#red/reader/boss

[yuckydraws]

I saw you're taking writing requests so here I am to request one!

I'm very curious about your Underfell brothers, Red and Boss. Can I request something with them related to MC having to deal with a migraine? It can be general headcanons or a drabble or whatever you feel like writing. Also, I'd prefer if MC was in a relationship with them (either of them or both if you feel up for it?) but you can also make it platonic.

I'm writing this in the context of all of you being in a poly relationship, where you've moved into your own place - hence the use of Sans and Papyrus instead of Red and Boss.

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

With the lights off, blackout curtains drawn, and the covers over your head, you're in complete darkness. And yet, that's not enough to stop the painful pounding in your head. Your eyes ache and nausea sparks whenever you adjust your head too much.

At least your 'mates aren't home just yet.

You love them, of course, but they can be very...

SLAM

... loud.

"SANS, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SOMETIMES." Although he's downstairs, Papyrus' voice carries up and through your bedroom door. It's slightly muffled, yet still clear as day, and very annoying in this moment.

You can't make out what Sans says in response, you just hear a slight murmur of his baritone voice. Still too loud for your liking. It doesn't help anything, but your hands grip your pillow and you let out a frustrated, pained groan.

"OH, VERY MATURE."

"i could spell it out for ya instead, shitass." Oh he's much closer now. Right outside your door. Tears prick your eyes. "fuck. you."

"I CAN'T DEAL WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. THEY'LL BE HOME FROM WORK SOON AND I REFUSE TO GREET THEM WITH US FIGHTING."

Too fucking late.

Sans growls something under his breath as he enters the room, turning on the lights and slamming the door. You flinch at the sound and the light bleeding through the covers, groaning again.

"oh shit." The lights turn back off and you hear him step towards the bed. "didn't realize ye were home, doll. did i wake ya?"

"No." You practically growl, the pain and overstimulation manifesting itself into anger. He pauses in his tracks.

"ya okay? why ya home so early?"

"Migraine." You manage to grumble, hoping he'll take the hint and leave you be for a bit. You don't have the energy to say much right now. Plus the stench of motor oil wafting off of him is making your stomach churn and your head protest painfully.

"ah, fuck. okay." His voice is lowered to a whisper now. "can ya manage yes or no wit' a thumbs up and down righ' now?"

Instead of answering him, you let go of the pillow your face is buried in and stick out a thumbs up.

"have ya taken anything?" Thumbs up.

"drank any water?" Thumbs down, ignoring the grumble that comes out of him with that answer. The banging of pots downstairs as Papyrus cooks dinner is a little harder to ignore.

"... want me ta get boss ta fucking be quiet for once?" Your thumb pops back up as fast as you can manage, getting a chuckle out of him.

"wanna be alone?" Another thumbs up. "ya got it, doll."

You feel that telltale fizzling in the air that signals to his "shortcuts", and relax, feeling slightly guilty for your attitude but you'll make it up to him later. Soon enough, the banging from downstairs quiets. You can still hear a bit, but it's considerably quieter and you're filled with appreciation for Sans. If you had tried to go down there and communicate this yourself, you'd have likely snapped at them.

That fizzling in the air returns.

"gotcha some water, sweetheart." You hear a quiet tink as the glass is set down on your nightstand. Then, true to his word, he actually leaves you alone. Within thirty minutes, you manage to sit up and slowly drink the water he left you, and in thirty more minutes, you're asleep.

You wake from your impromptu nap sweaty and confused, pawing around the blankets for your phone to check the time, blinking owlishly when you see that its 11:21pm. It takes you longer than it should to remember what's going on and when you even fell asleep, but when you do, you take a moment to do a self-assessment. Your head still aches, but it's majorly toned down. You can actually stomach looking at your phone and when you experimentally sit up, there's no woozy feeling. The ache is still settled behind your eyes, tolerable, yet also warning you not to overdo it, lest it come back full-force later.

After a good "stare at the wall and contemplate life" session, a grumble in your tummy causes you to slip out of bed and to your feet. You're still in your work uniform and can't be bothered to change before venturing out of your room.

The upstairs lights are turned off, but the dim lighting flooding up from downstairs leads you to your 'mates. Entering the living room, you find Sans passed out on the couch, arm thrown over his sockets, one leg on the couch, one hanging off. At some point he must have snuck back into your room to grab some comfy clothes, because he's out of his dirty work uniform and instead wearing basketball shorts and a tee shirt that's riding up slightly, exposing the top of his pelvis. He snores loudly, mouth open, and gold tooth glinting in the light. You know skeletons don't really get cold, but that doesn't stop you from rifling through the nearby basket that Papyrus neatly keeps blankets in for Sans' favorite throw. Gently, you lay it over Sans, bending over to give him a little kiss on the forehead. He doesn't get good sleep a lot, so when he's out like this, he's relatively impossible to wake up.

So, you know when you hear Papyrus quietly call your name from the entryway to the kitchen, that he's being quiet in courtesy of you - not Sans.

You turn to him, finding him leaning against the awning. You look him up and down to find that he's also changed into his pajamas - black, low-ride joggers and a pink "Bad to the Bone" crop top. Seeing it always gets a smile out of you. Meeting his sharp gaze, you find him watching you carefully.

"Hi Papy, what are you still doing up?"

"I Wanted To Check On You." He whispers, stepping closer to cup your cheek. "How Are You Feeling?"

"Still hurts, but it's a lot better now. Thank you for being quiet." You turn your head to press an appreciative kiss to his bony palm. His cheekbones turn red at the affection, and he averts his gaze for a moment to compose himself.

"Anything For You." He murmurs, once that blush is gone, bending to place a skele-kiss to your forehead. "Are You Hungry? I Saved You A Plate Of Dinner."

Your rumbling stomach answers for you, pulling some soft "Nyah hah's" from Papyrus. His hand moves from your face as he pivots back into the kitchen. "Come, I'll Heat It Up For You." You smile, and happily follow. Despite your annoyance earlier, you're glad these goobers are here.

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny Chapters

Batfamily and Reader, Bruce Wayne x Reader

Ao3

Summary: One day, after getting fired from your job by your ex, you somehow ended up in Wayne Manor as the family's new nanny. Working with six kids is tough enough, but the handsome, rich, and emotionally confused father, billionaire Bruce Wayne, who is just too charming makes it a bit more difficult as your feelings for him confuse you. Nonetheless, you love the job and the kids, but soon enough you realize that maybe you're falling in love with the boss, too.

The Pilot Pt. 1 The Pilot Pt. 2 9 to 5 (Metaphorically) The Talk Plus One Take Your Nanny to Work Day The Night Time Routine Nanny In the Attic Lonely Hearts Club Book Shop Nanny Runaways My Type of Nanny A Nanny's Ballet Ex in the House Master & Servant Front Page Scandal Three's a Crowd Spilled Tea Iceberg Lounge

[notsodelirious]

Can you do Jason Todd and reader who is losing their hearing? You can do some nsfw too. 🙃

walk of shame to present you with a fic a month late — hi!

synopsis: You forget to disclose a minor disability and the mission goes a little awry

notes: SFW if a little suggestive sometimes

tags: crime boss Jason, goon!reader, hearing loss, gun fights, heists (gone wrong), pre-relationship, abt 1.2k words, GN!reader

this is actually the second version of my response to this ask because I didn’t like how soft Jason was in the first but I will be posting the other one too

also shout out to my friend who put up with all my questions about being HoH

here’s my masterlist!

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

“What the fuck was that?”

You glared silently, sprawled on your chair, eyes moving back and forth as they tracked your boss pacing in front of you.

The room was cold, damp, and the vague smell of mould permeated the air, thick and sour. Dubbed the ‘oops box’—unfairly jovial name for such a depressing room.

“Somebody could have been killed.”

A failed bust.

Red Hood had laid out a detailed plan, had painstakingly explained how three of you would infiltrate the warehouse and cause just enough of a commotion for more to attack from the front and a third group to take Sionis’ guns and book it. The getaway driver had an escape route, the runners had targeted crates, the entire plan was foolproof.

But maybe you were a bigger fool than Hood had anticipated.

You had been one of the infiltrators—small and nimble, you were by far the best shot in Red Hood’s entire gang and he knew that. Had the plan called for it, he would have just left you on a rooftop somewhere to snipe down enemies.

But down in Gotham Harbour, there was no cover, so you were thrown into the fray.

He’d been so confident you could handle it.

And at first you had, so perfectly, slipping in so casually and unnoticed that nobody blinked twice at the new body stood amongst them, so clearly one of them that they didn’t question it until one of the guards was bleeding on the floor, a bullet lodged in his skull.

All hell broke loose after that.

You took out three more men before Red Hood dropped from the ceiling and the true massacre started, gunshots resonating throughout the entire harbour, shaking your bones, making your jaws clatter.

It was so loud.

Loud and painful.

That’s the reason you gave yourself for not hearing Hood’s barked command before he disappeared.

You didn’t have time to stop and wonder what he said—you were being shot at, somebody was yelling in the comm in your ear, your entire skeleton felt like it was about to buzz out of your skin.

You had to survive first.

You stumbled behind a stack of crates, avoiding the gunfire, when you saw another one of Hood’s men, Dan, dash for the exit.

That couldn’t have been right—there were still another 3 minutes left to load the truck. You didn’t mean to make eye contact with Dan, but your confusion was no doubt plastered all over your face.

His head snapped back to the exit before his shoulders dropped, and he ran back towards you.

He crumpled to the ground before he could reach you, when a bullet struck him in the shoulder.

You didn’t hesitate to rush to him, dragging him away from the fray, mentally apologising when he whined pathetically, like a dog, as you jostled him.

Red Hood appeared beside you, picking Dan up by the scruff of his jacket, leaving you to stumble as you overcompensated, and he hauled your injured teammate to the back of the truck.

Under a rain of bullets, you clambered into the truck’s container, the engine roared to life as soon as Hood slapped the wall.

The dread began to grow as the gunshots grew fainter. Silence heavy and suffocating—you ignored the harsh whispers and worried glances as some of the men tried to tend to Dan.

All you could focus on instead was the sharp ringing in your ears and your boss’ glare.

“Dan nearly lost his fucking arm because you can’t listen!” he slammed his gloved hands into the table before you, making it shriek and rattle.

“What the actual fuck were you thinking! No, because you actually weren’t thinking, were you! You stupid ass idiot when I tell you to do something, you do it!”

He shoved the table—you caught it before it could slam into your ribs.

“You’re an insubordinate, fucking *moron-*!”

“I didn’t fucking hear you!”

Red Hood paused in his step. He turned to you slowly, empty eyes staring far past your soul.

“… say to me?”

“I didn’t fucking hear you,” you mumbled as you glared at him before rubbing your eyes—you hadn’t even been sure there was anything to hear.

Until Dan had gotten a bullet to the shoulder, and you came to the conclusion of escape yourself. So-

Red Hood circled back to you, resting his hands against the tabletop, gently.

He stared at you.

You frowned as you glanced around—what was he waiting for?

You nearly leapt out of your skin when you heard the *click* and hiss of the helmet being undone, and dropped unceremoniously on the table. And oh… the boss was awfully pretty.

You shook your head, distracted by sharp cheekbones and a strong nose and pretty sea green eyes.

“I said,” your eyes snapped down to his lips, following their movement as he spoke slowly, “Repeat that.”

“I didn’t hear your order… sir,” you admitted softly, tacking on the formality at the end—which felt almost wrong if not for habit. The boss looked young—younger than you, even if by just a couple of years.

“Why?”

You shrugged. You just didn’t.

You crossed your arms as you stared up.

“It was loud.”

“Dan… me.” Your eyebrows scrunched.

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“You keep fucking mumbling!”

“How the fuck did we go this long and nobody noticed!”

“Because you’re always fucking yelling, boss!”

Hood took a step back as you slumped back into your chair, huffing softly, looking away pointedly.

You startled when gloved fingers grabbed your jaw, jerking your head back so you were looking at Hood.

“Don’t ignore me,” he growled, grip tight on your face. You glared but eventually nodded as best you could—not that you had much of a choice, your face being held by a man who could easily snap your neck.

“When did this start?”

You shrugged.

“Do you know any sign language?”

You shook your head.

He sighed and dropped your face, pinching his nose bridge, leaving you to work out the kinks in your jaw—honestly rude of him to leave you so turned on in the middle of an interrogation.

“Here’s what’s happening,” he said after making sure your eyes were on him, “I’m teaching you sign, I’m teaching you to lip read properly—catch you slacking in either of those things, you’re out.”

“Yes, boss.”

“I’m talking to Leslie about hearing aids and proper ear protection—you’re *all* getting a lecture on this.”

You rolled eyes—and this was your fault; as if it was your fault your father hadn’t told you about ear protection when he taught you to shoot at the tender age of 10.

Hood caught your face again, grip viper-like as he yanked you forward.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, boss,” you mumbled. He pushed your face away, making your chair screech against the concrete.

“I’ll make sure the other boys know to raise their voices and look at you when speaking,” he said as he reached down to pick up his helmet but didn’t put it on quite yet.

“And you’re picking up Dan’s chores for the weak.”

“Yes, boss.”

He looked you up and down before he unclasped his helmet.

“And you never saw my face.”

You smirked as you rocked back on your chair.

“Yes, boss.”

“Dismissed.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

other version tomorrow probably idk I don’t exactly have a regular upload schedule

requests are still closed because I have no self control, but here’s my masterlist!

[oh-gh0st]

so. Cowboy au

[love-priscilla]

one of a few favorite pieces chatgpt wrote for me from my prompts that i wanna share. short oneshot i guess?

Everything He Doesn’t Say

pairing: AU mob boss!Dutch Van der Linde x sugar baby!f reader

tags: modern universe, implied smut, fluff?, age gap (Dutch is in his mid 40s, reader is in her early 20s), implied size difference, established sugar daddy/sugar baby arrangement, love marks, he falls hard but doesn't say it, dangerous man with a soft spot for his girl.

word count: 539

Dutch Van der Linde does not talk about his feelings.

He never has. Not when he was young and reckless, not when he grew into the kind of man people feared and followed. He’s been burying emotions his whole damn life, locking them away like secrets no one should ever get their hands on.

And then there’s you.

You, who make him feel everything too damn much.

It’s in the way you come to him without hesitation, slipping into his space like you belong there. In the way you tilt your head up at him, bright-eyed and expectant, like there ain’t a damn thing in this world that could make you doubt him.

And he knows you can feel it.

He doesn’t have to say a word. You know how deep you’ve got him, how thoroughly you’ve ruined him.

And fuck, he lets you.

⸻

He watches you from across the room, pretending to read while you lounge on the bed, mindlessly tracing little patterns onto the sheets. Your hair’s a mess from where he buried his hands in it earlier, your skin still marked with the evidence of his love—though he’d never call it that out loud.

He should be doing something. Looking over reports, making calls, planning the next move. But all he can focus on is the slow, steady rise and fall of your breath. The way his shirt—his—drapes over your body, swallowing you up. The way your bare legs shift against the sheets, your knee brushing the spot where his hand had been not too long ago.

And just like that, his restraint unravels.

The book closes with a quiet thud, abandoned. In two strides, he’s at the bed, looming over you before you can even register the shift.

You look up at him, blinking slow and lazy. “Done pretending to read?”

He huffs, smirks, but doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he grips your ankle, fingers wrapping easily around the delicate bone, and pulls you toward him.

A soft yelp leaves your lips as you slide down the mattress, stopping just before your hips meet the edge. You don’t protest, don’t resist—just look up at him with that knowing little smile, like you already know what he wants.

Like you always know.

His fingers trace absent circles over your calf, his grip possessive, grounding. “Y’look real sweet like this, darlin’.”

You hum, stretching like a lazy little thing, and God help him, he wants to keep you like this forever—sated and soft, tucked away in the only place safe from the world.

But that ain’t how things work.

So instead, he leans down, pressing his weight over you, trapping you beneath him. You gasp when his lips find your throat, dragging slow and deliberate along the sensitive skin.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters against you.

You sigh, arching just enough to press your body into his. “You like trouble.”

You have no idea.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t say any of it. But he kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like he needs to memorize every little sound, every little shiver, every way you break for him.

You can feel it. He knows you can.

And that’s enough.

It has to be.

[vomitspit2]

one thing about the MC and Jade in Got You is both of them are fucking liars. not manipulatively … well sort of.

you see, both of them are wholly ignorant about the worlds the others live in. they are so, so many countless differences in their lifestyles. through technological differences, cultural differences as human and merfolk, history of their world (is george washington a political figure similar to simba, the two have often debated), how they were raised, just about everything!

and at certain times, they lie to each other a lot as friends.

exhibit A. after jamil’s overblot, MC mentioned offhandedly to Kalim how she was sad she wouldn’t get to celebrate Festivus (which is from Seinfeld) during the winter holiday. Kalim, being a close friend, said they should celebrate it together! what do you do on Festivus!

‘oh Festivus is the airing of grievances!’

cue MC airing out grievances and insulting everyone that caused her trouble while stuck in Scarabia. she uses the stage’s microphone for it and drills into everyone.

exhibit B. after learning Floyd and Jade are merfolk, seeing their forms in Scarbia for the first time, Jade notices just how very little MC is aware of anything to do with merfolk. he then lies to her that merfolk need to be within proximity of water at all times; if they breach a certain distance from water, their lungs start to collapse.

he plays it up. keeping near water foundations, citing how octavinelle is an underwater dorm, doing whatever to make it just slightly convincing.

cue Jade just walking with MC as she rolls her janitorial cart back to the staff room before preforming the most convincing asthma attack known to man.

their harmless pranks could use some reconsidering — jade’s fucking especially —but it’s a dynamic i treasure.

[fintacowgirl]

need him to give me a cigarette with his number on it

[ophanum]

" The thing with an order is, it needs to benefit everyone to hold power. It's pulled in all directions at once, balanced on an fundamentally impossible idea.

⚘( ၴႅၴ MASTERLIST IN HEAVY CONSTRUCTION !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ALICE IN BORDERLAND !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ARCANE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ASSASSINATION CLASSROOM !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ATTACK ON TITAN !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BEASTARS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BEYBLADE BURST !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BLACK BUTLER !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BLUE LOCK !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BUNGOU STRAY DOGS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ CASTLEVANIA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DEATH NOTE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DEMON SLAYER !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DISNEY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DORORO !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DURARARA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ GOTHAM TV !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HAIKYUU !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HANNIBAL !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HAZBIN HOTEL !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HELLUVA BOSS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ IT !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ JUJUTSU KAISEN !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ KUNG FU PANDA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ LOOKISM !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ METAL FAMILY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ MORIARTY THE PATRIOT !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ MY HERO ACADEMIA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NARUTO !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ RECORD OF RAGNAROK !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ RED DEAD REDEMPTION !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SAIKI K !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SK8 THE INFINITY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SPY X FAMILY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ TOKYO GHOUL !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ TOKYO REVENGERS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ THE BOOK OF LIFE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ YOUR BOYFRIEND GAME !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ YURI ON ICE !

Currently active on : BEYBLADE BURST

[creeky-cricket]

Shameless self ship post

silly skeletons live in my mind rent free :3 (oh full of skeletons is my closet mind, dear wife)

close ups! (if you enjoy my art, consider commissioning me!)

[holorform2009]

𝙿𝚘𝚟: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗

Right now, the three of you are in the subway train. Waiting and excited to meet the Subway Bosses

You can choose which of the triplets is YOU

[mrsjellymunson]

Hey, Boss

A prequel to Hello, Stranger

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jim Hopper, Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington, Mr Kaplan, Dembe Zuma

Pairing: None until the next part (where it becomes Eddie Munson x gn!reader)

AU: Stranger Things AU with elements of The Blacklist

Summary: Eddie falls into a new line of work…

WC: ~3.9k

CW: 18+ MDNI. This miniseries is SFW, depending on your tolerance for dark/violent themes, but most of my blog is 18+ so minors please be aware of this and DNI. Dark humour, black comedy. Allusions to drug use, alcohol consumption, violence, crime and murder. Weapons, bodies and death are discussed. No smut, no reader in this part. This is a Stranger Things AU, the upside down is very briefly alluded to but Eddie doesn’t know about it. No time period mentioned, so if events or technology don’t track that’s why that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The characters don’t know each other like they do in ST.

A/N: This is the prequel to ‘Hello, Stranger’. The two parts can be read in either order. As in the original part, there are some Easter eggs in here, this time from The Blacklist (obvs), Stargate, and a deliciously niche one from John Wick. Let me know if you spot any!

A/N additional: I would never have believed that I’d be revisiting this story a year after publishing it to add a fun little prologue, but here we are! 😃 The original part was written for a Halloween prompt event last year and was the first lengthy thing I’d shared; I was SO ridiculously nervous about posting it, you have no idea 🫣 Reading it again now, would I change things in the original? Yes. But mainly things like punctuation and formatting, because I think over the last year my writing has become clearer, so I’m kinda pleased that I’d leave the story exactly how it is. For anyone discovering this for the first time, I hope you enjoy!! Please let me know with a comment/reblog/feral spewings in my inbox, I’d love it, srsly 😉🖤

I have an Easter egg reveal post planned for this miniseries, if you’d like to hear about it just ask to be added to my general taglist where you can get notified about all my writing posts ☺️🖤

My masterlist

It’s a chilly October night, close to Halloween, and Eddie’s blasted out of his mind. Gareth got hold of some super strong skunk from a cousin who was visiting from out of state, and that combined with a few cool beers has left him even more buzzed than usual.

Forgoing his van on the insistence of his friends, and wanting to get home to the relative warmth of the trailer sooner rather than later, he’s decided to take a shortcut across Merrill Wright’s fields.

High as all hell, he's staggering as he navigates the pumpkins, managing to avoid most of the obvious orange orbs but forgetting that their tendrils need looking out for too.

He’s already tripped a couple of times, and curses out the vines for both being invisible at night and clearly conspiring with each other to sabotage his journey home. He swears that at least twice he’s seen them move...

Pushing through a thin layer of trees separating one field from the next, he stumbles forwards as an impeding branch snaps and gives way. Moving too quickly to stop himself, he totters forwards, hoping to regain his balance once he’s free of the spindly foliage.

But surprisingly, his feet fail to connect with anything at all, the ground disappears, and Eddie falls face first into… nothing.

Though it doesn’t remain nothing for long, swiftly becoming the harsh smack of hard, and very cold, dirt against his knees, torso and face.

Shocked, confused and more than a little winded, Eddie grunts and rolls onto his side, groaning. 

“Oooooohhhhhh fuuuuuuuckk…. What the hell—?”

He spits out a few clods of mud, and possibly part of a worm (sorry, dude), and tries to work out what just happened.

His hair has fallen over his face, and he pushes the waves, now bedecked with a sprinkling of leaves and soil, out of his eyes and looks upwards. 

Instead of the expected expanse of the clear night sky, perhaps even a few constellations if he cared to look carefully, his vision seems to have tunnelled, a significant proportion of it now a deep black. 

Sitting upright, he briefly wonders whether he’s concussed, or worse, but then the sound of someone speaking garners his undivided attention.

A light, high voice cuts through the night. 

“Hey, do you hear something?”

Eddie freezes, eyes wide. He’s not sure whether he’s comforted or more freaked out to discover he’s not the only one in this field at this time of night. This dark, isolated, middle-of-nowhere, nobody-within-screaming-distance field.

Another voice, deeper than the first, replies, 

“Like what?”

“I dunno, a grunt maybe?”

“A grunt? Uhh, no.”

“Why am I asking you anyway? Your ears are shot after one too many sportsball encounters…”

“Hey, shut up.”

Eddie hears some shuffling and a chortle, like two people jostling each other, before the deeper voice speaks again, but it’s in no way comforting.

“Uh, this guy’s definitely dead, right?”

There’s a noise that sounds like thick plastic being prodded with something.

“Yeah, yeah, this guy definitely. But I’m sure I heard something from over there.”

“Are you trying to spook me? You know how much I hate Halloween.”

Eddie hears an overly dramatic brrr and the rustling of clothing, and he imagines the guy shivering, like he’s shaking off a covering of non-existent snow.

Eddie, terrified but with a new sense of urgency, and eyes adjusting to the new level of darkness, glances more fully around his environment, figuring out that he’s definitely below ground level and in some kind of a hole. He spreads his arms wide, moving them around, and notices he can feel the edges on two sides, but not all four, meaning it’s a long hole. Long enough for him to lay down in. A hole, long enough to fit a human being in, but not much else. Okay, so… 

Wait, this is a fucking grave! Fuck, he’s in a goddamn motherfucking grave!!

Eddie stands, wobbling a little, and notices his eyeline is still below ground level. He reaches up, grabbing at the soil at the edge of the hole, but it’s dry and loose and crumbles in his hands. He tries to jump, grabbing at anything he can find on the ground, but to no avail. It’s tilled earth and there are no branches or roots, not even grass, that he can grab to pull himself out. He mentally takes back everything he said about pumpkin vines…

Suddenly he hears a dull thud, the sound of dragging, muttering, and two people grunting. 

Shit, they’re getting closer. And now there’s a large package wrapped in blue plastic at the edge of the hole, and they’ve just dropped two shovels, and—

Feigning nonchalance, Eddie leans a muddy shoulder against the raw earth, one hand on his hip and the other swiping through his hair as two faces, backlit by moonlight, hove into view. His voice cracks with,

“Hee-eeey guys, how’s it goin’?”

What the hell?? He’s literally standing in an open grave, that these two have probably just dug, and that’s the best he can come up with?

The figures regard Eddie, then turn to each other, then look back at Eddie. They both frown and in unison cock their heads sideways in the same direction, and Eddie, stoned and in shock as he is, has to suppress a giggle. 

Fuck, that weed really was strong… Damn you, Gareth’s cousin!

One of the figures, the slighter of the two, gestures into the hole with a muddy, gloved hand, asking, 

“Is he one of yours?”

The other guy looks both startled and mildly offended.

“What? No! Of course not!”

“Well, there was that one time where you, y’know, missed the mark, and we had to spend an hour chasing the guy before we put him down.”

The taller of the two flaps his arms exasperatedly, trying to point an index finger in the air but failing, the heavy duty gloves he’s wearing making him look more like he’s holding up a fist.

“One time! The one time I miss a goddamn artery and you’ve never let me live it down. Jeez man, gimme a goddamn break!”

“Okay, okay, I’m just sayin’”

“Well don’t! I don’t appreciate it when you criticise my abilities and undermine my self esteem.”

The slimmer figure speaks again, resting the knuckles of one gloved hand against their waist.

“Did your therapist tell you to say that?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. She’s helping me process my intergenerational trauma and internalised lack of self-worth.” 

The tall figure says the words like he’s reciting from a book, but he says them with conviction. Eddie briefly wonders whether he should ask the guy for the title. He finishes with, 

“Anyway, I don’t know who the fuck this asshole is.”

Hands now on his hips, he turns his attention back to Eddie, who, whilst they’d been talking, had been surreptitiously clawing at the back edge of the hole, trying desperately to lever himself out.

The figure with the higher voice turns to their compatriot, and with a somewhat sardonic tone to their voice remarks,

“Well, I suppose we’d better try and find out who this asshole is, and where he came from, huh?”

They lean forwards into the hole and brace themselves with their hands against their knees.

The skinnier figure begins the interrogation with,

“Did Andrea send you? Was it Annie?”

The taller guy continues,

“Wait, was it Red? Cuz if it was Red you can tell him it’s not fuckin’ funny…”

Eddie stammers,

“N-n-o, man, no. I don’t know who any of those people are. I’m, uh, I’m nobody, literally! I was just stoned, and walkin’ home and I, uh, just kinda, fell into this… whatever this delightful arrangement is.”

He gestures around him, attempting to convey that he neither knows, nor cares, exactly what this is.

Tall guy regards him down his nose.

“So, if nobody sent you, then nobody knows you’re here. But now you know we’re here. And I’m guessing that you’re guessing what we’re about to do here. So, I’m guessing the best thing all the way around is if you, y’know, stay here…”

Eddie, in his inebriated state, didn’t completely follow what this guy just said, but when the guy reaches behind him into his belt, and Eddie hears the unmistakable metallic clink of a gun being retrieved, he gets the message pretty damn quickly. 

The shovels, the ‘package’, the gun… oh god!

“Nonononono! Waitwaitwait!!”

He extends his arms and frantically waves his filthy hands in front of him in supplication. 

Think, Eddie, think!! What would you encourage the sheep to do in such an impossible campaign situation? Thiiiiiiink!

The guy levels the gun at Eddie’s head. He still can’t see their faces clearly, but he can most certainly make out the end of the barrel as it glints in the moonlight.

Eddie scrunches his eyes up tight, grimacing, every muscle in his body tensing in expectation of the horror to come.

Abruptly, his mind fills with the most bizarre and inspired creative idea that he thinks he’s ever had.

Fuck, that weed really was strong… Thank you, Gareth’s cousin!

“What if I told you I could help make your job easier? Maybe more enjoyable? Or, at the very least, more interesting?”

He sees the barrel of the gun lower ever so slightly. 

Oh good, now it’s not aimed at his head. Just at his chest. Progress?

He presses on.

“Your bosses want you to make people disappear, right? Boring, efficient, sure. But not that interesting. Probably doesn’t pay all that well either, huh?”

The two figures look at each other again, frowning, and Eddie’s pretty sure they're deciding whether they should let the guy in the hole keep talking, or just shut him up for good, drop the other package in and cover them both over.

“How about we give ‘em a little something extra first? Like a show? A demonstration. An exhibition, if you will.”

Eddie’s got into his stride now, and is walking up and down the length of the six foot hole waving his arms in wide arcs, as if he’s delivering one of his lunchtime diatribes on a canteen table.

“Say there’s some guy who’s been messin’ with your patch. Goods are goin’ missing, or his funds are coming up short. Sure, you could just pop a cap in him and stick him in the ground,” 

He glances nervously at the tarp-wrapped bundle, 

“But wouldn’t it be more satisfying to really teach him a lesson. Bury him at the four corners of the state? Spray him all over this field? Dissolve him ‘til there’s nothing left? Now that really sends a message, don’tcha think? Plus, it’d sure be entertaining for your bosses to watch. Must get pretty boring for them. Y’know, pop a guy, wrap a guy, pop a guy, wrap a guy…”

He regards the two heavies carefully, trying to judge whether he’s made any impression on them whatsoever. They’re looking at each other and then back at Eddie.

Eventually the bigger figure speaks.

“Whaddaya think, Rob? Shall we take him back to talk to—“

“Fuckssake Steve, don’t tell him my name! Ah, fuck, Jeez…”

Sighing, the figure turns back towards Eddie.

“Yeah, okay, if this is as revelatory as you say it is, then fine. But it better be. Don’t make us come back out here for a second time tonight.”

Eddie takes this threat very, very seriously. 

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, I swear.”

The figure pauses for a moment, contemplative, before puffing out a long breath from between their lips.

“Well, for a start you can help us finish up with this guy. Steve, get him out of that hole and pass him my shovel...”

Eddie’s only thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not right now…

———

An hour later, freezing, muddy, exhausted, still terrified and, incongruously, still a little stoned, Eddie walks between Rob and Steve back to their vehicle, an SUV that he notices has “Buckley & Harrington, Landscaping Services & Specialised Waste Disposal” emblazoned on the side. 

‘Specialised waste disposal’ indeed… 

They bundle Eddie into the back, Rob grousing the whole way, and make him lie under yet another blue tarp so he can’t see where they’re going. He doesn’t much like being on this side of the plastic, and dearly hopes it’s the only time he has to experience it.

After some time, and a number of bruises acquired from sliding around the truck bed, the truck stops and the two figures start to bundle Eddie out of the back.

Still partially under the tarp, Eddie sees the lower half of a large, heavy set man in military fatigues and combat boots join them outside. Still shaken from the evening’s events and disoriented from the uncomfortable journey, Eddie can’t quite make out their entire conversation. He does hear what the hell and let me explain, plus a lot of grumbling in what could be a West African accent.

Finally freed from the tarp, Eddie is grabbed by the shoulders from behind by a pair of very strong hands, dragged off the truck bed and shoved, stumbling, forwards.

The three figures walk him into an old warehouse, the huge shutters open to the night and the entire place brightly lit and remarkably active given the hour. It’s crammed with pallets, shelves, crates, people and machinery. There are forklifts lifting things in and out of trucks and people carrying paperwork and speaking on phones. Many seem to have ominous-looking bulges in their waistbands and jackets that Eddie really doesn’t want to become any more closely acquainted with.

A large man is barking orders and holding a mug that says coffee and contemplation on the side, but judging by the subtle wince that happens each time he takes a swig, Eddie suspects it contains something stronger than his favourite Java. His voice is gruff, and to his great surprise, Eddie recognises it. 

“Uh, Hopper, is that you?”

The man turns, frowning at first, but as he clocks Eddie his free hand flaps dejectedly at his side and his eyes roll up into his skull. 

“Oh Jeez. What the hell is he doing here? What have you two idiots done now?”

Eddie's new acquaintances look sheepishly at each other. The one named Rob ventures,

“Uh, he has a proposal for Red, something about a novel business idea?”

“Goddamnit, I know this guy! And now, thanks to you two bozos, he knows me too!”

Steve interjects this time,

“Just give him five minutes with Mr Kaplan, boss! Honestly, I think Red’s gonna love this.”

Hopper doesn’t look convinced, but he grabs a guy with a clipboard as he scurries past and asks him to find whoever Mr Kaplan is. Eddie doesn’t like the sound of this. The dude sounds pretty scary.

After no more than a minute, a small, tweed-clad lady appears. She’s older than everyone here, and her face is pinched, but somehow also looks kind. Eddie imagines she’d look far more at home in a library than… whateverthisis. He wonders if she’s Mr Kaplan’s secretary, or something.

“Come on then you two, spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

The two stammer and splutter their way through an explanation, trying to justify why they not only spared this guy, but also brought him back to their base of operations. Eddie finally comprehends that this is Mr Kaplan. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved, or even more terrified.

At various points Mr Kaplan sucks in her cheeks, tilts her head and folds her arms, reminding Eddie of every disapproving teacher he ever had, and more than once he considers how far he might get if he hightailed it through those large doors and made off into the night. But then he remembers how he got here, who he’s with, the amount of hardware everyone appears to be carrying, how often he skipped PT at school, how much he’s smoked this evening (not to mention over the last however many years), and, not least, the fact that he has less than no clue about where he actually is. 

Finally, the two cronies stop talking, and Mr Kaplan’s focus turns entirely to Eddie. Despite being significantly taller than she is, he feels about two feet high under her gaze, and that this moment could be about to define his future, his fate.

“Well, dearie, it’s certainly a unique proposition. And one I’m intrigued to see if you can pull off. But ultimately, it’s not my decision. All I can do is get you a meeting with Red, and then you’re on your own.”

Steve seems thrilled by this outcome, his eyes wide and a grin on his lips. He shifts in place excitedly and jovially taps his elbow against Eddie’s upper arm. Eddie side-eyes him, guessing the guy is pleased that he isn’t going to suffer any repercussions for going ‘off script’ by bringing Eddie here like this, but he does wonder what on earth makes him think they’re ever going to be friends.

Mr Kaplan nods to Hopper, who takes this as his cue and disappears out of sight. Mr Kaplan doesn’t see it, but Eddie notices his weary-looking eye roll.

Eddie finally gets a good look at the guy who ‘helped’ him off the truck and brought him inside. He’s tall, huge, shaven-headed and intimidating. Eddie doesn’t look for long.

After a few minutes, the shaven-headed heavy motions for Eddie to step into a somewhat more private area of the warehouse, sectioned off by some disturbing-looking medical curtains on rusting rails that offer visual, if not much auditory, privacy. Eddie figures the noise of vehicles and machinery elsewhere likely drown out any talking that goes on in here anyway.

There’s a screen set up that’s displaying a fuzzy, low quality image of a man sitting in what appears to be a lavish sitting room. There’s a picture of a landscape, or maybe sky, hanging to his left, and the audio quality is marred by a low rumble. Eventually, Eddie’s brain catches up and he realises it’s not a picture at all but a window, and what Eddie can see is clouds and what he can hear is the roar of an engine - the guy’s on a plane. All he can think is, Jeezus, this guy must be loaded.

As the image comes into better focus the figure looks oddly familiar. Eddie’s vaguely reminded of a sci-fi film he saw that had Kirt Russell in it and something about pyramids, but he brushes it aside, more important things on his mind. 

The man is clad in a fedora and an exquisitely tailored suit, and as Eddie is positioned in front of what he presumes is a camera the figure removes his hat and lifts a crystal tumbler containing a deep brown liquid to his lips.

Hopper fills Eddie in.

“This is Mr Reddington. You can speak when he says you can.”

The well-dressed man speaks first, in a voice that’s even more imposing than that of the tall heavy who brought Eddie in here. 

“I understand you have a business proposition for me, young man. I’d like to hear it directly from you, if I may?”

Eddie thinks quickly, describing possible scenarios that he’s come up with. He reiterates the ideas he had earlier, and adds a few more, getting inspiration from horror movies, comics, and even some of his D&D campaigns.

“That does all sound very interesting. And heaven knows we need some levity in this business. But I do need to confer with my colleagues. Chief, what do you think? Does this kid’s idea have legs?”

Hopper and Red have a moment of eye contact, before Hopper sighs loudly and admits, reluctantly,

“It is kinda novel. And he’s basically a good kid, don’t kill him yet, huh? He can be annoying as fuck, but goddamnit if he goes missing we’d have to do at least some kind of an investigation. The amount of people I’d have to interview, the press… The paperwork alone would be hell…”

He pinches the top of his nose, and Red purses his lips, apparently conceding that Hopper’s time would be much better spent doing whatever it is that he does for him rather than wasting it on unimportant matters such as police work. His expression suddenly brightens, and the formerly imposing figure on the screen turns disconcertingly jovial.

“Well, I think it sounds like fun. I’ll tell you what, we’ll try him out for a couple of months and see how he does.”

Hopper turns to look at Eddie.

“Okay, Munson, we’re gonna give you a try. You’d better keep it interesting though, or so help me…”

He makes a small but unsubtle slicing motion across his neck with his thumb. Eddie takes it at face value, knowing he means it.

Red addresses the whole group now.

“You know, this reminds me of the time I was playing miniature golf in Andalucia with the Sultan of Brunei and Jimmy Hoffer. Richard Pryor walked up and asked if any of us knew anything about llama farming. We all looked at him askance, I mean, do any of us look like we did? But then, to my great surprise and delight, the Sultan said…”

The burly dude holds Eddie around the shoulders again, but more gently than before. At least, Eddie assumes it’s gentle. The guy’s stature suggests significantly more physical ‘prowess’, which Eddie’s grateful he's not been on the receiving end of. He’s steered away from the screen and back towards the main area of the warehouse.

Nervously, just before they leave the curtained off area and afraid this might be seen as an offense, Eddie stammers,

“Where’re we- Shouldn’t I…?”

The man’s deep, caramel voice carries easily to Eddie’s ears, as he remarks,

“Trust me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of any more of Raymond’s epic tales than you absolutely have to be. You can thank me later.”

Eddie looks back over his shoulder, just in time to see Chief Hopper’s brow crinkle and raise in what looks to be a poor facsimile of engagement, and he takes another, deep, swig from his coffee mug. He, apparently, knew he was in it for the duration.

They reach the area where Steve and Rob are still standing, apparently playing some kind of thumb war game. The big guy extends a powerful-looking hand towards Eddie, clasping his own in an iron grip. There’s a soft smile on his face as he looks down and says,

“Welcome to the team. I’m Dembe, by the way.”

Mr Kaplan finishes up a conversation she’s having nearby with another pair of guys with clipboards and conspicuous gun holsters, and as she’s making her way out, she remarks to Eddie,

“You’re in luck, you can start tonight. We’re expecting another package, so you can help these two clowns. God knows they need it.”

Steve frowns, and Rob emits a quiet,

“Hey—”

Mr Kaplan continues,

“No need for anything elaborate right now dearie, save that for next time. But we do need some supplies. Dembe, get him some cash from the office.”

Eddie’s conflicted. He’s confused, excited, relieved, and, yep, still a little wasted.

He does have his typical nervousness about how well he’s actually gonna be able to “perform”, and how long he can keep up the interest in what he’s suggested. Following a brief discussion with Steve and Rob, a few crumpled bills are shoved into his overly-sweaty palm.

Of course, his main thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not tonight… 

But his overriding concern soon becomes:

Where the hell is he going to find rope, duct tape and a shovel at this time of night??

Next part, ‘Hello, Stranger’

My masterlist

I really hope you enjoyed this little prologue! Please reblog and leave comments, your support means everything to writers 🖤🙏

Tagging my ‘everything’ list, ILY @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @sassidykassidy @richter-raccoon @1deverland

Also tagging those who commented on/reblogged the first one, just lemme know if you’d rather not be! @bakusquadobsessed @mewchiili @bettyfrommars @pedroschka @transparent-enemy @ali-r3n @fracturedarkness @tinytyphooncloud @alverdekote @elegantkoalapaper @ddaydreamdelusionss @ramona-thorns @vitzi9 @lurkingprincess @cherrysabbath @pullingattheroots

[thatstonedwriter]

⋆｡˚ 「 I wanna be your girlfriend~

Loona x reader 」 ⋆｡˚

──˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘ ──

~I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips- I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath~

Loona isn't sure when exactly it started. All she knows is that she's fallen- and hard. Whenever you're talking the only thing she can focus on is your lips. She can't help but wonder how your voice would sound whispering soft "I love yous" in the dark.

~I don't wanna be your friend~

It was torture, trying to drop hints, trying to flirt (if you could call it that). Loona isn't used to this, and she doesn't know what to say or how to feel.

~I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna be your bitch~

Every day, Loona watches you, wishing she could just kiss you. Maybe not in front of everyone, but just knowing she has the option, knowing she has you. Maybe that line of thinking is a bit selfish, but even if it is, Loona can't be bothered. She wants more.

~And I wanna touch you, but not like this~

Loona doesn't want the brief brushes against your fingers, or a quick side-hug and a casual greeting.

~The look in your eyes, my hand between your thighs~

Too often, Loona is snapped out of her daydreams by mundane bullshit and the usual office shenanigans. Luckily, you were working today- and currently breaking up a fight between Moxxie and Blitzø.

~I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips- I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath~

She can't take it anymore. Loona decides: after work, she'll wait until the office is empty- and tell you how she feels.

~I don't wanna be your friend~

And when the moment comes; you're finally alone, standing by the door, her hand on yours. Loona can't meet your eye, but she asks the question anyway.

"You uh.. Wanna go out sometime.. With me?"

~Lose my breath~

──‎ ˙•˚∘✮ 🔭๋࣭ᯓ🌙˙•˚∘ ──

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

The Pilot Pt. 2

You walked into the dining room in your prominent and pink bunny slippers, stretching and yawning out a sleepy "good morning."

Falling asleep in a mansion and spending time in your attached spa-like bathtub was something you had only ever dreamed of. It almost made you not want to leave to go downstairs. Alas, duty called.

The children gawked at your colorful robe and slippers, astounded that you showed up to breakfast in such attire. They were already dressed in their day clothes; all of them clad in name-brand outfits. 

Mr. Wayne glanced up from his paper, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Wish I pair of pajamas like that."

"You could borrow mine," You offered with a coy smile as you sat. 

He snickered, tilting his paper back up to hide his face. "I'll pass."

You slid into a chair at the long dining table, giving Alfred a mock-scolding look. “You should’ve warned me. I would’ve thrown on a dress or something vaguely breakfast-appropriate.”

“Forgive me, Miss, I assumed you knew,” Alfred replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he set a plate in front of you. 

You shook your head, smiling at the plate of food. “I’m from downtown Gotham, Alfred. You have to assume I know absolutely nothing about how the other half lives." Before you could even start poking at your food, you noticed everyone staring. “What? I got something on my face?”

“You’re sitting at the table,” Duke said quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to point it out.

You looked at Bruce, expecting him to say something, but he didn’t. Huffing, you sat back in your seat and crossed your arms. “Where else am I supposed to sit?”

“The kitchen,” Dick answered flatly, not even looking up.

You blew him off. “That’s so old-fashioned, and I’m too social for that. Now, what are we doing today?” 

The kids exchanged glances before explaining that Mr. Wayne was hosting a charity dinner party tonight—adults only. They weren’t invited, which didn’t seem to bother them nearly as much as it bothered you. Not that you would say it out loud, but you could still judge silently. 

Then, like a light switching on, an idea popped into your head. A shopping trip followed by a devious little plan.  When you brought it up to Mr. Wayne, he didn’t object—just pulled out a sleek black credit card and handed it over like it was nothing.

You marveled at the black American Express card, never thinking you’d see one in person—Let alone hold one. 

He noticed you staring at it with an awed expression and cheekily said, "Try not to bankrupt me."

"No promises," You replied, holding the card to your chest.

He looked ready to say something else, a softer expression on his face now, before Alfred entered the room. “Mr. Wayne, Mr. Fox is on the line for you.”

Quickly, Bruce stood and excused himself.

You got up from your seat not too long after, telling the kids that you would meet them in the foyer in an hour. They cheered, and you left the room with a bounce in your step—still in bunny slippers, still slightly stunned by how quickly this strange new chapter of your life was unfolding.

—

Dick was standoffish from the moment you left the manor—openly hostile, distant, and barely concealing his resentment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. In his eyes, your presence was just one more reason for Bruce to keep his distance.

That was fine. You could change that. 

If Bruce wasn’t going to step up, you would make sure he did. While you were at it, you’d chip away at the eldest’s walls, too.

The clothing boutique you were visiting was one your friend owned, so that meant you had full reign over the place. Oh, you thought, today was going to be a good day. 

Unfortunately, Dick seemed like, well, a dick.

So, naturally, you spent extra time fussing over Dick’s wardrobe, much to his dismay. You had no choice but to fuss over his clothing choices. His clothes may have been named brands, but no teen should ever be subjected to the combination of green pants with a blue dress shirt. 

He was as clever as he was spiteful and attempted to attack you at every angle.

But you’d handled worse, and while keeping tabs on the others, you kept chipping away at him.

Eventually, Dick gave up and retreated to a chair at the far end of the boutique, stewing in silence. You let him sit. Instead, you doted on the other children who were pretty well-behaved, albeit a bit odd. Tim had been looking under the mannequins’ skirts to see if they were anatomically correct—and, you knew that would be a conversation with his father. 

Duke and Jason were arguing over which ties looked cooler. Damian had somehow latched himself to your hip, surprisingly well-behaved but growing noticeably restless. You finally turned your attention back to Dick. With Damian still perched on your side, you approached and held up a red tie to Dick’s neck. He didn’t move. Then you plucked a blue one from Damian’s hand and held it up next.

“The blue one, it matches your eyes,” You said. 

Dick exhaled hard through his nose. “Why’re you doing this?” 

“Because I think you guys should go to that dinner tonight.” 

Before Dick could say that wouldn’t happen Cassandra stumbled over holding out a pink dress that she wanted to wear. That, oddly, didn’t throw him off as much as it should’ve.

Still, he shook his head. "We’re not going."

Cassandra, even more clever than her older brother, said in an overly sweet tone, “I think the blue tie would suit you, Dickie. It brings out your eyes. It makes you super, super handsome.” 

He stared at her for a moment before saying, “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

She giggled, moving out of the way just in time to miss his shove, saying "love you, too," before running off. You turned back to Dick, telling him to mind his language. He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath—probably another insult.

That was enough.

Usually, you could keep your cool, but this was the last straw. “Listen to me. I don’t care how you feel about Bruce. I don’t care how pissed you are at the world. But while you’re under my care, you’ll be respectful, polite, and you will watch your damn mouth around me and the others. Got it?”

“Or what?”

You smiled smugly, stepping closer to Dick as you told him exactly what would happen if he did not behave.  

—

The children had come home happy, and they all boasted about the fun they had with you. Even Dick, who’d left that morning with a storm cloud over his head, seemed lighter. Bruce watched, amused and a little suspicious, as they all rallied around you like co-conspirators.

When he asked what they'd bought, you only offered a mischievous grin before sweeping upstairs with the kids in tow, the giggles echoing off the foyer walls. Fortunately for you, the charity dinner pulled him away before he could think more about it. 

Bruce's party was going well—Great, even. 

The guests were happy, dinner was being served on time, and, most importantly, the money was rolling in for the charities. Bruce stood in the doorway between the foyer and the salon, waiting for Alfred to bring you down. You needed to speak with him, apparently. Harvey, who had been in the middle of telling him something when Alfred interrupted, followed him. 

What Bruce wasn’t prepared for was you, poised on the staircase landing in a stunning red dress, looking every bit the part of high society. Behind you stood the children, all impeccably dressed and proud of themselves.

“Who is that,” Harvey mumbled to Bruce, grinning from ear to ear.

Bruce answered, “My nanny.”

You descended with a triumphant smile, which irritated Bruce further.

When you approached, he said in a hushed tone, “I told you the children couldn’t attend.”

Feigning shock, you pressed a hand to your cheek. “Oh, my! I must be blushing.”

“You’re a dirty player,” He muttered, but there was no malice behind it. He turned to the kids, clearly impressed by how sharp they looked. He crouched briefly to adjust Jason’s jacket, giving them all a look. "Best behavior tonight, kids. Promise?"

"Promise!" They all said in unison. Alfred ushered them into the salon, where the faint chorus of "awe" and "how cute" was heard.

Harvey took this chance to introduce himself, "I'm Harvey Dent, Gotham DA. You must be the saint taking care of Bruce's kids."

You seemed charmed. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. DA." 

Before Bruce went to join the kids, he sharply said, “We’re discussing this later.”

You rolled your eyes, you would rather have fun than stress about what your boss would say. Looping your arm with Harvey's, you followed behind. "Say, Mr. Dent, I’ve got some parking tickets that I think are pretty bogus, you think you could fix those for…”

The children were a hit amongst the party-goers. You, too, were an intrigue to the guests. Bruce was surprised by just how well you ran in the circles of the rich, charming them with your downtown Gotham wit. The guests were enthralled with little tales of the children—some he was sure you made up—as well as wise outlooks on life.

Well, Bruce didn't know anything about your advice being wise, but he knew the guests were signing checks left and right. 

He found himself laughing with the kids, introducing them to his more trusted colleagues, and even catching Dick calling him “Dad” for the first time in a long while. When you slipped out to put Damian to bed, Dick lingered behind. 

Patting his father's arm, Dick said, "You should keep her around, I think I'm starting to like her. Plus, I’d like to survive high school with my social life intact.”

That certainly would be something else he would need to ask you about later. 

—

Later, when the guests had left and the manor had quieted, Bruce caught you at the front door.

“Goodbye, Harvey! I’ll call you about those parking tickets,” you called, sliding the slip of paper into your bra with zero shame. When you turned around and there he was. Bruce stood before you with his hands on his hips, and you thought for sure you were going to get sacked. 

Before you could explain, Bruce said flatly, “Don’t pull a stunt like that again.”

You were shocked, but not undeterred from your original task. “All I wanted to do was show those kids that you care about them.”

“I do care about them, and don’t need you to show that.”

You stepped forward, snickering. “I seriously doubt that. I mean, look how happy they were tonight. Why would you want to exclude them like that, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce thinned his lips, not responding right away. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you were right or that he found the courageous glint in your eyes fairly pretty that made him reconsider. Reluctantly, he agreed that maybe you were right and mentioned how much the kids liked you.

“You can stay,” He said. 

You grinned. “Good. I think you’d have a hard time getting rid of me now. I’m pretty sure everyone in this house would revolt.”

Bruce looked at you again before smiling. No matter how he felt, Bruce couldn’t deny one thing; That you were the perfect addition to the household.

[stillxnunpxidintern]

I was just playing a game on my phone when this little MiShanks x Reader thought literally popped into my brain out if now, but Mafia au.

Shanks is Mob Boss, Mihawk is an independent Hitman and Reader is a innocent bystander who witnessed something they shouldn't and got evidence of it.

Also Shanks and Mihawk are quite frequent in each other beds, though normally it Mihawk in Shanks.

Reader is big sibling to ASL and they witness an exchange between Blackbeard and Marines, with him giving information to them, so Reader gets evidence by taking photos (may be video as well).

Knowing that Blackbeard is trying to take over, and wanting to keep their little brothers safe, Reader goes to Shanks with the evidence they have, as he's the most laid back one.

Once evidence is handed over, Reader tries to put it from their mind as it's out of their control now, but it seems that someone found out about it and now Reader is danger.

Reader quickly grabs the boys and bundles them in the cars, hoping to get away but is confronted by Mihawk who's been "sent" after them.

With Mihawk towering over them, Reader grabs a bat from near and hits him with it before getting in the car and flooring it out of there.

Reader goes to the only place they can think of and that Shanks.

He does let Reader and the boys in, taking them to a room with large TV to distract the boys while he talks to Reader.

At some point while Shanks and Reader are talking to each, Mihawk shows up looking none to happy with blood on the side of his face.

Reader upon seeing Mihawk, nearly bolts for it had Shanks not grabbed them and kept them close, before he starts teasing Mihawk about getting caught off guard especially by a civilian.

Later on, the boys are taken somewhere to sleep for the night and so it just Reader, Shanks and Mihawk, with the latter two drinking wine and Reader declining any alcoholic drink so far.

At some point both men were able to get Reader to drink some of the wine. Not long after small caresses and kisses started, Reader finds themselves pinned between both men as it gets more hot & heavy, as some layers clothes are tossed to the side.

They all eventually end up in Shanks large bed, with Reader being pinned down on bed first and then getting pinned in between both men, with Reader voice ending up becoming hoarse and completely exhausted by the end.

Thankfully the boys haven't heard anything when Reader sees them in the morning and an arrangement is made, that Reader and the boys are to stay in Shanks home, so that they have protection till the issue with Blackbeard is dealt with, which they do deal just at a slightly slower pace, simply so they can keep Reader pinned between them both longer, cause their both possessive men and ain't no one having Reader but them.

[alionova]

One of my favourite things in life is Oscar Piastri posting on twitter, solely to see what his mum comments.

[trashogram]

Fun idea: Verosika/Fem!Reader where Reader has social anxiety and didn’t want to go to Ozzie’s in the first place, so of course Verosika gravitates toward you and puts on a flirty show, doing her best to draw the fact that you like it out of you.