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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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come crawling faster

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Eddie’s rings are clean of blood when he wakes up.

It doesn’t occur to him until later, as he’s laying in bed trying to sleep, that someone must have cleaned the for him, and the thought twirls the air around him like a tornado. He inspects them in the moonlight, and there isn’t a speck of blood or dirt even in the deepest crevices of them. He smiles at the ceiling in the dark.

Everyone is happy that he’s okay. They all hug him gently, careful and mindful of the stitches holding him together, of the IV in his arm, of the way his head aches like he’s hungover. All their voices are low and their hands gentle, and Robin and Nancy bring clothes for him to wear that aren’t cold hospital gowns. Dustin cries, and Eddie thinks that for a few minutes while Eddie holds him, he’s turned back into the little boy he was before he was shoved into the whole mess of the Upside Down.

They all update him on everything that’s happened since he’s been out. Max is okay, with healing arms and glasses almost thicker than the bottoms of Coke bottles. Erica and Lucas are okay. Dustin’s leg is healing, but he’ll have to use a cane. Mike is back from Lenora, with a girl named Eleven and Will and Jonathan, and some guy named Argyle.

He sees all their smiles.

Except Steve.

Steve doesn’t smile. Not once.

He stands in the corner and watches everyone talking, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall like a broody movie villain, and a few times when Eddie looks in his direction, he’s already looking back. Frowning. Or he’s looking at the ground like he’s bored, like he doesn’t want to be here at all.

And every time it makes Eddie’s chest tighten, so he squares his shoulders and widens his smile and looks away, back to whoever is talking. He’s actually struggling to follow along as their voices overlap, and he thinks maybe he’s just tired, because when Robin speaks, he looks toward Eleven for a moment, and he accidentally calls Dustin Lucas’s name.

They all say goodbye when they leave. The kids all hug him gently again, along with Robin and Nancy. Argyle and Jonathan smile.

Steve doesn’t say goodbye.

Eddie tries not to let it get under his skin, but it gnaws away at him like teeth as he stares up at the ceiling. How easily Steve left, like he doesn’t even know Eddie. How he was almost glaring at Eddie the whole time. How he didn’t even seem slightly happy that Eddie was alive.

He only sees Steve a few times while he’s in the hospital, because Steve drives the kids to visit. If it were up to Steve, Eddie doesn’t think he’d even show up. It’s still under Eddie’s skin.

Days go by.

The government pulls some strings. Eddie’s murder charges are dropped. He’s released from the hospital but only with a security guard that’s armed with a gun just in case. Eddie goes home to Wayne.

Home is different now. An apartment in town, small and a little run-down, but it has two bedrooms and more hot water than the trailer. And there aren’t any bloodstains on the ceiling.

Eddie helps Wayne put up his mugs around the kitchen, and his hats in the living room. Wayne chides him gently. You’re gonna pull your stitches, Eds, I got it. But Eddie’s tired of doing nothing, of laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying to think up new campaign ideas only to be distracted wondering what’s going on with Steve. So he keeps helping. And he cleans, and decorates his own room with posters and photos and banners that someone packed while he was in his coma.

He has to go back to the hospital several times, accompanied by Wayne. To remove the stitches on his cheek, then the stitches on his arms and legs, then the stitches on his sides and chest. Eddie hates getting stitches removed.

He’s covered in scars, all pink and disfigured, tender and sensitive. The scars on his sides are almost indented, his skin no longer smooth and soft. The one on his cheek is jagged. He avoids looking in mirrors. He wears long sleeve shirts, even though the weather is getting warmer.

He doesn’t go back to school even though he has the option to. He doesn’t want to be looked at. And he doesn’t really care anymore. There are bigger things to worry about than fucking Ms O’Donnell’s class. (Like what’s going on with Steve.)

Wayne goes back to work. The kids go back to school. The town seems to get used to Eddie. He still gets glares from people, and he looks back. He doesn’t hide the scar on his face or the one around his neck. They leave him alone.

The living room of the apartment becomes their new D&D place. Steve drives the kids over and picks them up. He doesn’t come upstairs. None of the kids say anything about. And this thing between Steve and Eddie becomes a quiet, unspoken thing that no one even glances at. It’s not the unspoken thing Eddie had hoped for when he opened his eyes in the hospital, blinded by the sun on the white walls and another chance at life. It’s the opposite of what he’d hoped for.

A month goes by.

Mike and Eleven break up, and that weird tension that was always present around them disappears. (Eddie always thought Mike talked about Will more than he talked about El at school anyway.) Nancy and Jonathan break up too. The day after, they both look happier than Eddie’s seen them before.

Eddie has some parts of his life back. He goes over to Gareth’s for band practice, and he decides he prefers how his guitar looks in this dimension, how it shines in the sun. He also decides that life is better when he’s not in high school. He’s going to try to get a job this summer, at a car shop or something. Wherever will hire him.

It’s been three weeks since he and Steve have seen each other. Or, he supposes, since he’s seen Steve. Steve didn’t look at him. It was like Eddie wasn’t there. It made him feel gross in a way he’s never felt, like his skin didn’t fit right, like it was bunched up and twisted, and he wanted to rip it off and set it on fire. And scream. Because he was mad.

Because even if Steve doesn’t feel the same way about him, Eddie thought they were friends. Or at least friendly. Eddie almost died, and Steve hasn’t said a single word to him.

So yeah. Eddie is mad.

But he’s pissed when he sees Steve at the grocery store, and their eyes meet across the stand of fruit they’re both at, and Steve just… looks down. Picks up an apple. Squeezes it.

And walks away.

Eddie is pissed.

More pissed than he’s ever been in his life. His blood feels like it’s boiling in his veins, like he’s being burned alive, and he can’t breathe, and he puts his basket down and leaves the store. (Usually he’d take the time to pay, or put the few items in the basket back. But he thinks that if he tries to do either, he’ll lose his mind.)

He goes to the parking lot. Sits in the driver seat of his van for a few minutes, staring at the gray sky as his hands shake and his knee bounces against the steering wheel, trying to figure out what exactly was in Steve’s eyes when he looked at him. They were awfully blank, but he looked… anxious. His eyes were a little too wide, his jaw a little too firm.

The sky darkens as Eddie stares at it.

He’s still pissed. He’s still shaking.

His keys rattle as he turns the van on, and his breath trembles as he drives, the windshield wipers on as it starts to rain. And then he’s at the Harrington mansion, and he wants to drive off a cliff, because what the fuck is he doing here?

He turns off the van and stares at the house. At all the windows. The downstairs lights are on. Eddie wonders if Steve is scared of the dark too.

It’s almost pouring when Eddie gets to the front doorstep and rings the doorbell before he knocks five times, hard. The door swings open a few moments later, and Steve is beautiful even Eddie’s angry at him.

His brows are furrowed in confusion, but his face relaxes back into that horrible blankness when he realises it’s Eddie.

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back.

For a while. In silence, except the pouring rain. Eddie’s eyes look back and forth between Steve’s, who holds the door so tightly Eddie thinks he’s going to slam it shut.

And Eddie wants to hear him talk.

And Eddie is stubborn. He’s had great practice being stubborn. So he doesn’t speak, or move, or even breathe too hard even though his hands are still trembling, until Steve finally exhales and steps back.

“Get out of the rain.”

“Oh, he speaks!” Eddie exclaims, and he knows he’s being bitchy, but he doesn’t care. He kicks his shoes off, nudging them into a corner as Steve shuts the door heavily and steps into the kitchen that’s bigger than Eddie’s living room.

“What the fuck?” Eddie bursts as he follows him, watching him lean casually against a counter and cross his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a red sweater that looks criminally good on him, but Eddie doesn’t let it distract him.

“What the fuck,” Steve repeats dryly.

“You wanna fuckin’ tell me why you’ve barely fucking looked at me in the past goddamn month?”

Eddie has a swearing problem. It was the cause of a lot of his detention visits in high school, because he can’t help it. When he gets frustrated or annoyed or angry, his language gets colourful. Usually he regrets the words as he’s saying them, sometimes because he knows he’s gonna wind up in Peterson’s room after the bell rings with a pink slip in hand, and sometimes because the person he’s talking to doesn’t really deserve to be talked to like that. Because he’s not mad or frustrated with them, they just happen to be in the line of fire.

But not Steve.

Steve is the fucking target.

Eddie is already breathing hard as Steve looks away, his tongue sliding over his teeth in his closed mouth, seething.

“Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes snap up him, dark and gleaming like a predator’s. His voice is rough when he speaks.

“Because I’m pissed at you.”

“Well, Christ,” Eddie says loudly. “What a development.” His stomach aches, like he’s sick at the thought of Steve being mad at him. “You wanna tell me why?”

Steve is quiet for a moment before he stands up straight off the counter, uncrossing his arms, staring so hard at Eddie that his nose might start bleeding.

“I told you,” he says evenly, pointing at Eddie with two loose fingers, “not to be a hero.”

“Harrington—“

“And you nodded,” Steve interrupts, his pointing fingers stabbing the air between them. “You agreed, and I believed you.” His voice is loud, but shaking, Eddie wants to cry. He wants to burn his skin. “So I left you with my kid and I came back to find you fucking bleeding out in his arms.”

“What, so you’re mad that I almost died?”

“I’m mad that you went back!” And Eddie wants to die, because Steve is yelling now, but it’s still better than the silence he’s gotten. “I’m mad that you didn’t fucking run!”

Eddie’s eyes are burning, and his lips are pursed in a frown, and Steve’s hand falls.

“Why didn’t you run?” he asks brokenly, and Eddie realises the predatory gleam in his eyes is just tears.

“I ran from Chrissy,” Eddie says as strong to as he can. “I wasn’t gonna run again.”

“Anybody would have run from that, Eddie,” Steve yells. He leans forward in emphasis, and he looks like he’s going to cry. “You weren’t a coward, you were human. You didn’t have to fucking— make up for it.”

Eddie stares, blinking tears back, pursing his lips when his chin quivers.

“I’m pissed at you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter again. He’s breathing hard. His hands are shaking too. “Because you lied to me.”

He takes a deep, unsteady breath.

“And because—“ He chokes, swallowing. “Because you didn’t think that obviously Dustin was gonna follow you back. And I don’t— Jesus, Eddie, I don’t care if you don’t give a shit about your life, it’s not— not fucking fair.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Eddie’s chest feels like it’s been ripped open.

“The fuck’s that mean,” he says quietly. His whole body hurts. He thinks maybe Steve’s hands could make it feel better, but what are the chances Steve is going to touch him gently right now?

“I know you knew what was gonna happen, Eddie,” Steve says, his voice even, lethal.

Eddie’s stomach twists, and his breath catches in his throat, because he didn’t think he’d have to talk about this. He didn’t think anyone knew.

Steve stares at him, his eyes fucking piercing into Eddie, like he’s trying to see his bones.

“And I don’t care if you didn’t care,” Steve says firmly, his eyes shining brightly, his lip quivering. “It’s not— It’s not fair.”

The air feels tight, almost smoke-filled, like there’s a fire they’re both ignoring.

“Your life,” Steve says slowly, loudly, his eyes trained on Eddie like he’s worried he’s going to run, “is not yours to just throw away.”

“So, what, it’s yours?” Eddie snaps like he’s offended.

“Yes,” Steve yells roughly.

And the smoke clears.

Eddie’s eyes are wide, and his hands are shaking, and Steve’s eyes are wide, and his hands are shaking too. He’s breathing hard, his brows furrowed, and his lip quivers as he stammers silently.

“It’s mine,” he says finally, his voice breaking. “And Dustin’s. And Lucas’s, and Mike’s and Wayne’s, and everyone else on this goddamn planet that cares about you.”

And Eddie’s chest feels like it’s hallowing out. Like Steve is carving his flesh and bone away with a knife. His eyes watch a tear fall from Steve’s eye to the floor, landing on the tile.

“What about you?” Eddie asks, still angry.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Steve snaps, his face hard as he almost glares at Eddie, his eyes still glistening. Eddie glares back, his brows furrowed, and he inhales slowly. The room is silent except the rain pounding on the roof, on the glass windows, except his and Steve’s stuttered breathing.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Steve,” Eddie says coldly.

Steve looks like Eddie’s slapped him.

“The kids told me about how you threw yourself at a raging psychopath,” Eddie says.

“That was—“

“And how in the same night you threw yourself in front of a pack of demodogs with nothing but a baseball bat.”

“That—“

“Nancy and Jonathan told me about how Nancy forced you leave at gunpoint,” Eddie says, his voice louder, moving closer without even noticing. His voice is shaking. “And you still went back.”

Steve stares. His eyes are wide, and he looks angrier than Eddie’s ever seen him, and even though there’s a pit of fear in Eddie’s stomach, he persists.

“And we all know about how you stayed behind to be interrogated, and tortured and damn near killed by those Russians.” Eddie’s almost yelling now, tears sparking his own eye as he gestures to Steve in anger, in outrage, in pain and love and everything else that’s swirling in his carved out chest like a hurricane.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie screams, finally breaking. His throat hurts. “You think those people don’t care about you?” he yells, gesturing aimlessly toward the door. “You think we don’t love you?”

He’s panting, almost numb with adrenaline and rage. His vision is blurry, but he doesn’t know if it’s because of the anger or if he’s crying. He ignores it.

“You have no right to lecture me on this when you and I both know you would have done the same thing in a heartbeat.”

And then Steve’s hand is grasping the front of Eddie’s shirt, and the breath is knocked from Eddie’s lungs as his back slams into the wall so hard he thinks it might be dented. He gasps for breath, and Steve’s face is too close to his, and this close he can see specks of green in his eyes, and he can see every tear that’s clinging to his eyelashes. And even when he’s radiating anger, he’s the most beautiful man Eddie’s ever seen.

“You gonna hit me, Stevie?” Eddie says even though he still can’t really breathe. Steve doesn’t say anything. His fist is gripping Eddie’s shirt so tightly it might rip, his knuckles pressing into Eddie’s chest so hard it hurts.

Eddie’s never been good at knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

“You don’t get to be angry at me,” he says quietly, almost breathing the words. “Not when we’re exactly the same.”

Steve’s knuckles press even harder.

His lip is trembling, and Eddie’s eyes flick across his face, at his glassy eyes, and flushed cheeks, and the moles spotting his skin like stars, and he kisses him.

He pulls away just as quickly as he leaned in, his body flooding with heat as he realises what he’s just done, but Steve’s face doesn’t change. Still angry, seething, and the world is on fire, crushed under tidal waves and hurricanes and God’s wrath, and it’s Eddie’s fault. His eyes sting like there are chemicals in them, and he breathes out a soft shit before he tries to shove past Steve to escape before he can die.

Of course he’d survive this long, survive being beaten by a drunk before his bones were done growing, survive being the target of a witch hunt by townspeople with guns, survive being eaten alive by demonic bats, only to die untouched. Because he kissed a boy without thinking.

But Steve’s hand tightens on Eddie’s shirt, and he pushes Eddie back against the wall roughly. Eddie whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut, flinching, and a few seconds pass before something presses to his forehead. He opens his eyes hesitantly.

Steve’s eyes are closed, his forehead on Eddie’s, and his hand releases the fabric of his shirt, his palm pressing, fingers spreading over Eddie’s chest.

Eddie’s eyes burn, and he inhales sharply, trying desperately not to cry. His hands are hanging by his sides, trembling.

Steve pulls away after a moment, and all the anger is gone from his face. His eyes are almost closed, still glassy, and he looks exhausted, like he’s going to fall apart. But his hand is still steady on Eddie, pressed firmly.

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you,” Steve says so quietly the words almost get lost in the sound of the rain.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

Steve leans in and kisses him.

Softly, chastely, just barely catching his lower lip. Eddie can’t tell if his heart is even beating anymore, and his hands raise hesitantly as Steve does it again, slowly slowly slowly moving to touch Steve’s waist. His sweater is soft.

Steve’s other hand lifts and holds Eddie’s cheek so gently he can barely feel it on the mangled, sensitive skin of the ragged scar. And then their breaths are mixing as Steve presses his open mouth Eddie’s, and his tongue is slipping across Eddie’s lip and into his mouth. Eddie leans against the wall, his hands tightening on Steve’s waist, as his knees weaken.

The kiss doesn’t last long, because Steve is crying. Gasping for breath, holding Eddie tighter. Squeezing his eyes shut. Falling against Eddie.

Eddie slides his hands to Steve’s back, holding him close. His throat tightens, and he closes his eyes, suppressing a sob as he feels Steve’s shoulders shake.

“Don’t be mad,” Eddie says weakly, his voice wobbling, too high, too thin. Steve lifts his head, looking at him desperately.

“I can’t not be mad at you, Eddie,” he says. His voice is the same as Eddie’s. There are tears on his cheeks. Eddie wipes them away. “You lied to me,” he chokes. “You lied to me.” His hand curls into a fist that hits Eddie’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says softly, moving a hand to hold Steve’s fist against himself. Steve falls against him, his face in Eddie’s neck, and Eddie wraps his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s arms wrap around Eddie’s waist, pulling him away from the wall, so tight that Eddie gasps, and he sobs loudly, trembling.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, crying, and he slides down the wall, holding Steve to himself tightly, and Steve is wailing into Eddie’s neck, sobbing and shaking and gripping Eddie so hard he’ll probably bruise. Eddie’s back is to the wall, his arms around Steve’s neck, his face buried in his hair. He’s getting it wet with his tears, but it doesn’t really matter. His own hair is still wet from the rain.

Eddie is still apologising. He doesn’t even think Steve can understand him, because his own voice is so broken and tear soaked, and because Steve is sobbing like a child.

I lost you.

“No, you didn’t,” Eddie manages to say, shifting so his mouth is by Steve’s ear. “I’m right here, I’m okay.”

Steve cries into Eddie’s neck. Eddie’s skin is wet with his tears. The collar of his shirt is probably soaked. But he doesn’t care.

Steve’s sobbing turns into that awful hiccuping gasping sort of crying, and Eddie pulls away enough to kiss his forehead and hold his face.

“‘M right here,” he murmurs. There are tears in his own face that ignores.

Steve is leaning against him, his legs sprawled on the kitchen floor, and Eddie tugs him closer, wiping away his tears.

But Steve doesn’t ignore Eddie’s tears. He messily wipes them away before he clutches to Eddie’s face, his other hand grasping Eddie’s forearm tightly. His chest is rising and falling with every quick, gasping breath, and Eddie swallows his own tears as he looks at him, at his rosy, tear-streaked cheeks and running nose and chapped lips, and he wonders how long Steve’s been holding this all back.

“I’m here, Stevie.”

Steve looks at him. His eyes are glassy and exhausted again. Eddie wants him to go to sleep. Preferably in Eddie’s arms.

“Thirteen days, Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice rasps, dry and overused, and it sends a knife through Eddie’s heart.

“I know,” he breathes. “‘M sorry, Stevie.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as his breathing finally slows, reaching to find Eddie’s wrist, and Eddie feels lightheaded when Steve’s fingers press into his pulse.

It’s not until Steve’s breathing is slow that Eddie finally detaches them, helps Steve up, and gets him a glass of water. After Steve gulps it all down, Eddie stretches the sleeve of his shirt over his fingers and steps closer to Steve, touching chin and using his sleeve to wipe his skin, under his nose and eyes and over his cheeks.

Steve’s eyes close, and he sways with the movements until Eddie’s hand pulls at his shoulder, and he falls against Eddie, exhaling heavily.

“‘M sorry,” Steve says softly after a few moments. His hands slide over Eddie’s waist.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Eddie murmurs, because the last thing he wants is Steve feeling like he can’t cry in front of Eddie.

“No, I was mean,” Steve says, almost whining, looking into Eddie’s eyes. He looks like he might start crying again. Eddie touches his cheek. “I was angry, I should have— I should have talked to you, you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie breathes, his voice accompanied by the quiet rumble of thunder outside.

“No, it’s not,” Steve says weakly, his hands gripping Eddie’s shirt. “‘S not okay, Eddie.”

“Okay, fine,” Eddie says, sighing and brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek softly. “You were an asshole. I forgive you.”

Steve’s eyes close and he falls forward, his forehead pressing to the side of Eddie’s neck, and Eddie threads his fingers through Steve’s hair gently.

“God, I missed you,” he says softly. “How’d I miss you so much?”

Steve’s arms wrap around Eddie’s waist tightly. Eddie brushes through his hair.

“Stay,” Steve says softly, his breath warm in Eddie’s neck. “Don’t want you to go.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. His body aches.

“I won’t go, Stevie.”

Carefully, hesitantly, he shifts and reaches down to Steve’s legs, tugging at his thighs until Steve exhales and nods, moving his arms to wrap around his neck. Eddie picks him up easily, smiling when Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, and Steve clings to him desperately as Eddie moves out of the kitchen, following the hallway until he finds the unreasonably large living room. He slowly lowers Steve to the sofa and then he lowers himself on top of Steve when Steve’s grip on him doesn’t relax.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathes after a few moments. Eddie shifts to press a kiss to his neck.

“I know. Me too.” He pauses for a moment, then moves so his cheek rests on Steve’s chest. “I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

Eddie hesitates, moving a hand to press to Steve’s chest in front of his face, feeling the soft knit of his sweater.

“We love you.”

Steve’s arms tighten, and Eddie feels his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.

“You know we love you too, right?” Steve says softly. Lightning flashes outside, far away and soft. Eddie closed his eyes, pressing his hand to his chest.

“Kinda unbelievable,” he says quietly. Thunder rumbles.

“‘S true,” Steve says. “Even if you don’t believe it.”

Eddie presses his face into his chest, inhaling. He smells like laundry detergent and cologne, and like something that oddly familiar. Nostalgic. Eddie inhales again.

“Did you visit while I was under?” he asks quietly. Steve sighs.

“Could barely keep me away,” he say softly. “Worst thirteen days of my fucking life.” He takes a breath, sliding a hand to press over Eddie’s on his chest. He’s so warm. “Just held your hand ‘nd waited.”

Eddie laces their fingers, squeezing.

“Left to the bathroom in the hospital to clean your rings,” Steve says, his voice thin. Eddie opens his eyes. “The lights kept flickering, and I didn’t even care, I just… needed to clean them.”

Eddie lifts his head and looks down at him, his throat tight.

“That was you?”

Steve nods, his eyes shining as he looks up at him. His hair has fallen around his head like a halo. His cheeks are still rose, his eyelashes dark with tears like he’s wearing makeup.

“Couldn’t stand the thought of you… waking up with blood on your rings,” he says softly, one of his hands combing through Eddie’s curls that have fallen like curtains. “I don’t know. ‘S kinda dumb in the grand scheme of things.”

Eddie shakes his head, sniffling as his eyes burn.

“It’s not dumb, Stevie,” he says shakily. Steve’s fingers press to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Steve smiles softly, weakly, touching Eddie’s hair, and a tear falls from Eddie’s eye to Steve’s cheek, near his mouth. A soft laugh escapes Steve, and Eddie apologises, smiling, watching Steve blur. He starts to shift to wipe the tear away from Steve’s skin, but Steve beats him to it, wiping the tear with the tip of his middle finger before he brings the finger to his own lips, licking the tear off. Eddie scoffs.

“And they call me the freak.”

Steve smiles. His eyes are shining too.

“Kiss me,” he breathes.

Eddie leans down and kisses him. He can taste the salt of his own tear in his mouth, and he tilts his head to kiss him deeper, groaning softly. Steve’s hands spread over his back, holding him so their bodies press together completely, before they slide to hold his head, his fingers curling into his hair.

The sound of rain outside fades like it’s being muffled as Eddie kisses him, as he listens to the quiet, weak noises escaping Steve’s throat, to the slick slide of their tongues, to their heavy breathing. He presses his fingers into Steve’s neck, feeling his blood rushing, his heart beating beneath his skin. Steve whimpers, and Eddie pulls away to look at him, at his screwed-shut eyes, his furrowed brows.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers.

Steve sniffs, opening his glistening eyes, and he pulls Eddie into a hug desperately, his face in Eddie’s neck as Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, closing his eyes.

“I was so scared,” Steve chokes, holding him tightly. “I thought you were gone.”

“No, I’m right here,” Eddie whispers, tugging his hair, kissing his jaw. “‘M not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

It slips out, but Eddie doesn’t try to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. Especially not when Steve takes a shuddering breath and turns his head enough to kiss Eddie’s temple.

Eddie falls asleep with his face in Steve’s neck, breathing on his skin as he lays in top of him, their legs tangled together. Steve’s hand is holding Eddie’s throat in a way that makes his knees feel weak, his fingertips pressed into his pulse, and Eddie is holding his sweater in loose fists.

“Oh, fucking finally.”

They startle awake simultaneously, gasping and trying to sit up, and Steve fingers tighten around Eddie’s throat before he quickly lets go. Eddie shifts, trying untangle from him, squinting in the bright morning sunlight, his body aching.

“Fucking Christ, Robin, why?” Steve exclaims, his voice rough with sleep, rubbing his face as Eddie leans back, groaning loudly.

“We all thought we’d have to live in your silent treatment for the rest of our lives,” she says dramatically, and Eddie watches her, still squinting, as she moves around the sofa to collapse onto his and Steve’s legs. “So you guys talked?”

“More like screamed and cried,” Steve says, shifting, pulling his legs away to lean against the armrest of the sofa. She sits cross-legged, looking at them. “But yeah.”

Eddie shifts to lean against him, closing his eyes against the light. He’s never been a morning person, and still isn’t today. Especially when he was sleeping so peacefully, on Steve’s warm body. Eddie probably has the knit of his sweater pressed into his cheek like a print.

“Sounds like quite a night.”

Steve’s hand presses into Eddie’s hair as he hums softly, and Eddie exhales, relaxing against him. He could fall asleep again.

“You had quite a night too, didn’t you?” Steve asks, his voice almost suspicious, and Eddie smiles against him, moving closer. He loves how Steve as Robin can read each other’s minds like this. How they can take one glance at each other and just know whatever there is to know. Steve pulls at Eddie’s legs so he’s sitting across his lap, and Eddie tucks his face back into his neck.

“Uh. I mean—”

“Oh, shit,” Steve says. Eddie can hear his smile in his voice. “V?”

“Uhm.”

Eddie lifts his head, brows furrowed in confusion, but Nancy appears in the doorway, carrying a tote bag like a baby. Her eyes find Eddie and Steve cuddled up on the sofa, and she exhales roughly.

“Oh, fucking finally.”

Steve looks sharply at Robin, eyes wide, and her face flushes with colour.

Oh.

“Finally what, Wheeler?” Eddie asks, rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, ignoring Robin and Steve.

“You guys were becoming insufferable. You talked?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God.” She steps up behind the sofa to look at Robin, whose gaze softens when it lands on her. “You gonna help?”

“Help with what?” Steve questions.

“My mom’s using the kitchen, so we’re making cookies here.”

Steve makes a face.

“Why do you always use my kitchen?”

“Because it’s nice,” Nancy says. “Duh. Robbie, come in.”

“Robbie?” Steve whispers as Nancy leaves, and Robin shoots him a look, scrambling to follow Nancy to the kitchen.

“So,” Steve says when she’s gone. Eddie presses his face into his neck.

“‘S too fuckin’ early.”

Steve laughs softly, running a hand down Eddie’s leg, squeezing his thigh gently. Eddie kisses his neck softly. There’s a clatter in the kitchen, and Robin laughs.

“Hey,” Steve says after a moment, rubbing his leg.

“Mm.” He lifts his head when Steve doesn’t say anything, and he shifts to look at him. “What?” he asks softly.

Steve gazes at him for a moment, holding his leg with one hand as the other touches his cheek and then tucks his hair behind his ear. Eddie moves to straddle his hips, holding his shoulders and looking at him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday,” Steve says quietly.

“I yelled at you too.”

Steve scoffs, playing with the ends of Eddie’s hair.

“I yelled at you first.”

Eddie pauses.

“Not… really.”

Steve just laughs lightly, closing his eyes and falling forward so his forehead presses to Eddie’s chest, just under his collarbone.

“Can you let me apologise, please?”

“Ugh, fine.”

Steve lifts his head and presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s chin. No one’s ever kissed Eddie there.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday,” Steve says softly. “And I’m sorry for being mean.”

Eddie touches his cheek, almost petting it.

“I won’t yell at you again,” Steve says softly, firmly. “Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Mm.”

“What if I’m being an asshole?”

“Then I will very calmly tell you that you’re being an asshole.”

Eddie giggles softly, hiding his face in Steve’s neck, and Steve wraps his arms around him tightly. Eddie sighs, settling into his arms.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“Will you— Steve.” Steve laughs softly, tightening his arms. “Come on, man.”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. Like… as soon as I walked into your house. That wasn’t fair.”

He lifts his head and touches their foreheads together, holding Steve’s face in his hands.

“I won’t yell at you ever again.”

“Not even when I’m being an asshole?”

“No,” Eddie says, laughing softly. “I’ll very calmly tell you you’re being an asshole.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers.

Steve tugs at Eddie’s waist, lifting his chin up wordlessly, and Eddie smiles at him before he presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Think I’m falling in love with you,” Steve murmurs when they part, his lips brushing Eddie’s.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, holding his cheeks so they squish a little bit. “King Steve falling for the freak. What would your loyal subjects think?”

“Who gives a shit?” Steve breathes, and something shifts inside Eddie.

“Fuck, I think I’m falling in love with you too.”

Steve smiles brightly, his eyes squeezing shut, and Eddie is free-falling off a cliff. He leans in and kisses him.

“How do you take coffee?” Steve asks quietly when they part, breathless.

Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip, smiling.

“Milk and sugar,” he murmurs against his mouth before kissing him again, holding his cheeks. Steve smiles against his mouth, his hands spreading across his waist before he slides one to the small of his back.

“Let me make you coffee,” Steve says.

Eddie groans softly, pressing his face into Steve’s neck again. He likes it here.

“Wanna go to bed.”

“Come on,” Steve says, laughing quietly, squeezing Eddie’s waist. “The girls are making cookies, maybe we can steal some dough.”

“Isn’t that unhealthy?” Eddie asks dryly.

“Kids eat cookie dough.”

“You’re saying I’m a kid?”

“‘M saying neither of us got to be kids for very long,” Steve says softly, and oh. Eddie kisses his forehead because he can’t kiss his mind. “Let’s go steal some cookie dough.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes, but he doesn’t move, instead leaning down to kiss him softly, tenderly.

There’s a dash of flour on the top of Robin’s nose when they finally go into the kitchen. She and Steve exchange a look as Steve heads over to find the coffee.

“Why are you making cookies?” Eddie asks, hopping up onto the kitchen island to watch as Robin cracks an egg into the bowl Nancy’s mixing. “Is there a special occasion?”

“The Party’s coming over tonight for a movie night,” Nancy says. Steve turns around.

“What? Why?”

“Because your living room’s huge.”

“You guys keep making plans in my house without even telling me,” Steve mumbles, but Nancy points the whisk at him.

“Our house.”

He makes a face at her.

“Steve, is it cool if I smoke weed in our kitchen?” Eddie asks, and Steve rolls his eyes, but he smiles softly.

“Only if you share.”

“Cool.”

He comes back with two joints and sticks one in Robin’s mouth as she’s cracking another egg, both of them holding still as he lights it for her.

“Thanks, Edster.”

“Ew.”

He sits on the island again, taking a slow drag as he watches Steve make the coffee, find the milk in the fridge and the sugar in a cabinet, watching the way he steps over the tile like he’s about to fall into a dance. He brings a mug over to Eddie when it’s finished and sets it down next to him.

“‘S hot.”

“You know what else is hot?” Eddie says without thinking, and Steve snorts, moving to stand between Eddie’s legs so the insides of his thighs press to his waist.

“What?” Steve asks, looking up at him, smiling easily, sliding his hands over Eddie’s thighs, and Eddie’s cheeks flush even though he’s the one technically flirting.

“…Nothing.”

“Mhmm.” Steve’s eyes are shining gleefully, like he knows exactly how he’s affecting Eddie. He jerks his chin up at the joint. “Gimme a hit.” But he doesn’t move his hands to take it.

So Eddie takes a long drag, taking Steve’s chin in his fingers, and then he leans down, brushing Steve’s lip with his thumb so Steve opens his mouth. His eyes flutter shut as Eddie blows the smoke into his mouth, and Eddie smiles.

He hears Robin giggle as he’s gazing at Steve, watching the smoke drift out of his mouth slowly, and he looks past Steve to find her and Nancy standing together, trying to muffle their laughter in each other’s shoulders.

“Are you guys watching us?” Eddie asks, and Steve blinks his eyes open. Eddie runs a hand through his hair mindlessly.

“We can’t not,” Nancy says as Robin giggles again, taking a drag. “You just… command the space.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at her. She sticks her tongue out at him. Steve pulls Eddie into a kiss. Robin squeals. Steve flips her off without looking.

Nancy lets them have some cookie dough, but only after Robin rants to them about the dangers of salmonella poisoning. Steve leans against the counter between Eddie legs and holds up the spoon for him while Eddie holds the joint down for him.

Nancy procures a polaroid camera as if by magic. She probably just had it in the tote bag. Eddie is paying a ton of attention to her at the moment. He into notices the camera when there’s a flash of light, and she lowers it to reveal a grin. The photo goes on the fridge.

The weed smell is gone by the time the kids there in the evening, all piled into Argyle’s van, very unsafely but they’re all grinning and giggling when they stumble out. They all let out similar groans when they see Eddie‘s arm around Steve.

Thank God.

Jesus, finally.

Did you finally talk?

Are you guys friends now?

That’s Eleven. Eddie likes Eleven.

“Something like that,” he says to her, and her face lights up.

“Alright, everyone go inside,” Steve says, ignoring them all. His cheeks are pink. “It’s gonna rain again.”

As they’re headed inside, Eddie comes up behind Erica and scoops her up, holding her upside down over his back as she screams and laughs, hitting him.

When Eddie turn around, swinging her, Steve is watching with a smile that’s different than any smile he’s ever seen on him. Happy, but something more than that.

Content.

The kids all pile up on the sofa before the movie starts, bickering and arguing about who gets to sit where, who gets which blanket. Erica tells Dustin to move his legs because he’s touching her, and he throws his legs across her lap to be obnoxious. Lucas ends up between Max and Eleven, his arms around both of them. Will sets a leg over Mike’s leg. Nancy and Robin take residence on the smaller sofa, sitting close together despite the space on it, and Jonathan and Argyle sit on the floor against the sofa. Robin plays with Argyle’s hair.

Eddie waits until Steve is done attending to everyone, passing out soda cans and napkins and cookies and chips, rustling their hair and bopping their faces affectionately just to be annoying. And then he corners him in the kitchen, quiet as the movie starts in the other room.

He pushes Steve against a counter, and they’re kissing before he can even say anything, his hands on Steve’s waist, Steve’s hands on his face, over the scar on his cheek. Eddie tilts his head, letting his lips part, squeezing his waist, the softness above his waistband. Steve exhales sharply when they part, smiling.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods. There’s something lingering on his face, in his eyes. “What is it?”

Steve hesitates, tucking Eddie’s hair behind his ears.

“I don’t…” He stops, biting his lip as he gazes at Eddie. The room is dim, softly lit up by the light from the hallway. “It feels like… like something’s missing.”

“What’s missing?” Eddie asks, tilting his head, his thumbs running back and forth.

“I don’t know,” Steve whispers, his eyes trained on Eddie’s mouth almost absently, like he’s zoning out. “But it’s… it’s good that it’s gone. Like it was never supposed to be there, and then it was, and now it’s gone, and I…” He takes a slow breath, his chest rising and falling. “Feel like I can finally breathe.”

“Are you happy?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah.” Steve says it like he’s just realising it, blinking and looking into Eddie’s eyes. “I’m really happy.”

Eddie smiles, reaching up to touch his face.

“Are you?” Steve asks softly.

Eddie blinks, his smile falling. And he thinks.

Feels Steve’s warm hands on his face, their legs twined. Listens to the muffled movie in the living room, the rain outside. Knows that almost everyone he loves is under the same roof. Safe.

“Yeah.” He looks at Steve. “I’m happy.”

Steve’s finger presses under his chin.

“We’re the same,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, smiling. “We are.”

Steve closes the distance between them to kiss him again, his teeth catching his lip carefully, his hands spreading over Eddie’s neck and cheek, covering his scars like he’s keeping them safe.

When they pull away, Eddie tugs him into a hug.

They squeeze onto the sofa next to Robin and Nancy afterwards, and Steve is smiling the whole time, squished between Eddie and Robin. Robin sets a leg over his, and Eddie sees him reach down to squeeze her tight gently before he elbows her against Nancy. After a minute, Steve pulls at Eddie’s hand, and Eddie looks away from the television to look at him, about to ask if he’s okay.

But Steve wordlessly pulls at Eddie’s arm so he’s lifting it over his head, and Eddie sets his arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. Steve leans against Eddie’s chest, a hand set on his leg. He squeezes when Eddie starts to play with his hair, and Eddie feels him fall asleep after a minute, heavy against him, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with every breath.

He sighs, dragging his fingers through Steve’s hair as gently as he can, tilting his head to look at him, but he can’t see his face. So he just sighs again and presses a lingering kiss to the top of his head.

He looks up across the room, scanning over all the kids. Eleven is asleep against Lucas, an arm over his stomach, and Max is holding Lucas’s hand that’s by her shoulder, squeezing his fingers. Erica’s brows are furrowed in concentration as she watches the movie.

Will is looking back at him.

Or rather, Eddie realises after a moment when the television screen changes, brightening, he’s looking at Steve. At Steve sleeping against Eddie’s chest, holding his thigh, at Eddie’s fingers in his hair. Will is smiling, looking almost curiously, and his smile grows when his eyes meet Eddie’s.

Eddie jerks his chin up at him, gesturing vaguely, silently at Mike next to him, and Will looks away, at Mike. He seems to hesitate, looking back at the television, biting his lip, and then he finally lets his head fall to Mike’s shoulder. Mike smiles at the tv, and after a moment his head falls to rest on Will’s. Will’s eyes close.

Eddie sighs, shifting to settle into the sofa. Steve nuzzles into his chest, a soft noise escaping him, and Eddie runs his hand through his hair again, closing his eyes and listening to the rain.

#guys i really love angst you dont understand #i have a problem #this follows basically the exact same plot as another one of my fics and i am aware #i just have a hc that steve would be pissed at eddie for not running #so #anyway #drink some water <3 feed yourself <3 take your meds <3 be nice to yourself <3 love you <3 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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fandomforg · 7 months

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ok, so, mcu peter parker somehow gets sent to the star wars universe

we’re all familiar with the trope of ‘earth girl who’s a big star wars fan goes to star wars galaxy and tries to save everyone there with her knowledge of the Plot’ but now think about if peter parker, resident star wars nerd/super genius/superhero, gets sent there

first things first, he would lose his marbles seeing all the cool aliens and technology (even though he’s already seen plenty of aliens/tech just from being on earth) but like!! it’s not just any aliens!!! it’s star wars aliens!!! woah!!!!

he wouldn’t really even have to worry about hiding his enhancements bc he could just go ‘uh, i’m not baseline human?’ and everyone there would just go ‘oh, ok’

as soon as peter got his bearings tho, he would absolutely immediately start scheming on how to stop palpatine/prevent the clone wars or whatever. like full on murder cork board with red string as he thinks. whatever poor soul has offered to let this lost child stay with them is very concerned because every time they bring him a snack it looks a little bit more like this kid is trying to overthrow the government (he kind of is planning to overthrow the government)

peter has gotten in enough debates online to know that most of the groups that might be able to help him (the jedi, the mandalorians) are a little too wrapped up in their own stuff (connections with the senate, civil war) to stop palpatine with any sort of efficiency, so he just goes ‘huh, guess i’m gonna be a vigilante again’ now he’s spiderman again!!! but this time in star wars!!!!!

webslinging on corusant would go so crazy though

so by day, peter is working part time at some little corusant shop where the owner lets him use the spare room (and the owner is also constantly so concerned over this insane child that just showed up one day without knowing the date, but knowing many random historical facts that they space-google and find out are absolutely correct)

and by night, spiderman is swinging between the levels of corucant, stopping petty crimes avoiding the jedi who keep trying to figure out who this spiderguy is. they think must be force sensitive (‘just look at how fast he’s running! and he’s sensing hits before he sees them!’)

eventually, peter finally makes his move and goes after palpatine. it’s uhhhh, actually easier then he expected. peter may have had a few too many backup plans. palpatine was not expecting his sixth lightning to be absorbed by a brightly-colored suit (‘thanks, mr. stark!’) nor was he expecting to be covered??? in spider?? webs???? it’s very hard to cut yourself free from webs when you can’t move an inch to even ignite your lightsaber

the next day, palpatine’s guards find him still stuck to the wall of his office and spitting mad, while the jedi find security footage of the chancellor attacking that one vigilante with force lightning and pages and pages of evidence of palpatine’s crimes (sith-related and not) just sitting in their inbox. the arrest goes pretty smoothly after that.

once this all finally hits the news, the shop owner that peter’s been staying with (read: slowly being adopted by) just kinda shouts out a ‘kid! what did you even do?!’

well now that that’s handled, the next thing on peter’s to do list is, uhhh, getting home. yikes.

#in my mind the shop owner is mandalorian #but that’s just because i’m biased and love ‘mandalorian adopts feral child they found in a dumpster’ stories #webslinging would go so hard on corusant though bc peter’s used to like moving super horizontally #but on corusant there’s so much opportunity for vertical movement #star wars #mcu #fanfic #fanfic concept #peter parker #spiderman #crossover #forg post

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factorialsotherfandoms · 8 months

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Forever's hands are shaking. They are shaking, and shaking, and everyone is still gone. He reaches for the bottle, and finds nothing there.

A hand takes his instead, strangely gentle for all their fighting these last few days.

"Cellbit?"

"The others are waiting for us; come home."

Forever is tired and cold and angry and he wants to snap, to scream, to fight. The clock is ticking, the timer is running-

Cellbit tugs him onwards, towards the Favela, towards the place that has not been home on so long.

Richarlyson is still gone, of course, and Forever's fingers flutter to his bag again; Cellbit holds both of his hands now. Felps has passed out on a sofa, covered in stone dust and flung over a curled up Pac, who is watching them both with dead eyes.

If only he would -

No, no, they took their son, their fifth, they keep both from them. The happier road is easier, but it will damn them all. Everyone wants hope and leadership from their fucking President, but he has only drug induced joy or world-ending terror left to him.

Forever barely hears Pac's "I'm sorry" as he untangle himself from Felps' sprawl, but he cannot do anything but notice when he is grabbed. Forever panics for a moment, time running faster than ever, before realising he has been pulled into a desperate hug.

Cellbit, too, is being clung to with Pac's other arm.

"Dont leave me," there are no tears, but Pac's voice remains haunted, broken. "Neither of you. I can't- just stay. Family again?"

"We always were," Cellbit says, and Forever has no idea how he is so confident about that, or even if he knows what family means. "And we're back now."

The click is tic tic ticking. Ticking down until it's too late, far too late to save Richarlyson, to find Mike. Soon there will be nothing left. He must-

"Forever?"

"There's too many people missing. I can't-" Cellbit squeezes his hand, and Forever takes a breath. "We don't have /time/."

"We don't have anything but time, that's the problem." Cellbit has somehow slipped the hug, and is dragging the pair towards the sofa. "We're going to drag Felps down with us, and we're going to sleep, and in the morning we're going to come up with a plan to get our family back."

"And blow up the Feds." Pac adds, a little seething anger creeping into his tone for just a moment.

"And blow up the federation," Cellbit agrees, something calmer, older, viscous in his tone just a moment. "We will show them why they shouldn't break our family."

Forever wants to do it now, would question why they can't but for the slow realisation of how pale his family is, skin drawn tight and their hands are shaking too. He cannot fix this, he cannot fix anything, he is a puppet on a string and the clock is ticking ticking tick-

Pac lets go, dropping into the pile of blankets and clothes which once made up the Favela Five's bed. They have been six, now they are only four.

Second later, Cellbit pushes Forever down into them too, before yanking Felps from the sofa and into the mess. Pac pulls the two around as he wants, Forever elbowing him when he tugs too hard, while Cellbit sets up security cameras, alert systems, and locks the door.

And then hesitates.

"I should-"

If Forever is being forced into this, then Cellbit must be too. Forever musters up a glare, demanding him into the sleepover pile.

"-... take off my shoes," Cellbir fiddles with his communicator a little first, before kicking off said shoes. There is a brief argument between Pac and Cellbit about the former's prosthetic and taking it off to sleep, which Forever only listens to enough to drown out the ever ticking clock.

They come to a decision, he does not really care which, and then Cellbit is clambering in too. The most obvious absence is Richarlyson, replaced by a pillow Cellbit shoves into Forever's arms, but Mike's is felt too; Pac has his back to the wall and hugs Forever from behind, not his back to Forever and holding onto Mike on the edge of their mess. Cellbit and Felps have always moved dependent on who comes to bed first or last; tonight, despite Felps being long asleep, they are a tangle of clawing limbs both of which cling to Forever's arms.

The clock doesn't leave, and the absences are still felt, but it is quieter. Or perhaps drowned out, by his family's breath on his neck and hands on his skin, and the tangle of limbs quickly tightening in the eternal struggle for the most comfortable position.

Forever isn't sure anyone but Felps will actually get any sleep tonight, not fractured and splintered as they are, but... perhaps in each others arms is the best chance they have.

Perhaps in each other is the only chance they have.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp forever #qsmp cellbit #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp felps #ficlet #hallucinations tw #this is probably as much as I can interact with what's going on with Forever atm but please take this #Favela four all get hugs #(Theres very very obvious holes)#They're all doing their best and they're all a mess #One way or another they got forever off the federation pills but he still wants the mental pain to stop #And they were good at that #This is more comfort than hurt so details are sparce

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dapandapod · 7 months

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Brave your neck to see the sun

Just another thing that lives in my head rent free that is half a fic, half an idea, that begs to be written, so here is the mix of it. And because who I am as a person, I slapped it on Ao3 as well.

(cw, lettenhove has fallen, sad stuff in general, loss of family, their spirits)

Because....

Cursed Jaskier.

I mean, he is immortal, and his home, Lettenhove, is but crumbled rock by now, and jaskier is tied to their ruins.

And maybe madness is threatening in the corner of his eye, maybe the past is talking to him, maybe the stones remembered what they looked like in ages past.

And Jaskier cannot leave.

Maybe this is where jaskier goes after the mountain, because when he last was home, it was still standing.

But the land is fallen, burned, ash on his tongue.

Maybe there was a curse put on the stones rather than him, keeping what remains of the family bound to the ground, for the dynasty to defend against an army should they return.

And Jaskier is caught in the ruins, and the remains of his family and his childhood.

Geralt finds Ciri, and she dreams of Yennefer, yes, but she cant' stop dreaming of a land that was, and she feels herself pulled there, but it is too dangerous, because it is on the other side of the army following her.

When they finally go, the survivors in the gathering of houses on the outskirts of Lettenhove speak of a ghost, of lights as the darkness is falling, of the sound of crying, and singing, sometimes laughing.

It takes time for them to make it up there, the magic fighting them every step of the way, making it treacherous and dangerous.

Jaskier can hear them coming, but they are not the first ones attempting to seek the treasures of what once was, and he hides.

They find a lute, broken in what seems in a fit of rage against the stones. some of the strings are still connecting the neck to the body, and Geralt feels a pang of fear when he recognizes it.

Jaskier has had time to make many hiding spots, a routa of sorts, of small camps. There are weeds growing around the cracked stones, sticking up defiantly, baring their necks to see the sun.

Eventually Geralt finds Jaskier, hiding in one of the crumbled rooms, a half burned painting propped up against the wall, a little girl with one eye covered with yellow locks looking out, holding the hand of her older brother.

Jaskier holds his dagger out, until he realizes who it is.

Geralt doesn’t know how to break the curse, and it hurts Jaskier to leave. They can’t stay with him, and to not raise suspicion they have to leave him behind.

Jaskier watches them leave, and he knows that he won’t see them again. Why would Geralt come back after all, now that Jaskier finally can’t follow.

He waits until he can’t see them anymore, until he believes they can’t hear him anymore, and he screams out his frustrations, voice echoing against the stones.

Eventually Yennefer finds him, and she has the solution. Not a pleasant one, but one that allows him to leave.

His bloodline is tied to this place, imprinted on him when his fathers father brought him underground and a small child, and put his blood among his ancestors.

What Jaskier thought was madness was instead shattered remains of a spirit.

With the witch’s help, Jaskier’s mother’s spirit wakes, and she cries when she sees her son.

“Where were you?” She asks, she grieves, she screams, until her rage has run its course.

More spirits rise, and Yennefer keeps them safe in the middle of the courtyard.

The curse can’t be lifted, but they learn that Jaskier can be freed, can move on from his past if he lifts his imprint away from the stone.

A grave hag has taken residence below, her cackling and grunting traveling up the stairs, and Yennefer too must leave Jaskier, to bring a witcher to help.

Her magic is still fragile, and she places her hand on Jaskier’s cheek as he takes her goodbye, leaving him with the spirits of his family.

Eventually it is Eskel who kills the hag, keeping Jaskier company when he laughs a little too loudly, his eyes a little too wide with unrest and grief.

When Yennefer finally returns, she brings Geralt and Ciri once more, and they are surprised to see Eskel by Jaskier’s side, the hag dealt with.

Yennefer presses Jaskier’s cut palm against the cold stone of his ancestors, chanting as she recalls his blood, distangles his past from the stone.

Above, the ruins creak and groan, the spirits growing agitated. They shriek and they trash and they try to protect their home from the intruders.

When they emerge, Jaskier is quiet. He is quiet as he tests his first steps outside the ruin grounds, and he is quiet when he looks back to what was his home, and then his prison.

The ground is covered in weeds, slowly dancing in the wind, the spirits keeping their own company.

Lettenhove is no more, and the ruins remain unbothered.

Sometimes Jaskier returns, just to speak with his sister. Sometimes he sings to his mother, and talks about the worldly affairs with his father.

Jaskier is not tied to the stone anymore, but his spirit will not rest until his family does.

Ciri doesn’t dream of the ruins anymore, but sometimes she gets a faraway look, takes Jaskier’s hand, and asks if he would take her to the coast.

Geralt and Yennefer never reconnected after the djinn. and eventually finds another djinn to break the wish.

She finds her own way, even if it is connected to Ciri’s, and she finds her own destiny in the shape of a Merigold.

It takes time for Geralt to build up what he broke. Takes time to figure out how friendship works, and even more so when Geralt figures out his own feelings towards the bard.

The bard is not the same man, how could he be, but he grows anyway. Grows like a defiant weed in the cracks of a stone, baring their neck to see the sun.

#whump the bard i guess #cursed!jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #lettenhove #julian alfred pankratz #i'm not saying he left his name behind #but maybe he did #this almost took a very darker turn i just need you all to know this #dapanda writes #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #witcher eskel #yennefer of vengerberg

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anniebear-92 · 9 months

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Afterlife

Part Seven - Nurse Bakugo

Summary: After you return home about ready to keel over Bakugo finds himself with a new temporary role. After taking care of you, it might be time to finally get to know the real him...

Warnings: Lots of tension/unrealized feelings, mentions of death/dying, this part does describe in detail a death so if you wish to skip this part it does not really add too much to the story you can skip at the --- and italics paragraph. until the -- again.

A/N: May contain spoilers for the manga: I would also like to note I wrote the majority this story PRIOR to the release of Chapter 362. So if you find this triggering I apologize that I had somehow predicted something similar. Here's hoping the bring him back soon!

Taglist: @browneyedgirl22 @simplybaconic @ghostsofscarley @optimisticprime3 @lukerycyja-reblogs @eyesforbkg @derangedmango @bakucumsackslut @jazzafaye5294 @lynnsqueendom @Iwannahaveaprettyaestetic @blackout-ice-biohazard

Katsuki's jaw cracked as it stretched during the largest yawn, his fist resting against it as he mindlessly fiddled with a string attached to the couch with his free hand. She had been gone for hours and he had watched several shows, some dumb movie from when he was a kid and he was over it. Now that he was able to interact with things the nostalgia had worn off after only a few days of running around and just touching… everything.

Photo frames on the walls, the texture of the paint, little décor objects she had laying around, food you name it. He was in need of person to person conversation and his stupid roommate was out "Working," who does that?

Speaking of the devil the door opened with a bang against the wall behind him and his neck popped as it turned. His roommate stumbled into the door, skin visibly a shade or two lighter than normal and sweat dripping down her exhausted looking face. She hunched over inside the door, heaving a breath or two before taking the moment to shut the door behind her.

He stood with a purpose and rushed over to her, "What the fuck Spooky? You look like you're the one with a foot in a grave!"

Giving him a sheepish smile you waved him off. "I'm fine, Just a bit of quirk usage I'm not used to." She tried to move past him only to stumble, his large arm looped around her costume covered waist and caught her easily. Her body went limp in his as he called her name with increasing panic. With no response, his hero training kicked in as if it had only been yesterday, hooking his bicep under her knees and rushed over to the couch to place her down as gently as he could. Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath, beads of sweat covered her face as she screwed her eyes shut tightly. "Okay maybe I'm not fine." Her words whispered weakly.

Katsuki began traveling around the apartment in a hurry, he had accessed she must have some kind of fever with the tone of her skin and the sheen of perspiration. She had mentioned a bad backlash with her quirk before, however he had never seen her in such a state it had put him into a panic for a moment before those hero instincts kicked in. He returned to her with a bowl of cool water, a rag, anti-nausea medication she kept in the cabinet, thermometer and a glass of fresh water. He had also found a pair of gloves from under the sink she wore when doing dishes from time to time that he hoped would keep her quirk at bay if he had to touch her. The last thing she needed right now was to feel the shitty death he experienced.

His fingers curled around the rag inside the bowl and rung out the excess water so he could lay it across her forehead to try lowering her body temperature. "Oi, sit up just a bit."

Her beautiful eyes finally cracked ever so slowly, watching as he held the rag above the bowl to catch drips until she complied. A giggle sounded from her in her delirium at the sight of this big burly man, elbow deep in Pink rubber gloves with visible concern on his face she had never seen before. Rolling his eyes he placed down the towel back into the bowl to assist her sitting up, his hands touched her gently only in places her costume covered skin. She flinched initially however in her weakened state let him guide her to a seated position. He ran the temple thermometer over her forehead and indicated she did in-fact have a fever, a high one at that. He placed the rag at the base of her neck and she immediately cooed at the cold feeling against her skin. She attempted to reach for the glass he had set on the table and with his help, drank in small gulps until the glass was completely gone.

"More?" He questioned and with her slight nod against the pillow he rushed to the sink to get her just that. Why he was going out of his way for this woman was beyond his comprehension, however he felt the urge to take care of her, be there for her when she had no one else in this time of need.

Round two was drained as quickly as the first, she took the nausea medicine just before collapsing into the couch with a blanket wrapped around her and soft snores passing through her lips. He sat with his back against the couch to listen to her snore, he had removed the gloves some time ago since he was no longer tending to her at the moment. His trained ears listening for any change in her breathing patterns as she slumbered behind him.

What had caused her quirk to go so haywire today? She had been out with stupid Deku that day, had something happened while on their patrol regarding their case? She used her gift every day while talking to him…interacting with him…

The television screen caught his attention as the pictures moved in silence, he had muted the object when she had burst through the door. Now seeing a professional photo of her along with Deku flash along while the announcer's mouth moved he turned up the volume slowly.

"A rare sight into the capture of a villain was caught today, by an armature videographer citizen who just happened to be bird watching when the events occurred."

The camera changed to the video the announcer spoke of, the view showing a small bird chirping as it hopped along a branch near it's nest. Down in the corner of the camera two figures began walking into the picture and the camera zoomed out to refocus on the street. Katsuki watched as Izuku and the female asleep behind him walked down the sidewalk chatting like old friends as screeching tires could be heard through the speakers. Both heroes sprung into action to save a mother and child duo who had been on the opposite side of the street.

He watched as she wrapped herself around the child and disappeared from view as the car passed where they had just been. As soon as the car left the view, they reappeared and the child ran off back towards their mother. He watched as the whole thing was captured on film, the take down and police arriving before the view was shut off when a policeman pointed up at the cameraperson that hurriedly shut off the device.

"As seen in the video the hero, now identified as retired hero "Phantom" was able to save the life of a poor child who would've been caught up in a string of hit and runs by the villain that calls himself "An Angel of Death." Assisted by the Number two hero Deku who placed the man in handcuffs before he could flee the scene. The Villian has claimed the lives of several children and has been finally identified as Mosu Ito, a former inmate at Tarturus prison who had escaped several years ago during the raid lead by Shigaraki Tomura that had left the area in shambles…"

Katsuki cut off the reporter by rewinding the video a few moments and watching the scene again. Seeing her in action was mesmerizing, she had acted with such a quickness that you arrived before the car was anywhere near hitting the boy as you held him tightly. He chewed his lip as his eyes found that familiar green lighting as his childhood friend took down the villain at his vehicle.

So Deku was number two now huh? Seems time flies when you're dead.

A groan broke him from his trance and he clicked off the screen with a flick of his thumb. Turning towards the couch he found himself staring into those tired eyes once again.

"Oh hey, how long was I out?" She grit her teeth as she sat up, running a hand over her stomach as it turned.

"A few hours, you stumbled in here like you drank a bar out of business."

She chuckled a bit before running her fingers over her damp hair from the sweat and grime of the street. Grimacing she wiped her hand on her suit, "You didn't have to take care of me, I would've been fine."

He huffed, crossing his arms as he watched her try to stand. "If I didn't you would've busted your teeth out on the floor. You could hardly walk, so I think not."

Giving a thankful smile she nodded and stood slowly, wobbling a bit his hands shout out to steady her. "Well shit, maybe I'm still not myself. I need a shower though, this costume is gross."

His cheeks burned at the implication, "I'm not bathing you!"

She laughed for a moment that turned into a heavy hacking cough, a hand flying to her mouth and covering it. "I didn't mean that you weirdo, I just need your help to the bathroom!"

Inhaling deeply he controlled the smart ass remark he wanted to let fly and decided instead to scoop his arms under her knees, a squeal leaving her as she attempted to hold onto hip for dear life as he held her in his sturdy arms. She gripped around his shoulders while avoiding skin contact, anxiety filling her from head to toe from the physical contact and nausea still rooting in her gut.

"Put me down you damn Poltergeist! I can fucking walk!"

He shrugged and carried her up the carpeted stairs to the closest restroom, which also happened to have the large jetted tub she enjoyed during her off hours.

"This is faster, you're also walking like a newborn baby deer so just deal with it."

Huffing she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms while in deep pout. She grumbled out insults that he could just hear when he set her gingerly back onto her own two feet. He pointed a finger into her face and her eyes crossed while looking at it before raising to his own. "If you need help, that sucks you're on your own. Don't drown." With that he turned and shut the door, hearing her turn on the water and he slid down the other side of the door. He placed his face into his large palms, letting out a deep sigh as he willed the stupid bugs in his stomach to stop fighting each other at the fact he had carried the woman in his arms a few times now and the fact she was undressing just behind the door he sat against.

He felt like a teenage boy again, getting all flustered over a good looking woman in his vicinity. Why did she have to be hot? Why couldn't she be a hag?

----

During Katsuki's little crisis, you slid into the bathwater with a groan. The hot water soothing the stress and soreness in your muscles from the quirk over use. As you soaked in the water, jets bubbling against your skin softly gave you time to think. You had barely used your quirk, why were you so sick? Could it be from quirk under-use?

Heaving a sigh you dunked your head under the water to wet your hair for a moment and leaned back against the headrest. Heat began rushing into your cheeks as the memory of your roommate's arms holding you tightly against him, careful to only hold you in places your costume covered your skin. What if he had touched you, would you actually feel his death? He was so strong for only being dead for five years, you could only imagine what his vision would feel like. After washing your hair and feeling as clean as you can be, you stood out of the water and pulled the plug for the water to drain. Realizing you were carried in here with no clean clothes, you'd have to haul ass to your room… in a towel.

Your palm slapped against your forehead as you leaned over the sink, eyes meeting in the reflection as you took in your flushed expression. You still felt like dirt but the bath did help, some more sleep would most likely be in order but you needed to try and get something in your stomach to settle it. First however, you had to get past the poltergeist without being spotted. Hopefully he had returned to his perch on the couch and you could slip unnoticed.

Grabbing the fluffiest towel from the cabinet you wrapped it tightly around yourself and opened the door to peek out. Seeing no on in sight you smirked to yourself, home free!

Swinging the door open in order to tip toe out, the door seems to open a little faster than planned and you hopped back as something hit the ground at your feet. Lowering your eyes, you found your toes on either side of a very wide eyed blonde that laid on his back. A scream ripped from your throat that he echoed, closing his eyes and hopping to his feet. You watched as he rushed around the corner and out of sight.

"I didn't see shit I swear!" You heard his voice call from down the stairs while you leaned against the frame, face scortching at the embarassment.

"Why were you sitting against the door?" You hollered back at him and he peeked around the corner for a second. "I was making sure you were okay in there sicky-mcgee!"

You huffed and stomped into your bedroom. Not even caring what you threw on at this point now that you were… well acquainted with your house guest.

Now clad in some shorts and a tank top your feet pad down the stairs to find him with his face in his hands. The tips of his ears were thoroughly pink and he shook his head furiously while grumbling. You bit your lip to hide a smile knowing he was just as embarassed as he was.

"Come on I'm not that ugly."

His head shot up and shot you a sneer, "Shut the fuck up, The problem is you're the fucking opposite."

Feeling the heat return to your face at his grumbled final words you took a spot on the cushion beside him.

"Well regardless of… that. Thank you for taking care of me tonight. I haven't been that sick in a long time…. it's actually the reason why I retired from being a hero full time. I was getting violently ill and I couldn't handle it much longer."

He listened and nodded after you finished without meeting your eyes still, "Yeah well, don't let it happen again. Take care of yourself!"

You dropped your face to hide the smile that would not stay off your face, even snapping at you he was showing he cared. Turning yourself towards him you sat with your legs crossed, brushing your wet hair from your face.

"Bakugo?"

His eyes met yours in surprise at actually using his family's name usually it was an insult or just poltergeist when you addressed him. "I think at this point we've lived together long enough and gotten to know each other enough… I'd like to, really get to know the real you. What do you think?"

He cocked a blonde brow, leaning back into the cushion on the arm rest. "You comin' on to me Spooky?"

Jaw dropped you raised your hand and let out a noise of annoyance.

"No you shit head! I was trying to be nice and offer to get to know you as a person? I've avoided this in the how long we've been able to interact but I was wondering if you'd be willing to share how you…died."

The last word he caught just barely as you whispered, eyes meeting your own that held apprehension, unsure of his reaction to wanting to see how he died.

"No."

You chewed your lip, not exactly sure how he had felt about your question. "I understand if you feel uncomfortable sharing that intimate memory with me, I just felt once it was out of the way we don't have to be so careful and I'd know more about yo-"

"You're sick, I'm not going to put you through that shit." His eyes became stern, turning to face you in the same manner. "The way I went was pretty shitty, from the way you've described what you go through, I wouldn't wish you to feel a moment of that."

Your expression softened, it wasn't that he didn't want to share that private moment with you… he just didn't want to have to experience it. Your chest tightened for a moment as you watched him closely.

"I am a strong girl Bakugo, I can handle it. Like I said before I have lived a few shitty deaths myself."

He frowned heavily, fiddling with his fingers as his gaze dropped. "I don't doubt that, but you've already over used your quirk and this was an… experience. I can't put you through that."

Raising your hands you placed them palm up, letting them hover as you watched his crimson gaze returned to yours in confusion.

"I think I can be the judge of what I can handle. I'm tired of tip toeing around the subject and I've already read about it. I may not even experience it…it doesn't always happen when I touch someone. I want to… get past my fears and I think you can help."

He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling while the gears turned in his head. Does he give in to you? He couldn't stand the thought of seeing you hurt any more than he already had seeing you fall ill. Finally his hands lifted from his lap and hovered over your own, his hands shaking softly as he took his lip between those sharp canines.

"Do… I feel anything? Or is it just you?" He asked with a shaky breath and you frowned. "You will see it as a third person, but I will be in your point of view. It won't be the same experience for you."

He nodded and watched as your own hands trembled slightly, pushing past your fears to being so close to his own. "Whenever you're ready." He breathed and you nodded, taking the leap you raised your hands and felt the rough pads of his fingers, the warmth of his palms spreading against your own.

"You're warm!" You whispered and he tilted his head just a bit, confusion filling his expression. A few moments passed as your fingers curled around his hands and his own followed close behind. "Nothing's happening." His gaze bore holes into your hands as you nodded. "Maybe it won't… it's not always instan-"

A bright flash filled both your visions as a gasp escaped your body.

----- (this is the description of a death, if you wish to skip, go down to the --- again.

You found yourself on a devastated street, head swerving back and forth to take in your surroundings.

'Where the fuck is that villain?' The deep male's voice sounded in your head, you raised your hands to find green and orange glove covered fingers that were definitely not yours. Large slim bracers that were similar in style to his original costume had been streamlined for his recent costume hung at your forearms.

"Over here Dynamite!"

Your head snapped at the manical laughter that followed the sing-song voice bouncing through the rubble. At top of the pile stood the object of your search, his hands splayed as violet energy swirled around his fingers.

"I think you finally met your match Mr. Future number one hero! I'm going to put you and every other hero six feet under and you'll never see the light of day again!"

The villain's lips split into a wide unnerving smile that chilled your blood to the core, "We'll just see about that dipshit!"

You found yourself yelling back at the villain before your body began moving of it's own volition, arms falling behind and a blast of heat filling your palms. The blasts of fire rocketed your body forward only to be slammed by an unseen force, body shooting back into the rubble you had been standing a moment before. Violet tendrils of every began shooting one after another into your chest, the searing pain as each ripped into skin and tore away. This continued for what felt like hours, but was only seconds before the barrage stopped.

The Villain stepped down with his clunky boots, his steps louder than the blood pumping in your ears. He clicked his teeth like a disappointed father, "Oh Dynamite, you always thought you were so much better than everyone else. But you bleed red just like the rest of us, look!"

He raised his fingers and you watched as blood that had been pouring from your chest just a few moment before began hovering in the air. Confusion filled you when the answer came from the back of your mind, Energy Manipulation. The Villain could manipulate any type of energy including the body's that would be inside the blood.

"Oh so pretty, maybe I'll take a sample for later." The sick fuck placed the blood into a vial and then turned his attention back to him. "The question now is how to send you to your grave my dear hero. Do I just cut you up like I did before? Crush you with the largest piece of rubble I can find? Oh! Maybe I can use your own quirk against you! Oh the irony to be killed by your own power…"

Your body shook in fear as those wild eyes looked you over and knelt down near your face. The man's face was familiar… where had you seen him before?

"I think that's what we're going to do." His words were a sinister whisper, your body not responding from all the severed tendons and pain in your limbs. Though you could feel the fight inside still trying to move and defend yourself as the villain stood back to his full height.

Raising his hand the violet energy started once again, slowly fading into a deep red. The searing pain returned that filled from head to toe as your veins felt as if they were on fire. It was as if small explosions were going off all over your body and the energy he began pushing through your body with force. Your voice failed you as cracking began sounding from your chest, a large snap finally made your body go cold.

You gasped in vain attempts to catch your breath, the taste of something metallic filled your mouth and you coughed in attempts to clear your throat. Hot liquid filled your mouth as you continued gasping for air.

Somebody help me! I can't die, I'm going to be number one! How am I losing to this extra?

The thoughts began to fill your head and started to fade away as the cold began seeping into your joints. Eyes staring up to the sky now as the Villian let out one more laugh, sirens and civilian's screams filling the empty space. Calling Dynamite's name to get up, keep fighting!

The villain turned on his heels, gravel and rock crunching under his boots he knew it was time to escape before the next wave of heroes arrived. Listening to the boot falls fade away you lay there, unmoving, unable to lift yourself and release the strain on your chest. Trying to access yourself and your racing thoughts were impossible as you listened to the fading last thoughts the hero had before his final moment.

Where was Deku? He was supposed to be here… I'm cold…. Hurts…

You found yourself now looking down from your own self, knowing Bakugo was gone now from his body. Your chest squeezed at his dull, unseeing crimson eyes stared blankly at the sky.

Leaning down you felt at his chest and found exactly what you knew, the explosions the Villain had forced had snapped his ribs and punctured his heart. There would've been no saving him.

"Deku? What are you doing here?"

The familiar voice snapped your attention to the familiar blonde standing with his ripped up hero costume. His memory showing his first moments as a spirit when the number two hero came into your view to pick up the body that lay at your feet.

"Kaachan…" The man whispered as he shook him in attempts to wake him, his voice following into a blood chilling scream at his realization he was gone.

With a gasp you found yourself back in your own body, hot tears fell down your cheeks when Bakugo's hands were snatched from your own.

-----------

"What the fuck?" He snarled, holding his hands against his chest.

"I knew it was bad but i didn't know it was that bad…" You whispered, eyes meeting his to find streaks of tears falling down his own flushed cheeks.

"Yeah well… Dying sucks. Also it takes a lot to kill someone like me so why wouldn't it be bad?" He snapped as you wiped your face from the falling water.

"Do you understand now how you died?"

His eyes met yours once more and he nodded slowly. "Punctured my heart with my ribs, Used my fucking quirk against me."

Chewing your lip you affirmed and patted your hand against your own chest. "That really sucked." You chuckled the last words out and he followed with a chuckle of his own.

"Yeah… It really did." Your gazes met for a few moments, no words shared as the silence fell between you. It really did feel like a big barrier had gotten out of the way. You know knew what he experienced in his last moments of life, his skin was warm even in death most likely due to his quirk and his hands were surprisingly soft, yet rough in all the right places.

Standing suddenly to break the tension, you crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Well now that's out of the way, are you hungry?"

"I'm never hungry… but I could eat."

Shaking your head you mumbled about knowing he could always eat but decided on a meal anyway. He joined in the prep in silence and once again shoved you out of the way as he did most times. The meal was ate in continued silence and you washed the dishes after out of fairness.

"Well after today I really need some sleep. What do you think?"

He stretched his body like a cat against the back of the couch, falling over to lay down with his head against the arm rest.

"Fuck yeah I need a ten year nap after that." Smiling you leaned over and poked his cheek, he turned in shock and caught that wide smile.

"It's over for you now ghost boy. I can touch you now."

"That's kinky." He winked and you let your palm come down on his cheek in retaliation.

"I was going to offer to let you sleep in my bed but not now!"

HIs eyes went wide and he pouted. "Don't be stingy, the couch is uncomfortable!"

"Should've thought about that before you were a pervert!"

Slamming the bedroom door, you closed your eyes and slid down the door to a seat. Crossing your arms over your knees you inhaled deeply.

His death had really been one of the worst you had ever experienced… and you had been shot, stabbed, and even buried alive once…

Climbing into bed you heard a soft knock on the door.

"What dammit?" You growled and he poked his head through the door without opening it. Seeing you were still decent he slipped through and stood like a kid about to tell his mom he "frew up."

"Can I sleep in here… please?" He grumbled and you hid your smile under the blanket you had pulled up around your lower half.

"I guess." You rolled your eyes as if it was a huge inconvenience for you.

Hopping over you he took his spot on the other side and curled into the blankets, you found yourself hissing at the cold when the blanket left your body.

"Hell no! Share!"

He smirked and shook his head, you whined at his stupidly handsome face and attempted to snatch the blanket back. Gripping the cloth he yanked back and forth until he finally gave it one final tug and with a squeal you found yourself over top the blonde.

You both froze as your hands held yourself above him, eyes meeting as his face flushed ten shades of tomato red. His large palms sat on either side of your hips fingers tightening just a bit into your skin, heat filling the where his met yours. The world stopped around you as butterflies found their way into your gut. His gorgeous eyes fell to your lips while chewing the inside of his own for a moment, you were only so far away… What would you taste like?

Before he could lift himself you gave him a swift apology and returned to your side of the bed. Curling the blanket over yourself you buried your flaming face into the material at the possibility of what could of been. He threw his arm over his eyes, hiding his pink ears and rosy cheeks.

Did he really just think about kissing you? Who the hell was he? How the hell did you of all people make him feel this way?

The both of you found sleep a little hard to come by that night.

----------------

We'll get to see more of the heroes from Bakugo's past in the next part! :)

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo imagine #mha bakugo #mha Bakugou #poltergeist bakugo #Ghost Au #Dead AU #Ghost!bakugo #Ghost!Bakugo x Reader #Bakugo x y/n #Katsuki x y/n #Afterlife #The tension is real in this part.

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amethystpath-writes · 11 months

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P2 Money Isn’t Necromancy

Part 1 here

(NOT A PR0MPT)

Hello I don’t know if your asks are open but if it was can you please continue money can’t buy necromancy? It’s amazing

Thank you, love :)

******

Villainess’ bedroom might as well have been a detective’s office. Pictures of people who worked in the building were posted all about the walls. Some were in color to represent the times they were living, and others were in black and white to represent the moment they died. The latter were all scattered on the floor, attached by red strings. Meanwhile, Villainess’ feet never touched carpet.

Some pictures were replicants. Villainess’ walls told the story of her parents- who they worked with and when. Looking at it all now, some employees died sooner than others, though she only found this information through thorough digging, and from interviews with families who lost loved ones in the building.

For every person with a too-soon black and white photo, was a photo of Villainess’ parents in full color. Her parents would start a project with a coworker, and some time later, that coworker would die.

Something didn’t make sense, though. Hero made it sound as though the bioweapon was her parents’ idea. If anything, it all sounded like a big mistake, a trial of errors that ended badly. If she looked further, it wasn’t her parents’ faults at all.

Villainess picked up her phone.

It rang once before a click sounded. She tried again.

“How did you get my number?”

“That is the least of your concerns, and should have been expected.”

Hero grumbled on the line, but otherwise stayed silent. He must have known Villainess’ persistence would lead her to keep talking. Even if he hung up, Villainess would call right back.

“Why did my parents stay employed after five projects ending in multiple deaths?” It didn’t make sense. If they were responsible- and they clearly were- for so many deaths, they should have been fired. Villainess wouldn’t have even cared if they were jailed. Then, they might have come home after release and cooked for her instead of forcing her to learn on her own.

“Not the question I expected.” Hero mumbled it, but Villainess heard.

“You expected me to ask how much more awful my parents were? I get it,” she lied. “They were wrong. They were responsible for so many lives, so many deaths, and yet...” She paused long enough that even she felt the tension she created. “You kept them employed. Were you not paying attention?” Villainess asked. “Or did you watch naively until they were all dead- until my parents went so far that there was no return? I thought you had an image to uphold. Was firing them not easier than paying off hundreds of families?”

A sigh sounded on the other end. “You weren’t supposed to look this far into it.”

Why wouldn’t she? And why was he so surprised if he was the one encouraging her to look further into her parents? She only looked into it far enough to realize her parents’ mistakes. Was that supposed to take all blame away from Hero? No. But that’s what he expected, right?

“Listen, I have reasons of my own.”

“Is that right?”

“You don’t have to be so snarky,” Hero griped. Villainess could practically see him running a hand down his face by the tone of his voice. “Your parents were going to expose-”

Villainess didn’t need to know. “So it was their fault you didn’t think things through? You wanna know what I think?”

Hero didn’t answer.

“I think the bioweapon was your secret. You created a disease, which my parents discovered. They got caught up in their own secret, trying to fix everything- trying to destroy your disease. After so many employee deaths, you found out. You released your bioweapon in the building to stop their attempts, then covered it up by blaming my parents. And because there were no survivors, no one could say it was your fault.”

She took a breath.

“I looked into the employees that weren’t working that day, Hero. They all died, too, but you didn’t pay their families. Robberies, accidental slips off local bridges, dog attacks, you name it. But you knew that would look terrible. Sure, it made sense for those in the building to die, but those outside of it?” Villainess’ hands were shaking and she couldn’t see past her blind rage. For a time, she forgot she was on the phone. She wanted to see Hero’s face, wanted to watch his eyes widen as she spelled out his every past move. “You paid off the police department, didn’t you? Gave them an early retirement so they wouldn’t look into anything?”

“If you think you know what happened,” Hero said, and very calmly at that, “then why tell me? Don’t you think I could kill you just as easily? Don’t you think I would?”

She breathed, heavy and slow. Why did she confront him? He would kill her for knowing so much, for discovering his ever-growing secret. She was a threat if she knew this much- especially if she had the evidence to prove it, which she didn’t. Maybe she should stop now, before it went too far. Everything she told Hero, although it was speculation, was true. If she ditched it all, maybe Hero would leave her alone.

“You were supposed to be a hero.”

“Aren’t we all?” Villainess didn’t appreciate the hard edge of his voice. He was unperturbed. “Everyone expects you to be good, but there’s no accommodation for when you’re not. I’m just trying to live.”

“-By killing others.”

“If I’m capable of doing so”- he paused, and Villainess knew he shrugged- “then why not? I have the money- an entire business dedicated to military weaponry, actually.”

This conversation was at a stalemate. Villainess didn’t know what to say; anything she might say at this point had a great likelihood of getting her killed like her parents. In fact, she was willing to bet that Hero’s quietness was actually him plotting. How else could he make someone disappear?

“You know I can’t trust you now, right? It was one thing to make a scene on the local news station; this is another.”

I know.

“You can stage your death,” he suggested. “Go by a new name, dye your hair, and ditch the glasses for contacts. Or-”

“Or you’ll kill me yourself. Got it.”

“It’s your choice. You have until the end of tomorrow to disappear.”

******

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lokiid-on-ao3 · 2 years

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Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Ch 1.

So hey I posted this a few days ago while running on 0 sleep and it was.... something. Anyway, I rewrote and expanded it! (if you read the first version no u didn't <3)

Read the first chapter here or on Ao3.

Chapter One: Killer Queen

Summary: You just want one relaxing day working at Greene's Bookstore. Eddie just wants some new strings for his Fender. Looks like neither of you are getting what you want today.

Eddie was having a shit day. First, he had used up the last of his stash without even realising (and his next drop wasn’t until next Wednesday), then he’d managed to snap his D string while practicing some fucking solo for Corroded Coffin, and then the damn guitar shop had been shut when he’d got there. At 2pm. On a Saturday.

What the fuck kind of guitar shop is shut on a Saturday??

Sure, usually he isn’t even awake at 2pm on a Saturday – and if he is, he sure as shit isn’t functional. But he’d promised the Hellfire kids that he’d have tonight’s session planned and ready to go and, though he knew exactly where he wanted to get them to, he sure as shit didn’t have any of it written down. Not to mention needing to plan backup plans B through Z just in case the little shits decided to go off on a frolic of their own instead of the very neatly laid out and obvious plot in front of them. There was really no telling how any given session would go.

What was he doing again?

Right. Music shop closed. What now? His feet just seemed to keep going, despite having no real destination. The chains on his denim jacket clink aesthetically as he saunters down the busy high-street. It’s really too hot to be wearing the jacket, but he’d be damned if he gave it up. Fuck it. Cold six pack from the corner shop and he’d go back home and knuckle down on planning this damn session. He had big plans for this campaign. His last quest before graduating (or getting kicked out).

His swaggered walk is interrupted rather abruptly when a young woman in a light chequered dress suddenly hops from a doorway in front of him. She stops just shy of slamming headfirst into his chest and blushes profusely, a small stack of dime novels clutched to her chest. She manages to eke out an apology while he sweeps his arm out in an exaggerated motion to let her pass. He catches the names Linda Howard and Jude Deveraux on the spine of the books she carries as she scurries away.

Curiosity piqued; he leans forward to see into the mystery doorway. The door itself is painted an emerald green, peeling at the edges, and is held open by a stack of ancient hardback books – he half expects the spines to read in old English. Maybe a ‘Ye Olde Spellebooke’ or ‘A Gide to Beastes Moste Foule’.

… ‘A Textbook of Physics For Students of Science and Engineering.’ Never mind, then.

Looking further into the small room reveals a stoic line of wooden shelves that guard most of the walls of the store – and are nearly bowing under the weight of what must be every book to have ever been written. He’s never seen so many books crammed into one building. Even the librarians at Hawkins Library would be impressed with the ramshackle way this dedicated store owner had tactically arranged a seemingly cosmic number of books onto each shelf.

‘Or deranged,’ Eddie thinks, though he is more tickled than troubled by the idea. What wall space is not covered by the truly obscene number of books is plastered with framed pictures – portraits, landscapes, a taxidermy butterfly or two. There’s a heavy-looking wooden table in the middle of the room, a mountainous skyline of paperbacks and hardcovers adorning its surface.

Fully intrigued by now, he finally steps into the room; the cool air of which is a balm to his warm skin after wandering under the warm spring sun for so long. As he appraises the candlelit parlour, wisps of incense smoke slide languidly through the air, dancing between the arms of a dusty, unlit chandelier that hangs, disregarded, from the ceiling. The room is seemingly kept so cool by an explosion of heavy fabrics of rich colours draped haphazardly from bookshelves and doorways, which shields the wide glass window from the majority of the midday sun.

In the far-right corner of the room sits another table; one that is arguably the clearest surface in the room. The half of the table that juts into the room is miraculously clear of books, and is instead home to an enormous, decorative, antiquated cash register. The kind that makes the classic ka-ching! noise when you pull the comically large lever on the side. (He totally wants to pull the comically large lever on the side.) It is all glossy black paint and brushed gold embellishments. It looks surprisingly well cared for – as if someone has taken the time to repaint and polish this rescued artifact.

Behind this absolutely mammoth register sits a woman, hopefully the one running the store. She is perched on what must be a barstool – it’s the only kind of chair high enough for the girl to be able to see over the top of the cash register – one leg crossed over the other. Her long, forest green skirt hangs in aesthetic swathes from her calf to the legs of the stool. One elbow is braced on her elevated knee, a well-loved paperback in hand, bouncing slightly as she bounces her foot in time to a turntable in the corner. The other arm is braced in front of the register, tapping her nails against the chipped wood.

He clears his throat quietly, and you jump so hard you practically hit the ceiling.

“Jesus-- Christ, I’m so sorry, you scared the hell out of me!” You laugh along with him at your own jumpiness, so absorbed in your book you hadn’t even noticed him walk in. There’s something oddly familiar about him – the way he smiles and his warm laugh. Weird. Usually you can pinpoint customers you’ve met before with no problems

“Don’t worry about it. I’m a scary kinda guy.” He drawls back.

You chuckle again before meeting his eyes and asking the good old customer service question; “How can I help you today, sir?”

You discreetly eye him while he responds – being honest, he looks thoroughly out of place. The guy is probably wearing more metal than fabric – definitely not the kind of clientele you’re used to. You’re more accustomed to older people and the occasional young kid who still has a thirst for mystical tales and thrilling adventures. Those kids were always your favourite customers.

“Just browsing, for now. The girl nearly mowing me down on your doorstep got my attention. Thought I’d see what was so spooky about a bookstore.” His tone is still cheery as he digs his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and scans his eyes up and down the nearest selection of books, slowly meandering further into the store with great, swinging steps.

“Ah, Tanya. Lovely girl. New to the romance section.” You say with a knowing kind of mirth, shooting a wink in his direction when he glances back to you.

Speaking of; you collect the small stack of dime novels the young lady hadn’t sprung for from the front desk, and busy yourself with slipping them onto one of the few higher shelves that still had space – away from any young kids’ prying eyes.

He grins cheekily to himself, “Yeah, about that. You sell any real books or is it just the uh… smut?”

When he hears your exaggerated gasp of offense, his grin only grows.

You turn to him, fists braced on your hips, always ready to defend your shop and your readers, “I resent that statement, sir! We carry books of all kinds, for all tastes.”

From across the table he spins to face your mock ire, leaning back against the books. He’s still wearing that weirdly familiar grin. All dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes.

“So, are you looking for something more vanilla, perhaps? Or will the smut do?” Your goading only serves to broaden that boyish grin, it meets his round eyes and—

Oh.

You totally knew this guy. This royal pain in your ass. This motherfucker. With his stupid brown eyes and, honestly, ridiculous band shirts.

“You.”

It’s not a question – it doesn’t need to be. You definitely know him. This dick would beg you for answers in English and science, then – then!! – have the sheer audacity to commandeer whatever classroom, drama studio or back office you had booked for your writing club, just to move his god damn Dungeons and Dragons game in.

He-

He’s totally still wearing the dorky Hellfire shirt.

He… looks puzzled.

“Me? Have we… met?” He squints at you, like it would help him recognise you any better. The book he was reading the blurb of is stacked upon the mess of the table. Instead of the shelf, where it belongs.

Lord help you not commit murder in this bookstore today.

You stare at him blankly, half expecting this to be some joke. Nope? Alright then. You bark out a laugh, then turn back to your shelves and pretend to be busy organising the mess of paperbacks, “Something like that.”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans (how he has the space to even fit them in there with the way the denim clings to his legs like a second skin – you have no idea) and takes a few slow, meandering steps towards you, “So… I don’t even get a name? A hint maybe?”

“A… hint?” You try not to sound slightly annoyed. You fail. Why are you so hurt that Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson doesn’t recognise you as his casual mortal enemy from school more than two years ago? You just blame it on this book that simply refuses to go in its place.

“Sure. You clearly know who I am – yet I have no idea who you are. A tragedy, if I may say so myself. One that I would very much like to rectify.” He leans one shoulder against the shelf to your right, hands still wedged into his pockets, all charm and wit. When had he gotten so confident? And… is he trying to flirt with you?

Hell no. Hell. No. Absolutely not – not Eddie fucking Munson. The same guy who once nearly choked on a fucking plectrum after carrying it around in the corner of his mouth all day to try and seem all cool and metal in eighth grade. You spent near a goddamn hour with him at the damn nurse’s office and missed a whole class on tectonic plates.

“Clearly not tragic enough for you to remember my damn name the first time around, Munson,” you jab back, though more playfully this time. You really don’t want to hold it against him – it’s not like you were the best of friends! Just… constantly at each other’s throats. “Shouldn’t you be playing knights and monsters somewhere?”

He almost rises to the bait. Almost. It had always been a sure-fire way to derail him – misquote some lore or spout some nonsense about his fantasy game and he’d sit and prattle away at you, spilling facts and anecdotes like a broken faucet. Instead, he watches you walk back to your high stool behind the cash register and leans his elbows on some books stacked precariously high on the centre table. He leans his chin on one hand, continuing to watch you in that infuriating way.

“No... No I’d definitely remember you,” Whatever that’s supposed to mean, you have no idea, “So how do you know me?” he squints, deep in thought for a second, then he seems to get some stupid idea because he has that look in his eye and-

“You been stalking me, pretty girl?”

This time it’s your turn to choke.

You splutter at his joke – you’re not sure which you’re more offended by, the stalking accusation, his use of ‘pretty girl’, or the fact he still can’t remember your damn name. He’s now got that stupid smirk on. That one where he’s pulled off some clown act just for laughs – you saw it often in middle school.

“I- Of course not, Munson,” you roll your eyes and suppress your own smile, “If you aren’t going to buy something, then leave, nerd.”

“Hey now, hey. I’m sorry, was that too far?” He backtracks with no small amount of levity, hands raised in front of him in a gesture of placation. The asshole actually seems genuine about the apology under his glee at having gotten under your skin. Weird. But something you do must jog his memory, because this intense look of realisation suddenly replaces his smirk – you can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind – and he cuts you off before you even get a chance to respond.

“Oh! Oh, shit, it’s you! The uh- the um… the book club girl!”

Great. Cool. Book club girl. Probably worse than him remembering nothing at all.

Is this how the people from Hawkins High remembered you!?

He has one hand pressed to his forehead, the other outstretched, alternating between frantic clicking and pointing as he desperately tries to remember your damn name. It’s almost painful to watch. He struggles for another few seconds, even starting to bounce on his heels amidst all the ‘hmm’s’ and ‘uh’s’. You decide to put him out of his misery, biting your own name out with crossed arms and a raised brow.

He throws both hands up dramatically, “Of course! God! How could I forget. Y’know, I think you single-handedly got me through ninth grade by letting me copy off you in all of Ms Davis’ quizzes.”

You arch a brow at him, “No shit Eddie. I don’t think I ever saw you write anything down. Ever.”

He laughs boisterously, “Yeah! I still don’t.” His laugh simmers down to that ever-present grin, “So hey, what are you doing here? I thought you’d have gone out of state for college the second you graduated.”

You fight off a wince, “Well. Plans change.”

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t.

“Very cryptic! I like it!” He carries on grinning, unperturbed by your loaded response, “So hey, got any recommendations? I’m thinking fantasy, but nothing too heavy or, y’know, smutty – can’t be blushing like a fair maiden in history class.”

Damn. Damn. Your one weakness. You love giving book recommendations – and he even seems sincere about wanting your opinion – even if he is making a joke out of it.

You consider refusing your help as payback for forgetting your damn name.

… Fuck it. You get up with a sigh and more eye-rolling, for good measure.

“Wasn’t aware that you could even read, Munson.”

He looks positively giddy, even in despite of your snide remark.

“Well, I thought you could teach me Beauty-and-the-Beast-style sometime. Until then at least I can look at the pictures.” He quips back, undeterred. He even throws in a wink at you when you make eye contact with him.

You laugh quick and short, “Didn’t know you’d become a wit either.” Your tone is dry – though there’s no real venom behind it even now. You’re tracing the shelves, looking for a familiar spine.

“You know me, pretty girl. Always full of surprises.”

You shoot him another withering stare before you crouch down to check the lower shelves – you swear that book was around here somewhere - “Use my damn name, Munson.”

“Only when you use mine, pretty girl.” He emphasises. You can see him rocking from his heels to his toes out of the corner of your eye. Oh, he’s enjoying himself far too much.

“Ha! Found it,” you spring back to your feet, dusting your knees off and wielding a small but thick paperback in Eddie’s direction, “The first instalment of one Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series: The Colour of Magic.”

“Terry… Pratchett?” He takes the book from your hands gently, turning it over after inspecting the front cover.

“Yep. Wrote Strata? Dark Side of the Sun? God, Munson, you been living under a rock!? Fantastic Sci-fi books, if that’s your thing. This one is more fantasy-comic. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He nods slowly while you talk at him, appraising the blurb on the back.

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

If you’re being totally honest, you expected him to put up at least some kind of complaint. Maybe a jab or two at your expense. But no, he’s already rifling through his pockets for his beat-up leather wallet.

“… Really?”

“Yeah. You sold me,” He slaps a crumpled note into your hand, “You read a lot of fantasy, pretty girl?”

You’re still reeling as you round the cash register again; enough, even, to not comment on the ‘pretty girl’ thing, “Yeah- yes, I do. I loved the Silmarillion – actually, all of Tolkien’s work.”

He’s silent for a suspicious amount of time. When you look up, he’s practically vibrating with excitement:

“I fucking love the lord of the rings.”

He might actually explode. You try to stem the flow of the classic Eddie Rant before it can begin, “You read The Hobbit too?”

“Uh? Of course?” He takes the time to look offended by the thought of you even needing to ask – until you pull the lever of the cash machine to get him his change, and the thing lets out a borderline obnoxious ka-CHING!

He giggles like he’s still in middle school before whining – “aw, damn. I wanted to pull the lever.”

“God, you still haven’t grown up, huh,” you chuckle when he shakes his head ‘no’, totally unbothered by the comment, “I’ll let you pull the damn lever next time.”

“You promise!?” He gasps playfully and pumps his fist enthusiastically when you nod at him.

“Fuck yeah. I’ll be back next week to cash in on that promise, pretty girl.”

You groan, “Did you even mean to make that pun?” He’s busy cackling. “You know what? Never mind. See you next week, Eddie.”

“Next week. This book better be damn good,” He jokes as he leaves the store.

Well. That was quite the interruption.

True to his word, a week passes before Eddie shows up in the shop again.

You’re just bagging up a few paperback mystery novels for a lovely lady named Gertrude when he whirls in through the door. He seems better dressed for the weather – his black jeans now have rips in them with a wallet chain hanging from his right hip, and he’s without his typical denim jacket. He’s still wearing the Hellfire club tee though.

You wish Gertrude a lovely day, and he waits all of two seconds before he’s slamming his hands down on your desk.

“You got anymore Pratchett?”

“Well hello, Eddie. It’s nice to see you too! Gosh, isn’t the weather lovely!” You drawl, pointedly.

He waves a hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever it’s sunny- look, I need more of that guy. That book was fantastic.” He’s practically tripping over his own words he’s talking so fast.

You can’t help the smile that splits your face, “I fucking knew you’d love it.”

You get up and round the table, and Eddie is quick on your heels, “You’re right! You were right. It was the first time I’ve laughed, hard, at a book. It’s perfect.”

Somehow, though the compliment wasn’t really aimed at you, you preen under his generous adulation. This is exactly why you love giving book recommendations!

“Glad you enjoyed it so much,” you reply through chuckles, already scanning the shelves for your next offering, “Unfortunately it’s still pretty new, so we won’t be seeing book two for a while yet. How do you feel about horror?”

“I read the whole thing in, like, a day. Horror is okay.” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, alternating between watching you and looking around the room with wide, excited eyes. Perfect. You knew exactly which book to give him next. You pull it off the shelf and display it to him with a flourish.

“Stephen King?” He reads.

“You read it yet?” God, you hope he hasn’t.

“Nope. This my new assignment?” He grins cheekily back to you.

Score. “Absolutely. It gets pretty heavy, but he’s a fantastic writer.” You sweep back to the cash register, book in hand.

“You think he knows he spelled ‘Cemetery’ wrong?” He jokes while he sidles up opposite you, already digging his battered wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

“It’s part of the plot Munson, you’ll find out why!” You’re already excited to hear his review of Pet Sematary. It had taken you weeks to finish the book – you were so grossed out and on edge that you damn near abandoned reading it altogether. Time to see if he’s as tough as he likes to make out.

“Alright, alright. If you say so,” he shakes his head, handing you a crumpled bill.

You almost forget- “Will you do the honours, sir?” You curtsey dramatically with an open-handed gesture to the lever of the cash register. He smiles broadly.

“Oh hell yeah I will,” He grasps the ball at the end of the lever with a hand adorned with rings, and pushes. Perfectly on cue, the cash register lets out a tinny ka-ching.

He’s giggling the whole time, shoulders shaking and tongue poking out from between his teeth. It’s almost endearing, how enthused he is to just… pull a lever. What a dork.

By the time you have his change picked out and his book bagged up, he’s mostly calmed down. Mostly.

“Actually, I need to pick up another copy of The Colour of Magic – if you have it?” He looks at you questioningly and continues after you nod at him quickly & shoot off to pick up a spare from the back, “Dustin keeps trying to steal my copy is all. The little thief.” He calls through to you while you rummage through the inventory.

You laugh and call back, “Is he even old enough to be reading it? Last I saw him, he was just a kid!”

When you hop back through the doorway with your successful find in hand, he has this surprised look on his face, “You know Henderson?”

“Of course! I mean, we went to the same school for a while. Also his mom is a big fan of my range of smut.” You tease him, and he recoils at the thought of a grown-ass, single woman being a fan of a racy book or two.

“Oh, super didn’t need to know that. Thanks. So much.” His face is still scrunched up and he shakes his head as if to clear the thought away. You weren’t aware it was possible for his hair to get messier.

“What!? She’s been single for years, at least let her read about a fictional lady getting some, Munson.” At this point you’re just revelling in his discomfort. It’s pretty funny to see how he squirms about it.

“Mm. Nope. Don’t need the image. Stop.”

You drop the subject, focussed on reworking his change with the extra book.

“…You read any of those books?” Your head snaps up at the question. He is very preoccupied with a chip at the edge of the table that he’s picking at. Is he honestly trying to figure out whether or not you read borderline porn?

You laugh it off, if only to have something to say, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Munson.”

His cheeks are a little red as he looks up at you with wide, but mirthful, eyes. He opens his mouth to retort but is cut off by the sound of another customer clattering into the shop.

“Hi George!” You wave to welcome the regular in, then pointedly hand Eddie his bag, and change. You think about what to say to Eddie, still watching you even as he takes his belongings. Fuck it. The risk is worth his reaction.

“If I don’t read the books, Eddie, how am I meant to know which to recommend?”

He stares at you. His eyes are wide open, jaw dropped. The longer he stands there, the redder he gets. You can’t help it. You laugh at his shocked expression. What did he honestly expect?

“You know. For purely academic reasons.” You’re still giggling at the look on his face.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, of course. Just research.” He eventually manages to get the words out, head ducked as he focusses extremely hard on getting his change back into his wallet.

So the tradition began. Every Saturday, at midday, Eddie would come through the door with a critical review of the last week’s read, and you would pick a new novel each time. Over the weeks you begin to get a better read of his character, how he’s always cheerful about something, he likes metal but can’t stomach horror books. He’s dramatic, and ostentatious, and confident, but not pompous. Never arrogant. Always respectful of you and the other customers (he’s an especially big hit with the older ladies, always impressed by his manners and complimentary personality).

How he can dish out any amount of teasing and joking flirts, but absolutely cannot handle it when you needle him back.

You’d even go as far as to say you had become good friends.

You still bullied him about Hellfire though – even if you didn’t mean a word of it.

The first time you miss a day at work, you realise you had forgotten to warn him when you wake up, warm at the thought of getting to see your new friend again – just to realise you wouldn’t be anywhere near Greene’s.

You didn’t realise that you’d enjoyed his visits so much, that you’d be so disappointed even though this Saturday was a huge milestone for you. Still, you feel awful that he’d go to Greene’s just for it to be closed. Oh well. You’ll just have to make it up to him the week after.

The next Saturday, you’re worried he won’t even show up. The clock strikes 3pm. Usually he has broken your damn door down by 1pm. Sometimes earlier. You’re bracing yourself for him to no-show – not that you’d had exactly told him to be here today.

… You also push back the question of exactly why you have to brace yourself for that eventuality.

Instead, you try to focus on reading the small paperback you have cradled in your hands.

You’ve just managed to progress past the one paragraph you’d been reading over and over again for the last hour when-

“And just where the hell were you last week!?”

Eddie opens the door so hard it almost slams against the wall.

“What are you, my mom?” You laugh breathlessly – you were shocked by his entrance. That’s all.

He stands across from you, fists rested on his hips in his best approximation of the ‘disappointed parent’ look. The façade shatters when he eventually breaks into his own laughter, while you recover from your own.

“I’m sorry! I forgot to tell you; I had a meeting out of town last Saturday. But it’s business as usual now! Promise.” You fold your hands in your lap, book forgotten on the desk.

“Sure, sure. I’ll forgive you,” he sniffs, then turns to make his usual track around the shop, inspecting the shelves as he goes for any standout titles, “You got another rec for me pretty girl?”

You almost forgot about that nickname. Your stomach flutters just a little.

“Depends. You gonna start using my actual name, Munson?”

“You first.” He winks at you over the Mount Doom of books on the table.

Rolling your eyes, you reach under the table you’re sat at and slap two new books down.

Eddie gasps, “Two?”

“Yeah. The Lost Tribe and Ghost Hunter. They’re called gamebooks. You read and make decisions, and there’s a bunch of different endings and stuff. I thought you’d like the idea!” He looks at you very intensely for a few seconds, face unreadable. But he says nothing. Just pulls his wallet out – that thing must be on it’s last legs. It’s practically falling apart at this point.

He still hasn’t said anything, “… You want them?” you try.

He just nods. Okay. Sure.

You’re so busy with the old register that you miss the way his eyes go from intense and calculating, to sharp and excited. He smoothly slides his hands onto the weathered wood in front of you, pushing his fingertips towards you, like he’s bracing himself to make a big business deal. Or share an evil plan.

“You know…” he starts suddenly.

You pause, midway through digging his change from the register. That was a very dangerous tone he just picked up. He continues, a sly drawl to his delivery; “D&D is like a fantasy book that you get to be in—"

Oh you know fucking exactly where this is going, “I’m not joining your damn goon squad, Munson.”

“Come on, you’d love it! It’s totally fantasy, you can be whoever and whatever you want, there’s romance, and action, and decisions – and magic!” He’s leaning towards you now, hands still planted on the worktop, voice equal parts enthusiastic and whining, “Plus? You get the performance of a lifetime from yours truly.”

You regard him dubiously, “You tell all the girls you invite to Hellfire that?”

He begins to try and sweeten the deal, “I’ll buy the beer?”

You arch your eyebrow.

“Donuts?”

Your lips begin to quirk.

“Fine. I’ll throw a joint in too. Jeez, you’re really taking me for all I’m worth here.”

You continue your silence. You tell yourself you just want to see how far he’ll go just to get you to join his game.

He tilts his head down, looking up at you through thick lashes. All warm, doey eyes and plush lips—wait what-

“C’mon, pretty girl. I’m begging here.”

Oh no. You really don’t like the way that look made your stomach drop, like someone pulled that gaudy, patterned rug on the shop floor from right out under your feet.

You consider it hard, “Just one session? And you’ll stop being weird about it?”

He breaks out into the most dazzling smile, “Fuck yeah. You busy tonight?”

...Tonight!?

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #fanfic #two idiots one braincell #GOFLB #still a bad acronym but we move #my work #original #hellfire club #bookstore AU #excessive use of italics #eddie calls u pretty #yea i be kicking my legs while writing this what of it.#flirting #but like #BAD flirting

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berriusagi · 9 months

Text

Target of My Affection 1

“We advise everyone to remain indoors and not venture out after sundown. The recent string of murders is believed to be the work of a single entity and while police investigate it is strongly recommended no one be out at night especially if you must travel alone.” the news anchor said as he shuffled the few papers on the desk, “We will keep you all informed on what is dis-” the television screen went black before the remote was tossed onto the coffee table.

“I told you to stop watching the news it’s fucking depressing,” Kace snapped as he walked behind the couch and smacked Johnny in the side of the head on his way, “How many times do I have to tell you that.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said shrinking down in his seat and trying to appear as small as he could to not attract any more of his husband's ire.

“I’m heading to the pub you know what to do while I’m out,” he said grabbing his keys and picking up Johnny’s wallet pulling all the cash he could find out of it before tossing it back on the counter while pocketing the money, “I’ll be back,” he shouted slamming the door to their apartment on his way out.

Johnny flinched at the slam keeping himself small as he listened to the retreating footsteps of his husband. Once he could no longer hear any footsteps from Kace he let out a long sigh and picked up the remote turning the tv back on in time to hear another news anchor talking more about the murders.

“So far we have no reason to believe any of the murders are connected through social circles, however, the most glaring common thread between all the victims is each one had an extensive record of domestic violence. We don’t know if that is how the attacker is picking his victims or if this is the work of possible vigilantism.” the newswoman said.

Johnny sighed standing up and letting the news play in the background as he went around the apartment and started cleaning up the mess his husband left for him. “Shame that killer can’t fucking kill my husband,” Johnny grumbled throwing away empty beer bottles in the trash bin, “Would make my life so much fucking easier.”

As he worked to clean up the mess and make it look as if he lived in the happy marriage he lied about having, Johnny stopped to look at the crooked wedding photo hanging on the wall back when he thought he found the best possible match for his future. Johnny reached up and took the photo off the wall looking at the happy and smiling faces of himself and his husband before setting it on the counter face down, “Biggest fucking mistake of my life.” he muttered.

Walking back over to the couch he picked the remote up and changed the channel to some game before turning it off. With the apartment clean and his husband almost guaranteed to not return until the early hours of the morning Johnny went to take a long shower to wash away all the sweat and grime from cleaning the house and to also take stock of the bruises and how they were healing.

As the water was running and warming up Johnny stood in front of the mirror peeling his shirt off and carefully poked and prodded around the bruises covering his ribs and sides. Even if his husband was an abusive piece of shit he was at least smart enough to not leave marks anywhere visible. It had gotten easy playing off the aches and pains as just muscle strain or just having slept wrong the previous night.

“So long as he doesn’t come home swinging I should be healed up by the weekend,” Johnny muttered before stripping the rest of the way and stepping into the shower letting the hot water and steam ease away any remaining aches.

~.~.~.~

Across town, Kace was laughing and getting drunk with his pals while they watched some game on the pub's TVs. The atmosphere was jovial and bets were being placed between friends on the outcome of the game. As he sat at the bar knocking back drink after drink he spotted a large man sitting in the corner nursing a whiskey his face hidden behind a skull-printed mask.

“Aye,” Kace said nudging one of his friends in the side to get their attention, “who’s the creepy fucker in the corner?” he asked.

His friend turned, raising an eyebrow as they looked over in the corner quickly spotting who Kace was talking about, “Oh him? He comes by pretty often and just sits in the corner nursing one or two drinks. People started calling him Ghost cause he doesn’t talk to anyone just lurks.” he explained before lowering his voice and leaned in so only Kace could hear, “There’s a rumor that he’s the killer and he comes to the bars to scope out his targets.”

Kace hummed taking a sip of his drink as he looked at Ghost, “Any merit to that rumor?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean you can ask the bartenders I hear one girl saying that every time someone is seen talking to him someone ends up dead not too long after.” he shrugged, “Could be a weird coincidence though but I mean that is pretty sketchy,” he said.

Kace nodded as he finished his drink and waved the bartender down to get a refill choosing to ignore the Ghost in the corner for now and just continue to get wasted with his pals.

Several hours had passed, the last call was over and his friends had all headed home leaving Kace to stumble his way home on his own. As he swayed in his steps down the road he took notice of the tall man from before leaning against a wall his skull mask illuminated by the light of his phone. Kace thought back to the rumors his friend had told him and in his drunken state felt a grin stretch across his lips before he made his way to Ghost.

“Hey, you that guy that was sitting in the corner right?” he asked swaying in front of Ghost.

Ghost just looked at him out of the corner of his eye before focusing back on his phone scrolling.

“Are the rumors true? Do people die after talking to you?” he asked, “Cause if so my husband is a right piece of shit and the world would be better off without him.” he said easily putting on a depressed and beaten-down act as he told him about all the abuse he was suffering at the hands of his husband.

Ghost kept scrolling on his phone letting Kace talk for a long while before locking his phone and putting it in his pocket, “You got any proof?” he asked his voice rough and low from disuse.

“What?” Kace asked looking up at Ghost confused that he was suddenly talking to him after sitting in silence for so long.

“Do you have proof of his abuse?” Ghost asked crossing his arms, “Bruises, cuts, injuries of any kind?”

Kace blinked slowly as he shook his head, “Nah he’s pretty good at not leaving any marks but there was a few police reports and he did spend a few nights in jail after one of our fights.” he said.

Ghost nodded looking down the empty street, “Your husband have a name?” he asked.

Kace fought to keep from a smirk showing on his face as he nodded, “Yeah John MacTavish,”

Ghost nodded, pushing off the wall, and started walking off down the empty road leaving Kace alone in his drunken stupor. After it was clear Ghost was going to say anything or return Kace just shrugged and continued on his drunken stumble home.

~.~.~.~

Johnny grumbled as he made his way down the dark city street, the hour was ungodly and no one sane would be out at this hour while it was also drizzling. “Fucking deadbeat can’t even go out and get his own shitty fucking beer,” he muttered under his breath as he readjusted his grip on the heavy bags, “One of these days I’m just gonna kill him and say it was an accident.”

As he continued down the street and got neared an alleyway he often used for a short cut he shuddered looking around feeling as if someone was staring at him. He took a slow breath to calm his nerves before continuing down the street and ducking into his usual alleyway.

He sped up his pace not wanting to be caught out so late with the recent murders. He was almost at the other end of the alley when a large hand reached out and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him into a little alcove and pinning him against the wall.

Johnny opened his mouth to scream when the same hand pressed firmly over his mouth and nose as he felt the cold bite of metal against his throat.

“I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” a deep rough voice hissed into his ear.

Johnny let out a whimper his eyes widening as it dawned on him he was going to be the next headline in the morning news. Thoughts and emotions flashed through him quicker than he could even comprehend them until he finally settled on hysteria his shoulders beginning to shake as he began to giggle. The sounds muffled behind the warm weight of his assailant's hand and his sight blurring with tears.

“What the fuck?” the man muttered pulling his hand away from Johnny's mouth allowing the high hysterical giggles to fill the quiet night.

“Fuck,” Johnny laughed reaching up to wipe his eyes but his tears just kept falling faster than he could clear them, “Oh fuck this is just my luck,” he said letting his head fall back against the alley wall trying and failing to see the face of his would-be killer.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He asked pressing the blade closer to Johnny’s neck nicking the skin and drawing a small bead of blood to the surface.

“Ah probably some undiagnosed mental shit, but the main issue would probably be my abusive husband that is no doubt going to beat the shit out of me if I do make it home tonight because I took so long getting his shitty beer,” Johnny said his voice still holding some hysteria.

“The fuck are you on? You're the one with the arrest record for domestic violence.” the man growled pressing closer.

Johnny gasped the air pushed from his lungs as he struggled to breathe around the weight of a large well-built man attempting to crush his neck with a blade, “Yeah two arrests compared to his dozens. The only reason I got locked up those times was cause I fought back.” he wheezed out.

“What?” he asked easing off Johnny allowing him to take a deep breath, “He told me you were the abuser. He even said you had a record.”

Johnny snorted shaking his head, “Yeah because I tried defending myself his record is far worse and I have proof beyond that I’m nursing a fucking cracked rib right now because of that bastard. I look like a fucking Dalmatian with the number of dark spots on me from his beatings.”

The man raised an eyebrow and leaned back grabbing the front of Soap’s shirt and lifting it before he had time to protest. His eyes widened as he saw the number of bruises and even a few healing cuts lining his torso, “Jesus fuck.” he muttered.

“He gets really bad after a night of drinking, he got kicked out of the bar and we didn’t have any beer at home so he told me to go get him some,” Johnny said kicking the bag of beer that laid forgotten on the ground beside them, “Told me to either come back with as much as I could carry or he’d bash my head in.”

“Why…” he muttered looking into Johnny’s eyes.

“I’d divorce him if I could,” he sighed, “His family would make my life an even bigger fucking nightmare if I even so much as whispered the word in my sleep. The only way out is death and at this rate, It’ll be my body tossed in the ground.”

Johnny sighed leaning back looking so tired and beaten down as if he just gave up and accepted his lot in life. He was about to fully give in and ask his soon-to-be murderer to just go ahead and finish the job when he realized just who was standing before him, “You’re that killer on the news aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” he asked eyeing Johnny closely.

“Kill my husband,” he said suddenly lurching forward and grabbing tightly onto his hoodie, “It’ll fix all my problems and he fits your MO. He’s an abuser he’s a fucking piece of shit you’ll not only be saving me but also giving justice for all his exes.”

The man stumbled back thrown off by Johnny’s sudden spike in energy and watched wide-eyed as the man fell to his knees clinging to him and practically begging him to murder his husband. He felt a small smirk tugging at his lips as he looked down at the wide blue eyes still shining with a few remaining tears in the corners, “I shouldn’t like this as much as I do.” he chuckled.

Johnny paused in his begging to blink up at him and tilted his head slightly almost like a curious puppy, “uh… killing?” he asked.

“No,” he grinned reaching down and running his fingers through his mohawk, “having a soon-to-be widower begging at my feet.” he chuckled gripping his hair, “How about we head somewhere more private and talk shop on how you want this to go.”

Johnny felt a blush erupt across his face his eyes widening as his head was tilted back by the man’s firm grip on his hair, “O-oh uh okay…” he gasped letting himself get pulled up to his feet, “Uh what’s your name?”

“I’m known as Ghost,” he said guiding Johnny out of the alleyway and down the street toward his place, “But you can call me Simon.”

#call of duty #cod #soap cod #ghost cod #soapghost #cod fanfic #Bunny's Fics

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ahoradameunnombre · 1 year

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Behind those blue and red eyes 4

The third encounter (Part 2): A broken bouquet of wildflowers

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He looked at the little flowers in his hand, and he felt a pressure in his chest, like a knot covering his broken soul. He felt anxious in one way but empty in another. It was an amalgam of many feelings yet unnamed for him. The smell of the flowers traveled towards him and tickled a little. Why did he have a present? Why does this Lavender keep giving flowers to him?

The questions floated through the air, and the cold wind froze his shoulders. He covered himself a little more with his scarf, the faint smell of Papyrus filling him with nostalgia. Why did he keep going back to Nature Tale? He asked himself with a frustrating rage emerging. But he suddenly felt like he didn’t want to come back home, like the impulse moving him forward disappeared all of the sudden.

He seated himself where before was Lavender, the vine swing moved a little with the new weight on it, and Fatal legs followed the movement. It was a comfortable seat, that must be why Lavender spent so much time in it. Looking at the flowers in his hand he felt purposeless, useless and so, so little. He used to think he would be able to keep going, that he didn’t need any more than his love for Papyrus, but yet there he was, alone and sobbing about this incomprehensible feeling of emptiness.

It didn’t make any sense, he wasn’t supposed to feel that way, and he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. He took one petal in between his fingers and tore it apart, and then another and another; he shouldn’t let these stupid flowers get pollen in his head; he wouldn’t let Papyrus behind. The code of the flowers was green, yellow, and blue, and was simple and somewhat endearing, when he tore it apart it was slowly transformed into a glitchy goop of unrecognizable numbers and letters; he liked that process. He broke the stems and the petals, and the string that held everything together; all got broken in his hands, till his feelings got numb.

He considered throwing the unrecognizable mass away in the grass, but he didn’t want anyone apart from the so-called Lavender to know he was there. Even then, he would prefer if that skeleton didn’t feel his presence so easily, that he could be all alone in Nature Tale, breathing the clear air and hearing the animals he didn’t know sing. So he saved the glitchy goop in his pockets to discard once he got home. It felt greasy and gross but one has to sacrifice comfort for the sake of secrecy.

He doubted for a little while about raising his head and looking at the landscape in front of him. He felt like a brick was placed on his head like a rock was sitting in his throat, he felt insecure and confused, but somehow expectant about what he would see. He played with his fingers a for a while, thinking about what to do, till he slowly raised his head. At first, he didn’t see anything, as he was blinded by a light that wasn’t even there, but his eye-lights slowly recovered from the blurriness till the nighttime scenery appeared in front of him.

The view made him feel so little, but somehow, he liked the feeling, he felt like a little ant in a big maze of a green multitude of plants. The moonlight filtered from above through cracks in the thick rock wall of the cave, and that rock itself was covered in moss and dew. Everywhere he looked there were flowers and trees, the plants surrounded one another to the point that the trees got vines engraving their trunks with their roots. From above, the moonlight hit little falling leaves that flew freely and slowly, seeming like almost awake and alive beings. There were fireflies all over the place like little lanterns of even more little fairies, some moths could also be found sitting in logs and flowers, some of them looked like little cotton balls, some like little angels. A buzz in the left side of his head made him turn and he found dragonflies dancing all over the place.

He opened his eye sockets up, trying to capture all the stimuli of this place, he didn’t notice but his glitches were fewer and fewer with every minute he observed it. It was as if some kind of magic took his senses prisoner; he felt like a different monster. The air that entered his nostrils filled him like an opium drug; he felt exalted like a child seeing a carnival for the first time but content like an old man washing the sunset. The awesomeness of the unknown, he thought to himself.

He had passed so much of his life trapped in a dark and endless void, only looking at a cold and tragic world through a little glitching window; he had passed so many days in the awful company of the hundred of eco-flowers screaming with the voices of all his victims. The infinite white, the infinite black, the shadows always followed him, the emptiness was always behind him.

Maybe that was the reason he heated so much the view from Outer Tale, that immensity of the space, no matter how many stars and galaxies you put in it it will always feel wrong to him. In some place, he have heard that Error loved that place, that he was always sitting alone on some rock spacing out in Outer Tale, that that was one of the little places he wouldn’t ever destroy. Maybe that was another reason he hated that place so much, maybe that was the proof that he and Error could never be as alike to each other as the monsters used to think.

Nature Tale was cozy and comforting, an oasis in the middle of a deserted world, every place felt like the warmth of a home, and the nights he experienced there weren’t dark but shone in a way he didn't think it was possible. It seemed dreamlike; a perfect place for a perfect home. He found himself dreaming of a house shared with Papyrus there, he dreamed of the nights he could pass beside his brother there, the meals they could share; the happiness of his brother.

His brother… He felt so alone at that moment, so disconnected from reality, his eyes weighed with the weight of tears that couldn’t exit his eyes. His shoulders felt tense and hard as a rock as if all his ribs were fused into a big chunk of bone. He felt tired and useless, somehow dumb as if he were just a mistake. He wanted to run, to run far away, further on the horizon when he couldn’t find himself. “yOu’RE JuSt AnOTHer diRty GLitch tHat I HaVe TO cLeaN Up.” The words of Error filled his head, and make his broken soul hurt. It felt like a knife penetrating everything again and again.

His glitches came back in a storm of white, black, and cyan boxes that covered his entire body and his throat tried to scream, but even his words were shattered into pieces. He needed to get out of there, he needed…

The frustration filled every bone of him. Not this again, not this. The air was missing from every breath he take with his mouth wide open. He was going to die. He was sure, this time he was going to die. His hands were shaking as if the earth under his feet were trembling. Soon the edges of his vision turned black and blurry. He embraced himself and closed his hands over his arms, but no matter how much he press them his vision wouldn't come back. He wouldn´t come back. Tears fell from his eyesockets, bitter and salty as blades cutting through his face.

A smell penetrated through the thick air, interrupting the sacredness of his despair. The sweet aroma stopped all his thoughts in an instant, and he felt a breeze undoing knots all over his body. Like a river transformed into a waterfall, the screams hiding in his throat fell freely as tears down his face. Unlike before these tears cleaned his face as pure water, slowly passing like the comforting hand of a lover.

He let the seconds pass through him like the soft air around him. He let himself take a break and surface again as a new monster. When he raised his head again there was no trace of tears on it. His eyes searched rapidly for the cause of the mysterious smell, besides him rested an enormous bush of lavender flowers, with its little flowers pointing in all directions. Now, when he was calmer, the smell of them seemed a little tacky, too sweet, and too strong for his taste.

There was just one possibility for that bush to appear suddenly in that place. He felt dizzy when he realized that Lavender has seen him in that state, it was the second time that has happened to him. He seemed to not be able to maintain his dignity in front of strangers, always falling into his despair too easily. His cheeks felt hot and his hands shut instantly into a thigh knot.

He rapidly got up from the swing and walked as fast as he could far away from it, he opened the white portal with his right hand and passed through it as if his life were depending on it. He felt the atmospheric pressure release from his shoulders as he entered the infinite emptiness of his save screen. The eco-flowers spoke to him: “Crack-crack” the sound of broken bones filled the room. Then far away he heard a little flower say “BROTHER” in the broken voice of Patch.

As if that sound was a premonition, Patch came just moments after it. “BROTHER ARE YOU BACK?” the tall skeleton asked kindly, but Fatal did not answer. “I WAS THINKING OF ADDING A NEW INGREDIENT TO MY SPAGHETTI RECIPE, WANNA HEAR ABOUT IT?” The silence followed Fatal till the middle of the eco-flowers, which welcomed him with more screams and cracks. He lay down in between the big blue petals and closed his eyes.

Patch watched his brother sleep, probably something had made him really mad if he was taking a nap in an accurate position. An unknown impulse made him come close to the sleeping body of his brother, he kneel down beside him and looked at him closely. This time there were almost no glitches on his brother's face. As if he was sleeping comfortably his chest raised slowly making the sound of the air passing through his nostrils soft and welcoming.

Something made him feel calmer, for once the immensity of the void around him felt quiet in the best of ways; for once it felt like home. A smell caught his attention. A soft sweet breeze floated from his brother's body. It was a flower smell… where did his brother go that day.

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#fatal x lavender #fatalxlavender #fatalvender #latal #letal #afatalerrorhasoccured #afatalerror #fatal sans #lavendersans #lavenderxfatal #lavender

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tentaipetto · 3 months

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Chapter 1

Ismelda looked around the room at the life she knew she would never have, that she was never meant to have. Soft furnishings that looked plump and inviting, the kind that would easily swallow a small child without any trouble. Wooden artifacts that were so intricately decorated she thought she might actually be able to smell the grapes carved into them. Above her a crystal chandelier dangled, shimmering and sending small twinkling reflections of candlelight shooting around the room. The candles themselves were enormous, almost the size of a child, they made the room warm, they smelt inviting and projected a much more amiable atmosphere than Ismelda felt the room should have been afforded. There were 2 large 4 seater sofas with a plethora of fancy cushions arranged on them, they were facing each other in the middle of a large and beautiful rug that was depicting various hunting scenes. Around the sofas were various tables, sideboards and display cabinets, all of which were creaking under the weight of nik-naks, artwork, gifts, and crockery.

Ismelda herself was the one thing in the room that was plain and simple, her appearance was anyway. She tried not to feel self-conscious about it but her efforts appeared to be in vain, she flattened down her tatty brown woollen skirt with her hands and tried to adjust the handkerchief holding back her long but greasy auburn locks but she ended up just creating a lump in the fabric that looked suspiciously like she had some sort of protruding tumour growing out of the side of her head. Dressed differently, Ismelda would probably have been quite beautiful, or at the very least fairly attractive, but in her current slightly stained, tired, crumpled and greasy state she appeared to look necessary. Her skirt was necessary as it covered her legs which were a shocking shade of white and had in the past actually startled people who happened to glimpse them. Her handkerchief was necessary to keep her long hair from falling into her tired eyes while she worked, the sweater that was originally thick and was now constructed more of holes that fabric was necessary to keep her organs slightly warmer than the rest of her body, it was also the same 'fetching' shade of brown as her skirt which Ismelda felt must have been a bonus on some level. Finally her feet were clad in a two part ensemble of itchy brown woollen socks which were necessary for her blisters not to make the inside of her shoes slippery. Covering the socks were her shoes which were at some point leather but it was now debateable as to the material of thier construction, but they were necessary to maintain a semblance of respectability as it was very much frowned upon to be without shoes in any sort of respectable profession. Ismelda, without even trying, was the epitome of necessary. But here she felt decidedly surplus to requirements. Standing in the plush surroundings it made her feel dowdy and boring, but at home it just made her feel normal. Her parents had never gone in for any of this new fangled frivolity and colourfullness. They much prefered the necessary look, plus it was much much easier on the brown woollen necessary purse strings.

Ismelda was currently within the walls of the main castle of the Northern Bank which resided a little outside Longthorne, it used to reside in Longthorne but the villagers got fed up of the comings and goings of castle life and just sort of moved away, now the castle was surrounded by the homes and businesses of the people who worked inside the castle walls. It was usually customery for servants and maids and workers to live within the walls and safety of the castle to which they served, but the ruler here was nervous of people and chose a few that he trusted enough to give lodging inside his realm of safety. The people outside were not trusted enough, they were just workers, but they were required to stay close to the castle, should they be needed. Ismelda had always thought that it was quite a rude way to deal with ones employees, but who was she to judge, it was obviously working as no one had managed to bump the ruler off yet.

Longthorne itself was a fairly quiet little place, the sort of place that keeps itself to itself. Simple, plain folk lived there, they werent stupid, they just werent all that intelligent either, but they were bloody hard working. Each household looked after itself, but was more than willing to help someone in need. Generosity was a virtue, few could afford it but they would do it anyway. Ismelda was proud to be from Longthorne, it was possibly the quietest famous place on the planet. She had only visited a few villages one way or the other, she had never gone far, so the thought of where she might end up after all the talking was done was making her nervous.

Ismelda took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself but it didnt help, the warm smell of the candles was filling her brain with hungry thoughts but she could smell something else in the background, a small smell hiding behind the coat tails of the bigger smells infront, but it was getting bigger. Cigar smoke! Ismelda smiled to herself at her own revelation and then let it sink in a little, and quickly began to panic. If she could smell that smell, and that smell was getting bigger, that meant he was on his way towards her. She felt her legs tense and panic began to float around her and envelope her like a blanket. She fought the urge to run, to leave the warm room behind and just go home and forget this whole sorry affair, but she didnt, Ismelda stayed perfectly still where she had been standing the whole time and the only external difference to show her panic was a slight quickening of her breath. Ismelda decided that in an attempt to maintain her composure she would concentrate very hard on one thing, she did this in her own life at home but there it was much easier to choose something as there was much less to choose from. Here there were all manner of trinkets, pieces of furniture with elborate decoration, clocks, curtains and pieces of artwork. Ismelda didnt really go in for all this fanciness, the artwork just seemed pointless and headache inducing. She decided that a small but nevertheless useful trinket box on the side table infront of her would have to do. It had a purpose besides decoration that satisfied her parents voice that was echoing through her mind. The box itself was a hexagon shape with a flat lid, it was a deep violet in colour and was inlayed with pink and blue pearlescent stones that followed its hexagonal shape in thin lines into the centre where a large purple pearl sat and pretended that it was useful because someone had once said it was a handle. Ismelda mused about how much a box like this was worth, a months wages? a years? 10 years? it was probably the latter she concluded, and then some. This whole room would probably take 3 generations of her large extended family thier whole lifetimes to decorate. The reality of her situation began to creep in again, like an icy chill on the back of your neck on a cold shivering night on the seashore. Ismelda knew the reason she was there was a valid one, she knew there was no other choice, had there been her parents would certainly have chosen any other path than this one for thier eldest daughter. But this was thier only hope and Ismelda knew it, which made this particular situation so much more difficult to deal with, the inescapability of what was about to happen felt like it was trying to suffocate her. Ismeldas breath quickened again and a very thin sheen of perspiration unbefitting of a young lady (which was lucky really as Ismelda could be called many things but a lady wasnt one of them) began to form on her forehead that was unaccustomed to being within a room that was this far away from freezing on a thermometer. The moment was almost upon her, she could feel the air around her change texture, as if it became thicker and more difficult to gulp down into her lungs, it began to tingle and prickle on her skin. She fought the urge to flee one last time and just at the precise moment she was attempting to calculate how high up from the ground the window was and how mant broken bones would result from flinging herself out of it, just at that moment the ornate wooden double doors across the room were flung open and a large figure appeared from beyond them flanked with many more guards than were actually necessary and a cloud of cigar smoke that must have been a serious health concern for anyone in its vicinity.

#novel #tallinovel #tallinovelone #ismelda

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eddieheart · 2 years

Text

WHERE IS MY MIND

Part 1

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairings: OC relationship

Words: 823

Description: Ruthie attempts to go about her day, she also starts down a path she can’t return from.

Prologue:

The walls were a pale pink with vertical white stripes. The chairs were an ugly deep brown and the carpet was a light beige shag. Her therapist rattled on about something.

"How old did you say you were when she went missing?" The older woman asked, permed blond hair bouncing as she talked.

"She didn't go missing she was taken and we were 6." The older woman wrote something down in her book and nodded.

"Do you think that maybe at this point in your life you should just start... moving on. These delusions your having-."

"They aren't delusions! I'm not crazy! I know what I saw!" She jumped from her chair, grabbing her satchel and leaving the room.

"Goodbye Dr.Gibbons, I need to be going." The older woman's mouth gaped like a fish as she left the room.

Running out she quickly made her way to the car, throwing the door open and jumping inside.

"Ruthie?" He asked gently, reaching a hand out to touch her arm. She jerked back and scowled at the floor.

"Just drive Jared." He sputtered for a second. "Just drive! Please just drive!" Her voice shook as she spoke.

As soon as they got home Ruthie jumped out of the car and ran inside. Practically sprinting to her bed, she fought back tears. The young woman curled onto her side and hugged her blanket close to her chest. Jared slowly came up behind her, he placed an arm on her back and sat beside her.

"Is it about Ronnie?" He asked. Scoffing, Ruthie turned, quickly wiping her eyes she turned to face him.

"Why does everything always have to be about Ronnie! It's not about her! It's been years why are you bringing up Ronnie! I need to get over it, I'm too dramatic!" She started crying, sobbing into herself.

A look of sadness washed over the older man as he turned onto his side and curled up behind her. He slowly ran his hands up her arms and looped his fingers into hers, bringing her closer to his body, hushing her softly as she cried.

——

She pushed the small pieces of steak around her plate. Eyes unfocused, clearly not listening to what her boyfriend was saying.

"Ruthie we need to talk about this, you can't keep pushing me away." He leaned forward reaching out a hand to hold hers.

"Ruthie?" He questioned.

Her head shot up and she looked straight into his eyes. Swallowing thickly she took her hand away, grabbing her plate and putting it into the sink before walking away. Jared sighed as he watched Her leave the room.

Making her way down the hall, Ruthie grabbed a key from her back pocket. She pulled it out, slipping it into the lock and shifting it around. She opened the door to pure darkness, throwing a hand forward she felt for the light, chain hanging from the ceiling.

As the light flicked on she came face to face with a large board covered in pictures and string. In the middle of the board was a name, 'Ronnie'.

——

She fell asleep at her desk that night, like most nights. Waking up was a hassle, an imprint of her spiral notebook clearly on her cheek. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed, stood and left the room taking her notebook with her.

She was going to see Murray today, she had no other choice at this point. The drive would be long, several hours, maybe a day if she stopped too many times.

She had to do it, for Ronnie. It was still dark outside, Jared would still be sleeping. Ruthie loved him she really did but he couldn't handle this, he was like everybody else. He thought she was crazy and she wasn't.

Making her way out the door she was greeted by a soft lump in front of her. Frankie, her calico had been waiting for her outside the door. She knelt down with a sigh, Ruthie already had a go bag ready she could leave now.

But the sad look on Frankie's face must have done something to her. Ruthie grabbed the small feline and held her gently in her arms. She stuffed some cat food into her bag and wrapped her litter box in a garbage bag. She placed all of it into her car.

Ripping off a piece of paper from her note book and jotted down a quick message to Jared.

She left it taped to the inside of the front door, tears laced her vision as she walked to the car, closing the door softly behind her. Ruthie started the car and drove off, Frankie in the passenger seat beside her.

The message hung limply at the door.

'Dear Jared,

I'm sorry that I can't take you with me, you just don't understand. I'm safe and I'm looking for Ronnie and that's all you need to know. I love you, Goodbye.

~Ruthie'

@buggylad

#fanfiction #orginal character #original female character #fanfic #stranger things

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zoopine · 2 years

Text

I definitely think I did a better job with this second short story. I think the last was a little bogged down with my ideas of a bigger world it took place in and I definitely think that harmed the final product.

I planned out this story better. It definitely helped that it was a lot simpler.

This one even has a title!

Anyway, here you go!

The Hunter

The rabbit hung limply in the hounds jaws. It's frightened vigor completely drained from it's body like the blood now dripping onto the grass below; the outcome of hunter cornering prey.

"Good boy, Jaeger!"

The dog trotted over to me, tail wagging, pleased with it's work. I took the lifeless rabbit from his mouth and pat him on the head. He was a good dog, not just for hunting, but as a companion as well. I lived alone in the mountains, and Jaeger supplied me with the little amount of company I actually needed.

I tied a peice of string around the rabbits legs to carry it by and turned to head back home, with Jaeger following close behind. The autumn leaves crunched loudly beneath my feet and a wind chilled the already cool air. We had chased the rabbit a ways into the woods and far from the trail, though I made sure to keep my sense of direction and hadn't gotten lost.

I pushed a branch out of my way and held it as Jaeger passed. Fall was the most beautiful time of the year. The leaves turned from green to hues of orange, yellow and the occasional red. Summer heat had passed and it was not yet the cold of a harsh New England winter. Storms came often in the fall, but unlike spring, the rains didn't muddy the ground into an honorary lake.

I turned to see Jaeger pacing, finding a spot to do his business. I stopped and observed my surroundings, the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon; purple-orange clouds visible through the sparse oaks and the still full pines. A small stream, really only a trickle, flowed nearby. It likely led to the river that lied just to the north. The stream was accompanied by a low stone wall, covered in moss and leaves.

These walls were not uncommon in the woods of New England. The land used to be home to countless farms and the walls led along the outskirts of the properties. The farms were abandoned and the wooden barns and fences had long since rotted away. Because of this it was not uncommon to find old scraps of rusted metal hidden beneath the leaf litter, often among the likes of nails and old farm tools.

A patch of broken trees caught my eye. I walked over and inspected them closer. Only a few inches wide, they were snapped a few feet off of the ground. They looked as if they had been pushed over. Although strange to see so many next to each other, trees snapped like these weren't an uncommon sight in the forest.

My eyes fell to the ground below. Clumps of matted and bloodied fur lay in the leaves. Clearly something had been attacked some time before, likely a deer. The trees must have been broken in the struggle. Jaeger walked over to me and started sniffing the fur. He tensed up and started to back away, smelling whatever fox or other animal attacked the deer.

I grabbed him by the collar and ran my hand along the length of his back in order to reassure him, "It's alright, it's alright."

He seemed to calm down, wagging his tail and licking his reddened chops.

"C'mon, boy."

I continued my walk back to the trail. A twig snapped beneath my foot. I found myself at the stone wall and stepped over it, navigating around the fallen branch in my way.

I climbed the small hill beyond the wall and now stood at the trail. The path wasn't well worn. Stones and pebbles lay strewn across the dirt and a myriad of plants reached into the foot space, threatening to overtake it.

The walkway steepened as it followed up the side of the mountain. The dense forest began to thin out as I climbed up the inclining ground. I was now on a stretch of path I had traveled many times before, my feet traversing the rocks and roots by memory.

My cabin was now in view, sitting in a grassy outcropping, abutted by trees. It was small, but cozy. A small garden hugged the back wall and a fire pit lay nearby.

I walked up to the shed that hid tucked away just in the treeline and stepped inside, leaving Jaeger to play outside. Tools and various other things lay in the corners and hung on the walls. I grabbed a trash bag and set it open on the floor next to me. I tied the rabbit up by it's hind legs on the rack above the table in front of me, placed down my rifle and rolled up my sleeves. Grabbing my knife the from the drawer at my waist, I cut just above each ankle, making my way up the legs, cutting through tough sinew in order to pull away hide and hair, gloves shielding my hands from the leaking red.

I cut through the bone of the tail and continued skinning the body of the animal. I found myself at the shoulders and cut sleeves around the front arms, sliding the hide down to let it sit on the head, like a hood. I set my knife at the base of it's neck and began sawing through muscle and spine, severing the head from the body.

I dropped the removed head in the bag by me feet. I took down the body and placed it in another bag as to not trail blood, removed my gloves and stepped outside.

I walked through my yard to my front door. Jaeger sat in the grass, chewing on his bone that he had found, his mouth now clean of blood. Dark clouds had formed in the distance, looming over the horizon to warn of a storm. I called Jaeger after me.

I opened my front door and made my way to the kitchen sink. Lights hung from the ceiling, casting the room into a warm orange glow. Jaeger ran into the living room to continue chewing on his bone.

I removed the rabbit from the bag and washed the blood off in the sink. After thoroughly cleaning the animal I set it's body on a cutting board on the counter and began to splay it open in the front. I had to check the organs to see if the rabbit was good to eat. Being pleased with what I saw I decided to prepare to cook the rabbit.

I poured vinegar and oil in a bowl, adding salt and a multitude of spices. Mixing the substance into a usable marinade, I set the rabbit in it and placed it in the fridge. After preheating the oven and setting a timer I made myself a warm tea and sauntered into my living room. I sat in the couch and Jaeger jumped up after me.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as I traded my phone for the book sat on the coffee table in front of me. Jaeger huddled closer. He wasn't a particularly skittish dog sland wasn't usually frightened by thunder, but it seemed to bother him now.

...

It was dark out now, the fleeting brilliance of sunset fading into dim twilight. The storm had descended on the house, the rain loudly pelting the roof and windows. The timer had gone off and I got up, made my way into the kitchen and placed the rabbit in the oven. I chopped up small, bite sized potatoes and put them in a plastic bag with oil and spices, shaking it to flavor the spuds.

I reached down into the cabinet that contained my pans and grabbed one. I oiled it and placed it on the stovetop, turning up the heat. I gently dumped the potatoes in the pan and stirred them around as they fried.

I heard a low growl and turned to see Jaeger standing at the door.

"What's wrong, boy? It's just the thunder, nothing to worry about."

I walked up to the dog and placed my hand on his back. He jumped up and started scratching the door, now barking. I turned in the porch light and peered through the small window on the door, but saw nothing. I suspected that a fox or raccoon had wandered into the yard, and got Jaeger spooked.

I pulled the dog back and opened the door to look out into the yard, but Jaeger pushed pass me and sprinted out into the forest.

"Jaeger! God damnit, Jaeger, get back here!"

I ran back to the hallway and got my raincoat out of my closet. I quickly put on and my shoes on, grabbed a flashlight and rushed out after Jaeger.

I couldn't see him in the dark. He had run into the woods and I followed. I stumbled down the side of the hill and started running in the direction Jaeger took off in.

"Jaeger! Jaeger come here!"

I ran through the forest. The rain soaking the ground and my face alike.

The stench hit me like a brick wall. The smell of rot and decay stabbed at my nostrils, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

I gagged, "What the fuck is that?"

I heard barking further in, further towards the death stench.

"Jaeger!" I called out between choked breaths. I ran as fast I could through the woods. Very nearly slipping on the wet leaves.

The pained cry of the dog sounded out through the woods. I sprinted even faster, running towards him, worried that he had injured himself in his frenzy.

I stopped in my tracks. Blood stained the fallen leaves in front of me. Bits of red viscera scattered across the ground. My heart pounded in my chest and an awful dread formed in the pit of my stomach as my gaze drifted upwards.

Hunched over the body of Jaeger was a horrific figure. It's pale skin stretched taut over it's gaunt frame. Fear gripped me like an icy hand. I caught my scream before it left my throat. I backed up slowly, terrified of drawing the things attention. I tripped over a root I hadn't seen. It turned to face me. The scream jumped out of my mouth, piercing my own ears.

It stood up, it's form a cruel mockery of nature. Horrible teeth hung down over the mangle of flesh that dangled below it's head instead of a bottom jaw. Exposed muscle shown all over it's body where skin failed to cover. Two great, terrible pale yellow orbs sat dead in the things awful skull, shining with a raw instinctual intent to kill. A hunter.

If there was any God here it had abandoned me long ago, and yet I still prayed. I shot up to my feet and began sprinting back up the hill. The thing let out a gutteral screech and dropped on all fours. Claws like daggers digging into the soft dirt below, launching it further and further towards me.

I struggled to find my footing on the wet earth. Slipping over and over again, every time losing my lead a little bit more. I grabbed onto roots and branches to pull myself up, clambering up the steep ground.

I crested the hill and sprinted through the trees into my yard. I dared not look back as I ran to the shed. I threw open the door and slammed it behind me, hearing the hunter drawing nearer.

I grabbed my rifle and began loading it with bullets. The gun did well enough to hunt game and I prayed it would allow me to protect myself from the terrible thing just outside.

It went quiet, leaving only the sound of pounding rain and booming thunder. I tried to catch my breath, but struggled as my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. The rabbits head lay still in the bag; I had forgotten to throw it away.

The ceiling creaked above me, dust falling loose from the braces that held it up. I stood still, too afraid to move. Another creak, this time louder. I cautiously reached for the door.

There was a loud crack as the braces began to break apart, the ceiling bowed inwards.

I burst out the door. The hunter turned it's head towards me. It lept down from the top of the shed and began it's chase. I sprinted into towards the woods, my breathing ragged and urgent.

I reached the treeline and slid back down the hill. The red leaves below dirtied my shoes and pants. I turned to see it standing at the top of the hill, it's awful body silhouetted against the moonlight.

I raised my rifle to meet the figure. I steadied my aim the best I could and pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past the hunter, shattering a twig off a branch.

I turned back and continued running. I was shaking too hard to aim. I ran towards the ditch that lied a ways in front of me

I sprinted up along the side of the ravine. The Hunter came crashing through the trees and up to my left. It lept out at me. My nostrils filled with the suffocating reek of death as I just barely managed to avoid it's grasp, sending it tumbling down the ledge.

It quickly regained it's footing and started crawling up the steep wall, wet leaves and mud slipping out from underneath it. Lightning flashed, once again exposing it's ghoulish details.

I rounded a dense thicket and the beast followed close behind. It's pale-red, leathery skin stretching and contourting around it's frame as it reached out to brace itself. Galloping through the woods, death in both it's eyes and breath.

I caught my foot on a root and fell over. I dropped my gun and went to reach for it, but the crashing behind me forced me to my feet. Now weaponless I ran even faster, the hunter close behind.

I ran through the trees, jumping over branches and a stone wall. I fell again and my foot met water, a sharp pain shot up through my leg. Fighting through it, I pulled myself up. The Hunter leaped over the wall and was now only a few dozen feet behind me.

A wall. An unclimable cliff of dirt stood in front of me and spanned out to my sides. The Hunter slowed. It stood up on it's hind legs and let out a low, cruel growl. It's pale, dead eyes now glowed with deathly intent.

It approached slowly, savoring every moment of my fear.

I had been cornered.

#writing #writeblr #short fiction #fiction #horror #new england

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

Yan Genshin Boys / First Kisses.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied coercion, and implied unwanted contact.

Childe

You once thought that nightmares were supposed to end when you awoke.

This time for certain, you’d think, hopeful and covered in a thin veil of ignorance that offered anything but bliss, I’ll wake up.

He won’t let you breathe. The sheer fervor behind his relentless assault on your lips keeps your mind from wandering away — and you’re kept grounded in a reality you wish to take no part in. You’ve tried pinching your side, squeezing your eyes shut, demanding your subconscious to snap out of it and release you from your slumber.

Childe releases an odd noise and pulls away. Hesitant, you slowly reopen your eyes, his hazy features coming into focus as a metallic taste blossoms on your tongue. A string of reddish saliva connects your lips to his. There’s no physical pain on your behalf, and at this, you blink, trying to make sense of what happened.

Are you no longer dreaming?

"Hah...” he throws his head back and laughs. His subsequent grin is wolfish in nature, and poking through his pearly white teeth, you notice glimmers of crimson. “You really know how to keep a man’s attention, don’t you?”

He licks his lips and stains them a darker shade.

No way. You actually bit the tongue of a harbinger, the man who holds your delicate life in the palm of his hands. His pupils have dilated to the size of a pin’s end and you’re backed even further against the wall. There’s no telling what’s worse, when his eyes are home to a vast nothingness, or when they’re maddened with corrupted love like this.

The first thing you notice when he presses his lips to yours again is the iron flavor growing stronger.

This must not be a nightmare, after all, you muse. It’s something far worse. This... is my life from now on.

Diluc

The young master of Dawn Winery has found that the best time to contemplate matters is at night. His thoughts will go round and round in circles, reminiscent of a dog chasing its tail despite knowing it’ll always evade capture.

The back of his knuckles gently caress your cheeks. He notices how warm they are. His entire life, he believed himself to have been familiar with heat, yet yours is far different from his. It doesn’t seek to destroy or leave ashes in its wake. Yours is far gentler, boasting no destructive power. That is, to anyone aside from him.

Most nights, he’d press a chaste kiss to your forehead before patrolling for evil that could be located far easier if he examined himself. He came into your adjacent master bedroom for such an innocent purpose. Maybe it’s the iridescent glow of moonlight making your features all the more enticing, or maybe the starving beast inside himself could only awaken while you slept.

You can’t judge him if you’re not awake — can’t glare at him in that way you do whenever he enters the room, straightening out whatever you were doing, then briskly walking past him. It isn’t right, he knows that. You’d hate him even more if you knew.

Just one quick peck wouldn’t hurt, he told himself. Then he latched his lips to yours, and minutes later, he still can’t find the strength to part. Not when he finally managed to experience something so intimate with his dearly beloved. Still, moments like these weren’t meant to last forever, especially not for men like him.

Diluc breaks away at the possibility of you stirring. Coward that he is, he vanishes from your bedside, and by the time you wipe the sleep from your eyes, you’re left at a loss.

That’s strange, you think, and your head rolls further into the feather-soft pillow. For the aroma of cologne mixed with charred wood and leather to linger as it does. You’ll ask a maid to light a candle to get rid of the scent.

Kaeya

What is more plentiful: the crystalline tears running down your cheeks, or the despair taking refuge in your soul?

His hands might be resting upon your neck rather than the hilt of his blade, but for some reason, kissing you reminds him of swordplay. Perhaps it’s the way in which your body is crumbling into his like it would if he had plunged his sword into your side. He’s the reason for your fall, while cruelly enough, being the one to keep you standing.

“Isn’t this so much better?” Kaeya asks though he knows you’re not listening. Not when your mind is far too busy processing the gaping wound in your heart. The Calvary Captain wonders if you thought he might be able to fill it. Or at the very least, serve as a temporary plug, so that it wouldn’t bleed out.

“I wish I could say,” is your response. How honest of you — you’re no longer bothering to hide from him. It would be difficult to do so, he supposes, after he tore down the flimsy walls that once kept you separated brick by brick.

Your honesty isn’t what he wants. Not this brand of it, at least, he wants a kind that better suits his needs.

“If that were true,” he smiles, noticing how your breath catches in your throat, all too familiar with his various tells. This smile is a premonition, the calm before the storm. “Then why would you seek me for comfort in the first place, hm?”

There it is. That expression, that uncertainty! It isn’t enough for him to plunge his sword into your aching soul. He must twist it too, again and again, until the pain is too severe for you to handle on your own.

Then you’d have no choice but to come and seek him out. And what could be better than that?

(Zhongli, Albedo, Xiao, Scaramouche and Kazuha are underneath the cut!)

Zhongli

Contracts between two parties require both to uphold their ends of the agreement.

There are many things you believe Zhongli to not fully understand. He observed enough human behavior over the millennia to get a rough idea of what romantic relations entail. For every finding he cataloged, you were left to fill in the gaps. He’d happily let you if it meant he’d be treated to luxuries like this.

Act as my lover.

This stipulation detailed within the contract he held over your head spurred you into action. Defying a god, as tempting as the idea sounded, was always better left to theory than practice. So you kiss him. Again and again, no rest in between, until the air in your lungs depleted entirely.

You loathe his composure. How calm and graceful he is, even now, when handed all he’s ever wanted on a silver platter that you’ve delivered by hand. You want his hands to wander, for him to grasp you harshly, just so you could spitefully call him out for it afterward.

He does no such thing.

Zhongli treats you more delicately than he ever had before. So gently, in fact, you temporarily deluded yourself into thinking he wasn’t there. Parting your eyelids revealed he very much still was. Golden irises greet you, radiating light like the high afternoon sun, yet devoid entirely of warmth.

“It’s creepy to stare,” you murmur, your voice coming out far weaker than you intended. “Can’t you... close your eyes or something...?”

He chuckles in a way that tells how little he takes you seriously.

“And risk missing the various expressions you make?” He stares down at you through his eyelashes. “That’s a joy I couldn’t imagine depriving myself of.”

Your fingers ball into fists by your side.

“You’re not done, are you? Let’s continue where we left off, shall we?”

Zhongli phrases it like a question — an offer — something you’d have the right to refuse or accept. But when his mouth is back on yours, you know it’s anything but a reminder of all that you owe and could never hope to fully repay.

Albedo

Albedo isn’t certain of his thoughts on destiny, or fate, whatever label ascribed to the passage of time bringing separate forces together. Stumbling across you that fateful evening in the Dragonspine might be enough for him to argue for its existence.

How fitting that the resting place of his creator’s other masterpiece would be where he made his greatest discovery: you.

Without it, you wouldn’t have sought shelter in his camp from mutating monsters. He wouldn’t have gotten to see the starlight sparkling in your eyes as you spoke of adventure and your dreams. His attention and manmade heart wouldn’t have been connected to you, spun into ties that were impossible to sever.

And most of all, he wouldn’t have been able to experience tasting you like this. How fortunate is he? It’s no wonder he can feel envy pervading into the soil itself. That the failed creation must witness its successor’s joy, a joy it could never hope to experience itself.

You weren’t much better off yourself, he supposes. The bitterness you hold in your heart toward the alchemist was tangible at every turn. Albedo takes note of how you keep your eyes narrow, the way you try to cover your anxiety by putting up a tough front. What train of thought brought you to the point of asking to kiss him, he wonders?

Were you trying to lower his guard? Gauge his reaction as he does with you? Or was it something else?

Whatever the case, he’ll enjoy this simple pleasure and ponder its implications later. There is one aspect that’s been troubling him in this otherwise enjoyable moment. Albedo separates himself from your lips, a certain knowingness present in his eyes that makes you gulp.

“Let’s keep the sharp objects in the kitchen where they belong, shall we?”

He lifts up the knife you had been hiding beneath your coat. It shines, reflecting the lamp to his side, much to your apparent horror.

Albedo supposes you and his failed predecessors have quite a lot in common — the both of you seem obsessed with ending his life.

Xiao

You think you might suffocate.

Teeth clashing against each other, a tongue shoved down your throat, heat consuming your body from head to toe. It’s too much to handle at once. The strength and love of an adepti goes beyond anything you were meant to withstand. You know he knows this if the way he’s treated you like fragile glass was to be of any indicator.

That’s why you don’t understand this drastic change in behavior.

The air itself is heavier, weighed down an invisible miasma unperceivable to the human eye. Karmic debt, you believe he called at once. Back when you could feel the warmth of the sun against your skin and the breeze billowing through your hair.

“What’s— ah, gotten into you?”

Your voice snaps him from the reverie he’s fallen victim to since returning minutes ago.

Xiao blinks, taking in the situation before him, his hold on you going lax. The madness corrupting his eyes fades away as each second ticks on. Your chest is heaving, greedily taking in the air you were refused while he helped himself to tasting your lips.

He stands, immediately creating distance between the two of you. The confusion etched onto his countenance is clear as day. You can see numerous emotions passing through, ranging from disbelief to mortification.

Did he really lose control of himself, or was he acting on a whim kept suppressed for ages?

“I...” He reaches out for you yet pauses when you shrink away. It must pain him, something you’re grateful for and wish to inflict upon him again and again. He pivots on his heel and hurriedly exits the room you’re being kept in. The door remains wide open, but you know better than to dart out. This is his realm, after all, you could only leave if he allowed it.

And you know he never would.

Not when he knows you’d never be by his side otherwise.

Scaramouche

Why isn’t it working?

He holds you firmly in place, refusing to give you the slightest wiggle room. The most you can do is try to keep up — and even that’s a battle that you’re losing. Electro thrums at his fingertips. It serves as a silent warning, an invisible knife pressed to your throat, demanding that you be good.

The puppet with frayed strings wonders if this is what love is supposed to be.

If it was, then this would work. You would melt into his touch. Why aren’t you doing that?

Scaramouche pushes you back by your shoulders. He’s searching for something in your expression, an endeavor you assume will be fruitless. Whatever he’s looking for, he won’t find. You take the opportunity to try and steady your breathing. The chance doesn’t last long, as his fingernails begin digging into your skin.

He must be coming to realize it himself.

That you don’t love him back. That you’ll never love him back.

“Stop,” he inhales sharply, his voice both weak and frustrated, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Maybe you shouldn’t ask, but you do. “Like what?”

“Like you want nothing to do with me.”

He knows he’s throwing a childish tantrum, deep down, in someplace he sealed and threw the key away to. It’s natural you hold dissent for him. He tried to follow the proper steps, the type of courtship that won over individuals and had them smitten, but somewhere along the line, he messed up. Once, twice, then too many times to count.

Still... he tried, didn’t he? For such a divine creation such as himself to try for you, should that not be the highest honor?

“Kiss me again,” he orders, his grip loosening up just enough for you to do as he demands. “I won’t let you stop until I find your conduct satisfactory.”

The air of superiority is back, forcing the momentary vulnerability he showed earlier away. That’s right, he thinks, ignoring how you keep your movements purposefully sluggish.

If you won’t love him, then he’ll make it so you never have the time to hate him.

Kazuha

When it rains, it pours.

The pitter-patter outside your temporary shelter melts away into meaningless background noise. Your captor’s words repeat in your head like a looping chorus sung by a condemned choir. There’s no way he’d take that from you too — not after everything else he’s stolen...!

“May I kiss you?”

What resistance are you capable of offering? Your eyes flicker to the sword sheathed at his hip, then to his Vision, glowing and pulsating through the fabric it’s covered in. He’s never used violence against you, nor have you ever felt like he would up until this point, yet the question of what if permeates your head. What if you saying no is the breaking point? What if the patience he showed you is waning?

So you nod in a daze.

Kazuha’s bandaged hand rests on your chin and tilts your head up. His eyes soften while he takes in your appearance, his lovestruck expression enough to make your heart twinge. How can he be so gentle and so cruel?

He smiles as he marries his lips to yours. The kiss itself lasts for only a few seconds, yet you feel it’s an eternity. You feel too much of him at once. The soft locks of his hair, the warmth of his breath, his scent of autumn mixed with the ocean breeze. It’s enough to make your stomach twist.

Or is it yourself you’re disgusted with for not having the strength to refuse him?

“That was your first kiss, right?”

Your mind is too foggy to be certain of the answer, but to placate him, you nod again.

“Ah, what a relief...” he massages your lower lip with his thumb, “I don’t know what I’d do if someone else had taken the privilege from me.”

A chill runs down your spine as an unsettling smile settles on his features.

“You are telling the truth, right, [First]?”

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cloudyyangel · 3 years

Text

Nanami Kento thinks you look best in his blue button up. He enjoys seeing the stretch and pull of the fabric against your plump body. He also enjoys the events leading up to you tugging on his shirt.

3.3k

nsfw, cw: lack of prep, dry humping, body inclusive reader, afab reader, slight praise kink, one ass smack

△ △ △

Nanami watches as you gather your underwear from the foot of his bed and slip back into them, a small smile playing at your lips. Your wiggles to get them just right over your thighs and ass has Nanami sighing softly as he leans against the headboard- eyeing every piece of plush flesh that bounces with your movements.

He had tried to coax you to stay in bed, dinner can wait sweetheart, but you had been adamant about feeding the over worked and stressed sorcerer (No Kento, I am not a suitable meal! You told him for the fifth time). He had came straight home from work and gotten you into bed before any greetings of hellos or how are yous.

You glance around for your shirt, the one he won’t mention is on the opposite side of the bed by the wall. It’s a game for him; getting you to throw your shirt off in a lust fueled haze and losing it. You always try to find it afterwards, sometimes even nudging him to roll over so you can search under him. Nanami was patient as his gaze followed you around the room- he knew the ultimate victory of the night was close. It sent a pleasant warmth through his chest as you finally give up and pull on the only shirt on the floor.

Nanami is built different, as you’ve jokingly told him many times. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a toned physique from fighting curses over the years. You, in a great difference, are soft with rounded edges that contrast with his sharp angles. You love to watch him flex as he chops vegetables for dinner, or see the taut skin of his stomach as he stretches before bed- it’s everything you’re not and it use to sting a bit, cut into your heart that maybe you weren’t good enough.

Nanami Kento, on the other hand, loves the opposition of your bodies. He loves the soft skin of your shoulders under his hands, to feel fat squeezing between his fingers as he grips your thighs, loves to watch your belly match the pumps of his hips as he drives his cock into you. He loves you, truly and wholeheartedly, and everything about you. Over time his sweet words, sinful praises, and all consuming actions have nestled their way into your body to take home in your skin.

They settle in your heart- the logic conscious man had no time to string someone along or for empty compliments. Fine, Nanami had relented one night after you explain why you’re not enough for him, you are big. You’re also beautiful, smart, amazing, talented. It’s just another word that describes why I love you. You start to believe it after that.

The blue button up you pull on after a session of love making is what he loves the most. Out of all the looks you had, it was his favorite. The fabric clings to the fat of your arms while the wrists are loose. It stretches across your full chest with only three buttons fastened in an attempt to hold you even as they pull taut (you know they’re reliable, just like the man who wears it). It couldn’t cover your tummy, even with how broad he is, but the material covers enough for you to trot around the room in.

It’s ill fitting- not necessarily too small, but made for a slimmer and taller build. Tailor made for Nanami Kento. On you, it’s a frumpy mess- the blue material wrinkling at odd places, bunching up around your arms but god if he doesn’t melt at the sight of you. His blue button up, stretched safely around your bigger form- it reminds him that you are his, that you love him, that he can protect and cherish you. He tries to keep it out as often as he can, fighting his urge to keep everything smartly in its place, just in hopes of you tugging it on. He soon found out that you were more willing to pull it on when you were in a dazed state, wanting to put on some semblance of clothes after an extended period of being exposed. Nanami was more than happy to provide that mindset for you.

This evening, his shirt had been tossed to the floor as soon as he entered the bedroom. His tie was somewhere in the living room, his glasses by the front door, shoes strewn across the entrance. Nanami is a smart man, however, and was careful with this shirt- he let that drop right in the middle of the room, to be sure it was the only thing you saw after he had satisfied both of your needs.

△ △ △

“Impatient, hmm Kento?” You teased as his hands groped at the fat on your hips to pull you even closer to him. He was home exactly on time despite the complaint of overtime and caught you by surprise. Nanami had strode into the bedroom with no words as he let his shirt drop to the floor and immediately captured your lips in a kiss.

The normally composed sorcerer had called on his break to rant about useless colleagues and a curse getting too close for comfort and that he just wanted to hear your voice. He promised to try not to work too late, I miss you darling, but you knew he put everything he had into work and told him you would be waiting for him with a smile.

Nanami hummed as he bruised your lips in a needy kiss. “I just need you.” He had muttered with a rut of his hips against yours. His length was already pronounced and it made you pull back with a slight gasp- light glistened off the string of spit that connected you two.

The situation at work must have gotten to him, his controlled façade had slipped completely off as he attacked you with an usual fervor. His hands squeezed your hips before they roamed over your tummy- it was one of his favorite places to touch and kiss and squeeze and worship.

He never faltered on his slow, methodical, rut against you, not slowing down to even remove both of your bottoms. “K-kento, we can-“ Your suggestion to continue in bed was cut off when his hands wrapped around your back to grope at your ass.

He always did go straight for what he wanted. Which explained why he was rutting you into the wall with spit spread around your lips.

His hips sped up and harsh pants met your face as he pressed forward. Nanami’s brow was furrowed, fingers griped tight on your ass as he slotted between your legs. His composure, his calmness, had been tossed to the side along with his shirt the second he saw you. Now, his cock was leaking into his slacks and he was just so desperate to feel you against him that the wall would do for now.

The new closeness brought his hard cock right against your cunt, still both clothed but the friction was enough to make you grow wet and grind back against him. The angle pushed you up on your toes, desperate to feel even more of him and if you angled your hips just right, you could feel Nanami’s length slide right over your clothed slit.

You had refused on multiple times to be picked up, even when he insisted on multiple times that he could. Instead, he accommodated your needs and wants, simply finding a way to be able to grind against you while he pressed your back against the wall. He bent down to suck the smooth skin of your neck into his mouth, only to increase the speed of his ministrations on your now dripping cunt.

His hips rubbed harder against you, effectively pining you to the wall and it started to burn against your skin. The sting only amplified the feeling every time it rubbed against your pussy lips and you couldn’t help but whimper with every thrust.

Deep in your stomach, something tightened and grew into a comfortable pressure, your orgasm growing with every thrust of Nanami’s hips. One hand left your ass to roughly paw at your chest, his fingers easily found the pebbled nipple and rolled it a few times before he gave a light tug. As you gasped he took the opportunity to shove his mouth over yours, to lavish his tongue against yours. It wasn’t enough for you, or him, but you were the first to break.

You needed more, needed him and needed something physical to touch you. "Kento, please” you whined into his mouth as you felt the soaked fabric of your underwear stick and cling to you.

The broken cry brought Nanami back as he pulled away from your hips, not able to control his harsh pants. The sudden stop made you jerk against him, desperate for any relief against your clit that throbbed under your pants. Nanami stared down at you, blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead with darkened eyes, and heaved a few deep breaths. His expression cleared as he took in your state- the caretaker role slid back on as he saw how wrecked you were from just a few minutes of dry humping. Your eyes were half lidded and cloudy with tears from the friction, hips still stuttered from the loss of contact, and your chest heaved. When he didn’t move, you reach forward with a grabby hand to tug his belt towards you. He easily caught your hand and slightly ‘tsk’ed when you voiced your displeasure with a frown.

“Look what you do to me.” He sighed and brought both of your hands to his cock that strained against the fabric of his slacks. You desperately gripped at the hardness which earned you a sharp hiss from his kiss bruised lips. You mewled at the sound but Nanami was never one to be outdone.

He eyed your own sex and let out a small chuckle. “Look what I do to you.” He said amused as he rubbed your hands over the wet spot of your pants. The pressure made the fabric catch against your slick lips, swollen from the rough friction and you arched into it before he pulled the hands away. He chuckled at your pout and wiggle to find friction again.

“I can’t believe how needy you are,” you bit out in frustration at his tease, “dry humping me like a virg-.” He swallowed the rest of your retort with a heavy kiss and quick swat to your ass. The small spank had you flatten yourself against the wall with a surprised gasp.

“You’re the one soaked through two layers of clothes. I think you’re the needy one, sweetheart.” He commented with a harsh tug on your ass which slammed your hips against his. It pressed your lips against your clit and sent a jolt through your body and the loud whine that left your lips already proved his point as he dragged you towards the bed. He brought his hands back to himself and left you to stand in front of him.

Nanami didn’t break your gaze as he went to unbuckle his pants and flung them off somewhere (you would tease him later how messy that was, throwing his clothes around like a teenager). You shifted as you watched his thick cock spring free of his slacks. The pretty red head slapped against his flushed stomach and you swallowed a whine as your cunt continued to throb. You would drop to your knees if he asked, pull your knees as wide as they would go, press your face into the mattress- anything to get his perfectly thick pretty cock inside of you. Nanami was observant as ever and smirked as he sat down on the bed.

“Like I said, needy.” His voice was a rumble and the comment sent a flutter through you. Nanami eyed you up and down, still fully clothed even as he sat naked on the bed, and gave a solid pat to his thigh.

“Take off your pants.”

Nerves shot through you- even after being with Nanami for so long. It was a force of habit to hide your body, to not show off and it made your movements lag as you unbuttoned and pulled off your pants. Despite his preference to see you naked- he rarely undressed you himself. He allowed you to take off whatever clothes you felt comfortable enough to remove, and at your own pace.

He was patient, as he always was, while you worked to obey him and not listen to the doubts that swirled in your head. His command, soft as it was, fought against those doubts you had. You wanted to please him, feel the praise run through your body, and that beat out whatever words had been thrown at your body in the past. His pale eyes watched as your thighs were freed and jiggled as you lifted you feet to kick them away.

His legs parted slowly (god what a sight to see Nanami Kento spread his legs wide for your body) and you slotted yourself in between his strong legs. “Look at you,” it came out breathless as he softly slid his hands under your shirt and you took the silent command to throw it off along with your bra, “sweetheart you’re gorgeous.” He pressed a few kisses to your stomach, his lips sinking into your skin. Your hands threaded through his blonde locks to let your nails scrape against his skull.

That was the praise that made every piece of exposed skin worth it- his gentle tone and sweet words sunk into the fat on your body and sent a shiver through you. He responded with soft bites into your even softer skin; his lips sucked a few red marks next to your navel to prove his point.

“Come join me, please Angel. Let me feel you.” He spoke quietly as he lead you onto his lap. You obeyed wordlessly- his words, his voice washed over you and made you compliant. Your weight pressed against his strong thighs, the bed dipped beneath your combined weight, and your stomach trapped his cock between the two of you as you settled down on his lap.

Nanami’s lips instantly latched onto your nipple, sucking and licking the hard bud. His hands roamed across your back, dipped to your love handles to pull you against him and you pressed up closer to his cock. His hips thrusted up on instinct to fuck his cock against your soft stomach, and drew a small moan from your lips. You rolled your hips against him which left behind a nice slick of your juices on his lap. His cock twitched against your stomach just as your clit pulsed from lack of stimulation.

Nanami was more than happy to lazily roll hips against hips until someone gave in. Once again, you broke first. “Wanna feel you Kento, please.” You muttered as your hips sped up on his lap. Your clit throbbed with every light push and you could feel the quiver travel through your thighs.

“You will, sweet girl. I’ll fill you up, give you what you need.” He promised as his hand travelled down to finally touch your wet pussy. His long fingers teased your slit and one easily slid between the folds. He had been the one to storm into the room and dry hump you to a wreck, but now wanted to properly get you ready.

You tried not to pout at him being a gentlemen to prep you but at this point he had teased you too long. You whined and weaved your fingers through his light hair to tug his gaze up to your own. Your empty cunt was painful as it pulsed around nothing. “No, please Kento, I need you now. I promise I can take it I promise just- I need you right now please please-“ he kissed your babbles away and moved his hands to grip the back of your thighs. He was patient, but even he had a limit.

Nanami pulled back to lock his pale gaze onto your teary eyes. “Can you handle that sweetheart?” He asked firmly, any tease gone.

You nodded quickly, blinking away tears at the need of his fat cock inside of you. “Promise Ken! I promise!” You whined and he shushed you again.

“That’s enough baby, lift up for me.” You pushed up on your knees and pawed at his chest as he lined up at your entrance. Your little whines of ‘please’ were silenced as the tip of his cock slipped through your slick hole.

As Nanami helped you lower yourself, he let out a string of encouragements, “You can take it, I know you can good girl, just go slow, don’t rush yourse-“ his words were cut off with a broken moan as you spread your knees and sank further down on his cock. “F-fuck baby.” His head dropped against your shoulder and he fully moaned.

Nanami was vocal in the aspect that he would praise you, give you commands, but those moans were special and sent an electrical shock right to your core. You griped at his hair and wrapped your arms around his neck with your own whine as his thick cock stretched you out.

It burned. As wet as you were, it practically dripped down your legs, his fat cock still stretched and squeezed itself inside of it. You slowly sank down until you met his lap once more, thick cock buried in your fat pussy. Neither of you moved for a moment, enjoying the fill and stretch of each other. His hands clawed into the extra fat on your thighs, sure to leave pinpoint bruises in the morning, and gave a small bounce.

“Ah! Not yet, wait,” you stammered out with a whimper to his hair, your pussy throbbed around the intrusion.

“You can do it for me sweetheart, move and bounce on my cock, yeah? You’ll be a good girl.” He coaxed into your neck with a few swipes of his tongue.

You nodded instantly, his words wiped out any doubts or pain you had. “Ye-yeah. I can.” You confirmed and raised up on your knees slightly before you dropped your weight back down.

He let you set the pace, happy to feel the rise and fall of your thighs on his, watch your tits bounce, feel the tight squeeze of your cunt on his cock, hear the pants right by his ear. “Kento, Kento,” you chanted as your rises got higher and quicker.

His own pants and moans were almost lost in the mix of your vocalizations and the squelch of your pussy around his cock. The tightness that formed deep in your belly came back, egged on by the sounds and feel of Nanami. “More! Ken, I need more, please, just, just a lil’ more.”

You leaned back from him to grind your hips down just as he moved to thrust up to hit right there oh god that was the spot. Your moan was loud and delicious to him as the head of his cock brushed the spongy spot inside of you that left you slack jawed. He took advantage of your leaned back form and laid back on the bed before he bucked his hips. You fell forward, catching yourself on his chest. “More, sweet girl?” He questioned with a smile of adoration and lust.

Nanami was nothing short of a giving and loving partner, always happy to give you exactly what you asked for. In this new position, he was quick to thrust up so hard that it jerked you forward. That warmth in your belly grew sharper, brighter, as it weaved through your body with every hit of his cock inside of you. He continued his thrusts as you threw yourself back to meet his hips. Wet slaps of his cock being driven into you mingled with your loud moans and his quieter grunts.

He never could keep his hands still at this point. His hands groped at your jiggly ass, moved to cup your belly that hung over him, pinched at your nipples on your tits that swung right in his face, and pulled your thighs apart to watch his cock piston in and out of you. It was too much for him, just to watch you and everything about you as you bounced on top of him with such lewd sounds and faces. He loved you. “My good girl, you’re taking me so well, bouncing on my cock so nicely. How does it feel princess?”

Your arms threatened to give out as your hands clenched into fist on top of his chest. “Good! ‘S good Kento! Your- ah! your cock ‘s hitting so good!” You managed to respond as he continued to jack hammer into your soppy cunt. Nanami deepened his thrusts at your words, pleased that you always listened to him even with his cock that wiped most thoughts out of your mind. “Close, gonna...wanna cum with you.” You whined over his quiet grunts.

One hand left your ass and settled on the fat of your pussy right above the sensitive little bud that begged for touch. Your clit throbbed with the closeness and you leaned closer to him. He responded by snapping his cock deeper into you, a wet smack echoing with every thrust. “ ‘m close too princess, your so tight around me. ‘M gonna fill you up nice and full, okay? Make you bigger with all my cum.” His thumb found your clit and gave it a soft rub.

A jolt of sensation travelled through your body. “So deep, cum so deep inside me, puh-, puhlease!” Your begs and pleads became a mess as Nanami sped up the circles on your clit. Only utters of “Ken!”, “puhlease!” “Cum ‘n me!” fell from your mouth as your orgasm grew. You slunk down on his chest, almost laid out flat on him as his hips kept up their relentless pace. The circling of your clit, your cunt leaking around his fat cock, the warmth in your belly, Nanami’s praises of good girl my good girl- everything snapped.

You came loudly with stars behind your eyes, called out his name with a quiver that ran through your thighs and a gush of your juices that coated his lap beneath you as you full collapsed against his chest. He fucked you through your orgasm as he gave you one, two, three deep pumps- his hips only stilled with his cock buried balls deep as he emptied his cum inside your pulsing cunt and his lips praised your name. It took a moment to feel your thighs stop their shake, feel his cum settle into you, as you both recovered from your orgasms.

His chest heaved under you, arms wrapped around your waist to drag you up off his softening cock. You whined at the drag, positive both his lap and the sheets would be a mess of your combined cum. These moments, basked in the afterglow, neither of you could care about stained sheets and leaking cum.

Nanami settled you against his side and his lips dropped a slow and deep kiss against your own. “Love you, love you Kento.” You mumbled. “I love you, my darling.”

△ △ △

So yes, seeing his shirt on you- face still flushed, hair a mess, red bite marks decorating your plush stomach- it was his favorite look.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #Nanami Kento smut #chubby!reader #cw body inclusive #cw dry humping #okay! so!! here you go.#this snowballed. it was really only suppose to be the first three paragraphs but then I just kept writing.#once again if anyone says anything about being ooc I will kick ankles.#there is very little dialogue okay!!! and Nanami is soft and sweet!!! fight me!!!#I hate writing smut because I’m so use to embellishing and getting paid per word. so I add way to many details #and I tend to draw sex scenes out #I’m really bad at this. and I might actually delete it. I know I’m suppose to be confident in my writing and normally I am. but this? ehhhh #it’s not slow burn but damn leading up to the actual sex takes 56 years #some of the dialogue is taken right from my uhhh experiences. along with some of the actions. hahahaa #this is not beta’d or thought out or planned. I just wrote. edited it lightly. then tagged. and now I will post and run #dropping this at 10am and then leaving to go to town. ✌🏼#🌥 cloudy writes #🌥 cloudy writes jjk

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avocado-writing · 2 years

Text

Oh, Baby

A few of us are doing a Bruno smut fic exchange and I got @cakesandconfessions as my prompter! She wanted a sub!Bruno in lingerie and some breeding kink. I obliged. >:3c

| NSFT, 18+

| Men in lingerie; Smut; Oral Sex; Breeding Kink

| 2.8k words

| Bruno Madrigal x Reader

You’re too good for Bruno. It’s the only thing he can think whenever he’s with you. He can’t get it out of his head.

Every time you reach over and touch his hand he feels like he’s on fire, and every time you give him a gentle smile he thinks he’s being given a blessing from heaven he doesn’t deserve. You’re young, pretty, and well-liked - all the things he is not.

To be fair, you’re both working on the last part. He doesn’t give his visions any more, and you’re trying to introduce him to people around the Encanto as your partner, rather than the strange Madrigal who lived in the walls for ten years.

They’re slowly warming up to him, but it’s you who’s taken on the burden of his resocialisation. Just by being near you he shines a little brighter. You’re his angel, giving him the salvation of your love.

He’s smitten, in a word.

When you’d first shown an interest in him, he’d thought there was malicious intent behind it. You’d end up begging him to use his gift, or you were stringing him along to make fun of him. But when his initial prickliness didn’t deter you he wavered a little, and talked to you, and found out how wonderful you were. He was a little bit in love with you from then on. He didn’t really have hope of it being requited, you were far too perfect for him - that was until one night you kissed him in the rain after he’d offered to walk you home, and he’d melted in your arms.

You took his virginity that night and guided him through it all - every touch, every caress. Didn’t make him feel small for his inexperience. You simply held his face in your hands and covered him with kisses, whispering words of adoration as you showed his fingers how to make you come.

“Ah, Bruno,” you’d whispered when he was buried between your legs, and Lord, he never wanted to hear his name said in any other way. When he’s inside you he knows what heaven feels like, and he comes almost embarrassingly quickly, filling you to the brim with his release.

You’d just thrown your head back and cried out in ecstasy. Bruno knew you had his heart in the palm of your hand, and he trusted you enough to know you wouldn’t crush it.

Ever since then, he really can’t get enough of you. Your relationship is still quite new - barely four months - but he thinks he’d happily propose to you if he wasn’t worried he’d scare you away from doing it so soon.

And yet he wants more than just your hand.

Growing up, he felt conflicted - both a deep love of his nieces and nephews, and an envy towards his sisters for having children when he didn’t. Bruno longed to be a father, but he was already pushing it when he disappeared in the walls at forty years old, and hiding for a decade didn’t really help matters.

But now, with you?

Dear God, he’d do anything to see you carry his child.

There’s no good way to ask. No delicate approach to the subject. But you aren’t asking him to pull out when you make love - that must be a sign, right? A sign you want this as much as he does?

He’d move mountains for you, after all. He’d like to hope the feeling is mutual.

He gets the idea when you’re walking down the street together one hot summer’s day. You’re billowing out your blouse to circulate the air around your skin, and Bruno keeps getting a glance of your cleavage. You must be doing it a little on purpose, because when you catch him staring, there’s a definite grin on your face.

He stops when you stop, your linked arms forcing him to a standstill. When he follows your gaze he finds himself getting very hot under the collar.

It’s the tailor’s shop window, and there’s a mannequin with some very racy lingerie on it. Bruno’s surprised the tailor even had the gall to put it on display. But he can’t deny it looks lovely - a cinched corset with ribbing, a pair of delicate, lacy panties, and a tall pair of stockings laid at the side.

You sigh next to him.

“That’s pretty,” you say. Bruno looks a little scandalised, but he also can’t help but be intrigued too. When he looks over to you, you shrug.

“What?” you ask, “everyone looks good in lingerie.”

That’s where the conversation is left between you, but it doesn’t leave Bruno’s mind.

In fact it rather plants a seed that grows into an idea.

When he comes back to the tailor’s the next day, she gives him a salacious grin when he buys the lingerie set in the window.

“Your partner is a lucky woman,” the tailor says with a wink. Bruno feels his face flush - he hopes you will feel lucky, but not because you’re the one who’ll be wearing them.

Everyone looks good in lingerie.

He hopes the same is true of him.

You come over to the casita that night for dinner. His family have taken to you as warmly as you have to them: you make easy conversations with his sisters, hold your own with Camilo when he tries to shake you with his shapeshifting, listen with interest to Antonio’s animal stories.

Bruno tries not to shift next to you. He didn’t know how itchy stockings could be.

If you notice his wriggling too much you don’t comment on it, instead merely raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He smiles away your worry and you go back to your chatting.

There’s something else Bruno hasn’t really told you.

He loves how gentle you are with him in bed. Never pushing more than you think he can take, always being respectful of the boundaries you imagine him to have.

But he wishes… he wishes you’d be a little bit rougher with him.

He wants to know what your hand feels like on his throat. The feeling of your nails digging into his skin. How wet your cunt would be when you’re riding him, telling him to come inside you. Everything. All of it.

When you finally retire to his room for the night, he thinks he might explode.

Bruno’s been acting strange.

Well, alright. More than usual, anyway. More than giving rats character arcs strange.

Luckily his tower has compacted itself since he returned to the casita, a small flight of stairs taking you to his cosy bedroom, so it isn’t a long journey before you can question him.

“Bruno?” you ask, confused, “are you okay? You’ve seemed kind of off all night.”

Bruno opens his mouth to respond, closes it, and then steps forward to desperately kiss you.

You gasp a little, not expecting it, and soon feel his tongue graze your lips, begging for an entrance. When you part them he moans in gratitude.

You pull him into your arms, holding him steady, immediately sensing what he needs from you. He nearly collapses into your embrace, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him steady against your body.

When you part he’s gasping for breath, and half-hard in his pants. You laugh, breathless, exhilarated.

“Bruno, mi amor, are you alright?”

“Yes. I just… I…” he can’t put it into words, floundering desperately. You’ve never seen him so needy, so…

Oh.

You might have an idea of what he needs.

“Bruno,” when you speak, your voice is low and seductive, and Bruno swallows so hard his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Do you need me to take care of you, baby?”

He nods. It’s all he’s capable of doing.

You put a hand on his shoulder and steer him backwards into the bed, when his legs hit the mattress he sits.

“Good boy,” you say, and Bruno looks like he’s about to cry from it, but in the best possible way. Hitched breaths. Dilated pupils. Licking his lips every couple of moments, the tip of his tongue deliciously pink in the low light of the room.

You start at the buttons on his trousers. You can feel Bruno tense up when you do so, and you’re not entirely sure why until you tug them down -

And your brain freezes. Every coherent thought you’ve ever had leaves out the window.

Bruno’s cock is encased in lace. The lingerie you saw at the tailor’s. He twitches under your gaze, dick dripping with precome.

You’ve gone to heaven. You’ve died. You’re dead.

When you look up at Bruno, he seems nervous.

“Is, ah… is this okay?” he asks, carefully. In response you give his dick an open-mouthed kiss through the lace and he throws his head back in ecstasy, letting out a loud, juddering sigh.

The delicate material is surprisingly sturdy as you play with his slit through it. You can taste the salty bitterness of his pre-release on your tongue and you realise just how much he’s enjoying this.

“P-please,” he begs, “can I put my hands in your hair?”

You stop your work just for long enough to give him a sultry look upwards.

“Depends. Do you think you’ve behaved well enough to do that?”

He chews his lip, unsure. It does something to you to see Bruno like this. So deeply under your control, so trusting of you.

You won’t misplace that trust.

“Y...yes?” he guesses. You smile.

“Then go ahead, mi amor.”

As he lets go of the tension he physically deflates, carding his fingers into your hair as you play with his cock through the panties. The patterning is divine, swirls and little seashells outline his straining length. He looks so pretty like this, you think. You’re almost reluctant to take it out, but you see how desperate he looks and know you can’t deny him.

You take Bruno’s cock in your hand and give it a lazy stroke. He mewls and bucks his hips up into your grasp, and if that isn’t the most beautiful thing. His fingers never hold you too tight, as if he knows he doesn’t have permission to do that - but you really test his limits when you swallow him down in one.

Bruno chokes. Fucking chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat, and it turns into a sob when you pull yourself off of his length and begin to suck him in earnest. You know how to use your mouth, and you enjoy giving your partner pleasure - so you lick and caress him, alternating circling his head with your tongue, and running your lips down the thick vein beneath.

His hips twitch erratically. Can’t be long now -

“Wait.”

You do so, stopping immediately, making sure he’s alright. Bruno is trying to hold himself together and failing, squirming beneath you, but he steadies himself to manage a request:

“I… I want to… inside you…”

You piece the words together and grin.

“Oh? Bruno Madrigal, you want to come inside me, huh? What are you trying to do, knock me up?”

When he squeezes his eyes shut, you know what the answer is.

Huh. Okay then. You can work with that. You’re… very into that, actually.

“Well…” you hum, tucking him back into his panties and pulling back out of his reach. He moans at the loss of contact and you make a show of tutting. “If you want to do that, you’re going to have to be very good for me, huh? Why don’t you start by stripping?”

He does, almost tripping over himself in his enthusiasm to do so. Down to the panties, of course, and then -

Jesucristo.

“Are those stockings?” you ask, agog. He nods, feeling his legs in the silky undergarments.

“There was a corset too, but I couldn’t lace it properly.”

Mierda. Okay. Store that away for now, concentrate on the moment at hand.

You saunter over to him, peeling off your own clothes as you do. Bruno’s eyes are glued to your body, practically boring a hole in you from their intensity. When you’re naked you put a hand on his chest and shove him backwards.

“I think if you want to come inside me, I should get to come first, hmm?”

He nods, incapable of speech. You crawl onto the bed and position a leg either side of his face.

“So be a good boy and make me come, then.”

He sinks a hand into either of your hips and brings you down so your cunt is on his mouth, and he fucking devours you.

What Bruno Madrigal lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, and you’ve never met a man quite so willing to use his tongue on you. It does help that he's a fast learner. He knows that when he rubs your clit you’ll throw your head back and groan, when he pushes his tongue inside you you suck your breath in through your teeth.

If Bruno ever thought you made him come too fast, it’s nothing compared to what he can do to you. He’s so clever, playing your body like it’s an instrument, plucking the most wonderful melodies from you. And he doesn’t complain when you grind down into his face, chasing your release from the friction on your clit - he just holds you in place and opens wide, swiping his tongue across your entrance and gathering the slick he finds there.

You’re so wet it’s embarrassing. You’re dripping down into his curls, but when you look down to see if he’s alright, it’s the wide-eyed adoration he meets you with that sends you over the edge.

You come hard, crying out into the quiet of his room. You slap a hand over your mouth and try to smother your elation - you just hope the casita is soundproof.

You ride out your orgasm on Bruno’s mouth, only slowing down once you’re completely satisfied. You rise up off of his face, amazed at the amount of slick you’ve produced. But Bruno just smiles, dazed, as you slowly make your way back down his body, sitting your sensitive cunt on his lace panties and rock-hard dick.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight, hm?” you ask, giving a gentle thrust. It’s overstimulating for both of you - your poor cunt is still throbbing from the incredible release you just found, and Bruno’s cock is practically twitching beneath you.

“You want to come inside me, Bruno? Plant a baby in me? Show everyone who you belong to, huh?”

Bruno throws his head back and lets out a long string of curses, amalgamating in: “Please.”

Well, seeing as he asked nicely.

You carefully slip him out of his underwear, and into the heat between your legs.

Bruno has a deliciously sized dick, giving just the right stretch as you sheathe him inside you. You see him grip the sheets and you know he has to stop himself coming right then and there.

“You’re so handsome, Bruno,” you whisper, words of praise dripping from your tongue as you slowly begin to ride him. “I’m so glad you’re mine. We’re going to make such a lovely baby together, you know?”

He covers his face with his hands, shy, but you gently peel them away and pin them either side of his head, using all your weight to keep him held down as you fuck him.

“No, don’t hide away. I want to see how lucky I am. How lucky I am your cock is inside me, about to get me pregnant.”

When Bruno’s bashful gaze meets yours, he can’t look away. You reach down and kiss him. His mouth tastes like you, tangy and intimate, but you entwine your tongue with his anyway.

“I’m- I’m going to…” he sobs, nestling his face in the soft skin where your shoulder meets your neck. You smile.

“Come, then. Fill me up.”

He does. Bruno comes so hard he sees stars, releasing jet after jet of come inside you, painting your walls with his release. As he does he can’t help but hope it will take, that he’ll get to see you grow big and beautiful with his child.

He collapses, spent, boneless. You lie down on his chest, stroking his hair, humming a song he can’t quite recognise; you don’t pull him out of you. Instead his cock remains snugly inside you as he softens, keeping all of his spend in your pussy.

“So, a baby, huh?” you ask, eventually. A little doubt creeps into his mind, and he hates the way it ruins the soft glow he’s feeling.

“Is that… alright?” he asks. You chuckle, a beautiful sound that immediately reassures him.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno my beloved #my writing #nsft

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