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comfortless · 11 months ago

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In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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mischiefmaker615 · 1 month ago

Text

You're So Dark (1 of 2)

Inspiration: Arctic Monkeys - "You're So Dark" Song

Requester: @kathren1sky-blog

Summary: Someone seems to have taken notice of you.. more than you expected..

Note: Happy Spooky Season!

Rating: R

“your out of the dress code again.’’

You cast a glance over your shoulder at your supervisor who kept walking, knowing it was an endless battle where you would just keep showing up with your black makeup on. Right down to your choker that stayed comfortably tight around your neck, you told yourself they should be grateful you even bothered putting on the SHIELD uniform on today.

Halloween was upon you all, just at the end of this week and you thought there was nothing wrong with getting into the spirit things.. even if you were the only one celebrating. Then again.. you practically celebrated every day..

You took walks in cemeteries, isolated with your dark romance books and rocked the black ‘everything’ look no matter what occasion. What was wrong with you? You weren’t sure how to answer that when people asked, though they didn’t stay long for an answer. Not many people talked to you at work- anywhere.. they might assume you looked like you didn’t want to be bothered. Needless to say, that didn’t stop the eyes that would stare, one sharper than the others while you worked about in your environment- oblivious and innocent.

Loki often roamed around the tower in silence, sometimes reading outside his room on a good day. You thought his mysterious and quiet side was an invitation to find something in common, but whenever you would work up the guts to even think about approaching, he vanished. Yes, he was real. Yet seemed to not stay long whenever you were around.

Perhaps he thought you were weird, like the rest. His taste in company was rather picky. Hella picky. At least it didn’t mess with your usual ‘lone self’ routine. Quite recently you caught him at work, roaming around still and looking down his nose while some agents babbled on about a job we all knew he wasn’t going to accept. At least looking like he was trying bought him time here before Fury would realize he could care less about paying off his ‘community service.’

‘’trick or treat’’ one of your coworkers snickered past you, earning a glare while you did your best to be as polite in the work place as possible.

‘’fuck off.’’ Failed.

Maybe it was better to not talk to anyone, they seemed to be all the same anyway and you enjoyed your secluded cubical where you didn’t seem to get bothered.. that is, until you turned the corner.

You stopped short to find Loki lounging in your roller chair, ankles crossed while a lazy arm roamed around your items you had on the desk- décor and trinkets you somehow got away with by your bosses whom looked the other way as long as you did a good job.

‘’to my understanding, you humans don’t tend to take an interest in the remains once flesh has been removed. Shall I locate the trash bin?” Loki asked innocently, his eyes not even looking up at you while he turned your raven skull in his hand curiously.

‘’no-!’’ you gasped, stopping yourself short once his teasing eyes flicked up at you, making you glare and try to lower your voice as you stepped more into your cube, having to stand since a certain someone was in your chair. ‘’it’s décor.. safe to keep.’’

‘’and your interested in things like this?” he asked, not a tone of judgement in his voice while his eyes seemed to study you, mainly below your neck as you crossed your arms, somehow the choker feeling a little bit tighter.

‘’well.. yes- why waste something that won’t deteriorate? Any fascination of- no- never mind.. can I help you?” you shake your head, trying to figure out why he was here and not babble like an idiot. He probably didn’t care about all this anyway and would think your weird just like all the rest if you kept talking.

‘’you could very much help me darling,’’ he smirked as he set the skull down and uncrossed his legs, manspreading while his fingers laced together in front of him. ‘’but I’m sure we have to keep things professional around here.’’

You blinked at him, trying to take in what was happening right now. Did he just.. suggest an innuendo? The man who seemed to vanish every time you were around and yet here he was, in your chair, messing with your stuff and suggesting something sexual? ‘’..I don’t underst-‘’

‘’of course you don’t, not by word from mouth darling. Yet I’m sure you would perfectly understand it if it was written down.’’ He smirked and stood up, his height making itself highly aware while you tilted your eyes up at him.

‘’I’m.. sorry-‘’

‘’you enjoy books darling, is that correct? I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to gaze upon a selection of mine that may poke your interest.’’ He said calmly, his eyes almost finding themselves distracted as your arms tightened in their fold against your chest, the material somehow getting itch the more he stared while you opened your mouth to make an attempt to guess what he was talking about.

‘’are you talking about.. bo-‘’

‘’books.’’

‘’books! Of course!’’ you laughed sheepishly, your social awkwardness dripping out as you rubbed the back of your neck. Of course he wasn’t talking about anything sexual- Loki was well known to be stuck behind a book,.. but.. ‘’how do you know I enjoy books?”

‘’the quiet Midgardians tend to find themselves partaking in activities that send them anywhere else but here. Due to the fact that we also share the same living arrangements at the Iron Idiot’s domain, I figured.. we might as well get along.’’

By gods.. was he reaching out to try to be friends? You? Him? your brow raised more, waiting as if for the punchline where he would then turn this into a joke, leave like the rest and allow you to inherit the title ‘weird’ all over again. The more you watched him, the longer a conversation about books felt weird- because of you.

‘’er- sure!’’ you said almost to excitedly while your eyes dropped to the ground, your hands meeting in front of you to play with your sleeves while you started over. ‘’-I get off at 5:00, I’ll meet you at 6:00?”

‘’I would guess you know where my chambers are?” he hummed.

‘’yes.’’ You cut yourself short, hoping it wasn’t weird you knew where it was considering it was a big tower but you shifted in your stance and looked up, just to find Loki had gotten closer, making your eternal insides jump.

‘’then I shall see you at 6:00, I do hope you find something that.. matches your interests..’’ his voice got lower, looking down his nose at you while the tip of your shoes practically touched his. ‘’Y/N.’’

‘’hm?- oh yes of course.. I’m sure I can find something..’’ you said quickly, hating the fact you thought your name had been a question rather than him finishing his current sentence. Geez why were you like this.. no wonder you kept to yourself. But the amused look in his eyes seemed to ease you out of the pain while you tilted your head more up at him.

‘’Y/N?” he hummed, his voice almost at a whisper, almost as if he were testing your name on his tongue.

‘’yes?-‘’

‘’might I get by?” he smirked, clearly amused at your eternal suffering in this moment as your eyes rounded and quickly moved to the side, your body sideways to let him slide while your cheeks reddened.

‘’of course.. sorry-‘’

You heard an exhale of a chuckle as he turned his body every so slightly to pass by you, his side still managing to rub against yours, almost lingering before he disappeared out of your cubical.

You were so grateful you judged the chair correctly while you plopped down into it without looking, your brain obviously racing at what had just happened right now.

‘’6:00..’’ you whispered, almost having small doubts whether it was a good idea or not before your eyes moved back to the computer screen.

Somehow walking past a cemetery seemed a lot more comforting than the walk down the halls towards Loki’s room. Were you being rude? He was reaching out- in his own sort of way- to try to make friends and here you were wanting to retreat in your dark and secluded territory of your bedroom. You loved books, it obviously gained his interest compared to what the others had to offer- which he seemed to already dismiss considering it was the other Avengers in the tower. The strange thing about it was.. you don’t remember bringing your books out of your room to really give Loki an opportunity to know you loved them.. how did he know?

No going back now, you lifted your eyes to find you stood right outside his door. After having taken a quick shower, the choker was back on your neck- ripped jeans with fishnets beneath them and a black, oversize sweater. There was no goal here, it was all purely comfort and an outfit most people didn’t try to understand while they looked down their nose and called you goth.

You.. supposed? You liked particular things, you’ve always considering yourself different, but you weren’t sure if there was quite a label out there for you. You were just.. you. And you seemed to have peeked the interest somehow from a particular god of mischief whose door opened just as you had raised a hand to knock.

‘’right on time darling, I quite admire that.’’ Loki purred, a sly smile on his lips as his eyes dipped below your neck to take you in, eventually coming back up to meet your eyes. ‘’do come in.’’

A small part of the brain in these situations will always nag you, telling you no or reconsider- second guess. Most people choose to ignore it, which meant a small part of you fit in with the others and chose to step in without hesitation.

No sooner did the door close was when you felt a slender hand make contact with mild harshness in your ass, causing you to yelp more in surprise and quicken a step forward before you spun around to face Loki.

His hands clasped behind his back, looking rather proud of himself while he smirked at your wide-eyed face.

‘’what the hell??”

‘’don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that darling, you don’t exactly hide your sexual wants.’’ He chuckled, his voice seductively low while he took a step forward.

You instinctually took a step back, your hands raised to hover by your chest, almost as if ready to strike out if needed while your tried to muster up rage that never came. ‘’what are you- you have no right to do something like that!”

‘’what do you wish for me to do darling? Apologize?” he asked with such innocence, he almost seemed to shrug while he spoke. ‘’I regret nothing, and I dare say you want me to do it again..’’ with another step forward, you took a step back, feeling the redness on your cheeks while a mild sting reminded you of the not-so-long-ago events.

‘’t-that’s not why I came here-‘’

‘’ah, so you wish to make another appointment so we could do such things?’’ he teased and waved a hand to indicate behind you, making you glance to what he was referring at before you felt him press to your side, an arm wrapping around your shoulder to guide you himself. ‘’the books I spoke of are right over here, I’m sure you’ll find quite the selection- some you most likely have already indulged in. your Midgardian literature has quite an interesting taste’’ he told you simply, acting as if everything were normal while your body tensed and for some reason, let him guide you to the library along the wall.

It was huge- from bottom to ceiling there were books! Of course someone his height probably didn’t need a ladder but you probably would struggle getting something from the top while your eyes lifted to scan them all. You felt him slowly step away, taking a stance behind you while your eyes tried to focus ahead, feeling his hand slide away from your side, taking his time until his finger tips eventually vanished as well.

‘’you have.. quite the collection..’’ you offered, hoping to begin the journey away from what had just happened while you practically felt his eyes on you from behind.

‘’I’m sure you recognize a few, go on, take a better look..’’ you felt his hand return to your lower back, your feet jumping to take the initiative to get closer rather than wait for him to push. Something was going on.. something not right..

He was always quite, kept to himself and observant.. any conversation you did seem to catch amongst souls were very short, dry and boring. He clearly had no interest in talking with anyone- but right now, it seemed like he was hinting.. wanting.. waiting..

His hand slowly removed itself again, taking its time until his finger tips ghosted under your sweater before moving to his side again. ‘okay okay- just pick a book, be polite and be gone’ your mind told you, making your eyes search and scan quickly until your eyes fell upon a familiar title.

Maid to Honor.

Your eyes squinted, feeling yourself lean a little bit more while your hand rose to ghost over the spins of the books. Your head tilted every so slightly to read sideways while your eyes moved to read more.

Tears of a Mermaid.

You blinked. No.. there was no way.. it was a coincidence.. just to be sure, your eyes skipped a few books and landed on another on a different shelf, only to widen at yet another familiar title.

Ghost.

‘’these.. these are..’’

‘’yours, my love.’’ Loki smiled, having joined your side with his hands clasped behind his back while he scanned the books as well. ‘’each, and every one. Of course.. I took the liberty to convert your shorter stories- the one shots, if you so call them? Into more individual books.’’ He waved his hand more up the shelf, having you raise your eyes in horror to find thinner books but still with the same titles what read ‘Doctor, Love Potion, Sex Pollen, Dark Angel.’

You quickly took a step away, eyes widen while Loki tilted his head, watching you over his shoulder while you shook your head and gazed at the bookcase. ‘’no- no these aren’t-‘’

‘’come now darling, you are a brilliant writer, do not shorten your rights for credit’’ Loki chuckled and turned more to face you, waving a hand behind him at the books that seemed to mock your eyes. ‘’I will not be selling these, if that is what worries you. I simply just prefer it’s raw form rather than.. digital. However, I do check now and again encase your.. naughty mind comes up with anything else..’’ he smirked and you shook your head.

‘’I don’t know what your talking ab-‘’

‘’Y/Username? Ring any bells darling? Clarification is useless to be anyway, I can sense your denial as easily as a lie.’’ Loki chuckled, sighing as his eyes then began to roam again, undressing you with his eyes practically where you hugged your arms.

‘’you’re so dark.. and you’re so mysterious..’’ he whispered, a sly smile spreading over his lips as his eyes flicked up at yours again. ‘’or perhaps to everyone else. I quite find your mind.. alluring..’’

You weren’t going to waste time trying to convince him that wasn’t you. It was a lie anyway.. NO ONE on this damn green earth knew of your secret hobby, our pass time, your escape onto the internet where you wrote.. wrote about anyone you found attractive, any scenario you imaged being in or perhaps trying out some day.. but you nearly wanted to die when you had forgotten about a few stories you let star the famous Loki Laufeyson.

‘’it w-was a long time ago-‘’

‘’how long darling? You act as if you haven’t touched these novels in ages. No matter, I can tell you exactly the last time I’ve starred in your little.. fantasies..’’ he smirked and turned his back to you, a single finger gliding amongst the spines while you backed yourself up while he wasn’t looking towards the door. ‘’ah- this one,’’ he smirked and pulled out a smaller book, slipping a single page while his eyes scanned. ‘’it would seem it is not updated, taking place with my little encounter with your city New York.’’ He read, seeming to chotted a few notes down where he was reading.

Your hand reached behind you, keeping your eyes on him while he was distracted while your hand tried the door handle. ‘fuck- locked..’

‘’fuck, indeed.’’ Loki chuckled, the snap of the book getting your attention and having your attention back on him as he raised his eyes over to you. ‘’a word you so often like to use, under more meanings than one..’’

‘’stay out of my head..’’ you glared and he chuckled, turning his back with no concern while he put the book back in its proper place. ‘’oh darling, I recently discovered you like me being in your head..’’

‘’and upon my discovery just now, if your last publishing was when I starred in New York, dare I say your writing attractions revolved when I was.. cruel..’’ he smirked, eyes lazily turning back to you with no rush at all.

‘’it’s just writing- it doesn’t mean anything in real life- half those stories were merely requests by other people’s inter-‘’

‘’not all of them.’’ He interrupted with a finger pointing towards the ceiling, somehow silencing you.

‘’I’m quite flattered by this.. little community. Yet I have a point I truly need to clarify which you stated just now.’’ He said carefully, his hands behind his back once again while he took dangerous steps towards you. ‘’you said writing doesn’t mean anything in real life, that is where you are wrong.’’

You gave him an odd look, mixed with a warning as he drew near, feeling yourself press up against the locked door with your heart racing. What did he want.. why did he care.. were you truly some sick little fuck that inserted people into stories just for fun times? Was it a consent thing?

‘’when I struck your tight little ass, I could practically smell the arousal that sparked from you- deny it as you may.. that gorgeous little collar of yours- in which I would love to switch out for one of mine, just indicated you relish in the pressure it brings and tells me you enjoy being choked..’’ he rose a hand at this, making you flinch a little with your head turning to the side as if he was going to do just that, only to find him resting is flat against the door beside your head.

‘’you wish for people to leave you alone in this world only because you relish in the sweet escape of a book.. as most of us do, even I find myself guilty of the same thing. However, one day you found out why read when you could create your own worlds? Make anything happen? Anything possible? You dream of things to form into reality, but because you cant, this.. fan fiction, is the closest you can ever get to it.. and by such, you intertwine your real life between the very lines you type on the screen..’’ he smirked, his voice dangerously low to a whisper while his other hand moved to caress your side, his thumb ghosting under your sweater while he studied your reactions. ‘’you find me attractive.. my attention has neglected you so you find yourself pulling me into your fantasies..’’

His soft whispers could almost be heard beside your ear, your eyes wide as denial began to fade away and the cold truth causing you to shiver. You turned your face back to look at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing up against his while his eyes slowly dipped to look at your lips.

‘’but the best part of all this darling.. is all you had to do.. was ask..’’

PART TWO

~DM a song for your own Musical Mischief one shot!

~Fan Fiction books/one shots were Cameos of my work that you can find on my Masterlist :) thank you for your support!

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader smut #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki #loki smut #lokifluff

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the-californicationist · 10 months ago

Note

Ok but imagine price being a dockworker and coming to the bar the reader is a server at after long days. Smelling like the salt on salt, chest hair peeking thru his shirt. She knows his exact order down to how much froth he wants on his beer and he just melts into his chair once he sees her on shift but their asses won’t even kiss yet (they wanna fuck diiiirty in between all the barrels out back tho)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I wish I got more of these <3 I love impromptu writings!! ^_^

MDNI

Somehow, you knew it was him by the sound of your door. The way that it creaked and popped, and the force with which it knocked the tinkling little bell at the top - all of these noises were the same, or at least they should have been, no matter who was coming or going from your bar. The way the metal bolt clicked out of the frame, the way the warped wood of the threshold whined and bent, the way that one pane of glass shuddered in the top left corner... it shouldn't have sounded different when he walked in. But, it did.

He sat in his seat, objectively the worst one in your bar. It was out of the line of sight from the television, and it was down at the fruit-filled service end, far from the keg taps. It was where you ran credit cards and kept your phone to take breaks, and you flattered yourself that the reason he sat there was to spend time with you.

John Price was a piece of work, that was for sure. He would come by right before close and linger. It was nice to have someone walk you to your car, especially on cold nights, since you were so close to the docks. He'd ride his old Triumph over from his work as a shipping and receiving foreman in the harbor, and he'd smell like sweat and the salt from the sea. His clothes would reek of tobacco from those fat cigars he'd always smoke, and you knew his beard would smell like it, too.

You wondered what it felt like, his beard. You wondered if it was as soft as it looked. You wondered what he would say if you asked him to give you a ride back to his place on that old, worn-out bike and lay you on his bed so he could kiss you from behind that beard all night. You wondered, over and over when you lay in your own sheets alone, what it would feel like for him to drag that rough-shaven chin over the swell of your breast. How would it feel on the insides of your thighs? Would it hurt you?

"You want the usual?" You asked him, trying your best to concentrate on shining the glass in your hand and not about having his body between your legs.

He smiled up at you and nodded,

"Sure, love. The usual."

As you poured his lager, keeping a little extra foam at the top, just how he liked it, you caught yourself staring again.

It was cold out, so he was in a thick coat, but he never had his collar buttoned up. There was always a bit of his chest on view for you through the drab plaid shirts he wore. He had a cut tonight, and you could see it soaking through the white of his undershirt.

"You okay, John?" You set his beer down and motioned to his gash.

"Oh," he chuckled warmly, "Yeah. Just got a little too close to the off-loader crane and paid for it. No harm, really."

"Let me clean it up for you. C'mon," you opened the bar's side door and lifted it so he could duck underneath, taking his beer with him and following you upstairs to your office.

Your barback would take care of the two other patrons you had. It was a Tuesday after midnight. You could close without any harm done.

As John wandered into your space, he noticed your makeshift cot in the corner.

"Surely you're not sleepin' at work, love?"

You laughed a little nervously,

"Don't tell the health inspector on me. Have a seat in that chair. Lemme get the first-aid kit."

He sat. Your heart pounded in your throat. As you dug around for the kit, you felt your nerves fraying. Maybe you liked John a little more than you thought.

"Here. Alright, can you show me the cut?"

You knelt in front of him so you could be in line with the wound. You tried to clean it, but his clothes were getting wet.

"Oh, sorry. Uh -"

"Here, love," he shucked his jacket off and peeled his shirt off from his back, leaving it around his arms, pinned in the sleeves, "That better?"

You nodded, feeling your breath catch in your throat.

He was huge. It was almost monstrous, the way his body bulged out around his bones, enormous snapping muscles rolling around his shoulders and neck, making him look like an animal. He was covered in soft, brown fur, and as you went to touch him, you made a grave mistake.

You hesitated.

Ever observant, you knew he caught you stumbling over him, frozen in place like a scared doe. But, mercifully, he said nothing, and allowed you to get to work.

Clean. Dry. Salve. Bandage. Smooth the edges. Make an excuse to do it again, once more to seal it down.

"There, all done. You have been a very brave patient," you smiled up at him and went to box up the supplies back in their little tin.

"You know," he purred, "Brave patients usually get some sort of prize."

You laughed softly,

"Fresh out of lollies and peppermints, I'm afraid."

"Sure there isn't anything else you'd offer me to suck on, love?"

His voice was low, dark, and deep. It crawled to you on its belly from the bottom of the sea, from the pressures and the cold, black hell of the fathoms of the water, lapping at the sides of your boat, threatening to sink you. He looked at you like a tiger shark studies a diver, with a chilling curiosity from the mighty to the fragile, wondering what you taste like and deciding if he'll bite.

John's arms were still bound by his clothes. If you wanted to flee, you would've had plenty of head-start. But, you didn't. You were moving outside of your own volition. It was as if you were dreaming, watching yourself be piloted by an unknown force. You stared him down and stood, stepping right between his knees, forcing him to look up at you and wait for your reply.

You peeled off your white tee shirt, revealing your bare breasts to him. Going bra-less meant usually meant more tips, but tonight you weren't concerned about the money. You wanted him to praise you. You wanted to call his bluff. You wanted him to fuck you on the stack of kegs in the corner of your office and let the sharp metal rims dig into your belly as he stuffed his cock into you from behind.

His shirts were gone from his arms in a second, and he leaned forward just enough to put his face to your breast, letting you feel the heat of his breath on your skin, sighing into you. John held your eyes captive in his the whole time, as if he may look away and break the spell. Then, he watched you watch him take your nipple into his mouth, suckling on it as gently as he possibly could, as gently as anyone had ever done.

You trembled, letting go of a breath you'd been holding, looking down at him as he sucked your flesh between his wet lips. You were right about the smell of the tobacco.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #ask me anything #careful what you ask for #because my answer is usually smut

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astr-venus · 13 days ago

Text

｡⁠☆ Who Is This Diva✦

｡⁠☆Content: Izuku Midoriya BF headcanons

｡⁠☆Cw: a few uses of she/her, one singular pregnancy mention, no use of y/n, light cursing

✦ Always writing in that damn notebook, there is nothing you can say or do that won't end up there

✦ If you're creeped out by it, he will commit what you said to memory and write it down later

✦ The best gift giver. He notices everything about you. From your face to your body to your brain. All of his gifts are thoughtful

✦ Didn't know how to do his own hair until Mina showed him, however if you know how to do it he'll play dumb

"My hair... ? Y-Yeah, Mina normally helps me with it, b-but I seen you take care of your own so... Do you mind helping me instead ? Not that Mina isn't great, b-but she isn't you... Sorry, is that a weird thing to say ?"

✦ Sometimes YOU are the third wheel when Katsuki's around. Good luck with that.

✦ Nervous forever. Constantly apologizing. Trips over everything when you're around. His face is always bright red. Nervous talker for sure. Heaven forbid you compliment him, he might pass out on the spot

✦ He stays on Uraraka's phone. He needs advice before he does anything, especially if you're a girl. He used to take advice from Kaminari, and then he learned his lesson (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

"I-It's not sexist to assume she likes flowers just cause she's a girl right ?.... What ?! Of course I know that not all girls like flowers !! .... N-No way I can't just ask her. What if she thinks I'm weird" (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

✦ Doodles you everywhere. Aizawa is fed up with the scribbled pictures of you in all the corners of his homework. He's debating whether or not he should take point off his papers just to get him to stop. Mic and All Might think it's cute

✦ All this to say he is the sweetest ever. He makes sure to know every single thing about you, it borders on obsession. He follows you around like a lost puppy. His receiving love language is physical touch/quality time, and his giving love language is gift giving and acts of service

✦ Izuku is selfless to a fault, but when it comes to you he can't help but be selfish. No matter how much he gives to you, he feels justified because your love, affection, time, and attention, is the ultimate prize.

☆ PROHERO ☆

✦ Interviewers are tired of hearing about you. Any questions lead right back to what you're doing, something you've said, what you think, what you look like. It doesn't matter as long as it's about you

✦ Puts your needs first which can be really nice, but definitely neglects himself in the process. Like this man has chronic pain in his hands, but will stay up until ungodly hours giving himself carpal tunnel making something that you didn't even ask for just bc he knew you'd like it

✦ If you're not a prohero (hell, even if you are), Izuku is overprotective. His worst fear is you being taken from him in any sense of the word. Losing you isn't something he would ever get over

✦ Rarely ever yells, but when he does he sounds just like Katsuki. It's annoying how much like Katsuki he sounds. Otherwise though, he prefers to concede to whatever you want, the only time serious arguments occur is if it's about something like your safety

"Shouto, I'm gonna throw myself off a cliff... No she's not hurt she's perfectly fine don't even joke about that !!! .... The problem ? Shou she's so mad at me.... Don't look at me like that, I'm serious !"

✦ A sass monster. Rarely ever to your face, most of the time it's just a mutter under his breath that you barely catch but you just know he said something smart.

✦ If your first language isn't Japanese then trust and believe he's learning whatever your native tongue is. He has the cutest accent too. If he's feeling bold he'll use your lessons as an excuse to flirt with you, and after that there's a high chance you won't get anything done

✦ NOT a morning person. Clings to you and the bed like his life depends on it. Moaning and groaning in your ears about how mean you are to him, how could you make him get up for early morning patrol ? Death for 10 thousand years have been cursed upon him.

"Hmm ? I don' care 'bour the alarm. Turn it off... Where you goin' ? Noooo don' go shh i's okay, mhmm it snoozes itself. Jus' lay back down, yeah 'xactly baby.... Hmm ? Late ? Patrol ? OHMYGOD PATROL !!"

✦ Pet name extraordinaire. It takes a while until he finds his favorite, so he spends his time cycling through all types of sweet names. Anything from baby to darling to pookiebear to beautiful. He probably doesn't stray too far into weird names, but he dips his toes in if it feels right.

✦ Won't admit it, but he loves it when you flaunt him to your friends. Makes him feel like a big strong man, especially when you feel up his arms. His face flushes bright red and he tries to wave it off but he stutters so much that his sentence is barely distinguishable, but of course that only makes you want to do it more

✦ When you get married it's honestly been inevitable, especially if you met while in highschool. If it was only up to Izuku you would've been married within the month, but lucky for you he has self restraint. If you both want kids they truly won't be far behind marriage, and if you thought he was obsessive before just imagine if you get pregnant.

First post,, how exciting !! Not sure if I'm sticking with this format, but I think I like it. My blog is almost completely set up and I have a few reblogs so... My askbox is open if you so please (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Who f/w black Izuku like I do ?? 🗣️🗣️

｡⁠☆Requests open

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #deku x reader #deku x y/n #deku x you #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #black reader #˗ˏˋ ★ Deku ★ ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ ★ MHA ★ ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ ★ Venus writes ★ ˎˊ˗

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waratah-moon · 2 years ago

Text

Gremlin

Four times Dustin was clueless, and the one time Lucas spelled it out for him. Shout out to @lfaewrites for proofreading & encouragement!

masterlist / read on ao3 < bonus smutty drabble posted there ;) I Think We’re Alone Now < smut add on

Pairing: dad!Eddie x mom!reader

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Teen pregnancy (not elaborated on), cheerleader!reader, shitty parents, enemies to friends platonic!steddie Steal my writing and I will hex you

1. Eddie’s trailer

Eddie opened the door of his trailer and was very surprised to see Dustin Henderson on his doorstep.

Dustin didn't wait to be invited inside, pushing past a bewildered Eddie, “do you have my book report? I lost it after the last Hellfire meeting and I really don't want to rewrite it."

He'd never been inside Eddie's trailer before. It was slightly cluttered but in a homey-lived-in kind of way. The walls were lined with baseball caps, and a collection of novelty mugs hung above the couch.

“What, no hello? You need to work on your manners, Henderson.”

“Sorry,” Dustin looked around the living room, taking in an array of stuffed animals on one end of the couch and a pile of picture books on the coffee table. He wasn’t about to judge what Eddie Munson did in his spare time. “Nice place. Do you have my book report?”

"The one on Grapes of Wrath? I wondered who that belonged to. Let me find it," Eddie disappeared into what Dustin could only assume was his bedroom.

Dustin looked around the trailer, eyes landing on a couple of baby photos that he guessed were of Eddie. He stepped forward to get a closer look, but stopped when he felt something under his foot; it was a small toy that looked a lot like the Muppet Babies version of Fozzie Bear. Before he could investigate further, the phone rang.

Eddie came racing out of his room and breathlessly answered the phone. "Hello?" He waited for the person on the other end to respond, a smile crossing his face when they answered. “I mean, maybe. How difficult is it?” Eddie was grinning now and Dustin could swear he was twirling the phone cord like a teenage girl. “I think I can manage that. How did Gremlin do?”

Eddie's smile turned to a soft pout. He spotted Dustin out of the corner of his eye and turned away, “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Dustin heard him mumble something into the receiver, but couldn't quite make out the words.

Once Eddie hung up the phone he walked into the kitchen and began fiddling with the knobs on the oven.

“Eddie?” Dustin raised his eyebrows as Eddie pulled a casserole dish out of the freezer and put it on the bench.

“Oh, shit. Your thing. Right. I think I know where it is. It got mixed up with the one shot we did last week,” he disappeared again, and Dustin thought he could see a glimpse of a floral patterned bedspread through the door of his room.

Eddie reappeared and handed him a few pieces of paper. "Thanks, man.” Dustin looked at the casserole dish on the bench. “So what’s for dinner?”

Suddenly, Eddie was herding him out of the trailer, “as much as I’d love for you to stay, I have a hot date.”

2. Family Video

Dustin was sitting behind the counter at family video, something Keith had adamantly stated was not allowed. Steve was the only one working, and he didn't care what Dustin did, just happy to have company during the slow part of his shift. Dustin had brought takeout from the diner up the road, only offering to share his fries when Steve had complained. "C'mon, dude, it's gonna stink of fast food in here."

The door jingled and Steve absentmindedly began his ‘welcome to Family Video’ spiel while twisting a Rubik’s cube, only stopping when he looked up at the woman who’d arrived at the counter.

“Real customer-focused service you’ve got here,” you smiled, hoisting the toddler you were holding higher up on your hip.

“Oh hey!” Steve grinned, ducking down so he was on eye level with the little girl, “how’s my favourite Cabbage Patch Kid doing?”

Cabbage Patch Kid? Dustin thought, pushing his food aside to watch the interaction.

The little girl smiled shyly, hiding her head of dark brown curls into the crook of your neck.

You sighed, “Steve, I’ve told you before, stop insinuating my child looks like a Cabbage Patch Kid.”

“But she has the dimples,” he stood up straighter, poking his tongue out when the little girl showed her face, causing her to emit the world's cutest giggle.

“She gets those from her father, not Coleco,” you kissed your daughter's cheek, smoothing down her unruly hair. “Did Care Bears come in?”

“Sure did,” Steve pulled a tape from the counter below, scanning it.

“Great!” You looked around the store, eyes landing back on Steve. “Can you watch her for a sec while I grab a couple more?”

“‘Course!” Dustin watched as Steve held out his arms and you passed the toddler to him. The little girl’s hands instantly reached to pull for his hair while you darted off to the horror section.

“Not the hair,” Steve groaned, attempting to tilt his head backwards and away from the prying hands.

“Pretty,” the little girl mumbled, tugging a lock of Steve’s hair. Dustin stifled a laugh.

“Me? Why thank you, I think you’re very pretty too, the prettiest little Cabbage Patch Kid around,” he bumped his nose against the toddler’s, kissing her forehead. Dustin gagged.

The scene was adorable, but it went against everything he thought he knew about Steve Harrington.

You'd found what you were looking for and arrived back at the counter, setting down two more tapes; A Nightmare on Elm Street and Splash.

“Interesting double feature,” Steve remarked, the toddler now clutching her arms tightly around his neck, refusing to let go.

“Date night,” you grinned sheepishly, holding out your arms to collect your daughter. Steve attempted to pry her off his neck, but she was clinging on for dear life.

"Seevie stay," she whined, tightening her grip on the man.

Steve scanned the tapes using his free hand, seemingly unfazed. “Oh, did you hear about Ethan Carroway?”

You dug around in your purse, finding the correct amount of money to pay for the tapes, “and Ivy Tech? I know! How dumb can you be?” You handed over cash.

“I mean, he seemed like the type though, right?” He put the tapes in a plastic bag, a bit of a challenge with only one hand but he managed, handing the bag across the counter to you.

You hummed in agreement. “Some people just don’t change. Others surprise you,” you smiled, taking in the sight of 'King Steve' Harrington pulling faces at your two year old. "C'mon Gremlin, let's get home and see if Dad taped Muppet Babies."

"Aminal?" Your daughter loosened her grip on Steve and looked at you.

"Yep," you held out your arms and she finally let Steve pass her back. You smiled at the man behind the counter. “Thanks Steve, I’ll see you later.”

"See ya," Steve called after you as you exited the store.

Dustin was gobsmacked, his mouth hanging open as he watched Steve go back to fiddling with the Rubik's cube on the counter.

"What the hell was that?" Steve jumped when Dustin spoke, seeming to have forgotten about the young teen's presence.

He managed to keep his cool, nonchalant tone, "what was what?"

"Were you just flirting with her?"

"What?!" Steve sounded offended. "With her? Of course not."

"She has a kid, Steve."

"I know," Steve had turned to look at Dustin now, leaning with his back against the register. "She has a boyfriend too. We went to high school together. She was a cheerleader, I was on the basketball team. We're friends."

"I didn't know you had other friends," Dustin cocked his eyebrow with a grin. He vaguely remembered his mom gossiping with Mrs. Wheeler about a cheerleader who got pregnant a few years ago.

Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to face the front door, "and you don't know as much about your friends as you think you do, Henderson."

Dustin frowned, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Eat your burger."

3. Max’s trailer

Storm clouds hung over Hawkins, and rain had been attempting to sprinkle all morning. Riding their bikes all the way to the Forest Hill Trailer Park probably wasn't the smartest idea, but it was Dustin and Lucas's only mode of transport since Steve decided to pick up more shifts at Family Video.

They pulled up to Max’s trailer, the wheels of their bikes spitting up gravel as they skidded to a halt. Max had watched them ride up from the window, and she was already standing in the doorway when they reached the porch.

“What are you two doing here?”

“We were wondering if you wanted to see a movie, or go to the arcade," Lucas asked, he always sounded nervous talking to Max.

"Or do anything," Dustin added. "We're so bored." It was true. Mike was on his weekly phone call to El, and since the mall had burnt down the activities in Hawkins had become severely limited.

“I can’t," she had her headphones slung around the base of her neck, her trusty Walkman in her hand. "I’m babysitting.”

"Babysitting? Since when do you babysit?" Dustin peered over her shoulder inside the trailer, but Max moved to block his view. Over her shoulder he could see an animated movie playing on the TV, it looked like the Care Bears.

“Since we moved in here,” she shrugged.

“Huh?”

"I like her parents, they're cool, so I offered to look after Gremlin whenever they wanted some alone time. Plus her mom always brings over cookies. This time it’s peanut butter chocolate."

"You offered?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" She squinted, her tone accusatory.

"Kind of, yeah," Dustin said, groaning when Lucas elbowed him in the ribcage.

“What Dustin means is that you seem to have other interests that don’t coincide with babysitting.”

Max rolled her eyes, moving to put her headphones back on.

“Wait! Can we at least come in and hang out?”

“Nope. I’ve got other interests that don’t coincide with hanging out,” her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she shut the door in their faces.

Lucas sighed, but Dustin was already making his way to the trailer opposite Max’s.

“What are you doing?” Lucas watched, before quickly following after his friend.

“Eddie’s home, his van is out front.”

“And there's another car next to it, he has someone over," Lucas added, pointing at the red Ford Fairmont parked next to the van.

But Dustin was already knocking on the trailer door to listen to Lucas.

The door swung open, revealing a flushed and wild haired Eddie. His eyes were dark, and his tee-shirt was on inside out; when he took in that it was Dustin at the door, his expression turned from annoyed to pissed.

"Henderson? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"We were in the area," he started, turning to see that Lucas had not joined him on the porch but had stopped halfway between Eddie and Max's trailer. He continued, "do you want to hang out?"

"I'm a bit busy right now, dude," Eddie folded his arms across his chest, still glaring at Dustin.

"Do you have a girl over?" Dustin tried to peer into the trailer but only managed to spot a bowl of popcorn and a couple of VHS tapes on the coffee table.

Eddie rolled his eyes, "sure let's go with that. Are we done here?" He started to shut the door, but Dustin stuck his arm out.

"Wait! Who is it? Is it Shelley Keibler? She was totally flirting with you at lunch last week."

Eddie looked disgusted, "ugh, no, dude. She buys from me and she was flirting to get a discount; which I didn't give her, by the way."

"Then who?"

"Don't worry about it, Henderson. I’ll see you on Monday." He grinned and shut the door.

4. Hawkins High

Dustin thought Eddie was acting strange. He hadn’t said anything about Dustin’s ill timed visit when he saw him on Monday, and he hadn’t been in the cafeteria at lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday. Mike had sworn he’d seen Eddie in the library when he’d gone to get money off his sister. He seemed back to his old loud, rambunctious self on Thursday, but during Hellfire on Friday he was constantly watching the clock. When the clock struck 6pm, he was packing up, even though they were in the middle of a high tension fight.

“I’m sorry guys, I have places to be.”

“Where?”

“Oh, that little bar on the corner of nunya and business,” he grinned, stuffing his binders in his bag.

Dustin followed him out to the parking lot, expecting to watch him get in his van and drive off. Instead he was greeted with the same red Fairmont coupe that had been parked in front of his trailer.

The following week proceeded much the same as the week prior, except this week Eddie cancelled Hellfire. And Eddie never cancelled Hellfire. The table erupted in disgruntled yelling when he broke the news over lunch on Friday, but he just sat back in silence, letting the members spit their disdain.

Dustin finally got a chance to speak with Eddie after school was let out, catching up to him in the parking lot as he was leaving.

“What’s going on? Why are you suddenly acting all weird?”

Eddie sighed, looking over at the red Ford that was parked next to Steve’s BMW. “You do know I have a life outside high school and Hellfire, right? I don’t only exist to further your quest, Henderson.”

“I know that-”

“I’ve been busy, alright? I’ve got some stuff going on.” He studied Dustin’s face, as if he was trying to figure out damage caused by a d20. “Look there’s a one shot I’ve been working on,” he grabbed a notebook out of his bag, ripped out a page, and scribbled something down before handing it to Dustin. “Come to this address tomorrow night, 7pm. Bring Wheeler and Sinclair.”

+1. Hellfire Club

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas weren’t sure where they were going, but surprisingly Steve did. In fact Steve hadn’t put up any kind of fight when Dustin asked if he could drive them somewhere for DnD. Sure he’d sighed, but that sigh was quickly followed by a shrug and a “sure.”

Steve pulled up in front of a small one story house, parking his car behind Gareth’s. Two cars were already in the driveway, a two-toned station wagon, and the red Ford Fairmont that seemed to be everywhere.

Eddie swung the door open, a grin on his face. “You’re here!” He glanced over the boys in front of him before his eyes landed on Steve. “Harrington?”

Steve held his hands up. “Don’t worry, I’m just dropping them off. Thought I’d say hi.” He pointed to the station wagon in the driveway. “Is that your new car?” Eddie nodded and Steve added, “a wagon. Very sensible.”

“I’ll have you know that’s a ‘74 AMC Matador. It has a V8 401 engine, 230 horsepower-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, I have no idea what any of that means.”

“You drive an E23. Dude, a 733i!”

“Doesn’t mean I know anything about it,” Steve shrugged. “Finally traded in the van for a family car, hey?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and turned into the house. “Babe, Harrington’s here,” he called out, before turning back to glare at Steve.

After a moment, you appeared behind Eddie, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Steve, hey!” Dustin recognised you instantly as the woman from Family Video.

“Hey,” Steve smiled, giving you a little wave. “Wanted to see your new place.”

“Can you stay for a soda? I’ll give you the tour.”

Before Steve could move into the house, Dustin held his arm out to stop him. “Uh,” Dustin looked from you, to Steve, to Eddie, and finally to Mike and Lucas. “What’s going on?”

“Oh right! You guys haven’t met,” Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side, and introduced you to the teens. “This is my girlfriend.”

Once the shock had worn off, Eddie had led the boys inside to the dining room table, where the older Hellfire members were already sitting. You lead Steve in the other direction, making good on your promise of a house tour.

“So this is your place?” Mike took in the surroundings; they were sitting in a dining room that was attached to a small kitchen. Various picture frames dotted the walls and a large potted plant sat next to the china cabinet.

“Yep, we moved in last weekend. The trailer was getting too crowded now that Gremlin’s decided to grow into a tiny human,” Mike had no idea what Eddie was talking about, but Eddie sounded horribly offended at the idea of Gremlin growing. “We’ve been planning the move for ages, but we finally had enough money to do it. Wayne seemed sad to see us go, but I think he’s happy to have the place to himself. Kind of annoying we lost Mayfield as a babysitter, though.”

Dustin seemed to have a faint inkling as to what Eddie was talking about, “I saw your girlfriend at Family Video a few weeks ago with her daughter.”

As if this was the craziest news in the world, Mike blurted out, “a kid?” His eyes darted around the room, finally taking in the several picture frames embedded with the image of a curly haired toddler.

“Yeah, Eddie’s girlfriend has a kid,” Dustin said casually, proud that he’d figured out this fact about his mentor before Mike. “It’s pretty cool you’re a stepdad.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, but Gareth, Jeff, and Grant just laughed. “Stepdad ? Henderson, no, no, no.”

Lucas shook his head, pointing to the closest picture frame; the little toddler was sitting on Eddie’s shoulders, her fingers gripping his dark brown curls, identical to her own unruly mess of hair. She looked like a mini version of him, both had mischief gleaming in their chocolate button eyes. “That’s obviously his kid.”

Like a sign from above signifying the revelation, an egg timer went off in the kitchen.

Dustin choked on his soda. “You have a kid? How did that happen?”

Lucas whacked him on the back, attempting to stop his friend's spluttering. “How do you think it happened, dipshit?” It seemed to work.

“No,” the tips of Dustin’s ears turned pink, his voice still hoarse. “I meant-”

“You want the story,” Eddie grinned, and Gareth, Jeff, and Grant groaned. He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. “Settle in boys, for this is a tale for the ages.”

Gareth snorted, “What the hell are you talking about? Indie is the product of too much alcohol and an expired condom.”

“Excuse me, but Gremlin was born from an epic love story that crossed not only class barriers, but changed Hawkins society as we know it.”

Steve entered the dining room with a can of cola, you following close behind him.

“Babe,” you rolled your eyes, having heard the conversation. You set a plate of pizza rolls down in front of the boys. “I think Gareth is a little closer to the truth. It wasn’t West Side Story .”

“You don’t think our story is romantic?”

“Our story? Sure. Teen pregnancy? Not so much.” Steve snorted.

Dustin had calmed down a bit, but he still had a lot of questions. “Wait, I’m confused. Steve said you were a cheerleader. How did you get with Eddie? You’re way out of his league.”

Surprisingly, Eddie didn’t look offended, instead he pulled you into his lap and tucked his chin over your shoulder, looking at the young teens. “You’re dead right, Henderson, she is way out of my league.” You scoffed, ready to disagree with him but he cut you off, “do you want to tell the story, babe?”

You adjusted yourself so you were sitting on Eddie’s thigh, his hands firmly gripping your waist. “My family moved to Hawkins at the start of my sophomore year. I didn’t really notice Eddie much that first year, he was a junior and we ran in very different circles.”

“I noticed her though. Straight away. Especially when she wore her cheer uniform-”

You flicked him on the shoulder, continuing with your story. “Anyway, school was out for the summer. Remember the heatwave in ‘83? I was driving down Millbrook and it was at least 100 degrees outside and the hood of my car started smoking. So I pulled over and began freaking out, because you know Millbrook, it’s all farmland and there’s no one around for miles.”

“But I just happened to be driving down Millbrook.”

“Yeah, Eddie was my knight in a Metallica cut off. He figured out what was wrong with my car, drove us to the auto shop, bought whatever it was that my car needed and fixed it for me.”

“It was super easy, she’d just run out of-”

You cut him off before he could begin to ramble about cars and the importance of checking the coolant level. “I bought him a milkshake to thank him and we’ve been together ever since.”

“And your kid?” Mike asked through a mouthful of pizza rolls.

“Gareth wasn’t far off. Pretty sure it happened after the homecoming dance that Eddie refused to attend. He snuck in my window when I got home with a bottle of peppermint schnapps and…” you drifted off, noticing the wide eyes at the table, as well as Steve's smirk. “I’ll spare you the details. Nine months later Indie was born.”

"Indie? Like Indiana?" Lucas asked, he wouldn’t admit it but the story was romantic.

"No, Indie like Indigo. Indigo Ripley Munson," Eddie said proudly, and you smiled. He'd snuck Ripley on the birth certificate before you could protest, but you had to admit your daughter couldn't ask for a better role model than the badass heroine from Alien.

It was as if her name summoned her. A bleary eyed toddler in pink footie pajamas entered the dining room, rubbing her eyes.

“Hi sweet pea,” you hoped off Eddie’s thigh, picking up your daughter and smoothing her hair. “Did we wake you?”

“Not tired,” she said, instantly contradicting herself by yawning. “Want Dadda to tell me a story,” she pushed away from you, reaching for Eddie. “With princesses.”

As much as you wanted to be her favourite, it warmed your heart knowing how much she loved her Dad.

Eddie held out his arms to take her from you and she instantly snuggled against him. "Dad’s playing a game with his friends, do you want to listen? There’s no princesses but there are lots of monsters." She nodded, smiling.

You knew it was futile to try and get her to go back to sleep now that Eddie had promised her a story. Knowing Eddie it would be a gory and violent story, but having sat in on many of Hellfire's campaigns, Indie was used to it. You thought it was creepy that she was enamoured with monsters, Eddie thought it was adorable.

You crouched down next to Eddie so you were on eye level with your daughter. "See those boys over there? That's Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. Do you want to say hi?"

She stuck out her bottom lip, contemplating the question before shaking her head. Dustin grinned, he liked this kid, she had spirit.

"How did you manage graduating with a kid? I mean Eddie obviously didn't," Mike said. The table went silent. Surprisingly, it was Steve that spoke up.

"He could have graduated, he just chose to put his family first, right Munson?"

Eddie looked at Steve and smiled. You stood up to glare at Mike, "Steve's right, Eddie should have graduated in '84, but he had different priorities that year."

Turning his attention to Mike, Eddie sighed, “My first senior year was when we found out about the pregnancy. My uncle got me a job working nights at the plant, so I slept through most of my morning classes. But the money was good and we were able to afford most of the stuff we needed for a new baby without asking for help. But I failed pretty much all my classes.”

You nodded. “My parents cut me off when they found out we were keeping the baby. They already hated that I was with Eddie and were looking for a reason to disown me; teen pregnancy was it. So aside from the secondhand stuff we got from the Holts’ and the Mitchells’, and that Wayne never made us pay rent, we did it pretty much all on our own. Eddie’s second senior year was also my senior year, but it was our first year with Indie too.”

“I didn’t want her skipping class, she’s too smart to not graduate. So I stayed home with Gremlin. Wayne helped out when he could, but I still managed to miss most of my classes.”

“But now, I have a job that lets us afford daycare and rent, and Eddie’s been working real hard at school. You know what they say, third times the charm.”

“This is my year, I can feel it.”

“Damn right, babe.” You leant down to kiss his cheek. “And Indie and I will be right there cheering you on when you cross that stage.”

It was all too much for Dustin to handle, hearing about this part of Eddie’s life; his girlfriend, his daughter, his connection to Steve. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He was filled with a newfound desire to protect his friend; he had a family to think about after all, hell he’d traded in his ratty old van for a station wagon.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dustin wasn’t sure if he felt more hurt or betrayed that Eddie had kept such a big part of his life a secret.

“I never hid it, Henderson, you just never asked.”

Dustin thought back to what Steve had said all those weeks ago, ‘you don't know as much about your friends as you think you do.’ He was right, Dustin didn’t know that much about Eddie. He knew he was in a band and liked metal music, but he hadn’t asked him much in the way of personal questions.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I-”

Eddie cut him off with a lazy grin, “Relax, Dustin, we’ve got the rest of the year right?” For some reason the use of his first name instantly put Dustin at ease. He let out a breath and smiled at Eddie. “Now are we playing?”

“And that’s our cue,” you nodded at Steve, leaving the boys and Indie to their game.

Later that night, after everyone had gone home and Indie was finally tucked up in bed, Eddie said something that surprised you.

“I think we should make Steve Indie’s godfather.”

“What? You’re not religious.”

“No, I know. I don’t mean it in the whole ‘teaching faith’ way. I just,” he ran his hand through his hair. “I know he’s important to you, and he loves Indie. If something was to happen to us, I know he’d take good care of her.”

“I think that’s a great idea, babe. Is this about what he said to Wheeler?”

Eddie’s cheeks flushed, he hadn’t wanted to admit that Steve’s approval had affected him. “Maybe.”

You grinned. Steve had been your friend for a long time, since you first moved to Hawkins. You’d known him through his douchebag phase, and you were his only friend from his high school days he’d kept in touch with since he’d mellowed out. But he and Eddie had never gotten along; Eddie was too loud and brash, and Steve still held an air of elitism that although he’d mostly gotten rid of, still reared its ugly head whenever Eddie was around.

Today, though, the two of them somewhat made an attempt at a truce. “How about we invite him for lunch and ask him?”

Eddie groaned, “ugh, can’t you just ask him?”

“It was your idea!”

“Fine, we’ll do it together.”

Baby steps.

Okay okay... I would really appreciate feedback as I worked my ass off on this one. And guys... I was so nervous my mum read this... that's the first time she's read my writing since I was in high school. @a-lil-pr1ncess @livsters

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader #eddie munson smut #maggie writes #Eddie Munson gremlinverse #dad!eddie

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radioactive-reactions · 5 months ago

Note

Just a quick little idea for a reaction, could you maybe do companions (and maybe Mr. House) finding out that the Courier is a pre-war ghoul?

Of course! The New Vegas fandom has just celebrated Mr. House's 4th birthday, so consider this my small contribution.

Ghouls were anything but uncommon in the Mojave, but those who had lived through the Great War were particularly exceptional. Everyone knew about the ghoulish Courier - zombies rising from the grave made good saloon talk, after all - but only those closest to them were trusted with the knowledge of just how old they were.

Raul is just happy to have another viejo around to commiserate with. Invariably, he begins to keep the two up long into the night trading stories of the Old World - and more often than not, the Old World's failings - around the campfire. "Hey, boss, you... you remember Cuna de Lobos? Ahh, the bomb dropped right at the end of Season 91, just when Catalina was about to show everyone what she'd been keeping stashed under her eyepatch. My grandmother would have killed to see it. She could have, too."

Boone is as unflinchingly stone-faced as ever, and his thoughts are quickly summed up in three succinct words: "I pity you." There's a moment of consideration, a realization that he may have gone too far, and he tries again. "You and all the... others. There are a few in the service. You knew what came before. Saw it with your own eyes. Christ, the rest of us must be like kids playing dressup to you. In your shoes, wouldn't have bothered staying around to see how it'd all turn out. No point."

Veronica has a million questions. Try as the Brotherhood might to hoard pre-War knowledge, she's never come quite as close to a living, breathing repository of it as she is now. "Wait, wait, back up, like... five steps. You're telling me you could walk into the bunker anytime you please and totally school Elder McNamara and you've just been sitting on that?! Oh my God! Okay, okay - is it true that every kid back then was raised by a robot slave? A-and did you really have to ritually encase all your food in Jell-O before you ate it?"

Cass gives an impressed whistle, looking the Courier up and down just to make sure they haven't actually been feral this entire time. "Fuck me. Uh, that's not an invitation - I don't want anything falling off. But that'd make you, what, two-hundred-something? Older than the Republic, the way they tell it. We've got some Rangers like that, supposedly the ultimate badasses if you look past the bad knees and the death rattle... but between you and me, I think you've got a sturdier claim to the title."

Arcade freezes up at the news, getting that awkward, wavering smile he always flashes when he's backed into a corner. "Wow. Uh... hey. Just so we're clear, I in no way endorse - o-or endorsed - the whole Enclave 'cleansing of the world's tainted' thing. I'd like to think that goes without saying, given the way my life has gone since then, but... just so we're clear. Uh, if you need any kind of specialized care, please just say the word. I've given Beatrix enough topical collagen to fill a bathtub... if one inexplicably wanted to do something like that."

Lily doesn't quite seem to get it, bless her heart, but enough careful explanation does slowly get her to regard the Courier as more of an equal than a grandkid. "MY MISTAKE! YOU DON'T LOOK A DAY OVER A HUNDRED, DEAR. WHATEVER YOU USE, I'VE JUST GOT TO GET DOCTOR HENRY TO MAKE ME SOME! IF I HADN'T MADE A PROMISE TO MY HUSBAND, REST HIS SOUL, I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP."

Mr. House predictably uses this as ammunition to further his own plans. There's no change in the face on the flickering screen, but whatever cold mental calculus drives him moves the Courier up a few spaces in his strictly regimented list of priorities. "Then you, more than anybody, understand what we have to lose - or rather, what we have to gain. Put another way, you are in a unique position to understand the resources at my disposal. Imagine the luxuries you enjoyed before the barbarians in Washington reduced you to this base, hardscrabble existence among the ruins of their shortsightedness - and I think you'll appreciate that ruins isn't simply a turn of phrase here. Imagine having them again: not just the house and the car, not just the material indulgences, but the structure that made them possible - will continue to make them possible. We alone know what's been lost, and we alone hold the potential to see it returned."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #reactions #raul tejada #craig boone #veronica santangelo #arcade gannon #lily bowen #mr house #rose of sharon cassidy

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year ago

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Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 19

This brings the total word count for arc 2 over 31k words. But it also brings us nearly to the end of the arc! There'll likely only be one more part after this which I hope to have out next week (but my first nephew is going to be born any day now, so no promises).

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Find Arc 1 Here

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.3k

-----

Rob: get back here now Rob: All 4 of us are needed

Before he even finished typing his last message, Bart was at his side. Just in time to see Danny mutter something and shoot an ectoblast at his parents who were thrown back with the force of it, destroying the podium and leaving a burn mark on the ground. People immediately began panicking.

“Shit,” muttered Tim. “Cassie, let’s go. Impulse, try to help where you can.”

“You’ve got it.” Bart gave them the bag that held their uniforms and rushed towards Danny.

Cassie and Tim joined the fleeing crowds, but slipped down the hall rather than outside in search of somewhere to change. Unfortunately, the first bathroom they passed had a camera pointing at the door. But a short way down, they found a janitor’s closet that didn’t.

“Not glamorous, I’m afraid,” said Tim.

Cassie laughed. “We’ve used worse.”

“True enough.”

Bart kept texting updates to Tim’s relief.

Imp: They’re in the basement Imp: Walker is confirmed possessing the mayor Imp: SB with me

As soon as the messages came through, Tim was hacking into city records to find the blue prints for the building.

“Come on, Rob,” said Cassie. “We need to get going.”

“Just finding the best way to the basement!” said Tim. A few more clicks and he had it. “Got it, let’s go.”

“Fucking finally.” Cassie cracked the door open and peered outside before throwing it open.

“Go right!” called Tim.

He overtook her and led her to a door. It was the matter of seconds to pick the lock and, rather than wait for him, Cassie just picked him up and flew him down the flight of stairs.

They burst out into what was clearly a service area. Ahead, they could hear the sounds of fighting. Cassie continued to fly them forward when they ran into Superboy.

“Superboy!” called Tim.

One of Danny’s classmates, Paulina, came running around the corner and Conner held up a blaster. “Stay back!” he called.

She screeched and held her hands up. Behind her came Dash, face contorted into a growl. The girl looked between Conner and Dash and screamed again.

“Kon!” called Tim, “Focus on Dash. I don’t think she’s overshadowed!”

Cassie set him down next to Conner and shouted, “I’m going to look for Phantom and Impulse!”

Conner shot at Dash and Tim assembled his Fenton Rod. To Paulina, he said, “Hey, sorry about that. We thought you might still be overshadowed. I’m Robin and we can get you out of here.”

“Don’t get near me!” she yelled at him. “Dash! Are you okay?”

The ghost had been expelled from him and he was sitting on the ground rubbing his head. “Paulina? Where are we?”

Tim pulled out a thermos and sucked in the ghost. “You’re in the basement of the City Hall building. Stairs are that way—” he pointed “—go up them and take a left.”

Paulina rushed to Dash’s side and pulled him up. With one last glare at Tim and Conner, she led him towards the stairs.

Tim let her go without arguing.

Instead, Tim and Conner ran towards the sound of fighting, only to see Maddie crouched behind some pipes with a bazooka pointed right at Danny.

With a curse, Conner flew towards her, yanking the weapon out of her hands. Tim was just a few paces behind him, and when Maddie drew another weapon poised to attack Conner, Tim used his staff to knock it from her hand.

“So you have been brainwashed by the ghosts,” she spat the last word. “Well I won’t let you win.” She kicked at his head and Tim ducked, using the motion to attempt to swipe at her other leg with his staff.

But she jumped over the attack and Tim had to roll out of the way of her downward kick.

“You’re quite good,” he commented.

“I’m a ninth degree black belt,” she said as she used the distance she’d gained to pull out a tube of lipstick. With a twist, she shot a laser at him.

“Creative, too, I see.”

Tim glanced over at the others to see Wulf had reappeared and was helping them. Unfortunately, though, Maddie was good enough that he had to keep most of his focus on her. She shot another laser and Tim used his staff to vault over it and close the distance between them.

“Look,” he said, “You don’t understand. Phantom is trying to stop the invasion.”

“He’s lying to you. All ghosts only want to hurt humans.”

Tim swung his staff and Maddie twisted out of the way. He still managed to graze her side and she let out a grunt of pain. He shifted his position so he could see his friends more clearly.

Only to watch the Mayor grab hold of Danny and fly him up through the ceiling. Two ectoblasts hit the area just after they disappeared. Wulf followed them through the ceiling and Bart ran off at the same time.

He was distracted enough that Maddie managed to kick him hard on the side. Tim let out a grunt of pain and tried to catch his breath. Before she could land a second attack, Conner was there restraining her.

“Thanks,” said Tim.

“Anytime. Sorry I wasn’t able to help sooner.”

Tim waved the apology off as he grabbed some zip-ties from his utility belt. “We’re both trying to help the people of Amity,” he told Maddie as he retrained her ankles and wrists.

“If you’re working with the ghosts, you’re only going to hurt them.”

Conner didn’t try to hold back his snort. “If you could see past your own prejudices, you’d see how fucking wrong you are. Especially about Phantom.”

“Superboy, take this”—Tim handed over a thermos—“go see if you can help Phantom. Wondergirl and I will make sure no one else’s hiding down here.”

They had barely started their search when Danny sunk back down into the basement with Bart and Conner in tow. Wulf followed them.

The sight of them had Maddie cursing up a storm again and Phantom sighed. “Ma’am, everyone is fine. I made sure of it. Here, I’ll take you upstairs where Da— uh, Jack is and you’ll see.”

“Phantom,” started Tim, but he had no idea what else to say. He just knew he didn’t want Danny anywhere near his parents while in his ghost form.

But Danny waved him off, picked up his mom, and flew them up through the ceiling again. Less than a minute later, he was back down.

“You know, she’d ground me for using even half of those words,” he said with a smile. No one laughed and Danny sighed. “So today was a disaster.”

“What did Walker do?” asked Tim.

Danny buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Bart ended up being the one to explain. “He held Danny to him and pretended Danny was kidnapping him in front of all the people outside City Hall.”

Tim closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Shit,” he breathed out. “Disaster is right.”

Danny let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “At least Paulina now thinks I’m a good guy.”

“She does?” asked Conner. “She ran from Rob and I.”

Danny squared his shoulders and imitated slicking his hair back. “Guess it’s just my natural charisma.”

Tim laughed, but it was short lived. “I seem to have made things worse for you.”

Danny bumped their shoulders. “And I don’t doubt it would’ve been just as bad, if not worse, without you. Thanks for trying.”

“We shouldn’t linger here,” said Bart. “What if Maddie comes back?”

Danny sighed and pulled out his phone. “My sister will be looking for me, I’m sure. Let’s reconvene at the park in, like, an hour?”

“We’ll bring food!” offered Bart.

Tim pulled Danny into a hug. “See you then. We’ll figure this out.”

Danny just sighed. “I hope so.”

-----

And that's the end of the action! Hope you enjoyed. Once this arc is finished, I'll probably take a hiatus to get this fixed up, Arc 1 of Ghost!Robin fixed up, and the Bad Reveal AU finished. I want all of those finished and up on AO3 before Christmas if I can manage it.

I no longer do tag lists for this fic, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want to be notified of updates.

#dpxdc #my writing #bring me home #at least all the ghosts are taken care of?#and wulf wasn't sucked back into the ghost zone with walker this time #though now amity doesnt trust the justice league #or ghosts #oops

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ruthlesscore · 7 months ago

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JP as a Father - Hardheaded

-This will contain main story spoilers for street fighter 6 -

Do you think that the Johan Petrovich would care for his offspring? Especially when he didn't care for your mother? JP just needed a little stress relief and your mother was just a lady wanted to sleep with her boss, like in the stories. You just so happen to be the long term consequence of that night.

Naturally, you inherited his psycho power, so your mother moved far away into the corner of the lowlands. She didn't want you anywhere near that man.

At first, your mother didn't know what to do with your power, but you soon found work, cleaning up the sketchy individuals that lurked near your home, robbing them of all their zenny to feed you and your mother.

When you finally came of age, you moved out of your mother's small home and moved away from Nayshall. You wanted to be someone but who could you be? Of course, figuring out the history behind your strange ability is a must. If you didn't get it from your mother, you definitely got it from your father? Right? This type of stuff isn't even a birth defect, from what you've read.

Landing in Metro City, USA, you were excited to see a new city. You got an apartment and enrolled in Buckler's Security Services! You meet your trainer, Luke, and this fellow named Bosch. The way he dresses sure remind you a lot of home.

Going through the main story, trying to find your meaning of strength, Bosch suddenly going MIA, and people requesting help back to back, you somehow ended back where you started: Nayshall. Meeting Kalima and Rewancha and how they talked of a man named JP, you could feel your stomach curl. Something about how they described him, his power, made you think. Your mother always mentioned how she'd use to be an accountant for a large company. She always mentioned she made a big mistake and was protecting you from the danger. And she always said how much she knew you'd never listen to her.

Sneaking into the tournament arena to fix the championship belt, you could feel a lurking presence, a mean, a evil presence lurking around you. You couldn't put your finger on it.. When you reach for the belt, you heard a deep voice. Turning to the voice, you look up at a man. He introduces himself as Johan. Johan Petrovich.

"You're Johan Petrovich?"

He looks at you and nods. You clench your fist, purple fire envelopes it. You hold it up to him in an almost threatening stance.

"Then I will be the one who will take your life."

JP doesn't say anything. That look in your eyes says enough. You have his eyes. When you walk away from him, heading out the door, his voice reaches you.

"Tell your mother I said hello."

After the tournament, your fight with JP, and Bosch's death, you meet JP at the entrance of the arena. You can't help but to look at him with disgust. This man aggravates the fuck out of you, and not in the usual way. He doesn't even look your way when you approach.

"My child,"

"Who the hell you calling that?"

He shakes his head turns to you.

"Your mother was never much of a talker."

You felt your power hyperdrive your anger. You ball your fist, attempting to uppercut the taller male. He hit your hand away with his cane. Taking a large step back, you went into your usual fighting stance.

You stare at the man who just wants to see the end of the world, the man that terrorizes countries because life is meaningless and death is the goal, the man who killed your best friend and countless others, and you couldn't believe what he fixed his lips to say.

"____, I am your father."

#street fighter 6 #sf6 #sf6 x reader #sf6 jp #street fighter 6 jp #johan petrovic #Johan Petrovich #street fighter x reader

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obsolescent · 1 year ago

Text

The Darkness and the Light

Chapter I - All Around Me

Pairing: Jill Valentine x Reader

Summary: Working nights at a gas station has its perks, little foot traffic and relatively quiet, peaceful even, until one customer shows up. There’s something about her that’s so odd, you can’t look at her for long. There’s a feeling that goes from chilling to burning like fire, coursing through you whenever she’s around. During this time of year the days are getting shorter, becoming chillier, leaves starting to fall. Something is in the air, stirring within you. You never feel alone nowadays, a feeling that was once comforting has now put you on constant edge. A presence is always lurking around the corner, right out of reach. Even if you wanted to fight it, could you? Or were you destined for its pages, years in the making, the story needing you to reach its conclusion.

Author’s Notes: Inspired loosely by songs and a book series I read when I was younger. I’m not sure how long this will become. Unfortunately this was supposed to come out before Halloween, but I got sucked into other writings, apologies. I hope y'all like a chilling story after the fact! Jill is perhaps a bit out of character for this, due to her being a vampire. RE5 Jill for this, Capcom are cowards for not keeping her look from 5. I hope you enjoy it!

Content Warnings: Swearing, gender neutral language used for reader, Jill is a vampire, eventual smut in upcoming chapters, reader has a gun, unintentional manipulation/persuasion from vampires and their powers, protective Jill, violence, mentions of stalking, depression, thoughts of losing one’s mind.

|| Disclaimer: Jill Valentine is trans in this story. Keep your transphobic remarks to yourself and don’t read this if that bothers you. ||

“Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. — Psalm 139:12

“You got protection?”

You stop, hand hovering over the customer’s drink as your eyes meet.

“Huh?” A questioning sound leaves you. Head tilting, eyebrows furrowed.

He repeats his question, “You got any protection?”

Your eyes flicker to the gun under the register.

“Yeah, I got something.”

He chuckles, pointing to the ceiling, “From above?”

You smile, one of those big, fake customer service smiles. “I got something a little more physical.”

His eyes widened a bit, before he laughs again, nodding approvingly. “Don’t blame you, being here by yourself so late at night. You take care now, you here?”

You nod, thanking him and wishing him a good night. The door chimes when he leaves. You release a puff of air, slumping into yourself.

Another long night.

You leave your spot at the register, grabbing your rag on the way. Absentmindedly wiping down surfaces, restocking cups and lids, checking creamer and sugar levels. Your movements are almost robotic after doing this for so long, going on autopilot while performing your tasks.

You’re on your knees, the cabinets opened beneath the drink station, gathering the needed cups to replenish when the door chimes. Your mouth is opened to greet the customer when that all consuming feeling prickles the back of your neck.

Like ice cold water has been poured down your back, goosebumps forming and hair standing on end, barely able to squeak out a “Hello”.

Without looking, you know who it is.

She always comes late at night, doesn’t stay for long, doesn’t talk. At first, you didn’t notice her really, blending in with other customers. It wasn’t until one interaction, when you had been handing her change. You’re always careful to not touch the customers when doing so, avoiding direct contact, germs and whatnot. This time, your aim was off, basically smacking the change into her palm.

You couldn’t even react like you normally would, an apology on your tongue when you realized how cold she was. Though, coming into contact with her chilly skin should’ve caused your own to bristle, but instead you felt heat.

You thought that maybe she was so cold that it felt like you had been burned, but when yanking your hand back, a couple coins hitting the counter with a plink plink at the force of your movements, the flames kept coursing through you.

The direct contact with her skin hadn’t lasted longer than a few seconds. But, ever since then, if your back is turned when she enters, you feel the chill, but as soon as you turn towards her, meeting those icy blue eyes, your body is set aflame.

You hate the icy hot feeling that occurs whenever she’s here. It leaves you feeling nauseous and tired afterwards, like you’ve been battling the flu. Ugh.

She makes her usual rounds, walks through every aisle, before walking back around to the shelves lined with toiletries. She takes something from a hook before making her way to the counter.

You leave your spot, head down as you make your way behind the counter. You eye the item she chose, some lip balm. It’s different each time.

Gaze not directly meeting hers, your eyes focus on the scarf wrapped around her neck. Maybe if you don’t look into her eyes, the feeling won’t come.

It comes anyways. You wince, stomach churning, cheeks flushing. UGH, goddamn. You will yourself to crack a smile, voice wavering.

“H-hey, find everything okay?”

She nods.

Right. Of course. You tell her the total and she hands you cash, quickly getting her change ready. Your usual spill is leaving your mouth as you deposit the money into her hand, “Thankyouhaveagoodnight,” rushed out, fingers steering clear of her’s.

You’re patting yourself on the back internally for getting through the encounter quickly, but…

She continues to stand there.

Internal hand patting your back is now clenched into a fist, banging on a fictitious wall while you scream. Inhaling a deep breath, you smile and ask, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

A slight tilt to her head, blonde bangs shifting slightly.

“My name’s Jill.”

Oh.

You can’t remember a time where she uttered a word, now hearing her voice for the first time, her soft tone washes over your senses, and…The sickly feeling starts going away?

It’s like her voice soothes it, bringing forth the cure to your ailment. You feel your muscles relax once more, the way you felt before she came in, now accompanied by a soothing warmth.

Instead of being tossed directly into the fireplace, flames licking at you, you’re sitting beside it in comfort.

Your eyes flutter, confused but also grateful that horrible feeling has left you. You smile and tell her your name, knowing it’s on your nametag but now, able to look into those sky blue eyes and feel nothing but relief, you don’t mind speaking to her.

She nods, a small smile gracing her features before turning and exiting the store.

You’re struck dumbfounded, frozen while you watch her leave.

What was that???

A deep breath leaves you, slumping over the counter, body now feeling exhausted after the roller coaster of emotions that coursed through you in such a short amount of time.

You stand up straight and walk to the soda fountain, getting yourself some sort of caffeine to help carry you through the rest of your shift.

Thankfully the rest of your time goes by quickly, able to close the store and count the drawer in a breeze, locking up and walking out to your car.

The hair on your neck stands up once again, a chill running through you. The feeling of being watched shrouds you and you sprint to the car, hitting the button to open the door and jumping in, immediately hitting the lock button.

Heart thudding in your ears, the blood rushing through your veins creates such a loud sound that fills the cabin of the car only you can hear as you grip the seat, the steering wheel, anything to try to keep calm, breathing harshly.

Your eyes dart around, looking out all the windows, head whipping around as you start the car. You scramble for the gun in your bag, gripping it tightly and setting it in your lap. You peel out of the parking lot, in a frenzy to just go, go, go, get out of there.

You take a detour to make sure, taking a longer way than you normally would.

Arriving home after checking for the tenth time that no one was after you, you hurry inside and lock the door, gun in hand. Taking your shoes off once inside, you hang your keys on the hook near the door and put your belongings away. Making your way to your bedroom, you drop the gun onto your nightstand and fall onto the mattress with an ‘oof’.

The adrenaline has gone away, replaced with exhaustion once more. So many emotions have run through you over the course of the day, you’re thankful to be home and alone, solitude desired after the events of the evening.

You feel absolutely boneless, no energy left to even shed your work clothes off.

All you can muster is the wandering of your thoughts, and they lead you back to Jill.

Her minuscule smile, the odd feelings you have around her, and why you only see her late into the night.

She’s the last thing on your mind before you drift off to sleep.

Tags: @caramlizedtomatoes, @cheezbites, @dwkfan, @emilzke, @neondogs, @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @xxacademy

(If you want to be added or removed from the tags, please let me know).

#not sure that i like this first chapter much but i’m going with it after fighting with it for over a week now #also em you read some of this and i tweaked it a bit sorry lmfao #o fics #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x gn!reader #jill valentine x you #trans jill valentine

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sunderingstars · 6 months ago

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Dice Time! 🎲

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ DICE ROLL #3 — A KISS ON THE FOREHEAD ⌝

based on this post!

word count: 1k

what the stars reveal: tamaharu, post-canon (manga), they’re both in college, tooth-rotting fluff, tamaki being dramatic as usual (affectionate), venting my college frustrations through a fictional character, idk if you can tell but i waxed a little poetic near the end 😳

— congratulations on inspiring my first tamaharu piece! :3

In concept, contracts weren’t difficult to understand. They were simply agreements between parties that created legal obligation for one thing or another. However, the difficulty came with all of their branching paths; implied, fixed price, unilateral — they all had slightly different approaches, small differences that needed to be kept in mind at all times. One misstep could lead to less-than-savory reviews at best and a complete logistic, even illegal, mess at worst.

So… what’s the answer to this damn question?

Haruhi tapped her pencil against the corner of her mouth, shifting the workbook in her lap ever-so-slightly. Maybe, if the page hit just the right angle, the paragraph of text would re-word itself into something comprehensible. Maybe.

After a few tries and meager results, she sighed in defeat. She’d known law school was going to be difficult, sure, but her poor high school self hadn’t known the half of it. Strict deadlines, bad professors, incomprehensible class structures — they were an entirely different experience for someone who went in thinking college was supposed to be… well… helpful.

She sighed. It was just the late hour getting to her, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Not when this annoying question didn’t even have anything to do with the current—

“—Haruhi?”

She jumped. Hard. In what could only be described as sheer dumb luck, the flash of blond beside her ducked away just in time to avoid being head-slammed.

Shocked, Haruhi turned her body to peek over the edge of the sofa, settling her chin on the back cushion. Below her was a boyfriend-shaped face, looking back at her with just as much surprise. “Tamak—?”

“—Oh, thank god!” Soft tears began to well at the corners of his eyes, violet and earnest. In a movement faster than she could blink, he was tilting up and over to wrap his arms around her half-twisted form. It was nice — warm and inviting and rose-scented the way it always was — but for a worrying moment, she thought something was wrong. Then, he said: “I thought you’d become a zombie. Like in those scary apocalypse movies.”

Haruhi froze, then sighed. Deeply.

“There, there,” she said flatly, unfortunately unable to pat him on the back due to the workbook and pencil still hanging in her grasp. Then, before he could start rambling on about the logistics of how he would’ve “definitely taken care of her as a zombie by bringing fresh brains from the morgue back home instead of groceries,” she turned swiftly back to her work, letting the guise of study change the topic of conversation.

Sure enough, less than a moment later she felt Tamaki’s soft-conditioned hair brush against the side of her forehead. “What are you working on?”

His voice was softer, this time, tempered to a murmur above her ear, and she could smell the faint lilac of cologne carried on his breath.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged. Gave the workbook a wave. “Just… this.”

Tamaki hmphed. As if on cue, soothing hands came to rest on her skin, pressing gently at the juncture between her shoulders and neck. She was always vague when stressed, and they both knew it.

“Wanna take a break, then?” he asked.

Instead, Haruhi leaned into the faint knead of his palms, eyes still trained on the page in front of her. “You’d make a good masseuse.”

“Haruhi,” he warned, “you know how I feel about you overworking yourself.” Then, somewhat proudly, “And my services are exclusive.”

Haruhi sighed for the umpteenth time that night. There wasn’t much she could do — she was too tired to deflect Tamaki’s stubbornness, and a break did sound nice. However, she also couldn’t avoid one looming fact: the homework was due tomorrow. Eventually, she made a compromise.

“Fine,” she said. “But only for five minu—”

The warmth behind her was already retreating, shooting around the length of the couch to plop down beside her with an enthusiastic “yes!”. Like an overly-attached dog, Tamaki’s face soon found itself bundled into the crook of her neck, pouting as she put the pencil down but refused to set the workbook aside. It only took one whining “Haruhi…” before she was groaning and setting the papers on the coffee table too.

With that, Tamaki was free to monopolize her space, humming contentedly as his arms shifted to curl around her torso.

“You’re incorrigible, you know,” she said, eyes crinkling with the beginnings of a smile.

“I know,” he mumbled.

“Happy now?”

A ruffle of hair against her chin as he nodded. “Mhm.”

For the first time in a while, Haruhi didn’t sigh. It always ended like this — Tamaki curling up against her like a personal heater, turning inward like she was all he ever needed. It made her wonder why, sometimes; why he cared so much, why he bothered, why exactly he saw what he saw in her. But it was difficult to hold onto those worries when he was holding onto her even tighter. When he was going out of his way to leave her spare umbrellas on rainy days, to buy her favorite giant tuna at the store, to bring home facemasks with cute little raccoons he said looked “just like her.” It was like he catalogued every little thing about her, kept them pressed in the notebook of his mind like flowers he never let wilt.

When she sniffled, he shifted to look at her. His eyes bore into her like violets, and when his mouth opened he breathed lilac, words landing rose-tinted against her skin: “You okay?”

In response, she ducked her embarrassingly watery eyes against the sunflower strands of his hair. “Yeah…” Then, she nosed her way to his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Something familiar and warm bloomed in her chest. It unfurled in petals of sunshine and rushing water, and it occurred to her that she must be the luckiest person in the world to feel it.

“…I just love you.”

She didn’t have to see Tamaki’s face to know something was blossoming within him too, curling into a smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⭑ ⋆⁺₊⋆ constellation: ouran-honors-student 🏺 ⌝#fanfic #ohshc #ouran high school host club #tamaharu #ohshc fanfic #tamaki suoh #haruhi fujioka #tamaki x haruhi #tamaki ohshc #ohshc tamaki #ohshc haruhi #haruhi ohshc

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danthediamondminecart · 1 month ago

Text

RBBTOBER DAY 25-26 : WONDERLAND

CW! Mild Flashing

This video came from me not quite knowing what to do for the concept, and somehow ending up with an entire animatic in a day. Don't ask me how I did that, I couldn't answer. I really like it though! Fits the vibes.

You know, I'm not a Spiral guy myself, but I can tell why people love the Distortion so much. Helen and Michael's backstories, individually and as a unit, are so interesting. They're such interesting characters. Obviously, I had to do them in my TMA AU as well, and what better characters than with Sketch and Calixo, when Calixo 'replaced' Sketch in the RBB roster? Well, I'm unsure if Calixo replaces Sketch or not just yet, I want to get a full timeline down first.

'Drabble' under the cut, as well as some talk about the story itself - it's once again over 1000 words, but in this case, my excuse is that it wouldn't have really fit the Wonderland prompt without some exposition from Calixo first.

(This takes place during Calixo's statement to the RB Foundation. Calixo has already given most of it - this is the last segment. He’s been struggling to get through the statement without repeating himself - he’s clearly quite scatterbrained, though whether this is a normal thing for him or it was because of his experience, Russo doesn’t know yet.)

[CALIXO] As I said, the longer I was in there, the more lost I felt. I wasn’t sure what was a real door and what was fake, whether I could pass through the wall or not - one minute it’d be rock solid and the next minute it would disintegrate like sand. My eyes were starting to hurt from all the bright colours and fractals and stage lights, and none of the things inside would talk to me in regular, normal words. Just riddles and laughter.

I don't...exactly remember how long I was in there or the events that led to me escaping, but...I can give my best guess.

I heard that monster’s voice on the tannoy, it mentioned about the next show starting soon, and to please wait - he’ll pick us all up shortly. I didn’t want to get on that show again. I wanted to get out. So I kept running around, trying to find an escape route.

Eventually I ran into a room filled with TVs. There were millions like it before and likely after, so I wasn’t going to pay it much mind, just move on- but they all showed its face, so I paused. I couldn’t see its eyes through the TV screens, it was almost like it was being censored, and it was covered in static. Then I spotted it- a blank screen, a screen that simply showed my reflection and nothing else. I don’t know what it was that told me that it was my escape - I guess I didn’t really know, but it stood out, it looked normal, or at least what reminded me of normal, so I had to try. Either way, I- I threw myself at it.

I blinked, and I was laying against cold, hard concrete, staring up at the sky. It was starting to rain, I think. I didn’t care - I was out. Out of that horrid place. Where colours are desaturated and walls are made of real material and you aren’t being forced to act. I was near a pile of junk and trash, right by an old TV. I still couldn’t get up, I was feeling so dizzy, could still see those spirals in the corner of my vision, still hear its laughter ringing in my ears, so I ended up crawling away from it as fast as I could. I ended up dragging myself around and trying to find help, but it was so dark in those alleyways, I kept getting turned around to that pile of junk. So I ended up just sitting there, screaming, hoping that someone would find me.

They did- I don’t remember their names too well, and I feel horrible about it- they saved my life. Uh, Kreek and Bella, I think? They were the ones who found me, got me something to drink, tried to calm me down, called the emergency services to get me checked out and a way home. They were the first tangible people I’d seen in- god knows how long, so I think that only made it worse. I- (deliriously laughs) I...I was even a little embarrassed that they saw me like that, I thought they were tourists, thought I was still back home. I- well, I mean, I’m not, clearly. Though I’d rather be here than still in that horrible place.

I don’t know if they believed me when I explained how I got here- the cops certainly didn’t. I was in the hospital for a few days - I think they thought I was a delusional kidnapping victim.

(Quietly) Maybe I am a delusional kidnapping victim.

(Louder again) So I’ve been here, laying in hospital, while the police try to figure out what to do with me. Don’t have any relatives I’m still in contact with, and none of my friends back at uni are picking up- so I’m just sort of stranded in the hospital bed, barely sleeping because of the nightmares. Apparently I had such a bad reaction to realising there was a TV in my room that they covered it up with a curtain. I- I know it’s there, I’m not stupid, but at least it’s not turned on.

But- but when I said my side of things, one of the cops told me to go to you. So…so here I am. Maybe you can make sense of all of this.

[RUSSO]

(Comforting.) We’ll do our best, Calixo. I promise you, we will ensure that you get, at the very least, an explanation for what you’ve gone through.

[CALIXO]

(Tearful and genuinely touched.) You…you believe me, then.

[RUSSO]

As I said. You’d be surprised what I believe - and I have no reason not to believe you.

 [CALIXO]

Thank you…

[RUSSO]

It’s my job, after all.

Do you have a way home? A plane ticket or anything?

[CALIXO]

Uh, no, not yet.

[RUSSO]

Alright. If you don’t get anything sorted out soon, let me know. I’ll pay for the plane ticket.

[CALIXO]

You…you will?

[RUSSO]

Of course. You want to get back to your normal life soon, don’t you?

[CALIXO]

Yeah. Yeah, I do. Okay…(Smiling, somewhat.) Okay.

I…I think I need to get back. To the- hospital, I mean. Uh, I’ll…leave you to it.

(Calixo gets up, the chair he’s sitting on screeching. He leaves through a creaky door, as Russo focuses on his work.)

[RUSSO]

…Statement ends.

The story that Calixo’s told me here sounds familiar. I think…I think I may recognise just who he might have met. Which gives me a good head start on confirming his story, and at the very least, beginning to understand a certain someone’s methods.

(Russo opens a drawer and pulls out some papers.)

Sketch. A Distortion, The Gameshow Host, an avatar of Oneirophobia. Runs a nightmarish TV show-

(Suddenly, there’s increased, ear-splitting static on the recording, causing Russo to jump.)

Ah-!

  [SKETCH]

(Voice somewhat obscured by static.) Sorry to interrupt, Archivist-

(Static increases and then sharply falls, but Sketch’s voice now sounds a lot clearer.)

But I happened to notice you were talking about me!

  [RUSSO]

(Unnerved, but mainly annoyed.) …Hello, Sketch. What do you want?

[SKETCH]

Well, I was just taking back what was mine, of course! You know me, I’m not one to leave a joke hanging without the punchline.

[RUSSO]

Well, good for you- wait, taking back what was yours?

[SKETCH]

The ‘wanderer’, the one who entered my domain, whatever fancy ways you want to put it.

[RUSSO]

You mean…Calixo Bu-Breezy? (Confident) Too late for that, he’s already gone.

[SKETCH]

Oh, really?

(Sketch laughs. It sounds like multiple laughs overlapping himself, almost like a laugh track.)

Here's a question for you. Which door did he leave through?

[RUSSO]

That o-

(Russo falls silent in shock.)

[SKETCH]

Oof, incorrect. You should check your memory. (Mocking.) There's never been a door there, it's just a wall!

[RUSSO]

(Angry.) Why you little-

(Russo stands up, his chair screeching against the floor as he does so.)

Let him go!

[SKETCH]

(Laughs harder.) No!

[RUSSO]

(Static rises on the recording, as Russo tries to use his powers.) I said, let him g-

(Russo yelps as he’s pinned against the wall using a cane pointed at his throat.)

[SKETCH]

Wrong answer! Again.

You’re funny, Archivist. But you can’t hope to win against me.

(Sketch releases Russo, leaving him choking for air.)

But I have no reason to stick around and play with you further. I have better things to do. Such as playing with a certain Investigator.

See you next show!

(There’s a flurry of static, and Sketch is gone.)

(Russo takes a few seconds to get his breath back, before standing up and dragging himself back into his chair.)

[RUSSO]

…Who the hell is the Investigator?

(Click.)

~~~~~~~~~~

I really struggled to figure out what to write for this prompt, I'll be honest. Obviously the 'Wonderland' is Sketch's domain as a Spiral avatar in this context, but there's only one scene I have ideas for that takes place inside of that Wonderland, and it's extremely spoilery so I probably won't write it for a while, and I wanted to focus on canon audio-transcripts first. Eventually, I settled on doing this AU's version of that one scene from MAG47. Which led to me needing that exposition from Calixo at the start to fit the prompt. Yknow how it is.

Oh, and if you're wondering - Calixo got sent from England to America when he escaped the Distortion, so sucks for him I guess. The 'Investigator' is Kreek, it's still a working title, but it's the best title I've come up with for him so far. As my dear friend @/detective-piplup put it, he went from Hell 1 (Liverpool, a placeholder, but still a place in England) to Hell 2 (America). Put Hell 1.5 (Distortion) in the middle and this AU is basically just Calixo abuse.

#rb battles #roblox battles #rbbblr #roblox #rbb tma au #rbb tma au redux #rbb x tma #tma au #the magnus archives au #sketchyt #sketch roblox #sketch #calixo #calixo roblox #thank you sketch for just being called 'sketch'. how do i tag you #elijah best???#tma the spiral #russotalks #< for the drabble

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notknickers · 1 year ago

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it's here, barely in time. enjoy, or don't. i'm done. which is what matters.

synopsis: when colonel könig gets restless, he knows he can always count on his favourite recruit to put him in his place the way he needs to. warnings: unethical power imbalance, full-con otherwise, boot blacking, proud to messy submissive, slight degradation, manhandling, könig loves it when mummy steps on him, orgasm control, masturbation, praising, köning is a little worm who loves to squirm, smoking, light petting, aftercare, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably. word count: 2643

a/n: i was stoked to write a boot blacking scene, so i hope it came out right.

if you are under 18, tentakönig doesn't want you to clik below. you don't want to make tentakönig sad, do you?

that day started exactly as expected. early wake, frugal breakfast and another simulation of a real mission. tomorrow will be the same, until, one day soon, it will not be just another realistic exercise to drag you from bed, but a real, multi-day operation with unbelievably high stakes. so you and your squad completed your tasks, competing against the others, making use of all the skills cultivated in the almost ten years of service before being hand-picked for your new position in the private sector, just to see if your current employer is satisfied with it, or thinks you could all use a few pointers and much more training to meet their very high standards. you cleared the assigned objectives to the best of your abilities, each member of the team there to shore up each other’s weaknesses and emphasise each other’s strength, then exfiltrated and had an end-of-day debrief. a very boring one, by then. with all the adrenaline spiking and dropping, all you could think of was supper, then the cot. not a recap of the day. even less so a reprimand for accidentally tracking mud inside. that one ended with the sergeant with a stick up his arse threatening all kinds of debasing chores around base to instil in you some sense of decorum. luckily, colonel könig stepped in to take the task of teaching you a lesson personally.

the sergeant really wanted to be the one to discipline you, before the colonel swept you from him! too bad.

you felt grateful, suspecting könig had far different plans in mind, even though exhausted, dirty and starved, you were not sure you could perform them as well as he had come to expect.

you found comfort in the fact that he did not appear to be in a full-on crisis like last time, even though you could sense nervousness exude from his fidgety fingers and pace.

when the two of you turned the corner of a corridor and he lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing – to avoid leaving any more mud prints and no other reason, surely – all worry dissipated like fluffy clouds battered by ruthless winds.

so, this is how you find yourself in the colonel’s private office, sitting on his incredibly comfortable – and duly reinforced – leather chair he usually keeps behind his desk, with one muddy boot rested on the kneeling man’s bulky right thigh, a boot blacking kit set on the floor beside him.

he has just finished wiping the worst of it from your soles and is now undoing the laces, pinching them between thumb and index to force the dried dirt to crumble on the towel he has intelligently spread under both of you.

you observe the meticulous care with which könig folds the lace into a hank and puts it on the corresponding side, so he will know to what boot it belonged. he does the same with the other.

perched up in his – now yours – chair, you watch the colonel dip the bigger brush in water and saddle soap a few times, before he begins to lather the leather until the whole surface froths with white foam, the circular motions soothing your aching feet even through the thick material.

but it’s not just the pleasant, physical sensation that captures you: it is always fascinating watching the colonel labour with such practised skill.

it’s not that you are a stranger to caring for each item of your uniform to the mandated standards yourself: minding your equipment is just another one of your duties. however, the fact that a man several ranks higher than you is hard at work on his knees to clean muck from your boots never ceases to tickle that well-hidden spot in the secret hallways of your mind. that spot that feels increasingly less concealed, as time goes by and colonel könig keeps, knowingly or not, to appeal to it with such naked candour and good will.

you sink into the padding a little, closing your eyes as the clean, slightly pungent, scent of soap fills your nostrils and the gentle rustle of cotton against the leather grain reaches your hearing with regular cadence. könig is vigorously wiping the foam with a rag, mercifully sending warmth up your stiff legs, weary from all the walking, scuttling and crawling.

he takes his time with it and you don’t dare say a word, lest you distract him and ruin the moment. you can envision his serious expression even under the mask he has not removed: brow knitted. intent focussed. mind clear.

you wonder if the colonel is the type who, when fully committed to a task, lets the tip of his tongue inadvertently snake and wander from the confines of his lips, leaving it to peep out for the duration. the thought makes you snigger, a small but crystalline sound that has könig halt a moment in question.

you shake your head in dismissal, mirth warming your features: «please, colonel, continue.»

the harsher sound of dry bristles from a smaller brush going through seams and metal eyelets resumes as he obeys, until this stage, too, is completed to his – and, implicitly yours – satisfaction.

as much as you crave the sight of him, so much you wish you could burn it in your retinas, you don’t have it in you to open your eyes when he firmly lifts your right leg to rest it on the bulging muscle of his quadriceps, like he just did with your left, to restore that boot, too.

you let the colonel serve, his movements and their sounds giving you a very clear idea of what is happening all the same, as you sink even more in your seat.

the clinking of a metal jar makes you grimace faintly, but the known smell of shoe grease gets you back in the moment. he works the stuff with his bare fingers, massaging it into the leather up to the ankle, which he carefully turns to slather the whole boot.

you almost wish you could get away with keeping your endowments in worse condition, as all it will take for your boots to rediscover their as-new shine will be a single coat. two at most. you can’t help but sigh, trying not to let your disappointment sift through: so attentive and attuned is the colonel, he would surely detect it and risk thinking he is the source of your displeasure.

a notion that could not be furthest from the truth.

as the left boot soaks in the wax, the colonel’s hands operate as deftly on the other. this time you indulge in watching him knead more product in with knowing touch. the time to buffer the other one with another clean clothe comes too soon, but you enjoy the care anyway. when the right one has also been thoroughly wiped, he takes both of your feet back on his thighs to laces them back up. making sure the length on each string is even.

quiet but proud, he waits for your verdict.

you peer at the renewed leather with critical eye, toying a bit with the colonel with long pauses and pensive frowns, the soft light of the desk lamp suffusing the outline of your right boot enough to let you admire its state.

«an impeccable job as always, colonel», you state as you plant your left boot on his shoulder, «however…»

you sense his tension at your objection, that sudden tautening that goes through every fibre of könig’s ample figure like lightening. his eyes lift to yours, expectant.

«however, i think they could use a spit shine… what do you say, colonel?»

könig eases right away as his neck turns towards your ankle. there’s no need to specify you expect his tongue to serve as both applicator and buffer, this time, as the colonel is already lifting his hood, using the bridge of his nose to secure its hem.

his eyes fix on yours as his tongue traces your boot from heel to toe, through the side, and a deep, intense shiver seizes you from within as he continues, lips smacking as he delivers a flurry of wet and languorous kisses on the leather itself.

his large hand firmly braces your ankle, further bending your knee. he cups the rubber sole with the other, as his tongue contours the shoe’s silhouette. he glances at you in between long sweeps of his tongue, desire glinting as bright as fireflies in the dark.

you take it all in from above. the fluid movements; the way his ruined, red lips, glowing with spit, part and suck; how his soft, pink tongue flutters over the dark surface, careful not to miss a single spot.

as diligent with his mouth as he is skilled with, you have come to believe, all he does. a quality of his you thoroughly appreciate.

you find your teeth pinching your bottom lip as the sight of him filters through the heave of your chest, getting slightly faster as it accommodates your heart picking up pace. so devoted to his task, he barely notices when your stamp your other boot on his muscled chest and push, shoving him down to the floor.

you abruptly stand as könig drags backwards on his elbows, resettling after the unexpected fall.

«tell me, colonel, do my boots taste good on your tongue?», there’s a hint of a cruel smirk pulling your lips in a tense line.

könig, eyes a little desperate in arousal, nods slowly.

you draw closer, speaking more softly: «do you miss it, colonel, their taste?»

again, he nods as he still holds himself up from the floor on his elbows as you loom closer.

«how much?», you breathe out as he watches you advance with no more room to escape.

you press the boot on his cheek, pushing his face between floor tiles and rubber, forcing könig to lie on his back.

«well?», you taunt, «show me how much you miss it, colonel.»

in that position, he has to strain his tongue to manage to feel the lovely leather back on it, where it belongs. where he aches for it. the tip of it almost reaches you several times as he groans at every attempt, saliva dripping down his mouth to his chin, where it pools thickly, before drooling down to the floor, wetting his reddened cheeks at its passage.

«go on, colonel. if anyone can manage, that is you», you taunt and encourage at once, until, indeed, his tongue brushes the boot that holds him down.

«good, pup!», you coo, dragging the rubber of your boot lower on his chest, the tread of it engraved in könig’s face.

you don’t stop your descent, slow though you decide to keep it, until it approaches könig’s waists. his hips jolt up a little of their own accord before you’ve even found balance, letting you know in unmistakeable terms what he hopes from you.

«you want me to go lower, puppy?»

he nods more emphatically, panting a little in anticipation.

«oh, colonel… do you really want me to use my shiny, black, leather boot to make you come in your drawers, like a pathetic adolescent?»

you rub the toes of your boot downwards, feeling könig’s impressive length struggle painfully against the durable material of his uniform, barely any room to accommodate his hard-on, his hips lifting up against you.

he whines pitifully when you pull away, leaving him to thrust into empty air in utter frustration.

«oh, puppy… but what would all the respectable men and women who serve under you think, if they knew that their colonel likes to make a sticky mess in his clothes?», your voice oozes mockery and sympathy in almost equal measure, as you rile him up.

just like the defeated way in which he peers back at you in supplication both pulls at your heart strings and makes you slick between your thighs at the same time.

you sigh: «alright, then. cock out, colonel.»

he’s not quick enough to react to your tastes, so you intimate again, voice much harsher and peremptory, this time: «cock out, i said!»

he quickly fumbles with belt and buttons, until his heavy member, slicked and leaky at the tip and swollen from all the constriction ill-endured inside his trousers, springs out, lending with a smack on his lower abdomen, on his enticing trail of blond curls.

your boot is quick to kiss it, further squeezing its shaft against könig’s stomach as he groans, full of longing and gratitude. he mindlessly grinds against you as you watch him, barely having to do any work yourself.

«my floor-loving, little worm… squirming so desperately…», you swear you can feel the warmth of his skin as you taunt him.

he’s incapable of uttering anything of meaning. only grunting and grinding. the sight of it makes you feel like your heart is racing from between your legs. it seems, for now, the only one between you who will be making a slicky mess in their drawers is yourself.

you bring your fingers to your mouth and quickly moisten them, before disappearing them in your trousers, a gesture the colonel’s eyes suddenly gain focus for.

under the clothes, you part your lower lips and trap your clit between your fingers, rubbing and pulling at it idly, at first. you are so wet you could have forgone licking your fingers and your breathing turns to sighing sooner than you expected, vying with the obscene squelching of your sex for könig’s senses.

the way the colonel rubs against the tread of the boot that presses down on him, you’re not the only one mere moments away from bliss.

your breath hitches and you barely avoid embarrassingly choking on your own saliva when you try to speak: «are you close, puppy?»

könig frantically nods affirmatively, motion almost matching the rhythm of his hips. a quick glance at him, at the interest with which he stares at you, at his own movements, could have told you as much. the known, mindless litany of german words is right behind his lips, ready to tumble out of them.

it will have to wait

«good puppies wait their turn, don’t they?»

könig whines in supplication, but he will not get any pity from you.

«you might be the big dog out there, but in here, colonel…»

you fail to finish your sentence that your voice breaks, head falling back in a whole-body shiver, as heat waves scorch your core. your cunt clenches tight on nothing. you swallow, panting and can’t help the snigger that emanates from your throat as your body still shakes.

pure euphoria.

könig is not far behind you, especially after that. a few more strokes from your boot and he spills on his own stomach, pumping his hips a little longer, before sagging to the floor.

exhaustion finally catches up with you. you join könig on the floor, after sweeping for papers and tobacco on his desk. he asks you to kindly roll a cigarette for the both of you, before indulging his hunger for your slicked fingers, now that you’re so close to him.

he’s such a nasty man. you oblige him in both favours, of course.

the two of you find yourselves passing cigarettes back and forth, occasionally blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, quietly lying on the floor.

you take a drag, cinders burning bright in the dim chamber, as he undoes the top of your fatigues, clearly tired of lying on your chest without feeling your skin on his, obviously finding there something more interesting to suck in his mouth than nicotine.

he gently cups and kisses, caresses and suckles tenderly on skin and breasts and collarbone, still half undressed and stained in his own juices. neither of you particularly disturbed by it, either way.

thank you for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging.

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