#this better break the streak i swear to god | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastshadows · 3 months

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 8: Flight

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

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.8K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

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

What happened? What in the Hells just happened?

His fingers putter over the greyed skin of his arm, but he’s not even looking as that blistering pain dwindles to a dull sting. He stares at the wide-open door, sun swarming across the floor, mouth agape.

He has seen panic. Hells, fear is well known to him, but he has never seen her succumb to panic. She never wavered. Even when they peered certain death in the face, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes, all glorious flames and roaring fury.

What had he said? His eyes shift furiously from side to side as he strives to recall the last moments. She recoiled from his touch, winced as his hand drew near, and her heartbeat thundered so furiously he worried it might burst in her chest. She never shied away from him before, even when she awoke to him hovering over her that night, fangs bared.

Gale enters, wide-eyed and dishevelled, and he nearly groans out loud but stifles it. He knows what’s coming before Gale even notices he’s standing, stiff as a corpse on these damn stairs.

Gale’s eyes find him with a scowl, voice drizzled in hostility hot enough to melt infernal iron, “Astarion, what did you do!?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he retorts hoarsely, voice constrained, trying to push down his annoyance, “We were just,” Gods, what does he say, not the truth surely, “-talking.”

Gale pokes a rigid finger into his chest, and by the Gods, he almost breaks it, hands balling up at his sides. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the wizard so irate. It would usually positively amuse him, but his mind is focused elsewhere.

“If you hurt her again, Astarion, I swear on Mystra-Ryl-”

His temper gets the better of him, and he snarls like a rabid animal, fangs bared in warning as he shoves the wizard backward, “You’ll do what, Gale,” he spits, voice coarse as sandpaper, “Try to seduce her again with your silly parlour tricks?”

Gale gnashes his teeth, mouth twisted in a grim line, “No, Astarion. I admit my feelings for her have not departed. She is a rather unique soul, after all,” Gale sighs, “But she told me, in no uncertain terms, might I add, who her heart belongs to. You hold it in your very hands, my friend. Do not squander the second chance she’s given you. You are a lucky man to have her devotion.”

There is heartache in Gale’s expression, meshed into his voice. His tongue feels clad in stone, sitting heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth. Words fail him, a peculiar occurrence. He’s used to being able to weave masterfully articulated webs with his linguistic talents, but he cannot think of a response.

He smooths back his hair or perhaps messes it further; he cares not, “Indeed, I am.”

He needs to think, and he cannot do it when he’s making impetuous errors, letting anger get the better of him. He stalks up the staircase, silent as a thief shrouded by shadows as the wizard’s damn eyes bore into his back, scars bared, making his skin crawl.

Sitting on the bed, he leans forward and puts his head in his hands. His thoughts are chaotic, streaking like lightning bolts across the black void. They jumble together in untidy disarray, starting and stopping without fully rendering in the first place.

Fuck, this is his fault. What has he done to her? She’s different than when he left. Skittish, shy, and afraid of everything, just as he had been once. She tries to hide it from him, but he recognizes it reflected in those beautiful doe-eyes that gleam like the morning sun.

He inhales sharply, a futile venture for him, but sometimes, even 200 years later, those old habits of life still spring his dead body into action. He frowns at himself, springing upright with artful grace and fluidity practiced and perfected over centuries and paces his room with his fingers laced behind his head.

He’s never wished he could extinguish the sun so desperately. If only he could wrench it out of the sky and fling it into the heavens, blotting it out, he would set out after her. Darkness is mere hours away, but it feels like lifetimes.

Despite his best efforts, he thinks of home. He’s missed it since he softly shut the door behind him that night. The memory haunts him like no other.

He slips off the bed, careful not to jostle it and wake her, an easy feat for him. How often had he simply slipped away from his targets when Cazador came for them in the dead of night? Countlessly. He cringes inwardly at the memories that surface of the life she rescued him from, giving him this new, bright future to look forward to. Only in this moment that once radiant future is bleak and endlessly lonely.

It’s better for her, he tells himself. After all, he cannot give her a real life if she’s bound to the shadows with him, both the umbrage plaguing his mind, holding his body hostage, as well as shackling her to the night.

He tucks her in, making sure the blankets are tightly swaddled around her, and she stirs slightly, a soft sigh rising from her parted lips. He stills instantly and listens intently to her heart. It continues its languid, sleepy thumping. He concentrates on it far longer than he needs to, committing that beating melody to memory, for he knows there will never be another. She is her, and she is unequalled, the only person in two centuries who looks at him, almost through him at times, and truly sees him.

His bag is already packed, hidden close to the door, but he can’t get his legs to advance, so he stares at her. Gods, she is beautiful beyond words. All unruly, long hair, pouty lips, tapered ears and ravishing scales adorning the delicate skin of her face that glint in the last ebbing glow of the fire starting to sputter out in the brick-clad fireplace. He wants to reach out and let the cool pads of his fingers be warmed by her skin, feel the glassy smoothness of those shining scales. He wants her to wake, simply so he can put this off and spend another day with her, or maybe he would tell her so she could talk him out of this idiocy.

Gods, she would plead with him to stay, and he would, because he wants to with everything he is, so he dares not touch her.

Tears stream out of his eyes despite his best efforts to keep them imprisoned. He brings his hand to his mouth to bite back the sobs that are threatening to sputter out. He grits his teeth and glides over the floor like a ghost, grabbing his bag. He takes one last look at her with a panging hope she will awaken and bring an end to his cowardly retreat.

She does not wake.

He lets himself out into the cool night air, closing the door behind him with barely a click, and he runs as fast and fleeting as his feet can carry him because he cannot hold back those noisy, breathy sobs a moment longer.

Your lengthened strides devour the ground beneath you, blurring everything around as you avoid obstacles and people alike. Your blood thrums in your ears, your heartbeat pounding against your temples, and a sheen of sweat veils your skin, droplets rolling down your forehead. You sprint forward with reckless abandon, a rabbit fleeing from the snapping fangs of a starving wolf, trying to push your legs to move as fast as your thoughts are spinning out of control.

Guards at River Gate eye you suspiciously as you blow past them into the country surrounding Waterdeep. Crashing through the forest, you duck under boughs and willowy branches, dodging around undergrowth, feet spitting pebbles and stones. Your lungs burn as if embedded with sparking cinders as you draw in gulps of musty, earth-scented air. Stark tree limbs rake scratches into your face and pull at your hair like skeletal fingers.

You do not heed your surroundings. You are fleeing, and nothing will thwart you. You will run off the very edge of the realm and surrender to the abyss if it will put an end to this agony.

The ground falls from under your feet, sending you careening forward, rolling down a steep embankment. An excruciating pain splits through your head, and white peppers your vision as black starts to trespass around the edges. You clamber to hold onto consciousness, but it slips like sand through your fingers.

The suite of the Elfsong Tavern is dark. You shift on your mattress, trying to get comfortable enough to slip into rest, but your body is as restless as your mind, and you gaze at the ceiling. The sleepy breaths of your friends resound around you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of envy. You are tired, and Gods, you crave rest, but it does not come.

There is rowdy commotion from the pub, still flourishing and restless as the citizens spend another night indulging in drink, dance and each other. Slipping out the door, you descend the stairs, sit at the counter and order yourself a pint. The ale is piss-poor, bitter and bites at your tongue and throat as you swallow. Your mouth twists, and you stare into the flagon, scowling at the offending taste.

“Not your drink?” Astarion chuckles, resting his hip against the counter with an amused grin and those crimson eyes that glimmer mischievously.

“No,” you admit, “I prefer something… harder.” Tilting your head back, you gulp it down anyway, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I have not been able to rest easily since my siblings came for me,” Astarion taps the counter hard, getting the attention of the barkeep. He points to a bottle high on the shelf and signals for two drinks, not caring to raise his voice over the shouting of the other patrons.

“I won’t let them harm you, Astarion,” you vow, eyes sparking and igniting like dry tinder, “I would die before I let them take you.”

Astarion smiles, cocking a brow at you, “Feisty with a little drink, aren’t you?”

He jokes, but you can see that he’s scared as hell. He’s wearing the mask again, pretending he’s anything but afraid, but it cracks under your penetrating gaze.

Glasses filled with some russet-coloured liquor slide over the counter. Astarion nods curtly in gratitude while pushing one toward you, “Try this, darling. I think you will find it far more palatable than the swill.”

You regard the glass and stare at Astarion, who sips it while watching you with an earnest yet devious grin. You take a tentative sip and are delighted by the heavily spiced liquor that leaves a fiery burn in your throat and warms your belly.

“It’s lovely. I guess I will have to bring you with me every time I want to imbibe,” you tease.

He chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Where you go, I go.”

I love you.

The alcohol loosens your tongue, and you bite it to stop yourself from spilling all the emotions that still sit turbulent and voiceless in your heart.

This is not the time for heartfelt confessions.

You throw back the rest of the drink and start toward the door. Astarion calls out from behind you, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You glance over your shoulder with a wily smile slithering across your lips and a wicked flash in your eyes that could rival his own, “Probably to get myself into some trouble. I do tire of playing hero.”

The truth that keeps you awake. You tire of having to be good, everyone’s expectations thrust upon your weary shoulders. It was so hard to balance it all. You have to be everything for everybody at once - the picture of morality for Karlach, Wyll, Halsin and Gale, cold-blooded for Lae’zel, Shadowheart and Astarion. You must be both sides of the proverbial coin. It is exhausting.

Stepping out of the tavern, night breathes chilled air on your face and into your lungs. It feels fresh and pleasant compared to the tepid warmth of the pub. Sauntering down the street, Astarion pops out of a barely noticeable, dark pathway ahead of you, and you nearly shout.

“Trouble, you say,” he drawls, his arms bent behind his back as he takes his place beside you, “Consider me intrigued.”

Astarion follows as you weave through the shadowed streets and alleys to your destination. He doesn’t ask where you are going or what kind of mischief you’re leading him into, likely because he doesn’t much care.

“When we met, you said you were a magistrate,” you remark after he explains some dilapidated building used to be a courthouse, “Was that true?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I was, though I admit, not a very good one.”

You chuckle at him, “I expect you broke the law as much as you enforced it.”

“ When I enforced it,” he corrects with a clever smile tugging the corners of his lips upward, “I wielded the law masterfully when it suited me and broke it artfully when it didn’t, which was often.”

“I’m shocked,” you say deadpan, “truly.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “Yes, you look positively beside yourself, scandalized even,” he smirks flippantly, “What about you? What was our fearless leader up to before all this madness?”

“I-” you pause and consider lying but dismiss the reflex as it rears. You don’t want to lie, especially not to him, “I was travelling, looking for someone.”

Astarion’s eyes shoot to the ground at his feet, scrambling from side to side. When he finally speaks, there is apprehension braided into his voice, delicately weaved between practiced reserve, “A former lover?”

“No,” you frown, clamping your jaw so hard your teeth click audibly, “An enemy.”

Astarion’s brows furrow, but before he can question you further, you step toward the door of Facemaker's Boutique, “I feel like shopping. What do you say, Astarion?”

Astarion beams wide, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, “Move over, sweetheart. I’ll get the lock.”

You bow shallowly, splaying your hand on your chest theatrically, “My hero.”

He crouches down languid and graceful in front of the door and shakes his head, “I don’t play hero. I’m afraid you will have to settle for a morally questionable saviour, at best.”

You’re my hero.

“Heros are boring anyway,” you shrug while watching his fingers manipulate the lock with expert precision, just as they did your body. You feel the flush of heat as it runs down and spreads between your legs, “I would choose morally questionable any day, especially when it is so devastatingly beautiful.”

“I am quite dashing,” he smirks smugly, his eyes creasing at the corners while he side-eyes you, “Why else would you be flushed and wanting while we commit a crime?”

How did he know?

Nearly choking on the air, you try to rein in your composure quickly, “What I want is a new outfit, and you are taking an awfully long time. Having troubles, Rogue?”

“Cheeky pup. I thought I would give you a moment to continue imagining my fingers handling your body as well as they do this lock,” the lock clicks instantly. He stands confidently, smiling, “You may be able to hide your truth from the rest of them,” Astarion wraps an arm around your waist, tugging your body flush against every curve of his and places a soft kiss on your lips, “But you cannot hide from me, Sorceress, and you never have to.”

Astarion releases you suddenly, and you stumble backward, catching yourself on the iron fence behind you.

Astarion chuckles, “Now, shall we?”

He pushes the door open, walks inside, his footsteps soundless, and listens. His eyes find yours, and he points to the top floor, indicating someone is upstairs.

Astarion pulls you in close again, lips fainting over your ear, “He sleeps, but if you keep bumbling about, you will get us both in the trouble you seek.”

You smirk at him and head for the shelves, trying on various hats and coats, only to discard them on the floor when Astarion cringes and shakes his head. Astarion examines the jewelry and gems, rolling his eyes at the poor imitations.

You drag him into the back with you, “Come on, Astarion,” you tut, whispering in his tapered ear, “There has got to be something in here you like.”

“Oh yes, there is something in here I’ve had my eye on for quite a while,” his arms wrap around you, lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the chill, “Quite a while, indeed.”

Moving you to the side, he steps away from you quickly, leaving you tottering on your feet yet again as if his presence has intoxicated you further.

Astarion’s fingers flit over various chemise and doublets before landing on an opulent obsidian-black coat with red twisting dragons climbing up the breast and polished silver metal clasps to bring it all together.

He slips it on over his shirt, “Well?” He spins for you, allowing you to take him all in, “What do you think, love?”

“It’s beautiful,” you stutter, “you’re beautiful.”

The moment it comes out of your mouth, you know you’ve said it far too loud and Astarion’s eyes flick to the ceiling above you. Footsteps trail soon after, and a groggy voice shouts obscenities down the staircase.

Astarion grabs you quickly, putting his hand over your mouth to stifle your surprised grunt, and pulls you into the darkest corner of the shop.

“Damn thieves!” Figaro shouts, shuffling into the room straight past you and Astarion, huddled in the corner. Your bodies are flushed together so tightly that you don’t think you could get any closer to him.

Well, except if he were inside me.

The thought makes heat rush to your face, and your cheeks burn. Astarion grins at you, cocking his head to the side, observing you through thick lashes. He plants a lingering kiss on your cheek, making you redden further.

You pull his hand away from your mouth as you stare at the back of the man standing with his hands on his hips regarding the mess you’ve made of his shop. When he turns around, his eyes cast around and bypass the little corner but snap back, brows furrowed in an angry scowl.

Astarion knows you’ve either been seen or are about to be, and you can hear his dagger slip out of its sheath. Shaking your head at him, magic glowing on your fingertips, you cast Sleep before Figaro can utter another word or call for guards. The man tries to fight the wave of exhaustion that encompasses him, but he drops to his knees and flat on his face quickly enough.

“Well, you are quite handy to have around. Had I met you in another life, we would have terrorized this city,” Astarion steps out of the corner, releasing his tight grip on you, and regarding the sleeping man, “I believe we have overstayed our welcome, don’t you?”

Astarion grabs your hand, dragging you behind him, hurrying out the door while keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings. He takes you around back and through the darkened park to avoid any passing guards who may notice your hasty retreat.

Your chest heaves, and your heart pounds wildly, invigorated by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Astarion turns to look at you with that delighted expression, and you dissolve into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

Astarion chuckles with you, “By the Hells, the exploits I let you drag me into,” he teases, dragging his fingers across your cheek, “You are quite a lot more fun than I gave you credit for when we first met.”

“Oh, Astarion,” you giggle, eyes narrowed with a cheeky smile, “You have no idea just how bad I can be.”

“I await the day you demonstrate exactly how naughty you are,” Astarion drawls suggestively, his eyes hooded and seductive. He holds his hand out to you in a shallow bow, “May I have this dance?”

You look around the park, covered in shadows that flit with the breeze in the moonlight, “Here? Now?”

He shrugs, “No time like the present. Who knows when we will have another chance?”

“I’m not a dancer, Astarion,” you warn while taking his hand.

Astarion deftly pulls you into a dancer’s embrace, “Follow my lead and try not to step on my toes, will you?”

“No promises,” you kiss his cheek while he starts taking slow steps that are easy for you to follow.

“You’re making this quite the challenge, you know,” he whispers, resting his cheek against yours.

It almost sounds pained, and you pull back slightly to examine him, trying to decipher his meaning, “What are you talking about, Astarion?”

His hand finds your hips, pulling you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you. His desire for you is evident, bulging in his trousers, “Need I explain further?” He purrs.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Astarion,” you insist, “I told you we could wait as long as you need, and I meant it. That’s not what I want from you.”

I want you to love me.

With a lift of his arm, you spin. When Astarion pulls you in, his hand comes to the small of your back, and he dips you low with sure, confident steps, “What do you want from me then?”

“You,” you breathe, “Just you, as you are.”

His lips mould to yours in a short kiss as he brings you upright. When he pulls back, you’re struck by the ceaseless devotion mirrored in the scarlet pools of his eyes, your lips parting with a small gasp.

“I’m yours, my love,” he coos softly near your ear, laying your hand on his chest and holding it.

Your arm wraps around his neck, holding him tighter, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Astarion hums a tune familiar to you, and the dance carries you away.

You feel like you’re floating as if being rocked by gentle waves, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re still caught up in the memory of Astarion’s slow swaying under the stars. Something is pressed hard against you, cold and unmoveable, and it all recurs to you in a flash flood.

Astarion’s crimson eyes wide with distress and confusion, recoiling and falling to the floor, his mouth moving but his words not making it passed your ears.

Running through the manor, Astarion’s pained yelp and dashing through the streets like a crazed animal who can’t flee the wildfire fast enough.

The embankment, tumbling, your body striking something hard, and the slow fade to black.

Fuck.

Your eyelashes flutter as you try to force your eyes to open. Gods, it feels like they are clamped in a vice and fused shut, but you must get up, get home, to Astarion. You try to stretch out your numb limbs and are met with resistance.

Astarion’s voice drifts through your alertness, “Easy, darling. If you continue this wriggling, I might just drop you. Are you awake?”

Astarion?

Your vision is carpeted by a gauzy haze, but you can faintly make out the darkened canopy of the trees moving above you.

“Astarion,” you murmur groggily, hand coming to your aching forehead, “Astarion, I’m so sorry.”

At this point, you’re not even sure if this is real, and you mutter on, sputtering out words insensibly. A frosty gust of wind howls through the trees, icy teeth nipping your skin, and you shiver harshly.

“I’m going to put you down for a moment,” he cajoles in a velvet-wrapped voice, “Can I trust you not to bolt off again?”

You blink to rid your vision of the fog that muddles it, and your eyes coast gradually to his, “I won’t run.”

Astarion eases you down, slow and measured, until you’re sitting upright on the carcass of a long-ago fallen tree. You groan with the movement, teeth clicking aggressively in your mouth as you tremble.

“Arms,” Astarion instructs, crouching in front of you with one knee on the ground. He gently grabs one of your arms and slips it into the arm of his coat and then the other before pulling it tightly around you and fastening it up.

“No,” you try to argue with him, “You will be cold.”

“Well, aren’t you just talking absolute gibberish,” he tuts with a click of his tongue, “My dear, I am dead, remember? My body is colder than this wind.”

You nearly giggle, but it dies in your throat before it can ever be expressed, “I’m so sorry, Astarion.”

“This is not the time for such a discussion,” he objects softly, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, “Just tell me you’re okay. That will suffice for now.”

“I’m okay,” you lean into him, and he wraps his arm around your back.

Astarion’s cry reverberates in your mind, tangling your heart in barbed wire and wringing it, “I- Gods, I hurt you, didn’t I? When I opened the door. Fuck.”

Your eyes examine him as your fingers trail down the smooth skin of his arms until they feel it - the greyed, cracked skin, rough as tree bark.

“A trifling matter; do not concern yourself with it,” he pulls his arm out of your hand, “We must be getting back to the manor.”

Astarion adjusts to pick you up, but you push him away, “I can walk.”

He stands with his hands on his hips, giving you a judgmental glower, “Well, then please,” he waves dramatically, “Lead on.”

You attempt to stand, but your legs are wobbly beneath you like a newborn foal, and you sit back down, muttering profanities under your breath.

He groans, “If you are quite done being disagreeable, I would very much like to get you back to the manor before dawn. I’ve had enough sun for one day.”

“I am not grumpy,” you scoff, scowling at him.

“You’re cold,” he shrugs with a light-hearted snicker, “Of course you are. Now, come on, hold onto me.”

You scold yourself for looking this weak in front of him, infantile and feeble, but you do as he instructs and wrap your arms around his neck while he lifts you into the air and begins the meandering route back to Gale’s. The delicate swing as he walks, his scent all around you, wafting from his coat, and the pure exhaustion tows you in and out of consciousness no matter how hard you try to rally against it.

“Do you remember visiting the boutique in Baldur's Gate,” you sigh in one of your fleeting moments of wakefulness.

“Which time? The time you so stubbornly interrupted a perfectly good murder,” he admonishes, and you smirk, remembering the look of absolute irritation twisting his mouth, “Or the time you almost got us caught engaging in misdeeds because you were admiring me too loudly, again interrupting another perfectly good murder.”

“Admiring you too loudly,” you confirm, “Where did that jacket go?”

Astarion adjusts nervously, “I took it with me when I left. A sentimental attachment I could not bring myself to relinquish.”

The question tumbles out unceremoniously before you can stop it as oblivion begins to swallow you whole, “How many came after me, Astarion? How many have warmed your bed since I did?”

Astarion lurches so brutally that you wonder if he’s going to drop you, “Good Gods-”

The void conquers you, slipping you back into obscurity. If he answers, you don’t hear it.

The morning sun streams into the window, gilding the skin of your face in a radiant, warm glow. Your eyelashes flutter as you stare at the open window through heavily lidded eyes. Fluffy, white clouds drift through the brightening sky as birds greet the reborn sun with their songs. Closing your eyes, your hand slips over the sheets and bumps into familiar chilled skin. You run the pads of your fingers over him, but instead of skin smooth as the finest silks, a grainy texture grates against your fingertips.

You frown and open your eyes to look at your fingers. A white powder coats them, and your brows knit in confusion as you rub them together to test the texture.

Ash.

Lurching upright, hurling the blankets away, you stare at Astarion resting peacefully beside you. His hands are crossed over his chest as if being laid to rest, his skin dull, and he does not stir.

“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him.

The moment your trembling fingers contact his body, he crumbles.

A shrill, deafening scream tears painfully from your throat.

Still screaming, you catapult off your bed and instinctively hurl yourself toward the window, only to find it closed and shuttered tightly. Rivulets of tears run down your hot cheeks, and you clutch your chest as if it might ease the pain. You slip down the wall to the floor, bringing your knees up and folding your arms around them.

Astarion bursts into your room and drops to the floor, arms outstretched, and you throw yourself into them. Your fingers curl into his flesh firmly, testing if he’s going to disintegrate under your touch.

“Another nightmare?” he murmurs, one hand at the back of your head and the other rubbing up and down your back.

“You, you, you, Gods,” you falter, not even wanting to form the words on your tongue. You shudder and force it out, “I woke up, the window was open, the sun and you were...” You can’t finish the sentence.

“It wasn’t real,” he coos, “I’m here.”

You can’t help it, and you flex your fingers into him and run them over every part of him with firm pressure.

Astarion takes your hand and smiles, “Handsy this morning,” he quips, kissing your knuckles.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you smile while he wipes your cheeks.

His brow cocks, “How do you know you woke me?”

“Your hair is a mess,” you chime, running your fingers through the wild curls, tousling it further.

“I couldn’t very well style it while you screamed bloody murder. The wizard is lucky I even bothered to put my trousers on,” he laughs, plucking a dry leaf out of your hair, “I am not the only one looking rather unkempt. I didn’t want to wake you last night.”

Looking down, you realize you’re still in your clothes from last night, including his coat, “You put me in my bed?”

“Well, you are positively filthy,” he sighs, still picking dry leaves and other plant matter from your hair, “But mostly, I thought it best after what happened yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion. I-”

I’m scared.

His fingers come to your lips, and he shakes his head, “Not now,” he opens the cabinet at your bedside and grabs a Potion of Healing, placing it on the table, “First, drink that, then a bath and food. I can hear your stomach growling obnoxiously from my room.”

“But I-”

Astarion wags his finger at you, “No, no, no.”

You cross your arms and scowl, “I’m not a child, Astarion.”

He smirks, “Clearly. Children tend to listen. As endearing as you are, darling, if you insist on being obstinate, I will simply ignore you until you do as I ask,” he shrugs.

“You would ignore me?” you scoff, “Really?”

“I would do anything to get you to eat so long as I no longer have to hear your stomach. Gods, you mortals can be quite irritating,” he giggles, pushing himself to his feet.

You glower at him, “Fine. You win this time.”

Astarion nods with a smug smile and leaves you to tend to yourself. You stare in the mirror and groan. A cut splits the skin of your forehead, bordered by a dark bruise that is all hues of blues, purples and sickening yellows. There is still debris in the tangled nest of your hair, and you can smell yourself under the scent of his coat.

At least he didn’t comment on that, I suppose.

Gulping down the Potion of Healing, you rush through bathing and dressing, jogging downstairs to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your heart feels heavy with everything left unsaid and unresolved, and you sit at the table, picking at your food pensively, lost in your thoughts.

Tara sits on her perch in the corner, twisting her head and giving you a questioning look.

“Tara, where is Gale?”

“Mr. Dekarios is giving a lecture today,” she informs, starring daggers at you, “Did you do it?”

You shake your head with a sigh, “Not yet.”

“Idiot,” she admonishes, jumping and trotting off with her fluffy tail held high.

I know.

“A charming feline,” Astarion watches her walk off, “What were you supposed to do?”

You skip over the question, “I’ve completed your damn list.”

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, chuckling, “Very well. I suppose it’s time we talk. My room or yours?”

You tangle your arms behind your back and glance away as a blush reaches your cheeks, “I like yours better.”

Astarion leans his shoulder against the archway, crossing his arms, “Why’s that, my dear?”

“It has you in it.”

“You are adorable when you’re trying to make amends,” he smirks, “Go on then. Get upstairs.”

You sit in the chairs by the fireplace as it crackles and pops in awkward silence while Astarion regards you with red eyes, burning as bright as the fire, leaning back in the chair. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, unsure where to begin, how to explain what happened or how to ask him the question that started this whole mess.

Finally, Astarion leans forward, “I’m worried about you. It is not like you to give way to panic, not like that. Beyond that, you are shy and afraid of me, I think.” You open your mouth to speak, and he puts his hand up, “Do not try to dispute it. I can see it in your eyes,” he sighs and leans back again, “I do not wish to pry. Gods know I have my fair share of demons that I prefer to keep closeted, but I would like you to feel like you can be honest with me, and you can be honest with me.”

It’s time to stop hiding.

“I think I’m broken,” your voice is quiet, eyes swimming with tears. When you blink, they rain down your cheeks, “I lost part of me, something I haven’t been able to find,” your eyes find his, “You’re right, I am afraid, but it’s not of you, Astarion. I’m afraid of losing you again.”

Astarion descends to his knees in front of you, bringing his palm to cradle your face, “You may feel lost, but you are not lost alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Where do you go, Astarion, when you left?"

“I ran,” Astarion returns to the chair and rubs his hands together. His mouth is in a tight line with a look of pure misery, “I ran as fast and as far as I could manage. I believed the further I got away from home, from you, the easier it would be to let it all go.”

Running… Something I know far too well.

Reaching out, you hold his hand, swishing your thumb over the back, “Did it work? Was it easier the further you got?”

“No, love. It was not,” a single tear slips out of his eye, and he inhales a shaky breath, “By the time I realized what a fucking fool I had been and returned home, you were already gone. I spent the rest of the time trying to track you down,” he pauses, wiping away the stray tear, “Do you recall what you asked me last night?”

Your brows furrow, and you close your eyes to summon the memories. What you can remember is murky and fragmented, “No, I’m sorry. What did I ask?”

Please tell me I didn’t ask that question.

Astarion’s jaw clenches, “You asked me how many have warmed my bed since you,” he leans back in his chair, regarding you thoughtfully, his fingers holding his chin, “Do you truly believe that I was gallivanting around Faerûn taking strangers to my bed? Is that what you think? Is that what this was all about?”

Gods, me and my big mouth.

“I- I’m sorry,” you can’t give him any other explanation because you don’t know yourself, “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. It’s none of my business, after all.”

“Hells love, I told you I had not been touched in a while, did I not? There was no one else,” he shakes his head slightly and then sighs.

“You never had…” you trail off and look away, staring into the fire.

“Sex? We are both adults. You can say the word.”

Taking a deep breath, you meet his patient gaze, “You never had sex with anyone else?”

“No one,” he purrs while grabbing your arm and pulling you into his lap, “You’re the only person I want to make love to. Why did you not ask me this if it was bothering you? You can ask me anything. I thought you knew this.”

“I was afraid of the answer,” you fidget with your fingers, “I don’t remember when I started doing that.”

Astarion wraps his arms around you and lays his head against yours, “After I left, I presume,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry.”

He can tell I’m not the same person he left. What if I’m too different and I never get better?

“Are you having second thoughts, Astarion?” you swallow, trying to rid your voice of the audible quiver, “I would understand.”

“What?! Absolutely not,” he pulls back, and his hands come to your cheeks while he looks deeply into your eyes, “I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life, and I’ve had a very long life,” a lopsided grin spreads across his lips, “I am rather looking forward to courting you again."

You giggle, “Court me?”

He grins, “If you call me old again, by the Gods, I swear I will tickle you until you can’t bloody breathe.”

“You sound old,” you taunt, jumping out of his lap and running away from him playfully.

Astarion is out of his chair so quickly you barely registered when he started getting up. He chases you around the room but nimbly catches you with one arm, hauling you up into the air by your waist, when you try to make a mad dash around him.

You laugh loudly as he pins you to the bed, holds you down and does exactly what he warned you he would do until you’re begging in stuttering, breathless pants for him to stop.

“I warned you,” he sweeps loose waves of your hair out of your face with a bright smile, “sassy girl.”

“Maybe I just wanted your hands all over me,” you chime, eyelashes fluttering while you blink slowly at him.

“Hm, I could be convinced,” Astarion murmurs while running his index finger over the smooth scales on your face, “May I kiss you, friend?”

“Oh, Astarion,” you run your finger up his ear to the tapered point and look intensely into his scarlet eyes, “We have not merely been friends since I crawled into your bed at the inn.”

“Catching onto that, are you?” he chuckles, kissing your forehead, “Took you long enough.”

Leaning forward, you take his lips in yours. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck, and you relish the comforting coolness of his skin. Astarion’s tongue slips past his lips, and he groans as he coaxes little sighs of pleasure out of you.

Astarion leans his forehead against yours, “We will take things slow.”

Slow? Gods, I don’t know if slow exists when it comes to him.

“Astarion, do you think… Would you be okay with…” your heart kicks up into your throat, and you trail off, trying to subdue the panic.

“Come on, darling,” his finger sweeps over your bottom lip, “Out with it. Would I be okay with what?”

“Do it afraid.”

I will.

Anchoring your eyes on his, you sift through your fear and find your resolve, “Can I move into your room with you?”

He blinks, eyebrows rising, making his eyes round, “You wish to share a room with me? Truly?”

You glance away, unsure of his reaction, “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to share your room.”

“Look at me, my love,” he purrs, using his fingers to direct your gaze back to his, “Our room,” he smiles, “It’s our room.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

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

Small Notes:

- I know it was upsetting (my apologies) when I toyed with the idea that Astarion may have slept with other people after he left. I hope this chapter applies a soothing balm to that heartache.

- So I decided to try something new with this chapter - a little glimmer into Astarion's mind. Let me know if it works, and I might continue switching perspectives so we can explore his memories and thoughts as well.

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

126 notes · View notes

seung-mong · 9 months

Note

help can we get a hurt / comfort but still smutty pt2 to that chef!minho drabble !!

omg no bcus for real after he fucks you he's literally obsessed.

he tries to remind himself to stay professional, you're still both here to work and uphold the reputation of his restaurant. he can't have you feeling like you're his favorite. he also cant have you feeling that since you're his favorite, you'd get special treatment. but minho can't help himself.

he needs to spoil you, needs to remind you every day that you're his and his alone. he's a naturally possessive man, and who wouldn't be? especially when it comes to pretty little you with your cute little smile and oh, when you stutter out an apology for being late? god he can literally feel his heart melting.

but besides his possessive nature, there's a side to minho that you are yet to discover.

he's protective of what's his.

you knock on minho's office door, trying to keep the tears at bay, swallowing down the lump that's stubbornly lodged in your throat. minho smiles when he sees your silhouette, putting aside his laptop.

"come in."

minho's smile starts to fade when he sees you, tears already streaking down your cheeks as you look to the floor. you awkwardly shuffle on your feet after closing the door behind you, head hanging low in shame as you refuse to let him see you cry.

and minho sees red.

who the hell made you cry? dont they know he's the only one who can make you cry? or are you hurt? did somebody do something to you?

"what's wrong, kitten?" minho tries to keep his voice steady, feigning composure.

you only sniff, still refusing to look minho in the eyes.

he swears to god if it was that bitch soyeon again.

"uhm- there's... there's someone who wants to speak with you chef." your voice is small, and minho catches the way your breath shakes at the end of your sentence.

"who, y/n?" his voice is stern.

"he- the critic, mr. park- he came again and asked for that impossible dish of his with the beef wellington and the consomme and i messed up again and i'm so so sorry, minho. he- he spat it out right in front of me and i've never been more embarrassed and he... he asked me to fetch you." you start to ramble, genuine fear settling in your stomach when minho exhales loudly, stepping out from behind his desk to walk towards you.

"you served it?" silence when you nod. "what else did he say to you?" his voice is surprisingly soft, gentle fingers finding yours and bringing it up to his chest. "tell me what he said to you."

you look up at him, surprised to see his eyes are gentle despite the harshness of his voice, and you cant help the little tears that start to brim at your waterline, just barely about to fall.

"he- he called me useless, said i was good for nothing. just a pretty face." you hiccup, trying so hard not to break down in front of your boss.

now, minho likes to think he's a level-headed man. he's never snapped at his staff no matter how utterly completely useless they are. never scolded anyone for taking a wrong order, preferring to gently urge them to do better next time.

but this?

oh.

he cant let this slide.

he lets out a deep exhale before moving towards you, gently encasing his fingers around your wrist and pulling you towards him.

"follow me. you're going to stand beside me while we have a little chat with mr. park, understood?"

but the thought of going out there, in front of all those people he embarrassed you in front of, sends a wave of panic and fear into your stomach. "minho," you try to pull away from him, but his grip tightens.

"listen to me." his tone is final, dark eyes staring into yours, letting you know there's no point in arguing. "no one makes my girl cry. you understand?"

"yes, sir." you mumble, letting minho lead you past the kitchens and into the dining hall.

minho can see his staff from his peripheral vision, some whispering with excitement with the scene to come, others shaking their heads in disapproval. he weaves through the crowd, hand still clasped tightly with yours. he offers a tight lipped smile to his usual customers, nodding in acknowledgment when others raise their glass to him.

you can feel your cheeks burn when you finally reach a table near the very center of his restaurant, glancing to the side to see that other diners have shifted a little closer to you in hopes of hearing the conversation.

"ah, mr. lee! it's great to see you again." mr. park smiles condescendingly at the young chef, who can only bite the inside of his cheek at the sickeningly sweet tone of the older man's voice.

"wish i could say the same for you." minho mumbles under his breath, but the critic hears him, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"excuse me?" he scoffs, dropping his fork next to his plate.

"mr. park, you asked to see me? i'd prefer if we skipped the pleasantries and get straight to the point." minho's voice is firm, fingers still gently intertwined with yours.

mr park's eyes flicker to the way he holds your hand, and leans back into his chair with a chuckle. "so this is what this hostility was about. you're offended that i complained about your...." his eyes rake your figure, sending a shiver down your spine when he smirks. "sous chef? well, i'm a critic mr. lee. i was only being honest. how can a sous chef not know how to make beef wellington?" mr. park adds a condescending laugh and minho can feel the way you shake beside him.

minho fights the urge to jump the man in front of him, instead giving him a tight lipped smile before taking another step forward. "get out of my restaurant."

"excuse m-"

"you don't fucking disrespect my staff, do you understand? i dont give a shit if you're the best critic in this town, write a bad review give us 0 stars i dont give a shit. now, get out of my face before i call security."

mr. park freezes, eyes narrowing before he lets out a dark chuckle. "you're making a big mistake, lee minho. there's plenty of other fine dining restaurants in this town. those who's sous chefs know how to make wellington. you're finished in this town." he abruptly stands, grabbing the table napkin and wiping his mouth before throwing it into his unfinished food.

you feel minho take another step forward, but your grip on his hand tightens as you pull him close to you. "don't."

minho lets out a deep exhale as he looks around, shutting his eyes tight when he realizes that everyone had stopped eating to watch the scene unfold. "i apologize for disrupting your meal. please, have a wonderful rest of your night." his voice is small, but it seems to echo through the silence of the dining hall. he promptly returns to the kitchens, with you trailing behind him- hand still clasped with his.

"say it for me, baby." minho whispers directly into your ear, cheek almost touching yours as you whimper.

"d-don't make me... s'embarrassing." you whine, knuckles turning white from the tight grip you have on your boss' desk, papers and supplies scattering the floor as his desk threatens to give out from minho's harsh thrusts.

"say it. or i'll stop and leave you here." minho hisses, grip on your hips tight as he thrusts even deeper, tip of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you.

"i'm... i'm more than- a, a pretty face." you huff, voice breaking and cutting off when minho's every thrust.

"what a good girl," he hums, leaning down so his chest presses againt your sweaty back. "no need to listen to anyone else, baby. i know you best, yeah?" he kisses your bare shoulder before his teeth sink in, making you hiss at the pain.

you shudder when hie hands find yours, palm against the back of your hand before he locks his fingers with yours. "need to fuck you properly, get you in my bed. my girl deserves better than a quickie in my office." he huffs, sweetly kissing the back of your neck.

"y-your girl?" you whimper, biting down on your bottom lip when you let out a high-pitched sound from how deep he's fucking you.

"yes. my girl. mine only, you understand?" his hand harshly comes down against your bare ass, sure to leave an imprint of his hand in its wake.

good, he thinks. he wants you to remember how he made you feel every time you move.

"yes, i- i understand." you answer, knowing how well it pleases him when you respond.

"only i can make my girl cry." his voice is threatening, hitting deeper and harder when he starts to feel you shake, knowing how shaky you get when you're close.

minho groans when he feels you clench around him, grip on your hips tightening as he fucks you through your high before he cums, voice thinning as he whimpers at the feel of your pussy milking him. he kisses your back when he calms down, basking in the way your breathing starts to even out. you wince when he pulls out of you, cringing at the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs.

there's silence as minho cleans you up, digging from behind his desk for a couple of wipes before he gently starts wiping at you.

"don't listen to what they say about you, do you understand?" his voice is suddenly serious, planting a soft kiss on your inner thigh. your cheeks flush at the intimacy, taking minho's hand when he offers to help you stand.

"say it. say you won't listen to them."

"i wont listen to them."

"only to me."

"only to you."

taglist: @abcdefgiwsmcty@n034sy@148-seungmin

#seung mong!#skz smut #ask seung mong anything!#send lily more asks pls #skz #skz fanfic #minho x reader #minho smut #leeknow x reader #lee know smut #chef minho again??#is he becoming a regular hmm hmm

173 notes · View notes

promptthebear · 10 months

Note

Can u do #23 on the prompts for Frank🐰

Here you go!

Frank Castle x Reader- Selfcare

Prompt: Why can't I braid your hair?

CW: Written in 2nd person, reader is referred to as "you", GN!reader, reader has long hair but hair colour, body type etc are all left ambiguous. Mentions of guns and gun violence but nothing graphic. Reader has some negative self talk moments and low self esteem. Mild swearing. Frank uses petnames for the reader like baby, sweetheart, etc.

“God DAMMIT”

Frank set down his razor on the motel sink and turned to look at you over his shoulder. You were sitting a few feet away from him on the double bed, brush in hand. For the last forty five minutes you’d been struggling, and failing, to get your hair into a ponytail, and it seemed like the frustration was starting to get to you.

“You need help sweetheart?” he asked, even though he knew full well what the answer would be.

“I’m fine” you said, through gritted teeth “This is just…”

“Harder than it looks?”

“No” you shot back, pausing to blow a stray lock of hair from your eyes “I can manage”

Frank chuckled in spite of himself and shook his head. You glared back, your mouth set in a determined line. which Frank knew meant there was an argument coming. He loved your stubborn streak, but even he had to admit there was a very fine line between stubborn and foolish, and lately you’d been dancing on it for far too long.

“Babe-” he said, trying to keep his voice even so you didn’t think you were being made fun of “You got shot. If there was ever an excuse for needing help, you’ve got one.”

“I don’t need help!” you snapped back. You tried to cross your arms out of habit, only to hiss sharply through your teeth when you were met with a jolt of pain instead. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frank wince, as though he was feeling your hurt as his own. The guilt you’d been trying so hard to ignore since that fateful night fell about your shoulders like a shroud. You turned away from Frank, and chose to focus instead on your reflection in the mirror that hung on the open closet door, across from the bed.

To put it simply, you looked like hell. You were wearing a pair of ratty sweats and a too big t-shirt Frank had grabbed from some church donation box. Your hair looked as though it hadn’t been properly brushed in a week, which wasn’t too far off from the truth, and you had dark circles around your eyes like you hadn’t slept for a month. You felt your eyes go instinctively to glare at the thick, white bandage wrapped around your bicep. It was blindingly clean, Frank made sure the bandages were changed daily, and made for a stark contrast against the rest of your outfit.

As far as gunshot wounds went, this one wasn’t the worst. It was a through and through, and according to that Claire lady, had missed the bone entirely. Better still, you hadn’t been hit in your dominant arm, not that it made a lot of difference. Your overall range of movement was severely limited while the shredded muscle healed, and you were quickly discovering there were some things you just couldn’t do without two hands. Like getting your hair out of your face.

“Maybe I should just cut it” you said, resigned. Hair would always grow back. Your dignity, however, was another matter entirely.

“Is that what you wanna do?” Frank asked. He’d left the bathroom to come over and sit next to you. The mattress dipped under his weight, which made you slide towards him and made your knee and shoulder bump against his. You wanted so badly to lean into the familiar warmth of his body and let yourself be taken care of, but…

Much to your disgust, you felt an unbidden tear slip down your cheek. You reached up quickly with your good hand to wipe it away, hoping Frank didn’t notice. Unfortunately luck wasn’t on your side today.

“Hey. Baby, what’s wrong?”

His voice was soft, his brown eyes filled with worry, and damn if that didn’t almost break your heart. You’d seen him walking around with his face beaten into hamburger meat and yet the second you got so much as a hangnail, he lost his damn mind.

“Is your arm hurting you? I can get you more pain meds. Or I can call Claire. Red gave me her number in case of emergencies”

He was clutching your good hand to his chest now, and you could feel the panicked flutter of his heartbeat against your palm. You made a half choked noise, which was meant to be a laugh but came out more like a hiccup or a sob. There was something funny about that, in a twisted sort of way. The big, bad Punisher, panicking.

“It’s not my arm” you said, turning your face away to stare at the wall. If you looked him in the eye again, there was no way you were going to be able to keep it together.

“Then what? I can’t help if you don’t talk to me”

The hand holding yours tightened its grip. You could feel Frank staring at you, most likely counting every tear drop and silently promising to bring Hellfire down on whoever was behind each one. Since he’d come into your life, he’d brought nothing but chaos. Before you met him over a year ago, you didn’t even know anyone who owned a gun. Now you knew several, including the people who decided to point those guns directly at you, and for that, Frank wasn’t sure he’d be able to forgive himself.

“You need to stop beating yourself up over me” you said, hating the way tears made you sound hoarse “It’s not your fault I can’t take care of myself.”

“Because you can’t put your hair up?” Frank asked, with a lopsided grin. When you didn’t immediately smile back, his expression turned serious. As he suspected, there was more to this than you not being able to do a ponytail on your own. “Honey. C’mon. Just lemme help you.”

“That’s just it!” you blurted “You are always helping me! You have so much shit on your plate already and I feel like all I do is pile more onto it. If I wasn’t so stupid and useless, then we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!”

Frank’s body jerked, as he was warding off a blow. You heard him inhale, sharp and quick, before you felt his arm drape across your shoulders. You tried to protest, but any attempts were quickly muffled as you were drawn against the flannel fabric of Frank’s shirt. He had pulled you close, practically into his lap, and was squeezing you as tightly as he could without hurting you.

At first, you resisted, keeping your body stiff and unwilling to lean into the embrace. However, the familiar smell of Frank’s aftershave and the faint, smoky scent of gunpowder that always seemed to cling to his skin had you surrendering all too quickly. You collapsed into his arms, allowing yourself to be cradled and coddled while a fresh round of sobs shook through you.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

You could feel Frank’s breath ghosting across the crown of your head, and one of his hands had come up to stroke your hair. He went slowly, being mindful not to tug on any mats or snarls as he ran his fingers over the tangled locks. It never ceased to surprise you how a man you’d watched tear into his enemies like a rabid dog also had the capacity to be so gentle with you. Frank made you feel a lot of things, but fear had never been one of them, not when he treated you like this.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You did as he asked, the last of your sobs leaving you with a series of shaky hiccups. The sounds echoed, high pitched in the otherwise silent room, which made you let out a halfhearted giggle. So much for your dignity.

Frank gave you another lopsided smile, the hand that was in your hair coming up to thumb away the few remaining tears on your cheeks. You resisted the urge to pepper that beautiful mouth of his with kisses, figuring for once he wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

“You’re not a burden. Or stupid. Or useless, and I don’t ever wanna hear you saying that kind of shit about yourself ever again, okay?

“Okay,” you said, your voice strained from crying “But you’re always having to bail my ass out, and I just feel like your life would be easier if I could handle myself a little better, y’know? If I brought something else to the table.”

Frank laughed, and you felt it rumble in the hollow of his chest.

“You really think the world would be a better place if everyone was some kind of knuckle dragger who’s only skills are knocking heads like me? No way. We need more people like you baby. People who are kind, who remind others that the only difference between human beings and that other shit is how we treat each other. Then maybe all the idiots like me could retire.”

It was your turn to laugh, a warm, golden sound that made Frank’s whole face light up and his heart skip a beat. He could hear that sound every day for the rest of his life and never get sick of it.

“I guess a world full of Frank Castles would be…rough. But I think you could join the ordinary people like me, if you really wanted to.”

“Oh absolutely” Frank said, giving your cheek a gentle pinch “I can do the touchy-feely sunshine and rainbows bullshit. Make you breakfast, braid you hair.”

The last statement made you scrunch up your nose, which had Frank laughing again. Damn if you weren’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“What’s that face for? Why can’t I braid your hair?”

“Well for starters,” you replied, easing off of Frank’s lap so you could retrieve the hairbrush from the bed “It’s in rough shape right now. You’d need a weed whacker to make any kind of progress. For another, there is no way Frank fricking Castle can braid hair.”

“Shows how much you know” Frank said, rising to stand. He dusted his palms against the sides of his jeans, before holding one out to you “Give it here.”

You eyed him warily from your spot on the bed, your gaze flitting nervously from his waiting hand to his eager expression. Something in your stomach, possibly the remnants of your common sense, flip flopped.

“Frank, I don’t know…”

“C’mon. I used to do this for Lisa all the time. Maria taught me how, so I could help out more after we had Frank Junior.”

At the mention of his family, your ears perked up a little. You’d known about them pretty much since day one, but Frank hardly said anything about them besides to tell you they were gone. It almost felt like by talking about them now, Frank was hoping you’d exchange a little vulnerability in return for his own.

“Fine.” you relented, finally handing him the brush “But we need a safe word or something. I’d rather not be snatched bald today.”

Frank’s grin could’ve lit up a whole city block. He sat down on the bed, spread his knees a little wider and jerked his chin towards the empty space between them on the floor.

“Have a seat, darling. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

For the next hour you sat snugly between Frank’s leg and true to his word, he knew what he was doing. You could feel him, working through each knot with the utmost precision, never once giving you a reason to cry out in pain.

After awhile, your eyes started to flutter close, the feeling of Frank’s fingers in your hair lulling you into a near doze. You’d been having a hard time sleeping lately, your arm made it difficult to get comfortable for too long and it seemed like whenever you were finally able to doze off, the nightmares would wake you right back up again. The men who’d shot you were nothing more than pink mist, Frank had made sure of that, but you could still hear the gunshot echoing every time you closed your eyes.

“Alright, whaddya think?”

It was Frank’s voice that woke you this time, not gunshots. You slowly opened your eyes, more than a little apprehensive about what would be waiting for you when you did. But when you caught sight of yourself in the closet mirror, you knew you shouldn’t have worried.

The matted, unruly mop that had previously hung around your ears had been tamed into a pair of tight, even dutch braids. It was all you could do to keep you jaw from dropping open. Even before you were injured, you couldn’t have done half as good a job.

“Holy shit.” you said, breathless

“That bad, huh?” Frank asked, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck “Ah hell, I’m sorry baby. Maybe we should just go to that salon up the street and see what they can d-”

Frank’s next words were muffled as you leapt up and put your lips against his. He made a surprised nose in the back of his throat, bringing his hands to your waist so he could hold you up as you threw your good arm around his neck. You were clinging to him like your life depended on it, and while the feeling of your body, soft, warm and so very alive beneath his hands was reassuring, it wasn’t enough to erase the worried crease between his brows.

“Hey,” he said, tugging back slightly to break he kiss “Take it easy. You’re gonna pop your stitches if you keep carrying on like that.”

“It’ll be worth it” you replied, smiling against his neck “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome sweetheart. Anything for you.”

#easter askbox event #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle #the punisher #frank castle imagine #frank castle fluff

157 notes · View notes

itoshi-s · 1 year

Note

I srsly wasnt gonna make u go down a 🐇 hole but im too impatient so this is the 2nd... I give u five words: oral fixation and cum play,, guess who has it?? (Everyone tbh) but think abt it him telling u to keep his first load in ur mouth while pounding u to get his 2nd telling u not to spill it or swallow until his release and even then he would take it in his mouth only to spit it back in urs (ps should i be an emoji anon bc i know which one to use)

OOOOOOHHHH NOOOOOO :( NONNIE U ARE BACK !!! i swear u are the sole reason behind my existence rn asdfkjs i blame YOU for the fever i was running last nite !!! cause this is just... kajfhk this is SO GOOD

also worry not ,, there's a proper fic coming based on rabbit hole 2 TONIGHT </3 2.5 is in the works still but u know damn well i had to do these ideas justice. these are perfect i luv ur brain so much bbie !! also answering ur prev ask there's a small list of fav/hard no's when it come's to kinks !

i… have a certain ravenette in mind 4 this……………. but i am curious which one of the bllk guys u thought of mostly cuz!! you are so right i can see each of them being into that </3 can't blame them cause it really is the hottest idea EVER i am in looooove with cumplay :( sigh

cw: nsfw, cum play. 17- dni!

imagine rin holding a hand over your mouth so that nothing spills :( it gets even harder that way cause now you're also struggling to breathe properly with the way his large palm almost covers up your nose, too :( but the look in his eyes is enough of a motivation, you've let him down on this before and each and every time, you were rendered unable to walk properly for the next few days. you're on the verge of crying by the time he's groaning under his breath, pulling out and grabbing you by the ankles to bring you face-level with his cock.

"open," it's breathy and quick, desperate as he jerks himself, grip tight to mimic the feeling of your cunt. he would've thought it's impossible to feel any better than this, but as you obediently open your mouth, showcasing the pool of cum mixing with your saliva, he comes so hard his knees buckle underneath his weight.

and god he cums lots :( milky and runny and there's so, so much, cause he treats his body so well. your mouth overflows, a soft mewl slipping past your mouth along with a streak of cum as you watch him lose it. teal eyes hooded, mouth agape as he pants and grunts under his breath, rides his high out for all it's worth.

you'd think he was done - but the way his thumb reaches down to wipe away the cum that seeped out the corner of your mouth grants you the contrary. there's a glint of unease in your eyes, simply because you're just so worn out since you've been at it for what seems like hours - and he laughs a bit at the sight.

"fuck. who's my good girl?" it's sweet, a praise that you'll never get bored of and rin's aware. you whimper softly, the obvious answer almost rolling off your tongue - but the very next second your eyes are widening just slightly as he does the unexpected and goes for a kiss. filthy, eager and messy with the way his tongue dips past your lips and laps at your own, tasting himself all along.

you grab at his biceps, nails digging into the sturdy muscle, and you can sense yourself soak the sheets with need all over again.

rin groans into your mouth, hips dragging against the mattress despite his cock already bright pink with overstimulation, and grabs the back of your head. pulling you up to more of a sitting position, he deepens the kiss even more and renders you breathless. it gets your head dizzy and heavy with pleasure all over again, jaw slack as you let him take, take, take.

until he's had his fill.

he breaks the proximity between you two, a string of saliva mixed with his seed connecting your lips until he sits back on his heels again. it breaks off, makes him wipe at his chin with the back of his hand - the other already grabbing at your jaw to keep your mouth agape.

this has played out countless times before already, but doesn't fail to make you lightheaded anyway. he spits on your awaiting tongue, adding in to the mess of drool and two hefty loads of cum that have grown bitter on your tongue from the wait.

"good. swallow."

you only ever realize the breath you've been holding when your throat finally bobs, as you swallow the filth and almost choke with the way your lungs feel so tight from asphyxia. your mouth feels strangely empty as you stick your tongue out again, to show no sign of his cum anywhere.

only then does rin's shoulders roll back slightly, taut muscles finally relaxing with a shaky exhale. he's spent and you can tell - from the way his thighs have a slight tremble to them as he lowers himself down to lay next to you, strong arms pulling you on top of his chest.

"god i fucking love you." he breathes. "you know that?" there's an almost amused lilt to his voice as you nose at his throat - settling for a soft hum as your only answer.

of course you know - he makes sure you do, by all the filth he puts you through <3

#nonnie i'd say u could be the rabbit emoji!! cmon it makes sm sense hehe !#with u always throwing me down soooo many wonderful rabbit holes !#i'd say it'd be quite cute actually hehe >_<#thank yewww 4 blessing me with ur thoughts again I AM KISSIN U ON THE MOUTH #also ofc i made it abt rin cause who else #BUT imagine this.. this w/ reo.. OHHH GOD in a poly ship with nagi #YUM ???#anyways. i am about to fucking implode #rin itoshi smut #rin smut #itoshi rin smut #✩ rin.thirsts #blue lock smut #bllk smut #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader

426 notes · View notes

twstbookclub · 1 year

Text

Tickled Pink, But It's a Skill Issue

Summary: Idia is anything but thrilled at the soulmate mark on his wrist. After meeting his soulmate on one sunny day though, he's having second thoughts. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa 🦋 Tags: Comedy, Slight Angst, Romance, Fluff, Soulmate AU, Minor Swearing, Idia Gamer Speak, The Absolute Cringelord that is Idia Shroud, and Minor Book 6 spoilers

Word Count: 1,218

Idia Shroud stared at the words tattooed on his wrist with a grimace. Throughout his eighteen years of living, it still baffled him that the words he was born with cursed with, more like it were four words that made him want to shrink from embarrassment. Anyone else might have wondered about their soulmate once they saw their mark, but Idia might as well die from cringe.

“Your hair is pretty,” he muttered, shuddering. Really? Idia would rather have anything—anything, really—for a soulmate mark. What kind of soulmate’s first words to him would be about his hair, an untamed trail of flames and emotion? Emotions that made it obvious to anyone that he’s either angry or embarrassed? Emotions bearing impossible dreams, brutally crushed during his childhood? Idia would rather his soulmate curse or insult him for how much of a shut-in he is. If he was going to take the L and spend the rest of his life with this one person, at least make it believable.

Must be a normie hopeless romantic, Idia thought as he tapped and typed on his holographic screens. The type who dreams of a knight who saves them from a dragon for an RPG quest. Just like those prissy, trash-tier snobs at RSA. Just like a cliché romance plot in a B movie.

Idia knew he shouldn’t think of his soulmate like this before even meeting them. People his age already found their soulmates at this point. Couples holding hands in the park, sharing a drink in the restaurant booth, and all of the typical, mushy, lovey-dovey things people in love do. Well, people that aren’t the Shroud family. With how robotic they are, Idia doubts if the Shroud pair ever fell in love. He didn’t care to know about how his parents found each other. Even if he was curious as a kid, his parents never gave him the time of the day. Not when they were too busy to even look at their children who were going to inherit the fate of the Shrouds.

A faint crackle made Idia glance at the lock trailing down his shoulder. The orange tips of his hair shone like the beginning of twilight in his room, which was Idia’s cue to calm down. He huffed, subconsciously typing more aggressively than usual, and willed himself to forget his feelings. The thought of his soulmate always worked him up, or was it his parents?

“Who cares? I need to log in and do my dailies. I don’t want to break my log-in streak just because of this.”

Idia spent another evening in his room with nothing but his games, shoving ridiculous sentiment aside and waiting for Ortho to come back from class.

The next day was supposed to be ordinary, bleak, uneventful. Idia only went outside the comfort of his room to grab the newest video games and manga he ordered. Classes should’ve kept every NRC student busy. He could’ve slipped in and out of daylight without anyone noticing him.

“Your hair is pretty.”

Why is the Ramshackle Prefect here? Better yet, why did the universe give him a soulmate that was always surrounded by drama? Is he the main character of some sick comedy? Are the gods making fun of him at this point?

Idia Shroud, a stuttering coward in the crowd and a callous bastard behind the monitor, wanted to disappear right then and there. The tips of his hair flickered between fiery red and hot pink. His amber irises switched from the Prefect’s eyes, the cobblestone of Main Street, the Lord of the Underworld’s statue, and back to the Prefect’s eyes before he remembered that he shouldn’t be looking at them in the first place.

Maybe Idia should’ve worked on that drone to grab his deliveries for him. Maybe he could’ve avoided this outcome. Then again, if he couldn’t avoid his fate of being stuck as the Watchman, Idia could never run away from this even if he tried to.

He knew your name. Everyone does. You were the infamous magicless student in Night Raven College. You always found yourself in troublesome situations and with the SSR Epic Troublemakers. Riddle Rosehearts? Leona Kingscholar? Azul Ashengrotto? Does he need to list more of them to get the point across?

More importantly, you’re his soulmate. You. His. Idia’s mind was on the verge of a shutdown until he remembered that he should reply to you instead of standing like a spooked cat drenched in the rain.

“What’s a normie like you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in class with the monster kitty?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why was his literal default being an asshole? His soulmate is standing not more than a meter in front of him, and he called them a normie. Brilliant. Can’t he level up his Charm stat just this once? Is he seriously having a skill issue right now?

While Idia was handling an internal battle with himself, you raised a brow. Oh no. He’s done it. Here comes the insult, the slap, the animosity he’s familiar with.

Except, you weren’t all those things.

“Did you just call me a normie?” You laughed, crossing your arms and grinning. The sound echoed in his ears, rattled his mind, and stole his every thought. Suddenly, Idia wanted to hear more of it. Honestly, this entire scenario feels like it was ripped out of a dating sim. This was getting into dangerous territory.

Idia’s hands hovered over his chest as he watched the magicless prefect. His shoulders visibly relaxed, but his fists clenched ‘til his knuckles turned ghostly pale. Well, that’s a first.

You kept going, undeterred by his insult, “It’s none of your business. I just wanted to say your hair’s pretty. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

You… didn’t know him. Idia didn’t know whether he should collapse from relief or cry about how invisible he was to you. Is this what it felt like to be a forgettable side character in a Triple-A game? Since when did it matter what you thought of him? Since when did he decide that you calling his hair pretty wasn’t cringe? Since when did his hair glow bright pink?

“Nevermind. I don’t have time for this.” You shook your head and walked around him. Idia almost grabbed your wrist out of instinct. As if this scene was straight out of a shoujo manga where the main character tries to reach out to her love interest before confessing. His hand shot back to his chest as if he was burned.

Oh great Seven, he’s turning into a walking cliché at the sight of his soulmate.

Idia’s heart jumped into his throat when you looked back at him with a knowing smirk. One that he knows will damn him for the rest of his life just because he wanted to get his video games and manga. Idia wanted to die on the spot at what you told him next.

“Look, you’re hot and all, but seriously? Pro tip: don’t insult your soulmate on sight. Make a better first impression next time, alright?”

Oh.

Idia will make damn sure that he finishes that drone before he sees you again. Otherwise, he’ll combust on the spot and the pink flames will be screaming his infatuation for you.

192 notes · View notes

bizaar · 2 years

Text

Cruel Summer - Part One

- Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history...

word count: 5k

warnings: ANGST (the most dramatic babies you've ever seen) mentions of death/dying, swearing, breaking up (so sorry if I forgot anything!)

A.N.: First part of the Babysitter!reader series! I just broke up with someone so you're getting angsty sorry not sorry byyyyyyeee

Your breakup with Eddie was bad. As bad as any teenage horror story of doomed summer romances you’d heard talk of over the course of your adolescence. Bad because you’d always laughed at those couples who went from mooning hopelessly over one another, unequivocally mad for the enduring nature of their love, only to stand in fits of wailing despair when it ended as quickly and passionately as it began. Bad because that was never going to be you, and then suddenly it was. It left you standing hideously exposed, the rosy haze of the life you’d lived enveloped in his everything suddenly lifted to leave you blinking stupidly under a spotlight, fumbling to explain yourself to the crowd.

You try to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t that bad – it’s only the end of your first real relationship, your first real love, you’re first real anything – hoping that somehow saying it will make it true. You rub yourself raw trying to cocoon yourself in the lie.

It was that bad, worse, even, because you didn’t see it coming. Movies had told you that your first love was meant to be an enduring thing, forever if you were careful with it, and that true love was the most powerful force in the universe. You could move mountains and heaven and earth with true love, you could bring back the dead with but a gentle word and a kiss. With true love? You could do anything.

You couldn’t do shit with what was left of Eddie’s love.

A spectacle such as the fallout of a high school relationship is something to behold akin to a volcanic eruption. Toxic to the point of choking anyone within a twelve-foot radius of the poisonous ex-lovers, leaving radioactive trails in their wake. You swore you’d never be foolish enough to lose your mind over someone like that, open yourself up to the kind of hurt that could push you to madness when it was over too soon. Star-crossed lovers turned mortal enemies as the people in their lives take petty sides and do their utmost to tarnish the reputations of the one they once revered.

Real Romeo and Juliet shit, only the really real version, where they don’t get the opportunity to martyr themselves for love, and one day they realize in spite of everything they are still Capulets and Montagues, and the rivalry lives on, made all the more putrid by a love that has overstayed its welcome.

You always told yourself you were too smart for that kind of nonsense, and yet you’d loved Eddie Munson completely, madly and unequivocally, with every inch of every particle in your body, and you’d foolishly thought he felt the same.

You should have seen it coming.

Some tiny, rational part of you had told you not to go see him. You knew you had to babysit tonight, but you’d been too caught up in the fires of your righteous indignation to heed your rational mind.

It’s not every day your boyfriend skips your graduation ceremony and proceeds to avoid you for the better part of the following month. All you’d wanted was a sign of life, an explanation, any kind of answer as to what the hell was going on, and by God had you gotten one.

You do your best not to fall apart as you make your way across town, though if you cared enough to take a look at yourself in any passing reflective surface you would see that you’re doing a piss poor job at that. Your face is pinched tight and streaked with tears, and every odd breath comes in a ragged sob. Your chest aches with a sharp, lancing pain that hurts so terribly you would not be surprised to look down and find that you were bleeding. You imagine the dark, crimson trail you must be leaving, like gorey breadcrumbs one could follow all the way through town back to the Forest Hills trailer park.

You wish you’d thought to drive, then at least you could have broken down in the relative privacy of your car, but you’d wanted the walk to gather your thoughts, to prepare yourself for whatever it was that had kept Eddie so distant from you. Now, subjected to a different kind of walk of shame, your mind is buzzing with the concept of insult to injury.

You imagine you must be quite the sight to behold.

It’s dark by the time you reach your neighborhood, and well past the agreed-upon time when you knock at the Henderson’s front door.

A cursory glance at your watch sends a violent spasm of alarm lancing through your midsection.

You’re late. You’ve never been late before.

It's just another piece of Eddie you’re going to have a very hard time extracting, like a shard of glass from the bottom of your foot.

You try to make yourself presentable in the brief interval between your knocking and Mrs. Henderson’s answering, scrubbing at your eyes and taking deep breath after deep breath. All it accomplishes is to streak your already running eye makeup and push you towards hyperventilating. You are noticeably out of breath when the door finally swings inward, bathing you in golden light.

You imagine you are not the picture of an angel she'd expected, standing there, white-knuckling the strap of your bag, sweating in the August heat, and doing your utmost to look somewhere halfway to normal.

You try not to notice the way Mrs. Henderson’s round, cherubic face falls a little when she claps eyes on you.

Her voice is laced with saccharine concern as she says your name in a way that has you teetering on the edge of breaking down again.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you start, choking on the lump swelling in your throat. “I was— I just—“ In a panic, you bite the excuse off before it can cross the threshold of your lips.

What had you even planned to say? I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Henderson, but you see, my stupid boyfriend just got finished curb-stomping my heart into a pulpy mess and I’m just a bit upset?

Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself with a sobering start. He doesn’t love you anymore.

You feel like you could cry again.

“Time got away from me,” you mumble, tugging sheepishly at the sleeves of your ill-advised cardigan.

In spite of the state of you, Mrs. Henderson brightens and dismisses the notion with a flippant wave.

“Oh, don’t be silly! You’re here now, that’s what matters – come in!”

You follow her over the threshold and into the living room in a haze, depending entirely upon familiarity and muscle memory to get you on track, going through the motions of setting down your bag on the kitchen island as you have hundreds of times before.

Still, you can feel yourself slipping and begin groping for familiarity in the dark, anything to anchor you to this moment: warm wood paneling tinted orange by incandescent light bulbs, dated shag carpet half worn down to threads in the grooves of routine living, frigid air conditioning blasting down on you, flash drying the sweat beading across your neck and shoulders. You blink and watch colors run into each other like crayons in the sun, and breathe deep the strong tang of air freshener covering the faintest hint of a cat somewhere in the house.

You lie to yourself that you're going to be fine as you pluck at a loose string hanging from the fraying hem of your cutoff shorts.

You are vaguely aware of Mrs. Henderson speaking somewhere very far off in the distance.

“Dusty, look who’s here!”

You don’t really hear her, you’re still standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Munson trailer, watching the door ease open after you’d pounded on it.

Eddie had blanched and physically recoiled upon seeing you, confirming your suspicions that he was hiding from you.

“What the fuck, dude.” had been the only thing you’d been able to get out, hurt feelings mixing with anger in a potent combination that had you brimming with angry tears.

You’d watched Eddie hesitate at the door, very clearly considering going right back inside and shutting you out again before he heaved a sigh that carried the weight of the world. The anger that welled in you was poisonous.

Two years of your life washed down the drain in less than twenty minutes. Time wasted. It makes you want to scream.

The next four words you’d spoken ring out, though not in your own voice.

“Where have you been?” Dustin asks, bringing you back to where you stand in the Henderson’s living room. “We were worried sick!”

He’s got his hands on his hips as he stares at you, his tie-dye shirt undulating beneath the warm lights and making you feel like you’re swaying.

His mother is quick to scold him for the audacity of his outburst.

“Dusty.” She warns, tut-tutting him with a slow shake of her head.

Mrs. Henderson had never been much of a disciplinarian.

Dustin makes an incredulous sound and throws up his hands in a way that paints the picture of a mother who has been sitting up, waiting for a wayward child out well past curfew. It would be halfway funny if you had the capacity to laugh.

He slumps moodily into the couch cushions as his mother brightens again and turns to regard you as you slip further out of your body.

“We’ve gotta stop kidding ourselves.” Eddie says somewhere very far away, “This thing has pretty much run its course…”

Mrs. Henderson clasps her hands together and breathes out like she’s preparing to dive into an overlong speech.

“Okay, you know all the emergency contacts, the house rules, I should be back by 11:30...” She says, trotting back and forth across the living room to collect her purse and keys, all the while chattering away, giving the same babysitting spiel she went through every time you stopped over to make sure Dustin didn’t burn the house down.

You nod absently and bid her farewell as she slips out the door, and you feel the bite of pins and studs from Eddie’s battle-vest in the palms of your hands as you shove him.

“Why are you doing this?” You cry, your voice is tight and quavers, threatening to fail before you can even put up any kind of a fight. You’re half blind from the tears collecting at your lashes, “You can’t just—” You choke on the sob welling in your throat. “What happened— Eddie—Baby, just talk to me. Please. We can move past it, whatever it is we can fix it if you just let me—”

He rubs at the back of his neck and rocks back on his heels, like he’s desperate to get away from the situation and it’s taking every fiber of his being to make himself stay.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” He huffs, his voice trembling.

The silence in the living room is punctuated by the muffled sound of Mrs. Henderson’s receding footsteps, followed by the clunk of a car door slamming shut and the rumble of the engine starting. Headlights paint the walls through the front window in a burst of white, and just like that she’s gone. You’re stuck staring out across the street at your house, sitting dark and empty. Your parents aren't home... they're never home, that's why Eddie always comes over... Suddenly, you have to fight the urge to run out the door and retreat to the sanctity of your bedroom, like maybe you'll find him there, and you'll discover you imagined the whole thing.

All you want is to crawl under the covers and disappear from the world entirely, but there are too many artifacts of your relationship scattered across the expanse of your bedroom. Polaroids, mix tapes, band-tees, memories. You wonder with stark despair whether you’re ever going to be able to set foot in your bedroom again. It feels perhaps a tad overdramatic, but there’s so much of Eddie in you now, so much of his personality blended with yours, that it feels like an appropriate response. "Drama" may as well have been Eddie's middle name – his middle name is Joseph, you think absently, and suddenly you don’t know what you’re going to do with that kind of intimate information.

You aren’t exactly sure if you’re failing to grasp the situation or just plain rejecting it, but you refuse to accept that Eddie is trying to end your relationship over what essentially equates to nothing, and the fight it has kicked up is arguably the worst thing either of you has ever been through.

Despair turns him mean. He’s pacing and carding his hands through his hair like he can’t stand it, like he’s about to fly apart at the seams, and somehow it’s your fault.

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie snaps, face wet with tears, “What— you want me to tell you I don’t love you anymore? Is that what you want?" When you fail to answer he takes a step toward you and suddenly he's shouting, "Tell me what I can say to make you understand that this is over!”

You shake your head in defiance and openly sob, hands crossed over one another, pressed flat to the left side of your chest where you feel the pain of a phantom wound, gaping, bloody, and raw. Your strident refusal to answer the terrible question speaks for itself, and it wrenches a sob from somewhere deep inside Eddie. For the briefest of moments, he crumples, crushing the heels of his palms into his eyes in a way that is so heartbreakingly boyish you have to stop yourself from trying to hug him.

For a long moment, it’s all either of you can do but stand there, watching the other fall apart and hating each other for it.

Finally, Eddie breathes out hard like he’s trying to calm down. It doesn’t work.

“Okay,” He sniffs, voice trembling as he swipes the back of his hand across his nose, “Fine, I can do that– be the bad guy? If that’s what it takes...”

You shake your head and can’t help but take a tentative step toward him. Then another, and another, until suddenly you’re toe to toe with him.

“Don’t…” you plead, your voice is small and very nearly doesn’t make it through the vice that has your throat. “Please don’t…” His hands are shaking as you reach for them, his brows knit together and the corners of his mouth turn down in a mask of devastation.

“I don’t love you anymore.” He says softly, forcing the words out like it physically hurts to say them.

They embed themselves in you like little shards of glass and suddenly you've taken to bleeding, but you don’t believe him. You think you wouldn't be able to make yourself believe him if your life depended on it, even if it was true, because you loved him so much it hurt. So much you felt like this could very possibly kill you if he didn't stop. How could he not feel the same? How could this not be killing him the way it was killing you?

You knit your fingers desperately in the front of his shirt.

“You don’t mean it — please don’t say that.”

You try to meet his gaze, like maybe if you can make him see you, really see you, it might stop this, but he won’t look at you. You have to bite back the violent urge to damn him for his cowardice.

Eddie shakes his head, dark curls dancing around his face as he gets caught on a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t fucking love you anymore.” His voice breaks.

“Yes you do!” you shout, shoving him hard enough to send him staggering back a pace. “Why are you doing this, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

Eddie hangs his head as new tears roll down his face to collect at the point of his chin and suddenly you can’t decide if you’re more angry or heartbroken as you reach for him again. You know you're babbling, but you're desperate to say anything that might somehow get through to him to make him abandon this terrible crusade.

Eddie won't hear you. He shrugs out of your touch and shakes his head again, crossing his arms over his chest to hug his biceps like it’s the only sense of security he has. All the fight has gone out of him.

It's over...

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks from where he’s sat on the couch.

You turn slowly and blink at him, feeling suddenly like you’ve been submerged in water, swaying on your feet with the tide. You’d almost completely forgotten he was there.

He’s staring at you with the most intense mask of concern you’ve ever seen on him. It’s a strangely sober look for Dustin, somehow too world-weary for the little boy you’d thought you knew so well.

You realize a bit too late that he’d asked you a question. You know you need to respond if only to keep up appearances, but you feel wrong, like you’ve been pulled out of your body and had something else stuffed back in that is trying very hard – and failing – to emulate a human being. It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“I’m good.” You lie. “I’m really really good. In fact, I’m great.”

He furrows his brows and you know immediately you’d pushed it too much.

You’re bad, you’re so so bad. In fact, you’re terrible.

“O-kay…” He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he seems too preoccupied with something else to care much about it.

Dustin fidgets with his fingers, twisting the digits and picking at the skin of his nail beds like he’s become suddenly nervous in your presence.

“So… listen,” He starts, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You hear the words, but not in Dustin’s voice.

Eddie has walked you out to the empty jungle gym standing in the middle of the trailer park. Before the fight, before the violent implosion of your relationship, before he says the words he can never take back, he slumps against the rusted metal structure and stuffs his hands in his pockets, casting his gaze down to the divet in the earth he makes with the toe of his dingy sneaker.

“We need to talk…” He says, and you feel yourself getting pulled swiftly down into the dark... deeper under the water.

The pressure makes your head swell.

From the beginning, everyone had warned you Eddie was going to break your heart. Friends, family, even teachers, as inappropriate as that advice had been. It always made you angry, determined to prove them wrong. Maybe it had started as an act of rebellion, leaning hard into a relationship that was evidently no good for you, but none of them knew how Eddie was sweet, and kind, and fun and funny and everything but what everyone warned you he would be.

You hate that in the end, he was the one who had made them right. Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that bullshit.

The end…

Just the notion of it is enough to send you teetering over the edge of hysteria. Something wells up from the aching spot behind your lungs, like a balloon filling with water, blocking your windpipe and threatening to suffocate you. Your ribs crack and you feel yourself begin to bleed again as it swells to the point of pain. You feel like you’re about to burst.

The words are spilling out over your lips before you have the good sense to realize you should excuse yourself before you have a breakdown in the middle of the Henderson’s living room.

“Hold that thought, Dusty, just for one second,” You gasp, turning and practically sprinting for the bathroom down the hall.

You shut the door behind you and rip one of the fluffy white towels Mrs. Henderson keeps down from the rack and cram your face into the thick terry cloth. For a moment there is nothing, then a sharp intake of breath before you’re screaming, as loud and as long as you can before your head starts to swim. The sound is mercifully muffled by the fibers. It catapults you into a memory from last spring.

You’re sitting on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest, absolutely fuming over the injustice of something completely trivial – a poor grade on a test, an undeserved reprimand, the specificities of it don’t matter, because Eddie is there, and he still loves you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, doing his best to lift your spirits.

Your toes are tucked neatly beneath his thighs and he’s got his hands around your calf, tapping out a guitar riff there. As casual a gesture as it may have seemed, it’s suddenly so intimate and you’re struck with a pang of grief as you realize you’re never going to be that close to him again.

“Jesus, I’m so mad I could scream.” You huff, the angry lump in your throat makes you feel like you’d tried to swallow a softball.

Eddie tilts forward and crosses his arms over your knees, hugging you there.

“Do it.” He says, ghosting his lips over the exposed skin poking through a tear in your jeans, “Let’s see what those pipes can do.”

You cast a dour look his way and wire your jaw shut, beginning a mental count of all the reasons you can’t just start screaming in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. You’re not supposed to have boys over and if you scream your mom will come running and flip her lid, someone might call the cops … it’s going to be too loud?

As if he’d anticipated your excuses, Eddie pushes up and snatches one of the pillows you sit nestled among at the head of your bed, tucking it into the space between your knees and your chest.

“Scream into the pillow.” He instructs, patting the creases flat in a way that feels gentlemanly.

When you level him with an unimpressed look he rolls his big dark eyes and takes the pillow back.

“Like this,” Deep breath, and the muffled smack of his face hitting the pillow before there is the faintest sound of Eddie screaming theatrically into the fabric and goose down. You bite your lip to keep from giggling and remind yourself that you’re supposed to be furious, indignant, incensed even. Hard to keep up that facade when you’re dating someone like Eddie, who would more than likely combust into flames if he tried to go a full day without doing something entirely absurd and unhinged just to make you laugh.

When he’s done screaming, Eddie is red-faced, hair wild and brows furrowed beneath the curly fringe that falls across his forehead. There is a thin line of spit, grossly drawn out from the semi-damp pillowcase to where it is attached to the plump flesh of his bottom lip. He severs the connection with a swipe of his tongue and makes a show of coughing and spluttering, fishing a stay feather from his mouth. You snort with laughter.

He grins that Cheshire Cat smile of his, cheeks indenting with dimples, and shoves the pillow back towards you.

“You’re up, Babycakes.” He says.

You recoil with playful disgust, “Gross, no way!”

“Why not?” He asks, furrowing his brows in a way that conflicts with the wide stretch of his mouth.

“You just slobbered all over it!”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and suddenly there is the faintest hint of mischief glinting there. You meet his gaze, tentatively waiting for whatever appalling thing he is about to say.

“Like that’s ever bothered you before.” He says.

It’s relatively tame in the grand scheme of things, but the way his eyebrows jump with innuendo has you blushing.

“Eddie!”

“Ed-die!”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he mimics you, pitching his voice up to mock you, absolutely scandalized.

His pretty doe eyes sparkle with delight and you take the opportunity to snatch the pillow from him, only to whip it around and whack him upside the head. The pillow explodes in a snowy cloud of feathers, and the next thing you know he’s surged forward, and you’re screaming with laughter, bracing your hands against his chest and shoulders to try and hold him at bay as he licks a fat wet stripe up the side of your face.

The towel in the Henderson’s bathroom is perhaps as effective a buffer as a pillow, it certainly does a better job at mopping up your tears as you release yourself from the cotton prison, red-faced and breathless. You’ve left dark smudges on the white fabric where your tears have made your eyeliner run, more than it already has. You only manage to feel slightly bad about that, suppressing a pitiful whimper as you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water. You’re hoping the shift in temperature might force you into some kind of hard reset, bring you back to your senses, but you’re not so certain it’s going to work this time.

Eddie taught you to do that.

“Helps with panic attacks,” he’d said at the time, rubbing your back and speaking soft, gentle words to you as you stood with your head in the bathroom sink.

The foolish tragedy of breaking up is that everything reminds you of Eddie. Every inch of this town, your house, your bedroom, your own goddamn body is laced with him. You feel raw, and despite this being your first real heartbreak, somehow you know even after you get over him, if you ever get over him, you’re never gonna be the same again.

You hate how you suddenly understand all those sappy love songs, all those foolish people standing in not so private corners of very public spaces, wailing about how they thought someone had loved them while everyone looks on in varying degrees of concern. Therein lies the problem of giving yourself over to someone so completely, loving them entirely.

I thought he loved me.

You slump to the cold tile floor and hug your knees to your chest.

You tell yourself you could leave, should leave, pick up and start over somewhere new, somewhere quiet and untainted by the echoes of him. Your memories are loud and pervasive and every one of them revolves around him, foolishly, as if he is all you’ve ever known.

You could just leave… It’s sorely tempting, you’ve graduated, no immediate plans on the horizon… newly single? There’s nothing holding you here –you quietly wonder if that was Eddie’s aim, but you’re still too upset to give him that much credit– you even allow yourself to begin a flight of fancy, entertaining an escape from Hawkins, from Indiana entirely. Then you remember the way he had cradled your face in his hands as he extracted himself from your life.

“There’s nothing for you here. This goddamn town is gonna suck the life out of you if you don’t get out.”

If you leave Hawkins now, that means Eddie wins, despite the fact that you’d been so painfully unaware it was even a competition. You suppose that this is how it starts, the taking sides, the tearing down one’s reputation. You can just imagine yourself, maybe a year from now, in a new town with new friends, going on and telling stories about how your ex was such a fuck up, a total man-child, couldn’t even graduate high school… He was a guitarist in this really shitty metal band and played this stupid fantasy game every weekend with a bunch of kids, that’s weird right? What a freak. You could knock the teeth out of that version of you for being so cruel.

He’s not a freak, you insist to no one in particular, He’s wonderful and generous and … and and and? …And he doesn’t love you anymore.

You thump your head against the bathroom cabinet and heave a sigh as you remember that you’re here in the house for a reason.

Dustin is waiting on you.

With a heavy sigh, you push up from the floor on shaky legs and turn back to regard yourself in the mirror.

It’s fine, I’m fine, we’re fine…

And you are. There’s no gaping wound in your chest, no bloodstains streaking down your front. You breathe deep and tell yourself that you really are fine, a little red and puffy in the face, and feeling very much like you’ve been hollowed out, like carving a pumpkin, but fine enough to sit and watch movies with Dustin for a few hours at least. It’s just a breakup. People break up every day. All you have to do is hold your shit together until midnight – you glance at your watch – just four hours and then you can fall apart, rant and rail, and rave and tear down the walls if that’s what it takes.

You take a deep, steadying breath, count backward from three, and whip the door open, doing your best to plaster what you hope is a genuine smile across your face.

"Okay kiddo, you wanna watch a movie or something?" You call as you head down the wall.

You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #reader insert #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson imagine #cruel summer #cruel summer fic

340 notes · View notes

assjuice4ever · 9 months

Text

One of my rants on the fic I want to write.

In this one Suguru is leaving the school forever but he meets you. Suguru is a bit dense, he likes you but he doesn't understand it. You like Satoru, you're not in love but it's the first person you really care about since forever.

I've described the eyes without thinking. Sorry but I'm not deleting that.

Suguru wasn't really sure on how to take you. He was planning on leaving school by tomorrow without saying any goodbye, Satoru wasn't there, Shoko was studying, he thought you wouldn't care and nobody would notice until the next day. After his parents would be found dead.

But when he passed near you he felt the chilling sensation of your gaze.

You rarely watched people, you usually had this unfocused glaze. He would have sweared on God that you needed glasses to see and that your eyes were of a pale black. For the longest time Suguru the sensation that you were unable to discern his face.

Until you watched him for the first time.

Your eyes were like a black hole, attracting him with a unfightable pressure, not even light escaped them. They were terrific. No light shined on them. They only thing breaking the pitch black were blood red streaks.

He always wondered how Satoru could just walk to you and talk as if it was nothing when you watched him. Maybe it was thanks to his dark black glasses, or maybe because he was the strongest.

Suguru wasn't able to do that. Even talking to you became difficult, his legs started to give up and his heart thundered in his ears, telling him how dangerous you were.

-What are you going to do? - You knew already that he was going away. It didn't surprise him. Satoru always called you stupid because you couldn't understand how cursed energy and techniques worked yet Suguru wasn't sure if he ever saw somebody else as smart as you in his whole life. He needed some time to understand how different you were, you weren't smart as him or Satoru, but you were able to understand people on a deeper level. What they wanted, what they were going to do, their quirks and their thoughts with a simple look. He always felt naked in front of you because you knew perfectly what was going on with his mind. Everybody else just got fooled by your harsh and rude behaviour.

Suguru inspired before sitting near you on the school staircase. If it was you then maybe he could be understood.

-I want to leave the school. I can't stand anymore how we are dying for the sake of people who don't know us and that wouldn't hesitate to kill us to save themselves. How can we go on like it's nothing while our friends are dying one after the other? - The imagine of the old men smiling over Riko's dead body never left his mind. He was being folded by the weight of his companions death. What were their meaning? Why didn't they have the right to live a normal life? Yu was young, too young to die. He remembers him telling everybody on the canteen that he was trying to save money to buy his sister a ticket for her favourite idol. He was still unable to cook an omurice without burning something and now he was dead. Five feet underground. Being eaten by worms while slowly decomposing. What was the meaning of his life? Why he had to die for somebody else?

It was breaking Suguru and pulling him apart.

Yet you didn't say anything. You just watched him in silence.

-Why don't you come with me? I'll need strong people, and you don't care about the pleb. - He asked. He had to try. You were strong, unpredictable, but he knew you weren't enslaved by the jujutsu rules. You obeyed only to yourself. He couldn't ask better companionship other than you.

-I don't care about the pleb. - You answered. You weren't watching him anymore now, your eyes were lost in the night. -I don't care about sorcerer too and I don't feel like fighting for somebody else ideal.-

Suguru felt a hint of disappointment but he tried again, you were too precious to just leave there without trying. If you were with him, maybe, wherever he was going, then he could stand a chance even if he crossed path with Satoru. The idea of doing that was abhorrent but he wasn't so hopeful to believe that Satoru would be just okay with it.

-Are you okay in living in a world that doesn't value our life? - He asked.

You laughed. It was a pretty laugh, one he didn't really heard from you frequently.

-Does my life have any value? - You asked back to him, your face closer to his, he could feel the heat of your body. -Or is my power that has value?- Your skin smelled of lemon and sugar, you voice was low and slow, dragging the words out.- Or maybe is my body? - You wondered while biting your lower lips, Suguru eyes fell onto it automatically. He swallowed air, his mouth dry.

Then you straighten your back, distancing yourself from him.

-Sorcerer or not, if they die I don't care. I'm here just because it's comfortable for me. - You stated coldly. -I like having a bed, food and everything else.-

Suguru adjusted himself, breathing slowly to calm himself, he wasn't prepared to have you so near. His hands were trembling a little. He knew you and your family were in a strange relationship, he could understand your disinterest in helping them, but did you really not care at all about people in the school?

-What about me, Shoko or Nanami? What if we died? - He asked.

-Maybe I would be sad. - You answered with a shrugh.

-And what about Satoru? - Your body went rigid. It stung how you only reacted to his name. Your face slowly morphed in a mask of anger, as if you never thought about him until that moment.

-What about Satoru? - You asked back. Your tone sarcastic and full of venom.-Do you really feel like asking me about what would I feel if he died, when you are the one breaking his heart? -

Suguru closed his mouth. It was true. The idea of Satoru dying for the sake of the argument was as unlikely as the world ending in that exact moment thanks to a meteor. Maybe the meteor was more probable. But breaking Satoru heart, that was going to happen. No matter what he did. He couldn't be there anymore for Satoru, not if he wanted to free himself and the other from the chain of that world. Not if he wanted to be happy again with his friends. He needed to break his heart for now. But it was hypocrite for him to ask about your feeling for Satoru when he was the one planning to hurt him.

They stayed there in silence for an hour, maybe two, watching the stars. The night sky was clear. You breathed so slowly that sometimes he watched you with the corner of his eye to see if you were sleeping but you weren't. It was the first time he was so near you, and you were so calm and silent.

-You don't want to come? - He asked again.

-No. -

-You don't want to change my mind? -

-Would it work? - You asked back.

-No. - It was a whole year were he dwelled up on that idea, where he worked on it but always stopped himself from doing anything. Now it was too late to stop him. Maybe, if things went differently, if he never met the girls, now he would be in his dorm room sleeping but he couldn't do that. Not if he wanted to watch himself in the mirror every morning, not if he wanted to be true to himself.

-Then I won't try. - You answered back.

He stayed there until sunrise. When the sun rays started to paint the world red and your hair stated shining under the sun.

He got up and watched you and you watched back. He thought about sayings goodbye, about saying to you to take care of Satoru but he stoped. Did he have a right to say that to you?

-Take care. - You said to him, breaking the silence and Suguru could only smile back.

-Take care. - He answered before walking away from you, from his life, from Satoru.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto headcanons #jjk men x reader #jjk men #jjk men x oc #gojo satoru x oc #gojo x reader #gojo headcanons #geto suguru #suguru x oc #gojo x oc #geto suguru x oc

58 notes · View notes

whchenlvr · 1 year

Note

hi elle! can I request what the union members would be like when they’re jealous? or you can do eunjang it doesn’t matter ;) anyways love your writings!

i love YOU and yes THANK YOU

when they’re jealous ;

donald na

donald wouldn’t like letting his jealousy show, since you often assure him that he’s the only one for you, but sometimes he can’t help it.

he was in a meeting one evening, and you were waiting outside his office for him to finish when one of cheongang’s men sits across from you. since you don’t want to ruin any potential relationships for donald, you’d put on a smile and greet him kindly.

you realize his intentions may not be as pure as you thought just as the meeting ends, and donald steps out to see you and the man. laughing. together.

you and the cheongang man part ways when you follow donald into his office, closing the door behind you. “it wasn’t what it looked like... that was a nervous laugh, i swear.”

“y/n, it’s not a big deal. i trust you.” he does trust you. he just doesn’t tell you that there’s a knife under the table and the cheongang man on his mind :)

jake ji

jake hardly gets jealous, but you find him hilarious when he does.

you’d be wearing shorts and a tank top to combat the terrible summer heat when your boyfriend stops by to visit, and of course, that’s when a rowdy bunch of men passes by. you wouldn’t think much of it, but jake hates the way they eye you up and down so much that you have to hold him back from confronting the guys.

you’d tell him to ignore him, and jake would just pout like a child and flail a pointed finger at them. “they were looking at your butt! when i do that, you whack me with a magazine! so not fair.”

“well, they kept their hands to themselves, until someone i know...”

“i’m defending your honor!”

“no, you’re being jealous.”

“yeah, cause they can look for free.”

“bruh, i’m gonna smack you!” it’s all outta love guys dw <3

dean kwon

like jake, dean also has his manga collection, but he tries to be subtle about it. you’re the one who expresses your love for it, and you always ask him to wait to start a new one until you can read it together.

one thing you’re trying to work on is your excessive kindness because sometimes you can’t differentiate when someone is just being nice back, or if they’re flirting with you.

you were in the library with dean and spit up to search for different genres. while your boyfriend was on the other side of the manga section, a boy from school approached you with a comic in his hand. “if you liked the promised neverland, you might like this one, next.”

you took it and thanked him, not seeing the problem, but you were unaware of your boyfriend drilling glare-holes in the head of the guy looking you up and down. you’re obviously surprised when dean appears at your side, pulling the comic from your hands and slamming it into the guy’s chest.

“we’re leaving.” was all he said before leading you out of the library.

wolf keum

a jealous wolf is a dangerous wolf.

you wouldn’t think much of his sudden silence at first, since he does have the tendency to let his phone die and forget to charge it. until the male friend you’d been hanging out with texts you saying there’s some freak with purple hair stalking him. you’d instantly track your boyfriend down and pull him away from whatever schemes he’s up to, scolding him for being creepy.

he’d gotten better at managing his jealousy when he was around you, but one night, some guy couldn’t keep his hands to himself. and neither could wolf.

the touches weren’t risky or uncomfortable, but wolf waited until the third time the man touched you before breaking. he leaped at the man, and wolf’s jealous streak wasn’t the only thing he broke that night.

jimmy bae

my god, i think jimmy would be one of the most jealous people in the world fr.

he’s a different person when he’s with you and his friends then how he likes to perceive himself to the public, so when that “leader of yoosun” comes out in the form of jealousy, he’d be good at making it known to you that he is obvious, though, whether that be verbally telling you or simply putting an arm around your waist.

in one case, you’d be on a date together when someone comes up to you, rather shamelessly, and tells you how attractive you are. you’d brush him off with a “thanks”, but jimmy’s grip would tighten around you. “y/n, if he doesn’t take his eyes off of your legs, i’m going to break his teeth.”

you decided it best to continue the date at home.

jack kang

jack isn’t one to get jealous often. there have been moments where he’s come close, but jack trusts you enough to hold your own. and that was true until you went out one night and ended up slightly more than tipsy.

you hadn’t meant to drink so much, especially in public, since you were an affectionate drunk, but what was done was done.

you’d be with your friends, flirting with all of them (in a friendly/joking sense of course) and jack can just feel his blood pressure slowly rising. he doesn’t want to get jealous or upset, but when one of your male friends places a hand a bit too low on your back, jack gets up, grabs your hand, and pulls you out of the club.

honestly, you’re more grateful than upset, and a little amused to see your boyfriend break that stoic facade.

hopefully you don’t mind that they’re spaced out! lmk if it looks better the other way :)

#weak hero #weak hero webtoon #weak hero class 1 #weak hero x reader #weak hero manhwa #donald na #jake ji #dean kwon #wolf keum #jimmy bae #jack kang

209 notes · View notes

keeksybee · 8 months

Text

Rick and Spanish:

I’ve always wondered why he never speaks Spanish, Sanchez is obviously a Spanish name and while I get not using it with the kids or Beth because he actually cares about them understanding him, it’s totally in his character to use it with other Ricks or to piss Jerry off knowing it would drive him crazy to be talked about and have no idea what he was saying.

My main premise to this is I honestly don’t believe Rick is a no sabo kid (nothing wrong with being one BTW) I’ve done the math and if we assume Beth is 34 at the beginning of the series in 2013 (Summer must have been born 1996 when Beth was 17 and Morty would’ve come 3 years later in ‘99) that makes her birth year 1979 and presuming Rick had a slightly more planetary mindset when she was born that makes him 23-26 as was average for having kids back then, making his birth year 1953-1956.

Historically I get Beth not being taught Spanish to avoid discrimination, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad when she was growing up but If Rick’s parents immigrated during WW2 , just before or after Rick was born or when Rick was a very young child that makes him a first gen immigrants child and while northern states were better, they weren’t great either, he would have very much been subjected to some pretty intense racism that he wouldn’t have wanted for his daughter no matter how much it hurt him to not know part of her own culture.

However I also believe Rick’s defiance streak is probably genetic and like hell he would give up his first language just to assimilate like many children of that generation may have been forced to, it was a thing in immigrant homes in America, particularly South American ones ( I’m not sure where the name Sanchez would be from specifically) where the children were banned from speaking their own languages. He however, was Rick Sanchez and would steadfastly refuse to be ashamed of himself or where he came from. It would have been a massive scandal when he married Dianne in their small town, she was most likely pretty, popular and white, he would have been heavily targeted as the schools wouldn’t have been non segregated for very long by the time he was in high school. Marrying Dianne was probably a very satisfying “Fuck you” to people who’d tormented him.

Which leads to the question why do we never hear him use Spanish. Six seasons and 40 years of heavy drinking and drug use and we never hear him slip once, and it’s not like he doesn’t screw up in other areas, language would be a simpler one. He never switches, never even swears in it, but there has to be something that triggers it.

I always imagined it would be Morty getting mortally wounded in a way that he can’t seemingly fix with what’s available to him. His June-bug is bleeding out in front of him and he can’t do shit, another person he couldn’t save. He breaks down, clutching the limp body his grandson, begging a god he doesn’t believe for the first time since his teens in a desperate mix of Spanish and English to do something, and illogically, when he thinks Morty has died, giving him what he remembers of his last rights knowing that if there’s a God the fact it’s him administering his rights is probably not doing any favours for his Grandson’s eternal soul, but then Morty miraculously coughs up blood.

He coughs up blood, not good but it means he’s alive, he can think now, he can do something, so he does.

Morty survives. Barely. He erases the memory, even he considers it too traumatic for Morty to recall, but he has to live with it, it haunts him, it haunts him in a way he hasn’t felt since his Dianne and Beth were killed in his dimension. That’s when he starts speaking to Morty in Spanish, the occasional “mijo” here, the rarer story about his upbringing there and openly conversing in Spanish with other Ricks in Morty’s presence.

Morty learns almost fluent Spanish in four months just to try and spite him. That’s his June-bug, guess Beth did pass down that competitive spirit, and some of his smarts too. It’s nice talking regularly in his mother tongue again even if he’d never tell Morty that, and it’s adorable when his grandson can’t pronounce something properly, messes up the tense of a word or stumbles in Spanish when he’s pissed off, it reminds him of a little kid. He gently corrects the tense errors under his guise of grumpy, codgery old man, Morty doesn’t even know how much better he gets.

Jerry’s pissed that he now doesn’t understand his father in law or his son, but that’s okay, it’s Jerry.

#rick and morty #rick and diane #beth smith #morty smith #rick sanchez #rick is not a no sabo kid #spanish #bilingual

45 notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 11 months

Note

Naff, just wow.

Immediately after I finished reading the CS chapter the tears came all at once, streaming down my face and leaving wet streaks down both of my cheeks. It is hard to make me cry like that. I’m floored, just completely stunned.

I’m soooo happy you gave us a chapter like this, giving the characters and the reader a safe space to digest and get some questions answered. It was also much needed after the action filled chapters before it and it’s a nice resting stop before the horrors waiting before us.

Naff, you write so beautifully, I’m looking back at the lines of text I saved to keep for this comment and I’m gonna cry again from just reading them! (Also sorry,, this is gonna be a long one,,,)

They ate and came back to your trailer, where all of your weapons reside. Holy water, silver knives, and bolts, the Latin incantations to exercise beings just like them.

Just, I’m crying at this. To me it holds so much emotional weight. This story is so close to my heart you don’t even know AAAAAAAA

The repeating “Eat.”, “Please. Eat.” and finally “Ask, then eat.” has me on the floor weeping and I don’t know exactly why. Just the ‘ask’ before the ‘eat’ feels so calm and like they’ve fully opened up. Ready to answer any question.

“Yes,” Moon answers softly. “We ate their hearts.”

You jerk in your shock, almost flinging the egg and sausage bit off of your utensil and to the floor.

“You ate his heart?”

Moon becomes completely still. He stares blankly at you then at your chest.

I swear they can’t keep doing this! But they must! But please phrase it differently boys! XD

The nature of the demonic cryptid before you tumbles through your brain and into your heart—a monster that protects children. An instinct to reject it as a fairy tale touches your nerves. It’s too good to be true, that’s too romantic to believe a being of teeth and claws would seek to protect vulnerable children.

Again, your writing!! And AAAAA IT IS TOO ROMANTIC TO BE TRUE BUT IT’S!!!!!

I’m so happy mothman came up again! And slkfdlfkfsahvjdf that whole bit was so needed oh man!! Perfect way to break the tension! “You killed it,” “It’s not your boyfriend.” FDKLKFSAJKADFG

I love that Y/N isn’t afraid of Eclipse, they’re afraid of Eclipse hurting others. This is why they love Y/N, their heart is filled with only compassion and an undying will to protect others. That scene by the gully, my brows still hurt from how much I was furrowing and straining them, I was at the edge of tears the whole way through. (I’m crying rn reading it again)

“Life means much to you, we understand—”

“No, you don’t! You don’t know the value of life at all,” you jab your finger at him, hitting the yellow button on his chassis, “If you did, you wouldn’t kill an innocent person!”

*WAILING*

“Heart, we have acted too long upon fear.” He holds your gaze, their voices low and rumbling with pangs of remorse and pleas. “We are still learning, but we want to show you that we are better for it.”

*LOUD SOBBING*

And the vow!! aaAAAA!!!!

Deep in the darkness of your sleep, your fist closes around their true hand, and squeezes.

They hum low, rumbling you into ease with a purr of promise.

They are yours.

I’m fucking CRYING!!!!!

The back rubs have me absolutely MELTING! that’s how touch starved I am at this point

Oh and the hug KILLED ME!!! OH MY GOD THEY NEEDED THAT. I THINK I NEEDED IT MORE THO. AAAAAAAAAAAAA Thank you for that :’>

The slow slooooow build of trust, acceptance and some fragments of happiness coming back was a wonder to read! And the still lurking distrust in the form of the salt shaker is tugging at my heartstrings so hard I think I’m gonna cry again..

Absolutely AMAZING chapter as always!!!

I told you before but please, pleeeeease don’t worry about taking your time with your writing. Waiting one month between chapters is nothing. I’d wait an eternity if necessary❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Meep, I'm gonna melt into a puddle, please!!! I'm thrilled that you enjoyed this chapter and I'm seeping into the floor knowing you like it so much! I also love that you shared your favorite paragraphs/quotes because alsdjflasdfj it's always a warm-fuzzing feeling when I hear what people were affected by!

Thankfully I won't make you wait a full month again, but I do appreciate it ♥ ♥ ♥

Ah, thank you so much, babe! ♥

#themeeplord #cryptid sightings #cryptid sightings spoilers #compliments

41 notes · View notes

fireofjudgement · 2 years

Text

Pretty in pink

Requested here

Fandom: All of us are dead

Pairing: Gwi-nam x gn!reader

Summary: You've never realised just how jealous Gwi-nam was, nor what the result of his jealousy would be.

Word count: 696

Warnings: established relationship, kissing, mentions of jealousy, slight angst but mostly fluff, ooc Gwi-nam

A/N: Good lord, this isn't my best work or my longest one but this past month has been quite bad and I didn't have the time, energy nor the motivation to write at all, but I also made this blog with the goal of posting at least one thing every month and I didn't want to break my streak so early on. I'm doing a little better now so I'll be writing more of the requests soon, hopefully 😌

"Gwi-nam, stay still! I swear to God.."

"But it buuurns, how am I supposed to stay still? You're doing this on purpose, y/n!"

"It will burn even more if you won't stop moving, you silly! Are you trying to get it in your eyes?" You pretended to be annoyed with his impatience and childish behavior, but in reality you had to try really hard to contain laughter and focus on what you were doing. You didn't actually want to hurt him, obviously.

It was still hard for you to believe he agreed to do this. You and Gwi-nam have been together for almost a year now and you could, with all confidence, say that you knew him better than he knew himself. And yet, never in a million years would you imagine he'd let you dye his hair. Pink. Pastel pink to be more specific. But, as unbelievable as that fact itself was, the reason why he asked you to do it in the first place was even more absurd.

It was no secret that Gwi-nam was the jealous type, possessive even. You were his and he was yours, you knew it and he made sure everyone around you knew it too. You didn't know however that his jealousy went far beyond the people you surrounded yourself with, or so happened to meet in your day-to-day life. Oh no. But it wasn't till a few weeks earlier that you learned your boyfriend doesn't like for you to look at any other man. Not even celebrities you've never met before and most likely never will.

One of those celebrities, a young actor from a very popular Netflix show, posted a few pictures of himself with his new haircut and without thinking much about it, you made a comment about it to Gwi-nam.

"You know, he kinda reminds me of you a little. Just with a way cuter hair color."

You didn't think he'd react so emotionally, an innocent remark apparently hurting him more than either of you expected. It took a few days of radio silence, countless unanswered texts and missed phone calls for him to finally talk to you again. And when he did, it wasn't what you expected. He wasn't mad. He didn't want to break up with you. Instead, he asked for you to.. dye his hair. It would be nice to try something new, he said. And you didn't ask any questions. You were just happy to have him back.

"Okay, I'm done! Now you have to wait about forty minutes, then we can wash it off."

"Wait, forty minutes? That doesn't sound right. What if it burns my beautiful hair?" He asked, pretending to be genuinely concerned.

"Well.." You hesitated, pulling him closer to you. "..I guess I'll still love you. We'll just get you a pink wig." You couldn't contain laughter any longer when he tackled you, leaving a bunch of kisses on your face and neck. It was adorable how careful he was to not get the dye on you or any of your furniture.

You spent the next hour cuddling, trying to pay attention to the movie quietly playing in the background, completely forgetting about the timer. It was nice to have Gwi-nam by your side again, it was even nicer to feel his lips on yours, your bodies complimenting each other perfectly. It wasn't until you tried to brush your fingers through his hair that you realised you still haven't washed off the dye, dark pink stains forming on his forehead and neck. You could only hope his hair has survived this unexpected attack.

"And?" Gwi-nam asked, nervously shifting his gaze from the mirror to your face. He was trying to keep his cool but you knew how much your approval meant to him. "Don't be like that, just tell me what you think?"

"I think..Well, pink is definitely your color." You answered honestly, before giving him another kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, your next words only causing his smile to grow bigger. "You'll always be the most attractive guy I know, Gwi-nam. And I wouldn't want anyone else by my side."

#all of us are dead #all of us are dead netflix #all of us are dead x reader #yoon gwi nam #all of us are dead fanfic #yoon gwinam x reader

344 notes · View notes

skyler10fic · 7 months

Text

The Forest Key

Summary: As a superhero and Shield agent, Carol is tired of her freedom being debated by other agencies. But when she discovers a key in a forest and unlocks a door to a much harsher world, she realizes her reality might be the escape another powered person like her needs.

A/N: For @ficwip’s 1k image prompt. Exactly 1,000 words based on this image!

Read on Ao3

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

Carol needed to get away from the suffocation of the intelligence community summit and discussions of “the Index issue”—as if she wasn’t even there in the conference room arguing for her own freedom as an “enhanced person.” She trusted Director Coulson to handle the afternoon session. He was much better at not making an FBI director’s coffee boil with barely concealed rage.

When they took a break and stepped out to the skyscraper’s balcony for refreshments, Carol told Coulson she needed to “burn off some energy.” And he knew she meant it literally.

The bureaucracy in suits barely noticed a streak of gold across the sky. She broke through the clouds and hovered until she spotted the park. She darted toward the forest oasis with its small lake, birdsong, pine cones, changing leaves, and the closest thing she could get to silence and fresh air. She headed for the emptiest area, landing with a soft crunch of leaves on a grassy hill.

She needed this peace, so she could go back and not break a window when they referred to her friends as freaks or weapons. She walked, absorbing the quiet and the smell of the new autumn. The chill in the air helped her emotionally cool off, which cooled the fire in her hands too. She stopped by a coffee cart for a mocha, with wisps of white steam escaping from the lid. As the path got busier, she ventured deeper into the forest beyond what she had explored before.

The light grew dim through the leaves, and an owl hooted. Carol wasn’t really scared. She was, after all, “unspeakably dangerous,” as one frowning CIA assistant-director-of-whatever had described her. But it was unsettling how wild this part of the park felt without a hint of taxi horns or sirens or train clattering.

Eventually, Carol cleared off a fallen log and rested to drink her mocha. She breathed deep and hung her head, then noticed a glimmer on the forest floor. Brushing aside leaves, she picked up an antique key with no markings to identify who had lost it. Pocketing the trinket, she took it as a good luck charm and started off in the direction she thought held the path. She found the asphalt again and walked faster, more confident, but slowed as it ended at a freestanding door.

She couldn’t resist trying the handle. Locked. With a half-smile at her own silliness, she pushed the key in, and to her surprise, the handle turned. Curiosity compelled her forward. After all, she didn’t need to fear a world of magic or gaining powers by walking through the door. She had enough supernatural stuff in her daily life as it was. So she stepped through, expecting to laugh at her own childishness.

Instead, the door shut behind her, and the forest changed. The air was warmer, and the trees were bigger. Before she could get a birdseye view, she heard steps walking her way. Carol hid behind a tree trunk thicker than any she knew from the city park. A crying young woman walked by and brushed her short black waves back from her face. Carol instinctually wanted to comfort her, but she stopped herself, not knowing where she even was.

The woman heard her reflexive movement anyway and sighed. “Raina, I swear to God if you followed me out here after I told you to fuck off… Oh.”

Carol stepped from behind the tree and waved. “Hi.”

The woman shied away. “Who are you? How did you get out here? And how do you have that?” The woman gestured to Carol’s coffee cup, with the world-famous green rooster of Starkbucks.

“Uh, I bought it? Over there?” Carol pointed to the trail, which was, of course, nothing but forest. She turned to where the door stood, but on this side, it was attached to a dilapidated cabin. “Oh. That wasn’t there a minute ago. Do you live there?”

The young woman sighed. “Legally, no. I just come out here when I need to get away from… everything.” The woman waved her hand behind her. “I can only get in through the back door. This one’s locked.”

Carol pulled out her key, even more curious this time. “Sorry, let me just…”

It worked. Carol opened the door, a perfect portal to her city park. She exhaled in relief. At least there was a way back.

“No… That’s not possible.” The woman gaped. She stepped closer and Carol could see the red in her eyes from crying. Maybe she was the one who needed a world to escape into. Carol smiled to herself that maybe she was on the opposite side of the fairytale than she assumed.

“I’m Carol.” She stuck out her hand. “Shouldn’t go wandering off with strangers, right? But now, we’re friends. And maybe I can help, or help you forget for a few hours, and I can get you one of these.” She held up her coffee cup.

“I’m Daisy. You’re saying this cabin door goes to a park with a Starkbucks? That’s the worst marketing strategy I’ve ever heard.”

Carol laughed. “Not a strategy. I was trying to get away too. I found this key, opened the door, and here you were. I am taking it as a sign that I’m your fairy godmother of lattes or something. Weird things tend to happen around me. I’m used to it by now.” Carol shrugged and lit a flame in her palm.

Daisy stared. “Me too. I can make things shake.”

“Then you’ll be right at home where I’m from.”

Daisy bit her lip, looked to Carol’s mocha, and then looked through the door to the city park on the other side, a world away from this wilderness. “Well, life can’t get worse. I’m in.”

She exchanged expressions with Carol that said they knew this was crazy, but the only thing to do when you need a miracle is to reach out and take it when one passes by.

-----

End note: And then Daisy decides to stay and they fall in love and heal from their trauma together, and Coulson protects them from the haters and they are all family! Happily ever after. Well, and fighting bad guys. But happily fighting bad guys with their powers together.

#daisy johnson #carol danvers #aos #agents of shield #captain marvel #daisy x carol #carol x daisy #wlw #sapphic fic #femslash #lesbian carol danvers #bisexual daisy johnson #skywriting #superpowers #parallel worlds AU #portal AU #meet cute au #rated: g

8 notes · View notes

cherrycola27 · 2 years

Text

Nevermore

Paring: Rooster x OC Commader Skylar 'Raven' Blackwood

Warnings: Language, drinking, Mentions of violence, Allusions to Smut. Minors DNI 18+

Part 3: Perched, and Sat, and Nothing More

Raven stood in the doorway of Maverick's office. Her mouth hung slightly ajar, the clipboard of documents she had brought with her for him to sign now lay askew on the floor having slipped through her fingers.

Her ears were burning as she tried to process what she had just heard "Skylar Blackwood is your daughter isn't she?..... Yes, I think she is."

Maverick thought he was her father? Rooster agreed with him? How could he even know?

"I...I" Skylar choked out as both men stood unmoving infront of her.

"Skylar"

"Commader Blackwood"

Both men spoke at the same time. They both took a couple steps towards her but she held out a trembling hand to stop them, then, she turned on her heels and quickly left. She managed to get out of the building and into her car before emotion over came her and tears streaked her face and she drove back to her rental.

She slammed on her breaks as she pulled into the driveway. Jumping out of her Jeep she ran up the small set of steps and tried to open the door. Her hands were still shaking. After a small fight and a few swears she finally was able to unlock the door and rush in. She slammed the door shut and rested her back against it.

Raven finally released the sob she had been chocking back as she slid down the door into the floor.

Everything was just so overwhelming. She had gone 30 years without a father figure and now suddenly there was a man whom she had to work with that could be him.

"Damn you mom!" She screamed out... why couldn't Charlie have just told her who he was or lied to her?

Her whole life she avoided the topic... and even when she was sick, Skylar held out hope that her mother would finally come clean. But she never did.

Skylar could understand why she didn't when she was younger. If Pete Mitchell was her father and Charlie had come clean about it, it could have cost her the career she had worked so hard for, but when she was older?

Everything suddenly made sense, why there was no pictures of the '86 class up in their house, why she never talked about that class or why it was her last, why when she had met Rooster back in flight school she didn't want to talk about Maverick. It was right there infront of her this whole time.

Raven got up and walked to her bathroom. She wet a cloth and ran the cool fabric over her face and took a few deep breaths. Once she was calm she changed into a pair of leggings and an overside Navy sweatshirt. She needed to figure out how to move forward.

Should she tell her commanding officers? She she recuse herself from the missison? God this was too much.

Skylar was pulled out of her thoughts by a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes got up, she was sure Rooster had come to talk to her and she really wasn't up for that. She was ready to chew him out only to find that when she opened the door, Rooster wasn't on the other side of it, instead it was the other man plaguing her, Pete Mitchell.

"Commodore" she spoke standing in the doorway

"Commader." He nodded. "Can I come in?"

Skylar wordlessly stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

"Can I get you something to drink? Water, Gatorade... a beer?" Skylar asked him as he awkwardly made his way into the bungalow and sat on her couch.

"A beer would be great." Maverick replied. "Yes it would." Skylar agreed. She went into the kitchen and emerged moments later with two bottles in hand. She passed one of them to the older man and then sat down in an arm chair on the other side of the room.

"I came here to apologize." Pete began after taking a long swig of his beverage. "Rooster and I never should have been discussing... that in my office. If I had known that's what he wanted to speak to me about I would have done it somewhere else." He told her.

Skylar sat there silently. For the better part of 15 years she rehearsed what she would say to her father if she ever met him, but here was a man in her living room claiming it was him, and she couldn't speak. She took a deep breath before opening her mouth.

"Did you know about me?" She breathed out barely above a whisper.

"No." Maverick replied solemnly.

"After Charlie took a different job, we lost contact. I sent her letters only to have them returned, phone calls went unanswered I even tried to find her once when I was stationed where she was supposed to be... but nothing. I never knew about you. I wish I had though. If she had told me.... I.... I would have been there for you, for her. I would have stepped up, tried to be the father you needed, but, I didn't know." Mav explained to her.

"You didn't know." Skylar breathed out.

"I always thought the reason I never knew my father wasn't around was because he didn't care. I always assumed he was some hot shot pilot too busy stroking his ego and womanizing to be bothered with a kid. I figured that Charlie had told him and he didn't want anything to do with her or me.

But.... you didn't even know I existed. She took a father away from me. She took me away from you. Even when she was sick. She could have told me... she could have let me know there was someone else out there in the world so I wouldn't be alone."

Anger fueled Skylar's words as bile rose in her throat. "How could she be so... so... so selfish!" Skylar screamed.

"Hey, hey, hey it's okay kid calm down." Maverick spoke gently. "She did what she thought was best for you. I know it isn't fair what she did but..."

"How can you sit there defending her! What she did was wrong! Cruel even!" Skylar cut him off.

"Listen Skylar, I know you have a lot of feelings right now. It's a lot to process." Maverick remained calm and collected but he was angry too.

"I'm sad, I'm upset, I'm confused, but mostly I'm just angry with her and I can't even tell her or yell at her because she's dead! It's not fair!" Skylar choked out a sob.

Maverick moved closer. He placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "You're right, it's not fair, but we can't go back and change the past, all we can do is move forward. And I think it would be best for both of us if we did something to confirm our suspicions." Maverick told her.

"We need to do it off the record. I have a friend that works in a genetics lab near here... she owes me a favor." Raven said before standing up and grabbing her phone.

"Hey Keleigh... you know how you owe me a favor... well I'm calling it in now. I need some blood work done... off the record...No I am not pregnant! I... I think I found my father.... yes we can be there in 20." Her phone conversation was quick.

She turned to look at Maverick. She grabbed her keys and purse by the door. "Well Pops... shall we?" She half joked. Maverick followed her out the door. Raven quickly climbed into the driver's side of her Jeep, Mav climbed in the passenger's side.

The drive to her friend's lab was a silent 20 minutes. When they got there, no one else was around thankfully. Raven explained the situation to her friend who then quickly took a DNA sample from both of them.

"How soon can you have the results Kel?" Skylar asked her. "Give me two hours... maybe less" Keleigh replied. "Okay. Call me when you know." Skylar stated before she and Maverick quickly left.

"You hungry kid?" He asked her once they were back in her Jeep. "I could eat." Skylar replied. "There's a pretty good burger place about 15 minutes from here if you are up for that." Maverick said.

Skylar put the Jeep in drive and followed Maverick's directions to a hole in the wall burger joint. He was nice enough to pay for the meal, the least he could do he thought, seeing as he had put this poor girl through a ringer of emotions today.

"Are you okay?" He asked her after a few minutes of Skylar picking at the remaining fries on her plate.

"Honestly I don't know. I mean, what if you are my father... what happens next?" She asked him.

"Well, first we have to have a very long and uncomfortable conversation with our superiors and then, go from there." Maverick told her.

He honestly wasn't sure either. Minutes later Skylar's phone rang. "Okay... we are on our way" She spoke quickly.

"Keleigh has the results... let's go." She stated as they both got up to leave. The drive back to the lab seemed like an eternity. When they arrived they quickly made their way into a waiting room.

After about five minutes Keleigh came in holding an envelope. "So, your results are in here. Would you like me to read them to you or do you want to read them. Most of the time when I do this it's more family court stuff and super dramatic so..." she asked them.

"Just tell us." Skylar deadpanned not wanting to wait any longer.

"Okay, well, it looks like, you were correct in your assumptions. Mr. Mitchell is infact your father." Keleigh told them before giving them a moment of privacy.

"I think I'm going to be sick" Skylar spoke first.

"What... why?" Maverick asked her.

"It's just a lot to process. I mean for the first time since mom died, I'm not alone in life. I mean she was the only family I had left, now, now I have a father. A next of kin. I haven't had that is years. I just don't know how to feel. I mean, this is all new to me. I've waited 30 years for this moment and now... here you are." Skylar spoke.

Maverick took in everything she said but didn't speak.

"Oh my God. I must sound so self centered right now. I didn't even ask you how you were feeling. I mean this must be a huge fucking shock to you. Finding out your have a kid 30 years later." Skylar said to him

"I, God, I didn't even ask if you wanted to be a part of my life. Just know, I understand if you don't and I don't expect anything from you. We don't even have to tell anyone else. I know you have a life and this wasn't part of your plan. I'm sorry, maybe this was a mistake." She rambled as tears welled up in her eyes.

There was a long pause between the two.

"What if want to be a part of your life?" Maverick said softly.

She looked up at him.

"What if I want to be your father? Be there for you? I may have missed the first 30 years, but what if I didn't want to miss any more? Would that be okay?" He asked with tears in is eyes.

"Yeah, yeah that would be okay. That would be more than okay. That would be really, totally, more than okay." Skylar said crying.

"Can I hug you?" She asked him.

"Absolutely." Maverick responded as his own tears flowed.

They both stood up and Skylar wrapped Maverick... her father in an embrace that was 30 years in the making.

The next day the duo went straight to Admiral Simpson's office and were waiting for him when he arrived. Cyclone sighed as he saw the pair standing near his door.

"Admiral" they both saluted him.

"Maverick, Raven, it is seven o'clock in the god damn morning. If you two have already committed something that can be defined as dangerous, illegal, or insubordination, I just don't know if I can handle it right now, I haven't even had my coffee yet." He groans at the pair.

"No sir, nothing of the sort. We, um, need to speak to you privately" Raven says with a hint of a smirk on her face.

"Can it wait until after training?" Cyclone says hopefully.

"No sir, it is a very important and... um... a sensitive matter." Maverick tells him.

Cyclone sighs and opens up the door. "Maverick I swear to God if you tell me you two got drunk of your asses and slept together last night I will ship you off to Antarctica!" He states coming in and slamming his coffee cup on his desk.

"No sir, that 100% did not happen." Raven tells him.

"Well then, I guess whatever you have to say shouldn't give me a heart attack or cause me to fill out paperwork, so go ahead." The Admiral tells them. He takes a long sip of his coffee

"Well Admiral Simpson sir, we've just found out that Commader Blackwood, is my daughter." Maverick states.

Cyclone's eyes go wide as he spits out his coffee all over his desk.

"I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say Maverick?!"

"It's true sir, I have the DNA results here to prove it. We came to the conclusion after some too crazy to be a coincidence situations yesterday." Raven told him handing the envelope over.

"I had an affair with her mother, Charlotte back in '86 when I was at Top Gun. She moved away after graduation and we lost contact.

Cyclone looked over the information and then between the two aviators. He took a deep breath before saying...

"And here I thought I could come into work and have a nice normal Wednesday, boy was I wrong."

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @meggiemoomitchell @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @itsdesiree86 @eruannaaa-blog

#top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun rooster #top gun smut #tgm smut #tgm #tgm fic #top gun 2 #lt. bradley bradshaw

54 notes · View notes

judysupremus · 2 years

Text

Straight Through The Heart

Eddie Munson x reader

Not beta read or anything. Just written to get the feelings out.

SPOILERS

But Eddie gets to fucking live. And you get to save him.

Gareth had called you before you could hear it from someone else. Maybe not the sharpest but at least considerate enough to know you'd care. And to warn you.

The days had been long and the nights had been too short since then. Having to go through the motions and not react was taxing. Every whisper was 'freak' and 'murderer' and 'cult'. And while you didn't believe any of it for a moment, it made you reflect on moments you'd forgotten.

There had only been Gareth's call. No one seemed to think you'd care about an ex boyfriend, or knew that you kept in touch. Loosely, kept in touch. It was hard when your parents and friends would call him a deadbeat or tell you 'you dodged a bullet'.

But right now you'd rather hear he's a deadbeat than dead. Eddie wasn't the bravest, not everyone is heroic or able to stand up to scrutiny, but he still had a valiant streak. Down right noble - at least when it came to you.

What you're doing right now is not smart. It's late at night and you're parked in the trailer park. He's not been seen in days, more people have been murdered, and the whole town is tense. Even the air feels like it's moments away suffocating you rather than keeping you alive. You're about to come to your senses as you watch the shadow of someone, maybe his uncle, move about the living room.

The jumping and yelling gives you pause. A scream of frustration in the trailer launches you from your vehicle. The scream had been young and desperate and you charge the door without a second thought. It's locked tight. You hear cursing and someone says Eddie's name, and makes your heart lighten for a second. You bang harder on the door.

"Eddie! Eddie, it's me! Open the door!" You try the handle again. "Please! I know you're innocent and if you think I believe otherwise I'm fucking insulted." You want to say more, so much more, but to his face.

It's shocking to hear Dustin Henderson say your name. Not your real one but the one you used in the single campaign you played with the club.

Suddenly the doorknob is ripped from your grasp and Dustin is standing there in part of a ghillie suit and a look of awe.

"Belyn The Bewitching. What, uh, what brings you here?" He shakes his head and starts trying to push you out the door. "Nevermind, get out of here!" Dustin can't seem to make up his mind whether he wants you to leave or not. He keeps looking behind him and you follow his glance to the ceiling of the trailer.

"What the fucking hell is that?!" You might be shouting now and shoving him out of the way. He gives up and shuts and locks the door behind him.

"We don't have time for this. It's some kind of portal and Eddie's in there and it's dangerous, Belyn". He's dropped a chair underneath the portal thing and backs up to take a running start. You're shocked enough to just watch him do it and fall.

He shouts Eddie's name again and it cracks in desperation. It breaks your heart and chills your bones.

"OK. OK. Listen to me, Dustin." Your grab him by the shoulders. "I give you a boost up and you help me through after". He starts shaking his head again and tears are falling down his cheeks.

"It's dangerous! You've no fucking idea!"

"I don't care!" You let go and glance around the room. There's a mattress on its side but not much else. Dustin watches as you pull the mattress under the portal and stack the chair precariously on top. You figure a running jump will be enough the grab onto the side and pull yourself through.

"Wait! Gravity will switch as you through. Up becomes down and down becomes up in the, uh, the upside down. And I swear to fucking God you better help me through!"

If Eddie is in enough danger that Dustin looks at you like you're a savior then you're wasting time.

"Of course." You back up as far as you can go and run and launch yourself up off the chair. The chair falls but you got enough of a boost the edge is solidly under your arms. You pull your elbows in and use them as leverage to haul your chest and waist up and over. Dustin grabs your calves and gives you a further boost.

Gravity shifts and you fall to the floor flat on your back. The air is knocked out of you. It's hurts to breathe and the air here is strangely thick. You hear the shrieking of some animal and it freezes the blood in your veins.

"Belyn!" Dustin is staring down, or up, at you. Right. Help him through. There is a mattress on this side as well and you pull it under this side of the portal. You're looking for something to help when Dustin takes his own running leap and manages to get himself all the way through.

He's out the trailer door in a heartbeat yelling Eddie's name in that heart shattering way. There are more otherworldly shrieks. You head towards the door and find some kind of spear on your way out. What you could possibly do with it you're not sure but it's better than nothing.

Dustin is circling the trailer and you watch him freeze. There is a whirlwind of some flying creature circling the ground like vultures. He takes off running and you follow quickly. There's something thrashing on the ground - held down by the beasts tails. It's Eddie.

There is an abandoned trash can lid and spear within Dustin's reach and he takes them up. He's shouting but you can't hear anything other than the blood pounding in your ears. You watch him try to bat the monsters away with his shield. Some of them notice you both now.

You circle around Eddie's other side and start swinging. You might hit a few but it's hard to think about anything other than the amount of blood on the ground. In desperation you take to stabbing the creature that's choking him.

Something must've happened because the beasts all fall from the air. Drop dead. You stab the one a few more times just be sure. Dustin is pulling the others away from Eddie. You finally hear his chant of "shit, shit, shit. Holy fucking shit."

You drop the spear and turn away to retch violently. Dustin is fully crying now and you hear Eddie start to reassure him. "I'm OK, Henderson. I'm alright. Thanks to you."

The heaving has stopped and you steady yourself. You need to see him. The back of your hand to your mouth, other hand on your bent you knee, you turn to see his big brown eyes already on you. His gaze softens and the corners of his mouth turn upward. You've not seen that look in a while and it melts the terror clean out of your system.

"My guardian angels". He practically giggles. "Belyn The Bewitching you are a sight for sore eyes." You're crying and shaking now. Eddie has always been so steady and eager to make you smile. Even now.

The ground shudders violently and seems to sober him and Dustin up.

"You fucking did. Holy shit. C'mon mighty hero. We got the hell out. Now." Dustin commands.

Instead of standing around like an idiot you rush forward and grab Eddie's other arm. There is blood all over his ribs and abrasions on his neck and wrists. But once he's up he's able to walk on his own. Some blood seeps through his shirt and you push it up in a panic. It's only a small trickle but you apply pressure until Dustin hands you whatever he was wearing over his head and you both wrap it around Eddie's wounds.

Despite his protests neither of you let go of him. The walk back to the trailer is faster than the mad dash you had made before and no one speaks.

You have to regretfully let go of Eddie to help Dustin go through the portal first, lucky that the chair had fallen away and left the mattress clear. Once he's through he leaves your sight to grab blankets and cushions to make the mattress a softer landing.

For the first time in a while you're alone with Eddie and refuse to let go of him. There must be a way to help him through the portal.

"Still wearing it, huh?" His voice is right in your ear and makes you jump. Your mind having been elsewhere you can't think of what he means until he looks down at your hands. On one of your fingers sits a plain silver ring that you twist around frequently.

"Yeah, I um haven't really taken it off." You say after clearing your throat. His eyes are soft and searching. "Ever." His face breaks out in a grin and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

"Quite flirting and get the shit out of there." Dustin demands above you.

With burning cheeks you hide your face in Eddie's shoulder. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your head. "Y'know I'm a wanted man, right sweetheart?" You nod. "You can't be seen with me. For real this time. Not just because I'm a freak."

His words make your hands tighten in his jacket. "Don't push me away again. Not after that." You take the chance and look at his face. He looks so conflicted. "Please Eddie." He brings his other hand up to your cheek and wipes some of your tears away.

Pressing his forehead into yours he sighs heavily. "OK. We'll figure something out."

"Together?"

"Together." Eddie promises. After all, you followed him into danger to save him. He can't just let love like that go again.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things 4 #st4 vol2 #stranger things spoilers #supremuswrites #the only thing i will end up writing for this fandom #probably #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fix it fic

87 notes · View notes