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amomentsescape · 4 months

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Hey I love yanderes and slashers and used to have a sleep walking problem where I would try to crawl through windows, can you do a yandere slasher x reader where the reader has developed Stockholm syndrome and been loving to the slasher so they trust them and let them have more freedom. Then they see them try to crawl out a window in their sleep? How would they react? Would they believe the reader? What would make them believe them if they didn't? If they didn't believe them the how would they react to finding out the reader told the truth?

Thank you so much! And merry Christmas! 🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

Slashers with Reader Who Sleepwalks & Tries to Leave

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, of course. Mentions of abusive behavior

A/N: Merry (late) Christmas! I hope you all had a great holiday! For this request, I decided to leave Eric out. He's just the complete opposite to a Yandere in my opinion, and it was nearly impossible for me to write him as such. I hope that's okay!

Freddy Krueger

He knows you would never purposefully leave him

Like, he actually knows

His (undead) life revolves around sleep

He knows when you're awake and where you're actually sleeping, even if he keeps you stuck in his dream world

So when he finds you trying to escape out of the little window he built for you, he just laughs

He had already known you sleep walked

He'd been haunting your dreams for weeks prior to actually taking you

Freddy just keeps watching you, not really doing anything about it

You're stuck in his world either way

Might as well see how far you'll go

He'll almost use this as a test of sorts

He'll let you wander to wherever you want to go in your sleep, and he may even change the environment to something you don't recognize

When you wake up, his name better be the first thing that falls from your lips

If it's not...

Well, he'll just have to try harder at getting you to need him

Michael Myers

It took a very long time for Michael to get to this point

The fact that he lets you sleep without chains is a huge decision on his part

He doesn't trust easily

And any feelings of trust he did have come crumbling down the moment he wakes up without you beside him

It didn't take long to find you

There you were, pushing and prodding at the boarded up window

He's truly pissed

And a little hurt

He really thought you were growing to actually like your situation

But when he spins you around and sees your eyes staring blankly through him, he tilts his head

You don't seem... right?

He'll shake you harshly until he sees the life come back to your eyes

When you finally look up at him with a similarly confused look on your face, he starts to realize

He understands you well enough to know when you're not acting like yourself

When he finally explains what you were doing after you repeatedly asked him, you sigh

You explain that sometimes at night, you wander around without realizing it

A sleepwalker, huh?

Sadly, the chains will need to come out again

Jason Voorhees

You wouldn't actually leave him, right?

You seemed so caring

He actually believed you when you said you needed him

But here you were, trying to leave your shared home in the middle of the night

He almost breaks down as he picks you up and takes you back to your room

He finds it a bit odd that you don't fight back at all, but he assumes you just don't care to

He locks you up and makes sure that you can't go anywhere

How could you do this to him?

When you wake up the next morning in chains and not in your shared bed, you begin to cry for Jason

He tries to ignore you, but he can't bring himself to hear your sad voice calling out to him

You try your best to tell him that you don't remember what happened, and that you would never leave him

And maybe he's too trusting, but he believes you

You just seem so sad and so genuine that it's impossible for him to think it's anything other than honesty

You couldn't be that stupid anyways

You'd get lost in those woods alone at night, he knows that

So he just has to believe you

He loves you, and love means trust, right?

Thomas Hewitt

But you were being so sweet to him just hours before

How could you lie to his face like that?

He wakes up without you in his arms, and he just about loses it

Frantically searches for you around the house and finally finds you at one of the nailed in windows

He pulls you away quickly, staring at you sadly

He's waiting for an explanation, but you don't say anything

You just stare

You weren't acting like yourself

He pushes you back towards the bedroom and you walk the rest of the way yourself, climbing back into bed with ease

He's confused, but decides to see if it will happen again

You can't leave anyways

The whole house is locked up, and you don't even know where the keys are

You act just like your normal self the next day

And that night, you're back to walking around with a blank stare

He figures this just might be a thing you do

Doesn't really try to stop you, but he does follow you most nights to make sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself

On nights he wants you in bed, he ties some old fabric around your ankle and holds you tight while you sleep

You might not ever know about your late night adventures unless he decides to tell you

Bubba Sawyer

He's quite literally blubbering to you

He's crying, he's frantic, he even shakes you a bit, and you just stand there not responding

He keeps waiting, and when you start to just wander around again, he loses it

What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?

He ties you back into bed and stays up the rest of the night, watching you

The next morning, he confronts you stressfully

You keep telling him over and over that you don't know what he's talking about

But he refuses to believe you

(He wants to believe you, he's just scared)

He only finally realizes you were being honest when in the middle of the day during your nap, he finds you wandering back to the window with his whole family watching you

You weren't stupid

Why would you try to leave when literally everyone could see you in broad daylight?

His family begins laughing and saying things like "looks like you got yourself a sleepwalker"

So you weren't purposefully trying to leave him?

He cries tears of joy and spends the next couple of days pampering you and giving you just about everything you want

He does his best to show you that he's sorry

Brahms Heelshire

It's quite literally known that Brahms has abandonment issues at this point

So when he catches you climbing up onto the window sill

He loses it

Will grab you and roughly pull you off, your body falling to the ground

This immediately wakes you up, your eyes searching around frantically

When you see Brahms standing above you, you try to reach for him, but he only shoves you away

You look so sad and confused at this, but Brahms is too stubborn to give in

He starts tying you up again each night, still very hurt that you would try to leave like that

It takes weeks for you to gain his trust again

And the one night he lets you sleep freely, he catches you by the window again

But instead of grabbing you immediately, he decides to just watch

He wants to see how far you'll go so he knows just how severe your punishment will need to be

But instead, you just give up on unlocking the window (it was jammed), and you just turn around and walk straight back to bed, not even registering Brahms being right there

This is odd

You need to explain the concept of sleepwalking to him the next day

He still remains skeptical for a while, but he'll come around

You just need to be extra attentive for a while...

Norman Bates

Norman already knows a lot about sleepwalking

(It's what he thought was going on for a while when he couldn't remember large chunks of time throughout the week)

When he finds you opening a window in the middle of the night, he bolts at you, ready to lock you back up in one of the motel rooms again

However, when you don't respond or reveal any emotion on your face, he immediately knows what's going on

He's surprised

He didn't know you'd be a sleepwalker

He decides to just lead you back to bed, knowing that waking you isn't the best idea

Sits you down the next morning and talks with you about it

When you seem very apologetic, he uses it to his advantage

Has you cuddle up with him even more than normal and stay by his side at all hours of the day

He still gives you some freedom

But he's always watching

He does take some precautions and ties your wrist up in the middle of the night

He has to, for your safety of course

Billy Loomis

To be honest, you don't make it very far

Billy has an iron grip on you at all times, and he's a light sleeper

The moment you get up, he's awake, observing you carefully

Sometimes you have to pee in the middle of the night, but he still makes sure you aren't lying to him

His ability to trust is practically in the ground

The moment you turn the wrong way, he's up and chasing after you

Were you that dumb? You knew he watched you every time you got up from bed

He grabs your wrist quickly and points a knife at your throat as a threat

He can't bring himself to actually hurt you though, not that you knew that

Or did you?

Because you just stand there not even moving away from the blade

Billy becomes very confused

He takes his hand and begins to wake it in front of your face, looking for some sort of reaction

You don't give him one

Are you still... asleep?

He shakes you a bit until you finally look at him, confusion written all over your face

You're a sleepwalker, aren't you?

He just rolls his eyes annoyed and drags you back to bed, not explaining anything

Just another thing he needs to look out for now

You sometimes wake up to bruises on your hips and waist from how hard Billy holds you in the night, but he's just trying to protect you, right?

He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just refuses to lose another person in his life

Stu Macher

Stu literally sleeps on you, so it's nearly impossible for you to leave the bed most nights

But if you somehow wiggle your way out, you wouldn't make it outside the house

The windows have been nailed so that they only open a small amount

When he finds you the next morning, curled up under a partially opened window, he just smiles

Call it naive, but he just assumes you were getting too warm in the bed

When you wake up in a confused state however, he becomes concerned

What do you mean you don't remember opening that window?

He honestly just becomes more worried that there's something wrong with your memory rather than you trying to leave him

He'll likely talk to Billy about it

He just hears laughter from the other end of the phone

"Sounds like they sleep walk," he'd say

Stu does a bunch of research on it later

He doesn't really mind though

All of the unsafe objects are already hidden away, and every possible exit is locked down

You aren't going anywhere

If anything, he finds it fun to wake up some mornings and look around for you

It's like a game, and Stu loves games

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asbealthgn · 1 year

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Eddie is used to getting recognized in public, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.

And Gareth knows how much he doesn’t like it, so Eddie’s not really sure why his best friend has completely abandoned him like this. Well, maybe abandon is a little dramatic. He said he’d be right back, but that was half an hour ago, and there’s only so many times he can circle the park and dive into bushes anytime someone gets too close. Which is why Eddie left the park altogether and is now sitting at a bus station. No one would expect notorious Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson to be at a bus station, right?

Except he’s not sure the hat and sunglasses and incongruous location are quite doing their job. A group of kids across the road have stopped and they’re all whispering amongst themselves as they look at him. Eddie really wishes he had something to conceal himself with, but his hand over his face would definitely look way too suspicious. He’s thinking he might just have to cut and run and take his chances back in the park bushes.

That is, until the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life sits in the seat next to him, unfurling a giant map that easily shields both of them. Eddie’s fucking savior.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to Japantown, would you?” the guy asks.

As it happens, Eddie does know how to get to Japantown. He hasn’t actually ridden the bus in years, but he still remembers the route. “Yeah,” he says, pointing it out on the map. “You just get on line five headed east and ride it like nine or ten stops until you get to McAllister and Fillmore. From there you just have to walk a few blocks to get into the area.”

The guy looks at him with big eyes, brown and a little droopy. “McAllister and Fillmore,” he repeats, like he’s trying to memorize it. He has pretty pink lips, glistening a little like he’s wearing lipgloss.

Fuck, he’s adorable. And looks a bit prone to getting lost. And Eddie’s still kind of mad at Gareth for leaving him high and dry out here. So as the bus pulls up to the stop, Eddie figures what the hell?

“I’m actually headed that way,” Eddie says, standing. “I can show you.”

The guy’s whole face brightens and fuck, he really is gorgeous. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all, big boy.”

The bus is blessedly empty other than one shriveled up lady sitting towards the front with her groceries and a teenager in the middle with giant headphones and their nose in a book. Eddie heads to the back with the guy, who now has a faint blush dusting his nose and cheeks.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” he says as he sits in the seat next to Eddie. “What’s your name?”

So that confirms that Steve doesn’t know who he is. It didn’t seem like he did from how he was reacting, but it’s a bit of relief to know for sure. “Eddie,” he says, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve gives him a smile that’s about as radiant as the sun as he nudges Eddie’s shoulder back. “You too.”

“So what do you have going on in Japantown?” Eddie asks.

“I’m headed to a baby shower for some friends who live near there,” he says, “Well, it’s not a real baby shower.”

“No?”

“‘Cause it’s not a real baby. That is, it’s not a human baby.”

Eddie lifts his eyebrows. “I think you lost me.”

Steve twists in his seat and starts gesturing with his hands. “Well, it all started when they found out that one of their cats wasn’t actually spayed and had gotten knocked up by a stray,” he says, “And Robin was like, ‘Hey, more cats, that’s a good thing,’ and Nancy was like, ‘No, our neighbors already think we’re crazy cat ladies.’”

“Uh huh.”

“So they compromised and decided they would keep one kitten and give the rest away,” Steve says, “So it’s less of a come give us presents for our baby shower and more of a please take our babies away shower. You know?”

“Oh yeah, one of those,” Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

“Hey, are you in the market for a kitten?” he asks. “Cause if you are, I totally know where you can get one.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Honestly?” he says, “I’ve got nothing else going on. Why the hell not?”

Steve gives him another one of those radiant smiles and Eddie can’t help but hope he gets more than a kitten by the end of this.

#robin: what is eddie munson doing in our living room?#steve: you guys already know my new friend eddie?#i honestly don't really know what this is #i woke up from a nap and this was just in my brain #so do with it what you will #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet

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juicedaloe · 9 months

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Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

#Dungeon Meshi #Mithrun

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peachypinkygloss · 9 months

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Hii babes! 💗 Congrats on the milestone, for my request can I have Jungkook who kidnapped oc and is fucking her Infront of the TV where it shows her missing? Dumbification please! thank you love <33 💕

hello baby!! 🤍 o.m.g i gotta say I am baffled, BUT IN A GOOD WAY! how didn't I think of this myself 😪 love u, mwah 💋 x

crafting new memories

You're his and nothing else matters.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: stockholm syndrome, dub-con, dumbification, unprotected sex, 900 words.

a.n.: ok sorry but I needed to put fluff, you guys know me. nothing's better than twisted fluff 🫣 you know the drill: don't like, don't read 🫶🏻

This is part of my 2k milestone celebration! Here is the post for the drabble game! 🤍

♡・2k celebration masterlist・♡

It doesn't do anything to you anymore. All those strangers, those people that you didn't really know before, crying and asking you to come back home used to make you cry, too.

Your eyes would become watery, your hands would shake and your heart would beat louder in your chest. It didn't really matter who they were, all you knew was that people were mourning you as if you were actually dead.

You wanted to call your mother, tell her that you're fine, that you're still alive, that she doesn't need to worry. But it doesn't feel so necessary anymore.

The news only mentions you when they're talking about other missing people because it's been too long now. They've stopped showing your parents and they've stopped updating everyone on the police investigation. They've just stopped searching for you.

You're the past now and they're living in the present. They've moved on, and so have you.

You're embarrassed to say it, but it was easy to do. It was easy to turn the pages and finally close the book of your previous life. It's terrible how the man who took you away is the very same one who also gave you a new life.

A new home, a new heart.

It's incredible how he's managed to make you forget by just replacing the old memories with new ones. He crafted them for you. With his words, with his hands, with his lips, he created every thought of yours so the old ones would never come back haunting you.

"Feels good, baby?" Jungkook whispers above you, his hips thrusting in.

"Yes," you softly moan and grab onto him, passing your arms around his shoulders.

You keep him against you as he fucks you lovingly, breathing onto your face, hovering over you with his hands on each side of your head.

You can faintly hear the sound of the TV playing, someone stating the daily news. Jungkook takes a hold of your jaw and makes you turn your head to the side, your blurry eyes laying on the TV's screen.

You think you hear your name, but you're not sure. Your mind is fuzzy, clouded with thoughts about Jungkook and only Jungkook. You squint your eyes as the picture of someone familiar appears on the screen but you're too distracted by his cock entering and exiting your wet pussy.

You don't understand why he forces you to look, his large hand keeping your head in place. "Do you recognize her?" He asks, his lips brushing against your skin, his nose pressing down on your face.

You feel like you're going to suffocate, but you don't dislike the feeling, not at all. You love being so close to him that it becomes difficult to breathe, difficult to think.

"Is it... me?" You frown, another moan ripping out of you as he pounds you onto the couch, not missing a beat.

"It was," he answers breathily. "But not anymore. You're mine, now," he says and makes you face him again, your lips centimetres away from his. "Only mine, right, baby?"

"Yes," you agree without hesitation and Jungkook chuckles, a beautiful sound that makes your stomach flutter.

"Yeah," he grins, biting down on his lip. "It's the only thing you can say, too dumb to think for yourself," he mocks you, but you know there's no mean intention behind it.

He just finds you adorable, loves how pretty you look under him, totally in bliss.

"My stupid little girl." He trails kisses down your neck and over your breasts, perky nipples pointing at him. "What would you do without me, hm? You poor little thing," he coos, still smooching the tender skin of your neck.

"Jungkook, please," you beg, getting a bit impatient, clit pulsating. "Need to cum," you whine and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on it so he looks at you.

He groans at your neediness, leaving the crook of your neck to connect his eyes with yours. "My baby wants to cum around my cock? Is that what she wants?" He questions, even though he knows that's what you're asking for, pussy clenching helplessly around him.

"Please." You nod repeatedly, twisting his hair between your fists.

Jungkook smiles sweetly and pecks your lips, slowing the pace of his hips. "Everything my baby wants."

He sneaks his tattooed hand between your two bodies and reaches your puffy, swollen clit. He does quick circular motions on your bud with his thumb, picking up his pace again.

You moan out, showing him how good it feels, the knot in your stomach tightening. "I love you, Jungkook," you admit, even though he already knows.

Your pussy clenches around him and he has a hard time focusing on anything else than his cock sliding in your cunt. "Shit, me too, I-" he cuts himself off, looking down where your bodies connect. "I love you too, baby," he mutters under his breath, feeling his balls tightening.

You whine into his ear and he could get off just at the sound of you. He keeps going, fucking you until his thighs begin to shake and he has to steady his hips against yours.

"Fuck," he curses, releasing himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his cum.

It's shortly after that your orgasm passes through you, sweet moans escaping your mouth, walls quivering around him. Jungkook takes his time to pamper you in kisses, staying inside of you a bit more, lazily thrusting in.

"Mine," he repeats so you don't forget, but there's no need to.

You'll never leave him.

#🍑 [drabble game]#requests #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfiction

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livwritesstuff · 22 days

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Tommy POV, wc: 2890, full version on ao3

Tommy Hagan is not jealous of Eddie Munson.

He’s not.

There’s nothing to be jealous of, in his opinion, and Tommy probably wouldn’t be thinking about him at all if Eddie wasn’t the most publicly well known member of his graduating class – well, he hadn’t actually been in his graduating class, Tommy supposes.

They had been seniors at the same time, though.

If Tommy happened to be jealous of anything – and that’s a big if – it would probably have something to do with the famous thing. Everyone has a small part of them that wants to be famous at least in some capacity, he’s pretty sure, even if Eddie isn’t really, truly famous – not like the red carpet celebrities. He’s a writer. Even the most well known writers never get all that much attention, but Munson has his own Wikipedia page, and that’s more than anybody else from Hawkins, Indiana can say. Hawkins itself barely even has a Wikipedia page, and it’s only because of all the atrocities that happened in town in the mid-eighties.

Tommy hadn’t been around for the end of it all – the earthquake-slash-serial killer situation that never made any sense to him. He remembers his mom calling him at his college dorm when the deaths first started. He remembers her asking, “You went to school with that Munson boy, right? Do you think he could do something like this?”

And Tommy had been twenty and a total moron, so he’d said some dumb shit like, “Yeah, he’s into freaky stuff like that. Somebody should’ve put him on a list ages ago,” even though four years of experience told him that Eddie was all bark, no bite. Tommy hadn’t been surprised at all by the statements that later came out clearing Eddie's name, and by then his parents had already high-tailed it out of Hawkins so it all sort of became irrelevant to him.

Tommy never even returned to Hawkins one single time after he left for college (barring his high school reunion, obviously), and twenty years after graduation, he doesn’t really think about those years all that much.

He doesn’t love the person he’d been in high school. He was whiny and immature and had his priorities all messed up. Most of the memories he has of his teenage years, he looks back at and cringes, feels a whole lot of shame and embarrassment, but also some pride at how much he’s grown over the last twenty years. He also knows he’d been kind of a dick in high school, but that he’s less ashamed of. It’s normal, he knows, for kids to be mean, that it’s a standard response to being untreated kindly in other ways. Like, his dad had been an asshole to him as a kid, always on him about his grades and his smart mouth and how he’d no longer been a standout on any of his sports teams after starting high school, and Tommy had coped with that by poking kids beneath him at school.

It’s just the pecking order of high school. It’s normal.

Even now, when Tommy’s son had dealt with some pricks in the year above him shoving him around, he had come home from school and tormented his little sister for a while – it’s normal, no matter how much his wife had tried to convince him it was something that needed addressing. It’s just kids being kids. They grow out of it eventually, just like Tommy had.

Occasionally he wonders where the kids he’d spent all those years with in the Hawkins public school system had ended up, but these days the internet makes that pretty damn easy to figure out.

He’s learned Tina got married and had kids real young. She still lives in Indiana. Carol, who he’d split up with before heading off to college, lives in Alabama now and she’s got kids and a husband too. Jonathan Byers is a photographer in California – Tommy isn’t into all that art-y crap, so he has no clue if he’s any good, but he definitely recognizes some of the organizations he’s worked for and if that’s any indication, Tommy would wager he’s not too shabby. No wife, though, he noted, so he’d either been right about Byer’s being a queer, or women just found him repulsive (admittedly, Tommy leans more towards the former – he’s a photographer). Tammy Thompson still lives in Tennessee, though it doesn’t seem like she does music anymore (husband, kids, blah blah blah).

If he’s honest, the only person Tommy is actually interested in tracking down is Steve Harrington, and he’s the one person Tommy can’t find a single trace of online. No MySpace, no Facebook, no weird blog thing, nothing.

Vaguely, he wonders if Steve might be dead. A truly massive proportion of Hawkins had died over just a few short years in the mid-eighties. Maybe Harrington was one of them.

Tommy doubts it.

He would have known.

Steve’s parents would have made sure everyone knew if their son had died. Funnily enough, Steve’s mom is actually on Facebook, and pretty actively too, but there’s no sign of Steve anywhere on her page.

He hadn’t even shown up for their high school reunion in the winter of ‘04, which is odd because Tommy had been certain he would.

He doesn’t obsess over it – he really doesn’t. It’s just a thought that pops into his mind every now and then – where the hell is Steve Harrington?

In the late spring of 2007, he gets his answer.

“Tom,” his wife says, “That guy from your high school is on the cover of this magazine.”

He knows without asking for clarity that it’s Munson – no other person makes sense – and when he eventually gets his hands on the magazine, he finds that he’s correct.

Eddie Munson is on the cover of a magazine because, apparently, he published another book.

Truthfully, Tommy already knew that.

It’s his fourth book (which, for the record, Tommy hadn’t known until he knew it because it’s not like he’s keeping tabs on this guy or whatever), and it’s been getting a whole bunch of mainstream attention after a controversial landing on the top of all those book charts Tommy doesn’t follow despite featuring a gay love store amidst all his normal fantasy crap. It sparked a whole debate about banning books and everything (dumb, Tommy knows, because if he learned anything in business school it’s that if you really don’t want something to exist, the best thing you can do is not funnel money and attention into it).

Tommy does, in fact, watch the news so he’d already caught wind of all this – it’s part of the reason he can’t shake the guy – and it’s why Eddie Munson is on the cover of this magazine (because, seriously, nobody gives a shit about writers until it hits the news).

He allows himself a moment to look at the cover, to look at Eddie, who apparently goes by Ed now. Tommy is loath to admit it, but he looks good. His hair is normal and he’s grown into his frame, not all long and lanky and gangly limbs like Tommy remembers from school. He looks well-fed, confident, happy.

He looks good.

Tommy thumbs through the first few pages of the magazine until he reaches Eddie’s interview, and, again, he allows himself to look over the photo of him that takes up nearly three-quarters of the first page even if he has no intention of actually reading the article itself because, again, Eddie looks good (and maybe there’s something about the scruff of facial hair along his jaw that Tommy's eye gets stuck on). Tommy’s allowed to say that men look good when it’s true – it’s 2007, as his wife likes to remind him whenever it’s convenient for her, and if she’s allowed to say that Angelina Jolie looked good in that CIA movie, then Tommy is allowed to say that Eddie Munson looks good here.

When Tommy flips to the next page, he’s met with a photo that stops him in his tracks, has his feet frozen to the floor because –

Jesus Christ, that’s Steve Harrington.

Fuck, okay, so he’s reading this fucking article.

It takes Tommy a long time to get through it, honestly. Eddie comes out in the article, which might be a big deal, might not (and he doesn't care to be enlightened, thanks). He keeps getting distracted by the pictures scattered throughout it.

The pictures of Steve, mostly.

Because, well, if Eddie Munson looks good, Steve…

Steve looks alive.

Tommy didn’t realize it until this exact moment, but Steve had existed in his head for the last two decades as the eighteen-year-old he’d been the last time they were in the same room together. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him that Steve’s been aging this whole time too, just like Tommy has.

It’s undeniable that Steve is older.

His hair is starting to go gray at his temples (it’s the only thing that’s changed about his hair since he’s still styling it the same as he did in high school – because why mess with a good thing, Tommy supposes) and he’s got just the hint of crow's feet around his eyes when he smiles. He’s smiling in all the photos – every damn one – and it has Tommy struck by how unbelievably happy Steve seems. It’s an effect that somehow both takes years off the age Tommy knows he is and shines a light on just how good those years must have been for him.

There’s no solo shots of him like there are for Munson – though according to the article, it's actually Harrington now – and only half the photos are in color. The rest of them – the more candid ones – are smaller and left in black-and-white.

The one that caught Tommy’s eye first – because it was meant to, he’s pretty sure; it takes up half the page – is right in that sweet spot between staged and candid where Steve and Eddie both know that they’re being photographed even though neither of them are actually posing. Eddie is grinning at Steve in a wicked way that still feels familiar to Tommy even two decades since he’d last seen it on him (probably swaggering around the cafeteria like a total jackass – not that Tommy would know anything about that). Steve is grinning right back at him with a smile Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Or maybe he has, but not on this version of his face, not since Steve was as young as his oldest daughter.

Just as the author of the article said, the photos don’t show the faces of Steve’s children, either leaving them artfully out-of-focus or choosing shots where they’re turned away from the camera, but they’re still present, and it makes the whole spread almost feel like a photo album in a way, like it should be private but instead was published for the whole world to see.

Steve has three of them – kids, Tommy means. He didn’t know that Steve was a family kind of guy. It makes sense though, when he thinks about it. Steve’s parents were kind of a nightmare — present in the worst ways, and absent in the worst ways too (though it hadn’t seemed that way when Tommy was a teenager looking for a failsafe party house). He'd always felt kind of bad for the guy. Like, Tommy's dad had been a total piece of work, but they'd at least been around, and he'd stuck around long enough for them to sort out their issues at least most of the way, and these days he's a pretty kickass grandpa to Tommy's children.

Tommy wonders about Steve's parents now, wonders if they maybe came around like his own parents had, but then he remembers Mrs. Harrington's Facebook page and how there's not a damn trace of her son on there, never mind three grandchildren.

Tommy isn't sure he wants to touch that.

Steve is probably a really good dad, Tommy decides. He’d been kind of that way when they were friends — Steve used to say he wasn’t all that bright, but he always had a freaky sixth sense for reading people, for caring about them in exactly the way they needed.

There's one photo where Steve is managing to holding his youngest daughter — a tiny little baby still — and her bottle in one arm (that's a level-three dad hold, Tommy knows). The bottle is angled in a way that obscures her face, and Steve's other hand is being tugged on by another daughter, this one with a mop of curly brown hair remarkably similar to Eddie's when it was still long.

That's another thing Tommy won't let himself think about, (because he knows if did he'd start wondering if any of those kids were half-Steve).

Anyways, Tommy doesn't need glance to see that Steve wears fatherhood like a favorite sweater.

There’s something about this, about seeing these pictures, about the way Tommy is getting an answer to that question he’s had for years about where his childhood best friend has been all these years, that is making him feel like his ribcage is being split open, bones splintering and shattering as everything vulnerable inside his chest in suddenly out for display.

He probably should feel uncomfortable, right? Like, a guy he’d been seriously close to growing up — sleepovers and gym locker rooms and all that shit — had turned out to be gay. If his own son came home from school saying that his best friend came out or whatever as gay…well, again, it’s 2007, and Tommy doesn’t think his wife would allow him to denounce the friendship entirely, but there certainly wouldn’t be any sleepovers anymore. He thinks that’s pretty reasonable.

What was the likelihood that Steve had been, like, into Tommy?

And that should be an uncomfortable notion too, and in a sense, it kind of is, but not necessarily in the way he would expect.

He just doesn’t understand why all this feels so much like a loss because he knows that he hasn’t really lost anything – not since he got his hands on the magazine, anyways. Steve Harrington hasn’t played any sort of role in Tommy’s life since their final falling out in 1984, and as far as he’s aware, having a falling out with a close friend is pretty much a guaranteed part of growing up. His wife even experienced something similar when her own grade school best friend suddenly stopped answering calls and stopped reaching out after they’d started college – and his wife is basically the nicest person Tommy has ever known, so…it happens to even the best.

It’s just…Steve had always continued to exist in Tommy’s life in a way, even if he wasn't physically present, and maybe Tommy had figured it could be the same for Steve too, that maybe he sometimes wonders where Tommy is, wonders what he’s up to.

This article and these photos makes it pretty fucking clear that Tommy doesn’t even exist in the same galaxy as the life Steve is living.

And that’s not to mention the Eddie fucking Munson of it all.

Tommy had been kind of ignoring the Eddie of it all until he couldn’t ignore it anymore, because he doesn't care about Eddie Munson.

He'd never cared, but he'd spent years seeing the guy's face and his name everywhere, and now it feels like a sick joke, like he's the piece of Steve left in Tommy's life.

If the article is accurate (and he has no reason to believe it isn’t), Steve and Eddie have been together for longer than Tommy has even known his wife. Steve has been with Eddie for longer than Steve was ever friends with Tommy – not by a lot, but still more. That’s a long fucking time, and it’s clear as day on both of their faces that they’re just as in love with each other fourteen years in as they were on day one.

It’s not just Steve, and it’s not just Eddie, and it’s not one more than the other. It’s both of them.

There’s one photo in particular – a small black-and-white one that keeps pulling Tommy’s attention.

It’s another candid shot, taken from a bit of a distance. In it, Steve has Eddie boxed in against the counter in what has to be their kitchen. Eddie is leaning back against the edge of the granite countertop and looking at Steve with something sappy and fond on his face, and Steve’s hands are this close to grabbing Eddie’s waist as he looks at him the exact same way.

It’s shit out of a fairy tale or something, and sure, maybe someone could argue that they’re laying it on thick just for the sake of the magazine or whatever, but Tommy knows Steve Harrington and that look on his face is more real than Tommy had ever seen in all the years he'd known him.

So maybe Tommy has a reason or two (or three or four) to be jealous of Eddie Munson.

#unreliable narrator!tommy hagan my beloved #the ao3 version has the interview btw #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 11 months

Text

Cod - Teaching you their language

Requested: No

Warnings: ✨Spice✨, slight Angst, Reader doesn’t speak the character’s language

König

König is a patient teacher and also quite a bit excitable when it comes to the topic of his language. He’d love nothing more than to speak to someone else in his mother tongue, as it is less nerve wracking for him than trying to carefully pronounce things in English. He’s really good at answering any questions you have, and is gentle when he corrects your pronunciations or words you’ve mixed up. That being said, because he’s so excited, he sometimes forgets that you can’t speak the language as well as him, so he’ll go on long rants or explanations in Austrian-German without realizing it until he waits for an answer from you and you just stare at him blankly.

Krueger

Krueger is much less patient than König and he’s also less excited. It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to anyone in his language, and he’s constantly insecure about how his accent has been changed over the years, and he’s constantly doubting if he’s even speaking the language right, even if it’s his own mother tongue. But once you two really start to make some progress he’s much more relaxed, and even finds it a bit soothing to be able to speak like this with someone again. He’s not the most patient teacher with you but he’s not the worst either. Some days are worse than others but that’s mostly due to his own stresses and for reasons already listed above.

Alejandro

Alejandro is SO glad you asked. You can’t tell exactly what’s on his mind but what you can tell is that it’s something devious, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. He takes great joy in focusing on anatomy first and foremost, taking a marker to you, writing down pure filth on your skin, words like “*Propiedad de Alejandro” and “*Tócame” and “*Mía/Mío”, sucking and nipping at whatever correlates to the words that you manage to pronounce at least semi correctly. Of course he’ll teach you things beyond that but he’s just really excited to use this to his advantage. He may or may not have had this exact scenario as a fantasy for a while now.

Roach

Roach is happy to teach you BSL! Sure he can speak at times but it takes a lot of effort and it makes him uncomfortable, and it takes forever for anyone to figure out what he wants through vague gestures and charades. Not to say that moments like those can’t be funny but you get sick of them rather quickly when it happens so much. He’ll probably start by teaching you the alphabet hand signs and some simple words finger spelling, along with his name. (Which you later find out is not him signing Gary, but Roach.) He’ll even teach you some of his personal signs, like the ones he made for his teammates and that they’ve all vaguely come to recognize as them. You learn that yours in particular is actually the sign for Bug, what once was his secret nickname for you but that he’s kind of happy you now know, if only to see your smile whenever he uses it.

Gromsko

Gromsko, much like Alejandro, used this opportunity to his advantage. Except in a bit of a different way. He’ll be edging you throughout your “lessons”, cooing in your ear as you struggle to even read what he’s written down for you to practice, your legs trembling as he fingers you. If you get it right? He goes faster, hitting just the right spots. If you get it wrong, he stops completely, taking enjoyment in how you sob with dismay, pressing kisses to your shoulders as he whispers to you. “Shhh, *Kochanie. It’s okay. Try again.” He’ll tell you, a smile on his face that looked almost deceivingly innocent.

*Propiedad de Alejandro = Property of Alejandro

*Tócame = Touch me

*Mía/Mío = Mine

*Kochanie = Sweetheart

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Deuce Spade #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 1

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imaginesheaven · 1 year

Note

TF 141 reacting to a very strong Reader(gn preferably) ? Like strong to the point they can lift at most 700pds? (315 kgs) like it's paper? Can be romantic or platonic

(ps. I have zero idea if you are taking requests I feel like this would be a funny thing)

Your wish is my command! This is literally so fun to write :D Keep the requests coming if you want :) I hope you like it!

Warnings: Cursing .. once again (I can't write literally nothing without a single curse word)

Strong!Reader x TF 141 - Friendship Headcanons

The team doesn’t know right away how strong you actually are. It’s not a fact you like to introduce yourself with. Mostly you keep it to yourself until you start to trust the people around you. Apart from this, you like it when people underestimate you.

Funnily your body doesn’t match your strength level at all. You have a rather slender and delicate form.

And that’s how you got your call sign within the Task Force 141. Soap started to call you “Tiny”, which has absolutely nothing to do with your height. He just likes to tease you. Unfortunately, the name got stuck in their brains and everyone calls you “Tiny”. At first you were not happy about it, but over the time you get used to it.

One evening it was your time to shine. Almost the whole team gathered to drink some beer or other alcoholics to unwind from a rather hard mission. Captain Price is nowhere to seen. Probably in his office doing some work like he always does. No one of you is really drunk just a bit more loose than usual.

Of course, Soap started to throw around dares like there is no tomorrow. We all know our beloved Scottish clown. You enjoy the sight as they try to out beat each other in different dares like who can drink more in ten seconds and so on.

“(Y/N), you are so tiny! I’m pretty sure you can’t even pick up Gaz!”, Soap can’t contain his own joy. He would learn in a few seconds to never underestimate someone because of their appearance.

With a bright smile on your lips you stand up and pick up Gaz bridal style. “Okay… that’s new”, Kyle isn’t quite sure how to feel about being carried like this. As if it wouldn’t be enough already you do a few rounds of squats.

The silence is deafening.

You keep doing your squats as Gaz holds onto your form for his dear life. He would never admit it but he feels quite safe and protected in your arms. The soldier starts to see you in a new light. Is that how a crush feels like?!

“Hold on, mate! Wait a second!”, Soap finds his tongue again throwing the empty bottle of beer away in the same second, “Now is my turn!” You put Gaz down and give Soap a chance to be carried bridal style.

“What the hell did they feed you back home?”, Ghost asks quite surprised, which is a rare sight. Grinning you shrug your shoulders doing more squats with Soap in your arms, “Nothing special. I’m just strong and love lifting things.”

“Steamin’ Jesus!”, Soap’s cheeks start to turn red. He has never been carried like that and it feels very good. “Get down, Johnny”, Ghost rolls his eyes playfully annoyed, “You are making a bloody fool out yourself.”

“Why did you keep this secret to yourself?”, Gaz can’t believe they all called you “Tiny” since your transfer into the team. “Just waited for the right moment, I guess”, you hold out your free arms for Ghost, who shakes his head slowly. “Can you carry us both at the same time?”, Soap exclaims excited and almost jumps into your arms again.

Captain Price walks down the hall to get himself a tea. He has been sitting hours at his desk doing tons of paperwork. Now he recalls that he didn’t hear a single word from his team for those said hours. Panic washes over him in an instant. Where were you all and what stupid shit have you done this time?!

“OH MY GOD! THIS IS INSANE!”, Price follows the loud voices he recognizes immediately down the hall but stops abruptly.

There you are all Soap wrapped up in one arm and Gaz in the other one. You carry them both doing squats without even breaking into a sweat. Ghost just raises his beer bottle cheering it at Price, “Hey, Captain! Nice evening, huh?”

Price looks at each of you a solid second with a shocked face, “What the bloody hell I am just witnessing?” Soap claps his hands still excited about your hidden talent, “Tiny is fucking strong, Captain!” Price just nods in agreement, “I can see that.”

“Seems like Tiny isn’t an appropriate call sign anymore”, Ghost summarizes the situation in one sentence. Price can’t still get over the fact you kept this promise for such a long time to yourself. He takes happily the beer that Ghost overs him.

“How much can you lift?”, the Captain can’t take his eyes off of you fascinated and horrified at the same time. You are still doing your squats with Soap and Gaz. You probably could outlift him at any time! He has respected to before but now he kind of worships you. Can’t he have a whole army of soldiers like you?

“Hmm… Around 700 pounds I think was the best I ever did. I can probably lift more but I never tested it out”, you say that like’s something absolutely normal to do. Price almost chokes on his beer as Ghost slides down in his chair. What have you done?

Soap and Gaz share an overly excited glance clapping their hands, “We have to test that out right away!” They wriggle themselves free from your grasp to run around in a search for heavy things to lift.

Ghost wouldn’t admit it but he is also impressed with your skills, “That’s going to be a long night.”

#cod imagine #cod x reader #cod mw2 #john price #john mactavish #simon riley #kyle garrick #friendship headcanons #cod hcs #task force 141 #mw2 x reader #mw headcanons #price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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sagesolsticewrites · 2 months

Text

Take A Break

Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house.

Requested by anon, based on the prompts “I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.” and “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

As you stood on the front steps of Coombe House, you found yourself nervous for the first time since you’d started there.

Lieutenant Robert Rosenthal was the name at the top of the list of the latest group of soldiers assigned to the house, and since you’d been given it, you couldn’t stop thinking about a childhood friend of yours from Brooklyn with the same name.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scold yourself, reminding the sentimental part of you that the odds of it actually being Robbie were astronomical and you shouldn’t get your hopes up.

Pasting on your best smile as the car filled with boisterous soldiers pulls up, you shove those thoughts away.

“Hello gentlemen!” you call, “I’m Y/N. Welcome to Coombe House.”

You lead them around the house, reciting your spiel about the various activities and amenities, and then passing them off to Michael.

A gentleman who had been hanging towards the back of the group during the tour stepped up, calling your name as the rest of the group was led to their rooms.

“Robert Rosenthal,” he said, introducing himself, “I was just wondering--”

“Robbie?” you gasp.

The brightness in them had dimmed the slightest bit, but you'd recognize those kind blue eyes anywhere.

His brow furrows, no doubt baffled at hearing his childhood nickname all the way over in England.

“I’m sorry, how did you— Wait,” he scans your face, recognizing… something, “Y/N… L/N?”

At your answering nod, you’re tackled in a hug, his joyous, disbelieving laugh filling your ears.

“What are you—? How—?”

“I wanted to help out, and I guess the Army figured this is where my skills would be best put to use,” you explain with a laugh, “When I saw your name on the list I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but…”

“Gosh, Y/N, I haven’t seen you in…”

“Nearly 10 years? I know, I tried to keep in touch after we moved…”

You catch up with your friend, responsibilities forgotten — “So… Rosie, huh?” “Hey, you’d be surprised how little control you have over nicknames in the Army!” — until the clock begins to chime and you realize you’ve spent nearly half an hour just standing here talking.

As Robert begins to excuse himself, not wanting to take up any more of your time, you recall the incident that led to this conversation.

“Er, you said you had a question?”

He hums in confusion before remembering “Oh! Yeah, I was just wondering how long I have to be here…?”

“Unfortunately that’s not really up to me,” you reply with an apologetic shrug, “It’s the decision of your CO to send you boys out here, but you’re welcome to chat to Dr. Huston about it.”

“Though while you’re here,” you say as he’s about to walk away, “I’d recommend taking advantage of the baths and hot water. Absolutely life-changing.” You add with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh, though not nearly as genuine as you’d hoped. With that, Rosie thanks you and departs with a two-fingered salute

Robert spends the first couple days at the house keeping his distance from his crewmates, his eyes continually on the sky rather than taking part in the sports and activities available to the soldiers. He doesn’t seem like the boy you remember, but… well, there is a war going on. It’s changed everyone it touches.

One night you find yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep, when you hear music coming from one of the sitting rooms.

“Hello?” You call softly, following the sounds of Duke Ellington to find Robert standing next to the record player, staring out the window at the darkened English countryside, soft curls tinted slightly blue in the moonlight.

He starts, then relaxes once he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, turning down the volume, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“I was up already,” you assure him, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I guess I’m having a hard time with,” he gestures to the lavish country house with a shrug, “all this? I mean… all the croquet, badminton, riding with hounds— what even is that, by the way?”

Your lips twitch up into a smile as you move to stand beside him, “Foxhunting.”

“Foxhunting,” he sighs, shaking his head, “That’s exactly what I don’t need right now.”

He turns his gaze to the star-filled night sky, “What I need is to be back in that seat getting this job done.”

He continues, talking to himself almost as much as you, “Sittin’ here doing nothing, when people are bein’ persecuted and— I can’t— I had gotten into a rhythm, you know? Three days, three missions, easy. And now being yanked out of that, it’s like…”

He searches for an analogy, and you can’t help but smile at the one he lands on, recalling his fascination with music back when you were children.

“You don’t yank Gene Krupa out in the middle of a drum solo, and then expect him to pick right back up where he left off two weeks later, you know?”

You nod, understanding where he’s coming from. You recognized that while some jumped at the chance for a distraction, it was a more difficult adjustment for some soldiers to be thrust into this environment after so long in battle.

“Well, Gene Krupa’s not just responsible for his own rhythm, is he?” You say softly, following his analogy, “He’s responsible for the rhythm of the whole band. And if he’s off, then…”

Rosie nods, letting out a soft laugh, “Okay, I see where you’re going with that.”

“Seriously, Robbie,” you say, taking a chance and resting your hand on top of his on the windowsill, his gaze meeting yours at your touch, “If you don’t let yourself take a break, even just for a little while… it’s not gonna be good.”

He’s silent, and for a moment you worry you’ve overstepped.

Until he mumbles, in a voice so soft you’re not even sure you were meant to hear it, “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Maybe it’s the soft sounds of Duke Ellington still playing. Maybe it’s the moonlight, the calm silence filling the house.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you’re the first good thing he’s seen in a long time.

You’re not quite sure what, but something possesses you to surge up onto your toes and press your lips to his.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, before he abruptly pulls away.

“I, ah…” He says, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, “You didn’t just do that because you felt… sorry for me or somethin’, did you?”

Relief floods through you— he’s concerned with why you kissed him, not the mere fact that you did.

You cup his cheek, and Rosie’s eyes close, leaning into your touch as you say softly, “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Then, after a moment’s consideration, you add with a smile, “Dumbass.”

His eyes shoot open as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

Your giggles are swiftly silenced by his lips landing on yours once more, the tension finally leaving his shoulders for the first time in weeks.

The two of you end up on the couch, talking late into the night about what brought you to England, Rosie mostly telling you in hushed tones about the friends he’d made in the 100th— men that were no longer here, but lived on in his memory, and now yours. You fall asleep leaning against each other, still holding hands.

You shift, eyes fluttering open as the gray dawn light filters into the room. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but you grin seeing Rosie asleep next to you, looking the most relaxed you’ve seen him since he arrived. With a single kiss to his forehead, you slip away to the women’s wing of the house until it’s an appropriate hour for you to stumble upon him in the sitting room.

Armed with a thick blanket and a coffee service, you creep in to see Rosie still sound asleep. Smiling, you gently lay the blanket over him, trying not to wake him. Unfortunately, he stirs the moment the blanket touches him.

He looks around, attempting to orient himself, and relaxes when he sees you.

“Good morning,” you grin, taking in his sleep-mussed curls shining golden in the morning light, “Coffee?”

“Please,” he replies in a voice rough with sleep, mustache twitching up into a smile as he sits up.

“Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” You say coyly as you prepare a cup, “I can’t be bringing all you boys breakfast in bed, now can I?”

“Well, I must be special,” he grins, taking the cup gratefully and adding with a wink, “I’ll take it to the grave.”

You’re glad to see him relax a tiny bit more over the group’s last few days at the house, and the two of you are able to find plenty of stolen moments together once everyone’s gone to bed.

When it’s time for them to return to base, he leaves you with a promise to write and a kiss. He captures your lips tenderly on the front steps, disregarding the whoops and cheers from his crew mates waiting in the Jeep, and you can’t help smiling despite yourself as they drive away, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can.

#robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal x reader #robert rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #nate mann #nate mann rosie rosenthal #nate mann masters of the air #nate mann x reader #my writing

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radiance1 · 7 months

Text

Teddy bear Danny au strikes again! With its partner in crime being the Uncle Waylon au!

So, Teddy Bear Danny ends up in Gotham because he heard his dad mention some man named Waylon in passing, so he decided to put his (figurative) big boy pants on and head out to find him!

He even had a little bag his mom made him, that he filled up with snacks, his allowance, and various Fenton gadgets he could get his hands on without his parents noticing- like the lipstick. It could also, and he's never sure how his parents managed to do it, hold way more stuff than it should looking at how small it is.

So then he left Amity Park with his family none the wiser, thinking about how awesome it would be when he shows up with his uncle!

He went through a few cities, getting weird looks here and there, playing with some kids he's met, being kidnapped by a few, being kidnapped by decidedly not children, practicing stranger danger- sometimes and others following random people he's just met when they said they knew who Waylon Jones was after he showed them a picture!

A picture he drew himself in crayon, thank you very much. His family said he was quite the artist!

He never managed to actually find his uncle though, even with showing random people his picture. So eventually, he always had to hop buses to the next city he could, though he was unfortunately running low on his allowance...

So low that, when he managed to think about it, could only drop his off at one more city, if he didn't want to impose on the amount he set aside to get him and Waylon back to Amity Park. So, he set his sights on Gotham City, hoping that he would be able to find his uncle there!

When he did get there, he psyched himself up, striking a few poses he saw on Tv once and then running off to go find his uncle.

Once again, a few people looked at him weirdly, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to, but for some reason he got kidnapped more so than usual, not even by kids! Which were his usual kidnappers, sometimes they even tried to mug him for some reason.

So he gave them a snack.

Some took it and let him leave, others... not so much. So he had run away from those ones, fading through a wall or hiding behind a dumpster, or losing them in the crowd were all very effective methods!

He showed some people his drawing, and nobody still didn't know who he was asking about! Which was stupid, in his opinion, because his drawing was very detailed and very accurate! He was about to give him, thinking that nobody would be able to help him, and was just about to head back home.

At least until he ran into somebody, quite literally falling over due to his sides. It was an accident, but still! People should really be considerate of Teddy bears roaming around!

The guy bent down and apologized for running into him, which was a very rare thing when he stepped out of Amity! So this guy had an instant improve on him on that alone, so he got up, dusted himself off and showed him the drawing of his uncle.

The guy who introduced himself as Brucie Wayne actually recognized him too! He said he was on his way to meet him, to be exact, and Danny saw an opportunity when he saw one, so he climbed onto Bruce Wayne and practically forced the guy to take him alone.

He gave him one of his favorite snacks as payment.

Actually two, because he was nice and fun. But no more than that because these are his snacks, and some were also for his uncle!

So when he got to the place his uncle was being held at- Arkham Asylum-, he was informed that his uncle is currently held here in captivity for something, something, something that he didn't bother to remember if he was being honest.

So of course, the most natural thing and reaction to do was to plan a prison break.

He stayed on Bruce's shoulder, using him as a free ride throughout Arkham Asylum while directing him towards his uncle via picture. It took a while of insistence, but they eventually got to his uncles, so he got down, gave Bruce a handshake, phased through the glass of his uncles cell and stared up.

And up.

Sweet macaroni! He didn't know his uncle was so tall! he was practically taller than his Pa! Which said something considering he was like, the tallest person he'd ever seen in the history of ever. But regardless he managed to find him, so he jumped around him a bit in happiness, and showed him the picture.

===

Waylon Jones, otherwise known as Killer Croc, was exceedingly confused about why there was a tiny, sentient teddy bear in his cell. Who seemed happy being in his presence of all things.

It showed him a crudely drawn picture of him after jumping up and down around him, and he doesn't exactly know the significance of it, but it implied that the toy was trying to find him, he watched it dig through its bag and pull out a wide variety of snacks, all of which were thrown at him.

Quite literally.

So he decided to just, sit down and eat them. Not everyday he gets free snacks like this, so.

While he was chowing down, it took out a crayon and paper and started drawing, then after that it showed him a picture of Jack- helpfully labeled- and his family, which the teddy bear was on there along with another girl in the kids section.

Which, huh, he supposes he has a nephew and niece.

Then in the middle of eating the last snack, guards stepped into his cell to extract his nephew. His nephew's time was up, it seemed, so he waved goodbye and stared trying to plan a prison break to meet his nephew outside of prison the next time they saw each other.

He could have never expected for him to be turned into a smaller, stuffed version of himself and phasing through the walls of his cell.

===

Danny liked his uncle, he was nice! But it was a bit unfair that he was still way taller than him, even when turned into a doll.

Anyways, he had a prison break to complete, and then he could drag his uncle back home to his family's utterly surprised faces!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #Did Danny completely plan out his Uncle collection plan?#Not really no #Jack Maddie and jazz are scrambling to look for him because he literally disappeared out of nowhere #Danny has a very large allowance because of his other uncle #Who is Vlad #Who in this au is KINDA an ok dude #Not completely because he's rich #obviously #But he's just like that one weird uncle who talks shit about everyone he's met while sipping on wine he got from who knows where #He's literally just a wine aunt #But just a weeeeeeeeeee bit weird

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jeannineee · 9 months

Note

Could you do one where reader has never been able to finish during sex and Azriel overhears and is just like “is that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge” and offers his services

ps i love your content! Keep it up!

Remedy

Azriel x Reader

a/n: requests are open. Also, softdom!Az ??? HOT DAMN

nsfw under the cut (18+ please)

“Never? Not once?” Feyre asked incredulously, her voice slightly louder than normal, given the obscene amount of wine she’d drank throughout the evening.

“No,” you admitted, cheeks flushing.

“Not even by yourself?” Mor chimed in.

“I can…” you trailed off, glancing around Rita’s to ensure none of your other friends heard. “I can finish by myself, but I’ve never been able to with a partner.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped, as did Mor’s.

“Why not?” Feyre asked blatantly.

“Maybe I’m broken,” you muttered, only half-joking as you sipped your drink.

Mor laughed, shaking her head. “Doubt it. Most men do the complete opposite of what we tell them. We say to slow down, they speed up. We tell them ‘right there’ and they move to a completely different spot.”

Feyre nodded. “You need a partner who actually knows what he’s doing, or will listen when you tell him what works for you, and what doesn’t, at the very least.”

“Those kinds of males are few and far in-between,” you replied.

Mor snorted. “This is why I prefer women.”

“They do exist, y/n,” Feyre said. “Just gotta find one. Like I did,” she added, grinning.

Sarcasm dripped from your voice as you said, “Yes, because that’s so easy.”

You hummed, swirling your finger around the rim of your wine glass. “I’ll probably never find a partner like that.”

Feyre rolled her eyes playfully. “Wow, you really need to get properly laid. I’ve never seen you act so pessimistic.”

The three of you shared a laugh at that.

Sometime later, Feyre ran off to the dance floor with Rhys, and Mor left with a woman you didn’t recognize.

You were preparing to leave, until Azriel slid into the booth across from you. His shadows trailed over his shoulders, and behind his ears, whispering to him. His tanned skin was almost glowing in the dim light above the two of you. The shirt he wore had a few buttons undone, exposing some of his muscular chest. You realized you were staring, clearing your throat awkwardly before you spoke.

“Hi, Az.”

“Hi, y/n.” Azriel smiled, tilting his head as he studied you. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, earlier.”

Oh, gods.

“I um…how much did you hear?” You already knew the answer.

“All of it.”

Shit.

You took a large gulp of your wine, hoping to ease the tension between the two of you.

Azriel continued observing you, as though you were an equation he was trying to solve. “Feyre wasn’t wrong, you know. You just need to find the right person.”

His voice…Mother save you.

“And who do you think the ‘right person’ is?” you asked him, taking another sip of wine.

“Me.”

You squeaked, almost choking on your wine at his declaration. “Uh—what?”

“You heard me, bunny.”

At the pet name that so easily fell from his lips, you were certain you’d melt into your seat, and disappear forever.

“Az, I don’t want you to feel bad for me—“

“One: I don’t feel ‘bad’ for you. Two: I am offering to remedy this, ah, issue that you’ve run into with past partners. Three: let’s not pretend like we aren’t both interested in one another. I want this, and I’m almost certain you do, too.”

You weren’t sure you were breathing. Perhaps you were dreaming.

Azriel smirked. “Just say yes, bunny. I’ve got you.”

You managed to mumble out a ‘yes,’ and Azriel wasted now time in taking you back to the House of Wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel took his time with unzipping your dress, laying you back on the bed. His lips trailed your jaw, your neck, your chest. His mouth latched around one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it. He brought his hand to your other breast, kneading it gently.

At the sound of your breathless moaning, Azriel moved lower. His teeth grazed your tummy, leaving a few marks that you knew would heal too quickly. He’d barely begun, and you could feel yourself soaking through your underwear.

It was as though he could read your thoughts, because Azriel looped his fingers around the hem of your underwear, pulling them down as he knelt at the edge of the bed.

“So wet for me,” he said as he peppered kisses along your inner thighs, taking the time to mark them as his hands reached up to caress your breasts.

You placed your hands over his, lifting your hips in a silent plea. Azriel took the hint, dragging his tongue through your center, groaning at the taste of you. Your thigh instinctively closed around his head, but Azriel held them apart, squeezing them tightly.

“Relax for me, bunny,” he murmured against your core, before lapping at your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking gently.

Your hands found purchase in his hair, strings of whimpers and moans falling from your lips as he devoured you. Your tummy tightened, and you barely had time to register what was happening before Azriel was coaxing you through your orgasm.

You shuddered underneath his touch, his name leaving your lips over and over as his tongue continued working. You’d never finished that quickly, by yourself.

Azriel pulled away for a moment, hazel eyes meeting yours. “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath.

“I need words, bunny,” he said, voice gentle yet commanding as he rose from his knees, cock straining through his pants.

“I-I’m okay, Az.”

Azriel moved quickly to discard his pants, and you had to fight the urge to not gawk at the size of him. He was far bigger than anyone you’d had before. You weren’t even sure if you could fit all of him. But Cauldron be damned if you weren’t willing to try.

You sat up on the bed, crawling towards Azriel. You wanted to wrap your hands around him, feel the weight of him in your mouth, sliding down your throat.

Azriel smirked, as though he saw the gears turning in your head. “Not this time, bunny. Lay back for me.”

You almost pouted, but complied with his request, heart jumping as he climbed on top of you. You spread your legs, inviting him in.

Azriel pressed his lips to yours, letting you taste your own arousal on them. Once he pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “If you want me to stop, or slow down, say ‘red,’ okay?”

You nodded eagerly.

Azriel grabbed your chin. “Words, bunny. I won’t ask a third time.”

Your heart fluttered, cunt clenching around nothing at the dominance in his tone. “I’ll say ‘red’ if I want you to stop,” you finally confirmed.

“Good girl,” Azriel said, kissing your forehead. His hands grabbed your wrists, moving them above your head. His shadows snaked around them, holding your arms in place, just tightly enough that you couldn’t move.

Azriel leaned back, one hand holding your hips as he used the other to guide his cock to your entrance. He entered you slowly, savoring the way your cunt enveloped every inch of him.

“You take me so well, bunny,” he praised, starting with a slow, gentle pace as your walls stretched to accommodate him. “So perfect for me.”

All you could do was moan in response, words failing you as his cock brushed against your sweet spot with each thrust.

“That’s it,” Azriel cooed, pressing his thumb to your clit, circling it gently. “Doing so good for me, bunny. You feel so good.” Each word fell from his lips like honey, feeding into your desire.

It wasn’t long before you felt your second orgasm building up. Azriel could feel it too; the way your moans grew breathier, the way your cunt clenched around him.

“Come for me, bunny,” Azriel said, abs tightening as his own release threatened to overtake him.

No sooner than the words left his lips were you arching off the mattress, vision going hazy as you went over the edge.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Azriel breathed, thrusts growing sloppier as he chased his own release. “Oh, fuck.”

As Azriel spilled into you, you found yourself wondering if it was possible to come again, solely from the sound of his moans. You’d never heard something so sinful. He collapsed on top of you, placing wet kisses on your collarbone, your neck.

His shadows finally released your arms, and you wrapped them around his shoulders. Azriel was the first to speak as the two of you regulated your breathing, relaxing against one another.

“See? Not ‘broken,’” he muttered, referring to your comment earlier that night. “You just have a terrible choice in partners.”

You playfully slapped his shoulder. “I think I chose right, this time.”

Azriel hummed. “That, you did.”

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acotar smut #smut #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar

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coffe-and-tea-time · 3 days

Text

𓆩♡𓆪 ｢better that sleeping pills｣ 𓆩♡𓆪

Hi! Coffee being delusional speaking! This time I was wondering

How did you deal with your sleep problems, dear?

TW: stalking, yandere behavior, delusions, insomniac reader, sleeping pills mention, somewhat willing reader, light paranoia?

Yet again another night dealing with insomnia, being told over and over that you should stop using the phone at night and, instead, pretend to sleep, that eventually dreamland will come to you like that. People that don't know what it is to be alone with thoughts and exasperation. But once again, you try to do so, hoping that maybe this time it would actually help.

tik tok tik tok tik tok

How much time has passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? You try to keep your mind on blank but it's impossible at some point.

An unexpected sound catch quickly your interest although you can't really recognize it, trying to dismiss it, thinking must've an hallucination or something outside, in the silence of the night, people tend to be more perspective to any sounds, right?

And just like a bad plot, once your body relaxes, you hear that sound again. . . Unconsciously welcoming the return to old habits, covering more with the blankets and turning around with the eyes still closed, as if that will make a safe shield.

Alright, this isn't your first rodeo, your brain's favorite hobby surely is playing tricks to scare the hell out of you. Taking a deep breath to relax once again, choosing to be delusional to forget everything has to be the best option right now.

What about if the sounds are because a stalker helplessly in love with you just broke into your house? A good night kiss on the forehead sounds lovely, maybe the dark romance or Tumblr posts are affecting your brain already but why care? Cuddling to sleep with someone that loves you unconditionally sounds like a perfect situation, you wouldn't really mind your sleeplessness if you could have that.

Although the normal will be calling the police, why do so if it's not a threat? In your mind, you picture your perfect obsessive s/o, no need to worry about being cheated on if the only thing in his eyes is you, no need to worry about being too much, no need to worry about his feelings ever fading away, isn't that perfect? Yes, it may come with some disadvantages like everything, but nothing you can't handle, you just need to love them, and they will be happy on a daily basis.

As you smile because of your silly fantasies while looking 'asleep' on the outside, you hear an even more unexpected sound. . . a whispering.

“oh, are you having a good sleep? It worries me how long it takes you to sleep every night, it's gonna end up being awful for your health. Maybe it will be better if I start using sleeping pills on you? You always do so much, you need a good rest, my cherry”

You stay still, unable to think what to do, a light but sweet smell invades your nostrils. Does this count as manifestation? Why is he already calling you by a pet name?

“My lovely cherry, my heart ache when I think about how exasperating must feel to hear the constant naging of those who don't really care about at least try empathize, if only I could help with something, I won't think it twice”

Feeling a gentle caress on your hair makes you wonder, this doesn't feel bad at all. Common sense screaming that you need to worry but the warm feeling of his touch disperse that though faster than you're willing to admit.

“Mmm, maybe my desires are taking over my brain already? But I think a perfect medicine for you will be if you snuggle in my embrace, I promise to have the right temperature for you to be comfy all night… if you just let me kiss that addictive face of yours, it will be enough payment for even my soul if you wish to have it”

His voice… sounds familiar, do you know him?

Even if you recognize that self-preservation should be a top priority, it's hard to care when his voice is this honeyed, using the exact words that attract you like a bee as if he can read your mind. As you feel a faint kiss on the top of your head, you start to ask yourself…

Is bad manners not to reply when someone speaks to you, isn't it? Or maybe it's better to keep pretending to sleep to see what he usually does?

Decisions decisions…

➤ keep pretending

Say something

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest

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kairismess · 5 months

Text

just let him adore you. — atsumu miya x reader

🎧 song inspo: adore you by harry styles.

🏐 genre: fluffiness with a good brew of coffee ~

✒️ word count: 1,006

💭 summary: atsumu could never move on from the one who made his heart skip a beat at first glance, he held you in his heart, even after six years, for him to grab this very opportunity to tell you how he really feels.

🍥 author's note: time to spread the harry styles agenda (i'm so late to the party)

it was one sunny morning at the local cafe atsumu frequented, there was nothing out of the ordinary that day–just the same, average routine for the pro volleyball player, when he wasn't being noticed in public, that is. he was surprisingly very good at being lowkey, especially at the one place he found the most relaxation at.

on that day, that day when the light, feathery clouds let the sun's warm rays seem through it–he was greeted by the voice of someone who sounded familiar by the counter. he turned his head to see his old classmate from high school, smiling up at him, wearing that usually mundane, boring uniform of the cafe, that looked a thousand times prettier now that you were wearing it.

he's cheeks went flushed without him realizing it, and his honey colored pupils dilated as his lips parted, his mouth hung a little open. he tried to compose himself after you called out to him again, smiling still, and he shook his head, coughing a bit. "ah, yeah, um... can i get a, uh..." he stammered, unsure now of what his usual even was anymore because: one, you didn't usually take his order–and two, it was you who was going to take his order.

you, the exchange student that ended up in his class and brightened his uneventful days up with the small hint of your smile–you, who sat next to him in class and beat him to greeting you first–you, whose pretty strawberry lipstick always made your lips shine and appear glossier, and always had a sort of colorful way of looking at and doing things.

with you, atsumu always felt like he was in a rainbow state of paradise. but today, unfortunately, it felt like today he was stuck at one end of the rainbow spectrum at a time, since... you probably didn't recognize him–and, even if you did, he wasn't sure if you'd even remember him.

well, no harm in starting over again, he thought to himself as he finally got his order out to you and you went right to work at punching his order in and making it. atsumu really felt like his usual today would be a lot more flavorful than his ordinary 'usual', because today, the first person to ever make his heart beat a tiny bit more was going to make it.

"so... ya been 'ere long?" he asked you with a partially confident smile as he watched you brew his drink. you chuckled and responded that, no, you hadn't been working here for long–you'd barely been here for a month, actually. atsumu nodded as he watched you pour in the rest of the contents of his drink, mixing them up into a beautiful slurry of shades and lights. "for a rookie, y'sure are great at this whole coffee makin' thing." you smiled at his compliment. "and... you sure are nice, mister." you complimented him back, making him blush and smile wider.

atsumu snickered as he leaned over on the counter as he watched you cover his drink and began to write his order down. "alright, um, your name, sir?" "you first." he teases, grinning sneakily, making you laugh a little at how smooth he was. you pointed to your name tag and giggled. "right here." "i know, but... there's somethin' real pretty about ya and yer name, i wanna hear what it's like for ya to introduce yerself ta me, if it ain't too much ta ask for." he admitted, blushing a little as his eyes shone even more staring up at you with a wide smile on his blushing face.

you gave in and introduced yourself to him, and atsumu repeated your name, as if to take in the fact that, indeed, you were the one that made his heart patter all those six years ago–with the same way you carried yourself and said your name, how your eyes gleamed with a darling innocence and brightness to them, and how you always seemed to catch his heartstrings and squeeze his heart in all the right places to make him love you so, so much more the more you two talked and casually spent time together.

"alright, well... tsum." "tsum?" you asked him, feeling as though you've heard that name before, somewhere in a chapter of your past that you could kind of but not wholly remember. atsumu nodded. "spell it however ya want, i ain't that uptight 'bout it." he spoke, trusting you that you'd remember him well enough, even just barely, to spell his name the way you always did–because you gave him that nickname, 'tsum', and he grew to love it ever since, because... you gave him that name when you two became friends.

"this may be strange, tsum, but... i feel like i know you from somewhere." you confessed, feeling a bit awkward and shy. atsumu chuckled and thanked you for the drink, his long, calloused fingers brushing against your own when he received the drink. "well... so do i, actually." "really?" "i think... i've seen ya in m'dreams before." he teased, which was semi-true, he had occasionally dreamt of you here and there after graduation, wondering if you two would ever meet again.

it surprised him how calm he was, seeing the first person he ever truly loved right before him–and though he was always confused about what exactly he felt about you back then since he was so young and unsure... he knows how he really feels now, and he couldn't be any happier to feel it again and see you, be with you in the very cafe he loved visiting.

he doesn't mind how long it takes, he doesn't need you to love him, you don't have to say anything to fill the silence with him or say you're his when you two are starting out again–he'd gladly walk through fire for you, he'd do any and everything for you... just let him adore you. it's all he'll ever do, and all he's ever done.

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 10 months

Text

Behind the Crime

Warren Lipka x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral male receiving, dominate warren, underage drinking, underage smoking, use of marijuana, rough sex, hint of choking, talk of robbery, um yeah i think that’s it

summary: from the moment you were brought into the heist, you knew working with warren was going to be hard…

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for not posting guys i have not been on the grind lately. i watched this movie and omfg evan was so attractive i just needed to write. if you’re the real warren lipka just scroll this is about evan…

~~~

You sit back in your chair, the crew members adjusting your mic. You’re starting to regret doing this interview, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything’s already set up, the camera is about to be rolling. The interviewer is sitting a few feet away from you, notes in his hand. He waits for you to give him the signal that you’re ready. You nod, he begins.

“So, y/n, how did you become involved with the group?” He asks.

“I was first approached by Spencer when I was eating lunch outside one day...”

~~~

You were sitting alone, the cool fall breeze almost too cold to be comforting. You didn’t pay much mind to it though, you were more focussed on your studying. You were flipping through the pages of another history article when suddenly there was a presence beside you. Looking up at them as soon as you noticed, you recognized the boy as someone from your class.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your tone polite.

He looked nervous as if he were about to ask you out. “Hi, uh, I don’t know if you remember my name, I’m Spencer we have Art History together.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” you replied. “Do you need help with the homework or something?”

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, if you’re not busy or anything,” he said, his voice quiet.

You look away for a second before replying. “Sure, sit down if you want I’m not busy.”

He smiled at you before quickly sitting at the spot across from you. He put his bag on the table, you could see him take a deep breath. Was he really going to ask you out? You thought he was cute, but definitely not your type. You started to pray he wouldn’t say anything along those lines.

“I started to ask around a week or two ago about people who are good with computers and stuff, a lot of people told me you were the best person to go to,” he started. He lacked confidence in his voice, you felt bad for the poor guy but paid close attention to his words. “I need some... help with cameras.”

“What kind of cameras?” You asked, intrigued.

What he was saying was true, you were decently good with computers. You mostly would hack into places and disable things you didn’t like, like the cameras on the public library computers. It wasn’t anything illegal, at least you didn’t think it was illegal. It probably was, but you didn’t care.

“Just you know cameras in... semipublic places...”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind though? Phone, laptop, desktop, security?”

“Security,” he answered quietly. “But before you say no listen, how does a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of payment sound?

“What?”

“I won’t tell you the details till I know you’re on board but let's just say something is going down and we need help with the cameras. The pay would be huge and all you’d have to do is just mess with some cameras for like twenty minutes.”

You only stared at him; your mouth slightly hung open. Was he being serious? Was he really asking you to join him in a potential robbery that would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars? You never would’ve expected to be asked such a question on a cloudy Thursday at lunch. You shut your book completely and look around to make sure nobody is close.

“This money, it’s guaranteed?”

He nods. “As long as we get the job done, you’ll have it.”

You knew it was crazy, you knew whatever was going to happen would either result in you going to prison or having to run off into hiding. But the thought of being able to pay all your student loans off and have extra money to live off of was more appealing. Hacking into cameras wasn’t that hard, and it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless it was.

“If you’re trying to get me to make sure a murder or rape isn’t on camera I’ll snitch,” you warned him.

“Oh no, nothing like that is happening at all. It’s just you know a robbery,” he replied, his expression genuine.

You nodded your head, convinced whatever he was asking couldn’t be that bad. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~

“What was your first impression of the guys?

You smile. “They were really cool, funny, just overall really fun people to hang out with.”

“Do you remember the first time you met all of them?”

“Of course, like it was yesterday...”

~~~

The house you sat in front of didn’t look like a typical criminal's house. It looked like an average American’s family house actually. You were parked out on the road outside the house Spencer told you to go to, you were meeting the rest of the people involved with the robbery. It had been about ten minutes of you sitting out there debating whether or not to go in before you got a text from Spencer asking where you were. You sighed, praying to God this decision was the right one before getting out of your car.

You knocked on the front door with a shaky fist. You started to regret your decision, you thought about turning around and leaving, but the door was opened before you could act on it. An older woman stood in front of you, she looked to be in her 50s.

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” she said, making your cheeks turn red. “You’re here to see Warren, right?”

You had no idea who Warren was, but you nodded. The lady's smile grew, and she opened the door for you and ushered you inside. She directed you to the basement entrance, asking you a million questions you had no answers to. After those few but excruciating painful minutes though, you walked down the basement stairs and finally caught sight of Spencer.

There were three other guys in the room and all of their eyes were on you. Two, along with Spencer, were sitting on a couch. One of them was skinny with glasses, the other muscular with no glasses. They didn’t grasp your attention though. The last guy who was standing did. He had long dark curly hair, and eyes to match. His eyes met yours before you watched them slowly move up and down your body. You didn’t know how to react.

“Guys, this is y/n,” Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Eric,” the guy with glasses introduced himself.

“Chas,” the muscular guy spoke, not paying much attention to you. “Are you sure this was a good idea, Spence? How much do we really know about this chick? No offense.”

“Shut up, we agreed,” Spencer hissed. He waved you over and you complied, walking to the couch and sitting on the end beside him.

The standing guy took a step forward and held out his hand to you. You looked up at him before accepting his handshake. His hand was rough, you liked the feeling of it in yours. “I’m Warren and you are our cameraman or woman I guess.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“How much has Spencer told you?” Warren asked after letting go of your hand and stepping back. It was then you noticed the maps on the wall with drawings all over them, the layout looked familiar.

“Just that I need to hack some cameras and that it’ll pay me a lot,” you answered. “I don’t even know what you guys are stealing.”

“Well y/n, I’m sure you’ve been to your own school's library right?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever taken a tour of the library’s rare book collection?”

You nodded again.

Warren smirked. “Then you know exactly what we’re stealing.”

Your face fell and you immediately looked at Spencer and the rest of the guys. “Are you serious? You guys want to steal historic books?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Chas mumbled from his chair.

“Shut up Chas,” Warren quickly snapped. He looked back at you, his dark eyes engulfing yours completely. “We’ve been planning this out for months, and you are the last piece to our puzzle y/n. Think about how much you’ll be earning.”

You didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a bad idea.

~~~

“Chas eventually stopped being cold to me, I actually think in the end he became my closest friend in the group,” you say, finishing your story.

The interviewer gives you a look. “Well, besides Warren right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, a confused look on your face.

“I have to ask if the stories are true, you know about you and him. The other guys say something changed between the two of you after a party you all attended. I mean, didn’t the police even question if your involvement had a deeper meaning than simply the money?”

You shake your head, giving your best performance. “Me and Warren were only ever best friends, there was never a deeper meaning behind anything.”

~~~

Music was pumping through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head you could feel it. It had been a few weeks since you met the guys, and they all wanted to do something fun before the heist. So, a frat party was naturally the easiest option. That’s where you were now, already two shots and half a joint in. You didn’t know where Spencer, Nick, and Warren were, but Chas was dancing with you.

Though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, you and Chas quickly learned how well you get along. He was a good friend, all of the guys were. You liked how easily they could make you laugh and brighten your mood. They were all good people who you enjoyed being around.

Warren was the only one that you felt different for. You didn’t know why, but from the first day you met you knew your feelings for him would be different than the other three. The way he looked at you alone was completely different than the others. There was always something darker in his eyes, something you knew wasn’t supposed to be there for simply a friend. Every time the two of you looked at each other, your stomach filled with butterflies. You wanted it too. But in those first few weeks, nothing had happened. No matter how much either of you wanted it.

After some minutes of you and Chas dancing, Warren and Spencer appeared. They asked if the two of you wanted to go out and smoke, you both agreed and followed them outside the back. Not too many people were in the backyard, but there were enough for there to be a bonfire going. The four of you found an empty spot near the fire and sat down. Warren took out a joint and lit it before passing it around.

“Where’s Nick?” You asked after taking a hit.

Spencer shrugged. “Probably with the weird kids doing weird stuff.”

“He’s not that weird,” Chas replied. “He’s just awkward.”

You watched as Warren took another long hit of the joint. Because of the weed and alcohol, you found yourself even more attracted to him than when you were sober. You wanted so desperately to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to hear his voice as you touched him. He suddenly met your gaze, his lips curled up into a mesmerizing smile. You wanted to kiss him. It was too much for you to handle.

You swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your shorts. “I need to um use the bathroom.”

You didn’t wait for any of their replies. Instead, you rushed back into the house straight to the kitchen. You poured yourself a shot, downing it before giving it a second thought. You needed these feelings to go away. How were you supposed to work with Warren if you couldn’t even look at him without thinking about having sex with him? It made you feel awful. A hookup couldn’t be the reason the robbery went bad, you refused to let that happen.

After another shot, you started to forget about your feelings. In fact, you started to forget about Warren completely. All you felt was the burning sensation of the alcohol in your stomach and chest, it felt good. You stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, grabbing the railings of the staircase for support. Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you, their hand on your back.

“Y/N, are you good?” It was Warren.

You turned your head and looked at him, God how could he look even better? “No- I’m not okay.”

“You’re wasted, you need some water,” he said. He moved his hand around your waist and pulled you up straight. You felt like you were on fire. “Come on, back to the kitchen.”

“Why are you here? I just- I just wanna forget about you,” you mumbled.

He started helping you walk back to the kitchen. “What? Why would you want to forget about me?”

“Because... I want you but I can’t have you. I thought you- felt the same that’s why it’s been so hard to resist,” you spoke, stumbling over your words. “I can’t look at you without thinking about you fucking me.”

Even in your drunken state, you could still see the cockiness on Warren’s face. He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly before turning and getting you a cup of water. You leaned your head back against one of the cabinets, your head was spinning. You couldn’t think straight.

“Drink,” Warren’s voice filled your ears.

You lifted your head and grabbed the solo cup from his hand, downing the water faster than ever. When you finished, you threw the cup to the floor, your eyes meeting Warren’s once again. He was standing close enough that if you reached, you could touch him.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps it was because of how long you’d felt the tension between you two, that gave you the courage to gently place your hand on the top of his head. His hair was soft, just like you’d expected it to be. You smiled and played with his curls. He didn’t object, you were glad. You needed this.

“Do you want me?” You asked, your voice barely audible against the loud music.

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I thought so, but I could always be wrong.”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” he said. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand off his head before stepping closer to you. “If this house wasn’t crowded, I’d fuck you right here, right now.”

Your heart was racing, your cheeks bright red. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Warren was still holding your wrist, it sent electric shocks throughout your body. His eyes began to shift from your eyes to your lips and so on. You swallowed; a lump had formed in your throat.

“There’s probably an empty room somewhere,” you mentioned. “You could take me to one of them and show me you mean what you say.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, you’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not- I swear. I consent, I’ll remember all of this in the morning,” you replied quickly.

“All right.”

Before you could say anything else, Warren scooped you into his arms and began to carry you through the house. You didn’t know whether to pretend you were drunk so it wouldn’t look suspicious or stay awake to also not make it look suspicious. You chose to stay awake and within minutes you and Warren were alone in a bedroom, your lips connected.

The kiss was fast and rough, everything you expected from him. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he towered over you. You wasted no time, immediately kicking off your shoes and pushing Warren back until he fell onto the bed. He pulled you on top of him, guiding your hips in slow motions over his clothed erection. You felt like you were on fire, you needed more.

You broke this kiss and leaned back so you were straddling him. You pulled off your shirt and bra, Warren followed your actions. Once your eyes fell upon his toned abdomen, you audibly moaned. You quickly leaned down again and kissed his chest, beginning a trail down his body. Each breath that left his mouth made your pussy drip even more. And when you reached his navel, his breaths turned into soft whispers.

“Keep going.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When you no longer had any skin left to kiss you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. He got your signal and instantly pulled his shorts and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. You weren’t surprised at his size; you had a feeling he’d be big. You started off by slowly stroking him with your hand, the expressions on his face already enough to make you cum.

After a minute or so of that, you bent down and pressed a small kiss to his tip. You loved the way his leg twitched. It made you proud. So, you took him into your mouth. He gasped, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head. He didn’t push you; he only twirled your hair back into a ponytail-like style and gripped it tight. You moved your head up and down, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. You were never a fan of giving head to guys, but with Warren, it was a different story.

Not much time passed before Warren pushed you gently, telling you he wasn’t going to last much longer. You didn’t care, you wanted him to finish in your mouth. But he told you he wanted to have sex, so you stopped. You peeled off your shorts and underwear before you climbed back onto him. His naked body against yours felt unreal, you were almost convinced this was all part of your drunken imagination.

However, when Warren pulled your head down and began to kiss your lips again, you knew it had to be real. His hands gripped your ass, kneading and playing with your skin. You positioned his tip at your entrance, you were so wet you didn’t need any lube. You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, you wanted to know it was okay. He gave you a nod and so you began to push yourself down on him.

He filled you well, just the perfect amount. You had thrown your head back, a moan escaping your lips. You hadn’t had sex in months, and this was the perfect way to break that streak. You started to move your body forward and backward while simultaneously going up and down. Warren’s grip on your ass tightened with each movement you made.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “You do it so well.”

Your confidence was boosted; you began to move faster. This only lasted a few minutes though, much to your dismay. You weren’t too athletic; you didn’t have good stamina. Warren noticed this, and without saying anything he flipped your bodies. Once on top of you, he began violent thrusts. You almost screamed from the pleasure; you’d never felt anything remotely close to it in your life. He hit your cervix each time, it made your back arch off the mattress and your nails dig into his back.

“Warren,” you whimpered. “Oh, fuck Warren.”

One of his hands wrapped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he just rested it there. You felt the knot in your stomach form at this. It felt so good to be dominated by him. It had been your dream for weeks, and it had finally come true. You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Warren fucking you fill your senses.

When you came, you practically screamed his name. You swore you could see stars. You’d never experienced an orgasm so hard in your life. Warren came a few seconds after you, you felt his dick pulsing inside you. He collapsed on you. You didn’t care about how his weight crushed you, you still held him as the two of you began to come down from your highs.

~~~

As the crew packs up, you remain in your chair, staring blankly out one of your windows. The interviewer is still across from you, but you don’t notice until he speaks.

“Just tell me one thing, off the record,” he says, grabbing your attention. “Did you love him?”

A small smile grows on your lips. “With all my heart.”

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