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chococolte · 2 years

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☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

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papiliotao · 1 year

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・❥・IN CLASSROOM 143

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: what is it like sitting next to them in class?

♡ — Content: fluff, high school AU, modern AU

♡ — A/N: classes were just better when I sat next to silly people. That's probably where I got the inspiration for this from. Have fun reading!

AETHER is the living definition of overcommitment. He's quite popular among your peers, so it's only natural that people are queuing up to ask him to join their clubs. Unfortunately, he's a bit people pleaser, so he can never find the heart to turn them down. From music to volleyball, Aether is involved in almost every extracurricular that the school has to offer, and as his desk partner in history class, you begin to notice the toll it’s taking on him.

It shows in the way he's always late and gasping for air as he sits down beside you. It shows in the way he turns to you and tiredly waves at you each class, offering you a weak smile that makes your heart skip a beat. And it shows in the way his honeyed eyes droop as he fights the temptation of slumber, all while your elderly teacher's droning voice lulls him into a state of tranquility.

He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Each time the boy gives in to his weariness and lays his head on his desk to inevitably drift into the realm of dreams, his expression softens. He looks so content. You can never muster the willpower to wake him up, so instead, you leave him be and diligently take notes to share with him once class ends. After all, even someone as busy as Aether needs to set aside some time to rest in their strenuous schedule. The dark circles under his eyes tell you all you need to know about the amount of sleep he gets.

But there's no way the frigid surface of the table he uses as a makeshift pillow is comfortable, so one day, on an impulsive whim, you offer up your shoulder as a headrest instead. Aether agrees gratefully, and from then on, the sweet boy leans against you as he rests. His warm breath sends tingles down your spine, and his soft hair tickles your skin, and although his proximity makes it harder for you to take notes, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

ALBEDO, the boy who sits next to you in chemistry, is studious yet eccentric. He’s known for achieving nearly perfect grades by utilizing his unrivalled intellect, and he’s always the first person his peers go to for help with their schoolwork despite the fact that he’s rather introverted. As a result of his reserved demeanour, he almost never offers his aid to others first, but you’re the exception.

Whenever you look as though you’re struggling, Albedo won’t hesitate to assist you. He almost appears a little too excited to talk to you, giving advice anytime he sees an opportunity to. It's gotten to the point where even your classmates have picked up on his eagerness to speak to you, and they have started speculating that the bright boy is infatuated with you. You can't deny the fact that the thought causes your heart to flutter, but you try your best not to get your hopes up, just in case your peers are mistaken. Besides, Albedo is rather difficult to understand anyway, so it wouldn't come as a shock if it turned out that his intentions were simply being misinterpreted.

One example of said contradictory behaviour on Albedo's part has to do with his participation during lessons. Despite his stellar academic performance, he has a habit of zoning out whenever a topic doesn’t interest him. In those instances, you notice that he pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page half-filled with doodles and begins to meticulously scrawl on the paper. Soon, snowy white is dyed shades of grey and black, undergoing a metamorphosis that transforms it into the finest of portraits. You’re always curious as to what Albedo is drawing, but you’re never able to catch a clear glimpse. Whenever you look his way, he hastily shuts the book, concealing its contents as if he is guilty of a crime.

Unbeknownst to you, the ocean-eyed boy beside you is doodling the one he is infatuated with: you. His feelings ebb into his sketchbook, and his art captures every dip and curve of your face, encapsulating all your radiance with immaculate precision. And yet, he never overlooks your imperfections either — with his pencil acting as a catalyst, he records them in great detail. Albedo is in love with every single aspect of you, even your flaws, which arguably garner more adoration from the boy than any of your other features because they make you distinct — the brightest star in a galaxy full of wonders. Perhaps one day, he will be able to show you his works, but for now, he is more than content with silently admiring you.

Peculiarity is a trait best embodied by KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, the boy who sits next to you in English class. On the surface, he seems normal enough — although one could argue that he is abnormally pretty with his snowy white hair and eyes the colour of autumnal maple leaves. However, he is also strange in other ways. Six months of conversing with Kazuha have led you to the conclusion that he is most definitely odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Unlike most of your peers, Kazuha often appears to have his head in the clouds, daydreaming in a world that he has made entirely his own. There are times where he stares out the window, sighing wistfully as he gazes at the vivid azure sky overhead. On other occasions, he writes poems in the worn notebook he always carries around, hardly minding the way you look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he's writing. Most puzzling of all, however, is his tendency to absentmindedly stare at you in the middle of class. He doesn’t even have the shame to look away when you glance back at him. He just maintains eye contact and smiles at you, causing you to avert your gaze first.

Despite the fact that Kazuha is rather odd, he is still a polite and compassionate person. Whenever you allow him to proofread your assignments, he compliments your work in embellished words that bloom with praise, and he offers advice in a way that feels warm and genuine. You feel at ease with him — unafraid of being judged. However, sometimes guilt gnaws at you when you ask for Kazuha's help because he's always the one assisting you. He has nothing to gain, but he continues assisting you out of the kindness of his own heart.

That's why when Kazuha asks you to read over some of his poetry for the first time, you agree without hesitation. A quick scan of the page Kazuha directs you to causes you to raise your eyebrows. It's a love poem that is cryptically addressed to ‘the one I adore’. You can feel the affection Kazuha harbors toward the person mentioned in the poem just by reading it. When you ask Kazuha who it's for, he simply chuckles and asks if you like his poetry, effectively dodging your question. You decide to let him off easy and give him a half-hearted answer, pretending that you aren’t jealous of the person he likes.

Over the remainder of the year, Kazuha continues showing you his poetry and requesting input from you. Each time you read his impeccably-crafted works, you feel your heart race. His poems are spun from the stuff of dreams — sweeter than the cotton candy clouds that hang in the sky outside the classroom window.

Sometimes you like to entertain the idea that they could be for you, but you always shut the notion down before it can grow into a fully-developed thought, too insecure to believe someone as handsome and thoughtful as Kazuha could ever hold such feelings for you.

When it comes time for the final English class of the year, you swear that you’ve read almost every form of poem in existence from sonnets to haikus to odes. On that particular day, you notice something different about Kazuha. He seems more fidgety than usual, and he has entirely lost his ability to zone out, instead becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The smallest movements you make cause him to whip his head around to steal a glance at you.

You discover the reason behind his atypical behaviour at the end of class when he hands you a simple white envelope. When you open it, you find pages upon pages of poetry, causing you to experience a sudden epiphany.

The one he loved was you all along.

Raiden Kunikuzushi — more commonly known as SCARAMOUCHE — is living proof that pretty privilege exists. At least, that’s what you believe.

He’s infuriating. No matter how abhorrent you find the way he treats his friends (who are honestly more akin to acquaintances), they never stand up to him. They simply allow Scaramouche to walk all over them. It's like he's put them in a trance with his breathtaking eyes, which are filled with starlight and tinted an indigo reminiscent of the awe-inspiring night sky.

But despite the fact that he is admired by many, his relationships are purely superficial. To his peers, he is nothing more than a sight for sore eyes, and that is what keeps the bitterness of envious sentiments from swallowing you whole. You’ll never be jealous of Scaramouche because his popularity stems solely from his looks.

His situation evokes a feeling of pity within the depths of your soul. The notion of your contempt for the boy still remains ingrained in your mind, but you also can’t help but pity him.

Perhaps that is what pushes you to sit beside him in your physics class on the first day of school when you notice that he is all alone. You have your reservations, but the way Scaramouche is scowling makes you think he’ll explode out of sheer rage if you don't take action.

Things start off slowly. He doesn't speak to you at first. You simply see him glancing suspiciously at you in your peripheral vision, as if he believes you have ulterior motives. However, the awkward tension becomes too much for you far too quickly, so on a typical day of classes, you decide to take your chances and pass him a note in the middle of a lesson, asking him how his day was.

When Scaramouche first sees your note, he frowns. It almost appears as though he's in disbelief because someone has taken an interest in him rather than his looks. Nonetheless, he decides to entertain you and promptly responds to you, writing a reply underneath your message in impressively neat handwriting. This sparks a conversation. One instance of the two of you passing notes in class turns to two — and two to three until you and Scaramouche are discreetly conversing each class.

Your inconspicuous discussions with Scaramouche lead you to learn more about him as a person. Whereas before you thought he was just a shallow pretty boy, now you know that he’s both cunning and witty. He never fails to make you laugh with his sarcastic comments, and despite the fact that he seems rather mean-spirited at times, you discover that once he opens up, he is more than capable of caring for others. Case in point: on days where you're feeling down, he (attempts) to tell you jokes to make you feel better, and he gives you the candy that his mother packs for him, claiming that he "doesn't like sweets anyway."

If only other people could take the time to get to know the real him. Underneath the veil of entrancing vanity and mystery that surrounds him, Scaramouche is a surprisingly entertaining and contemplative person.

However, for now, it seems that Scaramouche is more than content with the relationship he has with you. He doesn't care for any of his two-faced "friends." The only one he needs is you.

Fate has rather unconventional methods of bringing people together. There are times where you believe it is sentient, cutting, weaving, and pulling on the delicate threads that bind humans together with its steady hands.

Fate must be alive and working its magical because there is no other plausible explanation for how things ended up this way. All that is to say, some otherworldly force must have noticed your desperation to get closer to your longtime crush, XIAO, and finally decided to take pity on you.

It's crazy to think that one minuscule decision can shape the course of your entire relationship with someone, but your own experiences are indicating to you that there is some merit to the claim. After all, your computer science teacher's spontaneous choice to seat you next to Xiao is what kindles the first sparks of your relationship with him.

It all starts with music. At first, Xiao doesn’t attempt to converse with you. He seems adamant on retaining his introverted ways. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he's just inexperienced when it comes to socialization. So instead of making an effort to talk to you, he simply grabs a pair of earbuds and listens to his favourite songs whenever the teacher gives the class time to work.

This all changes when you muster the courage to ask him what he’s listening to. The way his eyes widen that fateful day, gazing at you with surprise evident in his pools of amber, is something you’ll never forget.

After all the silence on his end, you still want to talk to him? He is touched by your resolve, but he is also afraid of being too blunt, so instead of giving you an overly-verbose response, he asks you if you want to listen with him, offering you one of his earbuds. Xiao's heart jumps when you accept with an endearing smile. From then on, the two of you bond over music, and Xiao begins feeling comfortable enough to speak to you.

Gradually, years of distance and rigid formality vanish. Hushed conversations at the back of a sunlit classroom, shy waves from across cramped hallways, and accidental touches of his hands to yours replace the barriers that once separated the two of you. A once hopeless situation gives way to a radiant future as you finally begin getting closer to the boy you've pined over for as long as you can remember.

Sorry if there are mistakes. I feel like I'm making this worse each time I edit it :( Either way, thank you for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#aether x reader #albedo x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons

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webslingingslasher · 6 months

Note

Sometimes I like to think Peter confessed to trouble one night after randomly barging into her dorm room thru the window, bleeding in like 20 dif places, and while she’s frantic asking what the fuck happened looking for a med kit he’s high off adrenaline and is like “SPIDER-MAN. ME SPIDER-MAN.” and she’s just like “what the FUCK did you just say?!”

it makes me giggle

-🪼

😭😭😭 i could imagine this fr. like, he was on the brink of blacking out, bleeding out and dying and all he had was you because may is at minimum, thirty minutes away.

peter leaves a bloody handprint on your window when he pushes it open, then collapses to your floor while heaving for air. you nearly jump out of bed at the sound, terrified and ready to call peter because who the fuck entered your room through your window in the middle of the night?

except it’s spider-man, and you jump into action, getting to him in two steps and hitting the carpet with your knees.

grabbing his shoulder, ‘oh my god, oh my god, spider-man, are you okay?’ he’s not okay, he’s dying on your floor.

peter doesn’t have it in him to play pretend, he rips the mask off. you gasp and throw him back into the wall, peter groans.

‘what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the-‘

‘trouble, please.’

you run around, your mom packed you a first aid kit when you moved to college, you’ve never used it. now you need it, where the fuck is it?

‘what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, peter?’

he’s clutching his side, there’s so much blood.

‘this is why you’re not allowed to do this, you promise me right now you’ll stop.’

‘you know i can’t,’ he gasps for air, ‘do that.’

‘oh what the fuck, this isn’t happening. what the fuck, this is how you told me? i mean, what the fuck?!’

‘you’re doing a great job at handling it, super stellar.’

you throw a towel at him, he holds it to his worst laceration.

‘don’t you dare get upset with me, you’re the one leading a double life showing up to my fucking window at deaths door. jesus christ, peter. what the fuck!’

‘can i please get a bandaid?’

you find the kit, you tear the plastic and open it.

‘you need a fucking trauma unit.’

peter pulls out a roll of gauze, then motions towards his suit, ‘do me a favor and get me out of this.’

‘oh my god, am i dreaming? this isn’t real life, you’re not real.’

peter’s struggling to free himself, you help while dazed. your brain is melting. ‘is this a bad time to ask for an autograph?’

he stares at you. you blink back.

peter can’t believe he has to say it. ‘yes. it’s a terrible time.’

you pull the suit down to his hips, he’s cut a million different ways. ‘so, is that a no?’

peter wraps the gauze around his arm and tears it with his teeth, the sight makes your heart thump, he looks up at you. ‘don’t you dare get turned on right now, that’s sadistic.’

‘you’re hot when you’re bloody.’

‘oh, jesus christ. fucking cauterize me and you can live out your fantasies.’

you grab a handful of bandaids and a tube of neosporin. ‘on it.’

#frat!peter drabbles #peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader

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inkskinned · 1 year

Text

one of the things about having an unstable parent is that it can so easily ruin your future. you want to get out, but getting out takes having agency. it takes the resume and the grades and the stellar community service history.

but you have to choose your battles. you know if you sign up for an after-school activity, it'll be okay for a while, so long as the activity is parent-approved and god-fearing. over time, like all things, it will become an argument (i can't keep carting your ass to these things) or a weapon (talk to me like that again, see if you get to go to practice). sometimes, if you love the thing, it's worth it. but you also know better than to love something: that's how they get you. if you ever actually want something, it will always be the center of their attention. they will never stop threatening you with it. telling you of course i'm a good parent, i came to all of those stupid events.

you learn to balance yourself perfectly. you can either have a social life or you can have hobbies. both of these things will be under constant scrutiny. you spend too much time with her, you should be at home with family is equally paired with you're acting like this because you're addicted to what's on that goddamn screen. you cannot ever actually win, so everything falls within a barter system that you calculate before entering: do you want to learn how to drive? if so, you'll need to give up asking for a new laptop, even though yours died. maybe you can work on a computer at the library. of course, that would mean you'd be allowed to go to the library, which would mean something else has to bleed. nothing ever actually comes free.

and that bitter, horrible irony: you could be literally following their orders and it still isn't pretty. they tell you to get a job; they hate that your job keeps you late and gives you access to actual money. they tell you to do better in school; they say no child of mine needs a tutor. they want you to stop being so morose, don't you know there are people who are really suffering - but they revile the idea you might actually need therapy.

you didn't survive that fall the way other people would. you've seen other people scramble and get their way out, however they could. maybe you were made too-soft: the answer didn't come to you easily. it wasn't quick. it was brutal and nasty. some people even asked you why didn't you just work hard and escape during school? and you felt your head spinning. why didn't you? (they control your financial aid. they control your loan status. they love having that kind of thing). maybe in another life you got diagnosed sooner and got the meds you needed to actually focus and got attention from the right teachers who helped you clear hurdles to get up out of here - but for now? here?

the effort of trying. the effort of not-dying. that kind of effort was absolutely agonizing.

#writeblr #btw i got out #even though i felt this way #i was undiagnosed and was in a particularly fucked up situation #(it's complicated lol)#i had no money and no way out #no car no license . i still had a curfew at 22 years old #and still. i got out.#you can get out too.#i wasn't allowed to literally do anything after school we were pretty much only allowed 1 hobby #and STILL i got out.#it wasn't bc i was particularly smart or capable or clever. it's that 1. i got lucky & 2.#i knew there had to be The Rest of The World #and I wanted to at least VAGUELY get to the Rest of the World before i gave up trying #sometimes it's the spite that gets u thru it. that sense - fuck u #FUCK YOU ACTUALLY.#im gonna make my own life u stupid bitch. since u seem so convinced i could never REALLY do it.#whenever ppl are like <3 just cut out ur parents <3 im like <3 have u never been poor lol <3 #<3 i needed them to sign my loans <3 #<3 bestie not every person who is struggling is going to be able to make the grades and hero status to get a free ride.#and guess what baby!! we still deserve to get out and have a good life.

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princessbrunette · 3 months

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thinking ab their pretty little gf w a not so stellar home life comin back to the chateau in tears, tryin to explain what happened but she's simply just a blubbering mess. the duology of jayj who's ready to give your old man a taste of his medicine vs daddy!john bee who's a little more levelheaded n thinking rationally. saying smth like 'just wanna forget' would have those two jumping to your aid - 🍓

₊˚⊹♡𐙚♡𓆪ֶָ֢

“yup, i’m gonna kill him. murder him in cold blood.”

“you are not going to kill her dad, jj.”

whilst the blonde paces, developing a routine of yanking his cap off his head, running a hand through matted tresses before placing it back on— john b, the more level headed of the two kneels by your side, a gentle hand on your back.

you’d been crying, infact — you cried all the way to the chateau after an explosive spat with your terrifying father. it just didn’t feel fair, how can some people have the privilege of feeling totally safe and welcomed in their own home, by their own family — but you had to suffer? you felt in despair, just wanting everything happening outside of the chateau to stop.

“dude i’m tired of this asshole actin’ like — like he can just mess her around and scare her, look at her john b she’s scared!” jj rages, trying to bring his voice into a whisper-yell despite you being right there, stopping his pacing to direct his anger at the brunette by your side.

“i know, but right now you just need to calm it down. i doubt she wants you to go all john wick on her dad. sit down.” your face is in your hands as you weep, so you miss the way john b’s eyes widen in warning to jj, a silent message for him to quit acting out. the blonde licks his lips, shaking his head feeling like he was totally justified, but he does as he says regardless, lowering himself to sit at your other side.

“how ya holding up, princess?” he finally speaks, scratching the back of your head like a puppy. you remove your clammy hands from your face, staring down at them once they hang in your lap.

“s’just not fair.” you rasp, and you feel john b nodding at your side. you daren’t look at him, his large concerned puppy dog eyes sure to set off your waterworks once again so you look at jj instead, almost looking for solidarity. if anyone understood your home life situation, it was him.

his brows are all creased up sorrowfully and he presses his lips together, thumbing the freshest tear that dares to race down your cheek. you feel john b rest his chin on your shoulder, wanting you to feel his presence even when you didn’t face him.

“what can we do?” his warm voice rumbles right in your ear.

at first, you don’t know — and that look of hopelessness in your eyes almost cracks jj’s heart in two. he knew from experience how shitty it felt— but seeing it from the third person perspective was almost worse. he would take a million beatings from his dad if it meant no one was to ever lay a hand or throw a venomous word in your direction. “anything, babydoll.” he reiterates.

as fucked up as it is, having two male figures at your side— two who you’d like to think held a comfortable amount of authority over you, a small slither of the hole that was left in your heart from your daddy issues was filled with a warm honey-like feeling. maybe your emotions were all fucked up and out of whack, or maybe you just really appreciated the comfort — because you felt that warmth spread lower at the way they coddled you.

“i just wanna forget. wanna forget it all happened.” you whisper, and at first they don’t get it. well, they do— but not in the way you mean. john b’s hand creeps up to massage at the back of your neck, trying to relax you as he nods, frowning as he tries to piece together what he can do. always the fixer.

“okay, we can do that. what… specifically do you—”

“i need you.” you turn to look at him now, faces close, breath mingling. “i need you both to… make me forget. just don’t wanna think.” your whisper holds a tinge of an oncoming mewl to it and their faces melt in understanding.

“oh, baby.” john b coo’s, catching on and you feel yourself physically already starting to melt at the tone.

“that mean what i think it means?” jj’s breath is at your neck, fingers sliding up your arm to the strap of your tank top. slowly, carefully.

“please jus’ make me feel better.” you slur like the effects of a drug are finally kicking in, the two boys seeming to close in on you more by the minute.

“alright baby. daddies gonna help, okay? gonna make it feel better.” john b cups your cheek and you wring weakly at his wrist, pulling his palm to your wet mouth where you press kisses to the warm coarse skin, a silent plea to follow through.

jj’s mouth follows his touch next, a kiss on the junction between your neck and shoulder, wisps of blonde hair sticking out the front of his cap tickling your cheekbone. “i should’a known that’s what you were after, you want that head all empty don’t you mama?”

like that, you’re putty in their hands.

₊˚⊹♡𐙚♡𓆪ֶָ֢

#🍓 anon #jj x reader x john b

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kirain · 2 months

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Bg3 companions as college roommates?

Wyll: Despite being a legacy admission, he isn't at all what you expected. In fact, he causes you to reexamine your own personal biases. He's rich, but humble. Privileged, but generous. Popular, but not because he's the son of a duke—in fact, he keeps that detail close to his chest—but because he devotes most of his free time to charity work. He also throws the wildest parties.

Lae'zel: A foreign exchange student. She's often crude and standoffish, constantly bragging that her education is superior. You don't get along at first, but you soon realise she's homesick and completely out of her element. You offer to help her adjust and she reluctantly, though gratefully, accepts. While you aren't sure if that makes you friends, she at least stops calling you "kainyank".

Karlach: This woman is insane. She doesn't take her studies seriously and always crams before exams, but somehow she always passes! You feel a tinge of jealousy, since you lack the same good fortune, but you can't hate her. It's impossible. She's a sweetheart who teaches you the definition of fun, often helping you unwind when you need to most.

Astarion: You don't get much of a chance to know him, as he sleeps all day and only attends night classes. What's worse, he gets expelled within the first week of attendance. You never figure out what he did or why, you only know that the chancellor seemed deeply, deeply traumatised.

Gale: Kind, attentive, eager to help you with your homework. He's a stellar roommate in every single way ... except for one. He has a habit of running questionable experiments in your dorm, often late into the night, which deprives you of valuable sleep. But he always apologises with a home-cooked meal, so you let it slide. Plus he has a cat.

Shadowheart: She's very tight-lipped and always turns out the lights, even when you're studying. You're not sure how to feel about her when you first meet, as she's rather aloof and melancholy. Halfway though the semester, however, she suffers a debilitating crisis of faith, which you happily help her overcome. When all is said and done, she considers you her new family.

Jaheira: She's more like a mother than a roommate. You learn quick that she's a strict taskmaster; you will not leave a mess around the dorm. Cleanliness shows dedication, after all. But you appreciate that. She cares. She wants you to succeed, despite barely knowing you, and she's always willing to listen when you need a shoulder to cry on.

Minsc: Heavens above, he's the dumbest man you've ever met. Part of you wonders how he even passed the entrance exam, until you discover he didn't. He failed. He's not a student. He just hangs around because he likes you. Yet, for some reason, you find that strangely endearing. Loud and clueless as he is, you feel safe when he's about, and you're quite fond of his hamster.

Halsin: He's the true definition of a "gentle giant". A chipper jock with a passion for nature and activity. He often drops keen wisdom that aids in your schoolwork, as well as your personal life, making him a near perfect roommate.

...If only he stopped bringing home dates for his late night hanky panky. You can't sleep.

Minthara: She isn't a roommate, you're just in her room. You should count yourself lucky she tolerates your presence at all. And you better not slack off, because if you do she will report you to the dean. School isn't a joke, and she expects you to take it seriously. Some people would kill to be in your position.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion #astarion ancunin #karlach #karlach cliffgate #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc #minthara

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lets-try-some-writing · 5 days

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I swear I would die for a fanfic or writing of Alpha Trion experience with feral bitey Orion who has no respect for his ancient ways or scrolls and like the experience of finding him.

Coming right up my dear anon! I may have messed with your prompt just a little bit. Sorry for how short this is.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Orion Pax." Alpha Trion put down his quill with a sigh as he looked over his shoulder. The feral monstrosity was at it yet again.

"Primus below, give me strength." He knew exactly what to expect, but it still prompted him to sigh as he looked at the hole in Orion's crib. He had, yet again, bitten his way through the metal bars and clambered his way to freedom. Alpha Trion would need to get a cyber-hound kennel or get a custom crib made from something far more sturdy than whatever the crib was currently made of.

This was the third crib just this stellar cycle.

"Archivists, be on the lookout for Orion Pax. He has escaped his designated space yet again." He sent the message over the private channel used by the Archives. He could almost feel the collective groan of his students as they put down whatever they were doing to find the wayward sparkling traversing the Archives.

He wandered the halls while rubbing his face in exhaustion. Ever since taking in Pax, there had been no peace in his once restful workspace. Orion cried throughout most of his recharge cycle, and barring that, he was plotting yet another escape attempt. It was draining on body and spark alike. Especially when Orion was found chewing on a record dating back to the early Quintesson era.

"Sir, we've located him?" He perked up at the voice coming across his commlink, but he frowned at the almost questioning tone. Was the archivist not sure?

"You do not sound confident." He remarked simply as he strode in the general direction of the archivist's signal.

"Well, we have found him, but he's... in the ceiling?" That was not a good sign. Alpha Trion all but sprinted until he found the archivist and a few others crowded around the base of a huge pillar. It held up the fifth archival level and extended more than sixty feet into the air. Looking up, Alpha Trion wanted to bang his helm against the nearest wall.

"Do we get a ladder?" The question hung in the air as Orion Pax clung to the very top of the pillar, his little clawed digits digging into the metal as he chewed on a datapad. Why he climbed up the pillar and why he was eating a datapad was beyond Alpha Trion. He stopped bothering to ask questions after a certain point.

"Yes, get the ladder." Alpha Trion sighed and died a little inside as, before he knew it, he was teetering precariously on a ladder with the aid of more than a few archivists as he reached out to grab his ward. The feral sparkling purposefully kept scooting around the pillar to avoid his grasp, growing as he did so. Alpha Trion had half the mind to shoot him with a dart gun just to make him loosen up. However, he was not fond of the idea of actually hurting the little monster.

A half groon and more than a few scratches later, Alpha Trion held his screeching ward by the leg upside down as he carefully worked back down the ladder. The archivists vented in relief and one was quick to grab an energon crystal for the screaming sparkling to chew on. The moment Alpha Trion put it in his intake, Orion's optics cycled down and he contented himself by crunching his way through the crystal.

It was a momentary break from what was likely to be a long few cycles of chasing Orion down while a new crib was made.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #orion pax #alpha trion #feral orion pax #pre cybertronian civil war

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thehollowwriter · 3 months

Text

Hey! For the 300-400+ followers event, how about Confession + Riddle?

Thank you so much for this!

Summary: Riddle confesses his feelings to you, with a little treat as his aide

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

"I Love You!"

Riddle Rosehearts was in love. Unequivocally, irrevocably, ridiculously in love. He was well past denying it at this stage. There was little point in doing so. The proof was in the pudding.

Literally. Carefully, with painstaking precision, Riddle put all of his free time into making your favourite dessert from scratch.

Trey was there too, but only to guide him through the more confusing instructions and assist if anything went wrong, which Riddle doubted would truly be necessary.

The final result wasn't as perfect as he wanted it to be, but it had Trey's seal approval which was good enough.

Then, alone in his room, Riddle poured his heart out in the form of an elegant golden script that bled onto rose red pages.

The letter was sealed in a white and gold envelope. The dessert was placed neatly in a box and wrapped in a bow that he slid the envelope under.

Riddle bit his lip at the sight of his imperfect, lopsided creation, hoping you wouldn't mind the less than stellar appearance.

He only gathered the confidence go approach you later that evening, coming up to you in the rose gardens with a prideful stride.

"(Name.)" He said slowly and clearly, sounding far more confident than he actually was. "I made this for you. I know it's... far from perfect, but I hope you accept."

Your eyes, brilliant and beautiful as always, lit up in delight and you gratefully took the box from him.

"Thank you, Riddle!" You cooed happily. "This looks wonderful."

You went to pick up the envelope, and Riddle found himself grabbing your wrist before he could stop himself.

"(Name)"

'(Name), you are someone I cherish deeply. My heart feels like it may burst every time I look at you. I love you, (name), I love you so deeply I doubt it's good for me. Please, be mine and I, yours.'

None of these words left his mouth, though. You stood there, gift and letter in hand, and patiently waited for his to speak.

"I-" Riddle's words fell from his mouth in an awkward stumble. "(Name), I'm in love with you."

Immediately, he slapped a hand over his mouth and internally cursed at himself for his own blatant stupidity.

You had to tighten your grip to stop your gift from falling to the floor, jaw dropping in shock. "What?"

"I-I love you." Riddle repeated, his face a lovely strawberry red. "I have for some time."

When did it start, really? Riddle couldn't pinpoint an exact date or time. Was it when you smiled at him and tucked his bangs behind his ears? When you wished him a good morning in the hallway? When you told him how wondeful the sky was, standing in the rose maze with him?

He didn't know. It didn't matter really. All that mattered was you.

You, who is currently grinning at him in pure joy.

"Riddle, I love you too."

......................................

A/N: So sorry for the late response, thank you so much for reading

#riddle rosehearts x reader #heartslabyul x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #twisted wonderland #writing

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babybluebex · 2 years

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | eddie is not the type of boy that parents tend to like, and after a disastrous evening with your parents, you find a way to make it up to him. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | eddie munson (stranger things, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut! (minors dni) — blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breathplay, daddy kink, degredation (if you squint), praise kink 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | here's another eddie smut! this was fun to write too hehe enjoy!

You could tell, just by looking at Eddie, that he was nervous. He was tapping his fingers hard against his thigh and looking around at everything that made a noise, and you quickly reached over and took his hand. “They’re gonna love you,” you told him, and Eddie scoffed.

“Right,” he said. “Because all parents everywhere adore me.”

“Ed, try to be optimistic,” you said. “C’mon, what won’t they like?”

“My tats,” Eddie said swiftly, as if he had the answer prepared, and his hand subconsciously went to press over the bats on his arm. It wasn’t like you could even see them in the first place; Eddie had dressed strategically, a long-sleeve blue button down and khakis, hiding all of his tattoos, except for the small stick-and-poke on his hand, which he had covered with a band-aid.

You had gone to his place and helped him get ready, and you had watched as your boyfriend stressed over which shirt to wear and exactly how to do his hair. He told you that he had taken a shower and washed his hair three times, and the smell of his cheap cologne was heavy, to cover the smell of weed that always persisted with him. He even wore deodorant, which was big for him, four passes of it before you took it from his hand and insisted he stop. In the end, you had managed to get him to sit down and stop fretting for long enough to blow dry his hair for him, and you could tell that he hated how fluffy it was.

“Okay, your tattoos,” you acquiesced; your parents were pretty straight-laced, and they didn’t like the idea of tattoos or piercings too much. “But they won’t see them. What else?”

Eddie sighed, glancing out the window of his van to look at your house. “I’m just worried they’ll hate me,” he said. “Because I’m not good enough for you.”

“Oh, baby,” you cooed with a frown. You hated to see him so self conscious, and you smoothed down his hair comfortingly. “You’re exactly what I want, Eddie. I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want you, okay? And fuck it if my parents don’t think you’re ‘good enough’, because I do. Put that out of your mind, okay? Everything will be fine.”

Eddie started to protest, but you leaned over the center console to press a kiss to his mouth. Instead of cigarettes, his lips tasted like mint from his toothpaste (he had brushed his teeth twice in preparation) and the lip balm that he had borrowed from your purse. He so badly wanted— no, needed— everything to be perfect. “But what you want versus what your parents want for you…” he started. “I don’t have a stellar track record with parents, not even my own.”

“My mom will be okay,” you insisted. “She’s pretty open-minded.”

“Yeah, it’s your dad that scares the shit out of me,” Eddie grumbled. “What if he thinks I’m not good enough for his little princess?”

“Then, we’ll deal with it,” you told him. “And it’s not like you’re gonna be battling this alone. I’m here for you, baby, alright?”

Eddie stared hard down at his lap for a minute, and he finally reached up to you and pressed his palm to your cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, and he tugged you back into the kiss. It felt nice to kiss Eddie, his freshly-shaved face all smooth against your skin, and you smiled into the kiss as Eddie’s free hand inched to your thigh.

“C’mon, we should be heading inside,” you whispered into Eddie’s mouth, and he groaned lightly, as jokingly as he could manage.

Eddie pocketed his keys as he stepped out of the van, and he put his hand on the small of your back as you rummaged in your purse for your house keys. Your house was so nice, in a good neighborhood of Hawkins, one of those types with two floors and a little porch and a garage. It was so much nicer than what Eddie knew, his little trailer that he shared with his uncle, and instantly, that ugly feeling began to creep into his throat. He could almost hear your father berating him, calling him trash and scum and saying that he would never be good enough for you.

The front door was situated on a little porch, a rocking chair and flowers flanking the door, and Eddie’s face went cold. “Fuck, should I have brought your mom flowers?” he mumbled, and you frowned.

“Eddie, baby, it’s fine,” you told him as you shoved your key into the lock. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? Everything will be fine.”

You pushed open the door and called to your parents, “Mom, Daddy, we’re home!”. Eddie followed you in, cowering behind you like a little puppy, but he visibly softened when your mother poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Hi there!” your mother said. “Baby, can you help me, I can’t reach the top shelf and your father—“

“Oh,” Eddie said quickly. “I can help you.”

You caught the smile that spread across your mother’s face, and she said, “You must be Edward.”

“Eddie, please,” he said. “Umm, what do you need help with?”

“I just can’t reach something on the top shelf…” your mother started, and you watched Eddie disappear into the kitchen with her. Chuckling to yourself, you went to the TV room, where you were sure your father was, and you found him in his easy chair, watching some baseball game.

“Daddy?” you said gently. “Eddie’s here.”

“Alright,” your father sighed. “Let me meet this boy, I guess.”

You found Eddie and your mother back in the kitchen, already smiling and laughing, and Eddie’s smile grew when he saw you. “There you are,” your mother said. “Eddie was just telling me about how you make dinner for him most nights; that’s sweet.”

“Yeah, well, Eddie’s not great with the stove,” you said, and Eddie jokingly rolled his eyes.

“You burn Spaghettios once and never live it down,” he said, shaking his head, and your mother wrinkled her nose.

“Spaghettios?“ she repeated. “No, a growing boy like you needs more than that! Thank goodness for her, right?”

“Exactly,” Eddie smiled, his eyes flicking to you. “Thank goodness for her.”

Your cheeks went hot under your mother and boyfriend’s shared gaze, but the moment ended quickly, with the sound of your father clearing his throat from the dining room. “Where is this boy?” he asked, and you watched as Eddie’s warm face fell pale.

“Eddie,” you started, and you reached out for Eddie. His hand filled yours just in time for your father to step into the doorway, and Eddie swallowed thickly. “This is my dad. Daddy, this is—“

“Your hair,” your father said immediately, not even pausing to let you finish the introduction, eyeing Eddie up and down. “Why does it look like that?”

“O-Oh,” Eddie started. His eyes shifted to you, then to your father, and he said, “Um, Y/N did it for me.”

“Why not cut it?” your father asked.

“I-I like it like this,” Eddie stuttered.

You could tell he was floundering, his anxiety getting the better of him, and you quickly jumped in. “I like it like this too,” you told Eddie. “I like braiding it up and everything. Oh, Mom, you should see Eddie when I braid his hair, he’s so handsome.”

Dinner went mostly like that. Your father was condescending towards Eddie— he called him Edward all night, even after you corrected him— and Eddie, to his credit, kept himself in check and took your father’s comments in stride. Your father asked what Eddie did for a living, and your boyfriend was understandably hesitant to answer. “I’m still in high school,” Eddie answered finally.

“I thought she said you were 20,” your father said, looking to you for confirmation, and Eddie nodded slowly.

“I— There were— I had some personal setbacks,” Eddie admitted, his face turning red. “B-But I’m graduating in May.”

You could tell that Eddie was feeling suffocated, his cheeks turning redder and redder with every question your father sent his way, and you finally had enough of it towards the end of the meal. Eddie had been doing everything right, not that he exactly needed to, and still your father was being a right bitch to him. “Daddy,” you said as Eddie helped your mother clear the table. “Why’re you being so mean to Eddie?”

“He’s not good for you,” your father told you. “He looks like a deviant, he doesn’t have a job, he can’t provide for you—”

“Provide for me?” you scoffed. “Dad, I’m eighteen, it’s not like I’m marrying him! And he looks exactly how he wants to. He’s trying so hard to impress you and you aren’t even giving him a chance. Isn’t it enough that I like him? Don’t you trust me enough to choose someone who I think is good for me?”

Eddie came back into the room then, and you sighed and stood from your place at the table. “Ed, c’mon,” you started, putting a smile on your face as you took his hand. “I wanna show you my room.”

“Really?” Eddie chuckled. “I get to see the princess’s room, do I?”

“Shut up,” you said with a giggle. Eddie was known for sneaking in at night, but, as far as your parents knew, he had never stepped foot in the house before. “C’mon, I just wanna— C’mon!”

Your bedroom was upstairs, and Eddie smiled widely at the pink walls as you tugged him in and closed the door behind you. “Jesus,” Eddie mumbled. “Your dad… He’s kinda a dick, isn’t he?” His hands went to your waist, gently tugging you closer, and your fingers played with his fluffy bangs, hanging on his forehead.

“Oh, he is,” you agreed. “I thought he might try to be nicer to you, but… Fuck, I’m sorry, Ed. I really thought this was gonna go better than it did.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie insisted. “Hey, look at me—” His finger tucked under your chin and lifted your head to face him, and he put a gentle kiss on your lips. “I’m not upset, okay? I-I mean, it would have been nice if they did like me, but I’m not upset that they don’t. Parents don’t tend to like me, it’s pretty typical.”

“My mom likes you, at least,” you offered, and Eddie nodded.

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “She might try to steal me away from you.”

“I won’t let her,” you smiled. “You’re mine.”

Eddie kissed you again, and you stepped into his body’s warmth, wrapping your arms around his waist as he deepened the kiss. His head turned slightly and his tongue prodded at your lips, and you opened your mouth for him. Eddie’s kisses were always fantastic, and he broke the kiss with a faint smile. “I’m yours, am I?” he asked with a laugh. “Feeling possessive, are you?”

“Feeling like I love you,” you corrected him, and you lightly played with the collar of his blue shirt.

“Well, if that’s all it takes,” Eddie said, and his hands went to your ass. His grip was tight as he pulled you close, slotting his knee between yours, and he added, “You’re mine, princess. You’re mine, forever and ever…”

“I like the sound of that,” you told him, and you tugged at his shirt. “Is it too much to ask you to fuck me right now?”

“Now?” Eddie asked, his dark eyes widening for a moment. “Jesus, your parents are downstairs. I think your dad’s right, I’m a bad influence on you.”

“Okay, fine,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to fuck right now—”

“Did you hear me saying no?” Eddie asked. “I was just listing the reasons it’s a bad idea, but, baby, I’m not known for making good decisions.” His hands on your ass lifted and situated on your hips, and he pushed you down to your bed. You slept in the bed every night and Eddie had made it a habit to sneak in once your parents fell asleep, but something about the bed felt different as Eddie knelt between your legs and kissed you. It felt just a little more taboo than usual, knowing that your parents now knew that Eddie was up here with you. It felt almost like they knew what was happening.

But Eddie distracted you from your line of thinking quickly, pushing your dress up your legs to reach your panties. “Aw, babe,” he chuckled. “Pink panties. You’re adorable.”

“Well, you are in the princess room, after all,” you chuckled. You tugged him down to you, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth, and Eddie took no time to swipe his tongue into your mouth. You had to push down your moans to make sure that you weren’t too loud, and you giggled when Eddie’s hands danced at the hem of your panties, threatening to dip in and feel you.

Eddie broke the kiss quickly, and he looked at you with a quirked eyebrow. “By the way,” he said. “Daddy?”

“I’ve always called him that,” you sighed.

Eddie smiled, and he moved his kiss to your neck as he handled your thighs around his waist. You could feel him through his pants, already half hard, and Eddie gently bit into your neck. “I thought you only called me that,” he whispered, pressing his tongue to the marks his teeth made. “You had me thinking I was special or some shit.”

“You are,” you assured him. “Can we stop talking about my dad, though?”

“Sure,” Eddie said easily, and he bit at your neck again as he jutted his hips down onto yours. His hands shoved your dress higher until he was nearly tugging your dress off, and you helped him shuck it over your head with a giggle.

“Need to see your tats,” you mumbled, your fingers fumbling at the buttons on his shirt, and he quickly tugged it up over his head and off, letting it fall limply to the bedroom floor. Finally, there in all their glory, were Eddie’s tattoos, littering his arms and chest. Even just the sight of them was enough for your pussy to throb, and you tugged him by his hair down into a kiss.

Eddie’s big hands smoothed down your body, feeling every inch of skin that he could, and his tongue pushed its way back into your mouth as he held you close. His hands finally settled on your thighs, and he tugged them tight around his waist as he rocked his hips into yours. You couldn’t help the moan that left you, and Eddie broke the kiss to gently hush you. “Don’t want mean ole Daddy hearing you,” he said with a light giggle. He pressed his mouth into your neck and hummed as he kissed over a sensitive spot, in time with you stifling a moan. “I know, princess, it just feels so good, hmm?”

“Eddie—” you whimpered, and his hand carefully snaked up, grasping you lightly by your throat.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered, and your skin thrummed with life at his request.

You nodded as his fingers tightened for just a moment, just long enough for you to catch your breath, and you said, “Daddy… I wanna suck you off.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie chuckled with a quirked eyebrow. He seemed amused at the prospect, although hopeful.

“I wanna try to make tonight worth something,” you uttered softly. “Apologize or whatever, y’know? That, and I just want your cock in my mouth.”

Eddie nodded, and he released your throat from his grip. Before he could fully remove himself from you, though, you were already starting in on his pants, undoing his belt and button to shove those dumb khakis down his thighs. He rolled off of you and helped you in your pursuit of undressing him, kicking off his shoes and fully pulling off his pants and boxers, and you instantly knelt on the floor in front of him, facing his hard cock. You took a moment to admire Eddie, his thick thighs spread on your bed, the small stick-and-poke on his upper left thigh, his cock straining against his stomach. It all amounted to one hell of a man, and you didn’t waste anymore time before you pressed your lips to his cock.

“God, baby,” Eddie sighed, his hand drifting down and lightly playing with your hair. His small whisper urged you forward, and you opened your mouth and took the head of Eddie’s cock in your mouth. He was already leaking salty precum, and you greedily suckled at the tip of his cock. That got him to fully take a fistful of your hair, and he whispered, “Fuck, princess. C’mon, take more, I know you can.”

You did as he asked of you, swallowing down more and more of him, your lips stretching around his thickness, and you lifted your hand to join your mouth. You quickly stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth as your head bobbed on his cock, the wet noises of it lewd and almost worryingly loud. But Eddie just fisted at your hair and let his head fall back, enjoying every second of it.

“Good girl,” he told you, tugging on your hair and urging his cock further into your mouth. “M’gonna fuck your mouth, okay?”

You nodded, still sucking him, and you groaned softly as Eddie began to set the pace, thrusting into your mouth. He threatened the back of your throat with every fuck, and your hands went up to grasp his thighs, digging your fingernails into his skin. You knew that Eddie loved when you scratched up his back, and you figured he probably wouldn’t mind if you did the same to his thighs, and, thankfully, you were right.

“Fuck, feels good,” Eddie whispered. “Fuck, baby, your mouth… Feels like heaven.”

You couldn’t help the proud warmth that spread through you at his praise, and you relaxed your jaw as Eddie’s thrusts became faster and harder. He was chasing his orgasm, you could tell, and you felt his thigh twitch under your hands. He was already so close, and you loved knowing that you had caused that reaction from him.

“Fuck this,” Eddie suddenly said, and he pulled himself out of your mouth, earning him a gasp and a sputtering as you struggled to keep the mix of spit and precum from falling out of your mouth. “Get on your back, princess, Daddy wants to cum inside you.”

You climbed back up on your bed and urged him forward towards you, and you opened your legs wide for him to fit between. He slotted himself there in an instant, pressing a new kiss to your lips, and his strong hands repositioned on your inner thighs, lightly scratching his fingernails up and down, coming closer and closer to your pussy. Then, without much of a warning other than a chaste kiss on your mouth, Eddie pressed a finger into you.

You moaned instantly at the feeling, but your hand quickly slapped over your mouth. Eddie chuckled, low in his chest, as he began to fuck you on his finger, and he pressed a kiss to your neck as he whispered, “Don’t want your parents hearing you being a nasty whore.”

Quickly, he added a second finger, and his pace in you was enough to make the lewd sounds of him fucking your wet warmth bounce off the walls. You truly worried if your parents could hear it, but you squeezed your eyes shut and cried behind your hand when Eddie cocked his fingers inside you, driving home in that spot. Your legs instinctively snapped shut, trapping Eddie’s hand between your thighs, and Eddie laughed at you.

“Oh, so pathetic,” he said with a teasing frown, curling up his fingers again and making you jerk with the satisfaction of it. “Can’t even handle my fingers without getting all worked up, how am I supposed to fuck you right?”

Your hand lowered from your mouth and wrapped around his wrist, his hand still snug around your neck, and you gasped as his fingers tightened for a moment, just long enough for your blood to thrum in your ears. “Daddy,” you gasped. “F-Fuck me, Daddy, please, I’ll be so good for you, I promise, I-I can take it. Please, Ed, I want you so bad.”

Eddie gave you one last hit to that special nerve inside you, your back arching in time with his fingers, and he pulled his fingers from you slowly, an almost agonizing speed. “I’ve got you, princess,” he told you, and his glistening fingers came up to lightly prod at his own lips. You watched him greedily as he licked up your wetness from himself, and he nodded slowly. “God, you taste good, baby. You wanna taste yourself?”

You opened your mouth obediently, not even stopping to consider the offer, and Eddie pressed his fingers past your lips and into your mouth. You dutifully sucked his fingers, cleaning up your slick from his thick fingers, and you saw Eddie’s cock twitch in response. “So fucking dirty,” Eddie laughed. “Look at you, sucking on my fingers like that. God, I need to be inside you.”

You protested the loss of his fingers with a whine, but his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs wide open, was enough to get you to forget it. You bit on your bottom lip as you watched Eddie line himself up at your leaking entrance, and he pressed the head of himself just into you, hardly giving you anything. You squirmed under his weight, trying to stay as quiet as possible, and Eddie shushed you, his thumb rubbing a soft circle just under your chin, where his hand had steady stayed, testing your breathing.

“I know,” Eddie said softly, almost patronizing. “I’m not giving you enough, I know. But, baby, you just gotta wait. Waiting makes it better.”

“Daddy,” you whimpered out, and his owlish brown eyes widened with glee at your pathetic state. “Please just fuck me, please.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eddie said with a devious half-smile, and he snapped his hips forward, fully burying himself inside you. Your moan was wrecked with surprise, a small hint of pain ebbing away at your edges, and Eddie seemed to catch the hint and thoroughly enjoy it. “Good girl.”

His hand still rested on your throat as he began to shallowly fuck you, moving slow so that the springs in your old mattress didn’t squeak too loudly. You whined softly at the feeling of his cock, hard and ridged, gliding in and out of you, and your hands went to his hair, still all fluffy, and you tugged him down into a kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth instantly, claiming you in a way that nobody else ever had, and he started up at a quicker pace. You could feel him throb inside of you with every thrust, and you squeaked every time his cock nestled into that nerve.

Your breaths came in gasps as he fucked you, and you worked quick to tighten your legs around his waist. Your heel dug into his back on a particularly hard thrust, and your heart nearly stopped when you heard the firm hit of your headboard against the wall. “Eddie!” you gasped, your eyes growing wide. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna get us in trouble—”

“No, I won’t, princess,” Eddie smirked. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ve got it. Just keep those legs open for me and let me worry about the rest. Okay?”

You nodded, even though you were certain that the rest of the house had heard it, and Eddie pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek as he started up his pace again. You had to keep your moans quiet— you were certainly already on thin ice, and you didn’t want your mother (or, God forbid, your father) hearing you— so you pressed yourself tight to Eddie and nestled your lips just over his ear. He gave a choked little sound when you moaned softly in his ear, just for him to hear, and he whispered, “Damn, baby, sound so good… You feel good too, fuck.”

Your hands grabbed at his shoulders as he began to speed up, chasing the orgasm that had been forgotten from his blowjob, and each huff of breath gave you new sentiments from him: “So good, baby”, “Fuck, yes”, “God, you’re perfect”. The hot wash of arousal spread across you every single time, and you whimpered as Eddie’s cruel hand drifted down from your throat to your clit. He began to rub at you, hard and fast, not giving you a moment to adjust, and your thighs quivered around his waist as shocks of white hot electricity rocked your body.

“Fuck!” you whined high in your throat, and Eddie attacked your neck with kisses and bites. His heavy breathing made him sound almost feral, and it shouldn’t have turned you on the way it did, but you found your pussy clenching around his cock.

“You close, baby?” Eddie huffed into your neck, and you nodded quickly. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him close to you, and you rocked your hips up to meet his thrusts. Even though pain shocked itself in your core at how deep inside you he was, you loved every second of it.

“Fuck, Daddy,” you mewled, your body curving up to meet his. “Y-You’re gonna make me cum!”

“Aw,” Eddie chuckled. “Using your words, how cute. Guess I haven’t fucked you dumb yet.”

“N-Next time,” you stammered. “I-I need to be able to leave the house.”

“Right,” Eddie nodded, and he kissed your neck again. “Oh, fuck me, I made a mark.”

“Eddie!” you whined. “My fucking parents—”

“I know, princess, I’m sorry,” Eddie told you, and you saw his eyes sparkle as he lifted himself from your neck. The cheeky bastard wasn’t sorry at all; he was pleased with himself. “You can give me one, if you want.”

You shook your head and you pulled him into a kiss, his lips slick with spit. “Just make me cum,” you told him. “I’ll forgive you.”

“No problem, baby,” Eddie chuckled. “I’ll make you cum.”

With that, he started up his punishing rhythm, hard and fast. He was so gorgeous like this, his forehead dotted with sweat, his bangs curling a bit with it, and you smiled at the sight of his flushed cheeks. “I love you,” you whispered, and Eddie’s face melted into a smile.

“I love you too,” Eddie whispered back, and he kissed you once more, sweeter and softer than anything before. “God, baby, you’re so perfect.”

Even hearing those words was enough for the knot inside you to tighten threateningly, and you stammered out, “Ed, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, baby,” Eddie told you. His fingers on your clit sped up along with his hips, and the obscene wet noises from before returned as he fucked you hard, hard, hard, drawing you to your finish as quickly as he could. “Cum all on my cock, make a mess, princess.”

Your back arched up into him as his hands, so strong and sure, repositioned to your hips, and he held you down as you writhed and whimpered. You were so close, you could taste your orgasm, and you watched Eddie’s stomach tremble with his own impending orgasm. “Cum inside me, Daddy,” you whispered in his ear, and he gave an odd choking sound, like he was gasping and swallowing at the same time. “Are you gonna make a mess too, Daddy?”

“Fuck, woman,” Eddie whispered. “You’re too much for me.”

“Oh, hush,” you giggled, and you pressed your forehead against his. “I’m just perfect for you.”

“You’re just perfect,” Eddie told you, and he held your hips tight as he fucked into you once more. He moaned, louder than before, and he gnashed his teeth as he came. The feel of being filled so wonderfully by him was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but release as well.

“Eddie, I’m cumming!” you cried, and his strong arms wrapped around you and held you so tenderly and lovingly as you came as well, the white hot electricity ravaging your whole body, from head to toe. You didn’t feel like you even inhabited your body anymore as your back arched, and your vision went just a little hazy. “Fuck!”

“Just like that,” Eddie whispered soothingly, holding you tightly. “Yes, princess, good girl, I love you so much.”

“L-Love you too,” you stammered. Your breaths came quickly, as did Eddie’s, and he rolled you over your side as he held you. His cock had gone soft inside you, and you whined when he slowly pulled out.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, and you nodded. “Good, good girl… Come here, I wanna hold you.”

“We can’t,” you told him. “My parents are downstairs, they’re probably waiting for us.”

Eddie rolled his eyes jokingly, and he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll just have to sneak in and cuddle later tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you told him and you kissed him once more. “Just as long as my mom doesn’t sense your presence.”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughed. “Well, she’ll have a hell of a hard time stealing me from you. I’ve only got eyes for one girl.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #my writing

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hotvintagepoll · 9 days

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Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Grace Kelly (Rear Window, High Society, Dial M for Murder)—The literal princess of Hollywood (she retired at 26 to become princess of Monaco), her name said everything about why she was so hot. She carried herself with a grace and elegance you just don't see anymore. Her voice was sultry without being overbearing, and she had the ability to be sweet but suggest a deep sensuality at all times.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

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The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

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Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

64.media.tumblr.com

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

64.media.tumblr.com

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Grace Kelly:

flawlessly beautiful and a literal princess

Her facial structure? Flawless. Her eyes? Stunning. Her hair? Gorgeous. Her style? Immaculate. Every second she’s on screen, she just exudes this elegance and sophistication. It’s no wonder she ended up marrying a prince. But she’s got this mischief in her eyes that is compelling.

She was so elegant, so beautiful and perfect I could cry for real. A fairy disguised as a woman.

the most beautiful of Hitchcock's "icy blondes". elegant, glamorous, she left hollywood to became an actual princess, I mean, COME ON

she's so pretty and refined and elegant! I'm pretty sure taylor swift's blonde hair red lip look is modeled partly after her

She's just so elegant, look at her all dressed up like a Barbie doll in the latest fashions. There's a quiet dignity about her.

Not only was she princess of Monaco she also is Stéphanie de Monaco's mother and yeah, vote for her she's soooo pretty That red dress in Dial M.... hot damn

To me, she is the first and only blonde. She earned it. Paired with Edith Head's costume design she is unstoppable. I dare anyone to watch her as Lisa Carol Fremont in Rear Window and not be completely blown away by her hotness.

SHE IS SO PRETTY AND FASHIONABLE!! Not only that but she has an alluring aura to her in whatever film I've seen her in! Rear Window is just one of my personal favorite films she was in, especially for her costumes in that. And how many actresses can you say was a princess consort in addition to being a famous leading lady?

#grace kelly #hedy lamarr #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5

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lemongrass-and-peppermint · 3 months

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Semi-Realistic Simon “Ghost” Riley Romance Headcanons!

Only semi-realistic because I'm delusional about this man

TW: mentions of angst, drugs, violence

Doesn’t go out looking for romance or dates—you’re most likely to meet him at a pub (the other TF141 boys will introduce you) or at a gym ( probably will only talk to you if you need help with some equipment).

I headcanon the man to be on the aroace spectrum in the sense that he just has no interest in either romance or sex whatsoever until he actually Meets someone. Like he can feel attraction but doesn’t pursue that at all.

And then even if he does fall in love he will not take initiative bc he’s genuinely fine just being friends.

If you wanna date this man then you need to take all the initiative, both romantically and sexually.

He won’t be completely cold though! Will initiate physical touch and affection all on his own. Depending on your size, he will either sling an arm around your shoulders or your lower back, likes to hold your hand.

Won’t be as touchy in public as at home but he will tolerate pretty much any touch from you! Doesn’t get embarrassed easily so if you start dancing in the streets he’ll mostly just keep watch to make sure nobody walks into you or you don’t trip. Will let you use him as a dancing partner even if he’s as still as a pole.

I think he gravitates to people that are both strong physically to some degree and also traumatized or a little fucked up. He might not know abt any of that for sure when u meet but he has a sixth sense for these things.

Regardless, he will make sure you know how to take care of yourself. Marksmanship training and workouts incoming, plus self-defense classes. It is a must, especially if you’re a woman or otherwise fem-presenting/visibly queer/vulnerable.

If you use mobility aids, he might get a *bit* overprotective of them and you. Will be grabby with wheelchairs until it is sternly explained to him to Not Do That. It makes him feel better when he can help you, but he understands and respects your independence!

If anything happens that will cause you to need mobility aids (such as a car accident or physical illness) this man’s taking a long ass leave and staying with you to help you out. He probably knows of some retired military men with mobility aids and assistance needs and will contact them to get a better idea of how to help you.

I see him as someone who likes to work with his hands so I can imagine him straight up building you mobility aids or wheelchairs and walkers and stuff like that. It might take him a couple of attempts until he makes something serviceable but he’d get there.

He is generally extremely calm, naturally just quiet. Still very much a family man (have you seen how he’s with his family in the comics????). He’s very soft, likes to be helpful and take charge of the household like a housewife more than ‘head of the family’ (you're most likely to be the 'top' here).

Will request control of finances if you’re a spender. Might forcibly take control over finances if you're really shit at them.

As calm as he is though, he is still a military man, and they are statistically likely to be… less than stellar partners. Ghost is never violent and if he gets mad he prefers to leave the house, put some distance between the two of you to calm down.

He will be especially prone to disappearing while mad/upset if you’re a woman/fem-leaning, because due to his upbringing he struggles with intrusive thoughts of violence towards women.

If you are the type to throw things, hit things, or degrade/insult him during arguments, he is permanently leaving and not coming back. No amount of apologizing is going to change that decision. He has self-respect and will not stand being abused or mistreated like that. His feelings for you disappear into thin air if you’re that type of angry person.

His toxicity would mostly come from him being emotionally unavailable and thus neglectful. He just has a hard time understanding how some actions come off. Will need long, mature conversations about it that will be difficult for both sides to get things settled here. Willing to hear and understand and change though! But you’d have to give him very clear instructions and behaviors to model.

Ghost’s brother, Tommy (rip), was addicted to drugs and almost died because of them, was quite the piece of shit—which Ghost rectified by forcing him into sobriety and getting him a wife. As such, Ghost hates drugs because he knows what they can do, and doesn’t partake in any. Even medical drugs, especially ones for depression (which he should be taking) are pushing it for him.

However, if he ever starts spiralling—which is rare but can happen—he goes for them real quick. Like, he jumps off the deep end. The spirals very often lead towards suicidal ideation and within a day he can go from “doesn’t even look at drugs” to overdosing on heroin.

Will be in a horribly fragile state for at least a week afterwards. Will need a lot of care and comfort to stay in a relationship (especially after the first time he spirals with you present), cause he’s still eye-deep in self-hatred and needs help to see past it. Grows extra clingy in that period if he has been Convinced. Like, hands on you all the time, following you to every room. He almost lost this??? Let him appreciate it now that he can do it again.

He’s gonna need some time to return to himself. Especially if he was in a hospital. He hates that place.

Will go to therapy but is not happy about it. If you’ve been together long, he might request that you come with him but listen to music so you can’t actually hear anything—he just wants to hold you like a stress ball.

Will melt if you go out of your way to do romantic gestures. He doesn’t do these often himself—at least not the stereotypical ones like flowers—but if you do it for him??? He might not show it with much enthusiasm, but he grows very quiet and soft and smiley, obsesses over the gift for as long as it lasts and needs to stay close to you for a while after. It’s a very small joy but it is marrow-deep and warm, soothing and comforting.

Overall I hc him as being very reserved emotionally but a pretty good boyfriend! If you have rejection sensitive dysphoria I can imagine you going thru the trenches with this man tho—curse his lack of facial expressions ToT

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod x reader #cod headcanons #simon riley x reader

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gatorbites-imagines · 5 months

Note

Apparently I have a twin now, so I'll call myself 'Crow Doctor'.

But can I request a Nightwing x Male Rogue Reader?

Basically, while Nightwing is fighting some other Rouges, he's hit with fear toxic or something and gets knocked out.

Reader being a bootleg medic of sorts, takes Nightwing to his hideout and patches him up. Taking care of him until he wakes up.

When he does, he figures out that Reader is a doctor who patches up and gives aid to the citizens of gotham that can't afford medical bills or insurance. and maybe after a bit, they start catching feelings for the other.

- Crow Doctor

Dick Grayson x Rogue Male Reader

Headcanons

Sorry this took a million years to write Crow, but I hope you enjoy it anyways :3c

Kinda took the rogue aspect and ran wild. Thought since you went by Crow Doctor, a plague doctor would be fun.

You were one of the newer Gotham Rogues, a next gen, as some would say. They called you Cadaver King, because of your start in the city, scattering corpses all over a specific area of the city, like you were marking your territory.

You wore something mildly inspired by plague doctors, only furthering your image as some kinda wacky insane doctor. No ones ever actually seen you carve people open for fun, but the rumors run rampant and keep normal criminals and gangs out of your territory.

Sure, bodies would still pile up at the borders of your territory as you slowly grow your area, and you have been thrown into Arkham more than once, but you always get out one way or another.

Unlike the other rogues, you are always able to stay out much longer, because you never just attack the public for no reason. You are most known for the cadavers found around the place stitched closed and looking like science experiments.

The bats quickly figure out that all the cadavers they find are criminals, people who do crime and hurt others just because they can, and never someone who steals or does crime because they have no other choice.

You get some respect from Red Hood for this reason, especially when he sees you targeting those that hurt children, using them in sick experiments and furthering your medical knowledge.

The Bats never figure out that under the surface, you are the backer to most smaller medical clinics around the city. The ones not run by Wayne at least. You are a monster, yes, but like all villains you have an origin story, and yours involves those you cared for not getting the medical help they needed, because they couldn’t afford it.

In your past, you would help anybody you could for free, finishing medical school top of your class. But your less than stellar past caused prejudice in many, and you found yourself used and abused by those above you in the food chain.

It didn’t help that you would steal to support those who couldn’t afford medical help themselves. What finally caused you to snap was getting caught stealing medicine, and instead of just getting you arrested, one of the top doctors in the hospital poured dangerous liquids all over you, scarring you for life and putting you in a constant state of torture.

Seeing so many innocent people die because of greed, and seeing your superior laughing as you writhe and wail in pain, is what breaks you. He ends up the first of your many cadavers, his body splayed out in his own operating theater.

Its only a very long time later that people discover just who’s doing all this killing, since so much death and murder happens around Gotham. It’s the fact that they have all been cut and stitched up professionally that clues the Gotham Police in on it being the same guy.

Then you start making a name for yourself, you start fighting the Bats, you target public figures, leaving their bodies hanging from their mansions or workplaces. All whilst wearing your plague doctor mask.

You have even done procedures on multiple of the bats over the years, never anything that could kill them, and it always ends up being stuff that helps them in the long run. They don’t know that though, they just think you are a psycho that likes to cut into people.

All the backstory aside, its this that leads to you hanging around in the shadows and observing as the Bats are fighting the latest Arkham escapees. Scarecrow has pulled himself into your territory, and whilst you like Jonathan, and have worked together many times, it still annoys you.

Seeing Nightwing go down because of fear toxin also makes your blood boil. Mainly because, unlike Jonathan who only seemed to care about fear, you were still a doctor at heart, and you knew how much fear toxin could harm the body, having treated many patients in the past.

That’s why you end up chasing Jonathan out of your territory, wielding different surgical tools and other blades on your person.

Returning to the rooftop with the passed out hero, you don’t even have to think about throwing him over your shoulder and bringing him to one of your many, many, medical studios around the city.

The only people who has more hideouts than you is probably the bats, and yours are definingly more medically equipped than theirs. You never know when youll find a patient, or how quickly they need treatment, so of course you and your lackeys have as many treatment areas as possible.

Theres not much you can do about fear toxin outside of giving Nightwing an antidote and giving him some oxygen to clear it out of his system faster. You stay nearby to observe him though as you work on patient reports.

Normally your lackeys stand for it, all lackeys having above average medical knowledge in general, but you like to check stuff over yourself, just in case. It’s a great way to spend time as you wait, and being productive during.

You have a lot of reports to answer from your lackeys during the night, as the other rogues being out means a lot of patients you need to help. Unlike other lackeys, yours don’t really wear uniforms, meaning they can sneak around without the bats knowing they’re yours.

The only thing that puts them out as yours, is the fact that they all always have medical equipment and first aid kits on their person. You honestly find it kinda funny how the Bats can never seem to figure out your ways, at least not fast enough, as you change up how you do things constantly.

As the night passes, with you waiting for Nightwing to wake up, you end up removing your outer layers. Shrugging off your heavy coat and gloves, even taking off your plague doctor mask. Underneath you wear a compression therapy mask most days, as the liquids the doctor threw on you left lifelong damage.

In the beginning you had been horrified and disgusted by your appearance, but over the years you had come to accept it as a part of yourself. You found out it had a tendency to make patients trust you more, as they knew you had been through something just as horrible as themselves, so you never tried to fix it with plastic surgery.

When Nightwing finally wakes up, you check on him, go through the basics, make sure he’s all there, before you shove him out of your studio. He doesn’t even have time to ask who you are, or what you are doing, or why you helped him.

Going back to the cave, he talks to the other Bats, and they are able to find the injection point where you injected the antidote to the fear toxin, and they can find clues to the treatment you gave him.

You owning an antidote means you are either connected to the Gotham Police, or, you are able to find it yourself, meaning you are a criminal. It puts you on their radar, both as Cadaver king, and as yourself.

The only one who would probably recognize you is Batman himself, since he’s always the one putting you in Arkham, but none of the others have ever seen your face.

Dick finds himself drawn to you in some way, and he ends up hanging out in the area you treated him, hoping to find you again.

Its only coincidence that he ends up in your territory again next time he’s really banged up from patrol and you find him. You are maskless again, compression mask on, as you scoff at his sorry state and drag him to the same studio you used last time.

It becomes a common occurrence, Dick running off to you to get treated. He even starts entering your studio when you are not there, and its only thanks to the sensors you have around the place that you know he’s there, since you don’t give him a way to contact you.

As time passes, he finds himself in your studio for the smallest cut or bruise, just because he wants to spend time with you, and you can’t find it in yourself to send him away since the acrobat has quadruple flipped his way into your heart.

The first time he sees your full face, covered in scars like it is, you can’t help but be gripped by fear that he will be disgusted by you. But instead, he just smiles and looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Its only after you guys have been a thing for a while, that he discovers your rogue status. And it’s because he’s spending time in your studio again, when you come barreling in, in full rogue getup, carrying one of your lackeys who had a bad run-in with killer croc.

Dick just stands in the shadows and watches with wide eyes as you rip your mask off and get ready for surgery. He watches as you bark as your other lackeys to get them ready, and he watches as you save the lackeys life.

Somewhere inside Dick probably already knew who you were, how else would you have access to the kinda equipment Gotham’s biggest hospital struggled to get their hands on. He knows all you do for people, as you guys have talked about it before, and he can’t find it in himself to hate you for the fact that you target the worst scum of the earth and use them to further your knowledge.

Its only after you finish up with your lackeys that you look at him, a sad look in your eyes as you know you guys will need to talk.

Its ends with you two on the rooftop of the building, spending a long time just sitting and talking. Talking morals, personal codes, your past, your future, so on and so forth.

But instead of breaking up with you, Dick ends up pulling off his domino mask and telling you who he is before kissing you. You are both people with missions, and Bruce is the one with the no killing rule. The fact that your experiments have slowed down a lot over the years only helps.

You are great at keeping secrets, and you can never find it in yourself to expose Dicks identity no matter what.

You end up worming your way into Anti-hero status as Cadaver King, since it starts to become public knowledge that you have so many legal medical facilities all over town, and that all your lackeys know medical knowledge to help people.

Doesn’t stop you from hunting down corrupt doctors or those that use and manipulate the weak and desperate, but that’s just how it.

Imagine the Batfams reaction when Dick brings you to dinner at the manor for the first time. They know Dick is in a relationship, and has been for a while. Bruce almost chokes on his drink when Dick shows up with you on his arm though.

Most of the family will accept you though, especially with your anti-hero status. You probably end up getting along most with Jason though, since you guys already got along as Red Hood and Cadaver king.

Expect to become the entire batfams doctor though, taking some weight off of Alfreds shoulders. Even Alfred can get overwhelmed with how many of them there are. Ends up letting you get along well with Alfred though, so that’s a plus.

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