#I snapped a needle in two making this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jinjeriffic · 3 months

Text

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #dc domics #batfamily #no beta we die like danny phantom #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic #congrats bruce it's a boy #clockwork loves melodrama

2K notes · View notes

amidnightjen · 10 months

Text

“What the hell is this?!”

The words startle Steve awake more effectively than his alarm ever managed and he flails a bit, almost falling off the couch until he recognises Dustin looming over him, hands on hips looking extremely unimpressed.

(Later Steve will have time to be fondly amused that the gesture came from him.)

“Henderson?” he asks, blinking up at the kid with bleary eyes. “Jesus, what time is it?”

“6:30,” Dustin informs him.

“In the morning?” he croaks.

“Yes, in the morning!” Dustin snaps. “What the hell is this Steve?”

Steve is still mostly asleep, he knows he looks like a mess and he also knows that he and Dustin did not have any sort of plans that would give him reason to be waking Steve up at six-fucking-thirty in the morning. So he says, “Sleep, Henderson. It’s sleep.”

Dustin does not look amused by this. “Do you always fall asleep on the couch with Eddie?”

Steve blinks up at Dustin, confused. “What? Eddie?”

Dustin gestures behind Steve and Steve, against his better judgement, turns his head to find that Eddie is in fact on the couch behind him. Turning put him face-to-face with the other man and Steve just sort of blinks in befuddlement before wondering aloud, “Jesus Christ how is he still asleep?” Because he genuinely has no idea how anyone could be sleeping through Dustin’s sheer volume.

“That’s all you have to say?” Dustin demands.

“It’s early,” Steve complains.

“You’re sleeping with Eddie!”

“Well i was,” Steve groaned, “right up until you started shouting. Why are you even here?”

“Sleeping. With. Eddie,” Dustin repeats in case it was lost on Steve the first time.

“It’s six thirty in the morning!” Steve points out. Again. What else was he supposed to be doing at that time of day?

“Sleeping with Eddie!” Dustin repeats like a bad record, needle skipping back and forth.

Steve is too tired for this. “Make sense or go away and come back in two hours.”

“Steve,” and Dustin sounds very serious now, “are you having sex with Eddie?”

“…no?” He squints at Dustin, a little concerned about the kid’s knowledge of sex if he’s asking that when Steve is lying fully clothed and half asleep next to an equally fully clothed and still asleep Eddie.

Dustin does not find this funny. “Then what the hell is this? Why are you cuddling on the couch?”

Relieved, Steve says, “Oh, you didn’t mean that literally.” Then he shrugs. “We must have fallen asleep down here.”

“You fell asleep cuddling on the couch?” Dustin’s voice is very dry.

“…i guess?” Steve doesn’t actually know how the cuddling came about - would he call it cuddling? - but he gets the feeling he should be more worried about what Dustin is insinuating than he is. Mostly because, “Seriously, why the hell are you here so early?”

“Apparently, to catch you and Eddie snuggling on the couch,” Dustin snipes. “Is this going to be a thing?”

Steve looks long and hard at Eddie, doesn’t let himself sink too deeply into the thoughts or the fears, just looks at him and then he says to Dustin, “Yeah, probably.”

Dustin’s outrage is not faked this time and it is loud enough to finally wake Eddie.

#july writing challenge #stranger things #steve x eddie #steve harrington #dustin henderson #eddie munson #pre relationship #steddie #implied steddie

5K notes · View notes

luveline · 4 months

Note

I’m on my knees for anything bombshell and spence 🙏🏽 maybe their first real date??? or them working a case after they are officially together

Oh, the misery.

You and Spencer are supposed to be in a low lit restaurant right now feeding each other spoonfuls of parsnip soup between lovey-dovey eyefuls of one another, legs tangled under the table, your kitten heel scratching against the rubber sole of his converse.

You're supposed to be dressed to the nines, your shawl fragrant with the vanilla perfume Spencer likes so much, a dress cut to the thigh that shows just a little too much when you lean forward. You're supposed to be kissing like idiots in the back seat of your car.

“They haven't seen anything this bad since the Creek Killer, and this is two active UnSub's at once, so let's keep that in mind,” Hotch says, nodding to the door for Rossi to follow. He sends you and Spencer a look that may or may not be knowing as he adds, “And keep this professional.”

“Aren't we professional?” you ask Spencer.

“No!” Morgan calls, he and Emily already out the door.

Hotch and Rossi are on crime scene duty. Morgan and Emily the victim's family. JJ will be snapping at the heels of the ravenous media in an attempt to dissuade them from following this case too closely: it's a bad one. Coverage will make it worse.

You're on theory. There are two halves to your job —analysing past cases with similarities, and scrutinising the details of the current case. What you really want is to be analysing Spencer Reid's stupid hot face, and for his hands to be scrutinising your hips. Or your legs. Or your mouth.

“I know what you're thinking.”

You raise your eyebrows at Spencer. “I don't think you do.”

He laughs, “No, I do.” His tie gets caught under his elbow as he grabs your notebook. “They always give you the worst jobs.”

“That's just not true, Mr. Reid. This is my very favourite job.”

“Dr. Reid,” Spencer corrects, a smile already playing on his lips in anticipation of your reaction.

You needle an elbow into his side until he huffs and pulls away. Surrendering. Typical. Displaced air fans your hand as he opens your notebook to a blank page. “We'll start with UnSub commonalities, just as soon as…” he murmurs, his pen scratching across the top line. You can't see past his shoulder.

“Serials targeting women,” you say immediately. “Likely older, white, male, the usual. Murders are incisive, and disgusting, but the signatures are so different, they can't be– Does the pen not work?”

Spencer shakes his head, sliding the notebook across the table to you. “Had to do this first.”

Caveats for perfect first date, Spencer's written, a list with one lonely bullet point. Me and you together.

You shouldn't be surprised. It's really not unlike him to be sweet, but this is alarmingly confident. I'm gonna eat him, you think, looking up with a smirk that turns soft at the sight of him. His cheeks are marbling with red flush, hair in his eyes as he stares anywhere but you.

“Spence, are you blushing?” you ask fondly.

“Don't be upset about tonight,” he murmurs, ignoring you with a hint of worry to his tone. “I know it's not what you wanted, but I– we can still go, when we're home–”

You press your lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your smile. “Yeah, we can still go, but you're right, Spence. You are. This is as good a place as any. 'N' I can make any date perfect.”

Your joke rescues him from the depths of mortification. He clears his throat, says, “Exactly. But we should get back to the list.”

He takes your hand under the table, long fingers sewn between yours.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

1K notes · View notes

familyvideostevie · 24 days

Text

time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve.

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened.

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease.

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself.

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask.

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says.

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make.

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do.

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

903 notes · View notes

hanjisick · 1 month

Text

chemical infatuation

genre. yandere au. patient!jisung x researcher!reader

desc. jisung takes part in a high-paying yet sketchy study with seemingly no risks, but the injection causes him to quickly grow obsessed with the daytime staff member assigned to his study.

warnings. needles. vomit. murder.

wc. 3.5k

“is it a bad time to tell you that i’m a little claustrophobic?” your patient, han jisung, nervously shifted in his seat, fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

“we have to keep you in this containment during our research.“

the containment room, with its dim lighting and cushioned walls, seemed to close in on him. the dimensions felt constricting, heightening the anxiety surging through his veins.

every inch of the space was under surveillance, every move to be meticulously scrutinized by the watchful eyes of researchers.

what a sketchy situation. but it was better than he had expected from a craigslist ad that he had chanced upon.

the snap of your rubber gloves pulled him away from his thoughts, “it isn’t too late to back out, we have a few more candidates willing to take your place.”

500 million won. that was enough for him to do anything.

“i’m fine. i’m ready.”

“alright then, pull your arm out of your sweater for me.”

“i have a tank top underneath.” the boy shuffled out of the sweater and placed it onto his lap.

“and as the paperwork says, you have no allergies, anaphylaxis, or any history of mental illness?”

“nope.”

he flinched as the cool alcohol pad met his bicep.

“the medication we are testing for you should not hurt you much as far as we are concerned,” you began prepping the needle and syringe, “the only side effects that we predict could be a minor headache for a couple of days. it is not dangerous.”

jisung closed his eyes as you squeezed his arm slightly, pushing the needle through his skin.

you gently placed the gauze onto his arm, “finished. how do you feel immediately?”

“normal. a little shaken up from nerves, but no problems. what do i do now?”

“you’ll be watched for a month. the only restrictions are that you aren’t allowed to leave this room or use any devices.”

the idea of isolation and confinement weighed a bit heavily on him, but he was determined to see it through.

you motion towards the mattress in the corner, “we will change your bedding twice throughout the month. let us know if you are uncomfortable with the temperature of the room, need extra bedding, or anything else.”

jisung nodded.

“let us know if you need to use the bathroom and we will temporarily disable the cameras for your privacy. but we will take urine samples if we deem it necessary.”

“and what about food?”

“you’ll be fed three meals per day, with two snacks.”

“thank you. that’s all i need to know,” he paused for a moment, “other than your name. what’s your name?”

“y/n l/n,” you gather your paperwork, “your personal belongings will be returned once we go through to make sure there is nothing that could alter our research.”

the door had closed and locked, leaving jisung alone in the room with just his thoughts to keep him company until his stuff was given back to him.

Beginning Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, no known medical problems

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung feels nervous about receiving the injection. Administered at 16:38 with no noted side effects.

you watched the boy through the array of cameras placed strategically throughout the room as he lay on the mattress. his sweater was haphazardly discarded across the room, a seemingly small attempt to make himself more comfortable in the sterile, plain environment.

despite the initial nerves of a new medication, nothing had seemed to happen. at the fifteen-minute mark, you stepped away from the cameras for a moment— if there were to be a severe sudden reaction, it would have manifested by now, you reasoned.

throughout your shift, your attention continued to drift back to the screens displaying jisung’s every move. with each glance, you found him engaged in various activities—doodling, writing in a journal, or simply staring off into space, lost in thought.

nothing seemed to go wrong. perhaps this medication would be approved.

Overnight Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, no known medical problems

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung ate all of dinner and requested night snacks. He had slept well. No side effects were recorded.

you press the bright red button, lowering your mouth to the microphone.

“how is everything down there? any side effects?”

“y/n? is that you speaking?”

“yes,” you were surprised that the boy had remembered your name, “what are your symptoms?”

“you should come into the room to speak with me. i’m lonely here.”

“i have to record your symptoms. i can’t come down there unless i know that you’re stable.”

the microphone had only barely picked up his sigh. “i’m normal.”

“any headaches? dizziness? dry throat?”

“nope. nothing. everything’s fine. just lonely.”

you sigh. he seemed normal. he was lying in bed, staring up at one of the cameras.

so it was fine, right?

you push open the door, greeted by the grinning patient on his mattress.

“you smell nice. what products do you use?”

what an odd conversation starter. “nothing special. just a lavender-scented body wash.”

he nods. “the overnight staff were fine, but i think that i prefer you. i can’t put my finger on it quite yet.”

was jisung naturally this blunt with his words? or was he flirting with you?

“what do you plan to do during your stay here?”

he leans back against the cushioned wall, “i compose songs for artists. i figured that it would be easy to get a lot of work done in here.”

“i see. is that your songwriting journal then?” you eye the small black book and pen next to him.

he takes the pen into his hand, “yup. it’s one of the few things that i brought here.”

“you’ll have to show me some of your work sometime throughout the month.”

“you can look at my work now,” he grins, clicking the pen, “my name is HAN. look me up.”

the name stays in your mind as you exit the room and lock the door. you find your way back to your seat at the cameras to supervise the man, pulling your lunch out of your back.

one hand holds a sandwich as the other browses through safari, looking at the songs that your patient had composed.

you hadn’t heard any of them, but perhaps it would be a good idea to look into the lyrics. it would give you things to talk about with him for the following month.

the rest of the shift was boring. you watched as he wrote in his notebook, ate his food, hummed to himself— nothing interesting.

the most intriguing thing that you experienced was the occasional ‘help!’ button being pressed, only for the man to announce that he needed to take a piss.

your misery was ended once your coworker entered the room, placing his keys and bag down on the table.

a sigh of relief left you, “thank god. it’s so boring.”

“thanks for the warning.”

Overnight Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, no known medical problems

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung ate all of dinner and requested no night snack. Awoke at 01:00 and 03:00. Specified no reason for waking. Special request for morning staff: Deliver lavender-scented body wash.

your eyes stared down at the note with slightly widened eyes.

perhaps he had good intentions, perhaps your defenses were just too high. after all, he might just like the scent of lavender like you did.

“good morning. any headaches? dizziness? dry throat?”

“my arm is a little sore, and i’m a bit restless, but that is all.”

you record his answers— finally something to write down.

“i saw your request from last night. i’ll get a staff member to deliver your body wash. did you run out? i’m sure we gave you enough.”

“i still have some. i just wanted to try yours out.”

how strange.

“you’re coming down to see me today, right?”

“not today. i want to see if your symptoms worsen throughout the day. it’s best to be careful.”

you watch through the camera as he slumps back, visibly disappointed.

today, the boy had begun to act a little bit differently. every couple of minutes, he would stop his writing to look up at the camera.

you would hold eye contact with him for a few moments, even though he couldn’t see you before he would look back down again with a large grin that wasn’t on his face before.

soon, the bottle of body wash was delivered to his room.

“y/n! is that you?” he jumped out of bed as the lock clicked, only to be disappointed to see a man in a mask and gloves leave it right inside of the door.

he crept towards the bottle, snapping the lid off, holding it up to his nose, then inhaling deeply.

“it smells like you.”

you clenched your teeth, writing down the reactions.

walking over towards the center of the room, he peeled his t-shirt off his frame, then pulled down his sweatpants and boxers in one go.

you shrieked, slamming the buttons to disable the camera.

he was supposed to tell you when he needed privacy.

with shaky hands, you began to jot down his behaviors.

once ten minutes had passed, you turned the camera back on in hopes that he was decent again. this time, you had enabled the camera with caution, only to see that he was showering.

you disable it once again and decide that this would be a good time to have lunch.

the image of the naked man was etched into your mind as you tried to force the salad down your throat.

it was a good thirty minutes until you got the courage to turn the camera back on, sighing in relief as you saw him on his bed with sweatpants on once again.

jisung stared up at the ceiling with hooded eyes, chest rising and falling— you weren’t sure what was going through his mind.

you press the button. “everything alright in there?”

he perked up, “y/n, everything is just fine. i wish you were in here, though, instead of behind that stupid camera.”

you bite your lip uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond.

changing the subject would be best.

“lunch will be delivered soon.”

“good. i’m a bit hungry.”

you take your finger off of the button, sitting back in your seat, waiting for your shift to be over.

Overnight Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, no known medical problems

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung ate most of dinner and requested no night snack. Had difficulty falling and staying asleep. Awoke many times to journal. Refused conversation about his symptoms.

“y/n? you’re here, right? right?”

you had only just opened the door to the surveillance room, met with his muffled voice through the speakers.

“y/n? y/n? baby? my beautiful doll?”

the nickname caught you off guard, breath caught in your throat.

before answering, you grabbed the pen off the desk to jot down the behavior. this was not normal.

he stared directly into the camera. “i know you’re here. i journaled the minutes until he would leave and you would replace him.”

your legs shook as you took a seat.

why were you so nervous? it wasn’t like you were in danger. the door was locked. his body language did not seem hostile.

but his eyes told a different story. they were dark, crazed, restless.

“doll? can you hear me? can you hear me?”

your voice stuttered, “what are your symptoms?”

“i missed your voice, y/n.”

“any headaches? dizziness? dry throat?”

“none,” jisung answered quickly, “so you can come down and see me, right?”

you lied through your teeth. “not today. we are still a bit worried about yesterday’s symptoms.”

“fuck!” his forehead hit against the wall.

you took your finger away from the button.

he balled his hand into a fist before hurling it towards the same wall.

jisung crumbles to the floor. “i can’t take it anymore.”

“are you alright? are you in pain? do you need help?” you grasp your pen with an unsteady hand, “tell me what’s going on. talk to me.”

“i need to see you again, i waited all night just for you to tell me no.”

“it’s for the safety of you and myself.”

his voice was barely above a raspy whisper, “i promise i won’t hurt you, i’d never hurt you. i couldn’t hurt you.”

“jisung,” you started sternly, “i’m unable to see you. please abide by the rules of the study.”

“can’t i quit?”

“you signed a form stating that unless there is a medical emergency, you aren’t to leave this room. i’m quite not sure that you’re in your right state of mind right now.”

“i would be fine if you’d let me see you again.”

it was pointless to argue with the man, so you let go of the button, jotting down the conversation.

jisung did not eat, speak, or move from his spot that day.

Overnight Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, no known medical problems

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung ate no dinner and requested no night snack. Did not sleep through the night. Refused conversation.

“doll, you’re back.” his raspy voice announced your presence just as you opened the door as if he was in the room with you.

on the camera, he was spread out in the middle of the floor like a starfish. his blonde hair covered his face, but you could still see the eye bags forming under his sunken eyes.

“i have a bit of a headache. i’m dizzy. my throat is dry,” he answered your questions for you, “will i get to see you today, doll?”

you were a bit afraid to answer, hesitating as you pressed the button, “i’m sorry. no.”

“but i will be able to see you after the study, right? after the study you’ll marry me, right?”

your heart dropped into your stomach at the words.

“i have a partner, jisung.”

“i know,” he smiled lightly, “it’s me. but soon i’ll be your husband, right?”

this was too much. you felt sick. you needed to alert the rest of the team and let someone else take over this case. hell, you might even quit your job.

“imagine you as han y/n. it sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?”

his crazed voice rang through your ears as you stood up from your seat.

“nobody else has ever made me feel this way, do you know that? all i want is you. and i’ve only seen you twice. isn’t that absurd? love is just so beautiful.”

his words caused you to still. you felt like a deer in headlights.

“do you think the shot is what made me crazy? because ever since we met eyes after you gave it to me, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. about your touch, even through the gloves. all of my songs have been about you. i even drew you.”

waves of nausea came crashing down on you.

“i can’t wait until i’m finally out of here. i can finally have you all to myself. i’ll kill that night staff for taking you away from me.”

jisung scoffed at the thought of him, “and he’s the one who gets the pleasure of passing by you every day? do you like him? i’ll gouge his eyes out and wear his skin if you like him more than me, hm?”

you raced towards the trash can in the corner of the room, stomach churning as your breakfast came right out of your mouth.

the smell was putrid, acidic, disgusting. but not as disgusting as the words of the sick man behind the camera.

“did you watch me shower, my love? i don’t mind if you did. your lavender body wash felt so good on my body, i imagined it was you in there with me, washing my body yourself—“

you ran out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

“he’s crazy! he’s gone mad!” you point towards the surveillance room, tears streaming down your face as you try to explain the situation to the nearest person that you can find.

“calm down. go to the break room. i’ll alert the rest and we’ll handle it.”

“you’ll be okay,” a staff member reassures, handing you a much-needed drink from the vending machine, “he won’t be able to escape. we will detain him and try to get him any help that we can.”

“even aside from how creepy he was, i just feel terrible, you know? i gave him that shot.”

“it isn’t your fault. he knew what he was getting into. we tried our best to determine the effects. there was no way of knowing.”

although he was right, guilt and horror still ate you up as you rested your head in your hands.

“this is why our job is important, so that only one person gets hurt instead of an entire population of people.”

“what a shitty job.”

he laughed as he got up, “tell me about it. i’m gonna go see what i can do to help. let us know if you need anything.”

the door closes and you lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes.

all you could think about was the man and his words.

‘i can’t wait until i’m finally out of here. i can finally have you all to myself. i’ll kill that night staff for taking you away from me.’

would he be able to leave? would he be able to get over this love sickness? is it reversible? nobody knew anything about it. the only thing that could be done is watching him.

it only seemed to get worse over the days, and you didn’t want to know what he would be like at the end of the month.

Overnight Notes

Han Jisung (Male)

23 years old, psychosis

Acterenol, Administered 16:38, 5/17/25.

Intramuscular, Upper Arm

Notes: Jisung ate no dinner and requested no night snack. Did not sleep through the night. Refused conversation aside from asking for previous staff, Y/N L/N.

you no longer worked with jisung. instead, you had been assigned to a new case.

“it isn’t too late to back out, we have a few more candidates willing to take your place.”

“i’m not nervous. go ahead and inject me, doctor,” the patient joked, pulling her sleeve up.

“and as the paperwork says, your only allergy is mild reaction to shellfish, but no anaphylaxis or any history of mental illness?”

“all correct.”

you were wiping her bicep with alcohol when the door had opened, screams piercing your ears from outside of the soundproof room.

“y/n?”

blood dripped onto the floor from his heaving form, eyes bloodshot and locked right on your form. in his hand, he held a loaded handgun, the smell of gun powder seeping into the room.

the patient in front of you screeched, immediately making a run for it before her brains were splattered across the room.

your ears rung from the shot, standing stalk still as jisung approached you.

everything was moving too quickly. you couldn’t process a single thing. your head was spinning. you needed to survive.

“please, i’ll do anything, don’t hurt me.”

“i told you. i won’t hurt you, i’d never hurt you. i couldn’t hurt you.” a bloody hand ran through your hair, taking advantage of your frozen figure.

“i can’t believe i’m so close to you right now.” his nose buried into your neck and you could feel the cold metal of the gun pressing against your back.

“they’re all dead. and you’re back.”

he dropped the gun to the floor, fishing through his pocket.

before you could register what was happening, jisung had already lodged a needle into your arm.

“sleep tight, my doll, i’ll get us out of here.”

588 notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 1 month

Text

Ok, I have two alternatives, pick which one you like the best.

Reader get picked to tutor Eddie even though they have always been at each other's throat, she thinking he's a drama queen, pissed that the popular people doesn't like him and he thinks she's a stuck up bitch without humor.

So they go back and forth but maybe one day when she's having a bad day and Eddie says something and she starts crying he gets all "what, how, why? What did I do, please don't cry!"

Or, that he catches her reading a romance novel and outwardly she has always just read classics - books that are 'high education'

Request by @somethingvicked 🫶💞 went with the first option 💞

Warnings; Little bit of angst, meanish Eddie, fluff. Accidental kiss.

💌🎀💌🎀

"You've got to be kidding me?" you gawk at Miss O'Donnell who has called you back at the end of class. She's asked you to tutor someone and at first you were all for it.

That's until you found out it was Eddie Munson, Munson who is currently sitting at the back of the class with his feet up on the desk in front of him, he gives you a sarcastic little wave and you turn back to Miss O'Donnell and hope she comes to her senses.

"He needs a tutor if he wants to graduate. You're the best student in the class. It will look wonderful on your college applications that you tutored Mr Munson" shit there was really no getting out of this.

Reluctantly you turn to Eddie who already doesn't like you. In his honest opinion you seemed prissy and stuck up. The two of you spent half your time at each other's throats, it had been like that for so long.

Equally you couldn't stand Eddie either. He was loud, a show off and you were sure he was jealous of the popular people he claimed to hate.

How you would manage to tutor him for weeks on end was anyone's guess. One thing's for sure, you were dreading this.

"Meet me after school tomorrow and we can get started okay?" You say to him already grumpy at having to spend extra time with him. Eddie swings his legs off the desk and smirks, then bows.

"As you wish princess" ugh, you storm out but not before hearing Eddie's laughter.

Asshole.

🎀💌🎀💌

The first week of tutoring Eddie is as horrible as you expected. He's antagonistic, makes no effort and needles at your patience until it's paper thin.

"How can you be expected to graduate if you don't make an effort?" You snap as Eddie strums on his guitar.

"That old bat has it in for me, even when I try my best she still doesn't care" Eddie hisses back and you feel the beginnings of a headache come on.

"You just need to apply yourself better, if you want to graduate then you need to ace this Munson" he glares at you.

"Don't you think I know that? It's easy for you though isn't it princess, since your little miss perfect" the insult flares up your annoyance and you and Eddie devolve into your usual arguments.

"Don't you think I have better things to do then tutor you Munson? So do us both a favour and start paying attention, so we can go our separate ways sooner".

He huffs and places down his guitar with gentle care, grabs his notebook and

"Did you draw these?" you ask curious as you trace your fingers over the images on his notebook. He nods and looks at you like he's expecting you to give him shit.

"They are really good Munson, you could think about applying to an art course after graduation" Eddie scoffs and takes his notebook back.

"Yeah like anyone's going to take me with my grades" his tone is all annoyance and it pisses you off.

"I was only trying to compliment you, why do you have to be so touchy all the time" you look away from him stubbornly, he is silent for a few seconds and when he speaks again his voice is soft.

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to a lot of compliments from people" this softens you as well and you turn to face him and give him a small smile.

"Well you're really good" there's a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks when you say this. He nods and settles back down beside you.

"You know uh, you're pretty good with the whole writing thing, uh shit, you know what I mean" pleased and a little flustered at his compliment you clear your throat and mutter thank you, then get started with the book you and Eddie are reading for class.

🎀💌🎀💌

Today has been the worst day. You overslept, forgot to hand your essay in to your biology teacher, the rain soaked you completely as soon as you left your home and you've been verging on a cold ever since.

So the thought of having to tutor Munson again does not fill you with joy, in all honesty all you want is your bed and to sleep. You couldn't get sick, you had too much to do.

Of course from the moment you meet up with Eddie he's difficult. All because it's Friday and he has a Hellfire meeting.

"I have to set everything up princess, I don't have time to waste here with you" furious you round on him.

"You think that I want to be here? No. I'd rather be at home so sit down and let's get on with this so I don't have to sit with your annoying ass any longer than I have to"

"Well at least I'm not a stuck up bitch with no sense of humour and a permanent stick up my ass"

Eddie's words cut to the bone and you stiffen in response. Don't cry, don't cry you chant to yourself, but you can't help as the tears roll down your cheeks, Eddie's big brown eyes widen in shock as you begin to cry.

Humiliated, you're just about to leave when he steps in front of you. "Wait, what did I do?" The two of you exchanged insults on a daily basis and you had never cried before, Eddie begins to panic as your sobs continue.

"Please don't cry" he says, he hates seeing you cry. Your little whimper stabs at his aching heart and on instinct he reaches over to you and takes your hand, the gesture surprises you both and it dries up your tears.

"I'm sorry, I don't like seeing you cry, please stop" you sniff and wipe the remainder of the tears away, Eddie's hand is still holding yours and it's making you feel things that you never expected.

Eddie gently strokes your hand with his thumb, marvels at the soft skin and how your hand fits perfectly in his own.

Uh, shit. This was new. You smile at him, suddenly seeming shy. His heart skips a beat. Jesus h Christ.

"I didn't mean it" he stumbles over his words and you sigh sadly, peer at him with an expression that tugs at his heart.

"Yes you did" he shakes his head fervently and assured you that he didn't.

"I just snapped back without thinking, I'm sorry" he pleads with you and you hear the sincerity in his voice and calm down a bit.

"I'm sorry too. Today has been so shit, I'm tired and I feel like crap. I just want to sleep" Eddie immediately grabs his notebook and pencil and sits down, he looks to you patiently.

"Let's do half an hour and I'll cram as much as I can in my brain and then I'm going to drive you home okay?" relived you nod but still feel worried.

"Miss O'Donnell won't be happy" you tell him and he shrugs as if he doesn't care one bit.

"Leave the old dragon to me okay princess?" touched at his sweetness you take his hand and squeeze it as a thank you. Surprisingly the half hour passes by cordially and Eddie is still sweet.

Before you know it the half hour has ended and Eddie is true to his word and drives you home. You don't feel much better and your stomach is fluttering like crazy being so close to Eddie.

What the hell was happening? Was this some side effect of the flu? Eddie's big brown eyes meet yours, "Thanks for driving me home Eddie"

He shrugs like it's no big deal and on impulse you reach over to kiss his cheek. The only thing is he moves so you miss completely and end up pressing your lips against his.

His eyes widen and you pull away embarrassed, your heart is racing and your lips are tingling from the kiss. You stammer out an apology but Eddie waves it off, you race out the door and into your house.

All the while Eddie is touching his lips, his own heart is racing a mile a minute and all he can think about is that he really wants to kiss you again.

💌🎀💌🎀

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #mean!eddie munson #enemies to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson

508 notes · View notes

two-white-butterflies · 5 months

Text

silver spring | coriolanus snow | part two

Description: Coriolanus loses his family to war.

Pairing: young-president!coriolanus snow/wife!reader

Warning: childbirth, major character death, angst, reader is presumed to have died before the 74th hunger games.

part one

"Coriolanus," you whispered in the dead of night, feeling water trickle down your legs. "Yes?" he raised his eyebrows, eyes adjusting to the light. You were silent for another second. "Yes?" he repeated his question, believing that you were too afraid to speak.

"The child is coming," you groaned - feeling another wave of pain crash towards your hurting body. He bolts awake, not a flash of tiredness seen in his eyes. "Alira! Violet!" he called for your maids, another groan escapes your mouth.

"Coriolanus, calm down." you mumbled, taking the sheets off your lower body. He takes a shuddering breath, regaining his composure. "I am calm," he lied - and all the lights of the mansion began to open.

The first lady is giving birth!

It was his destiny to be haunted by all of the women he's loved before. His mother, Lucy Gray - you...?

The doctors always told him that your pregnancy was critical, that one mistake could cost your life. It was part of the reason why he distanced himself, he doesn't like to feel hurt - he doesn't want to vulnerable again. He sits outside of your shared room, the doctor arrived a few hours ago.

Are you trying to kill me, Lucy Gray!

He remembers screaming for that damned woman, even during the birth of his child - he couldn't help but think about her. He wonders if he stayed, would his life be different? He wasn't meant to be this - he wasn't born to be the President of Panem, he wasn't born to have all these powers - he took them from someone.

What would his life be like without that pain?

Maybe it was a small cottage, the smell of pumpkin soup - and Lucy. No, stop thinking about Lucy Gray. She's dead. You killed her, Corio.

He snaps out of his thoughts when Alira peeks her head through the door. "She wants you, President Snow." the woman informed, opening the door further until the gap was big enough for Coriolanus to enter.

He sees you laying there - eyes dull, and skin pale enough to see through. "Coriolanus," you called out to him, holding out a hand so that he may hold it. "Does it hurt?" he inquired reluctantly, afraid to show you even a tinge of care. "Very," you chuckled - the servants pull out a chair for him to sit. "- a pain worthy for a strong son." you added - forcing a smile.

Coriolanus couldn't help but smile back.

It was the first time that his smile reached his eyes.

"They've pumped me with enough meds to make a tiger sleep. It's making me drowsy," you continued with the conversation, hoping that it would distract you from the brain-shattering pain on your side. "It's good, you won't remember the pain after." he responded.

He could feel your grip tighten on his hand. You stare at him - forehead filled with sweat. He hates you. He tries to remind himself, but it was no use. How could he hate the mother of his child? How could he hate his wife?

"I wish that they just made me sleep - and cut my stomach open." you mumbled, feeling those tiny needles prick your spine. "The pain will go away, you should listen to the doctor." he mumbled, rubbing circles on your fist. "Gods be damned," you muttered - closing your eyes.

"What's your favorite color?" he asked, trying to distract you from the pain. The doctor told him that the gap wasn't big enough for the baby to come through. "Green," you answered quickly. "- it's the color of camouflage." you explained, bitting your lower lip.

"Ahh," you hissed, feeling another contraction. "What about you?" you opened your eyes to stare at his. "Orange," he answered. "- and brown." he added and you frowned. "But you always wear black." you observed, as if he was mourning for someone's death.

"It's a professional color," he responded, adjusting his collar. You chuckled through the pain - regretting it after you feel a short pain. "Why do you like those colors?" you inquired and he looked deep into your eyes. "Orange - because it is the color of the sunset. I was swimming when I saw it the first time." he remembered.

"And brown, because?" your eyes narrowed.

"They're the color of your eyes."

After a few minutes, the child began to come out.

You felt slightly nervous - afraid that it wasn't going to be the boy that Coriolanus desired. You postponed knowing about the gender due to this same fear. "Boy," the doctor informed in a monotone voice. "Brutus," you whispered out, reaching for the baby.

"Brutus Snow." you repeated, feeling his warm skin press against yours. "He is precious," Coriolanus whispered in a tone that only you could hear. "He looks just like me," you smiled, pressing a kiss to Brutus' forehead.

He looks at your sleeping form again, eyes shut and snoring. He smiles, rocking Brutus in his arms - close to his chest. He'll never love a woman deeper than the way he's loved Lucy Gray, but he's never loved a woman as deep as he loves you.

Brutus cooes, burrowing deeper into his father's arms.

Coriolanus couldn't wish for anything better.

Sure, there were many things that he regretted in this life - many things that could've turned out better, but if he could return and do it again - he wouldn't to it any different. All his mistakes led him to you - and to Brutus Snow.

Your eyelids flutter, awake and gazing up at him. "Coriolanus," you mumbled - also burrowing close to his chest. "I love you," you confessed and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too," he responds - although the following day he'll deny it and act oblivious. A smile etches your face.

Nothing else matters.

(CORIOLANUS SNOW'S EXECUTION)

"What do you think will happen after this? Our father will be executed but his government will still go on. You're not stopping the wheel. You're not changing anything." Abel intervenes, Brutus presses his palms together. "Whatever happens to father, he had it coming." the older brother replies. "You are delusional if you believe that Katniss is your pawn, she's dangerous." Abel hisses.

Brutus takes a sharp turn, hearing the drums from behind them. "- and you believe that you are safe? All because you love her?" his eyes narrowed in insult. Brutus decides to leave the conversation at that - he steps towards the podium. "Life is a peach, brother. Enjoy it as it is ripe and filled with flesh." Brutus angles his head, before facing the crowd.

"Welcome to the new Panem! Today, all of Panem - of free Panem will watch more than a mere spectacle. We are gathered to watch a historic moment of justice. Today the greatest threat to freedom shall be met with fire and end all wars. This day signifies the end of tyranny and the beginning of a new era."

"Mockingjay, may your aim be as true as your heart is pure." Brutus smiles, nodding at Katniss while raising his arms.

Abel looks at his father from below.

A cold man, but a man that loves his family nevertheless. Coriolanus lifts his head to look at his sons for the last time. Katniss draws her bow - an air of suspense permeates through the atmosphere.

Katniss aims her bow but changes the aim at the last minute, hitting President Brutus Snow.

Abel gasps.

He shares a glance with Katniss before the crowd storms in their direction.

Abel manages to get away - to run in another direction while the people rip his father piece by piece. It was the fall of Coriolanus Snow's dynasty, but in the face of that - all members couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

The fire continues to burn.

#Coriolanus Snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you

831 notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 2 months

Text

Stitches, Films and Sponges Baths?

Cw: fluff, shy!team doctor!reader, Dick being a flirty shit

“Nightwing B-01, injured.” Calls the electronic voice through the comms and you get moving immediately.

“How bad is it?” You ask as you snap gloves on and reach for your kit.

“Bad enough that I’ll miss seeing your concentrated face, angel.” Dick flirts and you suck at your teeth.

The moment he comes into view, you realise that as much as he flirts he hadn’t been lying.

He’s cut under his eye, there’s another on his bicep and a tear in the side of his suit.

“Who did you lose a fight to?” That gets him to open his eyes and he spots a slight frown on your lips.

“I didn’t lose, I’m just a little more cut up than you’re used to seeing me.” You clean up his face first and your frown smooths out when you realise it's more blood than wound.

“This one isn’t too bad, maybe a butterfly stitch if you really want one. It should close within the day.”

Dick reaches for your gloved hand, “Put the stitch please, angel? Don’t want you having to stare at that cut every time you look at me;” he smiles and as if he’s reconsidered his statement he adds. “Unless it makes me look rugged and even hotter.”

Your body flushes, heat rushing through you and you nibble on your lip as you set the stitch on his cheekbone.

“You look fine, can you open your eyes now?”

He does, “Missed seeing them, did you?”

“Dick,” it’s only a warning, but he likes when you say his name so it’s one he elects to ignore- on the basis of the fact that if he does, you’re going to fluster even more. And he likes that even more.

“Your bicep isn’t too bad, just a scratch really. I’m more worried about your side, so I’m going to look at that first.”

His arms reach up for you to undress him and Dick bites his tongue to keep his smile at bay when your eyes widen and your fingers drag up his stomach as you lift off the top of his suit.

You wonder if he can tell that your pulse is rioting now?

He’s always been pretty, flirty and overly friendly to you and you’ve never known where to put all that.

Dick is gorgeous, he’s been gorgeous from the moment you’d been recruited here from the Bat, but he’s also never been by himself since you’ve been here- a little bit of a relationship man and while you’d love to pursue that, you don’t know if your poor heart will handle his flirty unleashed.

“It’s not so bad, just a little jagged so the stitching is going to hurt a bit. I’m sorry.”

Dick tuts, his heart clenching at how considerate you are- then he wonders if that’s just your bedside manner.

“No need for that, I can take a little pain.”

You nod, and get started with your needles and thread, closing up Dick’s wound with a steady hand.

“These are dissolvable, but they can still rip if you aren’t careful so you’re on bed rest until they dissolve.”

“How long will that take, angel? Trying to plan how many days I have with you.”

You clench your jaw to stop your smile, but Dick takes note of the way that your eyebrows jump and your eyes crinkle with little crow’s feet.

“A week or two for the most, but you can’t go around training like usual until they dissolve.”

He nods, “So what do you say to movie nights and reading challenges all week?”

You do let yourself smile then, Dick’s proposed things you like that he doesn’t necessarily find that mind blowing.

“And what will you do?” You ask, a vote of confidence to play along with his tease.

“Probably work on some tech stuff, but we’ll at least be together so you can have all the time in the world just staring at me till you’re ready to make a move.”

You grumble and scrub your face making Dick chuckle.

“That was mean, I’m sorry angel.” He coos and you look up to find him still smirking.

“Mhm, I totally believe you,” you finish his stitch and cover it with a piece of gauze and medical tape. “I don’t think I’ll be able to spend the entire week with you Grayson. I’ve got class.”

His eyebrows jump, “Class? Did you start a new programme?”

You nod, “Behavioral analysis.” Dick smiles, a little wicked at the confession. You move to his bicep, cleaning up the blood to find three claw-like marks tearing through his skin.

“Do you need real life case studies? I’ll be happy to help you out. You can analyse my behaviour when I’m with you.”

Your belly heats, and you’re sure the way you fluster is evident to Dick and that makes you feel even more bashful.

It’s clear he does feel a little bad about how flushed he’s making you when you feel his hand reach up to your cheek.

“I’ll stop for a little, angel. Don’t want you to pass out from all the heat you’re pushing out.”

“Dick!” You whine and he laughs, a full belly laugh that makes your frown turn to a small smile. “You’re the worst.”

You finish cleaning and dressing the scratches on his bicep, they only needed a few stitches on one of them.

“Oh am I?” He coos and you grumble, biting your lip to stop from swearing at him. “Okay okay, I’ll really stop now.” He promises; you look up at him through your lashes as you pull away from his hand and start cleaning up.

“Wanna watch a film with me?” He asks as you finish cleaning, his body suddenly tired now that he’s not worried about flirting and teasing you.

“One of your black and white French films?” It’s his turn to flush a little, clearly not expecting anyone to notice his choice in movies. “You always leave the disk in, and I don’t think anyone else is watching espionage French films except you.” You explain with a little smile.

“Maybe not a French one, we can do Russian or Spanish- I know you watch those.”

You shrug, “We can trade off, one French, one Spanish.”

Dick nods, groaning as he stands. His hand pressed tight to his side. “Why don’t you choose first, angel. Gonna get Alfred to sponge me off,” he pauses at the door, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he turns back to you. “Unless you want to do it, which I have zero objections to.”

“Go get your sponge bath Grayson, I’ll be in the media room.”

#dickgrayson #dick grayson #dick grayson one shot #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson fic #dick grayson blurb #dick grayson x yn #dick grayson x shy!reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x black reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x you

500 notes · View notes

wordstome · 4 months

Note

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

#yes this König has blue eyes #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #könig cod #konig cod #könig call of duty #cod #call of duty

738 notes · View notes

titanic-angel · 11 months

Text

нoвιe вrown х gn!reader

⁎︎✰︎—『ѕтιcĸ n' poĸe』︎—︎✰︎⁎︎

ѕynopѕιѕ: нoвιe gιveѕ yoυ yoυr ғιrѕт тaттoo.

warnιngѕ: nυdιтy (semi-sexual), ѕwearιng

noтeѕ: ιтѕ вeen ιn мy нead ғorever, pleaѕe enjoy ❤︎

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

“Ow- shit HOBS!”

You eyebrow stuck together, nails digging into the cream sheets. You leaned you head back, closing your eyes as you pushed into the pillows that propped you head up.

You heard Hobie scoff, eyes still trained on the skin below your belly button. “Yer such a baby.”

You moved your head up, glaring at the menace who hovered over you. One gloved hand steadied your hip, the other holding a needle embedded into your skin. Even through the cheap plastic, his warmth made your skin tingle. His classic shit-eating grin crinkled his cheeks, eyes still trained on your stomach, well aware you were staring him down.

His wicks were pulled back, the screen of his phone making his piercings shimmer. His eyebrows were a little furrowed- focused on the design. Aside from his tensed face, his body was relaxed and calm, almost drowsy.

He was so fucking pretty.

“What’s wit’ th’ starin doll.”

You raised your eyebrows, suddenly the world around you becoming a lot more focused. “Hm? I wasn’t staring.”

Hobie met your eyes for the first time in 30 minutes, only for them to harbor doubt. His grin was gentler now, and the stillness of the room soon became incredibly loud.

He shrugged, looking back at your stomach. “Whateva you say.”

Another shot of pain went up your spine and you gasped, clamping your lips shut. Hobie chuckled below you. “So sensitive.”

“This is my first time- Hobs.” You hissed through your clenched teeth.

He met your gaze again, this time his classic suggestive grin spreading on his face like butter.

You rolled your eyes. “Not like that- you perv.”

“Oi, I didn’t say nothin’.”

You leaned your head back, feeling the beads of sweat collect under your neck. Was it stupid to get your first tattoo on your stomach- on the pelvis no less? Maybe. But hey- it sure as hell looked cool. However, now that you’re laying on the bed with sore muscles from tensing them this whole session, you began to regret your decision.

Hobie moved his hands up to you waist, then slid down back to your hip. “Try and relax- yeah? I’m almost done.”

You sighed harshly, partly frustrated with yourself, but also with Hobs.

Your mind floated to the conversation you had a couple days ago, laying on his bed, your clothes scattered across his flat.

▔︎▔︎▔︎▔︎

You heard the familiar rustling of his pants being put on, the click of the belt and the snap of his boots.

You scrolled through your phone, eyes half lidded in drowse, the smell of incense wafted between the two of you. You couldn’t be bothered to put your clothes on, his sheets feeling much too soft.

Hobie, despite his rough and ragged persona, had one of the comfiest flats you’d been in. Layered with cotton and satin chairs and sofas, most likely stolen. His bed, however, was the epitome of it all.

Softest sheets that were never too hot and never too cold, and a comforter that smelled exactly like him. Pillows with patterns that did not compliment each other well, but extremely comfortable none the less.

Your eyes drifted to his back. Small little drawings- some silly and others with more meaning- scattered across his toned muscle.

You were not in the slightest embarrassed about staring at your boyfriend (unless he caught you), which meant you knew nearly every detail about his body. But, sometimes things surprised you. This time, it was his tattoos.

His shirt slipped over them, a disappointed sigh escaping your lips.

He turned to you, smirking, “I can take it back off if yer really that desperate.”

Your eyebrows knitted in protest- nose wrinkling in the way that he liked. “I’ll pass- but uhm..”

He sat on the bed, facing you with lidded eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I think I want a tattoo.”

His eyes widened with surprise. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now.”

He blinked, his mouth twisting into a grin. The idea excited him- he always thought you’d look hot with ink. Maybe it was a little selfish to indulge in his fantasies, but hey- you offered first.

“I’m pr’tty good them, y’know. All it takes is a stick n’ a poke.” You laughed, leaning your head on your palm.

“You know what? Why not.”

He leaned forward, placing a giddy kiss on your lips. You savored the taste of him- musky and smokey. He backed away, eyes drifting from your lips to your body.

“Where do ya’ want it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know- you pick.”

He raised a brow at you, a challenge.

“Ya’ sure?

You nodded, smiling sweetly at him. He smiled back, less sweetly. Something in your head told you that maybe you should’ve picked, but the cogs in his head were already turning. It was too late to change your mind.

He flipped you over, your bear body now completely exposed. However, there wasn’t anything sexual about the way his eyes trailed down your body. As he looked for a spot he liked, you smiled up at him, admiring how cute he was when he was focused. He didn’t like it when you called him that- didn’t match his rough and rumble, but who was gonna stop you from thinking it?

He smirked, before placing a warm hand below your belly button.

“Here.”

You sat up on your elbows, sending him a skeptical look. “You really want my first tattoo to be above my junk?”

He looked back at you, chuckling at your use of ‘junk’. “Why not.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just think it’ll be sexy, don’t you.”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ wrong with sexy, darlin. But no- I’d never.”

You raised your eyebrow at him, before groaning and sitting up to meet him in the middle. You could feel his breath against yours, eyes locked.

On one hand, you were terrified of putting something so permanent on your body. But on the other, Hobie was right. It did kinda make you feel like a badass.

“Alright- fine. But I get to pick the design.”

“Deal.”

You sealed the promise with a kiss. He leaned you back into the pillows, and you laughed into his mouth, weak hands pushing him back. “Hobs we have to-“

“Shhhh. Jus’ lemme kiss you.”

▔︎▔︎▔︎▔︎▔︎

“Done.”

Hobie’s voice broke you from your thoughts. In excitement you sat up, but quickly laid back down when and ache prickled at your abdomen.

He laughed above you, setting the tools on your makeshift tray (a kitchen plate) and crawled up to meet your mouth.

“You’re gonna have to wait a minute darlin.”

You glared at him. “You suck.”

He faked gasped, laughter in his eyes as he leaned in closer. “How could you say that to yer devoted artist!”

You rolled your eyes. “I deeply apologize, from the bottom of my heart.” You milked your apology, your own shit-eating grin spreading across your face.

He smiled down at you. “Yer funny.”

“I know.”

He kissed you, and suddenly the pain didn’t feel as bad anymore. His course hands drifted up your hips, your waist, your ribs, then to your-

You grabbed his hands, pulling away from the kiss and gave him a knowing look. “You said I have to wait- so you do too.

He groaned, kissing your cheek and moving down to your neck. “Consider ‘t aftercare?”

You laughed, cupping his cheeks and making him look at you. “No. It’s prolly gonna mess up your masterpiece anyway.”

He flopped beside you, nearly pouting. You giggled, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the pain starting to subside.

“Hey darlin?”

“Yes Hobie?”

“Yer…uh. You were right- about me pickin’ th’ spot cus it looked sexy.”

You slapped his chest and he laughed, taking your hand in his. He turned to you, brown eyes sparkling with mischief and something he doesn’t care to admit.

“It also looks pretty badass.”

“Hobie that’s like- the same thing in your book.”

He laughed. “Yeah,” his hand interlocked with yours, eyes moving to the ceiling.

“I guess yer right.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

hope you enjoyed ❤︎

#fanfiction #fanfics #hobie headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spiderverse atsv #spiderverse itsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk x reader #oneshot #sony spiderverse

2K notes · View notes

theshitpostcalligrapher · 2 months

Text

I need a leather strap pattern

okay so i have this bag i call the bag of theseus, right?

I've replaced two broken buckles

replaced one leather strap attachment entirely

by opening up one side to install it and resealing the thing with invis stitch (that i honestly need to shore up as you can see here)

and countless small stitch jobs for the lining.

I have had this bag for over 10 years and i am not about to give up on the thing

BUT

the front pocket strap has been busted and unable to ACTUALLY clip the pocket closed for YEARS.

I have a BUNCH of leather scrap at various weightages. I've got a leather punch, awls, thread, leather needles, and edge-kote.

This is such a specific type of strap so google/duckduckgo is useless, does ANYONE have a pattern for a bag-strap (preferably with snap fasteners) that I can make from scratch? I could probably reuse this buckle if need be but I just want to be able to hold the front pocket closed while I'm riding a bike or smth

thanks folks!

#one of mia's 894389584 side projects/repairs #thought this'd be a good excuse since the kombucha bottle i had in there exploded the other day #and the whole thing needs to be washed anyhow #i'm just ripping out the moorings for the pocket strap rn #leatherwork

508 notes · View notes

briefalpacashark · 3 months

Text

~Darkest fear~

The boys of 141 find out your darkest fear.

Warning: Swearing and mentions of needles.

================================================

How well did you fit in with the boys of 141. Too well. From day one you and Soap instantly connected. Price called you Soap 2.0. Why? Because your sarcasm and wit had you and Soap bantering for hours on end. Everything you two would say would just feed and complement the others. And God help whoever you were making fun of that day. One time Gaz had to endure two hours of back and forth. You had worked with Price before, and you were already close. Gaz you become quick friends with. And Ghost, well although slightly intimidated by the giant you came to respect one another, and the specialist abilities you both held.

After all, you were respectful and kind. You always wore a smile and they would never admit it but to them you were like a little ball of sunshine. Or like a cute little puppy.

One day, about two days before your next mission you walked into base. Into the shared common area. To your surprise you found Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around the far side of the table.

“What's going on?” you asked. Hearing the door shut behind you. You glanced back to see Price locking it and then placing his body in between you and the exit.

“You alright captain?” you asked hesitantly seeing his nervous look.

“Damn cap, you look like you're trying to shit a brick,” Soap commented with a bemused chuckle. He wore a smirk that showed he was far too happy to be there.

“She can't be that bad,” Gaz shrugged, gesturing to you.

“What am I bad at?” You asked with a confused chuckle.

“Alright love. Now I want you to be calm,” Price raised his hands like he was talking to an injured animal. Love, it was a nickname all the british lads used.

“Calm, what you on abou-” Your words trailed off as you spotted the syringe in his hand. It was a shot. A vaccination of some kind. Instantly you scooted away from him moving around the table. Your blood ran cold as adrenaline filled your every being. You were scared of needles. Scared to the point where you would do anything to keep away from them.

“The fuck is that cap?” You asked lowly.

“Wait, you're really scared of needles?” Soap chuckled at your reactions as you hide yourself behind him.

“Love, come on now,” Price was really trying his best.

“Price, I told you. I fucken told you. You drug the fuck out of me and then that's when you give me the fucking shot,” You had a plan, one Price knew about and had done before for quite a few of your shots. You would take a sedative and that's when they would stick you. Was it ethical, no in the slightest. but it was the only way of giving you a shot without anyone getting hurt.

“I know, but this one needs to be taken when you're conscious. Something bout side effects or what not,” he explained calmly.

“I told you how I get cap,” you mumbled, pointing an accusing finger at him as you shifted from side to side.

“I know, that's why I got the lads here,” he said, nodding to them. You looked at the three that surrounded you with betrayal.

“You're in on this?” You asked. “Come on lass, it's just a little needle,” Soap smirked loving the ammo he was receiving to tease you later with. "I thought you Australians were supposed to have nerves of steel?" he joked.

“I don't think you guys understand the severity of this. I turn feral ok. I once almost bit a doctor's finger off, ok,” You admitted honestly.

“Almost?” Ghost asked.

“It doesn't matter. Cap you can't do this alright. Let's just do it tomorrow yeah?” You said as you went to slip out of the little corral they had you in only for Gaz to hold up his hand to stop you.

“Grab her,” Price gave the order.

“Eat a dick Price!” You snapped. Gaz was the first to reach for you. With a cocky and bemused smirk, he went to grab you. A cocky smirk that was slammed against the table. Everyone's eyes went wide at the movement. You had ducked under his hand taking ahold of it and grabbed his neck slamming his face onto the table. It was a reaction; one you had no control over.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry,” You rushed out the words shocked at your own actions. Soap was the next one to reach for you, well more like tackle. You crouched sliding to your left through Ghost's legs.

------

A few other soldiers on the base stared in confusion at the barrack building. What sounded like a bar fight was happening inside. The sounds of breaking furniture and shattering plates filled the air.

There was a shocking amount of swearing and a few choice sentences before you slammed through the window. Shattering it upon impact and landing from the three story building in a tuck and roll.

And then you legged it. Like the devil himself was on your heels. There was another commotion before the three men stumbled out of the room, Pierce with a busted nose, Gaz holding his head, Ghost dusting the remnants of a broken glass of his shoulder and Soap still laying on the floor inside curled up in the fetal position. His hands clutching his family jewels.

“How the fucks did she do that?” Price muttered in confusion as they watched your disappearing figure.

The boys in all their wisdom beside to treat giving you the shot like a mission. On the thoroughly planned and scoped out before enacting. Little did they know it would be one of their hardest missions yet. They tried to administer the shot 29 times. Every time they would come up with a different plan. They had tried everything, bribery, outsmarting you, trapping you. None of it worked, you always managed to get away.

“Macgyver!” You bloody froze as you heard your call sign. At that very moment you sat perched up in the very high corner of an aircraft hangar. Had you scaled the walls to get there, yes, was it your greatest idea, no. But you weren't thinking logically. You knew it was stupid how frightened you got but you just weren't able to control it.

“We know you're here,” they called again. You peeked around the large beam spotting only Ghost in the entrance. Instantly you looked for the others. Were they trying to trap you again?

“Come on Sargent,” He was your Lieutenant. You should have listened to him. But you kept your mouth shut happily perched in your little hidey hole.

“It's fine. Just so you know Gaz it hurt. Idiot sprained his ankle running afta ya,” He informed. Instantly you felt guilty, and a little worried for your teammate. You wanted to get down and help, but you also knew the possibility of it being a trap. Ghost waited a few moments before cursing under his breath. He began to search the hanger. Under every trap inside every plane. Around every corner. He looked like he was about to give up. Then out of sheer luck for him, and anything but luck for you he looked up. Instantly the two of you made eye contact. He stared for a moment truly grasping the situation, trying to forget about how exactly you got up there.

“The fuck you doing up there?” his gruff voice asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Thought it looked like a comfortable place to sit,” you shrugged nonchalantly. Ghost took in the awkward sit/balanced crouch you had going on.

“Oh yeah, it looks real comfortable,” he said.

“Well I am,” you stated.

“Right, well come on now, fun's over,” he nodded for you to come down.

“Respectfully sir. Suck a dick” Ghost propped an eyebrow at the insult. With your apologetic expression he knew you didn't mean it, but he had to admit. It was refreshing to see someone who was willing to insult him. “Fine, well it's either you get down yourself or I come get you,” he gave you the ultimatum.

“You're right, Let my just give up now and come down. Just like you said,'' You pretended to get ready to descale the walls.

“Thankyou,” Ghost was actually genuinely thankful. He thought by some miracle you were actually going to listen to him.

“Yeah you know just let me,” Quickly snapping back to your original position you flipped him off. He stared for a few bewildered moments.

“That's just childish,” he said.

“You're a child,” you snapped back.

“Right,” Ghost huffed, walking up to the beams. You watched him as he struggled to scale the walls. After all he was a big man, he was carrying a lot of weight. As he finally reached the beam you were on he turned to look at you. Only you weren't there. He frowned looking down to see you sliding down a beam and hitting the ground.

“Fuck,” he quickly did the same. Hearing the thunderous footsteps of Ghost feet would be encouragement enough for anyone to run for their lives. To you it was a reminder that you not only insulted your lieutenant but you flipped him off and called him a child. You had just made it outside of the hanger.

Now you were fast, the fastest on the team when it came to running. You could have outrun him. Only when you stepped out into the open did you feel a sharp pain hit your left ass cheek.

“Fucking Ass!” you came to a small hopping stop as you looked for the culprit. A little red feathered dart had been plugged into the soft tissue of your ass.

“Did you just shoot a dart at my ass!” Your bewildered and angry yell was directed to the general direction of where it had come from. Price sat on the roof of a nearby building, dart gun in hand, Gaz by his side with a pair of binoculars.

“Direct hit,” GAz announced.

“She's pissed,” Soap commented as they watched your little tantrum.

Later that night you stood outside on your little makeshift patio area. You hand rubbing the still stinging spot on your ass with a permanent frown. Hearing the door open you snapped your head around to glare. Ghost silently walked out and stood beside you.

“Using Gaz was a low blow,” you grumbled. Ghost silently looked over you, your cute little frown. It reminded him of a toddler that wasn't allowed to have chocolate.

“Then what do you call kicking Johnny in the balls?” he asked.

“Tactical,” you grumbled. You were surprised to hear the softest huff of a chuckle come from Ghost. It was times like these you wish you could see his expression. But you were sure you saw the side of his mask where the edge of a smile would be, tilt upwards. The idea of Ghost smiling had you chuckling.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“All this, I'm a medic you think I'd be comfortable with needles,” you chuckled.

“That ain’t funny. Soap getting kicked in the balls. That's funny. Fucker deserved it,” Ghost said. You chuckled again. Ghost glanced over at you, he liked your laugh. It was always a true honest one.

“Well I guess I should apologize about the disrespect I've shown today,” With a deep sigh you stood at attention. “I apologize for the disrespect I showed and not listening to orders,” You said with an embarrassed smile.

“So what will be the punishment, Lieutenant?” You asked. This was the first time you had done anything wrong with the boys. While they seemed ok with it, you were used to the military hierarchy. You had insulted a higher ranking officer once. It didn't go so well. You expected Ghost to be no different.

“Not gonna punish you,” he shrugged. You let out a relieved sigh closing your eyes. “But,” when you opened them again, Ghost was standing directly in front of you. On instinct you stepped back, hitting the pole you had been leaning on. Ghost closed the distance. You swallowed as he stepped close enough for you to feel his body heat, your neck craned back to make eye contact with him.

“Don't ever call me a child again,” he stated his voice dropping into a serious tone. You quickly nodded with an awkward chuckle. It was meant to be intimidating, Ghost had used his size to intimidate before. While you were intimidated there was one thing that kept your attention. You could have sworn you could see a smirk under that mask.

“Um, yeah sure,” You muttered. Leaning down he hovered his head by your ear, his hot breath faint through the mask but you could still feel it. You felt your heart jump. skip a beat and then rattle the back of your throat. Why was he so close?

“I promise you love I'm no kid,” he whispered. You were barely able to frown at his comment when something pricked your thigh.

“The fuck was that?” you asked at the small amount of pain giving Ghost’s chest a soft shove. He stepped back holding his hand up that held an empty syringe.

“You bastard,” you whispered. Now you were sure he was smirking. You could see it in his eyes.

“Price thought it best not to tell you about the second shot,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Wow, so he basically just gave you a mini heart attack just to give you a shot.

“Next time I need to take blood from you I'm gonna miss your veins so many times,” you threatened half heartedly.

“Good thing I'm not scared of needles,” he said, his eyes shining smugly.

“You..” You glared at the tease. He simply turned towards the door.

“Fuckers,” you grumbled as you watched him walk back into the barracks.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

================================================

#141 x reader #cod 141 #141 x you #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod ghost #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod

491 notes · View notes

brenbofen · 10 months

Text

Crazy boys get what they deserve~ ♥︎

Sub Dottore x Dom AMAB Reader

Part 2

Broadcaster Message - Haha, something about insane doctors being obsessed with their assistant is sooo so hot to me,,,, might turn this into a series if you guys like it, teehee.

Notes 🗒️ - Sub Dottore, Yan/Possesive Dottore (?), Dom AMAB Reader, Injections/Needles, Aphrodisiac, Dub-Con, Probably OOC Dottore, Semi-Public Sex, Dottore tries to be Dominant but fails, Getting Caught, Size Diff, Reader is Dottore’s lab assistant, Tartaglia is there for like two paragraphs, Use of Sir (For both Dottore and Reader), Reader has a big dick and is taller than Dottore, Dacryphilia, Dottore calls reader dear, Virgin Dottore, Multiple Orgasms, Spit as Lube, Belly Bulge, Anal Fingering and Sex, Implied Overstimulation and Masochist Dottore, Let me know if I missed anything!

!! Not Proof Read !!

Dottore dug his nails into the fabric of his jacket, watching as Tartaglia leaned over you, the two of you giggling and chatting. Occasionally he would see Tartaglia rest a hand on your hip or turn to him and wink, Dottore doing everything in his power to not gouge the ginger’s eyes out so he couldn’t look at you anymore. He hated the sight of you laughing and enjoying a conversation with Tartaglia, you were his lab assistant, you shouldn’t even be speaking to the other man.

Eventually you bid Tartaglia goodbye, waving to him as you walked over to Dottore. You missed the way Tartaglia smirked at Dottore once you turned your back, Dottore was seething at the sight, how dare he think he could even breath the same air as you! Let alone have a conversation with you. Dottore gripped your wrist, pulling you back to his lab. You didn’t question it, you’d rather not have the man snap at you, possibly making you a guinea pig for his next experiment.

You both entered his lab, Dottore slamming the door shut and instructed you to sit in an empty chair. You obediently did so, folding your hands together as you watched Dottore rummage through his tools, fear bubbling in your chest when you saw him grab a needle. He grabbed a vial of something, hand obscuring the label on it, walking over to you and setting everything down. Even if he cared little for human safety, he made sure everything was sanitized with you, wiping your shoulder with an alcohol pad once he removed your heavy coat and shirt.

You hated to admit there was some form of care with how he treated you, quietly waiting for the alcohol on your skin to dry as he drew a thick liquid into his syringe, your discarded clothes folded neatly on a workbench. You watched the thick liquid spill down the syringe, a sickening hot pink filling it. You’d been injected with mystery liquids by Dottore hundreds of times in the past, but the way Dottore’s hands were practically shaking as he pinched your skin, his anger finally seeping through the cracks as he pressed the needle into your flesh made you tremble.

You remained in the chair as Dottore cleaned up, you felt antsy. Usually it was your job to clean up as Dottore moved onto his next project, but now he forced you to sit patiently, telling you he wanted the wait for the serum to take effect. Once Dottore finished cleaning he pulled a free chair over and sat in front of you, watching you carefully. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling an unbearable warmth taking the place of your fear, Dottore smiling as he watched you squirm at the feeling.

Your cheeks felt warm, a unbearable tightness forming in your pants. “Do you know what I injected into you?” Dottore mused, standing up from his seat to stand beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. His touch burned, the warmth shooting straight to your dick, sweat beginning to fall down your face. “N—no, sir.” You croaked out, digging your nails into your pants.

Dottore hummed, circling behind you, resting on his knees between your legs. “I put an aphrodisiac into your system.” He cooed at you, squeezing your thighs, grinning when you whined at his touch. “Needed to remind you who you belong to.” You looked at him confused, what did he mean? What did you do that upset him? Dottore noticed your confusion and frowned, “Don’t you remember, the way you were speaking to Number Eleven. Acting as if I wasn’t even in the room.” He stood up, supporting his weight by placing his hand on your thigh, the other wrapping around your neck.

You groaned at his touch, tears beginning to bead in your eyes. Everything was so overwhelming, your body felt like it was on fire, every little touch, every time Dottore’s hands grazed your skin made you feel like you were crumbling. “I’m— I’m sorry, sir.” You choked out your response, feeling Dottore’s hand tighten around your throat. “It’s far too late for that, my dear.” Dottore sighed, massaging your thigh, hearing strained whimpers and pleas spill from your lips. You weren’t sure when he sat in your lap, straddling your hips, hands on either side of your neck.

“If I help you, do you promise to never speak to those other men?” Dottore mused, smiling when you mumbled out a yes, fat tears running down your face. He removed your pants agonizingly slow, your hands trembling as you watched him finally get your belt off, lifting your hips to let him pull your pants down, He also took the time to strip himself, wearing only a thin sweater and his own undergarments.

Dottore licked his lips at the sight of your fat bulge, beginning to massage, taking in all your moans and whimpers. You were so sensitive, it honestly felt like you hadn’t been touched in years, your dick aching to be taken out of your boxers already. Dottore enjoyed seeing you like this, a whimpering mess for him to play with, in all honesty he never cared for human pleasures, often rolling his eyes at the thought. But if it meant he could keep you at his feet, he’d do anything.

Eventually he decided you had enough teasing, pulling your boxers down and letting your dick out. Dottore suppressed a gasp, watching your fat dick spring out of your boxers and press against your stomach. He glanced up at you, seeing you stare at him with half-lidded eyes, tears drying on your cheeks, moving your hand to tug at his boxers, “Could you, get these off?” You mumbled, leaning forward so you were face to face with Dottore, using a free hand to cup his face. He wanted to protest, scream at you for trying to order him around, but at the same time, he wanted you to use him, suddenly keenly aware of how much larger you were than him.

Your large hands tugging his undergarments low enough for his own dick to spring out, pressing against yours. You smiled at the sight of his dick, it was so much smaller than yours. Looking up at his pretty shocked face, you pulled his beaked mask up, kissing him roughly, beginning to stroke his dick. He groaned against your lips, gripping your arms tightly for some form of support. He’d never felt this way, the feeling of your hand engulfing his dick, tugging and pulling on it, sending waves of pleasure up his body, it drove him mad.

You used a free hand to pull his sweater down and begin to bite his neck. Dottore let out a shriek at the feeling of your teeth sinking into his flesh so hard he thought he would bleed. You continued to mark his neck and shoulders, Dottore thankful he wore a turtleneck everywhere, believing he could never live with himself if one of his subordinates saw him covered in hickeys and bite marks, but at the same time, there was this urge in the back of his head, telling him to wear the marks with pride, let everyone know he was yours and you were his.

Dottore looked down to see your hand still harshly pumping his dick, thumb grazing the tip every so often, smearing pre all over it. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling, warmth pooling in his stomach, twisting into a knot. He gripped your arms tightly, practically screaming as your wrung his orgasm out of him, his body trembling. Dottore felt tears form in his eyes, seeing his cum coat your hand and stomach.

He loved the feeling, cursing himself for never giving into his filthy fantasies, always pushing down his urges and never touching himself. He wished he’d done this ages ago.

You leaned back in the chair, watching Dottore come back down from his high. You idly licked your hand clean of his cum, Dottore noticing this out of the corner of his eye and feeling himself get hard again. The way you licked your fingers, wiping your lips clean of any of his fluids that may have gotten on your face, it made his mind feel fuzzy, almost as if he were the one under the influence of an aphrodisiac and not you.

You smiled at him, peppering soft kisses on his face. “You enjoy that?” You cooed, Dottore nodding dumbly, mumbling about how he wanted more. You laughed at this, ignoring how your cock twitched at his words, warmth pooling in your stomach. You lifted him up, carrying him over to an empty workbench. Thankfully it was clean, due to your need for everything to be sanitized and in order, which soon rubbed off on Dottore. You laid Dottore on his back, thinking of what to do with him.

You had so many ideas, the aphrodisiac that was still in your system fueling your desires. You hummed, bringing your fingers to Dottore’s lips, “Suck.” Dottore obeyed your command, swirling his tongue around your fingers, hands wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place. When you decided he had coated your fingers enough you pulled them from his mouth. You guided Dottore so you had better access to his hole, circling it with your thumb.

“Gonna put my fingers in, that alright?” As much as you wanted to fuck him so rough he would forget his own name, you knew this was Dottore’s first time and at least wanted to ease him to that point. Dottore nodded, pushing his hips in an attempt to force your fingers in. You laughed at his efforts, sliding your index finger in, followed by your middle finger soon after.

Dottore cried out at the feeling, but still pressed his hips against you, trying to pull your fingers deeper into him. You cooed at him, kissing his abdomen and chest as you began to slide your fingers in and out of him, making scissoring motions.

“Mmphmm— Sir, that feels so good—“ Dottore moaned when you jammed your fingers into him, you didn’t mean to, but the use of sir just made you lose it. You pulled your fingers out of his hole, Dottore crying at the loss, but watching intently as you lined your dick up with his hole.

You pressed your tip against his hole, slowly pressing deeper into him. Dottore felt tears prickling in his eyes as you filled him up, the feeling of your fat dick stretching him out, forcing his body to fit to your size. He pressed his hand to his mouth, biting down to muffle his moans, anyone could walk in, the lab was always unlocked and most of the other Harbingers just barged in without knocking. He was trying so hard to not scream, not draw any attention to his corner of the Zapolyarny Palace.

You massaged his hips as you bottomed out, giving Dottore a moment to get used to your full length in him. It was so hard to not pound into him ruthlessly, the aphrodisiac slowly chipping away at your will, refusing to leave your system until you came. Dottore saw the large lump forming in his stomach from your dick, running a hand over it. It made him wonder truly how deep you were in him, how wide had your length stretched him out.

You slowly rocked your hips, Dottore gasping at the feeling. You continued to hold his hips, occasionally rubbing them to help Dottore when you would speed up your thrusts. Eventually though, you stopped caring, harshly thrusting into Dottore, digging your nails into his hips.

Dottore was clawing at the sleek metal table beneath him, trying to find any kind of support. He didn’t care about muffling his moans, the only thought on his mind was your dick.

You continually rammed into his prostate, Dottore throwing his head back as he screamed, back arching in an attempt to feel more of you. He never thought this would feel so good. He could feel himself losing his grip on reality, becoming drunk off your cock, unaware of the door to his lab opening.

Tartaglia hear screams emanating from Dottore’s office and couldn’t help himself from walking in, wanting to see whatever Dottore’s latest project was. What he didn’t expect was to see Dottore sprawled out on a table, you hovering over him as you pounded into him. You glanced over and saw Tartaglia watching the two of you, absolutely dumbfounded. You pressed a finger to your lips, grinning at him as you told him to keep quiet. Tartaglia just awkwardly nodded, trying to ignore the warmth on his cheeks and tightness in his pants as he slipped away.

You turned back to Dottore as if nothing happened, reaching forward to tug on his pretty blue hair so he was looking at you. “You- Fuckk- You enjoying this?” You cooed, Dottore nodded, babbling praises, moans cutting off his words. “Thank you, s-sir!” He cried out, tears spilling over his face, red eyes glazed over.

You felt your stomach coiling, your orgasm was so close. You groaned, placing your hands on either side of Dottore, thrusting into him as fast as you could, just wanting to cum already. Dottore was crying and hiccuping, body burning as he reached his second orgasm, suddenly feeling the pleasure twisting into pain. He didn’t recognize this feeling and for some reason he liked it, sharp pain shooting through his body with your every thrust, hearing you mumble out soft apologies. He liked being treated like a porcelain doll, he wondered if this was how The Ballader felt.

You hissed once you finally came, feeling the aphrodisiac leaving your system as you stuffed Dottore full of your cum. He groaned at the feeling, warmth enveloping him. You both sat there for who knows how long, panting as you both came down from your highs. Dottore sat up, hissing at the pain in his hips. You glanced up at him before pressing your face into his shoulder.

“You enjoy that?” Dottore nodded, leaning against you. “Thank you, sir.” Dottore laughed at your statement, patting you on the back. “Help me clean up.” He stated bluntly, wobbling as he jumped off the table, clinging to you for support. “Sit down, I’ll clean up, alright?” Dottore nodded, not really having any intention of actually helping you.

He watched as you moved around the room, slowly slipping his clothing back on, admiring your body silently.

The next day many of his subordinates and fellow Harbingers noticed how he limped, constantly making sure the collar of his turtleneck never fell, and was clinging to you for support, of course, no one dared question him.

#📺 brenbofen’s stories #writing #dom reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #dottore x reader #sub dottore #dom male reader #top male reader #male reader #sub dottore x reader #sub genshin impact #genshin impact x male reader #sub harbingers

1K notes · View notes