreciative if he brought them here. You should’ve known really, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Well yes, but that’s not why we’re here.. I swear,” only now realising how scummy this looked but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until it had yours.

Your arms wrap over your chest, jutting your bottom lip out, “then why are we here?” you sounded disgusted with him. How could you have been so stupid?

“Because I-,” the car stops in the tiny lookout spot, “wait, get out of the car,” he instructs, hopping out of his side.

You don’t move a muscle, refusing to fall for his tricks once again. So he walks around the car, opening up your door, “look, I wanna show you something,” his tone is desperate and it makes you ever so slightly believe him.

There was no chance he was that eager to make out with you surely.

Your nostrils flare as you get out of the car, immediately wrapping your arms back around yourself. “What? What could you possibly have to show me out here?”

“Just look,” pointing towards the sky. It was littered with stars, bright and twinkling with the view of Hawkins in the distance. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a sight you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He chuckles, “I come here sometimes.. just to think and stuff,” scuffing his shoes on the loose stones, “I thought you’d appreciate something like this,” hands shoved into his pockets, gazing at you as you gaze at the sky.

“Wow.. you can see everything from here,” still marvelling in the absolute beauty, blissfully unaware that he was doing the same, just not at the same beauty you were seeing.

“I thought you’d like it,” dragging his feet along to the bonnet of his car, leaning back against the maroon metal. “I’m a little offended that you just assumed that I was tryna get you here for any other reason though,” laughing softly, what more could he do to prove that he was no longer that meathead jock from school?

You finally break your gaze, looking at him as you join him on the bonnet. Heart pounding as your elbow brushes against his as you shuffle further up the car. It’s so silly, you feel like a fool, trying your hardest to contain your flushing cheeks.

“I’m sorry..” admitting that perhaps you were a little harsh, “but can you blame me? We’ve all heard the stories,” purposely knocking your elbow into his arm, wiggling your brows. Turning your attention back to the picturesque view in front of you.

“Yeah yeah.. that was a long time ago, I told you, I’m not like that anymore..” it’s only a tiny lie. He still made out with girls in his car and took them to darkened corners of your tiny town. But see, the difference was that he was actually trying to date these girls, mindless sex was no longer his goal.

“Yeah I can see that now..” your shoulders slump, relaxing as your guard comes down, “thank you, this is a really cool spot and I’m grateful you chose to share that with.. me,” smiling softly.

“You’re like the second girl I’ve ever shown this to.. by the way.”

“Second?” poking fun at him.

“Robin came first, obviously,” choosing to ignore your little dig.

You had wondered why he wasn’t just dating Robin, he was a changed man now and obviously the pair got on like a house on fire so why wouldn’t he have tried it with her? Maybe he had and she’d shut him down. She seemed cool enough in band, definitely not someone that would ever be interested in Steve, no matter how much he had changed.

“Ahh.. obviously,” trying desperately not to sound jealous.

“So you like it?” watching your face instead of the sky once again.

When you pull your eyes away from the sky to look at him, you’re taken aback to find him already staring back. “I love it,” the way the moon illuminated his face left you breathless, struggling to contain your heart in your chest.

“Good..” he smiles before descending into some ramble about the stars and how he had discovered it.

You weren’t interested. Focused on one thing and one thing only. Deciding against your better judgement to just do it. It was utterly reckless and someday you might live to regret it but you’d regret it tomorrow if you didn’t.

Pressing your lips to his, quietening his little tangent. It takes him a moment to register what was happening and you doubt yourself, wanting to pull away and run through the woods hoping to never see him again. But it finally clicks and he springs into action, masterful hand snaking its way through your hair, resting on the back of your head. Keeping you right there, pressed to him just like this forever.

Your hand nervously finds his cheek, brushing over the slight stubble that adorned his jaw. There’s no urgency, no ulterior motives. Pure and simple, only a desperate need to stay like this forever.

You pull away, lips still lingering over his. A small giggle erupts from your throat, crumbling under his stare. “Sorry..” you mutter, still trying to catch your breath, “you were saying something..”

“Sorry?” he exclaims, keeping his hand intertwined in your hair, “don’t ever be sorry for doing that.. like ever,” the stars reflecting off of his chestnut eyes back into yours, his features intricately lit up by the sky.

“Okay..” laughing slightly, “okay.. I’ll keep that in mind,” shying away from his eyes, dipping your head.

There was not one part of you that would have ever guessed that you would be the one to make a move on him first. Or that he could ever be so sweet, so kind and thoughtful and you feel awful for ever just assuming the worst of him without even giving him a chance.

You’re pulled out of your head when his head dips down to match yours, “can we do that again?” thumb tracing back and forth along your neck. You nod quickly, chest bubbling with excitement as his lips connect with yours once more.

It must’ve been gone three by the time you sneak back into your house. Praying that Dustin is already asleep as you sneak back up the creaking stairs.

It’s too late. You’ve been caught.

“Come here,” he whispers harshly, peeking out of his bedroom door, his brows furrowed.

You oblige, slipping into his room and shutting the door quietly, “you gonna give me a lecture?”

“No,” he sits cross-legged on his bed, “I was going to ask if you had a good time,” willing to put his pride behind him for the sake of his dear sister's happiness.

Your frown turns into a grin, joining him on his bed, “I did.. he’s really nice, Dusty,” moving the deconstructed lego set from his duvet so you could scoot closer. “If you really don’t like it.. I can tell him that we can just be friends,” smiling earnestly at your little brother, it would suck but after all, he was Steve’s friend first.

He sighs, swallowing his disgust, “you don’t have to do that..” this is hard for him to even get out, “if you’re happy then.. I’m happy,” giving you his brotherly blessing.

You beam at him, “but, I have some rules that you’re both gonna have to agree to,” setting his boundaries for your budding relationship.

“Shut up,” you giggle, ruffling his mop of curls before collapsing back onto his bed.

You’re happy. Genuinely happy and you’re not sure anything could happen to change that.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x henderson!sister

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venus-haze · 1 year

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My Destruction Is an Hour Late (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: As a nameless, faceless administrative assistant, you never expected any members of The Seven to give you the time of day. In your year or so of working at Vought, Homelander’s taken a particular liking to you, always seeking you out to help him with whatever tasks or projects he can conjure up to take up as much of your time as possible. When you’re not available to help him after hours since you have a date planned, his interest in you proves to be far more than professional.

Note: Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used. First time writing for Homelander so I hope it’s at least okay! Y/N naming convention isn’t used in this, Homelander only refers to you by pet names. This takes place between seasons 1 and 2. On the shorter side of what I usually write, but a lot happens in this. Title comes from one of my favorite lines from Buddy’s Rendezvous by Father John Misty. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Homelander is a warning. Suspected murder, age gap (Homelander is in his 40s while the reader is 20s/30s), emotional manipulation, some dubcon which involves explicit depictions of food play and mommy kink. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Being part of the corporate machine wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of when you were a little girl, but working for Vought softened the blow. You could see the look in people’s eyes when you told them who your employer was, one of the first things strangers learned about you. Interest and envy punctuated every question, but what everyone wanted to know was ‘Have you ever met any of The Seven?’

You had, and you weren’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that in your drive to keep the best paying job you’d ever had in an overpriced city like New York, you earned a reputation of reliability, which meant extra assignments but the overtime pay to go with it. One supe in particular was the source of most of your after hours work. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased about the singular occasion when you were unavailable.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you said. “I can’t tonight. I blocked off my time this evening on my calendar.”

“Yes, I saw that, but what could you possibly be doing that you can’t help me with this? You’re my go-to! I thought you were reliable, but this is—“

“I have a date,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of red in his eyes for a brief moment as he glared at you. He couldn’t have been that angry that you wouldn’t stay late to help him, not when there were dozens of other low-level Vought employees around. You couldn’t accept jealousy as a possible motivation, perhaps possessiveness, you’d heard of his odd relationship with Madelyn Stilwell, who was killed a little over a month after Vought hired you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you repeated weakly. “I can help tomorrow.”

He scoffed, clearly expecting you to offer to cancel your date to help him instead. Vought was one of the highest paying employers in the city, and you’d heard from your acquaintances in the HR department that the average job posting got well over 2,000 applicants on the low end. It wasn't uncommon for employees to work late nights here and there, but it seemed like so much of your time was consumed by Homelander. You’d foolishly volunteered to help him with something not long after you’d been hired, and as he said, you’d become his go-to. He intimidated you, but at times you found he could be almost sweet when it was just the two of you.

In all honesty, your social life had suffered immensely since you began working at Vought, and some of your friends had stopped the pretense of asking if you were free when they were planning to hang out, and you’d only become aware of the plans when you saw the Instagram stories after the fact. Restaurants, concerts, weekend trips—that used to be you. In a fit of loneliness and desperation one of the few nights you didn’t arrive back at your apartment and practically collapse asleep, you’d opened all of the dating apps you hadn’t touched in months, and quickly arranged a dinner date at your place with a nice enough guy named Jesse.

You sunk into your desk chair, an expensive ergonomic one he specifically had Ashley order for you because you’d complained of back pain once. Returning to your assignment at hand, you tried to ignore the eyes on you for declining Homelander’s request. At least five o’clock came sooner rather than later, and you rushed to gather your things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid any further confrontations.

It was odd leaving Vought Tower when it was still light out. You’d almost gotten used to leaving for work and coming home in the dark. The train back to your apartment was unusually crowded, a consequence of actually leaving at rush hour. Jesse would be over at seven, leaving you just an hour and a half when you got back home to cook and get ready. You’d decided on lasagna, a dish easy to make but equally easy to impress with.

Multitasking dinner and fixing up your hair and makeup probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had, but before working at Vought, you loved to entertain. It’d been so long, though, you’d forgotten how involved it was. Despite nearly spilling pasta sauce on your simple yet classic black dress, you were a bit relieved when Jesse seemed to be running a few minutes late–until a few minutes turned into far more.

7:14 ‘If you need directions, let me know!’

7:36 ‘Hey, is everything okay?’

7:53 ‘Are you seriously ghosting me?’

At a few minutes past eight, you angrily typed a simple ‘Fuck you’ when a knock at the door startled you, and you nearly pressed send when you flinched. You had half a mind not to answer. Who the hell did he think he was showing up an hour late? Another impatient, more forceful knock echoed through your apartment and you rose to your feet, throwing your phone aside on the couch and storming over to the front door.

Opening it, you expected to see your less than punctual date in your doorway. Instead, the man at your door looked extremely out of place in your modest apartment building.

“Homelander?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is that lasagna I smell? Yummy.”

“I—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—“

A drop of blood rolled from one of his gloved hands and onto the floor in the hallway. Your mind immediately raced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d just apprehended some violent criminal. Although, in that case, he’d return to the tower right away and report the incident for the crime analytics team.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, as if he regularly came over to your place unannounced.

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter. “Of course, um, is everything okay?”

Vought kept all employee information in a database, and you were sure he had access to it and found your address that way. Still, it didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important on the Vought totem pole, and you didn’t feel like you and Homelander were all that close. Though, it seemed he knew far more about you than you could have anticipated.

The more you considered it, though, the timing, the convenience of his arrival in the absence of your date, not to mention the literal blood on his hands—you looked at him, wide-eyed at the man who just stepped foot in your home, not wanting to believe the worst but knowing it’d be dishonest otherwise.

Homelander grinned, his pearly white canines glistening like fangs beneath the soft lighting you’d carefully set up in your living room. “Now, why are you looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf?”

Your lip trembled. “It’s nothing.”

“Perfect! Then let’s eat,” he announced jovially. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” you said.

You went into the kitchen to retrieve the lasagna from the oven, which you’d kept at a low temperature to keep the dish warm but not overcook. Grabbing fresh basil from the fridge, you garnished the pasta with a few leaves. Suddenly lasagna seemed like a stupid choice. Jesse probably would have appreciated it, but Homelander was used to food cooked by Vought’s staff of professional chefs. It was too simple, even if you had made the sauce yourself.

He glanced around at the decor in your apartment while you busied yourself in the kitchen. A framed print of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart on your wall, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice among the books stacked on your coffee table, assorted candles glowing softly in your dim apartment, “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

You could feel your face heat up at his correct observation, nodding bashfully as you set the tray of lasagna on the table. It didn’t help that in your excitement for the evening, you’d made a ‘first date playlist’ consisting of Elvis, Sinatra, Simone, and some other older artists that played softly from the speaker you had set on the counter. It wasn’t like you had expected Jesse to be the one, but you wanted to indulge yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I am too, really,” he said, his voice oddly assuring, as if he weren’t saying it just to humor you. “Not many of us hopeless romantics around anymore.”

He had taken off his gloves since you’d gone into the kitchen, laying them neatly next to his plate. You ignored the small droplets of blood that had pooled on the table, focusing on making sure the serving of lasagna didn’t collapse into an unsightly mess on his plate. At least luck was on your side in that respect, as you nearly sighed in relief at the nice presentation. You were a bit less careful with your own serving before sitting down across from him.

Having Homelander eat your food felt more nerve-wracking than if Gordon Ramsay were over, it wasn’t like the latter could laser your kitchen table in half if he thought it was horrible.

“Goddamn, this is delicious. What’s that I taste in here?” He sounded genuine, not patronizing as you almost expected. Maybe he just didn’t eat lasagna very often.

“I seasoned the ricotta,” you said.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I didn’t know you cook like this.”

“I love to cook, I just haven’t had much time recently.”

“Interesting what you learn about people outside of work.” He grimaced a bit when he took a sip of wine. That was on you and your tendency to buy cheap alcohol. You could stomach the subpar taste for the sake of the buzz, but as far as you knew, Homelander couldn’t get drunk, so there wasn’t even that benefit.

“I can get you something else to drink. I’m so sorry,” you said. “I have water, iced tea, I think some soda, too.”

He looked at your fridge and huffed, displeased. “You have half a bottle of flat Coke. I’ll take the tea.”

You could’ve given A-Train a run for his money with how fast you raced into the kitchen to pour Homelander a glass of iced tea and bring it back to him.

“Did you find someone to help you with that thing you mentioned earlier?” you asked as you handed him the drink.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, like you said, it can wait until tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, biting back a comment about how it didn’t seem like it just a few hours ago. Instead, you sat back down and focused on finishing the lasagna on your plate. Suddenly it seemed like far too much, but you powered through the rest of the meal you’d worked so hard to make as Homelander led most of the conversation, while you gave short responses, hoping he’d get the hint at how uncomfortable you were. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“So, what’s for dessert?” he asked when you collected the dirty plates from the table.

“Ice cream,” you answered. “I’ll get yours first.”

“Nonsense, we can share,” he said.

You merely nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to pull the small carton of vanilla ice cream from your freezer. The bowls in your cupboard seemed too pedestrian to serve Homelander in, until you remembered the plastic, diner-style ice cream cups you’d bought not long after you moved into your apartment. Carefully scooping the dessert into the cup, you were pleased with how professional it looked.

Ice cream and spoon in hand, you set both in front of Homelander, who looked from the treat to you. “Ooh, vanilla, such an under-appreciated flavor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you answered, unwilling to admit you’d only bought it because it was on sale, and you had left over chocolate syrup from when you were on your brief home cafe kick.

You yelped when he pulled you onto his lap, bracing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He seemed pleased at your reaction, smiling as he took a spoonful of ice cream and held it in front of your mouth.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said.

You leaned in, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed the dessert to you. His smile widened when you swallowed.

“Okay, my turn,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way your hand shook as you scooped up a generous amount of ice cream and put the spoon in his mouth.

The moan he let out as he sucked the ice cream off of the spoon was nothing short of sinful, and you felt ashamed that it stirred something in you. Sure, you found Homelander attractive and had a brief crush on him before coming to terms with the fact that it’d never happen, but this was just bizarre.

The odd ritual continued for another few agonizing minutes, and it was almost like he was going out of his way to see how much you would put up with before you’d protest or challenge him. You told yourself it was because you wanted to keep your job, and you were definitely afraid of him, but a small part of you that you tried to push deep into the recesses of your mind was starting to enjoy it.

“You know, I’m having a great time. We should do this more often,” he said, finally setting aside the half-empty cup.

You gulped. “Yeah, if you want to.”

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that, I just–I was expecting someone else tonight.”

“Right. Jesse,” he said, spitting the name like venom.

You’d never told Homelander your date’s name in the brief conversation you’d had with him about it back at the tower. There was no way he couldn’t hear your heart racing. If you didn’t calm down, you were sure your dinner was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

“So, what was the plan after the romantic candle lit dinner? Just a kiss goodnight, or were you going to let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice flat as he pinned you in place with nothing more than a cold stare.

You balked at his wording. Not that you hadn’t heard him curse before, it was a shock in and of itself the first time he dropped the f-bomb in front of you. He’d never been so directly crass toward you, though. “I-I don’t—“

“You don’t put out on the first date?” he finished. “Really make ‘em work for it, huh?”

“I just don’t want to be that intimate with someone I don’t know well,” you answered, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Good thing you know me like the back of your hand, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed one of the slinky spaghetti straps of your black dress, the caress reminding you of how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You'd seen him lift cars with his bare hands and not even break a sweat. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the crook of your neck, then your cheek, until finally he captured your lips in a kiss that left you dizzy. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he forced your mouth open with his tongue.

Tangling your fingers in his hair in an attempt to steady yourself only encouraged him.

He pulled you closer so you were fully straddling him, and you knew despite the force with which he held your hips in place, he was holding back. You nearly choked on your own spit, or perhaps it was a mix of yours and his at this point. He was already pushing it with how much force you could handle, and he was holding back.

When he finally pulled away, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and lips surely in the process of bruising. You could feel his hardening cock through his suit as it pressed against your thighs. He stared at you, intense and uncomfortable for a few moments before his gaze wandered right next to your ass. He picked up the cup of melted ice cream with one hand, and tore open the front of your dress with the other, as if it were nothing more than tissue paper.

“You dress like such a little prude at work, but this–fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he poured some of the melted ice cream over your chest, and you gasped at the sensation of the cool liquid making contact with your skin. He watched, mesmerized as it rolled down your breasts, a droplet of vanilla hanging from one of your exposed nipples. He dipped his head, licking it gently before taking your breast in his mouth.

You whimpered as his teeth harshly grazed your nipple, needy and insatiable as he lapped up the sticky ice cream that’d begun to dry on your chest.

“Fuck, mommy,” he whined against your skin, throwing you for one hell of a loop.

He poured the rest of the vanilla ice cream on your chest, some of it landing on your already ruined dress. Throwing the cup aside without a second thought, he brought his attention to your other breast which he’d simply been groping until then. You nearly jumped when he grabbed your hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Oh god, he wanted you to pull him closer.

Hesitantly, you pushed his face against your breast, his moan practically vibrating through you. You kept your hand in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he relentlessly sucked and licked your breasts. The stimulation was almost too intense to be pleasurable, but the wetness between your legs said otherwise. You couldn’t hide that from a man like Homelander, your gut twisting at the realization he could probably smell your arousal.

He was fully hard now, and with how rough he was getting, you could tell he was close. Biting your sensitive lip, you slipped your hand between your bodies, rubbing his hard on through his suit.

“Oh fuck, mommy, don’t stop,” he moaned.

It felt almost wrong, seeing the most powerful superhero in the world so vulnerable, but you knew better. Despite the facade of submissiveness, he was in control.

“Are-are you close, baby?” you asked, hoping if you played the part, the less time you’d be subject to his troubling fetish.

“Yes,” he whined. “God, I’m–”

He squeezed your breast when he came, and if you weren’t sure it’d be bruised in the morning before, that had made you certain. You gasped in pain, tears rolling down your cheeks which he wiped away in his post-orgasm haze.

“You did so good. You did so fucking good, just like I knew you would,” he praised.

He picked you up like you were nothing, and in a way, you were nothing. Your body was already pushed to limits you’d never experienced before, and the night was far from over, as you’d find three hours and a broken box spring later. You weren’t sure at what point you’d fallen asleep–or maybe passed out was more like it–but when you awoke the next morning well past nine o’clock, your body was almost too sore to move as quickly as you needed it to.

“Good morning, babe,” Homelander greeted as you shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place.

“Homelander, I’m going to be late—“

“No you’re not. I already called in for you, let ‘em know you’re taking a sick day. We can keep the little white lie between us,” he said, with a mischievous smile and a wink.

“Oh,” was all you managed as you sat at the table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee from the bagel shop you stopped in every morning was sitting neatly at your place. “You picked up breakfast?”

“It’s the least I can do after you made dinner last night. By the way, the people over there wanted me to tell you congrats when I let them know the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Your promotion,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ll be reporting directly to me from now on, take out all of the bureaucratic bullshit between us.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky and uncertain.

He pursed his lips. “I’d expect a little more fucking enthusiasm, but we can work on that.”

“You’re right, I’m just still a little groggy is all,” you said, forcing a smile on your tired face. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

“There we go,” he said, his quick mood shift almost startling you as he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right, babe?”

You glanced at the dried blood on the other side of the table, where he’d been sitting the previous night. Before you could think too much about it, you widened the fake smile you were giving him. “Of course I do.”

#homelander x reader #the boys #homelander #the boys x reader #homelander imagine

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chaotic-mystery · 2 months

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Code Red | Chapter Seven: I Love Older Men

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader (no outbreak)

summary: Your big date with Joel is finally here and you end the night on a good note, or a good feeling perhaps.

content warnings: SMUT, 18+ only blog MDNI. Enemies to lovers, dads best friend Joel, age gap (readers in her twenties and Joel is in his 40s), slow burn, first date jitters, reader has hair Joel can brush from her face, no other descriptors, Joel puts reader on the dining table, finally getting some smut, eh? oral sex (f receiving bc he's a ladies man), orgasm denial until you agree with him, power imbalance, dirty talk, thigh smacking, biting, a few sips of beer but no one is buzzed, horny overload, cum eating if you use a monocle, pulling Joel's hair and riding his face/nose, slight PDA, a tiny easter egg if you find it, and one (1) sleepover. NO use of Y/N! Let me know if I've missed something!

authors note: Hi, I love you first off for keeping up with this and my life when it gets crazy and I dip for a little. Thank you for all the support on Code Red, it means the world to me. This can be read as a stand alone if you're unfamiliar with the series but it'll make more sense reading it in order || wc: 4K || notif blog so you don't miss a thing ||

“Why do you have to wear that shirt?” Joel asks as your front door swings open, his hand pushed against the door jam to prop him up.

You giggle and look down at the bedazzled shirt that was tight enough to push your tits together nicely. It came as no surprise to you that Joel didn’t like the words printed on it and covered in rhinestones. ‘I Love Older Men’ twinkles in the sunlight as Joel swings open your front door, already taking your house key to lock the door behind you.

“It’s not funny, you’re gonna draw attention to us.” He gripes, putting a hand on your hip behind you as you sit down. His attitude was already starting to get on your nerves but you refuse to let him ruin this, especially over a shirt.

“Hey! Enough, it’s just a shirt. Is it really such a bad thing if people look at us?” You ask, dipping your head down to look at him.

Joel meets your eyes and licks his lips while thinking about what to say. You cup his cheek and raise your eyebrows at him playfully.

“No, I just-” He starts and you cover his mouth quickly to cut him off. Joel gets the hint and rolls his eyes at you before closing the door shut and getting in on his side of the truck. He starts the engine and puts his hand on the back of your headrest to back out of his driveway, open palm against the steering wheel turning it quickly.

His cologne smells warm and spicy, with a tad of amber mixed in there which surprises you for someone like him, not seeming like he’d be into expensive cologne. Absolutely captivating, the way he does everything so effortlessly and somehow makes you want to bury your face in his chest while he talks for hours and hours. Joel turns forward and starts the long drive ahead of you two. You were unsure where your date actually was, Joel wanted to keep it a surprise from the last time you spoke about it, which you didn’t mind in the slightest.

Joel looks over a couple of times and leans his arm against the door while he steers the wheel.

“You gonna stay over there the whole time or you wanna sit in the middle?” He asks, almost waiting for you to laugh and tell him no. You fight back a smirk and sigh dramatically before sliding over into the middle seat right next to him.

“Better?”

“For now.” Joel responds and his tongue lingers over his bottom lip for a split second before disappearing into his mouth again.

“Where are we going? Please don’t tell me you’re taking me to Home Depot…Joel are you taking us to Home Depot?” You half whine and look up at him with your hand resting on his knee.

“Now why on earth would you think I'd take you there for our date? Give me a little more credit, would ya? Just sit back and enjoy the ride please?” His arm tightens around your shoulders and pulls you into him more. You giggle at his growing annoyance and put your sunglasses on as you rest your head back, looking out the window watching the telephone poles whiz by.

One of the few times you ever felt this calm and relaxed was with Joel or when you’re alone. He makes it so easy to forget all of the stress and the issues constantly circling your brain about your dad, the future of not knowing, everything that bothers you. None of it ever seems that important when you’re with Joel.

You two hum to the radio and talk here and there, mainly enjoying the comfortable silence you shared. He turns right and the sign for the aquarium starts to get closer.

“You remembered the aquarium? Oh my god, Joel!” You exclaim and sit straight up to see the view better. Your excitement was too much for you to notice Joel taking glances at you with the biggest smile on your face. It was apparent to him you thought he forgot about the aquarium comment you made months ago. Little did you know he bought tickets as soon as you mentioned it that day. Even if you went just as the weird friend dynamic you briefly were, Joel still would’ve loved it no matter how much he would’ve pretended not to, no matter how much he wants to deny it.

He pulls into the parking lot and finds a parking spot a little far away from the doors but neither one of you mind. With your purse on your arm, you climb out of his truck and stand in front of it while you wait impatiently for him to get out.

“You ready?” He asks, coming up right next to you. His finger hooks under your chin and brushes his thumb down softly as he gives you a smile.

“Absolutely.” You respond back.

You two start towards the door, his arm brushing against you every time he gets close. Every time you feel his pinky touch your hand, you want to just reach out and hold his hand. Joel being the brooding older man, he’s not too big on PDA. You were the exact opposite. You wanted the whole entire town to know you were dating Joel Miller, you wanted to hold his hand while you wore your silly little shirt and have everyone stare at you both, like they could even begin to know the situation.

When you get inside and turn in your tickets, Joel watches the glimmer in your eyes sparkle as you take in everything around you. The tanks full to the brim with fish and coral, touch tanks tucked back behind the glass and metal staircase leading upstairs, the glowing hallway leading to so much more, the gift shop you were definitely going to stop in before leaving. In awe at the artwork covering almost every inch of wallspace, you were mesmerized. Two children run in front of you and scream wildly as they chase each other, causing Joel to grab your hand instinctively and pull you out of the way before someone gets stepped on.

You look down and his fingers interlock with yours and neither of you say a word or pull away.

“Where to first, baby?”

Hours pass and your feet are starting to hurt but you’re having too much of a good time to admit to Joel he was right about your shoe choice being awful. It was absolutely worth the pain though, walking the entire aquarium to get the full experience. Joel didn’t complain once no matter how many times you got weird looks for your shirt. He’d walk up to the dolphin tank and put his on the glass, the same glimmer in your eye from when you arrived was the same one he had. You two end up in front of the jellyfish tank that went up to the ceiling with glass, blobs of pink and orange jellyfish floating up and down all over the tank. Joel takes a seat on the bench in front and leans his arms against his thighs as he watches closely.

You sit next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, admiring the pink jellyfish at the very top that keeps sinking to the bottom just to go straight back up.

“Did you have a fun time?” Joel asks.

You don’t answer right away to not seem eager. “Yeah, this was a lot of fun. Never a dull moment with you though.” You giggle quietly as you remember earlier when he made someone’s child cry because Joel apparently “took the stingray” the child was touching and it decided to swim to Joel’s hand you forced into the touch tank. You’ve never seen him move so fast until that moment.

Joel chuckles with you as he knows exactly what you’re thinking about.

“I told you not to make me do it and you see what you did? You made someone's child cry, they’re never gonna come back here now.” Joel can’t finish his sentence because you both are laughing so hard and he leans his head on yours.

There wasn’t that need to fill the silence with Joel. You could sit there with him for hours and not share a word and still be comfortable, that’s not something you come by everyday.

“Well, you wanna stop in the gift shop before we go?” Joel questions as he picks his head up off yours.

“Yeah! I wanna see what stupid thing I can convince you to buy me.” You jump up and step towards the tank a few times, turning around to look at Joel.

He rises to his feet and walks towards you slowly, head cocked back slightly. The look he’s giving you makes your heart start to race and you can feel your cheeks getting warm with every step closer he gets to you. Somehow you managed to be the only two people in the jellyfish exhibit and you were thanking your lucky stars for this.

“Convince me, huh? Convince me how, baby?” His mocking tone sets your body on fire and you suddenly can’t speak.

Joel gets right in front of you and tucks his hand against your cheek, his long fingers brushing softly on the skin right below your ear.

“You don’t have to convince me to do anything, sweetheart. I’d do anything you want.” He kisses your lips gently.

“I’d buy you anything you want.” He kisses your jaw.

“I’d build you anything you want.” He kisses your neck softly.

You would’ve fallen to your knees had he not pulled away and chuckled at you, seeing how pathetic he made you for him so fast.

“Fuck off, Joel.” You try to play it off like you weren’t going to risk it all had he kept going.

He takes your hand once more and walks with you to the gift shop, his hand hardly leaving your waist as you meander around the store.

Torn between the pack of pens with different aquatic animals on the top and a turtle shaped beanie, you asked Joel which one you should get.

Joel turns around from the little container of pins he was looking at and takes a good glance at the options.

“What about this?” He holds up the metal pin that has a starfish printed on the center, with big ugly yellow letters that say, ‘I’m a star!’.

You blink once at him and turn back around to hide your laugh.

“That’s so goddamn stupid, Joel. I’d hate to be called a starfish.” You put the hat back and just as you look up, you see it. The stupid thing you want Joel to get you.

Yanking the clownfish plush off the shelf, you grin widely and turn back around to him and shake it in his face.

“This, this is it. Isn’t it the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” You look back down at the stuffed animal, admiring all the details on it. Without missing a beat, Joel doesn’t look away from you and nods. “Yeah, it is.”

On the drive home you stopped for food and ate in the parking lot while Joel gave you his typical old man history recap of all things Austin, Texas while you nodded like you were following the entire time. You caught most of it, but some stuff you were lost about and you didn’t have the heart to make him explain. Nodding and smiling usually did the trick.

Joel pulls into his driveway and stops right next to the little light pole on your side so you can see where you’re walking. Joel gets out after turning it off and walks around the front of the truck to meet you halfway. With an arm stretched out towards you, he grabs it and holds it there for a moment.

“Do you wanna maybe, um…see the new curtains I put up the other day?”

Your brows furrow and you can feel a laugh building up inside.

“W-what? Are you inviting me in to look at your curtains?” You have to make sure you heard him correctly. This seems like Joel’s way of getting you inside but he won’t explicitly say it. He needs an innocent excuse to get you inside before he makes his move.

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly and turns away causing his bicep to come into the light and grab your eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” He refuses to elaborate or change his question to the truth, curtains is what he’s sticking with.

“Well let’s go, Mr. Miller.” you reach up and pat his chest before heading towards his front door.

“C’mon, you know I hate when you call me that.”

“I know, that’s why I love it.”

He stands close enough behind you that you can feel his chest on your back while he unlocks the front door.

“Such a brat.”

The door swings wide open and you’re hit with the familiar smell that is Joel. The cologne with the faint scent of laundry detergent and somewhere a reed diffuser sitting neatly on a table. You take in all of the photos on the walls of him and Sarah, the home looking lived in and not empty. This is what you’ve been waiting on ever since you moved in. You wanted to see inside this house so badly. To see the room you’d constantly look down to when you couldn’t sleep and needed someone but he wasn’t awake. To see the room where you could hear every argument he had with Michelle over you.

“Everything you thought it’d be in here?” Joel questions and walks from behind you to the stainless steel fridge in the next room over as you stand in the doorway of the living room.

“It’s so cozy in here, I didn’t think it would be. Figured you’d have a lawn chair in here with a fold up table or something.” You joke and turn around with your arms crossed over your chest.

Joel looks at you with a fake disappointed face and closes the fridge before grabbing the two beers off the counter he got out.

“Don’t be a smartass, or I’ll have to fix that for you.” Joel states firmly, standing right next to you.”

With your breath caught in your throat, you take the beer from his hand hesitantly and think about whether or not you should say what you’re thinking. Fuck it though, right?

“Fix it how, Mr. Miller?” The playful tone in your voice makes Joel turn slowly towards you and sucks his teeth quickly before setting his beer down on the coffee table to the left of him.

“What’d I say about calling me that. You just love to push my buttons don’t you? Gets you off knowing you’ve annoyed me for the day, huh?”

You take another sip of your beer and smirk against the bottle.

“Yeah, I do.” You answer confidently.

Joel’s strong arms wrap around you and tug you close against him which causes you both to grunt and he holds you there, his face inches away from yours.

“And what if I told you every time you do that you make me wanna bend you over and have my way with you until you say you’re sorry?”

There it is.

You shutter a breath and meet his eyes which don’t seem so brown anymore. They’re dark with lust and it’s the one thing you’ve been wanting to see from him.

“Doubt it, I don’t think you can break me.”

Your lips ghost over his before they crash together and he groans in your mouth instantly as he picks you up for just a moment and walks you over to the dining room, setting you at the end of the table. You swing your legs as he steps back and admires how you look with the dim lighting around you.

“You would want that, of course. Should’ve known you’re a dirty girl. Tell me how you want me, baby.” He leans in and holds the back of your neck as he trails kisses along your jaw and throat, trying to make you respond.

The harsh but passionate kisses cloud your mind and you can’t answer fast enough.

“Tell me pretty girl, tell me how I can make you feel so good and have you right where I want you.”

God, you need him so badly.

“I-I like it rough. Manhandle me but still make me feel wanted, like you can’t get enough of me.”

Your answer coaxes out a groan from Joel and you can’t help but smirk.

“Oh is that so? You want me to toss you around, maybe pin you down right here and give you that attitude adjustment I’ve been wanting to give you since I saw you on your dads porch?” Joel did one thing well, and it’s being condescending.

He lays you down on the wooden table and pulls his hand out from the back of your neck and down the middle of your breasts slowly, all the way to the top of your pants. A scoff comes from his mouth and he tugs on the belt loop near your button.

“‘I love older men’...so fuckin’ naughty. Have you ever been with one or are you just talkin’ a big game?”

Joel undoes the button on your pants and wiggles his thick pointer finger inside the waistband of your panties, smoothing over your skin teasingly.

“N-no, I haven’t been with one yet.”

“Perfect. Now, take these off.” He yanks on your pants and stands still between your legs while you lift your hips up to shimmy them off. Halfway down your legs he grows impatient and shucks them off you, tossing them onto the floor. Joel kneels down and his face is dangerously close to your aching cunt.

“Joel, please- I need you…I need you so damn bad.” You whine, grabbing at his hand that’s holding your waist.

“You need me to what, baby? Use your words, I know you can do it.” He mocks.

Colored embarrassed that he was wanting you to explicitly say you want him to eat your pussy was an understatement. You didn’t mind a challenge.

“I want you to lick my pussy, Joel. I wanna feel your tongue on me and make me scream because you do it so well.” As soon as the words leave your lips, his tongue is licking at your wet panties. Tasting every bit of excitement he got from you until you whimper for him to do more.

“You want me to show you what I can do, pretty girl?”

Joel doesn’t wait for your answer and he grabs your hand, hooking your panties on your fingers to have you hold them to the side.

“Be a good girl and hold these for me, yeah?”

You nod in response and close your eyes just in time for his warm tongue to flatten against your clit. His moans muffle against your folds as his hands grip your hips harder, pulling you close to his face as he laps at your soaking pussy. Quick and rough flicks from his tongue go against your clit and you can already feel your legs shake. Your back arches off the table and instantly your hand goes in his hair, gripping the salt and pepper little curls tightly.

“Ohhh my-fucking god, Joellll!” You cry out and his right hand leaves your hip to the middle of your torso to pin you back down.

“Stay still.” He commands and buries his face between your thighs, his beautiful nose bumping your

clit. Your eyes begin to roll back into your skull and he groans louder the harder he licks at you, tasting every inch of skin he can get his mouth on. Joel rubs his thumb over your clit as he bites your thighs and follows with a soft slap to see how far he can push you.

“Y-yes oh keep doing that, baby.” You whine and buck your hips to get more friction against his thumb.

“So eager for me to make you come, darlin. God you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” Joel growls out and takes his thumb off you for a moment and your eyes shoot open to see where the release you were needing, had gone. He admires the glistening slick coating his skin and licks it clean before connecting his tongue with your clit once more.

“Say yes and I’ll let you come, okay?” Joel groans between licks and looks you in the eyes.

You sit up more to look at him with a confused look on your face.

“Say yes to w-what?”

“Come work for me at my shop. Be my receptionist so I can see you all the time. I can’t fucking be apart from you all day anymore.” His licks get more passionate and fast, consistent against your overworked clit and you feel the pressure starting to build in the pit of your stomach.

“What? Y-you want me-fuccck-to work with you?” you barely whimper out as you begin to pant and grind against his face.

Why did he want to bring this up right now? Was he afraid you’d say no so he waited until he had you in the palm of his hand to ask? Jokes on him, you wouldn’t have turned that down at all, anything to see him more than you were now, and you’d be getting paid to fuck off all day with him?

“Say yes.” He grunts and keeps going, pushing you to the edge of your orgasm.

Your eyes close and your head falls back, moaning with every lick and every move of your hips you make against him.

“Yes yes yes yes yes okay I will.” You squeak out and you come on his face, riding his tongue as you end up spacing out from the euphoric high. Never has a man ever made your ears ring from coming, until tonight.

Joel gives your pussy sensual kisses before he trails them up your stomach until he gets to your lips. You kiss him eagerly and taste yourself on his tongue, already wanting more.

“So I’ll see you there, Monday morning at 10 a.m..” He chuckles and kisses you a few more times before standing straight up and admiring the work he did on you.

All spread out on the dining room table wasn’t how you saw tonight ending, but you got so much from today. A great date and a job, and head? You were a winner today.

He grabs your hand and helps you up slowly, adjusting your panties the way he found them. You smile at him and look around for your jeans, groaning at the thought of putting them back on.

“Hold on, stay there.” Joel says and he disappears around the corner to another room. He comes back with a pair of basketball shorts and hands them to you.

“Here, put these on, baby.”

Fresh warm shorts from the dryer. What a fucking gentleman. You put them on and get a chill immediately from how warm they are.

“Can we watch a movie before I go home maybe?” You ask, not ready to leave his house quite yet. Joel nods and sits on the couch and you follow suit, cuddling yourself into his side. He finds something to watch on a streaming service and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t fall asleep now, I can’t carry you to your house.” He jokes and you elbow his side playfully.

Soon the TV sound was getting quieter and quieter as your eyes got heavy, until you were completely passed out in Joel’s arms, with him dozing off himself. Trying to fight his sleep to stay awake, he only lasts about ten more minutes before he grabs a blanket from the chair, covering you both up to sleep.

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