#AND THAT STUPID SPIKE OF HAIR ON HIS FOREHEAD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nanaslutt · 7 days

Text

shameless

ʚ yuta x reader

ʚ cont: fem reader, fluffy fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, clingy!yuta

note: congrats @dracrimes for winning my fic giveaway, I hope you enjoy ^.^

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT FOLLOW

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Um...I'll take the brown sugar boba please!" You chirped to the young-looking waitor, who nodded and smiled as he took your order. "Is it gonna be normal sugar, hon?" He asked, tilting his head at you and squinting his eyes a bit as he voiced the pet name. You were so busy looking at the delicious desserts on the menu that you didn't hear the pet name, and you didn't notice the spike in Yuta's cursed energy.

"I'll take it a little sweeter than normal please!" You asked, handing your menu to the man in front of you. Yuta's eyes were glued to where your hands met as the waiter's finger grazed across your own. "Extra sweet drink for an extra sweet girl." He said, winking at you. Your eyes opened a bit in surprise, but you ultimately shrugged it off, thinking he was joking.

At this point, Yuta felt his blood boiling. Was he stupid? Was he so dense that he wasn't able to realize you were on a date right now, or was he so shameful that he didn't even care? Yuta wasn't used to feeling like this. It was rare that he experienced jealousy like this regarding another person. He balled his fist by his side and reached his hand across the table with one hand to adjust your bracelet which had gone crooked, a small show of affection in front of the waitor.

"Are you getting anything Yu?" You asked sweetly, your chest swelling with love as you watched his fingers drag down your wrist to play with your fingers. Yuta looked up from your hands and smiled sweetly, his jaw clenching under the weight of his teeth as he tried to calm himself before he spoke. "I'm okay baby, I'll just have some of yours." You were unable to stop your eyebrows from shooting upward in surprise at the nickname.

It was rare that Yuta used pet names with you, he always got so flustered whenever he tried, so you felt your heart jump when you heard the pet name. You missed the way the corner of the waiter's mouth twitched as he watched Yuta talk sweetly to you in front of him. It was quite obvious what he was doing. You on the other hand were in your own little world, listening to your internal voice scream as you replayed the nickname over in your head.

After the waitor walked away, Yuta quickly got up from his place across from you and scooched into your side of the booth. "You're being so cute today, what was that?" You teased, tilting your head to the side at him as you took his hand in your own, resting your hands over your knee. "You never call me baby." Yuta felt his demeanor change the instant you had called him out. His face went red and he looked away, covering his mouth with his hand as he poorly disguised his embarrassment as a cough.

"I uh, I don't know. Just wanted to say it." He said bashfully, turning his head back your way. "So cute." You gushed, squeezing his hand tighter in your own. Yuta sighed and plopped his forehead down on your shoulder, his breath tickling your arm. "Don't tease me, I just wanted to try it out." He mumbled under his breath. You brought your other hand up and ruffled his hair, making him sit up and look at you with a slight pout as you continued to play with his hair.

While Yuta looked into your eyes the only thing he could think about was how lucky he is, how grateful he is to call you his. And you were, you were his, not that waiter's. Yuta felt bad for feeling so malicious toward the waitor when you had no idea. Maybe he was overreacting, but it still stands that you were his, and he hated to see people hit on you so blatantly when he was sitting right there. He had enough of being treated like he was being invisible for an entire lifetime. It sucked being treated that way on his own, but it sucked even more when you were involved.

"Alrightyy, here's that extra sweet boba for you, hun," Yuta swore he felt a blood vessel in his head pop when that same man's irritating voice echoed from behind him. Yuta still had a smile on his face while he looked at you, but the second he turned his head there was nothing but a smile on his face. He would never treat staff this way, but this time was different. He called you that stupid pet name not once, but twice now?

The waitor had a blood-boiling smirk on his face as Yuta turned around, the two boys making eye contact with one another. You were blissfully unaware of their little rivalry as your mouth started to drool while staring at your drink in his hand. Yuta stopped his hand in motion by grabbing the cup in his own when he looked like he was trying to set it in front of you. "I got it," Yuta said coldly, not even daring to blink as he grabbed the cup from the weaker waitor with ease.

"Right, just make sure you look on the side of the cup little lady, left a little something for you." The waitor explained, directing his focus on you and winking before he walked off. Yuta grits his teeth as he burns the face of that man into his brain, imagining what he would do to him if he could. "Yu look! The top is a bear how cute." You exclaimed, your voice instantly melting away some of the anxiety and malice he was feeling.

Yuta turned his head back to you and rested his head in his hand by placing his elbow on the table as he watched you enjoy your drink. "How is it?" He asked, his heart swelling with love as he watched your eyes light up with joy. "It's soooo good! Try some." You offered, holding the drink up to his lips. He hated to hear you praise the drink that man made, but he closed his mouth around the straw and sipped down some of the liquid. It was a little too sweet for his taste, but it was fitting for someone like you.

"Good huh?" You said, smiling as you pulled the cup away from him. Yuta watched curiously as your smile turned into confusion as your eyes read something on the side of the cup. "Oh..." You said, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I think the waitor left his number on my drink." You said, your expression dropping as you turned the cup around to face Yuta.

The inside of Yuta's head felt like a battlefield as he sat up and grabbed the cup, reading the number over. He took a special interest in the little heart on the side of the cup. "I thought the names he was calling me were a little weird, but I think it's pretty obvious we're together." You laughed. Yuta found nothing funny about the situation, he wanted to throw the drink and the soiled cup at the shameless employee, but he had to hold himself together for you.

"You okay Yuta, don't let it bother you, okay?" You said, caressing his cheek and taking the drink back from him. "I'm fine." He nodded, leaning into your touch. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the shop and go back home with you. Spend some time watching a movie or sitting in the garden alone with you, where he doesn't have to worry about other people ogling you or trying to take you away.

"Is it okay if we leave?" Yuta asked, grabbing your hand that held his face. You felt your heart skip a beat as you watched Yuta close his eyes and bask in your touch. You think you were starting to catch on to why Yuta was being so uncharacteristically clingy, but you didn't want to say something and make him stop acting so cute. "Of course, you feeling okay?" You asked, letting him hold your hand.

"I'm okay, just wanna leave now. Getting a little tired." He said, smiling softly at you. You nodded and began to gather your things. "I'll throw this away for you." Yuta offered sweetly, picking up your finished cup of boba. Yuta made a point to find the trash can closest to the register, where the boy from earlier was standing, waiting for customers. Yuta watched him like a hawk, hoping he would notice him throw the cup with his number on it away. Sure enough, the boy looked over and watched with raised eyebrows as Yuta threw the drink away with a little more force than necessary, the trash shaking from the impact.

The boy sucked his teeth and squinted his eyes at Yuta, watching him turn his back on him and walk back to your table. "Ready?" Yuta offered, holding his hand out for you as you got up to sit from the booth. "Mhm." You smiled, letting him take your hand in his and walk out of the cafe. "I'm actually glad you said something, I was getting a little tired myself." You said as you walked hand in hand down the street, drinking in what was left of the sun before it set soon.

"I'm glad, I didn't want to ruin anything if you wanted to stay," Yuta said, resting his head on the top of your head as you walked together. You smirked and squeezed his hand tighter. "That guy really bothered you huh?" You asked, slowing as you walked up to a crosswalk and hit the button, watching the cars go by. Yuta felt his face heat up as he rubbed the back of his head. You tilted your head at him and smiled, watching his eyes dart around as his face scrunched in embarrassment.

"It's okay Yu, I love you and only you. I don't even remember his face if that makes you feel better." You giggled, smiling up at him. Good thing Yuta remembered his face well enough for the both of you. He wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily. Maybe he would have Panda and Inumaki call the establishment over and over again and complain about him to get him fired. That would make him feel better. Yeah, he would probably do that, and you didn't have to worry about a thing.

Yuta stepped towards you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you tightly against his chest. "Good, because I don't either," Yuta replied, lying in his words. He would never forget such an ugly face so easily. You rubbed your face against his chest and squeezed him tightly, so tight he let out a funny noise of discomfort as you squeezed all the air from his lungs before pulling away.

"Don't be jealous okay? We can spend the rest of the day cuddling in my room when we get back." Yuta couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he looked at you, his heart brimming with joy and satisfaction. He nodded and let you escape his grasp fully as you took his hand in your own and started walking across the street, dragging him along with you. "Just an FYI though, I like it when you're clingy with me, it's cute." You giggled, looking back at him.

"Alright, alright," Yuta said, waving his free hand in front of him, trying to get you to change the topic. You giggled at his embarrassment as he stumbled over his own feet while crossing the street. Yuta was so lucky to have someone as comforting as you as a partner, already he felt the malice from earlier melt off of his body, but the need to hold your hand tightly still prevailed until long after the two of you got back to the dorms.

#yuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen yuta okkotsu #yuta fluff #jjk yuta #yuta okkotsu #jujutsu okkotsu #jjk okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu fluff #jujutsu kaisen okkotsu #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you

1K notes · View notes

rainylana · 11 months

Text

“I’m not jealous.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: jealousy over the new secretary at his job creates tension over dinner.

warnings: smut, language, jealous reader, threats of a spanking, dom eddie, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex.

Forks scrapped against the dinner plates, chewing sounds and food pushing around with the utensil. A candle that still smoked from being blown out. The tv, still on. The lights flickered from a dying lightbulb. Jaw’s were tense and fist were balled up. To say less, the energy was awkward.

“You gonna keep ignoring me?” Eddie put down his fork, looking at you with annoyance.

“Mhm.“ You hummed, kicking your feet under the table.

He’d been late coming home for the fourth time this week. Your relationship with him was at an all time low, tense and angry. Neither of you knew why, but you didn’t like it. You both were always so stressed and angry, snapping and irritable.

He claimed that he had been working extra hours, but you knew there was a new girl working at the shop as a secretary, so your jealousy spiked to an all time high. He’d had the nerve to talk about her, talk about how good she was and how sweet and knowledgeable she was about cars. You weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose to make you jealous.

“You’re being ridiculous, y/n.” He leaned back with annoyance. “What’s the fuckin’ attitude for, huh?”

“Attitude?” You scoffed, putting down your fork. “I do not have an attitude. You’re the one who showed up late. I had dinner ready.”

He groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Angel, I told you I took up more hours. That means I’m working more hours.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m dumb.” You argued, pushing your plate forward with an angry huff.

“You’re actin’ it.” He challenged.

“Well, you’re just a dick.” You huffed, pouting your lip. “You should at least come home on time when you know I’ve got dinner made.”

“Oh, my god,” He chuckled in amazement. “What about more hours do you not understand? Are you feeling okay? Did you get your period?” He looked at you inquisitively.

“Oh, typical man.” You scoffed, crossing your arms in a huff. “Blaming my period on everything?”

“Well, are you?” He retorted.

“No!” You snapped, banging your fist against the table. “No, I’m not on my fucking period, Eddie, jesus!”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, pressing hard against his forehead to numb his head ache. “Whatever.” He was going to drop it, not wanting to argue.

Maybe you were insecure, just simply jealous of the idea of another woman hanging around Eddie. It struck you odd, considering it had never bothered you before. You never typically got jealous. Eddie was always very good at assuring you that you were the only girl he had eyes for.

“Is this about Scarlett?” You could feel his eyes on you, your own looking down at the floor. “Because if it is, you need to tell me instead of biting my head off.”

He took your silence as a yes, and your eyes misted over, despite your best efforts.

“Y/n,” He sighed. “You know that’s stupid. I am not in slightest way interested in her.” He pressed, brown eyes trying to find yours, cocking his head in your direction.

“But you like her.” Your voice cracked, fingers digging into your skin.

“Yeah,” He nodded. “She’s good at her job. She’s got the credentials, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna up and marry her, y/n. Why are you so jealous of her?” He tried to get you to open up, reaching across the table to get you to look at him.

“M’ not jealous.” You pouted, a tear falling down your face.

“Put that lip away.” He said firmly, “Look at me and talk like a big girl.” His dominating tone made your belly warm, sending a chill down your spine that made you look up.

“I’m not jealous.” You tried again, eyes swelling into hearts at his beauty, even if he was irritated at you.

“Could have fooled me.” He raised a brow, crossing his arms like yours had been. “You just having a bad day or what? Because I’m warning you now you’re heading for a spanking if you don’t relax.”

The very threat made you throb, your cheeks flare up with warmth that he didn’t miss. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He gave you a minute to calm down, tapping his fingers against the table, trying to find the words to make you feel better. “Y/n, you know there’s no reason to be jealous over her. Over anybody.” He said gently, holding out his hand for you to hold. He nodded to it, watching you reach out to take it.

“You and l know you’re the only girl I’ve got eyes for. I’m staying late because we need the money, because I’m trying to give you a good life. I could care less about her, y/n.” He squeezed your hand, speaking firmly, yet soft, trying to ease your stress. “I love you and only you, got it? You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Why would I waste my time with someone else when I’ve got it made right here.”

Your eyes were swollen with tears that fell down you face, and you gave a nod that made him untense. “I know,” You hiccuped. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know, I just miss spending time with you.”

“It’s okay,” He smiled, rubbing your hand. “I just don’t want you worrying about this because there’s nothing to worry about.”

You smiled back and scooted closer to the table, sniffling. “Yeah.”

He reached out to wipe your cheek. “And I know you miss our time together. I miss it too, but we can still spend plenty of time together, honey. We’ll just have to adjust to this for the time being, okay? Nothing to get worked up about.”

You blushed, embarrassed at the tantrum you threw. “I’m sorry again.”

“Don’t be.” He soothed you. “I understand. Come here.” He took your hand and led you around the table, pulling you next to him so he could hug you lovingly. He was warm and embraced you gently, wrapping his arms around you in a tender hug.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a jackass.” He spoke into your neck, torsos glued together.

“Me too.” You muffled into his chest. “I’ve acted like such a spoiled brat.”

He chuckled into your hair. “You have, if I do say so, darling.”

You whined, nestling into his chest. “Not gonna spank me are you?” You smirked.

“I should,” He looked down at you. “But I’m not gonna, since you’ve got a valid reason for being upset, but I am gonna fuck the fussy out of you.”

Your belly twisted and you looked up with doe eyes. “Please, do,”

He hungrily kissed you, knocking your head back as his lips lurched forward in a needy kiss. He pulled you into his lap, your legs going either side of his on the seat as he kissed down your neck. You hummed happily, looking up to the ceiling as he left sticky, wet spots down your skin, suckling and marking as he went. He pulled down your shirt as far as he could, kissing the exposure of your breasts.

“Fuck,” You whimpered, rocking your hips into his growing bulge.

“Watch it,” He bit your shoulder. “I’ll still punish you.”

You clamped your mouth shut and grinded on his bulge as he sucked on your neck, moaning and curling your fingers in the curls of his hair. As much as you loved a good spanking from your boyfriend, he really knew how to make it hurt.

He picked you up and walked you over to the couch, dropping you on your back as he towered over you, smiling happily with shiny teeth. You smiled back, giggling lightly as he reconnected the kiss. He rested between your legs, reaching down to cup your pussy with his palm. You hummed with satisfaction, shimming down your shorts and underwear in one go. You went to go for his belt until he stopped you.

“No,” He grabbed your hand, giving it a delicate kiss. “All about you tonight, baby. Want you to know how much you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

He cupped your cheek and continued sucking on your neck, letting you relax as he dragged a finger through your folds, sending a shock through your body. He moved all the way down to your chest before he flung out shirt off, taking each of your nipples in his mouth and spending time to worship each of them, all the while he continued to graze over your pussy.

Then he moved to your arms, licking them with his tongue to your elbow before switching to the other. You were shaking, bucking into his hand and whispering pleas. He got to your stomach, giving a soft kiss to your navel as he finally pushed a finger inside of your cunt.

You moaned loudly, grabbing his hair.

“Feel better?” He smirked, coming up to you as he finger fucked your pussy.

You nodded, voice too full and shaky to speak coherently. He pressed another messy kiss to your lips, attacking his tongue with yours: His thumb went to your clit, circling and pressing, digging and swiping. It made you pant, shake and tremble in his arms. You had to break apart the kiss to cry out, looking up to the ceiling in euphoria. “I’m gonna cum.” You sobbed, rocking your body into him.

“Yeah?” He smiled coyly, entering yet another finger inside of you, rings shining with your arousal. “Fuckin’ cum then you little brat.”

You cried out as you came, your body shaking with pleasure as you sobbed and bit your lip. Eddie rubbed the heel of his palm against your clit, helping you through your high as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“I need you.” You panted hotly. “Please, need you bad.”

He hurriedly unbelted himself before rutting his thick cock into your pulsing cunt, making you scream as you wrapped your arms around his body. “Fuck,” He groaned, grabbing the arm of the couch as he looked down at his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. His pubic hair grazed at your overstimulated clit, making your muscles jolt and spasm. He thrusted faster and faster, the loud sound of skin slapping mixed with his heavy pants and your choked gasps and whines.

He came within seconds into your cunt, collapsing atop of you with a heavy huff,

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 9 months

Note

More zombie au! Steve!!! Please! It’s literally so good I love how you write Steve all protective <3

thank you ♡ steve zombie au —steve gets sick. you meet a dark-haired stranger while looking for meds. fem!reader 2k

You compare your arm to the bottle in your hand. You've written a list of generic and brand name antibiotics in biro on your forearm, but they're smudging from nervous sweat. You're getting desperate.

Nothing seems to match. You're shaking with aching arms and legs, fucking terrified as you sift through a floor of orange and white pill bottles that nothing is going to match your list, and worse, the pharmacy grows darker by the hour. You don't have a torch.

Things are getting pretty bad at camp. There's not enough food to go around, no batteries, and now Steve's…

A bottle slips out of your hand and knocks into another. You cringe and pick up the next. You've been searching for hours without sitting down, as hiding underneath the bottles is a carpeting of grainy glass from the smashed shelves. Three of your fingertips have cut and scabbed since you got here.

"Fuck," you whisper, glaring at another wrong medication. "Fuck, fuck."

Amoxicillin, ciprofloxacin, flucloxacillin. Anything to stop Steve's infection from getting into his blood. It's a gross wound, oozy and inflamed, and when you'd left him with Robin dutiful at his side his skin had glowed with heat like glass held in the centre of a furnace. Even with his eyes closed, he'd known what you were about to do.

"Don't fucking leave," he'd grit out, fingers twitching up for your hand.

You'd leaned forward and kissed his damp forehead. "I have to go. I love you. I'll be right back."

That was ten hours ago at least. You have no idea what condition Steve might be in, so sure you'd find the pills and be back in arm's reach by noon. How sick can he get before it's too much?

"Shit," you whisper, your fingers tingling.

"What are you looking for?"

You fall backward with a sharp gasp, pill bottles biting into your thighs. Your face swings around but the source of the voice is unclear, empty shelves and aisles either side of you.

"Chill out–"

"Where the fuck are you?" you demand, scrambling onto your feet with the use of one sacrificed palm. Glass like needles serrates your skin. "Fuck! Come out, loser!"

"Hey, no need to be mean. I'm up in the ceiling."

You look up. Peeking out from a displaced ceiling tile is a pale face silhouetted by a matt of dark hair.

"You fucking little freak," you say, though you feel bad immediately. He's smiling and he isn't pointing any weapons at you, which is more than most strangers allow on the road. "Why are you up there?"

"I wanted to see if you had a gun, stupid."

"You're stupid, stupid. What if it was in my bag?"

"Point it at me, then!"

You stare at him in silence.

"That's what I thought," he says, framing a face in two hands like a baby angel on a gift card. "Can I come down or are you gonna keep bitchin'?"

"Don't fucking come down here."

"Or what?" he asks.

"I'll get my gun out."

"Mm, okay," he mocks. "I'll come help you find whatever it is that has your panties in a twist."

"I swear to god–"

"Listen. I'm a good guy, I swear."

"That's what bad guys say."

The stranger laughs a weird giggly laugh and climbs backwards. The ceiling tiles stress visibly under his weight but make no noise as he disappears from view. He swears a couple of times on the way down, unseen, before the stockroom door swings open and he appears in his intimidating glory in the doorway.

"If you kill me," you say, eyeing his spiked wristbands and the machete strapped to his waist with horrified apprehension, "my boyfriend will avenge me. Like, hunt you to the ends of the earth and slice you into little tiny pieces of vengeance."

"That sounds like my kind of party, but your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. I got a girl."

"Don't say rock and roll."

"How the fuck would you guess that?" he asks, hand flying to the back of his neck for a bashful scratch.

"My life feels like a shitty gimmicky horror movie, and you look the part." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I need antibiotics."

"You and everybody else in the world. This for your vengeful boyfriend?"

You don't need him knowing who they're for. He could be an evil guy, and the threat of Steve waiting for you might be your trump card. "No. My vengeful boyfriend left to look for cans in the shelter."

"He'll be back soon, then."

You take a step back. "I'll gouge your eyes out if you try anything, I'm serious. I don't care how big your knife is–"

"I'm Eddie." Eddie smiles at you, shoving his hands into cargo pockets. Despite his weird questions and his choice of apparel, he looks less intimidating in the lingering light of the setting sun as it seeps between window shutters. "I don't want to hurt you." He frowns. "Any kind of hurt."

"Can I have the machete?"

"Nope. I can go put it down somewhere, though, if that's less scary."

You shake your head, and with a great big sigh, lean down to sift through bottles. If he's going to hurt you, he might as well get on with it. The longer you spend talking to him, the sicker your Steve becomes.

"You need antibiotics bad?" Eddie asks, his voice softening.

"My best friend is sick." You toss a bottle, pick up another. "Infection probably getting into his blood. If I don't find something tonight, he's gonna die."

"Well, we can't have that," Eddie says, crouching down to help.

You sweep through bottle after bottle of things you wish you needed. Painkillers, sleeping pills, laxatives. Good shit, and nothing you need.

"You know…" Eddie sighs. "I know you could lie to me, but is it just you, boyfriend and the dying bestie, or?"

You're not sure what the right answer is. Better for him to think you have an army waiting if you get lost, or better to hide them? He could belong to a cult of cannibals. Only… his clothes are squeaky clean. His curls shine with a gloss that comes solely with conditioner, which means he has the time and security to really wash things.

But murders can wash their clothes, right?

"There's a couple of us," you say.

"You're not from that place west, are you?"

You put a pill bottle down slowly. "West?"

"Yeah, there were people there, hundreds of 'em. We got a few stragglers, survivors from the fucking massacre that happened a few weeks ago. One girl said there must've been thirty, forty kids there, it's fucking awful."

You swallow a lump. "Awful," you agree.

"Hopper says we can track down the people who did it if we just follow the blood trail," Eddie says, slipping into a theatrical bravado that won't stick. "I don't know… someone needs to stop them."

You choke, "Hopper? Chief Hopper?"

"Wait, you're from Hawkins?" Eddie asks.

You give each other boggled looks, a thrumming hope building in your chest like a flickering flame in the dead of winter.

"I think you better come back with me," Eddie says.

"I need antibiotics," you say, wanting to explain it to him and now knowing how. Or even if you should. Awesome, Hopper's alive, but that doesn't mean Eddie's group are good people, or that they can help you. There's nothing anyone in the world can do for you right now if they don't have a handful of Augmentin.

"You're from The College."

"I don't have time for this," you say, half apology and half frustration. "Yeah, we were from The College, and now it's gone, and my boyfriend's gonna die if you don't help me find the right pills." You wince and snatch up another stupid bottle.

"I can get you antibiotics," Eddie says, "but you're gonna have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"No."

—

Steve wakes up two days later in an unfamiliar building.

His eyes are made of sand, he can hardly breathe it's that cold, each breath as sharp as a needle as he sucks it in, but there's a roof over his head, a blanket over his chest, and your voice, your laugh rings like a song in the air.

"He didn't do that, you're lying," you say with a laugh, pulling Steve's hand to your chest.

"He did." Steve stiffens at the voice. Deeper, rougher than yours. "I swear on my life, he jumped right into Lover's Lake and swam backstroke to prove he could beat Louisa Park's best."

"Did he beat her time?"

"No, but he had a condom stuck to his ankle when he got out. Wasn't worth it."

"Steve," you say. Steve thinks you've noticed he's waking up, but you hug his hand with a sympathetic sigh. "That's so embarrassing. You better wake up soon, I have making fun of you to do."

"I think I'll stay asleep," he says hoarsely.

You gasp and choke his fingers between yours. "Steve?" You climb up onto the bed, your weight dipping the mattress under his back. Your hand comes careful and warm against his chilled cheek. "You're awake. You're awake?"

He strains to unglue his top lashes from his bottom lashes. You beam at him, the little scars around your mouth from a cruel hand shining in the white morning light.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"It's, like, seven in the morning."

"I've been asleep that long?"

"You've been unconscious for nearly two days," you correct.

Steve can't remember anything. He has the barest memory of your lips on his forehead. Robin splashing cold water on him and calling him an asshole, and then, much quieter, her best friend.

"Where's Robin?" he asks.

"She's being Robin somewhere, you know, she loves being helpful. The kids need help getting settled."

"And you're being lazy," Steve pokes.

He lifts his chin so your kiss lands exactly where he wants it, the stubbly space below his jaw. You wrap your arms around him and hug him severely, squeezing his tender ribs.

"I wasn't lazy, I had to go save you by myself."

"Save everybody," the familiar but impossible voice adds. Steve doesn't want to believe it. He refuses to. "Like, an entire generation."

"I didn't do anything," you say, kissing Steve again, a short path to his chapped lips. "Honey," —your voice lowers, your confession for Steve's ears alone— "I'm so happy you're okay. I was really, really scared."

Steve feels the weight of your fear like a dumbell on his chest, but he's uber confused. Propping his chin over your shoulder and hugging you back, the evil wound on his arm that caused this whole mess throbbing like fire under his bandage, Steve sets his eyes on the boy sitting on the chair next to yours.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie says warmly, eyes dripping with a put upon affection. "Miss me?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Steve asks.

"Saving the day, obviously."

"I can't believe I found one of your friends," you say, sitting up a little to smile at him. You really are gorgeous in his eyes, better than any movie star. Your beatific little grin stirs something, but Eddie's snort stomps it dead.

"We're not friends," Steve says.

You stroke Steve's face with the back of your hand. "Don't be like that. He's really nice…" Your smile melds itself to a concerned frown. "I thought you were kicking it, Stevie. How's your arm feeling? Does it hurt a lot?"

"It's fine," he says dismissively, wrapping his stronger arm around your waist. He's not jealous or anything, it's just cold in here, honest. "Munson, where the fuck did you come from?"

"Right here, Stevie."

"We're not far from the camp," you explain, stroking his face once again. "Or, we weren't when it was there. We're merging with this one to make a mega camp."

"Why would we do that? We don't know that we can trust these people."

"No, but we can trust Hopper." You smile. Steve knows things are gonna be okay, as long as you can smile like that. He leans his cheek into your hand, loved and relieved and–

"Hopper?" Steve asks.

"Jesus, Harrington," Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. "Keep up. If you can't comprehend the easy stuff, you're not gonna believe what we haven't told you."

"What haven't you told me?" Steve asks.

You push his shoulders down into the pillows. "I think you better lay down first."

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

509 notes · View notes

pastshadows · 2 months

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!”

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms. He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past #astarion x oc #named tav #astarion x named tav

109 notes · View notes

improbable-outset · 5 months

Text

📂 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧

Alan Orion x gn!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6k

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐌𝐃𝐇𝐌 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Established Relationship, Yandere Lover Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Grinding, Dry Humping, Slight Fearplay. MINORS DNI!!🔞🔞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In the midst of a game of hide and seek, you find yourself pinned by your hatchet man lover in the middle of the forest.

From a few hours ago up until now felt like a blur to you. You couldn’t pinpoint when you felt your heartbeat spike in your chest or the film of sweat that appeared on your forehead, despite it being cold outside. The temperature was low enough for you to see your breath forming misty clouds.

Having been surrounded by nothing but darkness and silhouettes of tree trunks was getting unnerving, and you were losing your sense of direction. Every path looked the same, and you lost count on the number of times you circled around the same area.

The moonlight that filtered through the leaves above you only served some sort of mockery, following you around as you continued to run aimlessly. The air was filled with the rustling of leaves and twinges that crunched beneath your feet as you filtered through the twisted maze of the forest.

However, your exhaustion was catching up to you, and you had to pause in your tracks. You knew it was a stupid idea to stop midway, but you had to catch your breath, leaning one hand on the tree truck as you lurched forward to recollect yourself while holding your midsection. You were panting heavily to the point where your mouth was becoming dry.

This all started with an innocent game of hide and seek. It was your turn to hide and you thought inside a hollow tree would be a good enough hiding place. The hole was big enough for you to fit through, and there was enough room for you to sit upright and wait until you were found.

However, as you got comfortable inside, you felt a chilling sensation of something crawling up your back, making the hair on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. It didn’t help that it was dark — so dark that you couldn’t even see your own hands in front of you.

Panicking, you squeezed your way out of the hollow tree to find another hiding space. But as you emerged, a twig snapped in the distance, a sign that there was another presence nearby. Out of instinct, you fled, hoping whoever or whatever was behind the bushes, wouldn’t come chasing after you.

Now, you lost track of how long you’ve been running for. Your heart was thudding in your chest and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears from the adrenaline.

You quickly realised that you weren’t alone. In the distance, you could hear the bushes rustling, slowly at first before it got louder and more aggressive. Whatever was behind there was getting close and your legs were too exhausted to carry on.

Yet, you still forced yourself to move, even if you were staggering. You felt your fight or flight instincts activated with a surge of left over energy brewing in your system. However before you could move forward, a large hand grabbed your arm, pulling you backwards before pinning you onto the tree trunk.

The rigid tree bark pressed against your back with your wrists were pinned besides your head. You could feel hot breath fanning against your neck and unruly hair brushing up against your face.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and his face was becoming clearer now. It wasn’t until you saw the familiar scared face and the heterochroma eyes staring back at you that you recognised who was in front of you.

“Holy shit—Alan?!” You shrieked in annoyance. His face shifted from intimidating to a sweet smile after hearing your voice.

“Found you.” He teased, lowering his face closer to you. You grumbled in annoyance at his blissful expression; he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Don’t…don’t do that again. You scared me to death!” Your mouth was still dry from how much you’ve been panting like a dog and you couldn’t moisten it no matter how hard you swallowed. You managed to steady your breathing, however. His face was so close to yours; the misty clouds that formed from both of your exhales merged together.

“But it was fun watching you run like that, trying to hide from me.” He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a tingling sensation down your spine and reached to your core.

The air between the two of you crackled and he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. His fingers, that gripped around your wrist to keep you from getting away, spoke a controlled power over you.

You tried to maintain your composure while holding a stern gaze, but his proximity made it hard to ignore the magnitude of the situation you were in.

You were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding beneath your ribs the way he was pressing his body against you, the uneven barks of the tree digging further into your back. The aroma of fresh cut wood intertwined with the earthy fragrance of the forest floor lingered around him.

“Maybe you should think twice before scaring me half to death in the middle of the game…” you resorted, trying to sound as controlled as you could, but your wavering voice betrayed you, making you sound powerless. A playful grin played on Alan’s lip he was amused by the effect he had on you.

“Admit it, doe-eyes. It was exhilarating. And you were just too tempting.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking beneath him, not from the cold, but from the newfound vulnerability you were feeling against him. You were suddenly acutely reminded of how much taller he was, and how his figure was looming over you, making you self-conscious about how small you were against him. His eyes bore into you and you noticed a hint of something dark emerging from beneath his gentle demeanor. The realisation of being alone with him in a secluded, dark place now settled on you.

“What’s wrong, doe-eyes? Are you scared?” He murmured, his tone carried something almost predatory. You always knew that the fear in your eyes excited him and as twisted as it sounded, seeing him dominate you like this sparked a fire in your gut too. You trusted Alan. Who knew being scared like this was also a turn on for someone?

Alan’s proximity that would always offer comfort, now carried an undeniable menace that made your skin crawl in both excitement and anticipation. There was a sudden jab that could be felt between your legs coming from Alan pelvic area.

He pulled himself away slightly, enough for both of you to see that familiar bulge beneath his pants. Something you were used to seeing by now, more often than not, when you’re both alone in his cabin. And it wasn’t a surprise to you to see him get turned on by this.

What you didn’t expect was seeing him grind his hard on against your crotch, earning a sharp gasp from you.

You quickly looked up at him to see his reaction and he gave you an innocent smile back, as if this whole predicament wasn’t happening right now.

“Alan…”

“Yes?”

“What are you…what are you trying to do?”

“What does it look like?”

His vague response and his gaze, that held a possessive edge, didn’t help with your nerves. The forest that was once a familiar place now felt alien and ominous.

He leaned in again, this time pressing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. His tongue lapped your lower lip and teeth lightly grinding on the soft skin. He was needy for you right now.

His calloused hands still had your wrists anchored in place, a rugged sign of his labour as a hatchet man, while your hands trembled beneath his firm hold.

You felt him grind himself again repeatedly in a steady rhythm between your legs, his hard on pressing eagerly against your clothed sex making you whimper into his lips.

Even with how uneasy you were feeling right now, you could still feel your sex throbbing desperately under your clothes. A whirlwind of emotions was running through your mind right now and it was getting hard to focus. But despite that, you knew your body wanted this too.

He pulled away from your mouth, more misty clouds emerged from your lips. He buried his face into your neck and continued rolling his hips onto you. His breathing became ragged and it was fanning against the sensitive area of your neck.

The heat from his breath was getting closer to the neck until you felt his teeth sink itself into your skin. There was a momentary pain from the shock which made you hiss from the sensation, before you felt him suck on the area.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the initial sting morph into something more blissful. As he released his mouth from your neck, you opened your eyes and noticed the string of saliva that was connected from your neck to his lower lip.

He stopped grinding himself against you now, and you watched him intently as he pulled himself away, releasing your wrists. Your eyes were glued on his hands as they reached down to unzip the flier of his pants before pulling him down.

You continued to watch the scene fold in front of you as his cock sprang out from his pants. Pre-cum was already dripping from the tip and was now starting to fall on the ground.

You were already aware of his size and how he could reach every crevice inside of you. Yet, you couldn’t hide the agitation that was written all over your face and body language. Alan was quick to pick this up.

“Are you okay? We don’t have to do anything now if you don’t want to.” His attentive tone quickly kept you grounded, all of the uneasy sensation quickly vanished. His question settled in your mind as you tried to articulate what to say next.

You knew that if you denied him, your body would hate you for it. Getting yourself riled up and ready only for you to say no. Pathetic.

Swallowing hard, you took a few steady breaths before you spoke up. “I want this Alan. Please.” You didn’t expect to hear yourself beg, especially given the fact that he was more confident about this than you were.

You knew no one was going to catch you out here fucking, but there was still an underlying nervousness you couldn’t ignore. Nevertheless, you still went along with this because there you trusted Alan and sharing a moment like this in a forest sounded hot.

After hearing your confirmation, his hands reached for your pants to pull them low enough so he could bury himself deep inside you, before lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist and pressing himself close to you against the tree again so you wouldn’t slip.

From your perspective, you couldn’t see where his cock was going but you could feel the tip brushing against your heated skin before nuzzling over your opening.

There were times where sex with Alan would be intimidating — he would start off with slow kisses and words of affection. But you knew this time wasn’t like that.

After the chase you just had and having you pinned against the tree, the adrenaline and thrill he felt earlier would morph into something more primal. There wasn’t going to be foreplay to prepare you to take his length this time. He was desperate to be inside you already.

You felt him inserting himself inside, eagerly pushing your walls open. You felt a dull pain as the walls of your muscles stretched out for his size. It was all happening too fast. With each inch of his cock that was inserted inside you, there was a fresh wave of the initial sting before it subsided.

The grip you had on his back was intense as you tried to relieve the tension. If he wasn’t wearing his jacket right now, you would’ve definitely left a few scratches on his already scarred back. He came into a halt, a sign that he was all the way in. You could feel how full he was making you, how much he was overwhelming your heat which coaxed a shaky breath of approval out of you.

You took this second to adjust yourself to the position, feeling his hands gripping firmly into your hips that were holding you upright.

You felt his cock slide out before slamming back into your swollen hole, forcing you to cry out and throwing your head back against the tree trunk. Heat ran up to your cheeks where you felt his cock throbbing and twitching desperately while moving in and out of you.

He buried his face into your neck and continued moving inside you. His pace was sporadic and desperate. The barks of the tree continued to dig further into you again with each relentless thrust he threw at you, making you utterly helpless under him.

The forest provided its own backdrop with wind continuing to howl through the branches and the leaves rustling in the trees. But the grunts and groans escaping him, muffled against your neck in response to how tight you were squeezing his cock, were the only sounds that you picked up from your earshot.

“Alan…Alan-!”

Your mind was slipping into a haze and all you could focus on was the feeling of Alan’s cock abusing your hole and the sounds he was making.

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out his name like a chant that echoed in the emptiness of the forest. You squirmed under his touch but his grip held you in place, preventing you from slip away from him.

“Look at yourself doe-eyes. Taking me in so eagerly.”

Alan’s movement always held a control forecity. Every action and every step reflected his raw energy and the primal instinct that coursed through him.

His thrusts were becoming more and more harsh and primal. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass every time he pushed his cock into you. His cock was twitching eagerly now and you could tell he was coming up to his peak.

With a few more pumps, he held you closer, relying on the tree and his arms for extra leverage before he pushed himself as deep as he could into your core, before he unraveled.

His hot release started to fill inside you, making him moan desperately into your ear. Even after his balls were drained into you, he still kept his cock inside you and forced his cum to sit inside. He didn’t want a drop to go to waste.

Soon, you felt him pull out and you immediately felt a withdrawal from his dick. There was still a sticky string of his cum that leaked from your hole. Alan released your legs, gently putting your back down and gave you a chance to regain your balance.

He noticed the cum dripping out of your sex and used his two rough fingers to push it back in, making sure it stayed there.

“All the way in…”

You still had your grip on his but now you leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, enveloping you into an embrace.

“That was pretty wild.” you commented, smiling up to him.

“You did enjoy it, didn’t you doe-eyes?” He chuckled. “But I think it’s your turn to seek now.”

“Can we go back to your cabin instead? It’s getting cold.” You asked, shivering slightly in the chilly night air. There was another part of you that wanted to go back inside because you were craving the safety of the fireplace in his cabin and the forest was starting to become an eyesore now.

“Of course.” Before you could say anything else, Alan lifted you off the ground again and carried you in his arms. His nurturing side emerged as he navigated his way through the forest.

You just hoped his boss wasn’t lurking and watching the both of you right now…

#my dear hatchet man #alan my dear hatchet man #mdhm #mdhm alan #alan orion #alan orion x reader #doe eyes #mdhm game #mdhm x reader #Alan orion my dear hatchet man #mdhm fanfiction #♦︎— spicy #★— ayrus writes

265 notes · View notes

myir0nlung · 10 months

Text

I MISS YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING..

hobie brown

IN WHICH, hobie hates talking about his canon event, especially since it involves your death..

angst, reader dies, few swears, tried to keep it gender neutral

He was supposed to save you.

He was supposed to be the hero.

He was supposed to make sure no one would harm you.

He was supposed to not let you die.

It had been eating him up inside ever since that horrible, shitty day.

It was like any other day, Hobie leaving the comfort of your shared apartment to fight whoever was causing trouble. It was basically a routine by now. You two had ate a takeout dinner, lounged on the couch for a bit before Hobie took off into the city that never slept. It was like this every night. Every damn night.

Tonight was like ever other, Chinese takeout scattered across the messy coffee table Hobie found on the side of the road. A movie was playing but neither of you were watching it. Instead Hobie was laying on top of a few raggedy pillows with you on top of him. His arm was lazily slung across your waist as he toyed with your belt loops. You were tapping a beat out on Hobie, that making him smile. It was lazy moments like these that made him forget about how trashy the world was, made him forget about everything else and just focus on you.

Well that was until his flip phone was ringing. You raised your eyebrows at him as he picked up the phone call. You could hear distant shouts and a crash come from the dingy old flip phone. Hobie grumbled into the phone, snapping it shut and discarding it some where on top of the hectic mess you called a coffee table.

“Osborn acting out again, aight? Gonna’ need to go deal with his arse.” Hobie angrily grumbled. Couldn’t he just enjoy a peaceful moment with his partner?

“Right..” You mumbled. You pulled yourself out of Hobie’s embrace and sat back on the couch, now just by yourself. Hobie kissed your forehead lightly as he pulled on his battle vest. He hopped over the couch and looked around his boots.

“If Osborn ain’t a big wanker today should be home by 12, so no need to stay up late to see me yeah?” Hobie now by the window, perched on it. His mask was laying limp in his hands. It looked kind of funny, the red fabric with large metal spikes was just crumpled up in his large hands.

“You know I’ll always stay up to see you Hobe’s.. you can’t stop me.” You teased. Hobie rolled his eyes and moved to jump out into the smoggy city, but you said his name quickly preventing him from moving away further. He looked back to see you peeking over the couch, chin resting on your palm.

“Love you~!” You sing-singed. That got a chuckle out of Hobie as he returned the words with a wink. Then with one movement he disappeared into the night sky, which wasn’t very dark from the amount of light pollution in New London.

It had only been a few minutes before another noise caught your attention. Someone was were Hobie was, peering in through the open window. Of course it scared you, but it suddenly got a lot worse when it came in to get you.

Hobie was in a back alley way with Captain Anarchy, hiding from Osborn and his stupid venom robots. One had landed a decent gash on his chest which was why he was hiding out. Captain Anarchy was explaining something to him, something about where one of the potential weak spots was on a mech. Hobie was listening at first until his spider senses took over.

Loud ringing plagued his ears, a throbbing pain overtook his mind. Hobie grunted in pain as he gripped his hair with such force that it ripped some out. Though he didn’t notice as his spider sense flared up like crazy. The ringing got louder and louder.. the throbbing pain thumping like a bass in a rockin’ punk song..

Captain Anarchy was at Hobies side instantly, trying to get through to him. He gripped his shoulders as he tried pulling him up right. His lips were moving but Hobie couldn’t hear a word. Hobie closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. The ringing and pain didn’t go away but it subsided enough for him to finally be aware of his surroundings.

“Hobie! Hobie, can ya hear me?” Captain Anarchy questioned. He had one hand on Hobies shoulder and the other about to slap him. Hobie saw that and pushed him off of himself.

“Fuckin’ spider sense.. just keep going. I’ll be up in a quick second.” Hobie brushed him off as he sat against the cold brick wall. Captain Anarchy said something and left but Hobie didn’t bother listening. He was confused.. why did he spider sense flare up..?

A scream pierced the air. One that sounded all too familiar. It jolted Hobie from his thoughts. He pulled his mask down again and found his way out of the alley, only to be met with a horrifying sight.

Osborn gripping you with one of his stupid venom mechs.

That sparked something in Hobie, it was like a fire had been lit. He desperately webbed around to try and beat Osborn up. He tried smashing the mech’s up, trying to shatter the pilot window so he pull that greedy fucker out. But nothing was working. Too much was happening, too much was going on for Hobie to realize what Osborn was doing.

Quickly Osborn scaled a building, pulling himself to the top. The old building was crumbling because of the impact from the fight but the pressure from the venom caused it to break more. When finally at the top Osborn turned to meet Hobie.

“If you really want your petty partner back so bad Spiderman, go fetch!” He taunted. But nothing could prepare Hobie for what happened next.

He dropped you, right off the side of the crumbling building. Debris fell with you as Hobie dived after you without a second thought. Your screams pierced his ears as Osborns horrible laugh echoed into the background.

You knew Hobie wasn’t going to get you. He was simply too far away. If he tries webbing you if would snap your back from the sudden impact, but you would probably end up breaking your back on cement aways. It pained you knowing this was how you die, falling from a building because of a corrupt prime minister. How delightfully stupid.

So you spoke your last words, knowing you had to make them meaningful. You said only four words, ones that might’ve just been something said without a blink of an eye yesterday. Ones that would’ve been said normally any other day. But right now, in this horrible moment, they meant more than anything.

“I love you Hobie.”

He wasn’t quick enough. His webs touched you just as you smacked against the dusty and dirty cement. Rubble rained down from the destruction of the buildings. There you laid, forever staring into nothingness. Hobie carefully held your body as he ripped off his mask.

“No no no.. love I’m here.. im right here.. please..” He begged. Hobie was never one to feel scared but right at this moment he had never felt more fearful. His hands ghosted your cheeks which lost more and more colour each second.

“(Y/N), please.. just fucking respond.. just do anything.. please..” He cried. He held your body close to him as he cried. Hobie never cried, he never felt the need to. But this moment, god this moment was the most heartbreaking moment he had ever felt. Nothing around him mattered no more. The noise seemingly stopped as he sobbed into your lifeless body. All the destruction, the chaos, it seemed muted.. Just his cry’s rung out in his ears.

Hobie couldn’t handle your death, not at all. That moment was one that he couldn’t deal with. It haunted his thoughts all day and all night. The image you falling burned into his memory, constantly replaying. The absolute burden it left on him made him become bitter and hateful, but deep down, depressed. It plagued him. It hurt him so much he.. he gave up spiderman.

He threw his suit away, swearing he’d never take up that mantle again. If he couldn’t even save the one close to him how could he save anyone else? The thought of even wearing that suit again disgusted him. Hobie swore that he would never ever put on that suit again, as if he couldn’t save you, he couldn’t save anyone.

“Hobie you alright?” Miles questioned, snapping his fingers in front of his Hobie’s face.

“Stop that.” Gwen hissed. She swatted his hand away.

Hobie came back to his senses after that. He didn’t mean to get lost in memories.. memories he’d rather forget. Anytime someone brought up Hobie’s canon event he couldn’t bear to listen. His mind always brought him back to that wretched day.

“This is the present mate, we don’t need to live the past.” Was all he said. Miles stood dumbfounded, Hobie didn’t really answer his question. He just wanted to know what his canon event was. Everyone had one so why was he being so secretive?

Hobie shook his head and moved away, no longer wanting to be apart of the conversation. Miles furrowed his eyebrows at that.

“What was that for man?” He grumbled to himself. Gwen leaned over to whisper into his ear,

“You know Miles, his canon event was losing his partner. The only one dear to him. Just don’t bring it, it’s a really touchy subject…”

#atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x you #spider punk x reader #hobie brown atsv #hobie brown angst

388 notes · View notes

anxious-witch · 4 months

Text

So a continuation of this soulmate poly! JO au

So! Again, this is not my usual high quality stuff, isn't beta read or edited and I have been feeling kinda eh about writing lately so...yeah. Be warned before going into it. But so many of your wanted some sort of conclusion so I had to give you one. I hope it's at least somewhat satisfying.

This needed a warning for vomitting not the last one my bad, also TW for Bojan's general low self esteem

Bojan wasn't feeling well. And it wasn't only because he was hungover from the whole spiked drink yesterday. No. It was also due to the fact that now they all knew that he was their fifth soulmate.

He woke up surrounded by three of them. Jure was curled around his right side, with Kris' arm thrown over both him and Bojan. Bojan was snuggled in Jan's chest and Jan's hand protectively hovered over his head.

Nace was probably already up. Bojan laid there fir a moment. Soaking in the warmth. For once, his soulmark didn't ache but instead hummed pleasantly.

It felt so natural, it was hard to remember why he was so scared of it.

Then a sudden nausea hit him and he had to practically launch himself from the bed. Jan stirred and sleepily called out to him, but Bojan didn't turn. He ran to the bathroom, just in time to throw up in the toilet.

He wasn't sure how he ended up on his knees and gripping the toilet. He also wasn't sure when Jan joined him by sitting on the floor and rubbing his back.

Only when he stopped throwing up for more than a few seconds did he lean more into the comforting touch.

"Aren't you supposed to be angry at me?" Bojan mumbled tiredly.

"Oh, I am furious," Jan said easily, "I just don't see the point of having this conversation until you feel better."

Bojan made a pityful sound, closing his eyes. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, his soulmark ached. He just wanted to die.

"You might as well. I am feeling miserable anyway. We can go for full physical and emotional destruction."

Jan sighed and gently ran his head through Bojan's hair.

"Kris went to make you tea and Jure to dig out some painkillers. Nace will probably make something to eat when he comes back from his run, if he hasn't already."

Jan scratched his scalp, like he was a dog. It was pleasant though and Bojan couldn't help but let iut a sigh and lean into it.

"I don't deserve you guys."

The fingers in his hair froze. You said something stupid again, Bojan's mind hissed.

"We'll talk about that too."

"I'm sorry."

Jan continued stroking his hair, but didn't reply. Bojan's soulmarked burned like a brand. He hates you, he hates you, he will never forgive you-

Kris arrived at that moment, taking in their state. His eyes softened as he watched them.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. I don't know if you are asking physically or mentally, but the answer is the same."

Kris crouched down and gently put his hand on Bojan's forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at the gesture.

"You don't have a temperature," he mused, "which means just a bad hangover. You should come back to bed. I bought a bucket if you are sick again. And there is tea and painkillers. Nace is making pancakes too."

Bojan felt a sudden pressure of tears. Why were they all so nice? So considerate? Shouldn't they be yelling and demanding an explanation? He felt like he'd prefer that. It was what he deserved.

"Bojan, hey, what's wrong? Does something hurt?"

Kris gentle voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he realized he was crying. He shook his head and covered him face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Why wre you all being nice? Why aren't you yelling at me? Why-"

"Shhh."

Kris hugged him to his chest and Bojan's body shook im his embrace. He kept a litany of apologies through the sobs.

"Jan, go tell Nace to finish pancakes later. I will get Bojan to the bedroom. I think we all need to talk first."

Jan probably nodded, because Bojan heard him get up and step out of the bathroom. Then Kris gently picked him up. Bojan didn't even complain, simply buried his face in Kris' chest.

He carried him to the bedroom.

"What happened? Is he alright?"

Bojan's heart squeezed at Jure's worried tone, but he didn't feel capable of answering. Which was why he was thankful for Kris.

"I am not sure. He started apologizing and then burst into tears. I think everything is hitting him just now. And you know how the bond can be overwhelming at first."

When he put Bojan on the bed, Jure curled at his back. Bojan reached out with one hand to him.

And Jure took it, interlacing their fingers. His and Kris' presence calmed him down slightly. Enough for him to stop babbling apologies at least, if not stop crying yet.

"Oh, Bojan," he heard Nace say from further away.

Then two more bodies joined the pile. Bojan could recognize each, despite having his face buried in Kris's chest.

That slowly made him calm down enough to stop the tears and carefully pull back from Kris' chest.

Kris didn't let him go far, gripping his waist when he tried to. Which was ridiculous, because they all surrounded him. He cleared his throat, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Right. Can we just…get this over with, please?”

“Get it over with?” Jan hissed.

Bojan flinched a bit at his tone, ducking down to hide in Kris’ chest again.

“Jan,” Nace chastised him from somewhere behind his back, “Let's try and do this calmly.”

Jure squeezed his hand and then Jan swore, almost as if someone elbowed him.

“Fine.”

“Bojan, could you sit up, please?” Nace asked.

Did he have much of a choice at this point? Bojan sat up, suddenly much more aware of four pairs of eyes watching him.

He stubbornly stared into his lap.

“Tell us what happened,” Jure urged gently.

“I was at the bar, I was flirting with a guy. He drugged my drink.”

Jan sighed loudly, but it was Kris who spoke up.

“That's not what we are asking. We want to know why you don't want us.”

That made him snap his head up, staring at Kris in disbelief. Kris, who was biting his lip and looked incredibly close to tears.

“What? I never said that!”

“You made it quite clear.”

Bojan felt as if he'd been slapped. He could take them being angry, or even saying they don't want him anymore, but he couldn't take them thinking he didn't want them.

“That's not true at all! Of course I want you!”

Kris did not look particularly convinced, hunching in on himself. Bojan met Jan's eyes instead.

“Then why didn't you say anything? Jesus, Bojan Kris knows you for a decade.”

“Because by the time I realized, the two of you were already together! And then I couldn't say anything because I thought that if you had each other, why would you want me?”

Jan took in a sharp breath and Kris paled noticeably, but Bojan wasn't done. He turned his eyes to Jure.

“So I kept silent, until Jure came along. And then he fit right in. Not just in the band, but with the two of you. And I thought, fuck, I'm too late. So I didn't say anything again. By the time Nace came into the picture, I-I had no idea what to do. Besides, we all know I would ruin this.”

Jure crossed the distance between them in a second, practically launching himself towards Bojan and pulling him into a hug.

“Never,” Jure said vehemently.

Bojan felt a sudden wave of love wash over him. It took him a second to realize it wasn't coming from him, but from the Jure's side of the bond.

It was enormous and overwhelming and Bojan was completely unprepared for it. Which made panic seize his chest.

Then, Nace was there, putting a hand on the back of his neck.

“Breathe. I know it's overwhelming at first, but just breathe through it. Jure, back up a bit he isn't used to the bond yet.”

The sensation eased up a bit, even if Jure didn't let go of him. Bojan took in a shaky breath.

“Why do you think you'd ruin it?” Kris asked after a moment.

Feeling their emotions in tandem with their words was new. Even without prying, he could feel hurt and worry from Kris. Bojan realized with a pang that that meant they could feel the turmoil of his emotions, too.

This was exactly what he wanted to spare them from.

“Because of this! I am difficult to deal with. I know all of you know it, because you had to deal with me. But that's different from being in a relationship with me. Kris met like, all of my girlfriends, he can testify.”

Jure's arms tighten against him, paired up with a slight pang of annoyance. Bojan bit his lip to stop himself from apologizing. They should be aware of what they were getting into.

He expected Kris to look angry or maybe defeated, but instead he looked thoughtful.

“From what I remember of that, the biggest issue was you putting us and the band in general before them. Which wouldn't be a problem here, would it?”

Bojan stared. He never thought of it like that.

“That's still not a good idea. I am difficult to deal with. You'll get tired of me.”

Jan snorted and Bojan turned to glare. Jan met his gaze calmly.

“Right. Because before this we never took care of you being sick every two to three weeks? Nace didn't calm you when you got panic attacks? Jure and I don't regularly feed you because you are unable to cook more than two meals? Kris doesn't have your schedule memorized and reminds you of what you need to do?”

Bojan felt as if Jan's gaze was burning through him, right into his soul. He ducked his head. Except, Jan reached out and Jure moved, curling at his left so Jan could tilt Bojan's chin up.

“Look at me.”

So Bojan did, a zing of electricity going down his spine as he did so. Any rational argument he had got thrown outside of the window.

“You borrow our clothes and you cuddle with us and we are all together almost 24/7. Why the fuck would that change if we were in a relationship with you?”

Bojan opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling as if Jan had just knocked out all the cards from his hands. Like all the insecurities that held him back were insignificant in the face of Jan's argument.

His head suddenly started hurting even more and he closed his eyes.

“I don't know.”

“Alright. Postponing the rest of this for later. Bojan, go brush your teeth, we'll bring tea and painkillers in the meantime.”

Leave it to Kris to organize everything in a second.

“Can't I get a coffee?” Bojan asked, peering at him and pointedly avoiding Jan's gaze.

“After we are sure you won't throw up again. Do you need help getting up?”

Jan finally let go of his chin and Bojan tried not to feel disappointed. He never kissed any of them properly, it was always something for the cameras.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss them for real.

That thought scared him enough to jolt him into action and he quickly got up from the bed. Too quickly, since dark spots began to dance in his vision.

Nace swore and reached out to steady him.

“I'll go with him-”

“No,” Jan interrupted, “you go finish those pancakes. I got him.”

Bojan tensed. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jan, because he did. He trusted all of them with his life. The thing was, Jan seemed the most angry out of all of them and he didn't sugarcoat anything. Bojan wasn't sure how being alone with him would go.

No one protested though, Kris simply exchanged a long look with Jan and then nodded.

Bojan wondered if that simply cane with sharing a bond for so long and then he suddenly felt very, very lonely.

So he didn't protest when Jan took Nace's place and led him to the bathroom. He took his toothbrush and brushed his teeth. Jan walked closer and took his own, so they both brushed their teeth and Bojan tried not to think about how domestic that felt.

That distracted him enough for him not to notice that the toothbrush was the exact same one he had at home until after he finished.

“Since when does Nace have everyone's spare toothbrush?”

“Since we all started dating?”

Bojan started at Jan through the mirror. Jan calmly washed his mouth with water.

“I haven't been dating you.”

Jan sighed as he stood upright again and put his toothbrush back where it belonged.

“No. But even before the soulmark, you were always considered welcome. I think…on some level we all knew.”

Bojan swallowed against sudden urge to cry again.

“I should have known. The way you looked when we saw Nace's mark, I-”

“Don't say that. You didn't know because I didn't want you to. It's not your fault.”

Jan gave him a wry smile, shaking his head.

“Isn't it? Maybe if we figured it out sooner, you wouldn't think you were unwanted. For seven years, apparently.”

Jan's emotions were more guarded than Kris’ and yet, Bojan could practically taste the bitterness and hurt pouring from him.

Bojan couldn't help but reach for him, but as soon as he touched his arm, Jan tensed.

“I'm sorry. It-it's not your fault, okay? I promise.”

Jan pursed his lips.

“If you say so.”

He stepped closer then closer again, until their chests were almost touching. Jan didn't stop him, but also didn't make any moves towards him, either.

Bojan cupped his face and pressed his lips to his anyway, trying to pour all his mixed feelings into it. Then Jan moved, pinning him back against the sink. Bojan gasped and Jan took that opportunity to deepen the kiss.

There was so much longing in the kiss, Bojan kept trying to pull him closer, making a protesting noise when Jan pulled back.

“This is a bad idea. We need to talk this through first.”

“Oh.”

Jan was probably right. It was not a good idea, especially with the mess of emotions Bojan was feeling. Still, it was difficult not to feel a pang of disappointment. He felt…rejected.

He nodded and hung his head low.

“Fuck. Bojan that isn't-Hey.”

Jan lifted his chin once more and Bojan shivered. Something about the gesture made Bojan feel very small in comparison.

“I am not rejecting you. This is just because I don't want to take this too far before you feel secure in the bond, okay?”

Bojan swallowed and watched and Jan's eyes traced the movement.

“Okay.”

Jan took in a deep breath and then took a step back. Then he extended his hand out to Bojan.

“Com'on now. The others are waiting.”

Then he was tugged back into the bedroom. Jure and Kris were sitting on the bed and talking quietly, while Nace still didn't return. They went quiet once they entered and Bojan tried not to fidget.

“Don't stop on my account,” he mumbled, trying to get under the covers.

Perhaps he could suffocate himself under the blankets.

“Wait! The painkillers!”

Bojan stopped halfway, and Kris handed his the painkillers and the water. He tried not to make a face at being treated like a child. Firstly Jan with pulling back and now the rest of them eith treating him like he was fragile. They cared and objectively, he was aware he scared them last night.

So he took them and handed the glass back to Kris. Then he got under the covers and buried his face into a pillow.

“Why is he sulking?” Kris asked, directing the question at Jan.

“He kissed me and I said I don't want things to escalate until he feels comfortable with the bond.”

“He wasn't too happy about that, huh?”

Bojan was about to snap at them for talking like he wasn't there, but then another person shuffled under the covers and pulled him closer. Jure.

Jure's emotions were always on the surface and Bojan could feel them much easier than Jan's. There was a sense of deep contentment that he didn't expect.

Jure pressed a kiss into his hair and Bojan felt his annoyance begin to dissipate. Kris shuffled closer and began petting his hair and-yeah, okay, he could get used to that.

He was starting to drift when Nace came back, announcing that the pancakes were done. Bojan groggily got up, rubbing at his eyes.

“You can eat later if you are tired,” Nace said with such a soft look, Bojan felt the need to squirm.

“But I want pancakes,” he protested.

Jan laughed.

“Just let him eat. Maybe that'll wake him up.”

Bojan glared.

“Maybe now I won't go exactly because of that.”

Jan smirked.

“Well good thing we can all carry you then, no?”

“No-”

Nace crossed the room in a few steps and picked him up as if he weighed nothing. Bojan squealed. He knew Nace could pick him up, but actually being picked up was quite different.

He wrapped his arms around Nace's neck, even if he was pretty sure Nace wouldn't drop him.

“Rude,” he mumbled in his neck.

He was lulled once again into a feeling of contentment that simply radiated from the bond. Was it supposed to feel like that? Did it always feel like that for them?

Nace gently dropped him in a chair at the dining table. Bojan absent mindedly reached for the pancakes while the others all took their seats.

“Does it always feel like that? The bond, I mean.”

Kris cocked his head.

“How does it feel?”

“Content. Calming. Like…things clicked in place.”

Kris’ gaze softened.

“Not quite. There was always something missing. Like the connection flowed between the four of us and then it just…hit a wall.”

“Oh.”

Bojan fidgeted with his knife before anxiously taking the jam and smearing it over the pancake. He wasn't sure what to say.

“We have been waiting for you,” Nace added softly.

And this, this was exactly what Bojan wanted to avoid. He covered his face, willing himself not to cry again.

“This is why I didn't say anything. I don't-I can't complete you.”

“You already do.”

He began shaking his head, but then Kris was gently pulling his hands away from his face.

“We already acted like you are a part of this relationship, excluding kissing and sex. You already cuddle and steal all of our clothes. You hate being alone so you are in one of our apartments half the time. You already act like you are our boyfriend, this is just a confirmation you belong with us.”

Bojan felt speechless again. So he did one thing he could think about at that moment. He kissed him.

This kiss was much softer than the one he shared with Jan. Kris kissed almost hesitantly, as if not believing he was real. When Bojan tried to press harder, someone cleared their throat and Kris pulled away.

Of course it was Jan.

“Still not a great idea Bojči,” he reminded him.

Bojan stared at Kris, who was still kneeling by his chair, looking a bit dazed.

“Maybe not such a bad idea, if it'll help convince him,” Nace said, shrugging, “But we should wait until after breakfast.”

Bojan's brain came to a screeching halt.

“C-convince me?”

Jure sighed.

“That we want you. Obviously.”

Bojan swallowed. Don't think about it. But Kris was already kneeling and-

“Kris, go sit in your chair before Bojan has another crisis. And let's just finish eating first, yeah? Then we can discuss other things.”

He felt his cheeks heat at Jan's words and Jure chuckled. Kris simply rolled his eyes and went to take his seat.

They all began to eat and Bojan just tried to take everything in as they fell into easy conversation like nothing had happened.

His world tilted on its axis and…kept spinning, almost exactly the same as it had before. And surely, this would change things. Perhaps even his fears would be confirmed with time.

But for now, Bojan sat with four of his soulmates that he loved more than anyone else and simply let himself breathe.

Bojan was born with four stripes on his stomach. Yellow, red, purple and blue. And for the first time, his pink joined into the rainbow it created.

#my writing #poly! jo #joker out #I am too lazy to tag them all sorry it's like 12:20 am lmao

79 notes · View notes

munsster · 1 year

Text

hitched?

A/N: i love love love proposal/marriage trope 💞 she is near and dear to my little heart

Pairings: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: Steve gives you a cold proposal, maybe you just need to warm up to the idea? 1.5k words.

Warnings: fluff, proposal, marriage and divorce discussion, pet names (sweetheart), insecurity, marriage propoganda, little bit o angst, lovesickness 🥺

“C'monnn," he whines with a big grin stretched across his face, "why won't you marry me, sweetheart? Don't like me enough?"

"I like you plenty, Harrington, but I won't marry you."

"Why not? I've got solid genes. Great hair, perfect smile—"

"Marriage is stupid; name one good thing that comes outta marriage."

He takes a second. Really, he pores over it all while sidling up close enough to catch your breath. And he's looking at you like getting married is more than an age-old phrase used by people looking for wealth or status or power or whatever. He's looking at you like getting married is more than tradition. Like getting married to you would be for love. Not for the hell of it.

"One good thing, huh?"

"One thing, that's all."

"Gosh"—he tilts his head back and guides his cold fingertips into the opening of your coat and around your sides, dipping them beneath your blouse with a smirk—"Besides the whole you're mine and I'm yours deal, it'll be kinda hard to think of something."

"But I am yours. And you are mine."

"Forever?"

You drop your forehead to his chest with a heavy sigh. And he feels your pulse down your spine, carefully calculating how much room is left between each vertebrae and trying to ignore the way your heart rate spikes at the question. Then comes your soft grumble:

"Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce, and the rest of 'em end in death. The odds are pretty much stacked against us, Stevie."

He takes a deep breath and tilts your chin up, looking concerned as ever with his brow furrowed sweetly. It tempts you. His face is so touchable—holdable—it's awful the way he uses it against you. On you. He gets what he wants with it.

"Hold on, now, sweetheart, you think we're gonna get divorced? Where's this coming from?

"Well... what if you don't want me forever?"

It gets him antsy. He's bugging out at the thought. You think he won't want you forever. You're worried he'll change his mind. How could he ever change his mind when you're all that's on it.

"What if I—" he scoffs a little and pulls away to look at you, "'what if I don't want you forever?'"

You shrug. "Yeah."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"Dunno. It could happen."

"Not for me. Not to us."

"It could! I don't wanna trap you into a marriage you'll regret for the rest of your life."

"Trap me? Sweetheart, you think I'd ask you to marry me if I didn't mean it."

"Dunno."

"I mean, I know that I can be a little ambitious at times and that I come off a little ignorant, but I mean well. It's not like I have this idealized vision of marriage in my head. You've seen my parents, my mom's parents, my dad's parents, hell even Dustin's parents. I know all about the fifty percent, alright? And I wanna marry you."

Oh, despite, despite, despite he wants to marry you. Despite the odds and despite what he knows and what he can't know. Despite himself he wants to marry you. To have and to hold, that's the promise. His promise. It makes his blood curdle, he's so excited at the thought of it. His ring, your finger. God, the choice of despite and all its exhilaration.

But you give him that droopy look. You hold his hands and pull your mouth into a flat little line. And it makes him want to kiss it away. Bring back the fullness and color.

"Why can't we just... go through the motions? I don't want you to feel stuck if you change your mind down the road."

You moan and drop your head back, embarrassed now that you're hearing it out loud. Not because you've suddenly changed your mind and not because you don't want to marry him, but because why should he marry you? With all the choices in the world, all the fish in the sea and the stars in the sky, why you? And if you had only asked, you'd know why. He has reasons enough to fill the sea and the sky over and over. Oh, if only you'd ask.

He sees it in your waterline. How your lip quivers and you bring your hands to your cheeks and your lashes grow damp and solemnly temperamental. It makes every bone in his poor body want to fuse with yours. If he had some sort of industrial strength, non-toxic glue, he'd probably use it on the two of you. He wants forever more than he knows. Forever with you. Two rings and as many decades as forever allows.

But maybe it's not that forever is impossible for you and Steve. It's not that he can't afford any of it or he's not romantic enough or forever might only be a month or you don't want to or you both wouldn't love it. No, it's something vaguely familiar and much more nuanced. Something he's known very well once before.

"Sweetheart... You're tellin' me you won't marry me 'cause you think you're disposable or something? 'S that it? You don't want forever 'cause you think I'll... I'll just change my mind?"

"No."

"Hey, look at me, how could I—"

"No—Steve—"

"C'mon, you're killin' me, I love—"

"Steve, please—"

"You, sweetheart, all you. And you love me, don't you?"

You sigh and cast your wet eyes down like you're intimidated, and it makes him feel too big. Too much, too heavy, too loud, too loving. Until you grab his hand. And look up at him. And he's just right, though he feels bad he's the reason you're tearing up.

"Yes, I love you, I love you so much, but—"

"But, what?"

"But... what if that changes? What if I can't promise you the life you want, and what if you can't promise you'll love me forever? What am I supposed to do when you're done loving me, and... and you don't want my love anymore? What then? We'll just be married and unhappy and fighting until we hate each other?"

"No, that's not—"

"It happens, Steve," you huff. He pushes the tears from your cheeks before you even catch yourself sobbing and holding his wrists. "It happens everyday, and I want... I want you to have an out because I would rather you leave loving me than spend the rest of your life despising me for what you could've had without me."

He's never heard this kind of woe before. Not from you. You the spitfire, the stubborn, the meanest, sweetest, most beautiful and affectionate. You, filled with woe enough to burst. And you do.

He tugs you close, arms slung around you and one hand on the back of your neck because it's warm. Because you told him one time that it feels safe when he does that. He liked the way you said it muffled into his shoulder. But now you're shaken, and you have to know he loves you.

"You know what I love most about you?"

He feels your lungs expand into the dip of his tummy and peter out into a soft whine. You shake your head, 'no'.

"There's lots'a things, but top of the list? Gotta be the way you cover your face when you get grossed out or embarrassed or annoyed—”

You chuckle and groan at the snot that bubbles from your nostril. His face screws in and he wipes his thumb under your nose, wiping it on the thigh of his jeans with a disgruntled sound.

"We're so gross," you grumble, sniffling and wrapping your arms sweetly around his waist.

He sighs with a grin.

"I guess it's meant to be," he coos. You rest your chin on his chest, pecking his jaw just as he beams at you and dips close for a kiss. He's warm like a heater. Perpetual and renewable and reliable. And you get to thinking: he's got the prettiest brown eyes in the whole world and ninety-percent of the time, he's got them laser focused on you. He squeezes your hip and whispers: "There's no way in Hell I'll ever change my mind about loving you."

You play up a big frown, fat tears welling in the corners of your eyes until he smooches your face content. It's hard to believe in the kind of love that stays and promises and thrives despite. Despite any statistic or preconceived notion. Despite the past and despite the future. The kind of love that exists to better and grow. The kind of love shared between romantics and poets and lunatics alike. It's hard to believe until you've got it in your steady palms.

"I promise I'll do it properly with the ring and the knee and the view and the speech," he hums.

"I'd say yes even if you forgot all of that."

"You mean it?" he chirps, excitement tense in his muscles when you play with a longer strand of his hair.

"I do."

masterlist

#stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #steve harrington #x fem!reader #x gn!reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #angst

392 notes · View notes

buckychristwrites · 10 months

Note

from the going to bed prompt list can I please get #17 with jamie. maybe enemies2lovers or something? think that would be cute

17. "Hey, I'm not your pillow." adjusted for my needs

"God, this is terrible."

Jamie ran a hand down his face, giving his head a quick shake.

"No fuckin' kiddin'."

The bus was broken down, sitting in the dark, in the middle of nowhere. All of the players were staring out the windows, some in fear, some in amusement. You, however, weren't amused by your luck. Not only was it damn near midnight and you'd rather be at home, but you were stuck sitting next to the absolute worst person to be seated next to.

"I just want to sleep," You groaned into your shirt that you had pulled over your face.

"Well, fuckin' keep it over there," He said rudely. You rolled your eyes.

"Don't fucking worry, Jamie. I don't need an excuse to not want to cuddle with you. I have plenty already."

"Good, 'cos I'm not your fuckin' pillow."

You glared at him, taking in his stupid brown hair that was spiked at the base of his forehead. Like a tiny Jimmy Neutron hairdo. Without the brains underneath, of course.

Laying your head against the headrest, you allowed yourself to shut your eyes.

What felt like merely seconds passed, but it had to have been longer when the engine of the coach rumbled to life. Startling awake, you tried to shift but realized there was a weight holding you down. When you looked upwards, you found that your head was on Jamie's shoulder, and his head was atop yours, with him still peacefully asleep.

Despite the deep heat that crept up your neck and through your cheeks, you closed your eyes once more and got comfortable again.

This could be a problem for another time.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt headcanon #anonymous #answered

140 notes · View notes

ao3-deviance · 7 months

Text

Pet Names

"Hey, Kit Kat, how's it breaking?"

Bakugou looked up from his book, blinking with befuddlement. Kirishima immediately wanted to kiss his nose as Bakugou scrunched it up, and since they were boyfriends, he decided to do just that, leaning over the back of the couch to smooch him. He giggled as he pulled away, seeing Bakugou's eyes cross as he tried to keep looking at Kirishima's face.

"The fuck did you just say?" Bakugou asked, tilting his head, and god, Kirishima loved him.

"What's up, basically," Kirishima explained, leaping over the back of the couch so he could recline and put his head in the blond's lap.

"What did you call me though?" Bakugou said, lip curling with annoyance.

"Kit Kat," Kirishima said, reaching up to soothe the wrinkles in Bakugou's brow with his thumb. "I thought it was cute."

Bakugou rolled his eyes, face finally relaxing again as he looked back at his book. He held the book in one hand, the other freed up so he could comb through Kirishima's hair. The redhead immediately melted under his touch.

"Whatever," Bakugou acknowledged. "'S stupid, but so are you, so."

Kirishima burst into laughter. Even dating hadn't smoothed out all of the blond's prickliness, but he wasn't upset about it.

"Want me to call you something else?" He asked curiously. "Honey? Sweetheart? Darling?"

Bakugou shoved his palm into his face, squeezing his cheeks as Kirishima tried to grin at him. "Fuck off, dumbass!" His face was brilliantly red, and Kirishima loved it.

"Awe, come on, Blasty. Boyfriends should have cute names for each other."

"I let you call me Katsuki."

"Yeah, but so do your parents. I want to be special," he stressed.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. "You are special, you idiot."

Kirishima pouted. "You call everyone an idiot," he argued.

"Hah?" Bakugou set his book down on the table, sending Kirishima a serious look. "You fucking with me right now? Or is this really bothering you?"

Kirishima shrugged, biting his lip unsurely. "Maybe…a little of both?" He hesitantly admitted. "It's fine if you're not comfortable with it, though. Just Katsuki is special enough, cause no one else here gets to call you that." He smiled softly up at the blond.

Bakugou hummed; he had that look in his eyes that meant he was thinking about something serious. He played with Kirishima's hair in the meantime, relaxing the redhead into a light doze as he just soaked in his boyfriend's affection.

"Sunshark."

Kirishima opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. "Sunshark?" He repeated.

"You're my sunshark," Bakugou decided, nodding to himself. He brushed his fingers along the side of Kirishima's face, tracing around his eyes with a gentle touch. "Sun," he said, brushing the spikes of his hair up, before moving to Kirishima's lips which naturally parted under his touch. Bakugou poked at his teeth, "Shark." Then he leaned back, flicking Kirishima's nose lightly and huffing a small laugh to himself as Kirishima rubbed at his nose. His face was quickly heating under Bakugou's soft gaze.

"Okay," he managed to get out without squeaking. "I'm okay with that one."

"Good."

"Canyoubemydandelion?" Kirishima asked quickly.

Bakugou sputtered, surprised, and he sent him an incredulous look. "You're calling me a fucking weed?"

"No, no," Kirishima was quick to assure, laughing at the absurdity. "I meant, your hair looks similar to one, yeah? And dandelions are tough fuckers to beat; they even grow in between concrete!"

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't fully believe Kirishima's reasoning, but he eventually sighed and shrugged. "I guess. Whatever you want." He leaned down to peck Kirishima's forehead. "Boyfriends are supposed to get special treatment or whatever."

Kirishima beamed. "Thanks, dandy," he said automatically, chuckling at the way Bakugou's face scrunched with unsurety on how he felt about the nickname.

"Whatever, babe. You're so weird," Bakugou determined, and Kirishima immediately clicked his jaw shut, eyes bugging at the casual use of 'babe.'

K.O. Super effective.

Bakugou grinned to himself, turning the page of his book while Kirishima drooled in his lap with hearts in his eyes.

#kiribaku #bakushima #my writing #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #fluff #idk bakugou calling kiri sunshark came to me in a dream #this is just some random drabble i felt the need to get out of my head #not really my usual style of writing but i had fun with it

85 notes · View notes

sweepingboy · 5 months

Text

Feng Xin curses himself - he got distracted and now the god usually seated across of him is gone. He watched him intensely the whole evening and spotted how slurry his words began to be, how heavier his lids got, stupid giggles leaving his mouth more and more often. He's pretty sure his drink has been spiked. It was shitty but manageable as long as he's around - Feng Xin would walk him home safely and the next day they would argue and he would promise to just leave him there drugged and vulnerable next time.

But when someone actually snitches him away Feng Xin is running around the heavenly capital, like a dog sniffing air. It is foolish to expect a kidnapper to lead his victim down main streets, so he dives into small alleys between houses, lighting his way with a small ball of spiritual energy.

He quickly spots a flick of a long ponytail and gives it a chase.

The man next to Mu Qing has no face. After countless attempts on the god's life, such details were no longer meaningful, but there was no need to worry that he would go unpunished - Feng Xin's fists would leave a legible signature.

He breathes heavily, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and spits on the ground where the battered body lies. Bastard.

My Qing is staying next to him slightly swaying. He's wearing a sheepish smile and had been glowing ever since Feng Xin had snatched him from Middle Court deity's hands, rejoicing either at the appearance of the general or at the spilled blood.

As Feng Xin walks to him he leans over a wall behind him and looks up at his face.

"Oh so you've beaten up some baaaad guys. My hero! Do you want me to kiss you like some saved beauty?" he slurs, his sarcasm suddenly sounding playful.

Feng Xin is exasperated "Shut up. Wha-"

Mu Qing sways again and warm lips are pressed into his. It's chaste and it doesn't last long but it leaves him breathless, head spinning. Wow. Is the shit he was spiked with that strong?

Mu Qing's arm rests on his chest right above his heart. God leans in tiredly and rests his cheek against it too. "I'm dizzy" he mutters against the other's body.

Hesitantly Feng Xin lifts his hand to stroke god's hair soothingly.

"Let's get you home, general."

#mu qing #tgcf mu qing #tgcf #feng xin #fengqing #tgcf feng xin #mxtx tgcf #tgcf headcanon #beta who?

59 notes · View notes

mamawasatesttube · 7 months

Note

Reading the list of fluff prompts I was struck by a deep desire for “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” from Lois to Kon.

Kon drifts.

Everything is vague, hazy, and distant, lost in a fog; exhaustion weighs at his limbs, although his perception of them is tenuous at best. He'd be content to keep his eyes closed, to fall back down into sleep, if not for this niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he needs to... he needs to... there's someone, there's someone he needs to protect...

Weary, confused, too tired to think, he turns that need over and over in his mind a few times. Pokes and prods it from different angles through the fog. Who is he protecting? From what? And why is his body so, so heavy?

God, he's so tired... Surely he can protect them better after he just... sleeps a little more. Yes. He can let himself drift back into—

And then it hits him. Metallo. Jon. Kryptonite. The explosion.

Adrenaline spikes through his chest, an echo of the metal rod that speared through his ribs a lifetime ago. It takes every ounce of his desperate strength to open his eyes.

The haziness slowly settles into the vague but recognizable outlines of the medbay at the Fortress of Solitude. He's lying on a cot, bathed in sunlight; his head hurts like Bart's in there taking out fifteen espressos on a drumset. In a chair to his right, a tablet computer in hand, is...

"Lois...?"

Lois looks up immediately at the sound of his voice, her sharp eyes softening when she meets his gaze. "Hey, squirt," she says, leaning forward. Her hand is warm against his clammy skin as she strokes his hair back from his forehead. "How're you feeling?"

Kon shakes his head a little, and instantly regrets it as the pain in his temples reverberates back and forth tenfold. "Wh... where's Jon?"

"Don't worry. He's fine, thanks to you. Barely a scratch on him." Lois smiles, but it's wan and slight. She looks tired. "He's with Clark right now. I'm not supposed to tell you, but he wanted to make you cupcakes so you feel better faster."

Fine. Relief floods through Kon's whole body; it's a double-edged sword, though, because as the adrenaline and panic fade, every bit of pain from his... everything... hurts way more. Ow.

God. Kryptonite and then a big-ass building getting exploded and falling on him would do that, but still. Ow. Owie. Ouch. Kon is not a fan of buildings falling on him. Has he ever mentioned that? He's seriously not a fan.

Still. Better him than Jon. That kid is barely fourteen. He doesn't need to be dealing with all this. Thank goodness he's okay.

"He's a good kid," Kon rasps. His throat is dry. Ugh. His head hurts. His back hurts. His legs hurt. Hell, his toes hurt. This sucks. "Ngh..."

Lois smooths his hair back from his forehead again. That's a welcome distraction from the pain, and at least the sunlight feels nice. She's probably here because Clark kicked her out of the kitchen, Kon thinks, and almost smiles at the thought. Still, it's nice not to wake up alone.

"Do you want some water?" Lois asks. She leans over and picks up a bottle from the bedside table that Kon didn't notice until now. "Here." She twists off the cap, scoots forward, and slips a hand beneath his head to help him lift it; her other hand gently tips the mouth of the bottle to his lips. "Sip slowly so you don't make yourself sick."

Obediently, Kon sips slowly. The water is cool and refreshing against his dry tongue and throat, and with Lois's help he drinks around half the bottle before he's had his fill.

A drop lingers on his lips, runs down his chin. Lois sets the bottle aside, plucks a tissue from the box on the table, and wipes it away.

Kon stares at her. She's so... she's being so gentle with him right now. His weary, confused heart skips a beat in his chest.

He takes a shaky breath as she helps him lie back against the pillows. "Lois... 'm sorry," he breathes, closing his eyes against the pain radiating from his skull. Kryptonite always triggers his stupid TTK overuse migraines. Sucks. "For... not getting Jon outta danger."

"What?" Lois sounds incredulous. "You—oh, you Kent boys will be the goddamn death of me, I swear, always taking the world on your shoulders for everyone—" She cuts herself off with a huff. "Conner, you have nothing to apologize for, least of all to me. I'm not—I'm so proud of you, you know that?"

Now it's Kon's turn to be baffled. What?

It's befuddling enough that he opens his eyes to blink at her. Does he have a concussion? What's going on? What did he possibly do to make Lois proud? Like, don't get him wrong, he's thrilled to hear it, but...

Lois pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Alright, squirt, listen to me. You did an amazing job keeping everyone safe from Metallo today. Everyone except yourself, at least. I... lord, don't give me those eyes, now. Yours are even worse than Clark's."

What eyes? Kon blinks again, still bewildered. He's just looking at her normally? And he just did what he was made to do, so why is she proud...? What is going on?

"Huh?" he manages, eloquent as ever.

Lois heaves another deep sigh and rakes a hand through her hair. Another lock falls out of her already-disheveled bun. "Look. We can talk about all this later. You need to rest up so you heal now, alright?"

That does sound good. Kon is very tired. And everything hurts. Has he mentioned that his everything hurts? Because his everything hurts. "Mmkay."

Lois smiles down at him. Then she stands up from her chair, leans down, and—Kon's breath catches in his throat—presses a warm kiss to his forehead.

"Get some sleep, squirt," she tells him, fondness clear in her voice. "I'll be here when you wake up. And so will your cupcakes."

"Yeah," Kon agrees, his chest tight. He closes his eyes before she can catch a glimpse of any tears that definitely, one hundred percent, are not forming. "Sweet."

As he falls back asleep, he's still smiling.

#rimi writes #necer0s #kon #lois #KON & LOIS.... OAUGH. FAMBILY...

75 notes · View notes

vldsideblog · 1 year

Text

Today I offer you my kinda shitty first attempt at writing Klance. Take it I guess.

Warnings for: non graphic vomit, let me know if there’s anything else

Stupid space virus, stupid alien genetics, stupid stupid stupid.

Keith held back a violent sneeze as he hacked at the gladiator bot in front of him. Each clang of metal on metal embedding itself into his already throbbing skull.

Two days ago Voltron had been called on for some planetary relief, it was supposed to be an easy, low stakes mission. And for the most part it had been. Lots of passing out supplies and treating various injuries and illnesses. Keith’s first aid skills had been greatly appreciated and he was grateful for a quieter day. But of course he couldn’t have one good thing in his damned life. Cause apparently he’d somehow been passed some random galran virus.

When the team had gotten back to the castle Keith had immediately crashed. Passing out in his bed before even taking off his jacket. And the next morning when he woke up with a raging headache and almost immediately threw up he knew something was wrong.

He tried to suck it up, but after a violent coughing fit during the breakfast that he had been reluctantly dragged to by Shiro, the beans were spilled and he would have to deal with the lectures about self care and health from his brother.

Much to his surprise though the others also seemed to be on the ‘give a shit about Keith’ train, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet. So instead of being restless and miserable in bed stewing in his thoughts, Keith decided to do something familiar, fight.

But unfortunately the restless thoughts and misery followed him onto the training deck, and he was now at the mercy of his malfunctioning body.

The teen was unsure of how long he’d been training, each level was taking longer than usual with his exhausted limbs and foggy mind, and he was now fully on the defensive instead of the offensive. Pathetic.

Worry’s and questions clogged his ears, and rumbled in his stomach. Why is everyone concerned? Are they faking it? Do they think I’m some weak kid to pity? How long will this last? If I’m not on top of things people could get hurt, it’ll be my fault if something happens. I’m the fighter, I’m supposed to be the last to break. But here I am, worthless again.

Then the gladiator landed an unfortunate hit to his already upset stomach, shocking him out of his spiral. Bile ripped up his burning throat. Keith managed to strike down the bot just before he fell to his knees and began dry heaving. Spit clung to his cracked lips as he curled into himself on the cold floor.

He rolled onto his side clutching at his stomach, the movement causing the drum in his head to crescendo in an agonizing throbbing. Maybe I should just lay here for a while, then I can get back to practice. Yeah, just a little breather. This is nothing.

Lance had just been trying to enjoy the quiet afternoon, last battle he’d ended up in a tricky situation with close combat, and he was planning to get some practice in with the gladiator. But as he entered through the sliding doors his heart rate immediately spiked at the sight of the red paladin curled up on the floor.

His black shirt was damp with sweat, and from the entrance Lance could see a tear in the fabric. As he rushed forward and slid on his knees he was able to take in his teammates' face. Dark raven hair stuck to his forehead, eyes pinched shut, and mouth pulled back into a grimace.

The blue tinted lights washing out Keith’s skin, leaving him pale and ashy.

“Ummmm, buddy, you good?” Lance asked hesitantly, honestly he wasn’t sure what he should say. He’d never seen Keith beat down, and it scared him. Of course he knew the guy had some weird space cold or something, but they all thought he was getting some rest. Guess we should’ve known better, this is Keith afterall. Not exactly the best at following orders.

Bringing him back into the moment Keith huffed quietly, and peeked open his eyes only to squeeze them back shut immediately.

“I will take that as a no,” Lance answered his own question in a low voice. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Keith grunted from his place in the floor, “Don’t like sit’n ‘round.” His accent strengthened by the end of his statement.

Lance shook his head, of fucking course Keith wouldn’t actually do what was best for him. He’s a stubborn bastard like that.

“How about we get you out of here, you should probably lay down.”

“Mmnn” grumbled Keith, obviously not happy about this entire situation.

“What if we went to the lounge, and I turned down the lights and we watched one of those weird Altean nature documentaries?”

“Fine, if you keep the noise down.”

“Deal.”

After a ridiculously long walk to the lounge (that was more of a slow shuffle because Keith was too stubborn to let Lance help him walk) Keith dropped down onto the circular couch and crossed his arms in a very Keith-like fashion.

“Lights to twenty percent” Lance called out, and the blue glow dimmed immediately, shifting the mood of the room drastically. The living area now felt like a calming cave, a safety blanket from the chaos of war.

Lance sat himself down a few feet from Keith and started scrolling through the various videos downloaded to the castle’s memory. Eventually settling on one that seemed to be about some weird lizard-like creature with orange scales and a curved beak. When he turned his attention back to his teammate, Keith’s eyes were closed, head tilted to the side. The exhaustion from that training must have gotten to him. He never falls asleep in front of people.

As the documentary played silently Lance couldn’t help but admire Keith’s face. The curve of his jaw, his feathery hair still plastered against his forehead, the dark scattering of moles, a small scar going up his jaw. He was beautiful. It wasn’t the first time Lance had been in awe of the red paladin, but he’d never seen Keith so soft. His brow wasn’t furrowed in frustration, his dark eyes weren’t piercing into his soul.

Lance let him rest, deciding to ping Shiro about the situation knowing Keith’s brother figure would be glad to know where he was and that he was getting some much needed sleep.

The reply didn’t take long.

S- Do you need me to come watch him? Is he okay?

L- He’s fine right now, just getting some shuteye. I don’t mind sitting with him for a while.

S- Okay if you’re sure.

L- I’m sure.

S- Thanks Lance, I appreciate it. I’ll come by in an hour or two with some food.

L- Thanks Shiro.

S- No problem.

Lance set down his tablet and reached for the throw blanket that was bunched up on the floor. Pidge must’ve been working in here earlier.

Lance tossed the blanket over a sleeping Keith and focused his attention once more on the documentary.

Turns out Keith was kinda cute when he wasn’t trying to fight someone every five seconds.

#vld #keith kogane #voltron #voltron legendary defender #keith voltron #keith headcanon #broganes #autistic keith #fanfiction #sickfic #klance #fanfic #fanfic drabble #keith angst #hurt/comfort #pre relationship

110 notes · View notes

shintin · 10 months

Text

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 2 (Shadow)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gun-play, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Royal Deluxe - Dangerous

Note: 1. Before reading this chapter, review the tags and warnings again. 2. Don't worry about the names. They are members of Gung-Ho-Guns. Not important.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

Blood.

The first thing to trick your senses.

The moment you caught a whiff of what could only be described as the scent of evil incarnate, you wished it had been something else entirely. Then a sense of fear and urgency slithered in, whispering in your ear, "Wake up! You are in danger."

Those whispers turned into a song full of screeching and loud noises, filling your body with heart-wrenching panic. Coldness and ropes. You were lying on a stone floor with your hands and legs tethered. Your adrenaline spiked, and you barely had enough guts to keep silent.

Cracking open your crusted eyes, you found yourself in complete darkness. It took a second to process that a blindfold was strapped around your head. As the tight knot pressed against your skull, you felt a brand-new dizziness blossoming on your forehead.

Slowly, the blissful numbness of your awakening crumbled, leaving you with a chilling sensation akin to unexpected snow. You lost your breath when all-consuming pain was followed by an absolute agony engulfing your body.

God! Is this what it feels like to be alive?

Cause it couldn't be death. If it were, you'd be at peace. Although you left the house without bodyguards or your father's permission, you'd be damned if you didn't land a spot within heaven's gates. There was no way you deserved this crap.

Racking your brain, you tried to think past the pain and remember what the fuck happened to you. Vaguely, you recalled leaving a convenience store with shopping bags in hand and walking toward the parking lot. And now you were here… wherever that was. But not somewhere safe.

Christ! What were you thinking? Why you had to disobey your father, you pig-head? Ah! Is this some stupid joke, or were you kidnapped for money? Huh! Maybe you should let them know he won't even pay a penny for your ass! Or wait! Was this a retaliation for some shady business he was involved in again?

Another wave of panic crashed through you as you considered this possibility. Scenarios curtailed and evolved until you were a mass of anxiety and desperation. You could be in serious trouble.

Fuck—you were in serious trouble, and you had no idea how the fuck you were going to get out of it.

Breathing more heavily, your heart slammed so hard against your chest that it physically hurt. So, your last bit of strength went into keeping silent with the buzzing in your ear.

Where the fuck were you?

Quiet, dull voices followed, muffled by the noise in your head but steadily growing louder. Hearing their talks was hard as you strained your ears, trying to distinguish the words over the terror and pain swelling in your body.

"His maniac brother will be looking for her," a man said quietly. "But we should be fine. Master ordered us to take her before his brother. Once he shows up, Vash-sama can't get us anymore."

A particular memory knocked you over the head, flashes of getting hit on the head and being dragged on the ground bit through your skin. Well, thank you very much! This explained why the fuck your back was on fire.

There was no joking. You'd been fucking kidnapped— no shit, Sherlock!

And it must have been some Mafia's doing since no one else would dare touch Gasback's daughter. Golly! Probably that's why your father warned you to give up your shitty sneaking out habit, and you had to be proven how dumb you were. It was your curse. You had to be the rebellious child just to show resentment toward him for leaving your mother on the deathbed to fuck around with chicks and whores. In your determination to go against his wishes, following his rules wasn't even a consideration. If you weren't this stubborn, not only could you have avoided all of this shit, but you also wouldn't have blood sticking all over your face.

Stupid girl!

Your eyes swelled shut as a sob rose to your throat. A tear slipped through your lashes, and your chest shook with exertion, trying not to break down. This was your own damn fault. You walked right into the trap despite the warnings.

"You actually think we'll be able to hide from him? He's a nutcase, man," another man responded, this one with a slightly strange accent.

"All we're doing is following Master's orders. Which one are you more afraid of? Knives or Vash?"

What the fuck? Who was this Master? What the fuck was going on? Why were they afraid of those Knives or Vash dudes?

You didn't know how you got into this fucked-up situation, but you needed your father to get you out of it. But only this time, though. Because you didn't belong here, you weren't meant to be enslaved.

"I'd prefer not to fucking choose," the second man muttered. As if reassuring someone, it sounded like a hand slapping a shoulder.

"Too bad you don't have a choice, Rei-Dei. Doesn't matter. This girl right here is worth millions. She's his daughter! You know how many enemies he has? People will be frothing at the mouth to make his girl their little toy. We'll get our cut from Knives, and we'll be living fucking lavishly." He let out a burst of hyenalike laughter. "Once the money goes through, I'll have a brothel full of juicy pussies!"

Anger flooded your veins at the man's callous words, assuming women as walking holes.

"You should walk out of this dungeon alive at first, Caine," the second man— Rei-Dei— responded.

His name sounded familiar, and you thought you faintly remembered someone yelling his name after they took you.

"Don't worry, man. We'll get a head start after delivering her to the Master. He'll protect us."

A derisive snort was the only response the first man got.

Bloody hell! You really were in deep shit. Your eyes brimmed with tears, and no amount of convincing could keep them from overflowing. A sob still clawed its way up your throat, threatening to spill, but somehow, you managed to wrangle it down.

It took you a few moments to gather your thoughts. With the blindfold on, you didn't know whether they could see you. A single wrong movement could alert them. You took deep, silent breaths to calm yourself, but suddenly someone touched your thigh, and you couldn't keep the yelp from slipping free.

"Greetings from the land of the living, sweetheart," one of the men crooned. It was the first guy who was after pussies.

Your body trembled uncontrollably in horror and hatred as you flinched away from the hand. Your heart was racing, but you refused to let your fear win and summoned all your courage. In a situation like this, you were powerless to see or fight back against this person. It was a terrifying predicament that could quickly turn out badly if you weren't careful. You had no option as letting yourself get paralyzed. This threat had to be faced head-on. "Where are we?" You asked, your voice raspy and hoarse. How long were you here?

It took a while for the answer to come as if the person was analyzing your newfound bravery. "In your new home," he replied, chuckling as if you were a dog adopted by a loving family. "You'll love it here."

With a constant sense of anxiety, cold, and this baneful presence of danger, you couldn't help but feel vulnerable and exposed. You heard your teeth chattering, and their laughter drowned out the sound.

Fucking assholes!

The way you were shivering, if there hadn't been any contortion or levitation, it would have looked like you were in the middle of an exorcism. Maybe you really were. Each tremble intensified the pain, and everything hurt so badly. God! There had never been a time in your fucking life when you felt more miserable.

"Don't worry, princess. Your owner will be almost here," Rei-Dei talked, his voice grinding against your already frayed nerves. "Vash-sama is going to love you." The ominous tone in his voice tensed your body further. Something about the way he said it made you feel like you had more to fear from this Vash than any man who came your way.

"W-who is he?"

The whole room was quiet for a moment, allowing the sound of water dripping on the hard ground to reach your ears, but then Caine spoke, "The one person you want to impress the most," he said, his voice grave. There was something he was afraid of about that man. If this fucker was scared of him, what was waiting for you? "Because he will determine just how miserable your life will be until the end."

The sound of his footsteps walking away from you made you squeeze your eyes shut in relief. God dammit! Even though you hadn't been here that much, you already felt defeated. Inhale deeply and exhale slowly and steadily.

Despite feeling uneasy with every question you asked, you had to gather whatever you could before facing this monster. "Wh-why he wants me?"

"It doesn't matter why. Now shut up! I need to take a leak. If you keep talking, I'll undo my pants and paint a picture on your pretty face."

It took the disgusting threat to snap you out of your trance. Anyhow, ending the conversation was best. Although you had never been good with your mouth, you didn't want to risk your life in a place where rabid men roamed. So, you kept silent even as he walked around you. "Keep quiet like this, or you'll be surprised at how many cocks will fit in your mouth."

Your eyes rounded under the blindfold, and your teeth snapped shut. From the audible click, the man chuckled. Swallowing nervously, your heart started thumping too loud in your ears, making everything fuzzy enough that you didn't hear when someone grabbed your arm, and before you could open your mouth to scream, you felt a prick in your arm, followed by a burning sensation spreading throughout your veins. You sucked in a sharp breath. And it happened to be the last breath you took before darkness descended.

"Master's already deposited the check, so we can do whatever the fuck we want."

You stirred; the familiar voice distorted beneath the ringing in your ears. The roughness of his tone felt like scratching nails on a chalkboard. You had awoken to that damn voice too many times now, and each time was a stark reminder that you had been sucked into a nightmare and hadn't yet found a way out.

Your body was wracked and battered with agony. It felt like you were drowning, trying to reach the surface, but not succeeding because you knew the pain would only worsen. Flames were licking your nerve endings, and the closer you got to consciousness, the brighter the flares became. You were still tied in a seated position, helpless like a hunt. Right now the coldness of the wall against your back was the least of your concerns. A small prick was felt in your arm, followed by faint voices from all sides.

"Fucking idiot," Rei-Dei muttered under his breath. Then louder, he reminded him, "No, you can't do whatever you want! Because even if you survive Vash-sama, you'll have a big fucking target on your head in the shape of Gasback."

Did you hear your father's name?

Caine started talking, unconcerned, "You worry too much, Rei. We'll hide until he gets his revenge, and then, we can do whatever we want."

What revenge?

You shrank and instinctively wanted to wrap your arms around yourself, but they were still tied behind your back. It looked like they noticed you again since the room filled with elicited grunts of amusement.

"Aw, don't be shy, baby girl. We have all this money because of —"

Whatever the man was going to say was cut off by the door opening, and the entire room instantly went still. Everything went quiet like the air in the deadly space had been suddenly sucked out. The silence around here wasn't one vacancy, but rather of them holding their breath, praying for the person entering the room to show mercy.

Despite your best effort, you could only hear heavy footsteps approaching. Though you didn't know who would show up or what they would do, you knew this wasn't someone to be trifled with.

"This the girl?" the new man called out. Under the surface of his voice, you could detect no remorse or kindness, only icy coldness and an overwhelming sense of malice.

Like a bitch wagging its tail, Caine answered amusingly, "Yes, Master."

So, this was the Master they were talking about. You were kidnapped by this lunatic before another one. What an honor! The devils were vying to get you first.

"Who did this to her?" he demanded, his tone ruthless. He was no human; you had already decided. He was just a soul-sucking being without grace or compassion, only interested in fulfilling his own desires. "Her face is all damaged." His voice faded before cutting back in, a harsh shriek that sent shivers up your spine. "I prefer to bruise the apple myself, DON'T YOU KNOW?"

There was no need to be an expert to realize that no one liked eating bruised apples. Naturally, he wanted a nice, shiny apple to sink his teeth into and rip apart himself. Piece by piece.

"She looks fine," another answered, his voice all concerned. Rei-Dei's companion, you thought. It was apparent they had screwed up. A pathetic pang filled your heart at the thought of these fuckers being punished for damaging you.

"Fine? You call this fine?" The sharp snap of a slap hitting someone startled you. It was a brutal blow, and you could feel the shock even from where you were kept.

"You think I can gift something like this to my lil brother?" When he'd met with silence, a muttered "Thought so" followed.

Then, as if your worst fear had decided to come true, his presence gradually grew nearer to you. "You're quite a sneaky little bug, aren't you?"

Realizing he stood before you, you tried to steel yourself against panic. Nausea tickled your consciousness, threatening to pull you back down. You let out a sharp breath as probing, lifeless fingers slid down your blindfold and pried your eyelids open. Flickering light tortured you to the point you tried to shut them off, but he wouldn't allow it.

"You won't close them until I allow you to; otherwise, I'll tear out one by your choice." He smiled. Seeing the twisted delight on his face, it was a sickening sight. Your chin was held up, his face crowding over yours. Although the image was still blurry, you could see his light blond hair, eyebrows, pale blue eyes, and a mole under the right one. You parted your lips, but your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. He was lucky you didn't spit on him as you were tempted to, but that would be stupid, and you couldn't be stupid right now.

Jesus, what did they inject you with? Whatever it was, it was making you disoriented and dizzy.

"I know you're in a lot of pain, little bug, but I need you to tell me where it hurts."

Everything. Everything fucking hurt. "My… shoulder," you croaked out finally. "My head."

With your vision improved a little, you could see his white turtleneck and pants, which contrasted dramatically with the place's colors. Dingy and damp, the dungeon looked like an abandoned cave. A heavy, oppressive atmosphere hung heavy in the air like a burden of grief. The walls were covered in a thin layer of soot and grime. Only a few torches lined the walls, keeping the darkness at bay. The dim and eerie illumination made the whole place even more unsettling.

"Anywhere else? Your chest or stomach?"

Was he trying to fool you with this mask of civility?

"Back," you gasped, recalling how your back felt like a cheese grater had shredded it.

"That all?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral. As he stared at you, he brushed his hair back.

You nodded, exhausted by the incessant questions. It hurt in a million other places, too, but your energy had depleted, and you were tired.

"You're not lying to me, are you?" His breath flared on your face, and then a scream left your mouth as he pressed your shoulder with his hand. You noticed his sick grin as endless pain surfaced over your surroundings. This man was a wretched, vile creature who delighted in inflicting pain and suffering on others. "I don't like liars, little bug." He poked your nose as he pulled back his face. "Lucky you're not one."

What the fuck was wrong with these people? Who were they?

The two men standing behind him had bottomless eyes and wicked grins on their faces, just like their dickhead Master. The pair had been so quiet, staring at you as if you were a lab rat in an experiment.

A very fucking horrible experiment.

Your eyes clashed with a dark pair first. His eyes were almost black and lifeless from the lack of warmth. Tattoos covered his skin, and serpents curling around roses on either side of his throat drew your attention first. A leather jacket was zipped up over his shoulders. In addition to his long black hair, he had sharp angular features and thick arched brows, which completed his near-feral appearance.

Next to him was a grungy-looking man with scabs on his face from apparent drug use. The mop of greasy hair was covered by a backward ball cap, a dirty wife-beater, and oversize pants. His teeth were so black, it looked like worms had infested his mouth.

Lastly, you glanced at the third man. The sick bastard. He would be attractive if he didn't look like he'd rather see you bleed to death than do anything else. There was a dark aura surrounding him. You were sure the unsettling atmosphere up here derived directly from him. He cultivated an energy that made you feel as if you were stuck in a room breathing black smoke.

The blond man hummed, thrilled by your fearful reactions, then he talked again. "Do you know who I am?" It took you a few seconds to rein all the dirty names on the tip of your tongue, but you managed to swallow them down enough to shake your head.

His eyebrow popped up on his forehead. Undoubtedly, he was the star of his own nasty show. "I'm Knives," he said. "That's my name, but it's not how you'll address me."

Frowning, you knitted your brows, unsure of how to react. Taking your face closer, he placed his lips an inch away from your ear before you could even realize what he was doing. When he whispered, "I am the head of this family." You winced. "Master, you'll call me that, just like others. You won't speak, act or even think without my permission. Understood?"

Inhaling sharply, you couldn't speak a word as your eyes were shocked.

"Should I repeat myself?" He pushed your face away harshly, causing your shoulders to hit the wall. You screwed your eyes shut in pain as a puff of air escaped you from the impact.

"Yes," you whispered, though your words were garbled between your pinched lips. "I understood." He was angry with his men for damaging the apple, yet he couldn't keep his goddamn hands off you.

A cold tremor settled deep in the marrow of your bones, causing you to look away. While the dull, throbbing pain was growing more intense, it was still not as severe as when you first awoke. Whatever painkillers they pumped into your system were wearing off, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for more. The pain in all of your muscles was so intense that you felt like a hard shell had formed around your body.

You were incredibly stiff, and every movement twinged.

This… this terror was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It wasn't like the cheap thrill you get from scary movies, and you knew you were truly fucked when you felt this way.

"Don't worry, little bug. I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. "No more than what you can tolerate anyway."

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat, and then your gaze fixated on a dark red puddle on the table you hadn't noticed before. You couldn't even begin to imagine what that could possibly be from.

Tracking your line of sight, the blond man turned to see what you were staring at. He barked out a laugh when he saw it. "Want to place a bet on what it's from?"

Your face contorted in revulsion.

"My bet is that some bitch lost her tongue right there," Knives chimed, turning his attention to you and leaning his cheek against his palm as if he had just seen the sweetest scenery ever.

It was as if he had just walked out of hell's gate. You were frightened by his look, but his creepy smile sent your heart sinking to the pits of your stomach. "As long as you do as you're told, I'll let you keep yours," the psycho said, pulling your attention back to him.

You bristled, anger rising in your chest. You were two seconds away from telling him that he needed to be admitted to the nuthouse, but you didn't say that out loud, given that you were already in a fucking nuthouse. Yet, you couldn't keep that loose mouth of yours shut. "You're sick," you blurted out, your voice watery and full of hate.

"Shut up!" he screeched. The calm man completely lost his mind as if you had hit the jackpot. His chest heaved with anger. Heat radiated from him in waves, solar flares of fury lashing at you as he seethed. Then he grabbed your hair and slammed your head against the ground, sending fire racing across your scalp. You cried out; the sound quickly muffled when he yanked your head back, forcing you to stare at his disgusting face, nearly spitting with ire. He was on his knees, eyes wild as he hissed, "Be careful what you say, or you'll suffer way worse than this. To fucking God, I'll make you wish you were dead."

Tears flowed down your cheeks, slobber nearly pouring from your mouth as sobs racked your throat. His slap landed across your face, your ear ringing as he continued to hit you mindlessly until you were breathless from the pain. "You fucking useless bitch!" he shouted, but through the pain and rivers glistening in your eyes, you could no longer see him. Indiscernible pleas fell from your lips, but you didn't even know what you were saying.

"Get in here," he snapped to someone, but you couldn't see who. Eventually, he released you, nearly knocking your head off the floor again, only to feel some other weight pressing down on you.

You wiggled, attempting to roll out of his hold, but the attempts were all vain, and he forced you back down. "Stop!" you screamed, your vision blackening with panic and tears, but then you felt the cold metal of the gun nozzle against your head.

"Wait, wait, please, please," you begged, desperate to get away but unable to. You could see Knives' shiny shoes walking away from you, laughing at your misery until the squeaking of the wooden door filled the dungeon, and someone charged in.

"HOW DARE YOU?" a man, probably standing in the doorway, shouted as if the rage within him was boiling, building up like lava about to erupt.

How do volcano eruptions begin? Pressure. It was brewing inside this new arrival. As the fiery magma erupted, hatred thickened, and bloodlust grew denser. Eventually, he would fucking explode, and you hoped he would burn this whole goddamn place down.

In no time, you heard gunfire and saw a man fall to the ground, his blood splattering across your face. The weight on your back was gone as your cheek hit the floor's rough surface, a chill slowly seeping into your skin. The shock shuddered through you, but the scream of terror never left your lips. You were utterly terrified, your whole body shaking as your heart tried to tear open your chest.

All the pain beat like a pulse behind your eyes, making it impossible for you to turn your head. Your lashes dripped warm crimson blood when your gaze was fixed on Caine's lifeless limbs a few feet away. You had no idea if he was dead or alive and why nobody reached for help.

You could hear the new man's heavy, determined footsteps as he stomped past the scene, his boots slowly clattering against the stones. As he stepped on the red puddle, the soles of his shoes made a soft wet squishing sound against the stained floor.

He wore all black. His boots were made of leather, black as the night sky, now covered with the drops of blood moon. His pants were the same, a dark shade of black that hugged his legs tightly. With his black shirt and gloves, he looked like a shadow rising from the depths of hell.

The entire surface of his neck was covered with tattoos, dark and intricate designs. It looked like a maze or some mysterious symbol. While his sun-colored spiked hair stood out in the darkness, the loop in his left ear completed the sinister ensemble.

As he approached, your pain-soaked body trembled with fear, but he did not even glance in your direction.

Despite his lack of emotion, his movements were not as sterile as Knives. There was something tired about this one. As if he wasn't born this way, but had cared for so long, he was left with nothing but rage. Someone had taken away his heart. But he was no hero, and you had no admiration for him. He might have been a good man once upon a time, but now he was cold and emotionless like the rest. You didn't dare to move your eyes to look at his face. There were already so many Satans you had met today.

Pointing at the corpse, suddenly Re-Dei's shout echoed in the room, "What? Why, Vash-sama?"

Only then did the beast stop, his boots trampling blood pool without a second thought. You glanced at him from the aside. Rei-Dei was aimed at by the man in black who leveled his firearm. "Nobody gets away with touching what's mine. Got a problem?"

Despite being disgusted by how he named you his property, you couldn't ignore the clear message behind his actions — he wouldn't hesitate to use his weapon, and just like Rei, you had better think very carefully about what you would do. The consequences could be dire if anyone chose their words poorly with this man.

The sudden movement of Vash frightened Rei-Dei, and as he stared up at the man's cold, predatory gaze, his fear and terror grew. He struggled to speak, his voice stuttering as he tried to find the right words.

"N-no, bo-ss." He turned and watched his Master stand there, seemingly unfazed by the death of one of his own. He must already learn that his Master cared little about him.

The air was thick with tension, the man on the edge and ready for any sign of aggression, but Knives just seemed to be enjoying this little theater, watching people die with a cruel relish.

"I know you're grieving, but I thought we'd already established that you weren't supposed to kill my men," Knives finally spoke, but nonchalantly. For him, this was all a fun game.

Vash's face turned from Rei-Dei to his brother with a cold, contemptuous sneer. He wasn't afraid of Knives and refused to be intimidated by his words. "I thought you'd keep your dogs on leash," he said ruthlessly. "Because certainly, I enjoy putting them to sleep."

Rei looked at his Master's expressionless face, and you could sense the fury burning up like a furnace inside Knives, but somehow he managed to keep a calm exterior. He was the type of guy who wouldn't let anyone see him get rattled, but he wouldn't let the insult go unanswered. You were sure he would never give anyone, not even his little brother, the satisfaction of seeing his rage.

Perhaps that's why he gazed at you, a mistletoe smile spreading across his lips. The subject was going to be changed by baiting you. "Did you like my gift, Vash?" he spoke in a measured tone, his words dripping with cold malice and contempt. He pointed at you like a piece of filth that needed to be discarded after being used and abused.

It looked like Vash was insistent on ignoring your existence and the fucks happening around here. For him, this was just another day. He seemed so carefree, spinning his gun in his hand. He was quick and agile, easily handling the deadly weapon as if it was an extension of his arm. His gaze was locked on his big brother. "Returning what you've stolen isn't a gift, Kni." In a fluid motion, he returned the revolver to its holster.

Knives' smile turned into a snarl as the words struck him like a hammer blow.

Moments of silence, then they began talking again, their voices barely louder than whispers, yet filling you with disgust. There may be a common bond between these brothers, but they seemed to have little affection for one another.

The power these creatures wielded over your life was beyond comprehension. What would happen to you as a pawn in their twisted games when they stopped playing? Where the hell was your father and his men? Why were you still here? What did they want from you?

"Anyway, I've got to go, party pooper," Knives said. Letting out a sigh, he grabbed his coat. You caught him as he looked at you smugly, pleased with himself and his handiwork.

In a flash, he turned to leave, Rei following him, but Vash stood in the way. His grip tightened around Knives' arm and pulled him closer. "You didn't kill her," he whispered, probably staring at the bloodied footsteps he'd left behind. You couldn't see the upper half of his face because of the lack of light.

"She wasn't my toy to break," Knives retorted with arrogance and a sense of superiority; he was such a proud boy who wouldn't even apologize for playing with his little brother's stuff without his permission. There was no doubt in his mind he was untouchable.

"Do anything like this once more, and you'll have the displeasure of not seeing me again." His monotone voice carried a distinct threat. Knives remained silent, which meant the younger brother was serious about what he had just said, not giving away empty promises.

Vash released his arm and walked aside, opening the way for his cursed family's head. His hands moved swiftly as he searched through his pockets, his fingers quick and decisive, not wanting to waste any time. He tipped his head slightly to the side as he rummaged through his belongings. A blue pack of cigarettes was pulled from his pocket and slid between his lips smoothly.

"What that means?" Knives' tone was bitter as he stood and stared. He was obviously caught off guard, not expecting his brother to threaten him in such a manner. Now you could see it. Knives only concern was his twin. He only cared about him.

Holding the cig with his teeth, he smiled at his twin. "Fuck around and find out." Turning away his head, he flicked his lighter and brought the flame close to the cigarette. A faint light illuminated his face briefly, and then darkness enveloped him once more. Probably he didn't need to look at his brother's face to see how worried his pale blue eyes were. Maybe that was his intention. Maybe this was his perfect gamble. Vash might have known his weak spot and wasn't afraid of pushing it.

Knives stormed out of the dungeon with his dog 3 steps behind him, slamming the door shut. Your heart sank when you realized you were now alone with the other maniac, and somehow, you felt even more helpless, knowing no one would be here to stop him. You hate it here. You hate it here. You hate it here. You hate it here.

Walking toward the bloodied table, Vash stood before it as if he could see what most likely had happened there. He took a deep drag on his cigar, letting out the smoke in a slow and steady stream. The small white cloud swirled around him, giving him an ominous aura.

It wasn't pleasant to watch. He wasn't one of those smokers you used to see among your father's men. Instead of puffing away with pleasure, he was trying to keep as much smoke in as possible, ensuring that it would burn his lungs and nostrils – a cold and ruthless Harakiri.

He extinguished the flame of his cigarette by pressing it against the blood, and turned toward you.

Close your eyes and prepare for the worst.

Your body curled in on itself, the lump lodged painfully in your throat, but you didn't have it in you to swallow it down. A whimper escaped your lips, like the cries of a wounded animal.

You felt a mass descend on you. Your heart picked up speed, and fear pumped through your veins, settling low in your stomach, eating at your insides like acid. The smell of something sweet, rainwater, and smoke flew around you. Very odd in a place like this, but that wasn't important right now. You flailed uselessly, yet your fists were unable to escape the ropes.

"Shhh," he whispered. You fought harder when you remembered what those douchebags had said about this nutty twin. Screaming for him to leave, you braced yourself for a blow, but instead, you felt a gloved hand running throw your hair, his thumb caressing your bruised cheek. "Shhh, it's okay."

You opened your eyes. It was not very often that people surprised you. Since you expected the worst from everyone, yet when you looked into his eyes, you couldn't believe he was a cold-blooded killer.

Million shades of blue swimming in warm, sunlit waves. His eyes, they resembled sea glass, glacier water, wet stone walls, and broken light on rainy streets. Fire on the ocean, you thought, as if imagining such a thing was possible. Yet nothing was behind them. Empty. He had been robbed of his humanity.

Blowing out a sharp breath, you forced yourself to fight, gritting your teeth from the aches in your body. The little energy you had left dissipated, and all you could do was sob. Grasping your throat, he tilted your head up, his fingers squeezing your air pipe. You started coughing, just barely, making out his expression. His face broke into an evil smile, reeking of nothing but dark intentions. Biting his bottom lip, he petted your head almost reverently, staring at you as if you were a prized possession.

Then, just as your eyes began to focus, the press on your throat made your vision blur once again, and your eyelids grew heavy. You could no more resist the deep pull inside you, trying to close your eyes. There was no point in fighting it. No, not when it would take you away from this man, from the pain. Because you knew, there was more to it.

"Welcome home, love," he whispered.

p.s: My apologies, but I'm having a great time writing this.

If you want to be on the tag list, please leave a comment.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon

94 notes · View notes