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ashwhowrites · 7 months

Note

hello ash, your writing is lovely!! i was wondering if i could request reader being in subspace after a night out with a guy who didn't give her aftercare, so roomate!eddie makes her feel better? just like taking on the role of caretaker and telling reader that he'll keep her safe and just tucking her in and giving her cute, chaste kisses?

(this is totally self indulgent cos i was sent home after no aftercare and had to do it myself)

Aftercare has my heart. That's one of my favorites parts about being intimate with my partner, the pillow talk that comes after

Thank you for requesting! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it <3

Small fluff blurb

Y/N tried to hold back her tears as she slammed the door. She cursed herself for even leaving the bar with that guy. She should have known a random hookup at a bar wouldn't be romantic or respectful in any kind of way.

She scoffed as she thought about how he rolled off of her and told her to be out by morning. The way he didn't bother to see how she was, just closing his eyes. He had the nerve to go to sleep while she sat there naked and vulnerable.

She felt alone, scared, and used. All she wanted was to feel good. But now she couldn't help but feel like an idiot. She felt like she did everything wrong and she wasn't even worthy of being taken care of. Was she a burden? Was it too much to ask for a soft cuddle afterward?

~~~

She freely cried once she made it into her apartment. She slammed the door and ran off into her room.

Eddie was on the couch, a hand in a bag of chips when she ran past. He sat up worried, he dusted off his hands and followed behind her.

She was on her bed, lying on her side as she curled into a ball. She sobbed into her knees, her small dress riding up. Eddie could see the beginning of small hickies forming on her thighs.

"Oh, pretty girl." He cooed, walking over to the side of the bed. He kneeled, his face close to hers. He used his right hand to softly pet her hair.

"I don't wanna talk about it." She sniffled, and her red eyes looked at him. She looked so scared and hurt.

"Then we won't talk." He said softly, he stood up and removed his sweatpants. She watched him confused but didn't say anything. He gave her a trusting smile and took off her heels. Then he slid the sweatpants up her legs.

She sniffled but could feel the tears stopping. The comfort of her bare feet against her warm blanket. The softness of Eddie's sweatpants on her bare legs. Eddie grabbed her hands and helped her sit up. He nodded to her dress, and she got the hint. She reached behind herself and unzipped the dress, she stood up and let the dress sink. She stood in a bra, but Eddie's eyes stayed on her face.

"Good girl." He said softly, the praise warmed her stomach as she felt a small smile on her face. He walked over to her drawer and pulled out a small shirt.

"I'm going to turn around while you take off your bra and put this on, can you do that for me? It's okay if you can't." He asked, she nodded and took the shirt. Just as he said, he turned around but left his arm behind his back. His palm upwards gave her the chance to hold it if needed.

She couldn't help but melt at how nice he was. The way he was soft and easy with her.

"Done." She said quietly, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do next. He turned around as she stared at him, blankly waiting for the next direction.

"Look at you! You did so well." He praised. "Let's go into bed and have some cuddles. I know you love cuddling before bed."

She nodded excitedly, moving onto the bed and slipping underneath her covers. Eddie turned off her lamp, crawling over her body as he settled next to her. He wrapped his arm around her, his lips next to her ear as he breathed against her.

The air hitting her ear and his arm wrapped around her made her feel safe. She didn't feel alone and she felt wanted. Why couldn't every guy know what she needed like Eddie?

"You're safe here." He whispered, he leaned forward and pecked her cheek.

And she believed him

Tags!

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff blurb #eddie munson fluff x female reader #ashwhowrites #eddie munson blurb

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strongheartneteyam · 11 months

Text

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

Chapter 5

CW: dubious consent, mentions of NON CON, neteyam yearning for reader, angst all over, you can see the sexual tension with your naked eyes, possessive neteyam, feelings of general and sexual confusion, mentions of sexual fluids, talks of being sexually aroused, sexual content, tsaheylu is mentioned, reader is still scared of Neteyam but she longs for him too, fear kink (if you squint), mentions of blood, size kink (if you really squint), primal [hunter/prey] kink (if you squint HARD), crying, strong language, the word "harassment" is mentioned, MAY BE TRIGGERING to some people, mentions of exophilia, indecisive reader, heartbroken Neteyam, heartbroken reader. Please, tell me if I missed anything important!

I slept a lot during the day yesterday and was up until late with my bf having dinner, watching YouTube etc and, when he went to sleep, I was restless, still didn't feel like sleeping so, I decided to edit and finish this chapter that was being kept in my Docs for way too long, it was getting dusty 😂 So, I might have stayed up until morning in the zone editing and finishing this 👀 I'm REALLY sleepy and exhausted rn, so, if some parts of this chapter don't really make sense, try to have empathy for my poor tired being and forgive me <3 I'm aware that I'm a hot mess who has insomnia and needs to get a grip and not put her art above healthy sleeping habits but what can I do? I'm one of those chaotic artists who have a hectic, unstable life and feel the most alive when they're immersed in their craft, running away from their problems, pouring their whole soul into their works 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not proofread. Me. too. tired. 💤 I'll do it ASAP! hope you guys like this. 🤍😘 comments will ALWAYS be incredibly appreciated.

Chapter 4

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From lashes to ashes and from lust to dust

In your sweetest torment I am lost

And we sense the danger but don't want to give up

It's heartache every moment, from the start 'til the end

It's heartache every moment with you

Heartache Every Moment (HIM)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You stared at Neteyam, at his big face, covered with stripes and fascinating bioluminescent freckles, leaving unique patterns all over his blue skin.

Even though he was kneeling down, doing everything he could to seem smaller and not so scary, to make you feel less intimidated by his size, his face was still way above your eyes, you still felt your neck hurt a little when you had to look up - straining your muscles, already sore from working too much - to gaze at his eyes.

"Oh, paskalin" (honey) "I could make you feel so good, you don't even know..." he was now even closer to you - you didn't even think it was possible but there he was, his massive frame making you feel smaller than ever. Fear of him snapping at you, in case you did something that didn't please, and hurting you was taking over your mind. You didn't know that Omatikaya boy, how could you trust him? "Give me a chance, be my mate and lemme show you how much pleasure I can give you, how I can make you feel safe and fulfilled in my arms after we make love. Like no fucking human male could ever do. Not like I would." Neteyam's fangs got prominent at that moment, and you could tell he was restraining himself from hissing at the thought of a human man having you in his arms. God, that had a name...

"Obsession." you thought

Despite those horrible feelings you were experiencing, his foreign accent still sounded weird but strangely fascinating to your ears, simultaneously. You hated yourself for feeling drawn to Neteyam, even though he was clearly stepping over your limits. You didn't know if maybe it was a na'vi courtship behavior for the male to get this close to the female, even if she hadn't shown any signs of wanting him to. But Neteyam wasn't exactly courting you, you thought. It was more like... straight up harassment, at least in human culture.

Your breath became heavier inside your oxygen mask when you thought about him using his fangs to draw blood from your skin in case you were able to be fast enough to go past where he was kneeling down next to you, and, tried to run away. With his incredibly slender, toned legs he could easily catch up with you in a millisecond and grab you, being free to do whatever he wanted to your small, defenseless human body. That thought made you feel like someone was knotting your intestines tight.

"Eywa... You're just so fucking pretty, even in this demon form, that I... I wanna do to you, right now, all I've been dreaming about, since I first saw you and you made my blood run hotter through my veins, such a fire you ignited inside me, syulang..." (flower)

Neteyam's breath was so heavy once out of his nostrils, clouding your mask, like he's controlling his urges, trying to hold back from touching you. You felt your knees weaken, fear and tension being the reasons why.

"Y-you don't want me, Neteyam. Not really. You just think you do. You're only intrigued by me because I look different from the girls you're used to. The na'vi girls." You didn't know how but you dug deep inside your chest and found the courage there to say that, looking into the alien's eyes.

Neteyam chuckled faintly, air coming out of his nose, in disbelief

"How can you say such thing, hì’i?"

"Hì..hì?" You tried to pronounce what you had just heard, in vain. You had no idea what that na'vi word meant. It's not like you knew that much of the na'vi language, anyway. You only knew the basic stuff that you had to study and learn to be able pass one of the tests that would determine if you were ready to get an Avatar body from the lab

"Hì'i." He corrected you, smiling wide and laughing quite a bit. "You're so silly and cute. Hì'i means "small in size" in my people's language. You are small, in this current physical form. But, let's talk about what's most important: what makes you think I don't really want you?"

"Because I am a demon to you, as you said. I am a human girl, not a na'vi girl." you said, rage slipping through your eyes. Why the hell was that crazy na'vi guy calling you a "demon", saying that he wants you sexually and calling you pet names, all at once?

"But you have an Avatar body. Nothing is preventing you from having your consciousness transferred for good to that body. If my father did it, so can you." The alien said, full of confidence. You wondered if he was going insane.

"And what makes you think I wanna do it?"

“My tawtute," (human) "I can smell you. I know you want me too. You're wet for me. Don't forget my senses are way sharper than what you're used to" Neteyam smiles calmly while enjoying the way your scent hit his nostrils. You felt your face flood with color, so much blood going directly to that part of your body as you felt incredibly embarassed when you heard those words. You had just realized your panties were soaked. "And, I'm sorry, but I have to tell you… Your juices smell so fucking delicious. You're driving me insane right now, yawne. I think that, at the end of the day, becoming my mate and making tsaheylu with me wouldn't be such a horrible experience for you."

Your thoughts cursed at you like crazy: "Damn it!! I must be kidding my own self!! Having a slight crush on him is one thing, getting fucking wet for him is something totally different! Do I have a fear kink, a rape kink or am I just into freaking exophilia?! For real, girl... There's gotta be something extremely wrong with you for you to be this turned on by the thought of this alien guy taking you by force."

"You're crazy! I'm not gonna be your mate! Just fucking let me go!" You wondered if you had just lost your mind to say and do that to Neteyam, being currently in your human body (if you were Dreamwalking it would obviously be safer) but you couldn't take all that was happening at that moment anymore. Your heart was beating too fast, like you were about to have a cardiac arrest. It was too much. You were overwhelmed.

You caught Neteyam off guard, the words you shouted stinged him so hard it left his very heart wounded, the muscles throbbing in pain. You noticed he seemed hurt, the sides of his mouth curled down faintly and his cat like ears were pointing towards the ground.

You felt bad for hurting his feelings. Even though he was disrespecting you, there was still enough empathy inside you to make you feel bad for making him suffer. You did not enjoy hurting people.

You inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm your nerves and, finally, you said:

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, even though you honestly deserve it. There's no excuse for what you're doing. You can't force me to be your mate. I'm not even na'vi! And don't start with that "You have an Avatar body" thing, please!" You breathe in deeply and let the air out slowly "I'm not your dad and I don't intend to follow his steps. I know very well I could die if I tried to go past Eywa's eye. Even if I wanted to get my consciousness transferred forever to my Avatar form, it's too damn risky. Plus, what makes you think I'd ever do it for you? I barely know you." You sighed, exhausted from it all. "Let me go back to my room. Please…?"

Neteyam looked tired and he was starting to feel defeated, like a soldier fighting in the front lines of a war who was losing his stamina after shooting way too many enemies in a very short period of time.

"I just wish you could…" it's like the words felt too rough against his throat, like it was too hard to talk at that moment "... could see that I won't hurt you." He sighed again "I know it feels weird and I'm big and scary, like you say…" His heart hurt at the reminder of your tough words "But I promise you - and I take promises very seriously. My parents taught me to do so, ever since I was old enough to understand their words - I would never lay a finger you." The expression on his face looked utterly serious, like he truly meant it. "Ever."

"You're hurting me with your actions, your words... the way you talk about me, about my body. I don't know about your culture, but it's pretty disrespectful in mine. I feel violated. I do think most of what the human race considers right or wrong is just bullshit, dumb society rules made up by even dumber people. But I have to agree with them on this one." You said

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, hì’i tawtute." (small human) Neteyam looked down at the floor and there was shame all over his face

"Opening my window for you was a mistake."

Neteyam looked at you with eyes filled with sadness

He got back on his feet and stepped away from you, staying now arguably a good amount of steps away from where you were standing.

"Please, don't say that…" Neteyam pleaded with tears in his eyes

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

༊⁀➷

Once you got back to your room, took your oxygen mask out of your face on autopilot and closed the window, you stared for a while at Neteyam's oddly tall figure, still standing in front of your room.

You looked at him and your heart broke. He looked so hurt. His big yellow irises shone insanely in the dark of the eclipse. But his eyes were tainted with tears. His dark braids fell onto his shoulders perfectly. He was incredibly beautiful. But why could you only let your guard down when he was away from you? When you were behind a glass and he was standing on the other side? It broke your heart to do that. But you also knew he was being too much. Too eager. Stepping over your limits and making you uncomfortable. But what if that was just his na'vi nature? You had heard before that the na'vi were humanoid but still animalistic. Maybe it was just… his primal instincts to find a mate. You wondered if maybe you were being too harsh on him. But you still felt like you could not and should not trust him. Even though you wanted to.

You watched him walk away, his shoulders pointing downwards, his posture showing he knew he had lost that battle.

You wondered if he would come back or if he would give up on you. You felt so idiotic. Why did you want him to come back? He was not treating you the way he should be, with respect for your boundaries.

You felt so confused. There was a lump in your throat. You felt like you were about to cry too.

Your hands were cold and you were feeling anxious and your chest was filled with angst. You wanted to scream Neteyam's name and ask him to come back. But you did not. You knew you shouldn't. It could awake someone. It could be dangerous. You should not trust Neteyam, you kept repeating in your mind.

Your feet started to move, almost as if they did it on their own, because it felt like your mind was somewhere else, like your brain was occupied with something else other than sending a message to your feet and tell them to take you back to your bed. You were lost in your thoughts. Dazed as hell.

Once you laid on your bed and covered your body with the warm sheets, you felt a sinking feeling of sadness and guilt bruising your chest. Hot, painful tears streamed down your face and the lump in your throat intensified. Why were you crying? And why were you thinking about Neteyam Suli while you cried?

You wondered if he could imagine that you were now crying, just like he was when he left.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

the games we play

Javier Peña x F!Reader

wc: 4k warnings: angst, ex-lovers back to lovers, one bed trope, alludes to smut, but no actual smut, set in narcos season two. summary: He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours. written for @wildemaven and @wildemaven-prompts week 8 [this was meant to be short, i don't know what happened] javier peña masterlist

Sometimes, the heat in Colombia is gentle.

He has found there can be a breeze, a small break from the sun’s touch. It blows against his shirt and swings against the skirts of dresses.

Other times, it’s not so gentle. It can be stifling, and suffocating. It lays itself thickly on top of the weight of catching Escobar, bearing down on the uncomfortable tension from being beside someone he’s trying to avoid.

It makes things worse.

Tense. Unbearable.

Like it is today, where the heat and the day have been testing him. Hanging over them, making even breathing strenuous, not allowing him to think straight, and causing his logic and reason to be difficult to grasp.

But then, being around you makes holding onto many things difficult. Made worse by the fact you’re only speaking to him when necessary. Memories of their argument flitting in and out, a constant reminder like a foot on his neck—pressing its weight down more and more.

Boni— Do not touch me, do not look at me. Actually. Keep out of my way, Peña. I don’t… I don’t want to see you, never mind hear you.

He’s frustrated—angry. The lead they’d been sent for had fizzled into dust and ash by the time the plane had even lifted off. Leaving them with nothing when they landed. Just some files, misty assumptions and corruption—things he could have examined behind his desk on base.

Now, the two of you are stuck here.

The storm brewing in the sky, darkening in the distance—ruining his chance of getting home, away from you.

It’s why he’s been running his thumb over his two fingers—the other hand massaging the side of his skull. Desperate to ease the tension in his head, the dull ache he has from fighting all his normal reactions.

Your perfume has been wearing him down further. Intensifying in the heat and humidity the storm is causing, all prickling and ready to crash over the city.

It’s not that one he’s worried about, it’s the one crackling between the two of you.

It takes more than what he has left, to block it out, to pretend he’s unfazed.

Normally, he’s happy to be off base. To be in any bed that isn’t that one. But, it’s needling him that he’s here for another night, sitting in failure, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. From all angles, he is confronted with his mistakes—the dwindling leads, the choices he’s made, and the way he’s hurt you.

Each time you allow your eyes to meet his, he sees it. Dancing, ever so gently in your irises, even if you try to blink them away.

He hears you sigh. Hears it over his thoughts, his faux ignorance and forced focus. Having spent more energy than he likes on trying to keep cool, avoid what you’re saying—very quickly, and very fucking loudly—and the feeling of the beads of sweat which pool at the base of his spine.

If he’s uncomfortable, he can’t envision you are faring much better. Your trousers are tightly fitted, cupping your curves to the point it’s been distracting. Your blouse, though elegant and flowing in places, is also long-sleeved—as if by covering as much skin as possible, he wouldn’t want to look at you.

Not realising it’s your eyes and smile he fell for first.

Not that you’re talking to him. In a way, it’s a blessing. He doesn’t need to scramble for an answer, bathe it in politeness before he shoots it your way. He can be sharp and bitter in his mind. Like he had been when you’d mentioned finding a motel to stay the night in.

You’d apologised to him in English—as if all of this had been your fault—that he would have to stay around you for another day. Something knotting inside of him, desperately wanting to claw out and tell you that he likes being around you, and doesn’t want your apologies.

He doesn’t say that. He said nothing.

Now you’re trying to find them a room. Lifting his head, allowing himself a glance at you through his brows, watching as your hand lands on your hip as you continue to question and plead.

Occasionally, he lets himself hone in on the odd word. Spanish rolling from your tongue with such ease. On any other day, he’d hang off your every word. Now, he tries to block you out as much as possible, fearing the way his mind conjures memories of sounds you made. The sweet ones only he pulled from you.

The ones he no longer deserves.

It’s why he hides from you, and buries himself away in a cave of his own making to keep a handle on himself and not ruin whatever is left between you both.

He’s only just got you back as his colleague. Only just being able to talk to him about work without looking like you’re about to implode.

Again, not that he blames you. He replays it, turning it over the fight. It flashes like lightning across his thunderous thoughts, clouded images of your sad face that twisted into fury, how your words slowly began to cut, laced with blades.

Fuck you, Peña. I didn’t ask for this—I knew, I knew you’d do this. And you promised me you wouldn’t hurt me, and yet… you did, you have.

His thumb slides over the pads of his fingers, catching the calluses and the healed scars. He keeps going, churning your words, over and over, not sure if he’ll be ever able to burn them from his mi—

“Javi…”

Opening his eyes, he finds you.

Your fingers holding his arm, his own slowly unpeeling themselves from his skull.

“I… I’ve been calling you for a minute.”

Javi. You haven’t called him that for a while. Having chosen to call him Peña or fucker—and if necessary, Javier. Javi is what you called him before. When the two of you blurred the lines of colleagues and stepped close to being something more.

Something he couldn’t give you. Something he tore in two because, of course, he did.

Tilting your head, you frown, little creases in an otherwise smooth pool. “You good?”

He drops his hand, half expecting your fingers to fall from him. But they remain.

Not on the part covered by his short sleeve, but his skin. Skin that he is sure is already warm, but with you touching him, feels like an inferno. Your little prints burning into him, reminding him you’re solid, real—not a fantasy his mind had cruelly conjured to taunt him.

Rubbing his arm, you offer a smile. “We’re both tired—our flight isn’t for a while, and this place has one room. So.”

You’re too fucking good for me, Bonita. Yeah, Peña. I fucking am. Yet, here I am and here you are. I shouldn’t be. Javi, what is going off… why are you here, why are you picking a fight with me, why are you hurting me for the sake of hurting me?

His silence is making it worse.

He can feel it, see it. How there’s ripples under your mask. Concern bubbling to the surface, making things for him also float to the top. The need to make you smile, to make you laugh—to put you at ease and keep you safe.

Javi has had those thoughts since the moment he first talked to you. Your spark and fire caught him by surprise, the way you wiggled your hips as you left him at the coffee machine rendering him more than useless.

If they’re going to be able to survive the night, he has to bury it all. Stuff it so far down, swallowing back everything. It takes a lot to fill his lungs because of it, the air burning his throat as does so, keeping his eyes on you.

Forcing a twist of his lips, he stares into your eyes. Boldly. Maybe too boldly. “You trying to get me to bed, Bonita?”

You scoff, slowly dropping your hand from his skin, holding the key up in the other. “No. But, knowing you, I know that wouldn’t be hard.”

He feels the space before he truly notices it. How you’d taken a step back, allowing air to flood between you both like a barricade. Then you turn, giving him your back as you jolt your head in the direction of the room.

He’d looked past the bright pink, looked past the rusting railings because he had envisioned there would be two beds.

Not exactly imagining in all the Spanish you’d been spitting that you’d have asked for one bed.

But, there wasn’t. There wasn’t even a couch. Nothing. Just one double bed, two puffed pillows and a folded towel swan at the bottom.

The room itself isn’t nice either. Bright shades and fuchsia pinks, all matching the chipped wooden door and the horrid railings outside. A part of him wonders why he thought it would be better inside.

You brush past him, placing your bag down on the end of the bed. If you mind about the room, you say nothing.

Not about the soaring heat, the one bed or that you’re now sharing a room with him. He wants to ask, ensure you’re comfortable—that you don’t mind him being here.

Not entirely sure what he’d do if you said no.

You’ve only just begun talking to him directly, and not through Steve. Steve who had warned him and he hadn’t listened. “She’s good, Javi. Don’t fuckin’ ruin it by being you”. And he had. Trapping Steve in the middle until you begun to wear thin with Chinese whispers. It took so long, he almost forgot how to speak when you finally were able to string a sentence together without looking close to stabbing him.

Javi knows he only has himself to blame. He’s aware of it—feeling it thrumming around him, whether or not your eyes cut into him.

Look, you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m a big fucking girl. But you don’t get to sniff around like some wounded fuck because someone else does. You don’t get to turn up when I’m enjoying myself and ruin it.

If anything, Javi is used to making things worse in his personal life. He knows that he’s good with his hands, but not his words. That if you asked he could build you furniture, or put up a shelf; he knows how to please you, pull noises and expressions from you with his tongue alone. If he wasn’t so broken, he could be good for you. Not good enough, but be good.

But, he isn’t.

“You need the bathroom?”

He looks up, finding you holding a smaller bag. “N-no. You go ahead.”

You nod, motioning past him as he clears his throat. Wiping his bottom lip, he adds, “Look, tonight you have the bed—“

“Or, we can be adults and you can share a bed with me…”

He swallows, watching you pause at the bathroom door, standing a little taller.

Something he’s noticed you do more and more, having not been able to take his eyes off you. Not that he ever really has, since he met you. Watching the way you move around, the way you purposefully avoid even the space he’s in.

Fuck, you were maddening. Beautifully maddening to the point now, when he couldn’t have you, you have consumed everything.

He deserves it, deserves worse—he deserves poisonous words and sharper glares.

Now, though, you aren’t giving him that. Your look is more gentle. One he used to get, before…

“Peña, do you want this to be even more unbearable… and if you want to punish yourself, fine, sleep on the floor,” you sigh, swallowing the rest of your words as you lift your shoulders. “But, I’m not asking you to. If you want to be an adult, share the damn bed with me.”

His lips twitch, his hands moving to his hips. “You sure… about sharing the bed?”

You offer a small smile, one that’s forced, but still there. “You know I don’t bite.”

“You do kick, though.”

You laugh, sharp—almost blending perfectly with a puff of air. “Don’t you forget it, either.”

“Wouldn’t dare, Bon…”

He lets the words trail off. The pet name he calls you comes too easily to his tongue. Dissolving into the air, feeling your eyes wash over him before the click of the bathroom door sounds.

He can smell your shampoo. It’s that which stirs him from his sleep.

He peers from the corner of his eyes, noticing the room is still smothered in half-darkness—the motel lighting blaring through the shit, thin curtains.

The scent continues to tickle his nose. It’s a small respite from the smell of spice from the room service hours ago. The food hanging as heavy in the air as it made him feel when he consumed it.

It takes a second, maybe a second too long, to realise you’re curled into him. He feels your breath dancing along his chest, realising his arm is around you, keeping you in place—chin on top of your head, just like the two of you have done with ease before.

Just like the first time, your bodies betrayed you both then, as they are now.

You stained him, imprinted on him. Made it easier to sleep, your warmth has never been too much, but always the perfect amount. Your head is never too heavy, but a weight he welcomes. And has missed.

Get in the car. No, fuck you. You’re the one who said this wasn’t serious. Bonita, get in the— You have no right, Javi. Take your chivalry and your car, and go fuck yourself.

He feels you move your hips closer, brushing over his other hand. It allows him, without trying, to fan his fingers more over your hip. Feeling the softness of your skin, the curve of you—his fingers lightly, and gently squeezing.

It’s experimental, full of unsureness. Something he’s never known for, but you make him a wreck.

Make him question things. Make him want things he’s not craved in a long time.

So he begins sliding his fingers over your hip, unsure if you’re awake. The thin oversized tee you’re sporting is the only barrier from your chest being flush against his, raised above your hip, his fingers catching the hem of it occasionally.

He should put space between the two of you. Should unfurl himself from you before you wake and realise what is happening.

Before he sees that look in your eye. The one a perfect blend of ice and betrayal—topped off with a slice of hurt. He breaks good things, he’s realised. He doesn’t deserve nice souls and a person waiting for him. He’s impatient, selfish and… making so many wrong decisions.

It’s why he hasn’t challenged it, your decision.

Why he stood and said nothing when you hurled abuse at him in the street. He took each verbal punching, knowing the things he’s doing—knowing the danger he’d have been putting you in.

That night, when you didn’t answer. You weren’t at Steve’s were you? Were you? No.

He’s been haunted by you outside of work, not just in it. Images of you, scarlet staining your clothes, limbs bent in ways they should never be. Either that or you appear in his head when he’s in the shower, when his hand is on someone else’s bare hip, frustrated they don’t feel or sound like you, frustrated he can’t finish because he misses you. Misses how good you feel, how you make him feel.

Javi has spent more energy trying to fuck you from his system than he had done trying to keep you in it originally. Something he is more aware of right now, than he was on all the other lonely nights.

It’s why he doesn’t dare move, almost afraid as to what he’ll be confronted with if he wakes you. If your eyes would be murderous, burning a new print for him to hang in the misery museum he’s forged in his head.

Whether they’d be soft… almost worrying if they’d be welcoming, not sure he’ll be able to be selfless and noble again.

He should remove his hand. He should place the blanket, which neither of you wants to have over you, firmly between you. Barricade himself from you, stop you from falling and him being unable to catch you.

Your breath dances over his chest, and he strokes ever so slightly on your hip.

“Is now when you’d want me to bite, Javi?”

Your voice is a whisper.

But he hears them as clear as if you’d shouted them.

You let them land before you lift your face from his neck. You’re so close, the gap so minimal, so easy to close.

He tenses, for the briefest moment, because of it.

“Bonita…”

“Kiss me, Javi.”

He has you on your back before his name is even in the air, crashing his lips against yours, hearing the surprised muffled sound bleeding out from between both of your mouths.

It unlocks it, everything he’s stuffed into the box in his chest. His hand sliding up your neck to grip your jaw, the bed groaning as he leans down over you, kissing you desperately—needing to make up for all the minutes he didn’t. He devours, he thirsts, and he wants all at once as he slides his hand up your thigh, lifting it over his hip.

Thankfully you pull him close, tight—leaving no space for question or doubt. Your hands loop around the back of his neck, nails scratching at the base of his hair as your thighs press against his hips.

His teeth run along your jaw, the tip of his tongue leaving evidence of his path. Your soft murmurs, pleases and Javi’s circling around the two of you.

All he can think is: you taste like sweet, sugar and goodness. It’s a juxtaposition to his smokes, to the liquor normally on his tongue. Another reminder of how good you are, the cracks you proclaim you have so minimal, he barely sees them.

He just sees you.

Strong, beautiful you, who has a sharper tongue than most suits; a hook that forces blue and black to spread before someone even knows they’ve been hit. You’re all brains and strategy, and yet you’re also the most intoxicating thing he’s ever undressed.

And so, he cages you in, unwilling, and unwanting to ever let someone else taste what he gets to. Keeping you close right now as though it can undo all the times he’s taken you for granted.

“Mine,” he whispers against your neck.

Unmeaning to. The word escaping. Making him freeze and you tense. He’s nervous, for the billionth time when he’s with you, he’s nervous as he meets your gaze.

What he finds isn’t shock, but slight narrowed eyes and twisted swollen lips all illuminated in a reddish-pink hue from the outside.

Tracing your knuckles down his cheek, your back arches into him, tracing your bottom lip with your tongue. “Prove it then.”

And he does.

His mouth tastes every inch of you, his ears take in every noise he hadn’t been sure he’d ever hear again. He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours.

But, what he savours is the way you beg for more, how you chant his name. How your hand holds his jaw, muffling your moans against his lips as he fills you—feeling pride ballooning in his chest as you moan his name over and over again.

Javi isn’t sure how much sleep the two of you manage. Not that he cares, and not that you’re complaining either. He groans when you slide from his arms, the sun rearing its ugly head through the curtains.

You smirk, and it does something to him as you begin getting ready. Something which makes him want to throw back the sheets and put you on your back again.

But you must read him—see right into his head. Not that he fights you to stay out.

“We have a flight to catch.”

“We still have time.”

“Not the way we do it, we don’t.”

So he relents. Choosing instead to watch you. Take in every glimpse of you he can get. Watching as you style and dress in the mirror, eyes occasionally meeting him as he feels himself smile.

He wants to suggest not leaving, for a moment not wanting to entertain what goes off outside of these walls. He could rip up the tickets for their flights and keep the room for another night. Avoid the issues back where they work. The pressure, Escobar… Los Pepes.

Javi doesn’t do that. Moving closer to you, half-wanting to just pull you close. Feel the way you fit against him, how perfect you do.

He runs his hand down your wrist, wrapping his fingers around the strap of your bag. Lingering in your space, watching your lips curl, seeing the outline of himself in your lusting eyes as he presses you against the wall.

“Javi…”

“We have time, Bonita. I promise,” he whispers in Spanish, dropping your bag softly as he slides his hands around your hips.

You don’t fight him.

Sliding your arms around his neck, lips ghosting over his before you blink—and something shifts.

“Javi… Look, before we get back and things… get complicated. I don’t want more from you than we can both give. My job, I love my job, Javi. I know you do too, I know you need to catch him...”

It’s changing, switching up in front of him.

“What are you saying?”

It comes out more defensive—tense. Suddenly feeling you're slipping through his fingers, for reasons far out of his control. For reasons he hasn't even caused.

He watches as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to bring me coffee, I don't want dinners and... I just want the us we were before, without the…”

You’re stressed. He can feel it. It vibrates in the air until he smooths his fingers over your cheek, soothing you in the only way he can.

“It’s okay…”

“I want to be yours, Javi. But, I don’t want us to change, not while we have things to do.”

Placing his hand on your hip, he watches as your lips twitch.

His pulse quickens, watching you take a heavy breath. “I know we don’t have more to give one another until he’s caught. And I’m okay with that. As long as…”

It trails off, your words. Your eyes glare as if you can burn the unspoken words in without needing to say them.

He make you feel good, Bonita? Did he— You don’t get to act jealous when you were cock deep in a whore when I needed you, Javier.

“Long as, what, Bonita?”

You avert your eyes.

And he knows before you ask. He remembers it. Recalls seeing the number of missed calls and realising that you’d needed him. The hurt on your face, the look in your eyes.

“Please don’t fuck any more whores. You called me yours last night, Javi. So don’t—“

“Only if you don’t go on any more dates with fuckers who don’t deserve you,” he says, fingers under your chin as he lifts your eyes back.

Please. He adds with his eyes.

You hold his gaze, slowly nodding before you softly smile. One he likes to think is all his. It holds his attention when it’s there, lighting him up, and spreading warmth through him.

Both sitting in silent agreement, his fingers softening on your chin as he draws a line with his thumb.

“If we do this, you and me, there can’t be secrets between us. Not like before.”

Something twists inside of him.

“I was the one who stole your cigarettes,” you confess, his eyes narrowing teasingly, as you pout.

He kisses you, soft, and gentle. “I’ll forgive you.”

“Your turn, is there anything you need to tell me before we leave?”

His face blanks—empties. The bundle of secrets swirl in his stomach, knotting around organs and guilt and the salty chips and chocolate from last night.

For a moment, he thinks about it. Spilling all of it out, poisoning the moment and ruining what the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. His lips part ever so slightly, almost allowing the acidic ball in his throat to escape. It's all set to slip out and greet your ears.

But he swallows it. Hides it.

Shaking his head, he leans his forehead against yours. “Only that I’ve missed you, Bonita.”

Your hand clutches his cheek, cupping him gently. “I’ve missed you too, Javi.”

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

Hey did you ever end up posting that yandere plants one with the bee reader and I missied it?? Was looking forward to that one

(I have not. A drable for you, chief)

The queen has requested another harvest.

What impeccable timing.

Climbing from rubble and frayed vines, vegetation and ash falls from your hair and shoulders. Extra care is put into your wings as you brush them off for the flight ahead. Held by a loose spine, you blow the decades of dust off your new find - kicking spray particles into the air. Through water eyes you read the books cover - fuzzy tension building at the base of your nose.

It's another picture book.

They're going to love this one-

"Ahh... Achoo!... 'Cuse me."

Apologizing to the thin air around you, you unhook the fine straps of your satchel and toss the book inside. You turn your gaze to the hole in the ceiling as your wings flutter, feet kick-starting your ascent as you rise. The mellowed glow of the fog casted sun greets you first as you exit; a jungle of greenery and constructs waiting the earth below and as far as the eye could see. You climb up onto the ledge of the building and leap off into a nose dive for the ground - wings swooping into mobility before your body hits the trees. Flying lose did have its risks, but nothing beats the floral air in your hair when heading home - reminding you of those counting on your return.

Scouting the known galaxy for resources, your crew landed on this planet in a time you no longer recall accurately. Overtaken by plants of all variety, it seemed like the perfect harvest - until it wasn't. As unaccounted cargo, you were sparred the horrors they faced at the hands of the planet's few remaining natives. Asleep during the bloodbath you woke crowd by the new inhabitants of this land - sentient creatures grown from rich soil and crimes against anatomy.

Their creators feared what they had created and went to war destroying what they had birthed with their own hands - wiped out in the end by their superior strengths and numbers. Despite this carnage, they were a peaceful race and tried to rescue your crew, but failed. Finding your journals tucked into your sleeping arms they enlisted your aid as a florist in the upkeep of what remains of their home in exchange for their pollen and a roof over your head.

Base in sight, you speed through the thick fog in your descent to its open doors. A planetarium with an open ceiling has come your home in this time. You missed your comfy bed, but a hammock under the stars surrounded by those you now held dear was just as nice. You enter the building, breath fleeing as your snatched from behind. Not a step through the door and you're suspended in the air at the waist by hanging vines.

"And just where have you been, my sneaky little pest?"

Thorn-like claws grace your cheek, curving up to the crown of your head where they cautiously prod at your sensitive antennae. Amused, they chitter in delight as you struggle in your blinds - most likely held by another member of the collective. Beyond the palms of their woven hands, this one was covered near entirely in stained prickles. Violet petals spiked from the upper half of their hair and draped over their mocking grin

"You know you aren't allowed to leave without a guide. What ever would we do if our heart was taken by those savages, hm? I think a punishment is in order, don't you?"

"Seems so if they can't obey simple rules. With that lovely picture on knot tying they brought us the other day, I'm sure we can get up to lots of fun before the others figure out where we are."

Lowered closer to the floor, strong arms embrace you from behind and lead your head against their chest. Small, hanging buds sprouted up the lengths of their arms mark their class - their reddish yellow hue staking their typing. Cooing ever so cloyingly sweet in your ear, it rubs the humanoid half of its face against your cheek.

"You were scheduled to start the day with us. Don't you love us anymore? We may not be as approachable at the others, but we adore you all the same."

You swallow hard, trapped between a wall and thorns. "Thistle.... Honeysuckle.. but I can never find you two."

"But we're always watching. Can't let you get into trouble. Or pick a favorite. If you accept us as your guards for the rest of the week maybe we'll let you go. If not...."

The vines tighten around your hips - released almost instantly as they're snipped by an unseen party. You stumble forward, caught and picked up by another pair of arms.

"What have I told you two about picking on them? One more time and I'm sending you both to the greenhouse.... Are you alright, darling?"

Bright as the golden sun, their petals almost blind you as you look up. The leader, and the first floral creature you met - Marigold was your sworn protector even from those with you in their care. A strict, yet understanding calm to the storm life in the compound was. As they set you down, Thistle scoffs.

"Always the spotlight stealer. Would you keep it down before the others realized they've returned?"

It's a bit too late for that.

"Y/n? Y/n back?!"

"Oh, I was so worried I fear I may start wilting!"

"Y/n, Y/n! We have a ripe patch of peaches for you!"

From the shadows of the trees and handmade structures comes the entire horde. They push through each other getting to you and overwork your brain with their chatter. Over a dozen bodies crowded around your lone figure. Through the sea, the shortest of them swims through the crowd and manages their way up to you - head centered at your navel. Head cocked, they seem to be staring to your lips.

"Cuckoo? Is everything alright?"

They smile. Grabbing your shirt, you're bent forward into an open mouth kiss. All the commotion ceases immediately as a wave of surprises washes over them all. Patting the walls of your cheeks their segmented tongue, Cuckoo only pulls away when they're torn from you. Lifting the smaller flower by its shoulders, Thistle clenches their teeth tight.

"What on earth was that?"

The question was genuine. None of them were fully traversed in the act of kissing beyond brief tellings in the books you brought to learn more about the planet left behind for them. Agriculture and construction were common reads, but if they got lucky you'd find old story books, comics and novels. Cuckoo holds up a page from one of those very stories - the couple displayed entangled in a heat of passion with lips locked. Heads staring over their shoulder snap in your direction. You'd used the direction to scramble away and travel further into their lair.

"I wanna try..."

Even Marigold couldn't save you now. Taking advantage of your gift of flight, you dart into the air aiming for the second floor where your bedroom stood.

"I would love to help you all, but I need to get started on my letter for my queen. She has requested more pollen, and I wasn't able to get one out in the last run. As soon as it's out of the way, I can come back and we can - Ah!"

Fashioning a lasso from their vines, you're dragged down into the frenzy with no escape in the near future. As is your life with the horde.

A queen sits alone on her throne. Letter opener gripped in her palm, she stabs it though her throne as the words describing your escapade slash through her heart. Stomping the battered floor, her veil of submission cracks.

"This has gone on for too long. My garden is in shambles and so will this kingdom until their return."

The servant at her feet keeps their voice low. "My queen... Their service there is doing quite the opposite. Our reserves are at maximum capacity and with the treaty there's no need for war and needless casualties. I know of your bond and I am sorry for your lost."

Like an arrow, the queen's dagger rips through the air and anchors in the wall behind the servant. Golden blood beads in a line across their cheek. Unbridled rage and disgust seeps from her icy glare like poison. She refuses to look directly in their eye, staring off at the shoulders behind them.

"Get. This. Traitor- OUT. RIP THEIR WINGS AND LEAVE THEM FOR DEAD. if they aren't on my wall by dawn, I will take yours as payment."

Eyes wide, the servant lunges for her robes as the guards take their arms. "My lady, please! You cannot do this! I was trying to make things better! Y/n will never forgive you!"

She spits.

"And cut out their tongue."

Screams echoing down the halls, the queen curls up in her throne - clutching the pillow you kept every night and the flower you sent in your distress. Her sweet idiot of a bumblebee. Why did you have to run off? Sure she was stressed, but with her prized florist and sweet little bumblebee she could've conquered the universe. Someday you'll be in her arms and garden again - laughing the night and dawn away.

Someday

#Added queeny because I remembered you asking for one #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere harem #yandere teratophilia #tw yandere #yandere writing #female yandere #yandere

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

Who would get snapped by Thanos?

(also on Ao3)

Of all places, he was buying fucking cigarettes when it happened.

Jason was digging through his wallet when the woman behind him suddenly screamed. He whirled around and—

Hang on, didn't she have a kid with her? He could've sworn there was a toddler whining about candy just now. But when he looked, his eyes were met with a pile of dust and the lady staring at her hand, face pale.

Behind her were a group of teenagers. The shortest one—couldn't have been more than 14—turned to the others and said, "Guys, something's wrong." But before anyone could react, his skin cracked and he crumbled to pieces, leaving his friends scrambling.

The cashier dialed the police. Someone demanded to know what was going on. Without his helmet or guns, it wasn't as though Jason could say he got this all taken care of. Cigarettes forgotten, he slipped away from the crowd and called Bruce.

No answer. So he tried again, and on the third time he left an expletive-filled voicemail before hopping on his bike.

He zipped past the changing signals and swerved around the three-car pileup forming as he tried Dick's number. But all he got was that godawful singsong voicemail that Dick recorded years back.

That was two down already.

No.

No, he wasn't gonna think like that. Those two knuckleheads were fine. Hell, with a family of detectives, they were probably cracking the case as Jason broke a red light.

He picked another number.

It clicked.

"Roy, are you—"

"Jason." Roy's ragged breathing almost made his words unintelligible. "It's Lian. She—she..."

"It's happening everywhere," Jason said. "I don't know who's behind this but I'm gonna keep you updated."

There was nothing on the other line. Not a breath or panicking keen. His heart dropped.

"Roy?"

After several attempts, he had no choice but to hang up.

He didn't even wait for his motorcycle to stop completely, dumping it next to the others.

"Guys?"

The Cave was far, far too quiet. Jason grabbed his domino and a batarang lying on a bench.

"Hello? Anyone?"

He stuck a comm in his ear. It crackled to life.

"Guys, we have a situation. Is anyone reading me right now?"

Silence.

He spotted a familiar wheelchair in front of the glowing Batcomputer and let out a sigh of relief.

"Oracle! I'm glad you're—"

But there was no red hair or keyboard clacks to go with it. A steaming coffee cup was tipped over, soaking a case file and dripping onto the floor.

Alfred had to be okay. He's Alfred.

Jason raced upstairs, almost missing the three piles on the couch with purple, yellow, and orange video game controllers buried among them. In the cat bed is another one. His lunch crawled up his throat, but he swallowed it down and moved to the next room.

"Alfred?" His boots echoed through the halls with each step. "Anyone here?"

He checked the kitchen, but it wasn't Alfred he found. Rather it was Damian, staring at his ash-covered fingertips just like the lady at the store.

"They were right here." Damian's voice trembled. "Me and Cain and Pennyworth, we were talking and... and..."

He stumbled forward. Jason caught him.

"I got you. I got you." He wrapped his arms around the kid.

"Akhi?"

Something about it made Jason's blood run cold.

"I don't feel so good."

"Don't say that. You're fine." He squeezed tighter.

"I—I don't want to go. Not again." Damian's fists—oh God, they're so tiny—clung to Jason's shirt.

But all the pleading in the world amounted to nothing as the atoms of his baby brother slipped through his fingers. And even though it felt like everything was bubbling to the surface, he couldn't scream or cry out. All he could do was kneel there, numb, wondering who would have the audacity.

After who-knows-how-long, he felt Ace nuzzle against his ribs.

"You're still here."

"Arf!"

"You're right." Jason swiped the tears from his face and stood up. "Fetch me my guns. There will be hell to pay."

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Note

Can we get incel shiggy hating himself for actually (deep down) feeling soft for his darling and taking it out on her?

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: NSFW, yandere, abuse, incel misogyny, mean shiggy

fem reader

You cry and shield yourself, crawling into the darkest corner of the room. "Please-" You plead – a small shaking hand held up in the slimmest and weakest of efforts – and sadly, all you could to protect yourself.

Your whimpers are never-ending and act like a drill to the heart and everything else soft inside of him – churning his guts and splitting his mind.

He growls. "Shut up-" Grabbing you by the hair and hauling you up and out of your curled state.

"Please, Tomura, please- I'll be good, I promise-" You cry, trying to shelter yourself though without pushing him away – scared to have your wrist snapped in punishment.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth." He hisses, sparing you and your silly pleas no mercy when throwing you down on the mattress – stomach and face first.

"I'm sorry-" You feel your heart jump to your throat, knowing and dreading what is to come but only allowing yourself to twist the sheets in curled, trembling fists in spite of it – cowering as his hand comes down on the back of your head again, keeping you bowed and down, with your hair tugged between his fingers.

He doesn't want to look at your face and therefore shoves it into the pillow instead - feeling the tremors of your cries hitch against his palm. Flashes of your teary eyes haunt him either way, and he growls again, tearing the boxers you'd put on down to your thighs before scoffing – using his quirk instead he lets the dust filter down your legs to settle neatly on the floor.

"I told you to stop stealing my shit-" He repeats, putting a hand down flat on your back – watching the ashes of his shirt reveal your pretty skin.

You start sobbing, then – doing little else. Naked and shivering, you flinch beneath his touch while he kicks your legs apart. Obeying without a word, you spread them wider – offering that which you know he’s going to take like the night before – hoping your willingness is enough to soothe him.

It isn’t. The hand in your hair shoves you down harder until it becomes hard to breathe, and soon you start struggling again. You guess he likes that, to see you try and fail. He shoves inside you when you’re like that – his own spit doing little to ease the stretch and pain, and you scream despite having no air left to make a sound.

He lets up after a while – allowing you to gulp to smoothen the ache in your lungs while he fucks you raw. He leans over and yanks your head back – rasping at your ear. “Feel that, whore?” Your head burns listening to his dry chuckles, your heart tearing itself apart with disbelief that something so cruel can exist. “That’s your cunt going sloppy wet for me.”

He shoves in deep and hard, too quick to let you adjust – and the attack makes you jolt and choke on pained moans.

He scoffs. “You act like you’re not a dirty slut, but cum doesn’t lie. So when I feel you soak me like this- tch- I know for a fact you love it.” He seethes, pulling on your locks some more and trying to angle a little sharper against your womb – enough to make you whine out another pained sob. “You’re nothing but a filthy cumrag… You should be happy I even bother with you.”

He yanks you down on the floor after some time - his other hand gripping his dick in hurried tugs that squelch in the sticky mess of what wetness he’s pounded out of you.

You keep your eyes closed and await the blow, charting his sounds until he releases that final heavy moan – and soon after, you feel the spiteful warmth from his balls spritz all over your face. You barely flinch.

He pants heavily before letting go of your hair – and still, you don't move.

You just open your eyes again, and he watches them tremble with tears – big and shiny, as you kneel beneath him – your breaths cracked and uneven while you nibble some on your bottom lip. "Thank you." You sniffle, voice thin and softly beaten.

And there goes another sting to his heart, and he scoffs at the bitter aftertaste it leaves in his throat. "Shut up." His hand grabs your face, squishing bloated cheeks tight to make you pout, and you squeeze your eyes shut and let out another whimper. "You don't talk unless I say so. You don't do anything unless I say so-"

Your soft hands brace themselves against his knees gently with shivers, and he feels the immediate urge to kick you away from him – but stops himself.

He watches his cum drip along your tears – upon your cheeks and lips, and the sight leaves him feeling deeply unsettled – the sight of your little face in his big hand and how he barely has one pinky raised to keep it that way.

He wonders if he should set the digit down and put you both out of your misery.

#yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shiggy #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #shigaraki smut #shigaraki thirst #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere tomura #tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x you #tomura x you

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billiedeansbitch · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

(𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: this was supposed to be a wholesome fic but uh my brain got a little too carried away... anyway here's some smutty goodness.

warning/s: NSFW. SMUTT! public sex.

Miranda was in the break room, taking off the top of the cupcake just to put it back upside down, "It's a sandwich!" she defended when Robin was giving her a dirty look.

A sandwich. A sandwich seemed delicious. Should she have gotten a sandwich instead?

From across the room, you watched her shrug and took a hefty bite of the cupcake, leaving only a tiny portion. It amazed you how she wasn't choking.

When Griffin left the room, you sauntered toward the constable and tapped her shoulder, "Come quick"

She furrowed her brows, "Where?" and munched on whatever was left of the chocolate cupcake before dusting off her palms.

"Outside" Quickly, she was behind you exiting the room. Miranda indulged the way your hips swayed while you walk. Heat crept her face, extending down her throat and tip of her ears.

"Why?" she followed up, trying to at least not be distracted. "I want to watch you smoke" Still confused, she agreed nonetheless. However weird, Miranda would do anything you asked of her if it meant spending time with you.

When you both reached the parking, you sat on the makeshift chair from an old car seat. Miranda got into business and lit a cigarette.

She had long, slender fingers, you noted. Clean, and well groomed. No ring...

"What's happening? Are you okay?" Your eyes flutter back to her face.

You looked down, unable to meet her eyes as you said the words, "What's the deal?" you paused briefly, giving yourself some time to think if this was the right time and place to confront her. Decided, you continued, "With you and Robin."

"Griffin?" Miranda was genuinely perplexed. Why were you asking her about her partner?

Quietly you mumbled, "Yeah, her."

Miranda shifted, flicking the ash from the tip of the stick, "My colleague. We work on a case together. Personally? She's a friend as far as I know. We hang out every once in a while. Why? What is this all about?"

She wasn't sure why she was answering these things, but when the visible frown lessened on your gorgeous face, she knew it had something to do with her. What had she done to upset you now?

Did you assume the worst? Probably. "Just friends?" you asked again, wanting to confirm it the second time because the first wasn't just enough.

You had seen the way the blonde spoke to the short detective, the physical closeness and affection in their eyes. How they appear to perfectly perceive one another's thoughts without verbalizing them.

"Yeah—yes." she nodded, "Wait, are you jealous?" Miranda, who had just connected the imaginable dots in her head, had finally come to her own conclusion.

It suddenly made you feel abashed, your true feelings exposed to the constable. You couldn’t take that back now.

"You're jealous.” It irked you to hear how right she was.

“Why are you jealous? Did you think I was fucking her?" Hilmarson, who was simultaneously bewildered and amused, couldn’t keep the fucking grin from showing up, so she bit her lower lip in an attempt to dial down her excitement at the prospect of you reciprocating her unconfessed feelings.

The abruptness when you stood up stilled the breath in her throat. You walked up to her, pulled her toward the far corner where it gave you two some privacy and successfully pinned her on the wall, and pulled her face down to kiss her.

"You are fucking clueless how much I want you, don't you?"

From the brief time you both stopped assaulting each other’s lips, she took it as an opportunity to catch her breath. She had her eyes closed, hands firmly cupping the back of your head keeping you close, her forehead pressed flat on your own. She didn’t exactly think she would get to kiss you the exact moment you confessed to her, let alone initiate this.

The kiss was brutal, none too soft. You both fought. Real hard. Bruising each other’s lips.

The second time it happened, the taller woman initiated it. She grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, it caused a mix of pleasure and pain to surge in your core that pushed the nastiest of moans from your gaping lips.

Miranda felt herself getting wet.

She grabbed your jaw while her lips worked toward your ear, "I fuck you in my head every night before I sleep and touch myself to the thought of you."

Your body arched toward hers in response, "good to know.”

The images of her, inserting those long luscious fingers into her own cunt while she whispers your name made your own fingers desperate feel her juices.

Neither of you had the luxury of rationalizing things at the moment, you were far too deep in lust and she was far too wet to care. You both needed each other.

Her lips descended to your neck. Hands groping both of your breasts.

You unbuttoned her pants, pulled the shirt up and stopped to look at her in the eyes. God, her eyes were lust-blown, so beautiful and hungry.

“Do it.” She said, surging to kiss your lips once again.

While both of her hands were busy indulging the softness of your breasts, your own fingers worked between her thighs, doing long languid strokes.

"Fuck,” she breathed against your skin, “If you're going to do it. just do it." she growled.

With a taunting smile, you pecked her cheek, "a little impatient now, aren't you?" and you bit her earlobe the same time you plunged a finger into her dripping cunt. Her body jolted, hands flying to your shoulders to steady herself. It didn’t last long until you pushed another finger making her bite the junction of your neck and shoulder to stifle her moans.

It was short but blissful. She came in just a couple of angry thrusts while your thumb moved deftly to play with her clit adding more stimulation causing her to cum.

When she finished, her arousal that coated your fingers was licked clean. She watched you savour her taste before you offer your tongue to her which she gladly sucked.

Shortly, after fixing both of your appearances, the elevator dinged which meant someone was coming.

You weren’t surprised to see the small detective awkwardly making her way toward the constable. She stopped when she was close, “Detective,” she said, acknowledging you.

“Detective Griffin.” You retorted.

The tall woman painfully watched the awkward exchange.

You looked at Miranda, your hands tucked in your back pockets. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” She watched you leave for the elevator. Once you were in, she gave you a small wave. Which to you was pathetically adorable.

“What were you two doing here?” Griffin asked, intently watching her partner whose cheeks were flushed and hair was unkempt.

“Nothing...Just talking.”

“Is that a hickey on your neck?”

“Crap! where? is it too obvious?

Robbin smiled, smug after confirming her suspicions were true, "There's none. You panicked and asked instantly which means before I was here you two were screwing up." She said a matter of factly.

Miranda, who was guilty, kept rubbing the sides of her neck. Her eyes narrowed at the small woman, “What did you need me for?" And oh boy, she was grumpy.

"I found some lead on the case. We’re going to investigate now.”

Griffin casually said before she followed it by, “So, since when has this been going on?"

"Oh we're not going to talk about this, Griffin."

But later on, in the car, Miranda could not stop talking about how much she fancied you, and just then, Robbin knew she made a terrible mistake bugging her about you.

#this is my first miranda fic so be nice #miranda hilmarson #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson imagines #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie #also am i the only one who finds her so effing attractive when she smoke?#smoking is bad but why so hot?#top of the lake #sweet confession

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Speak Now

(Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F! Reader)

Read (Here) on AO3

Rating: Teen and up Word count: 4K Tags: Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Blood and Injury, Happy Ending Warnings: Graphic depiction of blood and injury A/N: My blog needs more Gaz love. It also needs more Gaz whump, so here, have both. (Special thank you to @moondirti for her inspiration with this story!)

When the smoke clears, all you see is him.

The catastrophic explosion of the mine still thunders in your ears, a ceaseless reverberation that your heartbeat mimics in a poor mockery. The ground shakes under your feet for what feels like eons, and somehow you remain standing, immovable amidst the chaos like a flagpole under artillery. Dust and debris sifts downwards from the solemn grey sky like ash from a distant wildfire. It clogs your nose, sticks to your throat even as your lips part, eyes widen in horror. You can taste the chalky acridity of it across your tongue. Noxious, ruinous. An omen.

Then you see him.

Laying on his side, weapon tossed feet away from him. There's shrapnel stuck in him, jutting like stalagmites from his flesh. You think the dust has settled like a thick layer over his form, dark and dusty. It takes you too long to realize it's clotting to where blood oozes from his flesh, seeping past his form and into the cracked desert ground.

He's not moving.

You scream.

You feel the air leave your chest, a gale that rises up towards the sky, but you don't hear the sound. Not when the world is falling around you like the sound of shattering glass, fragmenting into silvery, piercing shards that rip at your soul.

"GAZ!!"

Heedless of the danger, you race forward, eyes frantic, breath caught in your chest. The sane, trained, logical recess of your brain screams in protest. There could be other mines, the sound has almost certainly given away your position, there could be hostiles waiting-

An arm settles around your middle like a band of steel, catching you mid-step and hauling you backwards even as you thrash and cry out.

"NO!" A voice bellows in your ear, commanding, cracking, devastated. Price.

It doesn't make sense. He's right there. He's not moving. How could the captain stop you? You can see him breathing.

"Gaz!" Price calls, grunting as he tries to keep you from racing forward and possibly setting off another mine. "Kyle!!"

Yet Gaz doesn't respond. You see him, see his chest rise with a sharp, wet inhale before he shudders once, goes still.

Price curses, but you don't hear him. He's barking at someone you can't see because your eyes are locked on his form, on the blood trailing from the cut above his ear. His face is slumped to the other side. You can't tell if his eyes are open.

You can't tell if he's alive.

"Rookie? ROOKIE!"

Your eyes snap to the captain's, and there's fear there, barely concealed under the unflinching resolve of a leader, of the man who has to make the hard decisions to spare the rest of you. The wound of his voice is warbled, uneven, tilted in a way you don't understand. Your ears are ringing, it's too loud.

"Look at me." He orders, and you do despite the urge to let your eyes wander to the fallen form of your teammate, of Gaz. "Look at me."

He shakes your shoulders, and the jolt is enough for the rest of the world to come rushing back all at once. His face is drawn, grim, brow wrinkled in focus and distress that he's tamping down on with all his strength. When his gloved hand settle on either side of your face he pauses, draws away his fingers from your ear. There's blood.

"We're going to get him." Price tells you, ignoring the stain left it only panic you futher. You desperately try to let his words register in the hollow inside you. "But we need to stay focused, you understand me? You need to be paying attention. To me. No fuckups. Not right now, you understand?"

You nod, and the harsh, unyielding clip of his words is enough to give you the air needed to swallow down the rising panic and blink, focus on your captain. Price nods at you only once, seeing the frantic despair dimming behind your gaze. He releases you and raises his weapon, pausing just long enough for you to fall into his shadow.

"Gun up. Weapons hot. Sweep for hostiles."

You do, and the effort it takes to not let your eyes drift to Gaz's bloodied and broken body as you both approach is immense. Your footsteps fall exactly where Price's are, an instinct bred by countless hours of training overtaking you in a near-primal resolve. Your scope is clouded by smoke and debris, but there's no motion you can see even as the dust clears.

When Price seizes Kyle by his vest and drags him back to safety it leaves a grotesque, abstract smear against the ground. For a moment, your eyes linger over it, forgetting your mission and instead allowing panic to once again rise within you.

There's so much blood.

Gaz doesn't make a sound, and that's even more horrifying than if he'd been screaming, crying, whimpering from the pain. It's only once he's concealed behind a low wall that you drop your gun back to your side, hands reaching, seeking, staining with his blood. You follow Price's instructions blindly, resorting to a part of you that acts entirely automatic. Yet you can't stop looking at his face. It's drawn, ashen, eyes closed even as his chest rises and falls under your hands. There's warmth between your fingers, his heartbeat in your hands, the thrum, the gush of blood oozing past your palms-

"Rookie!!"

Price's voice feels like it's the dull, distant thrum of churning ocean waves beyond your senses. Yet you turn your eyes to him anyways, the response trained in you to stop, to listen to your captain, the lighthouse in the squall.

Yet there's a flash of something in Price's gaze you don't recognize. It's a distant, churning emotion you feel reflected in your own stare. In him it's muted by age, years of experience, the weight of knowledge. You recognize it all the same.

Fear.

You don't hear the chopper until the dust around you billows, coats the inside of your eyelids. There's hands raising you, escorting you by your arm forward towards the waiting door. It's wrong, you know. You aren't injured, you don't deserve to be on the craft. The mission is still calling for you, but it's Price who's relieving you of your weapon, giving you a firm shove into the arms of the hel-evac medic.

"Keep him alive." He bellows over the sound of the blades, and you can't tell who he's talking to, if the words are meant for you. You catch his eyes for all of a moment, and there's an acceptance, a grief there you don't understand. You raise your voice, try and reach for him, but he's gone, and the ground under you fades, shifts as the choppers vanishes into the dull, overcast sky.

---

It takes seven horrible, long, excruciating days for Gaz to blink his eyes open.

They rush him back into medical the second you are on the ground. You hold his hand up until the moment he vanishes behind the steel doors. There's an asymmetric thump of your heart you don't recognize, one summoned by the ashen pallor of his face, the way his hand goes limp in your palm.

When they take him back you're left alone behind him, standing in the far too sterile hallway of the military hospital and somehow longing for the endless familiarity of a battlefield.

You don't know if he'll make it out.

It's only hours later, when your ears stop ringing and you remain glued to a rickety metal chair just outside the operating room, that a doctor in a blood-stained apron appears before you. The look in his eyes is grave, settled with a bone deep fatigue that burrows even more severely into you as he speaks.

"He's lucky." He murmurs tiredly, lips moving as you make out the words. "Very, very lucky."

You cry, and it's only then that you realize you can barely hear your sobs.

You were less than ten steps behind him, and the blast was severe enough to have left you with a burst eardrum. A small, insubstantial wound that's treated quickly by a medic and then left alone to heal. It's nothing.

Nothing compared to him.

Shrapnel embedded on his left thigh and forearm, blunt force damage to his lungs, his spleen. His leg is broken in three different places below the knee. It's nothing short of a miracle that he didn't lose it. The blast was enough to toss him over two yards. The concussion he's suffered is impossible to gauge while he's asleep. He's lost his hearing, you think, but the doctors assure you it's only temporary.

Just as long as he wakes up.

You hardly eat. Hardly sleep. Shellshock, you're told. It's not the truth, but you don't argue. You're far too trained to let a mere mine blast unsettle you. It lets you stay with him, keeps you by his side for just a little longer. There's a part of you that gnaws at your thoughts. A guilt for allowing yourself this. You've been trained to compartmentalize, to tamper down on behalf of the mission.

For you, Gaz is the mission.

Price, the others come by. You put on a face for them, but they see it in your eyes, see that you're changed now. Now that you could lose him. Soap makes jokes, but they're cracked in his throat, bitter. You smile at them anyway. Yet Soap's eyes linger over his friend, intubated, prone, his heart a small, distant beep on a monitor.

You're dozing off when he wakes up. Hand holding his, the sound of the chopper blades and your own scream echo in your thoughts. You see him, the single breath he took before going still, the stain left by his body poisoning your dreams. When you scream you don't hear the sound, reaching for him as the chopper pulls away from his dying form laying abandoned in the beige, dusty oblivion.

He twitches in your hand, and you almost don't feel it until you hear him take a deep breath before he speaks, his voice an arrow that pierces through the mirage of your dreams.

"Hi, doll."

---

You ask Price to approve your leave.

He eyes the paperwork with a wrinkled brow, gaze hovering over the medical excuse that is nothing more than a obfuscations lie. He sees through it. You know he does, but he only nods once at you, a quiet acceptance of the truth you keep hidden, the one he doesn't speak.

You aren't ready.

Not when Gaz is barely upright and eating on his own, when your eyes threaten warmth every time he laughs and then grimaces in pain, how you hear him whimper at night when he thinks no one can hear it. It's too soon. You're too shattered, broken at the edges and raw, fumbling blindly in the dark for a balance that's abandoned you.

"We still need you." Price tells you even as he signs the paper. "-But take the time you need. Get your head on straight."

You only nod, trying to ignore the stab of guilt you feel for being so selfish in asking for this. Yet Price is right. You can't focus, you're constantly distracted, shivering at the memory of Gaz's heartbeat in your hands, pulsing red and alive with a fatal, aleatory rhythm.

Even when you're beside him it haunts you. He's getting better every day, injured, tired, but alive. He smiles every time you visit him, smile tugging on his lips, teasing and jovial in the way he is only with you. There's a tenderness beneath it you long for, craving like a wolf does the moon, letting its gentle halo shine down onto your lonely heart.

"Hi, doll."

You put on a smile for him, one that doesn't reach your eyes. He listens as you talk about Price and the others, about the idle changes at the base, of your own recovery- things that are easy, mundane, that restore a needed sense of normalcy to both your lives.

You never talk about the nightmares, the ones that flicker over your waking gaze when his face contorts in pain as he moves.

About a week in, you start bringing books for him, relish the way his eyes light up with excitement at the wrinkled paperback covers. Often you both sit in comfortable silence, involved each in your own novel, absorbing the other's presence in a steady comfort that settles the ache deep in your bones.

He turns to you one day, his hand settling over yours and you want to curl into it, bring it to your lips and whisper your fears there, confess the plague of your dreams where he no longer exists.

"Read to me?" He asks, and there's a shy, almost hesitant smile there on his lips that allows that same tenderness to seep through once again.

"I-I've got a headache." He follows, eyes averting, shoulders tense. "It's a good chapter, I want to know how it ends but I-"

You take the book from him silently, the pads of your fingers brushing delicately over his knuckles and you ignore the way he shivers.

Gaz leans back into the hospital bed, looks up at the ceiling as your voice winds words around him like a lullaby. You try your best to contain your voice over a word on the page, tracing it with your forefinger.

Grief.

---

When Gaz is finally discharged, it's like the team has won a war.

It's at a bar, quiet, solitary. You and the others take up most of the space there, with a gratuitous supply of drinks and teasing, joyful laughter from the others. Mostly it's Soap, however, trying to fill the long gaps that linger in the conversation, the constant, darkened 'what if?' that hangs over you all like churning storm clouds.

Laswell herself makes a rare appearance, and she offers Gaz a hug like she would if he was hers, long and hard and conveying more meaning than she dares to speak aloud.

Thank God. It seems to say, the sentiment echoed in your own heart. I'm so glad you didn't leave us.

There's a victory between you all, a triumph at all of you emerging whole once more. Yet you all ignore the way it's clouded with regret, a sting that's summoned every time Gaz shifts and hides a wince that you see despite his effort to conceal it.

You could have lost him. They all know. It's a reality within your work. You as soldiers glow like firecrackers. You burn brilliantly, illuminate the darkness with scorching, radiant light. Yet in the end there's a fizzle, a singe until there's only embers, pulsating red and warm until there's nothing left at all. Sometimes you're there and gone in an instant, leaving only an iridescent afterglow that lingers in the back of your eyelids.

Now Gaz seems to glow, his smile warm and pleased as the others offer him pats of congratulations, another drink, small gifts of gratitude for the simple act of staying alive.

You slide a package over to him, the wrapping paper poorly taped over, the miscut edges hidden under a bow. He opens it to the silence of the others, and you try to ignore the way their gazes hover over you knowingly, the way your eyes melt into his smile.

A book, one of your favorites. The hardback is glossy, shiny with the metallic edges of the pages and he holds it up to the light, his smile even more radiant than the glint of the golden trimmings.

"Thanks, doll." He tells you, his grin crinkling his eyes. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

You don't want to think about it, don't want to again consider a future where he's not there.

---

When you get home, off base, it's too quiet. Empty.

There's no drone of a hospital here, no beeping monitors or rapid gunfire, no whirring choppers or incoming missile strikes. It's silent in the stillness of your apartment, the air hovering, frozen as if waiting for you to breathe.

Your mind fills the void. Your dreams chase you as you wake the next morning, seeping red and hot over your fingertips, dyeing them a shade of scarlet that reeks of permanence, an unavoidable ending. Phantasma clings to the back of your nostrils, stinking of iron over the smell of candles you use to obscure it with no avail.

Outside is overcast, like it was that day, when you saw the tickle of Gaz's smile under his grim, focused expression as he stepped one foot forward-

You reach out for him in your memories, haul him back to safety within your embrace, face pressed into the hollow of his shoulders and whispering there a confession you've kept secret for far too long.

As darkness descends you're alone once more, trying to find your footing in a place you're desperately unfamiliar with, one that longs to reach out and touch him. You wander your apartment as if chasing ghosts, expecting there to be phantoms when you flick on the lights and instead realizing they're inside of you where the glow doesn't reach.

It's then that your phone pings. A message, from him.

"Can I come over?"

He shows up less than an hour later, holding aloft a bag of takeout in his uninjured arm, his face mirroring the cheesy yellow smiley face on the plastic.

"Hi doll."

You settle on the couch, watching an old spy movie that you follow with a distant gaze. Boxes of food litter the coffee table before you both, the smell wafting pleasantly enough to dull the imaginary taste of blood on your tongue. There's silence again, but it's buoyed by the steady reassurance of his presence at the other end of the couch. Your feet are propped on his lap, and the gesture feels far too intimate for the state of your wounded heart. It's an indulgence you take part in nonetheless, his hand resting on your calf, fingers drumming in an uneven beat against your form.

When the movie ends his eyes shift, he offers you a conciliatory smile.

"I guess I'll be going then." He offers, turning to excuse himself, reaching for his jacket-

Your hand catches his shirt. Gaz freezes.

"Stay." You whisper, so small you wonder if he's actually heard it. "Please."

When his brown gaze turns back to you, the only thing you see is relief, a sadness he at last bares to you, as wounded and broken as you are.

Like two small children hiding from shadows, you curl into your bed together, the sheets crumpled under both your bodies. Facing each other, you entwine your souls along the frayed edges, silently weaving yourself together within the comfort of each other.

He talks about it at last, confesses to you in the darkness the fear, the confusion, the haze of memories clouded by crimson heartbeats.

"I heard you scream." He tells you, and even now he tries to mask the crack in his voice, afraid and desperate under the resolution of a warrior. "I thought it would be the last sound I ever heard."

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, eyes unable to meet his gaze. Warmth threatens your blinking stare, emotions simmering, boiling higher in your chest.

You're scared.

You almost lost him. If you say what you're going to, if you confess to him this secret, then you could lose him all over again. Able to touch him, able to feel his heartbeat but never again basking in that tenderness that feels too much like moonlight, serene and blissful, pale and erasing shadows.

"I thought..." You begin, voice wavering, chest catching on your next inhale, the one before the world changes around you once more. "I thought I lost you, that..." You swallow down the taste of blood, try to replace it with the sensation of your imagination, a future where his lips at last meet yours.

"I would never get the chance to say I love you."

He blinks. You don't breathe.

Then, in the silence that follows, you burst into tears.

Like the final flake of snow that summons an avalanche, you shudder, let the weight roll of off you and into your cries. Tears, hot and wet, spill freely down your cheeks, not noticing as Gaz shifts, draws you into the warmth of him to shelter you there. His hand settles on your hair, pressing you forward into his chest, where you feel him tremble. You don't see his eyes, the way they water as he tries to speak, to summon the words he needs to tell you all that he's kept hidden in the tender confines of his heart too.

Instead he shudders too, lets you cling to him like he's a raft at sea and you're lost in the violence of regret, unable to feel him around you with the simple grace of his touch.

It feels like he's dying all over again, the way he doesn't speak and instead holds you, lets you empty your sobs into his waiting palms. You think for sure that this is the final, bitter end, that he'll at last pull back, give you that sad, regretful smile, an apology, and then vanish into a future where you can no longer bask in his gentleness you dare to dream is only for you.

Instead, when your sobs fade to hiccups, when you've soaked his shirt through with your tears, Gaz at last lets his voice fills the darkness.

"You can say it now." He whispers, voice cracking with emotion. Then, after an unsteady heartbeat. "...Please."

You feel your hiccups stutter to a stop and you tense in his embrace, trying to stare through your watery gaze and process his words.

It feels like a future you never considered, one you were unable to see, so convinced were you of his fate that you didn't even dream of the possibility. Yet now his words seem like a prophecy, an omen that summons blessings, a beautiful future where his smile is met with your own.

You shift in his arms, raise your head to look at him, at last see the tears clouding his beautiful, beloved brown eyes.

"I love you." You whisper into that future, drawing it closer with every shuddering exhale. "I love you, Kyle Garrick."

That same smile, as gentle and graceful as goddess Selene, washes over you. It bathes you in radiance, summons tranquility into the fractures of your wounded heart, fills them with pale moonlight like the drape of a silvery veil.

He whispers your name, and again the world shifts around you, blurring into a kaleidoscope of color where the axis revolves around him.

"I love you too." He murmurs, his voice cracking with an unnamed joy. "I love you. I love you so, so fucking much I can't stand it."

You laugh. It's a sudden sound, one that echoes out into the midnight where you both bathe under starlight, caught in the current of each other's embrace. His lips catch against it, pressing it back into you with a tenderness that melts the core of you, threatens tears all over again.

"Say it again." He murmurs against your shuddering gasp when he pulls away.

"I love you." You tell him, your smile like the brilliance of a sunrise that dawns over a new future. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

His hand snakes down to your waist, pressing you full against his form like he's trying to eclipse you. When he kisses you again you think you taste joy on his lips, his smile curving against you and he laughs.

"I never want to leave you alone again." He tells you, and there's a longing there you recognize- a choice between both a love and duty you share. It's for a different time, a future that will come inevitably, but one you'll face together.

"Then stay." You whisper to him, and he surges into you once more, drowns you both in the benediction of adoration where war no longer exists.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #mw22 #cod mw22 #my fics #my writing #oneshots

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ladychota · 10 months

Text

I Missed You

Pairing - Loki x Female Reader

Warnings - Crying Loki, freaking Thanos dusting half the universe, grief (lmk if you want me to add anything)

Summary - The Avengers leave for a mission, leaving you and Loki alone in the compound to do whatever you want... but something unexpected happens.

Word Count - 850

A/N - This takes place at the end of Infinity War to near the end of Endgame, but Loki survived Thanos and his neck-crushing hands

Masterlist

"I'm glad they didn't let you go on that mission," You say, stroking Loki's hair as he lies on your chest.

"Oh really?" He replies. "And why's that?"

"Because it means we can spend time together. I missed you when you went to Asgard with Thor,"

You feel him smile against your stomach. "I missed you too, my love. So much. When Thanos came for us, I honestly thought it was the end. I thought I'd never get to hold you ever again,"

You hum in sad acknowledgement. "I started to get worried after the first few weeks of no contact. I was so scared that something had happened and I wasn't there to save you..."

You feel his hand stroke your face lovingly. "Well, we're here together now. That's all that matters, darling,"

"I agree," You smile. "In fact, why don't we do something? We should make use of this alone time,"

Loki sits up just enough so he can see your face, then leans forwards and presses a kiss to your lips. "I'd like that,"

You both get up and stretch, planning what you could do together.

"We could do some baking," You suggest. "Or reading,"

"Hmm... we could make those little fairy cakes you like," Loki pulls you towards him, a grin playing on his lips.

"Yes! They're my fav-" Your sentence is cut off by an odd pull in your chest. The smile is wiped from your face.

Something isn't right.

"Are you okay, my love?" Loki asks, concern lacing his every word. "We don't have to do it,"

You look up into his worried green eyes, your breathing becoming short.

"S-something's happened," You say shakily, feeling your body weakening.

"What do you mean?" Loki's grip tightens on your arms.

Something black begins to swirl around you... ashes, perhaps?

"Wait... wait Y/n! No!" His panicked voice fades away; his body disappears. You stumble forwards at the lack of contact.

The ashes that were once floating around seem to sink into your skin. You look around at the once beautiful room as it slowly transforms. The wallpaper starts to peel and discolour, the furniture overturns and breaks itself, the light in the room disappears as the curtains are drawn.

You freeze, looking around the room as your heart is gripped by fear.

"What the fuck..."

What just happened? Where did Loki go? You feel your strength returning, but that feeling of weakness is quickly replaced by terror.

"Y/n!?" You hear a shout and fast feet down the corridor outside. "Y/n!!"

"Loki!?" He bursts through the door and freezes as you run a stressed hand through your hair. "I don't know what the hell just ha-"

You stop speaking as you notice him walking towards you slowly; timidly; his eyes filling with tears.

"Are you alright?" You ask, your voice breaking slightly with worry.

His hands cup your face, caressing your cheeks so gently it's as if he's worried about breaking you.

"Are you really here?" His voice is a hoarse whisper.

"Yes...?" You whisper in return. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His bottom lip trembles as the welling tears finally spill and trickle down his face. To think you were speaking of making fairy cakes only a moment ago...

"Y/n... my love, it's been five years,"

Your brow furrows in confusion. "Five years? Since what?"

He lets out a shuddering breath. "We lost, Y/n. That mission the others were sent on? They lost. Thanos snapped. He killed half of the universe, in-including... you,"

Your heart fills with dread, Loki's teary eyes only making it worse. "But then... how am I here?"

A small, sad smile graces his face before it disappears only a moment later. "We got the stones back. Bruce snapped and... and... you're here,"

His arms wrap around you as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sobs wracking through his body. He's holding you so tightly it hurts, but you don't care.

"I'm here, Loki..." You murmur, trying to reassure him as tears spring to your own eyes.

He pulls away after a few minutes, attempting to steady his breathing as he looks down at you.

"I missed your beauty," He whispers. You notice how tired he looks, how the spark in his eyes seems to have died. "I missed your laugh and your jokes. I missed your voice, the twinkle in your eye, the lines you get on your face when you smile," He gives you a small, wobbly smile; you're both on the verge of tears once more as he continues:

"I missed the happiness and love you brought me. I missed the way you fiddle with your hair or my hand when you're nervous, the way you snuggle into my chest when you're tired, the way you try anything and everything to make sure I'm comfortable and happy..." He takes a deep breath.

"I missed you, Y/n,"

You feel your heart break slightly upon hearing his words, a single tear slipping down your cheek. You move onto your tip toes, leaning up to kiss him in silent gratitude, his words meaning more to you than you could ever express.

But your lips never meet.

Instead you're met with the blinding light of the world exploding around you.

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki #laufeyson #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki oneshot #marvel #avengers #mcu

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one-flower-one-sword · 4 months

Text

Jun Wu using living humans as a blood sacrifice to triumph over Mount Tonglu:

"Days passed, and the eruption continued. The entire kingdom of Wuyong was mired in terror, unable to escape. No one knew how to make it stop, how to escape this nightmare. But one day, His Highness told us that he had found a way to calm the volcano. When he told us how, we had a huge fight."

"Let me guess," Hua Cheng said. "The 'how' was human sacrifice."

"Correct," the state preceptor replied. "His Highness said that we could use a group of wicked degenerates as a sacrifice - we could throw them into the Kiln to pacify its furious flames. The four of us each had different opinions on the matter, but the consensus was opposition - we could never do anything of the sort. In the beginning, His Highness didn't want Wuyong to invade other kingdoms precisely because he didn't want to use a life to save a life. How would sacrificing lives to the Kiln be any different? It'd be even worse, in fact."

[...] "As it turned out, the other three had still been worried even after they left, so they returned in secret to speak to His Highness. But when they found him, he was herding a crowd of people toward the volcano's peak. That was when they found out that His Highness had never abandoned the idea of living sacrifices. Seized by shock and rage, they attempted to stop him and began to fight with him. Yet unexpectedly, he savagely killed them and threw them into the Kiln along with the rest!"

TGCF Volume 7, page 209-210 + 214

versus Hua Cheng refusing to use living humans as a blood sacrifice and sacrificing his own eye - half his vision - instead:

"The only things that live inside Mount Tonglu's domain are nefarious creatures. Ordinary people have no way to break out of the domain; their certain fate is to become nourishment for the rest. But the wrath ghost, in his confused state, took the large group of living humans under his wing and fled for many days - for what reason, I can't say. They were eventually cornered and surrounded by nefarious creatures, and the wrath ghost was about to be eaten along with the humans."

Xie Lian knew that the solitary, wandering ghost must have been Hua Cheng!

"And then?" he pushed. "Was there a way to flee to safety?"

"Yes," the state preceptor replied. "He could escape by forging a blood weapon and killing his way out."

Mu Qing couldn't help chiming in. "Then wouldn't the easiest sacrifice be...?"

It would be the group of humans that had fallen into such a hopeless situation!

[...] "The wrath ghost almost made a move against the humans as well, but for some reason, he didn't go through with it," the state preceptor continued. "He instead used one of his own eyes as the price to forge a blood weapon. The wrath ghost was already clinging to existence with his last breath; after digging out his eye, he should've broken apart completely. But something had shocked him to action, and he instead fully regained his senses. I don't know what kind of wicked weapon he forged, but it somehow carried him through that battle."

TGCF Volume 8, page 76-77

I was thinking about Hua Cheng at Mount Tonglu and it occurred to me how stark the contrasts between his choices and the consequences thereof are to those of Jun Wu.

Choosing to sacrifice humans - in particular humans he considered lesser or deserving of punishment - leads to the Kiln recognizing Jun Wu as its master and also to him becoming cursed with human face disease:

"The ordinary citizens were of course burned to dust and ash as soon as they were thrown in. But the three of them were cultivators, and they had been murdered by His Highness - their resentment and attachment to the world was deeply profound. Their souls took his body as their host and grew as lesions on his body, venting their rage and berating him constantly in the hope of stopping him from pursuing his terrible endeavors."

[...] "The former kingdom of Wuyong had become hell, and the Kiln had been glutted with countless living souls and the souls of three former heavenly officials - it now recognized him as its master."

TGCF Volume 7, page 214 + 226

Meanwhile, Hua Cheng refusing to use human sacrifice leads to him not only gaining a weapon to defend himself and those very humans with, the heavens recognize him as worthy of ascension due to this:

"After that battle, the heavens sent forth a Heavenly Tribulation and lightning struck straight into Mount Tonglu," the state preceptor said. "Do you understand what that means?"

Was there any need to explain? If a Heavenly Tribulation had been sent forth, it meant the heavens believed there was someone worthy of ascension within Mount Tonglu.

TGCF Volume 8, page 77

Hua Cheng chose to rather sacrifice a part of himself than other people's lives - and while yes, he never did like his right eye and suffered immense abuse because of it, he was risking to dissipate completely by gouging it out, and also, the consequences of that action didn't end there. He is, from then on, blind on that side, and as we've established in my previous post, that is something he has to make up for in other ways and that others can take advantage of.

Hua Cheng’s choices at Mount Tonglu make him worthy of ascension, Jun Wu's leave him cursed and mark his descent from the Crown Prince of Wuyong to becoming Bai Wuxiang. One rises up, one falls down further. While sacrificing part of himself, Hua Cheng fully regains his senses. Jun Wu, in planning to sacrifice others, loses himself:

"And yet in the heat of the moment, blows were exchanged, and one of us even accused His Highness of no longer being the Highness of the past - that he'd changed, that he'd forgotten his heart."

TGCF Volume 7, page 210

Since the text is quite clear on the fact that Jun Wu knows Hua Cheng is Wu Ming, and, as its master, is very aware of what happens at Mount Tonglu, it's very likely that he knew about this incident. And also that it felt like a very personal slap in the face to him, which explains his very pointed hypocrisy when he warns Xie Lian about Eming:

"Be especially careful of that wicked blade of his," Jun Wu added.

"What do you mean?" Xie Lian asked.

"The scimitar Eming is a cursed blade, a blade of misfortune. To forge such an evil weapon would require terrifyingly cruel sacrifice and bloody determination."

TGCF Volume 2, page 37

'Terrifyingly cruel sacrifice', huh? Like for example throwing people inside a live volcano?

"Oh? Has gege heard of my scimitar too?"

"I've heard some rumors," Xie Lian replied.

Hua Cheng snickered. "I bet they weren't nice rumors. Did someone tell you that my scimitar was forged by an evil, bloody ritual? That I sacrificed living humans?"

TGCF Volume 2, page 120

Huh, wonder who started those rumors >.>

Jun Wu's palpable saltiness and bitterness about all this is probably only exacerbated by the fact that, despite fearing Hua Cheng, there are many who worship him:

There were also many reasons for the gods to fear Hua Cheng. For example, his behavior was unpredictable: sometimes he would carry out a massacre in cold blood, and sometimes he would do odd acts of kindness. He also wielded a great deal of influence in the Mortal Realm and had legions of followers. That's right. Mortals worshipped gods to ask for blessings and protection so they could escape the evils of the Ghost Realm, and that was how the gods came to gain so many followers. Yet Hua Cheng, a ghost, had such a large following on earth that he could influence the world single-handedly.

TGCF Volume 1, page 157

Even other gods, while they do fear him, also start to develop a sort of admiration and respect for Hua Cheng (Vol 1, page 160).

Meanwhile Jun Wu:

"Currently, he is the most exalted martial god of the Heavenly Realm," the state preceptor continued. "He looks glorious and scintillating on the surface, but an infinite darkness is suppressed deep within his heart. Resentment, pain, anger, hatred... he must release those poisonous emotions to maintain his internal balance, lest he go berserk and slaughter everyone around him. That is the only way he is able to uphold his position as the ruler of all three realms. [...] He regularly releases his dark emotions into the Kiln, using the millions of Wuyong souls within as kindling to stoke the flames of hell and forge many malicious things."

TGCF Volume 7, page 226

Despite his widely known nature as a ghost king born of Mount Tonglu, Hua Cheng has a huge amount of worshippers. Jun Wu, to keep being worshipped as someone he is not, has to hide his own connection to Mount Tonglu and his true nature - figuratively inside of himself and literally inside of Mount Tonglu.

#tgcf #rereading tgcf #jun wu #hua cheng

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icant-speel · 2 months

Text

Your Lips, My Lips, Apocalypse 💕

Wing Beifong x Airbender Daughter of Tenzin!Reader ~ Where in the Battle with Kuvira, the reader saves Wing from falling to his death. And when she asks him if he is okay, he just kisses her while the whole place is going to shit. Based on the song Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex. 🎧

Little thing to know - I HAVE REQUESTED THIS TO OTHER BLOGS BEFORE BUT DECIDED TO WRITE IT MYSELF. So no one better be accusing me of coping 😟, Thank you 🌷

ALSO THIS CHARACTER WILL NOT BE WEARING THOSE TIGHT RED AIRBENDING SUITS (just no 😀), just pretend you have something else on and a glider or you can fly or something 😭

The world was collapsing around us, dust and ash swirling in an insane dance as we fought for our lives against Kuvira. The ground trembled violently, as if it were writhing in anguish beneath them. All I could think about is if Wing is okay, if he is injured or dead. My mind filled with horrific thoughts, but what if they came true? The first time I witnessed the force of that cannon, I felt horrified.

Here we are, sprinting throughout Republic City, fighting that metal monstrosity head on. The fight left every road flooded with the wreckage of buildings, and the surrounding air was filled with gas, dust, and pandemonium.

Korra launched rock missiles, and the other airbenders and I flew about Kuvira's robot like flies, hearing the giant's screeching attempts to hit us. Abruptly, the metal giant raised its hand and pointed the cannon straight toward Korra.

"Create a tornado and attack from the top! RIGHT NOW!" I quickly ordered.

We all moved fast to get into position, whirling about and aiming at the giant's hand.

We delivered our blow. When the monster lost its balance, the explosion destroyed the surrounding ground and its body fell onto a building. Laughing to myself, I quickly took off along with the others, watching as my brother Meelo disappear into the cloud of dust. I was about to tell him to get out until I realized it was Meelo. He can handle himself.

The dust cloud disappeared and revealed the giant reaching to it's face to crush Meelo. He flew fast past us and in our direction.

I saw the cannon pointed at us out of the corner of my eye. It was going to fire on my sister Jinora and me. I swiftly launched myself forward.

"JINORA, LOOK OUT!" I let out a scream and hurriedly moved forward to grab my sister.

Ikki and Meelo arrived to assist us as we began to descend. When the two of them realized they couldn't support our weight. I quickly grabbed the three of them before bending the air below us to form an air cushion and lowering us gently onto the hard pavement.

I hugged my siblings, not wanting to let go.

"Are you three okay?" I asked, while clinging on.

"Yeah, don't worry Y/N we are," Ikki smiled in return.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Meelo interrupted.

"I don't know." I heard my voice hurting, and my vision turned blurry.

I looked up and watched a large chunk of a building fall upon the giant. Wait, Wing could be there.

"Jinora, bring them back to dad please. I'm going to go find my boyfriend." I instructed her, bending a tornado under me to hurry to Wing.

Behind me, I heard my siblings cheering me on. I chucked to myself. Seeing that the tornado wasn't moving fast enough, I propelled myself forward by bending the air below me.

I hurried up to Korra as soon as I arrived. Taking hold of her and turning her to face me, I tried to figure out her feelings through her blue eyes.

"Korra, please tell me Wing is okay- where is he!?" I questioned as I recovered my breath from running so fast.

Wing was attempting to knock down a structure. However, the cannon was then aimed at him. I understood the cannon was about to release. My heart was pounding and my stomach fell. And it let off a blast at that very instant.

A violet ray of light blasted out. I couldn't tell if the beam struck Wing or his rope. No. NO. Please be fine, please be fine.

A few seconds later, a figure in green and gray falls from the sky. Wing.

I leapt into action. I used my bending to launch myself to Wing. My body crashed against his, the impact sending shockwaves through my system as I wrapped my arms around him. We rolled along the ground.

Now that Wing is in my arms, he is safe. I lifted him up and allowed him to steady himself with my arms. I touched his face to see if there were injuries.

“Wing, are you okay? Are you hurt? We have to ge-”

Wing's fingertips found my chin, luring me into a gentle kiss. His hands traveled down to my waist and mine moved down to his chest. Wing's lips were soft and warm against mine, his hands tightened around my waist out of protectiveness. Even though we've kissed before, it always feels like our first. Our breathing synchronized, both of us clearly reluctant to let go. I felt the blast's scorching wind, knowing that we would die if we stayed any longer, but I didn't really care.

He softened his features and grinned a little as we both released our grips and stared into each other's eyes. His smile, his olive green eyes, my sweet Wing... He would have left me.

"Yeah, I'm alright, sweet pea."

"Are you sure? Nothing's hurt?

"Yes, my dear... You know you're adorable when you're worried. How your eyebrows knit together and how your eyes soften."

When he proposed the idea, he grinned. I felt a slight heat on my face. I'm not sure if it was his gorgeous smile or the fact that he thought I was cute.

"Wing, please don't." I answered.

With a smile on his face, he threw up his hands. I couldn't resist grinning as well. This man.

His hands gripped mine.

"Now we gotta go before that thing blasts another beam at us." He states, looking at the metal giant.

"Oh right, right, right, lets go." I reply

#Wing Beifong #legend of korra #Beifong #beifong family #wing beifong x reader #wing imagine #wing beifong imagine #lok wing #lok #the legend of korra #Legend of Korra imagine #MY FIRST POST OMLLLLL #Be nice 😀#wing beifong is bae

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bluerose5 · 23 days

Text

Astarion gets the Twilight treatment. I take my crackfics very seriously here.

...

"A little help over here!" Erys called out, grunting as he shoved at the slab of stone covering the hunter's sarcophagus.

They were deep within the latest tomb on their journey to find a way to counteract Astarion's... aversion to sunlight, and all paths that they followed led there.

Astarion watched him with a smirk, his hands on his hips.

"Oh, I don't know if you need me," he said. "I mean, I do rather like the view from here."

In response, Erys's tail swayed from side to side, draconic wings giving a slight flutter at the praise.

Of course that didn't stop Erys from turning to narrow his eyes at him.

"Astarion, my love, if you want to know whether this is what we've been waiting for or not," Erys crooned, "then you'll help me."

"Ugh, alright, fine. Spoilsport," Astarion huffed, poking his bottom lip out into a pout. "Although, if I ruin my nails on this filthy hunk of rock, then you owe me."

Erys snorted.

"As if I expect anything less."

Astarion joined him, brushing his fingers over the Infernal carvings upon the sarcophagus, familiar enough with the language by now to understand a few of the words.

"What do you make of it?" Erys asked.

"Blah, blah, something about darkness and light, yada, yada," Astarion muttered.

"Well, I'm surprised you got that much right," Erys taunted, taking Astarion's hand and guiding it over the script as he read aloud. "Roughly translated, it says, 'Bring darkness into light at your leisure, but remember that light shall always expose the true nature of darkness.'"

"So..." Astarion hummed. "What does that entail exactly? Will I turn into some sort of hideous beast in the sunlight instead of turning to ash?"

"Hot," Erys said under his breath; and when Astarion glared at him, he asked, "What?"

"Just help me open the damn thing."

Together, they pushed against the slab.

They pushed and shoved until, finally, the stone fell off to the other side.

A crash roared throughout the tomb, and a cloud of dust sprang up into the air.

Astarion and Erys coughed, frantically waving their hands around until they could see the remains within.

A blood hunter, or what was left of them at least.

And on their finger was a ring, emanating some of the strongest magic they've felt in a while.

"Is that—" Astarion started.

"Maybe?" Erys answered.

"Well," Astarion said, "only one way to find out."

He reached forward, but Erys grabbed his hand before he could reach it.

"Wait," he said, "what if the effects are permanent?"

"What?" Astarion asked. "Wouldn't you still love me as some sort of horrific, malformed beast?"

"That's not what I'm worried about." Erys grimaced. "I'm worried about you making a choice that you might come to regret."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" Astarion took a deep, bracing breath. "I have to try. I have to know for certain."

After a moment of searching Astarion's expression, Erys nodded, then released his hand.

Astarion reached into the sarcophagus and wrenched the ring free from the skeleton's bones.

They waited for a lone beat, sharing a skeptical look when nothing happened.

"Really?" Erys raised a brow and searched around them. "No hoards of undead to fight? No angry spirits to ward off? That's it? We can go?"

"Kind of underwhelming compared to the other places we've been to get here, I must admit. Not that I'm one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

When it truly appeared as if their theft didn't trigger any world-ending event, Astarion looked at the engraving along the inside of ring, the words upon the sarcophagus embedded within the band.

Astarion prepared himself for the worst.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then slid the ring onto his finger.

Again, nothing happened.

He peeked an eye open and patted his hands against his face, at least relieved when that remained the same.

"Well?" Erys asked, impatient. "Feel any different?"

"Not really," Astarion answered, his lips tugging into a scowl. "Guess we've come to the moment of truth then. That cryptic warning did mention that light will bring out my true nature or what-have-you. It must mean the sunlight will trigger whatever transformation awaits me."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"As ready as I'm going to be."

"Alright, then," Erys sighed, scratching at his beard. "Time to make camp and wait for sunrise, I suppose."

It all seemed way too easy.

They did, in fact, make camp within the tomb —campfire, bedrolls, and all— but the night was a restless one to say the least.

When Astarion wasn't tossing and turning, trying to slip into his trance, he was up pacing back and forth within the darkness.

Erys eventually dragged him back to bed, unable to sleep without him, heavy wings draped over him in an attempt to keep him there.

Only then, in his arms, was Astarion able to rest.

But he was up at the crack of dawn.

Erys took that as a sign to get the hell up himself, yawning as he made his way outside first.

Once the sun rose, he lifted his hand up to shield his face against the first rays of daylight, peering out between his fingers.

He looked back at the entrance to the tomb, where Astarion teetered on the edge between darkness and light.

Erys reached a hand out towards him.

Astarion nodded to him.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped out into the sunlight for the first time in years since their initial journey ended.

Astarion still didn't feel any change, his brow furrowed, confused by this turn of events.

On one hand, at least the change didn't hurt.

On the other, Erys was absolutely silent.

"Erys," He hissed, panic rising in his voice. "How bad is it?"

The silence stretched on.

Then, out of nowhere, the bastard snickered.

"Are you—" Astarion sputtered, indignant. "Are you laughing at me, you bastard?"

"I'm sorry," Erys wheezed. "It's just that, all of that suspense and build-up, and for this?!"

He barked out another laugh, to which Astarion stomped his foot with a huff.

"Sometimes I could just wring that pretty neck of yours. What in the Hells are you talking ab—Oh."

Astarion opened his eyes, only to be met with the sight of his skin, the same as before except for one teensy-weensy detail.

It was sparkling.

"Huh," he muttered, turning his hands back and forth, but there was no denying reality. This was really happening, apparently. "Never read anything about this sort of thing in all of those dusty, old tomes we dug up."

Erys shrugged.

"Perhaps the ring affects different monsters in different ways. Our buddy in the tomb, ole Hunter-What's-Their-Face, was consumed by the curse of lycanthropy in their final days. Either that," Erys guessed, "or the 'true nature' being revealed relies completely on the individual."

He beamed at Astarion in amusement.

"I think I like the second option more. Would make sense that you, of all people, would become the sparkly, glittery vampire."

"Ha! Whatever do you mean by that, my love?" Astarion crooned with a playful bite in his direction.

The sunlight bounced off his skin in a rainbow of color, casting light all around them.

"Only that I absolutely love that radiant personality of yours."

"You don't say," Astarion drawled, then instantly perked up, twirling back and forth as he basked in the morning's warmth. "You know, as flashy as this may have turned out to be, I'd take this over the alternative any day."

Gathering up their supplies, he reached out and took Erys by the hand.

They followed the path that they took to the tomb, their heads held high.

Erys bumped him with his arm.

"Hey, if anyone asks, we'll just say that this is some quirk of your Fey ancestry. That's if anyone has the courage to ask about it with me at your side."

"Heh, it's as good an excuse as any."

"I can't wait until Gale and Shadowheart get to see this at our next tea time," Erys laughed.

"Is that where we're going next then?" Astarion questioned, embracing the freedom to go wherever their hearts led them, however they pleased. "To Waterdeep?"

"To Waterdeep!"

After all, they owed him that special guest lecture of theirs.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #durge #durgestarion #bluerose shitposts #bluerose writes #inspired by discord #and that one art #this is the skin of a killer durge

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moss8e · 27 days

Note

For the ship kiss thing, 38 & mean gills please :3

A number and a ship and I will write it

Kiss number 38. because they’re running out of time.

Ship: Martyn/Scott (Meangills/Majorwood)

Words: 606

Notes: This is much longer than I thought it would be, but I love it so much, I also love how I wrapped up the ending, loved making this <33

"Alright, we all have 30 minutes left" Scott said, brushing himself off from the ash that clung him from the lava he had just flung himself into, "one last meal before we end this all?" he smiled at the other two.

It was just Impulse, Martyn, and Scott left in this world, and the time was ticking down quickly.

"I'm afraid we would all chat it away and not actually eat" Impulse laughed, shaking his head.

"He has a point, we would stall" Martyn said, keeping his eyes on the ground, avoiding eye contact with his teammate.

"That's fair" Scott laughed as he just stared at Martyn for a long moment, "can you excuse us for a moment Impulse? I would like to speak to Martyn privately if you don't mind"

Impulse looked between the two before throwing up his hands, "Oh yeah, sure, I'll be back in 15 minutes, I want to get all of the ties and put them together, one last thing you know"

"Of course, we'll wait for you" Scott nodded with a smile, watching as the Imp rushed off to the Ties tower that had seen better days, before the smile turned sad,

"Martyn" he said as he slowly walked over to the blonde, "what's wrong my love?" he asked, tilting his head as he placed his hands on Martyn's chest.

Martyn let out a breath, eyes shutting as he turned his head to the side, "everything has gone so quickly"

"Time runs out quickly, we often forget how fast it run by us" Scott hummed out, reaching up and brushed some loose strands of hair behind Martyn's fin, "this game has really shown us that our time is limited and that we should enjoy every second"

Martyn snorted, wrapping his arms around Scott's waist and turned back to look at Scott, "Do you think that is why Grian called it 'Limited life'?"

Scott chuckled, "I would hope so, if not, then I need to have a talk with him after this" he laughed as he wrapped his arms around Martyn's neck, pulling him in close to make their foreheads touch.

"so, what happens to be on your mind?" Scott asked, letting out a soft breath.

"we have less than 30 minutes left here" Martyn said after a moment of silence, "I have less than 30 minutes to be with you"

"Oh Martyn" Scott said softly, "we'll still have each other"

"Not like this" Martyn said, his grip on the blue hair one tightening, "I won't be able to hold you like this, I won't be able to hold you at all, I won't be able to see you light up and smile in pure joy when you show me your builds, I won't get to kiss you, I won't have you close to me again"

Scott stared up at Martyn, letting out a breath as his gaze saddened, "then kiss me, hold me tighter and kiss, let's make most of the little time we have left and pretend we have all the time in the world together and-"

Scott couldn't even get another word in as Martyn pressed their lips together, and they just melted into it, lost in the world where it was just them two, not a single other soul.

They still had each other even if the clocks were ticking down until there was nothing left of them, nothing left of anyone or anything.

The sand trickles down the hourglass like the dust that will be left behind in the wake.

But at least in the remaining time that was left Scott and Martyn had each other.

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neonscandal · 4 months

Note

Hello, I'm new to the jujutsu fandom, I've already watched season 1 of the movie and I'm in season 2 of jujutsu, I also follow the jujutsu manga, I liked your tumblr and started following you, I like your analyzes and you make me understand more jujutsu, thank you. I have a question, don't you think Sukuna is a boring villain, sorry, but he's too annoying, even Mahito is more interesting than him and it's impressive that Mahito gave more weight to the work than Sukuna, Sukuna killed Gojo and his death It had no significance in the work, it's something terrible, I think the author got lost.

Anon(s), please still try to be mindful of spoilerssss, even if, mid sentence, you just throw one up so other readers know. I'd appreciate it since, even though I'm not a spoiler free blog, I at least tag. I am no stranger to falling behind and trying to avoid leaks and spoilers, myself and my IRL friends are anime onlys to some of the things I obsess about. All that to say: I'm glad you're here (both in the fandom and in my inbox)! Bear in mind, these are very much just the impassioned rants of a silly little person on the internet so who knows.

One thing that I've realized about JJK villains, especially in most recent chapters, is they're never quite who we assume at face value. In this battle between humans and the negative human emotions that spawn curses... each of the villains has a really striking human quality to them whether we understand it or not. In fact, it makes their whole mission of toppling the current paradigm that much more interesting when you consider their origin. I think it was Jogo who said curses were more human than humans which... when you look at the root cause of Geto's defection... he might be onto something.

To that end, Mahito wasn't really lying when he told Yuji that they were one in the same. Humans and curses are two sides of the same coin.

⚠️ Spoiler warning for chapter 248 of JJK.

If you haven't read the light novels, you'd be interested to find that in a chapter I don't overanalyze, there's a story focused around Mahito. It appears in Jujutsu Kaisen Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust.

In the chapter, our typical chaos gremlin who is quick to torture first and question never stumbles upon a vagrant. He finds, in the company of a man who has not and wants not, that he exists harmoniously and curiously. In his soul, he sees an unflappable peace that is not evident in other humans and behaves accordingly around him. Day after day, he causes no harm. They even converse, reasonably and academically to an extent. Uh - Mahito is like an avid reader, by the way. While you can argue this is outside of the realm of what's canon, think of Jogo's affinity to mourn Hanami. Hoping to meet Dagon in the wasteland of souls beyond. Very human hopes which are even echoed by Mahito in canon when Haruta the curse user was sneakily going to kill Hanami. Mahito stopped him with intention because even curses have camaraderie which the humans they consort with apparently lack.

Kenjaku is another villain where, even in his twisted delights and subsequent plans for the future, safely delivers Sasaki outside of the realm of the Culling Games and thanks her for befriending his son... What? This appreciation is so humble and endearing but, of course it is, it is that of a mother. Something he decisively lacks with Choso and the cursed womb paintings but still. It goes against the grain of the rest of his character, you know?

Toji, the man who can't be bothered to remember the name of the kid he sold back to the hell hole he grew up in and yet thinks of him as he breathes his last breaths. When his body was reanimated in Shibuya and was hardwired to find and fight the strongest... that recognition on his face when he realized who he was fighting? The animation did a beautiful job of clearing the black of his eyes, softening his gaze toward Megumi. Knowing that it was Megumi Fushiguro and not Zenin he took himself out, happily. Doesn't really ring true of how a lot of fans interpret him as a character.

Now, we have Sukuna. I agree, he seems to be somewhat flat in characterization so far but.. so was everyone else until we got the effective cowlick that indicated their complexity. Now, 248 chapters in, we're seeing the chip in his facade.

Gojo is no stranger to dying though he is extremely unused to comparison. He's the Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Era, after all. But I wonder if it makes sense to call Sukuna his foil. Imagine Gojo's unchecked ego had he never met Geto. I imagine a life of isolation carrying the burden of one's own grace and strength would absolutely turn out similar to Sukuna's wherein there is no need for purpose beyond one's own whims.

Subsequently, Gojo dying at Sukuna's hands and earning his respect was the first real human connection we see Sukuna receive positively (he gave Jogo a pretty sweet send off, too). It was done with intention, even Gojo hoped to communicate with his tempered body the fact that he too knew that isolation. In universe, it seems to be a form of love (search for "Of Love and Strength" on this post), this understanding. This lapse in Sukuna's indifference is furthered in facing off against fan favorite lawyer Hiromi Higurama.

Following Gojo's demise, Gege has been comparing a lot of characters to the vacuum of power left in his wake. Yuta, I get, but Higurama is an absolute wild card. However, Sukuna sees something in him that he not only respects in this comparison to Gojo... but also stymies him. Especially as he meaningfully comes to terms with his dismissal and abhorrence of Yuji.

What we're seeing is the blossom of his character playing out amidst an all or nothing fight. Stay strapped in, anon!

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