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belovedmusings · 2 months

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God’s dead, and that’s all right with me.

Sukuna Ryomen x You

Explicit Smut 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part One of the 'Hell and back.' story. Click for story masterlist.

Sukuna Ryomen is the most fearsome syndicate head of the modern day. As such, you never in a million years expected him to wind up at your strip club in a dingy corner of town, but you’re going to make the most of it.

Relevant tags: Mafia! Sukuna, Stripper! Reader, rough sex, rough and sloppy blow job, cum swallowing, cowgirl, unprotected sex, cockwarming, multiple rounds, I don’t use “y/n” for better immersion, AFAB reader

Songs recommended while reading: Gods & Monsters (Lana Del Rey), Slow Down (Chase Atlantic), Swim (Chase Atlantic)

Cross-posted on Ao3.

Read below cut:

Sukuna Ryomen is the most fearsome syndicate head of the modern day. He looms like a storm cloud that threatens to unleash devastating hail at any moment over the city, ruling it with an iron fist. He’s the Two-Faced Demon incarnate, as you’ve heard those around you refer to him, the enigmatic man always addressed as if he was a mythical creature rather than a living, breathing person. He was the richest man in the city with his mountains of dirty money, each finger on his hands tied around the neck of all the local politicians and officials. As such, you never in a million years expected him to wind up at your stripclub in a dingy corner of town, so far away from the luxury of the inner city.

He stands out like a beacon in the night, with his sunset-colored hair and white suit, which is really only slacks and a blazer, shirt forgone to display the large black markings of his tattoos instead.

In your little corner on the outskirts of town, no one remotely interesting has ever come into the club. It’s usually slimy, older men, married and greedy for what they can’t have, salivating like dogs in heat for a glimpse at bodies that exist just out of their reach.

Sukuna is a reprieve from that. Someone young and gorgeous, with an aura of danger…and you’re attracted to him like a moth to a flame. So, you decide to move in on him—he’ll probably never be here again, so why don’t you have some fun with it?

You saunter towards the section he’s sitting in, a booth against the wall, deciding to walk by and glance at him for a second, enticement in your eyes but no need on your lips.

It works.

“Hey,” His deep, chalant voice calls to you. You pause, turning back around, leaning against the separator of his booth to the next.

“Hey,” You echo smoothly. The edge of his mouth turns up, interest flickering in his appraising eyes as he takes in your form.

“How much for a dance?”

“Twenty.”

A tilt of his head. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

You hum. “Sukuna Ryomen. Who doesn’t?”

“And you’re not gouging me?”

At that, you just snort. “Gouge you? I’m gonna enjoy dancing for you, I don’t need to gouge.”

He raises a brow, then his hand is up and he’s beckoning you towards him with a finger. “I gotta come to a shoddy little hole like this more often.”

You don’t reply to him, you just swing a leg up onto the booth in the seat beside him, waiting for him to tuck the cash into your garter. He reaches into his pocket, grabbing the small leather wallet from within and producing a twenty-dollar bill. As prompted, he slides it into your garter, brushing his calloused fingers over the skin of your thigh before you grab the pole beside you and hoist yourself up, beginning your dance.

You never get this much enjoyment out of performing for any man. They’re all the same, gross and worn-out, but Sukuna…there’s a fire in his eyes. Usually, you’re watched with impersonal hunger, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s appreciative, calculated, controlled. He’s savoring every shape he finds in your body with his eyes, and it feels so good. By the end of it, you can feel yourself pulsing with arousal, the bottom of your skimpy lace set damp with the evidence.

It’s not lost on him; once you finish, slinking down with your legs parted to cage his body between your heels, ass on the cold wood of the table, he grabs your hips and pulls you into him abruptly, causing you to gasp.

“I can see how wet you are,” He murmurs under his breath, pushing you down into the evident bulge in his pants. It’s rock hard, and you have half a mind to maul him there in the lounge.

Immediately the security guard nearest to you springs into action, ready to intervene, but you hold a hand up to him.

“It’s okay,” You reassure him, feeling Sukuna’s palm shamelessly gripping at the flesh of your ass. “It’s welcome.”

“Mmm, welcome?” Purrs Sukuna, drawing your attention immediately away from the guard and making you forget all about him. “Just how welcome am I?”

You suck in a breath, meeting his eyes, such a brilliant, unusual brown that they appear almost red. You can only think one thought–fuck it.

“We have private rooms,” You inform him breathlessly, “…if you want.”

That pulls a breathy chuckle out of him, and he huffs, amused. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, sweetheart.”

It’s sort of hard for you to recall the time it takes for you to get off of him, take his hand, and lead him to the hallway where you enter an empty room, locking it behind the two of you.

You’ve never been back to one of these with a customer, and immediately it reminds you of a motel bedroom, old wallpaper on the walls, worn carpet, and nothing but a bed and side table placed in the center with sheets and no comforter. Dingy, seedy, and for one purpose only.

He hums, sitting down on the edge. “This place is no Vixens for sure.”

The name of an upscale club closer to the center of the city. You laugh softly, choosing to be bold and straddle his lap. His hands find your ass immediately, as if they’ve been there a million times.

“It’s not,” You agree, “I’m no Vixen girl.”

“Mmm, I’m not missing out on much,” He grins wolfishly, admiring your figure again. “They all start to look the same once you realize they have the same surgeon. Don’t know how many girls’ bodies I’ve paid for over there by now.”

“A frequent visitor, then?” You ask, running a hand over his chest. He laughs haughtily.

“Like you have room to talk. I’m just another client.”

The smile you give him is full of chagrin. “I don’t actually take anyone back here. You’re the first.”

“Oh, I won’t believe that, but nice try,” He holds your chin between his index and thumb. “Now…it seems I’ve ensnared my prey for tonight.”

The predatory edge to his gaze should scare you, but if you do feel fear it quickly converts to arousal. If the way the world works is truly survival of the fittest, you’d be the first to go. You know that now for sure.

Sukuna Ryomen is not a gentleman, but then again, you dance naked for a living so you aren’t a saint either. Two souls, both sold, entwining within the heady musk of a room fortified with filth. You only serve to add to it.

He puts you on your knees first. It takes him no time at all to pull his cock out, hot, heavy, and thick beyond belief, with a length that sets your insides ablaze when you can wrap both hands around it and still see the tip.

“Suck,” is all he commands, and like a concubine determined to service her master, you get to work.

You may not usually offer sex for money like some of the other girls at your club, but you’re far from inexperienced.

With him, you feel like you can be as bold as you want and he’ll enjoy it. So you just go for it.

You part your lips and take him in, sliding the large cock back to your throat where the gag reflex has long been evicted.

He groans, grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing you to stay down. You moan, the vibrations adding fuel to his fire, and he pulls you back for a moment.

“Breathe now, because you’re not comin’ up again until I say.”

That and five more seconds is the only warning you get before he slams you back down, starting to properly fuck your face.

It’s a blur of push, pull, stretch, gasp for an immeasurable amount of time, the musky taste of his skin mixing with the salt of his precum running down your burning throat on its own volition, swallowing only triggered when he thrusts particularly hard.

You can vaguely feel the tears running down your face, not from discomfort but from reaction alone; he’s conducting your body as if you’re a symphony and he alone holds the baton, cueing your every move.

“Fuck,” he hisses, looking down at you with sharp eyes. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You make an incoherent, garbled noise, your own arousal dripping down your thighs at this point, effectively ruining your set for the night. You won’t be able to dance in it after this, although, if this keeps up you won’t be able to dance tonight at all.

He throws his head back and gives you a guttural groan, hot, bitter seed pouring down your throat in thick rivulets.

Sukuna straightens back out and looks down at you. “Clean it up. Every last drop.”

You moan, sucking on him just to be sure you collect it all, and only then does he pull off.

“Tongue. Show me you swallowed.”

Obediently, you do just that, lips puffy and abused but tongue clean of cum.

“Good.”

He sniffs. Sitting back down on the bed, laying sideways, and regarding you for a moment, still on your knees and almost shaking with how turned on and untouched you are.

“You haven’t gotten any pleasure, huh?” He asks, leaning on his hand thoughtfully. You nod, clearing your throat.

“I’m,” it comes out raspy and hoarse. He guffaws, a salacious grin playing on his face. You try again. “I’m soaking.”

“Yeah?” He asks, casual and uncaring. “Hmm…I could toss you my cash and leave you here like I usually do…let you take care of it yourself…”

You wait to hear the other option, begging him to choose whatever it is as long as he gives you something.

“Or…I could reward you…since I enjoyed you so thoroughly…though I have to warn you, it’s not for the weak.”

Interest flares inside you. “I’m not weak.”

“Oh, well, you did take what I just gave you like a champ, so I suppose,” He acknowledges with a shrug.

The room is silent for a moment before he hums decidedly. “Get up here. Kneel in front of my face.”

And you do so. He hums, eyeing you without an ounce of shame.

“You are quite wet. Look at your thighs, all shiny and sloppy.”

You don’t have time to reply, because he suddenly reaches out, pushing two of his fingers inside of you deeply. A gasp leaves your lips, but he ignores it.

“Pussy’s tight and soaked,” He states as if giving an appraisal. He looks up into your eyes, beginning to pump his digits in and out slowly, making sure to press hard every time they slide in. “Think you can take my cock inside?”

Your heart begins pounding in your chest. There’s not another man like him, you can’t explain it. Nodding, you say, “I can.”

“Eager,” He laughs, amused. “You’d probably do it for free, wouldn’t you?”

A shameful red blooms across your face, and you suddenly feel self-conscious. He chuckles, low and breathy. He grips your chin firmly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Don’t worry, I’ll compensate you prettily for your work,” He almost cooes, letting you go and laying down on his back. “You will work for it, though. I already got my fill.”

You become perplexed. “How?”

He glances down to his soft cock, laying against his abdomen, then back at you expectantly.

“You want it, come and get it.”

It dawns on you that if you want any sort of satisfaction tonight, you’re going to have to do the work. Fine, then. One of the perks of doing this line of work is the ability to easily shake off any shame. You want what you want and you’re gonna take it.

The first thing you do is lose the platforms adorning your feet, their weight dropping with a satisfying ‘thunk’ to the floor.

You then straddle his hips, taking his flaccid cock in hand and, after moving your soaked g-string aside, take him by surprise by slipping him inside of you just like that. He breathes in deeply, sensitive no doubt, and you start rolling your hips to get him hard, removing the straps of your skimpy top and exposing your breasts to him.

“Heh,” A crooked smile adorns his lips, “You were born to do this, weren’t you?”

You’re starting to think you were too, but not just for any man. The kind of guys that come in here are nowhere near Sukuna Ryomen. For him only, you can become whoever you are right now.

You nod, feeling him begin to harden inside of you, the sensation sending hot shivers cascading down your spine. As you begin to get more into it, he follows suit, hands exploring your body. First they fondle the malleable flesh of your breasts, then down your waist, your hips, gripping it tightly. You mewl, speeding up, his dick now stiff inside of you. He’s huge but it definitely helped to start out with him soft, because now he’s locked in, and all you have to do is move.

Wanting to feel more, you raise yourself up on him and drop back down harshly, the depths of you intruded by his length. It makes you release a cry, and before you can recover, his hands have found your ass, gripping it so hard it hurts. He starts to guide you faster on his cock, arm muscles straining beneath the fabric of his blazer.

“Sukuna,” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it, and for a moment you think you’ve messed up until he doubles down on his efforts, groaning deeply in his throat.

“Fuck,” He hisses, “Say it again.”

“Sukuna,” it comes out even more debauched than the first one, and slaps your ass hard, the sting causing you to flutter around him, his hips stuttering with the effort to move in such a confined space.

“You’re fucking tight…”

All you can do is whimper, not even participating in the movements anymore, just letting them happen to you, taking whatever he decides to give you.

He seems to notice this, because your back meets the sheets in the same breath, the syndicate head suddenly on top of you.

With the new leverage, he really begins drilling into you, and desperate, obscene drawls start pouring from your lips, so loud and abandoned that if the music wasn’t so loud in the lounge, someone would surely come looking for you in concern.

His hands are on the backs of your knees, pushing them down, folding you in half without regard for whether you can bend that way or not, and he’s screwing you so absolutely hard that the coil inside you begins winding without any touch at all.

“Sukuna,” You mewl, completely wrecked now, “Gonna cum…”

“Fuck,” He grunts, “You’re gonna make me cum again…”

Your response is a choked moan, and all it takes are the three subsequent, hard snaps of his hips for you to shout his name, cumming so hard your body shakes.

“Shit,” Sukuna seethes through his teeth, pulling out and jerking himself off a few times before his second load paints your abdomen and thighs, staining the parts of your set it lands on, and you feel yourself clenching on nothing, gaping in the absence of his shape.

The sharp-eyed man takes in the sight of you for a moment before climbing off of you and getting to his feet. He walks over to the lone nightstand in the room, grabbing the tissue box and tossing it onto the bed, grabbing a few for himself to clean up.

You sit up, taking your own tissues and cleaning yourself off.

“Gotta say,” He breaches the silence after the tissues are disposed, your lingerie readjusted as good as you could get it. “I ain’t fucked like that in a long time.”

A loose smirk slides over your lips. “Me neither.”

He moves over to you, holding out a wad of cash. Your eyes widen–the girls that do take clients into private rooms usually make a hundred or two hundred at best per man, and what you see in front of you is easily at least a couple thousand.

“Don’t be shy now,” He says, “I’m loaded and you worked for it.”

He’s not wrong. You won’t deny him.

Once it’s in your hands, he flashes you another grin. “It was fun, uh…?”

You realize he’s prompting for your name, so you give it to him. He repeats it, the contours of his voice giving it a quality you’ve never heard before when other people say it.

“Hope to see you again,” He says, heading for the door.

You watch him go, replying with, “you know where to find me.”

He hums, looking back at you for a moment with that confident simper before he exits.

Once you’re alone again, you take a look at the stack of cash, taking a look at how much he gave you. Three thousand.

“Holy shit,” You gasp, eyeing the money with bulging eyes. That’s an entire good week’s worth and then some.

You look back up at the door, thoughts echoing his last words to you.

Hope to see you again.

A/N: my first Sukuna piece!! I love how this turned out...and yes, this will be a series.

So excited for this new story. Something about a stripper and a syndicate man just works for me. I had to sugar-coat him a lil but he's still Sukuna... p.s. doing research, I learned "Ryomen" isn't Sukuna's name technically, but the name of a folktale/mythical demon? So it's kinda funny using that as his last name but for purposes, we'll just role with it lmao

In true D fashion, it's going to be full of drama, so comment here or on the masterlist for updates!

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk imagines #sukuna x you #sukuna headcanons #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x y/n #hell and back fic

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vilevenom · 2 months

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Hello again @bitterbunny07!! Thank you for your prompt! I love a good fic where one of the bros sticks up for JD! Though, I admit, I've characterized Clay a bit more...aggressive than I'd normally write him. 🤷

Also, I'm sorry if this seems a little rushed. I didn't have time to edit it and I wanted to get this out before I went out for the day, so I didn't read it back over I hope you enjoy!

Bruce didn't know how the argument started. All he knew was that it was John Dory and Clay, and they were being loud. Loud enough that a couple of his kids had asked if their uncles were okay. And that, in and of itself, was not okay.

"ALL RIGHT!" Bruce shouted as he walked around the corner to the area of the bar set up for smaller species, "You two! Separate!"

John scowled, but stepped back from Clay at Bruce's shout, while Clay was having none of it. He shot Bruce a dirty look, only to step right back into John Dory's space, nearly looking like he was ready to throw fists at their oldest brother. John grunted and stepped back again, holding his hands up in a placating manner.

"Bruce said to stop," John growled, losing another foot as he moved away from Clay, only for the taller troll to come after him again.

"And I'm not listening to him," Clay snapped, only to shriek in indignation as Bruce surged forward and grabbed the back of his sweater to pull him backwards.

"Too bad. You probably should have," Bruce stated, dragging Clay away from John.

"Hey! No! Let me go! We are not finished here, John Dory," Clay snarled, pointing at John in what some might consider a threatening manner. John simply shook his head as Clay was dragged away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders as he walked in the opposite direction of his brothers.

Bruce continued to drag Clay along as the taller troll tried to struggle free, rolling his eyes as Clay growled curses at him. Bruce was just happy that his brother was quiet enough that his kids wouldn't learn any fun new words from their uncle.

"Okay," Bruce finally said, practically tossing Clay into a beach chair once they were outside and a decent distance from the restaurant, "What was that all about?"

"None of your business," Clay groused, folding his arms over his chest and scowling up at Bruce.

"Oh-hoho, no. You do not get to play this game," Bruce snarked, sitting in the hair next to Clay, while jabbing his finger pointedly into his brothers chest, "You two were so loud that my kids were starting to get worried. It is fully my business when they come to ask me to make sure their uncles aren't going to hurt each other. What. Happened."

Clay, at least, had the decency to look contrite at the mention of the kids being worried. He looked away from Bruce and down to his lap, fiddling idly with his wrist bands, before letting out a long breath. "Tell the kids I'm sorry for making them upset."

Bruce threw his hands into the air in exasperation, before reaching over to shove his brother hard enough to nearly knock him out of his seat. Clay yelped, flailing slightly, and shooting Bruce a glare once he had righted himself. "Tell me, right now. Or I'll go get John's side of the story instead, and I have a feeling you don't want that."

With a scrunch of his nose, Clay let out a frustrated sounding sigh, before giving a short nod. "Fine! But only because John would make me seem like the bad guy."

"Are you?"

"No! I just…John makes me so mad sometimes," Clay admitted, drawing his knees up onto the chair and making himself small.

"What did he do?" Bruce prodded, shifting in his chair to make himself comfortable.

Clay sighed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "He was playing with your kids."

Bruce stared at Clay for a long minute, before letting out a disbelieving snort of laughter. "And that caused a screaming match in my restaurant? You will need to elaborate, oh brother of mine."

Clay grumbled quietly under his breath for a moment, only to shoot up from the chair while waving his arms through the air angrily. "He was playing with them like he's some, some…super uncle, or something! He was letting LaBreezey play dress up with him, and reminiscing with the kids about the band. He was telling them how they could be and do whatever they wanted."

Bruce found his eyebrows slowly arching up his face as Clay spoke, sitting forward a little to give his brother an incredulous stare. "And all of this is bad, because…?"

A frustrated yell forced it's way up from Clay's chest, as he picked up a rock to throw it towards the ocean. "Where was this stupidly encouraging side of him when we were kids?! Where was the 'Oh, you can be whoever you want to be! You have loads of time to figure yourself out!' when we were struggling with the stupid personas he forced on us?! Why does he get to pretend like he wasn't a monster when we needed him?!"

The outburst had Bruce a bit stunned. He knew Clay had bottled up resentments towards John, and he wasn't exactly subtle with his little barbs towards their eldest brother, but this was a whole other can of worms. "Clay," he breathed, rising up from his seat, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his brothers shoulder.

Clay only shrugged him off, turning an angry scowl at Bruce, only for his face to crumble into sorrowful tears. "Why weren't we worth changing for?"

Bruce clicked his tongue quietly, wrapping his arm around Clay's shoulders and directing him closer to the water. He stopped as they reached an outcropping of rocks, settling himself on the edge and patting the seat next to himself. Clay hesitated for a moment, before he too sat down.

"Clay…do you remember how old you were when Mom and Dad got taken?" Bruce asked quietly while staring out at the ocean.

"I was, like, nine or ten? Why?" Clay frowned, watching his brother curiously.

"I was twelve at the time. That would make Floyd seven, and Branch was still an egg. John Dory was fourteen."

Clay frowned, folding his arms over his chest with a sniff. "And?"

"John Dory was fourteen," Bruce reiterated, brow furrowed as he turned to look at Clay, "He was fourteen years old when suddenly he had to take care of three children and a baby."

Clay rolled his eyes with a scoff, unfolding his arms so he could lean back on his hands and kick his feet against the rocks. "Don't be so dramatic. We had grandma."

It was Bruce's turn to scoff, scowling at Clay. "Grandma was great, but she was busy a lot with responsibilities she had before we got dumped in her lap, and she worked a lot to make sure we were kept fed. John was the one who finished incubating Branch's egg, made sure we had proper meals, cleaned the pod, and kept us generally entertained. Let's face it, Grandma was also really bad at disciplining us, so that also fell on John Dory. And then we started Brozone, and that just heaped more responsibility on his shoulders."

"Why're you defending him? He practically gave you an eating disorder," Clay growled out, scowling at the ocean.

Bruce sighed, rubbing at his face before flopping back into the sand to stare up at the sky. "Yeah. He did. And that is something I need to talk to him about at some point. Hash out our feelings. But…becoming a dad made me realize a lot of things. About John, specifically. He was a kid, trying to raise kids and doing the best that he could. He had no idea what he was doing, and we didn't exactly make it easy for him. For fourteen years he was just our stupid older brother, and then suddenly…he was our guardian. I don't think any of us even had the capacity at the time to realize that he was forced to grow up in an instant while also grieving the loss of his parents."

Clay opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it with a soft click of his teeth. He sat up, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "I guess I never gave that much thought," he admitted, "But that doesn't excuse the way he shoved us into boxes and never let us grow."

"No, it doesn't," Bruce agreed, tucking his hands behind his head, "But that should be something you talk about with him in a calm, controlled manner, and not in a screaming match where my kids can hear you. Plus, y'know, he was also shoved in a box."

Clay blinked, turning his head to give his brother a curious stare. "What? 'The Leader'? Please."

"Yeah, 'The Leader'," Bruce parroted back at Clay, "He was. He was our leader. He took care of us for four years, Clay. Did you never realize that he created the band as a way to help grandma with keeping food on the table, as well as keep us from getting into trouble? It was also an extra layer of protection from the Bergens, 'cause if we kept the population happy, it'd keep them 'tasty'. I know we all eventually felt the pressure of the bands success, but John was dealing with it from day one. I think it all just kept building up and building up until he just…imploded."

"Okay, sure. But why is he so different with the kids now?"

Bruce sat up with a short chuckle. "Because it's been twenty years, Clay. Twenty years of decompression and learning about himself. I have no doubt that John indulged in all the things he missed out on in his teenage years in all that time. He's grown up. Got to, properly. And I think he's trying to do better. There's no pressure to keep my kids safe, or fed. He doesn't have to teach them life lessons or discipline them when they're bad. He gets to be an uncle, and I think he's trying hard to be a good one."

Clay fiddled with his fingers in his lap, letting out a slow breath. "Do you think I owe John an apology?"

"For yelling at him? Sure. But I think you need to have a proper and honest conversation with him about everything. About how he made you feel then, and how you feel now. And, please. Try to keep your tone civil."

A quiet laugh left Clay as he gave a short nod. "Yeah, okay. I definitely owe the kids an apology for making them worried."

"Yeah, ya do," Bruce said with a grin, patting Clay on the shoulder.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #trolls john dory #trolls clay #trolls bruce #trolls fanfic #things that i wrote

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steddieasitgoes · 5 months

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@steddiemas Day 18 Prompt: Classic Christmas Songs

Tags: Eddie Munson Hates Christmas Music, Steve Harrington Has A Crush On Eddie, But He Doesn't Know It, Rewriting A Song As A Means To Flirt, Robin Buckey Is A Great Friend, Jewish Eddie

wc: 1230 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

“Christmas songs again?” Eddie groans, stepping into the warm air of Family Video. Unfurling the scarf he begrudgingly wears after Ms. Henderson went through the trouble of knitting him one last year, he moseys his way to Steve and Robin who are slouched over the counter.

“If we did do you think we would be listening to Christmas songs right now?” Robin asks, lifting her head from where she had it buried in her hands. “I’m one “Last Christmas” loop away from becoming the Grinch.”

“Hey! Don’t disrespect Wham like that!”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “You would love that song, big boy.” Pulling his gaze away from Steve and the annoyed pout he’s currently sporting, he locks eyes with Robin. “Quick Buckley, name the worst Christmas song.”

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” obviously.”

“What!” Steve gasps from beside her. “It’s romantic!”

“It’s predatory, Steve! He’s holding her hostage!”

“Sorry, Stevie, but I have to side with Robin on this one.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he goes back to checking in returns.

“I see your “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and I raise you “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” Eddie says.

Robin hums in contemplation before tilting her head. “Not a fan of birds?”

“Honestly, the birds are the least offensive part of the song.”

“Oh no,” Steve groans, turning around in his chair to face them. “I smell a Munson rant in our future.”

“Good thing we have all the candy we could ever ask for,” Robin muses already fishing out a container of gummy words from the candy counter to her left. “Let's hear it, Munson.”

Eddie takes a moment to gather himself, takes a big inhale of air, and then launches into his practiced rant about how “Twelve Days of Christmas” is the worst Christmas song to ever be created. Sure, it doesn’t have predatory connotations like Robin’s song, but it does have a shit ton of birds that no person would ever want to be gifted. And that’s only the beginning. He rants about the unbearable upbeat music, the repetitive nature, and all the other stupid gifts this unnamed person gets their so-called true love.

But his biggest qualm with the song comes at the end of his nearly fifteen-minute rant.

“And no one even questions why there’s suddenly 12 days of Christmas! Christmas is one day not twelve. It’s encroaching on Hanukkah,” he huffs, hands thrown in the air nearly knocking over the pile of returns Steve was previously working through. “Multiple days of celebration is our thing, but oh, no, the Christmas crew had to come take it.”

“Huh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Glad I could enlighten you,” he says, bowing in her direction. When he comes back up from his dramatic, he turns in Steve’s direction. “What about you, Stevie? Have I changed your stance on Christmas songs?”

“I mean, yeah… “Twelve Days of Christmas,” you know is a stupid song, but I mean Wham’s “Last Christmas” isn’t.”

Eddie thunks his head against the counter at the same time Robin lets out a groan. As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s no arguing with Steve on this one. It’s best to cut is losses, rent the movie Dustin requested for the first annual Hellfire Movie Night, and get out of here before he has to bear witness to whatever Steve’s face looks like when Wham blasts through the shitty speakers.

“Take me with you,” Robin pleads, hand clasped around his wrist.

“Sorry, Buckley. You’re on your own with this one.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“So far I have a dreidel, latke, and eight candles shining. But I still need five more things.” Groaning, Steve tips his head back, narrowly missing the neon Family Video sign. “This is harder than I thought.”

“What exactly are you doing?” Robin asks through a mouthful of gummy bears.

“M’trying to rewrite “Twelve Days of Christmas” into “Eight Nights of Hanukkah” for Eddie.”

“Aw, Steve,” she coos, rolling her chair over to him so she can give him a playful pat on the back. “You’re finally going to tell him you like him with a song!”

“What?” he shouts, head whipping forward. If he wakes up with a kink in his neck tomorrow, it’s entirely Robin’s fault. And he’s going to make sure she knows it. “I don’t like Eddie!"

Robin scoffs. “Right, so you’re just writing him a song because…”

“Because, his little rant was inspiring, okay? It’s not fair that Christmas has all these songs and Hanukkah only has that dreidel one,” Steve grumbles. “Maybe if he had his own song to sing he wouldn’t hate mine so much.”

“Alright well, good luck with that,” Robin snorts before quickly disappearing to help the sole customer in the store.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Steve spends the next three Family Video shifts rewriting “Twelve Days Of Christmas” into a Hanukkah-themed song worthy of Eddie’s praise. Reluctantly Robin pitches in on the second day, reminding Steve that the lyrics don’t have to be about Hanukkah since birds have nothing to do with Christmas.

The revelation is the key to breaking the writer's block he was facing and by the end of their third shift of the week, Steve has a perfectly crafted “Eight Night of Hanukkah” song ready for Eddie’s eyes.

When Eddie strolls in five minutes before they close, Robin starts goading Steve into delivering his present. She wants him to sing the song to him, but he’s not about to

put himself through that embarrassment — especially not in front of Eddie who can actually carry a tune. Instead, he passes Eddie the piece of paper he carefully transferred the final lyrics to this afternoon and watches with bated breath as Eddie takes it in his hands and begins to read it.

The silence is unbearable and Steve’s three seconds away from jumping over the counter, retreating to his Beamer, and running away from Hawkins so he never has to see him again, when Eddie clears his throat.

“You wrote this?” Eddie asks and Steve nods, bile rising in his chest. “For me?”

“I mean, yeah? I just… I couldn't stop thinking about what you said and—“

He’s cut off by the feeling of Eddie’s arms tugging him forward. His hip collides into the counter, but its all worth it when Eddie leans forward, wrapping himself as best he can around Steve.

He’s warm, warmer than Steve thought he would be. The scarf he’s been wearing for weeks now smells like cigarettes and something woodsy — a cologne or aftershave if Steve had to guess. Steve can feel the rise and fall of his chest as Eddie rocks him closer.

It makes Steve feel… well it, makes him feel something.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Eddie admits, finally letting go of Steve.

“It was nothing, man,” Steve shrugs and ignores the way Robin rolls her eyes beside him. At least she has the decency to hide her scoff behind an impromptu coughing fit.

“Nothing? You wrote a song! That’s not nothing! Seriously, thank you. M’gonna go home and put music to it immediately. None of that upbeat “Twelve Days of Christmas” nonsense though. This deserves real guitars.”

“Will you play it for me?”

“Course! We’re co-creators on this bad boy now!”

Steve likes the sound of that.

Maybe more than he should.

#steddiemas #two fics today surpise!#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve fic #eddie fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

Note

HEY BESTIE I LOVE THE PROMPTS #s 21 86 94 114 128 146 😭❤️ THEY WOULD BE SO CUTE TO READ

LOVE U SM

HI BESTIE!!

You had sent in one of these before I asked you to resend them lol but HEY turns out that was the perfect set up to post this one shot, too :D

This is featuring Joel and a smuggling partner who's been working with him and Tess for a while. She's new for this fic but I really like her so she may be making another appearance. I hope you love it!

Thanks so much for writing in and reading! Love you!!

Pretty Girl

Your smuggling partner, Joel Miller, is being uncommonly social during a trip to the Speakeasy.

Based on Prompt 128: "You're pretty" "You're drunk"

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Just smut. Smutty smutty smut. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.7k

“This is going to be a stupid fucking run,” you took a sip of shitty whiskey - which was the only whiskey to be found in the QZ so you dealt with it. Better than nothing, at least.

“It’s not that stupid,” Tess replied.

“We’re talking a total of, what, eight days on the road?” You asked. “Unless one of you assholes has a car I don’t know about…”

“No car,” Tess said. “But I’ve heard from other folks who have passed through there in the last few months and it’s eight days of damn near empty country with a literal farm of pot on the other side. We’re talking about pounds and pounds of the stuff, we’ll be set for a fucking year off this one run…”

You took another drink, looking out at the other patrons of the bar. Downtrodden and looking for solace at the bottom of a glass. Not all that different than the dive bars you frequented before the world ended eight years earlier but there had been a charm to them then. You and your girlfriends chose those places to add some kind of danger to your debauchery. The concept of going out for cocktails or a beer after work now was almost laughable it was so foreign.

You’d had that kind of life once, though. One where you wore sheath dresses and spiked heels to your office and got paid more money than you needed to write bullshit ads for bullshit companies like Walmart. A trip to a dive bar was a fun way to step outside of your protected little bubble, a way to hook up with a guy with callused hands who might be a little rougher than the guys in your office whose muscle came from machines at the gym.

You couldn’t believe you used to stress about that shit now. It was all so stupid, the pointless deadlines and the KPIs and the concern about what your boss would think if you showed up with a rough blue collar guy to a company cocktail hour.

Now, you were only worried about surviving to the next day. And this run would either make that very easy or very hard, there was no in between.

“What do you think, Miller?” You looked at Joel, the most sullen of your little trio. “Think it’s worth the risk?”

He sighed, looking between you and Tess.

“I think if Tess’ intel is good then we’re fuckin’ stupid to not take advantage of it,” he said. “But we can’t be fuckin’ dumb about goin’. We have to make sure we’re well supplied because I’m not getting caught with my pants down in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere just to run some pot into the QZ.”

You ground your teeth for a moment before sighing.

“Fine. If you’re both in then I’m in. But I swear to God if this fucking scheme gets me killed I will haunt both of you until the day you die.”

Tess laughed a little and downed the rest of her whiskey.

“On that note,” she said, getting up from your table. “I’m getting out of here. We’ll look at getting the fuck out of here in about a week, make sure you’re set on ammo and rations by then, yeah?”

“Sure,” you nodded once and watched her go and turned back to Joel. “Ever wonder what the fuck would happen to Tess if she wasn’t in charge of something for a whole five minutes?”

Joel snorted.

“Doubt that’d ever happen,” he took a sip of his beer, polishing it off.

“You heading out, too?” You asked.

He looked at you for a moment, almost like he was assessing you.

“Thinkin’ about stayin’,” he replied eventually. “Want somethin’ else from the bar?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’re offering,” you shrugged, not used to Joel doing anything social beyond the bare minimum. You’d been doing smuggling runs with him for two years now and you were pretty sure you could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d initiated on your trips outside the QZ together.

You certainly didn’t DISLIKE the man. You liked him probably a little too much if you were being completely honest about it. You liked that he was broad and strong and that he was the kind of guy you’d pick up on one of those nights out in a dive bar with your girlfriends. But you liked more than that, too. You liked the fact that he stopped at a pharmacy on the way back from a run once and grabbed a handful of bottles of children’s Tylenol. You’d frowned as he stashed them in his pack.

“Neighbor’s daughter keeps gettin’ ear infections,” he said. “Poor thing sounds miserable.”

He never mentioned it again.

Joel brought two beers back to the table and put one in front of you before taking his seat again, looking out at the handful of people dancing to the music from the jukebox.

“So Joel,” you said, twisting the glass in your fingers. “If you had to pick one thing - not a person because we all have a person - that you miss most about before, what would you pick?”

“Hm,” he frowned, taking a drink. “Never thought about it.”

“Well I’m asking you to think about it,” you smiled a little as you took a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the point.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up slightly at that and he shook his head a bit.

“Probably goin’ to listen to music or playin’ music,” he said eventually. “Somethin’ about live music… anyway. Probably miss that most. Or maybe museums.”

“Museums.” You raised your eyebrows.

He nodded.

“Went to a lot of museums,” he said.

He got a bit of a wistful look in his eye for a moment before he took another drink.

“Didn’t strike me as the type,” you said.

He shrugged.

“How about you?” He asked.

“Restaurants,” you said immediately. “Hands down. I’d gained like 10 pounds on a trip not long before the outbreak so for the two weeks before I was dieting like crazy and I’ve never regretted a damn thing more. I was eating the most bland, boring shit like a dumbass. Jesus Christ, what I wouldn’t give now for a New York slice. Or a bagel. Fuck, I think I’d rather have one more true NYC bagel than ever have great sex again.”

“Sounds like you’ve just never had great sex,” Joel smirked a bit.

“No,” you shook your head. “You’ve just never had a great bagel.”

The two of you ended up having a few more drinks together and you actually heard Joel laugh - not something you knew he was actually capable of even after a few years of knowing the guy.

“C’mon,” he said, downing the last of another beer. “Should get out of here before it’s curfew…”

“Joel Miller, consummate rule follower,” you teased but knocked back the rest of your drink as well, leaving the speakeasy together.

“Have a question for you,” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

“Ask away.”

“Where’d you learn to shoot the way you do?” He looked over at you. “You never seemed like the type. Still don’t, if I’m bein’ honest ‘bout it.”

“My dad started taking me hunting when I was a kid,” you smiled a little at the memory. “Always liked the challenge but what I really liked was that he liked doing it with me. Never could get his attention any other way, really. Don’t think he ever wanted a daughter but he got stuck with me. So he took me hunting and I loved it. And then he started teaching me more and more and eventually I was just a damn good shot.”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, I owe ‘im,” he said. “You being a fuckin’ deadeye saved my ass more than once.”

“You know you don’t have to wait until you’re drunk to talk to me,” you said, glancing over to him. “You can ask me shit like this when it comes to mind.”

“Not drunk,” he said.

“Sure you’re not,” you rolled your eyes, coming to the road where you usually went your separate ways to go to your respective apartments. But when you turned to say goodbye, he’d turned toward your apartment instead, already walking that way.

“OK so you’re really drunk,” you said, catching up with him quickly. “Your apartment is the other way, Joel.”

“Not drunk,” he said. “Just makin’ sure you get home OK. Not usually out this late. Not with me, anyway.”

You looked at him, incredulous, but didn’t argue. You walked in silence for a few minutes and you felt his eyes on you periodically and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Is everything OK?” You asked eventually. “Didn’t… I dunno, get bit in the QZ somehow, right?”

“I’m fine,” he frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re being weirdly talkative and walking me home,” you said. “And you keep looking at me. And I’d like to make sure you’re not about to drop dead or turn or something.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged.

“OK…”

“It’s just…” he paused. “You’re… pretty.”

You snorted.

“You’re drunk.”

“I ain’t drunk,” he said.

“And I ain’t been pretty since 2003,” you shook your head and smiled a bit. “That ship sailed with the Lancome counter at the mall and access to regular blowouts.”

“Well that’s a load of shit,” he said. “You’re pretty. You just are, don’t need fuckin’ makeup or that other shit to see that.”

You stopped walking and stared at him for a moment. He stopped walking, standing under a street light, and turned to look at you.

“What.”

“I swear to God, Joel, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were hitting on me.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe I am.”

You scoffed.

“I’m being serious!” You said. “Don’t make fun of me…”

“I’m bein’ serious, too,” he said. “Not makin’ fun.”

You stepped closer to him, so your bodies were aligned and almost touching, your arms crossed over yourself.

“What were you planning to do about it?” You asked.

He took your chin gently in one of his large hands and tilted your head back before kissing you. HIs lips were plush, unexpectedly soft in contrast to the pleasant scratch of his mustache on your skin. He kissed you until you were breathless, your hands flexing into fists as you tried to work some of the growing tension from your limbs. He pulled back a little, his nose brushing your own.

“Somethin’ like that,” he said quietly. “More, if you’ll let me.”

You we ripping his clothes off before the door to your apartment had fully closed, his shirt winding up somewhere on the floor of your living room alongside your bra.

When you were both naked, you pushed him down on your bed, your pussy already dripping and aching for him. You moved to straddle him and he brought a hand down over your sensitive mound, dipping his fingers into your slit and gathering your wetness before sliding up to tease your clit.

“Goddamn you’re wet,” he groaned. “You walk around like this all the fuckin’ time, just ready for it?”

“No,” you panted. “Took you practically sticking your tongue down my throat outside…”

“Oh is that all,” he worked your clit harder, making you moan.

“Maybe you’re pretty, too, Miller,” you closed your eyes, trying to focus, your body already starting to tighten, your sex all but begging to have something to grip and throb around as aching heat started to swirl through you.

“Know that’s bullshit,” he leaned forward and nipped your throat before kissing and sucking his way to your collarbone, taking his hand away from your slit and rubbing your arousal over his thick, hard length. You tilted your hips forward, brushing his weeping tip with your soaked seam. “Fucking hell Baby…”

“Need you,” you dug your nails into his back and he moaned at it. “Need to feel…”

“Fuck,” he groaned, holding onto the base of his cock and lining it up with your grasping, longing core. His head barely dipped into you, the burning stretch doing nothing to sate your desperate wanting. “Need inside you, need you to fuckin’ take it…”

You thrust down on him, taking him into you in one firm, quick motion. It made you gasp, his size almost overwhelming. You whimpered as your body adjusted, your pussy feeling more stretched than it ever had before.

“Jesus Christ,” his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breaths coming in keening, desperate pants. “Holy fucking God you’re tight, fuck…”

You started to ride him then, beginning slow but hard, lifting your hips up before slamming yourself back down on him, your channel gripping him tight every time he was thrust up into you.

His hands went to your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of you, clinging to you as you worked his cock.

“Take it like this?” You panted in his ear before sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder.

“Fuck, just like that,” his hands were more desperate on you now, like he was going to lose control. “Want you to make yourself cum on my fuckin’ cock, want to feel you cum all over my fuckin’ cock…”

Your pussy tightened further around him and you pressed your chest tightly against against him, riding him hard and fast now, your clit pressing against the softness of his stomach with every firm thrust.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped as you came, taking him all the way inside yourself and holding him there as you pulsed around him.

It was like he’d been waiting for you to cum, waiting for you to be so lost in your own orgasm that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from taking what he wanted.

His arms went around you and he picked you up for a moment before pressing you down into your bed, his cock buried in you to the root. He started fucking into you while your pussy still throbbed around him. Your hands flew to your bed, fingers tangling in the sheets as he spread your legs wide and looked down to where you were joined.

“Fuck, look at you takin’ me so goddamn well,” he groaned, increasing his pace. Your pussy started to contract around him again, your clit both begging for attention but so oversensitive that you were worried him toying with it would make you cry. “Tight fuckin’ pussy so goddamn good…”

He pressed a thumb into your clit and it was like a shockwave rolled through you, something almost like another orgasm coursing through you. But it offered no relief, just driving yourself to get tighter around Joel, your body trying to bring him deeper, hold onto him for longer.

“Not gonna last long with pussy this goddamn good,” he said, leaning over you and kissing and biting down your jaw to your throat. You rocked your hips up against him in desperate, stuttering thrusts. “Where do you want me, Baby?”

“On my clit,” you moaned. “Fuck, please…”

“Jesus,” he groaned, fucking into you harder, his cock forcing you to stretch over him to just shy of the point of pain with every motion. Your body was so taut again you were worried you were going to snap with it, with the aching drive of pleasure and want taking over you. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He thrust in you twice more before pulling out of you and jerking himself just once over your dripping slit. He pressed his swollen cock head to your clit and gasped as he came, spilling himself over you, the warm pulsing of his spend triggering your orgasm.

“Fuck you’re so pretty when you cum,” he panted, watching as the last of his cum dripped onto your throbbing clit. He ran his thumb up from your hole through your slit to your overwrought clit, rubbing his cum into you as he circled your clit, making you shudder and gasp as your orgasm eased.

He took one last, long look at your naked body before collapsing beside you, still panting for breath.

“So,” he said after a minute. “Still think you’d rather have a bagel?”

You laughed once.

“Bagels can go to hell,” you said. “As long as you promise to do that to me again.”

“Any time you want, Pretty Girl,” he said. “Any time you want.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #oneshot #follower celebration

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ficnation · 1 year

Text

Withering Wildflowers - Daryl x Reader

Prompt: a bouquet of flowers

Word count: 864

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: pure angst, usual twd themes (e.g. descriptive gore, use of weapons, violence, cursing), major character's death

A/n: This is a piece for @the-slumberparty writing challenge week 1! I'm so sorry I'm posting it right now, but I've just realized it was sitting in my drafts for weeks :") Enjoy some angst!

☁ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁ || ☁ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁

You were withering like the bouquet of flowers he left on your bedside table almost two weeks ago. Your skin lost its glow, greying like the petals of the wildflowers. Your limbs felt too heavy for your body, and your hair framed your face sticking to your sweaty skin.

Life was unforgiving for Daryl. He’s already lost so much—his family, friends, brother, and the life he used to know. Now, the world wanted to take you—the person he loved the most on this miserable fucking planet—away from him.

He sat beside you on the bed, holding your weak hand and pressing it against his cheek, trying to make you feel less alone.

“Daryl, I don’t want you to do it,” you rasped out, fingers brushing over his stubbled chin. You tried to meet his eyes, but you were afraid you’d break down right there in front of him, and he didn’t need to know how scared you were to die or worse—become one of those things.

“Not gonna let ya turn,” he mumbled out, leaving a soft kiss on the tips of your fingers. “It has to be me.”

He was calm, almost too calm now, after he lashed out at everyone that tried to talk to him about your condition and what to do about it. The anger subsided, making space for the fear, grief and agony the prospect of losing you brought. He didn’t want you to see it on his face and feel even worse. He just wanted to make your last moments peaceful and make sure you knew how loved you truly were and how much he’ll miss you—how much they’ll all miss you.

“Can ya at least look me in the eyes?” Daryl’s gruff voice sounded from beside you again, but the only thing you could do was shake your head and look down. The tears fell freely down your sunken cheeks. “Hey, c’mon, jus’ look at me,” he pleaded. He reached out, taking your face in his hands. “I know yer afraid.”

His last words got your attention, and you looked up, meeting his baby blue irises. “I’m dying, Daryl. It’s fucking terrifying, but…” you paused, taking a deep breath in to steady your voice, “leaving you scares me even more.” You didn’t burst into sobs; you had no more tears left to cry.

“I’m gonna be alright, ya know that. I promised ya.”

Daryl leaned in, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips. It took him a long moment to pull away. He wanted to cherish the kiss, but all he could focus on was the roughness of your lips that were once the definition of softness—always making him think of the delicacy of flower petals. It was another reminder of the state you were in—closer to death than you ever were.

“Can I ask you to do something for me? One last time,” you whispered, looking at him sadly.

Daryl knew you could read him and his thoughts like a book. He cast his gaze down shamefully, nodding his head to agree that he’d grant your wish. Why couldn’t he pretend just for a little while that everything was going to be okay? Why did he have to remind you and himself that you’d soon stop being you? He despised himself for it and for lying to you. He’d never be okay without you there.

“Can you pick some fresh flowers for me?” You looked at the bouquet by your side with a melancholic smile. “They’re withering.”

Daryl snorted quietly, “Since when do ya care ’bout a bunch of wildflowers?” His response made the grimace on your face become a genuine smile. He could swear his heart thumped madly at the sight—just like the day he saw it for the first time. “I’ll get ’em for ya, darlin’.”

The archer got up from the bed and rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. If you wanted flowers, he’d go to hell and back to get you some goddamn flowers; he’d rip them out of walkers’ hands if it came to that. Daryl glanced at you again thoroughly before he leaned over and pressed his lips against yours in a longing kiss. His fingers smoothed down your hair before he pulled away.

“I’ll be back real soon. I promise.”

You only needed to give her a slow nod for her to understand that it was time. She took the gun out of her waistband and stepped to your side, one of her hands reaching out to grasp yours. Carol knew how terrified you were, standing eye to eye with death itself, and she knew how Daryl would’ve never forgiven himself for being the one on the other side of that gaze; that’s why she agreed to your plan—to make it all less insufferable.

The moment you heard the front door slamming shut, you called out for Carol.

The woman barged into the room, her eyes murky with sadness and unshed tears.

Her hand was steady, holding the weapon against the side of your head. “Just look at the flowers, sweetheart,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Carol,” you mumbled out, your eyes glued to the bouquet of withering wildflowers.

@whiskeypowder @hopefulatrocity @witheringblooddemon @humanmistakes @yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff @spidergirla5 @depressedfrog2 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @wonderful-writer @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock @witchygagirl

#the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #twd #the walking dead amc #writing challange #the slumber party #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead x you #twd x reader #twd x gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 ao3

Eddie wakes again, and it’s a soft, gradual departure from sleep. When his eyelids eventually co-operate enough to stay open, he finds that Steve is already awake; the curtains are open, sunlight streaming across the bed.

“Hi,” Steve says, smiling, and it’s genuine—but Eddie’s getting familiar with knowing how to look closer. He’s sat up a little straighter again, a rigid line to his shoulders—and Eddie has a faint memory, suddenly, of Steve on the bench at a basketball game, waiting on tenterhooks to be called up.

“What’s up?” Eddie asks. When he swings his legs round, feet hitting the floor, he realises that the couch has been pulled back from Steve’s bed, frowns a little.

“Not much. They were just checking my lungs and stuff, ran some tests.”

Eddie can see the evidence of that now as Steve moves back the sheets slightly: his upper torso has a series of little marks, presumably where stickers and wires once were.

“They had to, uh, move you so they had enough room. Just kinda pushed the couch back,” Steve continues.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment. “I slept through that?”

Steve laughs. He sounds fond. “Oh, yeah. You were, like, solid gone, dude.”

“You should’ve—”

“Nope,” Steve interrupts firmly. “You needed the rest. Plus, um, I kinda demanded that they didn’t wake you up. Thought it was the least they could do.”

Oh.

“Well, m’sorry I missed that,” Eddie says, and through the sudden warmth in his chest, he adds, “You gave ‘em a Harrington glare, didn’t you?”

Steve laughs again, bemused. “A what?”

“Come on, man, don’t you know your own legends?”

“Legends.”

“You know, your evil eye.”

“Saying basically the same thing doesn’t actually explain anything, y’know.”

“Don’t be all coy now, you made it damn clear when you were pissed at someone.”

“Like when?”

Eddie points upwards accusingly, as if plucking the memory from the air. “English, last period. When that sub—”

“Oh, him. He was an ass.”

“I thought you were gonna turn him to stone. You gave some pretty good inspiration for a basilisk in one of my campaigns.”

Steve gives a baffled smile. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Well—”

“Anyway, he was being a douchebag, making Rebecca read out loud; he knew she hated—”

“I kinda thought you liked her,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “You made me lose a bet on the prom couples.”

Steve snorts. “What is it with you and—never mind. No, I didn’t—it just wasn’t right, how he treated her. That was all.”

His gaze goes a bit distant as he speaks, his hand rubbing absent-mindedly at one of the more vivid marks, right on his breastbone.

“Hey, you uh—the tests went fine, right?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I’d—yeah, aced them,” Steve says, and though his tone is flippant it’s also, thankfully, not sarcastic. He nods to the door, to the corridor outside. “Think they sorta want me to just go at this point.”

“They said that?” Eddie says, remarkably keeps his voice even.

“I mean, not exactly in words. They’re not like—you know, normal doctors or whatever. They’re involved in all this,” Steve gestures vaguely, “shit. S’not like it’s personal. Guess I’d want it to be all over, too, if I was in their shoes.”

Eddie just looks at him for a moment. He doesn’t know how to say you’re not a fucking inconvenience for people to be over and done with—knows that if he even gets close to something as bald as that, Steve will not really hear him.

So instead he says, “Is it too late for breakfast—shit, yeah. Uh, I can offer you the vending machine’s finest, à la carte?”

Steve grins. “Gimme anything with chocolate and you’d be my hero, man.”

It’s only when Eddie reaches the vending machine that he realises he doesn’t have any more change on him. He curses under his breath, wonders if he can yield any candy bars with a well-timed kick—but before he can even lift his foot, the machine whirs with no prompting, and deposits a pile of candy into the slot.

Nonplussed but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Eddie bends down to take the haul, then spots a familiar reflection in the glass.

“Hey! What the—what’re you doing here?” he says, watching as El grins and wipes surreptitiously underneath her nose.

“Visiting,” she says simply, and that’s when Eddie notices Jim Hopper right behind her.

“Yeah, there’s some stuff we’ve gotta straighten out,” he says mildly.

It’s striking, to see him up close. There’s things Eddie never noticed in his bird’s eye view of him in the parking lot: how thin he is, his hair so closely shaven that it just serves to make his face look even more gaunt.

Hopper ruffles El’s hair. “Had to bring one of the kids with me or there’d be a damn mutiny.” But his hand lingers on El’s head, and Eddie can tell that it’s more than that—like he wants to keep her close.

Maybe it’s the fact that the guy’s clearly been through some shit that Eddie doesn’t stumble too badly over how Hopper is chatting to him like it’s normal.

“Uh, I can, uh, take you to Steve’s floor?”

“That’d be great, kid. Saves Joyce from murdering that poor girl on reception.”

Hopper whistles, raises his hand—and then Joyce Byers is hurrying over, and she clutches Eddie’s hand, squeezes like he’s a dear family friend.

“Oh, Eddie, sweetie, thank God we—this way? None of our calls were getting through, god, you won’t believe the trouble we—now if we can find a damn doctor who actually knows, I’ll—”

“Um,” Eddie says, voice a little strained—his mind stuck on both Eddie and sweetie. “I’ve not actually—they’re being pretty elusive.”

Hopper smiles grimly. “Oh, we’ll find them.”

They must be a magic duo, because they’ve been on Steve’s floor for barely a second before both Hopper and Joyce are slipping into an office room, jaws set. The door shuts.

One beat, and then Eddie hears the muffled, thrumming cadence of raised voices.

El shrugs. “They will be a while,” she declares. “Let’s go see Steve.”

Steve’s jaw drops when El walks through the door.

“You’re gonna catch flies, Harrington,” Eddie says—but he only says it because Steve looks, for just a moment, overwhelmed.

It works, gives Steve just enough time to rally.

“Shut up, Munson.” He rolls his eyes at El as if to say can you believe this guy?

She giggles, then goes over to the bed and wraps her arms around Steve in a gentle hug.

He pulls her closer, brings a hand up to stroke her hair, and his face falls a little, as if he’s had a sad realisation. Then he gives himself a shake and murmurs, heartfelt, “You’re goddamn amazing, El. Thank you. Thank you.”

El shakes her head, draws back. “I only got you a little way there. You brought yourself back, Steve.”

Steve gives a fragile smile—looks like he’s trying his hardest to ward off tears.

”And what am I, the furniture?” Eddie says.

Steve snorts, blinks, and his answering grin is strong. “Oh, I suppose you did something,” he sighs dramatically, and he nudges El. “Shall we give him that?”

“No,” El says dryly, and Steve cackles. “Come on, then, catch me up! You blow my house up yet?”

El smiles. “Not yet. I like your movies. I want to go to a thrift store, to try and find something like Liesl’s dress.”

“Oh, the pink one?” Steve asks, and when El nods he says warmly, “Yeah, that’ll suit you.”

While they talk, Eddie starts to place all the candy on the bedside table. It’s a carefully curated selection from the pile El had initiated—chocolate bars Eddie thinks Steve will like: 3 Musketeers and U-No Bars.

Steve catches his eye, mouths, “Hero,” and winks.

#steddie #steddie fic #the self sacrificial steve agenda #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #jim hopper #el hopper #joyce byers #eddie and el #steve and el

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ikeromantic · 5 months

Note

Hi Yozzie!

Congratulations again on your milestone! For the New Years prompt, how about Silvio/pit trap/fruitcake.

The idea of Silvio of all princes stuck in Clavis's trap... (I'm not even sure I need Emma in there at all).

I had too much fun with this. Apologies in advance for shenanigans. Approx 1700 words of our lovely Prince Silvio in one of Clavis' infamous pit traps. If you haven't read Silvio's route, spoilers ahead! IkePri New Years Event story

Silvio gave a disgusted snort at the gaggle of nobles and wanna-bes. He didn’t have patience for their games tonight. All he wanted was to drink. To drink until this thirst in him ebbed or he got so drunk he didn’t notice it anymore. And this party wasn’t the place to get it done. No real booze here, just damned rose liquor and wine.

He took one last look around and then stomped off down one of the hallways leading out of the ballroom. It was a dimlit corridor with cheap decor and faded wallpaper. Silvio shook his head. These Rhodolitians didn’t know how to spend. “If you wanna throw a real part- ah!”

His grumbling cut short as the floor opened up, dropping him down an unexpected hole. Silvio jangled the whole way down the shaft and hit bottom with a thud and a clang. He lay there a moment, still and silent with surprise. Then he leapt to his feet, cursing.

“Hey! Hey! Ya morons left a hole in the floor! Damn it!”

No one replied, of course. They were all at the party. Where he was also supposed to be, until dawn. Which meant no one was going to come looking for at least another few hours. “There’s no way I’m gonna rot down here,” he mumbled, glaring up into the darkness above.

Silvio took a breath and steadied himself. He’d been in bad spots before. One didn’t sail without being able to handle himself, afterall. The hole he’d fallen into was pretty deep, the shaft slightly angled to slow a victim’s fall. The floor was cushioned with thick cloth and - he prodded the pile at his feet - hay.

This must be one of Clavis’ infamous pranks. Silvio frowned. “When I see that guy, I’m gonna punch him so hard he smiles out his ass, and that’s just to start. He’s gonna pay me back for this. I’ll . . . I’ll bankrupt him. And his damn brothers. The whole damn kingdom . . .”

He muttered angry promises as he searched the space for a way out or a way up. He found one of his own chains, the soft gold snapped in his fall, a covered plate of some sort of violently green pudding, and a book titled Smiling Is Good For You. He frowned at it and tossed the book against the wall.

“Useless.”

Silvio took to pacing. Back and forth across the small, padded space, his boots sinking in slightly with every step. It took five steps to cross from one wall to the other. Left wall, right wall, he began tapping them at each turn. Left wall, “I’m gonna make that bastard pay.” Right wall, “Hey! Somebody get me outta here!”

His fury faded as the quiet around him settled in. He tried to cling to it, but there was nothing to aim it at. Silvio was alone. No one to bribe or berate. Just a prince and his thoughts. He flopped onto the floor with a heavy sigh. “Boring,” he grunted.

A bit of hay poked through the fabric into his arm. He picked it out and threw it at the wall, but it wasn’t heavy enough to go far. It landed on his leg, one ending pointed at him in challenge. Silvio glared at it haughtily, but of course, the piece of hay wasn’t impressed.

He pursed his lips and blew on it. The hay spun around lazily in the air and floated right back onto his leg. “Bastard! Get off!” Then he brushed at it, but the bloody thing clung to his glove and jabbed him in the wrist. “Damn it!”

“Is someone down there? Who did I catch tonight?” A voice floated down from above, the tone rich with held laughter.

Silvio jumped to his feet, ignoring the bit of hay that still stuck to his coat. “Clavis?” The rage boiled back up in his veins. “You better get me outta here! I’m gonna punch you so hard the king feels it in his -”

“Hm. No, it appears I’ve trapped an angry dog. I thought I heard someone talking but now it’s just barking.” A laugh, high and wicked echoed down the shaft. “I’ll come back in a bit and check again.”

“Clavis! You better be joking! CLAVIS!” Silvio jumped and pounded on the walls, but the Rhodolitian prince was gone, or ignoring him. He could just picture the smug expression he would be wearing as he stood up there, listening to Silvio lose his mind. Then it hit him. This was the kind of reaction that sicko wanted.

Silvio took a long, deep breath. “Ok, ok. This guy wants to play games? Alright. I can play ‘em.” He sat down again, and the hay pricked his arm.

He jerked it out of his sleeve and stared at it. “Yer worse than that mutt. At least he doesn’t try to stick to me.” Silvio spun the hay in his fingers, noticing for the first time how it caught the dim light and turned it golden. And even though the ends were sharp, the middle was soft. Surprisingly so.

“You aren’t so bad, I guess. Least ways, you have some valuable qualities. I bet there’s people who would pay good money for ya.”

The hay didn’t reply.

Silvio sighed, trying to focus on not being angry. Or alone. “I like alone,” he told the bit of hay. “It’s good. Means no one’s screwing you. Lying to you. ‘Cept you.” The last bit he said quietly, as if it was a secret he was keeping from himself.

He set the bit of hay on his leg and picked up the book. Reading was not a favorite activity, though a necessary one. But this trash wasn’t about products, resources, income streams, investment returns, real property or anything worthwhile. At least it had pictures.

Although . . . “What kinda freak draws just the mouth?” Silvio thumbed through the book, looking at the smiles pictured within. Some of ‘em were nice. But some . . . “Look at this. Guy’s missing some teeth. Why’d they draw that in here? Genuine, it says.” He showed the page to the dry straw on his thigh.

“Stupid word too. Just means nobody caught you lyin’ yet.” He scoffed. “And this one? Lips all smooshed together. Ugh. Shy, it says. Pfft. Just somebody trying to fake like they don’t want somethin’ so you let ‘em close. Never met someone shy.”

The piece of hay was also not impressed.

They continued to flip through the pages, well, Silvio flipped and the straw just sat there. As straw does. “Kinda like this one though.” He spoke more quietly as his fingertip traced the outline. “Reminds me of -” he cut himself off as the memories came. When he was young and his mother, the queen, still had her real smile. Not the vicious, brittle thing it became as jealousy and hurt ate her alive.

He swallowed, pushing away the thought. Women were all like that. Fake. In love with money and power. And when there was a threat to what they had, they would do anything to hold onto it.

“Not gonna talk about that, ya got me?” Silvio glared at the hay as if it had forced these thoughts on him. He flipped the page so savagely it almost tore. “Damn it. This one looks like the mutt. Book says it’s joy but I’m gonna tell you, it’s stupidity.” He picked up the bit of hay and brought it closer to his face. “That’s the smile a fool makes when he -”

“Prince Silvio, are you . . . talking to a piece of grass?” Rio’s head appeared at the top of the hole, a bullseye lantern in hand.

He stood up, throwing the book on the ground. It landed atop the weird green pudding with a squelching sound. “No!” Silvio tucked the straw into his pocket and hoped his brother mistook the gesture. “Ya didn’t see anything!”

“Right.” Rio’s wry grin told Silvio this was going to come back at the worst possible time.

“You better get me outta here! If you’re lucky, I’ll only bankrupt half the country getting recompense for this!”

The blonde tilted his head. “Well, see, that’s the thing. I want to get you out. I really do. But if you’re still angry, I might have to leave you here to cool off a little longer.”

Silvio felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Certainly rage and not fear. He liked being alone. Yeah. “You do and I will kill you.”

“Fair enough. So look, you like to make deals so let’s make one. I get you out now, and in exchange, you don’t take any revenge. Not on me, or Prince Clavis or Rhodolite. Nobody and nothing. We can both pretend it never happened.”

“What?! No! Why would I -”

Rio interrupted. “Because then I’ll forget I saw you practically kiss a blade of dry grass. While holding a full conversation with it.”

Silvio’s fists tightened hard enough that his rings pinched. “That’s blackmail!”

“Is it? Hmmmm.” Rio grinned. “I don’t know. Sounds like a fair exchange. I mean, imagine what the merchants would say if they knew you were losing your mind? Nobody would want to do business with such a risky partner.”

The worst part of this, Silvio thought, was that the mutt was right. People were strangely skittish. A rumor could destroy an empire. “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“I said fine! It’s a deal!” He felt his shoulders slump. Defeat, thought Silvio, was almost worse than death. The only silver lining was knowing he’d get out and have plenty of opportunity to teach the mutt a lesson some other day.

A few minutes later, a rope ladder tumbled down the shaft. He climbed up, moving as fast as he could just in case Rio tried to change the deal. But his brother didn’t renege, and even held out a hand to help him up the last bit. Silvio slapped it away, of course, but part of him appreciated the gesture even if he would never admit it.

“Not even a thank you?” Rio raised an eyebrow. His too-similar sky blue eyes met the sea blue of Silvio’s gaze.

“Not unless I can say it with my fist. Now get outta my way. I need a drink.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys

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sochilll · 2 months

Text

Day Four of Pins and Patches Week! (See the prompt list here!)

Day 4: Hospital/Home

Read on Ao3

Michael wasn’t sure how the hospital visit would go. He knew that he and Jeremy had sort of made up before everything went to hell, but a part of him still worried that he’d show up and Jeremy would be angry, or tell Michael to leave, or throw the stuffed bear Michael bought at the gift shop at him.

Fortunately, none of that happened. Jeremy was happy to see Michael. He sat up in bed, grinning. Michael sat in the chair beside the bed and filled Jeremy in on what had happened after he passed out. They talked for what felt like hours. When Michael checked his phone, he realized it actually had been hours.

“Shit man,” Michael stood up. “I have to get home for dinner.”

“Okay,” Jeremy shifted, pushing himself further upright. “I should probably ask if I can eat something too.”

“How long are you here?”

“Just overnight. Unless I have a brain malfunction and die,” Jeremy tried for a laugh.

Michael forced one back but they both knew it wasn’t funny. “Text me when you’re home. I’ll come over.”

“Okay,” Jeremy smiled, looking more like his old self than he had in months.

Michael gave him a gentle fist bump and then stepped into the hallway.

He got slightly lost, turning left toward what he thought were the elevators, but ending up in another hallway. He frowned. He spun around to go back the way he came but his eyes caught something through one of the open doors.

“Jake?”

Jake looked up. “Oh hey uh…”

“Michael.”

“Yeah. I knew that.”

Michael nodded. He looked Jake over. His left leg was completely covered in a cast. His left arm was wrapped in bandages. “How’s… how are you?”

“You know,” Jake shrugged. “Not dead so… that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Michael laughed slightly. “Your parents here?”

Jake suddenly pretended to be intensely interested in his bandage. “Nah. They have other stuff to do.”

“Oh.” Michael shifted his weight. He wanted to say something more meaningful than “oh” but he couldn’t think of anything that could possibly make Jake feel better. He suddenly remembered the bear. He’d forgotten to give it to Jeremy. They’d been too caught up talking. He dug it out of his bag. “Here. To brighten up the place.”

Michael set the bear on the weird little hospital night stand.

Jake looked at it and then Michael. “You just carry that on you?”

“Never know when you’ll need a small stuffed bear wearing a shirt that says “get well beary soon,” you know?”

Jake laughed. He tilted his head at Michael. “Thanks.”

“How long are you here?”

Jake shrugged again. “I was on like, mad pain killers when they told me what was going on.”

Michael snorted. “You’d think they’d consider that, being professionals and all.”

“Well, I may have lied about how coherent I felt.”

“Probably not a great lie to tell to your doctors.”

“What can I say? I live on the edge.”

“My apologies Mr. Badboy.” Michael held his hands up. He felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. “Ah, crap. I have to get home for dinner.”

“Right. Cool.” Jake looked at Michael for a moment, frowning slightly.

Michael hesitated. “What?”

“What?”

“You look like you want to say something.”

“Yeah,” Jake pursed his lips. “I’m trying to decide if it’s really stupid.”

Michael shrugged. “Most things that come out of my mouth are stupid. Say it anyway.”

Jake laughed. “Okay.” He paused, apparently debating for another second. “Do you wanna hang out once I’m out of here?”

Michael blinked. He wasn’t sure what he thought Jake was going to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I’m kinda rethinking my whole friend situation right now.”

“And you’re choosing me for your new posse?”

“Well,” he gestured to the empty room, “first come first serve?”

Michael laughed. “Okay. Yeah, let’s hang out.” He pulled his phone out and passed it to Jake like a cool person who got boys’ numbers all the time.

Jake typed his number in and handed it back. He’d put his name in as “Jake B).”

“Cool. So, uh, I’ll text you I guess.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” Michael repeated. “Um, okay. So bye Jake.”

Jake smiled like he was trying not to laugh. “Bye.”

Michael and Jake texted almost every day for the next two weeks. Michael was pretty sure Jake was out of the hospital by now, but he hadn’t brought up hanging out again. And Michael certainly wasn’t going to mention it. He was sort of convinced that Jake regretted asking in the first place.

And then it happened. It was almost midnight and Michael’s phone buzzed three times in a row. He paused his video game and picked it up.

“Hey!” Jeremy whined. “I was just about to kick your ass.”

“Sorry. It sounded important.” Michael opened his messages.

Jake: hey are you doing anything tomorrow

Jake: i was thinking we could hang. watch a movie or something

Jake: my parents are out of town this weekend so

Michael typed furiously and then put his phone face down.

Michael: sure! Sounds cool :) better be a good movie though

Jeremy eyed him. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. Just making plans for tomorrow.”

Jeremy scoffed, offended. “With who?”

Michael unpaused the game. “Uh, Jake.”

Jeremy’s character died in an explosion of blood. “What the fuck? Jake? Like Jake Jake?”

“Yeah.” Michael shrugged. “Ran into him on the way out of the hospital that day and we’ve been talking.”

“Talking,” Jeremy repeated.

“Yup.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning we have been sending texts back and forth in a conversation format.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “So you’re like… into him?”

“What?” Michael flushed. “I never said that. Why does it matter anyway?”

Jeremy fidgeted. “I don’t know. You’ve just never really mentioned Jake before. And now you guys are hanging out?”

“Chillax dude.” Michael bumped his shoulder. “You’re not being replaced. We’re just talking.”

Jeremy pouted but let it go after Michael pinky-swore Jeremy was still his best friend.

Jake’s house was fully repaired and just as expensive looking as the first time Michael had been there. He texted Jake when he arrived.

Jake: front door is open. i’m in the living room. sorry i’d come get you but… walking

Michael: understandable

Michael hesitated, a little worried about having to explain himself to some butler or maid or something, but he gathered his courage and pushed open the front door. There seemed to be no one else home. He found the living room easily. Jake was on the couch, leg propped up on pillows on the coffee table.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Jake gestured to the couch. “Welcome.”

Michael sat beside him. “Looks different in the daytime.”

“That sounds really creepy man.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged. “I’m kinda creepy.”

Jake laughed. They lapsed into silence.

Michael scrambled for something to say. “So how’s the friend search going?”

“Great. You know how being in the hospital lets you meet a bunch of people your age?”

“Yeah exactly. It’s a great place to meet people.” Michael nodded. “So just me then?”

“Well, I’m still deciding about you.” Jake said, giving Michael a faux serious look.

Michael put a hand to his chest. “That is truly hurtful. I gave you a stuffed bear that cost several dollars!”

“Several?” Jake raised his eyebrows. “Well now I feel bad about throwing it out.”

“You threw it out?”

Jake laughed. “No.” He nodded to the TV stand where the bear was sitting.

It made Michael’s chest feel slightly warm for some reason, thinking about Jake taking the stupid stuffed bear home with him.

Michael was trying to come up with some witty and cool thing to say when his phone started vibrating incessantly.

Jake glanced at his pocket. “You gonna check that?”

“No.” Michael knew exactly who it was and what he was saying.

“What if it’s important?”

“It’s not. It’s just Jeremy being an obnoxious best friend.”

“Obnoxious about what?” Jake asked.

Michael looked at him. Jake seemed pretty cool. Like, actually cool. Chill. Not stuck up or asshole-ish.

“He’s just making fun of the fact that we’re hanging out.”

Jake looked confused. “Why is that funny?”

“Cause we have never spoken before despite going to school together since like second grade.”

“Hm. Good point.” Jake nodded. “Except we did do that project on ancient Egypt together in seventh grade.”

“Oh my god yeah!” Michael laughed. “God I can’t believe you even remember that.”

“Of course.” Jake smiled. “You were like… super into it. I remember I barely did anything cause you just kept telling me random facts about mummies.”

Michael was getting slightly distracted by the way Jake kept smiling at him. “Yeah well… I was sort of in my Egypt phase back then. It lasted longer than I am willing to admit. Very embarrassing.”

Jake leaned toward him. Or maybe he was just adjusting his leg.

“I thought it was cool,” Jake said quietly.

“Liar.”

“No, I did. You were so passionate.” Jake was definitely closer now. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared about anything that much.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Michael was practically whispering. “You do… sports.”

Jake laughed softly. “Yeah. But I don’t really care about that. Which is good considering…”

“Well, we should find you a hobby then.”

“We?”

“Yeah. You think I’m just gonna ditch my new best—”

Jake leaned forward and kissed him. He pulled back, smiling slightly and said, “Sorry. Go on.”

“I uh…” Michael’s brain was upside down. He couldn’t have continued what he was saying if his life depended on it. “I don’t know what I was… Um…”

Jake laughed. He straightened up. “Well, if you can’t talk then go to the kitchen and get us some snacks while I find a movie.”

“Okay.” Michael stood up and went into the kitchen. He looked around and then returned to the living room. “What snacks?”

Jake shrugged, scrolling through movies. “Take whatever you want man.”

“Okay.” Michael brought out three bags of chips, a box of crackers, Oreos, and two cans of soda. “You have a lot of food here.”

“Yeah.” Jake shifted his leg to the side of the table so they could lay out the food. “Hey did I make it weird earlier?”

Michael was shocked by the bluntness. “Um, yes definitely. But like… not bad. Just surprising.”

“But not bad.”

“Definitely not bad,” Michael confirmed.

Jake nodded. “Okay. Cool.” He pressed play on a movie Michael had definitely not approved of.

Michael sat beside him, closer than before. Jake glanced at him. Then he stretched his arms, leaving one on the back of the couch behind Michael.

Michael burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Did you seriously just do the stretch thing? That’s so lame! I thought you were supposed to have game.”

“I do have game.” Jake argued. “That’s a solid move.”

“It absolutely is not.” Michael said, still trying to control his giggles. “It’s cheesy and stupid.”

“Whatever.” Jake pulled his arm back into his lap. “Sit by yourself then.”

Michael felt giddy. He felt floaty and happy and impulsive. He took Jake’s hand and pulled Jake’s arm around his shoulders, leaning into his chest.

“That’s how you do it.”

Jake flicked the side of his head. “Shut up.” But he didn’t move his arm away.

#pinsnpatchesweek #I’m really going hard on the ‘directly canon adjacent’ premises #I promise the others are different lol #bmc #pins and patches #my writing

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techs-ass · 1 year

Text

Did I say or Did not say?

I'm incredibly sorry for posting this late! I found out some pretty bad news and kind just shut down. But, hey!! I'm posting it now!! So that's...something. 🥲

This post is my entry for @cloneficgiftexchange and my secret Santa person was @pizza-writes ! I sincerely hope you enjoy this and I'm so sorry that I was late on posting it. I also apologize that it's not very long but I hope you like it!

Paring: Crosshair x Reader

Warnings: None! Completely SFW

Prompt: "Wait- Did he just call you [insert thing here]?"

For once, The Marauder was pleasantly quiet. The ship was parked in a meadow on some planet you couldn’t remember the name of though you found it to be quite beautiful. It was currently spring on the planet and the meadow was in full bloom and there was a brook that bubbled pleasantly nearby. The flowers around you gently swayed in the breeze that danced all around you and brought with it the sweet scent of the blooms. The rest of the Bad Batch had left for the nearest town for a supply run which left you and Crosshair to have some much needed alone time. He sat on a crate outside the ship cleaning his beloved rifle while you sat at his feet, your head resting on his lap and eyes scanning the latest novel you had downloaded on your datapad. As you read, you softly hummed a song that left Crosshair almost closing his eyes in content. Between the cool breeze that gently ruffled your hair to the warmth in his leg from where your head was resting, he wondered for a moment if this was what domesticity felt like. This soft peacefulness that made his brain slightly fuzzy. He found his gaze leaving his rifle and landing on one of the flowers in front of him. He watched it swaying in the wind for a little bit before the sound of your voice broke his concentration, “You alright lover?” you asked in a soft voice and Crosshair slowly looked away from the flower to you, your head tilted back to look at him with a slightly curious expression. How cute. The corner of his lips slightly twitched as if he was going to smile but he just leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Just thinking.” He replied softly as he went back to cleaning his rifle. “Don’t hurt yourself” You teased, causing a snort to escape the stoic sniper. He rolled his eyes and gave you a glare of which you promptly ignored and went back to you reading with a grin. You heard an annoyed huff before a comfortable silence fell back over you two. Every once in a while he would reach around or past you to grab something and you would try to sneak a kiss on his arm or hand which would get you more little huffs of annoyance. Not that he tried to stop you. Eventually, he realized a part was too far out of his reach and grunted “Hey…hand me that receiver would ya doll?” With a soft mhmm, you go to reach for the part only to slightly jump when you hear something crash to the ground. You and Crosshair snap your heads up to see Wrecker’s eyes flashing back and forth between you two, the crate he had been carrying forgotten on the ground.

“Did he just call you doll?” Wrecker looked at Crosshair with shock on his face, his jaw on the ground. Crosshair looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow and the smallest smile, “I don’t know…did I?” He asked, turning to look at you and you returned his gaze with a grin “Hmm, I don’t know lover, did you?.” Wrecker turned to look at you, his eyes comically wide, “Lover?!” His voice was slightly high pitched “A- Are you two together?! Like- together, together?!” Crosshair looked down at you with an amused grin and saw your shoulders shaking from the laughter you were desperately holding back. Taking a deep breath you pushed yourself off his leg and turned to look at him with a large smile, “Geez, lovey, why didn’t you tell me we were dating? I could have taken advantage of girlfriend privileges all this time.” you faked a small pout and a chuckle escaped Crosshair, “Sorry doll, I just assumed you knew.” he sarcastically replied with grin stretched across his face. After a few seconds of staring at each other you broke into a fit of giggles and Crosshair watched you with amusement while Wrecker stood a little ways away with the most woefully confused look. Crosshair could practically see the smoke pouring out of his brother’s ears as he watched him try to fit all the puzzle pieces together with a shit-eating grin. The big guy himself was searching all of his memories trying to figure out when the two of you started dating. He had thought that after months of fighting you two were just becoming friends?? He continued to stand there contemplating life as you laughed in the background. He didn't even notice his goggled brother approach from behind. “I am not sure what is going on however, whatever it is, Wrecker, I need you to get that crate on the ship so I can start repairs.” Tech commented not even bothering to stop walking as he brushed past his brother to start up the ramp. Wrecker turned to Tech and pointed to you and Crosshair,

“Did you know Tech?!”

“...Know what?”

“Know that (y/n) and Crosshair are DATING?!”

Tech’s eyebrows furrowed and he adjusted his goggles, “Why yes, of course. It’s not like they made any effort to hide it. I thought it was quite obvious.” He shrugged and headed back into the ship leaving Wrecker standing in the middle of the meadow, his hand still pointing at you two. Hunter, who had been watching the spectacle from afar with amusement, finally decided to step in. He walked over and placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm and gently pushed it down with a smile, "C'mon big guy. You can have your existential crisis later. Let's get the ship loaded and leave these two love birds alone."

Wrecker let out a grumble but begrudgingly picked his crate up and carried it to the ship, "I'm still confused…" he grumbled, shaking his head. "That's a pretty normal state for you bud" Hunter teased, giving him a small shove up the ramp. He stopped at the top and turned to the two of you. "Five minutes and then we're moving out." He stated before disappearing inside the ship.

Finally, you and Crosshair were alone again. You had managed to stop laughing but a grin was still stretched across your face. Standing up, you brushed off your pants before giving the sniper a kiss on the cheek, "I feel kinda bad. Maybe we should have told him?" You said reaching out to hold his hand. Crosshair shrugged in response as he stood up and leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead, "He figured it out didn't he? Took him long enough. I was worried I was gonna lose." He released your hand and placed it on the small of your back to guide you up the ramp. "Lose what?" You questioned slightly turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. He gave you a small grin as he walked up the ramp behind you and closed it "Nothing. Now let's get going sweet cheeks. I got some credits to collect from Hunter."

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair x reader #fluff #clonegiftexchange

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 1 year

Text

you are my home, my home for all seasons (Robin x Female!Reader)

A/N: Hey!! My first ever Robin story!!! And my first story for my christmas sleepover this year!!!! This one was requested by @the-ancient-fae, one of my very best friends, and I’m super happy to get this story out for her!!! I hope you enjoy this one, Rox, and I hope the rest of you reading this do as well!!!

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: Robin and her girlfriend spend a cozy, white Christmas evening together.

Prompt: Fluff and comfort + Hot chocolate, blankets, fireplace, and white christmas

Tags: Fluff, slight angst but not actually much, comfort, stuttery/flustered Robin (yes, it must be a tag)

Song Inspiration: Snowman By Sia

Word Count: 1,298

Not beta’d all mistakes are my own.

[Christmas Sleepover]

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Robin smiles softly as she places a candy cane in each cup of hot cocoa and picks up both mugs, carrying them out to the living room where her girlfriend of 5 years is sitting on the couch, curled up with a cozy blanket to escape the chill of winter. "Am I allowed to slip under there with you or are you gonna make me go get my own?" She asks her jokingly.

(Y/N) huffs playfully and lifts up the blanket on one side, gesturing for Robin to get under it. "As long as you hurry up, it's freezing." She tells her.

Robin laughs softly and sits on the couch, moving close to (Y/N) and carefully holding the hot chocolates up so that they won't spill or get caught under the blanket. "You just have to wait for the fire to heat up the room, love, you'll be all warmed up soon." Robin tells her.

(Y/N) lets the blanket fall back down on Robin's lap and just stays silent, snuggling up into her side and laying her head on her shoulder, making a small happy noise as she does so. Robin holds out the mug of hot chocolate closest to (Y/N) and offers it to her, the other woman taking it and holding it in both hands happily, letting it help warm her up. "Thank you, sweetheart." She says softly.

"I was happy to make them." Robin tells her, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and then laying her head against (Y/N)'s gently, placing her arm with her free hand around (Y/N)'s shoulders. They stay like that for a few minutes, everything completely silent except for the rustling of the blanket, the crackling of the fire, the small clink of rings on glass, and the faint tip tip of snow falling outside.

After awhile, Robin speaks up again. "Did you enjoy your day today, ladybug?" She asks her softly, bringing her hand up and running a hand through (Y/N)'s hair gently.

(Y/N) leans into her touch and sighs softly. "Yeah, I did, actually. Thank you. For making today a good day." She says sincerely, looking up at Robin. And she means it. Robin knows why today needed to be a good day and she did her very best to make it happen, She'd wanted it to be the best day possible and she succeeded. For that, (Y/N) is so grateful, more than Robin will ever know, even if she has an idea.

"You don't need to thank me, (Y/N/N), I wanted to help you have fun today. I know it's not exactly your favorite holiday, but I'm glad that you're always willing to celebrate it with me." Robin tells her honestly.

(Y/N) laughs softly. "It's not like I'm a scrooge or anything, you know I'm okay with Christmas, I just don't really love it, is all." She says.

Robin chuckles as well. "Yeah, I know, but still. You know we don't ever have to celebrate it if you don't want to, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Not for me at least." Robin jokes, rolling her eyes at some other thought.

(Y/N) snorts and nods. "Yeah, I know. And I thank you for that, I really appreciate it. I just..." She sighs and stays silent for a moment before she sits up, leaning forward and placing her hot chocolate on the coffee table before grabbing the photo album that she had placed there earlier. She leans back against the couch and Robin again and opens up the album, flipping to the page she spends the most time on during this time of year. "I just wish they were still here." She whispers softly. She looks longingly at the pictures of her passed loved ones.

Robin tucks (Y/N) into her side again and looks at the photos that her girlfriend holds so dear, wishing she could bring back the ones her love misses so much. "I know you do, love. And I wish you had them here with you. If there was a way I could make it happen, I would. In a heartbeat." She tells her earnestly.

"I know you would, Rob. Thank you." (Y/N) tucks her legs up under her and leans all the way against Robin. "Thank you for doing everything you can to help me all the time. I always feel like I'm too much and you're just gonna get up and leave one day after realizing I'm not worth the effort." (Y/N) tells her, avoiding her girlfriend's eyes.

Robin sits up and sets her hot chocolate down before reaching for (Y/N)'s chin, tilting her face up to look at her. Robin looked right into her eyes as she spoke. "I told you this all the time as your friend and I'm going to keep telling you this all the time as your girlfriend. Now listen carefully, okay?" Robin said sternly but affectionately. When (Y/N) nodded, she continued. "You are enough. You are worth it. You are not a burden. You are not too much. You're all I want and more and I never want you to think you're anything less to me. I can't stand just the thought of ever leaving you. There's no one better out there for me. There's no one better than you. You're it for me, you're the one I want, and nothing will ever change that. You hear me?"

As she finished speaking, she saw (Y/N)'s lip wobbling as she slowly nodded and she quickly gathered her girlfriend into her arms, holding her close as (Y/N) buried her face in Robin's neck. "I love you so much." (Y/N) mumbled quietly, just barely loud enough for Robin to hear.

"I love you just as much, ladybug." She says back, rubbing her back softly. They had another long moment of silence before (Y/N) spoke up again in that same quiet, mumbled tone and Robin wasn't sure if she heard her correctly. "I'm sorry. what was that?" She asked shakily.

"I said, maybe you can tell me all of that as my wife, too." (Y/N) says, pulling away to look at Robin, her lips pressed together as if she was holding in laughter.

Robin blinks, frozen. After a moment of just staring at (Y/N) with wide eyes, she finally attempts to speak up. "I- I mean- You- I-if- If you- Does that- Does that mean- I mean- I-I-" She stutters out before cutting herself off and pouting at her lack of ability to speak correctly in that moment.

(Y/N) laughs softly and wraps her arms around Robin's neck, smiling. "Yes, I want to be your wife. As long as you want to be mine. And yes, I'm asking you to marry me right now." She tells her, not a single hint of joking in her tone, only amusement at Robin's flustered and surprised state.

"I-I mean- Y-yes!! Yes!!" Robin exclaimed, finally getting out the right words, leaning forward and kissing her now fiance full on the mouth before pulling back and kissing all over her face. (Y/N) giggled and pressed her forehead to Robin's once Robin had stopped kissing her face. And for the rest of the day, it was just the two of them, sharing the rest of a wonderful christmas together and celebrating their love for each other, more than happy about the new phase of their relationship ahead of them.

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A/N: How was it?? I hope it was awesome!! Please let me know what you think!!!! Hope you have an awesome day/night!!!! 💜💜💜

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noodyl-blasstal · 6 months

Text

Falling for You

It's @taznovembercelebration day 27! We're so close to the end of the month! Today's prompt was "Ow!" - just to warn you, there's some mention of blood, it's not extensively, but there is a grazed and bleeding knee.

Read below or on Ao3. Catch yesterday's here if you missed it!

“Ow!” Says Taako, loudly, really loudly, because if he has to be in pain then he at least gets to yell about it.

He debates just staying down. Maybe if he simply melts into the floor he won’t have to deal with the consequences of falling over and spilling his very large, very expensive, ‘treat for the week’ fancy drink down himself in public. His knee’s definitely bleeding, he can tell from the prickly pain, and also all the blood on it when he tried to look. Maybe if he just pretends it’s not happening it’ll be fine? No one can laugh at him if they think he’s seriously injured.

“Are you okay?” Asks Kravitz. Handsome, unobtainable Kravitz.

Because of course he does. Who else would witness Taako in a ridiculous moment if not Mr-Put-Together, Mr Casually-Wearing-A-Three-Piece-Suit-Every-Day-Of-His-Life, Mr Taako’s-Perfect-Man?

Taako plays dead. More time to think.

“Taako?” Kravitz sounds worried enough that Taako cracks an eye open.

Kravitz’s face is close, he kneels close by, hand out as if he wants to touch but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. Welcome to Taako’s world.

“Hey handsome, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” Taako rests his head on his arm, casually, mysteriously, handsomely.

“I was just here to get a drink and… well.” Kravitz struggles to find a nice way to say ‘I saw your idiot self stack it and tip a bucket of coffee which was more milk and sugar syrup than anything else over yourself and that derailed my day a bit actually.’

“Well, as you can see, cha’boy’s all good, funky fresh, just, you know, hanging out.”

“You’re hanging out?” Kravitz asks, voice cracking slightly.

“Uh huh.” Taako doesn’t nod, it feels a little bit like his brain’s going at a different speed to the rest of him.

“Down here?”

“Yep, what part of this looks like it wasn’t on purpose?” What’s with this interrogation! It’s just plain rude not to believe his blatant lies.

“Taako, you’re bleeding.” Kravitz’s voice is so low, so soft, he’s close enough that Taako can smell his weird mix of old man cologne and bow resin and it shouldn’t be hot but it is every time.

If he’d known all he had to do to achieve this level of intimacy with Kravitz was lob himself on the ground he would have done it ages ago.

“‘Tis but a scratch, my man.”

“The source material doesn’t paint that quote as being the best defence here.” Kravitz is smiling now. Taako likes making him smile. Maybe he could do it more.

“Well Taako’s fairly sure all the important stuff is still attached. No need to worry”

Kravitz looks like he wants to test that theory. Taako’s willing to let him. He has some suggestions about which bits Kravitz should check on first.

“Hmm.” Kravitz sounds unconvinced of Taako’s okay-ness. “At least let me take a look at your knee.”

“Fine.” Taako says. He sighs dramatically, flawlessly feigns a huff.

“I mean, I won’t if you don’t want me to, I don’t want to touch you without permission or…”

Taako’s already rolling over. Stupid respectful idiot.

“There you go handsome, get an eyeful.”

Kravitz snorts, grabs a pair of latex gloves from his bag, and begins prodding.

“Does Taako even wanna know why you’re carting those gloves everywhere with you, kemosabe? Got a hot date? Or do you just look for men to prod in the street?” Taako realises a second too late the implication nestled in what he’s saying, but fuck it, he smiles through it and hopes Kravitz doesn’t mention anything.

“It could be both.” He says, absently, focused on making Taako’s knee hurt as much as possible apparently.

“It sure coul… Owfuck!”

“Hmm.” Kravitz frowns at his knee.

“Having fun there?” Taako tries not to squinch his face up too much as Kravitz prods again.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry Taako. I’m just trying to make sure the cut’s clean and the bleeding is stopping.”

“Uh huh. Remember it’s attached.”

“I should hope so… ah. Yes. Sorry, I’m not used to dealing with patients who can feel pain. Anyway, you look to be fine, I think it’ll close up soo…”

“Nope, no way, turn that horse around there my guy, why are you dealing with patients and why can’t they feel pain?”

“Because they’re dead.” Kravitz says, as if that’s a reassuring answer to the question.

“You have to tell me right now if you’re a serial killer.”

“I’m a doctor, Taako, I work in the mortuary.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say, if I had a gold piece for every time…”

“How many times have you heard that?” Kravitz interrupts.

“Look, cha’boy’d have one gold piece, but still.”

“Has Sloane didn’t mentioned my job then?”

“What do you think?”

“She didn’t?”

“She didn’t.”

“Shit. I mean, er…”

“Fuck?” Taako supplies, helpfully.

Kravitz laughs again, gold star to Taako.

“Fuck.” Kravitz affirms. “I thought this time she might have mentioned it as then it wouldn’t send you running because you were warned and armed.”

“Hey, bones, look!” Taako wiggles both of his arms. It’s feeble, he’s shaken, but it succeeds in making Kravitz laugh again. “I’m armed.”

“It certainly looks like it.” Kravitz drags his eyes appreciatively over Taako’s biceps and he feels a rush of gratitude replace the resentment towards Lup for making him do the ridiculous plank challenge with her.

“Cha’boy doesn’t exactly have a conventional job either. I don’t mind if you’re the grim reaper.”

“I don’t collect souls, Taako… only toes.” Kravitz can’t keep a straight face long enough to convince Taako of the lie.

“Uh huh. How about numbers, do you collect them?”

Kravitz smiles broadly. “I don’t know if I’m interested in a collection, but if the right one came my way I might be inclined to acquire it.”

“I hear 3 is a magic one.”

“Hmmm, no, I think I’m okay for 3.”

“42? Meaning of life, pretty spiffy if you ask Taako.”

“I’m all good on that front. Contractually I have to believe working is the meaning of life, otherwise the government can fire me.”

“You’re a hard one to please, Mr Reaper Man… how about, Taako’s number?”

“Now that’s a number I’d be very interested in acquiring.”

#TW Blood #It's not extensively mentioned but there's a scraped knee and it's bleeding #taz nc #taz november celebration #Noodyl Writes #Taakitz

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

Try Something New

Prompt: eee i know it JUST came out so don’t feel pressured but i looooved that new dad-janus, remus and prinxiety fic and was wondering if you would be up to writing some of the good ol “awkward dinner with boyfriends family”? make it as angsty or fluffy as you’d like, we’ll love it regardless and i love the dynamic of these boys so seeing more of it would be a dream come true - melonn-yy

hey idk if ur taking prompts but if u sre, could i pls request maybe like a fic about the hs! prinxiety from ‘try your best (that’s all we can do)’ like maybe how they got together or their first date? idk im reslly starved for some good highschool prinxiety rn adodwjed - cryingrainbowsandrocksongs

Read on Ao3

Warnings: past bullying

Pairings: prinxiety

Word Count: 3660

Virgil walks into the living room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and Janus immediately puts down his book.

“Virgil? Is everything alright?”

Remus glances up from his phone and pulls out an earbud. “Bro? What happened?”

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse that you guys know my anxiety tells or not.”

“It’s better, trust me.”

Janus puts a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “Virgil, did you want to tell us something?”

“Uh, kind of? I, um, I wanted to ask something. But if you guys are busy—“

“Nope.” Remus sits up straighter and shoves his phone into his pocket. “I’m free.”

“Go ahead, Virgil, we’re listening.”

“Okay, ‘cause it’s…” He fidgets. “It’s about Roman.”

The hand on Remus’s shoulder strokes the material of his hoodie as he tenses, slowly relaxing again when Janus doesn’t let go. “Okay, what about Roman?”

“He, um...he wants to come over for dinner.”

“Tonight?” Remus bolts away from Janus’s hand. “Like, right now?”

“What? No, god no.”

“Good.”

“When,” Janus asks, trying to steer the conversation toward its actual ending, “when does he want to come over?”

“He said that, uh, up to us.”

Remus snorts, sinking into the couch. “Can it be never?”

He mumbles an apology when Virgil flinches and Janus says his name in a low voice.

“…but why?”

Virgil lets out a deep breath. “He wants…he wants to try and make things easier.”

“Easier? Since when has that asshole ever tried to make shit easier?”

“Remus, he’s trying.”

“Well, maybe I don’t fucking want him to try,” Remus growls, shrinking in on himself and huffing into his knees, “maybe I just want to hate him for the rest of my life.”

Janus raises a hand at Virgil and shakes his head. Virgil closes his mouth as Janus reaches out to rub Remus’s shoulder again. Remus continues to glare for a few seconds before looking up at him.

“I don’t like him,” he mumbles, sounding several years younger, “I don’t like him, Dad.”

“I know, little anomaly,” Janus murmurs, “I know you don’t. But Virgil’s right, he’s trying. And you remember the conversations we’ve had, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It takes a lot of energy to hate someone, you know that. I’m not saying you have to forgive him. I’m not saying you have to like him. I’m not sure I like him—“

“Hey,” Virgil protests.

“—but we’re just going to try, okay?” He tilts Remus’s chin up when he looks away. “Can we try, little anomaly?”

Remus’s lower lip quivers for a moment, then he looks at Virgil. “So when is he coming over?”

Virgil winces. “Well, actually…”

“Virgil, if you made evening plans again,” Janus starts.

“…he wants to talk to Remus at school first.”

Both of them pause. Remus snarls, “he wants to what?”

“He wants to apologize to you.” Virgil toys with the string on his hoodie. “Before he comes over, he wants to talk to you first.”

“And why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

“Because he didn’t think you’d be able to get past saying hello to each other without one of you screaming something at the other one.”

Remus’s silence tells Janus all he needs to know about how accurate that statement is. “Alright, then. You two will talk at school and decide how comfortable you are with the idea of Roman coming over for dinner, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Works for me.”

“Remus?”

Remus picks at the frayed hole in his pants, pulling a thread loose until Janus prompts him again. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Virgil mumbles, “it, um, it really means a lot to me that you’re willing to try.”

“I’m not doing this for him,” Remus growls, “I’m going this ‘cause you’re my baby brother and I still technically owe you from Saturday.”

“Wait, what happened Saturday?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.”

——————

Janus gets a text from Virgil that just says it’s happening. Will text when we’re on the way home.

Ah. So. The fated apology conversation.

Janus sits at the counter and makes sure the kettle is set to boil, absentmindedly picking at the tablecloth. There’s a bit of wax that dripped onto it from when he and the boys were trying that new candle-making thing that Remus suggested and he’s never quite figured out how to clean it. The internet claimed boiling water was a fix for any wax malfunctions but he stopped trusting that after the washing machine decided it had enough of Remus’s internet solutions.

Where are they talking? In the schoolyard? He hopes not, security has a prejudice against arguments happening between certain students in the schoolyard, that’s the last thing his boys need right now. Maybe it’s in a classroom, some teacher kind enough to lend them the space.

He really should just buy a new tablecloth, shouldn’t he? This one still has paint and crayon stains from when the boys were little little.

He hopes they are actually talking. Remus has every right to be upset and it is not his responsibility to accept Roman’s apology. Hell, he’s not sure he would accept an apology even now as an adult, let alone if he were still in high school.

But poor Virgil, who just looked so confused about everything…he doesn’t deserve that either.

And he truly does want to give Roman the benefit of the doubt—children are so moldable when they’re young and the last thing he wants to do is discourage personal growth, especially when it’s had—apparently—such a positive turn.

He stands abruptly when he realizes he’s more likely to pick a hole through the tablecloth than he is to get the wax out of it. He has to do something with his hands. Something that isn’t just letting them wander.

Dishes. There are dishes to clean, aren’t there?

He heads to the sink, reaching for the thick rubber gloves on instinct, pausing when he sees a completely empty sink.

Oh, boys, why is it the one time that you can do your chores when I ask you to is when I secretly needed you not to?

No matter. He’s sure he can find something else. But nothing too obvious, he can’t be seen stress-cleaning, that’s just the worst.

Alright. No, this is fine. He can find something else to do. Dinner, he can get started on dinner. Yes, Remus had asked for a pasta bake, that will take a while to make. He can do that. He goes to the fridge and gets out the cheese.

He really hopes they aren’t fighting.

High schoolers are not the most emotionally competent of humans by a long shot. And all the emotions that must be running around the three of them are making him winded just by thinking about it. Maybe Virgil’s trying to make sure they have the conversation somewhere they can all leave afterwards, instead of having it at one of their houses or in a car. That way when it’s over everyone can come home and just…not have to deal with it.

Oh, he hopes his boys remember that high school partners are not the be-all, end-all of relationships.

They should, they spent about half an hour last night absolutely tearing The Notebook to shreds after being forced to watch it at a friend’s house.

Janus smiles into the sink as he sets the water to boil. It had been oddly refreshing, coming into the room worried at the raised voices only for his boys to turn to him and say dad, isn’t this movie really stupid, this is not how healthy relationships work, why is this supposed to be the pinnacle of romance?

Oh, yes, that had been very satisfying.

Now, if only they can apply the same sort of observation to their own relationships…

He really hopes they don’t get into a fight. He can’t decide which is worse; Roman saying or doing something that hurts Remus and Virgil trying to defend him, or Roman hurting the both of them by bullying Remus and breaking Virgil’s heart.

Of course, he can’t pretend he’s being unbiased here, those are his boys that are with Roman right now, of course he’s going to prioritize them.

A movie night, maybe? Something else for them to make fun of? Or a game night, spend time with each other and remind them that romantic relationships aren’t the only meaningful ones. Or maybe it’ll be spent in his bed again, his boys cuddled safely to his sides as he reads them a story they all pretend they’re too old for.

He strains the pasta with a little too much vigor.

God, he hopes his boys are okay.

When the pasta bake is in the oven and he’s just on the verge of checking his phone again, he hears steps at the front door and muffled voices.

He looks up as the door opens and tries not to smile too obviously in relief when both of them step through, their faces not tear-stained or red with anger. Virgil looks up and sees him first.

“Hey.”

“Hi, boys.”

Remus kicks off his shoes and dumps his bag on the chair, striding over and flinging his arms around Janus’s waist. Janus hugs him back immediately, hands doing the checks of his breathing, where his hands are, and anything else that might present the signs of an attack. When he finds none, he gently squeezes Remus’s shoulder.

“Little anomaly,” he murmurs, “you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired.”

“You tired? Okay, that’s okay, honey.” He glances up at Virgil. “How’d it go?”

Virgil shrugs. “I think it went good but I, uh, did not get very emotionally invested.”

“Bullshit,” Remus says, muffled from where his face is buried in Janus’s chest, “you walked into that room like you were gonna have to stake your life on agreeing with one of us.”

Virgil shuffles guiltily. “But like…I did.”

“Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I was worried, okay?”

“As is your right,” Janus says, opening his arm to gather his other grumbly boy to his chest, “but you don’t have to pretend like you’re okay if you’re not, sweetie.”

“And no Pain Olympics,” Remus says, poking Virgil in the side to make him squeak, “you were upset, I was upset, we’re good.”

Janus savors the extra moment of having both his boys home safe, not crying, in his arms, before he pats their shoulders and they move away. He turns to pull on the oven mitts. “So, how’d it go?”

Virgil glances at Remus. Remus shrugs. “Fine.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

“I mean, you kinda called it. He apologized for being the world’s biggest dick, said he was working on himself to try and be better, and that I didn’t owe him anything, including my forgiveness.”

Janus blinks. This is…well, he’d hoped that’s what this would be, but it is surprisingly mature for the bully he remembers.

“And he, uh…” Remus tugs on his collar. “He said you didn’t have to forgive him either.”

“He did?”

“Yep. That was, uh, one of the things he led with.”

“Hm.”

“He also said that he wanted to start over,” Virgil adds when Remus seems to be finished, “that he really, um…that he really like being with—with me and he knows how much you both mean to me and so he, uh, wanted to get it right.”

Smiling fondly at how flustered Virgil got from just saying that, Janus turns and ruffles his hair. “Sounds like you might be a positive influence on him, hm?”

“I can’t take credit for—“

“Oh, I know, sweetie, I’m just teasing.” The timer beeps and he pulls out the dish. “Get your plates, boys.”

They obediently fetch their dishes and make their way to the table, conversation steering to more pleasant topics as they polish off their pasta. The evening passes with full bellies and happy faces until it’s time to turn in for the night.

Janus catches Virgil as he disappears into his room.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says, pulling him into a hug, “I’m really proud of you, you know that?”

“You—you are?”

“Yeah, sweetie. You’re doing really good at navigating something that’s difficult for most adults to do. You’ve been very mature about it and I hope you know that I’m here to support you whenever you need it.”

“Jeez, dad…”

He presses a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah, same to you.” Virgil squeezes him back before vanishing, muttering about sappy shit and just want this to be over.

Janus shakes his head and goes to find Remus.

“Hey,” he murmurs when he knocks on Remus’s door and gets greeted with a quiet grunt, “you doing okay, little anomaly?”

Remus looks up from where he’s curled into a ball near his headboard. He holds his arms out wordlessly and Janus sits on the edge of the bed, letting the little limpet attach himself to his side.

“What’s going on, honey,” he asks, rubbing his back, “you wanna tell me?”

“That stuff…all that stuff with Roman, in middle school,” Remus mumbles, “that…that happened, right? You remember it too?”

“Yes, honey, I do. I remember him bullying you.” When Remus sags in relief, he pulls back to cup his face. “Are you worried that you’re gonna feel weird about it if Roman keeps changing?”

Remus nods shamefully. “He—he really feels different. L-like he’s someone brand new that just remembers what he did, not like he—he did it. An’ I’m scared that if he—if he—what if I just forget?”

“You can’t forget being hurt like that, Remus, nor can you just magically stop hurting now that the person isn’t hurting you anymore.” Janus runs a hand through his hair. “You’re allowed to feel hurt, to be hurt, it’s okay.”

“But if he’s changed—“

“No buts, honey. He doesn’t get to decide you aren’t hurt anymore because of what he did and neither do you. Those things were real, they happened, and just because Roman’s changed doesn’t mean they didn’t. You are still allowed to feel hurt and upset about it, okay?”

Remus’s lip wobbles. “I almost wish he was still being mean.”

Janus takes a deep breath and pulls him in for a proper hug. “Oh, honey, don’t you say that. Don’t say that, honey.”

“But it’s true, if—if he were still being mean then it wouldn’t be messy and Virgil wouldn’t be dating him and I—and I wouldn’t—“

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay. I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He closes his eyes as his little anomaly sobs into his chest. “Hey, honey, I’m right here. Shh, I’ve got you.”

He rubs Remus’s back as he cries, pressing kisses to the top of his head. As they slow, he pulls back just enough to wipe Remus’s cheeks.

“Have you talked to Virgil about this?” Remus nods. “What did he say?”

“S-said if it ever got real bad that he’d—he’d choose me. B-but I don’t want him to have to choose, I just—jus’ wish it wasn’t Roman.”

“I know, honey, I know.”

“…I don’t actually wish he was still being mean.” He sniffles as Janus ruffles his hair. “I just…why is this so hard?”

“Because life is hard,” Janus says, not unkindly, “life is hard and people are complicated and every single relationship you have with anyone that matters to you, no matter what it is, is work.”

“That’s stupid.”

Janus huffs. “Yeah, honey, I think so too.”

“…will you stay for a bit?”

“As long as you need, honey.”

——————

So. Tonight’s the big night. Tonight, Roman Prince comes over for dinner.

Apparently, Roman wants to help make dinner. Well. Fine by him. He can loom menacingly in the corner while Roman cooks.

Alright, what he’s going to do is let Roman help and insinuate that if Roman dares hurt one of his boys again he won’t like the consequences.

Roman’s driving the three of them home from school today, which means they should arrive right about…

Muffled voices outside and a key in the lock.

“Dad? We’re home!”

“Do you need help?”

“No, thanks, I got it.”

Janus turns to see Remus shrugging off his bag, Virgil hanging his coat on a hook, and Roman carrying a large covered dish. He makes his way out from the kitchen, gathering Remus in for a quick emotional support hug as Roman looks up.

“Sir,” he says, holding out his hand, “thank you for letting me come over.”

Firm handshake, good eye contact. He nods to the dish. “And what do you have there?”

“Virgil and Remus said you were planning on lasagna for dinner, so—“ he holds up the dish— “I made garlic bread.”

He can feel Remus perk up behind him. Garlic bread, hm? “Does it need to be heated?”

“Maybe a bit? I picked it up right before we came here and it’s been in the oven for a while…it should be fine, we might want to heat it before we eat if…if you want.”

He hums and takes the dish, setting it on the counter. “And you’re helping me with the main course as well?”

“Yes, sir, if you need an extra pair of hands.”

“That would do nicely, yes.”

Remus fake gags as Roman kisses Virgil’s cheek before following Janus to the kitchen. He washes his hands quickly in the sink and looks up.

“You can wash the lettuce for the salad.”

“This one?”

“That’s right.”

He keeps an eye on his boys as they finish tidying away their school things, noticing how Remus disappears to his room almost immediately and Virgil hovers in the living room. Close enough to see, not quite close enough to hear.

“That’s good. Chop the others while you’re over there.”

“Chunks or slices? Size preference?”

“…slice the peppers, chunks for the cucumber.”

“Can do.”

He glances over to see an almost restaurant-quality salad taking shape in the bowl next to Roman. Good on you, Virgil, finding a boy that can cook.

After a few more minutes, Virgil gets up to use the bathroom and Roman pauses, glancing over until he hears the door shut before wiping his hands nervously on his jeans and turning to face Janus.

“Sir,” he starts, “I…I’m not sure what your sons have told you of our conversation a few days ago, but I wanted to apologize to you as well.”

Janus stays quiet, only raising an eyebrow.

“I was…truly terrible to Remus when we were younger and I will not use my age as an excuse. I’ve told your son that he is not obligated to forgive me and neither are you. I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused your family and I hope I can convince you I mean neither of them any harm.”

Janus stares at him for a long moment. “Something happened to you.”

“S-sir?”

“Something happened to you,” he repeats, not unkindly, “to make you go from the reason one of my sons came home crying to the reason the other comes home smiling.”

“…do you want me to tell you, sir?”

He tilts his head, looking at the boy in front of him. Because despite how he holds himself, how much he’s clearly practiced what he’s saying, how much he’s trying to show that he’s grown and matured, Janus is standing in front of a child who is clearly unsure about what he’s doing and freaking out.

He reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Do you intend to hurt Remus?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you intend to hurt Virgil?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I don’t need you to tell me. As long as you understand that if you do—“

“They’ll never find my body, sir, I understand. Might I suggest burying a dead dog on top of me, so the cadaver dogs will be convinced that’s what they’ve found?”

Janus smiles grimly. “Good boy.”

“Is there anything else that goes into the salad?”

“What are your thoughts on dressing?”

“Most people prefer it when outside the comfort of their own private bedrooms, sir.”

When Virgil walks back in to see Janus laughing at something Roman said, he glances between them until Remus comes downstairs.

“What?”

“Roman made Dad laugh,” Virgil hisses like Janus can’t hear him, “like—actually laugh.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I swear to God!”

“Since when are you religious?”

“Boys,” Janus calls, “why don’t you set the table?”

They grumble amongst themselves as they do as they’re told, carefully making sure all the dishes can fit as Roman helps carry over everything. Virgil tugs his sleeve until he sits next to him, lacing their fingers together and squeezing once before letting go.

“It smells really good, guys.”

Remus eyes Roman carefully. “So you made the garlic bread, huh?”

“Mhm. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

Remus takes a piece and bites into it, chewing thoughtfully. He isn’t quick enough to hide the way his eyes widen as he looks away.

“…I think to spare everyone else from having to eat it you should give it all to me.”

“Whoa, hey,” Virgil says, “don’t you dare!”

Janus chuckles as his boys squabble playfully over the garlic bread, sneaking a piece when they’re distracted. Roman watches, bewildered relief written all over his face.

Oh, yes, this might work out just fine.

@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit

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roseworth · 2 years

Note

i went apeshit over that last one. anyway roy & anyone u choose w “i’m scared” pls 🫶

send me a prompt 😙

i chose mia is anyone surprised

For the millionth time in his life, Roy wished that Gotham rogues would just stay in Gotham. Whenever they got bored of Batman, they would come to fuck shit up in other cities, and everyone else just had to deal with it.

Today, it was the Riddler. His snarky tone and infuriating way of talking were already pissing Roy off, not to mention the fact that he had locked him in some kind of fucking escape room.

“Are you a mythology fan, Arsenal?” Riddler asked over a speaker. Roy rolled his eyes and started looking around the room for a way to get out. When Roy didn’t respond, the Riddler continued. “Artemis and Apollo, the moon and the sun, the twins of the hunt. Brother and sister.”

Roy narrowed his eyes and looked up, trying to find some camera to stare into or something. “What do you want?”

“I think you are going to be the one wanting,” Riddler responded. Roy couldn’t wait to punch him in the face. “Because you’ve got a kind of twin yourself, don’t you?”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “A twin,” he repeated, wholly unimpressed.

“A sister in arms, a replica of what you once were,” Riddler explained in his stupid droning tone.

Mia, Roy thought, his blood running cold. “What the hell do you want with Speedy?”

“Once again, I won’t be the one wanting,” Riddler sing-songed. “Maybe you should keep better track of your clothes.”

A hatch clicked, and a drawer opened with a single comm sitting in it. He took it out and shoved it in his ear. “Speedy?”

“Roy?” Mia said groggily. “What’s going on?”

“Riddler got us,” he explained. “I thought it was just me, but looks like we’re in it together, kid.”

Mia laughed quietly. “Always dragging me into your problems, huh?”

“Guess so,” he smiled. “Where are you?”

“I, uh…” she trailed off. “I don’t know. It’s dark in here.”

“Dark?”

“As you may recall,” Riddler shouted over the speaker, “Artemis’s temple was burned to the ground back in 356 BC.”

No.

“Riddle me this, Arsenal,” he said, a grin evident in his voice. “What is not alive, but grows? Doesn’t have lungs, but needs air? Doesn’t have a mouth, but is killed by water?”

“Damnit,” he said under his breath. “Mia? Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be burned alive.”

“You won’t be,” he promised. “He gave me some riddles, that’s his whole shtick, right? I’ll get you, no problem.”

“‘No problem,’” she repeated in a mocking tone. “I can’t believe I’m getting fridged.”

Roy laughed breathily. “You’re not getting fridged, I promise not to go through any emotional development after you die.”

Mia snickered. “Just do the riddles, asshole.”

Roy turned back to the room. There was a drawer with a small slot, with the label What has a head, a tail, is brown, and has no legs?

Roy rolled his eyes and searched the room for a penny. If all the riddles were like this, he would have Mia out in no time.

He found a penny sitting on the ground, then pressed it through the slot. The drawer popped open with another riddle. He breezed through them, making small talk with Mia all the while.

“How are the Teen Titans?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “Cassie started dating that one girl that we think might be Ollie’s.”

He snorted. “Cassie is sorta-half-sister-in-law material, right?”

Mia laughed. Roy worked through a few more riddles, picking up a pair of gloves after the riddle They have no flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?

He looked inside the gloves and pulled out a strip of paper.

I make two people out of one. What am I?

He read the riddle a few times. “Hey, Mimi, you good at riddles?”

“No. Also, ‘Mimi’?”

“There’s no better time to try out nicknames than right next to death, Memes.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ve got the riddle ‘I make two people out of one,’ any thoughts?”

Mia thought for a moment. “I’ve got a friend that’s a clone, maybe it’s a cloning device.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” he said. “Besides, Donna’s kind of sort of a clone, and she–” He cut himself off.

“What?”

“It’s a mirror.”

“And you got that with the power of Donna?”

Roy searched the room for a mirror. He looked at a wall across from him and inspected the mirror. “What can I say? Donna’s smart, I guess just thinking about her makes me smarter.”

“Huh, you must not think about her a lot.”

“Very funny,” he drawled. He couldn’t find anything on or behind the mirror. He frowned, then threw it on the ground.

“What was that?”

“Mirror.”

“And you broke it?”

“Riddle’s behind the glass,” he said, flipping it over and picking up a slip of paper that had fallen out. “You have me today, tomorrow you'll have more. As your time passes, I'm not easy to store. I don't take up space, but I'm only in one place. I am what you saw, but not what you see. What am I?”

“I hate riddles,” Mia replied. “This is stupid.”

“‘I don’t take up space’ probably means it’s a concept.”

“Sounds like a thought,” she said. “You have them today and more tomorrow, and everyone has thoughts. Well, most people have thoughts, I don’t know what you have.”

“Love you too, my darling sister,” Roy said sarcastically. “It’s what you saw, so it’s in the past right? Memories?”

“Ah, yes!” Riddler yelled over the speaker. “Memories! And you’ll have to live with the memories of your sister for–”

“That ones a bit of a stretch,” Roy interrupted. “Not a good riddle if you have to explain it.”

“Roy!” Mia yelled. “Fire!”

“What?”

“Fire!” she repeated. “It’s fuckin– It’s coming closer, I’m gonna–”

“Stay calm, Speedy,” Roy said, instantly shifting into seasoned vigilante mode.

“Now that we’re properly focused, let’s move on,” Riddler said smugly. “What is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?”

Roy frowned. “A…” he trailed off. He had heard this one before. “A choice?”

A door flew open behind him. “Exactly!” Riddler yelled. “You have a choice: You can stay here and save Speedy, or you can leave now and save yourself! You can’t do both.”

He heard the comm in his ear click. Fuck. “Speedy? Can you still hear me?”

“No outside help,” Riddler cackled. “Now, a choice!”

The choice was pretty clear. He could leave to get help, but he had no guarantee Riddler wouldn’t kill her while he was gone. Even if the man killed him after Mia was safe, it would be better than her getting hurt.

“I choose Speedy,” he said, crossing his arms.

Riddler said nothing, but the comm in his ear clicked again.

“...Roy?”

“Right here, kiddo.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you left me.”

“Never, I swear.”

She didn’t reply. Roy wished they could go back to 2 minutes ago when she was teasing him instead of the nervous silence she had now.

“Talk to me, kid, I’m still sorting through these riddles,” he said, flipping to the back of the memory riddle and finding a new riddle to work through.

“There’s still a fire,” she said quietly. “It’s slow, but it’s getting closer.”

“You’re gonna be out of there in no time, don’t you worry.”

Mia stayed silent for a while, and Roy kept moving through riddles. They were all softballs from here, like “What has hands, but cannot clap?” then the next riddle inside the clock.

“Roy?” Mia said, her voice raspy and shaking.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he assured her.

“How do you know?”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes,” she answered. “You lie to me all the time.”

“What? Name one time.”

“The other day you told me Nightwing was raised by a family of monkeys and that’s why he’s so acrobatic,’” Mia ranted.

Roy couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine, that was–”

“And you tried to convince me that the real way Ollie got off the island was by growing gills and swimming away.”

“Come on, those were all–”

“And just last week you told me you were going to visit home, then you didn’t,” she yelled. Roy’s stomach twisted at the way her voice wavered like she was holding back a sob. “And I waited! I-I was waiting all night because I thought you were coming like you said, then you didn’t and I just–” She took a deep breath, then mumbled, “Whatever. Didn’t even care.”

“Mia, I–”

“It’s fine, you were doing something important, or whatever, I get it.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I would’ve, I swear, it wasn’t about you.”

“I know,” she said. “Still hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “But trust me now, you’re going to be okay, and you can yell at me to my face about it soon.”

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to be mad at you about it, I just want you there.”

“Mia…”

“Whatever, man, I’m in a room of fire right now, just– just do what you need to do.”

Roy grimaced and looked at the next riddle, only to find that there was no riddle. Just the sun on a piece of paper.

“Congratulations, dear Apollo, you’ve seen the sun!” Riddler yelled. “But alas, the moon cannot be seen without the sun’s light! Rise, dear moon, and reflect the sun’s shine as your own!”

“...What?”

“Roy,” Mia said. “A door to the roof just opened above me, I’m getting out.”

“Thank god,” he sighed. “Get far away, don’t let him find you again, okay?”

“What? No way, man,” she argued. “You’re still trapped, I’m not just gonna leave you.”

“I can get out myself, don’t worry about me,” he replied, not sure if he even believed himself.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m– wait a minute."

Roy frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to trust me.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Duck.”

“What?”

Seconds later, a wall blew up behind him, and Mia walked through the rubble.

“Explosive arrows!” she exclaimed, holding her bow above her head. “He left my quiver on the roof.”

“Jesus, give a guy some warning, Mimi,” he grunted, dusting himself off.

“I told you to duck.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, then opened his arms. “C’mere, kiddo. I’m just glad to see you safe.”

Mia’s face broke out into a grin as she sprinted straight into his arms, tackling him into a hug, nearly causing him to fall over with the force of it. He beamed and lifted her off her feet as she hugged him tighter.

“Can we find Riddler and punch his stupid face now?” Mia asked from where her face was smooshed against Roy’s shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

#*slaps roof of mia* this baby can fit so many abandonment issues #i was thinking about using roy and lian but i know my own abilities and i would not be able to do them justice #roy harper #mia dearden #fanfic #my writing #dc #ps all artemis and apollo knowledge comes straight from google so i tried to keep it vague but i apologize if i said anything wrong #also side note i have a new respect for every dc writer thats every written the riddler #because how the fuck. do u come up with riddles.#i stole a bunch of common ones & used a website for some fdhfakjfha #i was halfway through this and knee deep in riddles.com (which apparently exists)#and i was like why. WHY. did i choose to use the riddler in this #i love his asshole energy so i love writing him but holy fuck i cant write riddles #i think i have a fic on ao3 with him in it and i very deliberately Did Not use any riddles in that one #bc how tf do i come up with riddles!! how do the arkham games have like 200 riddles per game!!!!!#absolutely insane. who thinks of these

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twistnet · 2 years

Text

amazement [ ellie williams ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; it’s been almost six months, and ellie can’t seem to grasp onto the idea that you even said ‘i do’ // @elliefilms

⋯ PROMPT ; [ riley’s pendant ] your lover can’t help but look at the ring on your finger ; “i can’t believe you’re really mine”

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader + general fluff [ sweetness + soft kisses ]

it had been six months. well, almost six months since what could arguably be the best day of ellie’s life. watching you come down the aisle with a close friend of yours, getting to see a beam grin split across your lips -- in complete contrast to the tears that ran down your cheeks. having you stand next to her, looking deep into your eyes as you read your vows and made your promises before sealing it all with a passionate kiss.

and yet, every morning without fail, ellie was still surprised to see you resting comfortably beside her. a small part of her expecting to wake up one morning to find you gone -- all apart of some depressing and horrible dream that everything the two of you had accomplished together, never existed. but, that never seemed to be the case.

she sat back against the bar, nursing her second whiskey for the night, and watching the large crowd mull around the makeshift dance floor as music flowed from the record player. this event had been your top priority from the moment maria had roped you in for some additional help. and by extension, ellie wouldn’t missing getting to see your creative genius.

ellie watched you from across the hall, greeting the town folks as they entered in. letting them know what to expect for the evening before busying yourself with making sure everyone had what they needed. it was cute.

“you know, leave your mouth open long enough, you’ll start catching flies.” jesse teases from his side, nearly containing his laughter when the girl rushes to fix herself, now finding the brown liquid at the bottom of her glass more interesting than the group of people dancing around the hall.

“i’m only teasing you. she did a really good job helping maria get all this together.” he comments, looking around the hall that had been decorated with string lights and candles for a night of celebration -- what it was, ellie wasn’t sure, but she knew you had put your heart and soul into getting this dance together.

“yeah, it’s all she could talk about in the days leading up. it turned out so much better than i expected.” she utters, looking out among the crowd for you, and immediately standing up straight at the sight of you walking towards her, “thank you for being my escape. i wasn’t sure how much more greeting and small talk i could take.” you mutter, practically snatching the glass from your wive’s hand and downing the rest of the brown liquid, “hey jesse.”

“good to see you. i’ll leave the two of you be now.” he utters with a smile, before heading off to find dina to spend the rest of the dance with. ellie chuckles, plucking the glass back from your grasp before dropping it to the bar behind her.

“you did really good with the place. i don’t think it’s ever looked this nice.” ellie smiles, watching as you snort and nod your head, looking out over the hall, “it took a lot of work to get it even looking halfway decent. then i just started throwing lights up everywhere, because... if you can’t see that the ceiling is rotting, then it’s not really rotting, is it?”

ellie chuckles at your joke, making a show of looking up at the ceiling to see if she could point out some of the older planks of wood rotting away in the ceiling. you playfully smack her arm, pressing a kiss to her cheek and watching as her mind seems to blank for a moment.

“hey... you alright? you seem a little out of it.” you comment, squeezing her hand tightly as a way to ground her. smiling as she lets out a heavy breath and relaxes back against the makeshift bar, “totally. just thinking...”

you eye her softly, raising a brow as you step closer, “what about?” she takes a moment to answer, eyes casting down towards your clasped hands and the ring seated nicely around your finger before shrugging her shoulders, “just... i can’t believe you’re really mine.”

your cheeks heat at her words, eyes nearly watering at her confession before you’re pulling her in for a sweet kiss, thumb brushing against her cheek with a gentle caress before pulling away, “... and i can’t believe you’re really mine.”

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#the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou imagine #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #female!reader #twistnet #twistnet works 2022 #twistnet's 5th anniversary

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quickspinner · 1 year

Note

If you're still accepting prompts for your Birthday Big Bang, can I suggest a Library Meet Cute? 💖💖💖

I was super stumped at first when I started this one last year, and then I chatted with a few LBSCers and there were so many good ideas. So, I've done the beginning here, and I thought it might be fun to throw it out there round robin style. I invite anyone who is interested to write the next installment of Luka and Marinette's library romance, and I'll reblog them here. 😁

Storytime Setup

“Hey, Rose, what’s up,” Luka asked, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could continue searching through the heaps of paper on his desk. “Everything okay?”

“You always ask that,” Rose giggled. “Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just—well, I guess Angie’s been missing you.”

“Missing me?” Luka echoed. “I was just there this weekend.”

“I know,” Rose sighed, and Luka could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “But she’s asking for you. She really wants you to be the one to take her to the library this week. I don’t know why she wants you for that—”

“Hey!” Luka grinned. “I read.”

“Of course you do,” Rose said soothingly, and Luka snorted a laugh. “Anyway, she was so insistent that I told her I’d ask, but if you’re busy I’ll tell her so.”

“When is it?” Luka asked, setting the sheet music down and taking his phone back in his hand. He switched Rose to speaker and opened his calendar.

“Tomorrow at ten.”

Luka considered for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not playing a gig tonight and I don’t have anything scheduled tomorrow, so I can make that work.”

“Are you sure?” Rose teased. “I know it’s early for you.”

Luka grinned. “I can handle going to bed at a normal human hour tonight if it makes Angie happy. Tell her I’ll be there.”

“Okay, I’ll tell her you can take her.” There was a familiar, slightly shrill cheer in the background, and Luka chuckled. “What, honey?” Rose said, and Luka waited, with an eyebrow raised. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell him.” There was amusement in Rose’s voice. “She says wear something nice. One of grandpa’s shirts, but no holes.”

Luka burst out laughing. “I’ll do my best.”

***

He did manage to find one of the Jagged Stone t-shirts his father was constantly sending him stuffed in a drawer somewhere. He hung it in the bathroom while he showered and decided the steam had gotten out enough wrinkles to make it acceptable for his picky little niece. It fit him well, at least; Jagged’s t-shirts had gone sharply up in quality over the last few years. Luka’s jeans were pretty much all ripped at the knees but he at least found a pair that wasn’t shredded at the hems. He made sure to shave and gave his hair a little more attention than usual, and then headed for his sisters’ apartment.

“Am I presentable?” he asked, when Angie opened the door for him. Angie stepped back and laid a finger alongside her face in a gesture that was so like Rose, Luka had to hold back a laugh. Angie frowned at the holes at his knees, but sighed and nodded.

“You look very nice,” Luka told her as he stepped inside and closed the door. He crouched in front of her. She had dressed to match him, it seemed, in black leggings and a cowl neck blue shirt with scalloped lace at the hem and short sleeves. “What’s the occasion?”

Angie ignored the question, but came into the arms he held out for her, putting her own around his neck. “I don’t want to be late,” she said, even as she hugged him tightly and pressed her cheek against his. “Can we go?”

“Okay,” Luka laughed, giving her one more squeeze before he straightened up.

“Thanks for taking her,” Juleka said, and Luka looked up to see her leaning on the wall of the hallway. “I know it was last minute.”

Luka shrugged. “No big deal. We’ll probably grab lunch after. Text me if you need her home for some reason.”

Juleka waved and blew Angie a kiss, which Angie mirrored, and then Angie tucked her hand in Luka’s and tugged him out of the door.

“You know if you wanted an uncle date you could have just told me,” Luka teased as they walked to the metro. “I would have made time. We don’t have to do the library if—”

“No, you have to come to the library with me,” Angie pouted, pulling on his hand. “I want to go to storytime.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” Luka shrugged, shaking his head. Angie was as impulsive as Rose and as determined as Juleka, so it was easier just to go along with whatever weird little plan was fermenting in her five year old brain.

Angie took charge as soon as they got to the library, nearly dragging Luka past shelves and around corners.

“No need to rush, Angie, we’ve got plenty of time,” Luka protested mildly. Angie gave him a look that she definitely learned from Juleka and kept walking. Luka gave up and let her lead him to the children’s area of the library.

As soon as they were through the doors, Angie stopped dead and Luka nearly stepped on her. Before he could say anything, her face lit up.

“Miss Marinette! Miss Marinette!” Angie stood on her toes, waving frantically as she pulled Luka behind her. “Hi!”

A small, dark-haired woman leaning over the checkout desk straightened and turned. When she saw them, she came over and put her hands on her thighs, leaning down to Angie’s level. “Hi Angie,” she said, pink lips curving up in a sweet smile. “Oh my goodness, you look so nice today! Did your maman do your hair?”

“Yes,” Angie beamed, and let go of Luka’s hand for a moment to do a little twirl. Luka’s lips twitched and he tried not to laugh. Vain little thing. Then Angie turned towards him, and the woman she was talking to straightened and met his gaze, and Luka forgot how to breathe.

“This is my Uncle Luka,” Angie said proudly, bouncing a little as she looked up at Luka. “He’s the best uncle in the world!”

“Well, that’s a ringing endorsement,” Marinette laughed, offering her hand to Luka. “It’s nice to meet you, Luka.”

His hand moved to meet hers automatically, which was fortunate because he was pretty sure his brain had just completely stopped functioning. Angie elbowed his leg, pouting. “Be polite!” she hissed in a very audible whisper.

“Nice to meet you too,” he managed. “Marinette, right?”

Marinette nodded, and those plush lips parted to say something else, but Angie interrupted.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Angie said, grinning up at him, and on some level Luka was mortified, but as Marinette’s beautiful eyes widened and her lips formed a laughing oh , he tried to play it as cool as he could.

“Very pretty,” Luka agreed as lightly as he could. He could only hope the smile he felt widening his face wouldn’t give him away. He squeezed her hand gently and let go. “I hear you’re quite the storyteller,” he said, though he hadn’t really heard any such thing, just assumed it. “Angie was really excited to come today.” That much was true, at least. Ugh, what was wrong with him? Juleka would be laughing her ass off if she were here.

I’m in love , he thought the next moment, as Marinette tilted her head and smiled at him, seeming genuinely pleased. “I always love having Angie here for storytime, she’s such a good listener.” Marinette beamed down at Angie, who puffed up proudly.

“Uncle Luka makes music,” she told Marinette.

“Really?” Marinette said with a gasp that Luka knew was exaggerated for Angie’s benefit, but he felt himself blushing anyway. Angie was nodding vigorously.

Angie leaned forward and whispered, “He has songs on the radio. But he uses another name, so it’s a secret.”

“Angie,” Luka sighed, exasperated, putting one hand over his burning face. “That’s not how you keep a secret.”

“That’s right,” Marinette said solemnly. “Secrets are important. You shouldn’t tell Uncle Luka’s secrets.”

“Oh,” Angie frowned. “But you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Marinette agreed. “But if Uncle Luka wanted me to know that, he would have told me. It’s his secret, not Angie’s secret, right? We don’t give away things that don’t belong to us.”

“Oh,” Angie said again, her shoulders hunching. “I guess not.” She looked up at Luka with a face that would have melted a heart of stone. “Sorry Uncle Luka.” He leaned down and hugged her.

“It’s okay, Angie. Just remember what Miss Marinette said for next time, okay?” He kissed her temple as she nodded. “I know you’re a good girl.”

He straightened, feeling a little awkward as he glanced at Marinette and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I’m sure Miss Marinette has to get ready for storytime, right? So why don’t you and I go pick out some books for you to take home until it’s time.”

“I can look for books,” Angie declared. “Maybe you should help Miss Marinette. She’s always dropping stuff!”

Marinette blushed and Luka had to cover a smile. “Well, I’d be happy to help. But stay where I can see you, okay?”

Angie nodded and ran off to the nearest shelf, picking up a book and opening it. Instead of looking at the book, though, she kept looking at them.

Luka suddenly got the weirdest feeling that his little niece was setting him up. She was Rose’s daughter, after all.

When Marinette smiled up at him again, though, he suddenly thought that maybe he didn’t mind this time.

“Well, can I help you, since I’ve been voluntold?” he joked, and Marinette winced a little.

“I’m really sorry,” she said quickly. “You don’t really have to help me. I can manage it, even if I drop a few things.”

“No, really, I don’t mind,” Luka hastened to reassure her, and felt his own face warming. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I don’t want to. Please let me give you a hand with setting up whatever you need.”

“Well…if you’re sure, I mean.” Marinette gestured awkwardly to the side. “Follow me, I guess.”

Anywhere . Luka trailed after her, trying not to check her out too blatantly, all too aware of the parents and children around them. Marinette led him to a large, overflowing plastic bin full of…he wasn’t sure what. He could see felt and fabric and some paper pieces? And a couple of books. It didn’t look heavy, but it was awkwardly large for someone as small as Marinette. He could see how she would have trouble with it, especially the way the contents mounded up over the top and threatened to topple free at any moment. Marinette gathered up some of the items from the top of the bin so it was no longer so overloaded, and then Luka carried it to the room she pointed out.

Marinette quickly began setting out things from the bin, clearly in a specific order, on a table that also held a CD player. There was a chair beside the table and a feltboard on an easel on the other side of the chair.

“Anything else I can do?” Luka asked, and Marinette flashed another breathtaking smile at him.

“No, thank you, but I really appreciate you carrying that in for me. You can just go check on Angie and we’ll open the doors for storytime in—” she checked her watch “—about five minutes.”

“Right,” Luka said, realizing with a start that he’d better get back to Angie. She hadn’t followed them into the room and he didn’t like having her out of sight.

He found Angie playing at a table piled with plastic horses, a small mountain of books beside her. “You’ve been busy,” he said, sitting down beside her and flipping through her stack of books. “Don’t you have this one already?” he asked, holding up a book with a pink-maned unicorn on the cover.

Angie pouted, handing him a brown plastic horse with white spots on it. “Can’t find it. Here, you be the horsey that’s lost and my horsey will come find you.”

Luka chuckled. “Okay.” He played there with Angie until Marinette opened the doors of the storytime room and called for the kids to come on in.

Angie seized Luka’s hand and dragged him to a place on the carpet right at the front, near the chair Marinette sat in. Luka managed to coax her a little off to one side at least, so he wouldn’t block the view too much for any kids who came in behind him.

The CD player was on, and Marinette had the kids stand up and led them in some activity songs. Luka followed the moves along with Angie, and thought he saw Marinette’s eyes flick towards him a couple times. He hoped he didn’t look too stupid.

Finally they sat down and Marinette picked up the first book, holding it up and showing it in an arc so everyone could see the cover as she announced the title and author. Then she set the book in her lap. Marinette picked up a big pair of glasses with a fake nose and mustache attached to it and put it on her face, peering at the kids with narrowed eyes through the oversized lenses. Luka coughed to cover a laugh and those blue eyes darted to him again. Marinette’s cheeks pinked, but then she made a quick face at him that conveyed It’s okay, I know it’s silly, but it’s for the kids . Luka’s grin widened.

He thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the storytime, and he thought the kids did too. A couple of mothers were giving Luka sidelong glances and giggling, and one patted him on the shoulder with a conspiratorial wink that made him blush. Was he so obvious? By the way Angie was beaming up at him, probably so.

Even if he was, he couldn’t take his eyes off Marinette. She was magnetic, exuding a bubbly, charismatic energy that he found oddly captivating. It was obvious she put her whole self into everything she did—even if it meant getting silly in front of an audience. He admired that. He wondered what kind of music she liked. He wondered if she liked coffee or tea. He wondered what her lips tasted like.

Rein it in, Couffaine.

He wondered if the way her eyes kept finding him or the pink tint to her cheeks meant anything, or if he was just embarrassing her by staring like an idiot. God, she was gorgeous. And funny . And clever, the way she used her props and seemed to identify the kids who were shy or scared and coax them out of their shell with her puppets and dolls.

“Isn’t she great?” Angie whispered loudly, and Luka had to agree. He was as sorry as Angie when storytime ended. Marinette went to say goodbye to parents and kids as they filed out of the door. Luka and Angie lingered a bit, while she pointed to some of Marinette’s props and told him about other storytimes they had been used for. They were the last ones to trail out of the room.

“What do you say, Angie?” Luka prompted as they approached.

“Thank you Miss Marinette!” Angie dutifully recited.

“You are so welcome,” Marinette said, bending down a little to offer Angie a high five. Then she straightened and looked at Luka. “It was nice to meet you, Luka. Um, I hope you’ll come by again sometime.” Her eyes flicked away and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then smiled at him.

She was so fucking cute he wanted to die. Somehow he managed to say goodbye, and propel Angie out of the doors without melting down on the spot. Visibly, anyway. He hoped.

“What do you want for lunch?” he asked Angie automatically, his mind on Marinette, and he was so distracted that when Angie answered, “Ice cream!” he agreed without thinking.

He couldn’t help thinking, as the two of them sat at a table in a small cafe and dug their spoons into their sundaes, that Juleka was going to kill him for feeding Angie ice cream for lunch. At the same time, he couldn’t make himself care much, his mind full of gorgeous eyes and a stunning smile. It took him a moment to realize Angie was speaking to him.

“How many weeks until you and Miss Marinette can get married?” Angie asked thoughtfully.

Luka nearly choked on his ice cream. “What? Why do you think we’ll get married?”

Angie frowned. “Why wouldn’t you marry her? She’s super pretty and super nice and she reads the stories so good! And I want an auntie.”

Luka could only manage to say, “What?”

Angie pouted. “I just have uncles. So many uncles. I like you guys but I want an auntie and Mom says I will only have an auntie if you marry a girl. If you marry Miss Marinette I get to have an auntie!” She paused, and then patted his arm. “I still love you. I just think having Miss Marinette for an auntie would be so awesome! She makes such cool things. She made a bunch of superhero puppets for the last storytime and they were amazing! ” Angie sighed happily. “She’ll be a perfect auntie, she’ll make me pretty things and teach me to make pretty things, and she knows all the good stories—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Ange,” Luka laughed. “I know the books Maman reads you make it sound like falling in love happens really fast, but real life isn’t like that. Usually,” he was forced to amend, so that he wouldn’t be a complete liar. “Even if two people like each other, it takes a long time to know each other well enough to get married. Marriage is serious, and you shouldn’t rush into it. So please do me a favor and don’t go telling Miss Marinette I want to marry her or anything like that, okay?”

“I won’t tell her,” Angie promised, and Luka felt immediately suspicious about her quick agreement. For a moment, the little girl just ate her ice cream, looking as innocent as the angel she was named for. “So what happens next?” she asked. “When you want to marry someone. You met her, so now what?”

“Wait, when did I—” Luka cut himself off and sighed. There was no point arguing with her. “Well, first you just spend time together for a while. Then if you’re having fun, and you want to see them more, you ask them on a date.”

Angie took that in, her little brow creased. “I guess you need to take me to library time for the next few weeks,” she concluded solemnly. “That way you can spend more time with Miss Marinette.”

Luka’s face burned and he found he had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Angie said, poking his arm.

Luka sighed. “Angelique, I love you more than anything but you are just as much of a pest as your mother.”

Angie pouted at him, and he grinned, swiping a spoonful of her ice cream. “We’ll see,” he muttered, unable to meet his niece's gaze.

He glared at Juleka when he dropped Angie off, and she looked back at him with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“When I told you to make Rose stop setting me up, I didn’t think she��d recruit Angie,” Luka told her, folding his arms and leaning on the doorframe.

“Apparently she’s decided that I need to marry her favorite librarian. Because she wants an auntie.”

Juleka stared at him in silence for almost a full minute, and then burst into laughter. Luka rolled his eyes.

“S-so,” Juleka said, trying to catch her breath, laughter still bubbling under the words, “are you picking her up for library next week?”

Luka’s face must have turned red again, because Juleka’s next burst of laughter drowned out his answer.

“What was that?” Juleka snickered.

“I said, I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

AO3 Works | Fiction Master Post

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