#if you’re someone i talk to regularly or whatever I do like you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kombuuuu · 1 year

Text

Miles 42 headcanons?

no one asked but i’ll deliver !!

Miles!42 x Fem!Reader random headcanons

also a lot of snippets :)

You/Reader: Blue

Miles Morales: Purple

Mama Rio/Rio Morales: Pink

Uncle Aaron/Aaron Morales: Orange

Random/stranger: Black

—

gift giving love language duhhh

Will have you walk with him through malls and whatever you look at for a second too long he buys

You don’t catch on until you’re both eating at a nice restaurant, absentmindedly staring at some plant when a lull in conversation happens.

He purchases the plant.

“Fuck you mean I can’t buy it?”

“Sir, the plants aren’t for sale, this is a dining establishment.”

“Establish the fact I’m gettin’ that plant.”

“Sir—“

50 bucks down and a plant 🆙

He will damn right die if you refuse him. He’ll get all grumpy and pouty when you say he should save for a house, not for you.

convinced you just get shy when bought things (you do).

is even more motivated to buy things

“Miles, baby, you need to save up. Not spend on me!”

“This would look so good on you, Ma.”

“Are you listening??”

“Fuck, and this.”

“Oh my god.”

gets so jealous it’s unbelievable

but only when someone goes too far with you

it’s like 1–100 real quick

he’s not usually the prowling type (ha)

but when someone pushes the line he loses his shit

other than that he’s a supportive bbg all the way

“Wanna go home with me, butterface?”

“Fuck you just say?”

“Nothing homie just get outta here.”

“Say that shit again ‘homie’.”

“Chill the fuck out. Let the lady speak for herself.”

“I’ll fucking speak for my girl all I want, homeboy.”

maybe got a liiiiittle bit of an anger issue

guy went home with a broken nose and a missing tooth

better hope he can afford fill ins

he would never get mad at you though

he gets frustrated you don’t listen sometimes, but it’s never to the point of anger

feel like he has the patience of a fucking SAINT

calm and collected baby u know the deal

“Mami, we gonna have a problem?”

“”

“Didn’t think so.”

a SWEETHEART at times

stand by him being raised right

mama rio taught him to be a romantic

wanted him to take after his dad

so flowers and gifts and chocolates

followed by lovin of any kind

probably a baby for affection but doesn’t show it

so when you get all emotional about being gifted roses for the first time

and hug him and smother him

give him stupid little kisses all over

he’s fainting

poor boy doesn’t know love like u show him

“Baby, are these for me?”

“Yeah, Chiquita. They okay?”

“Wh… They’re perfect.”

“Are you cryin’? I can return ‘em.”

“No! No, no, don’t do that.

I love them, C’mere.”

when you guys get rlly comfortable, like a year and some dating, he ends up getting more chatty

willingly talking w you for hours

feels like you’re the only person he can rlly do that with

rambles so rarely that you kind of just sit in awe when it happens

doesn’t catch himself until he’s trying to name your future kids

“I’ll marry you one day, we’ll have like two, three kids. Get all nice an cozy.

You want a boy or girl? I kinda want both. Definitely not girl first, never having a girl without a brother to protect ‘er.

You’d be such a good Mami.

What’d you wan’ name ‘em? I have a few ideas—“

“..”

“But you could choose the girl cause I don’t know any pretty names. And i’ll choose—“

“..”

“You gon’ let me keep goin?”

“I love your voice.”

“Tranquila, mami.”

Takes you to every family event he ever has

sits you regularly with Rio and Aaron

they insist you call them uncle and ma

you do, obviously

miles doesn’t need to meet your family if you don’t want him to, but if he ever does he’s totally suave with them

like weirdly smooth

able to get on ur carers good side quick

when you meet his extended family they’re just as loving

his whole family is this bright dash of colour

and you fit right the fuck in

“¡Oh, hija estás preciosa!”

“Dice la estrella de la fiesta!”

“You flatter me, Hija.”

“Miles, come get your girl.”

“You look nice too, Uncle Aaron.”

“..Thanks, kid.”

“Hey Mami, havin’ fun?”

“Aight, I’m out.”

when you find out he’s the prowler you’re not really shocked

he’s hella nervous to tell you and kinda puts it off for a while

as long as you’re not in harms way, nothin matters, yeah?

the guilt eats him alive

he’s already lost so much, if he doesn’t do things right with you, then loses you too

he’d probably lose himself

so he tells you

“The Prowler?”

“Yeah.”

“The.. Panther guy I keep seeing on the news-?”

“Mm.”

“Miles are you—

..—Are you killing people?”

“Mami, it’s not like that—“

“oh my god.”

“These men— I kill,”

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

“,They’re bad, you understand.”

“Miles..”

“[Name]. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.. Yeah I understand.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“…”

“Are you mad.”

“I’m not happy.”

“Okay.”

you’re kind of devastated he’s killing people

but you eventually get it

like it takes a while

say a month or so

but you forgive quick

i mean, who knows what those men are doing, right?

(ur delulu but it’s ok)

he lets you have your space but talking with mama rio when she realises your absence knocks some sense into him

mans is going to GROVEL

he will fucking beg on his damn knees

knocks on your door and is already kneeling

will plead with you to come back to him

like i said a whole ass romantic

you know what’s romantic? a man who can get on his knees

he will suffocate you in gifts and affection

oh you like (insert sanrio esc character) ? look over there at that lifesize plushie woahhhh wonder who that’s forrrrrr

“Hello?”

“Mami, don’t close the door.”

“Miles, go home.”

“And please stop kneeling, the floor is dirty.”

“I’m not leaving ‘til you hear me out.”

looooong sigh

“Okay, fine— whatever, come inside. You have two minutes.”

“God, I missed you. You’re so beautiful Chiquita.”

“Three minutes.”

You talk it out easy, he’s a real smooth talker when he wants to be

“Okay Miles, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

“Yeah, Ma. See you soon.”

“Wh—.. What is that?”

“Ohhh…”

“Why the fuck is it so big?”

“It said “Life Size” on the site? I was thinking like two feet tall.”

“You bought that?”

“Yeah.. I was thinkin’ you wouldn’t let me in. Would have to bribe you.”

“…That’s really cute.”

Annnnnd that’s all i can come up with i’ll probably do more later :P

#miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #rio morales #uncle aaron #aaron morales #into the spider verse

5K notes · View notes

babybluebex · 5 months

Note

i saw ur message abt angus tully requests and🙈🙈 if u feel like it i would love to read a first kiss fic, but honestly i'd read anything !!!!

as you requested... :) word count: 1k

When you first met Angus, you didn’t consider him as someone you could fall for. He was a little short-tempered, a little too sarcastic for your tastes, but he was smart— even though you didn’t go to the same school, he still came into town on Wednesday afternoons and met you at the library to tutor you in biology. Even though Angus could definitely be hard to deal with sometimes, he helped you get the grades that you needed, and you were endlessly appreciative of him.

Your biology midterm was next week, and you and Angus should have by all means been studying, but you weren’t. You were listening to him talk about his school, the prestigious Barton Academy, and how the all-boys school wasn’t exactly conducive to finding a date. “Not that I even wanna go to winter formal,” Angus said, twirling his pencil in his fingers. “But my mom and stepdad say I should.”

“Who’re you taking?” you asked. Your school also had a dance at the end of the semester, but you guys weren’t fancy enough to call it a “formal”. You were also in need of a date, and had briefly considered just going by yourself; you were better off on your own, anyway.

Angus shrugged. “Not a lot of girls for me to ask,” he said. “Not that any girl would wanna go out with me anyway.”

“Oh, whatever,” you scoffed, gently erasing your work on your paper and rewriting the answer. “You’ve gotta have girls swooning all over you.”

Angus barked out a laugh. “You flatter me,” he grumbled. “You think girls give me the time of day? That’s really funny.”

You lifted your eyes from your paper up to Angus’s face, and you scrunched your eyebrows. “I mean, why not?” you asked. “You kinda have that Bob Dylan thing going on; if you went to my school, you would be everybody’s favorite.”

“Mm, but I don’t go to your school,” Angus hummed. “The guys at Barton think I’m just a pest.”

“Well, I don’t think that,” you offered lightly. “I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks,” Angus said softly. “I think you’re… Ahem, pretty cool too.” His cheeks went red as he cleared his throat, and his eyes flicked down to your textbook to break eye contact. Suddenly, he was quiet, his face burning; you had never seen Angus be shy before.

“Angus?” you said. He said nothing, his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, and you reached out to him, letting your fingertips brush his chin, lifting his face to look at you. You tilted your head as you watched him squirm, but he made no effort to move your hand from his face or try to move you away. “You know what I mean… When I said you’re pretty cool, right?”

Angus took a breath, and he nodded quietly. “I meant the same thing,” he admitted. “Only, I… I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I don’t know how to do this.”

Your hand dropped from his face, and you took up his hand from the table, twining your fingers together with his. His skin was soft and cold, and his grip was immediate and strong. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you told him. “A real boyfriend, at least.”

“What’s a real boyfriend?” Angus asked, leaning forward in his seat to get closer to you.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I mean, like… I’ve never had a guy get all shy around me or anything. Act like he really likes me, and isn’t just dating me to cheat off of me in history class.”

Angus chuckled breathlessly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” he said, and you smiled. “Umm… Can I… Kiss you? I’ve kinda wanted to ever since I met you…”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” you asked.

“Have you?” Angus asked quickly.

“I asked you first,” you smiled, and Angus huffed as he chuckled.

“Um, no,” Angus coughed. “I’ve always gone to all-boys schools… Last time I had a girl I talked to regularly, I was in preschool. And that doesn’t really count, I think.”

“Probably not,” you agreed. “I’ve kissed one other guy before. It was the boyfriend who would cheat off of me, and he kissed me sometimes, but… Never anything else.”

“Okay, so you’re marginally more experienced than I am,” Angus said and jokingly rolled his eyes. “You can’t get mad at me if I’m a bad kisser.”

“I would never,” you told him. You both hesitated for a moment, trying to read each other’s minds, and, before you could speak first, Angus cupped your cheek with his soft palm and leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. You didn’t hesitate to lean into his kiss, reaching out and wrapping your fingers around his thin wrist, and he sank into you, letting himself relax.

You finally broke the kiss with a big smile, and Angus chuckled, and you shifted away quickly when your teeth clacked together. “Was that good?” Angus asked, nervously pressing his lips into a thin line as his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Why’re you laughing, was it that bad?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you,” you chuckled, shaking your head. You watched his cheeks go pink again at the pet name, and you said, “I’m just… Happy.”

“Good,” Angus said. His hand reached for yours, pressing his fingers between yours, and he said, “Right... What were we talking about?”

“Well, we were talking about, like, biology and stuff, for my exam next week,” you said. “But then we started talking about your winter formal and my school dance, and how we didn’t have dates.”

“Oh, right,” Angus said. “Umm… I-I guess, maybe, if you want, I could go with you to your dance.”

“As my date?” you asked, and Angus nodded. “I think I’d like that a lot. And maybe I can be your date to the winter formal?”

“As long as you can deal with the stuck-up pricks at my school,” Angus grumbled, and you grinned, leaning in and kissing Angus’s cheek.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

#bex answers #anon ask #angus tully x reader #angus tully

475 notes · View notes

1800titz · 14 days

Text

HI BESTIES. Trivia!Harry x Shy!Reader part 1 ((based on THIS post))

The one where Harry hosts trivia at a small town bar every Thursday and Y/N just can’t seem to shut up.

WC: 3.6K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series — the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠)

She takes a long drink. It tastes like kismet and carbonated nothingness.

“Alright, alright, alright.”

Smooth baritone into the bulbous head of a microphone, hovering millimeters from pink, plush borders of a mouth. It seeps through the meshed grill caging it like molasses slinking the gaps. The lively chatter dulls as heads turn, and then swells in eager increments.

“Alright,” he says, a set of green eyes flickering from the monitor he’s settled over a rejigged high top, and bounding sharply to whoever’s just given an overly enthusiastic cry of yes from the horde surrounding the portable four-by-eight platform.

A peal of sparse, scattered laughter. His mouth quirks.

“Very enthusiastic today. Hello to you, as well. I’m well. How are you?”

His cresting eyes bound from the glowy screen, casting light and carving shadow over the sultry features of his visage; an evenly straight slope of a nose, cheekbones feathered by long lashes, a bit of curl that traipses over his forehead.

His chin swivels to his left, somewhere closer to the platform where a woman leans over the high top — her designated team — the corners of his lips curling in response to whatever he’s said. Face alive, he nods. He tips his chin. Makes a creased face like something playful. Says something else, laughs softly, and turns back, shaking his head.

Y/N tucks the straw in and takes another slow sip.

He brings the mic back to the ruddy stain of his lips.

“Hope everyone’s having a lovely Thursday. M’Harry, I’ll be leading the trivia— as I do— so if you’re sitting there going, who is this obnoxious cock, talking into the mic the whole night? Hi, Hello. That’s me— I do trivia.”

Harry is fit.

At first, Y/N had been dubious to desert her romcom reruns and her cross-stitch project mid-way (despite the fact that her thumb now resembles a pin cushion) when her friends had swept her off into their regularly scheduled, mysteriously niche Thursday night schemes. Now, she gets it.

The destination — The Black Horse — is a fuggy little space that smells like spilt Michelob and fusty, weathered oak. There’s a no smoking sign pasted in a spare crevice of the backbar, but someone in the far right corner exhales a plume of vapor like they’ve hit their elfbar in the most clandestine manner imaginable. Shamelessly. It’s a small town — an islet in the heart of an archipelago — and she thinks she can make out her seventh grade swim team rival perched somewhere off in the front row.

The Black Horse is nothing special. It sells cheap draughts by the pitcher and parallels a barbershop in the crux of the town, two blocks off the boardwalk, which is arguably the chiseled, shiny musgravite of Treah’s core — a roaring green sea that eats away at the borders of the isle, shrouding vibrantly hued cays, glimmering under the beam of the sun. The majority of the holm’s economy is dependent on tourism (a simultaneous bane — said tourists enjoy uprooting foliage, building infrastructures, and partaking in chunks of housing buyouts), but Y/N can tell that The Black Horse has been …preserved to say the least. It’s four stone walls sewn into a plaza with three other natively owned businesses and looks like something straight out of a cinematic piece set in a rural village, planted into Treah long before Y/N had her first wiggly tooth.

The Black Horse isn’t what makes attendance worth it. It’s him—

“We’ve got a crowd tonight. If you haven’t played trivia with me here at The Black Horse before, welcome. S’a little different than your typical trivia, though, because it’s…”

The throng hollers back, as if scripted, “Dirty trivia!”

“Dirty Trivia,” Harry parrots, all cheeky dimples, “Right, Dirty Trivia. This one’s rated R, so if you’re not old enough to be here, I dunno how you got here, but this is going to be your cue to head out. Any— any children in here tonight? …No? Wonderful.”

He huffs into the mic, shaking his head and jostling his halo of curls. A jaundiced, warm beam catches on them. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but m’not even joking— a couple of weeks ago someone was sitting in here with, like, a little kid.”

It’s Harry, with the divots burrowing into his cheeks, the croon into the mic, lighting the crowd alive on an introduction.

Y/N crosses her legs. Her friend raises her eyebrows from across the teak table top and says it with her eyes. Told you so; Trivia Man is a cream dream.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms over the scattered, appalled eruption of laughter, nodding down at someone seated at a table closer to the stage, “I was, like, …shit,” he blinks back up and motions out, a slow sweep with his free hand, “Friendly reminder, this is not a form of sex ed.”

Pausing, mouth twitchy over the sown mirth, he brings the microphone back with a newfound seriousness and tacks on, nodding slowly, “…That kid won it for the whole team.”

The seam of his mouth lopsidedly spalls, “No, m’joking,” and he clears his throat. “M’gonna pass out a sheet and some little note pads for your answers,” Harry explains, “You’re gonna use one of those little notes to jot down a clever team name, do the same in that team name spot of the sheet, and then pass the note up to me.”

Pussy Posse. A pre-established moniker Y/N has had no jurisdiction over, merely perched as an addition to a settled cadre. Still, she gnaws into her cheek when she watches a friend beside her scribble in the title with a ballpoint.

“I’ll be coming around between questions to pick those answers up, have a chat, whatever. We’re all here to have fun, yes?”

She swears he sweeps her with his eyes, like a passing tide gliding the sea. Probably just the way the green in his sockets meets everyone else in the throng, but the moment it happens her molars chew in harder.

“On the topic of fun, let’s keep it nice and fair, yeah? Phones put away— no cheating— you’ll have plenty of time to check those when we have our break midway.”

It feels ignoble to eye-fuck him from behind the sheathes of her empty irises as he paces the stage — after all, this is just a wholesomely clad, virtuously upstanding guy leading trivia, but. The gears behind her skull are mottled with cerebrospinal fluid and sticky in a goop of thoughtless ogling that renders her head empty. Even when he makes his way to the bar-height table her team curls around, when his eyes linger on her — “A new face.” — Y/N just mindlessly stares.

Dirty trivia, she learns, is dirty.

It hits her when Harry quips (dare she note, mischievously), “Hoo-hoo-hoo. Starting off strong with the first one.”

He states, talc flickering from the LED display ahead to the bevy of trivia-players, “What country,” and pauses for emphasis, “has—“ pits grub at the smooth of his cheeks beside the upturned corners of a pink-bordered mouth splintering, “the highest average, in the world, for penis size?”

There’s no source of entertainment like that of trivia held, on a Thursday, on a remote islet, in a poky bar that smells like stale beer and dust-coated, chipping leather. Evidently.

“I actually don’t know this one,” Harry chimes, raising a wry shoulder, “So it’s trivia for me, as well.”

“England,” Marina stamps a blow that the teak hasn’t warranted, whisper-shouting over the staggering peals of guffaw and chatter, “He’s hung, I bet you.”

“He’s not going to fuck you for writing in England,” Beth’s chortles clash with Y/N’s scorned, “Marina.”

“That’s not even an answer,” Bee waves towards the flatscreen framed over the man’s head

Senegal, Haiti, Ecuador, and Gambia.

“Where the fuck is Gambia—”

They settle on Gambia.

Y/N watches Beth scribble it in and dot the i with an open sphere whose edges don’t meet. When Harry winds the rows of tables, plucking answer cards and making small-talk, Y/N stares into her mug ruddy-faced, brain-rotted with the insinuation of him being …hung.

“Lots of Haiti, lots of Senegal,” Harry states, mouth twitchy once he’s smoothed the cards out with his colossal, ringed paws, and looked them over.

She stares at the bob of his throat as he swallows, directing the mic back to his lips.

“Big reveal?” He pauses, as if for cataclysmic emphasis, riling the crowd enough for Y/N to note restive shoulders and juddering feet.

“Patience,” Harry says softly into the microphone, raising his eyebrows.

Y/N squishes the plush of her thighs together.

Then, with paltry warning, he reveals, “Ecuador! At,” squinting at the blue-toned LED, “—a whopping 6-point-nine-three. Solid for the average. Do we have any Ecuadorian men in the audience tonight? Anybody who’s added to that average? Congratulations. You beat us. You beat everyone.”

There’s an amalgamation of responses, some ripostes flung amongst tables, some bouts of clapping, hollering over the rows, sloshing mugs raised in triumph.

Harry’s deltoids climb in a shrug, and his head wags from side to side, “Some valiant contenders, those Ecuadorians.”

“I told you it wasn’t Gambia—“

Y/N ogles the way Harry tilts over the platform towards a table, brows kinked as if trying to pick up something audible he’d missed. In her peripherals, Marina prods into Beth’s direction with a palmful of something claret in a pellucid martini glass.

“What was that?” Harry coaxes into the microphone.

The corners of his mouth have caved up, and by the time the majority of the trivia-players sink into a piqued lull, he’s slanted over toward the table. A brunette with long, shiny hair arches up out of her seat into her directions, braced to the teak high-top with planted, elbow-locked arms.

“Where do you fall?” is undeniable the second time.

Harry blinks. His mouth paints over with a smile.

“Where do I fall?”

He blatantly bridles a sputter when he winds toward the laptop he’s set up, culls his glass of a golden, pale straw beer that’s lost its layer of foam, and takes a long drink.

Harry clears his throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Very forward. Take me out to dinner first.”

Y/N discovers that, despite the ubiquitously crude sexualizing, Harry is sort of like a bird. Pavo cristatus, preening with its neatly arranged plume — he likes it. The flattery. His tongue peeks out and swipes over his lips as he stares down at the screen. Little dimples pit when it tucks back in — ones he blatantly can’t contain.

He chuckles and states into the microphone, “…Below. Don’t worry about it.”

Somehow, Y/N doubts it.

Y/N plaits herself into the Thursday Fawn Sessions as a regular attendee, curling up at the same high top to ogle the same man pace a platform with a microphone to make jesting comments and ask things like, “Axillism is the act of using what strange body part during sex?”

She finds herself learning a thing or two from each session, and she finds that the emeralds seated in his sockets linger on this absolute clam shell taking up a spot in the bar and chugging fizzy water (that ogles his frame in lull every time he approaches her table), too. Pussy Posse is no good at the trivia, more often than not wheedling in second-to-last, but they find themselves much too entertained to mind.

Franks is a rather self-explanatory hot dog cart. It stands midway on the boardwalk and operates through sunny mizzles and borderline hurricane cloudbursts, when the green salt chuck is choppy. High tiding. Those are the days Y/N stands out in her jaundiced poncho, salty rain spittle beating at her cheeks, and watches the waves eat at the ipe in a nasty, wet hunger, no customers in sight.

Midsummer afternoons, though, are good. Busy. When Treah morphs industrious and bustling — tourists like Franks on the boardwalk.

It’s a slow coda for June. The sea is planate, swaying over steel supports mantled by barnacles. Gulls chortle, gliding low in the ether — it oozes yellow and something balmy like the goo of an egg yolk. She’s sold two hot dogs, tallied three joggers (one eager speedwalker), and noted one couple pushing a baby in a stroller, who offered tight-lipped smiles and veganism. She doesn’t entirely mind a slow day, because setting shop on the boardwalk means spending the day on the boardwalk. Breathing the sea until her lungs are full of salt and her eardrums reverberate the crash of the water behind her skull. She tastes it at the back of her throat — something like home as home could get.

There’s another jogger loping — a moving blip of skin color in chiaroscuro against wood paneling. In the distance. Drawing closer. She imagines him passing the cart, the soles of his trainers padding over the row of planks until he’s just another form of lines and shading, faced away. She checks her phone.

The jogger is still a good bit away. Y/N swipes open Wordle. She’s on her third attempt of elucidating something that goes blank, I, blank, E, blank (with a P that doesn’t quite fit where she’s slotted it)—

“Hi.”

Her eyes crest.

Treah is a really small town. Not in a prudishly, bible-bashing form of a pastoral village, sheathed in a bosky, wooded moat of thicket and then plains of nothingness for hundreds of miles. But it is an island enveloped by the sea from all sides, sequestered without a boat or a little plane, whose wheels bumpily kiss the asphalt of anearly comically small airport. Even the tourists lodging up in their summer homes, all the same months like annual clockwork, make reappearances. The faces are, nearly always, the same, and she sees the same faces often. It was only a (limited) matter of time before they coalesced beyond the borders skirting The Black Horse. In hindsight, Y/N didn’t envisage that she’d be wearing a baseball cap emblematized with a weenie when it happened. Or that his tits would be out and about.

“Have you got water?”

He’s panting. Casually slippery; coated in sweat that glimmers in the sun and carves the well-toned sinews of his torso, with sunglasses tucked up over his curls like a makeshift headband. He ogles expectantly with a set of jade that puts the hues of the lapping, green sea behind him to shame. A parted mouth, sculpted and cushiony, sucks in breaths from the liminal space divvying their atoms while her own become clogged, somewhere midway an esophageal prison, in limbo toward her lungs. A shaded lepidoptera scored over his tummy flutters, batting its wings in the swell and sink of his diaphragm expanding.

His shorts are teeny. Tiny, little things. Cobalt. Mirroring laurels carving alongside his V-line peek from the waistband, and a happy trail climbs to kiss his navel.

Y/N blinks. “Yes. Yeah. We do. Yes. …Is bottled okay?”

“Bottled is perfect.”

He sticks a hand into his pocket, the emeralds in his sockets flickering to her face, and away, and back. Slow-like. She traces the wisps in the sky with her eyes, heat searing up her neck and pooling in the flesh of her face. It’s a sudden, unforeseen stuffiness sweltering for such a beautiful day. Y/N recognizes her horrid blunder in his next words.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

She should have ducked her chin, tucked the visor lower, and hoped for the best. Instead, now, she blinks, dazed and wide-eyed like a Red brocket saturated by blinding headlights.

“Oh. I’m not sure. Um. Small …town— maybe?”

“You come to, uh—“ a nudge with his chin in her direction as Y/N arduously regulates the stuttery pace of her respiration. The jitter in her digits, like a lovesick school girl. She caches them behind the cart and lets them judder. “—trivia nights. At The Black Horse, yeah? I couldn’t forget a face like yours.”

Harry grins, the way he does. Lopsided, so the left corner turns up a little higher — dimpled with a long flash of teeth. Except now, he’s slippery and half-naked.

Folie. Miscalculated gaffe in a weenie cap. She smiles all tight.

“Oh—“ again, “…Yeah.”

“Right,” Harry nods. Smiley. Lingering, looking her over. He buries an enormous hand back into his pocket then, brows creasing like he’s remembered something, and pulls out a little rectangle in cardboard paper. “Hey, actually. I’ve got this coupon here. S’what I do all the other days of the week, ah—“

He extends it out.

Harve-y a free drink, on us!

“M’a bartender over at Harvey’s. S’close to The Black Horse, if you’re in that area. Monday and Saturday mornings. Wednesday and Friday nights. If you come by, I’ll fix you up with a drink.”

It feels impolite to leave him hanging, so she swipes out at the offering, cradling it with slow fingertips.

“We can do some one on one trivia. Train you up,” Harry tacks on.

Y/N swallows. Harry is an attractive man. His allure is apodictic — a sort of conventional, objective quality that leaves her throat parched when it becomes paired with his unfaltering eye contact. She’s not a virgin, and she’s an adept swimmer, but his presence feels like viridian saltwater that’s waiting to swallow her whole. The nerves that bubble, a fizz of chagrin, remind her why exactly she enjoys fawning from a distance. Because he makes her feel nervous, and when she’s nervous, the dialogue spumes like miasmic word vomit.

He’s got a thin sheathe of sweat that glimmers in the seat of his cupid’s bow, but it’s not in a gross way. In fact, it reminds her that the rest of him, his denuded skin, is slick, because he’s been jogging along the boardwalk. It reminds her how hard it is not to openly ogle the tattoos he’s got on show. She should have called out from her weenie gig, and she should have refilled her alprazolam prescription weeks ago.

“Oh,” she tells him, slowly, face creasing, “I don’t— I don’t drink.”

Harry blinks. It’s a weird confession considering she’s a Thursday night regular at a bar that’s really only good for anything that has enough alcohol to shroud the stale taste. Still, nothing beyond open expectancy erupts along his features, and that’s worse. She feels them crawling up her throat, clambering up the back of her tongue like the words have knobby joints. They meet the backs of her teeth, waiting to spew.

“—Not because I’m a recovering alcoholic or anything, I just don’t like the way it makes me feel. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Or drinking. I actually think it’s so admirable. You know? Like, to be brave… and… and a lot of times those people will attend support groups—“

Harry blinks again.

“—And they talk about it. I can’t imagine sharing something like that— not that there’s anything wrong with it! But. Um. I always get virgin cocktails at The Black Horse. Or club soda. Or juice.”

Her lips seal over. She entraps the rest behind her traitorous teeth — a drawbridge that never should’ve sunk open. Despite her overly candid, overstated explanation, Y/N doesn’t stick the coupon back out in his direction. She harbors it in her hand, blinking slowly and gnawing into her cheek.

“…S’okay. We do orange juice, too,” Harry tells her, entirely casual despite her discomfited speech, raising his brows.

There’s the curbed efforts of a bemusedly mirthy grin at the corners of his mouth, and his nonchalant bearing only makes her face hotter. She feels like she’s broiling under the shade of the awning.

“And club soda.”

“…Cool,” Y/N settles on, tightly.

“Sick.”

“…It’s, uh… two dollars,” she tells him, after a moment.

Y/N is going to go home and ram her head through a window.

“Oh,” Harry casts his gaze to the water (it has the average, entirely typical proportions of a water bottle, but in his hand, it’s nearly miniature), as if he’s forgotten the chilly source of condensation coating his palm. That he’s in arrears. He sticks his free hand into the same pocket that’d procured the coupon, “Right. I think I’ve got two dollars in here, somewhere.”

Instead, when he stretches a bill out towards her, it’s worth ten. Circumventing eye contact, Y/N reaches for the cash box tucked below and pries the lid up to delegate his change.

“Oh,” Harry echoes, raising his enormous hand in effort of halting her, “S’alright. S’yours.”

“Oh. I… can’t take tips. It’s, like. Against the code of conduct.”

“Code of conduct at a …hot dog stand?”

As if she needed to be reminded that she’s donning a silly cap with an animated frank, standing on a boardwalk that’s practically empty of prospective patrons. The ignominy scores in her tummy and surfaces in the set line of her mouth.

“…Yes.”

Harry pauses, brows kinked like he’s ruminating, and then he inhales and decides, “Well. It’s not a tip, yeah? It’s just… you break it up, put two in the box, and then put the rest in your pocket.”

“Oh. No. You— you’ve already given me the coupon—“ she argues, frenziedly waving out a mismatched wad of cash.

He raises his hands and ambles in one suavely lengthy step back. “I’m going now.”

“No!”

He’s three away that would fit five or six of her own gait when he declares, “Yes! I hope to see you for that orange juice. On the house. Have a good one.”

This is a patreon exclusive series. If you'd like to read more, part 2 is already up on my patreon! <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles fluff #patreon exclusive #harry styles fic #trivia!harry #trivia au #shy!reader #harry styles x shy!reader

382 notes · View notes

nerdygaymormon · 7 months

Note

Didn’t he try to get his gay employee to marry a woman lol? I love him, he was a sweet, kind man, but also old and a lifelong Republican.

Most American voters register with one of the two major political parties. I don't know why Fred Rogers registered as a Republican, but what Republicans stood for in the 1950's & 1960's is very different from how we think of that party today. According to his wife, Fred was "very independent in the way he voted."

————————————————————

It is true that Fred Rogers encouraged a gay employee to marry a woman. I think it's an unfortunate part of his history, but I think it's helpful to fill in more of the story.

Francois Clemmons was hired by Fred Rogers to be the first Black person to have a recurring role on children’s television. He would be Officer Clemmons on the show Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, and he kept that roll for 25 years.

In his memoir, Officer Clemmons, Franc shares that one day in 1968, he was called into Fred’s office at the studio.

“Franc, we’ve come to love you here in the Neighborhood. You have talents and gifts that set you apart and above the crowd, and we want to ensure your place with us. Someone, we’re not able to say who, has informed us that you were seen at the local gay bar downtown with a buddy from school. Now I want you to know, Franc, that if you’re gay, it doesn’t matter to me at all. Whatever you say and do is fine with me, but if you’re going to be on the show, as an important member of the Neighborhood, you can’t be ‘out’ as gay. People must not know. … Many of the wrong people will get the worst idea, and we don’t want them thinking and talking about you like that. If those people put up enough fuss, then I couldn’t have you on the program. It’s not an issue for me. I don’t think you’re less of a person. I don’t think you’re immoral.”

Clemmons began to sob because he could only have the job only if he stayed in the closet.

If it had been known a gay man was a regular part of a children's show, it would've been cancelled. Remember, this is pre-Stonewall.

“You can have it all if you can keep that part of it out of the limelight. Have you ever thought of getting married? People do make some compromises in life.”

Francois Clemmons married a woman in 1968. In 1974 they divorced and Franc began living as an openly gay man.

Fred Rogers changed his advice, urging Clemmons to find a gay man he was happy with. He also stopped asking Clemmons to remain in the closet, and he warmly welcomed Clemmons' gay friends whenever they visited the television set. I've read that this change came from Fred getting to know and becoming friends with gay people.

—————————

Having a Black man as a police officer on the show was making a statement in support of Civil Rights. The most iconic encounter between Officer Clemmons and Mr. Rogers on the television show occurred in 1969.

At a time when many community pools were strictly segregated, Mr. Rogers invited Officer Clemmons to join him and cool his feet in a plastic wading pool. As Officer Clemmons was getting out of the pool, Mr. Rogers helped him dry his feet.

This exemplified the message that all people are equal and valued and loved

The core values of the television show were: Love your neighbor as yourself, be kind, say “I'm sorry,” smile, accept people and help them grow, be forgiving, see each day as a new chance to be happy, positive and kind. The show talked about grief, divorce, race issues and disability.

Fred Rogers' character regularly said, “there's no person in the whole world just like you” and “I like you just the way you are.” It was an example of radical acceptance.

In addition to Franc Clemmons, John Reardon is another openly gay man who regularly appeared on Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, so it seems Fred Rogers personally didn't have an issue with gay people, but having them be open on the show was not something possible at that time. I'm sad that an openly gay character never occurred on the show.

Fred Rogers shared that evangelicals would sometimes write to him asking him to condemn homosexuality, and he never would, instead saying he — and God — loved everyone just as they were. Since 1967, Fred and his wife worshipped at Pittsburgh’s Sixth Avenue Presbyterian Church which was a diverse, progressive church where women were equal, social justice was the theme, and since the 1960's has engaged in a ministry to gay people and was the first Presbyterian church to ordain gays & lesbians.

While he was not a public advocate for gay rights, his message of unconditional acceptance didn't exclude any genders, orientations or races.

#fred rogers

385 notes · View notes

amaesama · 2 years

Text

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛

So the Slenderman has chosen another troubled soul to manipulate, force to do his bidding, induct into the mansion, great! We’re all one big happy family here, so I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine! Whatever may have happened in the past is over now. This is your new home, and everything is going to be just fine.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⨂ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Everyone is really weary of newcomers.

For the first few days of you being there you will absolutely 100% catch people staring at you, like ‘what is this new thing and what do we do with it.’

The first people to come and talk to you are Nina, Jane, Liu and Dina.

Nina wants to make new friends so she’ll try her best to be nice and welcoming to you, she might be a bit too much at first but she means well.

Jane and Liu are there to warn you of any potential pastas to stay away from (*cough*Jeff*cough*), Liu will do most of the talking because he’s lovely.

Sully won’t front straight away, he will watch you when you talk to Liu to see what you’re like but otherwise he’ll leave you alone.

Jane will try to introduce you to Clockwork but 9/10 she’ll be ‘busy’ so it might take a while to get to know her.

Dina is an absolute sweetheart and they will try their best to be welcoming to you and make sure nothing bad will happen.

There’s a chance that they might try to introduce you to Helen but he just will not make an effort to talk to you, you’ll have to find another way to get to know him.

Dina will also introduce you to Ann and Johnathan, Johnathan will be a bit more talkative but you have a feeling that’s only because he wants something out of a relationship with you.

Ann won’t be all that interested. If you actually want to pursue a friendship with her then get beat up and she might be in the infirmary. Might be.

Speaking of the infirmary, that’s the best place to find him E.J, he spends most of his time down there, so if you ever want to talk to him or need something from him he’ll be down there.

He’s not too social and it’s rare to see him anywhere else, but he will always help someone if you’re injured. If you spend time to get to know him he’ll be very happy, though (he’ll probably ask if he can have your kidney somewhere along the line, he’ll assure you that the operation will be safe but he’ll respect you if you say no).

BEN and Sally are also two people that will be the first to talk to you.

Like Nina, BEN tries his best to spark conversations with people. He’ll probably play a few pranks on you though so be careful.

Sally just wants to play so she talks to everyone, she has no ill intentions so she’s a pretty safe person to be around.

You’ll 100% see Hoodie and Masky around as they basically do everything the Slenderman asks them to do, and if you’re new that’ll be to train you and do the whole initiation process. You��ll see Toby less frequently, but still pretty regularly in comparison to most other people.

Jeff will test if you’re good enough to be friends with him by setting Smile Dog on you. If you don’t run away from him or if you don’t try to kill him you’re good.

However, being friends with Jeff means you probably won’t be friends with Sully. Liu is a bit more accepting (strangely enough) but he’ll still be a bit iffy, he believes you should be friends with whoever you want but he probably won’t be around you if he’s there.

Ok onto actual life in the mansion.

Very rarely will you have a proper meal.

And by very rarely I mean only if you make yourself something or on one of the pasta nights.

A pasta night is something that happens every month (or every other month if no one can be bothered) where someone makes a shit ton of pasta for dinner for laughs.

It’ll almost always end in an argument because there are so many dysfunctional people living in the mansion.

And then there’s an argument on who should clean up, in the end they came up with a router where everyone takes turns.

E.J only comes along to these nights because he feels he has to, he can’t eat the food so he just kind of sits there.

Not many people can cook, so it’s usually either Tim, Brian, Clockwork or Liu who make the pasta.

No matter what your background is there will most likely be someone who went through the same thing, so if you’re happy with talking about it and so are they then you’ve basically got a therapist buddy.

Smile Dog is the family pet except instead of seeing him as a full blown family dog he’s treated like a person, minus all the responsibilities and stuff.

He’s a freeloader. That’s what I’m trying to say.

Also a great guard dog.

Not every room is an en suite so there’s a chance you’ll have to share a bathroom with like 5 others. And sharing a bathroom with literal serial killers? Not fun.

They’ll always flush, don’t worry, but some of them take excruciating long. Jeff is known to take long ass showers and sing obnoxiously loud (because he’s a dick) so avoid the bathroom that’s closest to his room.

Honestly it might be best to befriend someone with an en suite. Helen has one (mostly because people were annoyed that he kept going to refill his water when he’s painting), and he’ll probably be indifferent to you using his bathroom.

E.J also has one and he basically lives in the infirmary so he probably won’t notice if you use his, but you’ll have to ignore the mini fridge in his room. You just know what he keeps inside it.

He also doesn’t like being called ‘E.J,’ he mostly puts up with it. With two Jacks around it can be confusing so he understands why people call him that, but when the other one isn’t around he doesn’t get why people call him this. Call him Jack and you’ll be in his good books.

The proxies have their own bathrooms as well, and since they’re always out you might be able to use theirs.

EVERYONES ROOMS ARE A MESS.

Hardly anyone can be bothered to clean their rooms so they all live in their own mess.

If you complain about it enough then you could potentially bully some people into cleaning them.

Jeff is the worst.

Absolutely vile.

Jane has one of the best rooms because she’s a literal goddess so of course it is.

Helens is covered in paint.

Jacks is passable if you ignore the mini fridge.

Tim’s absolutely sticks of cigs so you probably don’t want to go in there.

Toby’s is- yep. It’s definitely… something!

Also for room arrangements, the people who hate each other are located a far away as possible from each other to reduce conflict. There are multiple floors, probably around 3, with the ground floor being where the living room, kitchen, infirmary and all that stuff is.

Floors 2 and 3 are mostly bedrooms. Liu, Jane, Nina, BEN, E.J, Helen, Dina, and a few others are on floor 2.

Jeff, Tim, Brian, Toby, Kate, Ann (if she’s at home) and some others are on floor 3.

Bless you if you end up on floor 3. It’s so noisy. Mostly because of Jeff.

During the day you probably won’t see many people, you may see them crawl out of their holes to get food but that’s pretty much it.

You’ll most likely get into a few fights because these fuckers are aggressive and argumentative.

Say anything mean to Sally and everyone will hate you forever.

It’ll take a while for you to fully feel like you fit in (a few months to a year) so try to keep on everyone’s good side and everything will be just fine.

If not then you’ll be hated forever. These assholes know how to keep a grudge.

You won’t see Slenderman.

You’ll FEEL him, but hardly ever see him.

If he does contact you it’ll be via Tim or one of the other proxies, or he’ll talk to you telepathically.

If you’re in the house then he’ll always be watching you.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⨂ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

4K notes · View notes

ranhaitanisgf · 5 months

Note

could i request headcanons for rindou looking after a fem reader who is recovering from getting sick (ie: more tired than normal, kinda grumpy, still dealing w headaches/congestion or more generic symptoms) ? i am recovering from COVID and i need rindou to look after me so bad LOLL

sickness begone!!

synopsis: how would rindou act with an s/o recovering from sickness?

☆ a/n ˎˊ˗ hiii thank you for requesting!! :3 i was wanting to make this a bit longer but i couldn't think of anything else D: i hope it's alright and that everyone enjoys !! xoxo [just as a note, i unintentionally didn't end up using any gendered specifications, so this is gender neutral! i hope you dont mind ╥﹏╥]

☆ characters ˎˊ˗ rindou haitani x g/n!reader

☆ wc ˎˊ˗ 1.4k+

masterlist

❥ rindou is the number one complainer. he isn’t complaining about having to take care of you, no, he’s complaining about how stupid you are for getting sick. it’s an extremely annoying thing to hear when you’re already not feeling well, but it’s his own way of showing that he cares about you!

“how did you even get this sick? you need to take better care of yourself.” “how ‘m i supposed to know…” “you need to be more careful.” “yep.” “are you listening to me?” “just give me the damn glass of water.”

❥ he’s actually quite unsure of how to take care of someone who is ill, so he ends up calling his brother for help, asking what he’s supposed to do, (‘aniki, they're burning up, what do i do?’ ‘you don’t know what to do when someone’s sick? you don’t know anything at all?’ ‘i’m hanging up.’ ‘no, no, ‘m sorry, i’ll help you.’).

❥ when he gets the basic rundown from ran and gets all the supplies he needs, he does his best to try and make you feel better! he doesn’t really say anything the whole time, just squinting at the directions on all the little packages, muttering about how ‘these words are too damn small…’.

❥ he’s surprisingly soft though, his worry for you taking over his usual snarkiness. he’ll gently brush your hair out of your face and will periodically wipe any sweat away from your face with a damp cloth, his eyebrows furrowed with worry. he’ll stay by your bedside for almost the whole time you are there, watching over you and making sure that everything is alright, (he also insists on helping you walking to the bathroom or kitchen even if you can walk completely fine).

❥ does not care if you bitch and moan about the bitter taste of the medicine. you will be taking it, no matter what.

❥ he makes sure to check your temperature regularly, letting out an annoys tsk when he notices that your temperature is still high, (might curse out whatever virus that is tormenting your body at the moment).

❥ his snarkiness immediately comes back when you start to get better, though it comes in the form of nagging like an old grandma.

“hey, why’re you going out?” “‘m going to get decongestant.” “stupid, don’t go by yourself. stay here, i’ll go.”

❥ he just does it because he cares, so don’t get too annoyed with him!

❥ he secretly compares you to a lazy cat when he sees you lounging around your apartment, sprawled out all over the sofa or even just on the floor, (of course, he will never voice this, but he thinks it's rather cute). sometimes if you’ve ended up falling asleep there, he will snap a few pictures because he thinks you’re absolutely adorable!

❥ i think that rindou knows what it’s like to get bad headaches since having bad vision can sometimes cause them, so he understands what you’re going through when you complain of having a pounding pain in your temples. without any sort of explanation, he’ll tell you to lay down with him in bed or on your couch and he’ll gently massage your temples, doing his best to help ease your pain, (if you try to tease him or bring it up later, he will pretend like he has no idea what you’re talking about).

❥ when you snap at him while you’re recovering, he’ll either completely ignore you or will call you an idiot and then will continue whatever he was doing. either way, he won’t ever get upset with you and he won’t snap back either since he knows that you’re not really in your right mind.

❥ rindou likes to sleep, (not as much as ran) but he will stay up for however long you can’t sleep for whatever reason there may be, whether it’s congestion, a headache, or any other pains in your body. he’ll carefully smooth his hand over your forehead to get rid of any sweat and will hold you close to him for comfort, gently rubbing his hand in circles on your back until you fall asleep, (if you say a word about it, he will once again pretend like it didn’t happen. he is the biggest tsundere).

❥ he does not know how to cook, but he will try his damndest to make you some good meals so that you don’t have to cook. every time you try to help him he will roll his eyes and tell you to go back to bed, ‘don’t worry, i’ve got this’, (he does not got this). he’s on the phone with ran the whole time, which is odd because he doesn’t know how to cook either.

“oh…wow! it looks great!” “why did you pause?” “uh, no reason…!”

❥ it’s the thought that counts…?

❥ you guys end up ordering takeout, and you have to comfort rindou for the whole night that you were very appreciative that he tried to cook for you, (he’s not outwardly upset, but it’s easy to tell that he’s sulking).

❥ you know those people who tell you to drink water whenever you complain about something? that’s rindou while you’re recovering. your head hurts? did you drink water? your stomach is achey? did you drink water? you’re really dizzy? did you drink water? it’s not even like he knows that water will fix any of those things, he just read an article on how sick people should have a lot of fluids, so he’s constantly shoving water and electrolyte drinks in your face.

❥ binge watching is the number one activity to do while you’re sick, so rindou will watch any show you want to watch with you. he doesn’t exactly say why, but it’s because he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s leaving you alone, especially while you’re sick, (it doesn’t really make sense to anybody but him).

“wait, hold on. so mary was dating mark but then she cheated on him with kendall?” “right?! it’s so crazy!!”

❥ he somehow gets into the crazy reality tv shows you watched because of your boredom.

❥ going back to this note, he’s not just by your side 24/7 while you’re sick, but also while you’re recovering. it’s completely irrational, but he has this fear that you’re suddenly going to collapse and get even sicker than you were before if he’s not there, so he will not let you leave his sight, (unless he’s going to the store to get something for you).

❥ if you want something, while you’re recovering is the time to ask for it! rindou is especially weak to your requests, and even more so when you’re feeling unwell, so if you ask him to buy you five pints of ice cream, he’ll end up buying ten, (he enjoys seeing the grin on your face, so he thinks it’s worth it).

❥ he does not care if you’re sick or still recovering, he will keep kissing you, and no, he doesn’t care if he gets sick. why should he let some stupid virus dictate whether or not he can kiss you? he might not seem like it, but he lives off of the affection that he gets from you, so he can’t even imagine not being able to kiss you.

❥ no matter the length of your hair, he will braid it. it’s a strange thing, and he doesn’t have an answer for you when you ask him what he’s doing. all he says is, ‘...keeps it out of your face…’, (he only knows how to braid because of ran).

❥ will walk by and toss a blanket on you if you don’t have one on already. it’s almost like he’s attacking you with blankets, but he just says that ‘you need to stay warm’.

❥ when you finally get better, he’s so relieved! he will only admit it to you, (and he will only say it once) but he was actually really worried about you. he’s not ever worried about your safety when you’re with him and his brother because he knows that they can fight off anybody who tries to hurt you, but sickness isn’t something that he can fight, so he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself. all he could do was hope and pray that you would get better, and he absolutely hated it.

❥ he takes you out to your favorite restaurant and spoils you rotten when you’re back to your normal self <3

324 notes · View notes

misti-chan · 5 months

Text

❤ Mash and Finn x sweet reader ❤

Wanted to thanks and to say that it was inspired by a talk with @fellow-anime-weeb927 I hope you like it!! And hope it isn't too OOC!

That's my first time writing for Mashle so please bare with me! QQ

But I really needed a break from writing for One Piece but don't worry I'll work on the requests!

It was hard to say that there was nothing between Mash and you. Even the poor Lemon could see it. But you were always so tender and maternal with Mash that he couldn’t help himself but fall for you as you took care of him and reassured him constantly.

You regularly made him some choux buns as everyone knew that he adored them so much. To everyone's surprise your choux buns were more than delicious and they understood why Mash was never sharing them with anyone but you.

He was also truly happy to help you make them. Cooking together was one of your little happy moments where there were only the two of you. And also to your surprise he was a fine cook even if the only thing he could do was choux buns. In the end you were feeding him everything you could ever bake and Mash was truly grateful for it.

He never knew he could meet someone as sweet as you and he was happy to have met you and to be alive for this even if some people may say otherwise since he was born without magic.

He knows that he is strong and able to face any enemy, but he also knows that he is entirely soft for you and you only. He can’t help but cling at your side every time he gets the chance. What would he do without you ? You gave him another purpose in his life than just a calm life with his father. He wants you by his side too. And he cannot fathom the idea of the contrary. You are a true sunshine, always bright and helpful and he won’t let anyone take you away.

He will show you that you can rely on him, that he can be your rock and your confidant, that he can be soft and needy, that he doesn’t just have a strong appearance. He wants you to know that you’re the only one capable of making him appear as the clingy boyfriend.

In the end Mash loves you and would go to great lengths to show you. He’ll make you a thousand choux buns, always ask how you’re doing to be sure that you’re happy by his side.

You were a real sweetheart to Finn and he was grateful for that since he was always getting into bad situations. You were protective of him and always showered him with some kind of love, whatever it was.

When he was getting bullied you were always the first person to come to beat the others and to tell them not to come back again. Finn was adorable and a true treasure that you wouldn’t let hurt.

You constantly were worried about him as he was kind of fragile and easy to impress or pressure. But that was drawn you to him, he was always so empathic and kind. He really impressed you in the way that he never got angry or shoot like Dot. His patience and calm soothe you like a gentle breeze or the sound of the waves in the distance. So it is quite normal for you to protect him to the best of your capacity. He is such a cutie, always asking you if you’re alright or if you need anything that you can’t help but fall in love with him.

Falling in love with Finn is so easy and harmless that you can’t stop yourself. The man is a walking green flag and you were here all for that. He didn’t know in the beginning that you were going to be a big part of his life. All he knew was that you were kind to him and very sweet and all he wanted was to repay you back.

But as things went, the two of you became closer and closer. You always brought him little trinkets and things that reminded you of him. And he couldn’t help but do the same as you. It wasn’t rare for the two of you to share some sweets on a bench talking about life and school.

But for Finn, he knew he loved you the moment you didn’t hesitate to punch someone in the face after he disrespected him and almost harassed him. You were never the violent type but for him you could be, and to know that he was protected by an amazing person as you, made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

He knew from this instant that he wanted to be more than just friends, that he wanted to be part of your life as your lover. And of course it wasn’t hard to see that it was reciprocated.

#mashle #mashle x reader #finn x reader #mash x reader

370 notes · View notes

sitronsangbody · 1 year

Text

But what about health?? Fine, let’s talk about The Health. Here’s everything I think some of you should know and keep in mind when it comes to health: SOME MYTHS AND MISCONCEPTIONS: - You can’t know someone’s health just by looking at them. You just can’t. And it’s probably not any of your business. - Size is not a reliable indicator of health. There is currently no evidence that being fat in and of itself is bad for you. - Health is not a moral category. - Your body doesn’t need to be The Fittest It Could Possibly Be. What matters is where you need it to get you in life, not some theoretical physical potential. SOME STUFF NOBODY SEEMS TO GRASP: - Health is SO individual. Bodies are complex and incredibly diverse. They come with all sorts of needs and limitations and these fluctuate depending on so many inside and outside factors. We do not all need the same number of calories, the same number of steps, the same amount of rest. And we’re not all supposed to look the same. - More stuff than you probably think is genetic. - Mental health is just as important as physical health, and the two very much impact each other. - Our health is impacted by an array of societal factors beyond our individual control. - Some people will never be healthy for whatever reason, and that doesn’t make them less valuable in any way. SOME STUFF THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT HEALTHY: - Hating yourself. Fat people are constantly encouraged to fight against our weight and size, and it’s statistically a losing battle. One that wreaks havoc on our mental health. - Starving yourself and shutting out your body’s hunger cues. - Minority stress. Discrimination, marginalization and exclusion is not good for you. It impacts you both physically and mentally. In other words: shaming someone does less than nothing for their health. If you’re shaming people because “you worry about their health”, you are actively causing the kind of damage you claim you want to prevent. - Seeing doctors that don’t know enough about the body you have and how symptoms manifest in it. A very real occurrence for many black people, trans people, fat people, disabled people - the list goes on. - Not having universal health insurance SOME THINGS THAT ARE INDEED HEALTHY: - Eating regularly. Eating a variety of foods and food groups. You should find and eat food you like if possible. - Some level of movement regularly. A lot of us already get it at work et cetera. You should move in a way that you enjoy, that does not cause pain. - Staying hydrated. - Getting enough sleep. The amount will vary from person to person. - Resting when you need it. - Brushing your teeth. Wearing sunscreen. - Not overdoing it with drugs and alcohol. - Fresh air. - Being - and feeling - safe. - Love and community. - Being kind to yourself. NOTE: not everyone has access to all of this. People are busy. People are poor. People are sick. People lack accommodations they need. People live in dangerous areas. People are abused and controlled. The world around us has a huge amount of power over our health.

#musings #health #fatphobia #fat liberation #body acceptance

531 notes · View notes

cinnamonest · 3 months

Note

Alright, we need to know. Who are top members of the "looking at women, who're minding their own business, and talking about how sad and concerned you are for them because 'with the way they are, they'll end up single and childless for the rest of their lives and no high value man would give them a chance," club? Like on a sclae of 1-10 how delusional would they become after they realize said woman doesn't give a shit?

Honestly one of my favorite tropes is the whole, “nooo what are you doing living your own life you're supposed to be someone's wife and having babies” thing. Like it has both benevolent aspects (the whole “you'll be happier this way” part) while also having malevolent aspects (the “you're a resource to be used and the resource is being wasted” part).

Like, even irl, there are some men who are like. Discombobulated. Baffled. At the suggestion that a woman can have other priorities in life. The sheer reeling disbelief when he sees a woman that's like 30+ with NO kids, NO husband. Unbelievable. It must be so awful for you, you must be so sad and desperate. Equally worrisome is that you might end up accepting some inferior, unsuitable guy that doesn't have the same Husbandly Quality™ of someone like himself, tragic…

But yes I’ve been thinking about this concept ever since the Diluc escape fic, and I know I’ve talked about him with that concept before, but consider CHILDE would be such a major candidate.

Childe is hopelessly drawn to you if you’re mean.

It’s honestly not healthy for his sake either, but it’s far worse to be on the receiving end. He can’t help it, it’s like waving meat in front of a hungry dog, an irresistible urge to have you.

You’re not exactly high rank, but not much of a subordinate, you’re more of an “other” category, you keep records and files and do a lot of scribe work for a division of units you’re assigned to. Unfortunately for you, higher-ups such as harbingers end up consulting you quite often for records and information… well, most of the time, they send someone else to do such a menial task for them, but he always comes in-person, waltzing in all cheerful and full of youthful energy — and loud, God. You wonder if parents these days have stopped teaching their kids about having an inside voice, because this kid certainly is unfamiliar with the concept.

You scowl, evident disgust on your face as you lazily sort through your records, not about to show any urgency for someone so annoying. You were kind of hoping to irritate him, even. But alas, he’s equally smiley and talkative when you hand him what he’s looking for.

Far too talkative. You’ve already handed him what he needs. Why is he still in here? Now he’s talking to you, asking you the dumbest questions about if you like working here and what you do and blah, blah. You didn’t ask for this. You force yourself to give answers, albeit blunt and short as possible, mostly consisting of yeah-s and sure-s, before the annoyance becomes too much and you ask through clenched teeth if he needs anything else or if he’s done here, an all-too-obvious hint to leave.

Thus marks the beginning of the bane of your existence, because unfortunately, by the will of some malicious higher power, he comes back. Regularly. Habitually. Eventually you start noticing that he isn’t even retrieving anything, half of the time, he’s coming in just to annoy you.

See, for him, it’s not just attraction, but a weird sort of pride thing. That initial coldness draws him in, because it presents a sort of challenge. He’s now overheard other people say the same thing, that you’re cold and mean to everyone.

Based on looks alone, he thinks, you’re old enough that you should be married. Maybe that’s why you’re so mean, you’re just bitter or something. Maybe you had bad luck and got hurt a bunch and now you’re all guarded. That’s actually kind of cute.

Naturally… well, naturally for him and whatever’s wrong with him, at least, it sparks an obsession. He likes chases, challenges. Things that are hard to get are that much more satisfying to obtain, you know? The feeling of having won, the feeling of being better than everyone else, knowing that he accomplished something other people can’t and now reaps the rewards, and the pride and ego boost that comes with it — that sort of thing is an intoxicating fuel, a motivator unlike anything else one could offer him. This does not combine well with the fact that he’s young and hot-blooded and in possession of a hair-triggered sexual aggression, not to mention a sense of pride for which the word ‘no’ doesn’t have any meaning.

It’s kind of sad though. Wasting your life away in some menial job, you’ll be so lonely and regretful.

You’re very lucky, then, that he takes pity on your plight. It will all work out.

Because he can fix you.

And he knows that that's just how you are — he's already composed multiple potential sad backstories that explain your behavior in a way that makes you seem cutely pitiable, that writes off your attitude as being ultimately due to being sensitive and afraid of vulnerability, very endearing — he's not deterred by you pushing him away.

In fact, he realizes, once you've opened up to him and he's forced you to expose the vulnerable side of yourself, you'll probably feel bad for all the times you were mean to him. You'll shuffle even closer (in the scene that plays out in his mind, see, you'll be in bed, naked, face buried against his chest, all clingy and needy) and quietly sheepishly mutter out apologies and ask him to forgive you.

Or maybe after a while, if he keeps being nice to you, you'll break down and cry and be more honest about how sad and lonely you are and how much you need him and then he'll be right there to hold you close and promise to be there for you, it'll be really sweet and will make him very happy. He's already planned out several lines to say that should elicit enjoyable reactions.

It will be so cute. It will feel so good. It’s just a matter of winning you over at this point.

Which, you see, proves to be the difficult part.

He’s getting there, he’s certain, you’re just a little more stubborn than he anticipated.

He’s already started trying to work his way there, during his regular visits. He’s already asked you if you’re married, watched the way your face turned all sour the moment the word came out and the way you rolled your eyes before you muttered a no. Ah. Sore spot, then, as expected.

And then asks if you have kids — because the first answer doesn't necessarily negate that possibility, and ‘jaded single mom with a bad ex' is one of the potential backstories he's theorized for you, so, it's worth asking. You still say no.

The ideal response, then, is—

That's too bad. You would make a good mother!

You narrow your eyes and glare like he's just said the most vile thing you've ever heard. But it's okay, it's cute that you’re so defensive (because you know he’s right and it’s what you really want).

It doesn't matter what you say, any words that come out of your mouth will be filtered through his delusions to match the reality he's already decided is the case.

You say you don't want to get married, this means you actually really do, you say you don't need a man, which means you actually really do and are aware of it and it bothers you, you say you're fine by yourself, which means you're very lonely, it's practically a cry for help.

He'll keep being nice, no matter how much you push back. He can tell it's just because you're sensitive. Maybe you think someone as young and charming as him wouldn't sincerely like you, and you're being defensive? That's probably it. Aw. That makes him feel good.

Poor thing. You're so defensive, so guarded. It's endearing, even if it's starting to get a little frustrating. But it will just take a little more work before he gets through to you, and then everything will work out perfectly… and then he’ll have a nice trophy for all his efforts, can savor the defeat and vulnerability you’ll show. You'll become so meek and submissive and it'll be just for him and no one else. It’ll be so nice. Just a little more time.

#i cant help but believe this man has the worst 'i can fix her' complex of any guy to ever live #.ch #.miso

133 notes · View notes

pluckyredhead · 21 days

Note

☕️ sliiightly late but would love to hear your thoughts on Tom King (I get the impression you’re not a fan? - ive only read one book of his (heroes in crisis) and a couple issues of mr miracle but I always see people talking about how great some of his books are)

Lol I am indeed not a fan. BUCKLE UP, FRIEND.

So two things about Tom King that give him such a good reputation outside of fandom circles: one, he is regularly paired with some of the best artists in the industry, which means his books look incredible. I mean, just astonishingly beautiful all around.

And two, he is very good at including certain signifiers that indicate "this is a prestige comic." It's hard for me to describe it - it's an "I know it when I see it" kind of thing - but there are certain ways of writing and laying out a comic that signal seriousness, intelligence, boundary-pushing. Art with a capital A.

The easiest example I can give is the nine-panel grid, which is exactly what it sounds like: a page of three panels by three panels, all the same size. This is associated with older comics (like, Golden and Silver Age) because it's so simple, but also it's very very associated with Watchmen. So now when people trot it out there's an element of "Look at me! I'm just like Alan Moore!"

Tom King looooves the nine panel grid. He uses it a ton in Mister Miracle (Kirby used it a lot so this kind of makes sense) and Heroes in Crisis, especially for the therapy sessions. And there's this thing in the industry where people see a nine panel grid and they're like "Oh! This comic must be Smart." But if you scratch a lot of Tom King's work, it has very little substance beyond a sort of complacent nihilism.

(Geoff Johns also used the nine panel grid to signify that he is An Intellectual Writer now with Three Jokers, which was fucking hilarious. Geoff Johns is the Michael Bay of comics and he was trying to be Wes Anderson. It was embarrassing for him.)

And actually, speaking of Tom King and Watchmen, Heroes in Crisis has a great example of how he's using shorthand instead of, like, building a real story. There's a moment where Clark tells Bruce and Diana that someone anonymously sent all the superheroes' therapy footage to Lois, and they're like "She can't publish it," and Clark's like "She's a journalist. She did it 35 seconds ago."

This is a reference to a very very famous line in Watchmen, when Ozymandias is talking about his plan and then reveals that "I did it 35 minutes ago." But Heroes in Crisis has nothing to do with Watchmen, and Lois's actions (publishing private medical information for no reason) have nothing to do with Ozymandias's (dropping a fake alien squid on New York to end the Cold War; also, sorry for the Watchmen spoilers). It also has zero consequences, either within Heroes in Crisis or in later comics.

That moment serves literally no purpose except for Tom King to tell the reader "I've read Watchmen." Which...is not really much to brag about? I'm pretty sure it's the bestselling graphic novel of all time. Lots of people have read it, dude. The line has no story or character purpose, it's just the equivalent of like...teenage boys quoting Rick and Morty or whatever at each other to signal that they're an in-group. Except pretentious. It's like if teenage boys quoted Proust at each other. (That would actually be amazing.)

And in fact - and this is my big beef with King - the line actually harms the story, because it's wildly out of character for Lois (and Clark, who fully supports her decision here). Why on earth would Lois publish the private medical information of dozens of people, many of whom are her husband's friends, or even her friends and in some cases family? It's not newsworthy, it's deeply unethical, and she doesn't know who her source is. It makes zero sense that she would publish it, and equally zero sense that Perry would allow her to - they're the Daily Planet, not fucking TMZ. But she does it...so that Clark can paraphrase Watchmen. Okay???

And that's the big problem with King. He has no knowledge or understanding of the vast majority of characters that he writes, nor does he care to learn. He is a fundamentally ignorant and lazy writer. Heroes in Crisis really exposes this, because it uses so many characters, and he gets so many of them wrong, and it's so clear that he like...Googled shit with no context.

Like, take Kyle Rayner. King has him praying in Spanish, and like...okay, sure, Kyle's dad is Mexican. Except Kyle didn't know that until he was well into his twenties! He literally had no idea that his father was Mexican or that he himself was Latino until he was an adult, and while he does canonically speak a second language in the comics, it's Irish. In both HiC and Omega Men, King writes Kyle as devoutly Catholic, when Kyle has never been shown to be religious in any other comic. King just went "Oh his dad's Mexican, he must be Catholic and fluent in Spanish." Now, I'm not saying we shouldn't have comics where Kyle engages with his Mexican heritage, but this is just a stereotype.

King also has this trick where he goes back to a character's debut issue and does a close reading of it to inform his writing, and everyone congratulates him on his deep cut...but he reads nothing else about the character. In Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, the only Supergirl comic he references out of 63 years of canon is her first appearance, which is all of 8 pages long. Way to dig deep in that research, champ.

His book Danger Street was touted as celebrating the obscure characters of the DCU, but it was really just utilizing this trick to the max, because it was all about characters from a comic from the 70s called 1st Issue Special, which was dedicated to trying out new characters and concepts, so it was a whole bunch of debuts. I only skimmed part of Danger Street while researching something else, so I can't claim an in-depth reading, but one of those 1st Issue Special characters was the blue Starman, Mikaal Thomas. King uses that 1st Issue Special debut issue and literally none of Mikaal's other appearances to inform his writing. And you might say, well, okay, that's an obscure character so who cares? But Mikaal is a historically significant character who was half of DC's first on-page gay kiss in a mainstream comic, and you can't even tell from King's take on him that he's queer, because surprise surprise, his queerness wasn't in his 1976 debut but was a later development. And everything Mikaal does doesn't have to center his sexuality first and foremost, but it would have been nice if it seemed like King was even aware of it.

King also doesn't understand, like...really simple themes. I thought Mister Miracle was really good when I read the first issue...and then the story kept going, and I was like "Ohhhh he doesn't understand the point of the Fourth World at all." And the Fourth World is, like...the least subtle Kirby ever was, and Kirby was never subtle. Anyway Scott Free is a hero and Orion is also a hero, and if you don't understand that basic fact and how it is the central theme of the Fourth World - that given the chance, good will always be stronger than evil - you need to go back to remedial comics school.

AND FINALLY (lol sorry), all of his comics are just...miserable. They're about terrible people being terrible to each other. Which...is fine, I guess? But it's not why I personally come to superhero comics.

So yeah: I don't like King's work because he doesn't actually know what he's talking about, he doesn't do any substantive research, and he's so cavalier with the characters that he's been given temporary charge of that even DC has made almost all of his writing out-of-continuity after the fact. And the fact that the comics establishment treats him like he's some kind of genius makes me want to scream.

#comics

56 notes · View notes

greynatomy · 1 year

Text

Out of Love

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

another angsty fic. idk why but i’m always emotional on my bday and it’s my bday so you guys should be emotional with me.

idk where this came from but happy reading and lmk what y’all think

-grey

———

Lizzie and Yn have been together for three years. Best three and a half years of Yn’s life. She’s with the girl of her dreams, what more could she ask for?

For the past six months, she’s been planning something for Lizzie. Talking to many jewelers to get opinions on what ring designs. Even talked about it to your closest friend, basically a sister to you, Scarlett Johansson. In those six months, Lizzie noticed how secretive her girlfriend has been. She didn’t think anything of it at first, but every time she asks, she gets no explanation.

One day, walking to her usual coffee shop. Grabbing her coffee, she turns around, only to be hit by a force, spilling her hot coffee on them.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine. I wasn’t paying atten— Lizzie?”

Elizabeth looks up.

“Robbie! Hey. How are you?”

“Soaked as of this moment.”

“I am so sorry about that.”

“It’s totally fine. It’s my fault anyway. How ‘bout I buy you another cup while we catch up?”

“I would love that.”

After that moment, they started to hang out more often. They didn’t end their relationship on bad terms years ago, so she thought, why not befriend him?

She would go over to his place, have movie nights, cook dinner and he would come over to her place whenever you were out doing whatever that Lizzie stopped questioning.

It was surprising that the paparazzi hadn’t caught them hanging out together out of the comfort and privacy of their homes.

You were out running some errands one afternoon, when you decided to get something to eat. Walking to yours and Lizzie’s favorite coffee shop, you see her sitting at a table through the window. You pull out your phone and decide to give her a call.

Lizzie hears her phone ring, seeing your name on the screen, she silences it and out it away just in time for Robbie to come back from the restroom, not knowing you were outside watching the scene play out.

“Who was that?” He asked her.

“No one important.” She replied.

You don’t think much of it, just thought that she was catching up with someone, not being able to clearly see who she was with, you went home instead.

Some time has passed. You have three weeks until your four year anniversary, meaning three weeks until you propose. You’ve picked up the ring from the jewelers and it looked even better as you hold the finished product in your hand. You’re excited and can’t wait to spend the rest of you life with Lizzie.

Going home earlier than you told Lizzie, you picked up both of your favorite takeout to surprise her with. Not seeing her as you walk in, you set up all the food at the bar, going up the stairs to cal her down. Nearing your shared bedroom, you hear an unfamiliar voice.

“Give me another chance, please.” It was a man’s voice.

“Robbie.” Isn’t that Lizzie’s ex? You ask yourself.

“I like you, hell I still love you and these past couple of months prove that you have feelings for me too. Meet me at our favorite restaurant tomorrow at six pm if you feel the same way I feel towards you.”

There’s a small pause.

“Okay.”

You couldn’t listen to anymore of the conversation. You quietly hurry down the stairs write a note and grab your keys and wallet and drive off, not having a destination in mind, just wanting to be as far away as possible.

Lizzie walks downstairs shortly after, hearing a car outside thinking it might be you. Once she gets down, she sees the table set up with food. Getting closer to the table, she sees a note.

Will be gone for a while. Don’t know how long. Don’t call.

-Yn

She throws the note away and reheat the food to eat for dinner.

Three Weeks Later

In those three weeks, Lizzie did meet up with Robbie at their favorite restaurant. They’ve been seeing each other regularly without Yn being in the way, even forgetting about her existence.

They decided to go for a long scenic drive, turning the radio on high at a popular station.

“We have some new stuff that we’re gonna be playing in a bit. One song is from an artist that has not released a song in a long time. So, without further ado this is Out of Love by Yn Yln.” Lizzie’s breath hitches and her body tenses. She hasn’t heard about her for a while.

I won't tell you I'm lonely

'Cause it may be selfish

I won't ask you to hold me

'Cause that won't mend what's helpless

There's not a thing I could say

Not a song I could sing

For your mind to change

Nothing can fill up the space

Won't ask you to stay

But let me ask you one thing

Oh, when did you fall out of love, out of love?

Oh, when did you fall out of love with me?

Did you find out about her and Robbie? How did you find out? When did you find out? When did she fall out of love with you? Did she actually fall out of love with you or just filling a missing void while you were gone?

I can't float in an ocean

That's already been drained

I won't cry at your feet now

I know my tears will fall in vain

There's not a thing I could say

Not a song I could sing

For your mind to change

Nothing can fill up the space

Won't ask you to stay

But let me ask you one thing

Robbie hasn’t said a word. He knew what they were doing was wrong, but he was too caught up in finally having the girl back that he didn’t care for the consequences.

Oh, when did you fall out of love, out of love?

Oh, when did you fall out of love with me?

No use wondering

Why your change in heart has wandered

So I'll ask you this question

'Cause it might help me sleep longer

Oh, when did you fall out of love, out of love?

Oh, when did you run out of love for me?

Out of love (out of love)

Out of love with me

Lizzie was now full on sobbing. It made her remember all of the times she was with you, all the times she listened to your music and made being away from you hurt a little less. How did cheating on you suddenly become something she resorted to?

“That was Out of Love by Yn Yln. Wait, what?” The radio host mutes himself for a bit. “We’ve just received some very horrible news. Music sensation Yn Yln just passed away a couple hours ago.” Elizabeth’s world just came crashing down. She just froze, not knowing how to react to this news. “Her representatives have spoken and released a statement. Stress Cardiomyopathy or Broken Heart Syndrome, is what they said. Wow, she was so young too. That’s just crazy. Rest in peace to such a young and talented musician. She’s touched our hearts with her music. Thank you for blessing us with one last song.”

One. Last. Song.

Those words struck something in her. The song that just played was the very last one you released before you died. And it was you questioning her love for you, or lack there of. She felt guilty. You died from a broken heart. A heart that Elizabeth broke.

She never got a call about you when you passed. It seemed as though you removed her as your emergency contact. She stopped spending time with Robbie. He tried comforting her, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near her living and breathing guilt. She told him to stop contacting him and to lose all contact with her.

Leading up to the day of your funeral, dressed in all black and made her way to where you friends and family were gathered. Scarlett, seeing her come closer, stepped away from her husband.

“You have some nerve showing your fucking face here!”

Lizzie froze in her spot. All the attention was on her now.

“You don’t deserve to be here. I don’t give a fuck if you’ve been together for years because YOU are the REASON she’s GONE! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HERE! FUCK YOU!” Scarlett was getting pulled away by Colin. “LET GO OF ME!”

Lizzie breaks down, crying of guilt. Scarlett breaks down, crying of anger.

Lizzie eventually decides to leave, not wanting to upset Scarlett more. She knew how close the two of you were, how you passing is harder for her.

“Wait!” She turns back around seeing Scarlett walk to her with a box. “These are go you. You don’t deserve any of it, but she wanted me to give this to you. I don’t know if she knew of her dying, but she knew she wasn’t gonna see you anymore.”

With that, she drives back to you shared home with all the horrible memories with Robbie and the fainted ones with you.

Opening the box she notices three things. A letter, a flash drive and a small velvet box. Opening the velvet box, she sees a beautiful emerald ring. Knowing instantly the meaning of this ring, tears flood out of her eyes. Unfolding the paper it reads…

Lizzie,

If you’re reading this, then Scarlett thought that it was a good time to give it to you. I don’t even know where to start.

Well, I found out. I came home early to surprise you with our favorite takeout and went upstairs to call you down for dinner and overheard your conversation with Robbie. I wanted to know if you went through with his deal and you did so I am writing this as a goodbye to our relationship or not a relationship anymore I guess and to you.

In the flash drive, there’s a song I wrote—

Putting the letter down, Lizzie quickly grabs her laptop and plugs in the dive. She sees one file. She clicks on it and a song plays.

(it’s Emerald Eyes by Anson Seabra you don’t have to play it, just the song I had in mind)

—and it was supposed to be played right before I got on one knee and asked you to spend the rest of our lives together.

(You know how much I love your eyes, so I decided to write a whole song about how they make me feel.)

But, that won’t be happening anymore. After four years of us being together, you still weren’t over Robbie. I just wish that you broke it off with me before getting back together with him. Make it hurt a little bit less.

The ring is something I’ve been working on or working with people on. Took six months. It’s why I was always gone and secretive, which ultimately made you go to another so this whole thing is actually my fault. I drove you away and I’m sorry for me, but glad that you found your way back to the person you love even if that’s not me.

Im just rambling on paper now. I won’t be coming back for any of my clothes or anything. Only took the essentials so you can throw everything out. This is goodbye, I guess. I love you. I always will even if you don’t love me back.

Forever yours,

How can you blame yourself for her infidelity, she asks herself. You loved her so much that you couldn’t even point the blame at her.

She wishes there was a way to apologize to you. To tell her everything she did was a mistake. Most importantly, she never fell out of love with you. You understood and loved her like no other. She’ll never find anyone to love her like how you loved her, not even Robbie could love her like you did.

She was too late. She can never gain back the time to be with you again, not even for a minute. You were gone, believing she fell out of love.

Lizzie took the ring out of the box and slid it on her finger.

“I do.”

But it’s too late.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagines #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #scarlett johansson imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen oneshot #scarlet witch

506 notes · View notes

goldenempyrean · 9 months

Text

Beyond The Office Walls

〚 Day 14 - ‘‘I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am’’ 〛

〚 Pairing - Lena Luthor x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - She may be your boss, but it takes getting to sick to realise that she maybe more than that. 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

Looking out over the office, something just seemed off. Nothing was out of place per say, but everyone seemed to be getting on with their business like any other day. But that was when she noticed it. The desk by the window - your desk - was empty.

Not empty in the way someone leaves it when they just pop out for coffee, no. Your desk was empty. No bags or files in sight. Every other reporter had already arrived by now. That wasn’t just odd. Quite frankly it was concerning.

Ever since buying CatCo you’d always arrived at least 20 minutes earlier than required, regularly arriving at the same time as herself. As such the two of you had gotten friendly, often grabbing a coffee for that other and Lena couldn’t quite place it but there was just something about you that made her heart flutter just a little.

She was just tapping into your number on her phone when she saw you shuffle into sight, planting yourself down in a less then grateful manner. Something was wrong.

Your eyes, usually bright and full of energy, were dulled by exhaustion. Your normally impeccable attire looked dishevelled, as if you'd hastily thrown on whatever was within reach this morning. Lena couldn't help but notice the way you kept sniffing and rubbing at your nose, and she could see the telltale redness around your eyes.

Concern etched across Lena's face as she watched you, unable to contain her worry any longer. She sent you a quick text message: "Hey, are you okay? You don't look well at all." She watched as your phone buzzed on your desk, hoping you'd read her message.

Meanwhile, she discreetly reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a packet of tissues, slipping them into her back pocket before standing up and heading over towards your desk. She made small talk with other employees as to not seem so intruding before she came to sit on the corner of your desk.

“I didn’t see you this morning.” She said as she casually picked up one of the reports you’d laid out, smiling at your perfectly scripted notes.

A series of soft sniffles punctuated the air as you leaned back in your chair, looking up at Lena with tired eyes. Your voice was scratchy as you replied, “Yeah, I was just running late.” You stopped to clear you throat, which didn’t really help rid it of its raspy edge, “Sorry if I kept you waiting or anything.”

Lena arched an eyebrow, her concern deepening. "You don't sound so great," she commented, her fingers lightly touching your forehead as if checking for a fever. "You're not coming down with something, are you?"

You shook your head, only it did little to change her mind, “I’ll work through it I promise.” You coughed to the side before shifting your attention back to your work.

Lena couldn't help but feel a pang of worry deep in her chest. Your insistence on pushing through didn't sit well with her, not when she could see how uncomfortable you truly were. She continued to observe you, her concern growing with every sniffle.

She sighed and softly uttered, "I shouldn't be worried about you, but for some reason I am." Her voice was filled with genuine concern as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the packet of tissues she had stashed earlier. She extended it towards you, her eyes locked onto yours.

You hesitated for a moment before accepting the tissues, offering her a faint, appreciative smile. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice still raspy. "I'll be fine, really. I just have a lot I need to finish today.”

Lena's hand moved to gently cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing manner. "You don't have to be a hero, you know," she whispered softly. "Do you really think it’s smart to be working when you’re obviously feeling like shit.”

Your eyes widened, you hadn’t heard her swear at work before but nonetheless you found yourself leaning into her touch, closing your eyes briefly and savouring the warmth of her hand against your face. "I just... I don’t want to let anyone down, we’re all on deadlines here." you admitted, your voice cracked slightly before you spluttered off into a cough.

Lena's expression softened even further, and she leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto yours. "You're not letting anyone down," she said earnestly. "And you certainly aren't letting me down.”

You tried to smile but you were interrupted as you sneezed down into your elbow. Unable to resist any longer, Lena reached into her back pocket and pulled out the packet of tissues she had stashed there. She placed it gently on your desk, right next to your elbow. "Here," she said softly, "you might need these."

You gave her a weak but appreciative smile, accepting the tissues. "Thanks, Lena." Your voice was even raspier now, and you couldn't help but wince as a particularly nasty sneeze overtook you. "Ugh, sorry about that."

Lena waved off your apology with a caring look. "No need to apologise. You shouldn't be working in this condition, you know. It's good for you at all."

You shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the obvious discomfort you were in. "I've had worse. It'll pass, I just need to get on with this.” You tapped your pen on the side of your desk, only it slipped through your fingers and rolled onto the floor, landing at your bosses' feet.

Lena sighed as she picked up the pen, placing it in your hand gently before she leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a more intimate tone. "You know," she began, "I shouldn't be worried about you, but for some reason, I am."

Your eyes met hers, and in that moment, you could see the genuine worry and care reflected in her gaze at she stared down at you. You didn't know how or why, but it warmed your heart somehow. It made you feel warm inside. "Lena," you whispered, your voice betraying your exhaustion as it rasped and cracked, "You don’t need to be worried about me. I promise I can take care of myself.”

Lena's fingers lightly brushed against your arm, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Well, I can't help it," she admitted, her voice filled with sincerity and sympathy, "There's just something about you that makes me want to look after you. There’s something special about you, and I want to know what it is."

As Lena confessed her feelings, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of hope building up inside your chest. Maybe, just maybe, this had brought something unexpected into your life. You leaned in a little closer, your noses nearly touching, and you whispered back, "I'm not sure what it is, but I feel the same way about you.”

The loud chattering office seemed to fade into the background as the pair of you shared a moment of connection, your illness momentarily forgotten. The air between you was charged with unspoken emotions, and you both knew that something special was happening. Something which could change your futures.

Lena's thumb gently traced circles on your arm as she leaned even closer, her lips barely an inch from yours.

"You know," she murmured, her voice soft and inviting, "maybe you don't have to work through this cold alone. Maybe I could... take care of you." Her warm breath brushed against your lips, causing your heart to jitter and flutter with anticipation.

Your eyes locked onto hers, and the world around you seemed to vanish. You were no longer in your office surrounded by colleagues, you were with her and her alone, "I'd like that," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability, “I’d like that a lot.”

Lena closed the remaining distance between your lips, and the kiss that followed was gentle yet electric, filling you with a warmth you hadn’t felt in years. It was a promise of something new, a connection that went beyond the office walls.

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗 @natashamaximoff69 @lovelyy-moonlight @santana1437 @kljhsong @inluvwithfictionalwomen @shamelessbearunknown @kathleenmikaelson @bloomingflowersthings @observeowl @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @nayarianna1302 @itsarandomblog @scarlettssub @villaneve4life @demonicbaby666

#lena luthor x you #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x fem!reader #lena luthor x y/n #lena luthor #lena luthor fanfic #lena luthor sickfic #supergirl #supergirl sickfic #sicktember 2023 #fluff #whump #comfort #caretaking

274 notes · View notes

wildemaven · 1 year

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Five

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5129

Warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of food, language, sexual innuendos, two dumb dumbs who lack communication skills, working on sobriety, failed relationships, loneliness, references to hookups and bad dates, I think that’s it but like always please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Reader gets her nickname!!!!! This was a fun one to write! I got stuck in parts of it, but over all I’m so happy with it. I don’t want to give too much away by setting anything up. Big thank you to my dear @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her constant support and beta reading through this whole thing! She’s a gem! Everyone who’s been reading, reblogging, commenting, liking, lurking— THANK YOU! 💕

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

“So, I take it things are good then? You both seem to be pretty, chummy with each other lately.”

“Yeah, since our talk, things have been—good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, Good.”

The waitress stops by your table, refilling each of your water glasses, the clinking of the ice filling the silent break in your conversation.

“Thank you.” Diem’s sickly sweet voice offers gratitude to the waitress before the young girl is carrying on about her work and then Diem redirects her gaze to you, her overly generous smile morphing into a questioning smirk, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow.

“What’s that look for?”

“Good?”

“Uh yeah, that’s what I said.”

“So, now that you and Dieter are good, as you say, we’re just going to pretend what you said didn’t happen?”

“Would mind clueing me in on the conversation that’s happening right now, ‘cause I’m so fucking lost.”

“That night at my house, what you had said about Dieter.”

“Ugh, Diem! We’ve already hashed this shit out. Plus, Dieter and I’ve been on good terms for a couple weeks now, let’s just not discuss what I said that evening.”

“No, I’m not talking about that— the other thing you said that we have not discussed at all since you said it because the two of you were, and frankly might still be, idiots.”

“Oh my god, Diem! When I told you I was into edging, I didn’t mean like this— for fuck sakes woman, spit it out!” Grabbing for your glass of water, you take a sip to cool off your annoyance that is starting to simmer.

“The part where you said my brother was attractive—“

Diem doesn’t even get a chance to finish the rest of what she is saying because you nearly choke on your drink, water spraying from your mouth back into your glass at the remembrance of what you had said.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Wiping the water droplets with your napkin.

You had honestly forgotten about it. Forgotten about what you said, not about the thought— honestly, it still rang true.

The more time you spend with him, even if only for brief periods of time as you both got to know each other, you undoubtedly found Dieter Bravo attractive— he was caring, sweet, funny, and his almost chaotic personality only added to your growing attraction for him.

“So?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that.”

“So you do then— find my brother attractive.”

“Sure, whatever.” You hope your nonchalant response is enough to outwit the surge of questions she’s hurling at you.

“You know, for someone who works with kids regularly, you’d think at some point you’d learn how to lie better than them.”

“Fine! Yes, I think he’s attractive. There I said it, are you happy now?”

The check is dropped between the both of you, your hands quickly grabbing for it to avoid the back and forth on whose turn it is to pay this time, you place your card in the designated slot and place the receipt book on the edge of the table.

“You know this means I have to set you two up, like it’s my duty as a best friend to you.”

“You do it, and your best friend title gets revoked! Do not say a word to him, I am begging you! This isn’t middle school, I don’t need you playing matchmaker. Plus, we’ve just barely started talking, so just leave us alone.”

“You’re no fun. I’m sure he’d be into you though, I can always ask—“

“You are insufferable.” You chuckled, signing your scrawled signature on the receipt. “Seriously though, please don’t. I’m good with just being his friend and getting along like we are— we don’t need to throw feelings into the mix.”

She nods in agreement, but the scheming look she is giving makes you think she’s plotting something.

“Oh, I just remembered— I won't be able to bring Wren, something came up so Dieter is going to be bringing her to art class this week.”

“What something?”

“Something— when I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.”

“I hate you!” Tossing your crumpled napkin at her, Diem’s laughter rising as you roll your eyes, grabbing for your to-box and purse.

“I love you too!”

The chorus of a slow ballad hangs in the air of the empty gallery room, the euphonious melody sandwiched between poetic precision, eliciting a longing for a tangible moment you weren’t sure you would ever experience.

Relationships never really seemed to work in your favor, not for a lack of trying on your part, you just seemed to always find the ones who never really wanted to advance into the seriousness that comes as relationships progress.

You still kept your mind open to the possibility of finding someone who had the similar interests and desires as you, never really closing the door on relationships as a whole. Dating gave? you great conversations with potential partners, and hookups satisfied that carnal itch your vibrator couldn’t touch.

You threw yourself into your work at school and your art to keep your mind off the fact that it had been over a year since you were last in a relationship, or had sex for that matter.

Settling into a new town, it was intimidating to put yourself out there, every one of your dates had been disastrous setups that ended before the dinner checks ever came.

For now, you were relying on fate to decide whether you were destined for a lifetime of solitude or not.

You sailed through setting up for an evening of painting. Brushes laid out next to a plastic tray filled with tiny squares, dried chalky pigments begging for thirst and attention. Dense papers, laying neatly on top of two family style tables, waiting for imaginations to spill over onto its textured surface.

Every class was a mixture of locals who were looking to further their own skills, tourists trying to immerse themselves into the happenings of the town, and a few who were convinced to be there against their will not realizing they would be leaving with a new hobby.

The attendees slowly started to meander in. A few browsing the art on display as they enter the front of the gallery, a tell-tale sign they are the tourists of the group this evening, while the others don’t hesitate to find a seat pulling out their own personal art supplies and setting up their space.

“We’re here! We’re here!” Wren zooming in like a tornado , little voice echoing off the cement floor of the building as she announces her arrival.

“Hi!” Dieter trails in behind her, a shy wave and gleaming smile directed at you.

The nervousness you had felt when Diem said he would be taking her spot tonight, now replaced with something more substantial, an awakened warmth penetrating through every wall you had built up over the years.

Your breath catches as he makes his way closer to where you’re standing, his smile shifting into a toothy grin, suddenly making your knees increasingly weak with every step he takes— what is he doing to you?

“Hey!” You manage to croak out.

“So wild to see it like this.” He looks around the open room, as if to recall all the memories that had been etched onto every wall over the years. “It was a general store growing up. My buds and I would scrounge up enough change in the summer for ice cream cones and a coke. Then we sat out front on the curb, planning what kinda trouble we wanted to get into.”

You can see it too. 12 year old Dieter, all gangly limbs with his wavy dark locks a tousled mess. A buoyant young soul, not knowing what it’s like to be broken and blue. You know though that 12 year old Dieter would be proud to see how hard he’s worked to be where he’s at right now.

You’re looking forward to seeing this side of him tonight, Dieter the artist, to observe the way he’s able to construct a visual representation of what ambles about in his mind.

“Looks like you got a good turn out tonight, this should be fun.” He says as he looks around at the now filled seats.

“Y-Yeah. Don’t be fooled though— Betty and Marilyn,” Casually pointing to the two older ladies, all set up and straight faced waiting for your instruction. “They take these classes way more seriously than blackout bingo. No one’s allowed to talk or ask questions, otherwise you’re on the receiving end of their threatening glares.”

“Huh— Well, tonight’s gonna be interesting then.”

“Uncle Dude! I saved you a seat by me!” Wren shouts at Dieter, her hand frantically smacking the table, indicating the vacant seat next to her.

“I guess that’s my cue. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.” He seals it with a wink as he gives your arm a squeeze, the gesture has become a sort of regular thing for him.

“Fuck!” It’s barely a whisper as you turn your back to everyone, mentally putting yourself in check.

This budding friendship between you and Dieter was refreshing, and the last thing you would have expected. The both of you had become so intertwined, mostly through the connection of Diem and Wren, but you both were beginning to thrive while in each other’s orbit.

You just needed to get a grip on these spontaneous feelings, before it was too late.

“Welcome friends! I see we have some familiar faces, as well as new ones tonight. For those who are new, tonight is a basics in watercolor. I’ll show you some techniques for the first half of the class, then in the second half you’ll be able to paint freely using the techniques. If there are any questions at any point in time, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Your eyes quickly scan over everyone’s faces, taking in the varying degrees of excitement, but lingering a bit when they land on Dieter. His head cocked to the side, attention undivided, taking in every word that fell from your lips.

“We’re going to prep our paper first.” You grab a larger brush, dipping it into a cup of water. A few swift swirls around before lifting and allowing the excess water to flow back into the cup, then placing the brush directly onto the stark white paper. “This is a soaking method, not required, but it helps prevent buckling of the paper— some will soak longer, but this will do for tonight.”

As instructed, everyone sets out to prep their papers, drips of water litter the table’s surface as brushes move about.

“Umm, ma’am? I have a question.” Dieter’s hand raised, stone face as he awaits to be called on. Betty and Marilyn’s brushes halt for a moment, side eyeing Dieter, before continuing the sweeping motions.

“Uh, yes. I’ll try to have an answer for you.” You can’t fully read his expression, but you sense a playfulness in his voice.

He takes a quick glance over to the two old women, then back to you. His movements calculated, forearms rest on the table as he leans forward, his question primed and ready.

“In your opinion, do you find allowing more time to prepare and properly produce a precise wetness, helps with the stamina of the— paper?” Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, his focus never wavering from where you stand.

The question so flagrantly sexual in its delivery, you assume a fluke with the way he asks it so flippantly. But you don’t miss the way his words unlock a needy appetite for more. Your body’s tragic lack of foreplay halted, now buzzing with enthusiasm at such an erotic statement. You do your best to control your heady thoughts and not allow his words to affect you in the slightest.

“Well, I guess that would be dependent on if it’s worth being quick and simple, or whether the job requires to be drawn out and deliberate to get the desired results.”

Dieter is surprised at how quickly you counter your response— touché. He has to avert his eyes, looking down instead at his hands as they fidget with the dry paint brush, fighting back the urge to laugh.

“Now, we want to load up our wet brushes with pigment and you can play around with brush strokes. Smaller strokes, known as stippling, the paint will stay in place and pool up. Longer strokes will drag your paint around the surface of the paper, leaving a wash of color from dark to light. The results will also vary depending on the pressure you use, so feel free to mess around with them.”

You give a few examples of the different ways pressure can affect the flow of paint and the proper ways to angle the brush against the paper, everyone eagerly waits to apply the same techniques to their own work.

Swirling your brush in the water to clean off the remaining color, the pigment suspended within the clear liquid. Blotting the brush on a towel, you take a few seconds to breathe, your face still warm after Dieter’s earlier comment.

“Ma’am! I have another question, probably a silly one.”

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle the choking laugh that tries to escape your throat. You hold the brush in both hands, rolling between your fingers as you turn around to see Dieter’s hand raised yet again.

“I’m sure you know this, but there’s no silly questions. Please, let’s hear it.”

Your encouragement provokes annoyed huffs from Betty and Marilyn.

“Yeah— so these, uh, strokes. Are we talking like long, steady strokes or— hurried and—“

*Snap*

The brush you were holding, now in two pieces.

“Okay! I think that’s plenty of time spent on the basics. Go ahead and get started working on your own thing, I’ll be available if needed.”

Tossing the now broken brush in the nearest trash bin and wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans, you make your way back to the tables.

You make a point to stop and admire what each person is working on, commenting on their progress and giving assistance when needed.

There’s a weird wave of emotions that overcome you, thinking about how this will all come to end with the closing of the gallery. Sure, there were other galleries in town, but none of them offered classes or had the space to do so. But, you were grateful to have been able to share this space with others who were just as excited about art as you were.

Another reminder that you also don’t have a single thing ready for the final gallery exhibition, your own showing— mentally noting to start brainstorming ideas.

Dieter and Wren were still working away as you made it to their end of the table, the best for last in your opinion.

“What are you painting Wren?” Trying to decipher the colorful blobs sporadically placed, her little hands diligently picking up more paint than needed.

“It’s flowers, see.” She picks up the sopping wet paper to showcase her work, the upright angle causes the paint to run downward resulting in endless drippy hues puddling onto the table. “They’re poppies!”

“Oh! I see it now. Poppies are my favorite flowers too.”

“I know.” Wren, clearly more observant than any other 6 year old you know.

“Well, it’s beautiful. Your mom is going to love it!”

Shifting your attention over to Dieter, your breath hitches at what he’s been able to execute in a short amount of time, but your heart nearly stops when you really focus on what he had painted.

“Dieter—“

His brush stills, hovering over the inky black and white portrait.

“You like it?”

“Dieter, is that— me?”

“Umm, yeah. Sorry, I was just watching you up there and you were talking about everything— I could see this light in you, I don’t know, just felt really inspired by it.”

You’re speechless at his admission.

“I— I don’t even know what to say. It’s incredible.”

“Thanks. I’ve never tried watercolor before, only ever used oil and acrylic paints. This was fun though.”

He feels slightly embarrassed, hoping he didn’t make things uncomfortable between the two of you.

“Well, I think it’s beautiful. And would have never guessed this was your first time using this medium.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, a soft squeeze letting him know you’re touched by what he did.

Once the classes have commenced, supplies cleaned and put away for the next time, you wait by the door to thank everyone and bid them goodbye.

Dieter and Wren hung back a bit until everyone had left before making their way over to where you’re standing at the front of the building.

“You two outta here?”

“Yeah, this one’s getting hungry, best get some food in her before she gets angry. Sorry about Betty and Marilyn earlier, they seemed to leave in a hurry too.”

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be back next week.” You wave off his apology. “Thanks for coming tonight, I know it’s not anything special—“

“No, it was great. You could see how much everyone enjoyed it. Makes me miss when I used to paint regularly.”

“I have some extra things at home. I could throw together a little kit for you if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course! What’s your number? I’m just realizing I don’t have it.”

He recites his number for you, you promptly enter it into your contacts and save.

“Uncle Dude?”

“What? What else am I supposed to call you? Friend?”

“Uh, Dieter…”

“Eh! Kind of boring.”

“Yeah, that’s boring Uncle Dude!” Clearly her ears work better than any other 6 year old too.

“Okay, give me your number then, it’s only fair.”

Keeping the screen hidden as he types it into his contact list.

“So, am I worthy enough of a fun name or not??” You playfully push at his shoulder.

Turning the phone around so you can see the screen, you see your number placed in the appropriate location and where your name would be, a nickname instead.

“Poppy?”

“Yeah, like your favorite flower.”

Diem’s sitting at the counter, enjoying warmed leftovers, when Dieter and Wren walk through the front door.

“We’re home! Birdie’s starving, insists she could eat the? a? whole restaurant.”

Wren runs into the kitchen and climbs onto the counter height chair, dramatically lowering her upper body onto the counter.

“Mama! I’m so hungry!”

“Here baby, eat this.” Diem slides her plate of pasta to her, her hand smoothing over her messy head of caramel colored hair. “Did you have fun at least?”

Dieter grabs a plate for himself, listening to Diem and Wren chat about the class, noticing Wren already peeking up after a few bites of food.

“Lots of fun! We painted this time. I’m going to be the flower girl at Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding!”

“Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding? Who’s Poppy?!”

“You know Poppy, Mama. She’s your best friend!”

Confused by what Wren is saying, Diem blinks in confusion in Dieter’s direction, he shrugs not having a single clue as to what Wren is talking about.

“And why do you think Poppy and your Uncle are getting married?”

“Because! They did that thing that people do in the movies!”

Dieter eyes widen as he nearly chokes on the noodle he’s eating, his fist covering his mouth as he coughs loudly to hopefully change the subject away from you and him.

“And what— t-thing would that be?”

“They talk and look at each other a lot. You know, the way they do in the movies when they’re in love— duh!”

“Hmm, well— that’s not how that works baby. Your Uncle and Poppy are just friends.” Trying to not break Wren's heart over the fact that she won’t be anyone’s flower girl at the moment.

“But after you're boyfriend and girlfriend, you get married.”

“Technically true. But Wren, baby, Uncle Dude and Poppy aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend either— they’re just friends, that’s it.”

Wren tilts her head ever so slightly, her brows furrowed in contemplation.

“But they have each other's phone numbers, like boyfriend and girlfriend’s do.”

This is not what Dieter had expected when they arrived home, he had plans to relax and catch up on a show he had started recently. Instead, he’s listening to his niece conjure up wild stories about a nonexistent impending marriage and being romantically linked to you— yet the more he listens, he realizes you’re someone he could see himself with.

At first he only thought of it as a normal attraction towards you. From that first day at school, he was drawn to your beautiful smile, how you instantly lit up when your students waved their ‘good mornings’ as they entered your class.

And if Dieter is truly being honest with himself, that night in the kitchen didn’t stall how thoroughly mesmerized he was by you. The more he thought about it, he realized you were the only one, aside from his sister, who called him out on his bullshit, something no one had done for a long time.

After talking with his Sponsor and really taking the time to sit in his feelings and reflect on the situation. And the only conclusion he could come to, and the only one that made sense, was he needed to figure out how to make it up to you.

He was thankful that you were receptive to the idea of still being around him, the amicable morning ‘Hello’s’ at school, fleeting glances from across the room during movie nights, tiny moments cementing these feelings for you.

When you shared your past and reasoning for being so put off by him, he knew that was a turning point in the mending process between the both of you. Coming from two very different backgrounds, yet your upbringing’s weren’t all that different from each other.

Tonight, watching you so absorbed in your element of teaching something you love, Dieter knew he needed you in his life anyway he could have you.

“Okay, but friends give each other numbers too. Doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship, just friends.”

“Then why did Uncle Dude paint a picture of her in class tonight?”

“Okay, I think it’s bedtime for you little miss. Go brush your teeth and I’ll be in for story time in a minute.” Wren’s shoulders dropped at that, but Diem took Dieter’s silence for mortification and decided it was best to put an end to it.

“Night Uncle Dude!” Wren shouted as she ran off to prepare for bedtime without any hesitation or arguments.

“Night Birdie!”

A lull hung over the room. Dieter now leaning back against the counter edge, head down and arms folded over his chest, nervously chewing at his bottom lip. Diem still seated in her chair, glancing up at the ceiling, letting all of what Wren had shared settle for a moment.

“How long?”

“How long, what?” His gaze shifting up to Diem, a line appearing between his brows as he waits for an explanation.

“How long have you had feelings for her?”

“I don’t know what—“

“Dieter! I’m not dumb, and definitely not blind. It didn’t take a 6 year old stating the obvious to see how much you like her.”

A grin forms as he shakes his head and laughs, of course his sister would pick up on something like this.

“I-I don’t know. I guess awhile at this point. Don’t know exactly when to pinpoint the time.”

“You should tell her.”

“Well, that’s not happening. Why? So, I can look like some fuckin’ idiot who’s been secretly falling for his sister’s best friend— yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Wait— Dieter, are you in love with her?”

“I, umm. Fuck! I don’t know— I think I—“

*BUZZ*

An incoming text message saves him from revealing exactly how he feels about you.

Dieter pulls his phone from his pocket to see your name along with a message, up on the screen. The way his stomach flips, smiling from ear to ear, completely affected by a simple text message from you.

Poppy 💐 - I hope this isn’t too late. I found those paints I mentioned earlier. Bringing them over, I’ll leave them on the porch.

Uncle Dude - Not too late, just finishing dinner. Text me when you get here.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Diem’s smile mirroring his.

“Mind your business.”

*BUZZ*

Poppy 💐 - Here!

“Gotta go, not a word out of you about any of this! Got it?”

“Okay, okay!” Diem’s hands thrown up in comical fashion heading for Wren’s room, then tossing one last punch before rounding the corner. “I’ll start looking for my Maid of Honor dress tonight!”

Pushing off the counter in pursuit of the front porch, his eyes rolling at Diem’s lighthearted comment, Dieter finds you waiting for him— armed with a box full of tiny tubes of paint in every shade imaginable, paint brushes in an array of sizes and shapes, all curated by you for him.

“Hey! Sorry again— I was just, excited to get this all together for you.” You say as you lift the box towards him.

“It’s fine, Diem was just getting Wren into bed when you text. You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Grabbing the box from your extended arms, scanning over the contents, noting that you took the time to intentionally choose every item.

“I wanted to. If there’s something you need that’s not in there, just let me know and I can check my supplies.”

“No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He takes a good look at you as you stand before him, deciding there isn’t any lighting that doesn’t look good on you, the moonlight being his favorite so far— even in the twilight, you’re the most stunning thing ever.

“I have an extra easel too. I just have to pull it out of the attic, but you’re welcome to use it.” Your fingers pick at the cuffs of your sweater, feeling flustered and warm as you try to remain calm, but the way Dieter is looking at you makes it hard.

“I can come by whenever to grab it.”

*BUZZ*

Another notification comes through Dieter’s phone, placing the box down on the ground, he fishes his phone back out of his pocket.

It’s an email, one he’s shocked to be receiving, his reaction baffled as he reads through it.

“Is everything okay?” You can’t get a good read on his hushed state.

“Umm, yeah— Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s from my agent. He said a director sent him a script, asking for me specifically for an upcoming project. Said he’s going to be sending over the scene lines for me to read over.”

“Oh my gosh! Dieter, that’s amazing!!”

Your body launches at his, arms thrown around his neck, pulling his solid body against you.

Instinctively, his own body begins to relax into yours, his hands slowly moving around and up your spine, taking a mental note of how perfect you feel against him.

“Y-yeah, I guess it is.” He murmurs, but his response sounds less than thrilled.

“Are you okay?” You pull back, still wrapped in each other's arms, so close, studying his features in a way you hadn’t done before.

He thinks he is. Dieter had planned to be here, in his hometown, for a few months. Take the time to enjoy his time here with his family and lean fully into his sobriety. He thought it would be months, maybe a year, before he would hear from his agent about any potential parts, let alone be a top pick for a role and be sent a script.

This was all supposed to be temporary, short lived and then move on with his life.

That was until he met you.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

It’s the drag of his upper lip down the column of your neck, your head angled back to allow the slow pleasing movement. Brief pauses allow his tongue to delicately dance about, taste the warmth of your dewy skin.

“Dieter—“ His name soft as it falls from your lips.

His large hand settles at the base of your neck, pulling you head back upright, thumb dragging across the apple of your cheek.

Your body is buzzing, an ardent energy building through Dieter’s stimulating and capable advances.

Dieter’s pillowy lips crash into yours, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip, begging for more of you— you oblige, licking into his mouth with earnestness.

A tingle runs down your spine, gradually turning into a throbbing sensation that settles at your core. Needy and breathless, grabbing off anything you can reach for.

Your hands clutching loose cottony fabric, your grip never faltering as you try to ground yourself in this mind-blowing moment.

“Dieter, please!” A throaty whine carries through the air, a plea for anything to help careen you towards a blissful peak.

“Dieter—“

Silence.

Nothingness.

No movement.

Fleshy desires abandoned.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The jolting sound of your alarm blares from your nightstand, you shoot up in a panic.

Your room, your bed, alone.

Your body depleted, pulse racing and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, you fall back into the wall of pillows.

The third night in a row this dream, nightmare, has plagued you.

One minute he’s there, with you, surrounding you in an all-encompassing manner.

Then he’s gone.

Darkness.

Alone.

That night he got the email about the potential job, you were so happy for him, truly. Instinctively, you wanted to praise him, tell him how proud you were of him. There was a moment, a stillness, between the two of you. A spark, a flicker of something— gone when Diem’s voice called out for his help.

The truth was, Dieter is going to get this job, and then he’ll be gone. Back to his movie star world. Enveloped in the same world that created the demons that he’s fought so hard to keep at bay.

And you’ll be here. Alone. Like always.

Throwing the covers off your sticky body, you pluck yourself from the comfort of your bed. Mindlessly, you find your way over to the chair in the corner of your room, your hands grabbing for the brown fuzzy coat that’s been draped over it for the past few weeks.

You pull it on, nuzzling your face into the fluffy fabric, his musky scent still vibrant and sharp as it hits your nose.

The floor is cool against your bare feet as you pad your way down to your sunroom that doubles as your art studio.

Finally having inspiration for your exhibition.

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #Pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

332 notes · View notes