#I'm so.. torn to sheds about this

[lighteyed]

you and i (back at it again) / steve harrington

summary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: inspired by this tik tok because i nearly shed a tear also this is my first time posting in awhile be nice pls

He watches his friends reunite with their families, mournful. He stands alone and contemplative by a cop car, the various spots of bruising and swelling on his face beginning to pulse with pain the more his adrenaline began to fade out of his bloodstream. The cops at the station said they'd called his parents house, his house, but no one had picked up. He knew they were home. He kicks a rock near his his foot, shoving his hands in the pockets of the bloody uniform he was still wearing. He wants a shower. He wants to go to bed. He wants to go to bed with the serenity of someone who knew they were loved. He wouldn't be able to do that if he went home. The word home a loose term.

"We can take you home if you need a ride, son," one of the cops says to him. Steve kicks at another rock. Home.

"That's alright," Steve says dismissively, ignoring the tight twist in his chest. "Someone will have gotten in touch with my parents by now. I'm sure they're on their way." The cop looks doubtful. Steve hates that he looks doubtful. Steve hates that he's also doubtful. "Couple more minutes," he swears. He knows he might as well walk his ass home, though.

He leans against the hood of the car, rubbing at his jaw. His hand comes away bloody. He's about to accept the cop's offer for a ride, maybe, he figures, he'll just go to Robin's and sit there for as long as her parents will have him, when a car comes careening into the lot like there's not fifty officers of the law standing around, the tires screeching loudly across the gravel. It's barely at a stop, practically still moving, when you throw the door open and throw your body out of it.

"Steve Harrington, what the fuck?" You leave your car door open, leave it in the middle of the road, still running, to get to him in time. He gazes at you, and it's a stupid look in all honesty, mouth agape, his brown eyes big and tragic looking, his face torn up and swollen. He wasn't expecting you. Why would he have been? You'd been broken up for a few months now and he was still nursing his wounds from it, knowing it was supposed to be for the best; you felt like he was hiding things from you and he knew that he was, hiding all the stuff about the Upside Down, not wanting you involved, wanting you safe. And in a way he was glad for it. He'd gotten through this with you unscathed, and who knows what would have happened if you guys had still been together. When he looks at you, though, when he allows himself to be pulled in closer, your hand coming up to graze his cheek, examining every scrape on his face with softness and worry, he allows himself to want. To miss you.

You tilt his face back, scrutinizing his features. He keeps his eyes on you. You showed up for him. No one else but you. You were here. "The fire is all over the fucking news and I didn't know if you were working tonight so I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from someone and then your friend Robin called and said you were waiting here for someone to come get you so I just came in case and- and what happened to your face? And where are your parents?"

He shakes himself out of his stupor. "They didn't answer the phone." But you did. You answered and you were here. A wave of pure love rushes through him. He knew a thing or two about being alone, had felt that way for as long as he could remember, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with or how many parties he threw, but you were here, and he wasn't alone. Steve wraps his arms around you in one sudden movement, an outpouring of affection he hadn't realized he'd been reserving for you. Always you.

You stand there for a moment, processing, before you respond, leaning into his touch. The sirens wail around you. Neither of you move. He's safe. You breathe relief into the embrace, holding him tighter to you. He's hardly talking, and usually he's the one talking the absolute most, but he's stunned, both with what's just happened, what he's borne witness to, and with the way you care about him despite everything, more than anyone he's ever met, and the way he cares about you and how could he ever, ever let himself let you go? How could that ever happen? It's all he thinks about as he holds you, feeling safer than he's felt in awhile, the smell of your hair and your skin filling his brain with serotonin.

"Am I taking you home?" You pull away, staring up at him, his ruined face that is still so painfully gorgeous, still so hard to look at. Your hand is remains poised on his cheek. It's warm and welcome.

"No, no, your house, please," he brings his hand up to meet yours.

"I got you, c'mon, honey." He turns and thanks the officers who'd been waiting with him before letting you lead him to your car. He keeps his hand on yours. It tethers him to reality. He's here and he's okay. Or he will be, soon. He's here and he's safe, at the very least. He's not trapped and being tortured. No one's going to hurt him. He's got your soft hand in his and he's okay for right now.

The drive to your house is silent, but it's not awkward. You try to keep your eyes on the road as much as you can but you can't help that they keep finding themselves back on Steve. You've never seen him so reserved. You're sure it was more than a fire that happened back there, and you're sure he won't tell you a thing about it. You drive one-handed the whole way home. You let him need you.

At your house, you get your bathroom set up for him to shower, placing fresh towels on the rack for him, laying out your products on the counter. He would've been able to find them regardless, but you busy yourself with it anyway. When you go into your bedroom to tell him the bathroom is ready, his shoes are off and put into the corner he used to always put them in, and he looks exhausted. "I didn't bring clothes to change," is the first thing he says.

"That's what you're most concerned about?" You give him a funny look. You open your closet and rummage around on the ground for a second before tossing him a pair of his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stares at them in his hands. "I didn't know if I should give them back. So I just... didn't." He smiles a little. The first you've seen all night.

"Thanks," he waves them in the air before retreating down the hall. The door shuts and the shower squeaks on.

The way you loved Steve was unconditional, as much as you wish it wasn't sometimes. Even when he was pushing you away, even when he kept things from you, you'd always be there for him. He didn't have anyone in his corner like that. And you wanted to be. It wasn't something you felt obligated to do. You cared about him, and so you went to him. He'd do the same if the roles were reversed. It was unconditional because even when being there for him hurt, you still stayed. You still loved.

When he comes back into your room, his hair dripping but clean, God, he feels clean, his face devoid of dried blood but bruised and wounded, you're waiting for him with a first aid kit and a fresh ice pack. You must've heard the water shut off and gotten everything ready for him. The old sweatpants and t-shirt smell more like you now than they do like him but he's not complaining in the slightest. Something about you keeping them instead of throwing them away or lighting them on fire makes him think maybe there's hope. Not that you had a bad break up to begin with, it was more sad than angry, nothing that warranted a clothes burning, but still. Still, still, still.

He sits down where you indicate, rubbing his towel across his head to soak up the sopping water. His face is flushed from the hot water. You sidle up next to him with the medicine and bandages and try not to get too caught up in him. He places the ice pack on his puffy, blackened eye. He doesn't get it, this gentleness. He doesn't think he deserves it, really. After everything, does he deserve it? Does he get this peace?

"You're fidgeting," you mutter, narrowly missing the spot you were aiming for.

"Oh, sorry," he lifts his chin up a bit more and tries to sit still. You're so patient and kind and it makes him ache a little. You take care of him and it's not for any reason other than you caring about him. He's not used to anyone caring about him. "Are you sure this is alright? You don't wanna... be alone?"

"No, I wanna make sure you're okay," you answer easily, as easy as breathing, swiping medicine across his wounds with the lightest touch you can manage. He hisses in pain, and you wince, feeling it, too.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to, Steve, I promise." You pat his cheek, another gentle, affectionate maneuver from you. If he's okay, you're okay. He takes this in. He thinks he really feels his heart expanding.

As you start dabbing at his other wounds, you speak, finally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he replies, blinking up at you with his good eye.

"Was this..." you hesitate. He probably won't answer. "I don't doubt there was a fire but this..." you gesture to his face. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than just escaping a fire, Steve, you look seriously fucked up."

"What, you don't think I look pretty anymore?" He smiles again and you roll your eyes at him, but you smile back all the same.

"You're very pretty, Steve, but you have a black eye and there was blood all over your face and you're all cut up." He swoons just a little when you call him pretty. He's got an ego, what can he say? He continues smiling at you, a little high off painkillers, a little high off being here with you. If he's gotta be tortured he may as well get you back out of it.

"You look pretty, too, y'know," he says softly, his free hand twisting a strand of your hair around.

"Dodging the question I see," you raise your eyebrows at him but say nothing else. It was to be expected.

He takes a deep breath, looking up toward the ceiling, thinking maybe all this time he's just been stupid and silly for not telling you sooner, maybe he could've been with you all this time if he'd just told you, maybe it wouldn't have been the end of the world to have you involved. Maybe it would all be fine. "I wanted to keep you safe from all of it. See what happened to me? It could've been you, if you had been there."

"I would've wanted to be there with you," you insist. "You know I would."

"I do," he nods. "And that's why I don't involve you, babe, if something happens to me it doesn't matter to anyone but if something happens to you-"

"Why would you say that to me? You think I wouldn't care if you died?" You take his face in your hands, and he drops his ice pack. "Steve, are you an idiot? It would matter to those kids you spend all your time with if you died. It would matter to Robin, and to your family even if they take you for granted, and it would matter to me. I love you so much you moron, you can't say it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter. I go out of my mind worrying about you, don't tell me you don't matter."

His head spins, in the best possible way. The pain from his wounds doesn't register. Your hands on his face registers. You words register. Everything else is background noise. "You still love me?"

Oh. Your face warms. It's not like it had been that long since you'd called it off, it should've have been a surprise to him, but hearing you say those words makes him light up. You see him light up. "Yeah, of course I do, it doesn't go away just 'cause you won't tell me anything about your life," you grumble, taking your hands off him.

"Hey," he whispers, grabbing for you before you can tear yourself away from him. He brushes the hair back from your face. He has that look in his eyes that make people fall to their knees. Heavy-lidded and tender. Soft. Loving. "I love you, okay? I do. That's why I try to protect you. I'll tell you anything you want." He knows it now, for real, that he can't lose you again. Not this time. "C'mere, come back." You let him pull you in. "I'll tell you anything, please don't leave me, okay?" You shake your head at him. Never, never. He's pleading, desperate. When he moves to kiss you, the desperation is laced in it, he's lurching forward and he's hungry and yearning and your lips meet soft and fast because he wants to savor it after so long.

The disconnect of your lips sends him reeling, he wants to dive back in for more, for more of everything, but you stop him. "It's me and you, okay, always. But you gotta let me all the way in this time." You tap his heart lightly. "All the way, Steve. Everything."

He leans back. He is hesitant and bruised and bloody, a little bit broken, but mostly he's in love. Mostly he wants to give you the world. So he takes your hands in his. He tethers himself to reality. And he talks.

#trying to convince myself posting is FOR FUN i don't have to want to VOM from nerves every time i go to post... #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things x reader

[punk4ndisorderly]

babyfather

Y/N wants to have more babies. Her husband's infertility will not get in the way of that.

or

Y/N wants something only Quinn will give her.

warning: this series will feature smut. i'm not very good at it but i think i needed to add some spice to the plot. it starts in part 2, so read at your own risk, i guess?

the social media prelude

I - you really blew this, babe II

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be. Y/N Y/L/N, eyes bloodshot and puffy face, sniffling, ushering their daughter inside. She wasn’t one to cry very often. Tears were only shed when she felt like her heart was being torn up from her chest. Or when she was incredibly mad. Normally at him.

Quinn considered his options, his right foot taking a step before he stopped himself from actually crossing the threshold of his ex’s new suburban home. They had talked about this. They had discussed boundaries. He was not to invite himself into the house she shared with her new husband. Not even if he was nowhere to be seen. He would’ve told that asshole Eric when he demanded such thing to fuck off, before staring into the eyes of the love of his life and see her begging him to indulge the child she was now married to.

Perhaps waiting for her to come back was the right thing. He wouldn’t want to cause her unnecessary grief, even if his heart constricted in his chest at the sight of her and he wanted nothing more but to clutch her to his chest and assure her that, whatever it was, they could get through it together. Even if they couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t long before she was back, tugging at the sleeves of her large, well-worn wool sweater. Quinn was aware that she was avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Right. I know you have her next weekend, but I was think about going home to visit my parents and I know they really wants to see her, so I wanted to ask you if we could switch.” Y/N muttered, her gaze fixated on the small garden behind him.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. I didn’t have anything planned yet.”

That was a compassionate lie: he was going to take Willow to an animal shelter so she could pick a pet for him. Too many lonely, silent nights in his apartment downtown. His mom had been on his case about finding himself some company. Of course he probably meant human company, but beggars can’t be choosers. His last meaningful relationship had been with the mother of his child, and the other women that had entertained him along the way usually didn’t take long before realizing they wouldn’t around for long.

“Thank you, Quinn.” she smiled weakly, finally meeting his eyes.

“Is something going on?” the Canucks player intruded, staring intensely at the golden fleck in her irises.

“What?”

“You look upset.”

“This?” Y/N chuckled, pointing at her face. “Spring allergies.”

“Y/N.”

His stern tone told her more than any words could. He knew she was lying. He always did. She used to deny it broke her heart to be so much time apart because of work back when they were together. Assured him they would be fine and it was for the best when she decided their relationship couldn’t endure the strain and the stress of distance. Lies he pretended to believe because he desperately wanted to.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

Y/N tried swallowing the lump on her throat away. It wouldn’t budge. She stepped aside, leaving room for him to walk past her and inside.

“Come in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.” Quinn said lowly, scanning her face for any indication of retraction. “Your husband made it clear I wasn’t welcome inside.”

“Don’t worry about him, Quinny.” the mother of his child nearly whispered, defeat clear in her voice.

He nodded solemnly, entering her house for the first time since she moved in. She hadn’t used that nickname in a long time.

Spacious, homey, filled with light. It had Y/N written all over it. Their daughter’s drawings framed and scattered around the walls made him smile, as the woman who used to love him led him to a crème couch, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Do you want tea?”

“You don’t drink tea, honey. That’s a trick question.” he retorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I always have it at home, though. Old habits die hard.”

It took everything in him not to beg her to choose him, right then and there. She used to stock up on all his favorite tea, even if he was never around to drink it. Made him a cup every day, before they went to bed. Mocked him for the scandalous amount of sugar he insisted on pouring in it. After all this time, she still kept tea around for him. Even if he couldn’t come inside to drink it.

“Then it’s a yes from me, thank you.”

Left alone in the living room, he could hear Willow sing loudly upstairs, her little feet stomping around on the wooden floor. The best gift Y/N had ever given him, up there with her love. Not being there when she woke up and when she went to bed every day ate away at his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I nearly emptied out my sugar stash on this, so it better be good.” the mother of his child teased, handing him the steaming hot mug with a look of mock disgust.

“Perfect.” he praised, taking a sip of the sweet tea. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

“You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“No, but I appreciate the effort at deflecting.”

She sighed deeply, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Eric.”

Quinn tensed at the mention of her new husband’s name. They had been married for two years now, apparently happily so, but he couldn’t help but resent the man that inevitably had stepped into his shoes and shut him out of the new family home. The dark-haired man only had himself to blame for letting her go, but Eric was willingly carving a place for himself in her heart, replacing the memories of him, erasing his touch off her skin, bit by bit.

“I see. Do I need to call up on old favors?"

“If you had come by an hour ago, I probably would have told you to go for it, but I think you would only be wasting it on him.” Y/N chuckled humorlessly.

“Come on, don’t stall.”

Y/N looked him in the eye, hers brimming with tears. He wanted to reach for her, cradle her face in his hands, hold it to his own and whisper kind words into her lips, but he held back. Willow needed at least one of her parents not to be on the brink of crushing heartbreak. It was his turn to be the strong one.

“If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay. I’m sorry I insisted. I was just worried about - ”

“I kicked him out.” she blurted, tapping at the corner of her eyes to get rid of stray droplets. “He has been lying to me for the better part of our marriage.”

Anger rose in his chest. How dare he?

“You know how I’ve always wanted to give Will a sibling.”

Yes. That had been all they talked about ever since they first found out about her pregnancy. She had to have at least one sibling. Y/N knew what it was like to be an only child and he knew what is was like to grow up with siblings so they agreed on it. But life got in the way and along came Eric, Quinn's dreams of fathering more children with Y/N crashing down in flames.

He nodded, prompting her to go on.

“Eric knew that as well, and he seemed to want a baby as well when we first talked about it, even before we got married. I told him a year ago I wanted to start trying. I’m getting older, Willow's getting bigger and now would be the perfect time to do it… He says yes. I go off the pill. We try. Over and over again. Everywhere. All the time. Even -”

“Okay, sweetheart, I get the picture.” Quinn interrupted, the details of her sex life with another man an excruciating form of torture.

“And we’ve been trying for a year. I’m not getting pregnant. With Will it took us a month. Something must be wrong with me, right?”

"No. Nothing’s ever wrong with you, Y/N.”

“Wrong. I got a doctor’s appointment. I am fine. Great cervix. Ovarian reserve? Excellent. All tests indicate I’m a very fertile woman. So I decided to book Eric an appointment at the urologist. The doctor’s assistant asked me if he had any problems after his procedure, last year. What procedure, you ask? A vasectomy, Q. A fucking vasectomy. After telling me he wanted children just as much as I did. After I married him. Before we started to fuck like rabbits so I could get pregnant.”

Quinn was speechless. How could someone willingly deceive her like that? Trick her into a legally binding relationship, only to deny her her simplest wish? How could he have let her fall in the hands of a man so careless with her heart?

“Say something. Please. I need to know if I’m crazy for hurting.”

“Hey.” the dark-haired man said, not bothering to keep himself in check and reaching out to touch her cheek. “You’re not crazy. I was just caught off guard.”

“Good. I mean, it’s not completely insane of me to kick him out for this?”

“Without wanting to sound biased, I would’ve done the same thing, Y/N.”

The mother of his child nodded severely, as if convincing herself. He let her think in silence, removing his hand from her face and drinking his tea. After a few minutes, her gaze landed on him, a hint of sadness and resignation on her face.

“How did we end up here?”

“I was a stupid son of a bitch and let you walk away. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for that. We’d probably have three kids by now. We’d have to lock the door anytime we wanted some time alone. They’d gang up on us to get what they wanted, Willow would obviously be leading the troops. I’d probably be trying to get another baby into you at this very second.”

“Quinn…” she spoke, breathlessly.

“Don’t mind me.” he waved her off, immediately regretting voicing his wants. “Wishful thinking.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes prompt #quinn hughes blurb #future smut #hockey #hockey boys #team usa #jack hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luke hughes #hockey fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfiction

[crusty-chronicles]

Airheaded S/O Headcannons #11: Luffy (One Piece)

I feel like Luffy would thrive with an S/O who's just as, if not more, stupid than him.

And he genuinely cannot tell you're not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Combined, you and Luffy have one semi-functioning braincell

And 90 % of the time, Nami has it

"LUFFY FELL OVERBOARD AGAIN!!!"

And there you go jumping right in after him.

"I'M COMING CAPTAIN!!"

Ussop and Chopper are standing by the railing horrified and screaming with everything they've got because 'YOU CAN'T SWIM EITHER!!!'

"How did their bounty increase by 20 million!?!?" Nami exclaimed having seeing your newest wanted poster.

Luffy, who was walking by and heard, suddenly had stars in his eyes.

"Really!?!? They're so cool 🤩"

And Nami is smacking the back of his head as hard as she can

"DON'T ENCOURAGE THEM, MORON!!!"

This man loves you with his whole heart and has known you since you were both children

Ace had found you sneaking out Dadan's shack with a huge pile of food and captured you.

"What do we do with them?"

"We could kill them." Sabo suggested.

"Excuse me, I really need to use the bathroom." You wiggled against the rope binding you.

"Like that's gonna work on us!"

"No, excuse me for being rude and leaving. You guys are funny but I really need to pee."

And they hadn't realized you'd already torn through the ropes until you got up and walked away.

They are completely dumbfounded and a little impressed.

Well except for Luffy who had been watching because he wasn't allowed to talk to the 'captive' during 'interrogations'. Whatever that meant.

He's getting up and chasing after you with a huge grin.

"Hey! Come back! I wanna be friends with you!!!"

And Ace and Sabo are the running after him before he can catch up, lecturing him about leaving weirdo people like you alone.

"I mean what kind of person just tears through rope and walks away all unbothered????"

"Me! I do that!"

Cue the screams because how did you manage to climb the treehouse without the ladder???

You meet up again several years after you all had set sail.

Ussop spotted something floating in the water shortly after the crew already left from thriller bark.

A person to be exact.

A person on a wooden plank.

And before he could inform anyone about it, Luffy was already stretching himself over to the castaway.

His eyes bugging out when he saw who it was.

"Y/N????"

Your expression matching his.

"LUFFY???"

"Long time no see. How have you been?"

And the crew is peaking over the Sunny curiously. Because who the hell was this that their captain seemed to be very friendly with?

Friendly than usual considering he his arms were wrapped around you several times, picking you up and swaying you.

"The pirate life is hard. My ships keep sinking. Say, mind if I hop on yours for a while?" You asked hopefully.

There was something even more hopeful in Luffy's as he set you down.

"I've got a better idea. Join my crew!"

"I don't kno- IS THAT A FREAKING SKELETON?!?! HELL YEAH I'M IN!!"

The crew warms up to you almost instantly considering you have the same bright personality as their captain.

And the ones weary of you (Zoro, Nami, and Ussop) become convinced when they see you fight and pull your weight.

"Hey, Luffy! Can we try that one move we used to do when we were smaller??"

All you get is a nod in return before he slingshots you towards a Marine ship.

The result?

You basically cannonballing into the side, only to reappear on the deck as it sinks. Reaching back for Luffy's hand as he lifts you up and flings you towards another. Jumping on after you to join the fight.

Your teamwork is practically unbeatable.

And the fact that you can keep up with Luffy perfectly cements your place on the Sunny.

It's no secret Luffy loves you.

And it's no secret you love him back.

The Pirate Empress Boa Hancock?

She's cool, he guesses.

Shirihoshi the mermaid princess? The most beautiful woman in the world?

She's a huge crybaby.

You? An idiot who broke the aquarium after tapping too hard on the glass to get the 'pretty fishy' to notice you?

You're his.

He doesn't make a big deal out of the way he feels.

He doesn't get all blushy or nervous around you

Instead he feels pure happiness and the most at peace he's ever been

Luffy will not try to court you the way a certain cook might court the ladies on the Sunny.

No big or grand gestures

Also not shy showing you affection.

He's known you for so long that gestures like that come naturally.

Holding hands to explore a new island?

Check

Wrestling with you on the deck of the Sunny?

Check

Sharing and stealing food from each other's plate?

Check

Trading around Shanks' straw hat on the daily?

Double check

The closest he'll get to confessing is at a time where the two of you are alone in the crows nest together.

"After I became the king of the pirates, let's keep having adventures together." And he'll put his signature strawhat on your head.

"Who says I'm going anywhere? This is the ship of dreams right? Well my dream is for us to stay together forever. So make it come true, captain."

It's at that point he realizes he'd follow you anywhere you asked him to. The same way you were following him now.

Will Luffy baby you?

You're insane if you think he will.

Because it's just the two of you encouraging each other to do stupid shit.

Actively trying to outdo each other

Luffy catches a huge fish?

You're jumping in the water because you saw a shark.

You broke into the kitchen at night to steal from the fridge?

Luffy is lugging it out so you two can have a midnight snack in the middle of the deck.

Both of you are being chased by Pacifistas?

It's a game to see who can destroy more.

"Do you think if I start training after I eat I'll throw up?" You asked.

"Let's test it out!" Luffy encouraged.

Only to find out that yes, you will in fact throw up training after eating.

"Well now we know!"

Luffy will call you the most bizarre nicknames he can come up with.

Get used to: Meat stick, pork chop, swimmy (because you cannot swim for the life of you), cannonball, and some messed of version of your name. (Think of how he calls Law and Kidd, Traffy and Jaggy)

But occasionally, in the rarest moments known to man, he will call you his treasure.

Luffy will get incredibly jealous if someone outside of the crew talks to you.

With the Strawhats, he doesn't care. You all need to get along anyways.

Brook wants to play you a song to see if it's okay?

Fantastic because you two have the same taste in shanties.

Zoro wants to train with you and see if he can make his attacks any stronger?

Hell yeah! Kick his ass!

You're Sanji's taste tester?

Sneak him something out will ya?

Franky and Ussop want to test out a new invention on you?

So cool!!!!! Tell him what it does when you're finished!!!

He's over the moon with you spending time with them.

But if it's a marine, another pirate, or just a random citizen, he's fighting them.

He's incredibly immature and will not let anyone get too friendly with you.

Luffy will bite, and he will not let go until that person apologizes and leaves.

Man or woman, doesn't matter.

He's throwing hands, gum-gum gatling all the way.

Second gear if he's pissy enough.

All in all, you two don't need a brain to be able to tell you love each other.

Next Up: Uryu Ishida

An: I'm back baby. 🫶 (Also yes I watch one piece in dub pls don't bully me 👉👈)

MASTERLIST

#luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #monkey d. luffy #one piece #x reader #x y/n #airhead s/o #stronk s/o

[f1crecs]

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On the Ice by @f1tyreslightmyfyre | T | 5.5k Max is a hockey player, and Charles is a figure skater! Cue a lot of teasing and romance. This was so cute!!! I absolutely loved the teasing and the dynamics between Charles and Max. So much fluff! It was also based off of an artwork in the community that everyone needs to see too!

'Max knows that he probably stares like a lovesick puppy, but who can blame him? “Am I dreaming?” He says by way of greeting. “Or is that you, pretty boy?” Charles doesn’t quite roll his eyes as he scoffs in amusement. “Yeah, of course, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” He skates in a lazy, easy circle around Max. “I know I’m irresistible, but I know you can do it.”'

nsfw: chemical (can't let go) by @alphatinies | E | 8k Max is in a club bathroom when suddenly, his rut hits. It turns out– his ex, Charles, is willing to help him through it. Even if they broke up 3 months ago. I really loved the A/B/O dynamics! It was a fantastic read and I love the raw dialogue and want that Max has for Charles. Nothing is ever really over!

'They broke up three months ago. Coming here is not only humiliating, but also stupid—they haven’t talked since the break-up, agreed on a clean cut, pretending not to know each other whenever their friend circles happen to cross paths. They’re mature about it. Mostly.'

all this happened, more or less by @lightningmickqueen | ? | 10.3k In lockdown, a popstar named Escalier Des Fleurs has taken storm. It turns out he's a familiar face: Charles Leclerc. And– he's singing about his crush, Max Verstappen. I loved this fic so much! It was one of my first fics I read when I was introduced to the F1 fandom. It's such an adorable story, and is very very VERY reminiscent of Hannah Montana. Read if you want a fluffy, angsty with a happy ending story!!!

'i am having the hardest time processing the fact that the ferrari strategy team cannot put together a strategy but charles leclerc can have two successful and unrelated careers #his team doesn’t know the weather #meanwhile charles is in the car writing a song in his head that will go on to be one of the best selling songs of all time #WITCHCRAFT'

Story of Our Lives by Eviestappen, footysel | G | 16.3k When Charles and Max meet when they are kids, they are both drawn to football. Charles' assists and Max's goals are teamwork at its best. But when Max has to move back to Belgium, they're torn apart. However, life throws them for a loop, and they are reunited again and again. I love a good childhood friends to lovers arc! Plus, this taught me so much about football terminology. It's literally Lestappen IRL but with football instead! Adorable must-read!

When the final whistle blew, they all collapsed onto their knees, shedding a few tears of happiness as they once again crowded the dutch boy. They sang cheers in his honor, hoisting him high up in the air during the trophy presentation.  For the first time in my life, it's all so clear. I feel calm like I belong. I'm so happy here. Just as it had been all season, Charles picked up the ‘star of the match’ award posing alongside Max, who had received the ‘player of the tournament’ trophy. The two young boys, predictably future stars, smiling like there was no tomorrow.

nsfw: noir désir by @alphatinies | E | 24k Max moves in with Charles and Pierre. Charles is an artist struggling with inspiration, which he happens to find in Max. There is a lot of longing in this fic which I love, it’s practically palpable. Charles especially struggles with his desire for max as he has a lot of history with Pierre. The mix of it being a character study and exploration, but also having good plot progression was absolutely amazing. One of my absolute favourites and made me feel many emotions. This fic is what AUS23 (1:1) sounds like.

'The desire hasn’t dissipated by the time they pull apart. Charles almost expects there to be a moment of clarity, to realise what he’s done—but that doesn’t come. When Max pulls away, Charles could still drown in his eyes, yearning to taste him again, and he does, leaning forward to press their mouths together. He kisses him eagerly, like he’s trying to prove a point—he wants this just as much as Max does, he can’t stop thinking about him in a way that he hopes is reciprocated, he wants him.'

glitch by @nyoomfruits | T | 26.5k Max is a webmaster at a fashion magazine, and an F1 fan. He has a meet-cute with driver Charles in the elevator at when Charles turns up for a photoshoot. It's love at first sight for Charles. I love an office romance and I guess this was half of one. Max is so not interested at first but Charles is charming and persistent-but-not-pushy and the developing relationship is sweet and unhurried. The fic deals with the realities of dating a famous person when you value privacy. The peanut gallery/Greek chorus provided by Daniel and Lando is hilarious and very in character.

'Daniel opens his mouth, presumably to say thank you, but then he looks at the coffee cup and frowns. “Uh,” he says, pointing at the cup and looking up at Max. “Where’s the rest of it?” Max pulls a face. “Soaking into the shirt of two time Formula One World Driver Champion Charles Leclerc.” “What,” Daniel says, as Lando pops his head over the divider with a gleeful look on his face. “Oh this sounds like it’s going to be good,” he says, as he catches the red bull can Max throws him one handed. “What happened?” Max sighs. “I ran into him in the elevator. Literally. Then I told him he was braking too early on turn 11 yesterday and that’s probably why he lost, and he just kept staring at me, so I kind of panicked, and got out of the elevator three floors too early.” “You are a gift to this earth,” Lando says, sighing delightedly as Daniel howls with laughter next to him. “Like who the fuck does that? Meets one of their favorite drivers and then tells them their braking is shit. Truly, only you. I’m so glad we are friends.” “Max, Maxy, never change,” Daniel says, trying to catch his breath. “God I wish I could have been there.” “You,” Max says, pointing between the two of them with his Red Bull can. “Both suck.” “What was he even doing here?” Lando asks, as Daniel wipes the tears from the corners of his eye. “No clue,” Max says, with a shrug. “Didn’t think to ask.” “Too busy insulting his braking,” Daniel says, sending himself off into another peel of laughter.'

no brakes on by @drivestraight | T | 32.5k Max is a Red Bull driver, but Charles is a (surprisingly good) actor. After a not-so-good meet-cute, they're suddenly drawn together after having to make amends for PR. I love AUs where half of a pair is still a driver yet the other doesn't have to do anything with racing at all! The fic deals with the perils of being famous and always in the spotlight while dealing with romance. And, Sebastian is still driving for Ferrari!

'Real. That’s—that’s a hard concept. For most of Max’s life, the past, the present, the future; what was in front of him and what was merely a dream he was running toward, they blended together. He spent seventeen years, even the years he can’t remember, working at his dream, then all of a sudden, it was his reality. Fast forward seven years he was a champion, everything he wanted to be but wasn’t sure if he would ever be. It’s just—everything has moved so fast. Max can’t tell real from unreal anymore. He wants to rest, wants to live in the moment, but the moment is—it keeps moving. It keeps escaping him. He isn’t sure where it is, isn’t sure where he is. What is real, what is not. Max feels like he could wake up one day, twelve years old again, strapped into his go-kart in pouring Holland rain, trying to find grip where there wasn’t, thinking of better things and a brighter future.'

nsfw: give me that fire by Lady_Something | E | 40k Chef!au, Max and Charles have history, but it doesn't stop Charles from coming to work as Max's new sous chef. Exes to lovers. To be honest working in a restaurant sounds like a nightmare but for some reason I love reading stories with this setting. This fic was an emotional rollercoaster in the best way, at times I was near tears and had completely given up on a happy ending but the lovely lady_something brought it all together in a both happy and realistic ending. If you like well written and delightfully flawed characters dealing with complicated relationships and grief, this is a fic for you! Trigger warning for death of a pet!

'“Charles, I just spent the last four years thinking I’d lost you forever. That I’d ruined not just the best relationship I would ever have, but the best friendship as well. If there is even the slightest chance that I can earn back enough of your trust for you to give me another chance, I will do whatever you want.” Charles chews on his bottom lip, his cheeks flushing beautifully. “That’s a lot of power to give somebody over you,” Charles says slowly, twisting the fork in his hand nervously. “I trust you,” Max answers immediately. “You probably shouldn’t,” he says softly. “I still haven’t forgiven you for not wanting me to go to Arthur.” Max wonders what Charles might make him do, if he were feeling vindictive. He’s never been on the receiving end of Charles’ pettiness, not really—except when he’d sabotaged Max’s serving to the Michelin Inspectors in Paris—but he’s seen it. When they were kids, he’d seen it a lot. He’d always thought it was funny, that Max had a reputation amongst their peers for being aggressive—but Max had always known that Charles was really the unhinged one between them.'

Of Shadow by racingline | M | 46k Charles Leclerc is a typical college student. Except, it turns out, none of what he knows is true: he's stuck in a universe where racing, his family, and the people he love don't exist. This is one of my all-time favorite magical realism fics! It's crazy, each chapter had me so hooked and wanting to know what happens next constantly. I loved it so much and the universe.

'Charles’ brain is still an echo of modena yellow and rosso corsa, the sounds of the factory and the smells of winter in Italy a vibrant flurry against the flat backdrop of his reality. He thinks of Maranello and Ferrari, the uneasy whine of Jules’ Renault when he revved the engine too high at every red light on the drive back to Monaco like each one was the start of a race. He thinks of the Academy–of Jules, who was the first one to be signed, and of himself, the first to make it all the way through. He thinks of the garage, more an artists’ studio than a factory. He thinks of Enzo and the son he lost too soon. He thinks, amo pensare che la Ferrari puo costruire piloti tanto quanto macchine, and he thinks, ask a child to draw a car and certainly he’ll draw it red. He thinks of mistaking the Italian anthem for that of his own country; he thinks of the scuderia in all its infallible, divine contradictions; its hopes and heartbreaks interlinked in an endless chain.'

nsfw: The Things You Do by loveleclerc | E | 71.9k Dutch mafia boss Max meets Charles in a strip club, where the latter formally works. After Charles decides to steal his wallet and go on a shopping spree, Max finds him, and lots of teasing ensues. Plus, Max is practically Charles' sugar daddy. This was genuinely so captivating and so hot. The plot was so insanely well-written and made me want to keep coming back! I read this on a plane ride and it made the time fly.

'“The quiet only lasted so long. Shouting in Italian and Dutch soon erupted from somewhere in the house along with gunfire that made Charles flinch, covering his ears while he squeezed his eyes shut. What the fuck had his life become?”'

nsfw: grapefruit mignonette by slapshots | E | 73.6k Max is an esteemed chef working under Christian Horner and Charles is an part-time server and architecture student. It turns out, tension does wonders for attracting the two together. So much food imagery! God, when I was reading this, I got so hungry. The descriptions were so lovely! And, I love any restaurant AUs. The characters were so funny and I loved their attitudes.

“Charles, this is our Executive Chef Max,” Christian said, picking up the fork and digging into it. “Charles just moved from –“ “France,” Max said. “Monaco,” Charles corrected. “Monaco is in France.” “I assure you, Chef, that Monaco is its own country.”

mr. invisible and the thing by @chubbydino | M | 97k A soulmate AU where Charles is a mechanic and Max is Daniel's agent. But– Max doesn't believe in soulmates, and Charles is struggling to cope. I love this fic so much! I reread the whole fic every update. Slow burn and soulmates are some of my favorite AUs and it's a fantastic read with some of the best writing in the fandom.

'Max hated the person his life had been mangled with. He referred to him as The Thing, because Max considered him more demon than anything else. Soulmates—he hated that term, but he had no other one to use in conversation—seemed awfully similar to demonic possession. The Thing certainly haunted him. The Thing seemed to like every kind of food Max hated. Every morning, Max tasted frothed milk and espresso when he woke up. Every morning, it made him gag. The Thing also liked French Onion soup during winter (palatable), mango in summer (chalky), and some vile kind of meat in the fall. The Thing lived in Europe somewhere, Max guessed. The Thing woke up at dawn and didn’t sleep until dark. The Thing’s schedule made it nearly impossible for Max to nap—and Max loved to nap. The Thing was also scared of cars. Max couldn’t describe how he knew, but the sound of a Formula 1 car always made him nervous the first time he heard it on race weekend, distant terror echoing in his bones. Further proof that the system was flawed—no soulmate of his would be scared of what he'd devoted his whole life to.'

thank you to @blueballsracing, @maaxverstappen, & @lydia-petze for compiling this list 💝

#lestappen #pairing:charles/max #driver:charles #driver:max #trope:au

[yandereforme]

Listen, I know it's a really stupid scenario but it really amused me and I wanna share it imagine yandere batfam and yandere platonic rogues with a male reader who is overly kind and that makes the family worry but somehow the reader manages to befriend/ sort of redeem a lot of the rogues

Maybe they redeem Harley and ivy convincing them to leave the life of crime, they cure Mr freeze wife(who also becomes yandere), they convince riddler to use his riddles more like a challenge for the smartest people in Gotham (Arkham games kinda) and imagine he manages to convince bane, of all people,to become a vigilante because I really like the idea of batfam being in huge trouble reader being like "don't worry I got back up" and then fucking bane shows up(bane only became a vigilante to keep reader happy , he doesn't kill but with how he fights that might be woese)

Now the batfamily has self declared aunt Harley and her girlfriend ivy who is the manors gardener , Mr freeze who enlist himself as security and nora as a cook (Alfred appricates the help), bane who is readers godfather(also self declared) and weird cousin nigma who lives in the shed(don't worry he likes it there)

batman is torn between being proud that his kid managed to do what he couldn't and tearing his hair out in frustration because these people are declaring themselves family to HIS kid so hes like "I'm super proud of you but maybe stay inside and don't befriend anymore of Gotham rogues please?" And 3 months later Shiva shows up because apparently reader befriended her trough letters since reader was curious about the formation and history of her clan and she is technically not from Gotham

Cassandra is upset at this, because why talk to Shiva when she's right here, Damian is just hoping his mother and grandfather aren't next(they are)

I love this idea!

They all just look at you like they want to lock you in a room full of pillows so you can’t find any danger. You are definitely never allowed to leave.

Also, they never want to introduce their friends to you because of being afraid of similar reactions (Honestly I think most of them would probably be romantic Yanderes too, which gives the Batfam another reason to hide you away.

( honestly this could work as it’s own post, and it’s not stupid, it’s awesome! You should write more like this)

#yandere #yandere prompt #asks #yandere batfam x reader #platonic yandere #yandere rogues #yandere everyone

[onlyonetifosi]

Vicious

been recently listening to Sabrina Carpenter and i wanted to wrte this chapter bc i have been lacking inspo for behind the camera but i will post something soon <3

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city of Monaco. Yn stood on the balcony of her apartment, watching the twinkling lights of the harbor below. Charles Leclerc, the charming Formula 1 driver, was supposed to join her for a quiet evening together. However, the air was thick with tension, and a knot formed in her stomach.

As the door opened, Charles walked in, his usual smile replaced with a distant expression. Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he approached her.

"Yn," he began, his voice hesitant. "We need to talk."

She turned to face him, her heart pounding. "What's going on, Charles?"

He took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. "I think we need to take a break."

The words hit Yn like a punch to the gut. "A break? Why? What's happened?"

Charles struggled to find the right words, his gaze fixed on the floor. "It's just... things are getting complicated. The constant scrutiny, the pressure... I need to focus on my career right now."

Yn felt a lump in her throat. "So, it's over? Just like that?"

Charles nodded, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Yn. I never wanted it to come to this."

As he walked away, Yn was left alone on the balcony, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't comprehend how everything had unraveled so quickly. The love that once bloomed between them now withered away, leaving behind the bitter taste of heartbreak.

In the weeks that followed, Yn tried to make sense of the breakup. The pain lingered, and she found solace in the lyrics of a song that seemed to mirror her emotions – "Vicious" by Sabrina Carpenter. The words resonated with her, capturing the essence of the heartbreak she felt.

One year passed, marked by ten thousand bad moments. Yn attempted to move on, but the wounds were still fresh. The memories of their time together haunted her, and she couldn't escape the feeling of betrayal.

The Monaco Grand Prix, a race she once enjoyed watching with Charles, became a painful reminder of what was lost. As the engines roared through the streets of the principality, Yn couldn't help but reminisce about the moments they shared in the glamorous city.

One evening, Yn found herself alone in her apartment, the haunting lyrics of "Vicious" echoing through the silence. The words became a soundtrack to her heartache, capturing the essence of the pain she felt.

She replayed the moments when Charles professed his love, promising a future together. But now, he seemed like a distant figure, someone she barely recognized. The public saw him as an angel, but Yn knew the truth – the vicious nature of love had torn them apart.

"Why you gotta be so vicious?" she whispered to herself, the words cutting through the air. The private person in her had quietly carried the burden of their relationship, and now, the truth was unraveling.

Yn reflected on the lyrics that mirrored her own experience – the pretense of love, the heart being crushed, and the wrecked image of their relationship. She grappled with the conflicting emotions of love and resentment.

As Yn listened to the song, a determination welled up inside her. She couldn't let the pain define her. She needed to pick up the pieces and move forward.

With each beat of the music, Yn began to shed the weight of the past. The lyrics served as a catharsis, allowing her to release the pent-up emotions. She realized that she deserved more than a love that pretended and hurt.

Armed with newfound strength, Yn decided to focus on herself. She would no longer be confined by the memories of a broken relationship. The Monaco Grand Prix, once a symbol of love, would now become a symbol of resilience.

As the song faded away, Yn wiped away her tears and looked towards the future. The vicious cycle of heartbreak had come to an end, and she was ready to embrace the unknown, free from the shackles of a love that was anything but true.

taglist: @love4lando@gcldtom@im-mi @hiireadstuff@celesteblack08@reblog-princess@sunf1ower16@janeholt3@athena-artemis-dorian-gray@minkyungseokie

#charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 drivers x reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfiction #f1 fics #f1 fanfiction #f1 #formula 1

[spamgyu]

i miss you, i'm sorry // Soonyoung Oneshot

DESCRIPTION: Soonyoung let his pride get in the way and now he's forced to come to terms of his mistakes... two years too late. PARING: Soonyoung x Reader GENRE: Angst WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol, not a warning but mention of NCT Taeyong

Highly recommend listening to the following while you read: i know it won't work - gracie abrams i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams

It took him some time to swallow his pride; to own up to his mistakes.

Betraying you.

You two may have not been romantically together for very long; barely hitting the one year mark before the world you knew had been torn apart by the one man you have least expected to do so.

Before becoming officially his, you were a friend – someone who had been around him for nearly every waking moment of his idol life.

Their group's back-up dancer.

And maybe that's why it hurt even more; because maybe you have expected heartache from dating an idol... but you didn't expect a friend to hurt you the way Soonyoung did.

He wished he could forget that day – that whole week, in fact. But no matter where he turned, whatever he did, he was haunted by his actions.

Each time he listened to a love song, each time he saw a happy couple, every time he heard of any of his freinds brag about the connection they shared with their other half – he thought back to you.

And it wasn't long before he thought of the day he ruined it all.

You two had been caught, and not by the reporters that both of you have successfully dodged for months – but by his fans. It seemed fool proof at first, hiding in plain sight.

Who would have suspected a blurred face individual in the background of all their behind the scenes videos?

The answer was everyone.

There had been speculations at first, ones that were quite easy to dismiss – but that day in April, it had come crashing down.

Proof of your long term relationship had been uploaded on all platforms; clips of his lingering stares on stage, subtle glances caught on their behind the scene videos, similar instagram photos and profile pictures, more importantly images of you simply acting as a regular couple leaking from his iCloud.

There was no denying it this time.

Or so you thought.

Soonyoung had always told you that when this happened, he would own up to it. He was now at a place in his career where he was able to protect you from any harsh words of the public – a place where he was more than happy to brag about his relationship status.

But he fell short.

He lied.

He didn't know what came over him at that time, choosing the easy way out – or at least, what he thought was easy at the time.

Your heart sank to the deepest pit of your stomach when you had read the message he had posted on their fan service platform that day, shattering once it reached the bottom.

"Please don't believe any rumors that are being spread. If I was in a relationship, you would hear about it from me first. She is just our back-up dancer. I love you guys~ 🩷🩵"

Just our back-up dancer.

He remembered the tears streaming down your face that day, the only words uttering from your lips was "why?".

Why did he choose to dismiss you as just a staff?

Why didn't he fight for you?

Why didn't he fight for the relationship?

Why did he lie to you?

Why?

Soonyoung didn't have any explanation as to why, he couldn't answer you – simply remaining still as he watched you fall apart in front of him.

He didn't know why he didn't shed a tear that day, allowing for you to walk away without bothering to go after you when you had finally found your composure – silently saying your final goodbye.

His pride had gotten the best of him.

And he continued to allow it to do so for the following months; brushing off his member's attempt to address the situation. He didn't dare blink an eye when you didn't show up to the practices, waving off their choreographer when he had notified him that you were no longer a part of the team.

"I don't care." He scoffed, walking away.

He should have.

Staring at the article pulled up on his phone, sent so kindly by Seungcheol, Soonyoung felt that same sinking feeling he had put you through two years ago – his knees buckling under him.

He could have sworn he was over it, over you.

He came to terms of his mistakes, but he didn't think he would have to face it once again.

SEUNGCHEOL: I know you said it doesn't matter but I think it's best you heard from one of us first [NCT Taeyong confirms relationship with non-idol through social media post.]

The image didn't show your face; the boy, who Soonyoung had shared mutual friends with, had taken a picture in the mirror with a mystery girl hidden behind him. The only indicator of this being you was the arms wrapped around his waist – the arms that was loitered with sticker like tattoos.

The ones Soonyoung used to playfully color in with markers and lazily trace as the two of you laid in his bed.

He remembered all the times you happily showed off a new addition to the collection, each and every single one having a memory attached to it.

Especially the blue ink heart that was etched on to your left thumb – the one that he caressed each time your fingers would lock.

He knew this tattoo had no link to him, but somehow he felt as through he had been kicked down at the sight of his thumb sitting a few centimeters from it.

The heart that was once his.

Shakily taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Soonyoung allowed for his phone to slip from his hands – hitting the floor with a loud smack.

He didn't care if the screen cracked, or if there was any damages to the edges of his unprotected device. All he was focused on was the sudden pain that radiated throughout his body.

You had moved on, you were happy – while he was barely beginning to grieve the end of you.

He had run away from his emotions for the past two years, thinking that it would never come – but once again, he was oh so wrong.

Soonyoung felt as though his lung had been punctured, unable to get enough air into his system as his chest began to heave – the tears had now broken the flood gates.

Gripping the edge comforter, Soonyoung tried bite back the sobs that were now threatening to escape his lips – where was this pain when you had asked, no begged, for him to fight for the love you two shared.

"Soonyoung, please." Your voice shook, but he remained unfazed. "I need to know why."

Even now, he couldn't answer that question.

Soonyoung didn't know why he chose to respond to the scandal the way he did. He didn't know why he let you walk away. He didn't know why he chose to ignore your attempts to reach out for closure.

All he knew was that he was in pain, a great amount of it.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

He was never good at handling any alcoholic drink, but that didn't stop Soonyoung from ending the past three days with at least one bottle of soju before bed.

It was easier to sleep that way.

In the stillness of the night, he sat alone at the dining table – throwing back another shot of the clear liquid, while his thoughts consumed his brain.

Soonyoung had been out of his game since reading that article, their group's comeback couldn't over power all the images of you that flashed through his mind – no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, his brain found it's way to wander back to you.

As his body began to feel the effects of the fourth shot, Soonyoung began to think of the unthinkable.

It wasn't like you would pick up anyways? You probably had his number blocked. Maybe even changed it.

Anyone would have.

But he needed to hear it – he needed to hear your recorded voice, the one that let a caller know that you have missed their call.

It was the closest thing he could have to hearing your voice.

"Hello?"

"Y/n." He choked out, your voice instantly sobering him up – almost as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him.

"Hoshi?"

This time, it felt as though someone had driven yet another knife into his chest – this time right into his heart.

Hoshi.

It wasn't Soonyoung or Soonie.

It was Hoshi.

"I-I–" He tried to fight the sharp ache that pulsed under his ribcage as he searched his brain for the right words to say. "I'm sorry."

Silence.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry." Soonyoung repeated, his voice showing clear evidence of the hurt he had been feeling in the past few days.

"No."

"Wha–"

"No," He couldn't see you but he could practically picture you shaking your head at him, your expression mirroring the firm tone he heard on the other line. "You don't get to call me to apologize after two years of radio silence. You don't get to have the closure that I begged for. No."

There was that knife again; only this time, he didn't care for the discomfort because he knew you were right.

Soonyoung was instantly transported back to the months that followed that god-foresaken day – to the times he watched your notifications come in, only for him to delete it without a reply.

[8:23 pm - April 15] I'm sorry for walking out. Please, I want to talk about it [9:10 pm - April 15] I just want to know why.

[12:03 am - April 18] Y/N: I miss you. I miss us.

[11:28 pm - April 29] You told me you would always be by my side, that you wouldn't let them get to us. Why was it so easy for you to let us go? Did you not mean anything you told me?

[2:09 am - May 7] You were the one that pursued me, you made me fall for you. I was fine being friends. I shouldn't have let you in. I should have kept my distance. One day, I'll learn to realize you were a mistake but for now I want you to know that I love you. It hurts so much but I love you.

You were absolutely right, he didn't deserve to be forgiven.

He didn't deserve to be heard out, not when he covered his ears all while you called out for him.

"Those I love you's, those sweet words, they were all empty. You didn't feel the same way. You were my whole world and I was nothing but a grain of sand to you." He had never heard your voice so cold; the one that used to sound like a soft melodic song in his ears. "You made me fall for you only for you to not be there to catch me. I don't want to hear a single thing you have to say."

"I–"

"Baby!" His voice was heard in the background.

"I'm hanging up. Don't ever call this number again."

The sound of the line ending echoed in his ears as the sob, that was held in his throat, came out as a small hiccup.

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[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 4

Astarion x gn!reader (Upcoming NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: As you and Astarion travel together, you come across someone unexpected. You discover more of his past.

Warnings: Blood-drinking, as well as descriptions of killing/death. Astarion's Gur racism. Mentions of past abuse.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: We're starting to get into the thick of it! I'm so excited for you all to see what's to come 👀 I love seeing all of your comments and I appreciate you all so much for reading!

The clean, sweet smell of pine is making you ache for home.

Climbing trees was your favorite pastime as a child, and even though it’s been years, your muscle memory is still intact. Your hands know where to hold, where to find purchase on the branches, where to trail along the needles so the smell bleeds into your fingertips. You’ll smell like pine all day, and you certainly don’t think that’s a bad thing.

“You know,” Astarion calls up to you, his arms folded across his chest, “I do hope you aren’t expecting me to catch you if you fall.”

You roll your eyes, even though he probably can’t see it. “Of course not,” you call back. “We wouldn’t want you to break a nail, now would we?”

You might be less confident in a different tree, but this one is sturdy. The branches are steady and hold you well, and you won’t be falling any time soon. Still, his words bring you back to the point of your climb, and you turn your gaze to the view around you. 

A forest. Trees sprawling out to the horizon in every direction, the thin blue curve of two nearby streams, and a distant trail of thick, dark smoke. No cities in view, which make it impossible to know which direction you’d come from. Nowhere clean or comfortable to spend the night; not from what you can see. Astarion will have to survive a day or two in the dirt.

After a moment longer of studying, you begin your climb down, careful not to slip, until you’re just a few feet off the ground.

“Well?” Astarion asks impatiently. “Was anything there? What did you see?”

You hit the ground with a gentle thump and sling your pack over your shoulder. “No villages.” 

He scowls. “None?”

“None. Over there, though,” you say, pointing out the direction, “I saw some form of camp, from the look of it. Whatever it is, they have a large fire going - I could see the smoke. There’s a stream that way, too.” 

You glance at him in an attempt to read his expression, but it’s futile. His mask is locked tight. If your information is concerning him, you can’t tell. 

“I say we head there,” you finally suggest. “We can stock up on water and see what that camp is. If they aren’t friendly, we can go somewhere else.”

His brows pinch, and his scowl deepens. He hesitates for a moment, but seems to think better of what he was going to tell you. “Fine,” he relents, throwing his arms into the air, sounding like the word pains him.

“Unless you have a better idea?” you offer, grinning. “I’m all ears.”

The withering look he gives you says enough. 

It’s strange, being in each other’s company like this. You’re married. You’re strangers. You know something incredibly secret about him, but you also know next to nothing about what he’s really like. He knows nothing at all about you - except, perhaps, that you can kill if needed and that you’ll let him have some of your blood. Nothing meaningful, really.

He could drain you dry tonight and waltz off to his mother, claiming you’d been torn apart by some beast, and no one would ever know. It would be seen as an accident. You don’t think he will, but he could.

He needs you, doesn’t he? He wouldn’t have stayed otherwise, especially if you’re not going back to his mother. Just like Erelin, he has a need for you, and whatever he considers that to be - a food source, a protector, a pawn in a necessary political ploy - it almost certainly requires you to be alive.

You’d rather be wanted than needed, but you’ll take being needed over being alone. This forest is thick enough to hide any number of things that aren’t friendly, and you aren’t keen to meet any of them.

Complain as he might, Astarion also seems used to all of this. Not the woods, that is - he’s been far too whiny about the biting midges to have ever been in a place like this before - but used to running. The way he glances over his shoulder is ingrained, almost natural. The way his eyes dart back and forth, alert and constantly searching, tells you something his careful, blithe mask won’t.

You don’t know what to think of him. He’d killed the Zhentarim in a way that only someone with experience could have. He’d brushed their lives off like they were nothing. Erelin is awful, and you see more than enough of her presence in him, but this… this is something else. Something else has made him this way.

You’re not sure if you want to know what it is.

Night falls before you know it. Your weary body is feeling the full brunt of the day’s events, and you’re keen to get some rest. The two of you trudge on for a while until you’ve found a decent place to camp for the night, you do some light hunting for your dinner, and Astarion slinks off to the nearby woods to find himself a meal before rejoining you, taking a seat on a nearby log. 

He watches as you skin and gut the rabbit you’d caught, deftly working through the actions you’ve done hundreds of times. You set it up to cook over the fire, breathing in the warmth and the smell of cooking meat and trying to ignore the ache of hunger deep in your belly. 

“You really are a resourceful little thing, aren’t you?” Astarion remarks. 

His eyes are dark with something you can’t pinpoint, but his voice is light and casual. You lean closer and find that it’s hunger in his gaze. Whatever he’d eaten hadn’t satisfied him.

“Why didn’t you bite that bandit?” you ask. You don’t mean to be so forward, but the words come out that way, tumbling from your lips before you can think of better phrasing. “I mean - he was already going to die. There was no one else around. You could have bitten him.”

A flash of surprise crosses over Astarion’s face. He shakes his head, momentarily breaking your gaze, then attempts a smile. “Well. I suppose I’m… not quite used to drinking - thinking creatures.” He clears his throat, and for just a moment, he almost looks sheepish. “Truth be told, you were my first.”

The vulnerability to his words takes you aback. It’s so rare that you hear something real from him. Everything true you know about Astarion has come from silent observation and being in places you weren’t supposed to be. Him being so direct with you has you speechless.

No wonder, you think, piecing this new information in with your memory. His reluctance to ask for what he’d so desperately needed on your honeymoon. His nearly giddy state after he drank from you. Erelin, locking him away in a forbidden wing of the castle. Him, sneaking out to the woods at night to feed.

“Oh!” you finally say, somewhat pathetically. You shake yourself out of your shock and rummage through your things, digging through your pack until you find what you’re looking for - a certain flask of whiskey. Then, you pass it over to him.

“What’s this?” he asks, inspecting the flask like it’s filled with poison.

“Whiskey,” you reply. “Cal, my - um. The man who raised me, I mean. He used to do toasts for every new experience. You should toast to it.”

Astarion relaxes a little, but he still eyes the flask with disdain. “You wouldn’t happen to have wine?” he asks hopefully.

“I’m afraid not.”

He sighs. “Then whiskey will have to do.” He takes a swig, grimacing, then shudders. “Your turn,” he says, passing the flask back to you.

“Mine?”

“Darling, surely you aren’t asking me to drink alone?” he asks. “If I had to taste that swill, so do you.”

So you press the flask to your lips and take a gulp of it. It’s rancid and smoky and burns going down, but it’s a drink nonetheless - and a potent one at that. “Gods. That’s terrible.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But it does the job, I suppose.”

He looks at you a moment longer, his eyes trailing over your neck before he catches himself, and you give a sigh. “You can ask me, Astarion.”

He blinks in surprise, leaning back a little. “What?”

“I can tell you’re hungry. I can give you blood. And you can ask me for it when you need it.”

He hesitates, seeming to debate a dozen different sentences before he finally chooses one. “I didn’t think you were up for it today,” he says. “You… look exhausted, my sweet.”

For the first time since you’d met, rather than coming out spiteful or affectionate, the pet name sounds unnatural on his tongue. Forced. You must have shaken him with your offer. And, truthfully, you are exhausted, but a little bit of blood loss isn’t going to kill you. 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. “We need you strong if we’re going to be journeying through the woods. Besides - I don’t like seeing you hungry.”

Something flickers in his eyes, and he stiffens. “Well, dearest. I can assure you - there’s nothing to worry about. I won’t be taking a bite out of you without permission.”

You gawk at him. “Gods, Astarion, I’m not afraid of you!” you exclaim. Your tone is incredulous, but you can’t help it. The notion of being scared of him seems ridiculous to you, but he seems to expect it. Whatever’s drilled that expectation into him makes you incredibly angry - and most likely because it’s almost certainly Erelin’s doing. “I don’t like seeing you hungry because I don’t like seeing you suffer.” 

You suck in a breath, suddenly keenly aware of how tight you’re gripping the flask, and let out the air in a slow exhale. Turning your gaze to your feet, you force the tension out of your jaw and shoulders and set the flask back in your things.

“How… sweet,” Astarion finally replies. 

His words are a strange mix of caution and condescension, but somewhere at the base of them there’s something genuine - as if he’s not quite used to actually being cared about.

You meet his eyes and find quizzicality there - wariness, a defense that’s ready to rise at any moment. He’s trying to find your motive, just as you’d recently been trying to find his, but that’s the difference between the two of you: he has one, and you don’t. Whatever he’s searching for, it isn’t there. 

“Well?” you ask. “Would you like some blood?”

He gives up on searching your expression and drapes his arms over his knees. “I suppose I would.”

You get to your feet and walk over to him, taking a seat at his side, then shifting away so he can easily get to your neck. You thought it would be less nerve-wracking now that you know what it’s like, but the quiet solitude of the night is doing absolutely nothing to curb the inherent intimacy of him drinking from you. 

You feel him at your back and instinctively tilt your head so he has access, and he lets out a hum of approval. He rests a hand on your shoulder, and, not a moment later, there’s the icy sting of his teeth sinking into your skin.

You’re keenly aware of your own breathing, and the smell of whiskey intertwined with the smell of him - herbal and spiced, musky and alluring. Whatever fragrance he’s using hasn’t faded yet, which is honestly impressive after the day you two have had. More time in the woods will almost certainly whisk it away. 

You’re not sure whether to keep your eyes open or close them, but Astarion can’t see your face, so does it really matter? You stare at the bark of a nearby tree, intent on keeping your breathing normal and relaxed, and when he pulls away from you, you can’t tell if what you’re feeling is disappointment or relief.

“Gods,” Astarion murmurs darkly, finally dropping his hand from your shoulder. 

You turn to look at him and find him just as he was the last time he drank - flushed, euphoric, and breathless. Is your blood really so different from an animal’s? Is it really that much more satisfying? 

The sudden, pungent odor of something burning hits your nose and, with a jolt of horror, you remember the cooking rabbit. 

“Oh - shit!” 

You’re instantly on your feet, pulling the spit off the fire and setting it on a nearby rock. Blood trickles down your neck, but you pay it no mind - the meat is somewhat charred, but it’s salvageable. But, with the smell of food wafting in the air, the strain of the day’s events, and your empty stomach and recent loss of blood, you find yourself swaying on your feet. 

Your vision cuts out. The world spins. Something presses on your shoulders and eases you down to the ground, gently placing your head between your knees.

“Easy, now, darling,” comes Astarion’s voice, right behind you. “We wouldn’t want you to faint, now would we?”

You can’t even respond; you barely hear him. Your ears are ringing and your head is throbbing something fierce, and sleep is calling to you like a siren. You focus on the slow rhythm of your inhale and exhale until the dizziness recedes, and find yourself violently trembling.

“Here,” Astarion says, shoving something into your hand. He’s pulled some of the meat off the rabbit, and it’s warm and fragrant.

You automatically take a bite, and about halfway in, start scarfing it down like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. And honestly? With the way you’re eating it, it might be. 

“Slow down or you’ll choke,” Astarion says. “Gods. Next time you ask me to bite you, eat something beforehand, will you?”

You swallow down the food, reaching for a bottle of water in your pack. “You were hungry.” 

He flashes you a look. “Clearly, so were you, dearest. If I’m going to be drinking from you, then keeping you fed benefits the both of us. Having you faint won’t do us any good.”

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, but you’re famished. Had it really been this morning that the carriage lay at your feet, smoldering and broken on the road? Gods. How can Astarion ever mean to go back to his mother when freedom tastes so sweet?

Maybe a few days out in the woods will convince him. Or, perhaps, it’ll have the opposite effect and send him rushing home to a warm bed. You’re certainly missing one tonight, but you wouldn’t trade that for chains even if you were sleeping on coals.

After you’ve eaten your fair share, you store the rest of the meat in your pack and rinse the grease off your hands. What you wouldn’t give for a bath. Still, the two of you should come across that stream tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be able to jump in, get yourself cleaned up.

Astarion is watching you, but his eyes are a million miles away. “You should get some rest,” he says. “I’ll take watch.”

And for once, you’re too tired to argue with him. You lay out your bedroll, rest your head on your pack as a makeshift pillow, and find yourself asleep before you can even think to be worried.

Freedom feels like a dull ache in your head and a dry mouth. You wake to no small amount of discomfort in your limbs, the dent of your pack in your cheek, and the barest amount of light in the dark sky, and yet - somehow, it’s the best you’ve felt in months.

Erelin’s chains on you have loosened. An optimistic bubble is rising in your chest, floating to the top of your thoughts - that maybe, just maybe, she won’t find you. After all, it hadn’t even been your plan that led you here, and, for some reason, that’s what makes you believe you might actually get away.

Astarion is alert when you rise, seemingly lost in thought until he notices you stirring beside him. “Good morning,” he greets. ”Well-rested, I hope?”

You prop yourself up on your elbow and rub your eyes, grimacing. “If you want to call it that.”

“Yes, darling - there’s the downside of freedom for you. Sleeping in the woods.” 

You ignore his words and head for your stash, gulping down water and grabbing out some food for your breakfast. When you’re sufficiently awake, you take a seat on a nearby log and give Astarion an expectant look. “Your turn. You need to rest.”

He raises a brow, then settles himself on the bedroll. “Do try not to get us killed, darling,” he says. “I’d prefer not to die again.”

You flash him a grin. “I’ll give it my best effort.”

He sprawls out on the bedroll to trance, and you lose yourself in your thoughts as relative silence spreads over your makeshift camp.

Erelin will have noticed your absence by now, no doubt, and will be searching for you. If you’d jumped out of the carriage like you’d wanted to, it would have been one thing - Astarion and the guards would have been witnesses to where you’d gone off, and a search area could have been formed. 

But the carriage simply hadn’t arrived. The guards are dead, as well as the Zhentarim, and you and Astarion are in the middle of who knows where. No witnesses. Erelin will have no way of knowing where the two of you are, which makes searching for you much more difficult. 

You can’t help but wonder about that camp in the distance. It could very well be an Ancunín outpost, which would mean you’re walking straight into the last place you’d want to go. Then again, it could be Calthirian rebels, or a makeshift village, or a pile of burning corpses, even. You won’t know until you arrive.

If it turns out to be Ancunín soldiers, would Astarion turn you in? His goal is to get back to his mother, and you can’t very well talk him out of that, but you’re not sure if he’d just… let you go. Then again, you can’t imagine him taking the effort to stop you. It’ll probably be the way it was in the carriage. He’ll tell you not to go, but he won’t take the time to do anything further than that.

You have so many questions about him, but you don’t dare to ask them. If he wants to tell you, he’ll tell you. Otherwise, it’s better to keep your curiosities tucked away for now.

The sun is beginning to fully rise. It’s still early, only a blooming rosy-orange against the dark, and the air is crisp and cool. Dew drops have sprung up on the nearby grass, and the woods are soft and peaceful. 

In the midst of your thinking, your gaze turns back to Astarion, trancing next to you, his breathing even and soft. Your mind turns back to what he’d said just before he’d tranced. I’d prefer not to die again. You can’t help but wonder - what was dying like for him? 

Painful, your mind provides. Almost certainly painful. It’s funny; you’ve always imagined death like a long, dreamless sleep. Something restful, something to lay your weary body down once your form has worn itself away as much as it can. 

But, if dying is anything like it had been in the midst of the carriage crashing, then you’re terrified of it ever coming back. The void of feeling… that’s no rest. That’s no sleep. It’s nothing at all.

Very slowly, the morning stretches on, lighting up the fading night with warm rays of golden sun that stream through the overhead canopy of leaves, and before you know it, Astarion is sitting up, reaching for his things.

“Well,” he says. “Shall we?”

You already knew that traveling the forest alone would have been miserable, but the longer the two of you are in it, the more grateful you are to have Astarion at your side. The seemingly never-ending spread of trees is beginning to feel isolating, and you’re more than anxious to get back to civilization. Who knows how much worse it would be to tread this path alone.

Which makes it that much more of a shock when the two of you come across someone else. A tall, bearded man dressed in casual clothing. Your first instinct is to be wary - maybe he’d been sent by Erelin - but his demeanor makes that idea fade away. The jovial, twinkling eyes, groomed mustache and beard, and the way he nods when he sees you: all of that is enough to have you relaxing. A little, at least. 

But he carries a foul, sickly-sweet stench that hits you with such force that you take an instinctive step back. When you glance at Astarion, you find him similarly grimacing.

“Ah, fellow wanderers,” the man says brightly, raising a hand in salutation. “Forgive the… aroma. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance; my name is Gandrel.”

You try to give him a smile, but the smell really is potent. Astarion coughs, clearly indicating that he has no intention of taking over this conversation, and you bite back the urge to sigh.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude,” you start, “but what is that?”

“Powdered iron vine,” Gandrel answers. “An old hunter’s trick. If you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.”

A monster hunter. Well - you suppose that explains his presence in the deep woods. Still, you hadn’t fully considered the fact that monsters might be hiding between these trees, and it’s making this forest even more disconcerting. 

Then again, there’s technically a monster standing right next to you, and you aren’t the least bit afraid of him.

“You’re a monster hunter?” Astarion asks, suddenly looking very interested. “I’m surprised - I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.”

You balk at him, attempting to shoot daggers at him in your gaze, but he doesn’t even look at you. What in the hells? 

But Gandrel simply smiles. “Ah, well. The queen certainly seems to think so.”

The statement is clearly meant as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but it has the exact opposite effect. Both you and Astarion go tense. 

“Alas,” Gandrel continues, seeming not to notice. “Despite what you may have heard, I’m no witch doctor or cutthroat. I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter.”

The tension fades a bit, but you’re still on edge. “What are you hunting all the way out here?”

“Something terrifying, no doubt,” Astarion remarks. “Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?"

“Nothing so dramatic,” Gandrel answers. “I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

As if a rope has been tied around your spine, your entire body pulls tight. You see Astarion flinch out of your periphery, his hand subconsciously drifting toward the dagger at his side.

Seemingly not noticing your reaction, Gandrel proceeds, “I fear he’s gone to ground. I’ve been hoping to flush him out, but have had no such luck.”

“A vampire spawn?” Astarion asks. His voice suddenly seems strained. “Really? It seems unlikely you’d find one around these parts.”

“Perhaps,” Gandrel answers, “but I’ve been tasked to come here all the same. His name is Astarion, and if what I hear is to be believed, he’s been roaming these woods. If you two plan to linger in this area for long, you should be very, very careful.”

Something like white-hot shock hits you at an almost physical level. You actually have to fight the urge to take another step back. Astarion? This man is looking for Astarion? But how could he know Astarion would be here? How could he know that he’s a vampire? And what in the hells does he want with him? 

Astarion is silent, but you catch the slightest shaking of his hands as he shifts in place. 

You attempt to clear your throat. “So. This Astarion. What happens when you catch him?” you ask softly, trying with all your might to keep your expression level. “You’ll kill him?”

Gandrel gives a shake of his head. “Not this time. My orders are to capture him.”

“Oh,” Astarion says, barely maintaining the casual air of his tone. “And bring him where, exactly?”

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

The Gur. You’ve never come across them yourself, but this man seems friendly enough - aside from the fact that he’s planning to abduct Astarion, that is. Still, whatever they want Astarion for, it’s clearly nothing good.

“That’s strange,” you say. “I thought vampires can’t be out in the sunlight.”

“They can’t,” Gandrel confirms. “Relatively speaking, we’re safe for the time being. It’s when the sun sets that you should be worried.”

You glance at Astarion and find him clearly thinking the same thing - even with red eyes and fangs, the fact that Astarion is standing in direct sunlight is giving him near-immunity to being suspected - just as you had never suspected the truth of what he was until the undeniable proof of it was in front of you.

With this revelation, the tension dissipates completely and leaves something else behind. A high ground, so to speak. 

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging lightly. “I’ve heard that vampire spawn aren’t actually very dangerous. Should we really be that afraid?”

“Is that so?” Gandrel remarks, folding his arms across his chest and raising his brows. “And where, might I ask, did you hear that?”

“Somewhere ridiculous, no doubt,” Astarion cuts in, voice laced in barely-concealed venom. “You should watch out, darling - if you aren’t careful, you may wake up without a throat.”

“Your friend is right,” Gandrel agrees. “Vampire spawn are only weak in comparison to their masters. Once the night comes, you won’t find a deadlier quarry.”

“Interesting,” you reply. Out of your eye, you see Astarion rest his hand on your dagger, and you know immediately how this conversation will turn out. “Astarion, what do you think?”

Gandrel blanches, glancing between the two of you. “That’s Astarion?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Impossible.”

Astarion is every inch a gloating predator as he steps forward, stretching out his arms. “These days, I’m making the impossible look easy.” Then, to your complete and utter surprise, he halts. “May I?” he asks.

Astarion, asking for permission? Your first instinct is to say yes, of course - to please him - but your conscience tugs somewhere deep in your gut. This man is innocent and has been nothing but amiable. You really shouldn’t be agreeing to murder for the sake of a pretty elf with a penchant for murder.

“No,” you say firmly. “We’re going to leave in peace.” 

As you speak, you shoot a pointed glance at Gandrel. A stand-off. If he lets the two of you go, he’ll live. A smart man would know what to do, especially one that supposedly knows how dangerous vampire spawn really are.

“Please do,” Gandrel says. “But the vampire spawn is staying with me.”

And that’s about as far as your conscience stretches. “Well, I tried,” you sigh. “Astarion? Do what you will.”

“Excellent,” Astarion purrs, flicking his dagger out of his sheath with ease. Without any further delay, it’s shoved through Gandrel’s eye, and the monster hunter is no more.

“Alright,” you remark. “I suppose that’s that.”

To stop the churning of your stomach, you step over the corpse and continue on your way, not daring to look back. A thousand questions are swimming through your mind, but you don’t dwell on any of them. You’d rather not dwell on anything at all, but you’re not so lucky in that respect.

Is it fear that’s possessing you? The knowledge that Erelin is so close to your location, and it’s barely been a day since your escape? But why would she send a monster hunter after her son? Unless Gandrel was somehow involved with the Zhentarim instead…

You hear Astarion sidle up beside you, and you try to avoid his gaze, but even his presence is distracting. Your internal battle for silence quickly loses out.

“You really weren’t lying about your mother,” you start, folding your arms across your chest.

“Me? Lie? Darling, I’d never.” He pauses. “Why?”

“Erelin sent him, didn’t she? Gandrel wasn’t going to kill you. He wanted you at Baldur’s Gate. It has to be her work.”

You glance over at him and find his expression sour.

“No,” he says. “Trust me, dearest, that was most certainly not the work of my mother.” He hesitates. “Still, on that note, we should - perhaps - have a discussion. Nothing major, of course, just… a tiny little detail that you should know.”

That stops you in your tracks. “Alright. What is it?”

“Well,” Astarion starts, laughing nervously, “how shall I put this? Hm. My mother isn’t the only one who’ll be coming after me. There’s another, er - prominent person hunting me.”

You stare at him. He clears his throat, then goes on. 

“Cazador Szarr. My old… master.” 

Master. He spits out the word like it’s poisonous. 

“My mother’s advisor, then,” he continues. “She trusted him. Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to trust him, too. He led me out of the castle, lured me into an ambush with the Gur, and - once I was sufficiently on the verge of death - offered to turn me into his spawn.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “I didn’t… realize that it was his doing. I thought he - was helping me. So I accepted.”

He takes in a soft, ragged breath. “What the bastard had neglected to mention then was an eternity as his slave.” When he speaks again, his voice is dark and bitter, the words low and seeping through the air. “For two hundred years, he tormented me. And I was helpless to stop it. No spawn can disobey their master.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if trying to ward off an ill memory. “A little over six months ago, my mother found me - managed to rescue me. She put that thing in my mind to stop his compulsions, to protect me from the sun, but…” 

He finally turns to look at you, giving you a cold smile. “Well, I suppose that’s something the two of them have in common: neither of them like having something of theirs taken away.” He makes a loose, half-hearted gesture. “Cazador has never stopped searching for me.”

Your voice is thick when you speak. “Astarion-”

“Don’t look at me that way,” he says, turning away from you. “I’m not looking for your pity. We’re traveling together and I thought you should know. That’s all.”

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “So… you think that this Cazador sent Gandrel?”

“Of course I do,” Astarion snaps. “Who else? My mother would never send one of the Gur. It’s too early for her to have found us.”

You shake your head, deep in thought. “Then the Zhentarim…”

“Yes. He sent them too, I’m sure.”

It takes a moment to swallow down all that information. You can see the tension set in his shoulders, see the defenses in full, waiting for you to respond. Is he expecting to leave, now that you know that his presence brings more danger?

“Thank you,” you finally respond. “For telling me.”

He turns back to face you, but his expression is still bitter. “All I’m saying is… we should be vigilant, from now on,” he says. “We’ll watch out for any other monster hunters, and… gods, I don’t know. Get back to safety as quickly as possible.”

“Alright,” you say, even though you know what safety means for him and for you. Something pulls in your chest, deep under your ribs. Safety. Prison.

“And now you see why I want to get back to my mother,” he says sourly. 

Gods. Of course he’d prefer Erelin. All this time, you thought he was naïve. A fool for so willingly being under her spell. You’d been so very wrong about him.

“I’m so sorry, Astarion,” you murmur. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he says sharply. He exhales deeply, then composes himself, slipping effortlessly back into that fake, overconfident persona. “Well then, darling. Now that that’s out of the way - the woods await. Shall we?”

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind

#astarion #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

[anarchyincarnate]

A taste of the King

Am I making a self indulgent Fatui fanfic that is probably ooc? Yes. Am I ignoring the pride month event that I haven't finished along with my other drafts? Yes. I'm doing what I want-

Pairing; Pantalone x GN!AMAB!Reader

Reader's pronouns: ("You" pronoun mostly, male titles will be used)

C/W; mentions of burning and bodily harm, mentions of mistreatment by parental figure, slow burn, smut [Pantalone], gore.

Snezhnaya's weather was far from suitable to your taste. Wrapping yourself into a fatui agents long coat, you huffed as the clothing merely reached your waist, a given since you were much taller than them. The fatui and you were sailing to the land of everlasting winter, having been lucky to escape the brutal treatment you received in Inazuma. The agents came to an agreement after their treasure horder client came with Nobushi behind them, cradling and guarding what seemed to be a hurt young man.

Currently, your hand is being bandaged by an agent, gently wrapping the cloth against your palms, a great contrast to the way they wield their sacrificial knives.

A mage had carefully cool your skin using her magic, taking note of any change in expression you make due to it.

The others who were situated in the camp were guarding outside of your door, not letting anyone enter without permission.

Soon enough, you reached the icy lands of Snezhnaya. A slinger held your hand as you unstably got out of the boat. There were three Harbingers gathered at the port, making you clench the slingers hand in fear.

You knew what they are capable of, having seen what the 11th and 8th could do. To your suprise, they didn't harm you, instead the eldest looking walked forward slowly towards you. He stand around eye level to you, and scowled when he looked down towards your bruised and hurt body.

Because you were scared, you didn't notice the one whose face was obscured by his helmet had placed his coat atop your fragile body. In his hands were the agents coat, handing it back to the man who gave it to you.

His coat was much larger than the agents, making your involuntary shiver stop. You quickly held the garment close, relishing in the warmth it gave you. The lady helped you walk, making you remove your hand from the slinger.

Capitano bid the agents goodbye, as he and Pierro walked out of the port with Columbina and you in tow. She knew about your hesitation, so she hummed a tune, one that you recognize as the one she sung at Signora's funeral.

They lead you towards the palace, it's large and gorgeous architecture impressed you. Those who were guarding quickly bowed, and you might've missed the faint gasp emitting from them if it wasn't for your heightened hearing.

Years of trauma made you more aware of your surroundings after all. They opened the gigantic white door, letting you see what awaits you.

Six figures all respectively turned towards you, making your blood run cold from their stares. A lady sat upon the large ice throne, her eyes seemed to have softened in your presence.

A person you recognize as Childe nearly tackled you into a hug, sobbing and shaking as you try to calm him down. You patted his back, slightly wincing in pain because of the arrow mark near your heart.

Under the Tsaritsa's order, Dottore lead you to his lab, having his clone clear up some of the clutter. You noticed the jarred glass eyes, pieces of a human strapped onto a table, it's head being carved open, exposing it's brain.

"Were you studying the human body, Dottore?" You try to make conversation with him to ease your mind.

"Yes. I'm curious as to how the mind processes emotional distress, and I needed my curiosity satiated." He answered calmly, different from his younger [manga] self. He ushered you onto a clean table as he sat down onto a chair beside it. A clone of his brought some medical supplies, and he gestured you to shed your clothes.

You nod, and pulled your black turtleneck above your head, tossing the torn and tattered shirt into a small basket.

There were many lacerations across your skin, most notably your arms. A large mark similar to an arrow injury was present near where your heart should be. Burns litter your upper back, seemingly from a firework explosion.

"Holy Tsaritsa, what on Teyvat did they do to you?" He muttered under his breath, quickly fixing up your injuries.

"Kujou Sara shot me, aiming for my heart. Deflecting the Anemo archon's Vortex was difficult, hence the lacerations on my body. As for my back, it was from an incident in Liyue." You said, seemingly calm reliving those memories.

For the first time in his life, Dottore was stunned. You deflected an Archon's attack and survived. Getting shot with arrow, you didn't flinch like it was just another day.

"I'm used to violence against me. It's nothing new." You mumbled, rotating your wrist to make sure it was still usable.

Pierro who came to check on you was silent as he took everything what you said in. He relayed this information to the Tsaritsa during a harbinger meeting later that day.

It was now law and enforced that You'll be guarded and cared for 24/7. As the Divine who received such treatment by its "followers", it is now mandatory to be on one's best behaviour should they want to be punished.

In a way, it was peaceful. You were fed nutritional and high quality meals, many forms of Entertainment were given to you, and all of the affection you could ever want. Perhaps it wasn't that bad...

It's almost concerning the amount of gifts you received from Pantalone, gawking at most of the items pricetags, that if you translate to your old world's currency, it'll be worth billions.

Childe was like an overeager housecat, not that you're complaining. He brought joy to your boring life, telling you about Teucer's adventures, his stories, and so much more.

Columbina and Sandrone were the ones who tailored your new outfit. You were gifted with a new black dress shirt, a cool gray vest, and a thick fluffy coat like the one they own.

Whenever you feel trapped emotionally, Pulcinella was always there to comfort and talk with you, and it made your heart melt that he's willing to be the parent figure you never had growing up.

Capitano taught you how to effectively strike your opponent, much to Pierro's dismay. You two can go for hours sparring with eachother. Childe feeling jealous lmao-

Pierro who would play games with you, specifically chess as a past time of sorts. You usually stop by his office to help his stressed out self by indulging him in his favourite game over tea.

Sometimes, You bring snacks to Arlechinno's orphanage. The kids love you, and would often beg her to bring you there and spend time with them.

Now, the relationship between you and Dottore was to put it lightly, odd. Perhaps, it was morbid curiosity that exchanging science literature with eachother became common for you two. You were a doctor in your old world, so you took liberty in explaining your findings to him.

It was a rare occasion that you and Pantalone were alone together, with you helping the Tsaritsa manage her nation and spending time with the other harbingers, you rarely had time for yourself.

Hearing a knock on your bedroom door, you opened it to see Pantalone, holding a bouquet of Viparyas flowers.

"Strange, how did you get these? They're only found in the Dahri ruins or Vanarana in Sumeru. It's nearly impossible to obtain." You were perplexed, holding one between your fingers as he placed the rest onto your table.

"I researched on what you may be interested in, And it seemed that Flora was something you enjoy. Have you cultivate some before?" He asked, placing his coat onto the hanger, eyes gazing at your handsome face.

"I have as a science experiment. It was merely child's play." You say, placing the flower onto a small container of water.

"I wonder, why is it that you decided to gift me Viparyas flowers? It isn't usually what you would gift me." He hummed at your question.

"It's simple really, I'm planning to court you." He replied after an awkward silence.

Ah, so that's the reason. "The romantic type aren't you?" You giggled, pressing your arms onto the table, caging him between the hard wood and your body.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms onto your neck, "And what it I am?"

"Not that I'm complaining," and with that you sealed your lips with his. You raised an eyebrow in suprise when he kissed you back eagerly, softly moaning against your lips.

He pulled you in, wanting to stay as close to you as he possibly can. You slowly slid your tongue into his mouth, tasting every inch of it while he grinded his body against yours.

You pulled away after some time, letting the man breathe, while your hands busied themselves with taking off his clothes.

He reached down to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You pulled off his pants, and lowered yourself to your knees. Blowing hot air towards his cock, you watch in amusement as the organ come to life.

Inch by inch, you let the organ enter your oral cavity, and skillfully lick and suck every part of him until the hilt. Letting out a plethora of moans, he didn't waste any praise for you.

You felt his cock twitch, yet you wanted to tease him, so you removed your mouth from him, making him whine.

"I was so close- Your honor, i-"

"Patience, Regrator. I wouldn't want you to come undone so easily." You muttered, tracing circles against his thigh. Using two fingers covered in his precum, you put one finger into him, making him moan out.

You added the other finger in, and he keened in pleasure. The padded tips brush against his prostate sent his toes curling, it was too much!

Sighing out in disappointment, you looked over to the glazed expression he had in his eyes and large globs of cum staining the floor.

"Tch." You clicked your tongue, making Pantalone gasp as you slapped his dick. "What did I say?"

"S-Sorry Sir! I couldn't help-" Another slap, this time to his ass.

"Hah, Disobedience would you get nowhere with me. Turn around." He did, albeit with shaky knees. He arched his back, raising his ass up. You knead the soft flesh for a few seconds before slapping them again.

He couldn't find the words to complain when you suddenly shoved every inch of you inside him. Your dick was curled upwards, making it hit his prostate dead on.

"Ah- fuck! So b-big.." he replied, voice raised a pitch when you brutally jackhammer into him, not caring about who will hear, while your hand firmly grasped his dick, rendering him unable to cum.

He could feel his resolve shaking with every creak of the table, eyes beginning to see white as hot tears of pleasure run down his pretty face.

You were abusing his prostate, sucking in a breath every time he would clench on you. And, having mercy when your release came, you let go of his dick and came inside him.

After a cleaning session, you two decided to cuddle, not realising Arlechinno heard everything and is now clutching her bottom half in shame...

#genshin impact cult au #sub genshin #sagau smut #sub pantalone #genshin sagau #fatui x reader #fatui x male reader

[corpsekiller]

𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. dabi x genderneutral!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff, mentions of blood and death, pre!dabi dance

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. dabi finally opens up about his past and much to his surprise, you accept him as he is. even more you give him a choice of who he wants to be when he's with you.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. i'm finally getting back into writing after a quite long hiatus and i couldn't be happier that my motivation and my inspiration is returning. i'm still pretty busy with my studies since my exams are coming up in a month or so, but i'll try my best to write whenever i find the time. so enjoy this fic, my loves <33

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.363 words

MASTERLIST

"What do you want me to call you?"

The question hits him like a train at full speed, crashes into his ribs, and punches the air out of his lungs until his head spins with the lack of oxygen. His fingers have gone numb around the cigarette he’s holding and although he thought he grew accustomed to the cold after years of living out in the streets, lurking in the shadows of dark alleys most citizens of that shithole avoid at night, his entire body shivers under the thin layer of his torn clothes. And yet, even as the wind lashes around him and seeps through the seams of his sleeves to lick over his scars, he makes a point of pretending he isn’t freezing to the bone.

You, on the other hand, seem to sink further into your sweater, hands buried in the thick material and legs pulled tightly to your chest to keep yourself warm — a pathetic huddle of clothes hunched against an old tree, desperately trying to make yourself as small as possible to press yourself further into the crevices for some sort of shelter. As he watches you from his spot a few feet away, he feels a sharp sting of guilt for bringing you all the way here, away from the liveliness of the city and the hope it holds despite the war that has been raging through the streets.

But he owes you this, he thinks as he shrugs off his coat and closes the distance between you, carefully draping it over your shivering figure. The small smile you give him in return makes his heart ache with an unknown feeling of warmth; he isn’t quite sure how to call it, this sense of comfort that washes over him whenever your eyes meet, but he knows it’s something akin to love. Perhaps that’s why you deserve to know what really happened to him all those years ago, he supposes, a confession of the trust he has in you.

It would've been easy to get rid of you here; he could've burned you to a crisp without a single witness, slashed your throat before your mouth could've opened to release a treacherous scream, or simply broken your neck to watch the light inside your eyes die slowly. No one would've known where you went if there’d be anyone who cared enough about you and your miserable life.

On that count, you’re both very similar.

There was no other place he felt safe enough to talk about his past, though — about the boy he was for his father and killed mercilessly when he learned he’d never be good enough to meet his expectations. It felt fitting to return to his own grave, deep in the woods, where his fire consumed every living thing in a haze of cerulean blue and left a wasteland of solitude between trees shedding thick layers of ash and soot.

He remembers the pain of the flames melting the flesh off his bones, how they swallowed him whole and spat out something far worse than any monster he could ever imagine — a demon in the shape of unbridled rage and hatred, clawing his way out of scorched earth with a new thirst for war in his eyes.

“Y’know, doll,” he finally speaks, crouching down in front of you to pull the heavy leather tighter around your body before he leans forward and gently cups your face, caressing the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Instantly, you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chasing the warmth of his touch and smiling softly when he breathes out a low chuckle and presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

It’s strange to see how he’s capable of such tenderness when all he’s ever known was violence and anger — these very same hands that have murdered and tortured mercilessly before have grown soft in your presence. Even if he would want to, Dabi doubts he could ever hurt you. It sounds fuckin’ stupid, he notices now that he thinks about it, but you changed him. “I never thought I’d hear someone ask this question.”

And look, he didn’t expect you to stay. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to him if you’d jumped to your feet and made a run for it as soon as he revealed his past, his true identity to you, but instead, you stayed right where you’re sitting, wrapped in his coat that smells faintly like days without a proper shower, like cigarettes, like him.

Instead of leaving him, you stayed and listened patiently to every word that spilled past his lips like blood gushing out of an open wound — watched how the tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he recalled his father’s rage towards him, reached out for his hand to give him some sort of reassurance whenever his voice broke, encouraging him to continue despite the horror that seemed to grow in your eyes with every passing second.

And when he finally stopped talking, when the wound stopped bleeding for the first time in years, you gave him something he never had before: a choice of who he wants to be, regardless of the horrors he committed. and the blood that clings to his hands after so many lives he took just to quench his thirst for revenge.

And that—

That must be love, right?

The realization comes crashing down on him when you gently grab his wrist and pull him away from your cheek, instead lifting it to your lips to brush a kiss over his bruised knuckles as you repeat the question, softer, more careful this time. “So, what do you want me to call you?”

His eyes search yours in fervor. It’s a desperate attempt to find any doubts that you might not accept who he truly is, that this love you have for him was only a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s just been so scared all this time to open up to you because he was waiting for you to realize he’s just not worth it, that he’s better suited for the edge of a knife driven between his ribs than any kindness, but your gaze holds nothing more than pure adoration for him.

“Touya,” he finally replies, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You can call me Touya, sweetheart.”

“Touya,” you repeat slowly, delicately forming every syllable of his name on the tip of your tongue. His breath hitches in his throat as he listens to you say it again and again, trying to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar ring of his real name — it sounds like a fuckin’ prayer falling from your lips and any resentment he ever felt for his old name seems to simmer down into reluctance.

With every whisper of his name, Dabi shuffles closer to you, until your face are only mere inches apart and he can feel your breath ghost over his parted lips. It’s addicting, to hear you say those two little syllables, and it buzzes through his veins like some sort of drug, like he's getting high on fucking heroin.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so present in his stupidly frail body, doesn’t think he’s ever felt this fuckin’ alive before until this very moment and when the corners of your mouth curl into a smirk and your tongue darts out to repeat his name once again, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

He surges forward and crashes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss that coaxes a whimper out of you and Dabi swears he’s never felt like this before as he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip and hotly licks into your mouth, devouring you with everything you can offer. Your hands sink into his hair. A moan in the shape of his name escapes your throat and his stomach jumps into his chest because this—

This must be love, right? It has to be.

Because he never felt this fucking addicted to the sound of his name before until it fell from your lips.

#touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki imagine #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi x gender neutral reader #dabi fluff #dabi x reader fluff #bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi fluff #my hero academia #mha x reader #mha imagines #mha headcanons #mha x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha fluff #bnha x reader fluff

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 2

Second chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto AU. Written from the POV of Nikto this time. A reminder once again that there's a prologue and "part 1" is only the first full chapter. The original cowboy AU is owned and created by @ghouljams.

A/N: I'm a day late on my estimation for when it would be done, but life decided to get me sick, busy with uni work, and put one of my legs completely out of action. I also realized about 3 husbandry manuals deep into my research that the chapter would be a bit too long if I included that much information. Instead, the info will be sprinkled in among the next few chapters.

Warnings: Sputnik being a silly girl.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

First | Prev | Next

The weather is downright miserable. While one might assume the worst weather would be torrential rain or unforgiving hail, Nikto is firmly of the belief that there’s nothing worse than a hot, sunny day. It’s hard enough to be constantly covered from head to toe, but to then add on the Texan sun beating down at its full strength? He’s certain he’ll be nothing more than a puddle of sweat by the end of the day.  

At least Sputnik seems to be enjoying the disgusting temperatures. She’s running around the front of the property, completely unfazed by the heat. She welcomes it, in fact, using it as the perfect excuse to paddle into the large dam for a cool swim at the day’s warmest.  

Her paws are caked with mud and grass, so much to her sadness she’s been barred from entering the house, forced to wait until she’s dried off and all the muck has fallen off of her paws. If she’s still dirty by the end of the day then a quick hosing down will be in order, but she’ll likely consider that a fun game too.  

For now, she’s content to lay stretched out on the porch, her side rapidly rising and falling as she pants.  

The weather isn’t the only thing that’s miserable, however. Nikto’s mood has been foul ever since his forced trip into town for new supplies. A certain hyena had decided that she was bored while her owner was away and had decided to chew a rather large hole in the wall of the shed.  

The hole was easily large enough for her to climb through and so, after having already spent most of the day hard at work, Nikto was forced to leave for the only hardware store in town. Some new planks of wood and a hammer not riddled with rust later, and he’s reminded of the invoice he received the vet clinic a few days prior and has also yet to pay for.  

He’s not quite sure what possessed him to go to the clinic in person, but he was disappointed regardless with what greeted him. The receptionist was painfully cheery and seemed determined to dig into his business with her endless questions. He’d left feeling completely drained from only a single conversation with the woman. You hadn’t been there. He can’t fathom why that annoys him so much.  

The hole in the shed was simple enough to fix, even under the intensity of the sweltering heat, but the issue of Sputnik remains.  

Clearly, he can’t leave her unattended for several hours at a time just for work. She’s never had to entertain herself in such an environment and clearly, it’s stressing her out being without her only packmate. She requires both social interaction and physical activity, but above all of that, needs mental stimulation.  

Like a toddler left without a guardian, Sputnik has decided that she can tear apart the house and garden while unattended. Plants have been torn out of the ground, wooden structures gnawed to bits, and most concerningly, large holes dug along the fence line.  

The situation is far from ideal, but Nikto does not abandon his own. He isn’t like those bastards at the CIA who are willing to leave those loyal to them knowing full well they will perish without help. He made that decision a long time ago, and Sputnik’s very name is a tribute to that.  

It was only three years ago, but it felt like eons. It started with a small enemy group hidden deep within the South African wilderness who were utilising spotted hyenas as guard animals. Nikto and his team had cut through the animals both outside and inside the building, even the ones hidden away in the basement below. 

In the end, only a single cub remained; a tiny girl still nestled up against the steadily cooling body of her mother. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two of age, bright eyed as all hyena newborns are, and covered in scraggly fur.  

The other men on the team planned on putting the animal out of her misery, but the sight gave Nikto pause. She was small and defenceless, and abandoned by her cowardly handlers to be killed by their enemy. It was a story he couldn’t help but find familiar. Picking up the infant, she snuggles into his vest, completely trusting of him despite not having known him for more than a few seconds.  

She whines and licks at him as he tucks her into his shirt, safe and warm pressed up against scarred skin. No one says a word, when he leaves the compound with the cub and boards the waiting helicopter for the trip back to base.  

His first thought was to name her Laika, but that name seemed a little too common for his taste, and so he chose Sputnik, the name of Laika’s space capsule and eventual tomb. A tribute to yet another stray who was left behind by those who should have protected her.  

Sputnik would not suffer the same fate; she would never be disregarded like a broken toy thrown into the trash. She’s good, she’s loyal, she trusts Nikto unconditionally. Destroying a bit of property would never be a reason to break that trust.  

Instead, he presses dial on your number and holds his phone to his ear. He’s been thinking it over for several minutes, finger hovering over the button with your contact listed, before forcing himself to press it. For a long while it rings and he’s about to give up when you finally answer with a bright greeting to whoever is on the other side.  

He grunts out your name, listening as you happily chirp his own back at him in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask. He can hear the soft rumbling of a car’s engine in the background and can only assume you’re driving somewhere.  

“I require... assistance,” he says after a long pause, letting the conversation drift into silence. While it isn’t necessarily help he’s asking for, it still rankles deeply that he isn’t solving the issue alone. He despises being indebted to anyone for anything, but for some reason he doesn’t get the feeling you’re out to acquire favours from anyone. You’re a professional merely doing what you’re trained for and nothing more. He can admire that.  

“What can I help you with? Is Sputnik alright?” You sound so genuinely concerned about her, so much so that it sounds like you almost drop your phone.  

He glances down at the hyena laying happily at his feet, panting up at him with a broad grin. “She is fine,” he confirms, catching the relieved sigh you let out, “it is behavioural issues she is dealing with.”  

You make a soft sound, clearly intrigued, “well, I’m on the road at the moment heading toward my next appointment, but I should have time to drop in to your place in a few hours. Will you be around then?”  

“да,” he hums, “we will be here.”  

“Perfect! I’ll be there in a few,” you confirm, and after offering an acknowledging grunt, he ends the call.  

He goes to pocket the phone but pauses, glancing at your number. Mulling it over for a good long while, he selects the number and adds it to his contacts. There’s only two other people there, one of them his current workplace and the other one of his old acquaintances from before even his time in KorTac.  

A rather dramatic huff from Sputnik draws his attention from staring at his phone, and he watches her with hidden amusement as she rolls over onto her stomach. She looks up at him with big, sad eyes and a pathetic whine. When he merely rolls his eyes at her she playfully snaps her teeth in his direction.  

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” he growls back, curling the undamaged part of his lip at her.  

The hyena, fortunately, can tell he’s still joking despite his deadpan tone and leaps to her feet with a delighted cackle. She shakes out her coat, biting at the air. The moment he so much as twitches a finger in her direction she turns and leaps off the top of the deck, forgoing the stairs so she can sprint across the yard.  

Nikto stands from his chair but doesn’t give chase, watching as the crazy animal spins around in circles before darting off toward the dam again. She dives into the water with a splash, sending muddy water in all directions. He cringes slightly at the sight of the hyena now dripping with muck. At least he was already planning on hosing her down. The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, with Nikto taking some time to rest while Sputnik causes minimal trouble.  

When your car finally does pull up, the poor girl has exhausted herself again, laying in a pile of leaves while she happily naps away. The moment her flicking ears pick up the sound of your truck on the gravel she jumps up again, eyes wide as she takes in the familiar sight. She’s already giggling to herself with excitement, looking between Nikto and your vehicle.  

“место!” Nikto calls, ignoring the sad whimper that earns. He approaches when you pull up, patiently waiting as you drop out of the front seat and close the door behind you.  

When you spot him, you offer a wave and grin, “hey, Nikto!” You take a moment to glance over at Sputnik and he can see her near enough vibrating with how excited she is to come over and greet you out of the corner of her eye. “How’ve you been doing?” you stop just before him, looking him right in the eye, completely unfazed by the monster you’re facing down.  

“We are fine,” he says, perhaps a little too firmly given the way you blink at him, “we require some assistance with behavioural issues.” He quickly amends his statement in the hopes of not immediately scaring you off.  

Fortunately, you’re quick to bounce back, a smile returning to your face, “of course, what sorts of problems are you experiencing?”  

“Спутник!” The hyena’s head shoots up upon hearing her name, “ко мне!” She sprints across the grass, very nearly crashing into his legs with her enthusiasm to heed her owner’s command. “She is getting bored when left alone,” he explains, watching as you reach your hand out for the hyena, “eating walls, digging holes, breaking everything she can reach.”  

Sputnik snuffles at your hand, before whining and immediately shifting to lean up against you, demanding pets. You scratch behind her neck and Sputnik’s tongue lolls out of her mouth in delight. “I’m sure we can work something out to help prevent her from damaging anything else or accidentally eating something she shouldn’t be.”  

“She struggles when left alone, especially during work hours,” he adds on, turning and starting to stalk toward the side of the house where the majority of the damage can be seen.  

“Okay, well she sounds like she just needs some enrichment to keep her occupied while you’re away,” you nod to yourself as you follow Nikto around to the side of the house. Several of the small plants that had been happily growing in little spots around the yard have been either pulled from the soil or completely shredded if they couldn’t be moved.  

You look at the scattered remains of the poor shed’s wall, but don’t look entirely surprised by the backyard warzone you’ve stepped into. You frown down at Sputnik, scratching her between the ears, “what a silly girl,” you coo, rubbing at her ears as the hyena grins up at you with half-lidded eyes, “you shouldn’t be eating all this stuff, it’ll make your tummy sore!” 

Somehow, your baby-talk voice just serves to make Sputnik even giddier, and she eagerly licks at the tips of your fingers. Nikto almost rolls his eyes at the little heart eyes the animal is subjecting you to. It’s impressive, really, how she can remember someone is a friend from only a single interaction.  

When you snap back from your babying of the animal, you quickly refocus. “Hyenas have very powerful jaws, and they love to chew things, so if she doesn’t have enough to keep her entertained then she’ll find something to destroy.”  

“She was given an old tyre a few weeks ago, but it only lasted a few days.” To say he was deeply unimpressed with how quickly she’d torn it to pieces would be an understatement. He knew that Sputnik had quite the bite on her, but to chomp through nine millimetres of rubber like it’s cardboard? Impressive, if a little annoying.  

“How big is your freezer?” you abruptly ask him, and Nikto suddenly worries where this line of questioning is going. Does he need to check the trunk of your car? Regardless, he offers you a nod.  

“Perfect!” You clap your hands together, making Sputnik jump excitedly at the sudden sound, “it’s supposed to be quite hot tomorrow, so I can think of at least one idea for her.” You start listing out what the two of you are going to do rapid-fire with the same confidence and efficiency of any commanding officer.  

You’re in your element, your passion for your work clear as day and you have him following your every instruction. You’re like a fount of knowledge when it comes to anything and everything husbandry related, suggesting changes to Sputnik’s diet, new toys to keep her entertained, and ways to prevent her from destroying anything she really shouldn’t be messing with.  

When you finally end up leaving, it’s long past sundown. Sputnik has grown bored of watching the two of you working in the shed and has retired to her massive dog bed for a nap, so the two of you have been working in comfortable silence. He’s glad you don’t feel the need to fill the air with irritating chatter, only offering corrections here and there.  

He escorts you to back to your truck, closing your door behind you once you’re settled comfortably into the driver’s seat. You roll down the window and offer him a grin, but he can see just how tired you are given how your eyes are slightly drooped. “How much do we owe?” he asks, quickly tearing his gaze from your sweet smile.  

Little wrinkles appear across your forehead as your lips turn downward, an innocent, confused look on your face, “owe you?” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead just huffs in mild amusement, “payment, for your work.” 

Your eyes light up in understanding and you laugh, “oh, no, don’t worry about that,” you wave him off, “I’m just happy to help out.” You just smile up at him, as if you can’t see anything wrong with what you just said.  

Nikto is forced to remind himself that you’re a civilian, not another untrustworthy operator. Not everyone does things purely for the pay they’ll be rewarded with, even if the very thought of not giving you something in return makes him uncomfortable. He holds his hand out to you, “phone.”  

You blink at him for a second, but quickly do as you’re told, just like the good girl you are. He goes into your contacts and adds his number and details, hitting save the moment he’s done. He doesn’t bother adding a picture, passing your phone back to you, “call us when you require assistance.” He waits until you offer him a nod before he steps back from the side of the car.  

You have an odd, flustered look on your face for some reason, but you’re quick to snap out of whatever daze you're in and give him a quick wave as you put your truck into reverse. He watches silently as you disappear back down the driveway and into the steadily darkening evening, waiting until you’re out of sight.  

Sputnik is absolutely delighted the following morning when Nikto presents her with her blood and peanut butter ice block.

-

Translations

“да,” - “Yes” 

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” - “I didn't know you were such a drama queen,”  

“место!” - “Stay!” 

“Спутник!” - “Sputnik!” 

“ко мне!” - “Come!”  

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #cowboy au #nikto x reader #fanfic

[grapejuicestyless]

Love Me Until My Breathing Stops?

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Angst to Fluff

DISCLAIMER!: There are some very serious topics in this. Depression, mentions of fucked up relationships. This is not romanticizing this at all.

Teaser: "Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night."

To be honest, I had no idea where it went so irreparably wrong. You never notice you're slipping until your feet are out from under you and your head hits the floor. Maybe that's how I never saw it coming.

My bed was my new home, my tears were my midnight snack and my eyes were probably permanently shut from the puffy skin that was blotchy and irritated beyond belief. My pillow was my sanctuary and the darkness was my friend. I miss my old friend sunshine. I miss the backyard barbeques and the reunions in the park. I miss the kids running from the bees and the smell of the wet grass in the mornings.

It had been a month, two weeks, three days, twenty one hours and thirteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. The shadow of the girl who used to find peace in the smiles from people passing by. The girl who threw welcome home parties and tended to her garden every afternoon. Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night.

I'd been so convinced that he was the one. Grew up these past few months believing I was all that he saw. Breathing him was slowly killing me. I thought so highly of the man I shared my in's and out's with. I'd wake up early just to see the even rise of his chest, dreaming of his curly hair and our future together. Now in my own suffering, I dreamt that he drowned.

But it wasn't his fault, no he'd asked if I would be okay. I promised I'd be okay. There was no okay, how could he believe me? How can someone simply be okay after wrecking the only thing I'd been sure of in my entire life? No, there wasn't okay. There was simply bad and worse.

Today, was bad.

On days like this, I would talk myself up to a shower. Rid myself of the stench of rock bottom. Ridding myself of the killer that drove him away. How could he be so forgiving to me not being enough? How could he brush off my wasted potential and blame it on himself. Guilt till consumed me whole, even if he'd underlined it in red that it was him, not me. His unfaithfulness that had torn a sweet love story to ashes. Tell me, how could the attentive wife to be miss the smirk hiding beneath his winning smile, his lessons really just weapons targeted at my deepest hurts. Every comforting explanation was twisted way back to what I feared most.

Soon, I'd find myself in the kitchen, raiding the empty cabinets and the ransacked fridge. There was only crumbs and lemon juice in the entire house by now. The appetite I'd worked up gone at just the flashbacks of the slow dances in the crack of the refrigerator light. His hand over mine and his empty promises soothing in my ear. Did he want me or did he want me not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another.

I felt rage boiling, the slam of the door rattling the plates in the sink and the pan on the stove. Ripping my hair from my head was the only reliever of the pain, tearing apart my body hoping that eventually it could be put back together into a beautiful bloody mess. Wearing my hurt on my sleeve and praying to god that, that someone could love me just as much for that.

I was thinner now, shedding the pounds like I had anymore to spare. The only clothes that still fit was a white ruffled dress that fell just below my knees. The straps hanging loosely and my feet slipped into black Mary Janes and red socks. I wonder how ghostly I looked stepping into the sun. Skin greyed from the lack of light.

I counted my breathing, noted the cracks on the pavement and counted the daffodils on the walk into town. All to cease the tears pushing behind my eyes.

It was nice out, the air was crisp and warming with the middle of spring having sprung. Vines were growing and the world was getting loud again. It was peaceful, I wanted a piece of that inner silence for myself. Maybe it would bring me a sort of closure, pushing me towards a more okay future.

I listened to the bell rattle with the push of the door, hands hanging loose at my sides. I waved towards the girl working the counter in the flower store. She smiled, recognizing the unrecognizable shadow that waltzed into the humid room. I pasted on the fake togetherness I'd mastered from unexpected visits from family and friends. Trying to imitate the girl who had lost her way long ago.

"Do you have any tulips?" My eyes remained glued to the flower beds as I searched the store for any bright pink clusters.

"A few in the back row, though you might need to hurry, they're quite popular today." I nodded, scurrying to the back in hopes to finally get what I wanted.

There, I saw the empty basket, the last bouquet of bright pink tulips being held up to a tall man. He was maybe six feet tall, but his posture made him seem a little shorter. His hair was chocolatey brown with free falling curls and waves pushed behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. He wore a teal cardigan over a white graphic tee that read something in blue I couldn't quite make out from the angle. His legs fit into lose jeans with rips at the knees and blue and white checkered vans. His laces were ripped slightly, probably from stepping on them, and he smelled like sweet vanilla.

He looked like happiness, a ray of modern day sunshine and fair love, his nose still buried between two flowers, eyes fluttered shut.

Some white carnations lined with a hot pink sat near the tulips, they looked just as beautiful as the fresh flowers that I'd missed by a second too late.

I let myself sigh after taking in the clean smell from the center of them, the crinkling of the paper distracting me from the hurt I felt inside.

"You planning a wedding?" His English accent wasn't horribly noticeable, but still able to be picked up on. I cracked a smile, trying to be polite. Trying to be the girl I missed.

"Something like that, yeah." He laughed, we made eye contact.

I could see his dark green eyes now, sparkling with interest. I can only imagine the lack thereof that I returned to him.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand, smiling so much so there were crinkles by his eyes.

"I'm y/n." I met his palms. They were soft yet rough around the edges. His fingers had been picked at and he had guitar string scars across his hands.

There was a silence. It was comfortable, relaxed but still, I itched to back away.

"It was nice to meet you." I stepped back, walking away faster than I came to pay for the carnations clenched between my shaking hands.

"Hey wait!" His footsteps were heavy, hammering into the asphalt. I turned, but continued to move backwards, a faint smile played on his lips. Chasing after the beautiful fool who secretly adored the interest the random flower shop boy took in her.

"Missed me already?" I turned back to walk forwards once I felt his arm bump mine.

"Can't help it, you're just so missable!" He joked, flowers facing down at the ground, hitting each other as we walked close together. We left a petal trail as we walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Only the runaway brides dressed up like Dorothy on her way to Oz." I covered my smile in my hand, brushing the blush off.

"I'm flattered." We shared a look, walking in silence as we looked at each others eyes.

"So tell me about yourself, Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" He pointed to my shoes, I scoffed.

"Okay..." I thought on it, counting the cracks again.

I knew I was barely together. Barely able to keep up with the work that seemed to just pile itself onto my back. I knew that my finger still stung from when I ripped off the engagement ring and told him to go to hell. I knew I was a fucked in the head, a childish girl who only wanted to be loved like she loved others. I knew at one point I would've said all these things to Harry, a man I'd met only a few minutes ago. Trusted him easily and let him in without an inch of doubt. But I also knew that wasn't fully me anymore.

"I haven't met the new me yet." I smiled at him, chewing at my cheek at the curious eyebrow lift and the breathy laugh.

'What about you, Harry? Who are you?" I looked to my feet.

"I'll let you decide." He looked to my face, my eyes finding it almost impossible to meet his warm gaze.

"Someone who reads too many love stories."

"Says the one dressed as Wendy from Peter Pan." I laughed, meeting his stare finally.

"Am I Wendy or Dorothy?"

"Why not both?" He was unbelievably easy to talk to, even in my mess and hurt, it soothed the panging in my chest with every breath he took.

"Let me walk you home, y/n?" I smiled.

"Okay." We fell into a silence again, out of teasing and jokes to share for the five minute walk remaining. I went back to counting the daffodils and he went back to sniffing his flowers. I went back to silently pulling myself together, picking up any shards of myself that had fallen and focused on my breathing.

"This is mine." I looked towards the dark home, the garden still neat despite the overgrown plants and the few dead plants. I looked back at Harry, then to his feet where his tulip petals continued to fall. They looked bare, hurt and dying now. I met his eyes again.

"Take good care of those tulips for me?" He froze, confused about the sudden request after my silence towards him and his polite offer.

"Yeah, of course." I nodded, turning myself slowly towards my front steps. I took in the pale blue of my paint, the new white shutters beautiful and perfectly matched with the white wrap around porch that hugged the west corner of the home snuggly and the short, white picket fence. You would've never expected such a fuck up to live in such a nice looking home.

"Bye, Harry." Waving, I made my way up the driveway, passing the fence and the the garden. All while he stood there, done with the chase, done with my mood swings. My politeness and my silence. My trust and my question. He stayed outside of my lawn, feet stuck to the sidewalk like gum.

Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since the man who hung the moon for me in my eyes confessed his infidelities and left me to throw a pity party for myself. Almost six months since the next best thing had entered my life. My best friend, Harry.

Unlike my ex-fiancé, Harry came back. He came back and picked up the shards that I'd let crack and bleed under my feet and glued me back together. He'd come by once a week at first, checking up after noticing the vacant look in my eyes when we first parted ways. How I'd slipped into the darkest house he'd ever seen. Cold, tired, worked to the bone. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into four and four turned into almost everyday. His knock at my door my favorite sound. Yet, what he knew of me, wasn't fully me.

Even with Harry and his flowers decorating my home. Even with his laugh and his trusting demeanor, part of that girl I was was forever lost. That engagement ring hadn't only taken skin, it had taken the foolish woman who slept next to a liar and swallowed her pride. It had taken my ability to let people in so easily. And I wish he hadn't taken that from me, because as stupidly blind she was, she was some of the best parts of me.

"The Notebook or Ten Things I Hate About You?" Harry hoped over the back of my couch, his arm falling limp around my shoulders, each hand holding a movie for me to chose.

"Is that even a question?" I snatched the disc with Heath Ledger on the cover and waved it around Harry's face. He smiled, ruffling up my hair before getting up to pop the disc in.

"I need to stop asking you these things, Dorothy. I was hoping for the notebook." I stuck my tongue out, my heart flooding with a familiar warmth only Harry could pull from me.

I bit my cheek until it bled, my shoulder squished between his chest and the bend of his elbow. Silently, I mouthed the lines to the movie, my lips brushing against the soft cotton of Harry's white t-shirt.

"That tickles, my love." He laughed, craning his head down while mine stretched up. Crinkles folded by my eyes, smile lines permanently tattooed on my skin from just the past few months. What was a curse for others, was a permanent reminder of the adoration I had gained for Harry and his ability to fix what was irreparably shattered.

"What?" His whole body shook with a silent giggle, eyes reflecting the movie and an emotion I couldn't pin. I remained silent, eyes flicking down to his lips, his eyes following mine. I felt his touch tighten around my back and his body heat up.

Closer and closer, longer and longer. I panicked the closer I got to wrecking this beautiful relationship we'd built over a silly crush I'd obtained.

Sure, he was nice. He was handsome and possibly the best thing that had ever walked into my life, but stacking every single one of those reasons and more couldn't make me risk everything. I couldn't deal with someone else I loved walking out of my life.

I inched away, scared. I watched his face freeze, eyes relaxed and breath hot on my lips.

"Harry." I whimpered.

"Y/n."

"What if we fuck this up? What if after tonight you change your mind? I can't do that again Harry. I can't pick myself up again." I quietly rambled, tense, scared of the idea that I would face the hatred for my own reflection for weeks and weeks again.

"Y/n." He repeated, softer.

My mouth stopped, eyes flicking to observe his expression over and over. Trying to fight back the tears that built and built.

"I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. If you trust me, let me in just this once, I wont leave until you're kicking me out." He searched my face now, an internal fight going on in my head. He made it so hard to think being so close him.

"Love me until my breathing stops?" I asked, tears springing from under my eyes and gathering at my waterline now. Scared, just as I was all those months ago. no longer a vacant stare, but one of fear and uncertainty.

"I'll love you until my breathing stops." He wiped under my eyes, fingers quick to land on my cheeks. He waited, patiently for any sign that it would be okay to continue.

I nodded, swallowing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiled, shoulders slumping like a weight had been lifted and he was at ease.

"Okay." I returned the feeling, lips brushing his. They were soft and plump. They tasted of buttery popcorn and chocolate. His nose bumped into mine, skin brushing skin and limbs tangling the longer we tried to hold onto the moment.

When we pulled away, it was breathless, and suddenly I realized the man who'd hurt me seven months, one week, seven hours and three minutes ago hadn't stolen the best parts of me, he only scared her into hiding.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

[tai-janai]

Reunite

Path 9: Rest

(Chapter Select)

Voice of the Hero:

There we go.

You flinch, and your eyes bolt open. You quickly take in your surroundings; Door, windows, table, blade.

This cabin seems... almost normal. A little off, maybe. Perhaps more like a shed than a cabin. You grab the blade's echo once again. Though its form wavers, you hope it can still handle how much you depend on it.

Voice of the Hero:

You alright? We're all... jumpy.

You are admittedly on edge after saving the last Being. The uncanniness of the cabin isn't helping either. You can only hope the next one isn't dangerous, but you feel the need to prepare.

Voice of the Hero:

Well... If you're ready. Waiting up here never gets us very far.

You take a step towards the off-center door. Your hand extends to the handle, but something makes your body flinch.

You quickly turn around, searching for a threat, your grip tightening on the hilt of the echo. You hear the Voice breathing heavily in your mind.

"What? What is it?"

Voice of the Hero:

One of me is... We need to get back to the cabin!

"What are you talking about? We're in a cabin!?"

Voice of the Hero:

N-not you! Agh! O-one of me is-! I-I... hold on.

There is stressed silence as you hold on. Your hold on the echo pales your knuckles. The Voice is searching.

Voice of the Hero:

The one in the water. The second one we saved. I'm no longer with him.

"What!?"

Voice of the Hero:

We found the edge of... something. There was something there and I... I don't know. I'm not there anymore. I don't know if he is, either. I just have a feeling.

"What can I do from here?"

Voice of the Hero:

Well... I don't think we can... I think we just have to keep going. I'll try to get to the edge in their "worlds," too.

"But you said you're disappearing from those worlds. Is that really okay?"

You feel the present moment, like the Voice in your head refocuses on You.

Voice of the Hero:

I'm okay, really. I know, above everything, I'm here with You.

"You were very panicked."

Voice of the Hero:

I know, I know. I'm sorry for scaring you. It felt weird to lose a part of myself like that, but no weirder than gaining a new part. I just wasn't expecting it.

With a quick exhale, you turn back around to the door. Your nerves are shot, but you have to focus. You open the door and enter into the stairway down.

The steps are a bit strange; at uneven intervals, some even slant. They are dirty, or perhaps they are made of dirt. The way down is more narrow than it had ever been. You feel confined.

With shallow breaths, you reach the "basement."

Everything looks and feels wet. There is a mass of foliage everywhere you look. Bright, large leaves hang down around you. It is all just plants, covered in droplets of dew. You can't see the end of the room, or even the sides.

You can't even take in the beauty of it.

Voice of the Hero:

This place... it's honestly gorgeous.

Well, you can't. You feel wired. Where is the Being? The end of the room is obscured, there is no sound.

You.

A voice, whispering but thunderous, crashes through you like a gust of wind.

Voice of the Hero:

Shit, shit, what do we do?

Your eyes dart around. No leaves rustle, no wind shifts, no chains crackle. There is a Being here. Where? You are watched.

Then, there are chains clattering. Unfortunately, from every corner of the room, they sound like metal across grass.

Silence. You hardly breathe, just to hear anything. The whoosh of something - a tail. It is about to pounce.

You dash into the chaparral, quick on your feet and keeping the blade locked in your hand. The tighter you grip the nothingness, the less you trust it.

Nevertheless, it gets you. You don't see much, only a shimmering glitter of metal - does it have a knife? - and then something is torn off of you.

A violent tear rips through you, a pain so intense you hope it goes numb. Has it taken your arm?

You reach to feel the part of you overwhelmed by blinding pain, but everything is there. No blood, not even a wound.

The space in your mind has been emptied. The Being took the Voice away. You breathe heavily, but you are trying to quiet yourself. You feel sick.

From somewhere else, the other you speaks quietly. You realize he is talking to the creature.

The Hero:

It's okay, we're not trying to hurt you- What? I am whispering. Aah-!

You hear his feathers rustle and he is taken someplace else.

This feels unfair. You can't even get a good look at the creature, how are you meant to have a conversation with it?

"Come out and show yourself!"

You reek of the enemy.

Its voice chills your bones. Your arm hasn't recovered. You didn't realize when it happened, but you dropped the blade when it first attacked you.

"Don't you want to leave?"

There is the sound of crinkling leaves and sticks.

My home was safe when you were gone.

You feel its gaze once again. You whip your head around to search, and catch a glimpse of reflected light high in the trees.

It is far away, perched on a branch. You only see the glint of four- no, three eyes. The fourth is its tail, something reflective, swaying below it. You can't make out anything else in the distant darkness.

The chains you know are holding it make no noise as it leaps off of its branch, back into the obscuring grove.

You don't know what to do. It doesn't seem keen on conversation, it just wants you to leave.

"Can I have my guy back?"

It is safe and resting, though it speaks delusion. You may look like Us, but you speak differently. Your voice attached these chains to me. Your will shut the world out.

It is everywhere and nowhere at once. Leaves only jostle around you. The creature is ever silent.

"I didn't. I don't remember doing that."

It is true you are different. You have changed, but, so have I.

Through the trees, you see it move. You can barely tell, every step is fluid and noiseless.

It shows itself to you between trunks and leaves. A large, quadrupedal, furred thing. Two large eyes squint at you, but a third smaller one between them remains wide open, unblinking. Two large pointed ears start off laying flat, but prick up at you. Its whole body is emaciated, bones showing through thinner patches of fur. Each of its legs comes to harsh, bony ends, rather than paws or claws. You can't tell how long it is, its lower half is still hiding in the thicket. As you thought, the large, dark chain is clamped around its neck, like all the others.

You are mourning and fear, not guilt or regret. Has your memory truly been wiped?

It is gone again. It elects to ignore its own questions.

No matter. You are something other. I have someone with me now, I don't need anything else.

You catch another flash of reflected light through the leaves.

Thank you for such an adequate nest, warden. But I know it is only a comfortable cage.

"But I want to get you out of this cage... I didn't put you here."

You hear a thump behind you, and you turn to it. In the small clearing you stand in, the creature sits mere feet away from you, another half of you on height. It stares down at you with the slightest tilt of its head. You see its tail now; a long, fur thing with a sharp, curved blade sticking out of the end of it. The tail is at rest, curled up against the creature's thin body.

You are no threat. Were you, before? Where I was made strong, were you weakened?

It lowers its head to you. You saw glimpses of sharp incisors when it spoke.

From off in another corner in the room, you hear the other you shout. You can't exactly tell where, but the Being immediately rushes back into the jungle. It makes almost no noise aside from the sound of fur. The dew it disturbs with its bound make it look like it left glitter in its wake. It's a bit disorienting.

The Hero:

Th-They found each other! Another one of me got to the edge, two of the ones we saved are together!

"How lovely. Can you get back to me, now??"

The Hero:

Um...

He pauses. You take a single step.

The Hero:

N-no? I don't think he'd, uh, like that.

With a grunt of frustration, you instead refer to the Being.

"Will you please come out?? What's the point if you just keep hopping away, what do you want??"

I want you to leave.

"Wouldn't you like, I don't know, a break from all of this?"

You sense its presence.

My "break" was when you were gone.

You whip around again. You notice yourself getting dizzy.

"I just want to break that chain. That's okay, right? You said I put it on you."

And you denied it.

Two eyes squint at you.

"I'm done arguing with you, I just want to help you."

You are spineless.

You find that a bit rude. The Being doesn't know what you've been through. It stands and begins to circle you, weaving between tree trunks and overgrown bushes. You do not stop tracking it with your eyes.

And altering. You were afraid when you first invaded this place. My teeth are no less sharp.

"You can kill me, but I'll come back. Every time."

It does not respond.

"I'll come back and I'll keep trying. You deserve freedom, the same as anyone. Even if that just means no metal on your neck."

It steps closer once again.

There is no backing to your claim of returning from death. You don't even believe it yourself.

The creature bares fangs at you, and you flinch away. But it was only a scare, and it turns its head.

If I called your bluff now, and things don't go as you say, you will no longer exist.

"I'll have... done all I could."

It leans towards you. You can feel its breath.

Would that be enough for you?

You reach out. It smells your hand. You brush against the whiskery fur on its face.

"If it meant... you were free."

That will get you killed.

Its eyes close, except for the one in the center that remains unblinking.

"Will you trust me, then?"

It steps back, and its eyes reopen.

You have no key. You may not have a distinct smell, but I'd know a key if you had it.

"I don't, you're right. I don't need one."

Its ears pin back again.

The other you calls out once again, trying to convince the Being.

The Hero:

I know you think I'm crazy, but could you just listen to him for a second? Everyone says its so nice to have a normal body.

The creature squints, unconvinced. You have to admit yourself, the Other does sound a little crazy.

"I just need an ounce of trust from you. You have to believe I will free you."

All I've known you to do is hurt me and then grovel when I take a part of you. I will not excuse what you've done, nor my reactions to it.

"I'm not asking to be excused. What you think I've done doesn't deserve your forgiveness. I just want you to see my effort, and that I'll do anything to help you now."

The Being turns its head to the side. For the first time, you hear the chain rattle with its movement. There is a still, chilling pause. You realize how heavily you were breathing.

Will it hurt?

"... Nobody else has said it does."

That isn't very reassuring.

You don't know what else to say. You have tried your best.

But, it can tell.

It bows its head, and the chains clink.

First, it is just the leaves shifting from some gust of air, but then, there are the feathers. You watch the Being cower for a moment as the plumage closes in on it. The room finally gains the sense of life it hadn't had as all of the leaves sway, disrupted by the wind the feathers brought with them. The chain falls to the grass. The feathers shrink the creature. After a heart-wrenching moment, they disappear into the leaves. A thing that looks like you is left behind.

This one is noticeably smaller. Stunted wings and scales in a pattern that disrupt its form like camouflage. It quickly finds its bearings in its new body. It sees you with wide eyes. After a spare, unsure moment of hesitation, it quietly retreats into the underbrush.

"H-hey-!"

You chase after it on quiet feet. You don't want to scare it, but you don't want to lose sight of it, either. Fortunately for you, its new-old body isn't as fit for these surroundings as the larger body was. It's scales are too bright, its claws leave too many traces.

It stops at a clearing. It picks something up... Your echo. It turns to look at you for a moment. You realize it is making sure you follow it. It dashes back into the leaves. Knowing it isn't running from you keeps the pep in your step. You pass through many dark, damp areas, until... you reach a corner.

A large nest of soft leaves and bark fills your vision, and the other you is sat there waiting like a newly hatched baby bird. He lights up seeing you and the new one. He hops to his feet, feathers fluttering elatedly.

The Hero:

Oh, you two are okay, thank goodness. I always get so scared when I'm not with you, even if they're treating me nicely. The furball really didn't want me coming anywhere near you.

The Hunted:

Fear is good. Unease shouldn't be ignored.

You are a bit thrown off by the whispery quality of its voice, but you are more concerned for it than anything.

The Hero:

You're right, you're right. Always gotta be careful. Do you feel better now?

The new one adjusts the grip it has on the echo.

The Hunted:

I'm small again. And this... thing, it isn't as corporeal as the claw I had.

The Hero:

Don't worry about being small, and... The blade? What do you mean, not "corporeal?"

The Hunted:

This one understands.

It looks at you with wide eyes. You don't expect the sudden solidarity, but you nod.

It walks over to you, squinting unsurely. Its head tilts, less than a foot away from you.

The Hunted:

Even now, your scent continues to fluctuate.

You don't know what that means. It takes a few steps over to the other you, and repeats the same close-distanced process.

The Hunted:

This one is me, even before I tore him from you. That is why I believed him to be me. You are partially me, but partially something else.

"Well I can't really help that."

It circles the Other.

The Hunted:

I thought you would appreciate my reasoning. This one said you want answers.

The Hero:

Don't you?

You sigh.

"I do... I do. Thank you. And thank you for trusting me."

The Hunted:

Was there an option to not have given in to your determination?

It tilts its head and questions you in a way you can't discern is sarcasm or not.

"That's not what I mean, I'm just grateful."

The Hunted:

I'm free from the chain. Will you leave, now?

The Hero:

Oh, yes.

He turns to face the new one and smiles softly. He gestures to the blade's echo with reasonable distance.

The Hero:

Do you mind if I borrow this? I'll give it right back.

With perplexed hesitation, it slowly obliges, placing the blade in the other you's open hand. Penetrating eyes look to you.

The Hunted:

He is going to kill you?

"Pretty much."

The Hero:

We've got... someone else to save. It might... It might be close to over.

The new one doesn't understand, but he doesn't push.

The Hero:

And we'll find a way to get the others to you. Or, you to the others. There are some I'm sure will love you.

Its face doesn't change, but the small wings on the new one do react with a small, excited twitch.

The Hunted:

No use waiting, then.

You are put off by its straightforwardness, but you face the other you.

The Hero:

Are you ready to go? Can you feel it? I feel an end somewhere nearby.

"Somewhat. Might as well finish up."

It smiles softly, contrasting the ominous blade in its hands.

The Hero:

They're all happy. We just have to close it out.

It raises the knife.

You wonder if you'll get that happiness, too, as the blade cuts into your chest.

It's good they're happy. You're succeeding, but... Everything goes dark.

#right. is that obvious enough for ya? #hope not too much so ... #anyway WOOOO WE'RE GETTIN CLOSE FELLAS #shit man i love writing this guy #stp #slay the princess #stp fanart #stp fanfic #fanfic #voice of the hero

[colourstreakgryffin]

I've had a horrible week. Like so mentally down bad rn. So I'd like comfort from a spider boy that's definitely NOT comfort material but he is to me. Can you do him with the sister reader again? I'm the same person who requested the other one. If you don't do double requests, it's fine, just ignore it. But if you do, can you do a scenario where the sister just breaks down in tears infront of him? it's a hurt/comfort type of thing. The reason as to why she cried is up to you. Have a good day!

Awww. I’m so sorry about that, doll. I doubt you’re gonna be upset by the time this comes out but here, I’ll try the best I can for you! Here is sweetie Rui

Ayaki Rui- Funnel Blanket

“Sister. Look at me” Rui demanded in a rather gentle voice, opposing the usual cold and stern one he is known for around this household. Displease Rui and you end up his next deepfried prey to chow on. Rui has always been different with you, he never laid a single finger on you in a harmful manner

He adores you for your devotion and loyalty, he has a obsessive passion to keep you with him at all times and making sure you’re happy is another task he must complete to perfection. All so you will never wish to turn against him, nor even think about it. Rui, right now, needed to find out what’s wrong with his precious sister

He only left you alone for a few minutes to go handle the flocks of nuisance slayers running amok his laborious backyard. He comes back to hysterical sobbing and his useless makeshift siblings closing the door to your bedroom. Rui shooed them all away in the snap of fingers and almost torn down the wooden frame. He didn’t care for the stupid building, he only cared for his beloved sister

You sobbed, hands flinching away from your own puffy red cheeks and red puffy eyes as Rui’s soft thumbs brushed over the tears rolling down your beautiful face. He couldn’t stand the fact something made you cry, if it’s a breathing creature. He will dice them into literal pieces. If it’s a inanimate object, he will grind it down into smithereens. He could give less of a fuck for the world around him, he just wanted to keep you as his forever. No matter what he must do

You honestly didn’t want to spill the beans of the cause to your current misery. It was such a pathetic concern and your rationality knew that very well, you were wasting your emotions and tears on something that’ll never happen, a imaginary scenario at best. Your mother and father were taking longer than suspected with that odd trio of slayers. It made you horrified that Rui would have to step in and risk his life to defend the family he spent so long building

You didn’t want Rui to risk it for you. You love him so much that it hurts. You shed your sadness for him, rather he asks for it or not. On Rui’s side, he saw no reason to fear those slayers with a single ounce nor should the one so important to him. He is a Lower Moon, a member of the Twelve Kizuki that is actually much stronger than his rank indicates

The slayers should fear him and the fact they make such a mess of your gorgeous eyes and drip that mess all over your cute arachnid-styled kimono has veins growing all over Rui’s deathly pale skin as his hands slide down your face to cup your hands, holding them closer to his chest. Enabling you to feel his steady heartbeat, for the first time in his entire existence, he had a real heartbeat

Rui wasn’t going to leave you alone ever again and he wasn’t going anywhere until you are smiling and laughing again before him. Your happiness is his, your safety is his. You are his, his precious… forever

“Dokusha. Who made you cry like this? What is the problem. I demand you tell me every detail”

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime and manga #kny imagines #short story #kny lower moons #ayaki rui #rui ayaki #rui x reader #demon slayer rui #kimetsu rui #kny rui #lower moon 5 #demon slayer comfort #kny comfort #comfort #kny fluff #demon slayer fluff #rui fluff #sweetie boy #he weirdly loving #if you ignore all his aggression #Rui a pretty good brother #spider family #kny spider family #rui comfort

[metvmorqhoses]

Hi! I never read the original trilogy before watching the show, only the crows books, but I agree with a lot of what you’ve said about Alina & Aleksander. It’s obviously a cruel and poorly fitting match. May I ask what kind of person you think would truly match Aleksander better?

So, here is the deal: while the right answer to this question might appear pretty obvious, since pretty much everyone in the fandom agrees that Aleksander deserves an equal, I have to confess that I've always found a big flaw in this otherwise, well, flawless reasoning.

Albeit I obviously agree with everything you said about Alina's (especially show!Alina) lack of... personality (to express it kindly), I think dismissing the general concept of book!Alina, at least in the way she should have been written had her writer any sense of artistic potential, might actually be a dire mistake in the proverbial grand scheme of literary things.

I'll explain.

It's indeed pretty easy to sketch out Aleksander's ideal match. He himself would tell you he'd need a mirror image of who he is in order to finally, finally, feel complete: someone to match him in power, but above all in his understanding of power; someone to match him in immortality, but above all in his experience with it; someone who shares his predatory eagle-view on existence and therefore sharp-sighted enough to look in his same direction and see the same clash of colors in dawns and sunsets turning morality and philosophy unforgiving black.

In short, Aleksander would need someone who shares his unique condition, but most importantly having already lived through each and every single stage of it (the same despair, the same fear, the same loneliness) and therefore being someone who just gets what it means, what it feels, to be him.

There's no doubt in my mind this is what the Darkling dreamt about in the dead of night, what he prayed for before actually finding the Sun Summoner. He prayed she had been out there all along somehow, each year he himself had existed, going through the same centuries of unforgiveness, of solitude, of horror, through the same desperate quest for an equal, for him, just as he had been looking for her, all that time, all along.

I've seen many amazing people believing this very same thing while exploring the possibility in both meta and fanfiction, and I absolutely get where they are coming from. But I'm afraid I have to disagree. As poets say, there's a huge difference between what someone thinks they need and what they actually do need.

Aleksander's perfect match should indeed be his mirror image, but the mirror image of the boy he once was (the boy who was in love with "all the colors one cannot see in the dark", the one who was moved by the mere idea of companionship and intimacy, who was brave enough to risk his own life for the sake of a little girl he had just met), and not of the eternal and lost creature he had become, no matter how shocking the mere notion would be to him.

Aleksander would need a person who reminds him of the unspoiled self that was torn away from him, of his original unmarred idealism, his profound appreciation for living before he became a mere stubborn and bitter habit, of the humanity he was forced to shed. And, above all, Aleksander would need to be able himself to perform this act of saving, protecting and cherishing this twin heart for the sake of that heart of his no one had cared to save in time.

I think seeing himself, his truer, unspoiled self, in his equal and being able to shield her from everything he endured, as a single beam of light in endless oceans of darkness, would be virtually the only thing able to save him in turn, finally giving his life a meaning no war nor time could steal away from him.

And this is precisely why I think the concept of Alina had real literary potential, had it been used wisely, because Alina was supposed to be exactly that - an Alexander who can still, materially, be protected, saved, someone with the strength of not treding her own humanity for comforting numbness and disillusion, not even while crushed by the weight of eternity, and, in doing so, allowing him to be human and bearably so for the first time in his eternal detached yet still excruciating exististing.

It's a pity, because at fleeting times both books and show did touch on this very topic, almost giving in, only to idiotically shy away from it for reasons that will always be beyond me.

#and instead we had this dumbness galore #darklina #shadow and bone #the darkling #the grisha trilogy #aleksander morozova #sab metas #one and one thousand stories lis told

[onwhatcaptain]

It's been ages since I posted a snippet from my K/S novel, so I'm back with one from Chapter 15!

“Well, I haven’t even asked you anything yet, Doctor.” He snorts. “And for your sake, you probably shouldn’t.” They make a small expression of sympathy that he’s getting far too used to seeing and they walk in silence for a few moments. “I understand you’re going through a lot right now, but I have a responsibility to at least try and ask you questions, Doctor.” “And why’s that?” “Because this story deserves to be reported fairly and accurately, and your perspective on the matter is missing. I think you might have some valuable insight and I just want to understand. To shed light on the matter.” “And what exactly needs my input?” “Doctor McCoy,” they ask, “were Commander Spock and Captain Kirk merely colleagues and friends? Or was there something more?” McCoy stops in his tracks without turning to face them, nearly tripping on the gravel lining the path. “What?”

If you are curious, my fic "I Shall Do Neither" is here at AO3.

I Shall Do Neither (87406 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 16/26 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 25 chapters, and will be updated on Sundays.

#spirk #spirk fic recs #star trek #kirk x spock #star trek tos #leonard bones mccoy #fr though I have really loved writing bones so much. he is an amazing character