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ihadlife · 8 days

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Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person who's hurting you the most.

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.”

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze.

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.”

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look.

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better.

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.”

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood.

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared.

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that.

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other.

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself.

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure.

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point.

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered.

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :(

Pathetic.

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles.

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time.

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness.

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing.

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed.

Toast bread.

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber.

Spam ham.

Canned fish.

A few packets of instant ramen.

Cheap coffee.

Two single rolls of toilet paper.

Two bottles of soju.

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items.

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles.

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise.

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career.

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone.

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file.

“No, ya were great.”

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in.

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my fuckin’ privacy.”

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.”

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction.

“Me?”

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?”

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless.

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer.

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit.

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile.

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though?

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something.

She repeated the total price to you.

Oh, right.

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet.

“Could you please add a bag to that?”

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them.

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself.

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you.

“Gold Marlboro.”

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you.

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market.

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one.

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator.

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator.

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels.

“Shit.”

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.

“Great.”

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day.

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag.

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display.

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear.

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth.

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door.

First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries.

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen.

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould.

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud.

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours.

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough.

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies.

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later.

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table.

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life.

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body.

The fact was, you were exhausted.

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it.

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him.

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

Maybe you should go see a therapist.

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine.

Your mind lingered on the image of that.

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind.

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body.

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom.

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin.

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace.

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him.

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit.

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake.

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp.

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.”

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come.

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked.

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment.

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips.

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt.

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly.

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions.

“That’s right, princess.”

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat.

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.”

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you.

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?”

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times.

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again.

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot.

“Don’t stop.”

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now.

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him.

“I’m yours.”

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it.

But you knew better.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt.

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important?

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear.

“Hey.”

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone.

“Uh, hi.”

“Ya busy?”

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible.

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie.

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.”

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum.

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?”

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call?

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.”

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye.

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic.

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later.

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from?

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well.

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now.

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime.

»»————-　　————-««

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call.

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice.

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;)

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages.

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply.

“Do you have a minute?”

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically.

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow.

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive.

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked.

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk.

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space.

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment.

“We need to talk.”

You were fucked.

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand.

When are you free? We need to talk.

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago.

Unemployed journalist.

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call.

You also considered calling your friend.

You didn’t, though.

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen.

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again.

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this.

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was.

»»————-　　————-««

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it.

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough.

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you?

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller.

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous.

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him.

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement.

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him.

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities.

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place?

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks.

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you.

“You’re sleepin’.”

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag.

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard.

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor.

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat.

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival.

“Hey.”

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it.

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing.

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you.

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki.

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it.

“Hm.” Was all he said.

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks.

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard.

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked.

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips.

He didn’t.

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture.

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.”

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle.

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.”

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan.

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.”

“And I didn’ ask.”

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was.

“Then stop actin’ like one.”

A moment of silence.

You were speechless.

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks.

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms.

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic.

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you.

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling.

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it.

“It’s alright.”

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself.

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air.

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal.

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?”

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval.

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence.

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it.

“D’ya not like it?”

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.”

Hmph.

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down.

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds.

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term.

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.”

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all.

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.”

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom.

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you.

“Change.”

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?”

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue.

“Ya look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.”

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom.

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right?

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat.

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails.

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him.

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point.

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror.

That would do for now.

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you.

It didn’t matter now.

Didn’t matter what you looked like.

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen.

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself.

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space.

“No problem.”

That was actually kind of nice of him.

Your brain whined in your head.

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward.

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?”

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu.

Should you be honest with him, or lie?

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it?

“I got fired.”

You stuffed your face with the fried egg.

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up.

“Sorry t’hear that.”

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal.

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute.

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating.

“Not really.”

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable.

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right?

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently?

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now.

Don’t be a fucking coward.

It was the right thing to do.

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay.

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though?

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes.

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.”

“Hm.”

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again.

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin.

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t.

“So ya wanna break up?”

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him.

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again.

“Fair enough.”

It was him now that looked down. You won this round.

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head.

Don’t say it.

Don’t.

“What happened?”

You winced. You said it.

“Whaddya mean?”

This was a mistake.

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later.

“Wait.”

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch.

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?”

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would.

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter.

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief.

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return.

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.”

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down.

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty.

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.”

“The truth.”

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you.

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist.

“I used ya.”

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason.

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on.

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.”

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him.

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.”

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye.

“Don’t.”

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them.

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.”

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor.

“Spend the night.”

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit.

“What?”

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement.

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod.

A masochist.

“Yeah?” He was making sure.

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that.

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment.

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest.

“Sure.”

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately.

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing.

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.”

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one.

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well.

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie.

“Real’ like this one.”

You wished he didn’t say those words.

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget.

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning.

“Ya don’t like it?”

Ever the observant.

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s fine.”

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it.

“Fine?”

Wrong answer, apparently.

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then.

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.”

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie.

“What are ya inda mood for, then?”

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine.

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect.

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately.

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do.

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more? You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss.

You were eager.

And Bakugo was just as eager as you.

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak.

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest.

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could.

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it.

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him.

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him.

“No!”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look.

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.”

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man.

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance.

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer.

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be.

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.”

»»————-　　————-««

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away.

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring.

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #bakugo katsuki angst #tw: baby trapping #ves writes

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missxmav · 3 months

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new beginnings - tom kazansky

tom 'iceman' kazansky x reader

Summary: Tom finds his pregnant wife in the heart of their shared home, the sight of her simply takes his breath away. Word count: 1,120+ Warnings: fluuuufffff, SERIOUSLY FLUFFY SOFT TOM, pregnancy, afab!reader (still working on gender neutral tone as best I can), assumptions about size (I play into the plus size side of things because I am plus size, but there's no direct mention), no use of y/n (just she/her pronouns) A/N: This is only rough edited by myself, I'm so sorry for any mistakes. (Im rusty as f*ck at fic writing) I've had this fic in my back pocket for months, please enjoy all the fluff. I'm head over heels for val kilmer as a person, and I'm well aware that the gif is not from Top Gun... this is however an aged up version of Commander Kazansky (;

Tom wasn't typically a man of many words, even after Top Gun and becoming a commander... He was still on track to becoming an admiral in a couple years and his stoic ice-cold exterior has carried him far in the Navy. No, there wasn't much that could get in his way now.

Except for her.

She melted his every icy edge. Especially now that she's 7 months pregnant with his baby. The way she waddled around the sizable estate that he purchased the year they got married. It'd been nearly 7 years since that beautiful day, but Tom and his wife decided to focus on their separate careers before committing to living with little ones under foot. He was nearing his mid-to-late 30's now and with his career excelling, his mind constantly settled on imagining what her beautiful features would be like mixed with his.

Would they get his ice-like stare or her warm bright irises that see right through to his soul? Would they get his pin straight hair that stuck up in all the wrong places or her beautiful, textured hair that fell beautifully in every light?

His mind would run rampant every time he looked at her, his eyes never failing to trail up and down her whole figure. He would linger on her face, taking in how absolutely mesmerizing she was in the pregnancy glow before darting down to her ever-changing belly. It was very noticeable now, and the way she braced the underside of the bump softened his stare every time. Even through the literal growing pains of making a human, she looked ethereal. He subconsciously pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Tom was fully convinced that she could never be more beautiful than she was in this exact moment.

With a warm but soft chuckle under his breath, he stood slowly and made his way over to her. The book she'd been perusing at the kitchen counter happened to be a cookbook he got her for Christmas in the early years of their relationship. He'd assumed she must be craving something specific by the way she quickly flipped through the pages. He placed his hands over the tops of her shoulders, giving a gentle rub to the tense muscles in her shoulder blades and leaned in to kiss her neck. The smell of her conditioner and body wash from her shower this morning is almost intoxicating. His body was warm, causing her to lean back on his chest.

"You're absolutely radiant dear," Tom stated, a smile forming across his lips. "And absolutely distracting..." He hasn't been able to take his eyes off her since she entered the kitchen adjacent to the doors of his office. He'd been trying to get through some paperwork before finding her to ask what you might want for lunch as she graced her way into the heart of their shared home.

She was one of the only women that could ever truly take his breath away, though many tried. Even in a moment like this... with his wedding band heavy on her finger and growing the fruit of his love for her in her tummy, he still had to remind himself to breathe.

His large arms made their way down her body until they gently embraced her and her bump. He supported her belly gently, the same way the two had learned in the parenting classes Tom insisted on attending once she confirmed her pregnancy. The soft hum that escaped her throat told him that she needed this. Her eyes fluttered closed as he stood there, swaying gently with her in his arms.

“Blueberry.” Was the only thing that snapped the quiet of the moment between the two of them. Her words were soft in his ears. Tom raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. The pages of the cookbook landed on a muffin recipe that had been dog-eared and made enough times to sport the stains of baking chaos.

Another low chuckle reverberated through his chest. “Cravings?” Tom placed another gentle kiss on her neck as he slowly released his childbearing wife to turn to the refrigerator behind him. This recipe was one he was familiar with, having made it several times over the years. He grabbed out the bowl of blueberries, buttermilk, butter and eggs while his wife gathered the remaining dry ingredients.

A quiet melodic sound filled the kitchen as Tom watched his wife pull up the large glass bowl from the cabinet. The smile spread across his face as he recognized their wedding song falling from her lips. “I wanna know what love is…”

Tom set the cold ingredients out on the counter, crossing the kitchen swiftly to pull her back into his arms. “I want you to show me…” He whispered to her, a hum parting his lips as he twirled her around slowly in the afternoon light of their kitchen. He mirrored her radiant smile as they slowly swayed together, her baby bump separating them a little more than usual but neither of them cared.

After enjoying the embrace of her husband, Tom’s wife pushed him away gently as she resumed making the muffins lil’ kazansky was craving so badly. The blonde commander only laughed as he kissed her hand before parting their embrace. He too busied himself making muffins again wordlessly as he reached into the bottom drawer of the oven. Grabbing out the old muffin tin, he paused to preheat the oven as he lingered there for a moment.

Tom’s hand immediately found his wife’s lower back as he brought the tin over to the island countertop, using the other to place the white liners in each cup. A devious giggle caught his attention and before he could even blink, she’d managed to touch his nose with a flour-covered hand. His steely eyes closed suddenly as she swiped at his face, unable to hide the slow grin that parted his lips as he dipped his own hand into the bowl of flour.

He laughed as he pulled her back from the counter slightly, his flour covered hand landing gently over the top of her baby bump. The white handprint was stark on her dark dress. The gasp that escaped from the woman in his arms only made him laugh harder as she rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband’s antics.

"What am I going to do with you, Thomas Kazansky? ” She said exasperatedly despite a smile growing on her face.

“Love me.” He said simply, his eyes gazing deeply into hers as he pulled her in close again. “And make muffins with me forever.” She laughed, her heart full, as she accepted his proposal.

#tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #top gun iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #tom kazansky x pregnant!reader #fluff #val kilmer #pregnant reader

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superums · 6 months

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42 songs — 42! miles morales x reader

spidey!reader. angst, no happy ending. for general audiences. (cannon) character death. reader is a but of a loser here. some fluff. reader has a (loving) mom. gender neautral reader. no pronouns. no y/n. childhood friends to crushes to enemies. jeff is a father figure to the reader

color coded text: miles. you/spidey. your mom. jeff.

inspired by: 24 songs by playboi carti

pre-spidey headcannons

crime is off the charts in this universe, every other day there's a riot, a robbery, accidental killings, purposeful killings, people on the news begging for help, bombings, and general terrorist attacks caused by mutated mad scientists and victims of freak accidents

in the daytime, you can sort of ignore the turmoil the city is in since everyone feels safer when the sun is out. At night time there's a curfew for teenagers and even some young adults because of all the crime that happens.

you feel uneasy a lot of the time because of the political climate but the crush you have on your mom's best friend's son, miles morales, makes you forget about it even if it's just a bit.

you've had a crush on him ever since you could remember; you couldn't even remember when it started.

for the longest time you wanted to confess to him but every time you tried to he would always get distracted by the pretty girls at school.

your hands were sweating as you held onto your backpack strap with two tickets for the museum. you found miles alone in a classroom putting things in his backpack.

"hey, miles." you saw him turn in your direction before smiling a bit. getting closer to where you stood a few feet in front of him you felt a little shiver go up your spine as you saw miles' big brown eyes look directly into yours.

"yeah?" his accent made your heart race a little. looking down at your shoes you began to ask. "y-yeah i was wondering if..." the sound of ruffling pom poms in the door cut you off.

"hey miles are you still coming?" michelle jones stood at the door waving at the boy with her two friends behind her. "uh... yeah im comin, my fault." miles continued getting his things together before walking past you. "can this wait? i gotta get ready for practice?" he said as he walked past you to join the three cheerleaders.

your embarrassment never left you as you watched him leave you in the dust. "yeah... my fault." you muttered to yourself as he left the class room to join the cheerleaders.

you ended up going to the museum by yourself (not wanting to waste any money), little did you know you were going to get bit by a radioactive spider at the vending machine

post spidey & cannon event headcanons

being spidey is not easy in universe 42. the crime was bad before but now it the gotten worse. during your second week of being spidey you had to fight villains that other spidermen would shiver at the green goblin, the sandman, and many more.

after 4 months you've been beaten down, almost died a few times, even almost got your secret identity exposed at least twice but you always get back up because you love your city and everything who lives in it—it's just too bad your new york doesn't feel the same about you.

The people of your new york really like jonah jameson and respect his opinion so when he talked bad about you the public opinion of spidey quickly soured.

you work with the police aka hang criminals upside down with your webs and leave a little note as you swing away when you hear the sirens coming towards you.

you struggle to balance your school life with your spidey life so you end up isolating yourself like all the spidey’s before you have. so now you only interact with miles in passing. when you do have the time to actually talk to him your spidey senses pull you in another direction

your parents worry about you a lot, at first they thought you were fine because your grades were good and you had a few friends but now you sometimes walk with a limp and sometimes your friends (miles specifically) come by to check up on you it's just too bad you're never there

every blunder you made as spidey would always met with a loud rant from jonah jameson. like when you got knocked out by rhino slamming his head into yours multiple times or when you accidentally let the green goblin blow up an entire block because you were getting pestered by protesters who were trying to rip your mask off

speaking of blunders your mom calls you sometimes when you're fighting crime because she's scared about if you're safe and you always try to calm her down but it never works because there's always screaming and explosions going on in the back

most of the time you end you hanging up abruptly because you have to stop the villain or else more people get hurt but you always make sure to face time her when you get away from the chaos so she doesn't get too scared about you

almost a year after becoming spidey you were invited to jeff’s promotional party and your mom stressed that you be there. You haven’t been able to make it to outings recently—canceling at the last minute, not showing up without a warning or leaving early without a trace, it was starting to feel like you were only someone she could talk to on the phone and never in person.

and throw in the fact that the morales family have been friends with your family for years, almost like a second home and none of them have seen you not even miles— it was starting to worry everyone.

when the morales family invited yours to jeffs promotion party your mother practically begged you to come

when you got to the party you and your mom had an argument about your latest disappearances. she brought up how your school was calling her about missing school ans how you were flaking out on her and while you tried to argue that you had more than just her to worry about, your argument immediately fell flat when she asked you ‘like what?’

after congratulating jeff on his promotion you left to sit under the water tower and watch the streets of new york. you knew you couldn't keep lying to your mom forever, she was worried about you and you just wanted to keep her safe. looking out to the city you didn't notice the foot steps coming from behind you.

“you aint gon say hi to me?” a familiar voice said from the right of you. turning your head you saw miles leaning on one of the metal rods that held the tower up. “you were busy with everyone else. i thought you’d be too busy to talk to me.”

“you coulda still came to say hey or sum’ you're like a ghost now.” miles looked down at you causing you to shake your head before looking ahead. “tuh… anyway, i heard you made the basketball team.” you changed the subject as you turned your head around, not being able to see the bashful look on his face. “”yeah it was easy.” “i bet. you're like good at everything.”

the boy looked at his feet trying not to smile when he heard your praise. “also! i noticed your new hairstyle. it's really good on you….” you messed with your fingers a little before turning back to him. “yeah?” the boy would be blushing if his melanin allowed it.

you stayed at the tower for most of the gathering. your mom even coming to get you so you could watch jeff blow out his candles. after that though you had to leave the sounds of police sirens started to go off as the sun began to set, you had to go back to your job.

cannon event & 'cannon event'

as you work to keep the city safe there's always something you can't stop and that is death. unfortunately, you can't save everyone even if you try to. believe me you tried everything but nothing could stop him slipping through your fingers

it was a cold winter when it happened, everyone getting ready for winter break the christmas lights were beginning to be put on display it was almost perfect until norman osborne broke out of jail

if was like he wouldn't go down. it didn't natter what you did—final blow after final blow the man would get back up and destroy even more buildings.

you tried your best to keep everyone safe, multitasking between saving people and knocking down the green goblin. your bones were screaming as you swung across the city, webbing buildings together, destroying rubble before it could hit the civilians below, you did all you know.

but that wasn't enough.

your web couldn't stop the tip of the daily bugle antenna from hitting him. you almost moved in slow motion; jumping off of green goblins glider to chase after the rod.

the man you've seen all your life stood still, paralyzed with fear. your webbing got sloppy after hours of fighting, your left web missed, the other right one ran out of fluid—you couldn't stop the antenna from hitting jeff.

the green goblin laughed maniacally as he flew off into the snowy sky, leaving you shivering holding the man you saw as a father figure.

"spidey...." his voice was weak, the tip of the bar was lodged into his heart, he wasn't going to make it. "i'm sorry..." your voice was weak as you held onto him, you heard his slowing heartbeat above the chaotic city.

"im sorry... i'm sorry" you sung apologies to him as you saw the life draining from his body. "spidey... i was growing to like you." jeff started, looking directly into your mask where your eyes would be. "i know i don't got much time..." he heaved once. twice. thee times.

"but please, don't lose yourself cus a' me." his blinking started to slow down. holding him tighter your couldn't handle this. "please, please stay with me. the paramedics are almost here!" your begged the man who just gave you a sad smile. "remember.... with great power comes great responsibility."

the man stopped breathing in your arms. you almost screamed into the sky if it wasn't for the sirens getting closer. "freeze spidey!" you heard them cock their guns, they were going to shoot you. "w-wait you dont understand!" you tried to explain through tears but you knew you had to go.

a gun-shot from your right made you leave before you could get a word out, a few of them hit you but not enough to be anything fatal

you ran to your house and practically tire your shit off of you. you cried for days, and didn't go to school for at-least three. your mom didn't know why you were so upset but didn't budge, seeing g how depressed you were

spidey didn't show up for a while. almost disappearing entirely besides a few sightings. though the press around the hero in the mask got worse

“Spidey? More like spider menace! look around you New York—that fraudulent freak trying to call themselves a hero is a danger to our livelihoods!” a booming voice echoed through the snowy streets of new york. “The green goblin, the lizard all of them—this is all their fault!” “spidey has brought nothing but uncertainty and harm to this city!”

news reporters seemed to go on and on about you on every channel, every jumbotron, and street corner—spidey was the topic of discussion. they're a killer, a sorry excuse for a hero. who are they? where are they?

*the sinking feeling in your stomach never disappeared as you saw miles at school. he was darker, less talkative, more angry—you cant help but think it's your fault.

you almost quit being spidey but you knew the people needed you even if they acted like they didn't. the robberies, rampaging villaians everyone needed you.

you went back to fighting crime even acter you saw the headlines on the billboards calling you a murderer, a fraud.

in less than a month a new face was making noise on the news. the press called him the prowler. he's been stealing money from museums and the daily bugle; anything he can get his hands on.

his LED mask was the only thing they got as he sped away on his bike.

the prowler began to leave messages 'bring me spidey.' and a simple spider drawing with a red X over it. he wanted you dead, and you knew he wouldn't stop until he had it.

in hindsight it was like dejavu. you're back where you started. fighting on a building in the snow.

"i've been waiting on you spidey." you bearly escaped his claws. stream came from your mouth as you jumped back from him."who are you?!" you knew you were being played with but you couldn't help it. the masked man laughed before swiping at you again.your other cuts from him stung, his claws were full of poison.

"you ruined my life." he managed to punch you, poisonous gas exploded in your face from the impact. "you got me all wrong!" you fought back, bearly noticing you began to crack his mask. "you'll pay for what you did to me." he bunched your face repeatedly.

"no!" bringing your leg up you managed to kick him in his face, knocking him back. getting on-top of him you repeatedly hit him in his face. you didn't even notice the familiar brown eyes being unveiled to you until it was too late.

you froze in place when you saw his face. miles. he knocked you off of him again, smirking, he began to laugh. "this'll be the last face you see, spidey."

"miles?" you felt like throwing up all over again, looking at the boy you've loved for almost all your life talk down to you. you were almost living the worst day of your life all over again.

#42 miles x reader #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler miles x reader #atsv headcanons #atsv x reader #atsv imagines #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales headcanons

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solitaryearthperson · 8 months

Text

A Misunderstanding

Summary: Bruce thinks the reader fears him when it's quite the opposite.

(The reader is gender-neutral and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably a person of color.)

"Where's (Y/N)," Bruce asked, his eyes not lifting up from the beaker in front of him as he continued to pour more chemicals in.

"They're getting us coffee. Be here any minute," Tony replied, sitting in a seat not far away from Bruce's table, but still on his side of the lab, casually picking up a vial to play with.

"They're our assistant, not servant," Bruce told him, lifting his gaze and instantly furrowing his brow at seeing the vial in Tony's hands. "Put that back, please."

"I'll put it back, when I have my coffee," Tony told him, to which Bruce rolled his eyes, expecting Tony to be his usual difficult self, even when it's early in the morning.

The sound of the lab doors opening made both geniuses turn to see you entering, holding in both hands, cups of coffee, each one specifically made for them both. "Brought the coffee you wanted."

As Tony quickly grabbed his coffee, offering a quick 'thank you' before putting the vial back in its place, Bruce watched you carefully. He had a suspicion about you from the moment you began working in the lab with them and he wanted to confirm it to Tony.

"Hey (Y/N)," he said, watching your face and examining your body language closely. The second your name came out of his mouth, your body slightly jumped. He darted his eyes over to Tony to see if he was watching, and was quickly satisfied to find that he was.

"Could you just sit mine down, please?" He pointed to a far spot on the table.

He noticed the big gulp you made before nodding your head and making your way to his table and sitting down the coffee cup.

He pretended to pay close attention to the beaker, but really he slightly moved his eyes to your hand as you sat the coffee down and noticed the third sign that his suspicions about you were correct. Even though you tried to hide it, he could clearly see your hand slightly trembling. The fourth sign was revealed to him at the same time as he noticed that the hair on your arm was raised, as if in alarm. Every single time, he thought.

"Hey (Y/N), could you go upstairs, and tell Cap to come down here," Tony asked you, opening a drawer in his desk. "I wanna test something on his shield."

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark," You said, before leaving to do as directed, and Bruce couldn't help but notice the way you left was very quickly, almost as if you were hurrying out to get away from him.

When the sound of the lab doors closing behind you was heard that's when Bruce decided to speak up.

"You saw it, right," He asked Tony.

"Saw what?"

"Literally everything they just did," Bruce said, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table before walking over to Tony's side of the lab, and leaned against his desk. "The jumping, trembling, and even the way they hurried out of here just now."

"What does any of that mean, exactly?"

Sighing, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, already knowing this might be difficult to speak with him about. "They're scare of me."

Tony tried to prevent the grin that wanted to appear and kept his face neutral as he responded, "Scared of you?"

"Yes. I know it."

"And why would they be so scared of you? You haven't hulked out in a while. They've only seen you in your nerdy, scientist attire, not as a green monster. There's no reason to be scared."

"We know why they're scared. Doesn't matter if I've hulked out or not. I'm still dangerous."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Tony sighed knowing that Bruce still wasn't sure of himself being on the team or being in such close proximity to any of them. "Banner, I'm gonna be as honest as I can with you," he said, stepping towards him, and putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You are literally the softest person ever."

"Tony," Bruce tried to interrupt him.

"You're basically a teddy bear with glasses. Nothing about you besides Hulk is dangerous, okay?"

Shaking his head, Bruce tried to ignore the growing frustration he was feeling. He didn't know why it bothered him so bad, but it did. Well, that was technically a lie. He knew why it bothered him, but he hoped that working with them for so long could have remedied that. He knows that he should be used to this by now, but knowing that you, of all people, was scared of him made him feel so much worse than any other person would. "I know what fear looks like, Tony, and it looked like they were scared."

"Please talk to them about it, before jumping to conclusions about this. Can you do that?" Tony had seen all the signs that Bruce had seen for a while and had come to understand what they really were, and hoped that Bruce would soon figure it out.

"Fine. I'll talk to them about it."

~LATER THAT NIGHT~

It was close to 1 in the morning, when Bruce looked away from the computer screen at the sound of the lab door opening, and when he turned to see who had entered, he found himself instantly become nervous seeing that it was you.

"Dr. Banner," You greeted him, smiling politely at him.

"(Y/N)," he greeted back. "What brings you here?"

"Mr. Stark told me to come down and check on you. Plus, he said that you wanted to talk to me about something important."

Of course, he did, Bruce thought, moving away from the computer and sitting down next to one of the lab tables. He couldn't help but notice you seemed to be staying far away from his side of the lab.

"Yeah, I did, (Y/N). It's important."

"Okay. What is it?"

"You do know that if you have any fears, any worries about working here, you can voice them, right?"

"Yeah, of course I do," you told him, nodding your head.

"So do you want to talk about you being scared of me?"

"What-What are you talking about?" You stammered, closing some of the distance between you two.

"(Y/N)," Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again to look at you. "Ever since you've started here, you've been jumpy around me and keeping your distance from me. You always hesitate to come up to me, like you're scared I'm gonna hurt you."

A look of recognition and embarrassment came over your face and you opened your mouth to explain yourself to him, but before you could say anything, Bruce spoke again.

"I understand why you'd be feeling this way, but-"

"Dr. Banner, I'm so sorry. This is a big misunderstanding -"

"I promise you're not in any danger with me," he continued.

"I'm not scared of you, Dr. Banner-"

"I have control over the big guy. There won't be any incidents of him coming out-"

"Dr. Banner, I like you," you blurted out loudly, interrupting him in the middle of his sentence.

"What," he asked, a look of surprise and confusion upon his face.

Seeing how shocked he looked, you felt heat come to your face and quickly darted your eyes away from him. You never wanted to tell him like this, but to be really honest, you never wanted to tell him period.

"You-You like... me," he asked, shock and confusion still present on his face. "Why were you being so jumpy and-and weird around me then?"

"I didn't know I was being weird," you confessed, walking around the lab table and pulling a nearby chair to sit down next to him, ignoring the burning in your cheeks and your fast heartbeat. "I didn't know how to act around you, and not show my crush, so I thought I could keep my distance. Thought it would better hide it."

"Oh" was all he said, his face suddenly not revealing what he was feeling anymore.

"Um, if you don't want me to work here in the lab with you now, then I completely understand," you said to him, mistaking his silence as a silent rejection.

"Why would I want that?" He asked, confused. Now that you confessed how you felt about him, he thought that now is a great time to confess his feelings as well. "I like you too."

His confession shocked you and it took a second for you to reply.

"You do?"

"Yeah," he nodded, chuckling softly.

"Oh... Well, would you mind going on a date with me or are you uncomfortable with going with your assistant?" You asked, curious and wanting to make sure that he wouldn't feel too weird about it.

"That depends,...will you jump and keep your distance from me the whole time," he joked.

"No, I won't, Dr. Banner," you replied, laughing softly.

"Bruce," he corrected, smiling at you, making a fluttery feeling begin in your stomach. "Call me Bruce."

"Sure thing,... Bruce," you said, excited to finally go on a date with the man you've been secretly pining for forever. "Sure thing."

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bowieandqueen11 · 7 months

Text

Seductress / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: Hi i was wondering if you could do an izzy x reader where lucius purposely tries to make izzy jealous (it works btw) the rest is up to you also could the reader have gender neutral pronouns so everyone can share the fun! Thank you for fueling the hyperfixation fire! Lots of love 💕

Aww lovely that's so kind of you, thank you!! I love writing Lucius being a little shit (affectionate) towards Izzy lmao we love a flirty bestie!

Warning: Nothing too graphic but NSFW, some sexual innuendos and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @dizzy-izzy-hands.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

You should have known rightly from that tell-tale smirk that Lucius had nothing good planned.

The man had barely been able to sit still all day. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to be as much of a nuisance as possible: must have unwrapped himself from Black Pete's arms that morning, sat up with wide stretching arms and a smile as ferocious as the jaded depths of Davy Jones' locker itself as he decided, with an assertive nod to the rest of the crew, to cause as much mischief as he could that day.

After all, Lucius, the king of pickpocketing, was more than acute at spotting stolen glances from miles away. Of noting darting looks; that morning, as he had sipped his orange juice and observed Izzy over the rim of his glass, it hadn't escaped his notice how he had almost- god, so he had been so close to not losing his nerve. He had warbled, almost swaying from side to side as Izzy plundered the depths of his mind to try and find the courage to sit and have breakfast on your other side, but as soon as you had raised your eyes curiously to see what he had been doing, he jolted back as if electrocuted and scurried off back to the deck. Lucius' sigh had been frustrated enough to blow bubbles of juice out and splatter them onto your already scowling face.

Nor had he missed the lingering wistfulness shrouding Izzy's eyes that same afternoon: the way he had watched you from the rigging of the Revenge, clinging onto the rope as if for dear life any time you passed him by. From helping Roach roll more barrels of dried meat down into the kitchen, or nearly keeling yourself over the edge of the ship to avoid Edward and Stede's impromptu sword fighting lesson, Izzy had been almost... calm. Placated? Silent? Bashful, Lucius thought, as he had watched the man's fist squeeze so tightly into a ball he thought the leather might tear down the seams right there and then. With a hand on his hip and a huff in your direction, Lucius was getting incredibly fed up of being the only one to notice how bashfully Izzy tried to look anywhere else when your eyes met. How your voice cracked when he had come sliding up to you, hammer looking quite menacing as he thumped it against his palm and asked you why you had made it your life's work to cross Izzy's line of vision any time you could.

'This has been going on for weeeeeks, when are you two just going to stop pretending you don't want to slam each other into the wall until you're gasping for air every time you see each other', he had groaned, throwing his head back and trying to beckon Wee John over to give his concerns some backing. The man, too busy sewing a hole in his trousers back together, and having enough sense to fear for his life with the way Izzy was glaring daggers his way, quickly shook his head and buried it back down in the mottled fabric.

'I have no idea what you're talking about', you had replied curtly, effectively ending the conversation. Even if he had flared his nostrils and thwacked you teasingly over the head with the long edge of his sleeve, a blind man would have been able to see the glimmer in your eye as you looked hopefully in Izzy's direction.

No, this man really did not miss a thing. And it was beginning to drive you insane.

Thankfully, he had been gracious enough to already warn you ahead of time about his brand new spanking plan to get this idiot of a first mate to admit his feelings for you. About how, once Stede had informed the crew that they would be stopping off on a little island called 'Tangerine Grove' during the sunset, so he and Ed could have their daily constitutional through the silver gleams cast by pale tree light only the rock hidden away behind the tip of Blindman's Cove could bring, a lightbulb had gone off in Lucius' head.

Which is how you had ended up here: shivering under the growing violet wisps of dusk that splattered the spring sky, sitting alone along an unfamiliar stretch of beach, wishing you could rescind your acceptance of Lucius' excited plan and instead go join your friends as they ran, barefoot, through the wet grains and wrestled each other into the waves. Only Izzy was still standing apart, looking entirely uncomfortable as he rubbed his jaw against his shoulder. Without even realising, he found his heel to be tapping a thousand miles per minute upon the ground: a horrid itching sensation spiking its way up his legs as he tried his best to look nonchalantly towards the dipping curve of the sun. To look anywhere else apart from at you. God, he fucking hated the way you made him feel so... fragile. So stunted. Even Edward had encouraged him that morning to try and express his lingering feelings to you, but a harrowing hatred had pierced his heart and caged the words from escaping their writhing chambers.

Hatred at how foolish he felt running away. Hatred at how Edward teased him, despite seeming like a lovesick idiot for a stupid twat that would be seem like shit scraped off the bottom of his boot compared to you. Hatred at how vulnerable he felt. Hatred for himself. For how he had been the harbinger of his own ruination. How, in the end, his misery was no one's fault but his own.

'Well now', Lucius enunciates in a sing song voice, clucking his tongue at the end. You almost jump out of your skin as he appears before you, drawn away from watching Izzy's face contort in flashes of fury as Lucius' torso replaces your view. His furrowed brow and pursed lips almost endue him with a sage like intensity, as he dips his head and shoots you an almost sympathetic frown.

He waggles his eyebrows as he perches down on the cragged rocks lining the shoreline next to you. 'What do we have here, then? Little Y/n, sitting here on this god forsaken rock with stupid arse over there too emotionally gagged to come keep you company. How tragic. Do you think the stick up his bum stops him from walking over here? Or maybe it's-'

'Lucius, you really don't have to do this.' You grab onto his arm, almost pleading with him through the frantic batting of your eyelashes, but Lucius just pats your fingers and intertwines them within his own. Laying your hands on his lap, he cocks his head and carefully strokes a path down your knuckles.

'Anything for my bestie', he winks, before glancing rather conspicuously behind his shoulder to trace Izzy's path. 'Besides, if that man doesn't just admit his feelings, one of us is going to end up kicking him up the arse. And as much as I would love that to be me, I want one of my favourite people in the whole world to be happy more. Trust me, I’m fantastic at forcing two knobheaded people to admit their true feelings for each other.'

’Oi, I'm not a kno-’, you try to retort with a roll of your eyes, but are stopped short by Lucius grabbing the bottom of your chin like crab pincers digging into your skin, and has already turned your face so your nose is lined up directly with his mouth.

'You know, it's been a long time since I sketched you.' His fingers dart up your face, walking their way up your cheek until Lucius brushed his knuckles back down to your jawline. 'If you like', he leans closer to you and purses his lips, 'we could fill the rest of Stede's journal right up.' He makes sure his voice is loud enough - sultry enough, that even Roach perks his head up from where he's laying starfish on the shoreline.

There we go.

Bingo.

A muscle in Izzy's tense jaw jumps: a minute twitch, but enough to let a far too smug looking Lucius know that he's on the right track.

'Or if that's not your jam, I know something else we can do', he leans in closer so his lips move against the shell of your ear with each word, and despite yourself your back rolls with shivers at the warm blows against your inner ear. 'Roach clued me in to some hidden compartments Stede had built into the ship. No more audience - just us, if you catch my drift', he finishes with an accentuating wink and kiss to the back of your hand.

The sound of a high pitched whistling even made Frenchie and the Swede pause their scuttling in the dirt for starfish, whipping their heads under their arms and burying themselves in the sand as they waited for the cannon fire to land. Nothing came, though. Instead, the sound only grew louder... and louder... until everyone was glancing uneasily up at the puffy clouds, waiting for a cleft to appear through the weaving pink breeze.

Only you and Lucius knew to look inland, rather than up at the heavens.

And there he stood: the incoming hit. The seething tempest. The washed up wreck.

The poor man was already fuming. If he bit his tongue an inch harder, the blood would begin to pour out of the corners of the man's mouth as if he had willingly swallowed arsenic, and was allowing it to fester in the recesses of his heart. Anything, anything would be better than letting it tremble. So blood it is. Down the poison willingly goes.

You would have been able to hear the sigh that blew out from Izzy’s flaring nostrils from the crow’s nest. Forget that: you’d be able to feel the burning steam radiating off his near vibrating body from the next continent. With each passing second Izzy could feel his heart decaying in pulsing oozes through his chest cavity. And with every smile, every lingering brush of someone else's fingers on your skin, the rot residing in his soul became that little bit more mutilating. The touch of Lucius' pointer finger against your cupid's bow finally goaded his insides to slither out in a body wracking convulsion: his heart finally mouldering out through the corner of his eyes in snaking tendrils.

He finds his feet pounding across the horizon before the rational part of his brain could try to keep up. Lucius barely has time to register the swarm of black buzzing in front of his face before claws have dug into his striped shirt and have hoisted him up like a ragdoll. The feel of Izzy's teeth baring against his nose is enough even to make Lucius' head recoil.

'Get your fucking little, dirty, clawed rat hands the fuck away from them.' Izzy spits at Lucius' boots, content only when the man grimaced and took a hop backwards and away from his lacerating fingers.

'What's your problem, Dizzy Izzy', Lucius hisses back, hunching down onto his haunches and resting his hands treacherously on your shoulders: far too close, as he squeezes you reassuringly. Too damn fucking close, for Izzy's taste. 'Just because it's not your fingers, doesn't mean you have to be so jealous. We don't own each other on this ship. If you're interested, all you have to do is say.'

'Who says I'm fucking jealous', he tries to shrug, but his voice is strained. Wracked. He's obviously trying to stop himself melting to your feet and placating himself at your shrine right there and then, ready to die under your heel.

Izzy glances uncertainly along the ground, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner at the way Lucius grins at his growing discomfort. 'Oh come on, you wouldn't mind if Y/n and I headed back to the ship right now, right? After all, Dizzy Izzy doesn't get jealous. He wouldn't care if he could hear screaming coming from-'

'You shut your fucking mouth.' He shoves a thick finger into Lucius' chest, nearly toppling over himself trying to get his arm in to separate the man from your back.

'Or what?', Lucius replies, trying to keep his grip by your neck while also trying to bat off Izzy's slicing hands. He manages to pull back and wring his hand out right before Izzy bared his teeth and took a chunk out of it. 'What are you going to do, Izzy? Give me a lashing? I'm sure you'd love to do that to Y/n. Or maybe for them to do that to you - I've always known you were a mas-'

'You little. Fucking. Tease.' Despite the ferocity of his words as he spits them out from his serpent tongue, the tenderness of his fingers as he reaches down to grip your wrist surprises you. He tugs you up, taking a step around your body as if to shield you from the gratified smirk Lucius is radiating.

'I could destroy you, you know, and everyone would thank me for it. Because that's what you do, isn't it?' He was trying his best to sound as bratty as possible, but there was an almost imperceptible shake in his fingers as he tightened his grip on your wrist. 'A proper little seductress. Using and destroying perfect things.'

'Perfect?', you whisper out from behind his back, your hand coming up to touch your lips as if you could taste the sweetness dripping off the word. Izzy's brows furrow as he curses himself. Fuck. He's fucking done it now. What kind of sap will you think he is? Standing there with knees nearly knocking before you, some kind of fucking pirate with his squeaky voice and thumb circling delicate paths along your wrist.

'Do you really mean that?', you ask, the eagerness in your tone enough to make Izzy's breath falter in the back of his throat. He nearly chokes on it, but finds just enough to pant out the truest words left in his rotten body.

'I... meant, what I said.'

You flash your eyes toward him in surprise, but the man is already staring directly at you. What you were surprised about though, were the tears that were shrouding the usual piercing glare of his irises. He looked almost… childlike. Mythical. Almost pitiable, standing on the long stretch of mist, feet crushing into the grains of sand as if he were willing himself to stay anchored, to not fade away with his tears into the spray of mist.

A man strung up by the tendrils of heart, doomed to stay wanting, waiting, fading into the rays of light.

It was almost phantasmal. And as you used your free hand to cup Izzy's cheek, it was almost enough for him to trick him into believing that he was alive again.

Even Lucius’ mouth drops down into a surprised ‘oh’ as a lone tear manages to tear a ragged path down the first mate’s sullen cheek.

He snorts, raising his eyes to the piercing blue skyline and trying to blink the tears back past his eyelashes. It's when the whining starts: the soft, pitiable howls of a kicked man being held for the first time of his life, that the patchwork mould surrounding what's left of Israel Hands' inner sanctum begins to crack away. He burrows himself into the warm, welcoming palm of your hand, allowing the water to flow over the bud of his nose.

Before your feet could even register that they were moving, Izzy has dragged you away from Lucius and into the shade of a nearby orange tree. A few fireflies began to peek their heads out from between the stout leaves at the disturbance: like honey dripping down from bowed boughs, brushing kindly against Izzy's glowing cheeks and making him seem almost saint-like as they gathered around his head. The sound of your shipmates begins to blur into the distance as the singing is replaced by the wretched pants of Izzy's breath.

He slams your back against the curved bark of the tree, sliding his boots in front of yours and leaning his body over you, effectively trapping you between the scratchy bark and the heaving muscle of his abdomen. You shiver, unsure if it's due to the champagne bubbles lapping their way towards your bare feet, or the feel of Izzy raising the wrist he's almost bruising above your head, no longer trying to hide the fact he's holding you in place against his body.

'Why do you stay around such unsavoury characters.' The bastard bares his teeth at you. God, he was enjoying this far too much. Enjoying raising his knee until the bone nearly kneaded against your groin. Enjoying using his free hand to grip onto your jaw just as Lucius had done, but far needier. He digs into your skin as he tilts your head back, and you can feel his smirk branding it’s way into the bare strip of skin between the nape or your neck and the hollow of your earlobe as he leans down to whisper: 'A fine creature such as yourself should be careful of deranged creatures like that. They slink out of the depths like demons. So perverse.'

Fucker makes sure to run his lips from your shoulder blade right up to your pulse point first, though.

'You should thank me for saving you from his depravity.'

'Oh of course', you begin to smile, playing along with his little fable. His little knight in shining armour tale, so he didn't break apart so easily. 'I have to thank you. You've been watching me for a while, haven't you? Taking care of me from afar...', you take a chance while he's distracted breathing in your scent to dip down and nip at his earlobe.

His legs start to waver then, and with a quick reflex that had got you onto Stede’s crew in the first place, you manage to steady him with a hand placed around the firm muscle of his waist.

'I did my best to save you from that seductress.' His teeth clash against your bottom lip in an almost wantonly manner, hovering his mouth over yours. It takes almost all of his self control to seem like he’s seething as his nose pokes against yours; it takes every piercing shred of self restraint he has to not wet your bottom lip with his tongue.

As tough as he thinks he's being, he’s not incredibly subtle in his thoughts and temptations, if the way he can’t stop staring at your mouth is anything to go by. Something wild makes his eyes gloss over: a tightly leashed repression, a long tempered heartache burrowing their way out of his eyes until he can barely hold back the parasitic tears.

His mouth trembles as it falls open, 'you deserve someone proper. Someone better-', he swallows thickly, eyes darting quickly between your own and back down to your widening lips. 'Someone better than them. Someone better than me-'

He looks wonderstruck, and you can't bear just to see its ferity anymore. You have to taste it. And if the manic glint in his eye is anything to go by, Izzy is in exactly the same boat.

His words are quickly enveloped by your mouth. He gasps against your tongue, his own quivering as an overwhelming rush of pure love gushed through him like the rips of a storm. He wastes no time: afraid this was a trick, a prank, a cruel mirage, his mind still trapped in one of his restless, far too fleeting dreams. He lips frantically latch, smother, tug, overwhelm you until you can barely breathe. Can barely feel. Your eyes flicker close in bliss as he allows you a moment of respite from all his pent-up want, his all consuming need, planting a trail of open mouth kisses followed by wide planted licks down your throat.

The slide of your feet against the trim of his steadying boot is a welcome relief from the burn of Izzy's hand as he grips onto your waist like a man possessed. His fingers clench, nearly lifting your lower half up to grind against his abdomen, stopping himself only at the last second and lowering you back down into his unforgiving grip.

You almost gasp when you feel your name roll of his tongue and reverberate through your neck in a hoarse moan. He tries to subdue his embarrassment by finally... finally reaching up and lacing the fingers clawing at your wrist within your own. If he wasn't too busy devouring the bare stretch of skin between your neck and your breast, Izzy perhaps might have felt embarrassed by the way his pelvis was bucking up wildly, leather slapping lewdly up against your inner thigh.

But he isn't embarrassed. He doesn't feel anything at all, except for a coursing rush of life flow through his veins for the first time in years.

He crumbles against you, surprisingly gentle as he claws and kneads and mewls into you, his lips dragging down and over to the side of your jaw now with quick, tempered nicks. His hand lets go of yours to trail down your inner palm, a shit eating grin branding its way into your chest as it traces down your arm, and then quickly falls so both hands are squeezing tightly into the meat of your waist. He bites down at your skin, incisors almost drawing blood against your pec. He swipes his tongue against the cut in apology, sucking against the skin as his trousers bounce up and tighten at the sound of you mewling. You scramble your free hand onto his shoulder to try and keep yourself in place, the man ravishing you so forcefully the tips of your toes could barely touch the ground.

Your full weight is resting on his torso, happy to let yourself flop over his shoulders and allow easier access for him to litter hickeys along the sinews of your throat. He does so gladly, making sure on his way to lift his hands and move them to slap down on your buttocks with a squeeze that leaves you reeling.

You're too busy whimpering at the feel of Izzy's inner thigh beginning to bulge against your crotch to feel the sting, his leather trousers beginning to tent in an uncomfortable way that made his biceps squirm as he wrapped them around your back. To mask the sharp barks that he begins to whine, he bites onto your bottom lip and pulls it down with his teeth, until he's satisfied that his tongue has full access to delve down your throat.

You quickly pull back and glance behind Izzy's head when you hear a sing-song 'you're welcome!' and vindicated hum of Lucius receding into the distance.

For someone who saw Lucius as such a threat, Izzy Hands could be quite the little seductress himself.

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #israel hands #izzy hands imagine #izzy hands x reader #israel hands imagine #israel hands x reader #izzy hands lemon #con o'neill #ofmd imagine #our flag means death imagine #ofmd s2 #ofmd s1 #edward teach #stede bonnet #lucius spriggs

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intimacyequalsdeath · 7 months

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Bubz's Slasher Fictober: Day 2 Thomas Hewitt (Apple Cider)

Welcome to day 2! I hope you all enjoyed day one and as previously probably assumed this one will be going up on October 2nd.

Notes: Minors DNI, Gender Neutral Reader, No specific pronouns used except "You"

It had been nearly 2 years since you had found yourself at the Hewitt farm, When the small town had gone to hell after the meat packing plant shut down Luda Mae knowing you had nowhere to go offered to let you stay with her and her sons Tommy and Charlie or as he demanded to be called Hoytt and uncle Monty.

A year after you had found yourself at the farm was when the family decided to start looking at more "Unethical" ways of putting food on the table. Luda took you aside and explained to you why this was something that was in the best interest of the family, especially Tommy.

You fell into the ways of the family rather quick. Your role was the friendly face that would lure unsuspecting travelers back to the house where Tommy and Hoytt would be waiting to put meat on the table. This went on for many months like clock work every time someone would role into town. Until one was too smart for your liking.

The day started off as any, You left the Hewitt house and went down to the gas station to man your post. It was about noon when a car containing only one man pulled up, you watched from behind the counter over top of your magazine as he got out and entered the station.

"Well hello their darlin'" The man greeted. You held back an eyeroll at the flirting.

"Hi there! Can I help you sir?" You turned on your best customer service voice. The mans smile widened.

"Well now that you mention it, My car started to give me some trouble about a mile or so back and I was wonderin' if you had anyone here who could look at it?" He asked, Bingo you thought.

"Yes! actually my uncle back at the house can look at it, if you want I can point you in the right direction?" You saw the strangers face hardened for a moment before softening again.

"That would be good darlin', thank you" He said, You shot him a fake smile as you rounded the corner of the register counter to follow him outside. You were in front of him almost to his car when you heard a familiar sound behind you, you turned to look back at him and noticed the gun immediately.

"Now darlin' if you cooperate with me nicely and help me out no one's gonna get hurt ok?" Stiff with shock you willed your head to nod. He motioned for you to climb into his car and you followed willingly. Even though he had the upper hand you knew who was waiting back at the house for you so you gladly led the unsuspecting fool back to the Hewitt house.

You knew uncle Monty was probably asleep in his room while some old movie blared on his tv, and Luda Mae was out for the day visiting her friend the tea lady so all you had to worry about was Hoytt and Tommy. You lead the man up the old porch stairs as he held the gun to you, You made sure to knock on the door 3 times before opening. It was the code you had made to alert the family of danger and you knew Hoytt and Tommy were jumping into action.

"You know it's not to late to change your mind on this" You spoke to the man as you stood in the kitchen with him still standing behind you. He scoffed.

"And why would I do that?" The man sneered, you could feel barrel of the gun pressing into the back of your skull.

"Because if you don't, you're going to regret it" You said matter of fact as the kitchen was suddenly overtaken by the sound of a chainsaw revving up.

When Thomas burst through the old kitchen door the man was too shocked to move the gun quick enough. The chainsaw came down on his arm holding the gun as you quickly side stepped out of the way but not before grabbing the gun from the man.

He screamed and swore at Thomas, not that much could be heard over the chainsaw.

The chainsaw came down once more this time on the man's chest, silencing him for good. Once the man slumped into a pile on the kitchen floor the chainsaw was turned off.

You turned to Thomas and smiled up at the behemoth of a man.

"Thank you darling, You're so good at keeping me safe" You praised knowing Tommy would eat it up. You saw his eyes lighten through his mask as his free hand came up to caress your cheek, the nervousness of him possibly losing you slowly leaving his body.

"Goddammit boy! Look at the mess you made of the kitchen!" The moment was interrupted by Hoytt finally stepping in to see what the commotion was, he looked at the two of you.

"You damn kids better have this shit cleaned up and spotless before mama gets home! You know how she hates her kitchen messy" he said grabbing a beer from the fridge then heading back into the living room. You rolled your eyed and groaned.

"He's right for once Thomas, We don't need to let mama see this" Thomas nodded and set the chainsaw on the table, Looks like you and Thomas would have to wait till after dinner.

#slasher fandom #slasher x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre 2 #Fictober #Halloween

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discordantwritings · 3 months

Note

Hello! First off, I just want to say that you are doing the lord’s work with your fics, so thank you!!!

Is there any chance you’d do a Cross Guild x Non-binary!Reader (afab) coming out to the fellas as non-binary? I have been having my own nonbiney struggles lately and I absolutely love how you write the Cross Guild! Totally down for nsfw or just somethin sweet.

Thank you so much again for sharing your works!! 💜

Coming Out to the Cross Guild

Warnings: None! Just fluff

WC: 600

Notes: as a fellow nonbinary I have also often thought about how characters would react so this was a nice write! Thank you sm for the compliments and the request I hope you like it!

“Can I talk to you guys about something?” Your voice came out more nervous than you wanted and three pairs of eyes settle on you.

“Of course babe.” Buggy answers first, draped over a plush love seat in your shared room. Your eyes glance over to Mihawk and Crocodile, both sitting at the large wooden desk that is scattered with all of the Cross Guild’s important papers. They nod, and as usual, you can’t quite gauge their emotions.

“So this is- So I’m-“ Your carefully rehearsed speech flies out of your head as the leaders of the Cross Guild pays rapt attention to you. “Do you guys know what nonbinary is?”

“Duh.” Buggy answers first and you knew he would know, so your attention is focused on the other two.

“Yes I have an understanding.” Mihawk answers, and Crocodile nods as well.

“Okay, good.” One hurdle down. “So- that’s me. I’m nonbinary.”

Your gaze flits between the three of them, heart in your throat as you desperately try and read all of their expressions. Logically, you know that none of them would hate you for this or think less of you. But at the same time anxiety claws at your stomach at some fear that they would look down on you or think less of you. But those fears are dashed when Buggy jumps up and practically tackles you in a hug.

“AH!” You have to bare down to not be knocked over by the flying clown.

“My brave little star! I’m so glad you trust me- us- enough to tell us.” Buggy is gripping you tight and you can’t help but giggle at his flashy show.

“That’s- thank you.” You hug him back as your eyes drift up to the other two. Unreadable as always.

“So you would like us to use they/ them pronouns and gender neutral terms for you?” It’s Mihawk who speaks first, practical and to the point.

“Yes. Please.” Buggy still hasn’t let you go.

“Easy enough. If I ever use a term of endearment that makes you uncomfortable, let me know.” Mihawk gives you a small smile and you feel at ease. Just one more left. You lock eyes with Crocodile.

“Easy enough.” Is what you get from him with a shrug. “I worked with Bon Clay for years I had to switch pronouns for that fool every other day.”

“Oh, yeah.” You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting but there’s something about the way it isn’t a big deal to them that soothes all your anxieties.

“We have to have a party!!” And then there is Buggy.

“A party? That’s a little much…” You pat his shoulder.

“Well we have to get the news out!” He finally detaches from you, hands waving clearly already planning the party. Mihawk sees your worried expression and walks over to the two of you.

“I think he just wants an excuse to throw another party. I’ll make sure it’s actually respectful.” Mihawk firmly grabs Buggy’s shoulder and directs him to the door and the two of them chatter over event plans.

You stand there for a moment, thinking about how you’re going to go back to your every day life now and nothing has really changed, but you feel so much lighter. Nothing changed between the four of you and that meant everything.

“And one more thing.” Crocodile’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you lock eyes with him.

“Tell me if anyone gives you trouble so I can make them wish they were dead.”

And for some reason, that statement also makes you feel better.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #discordantwritings #x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #buggy x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #cross guild x reader #discordant requests

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bg-brainrot · 1 month

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 19: The Wizard’s Tower

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 9k words, 19/?? chapters

Summary: After traveling through Waterdeep, you and Astarion finally arrive at Gale's tower. Introductions are made, tours are had, and the relationship between yourself and Astarion continues to remain complicated.

A/N: People seem to disagree on whether or not familiars age, but I’m going to go with “no” because Tara is already older than a Tressym’s typical life span in BG3.

Ao3 | [Ch18][Ch20] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Walking through the streets of Waterdeep ought to be faster than this. It should have only taken you an hour to get to Gale's tower, according to Astarion.

However, you're in a new city and every single wonder captures your attention, leading you to stray from your path.

"Astarion, what's that?"

"It's a shop, darling. We have those back in Baldur's Gate."

"I know it’s a shop– gods, you know what I mean!"

Despite his attempts to keep you on track, Astarion doesn’t resist your wanderlust. His hold on your hand remains strong and, with every twist you take, he's being pulled along right behind you. You stop for an odd street stall, finding all manner of knick-knacks. You marvel at a statue, standing grand in the center of a plaza. You pull to an abrupt halt, earning a disapproving grunt from Astarion, when you spot a street performer using magic.

After what must be the tenth detour, Astarion finally tugs back. “Darling, could we please focus? We’ll have time for outings while we’re here, I assure you.”

You look at him, finding his expression to be amused, even if slightly annoyed at you. “We’ll have time to explore the city?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t want to presume that he’ll join you for anything, but the fact that he said ‘we’ gives you hope.

“Yes,” he answers, tugging on your arm once more. “But only if we make it to Gale’s without missing his celebration. Otherwise, we will never hear the end of it.”

“Fine,” you say, allowing Astarion’s hand to pull you in the proper direction. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you, purses his lips some as he asks, “About meeting Gale? Whatever for?”

You avoid his gaze, focusing on the road ahead of you as you respond, “It’s odd meeting someone you’ve only ever dreamt about. I know so much about you all, but you don’t know me. He may not even recognize me. How do I approach that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion starts. You can sense an incoming joke at your expense, so you brace yourself for his next words. “Maybe something along the lines of ‘You’re the man of my dreams’, that worked wonders on me.”

You wince despite the preparation. “Excuse you, that is not what I said. Besides, I didn’t dream nearly as much about Gale. I don’t think you understand how nervous I was to meet you.”

Looking back up at Astarion, you note that he is focused, staring forward as he leads the way. Despite that, you also spot unabashed satisfaction on his face. His tone is just as self-satisfied as he replies, “I would expect no less.” Then a thought occurs to him and his tone shifts, thoughtful and a bit more reserved as he says, “Though that may have been lingering guilt, I suppose.”

Your reaction is immediate and a bit overdue. “Not at all,” you say, stopping Astarion in his tracks as you pull on his arm. "I didn't come find you out of any type of obligation or guilt. I came to find you for you. I set out before I knew anything other than… than love.”

The vampire is forced to stop, look at you and your serious poise with his full attention. He doesn’t seem to believe you, and it becomes more evident when he says, “I’m sure. Certainly explains why you and my siblings have been such fast friends.”

Astarion continues to walk, yanking you after him a bit more roughly this time. Your voice is a bit breathless as you follow in a rush, “Yes, I’ll admit that after I arrived I– I let myself get a bit carried away.” The man snorts from ahead of you. “But that was never my intention when I left Neverwinter. I just couldn’t get you out of my damned mind. You can ask my parents if you’d like.”

The line of his shoulders seems to relax a bit, but he remains focused on navigating the streets of Waterdeep, ignoring your burning gaze. After a few blocks of silence, he speaks, “What are they like?”

“Who?” Your mind has wandered by now, thinking of how, were it not for Astarion’s initial chilly reception, you may never have met with Dal in the first place. Then deciding that, no, ultimately you would always have found the spawn, one way or another.

“Your parents,” he mumbles, barely audible over the buzz of the city. “What are they like?”

Oh! He’d been so reluctant to learn about you as your own person that the question catches you by surprise. Once you collect yourself, you’re only too excited to answer. Your words come out fast, unfiltered, “Well, they’re both elves, of course. They came to live in Neverwinter after meeting through their trade. It’s how they were able to send me to the best college for the arcane arts in the city. My mother is fairly practical, logical. She didn’t want me to come all the way out here, but, erm, came around to it eventually. I suppose I get my curiosity from my father, but, even so, I think you would quite like him…”

As your words trail off, you realize that Astarion’s slowed down, listening to you. “It’s odd,” he says, turning his head back ever so slightly. A worried crease lines his brow. “I am rather more concerned with what they would think about me.”

The admission leaves you a touch speechless. At first because of the vulnerability in Astarion’s fleeting look– Then because you’re honestly not sure how to answer. It would likely be a lie to say that they would love him. Your mother especially would hold no mercy for a man as mercurial as he is. But you decide that your words need not be so severe, “I think they would grow to adore you.”

“I see,” he mutters, accepting your word choice with as much grace as you suppose he can muster.

How I wish he would meet them, you think. But that’s not something ‘friends’ do, is it? Perhaps he thinks Gale really has a chance to stop me. Given his experience, does he actually have a chance?

You don’t have much more time to consider that question because Astarion pulls to a stop before a grand set of doors. They’re made of wrought iron, engraved in runes and intricate patterns, lined with a shimmer of blue magic. You recognize the runes as teleportation runes, and given the outer facade of the building, easily surmise that this isn’t the exact location of a wizard’s tower, just an entrance.

“Is this…?” you ask.

“It is,” Astarion says, flashing you a smile. You’re not sure what the look on your face is, but he is drinking it in with glee.

It’s just past midday, and you’ve finally arrived at Gale’s doors.

Astarion releases your hand to reach the door. You’d gotten so used to moving as a singular unit, that his sudden absence leaves you a bit off-kilter, as if a part of you is missing. You can't help but flex your hand open and closed a few times to return to yourself, to return to the present.

Once he’s reached the doors, you spot a large iron knocker in the center of them: the head of a tressym in high relief, a ring set between its sharp teeth. Astarion grips the ring, knocks it against the door three times in rapid succession.

A voice comes through the tressym a moment later, and you recognize the Magic Mouth spell. Gale’s voice is cheery, exactly as you’d remembered it from your dreams, as he says, “Welcome to the tower of Archmage Dekarios. To enter, please supply the phrase that he undoubtedly provided you with. Knock thrice more for emergency assistance.”

Astarion shoots you a look, as if to say, ‘see what I must put up with?’ then clears his throat before uttering his phrase, “'For the jubilation of one magnanimous mage, I, Astarion Ancunín, am enchanted to be granted entrance.”

The iron on the doors immediately begins to shift, unlocking whatever mechanism lies behind them. Several loud clunks and thunks later, the massive doors open to a glowing blue portal.

“Does he make you say that every time you visit him?” you ask, barely holding back your laughter.

“Oh no,” Astarion replies, gesturing you forward. “It’s a different damned phrase every year. And it seems to be a torture uniquely reserved for me. Elminster simply gets different types of cheese for his phrases.”

You follow his guiding hands, stepping through the blue portal, feeling the world behind you vanish and shift in hues of blues, not unlike the teleportation circle you used to get here. As soon as your foot touches the ground before you, the inside of Gale’s tower comes into focus.

Immediately, you feel electricity in your veins– the weave is strong here. You could only dream of having your own wizard’s tower, but you know enough about them to know their basic principles. They’re often built on spots where the weave is most highly concentrated. It’s often why they’re crafted in such odd shapes, in such inconvenient locations, and built to such great heights. It’s all in an effort to amplify the magic they’re built upon.

This tower is no different. You can’t quite tell the shape of the full tower, but the room you’re in is a semi-circle, lined with books and featuring several cozy looking couches. It’s quite possibly one of the loveliest waiting rooms you’ve ever had the chance to be welcomed in. You’re practically entranced and only vaguely register when Astarion asks from your side, “Have I lost you to the books already?”

He might have, if not for the rustling sound coming from behind you. You make an abrupt turn, only to come face to face with the man of the hour himself: Gale Dekarios steps through a set of blue, velvet curtains, wearing a set of purple robes and a gentle smile.

Unlike Halsin, who had hardly changed, only sporting a few new scars and wrinkles, or Astarion, who looks entirely unchanged, Gale looks like a new man. Or rather a very old man.

Where there was once a short, brown beard there is now a lush, wavy white beard in its place, neatly trimmed and manicured to perfection. His previously long, brown hair is white as well, carefully brushed back from his face, giving you a full view of his age-dappled features. Gale’s deep, brown eyes are as sharp as ever, surrounded by a webbing of wrinkles well-worn from a life full of joy. Your heart swells at the sight of him, looking every bit the witty sage from your memories, albeit greyer and a fair bit more lined.

You almost don’t recognize him, save that unmistakable glint in his eyes, the patient smile as he takes you and Astarion in.

Gale is the first to speak, his words aimed for Astarion, but his warm gaze falls entirely on you. “Oho, Astarion! Is this the guest you spoke of? I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised upon receiving your invitation confirmation. A guest, for the first time!”

What? you think in a sudden crack of panic. He didn’t tell him who I am?

You flash a distressed look at Astarion, who is only looking at Gale with annoyance. “Gods Gale, must you make a fuss out of everything?”

“It’s not every day that your oldest and dearest friend finds someone new worth cherishing. I was starting to grow rather fearful that you’d get old and wrinkled in your lonesome.” Gale’s smile is a bit mischievous as he turns away from you, to Astarion’s ire.

The words sound like playful jabs from Gale, but Astarion’s glower only seems to deepen. He looks just about ready to hiss like a cornered cat when you interject, “Not someone new per say. An old flame, actually.”

Astarion turns his glare to you, but it’s Gale who responds, “Phenomenal! Astarion, you sly dog, never giving even the slightest indication. When did you find each other, how long have you two been together? And how do you put up with him?”

You’ve only just entered the tower, and already the vampire looks at his wit’s end. Their friendship had always been entertaining to you when you had the chance to dream of it– they’re opposite in so many ways, alike in so many others. As such, Astarion’s flared nostrils and irritated stance come as no surprise. Neither do his clipped words as he struggles to respond to the wizard’s sudden enthusiasm, “What they meant to say is that they are– Well. They happen to be…”

His lips seem unable to say the words aloud, so you take it upon yourself to help. Stepping forward and standing tall, you look your friend and companion Gale Dekarios in the face and say, “It’s me, Gale.”

You’re not sure what you expect when you say the words. Perhaps a question, ‘who?’, or a confused, concerned look. Maybe even Astarion elbowing you in the side.

However, the wizard before you only takes a single beat. For that moment, he looks at you, with those same, familiar sharp eyes, before recognition settles in.

Then his arms are wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“My friend,” he murmurs into the hug, squeezing you tighter with a pair of ropy arms. “I can’t believe it.”

Your own arms respond in kind, crushing him back with your own youthful vigor. “I know, it’s a lot.” And it truly is– your own heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes are welling up with moisture. Astarion was your lover, but Gale? Gale has only ever been your friend. You’d saved the world together. You’d spent countless nights researching and planning together, spent even more simply enjoying each others’ company. And, unlike when you met with Halsin, you now feel so much more comfortable in your former identity. You feel comfortable claiming this hug for yourself.

Outside of your bubble of joy, you hear Astarion clear his throat pointedly. “While this is all incredibly touching, perhaps we can head into the tower before you both break each other in half?”

Gale releases you, as you do him, and you both turn to shoot daggers at Astarion. “Don’t mind him,” you say to the wizard. “He’s just jealous that it took him the longest to recognize me.”

“Of course,” Gale responds with a hearty chuckle. “Astarion has always been uniquely undiscerning when it comes to you.”

The man in question looks between you, face set in a grimace. “Gods below, I’m having the most unpleasant flashbacks.” You don’t need Detect Thoughts cast to see his thoughts written on his face. Something along the lines of, ‘This was a terrible idea.’

Gale ignores him, turning back to you in utter glee. “We have so much catching up to do!” he says, arms open wide. Then begins one of his customary rambles, “By Mystra’s grace, elves are fascinating. I knew you would reenter the Material Plane, but I had no idea it would happen so quickly. Not to mention, from my studies, elves typically don’t revisit past lives– part of ensuring that your kind continues to progress, I’ve been told. That being said, I am ecstatic that you’ve gone against the grain, my friend–”

You’re enjoying a long-lived human’s perspective on your reborn soul, but Astarion clearly doesn’t share your same sentiment. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving a hand. “Very interesting, I’m sure. However, it’s been a long couple of days, Gale. Could we please focus?” You’re reminded of when he asked you to focus on the way here and can’t help the snicker that leaves you. Astarion points an accusatory finger at you, “And you. Stop encouraging him.”

You hold up your own hands in innocence. “I’m only being a polite guest! Gale, thank you for having us.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re reminded of your past-self saying the same phrase of thanks every time you and Astarion came to visit.

“It’s my pleasure,” Gale says, his smile widening at the familiar words. “Now, could I interest you both in a drink?”

“We should drop by our lodgings first,” Astarion responds, before you can agree to a drink. “Or do you not want to deposit that enormous pack of yours?”

You blink at the vampire. The pack was growing rather annoyingly heavy, but you, again, hadn’t given much thought to your lodgings. A slight dread begins to build. “Where will we be staying?”

Gale turns around, gesturing for you both to follow. “Why one of the guest rooms, of course!”

One. You try to catch Astarion’s eye as you begin to follow Gale, any amount of his attention, any indication that he’s panicking internally as much as you are. Is he going to be comfortable sharing a room? Will we be sharing a bed?

The man’s face doesn’t react to Gale’s words– in fact, it remains utterly impassive as he says to you, “Don’t worry, darling. Despite his being a senile old man, Tara makes sure the place stays well kept.”

Tara! Gale’s familiar hadn’t appeared in your reveries often, only arriving for a spot of tea or to join you in chiding Gale to settle down. But your memories of her are fond and your question comes with a natural excitement, “Is Tara here?”

Gale takes you up a set of stairs as he responds with a cheerful look back at you, “She is out currently– procuring several items we still need for the celebration. But she should be back in no time. She shall be delighted to see you.”

His words warm you, glad that he’s had someone all these years. Then, remembering your past-self’s insistence and considering no one else showed up to welcome you, you ask Gale, “Did you ever listen to us? Find yourself a partner?”

Based on the way his shoulders hunch a bit, he slows as he continues to climb the stairs, you’re afraid you’ve delved too deep too soon. “Oh yes. Shortly after losing you, I found someone. I’m sorry you never had the chance to meet them.”

Guilt eats at your chest, knowing that he means that ‘sorry’, and wishing that he wouldn’t have to feel any regret. “I’m sorry, Gale, I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, continuing on briskly once more. “It was a lovely experience. But life goes on.”

You can’t help but look at Astarion as Gale says those words, wondering what he made of Gale’s lost love. What he made of Gale’s continuation after the fact. Perhaps, as two beings with lives beyond measure, their friendship evolved beyond trading barbs in the years after your death. Perhaps they could be there for each other, when everyone else passed on.

Astarion’s face betrays nothing as his red eyes meet yours in the dimly lit stairwell. “Darling?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you respond, turning back to Gale to change the subject. “I’ve only dreamt of parts of your tower, Gale. Would you be willing to give me a tour?”

“I would be overjoyed,” he says, climbing over the last step of the stairs. “Once you’ve had a moment to rest, let me know and I shall be right over.”

Following him out of the stairwell, you’re left in the curve of a hallway, several doors lining the outer wall– likely Gale’s guest rooms. “Amazing,” you say, looking left, right, up. “This tower is built in such an intricate way. What type of material did you use to ensure that the weave stayed stable?”

The wizard stops short of the first door and looks back at you. You can feel his appraising gaze, as if just taking in your robes, the spellbook at your hip, the inquisitive gleam in your eyes. “By the outer planes, are you trained in the arcane arts?”

You nod eagerly, your enthusiasm getting the better of you. “I am. I’ll confess, I was looking forward to meeting you as a scholar as well.”

The energy exchanged between you is palpable, and you sense that Gale is about to start on another lengthy diatribe about his tower, when Astarion clicks his tongue. “For the love of all that is unholy, could you two not wait until the tour?”

“Right you are, Astarion,” Gale says, smiling at you all the while. “What a fortuitous calling you’ve found, my friend. I look forward to imparting as much as I can.”

“More like a divinely ironic calling,” Astarion murmurs under his breath, pushing past Gale. “Which room is ours?”

“The third door,” the wizard responds, otherwise ignoring the man as he continues to speak to you. “It’s been a while since he’s been this prickly. He must be glad to be visiting with you again.”

“I can still hear you,” Astarion calls, as he opens the door down the hall.

You ignore Astarion as well as you respond in a quieter voice, “He’s been like that since I arrived on his doorstep. If it weren’t for my dreams of him, I’d have thought he was a prickly pear, not a man.”

The two of you share a laugh together before Gale continues down the hallway. “I apologize for before,” he says. When you only offer him a confused look, he continues, “For when I thought you were a new love of his. I truly should have known better. Astarion would have needed another half dozen centuries to get over you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but Astarion looks at you both from the doorway to your shared room. His eyes are dark, looking only at Gale, as he says, “That’s enough, Gale. Let us take a moment to unpack.”

Gale reads his friend’s expression with a patience you wish to possess someday. “I shall see you both later for a tour and some tea then?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, entering the room after Astarion. “And, thank you again, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” The wizard leaves you both with one last smile and a small wink, whisking off with the energy of a much younger man.

Now that you’re finally in the room, Astarion lights the lantern by the entrance and closes the door behind you. Looking into the space, you spot an armoire, a changing screen, a pair of armchairs, a couch, and then– just as you’d been afraid of, a single, large bed.

You focus your energy on keeping your voice calm, your breathing steady, even as your heart races. “So,” you start, dropping your pack on the ground and turning to face Astarion. “You didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“I told him I was bringing a guest,” is all that he says back.

“But not who I was?”

“I responded to his invitation weeks ago. It slipped my mind,” he says with a shrug.

The nonchalant look on his face is driving you mad. You’re not sure how this man can make you feel so many different emotions in one day, but by the gods does he manage it. “So you neglected to mention that we weren’t exactly lovers in your letter?” You gesture to the solitary, perfectly fluffed bed.

“Excuse me,” Astarion says, pacing to the armoire to begin unpacking his clothing. “I received enough helpful words from Dal, I didn’t want an entire speech from Gale before even arriving. Besides, it’s sharing a bed, darling. It’s not exactly the erotic act that you’re making it out to be.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” you say, disregarding his words.

“Nonsense, we’re grown elves. We can trance in the same bed without issue,” he says with an eye roll. “And if I’m such a temptation to you, why did you agree to be friends so easily?” he counters, raising an accusatory eyebrow at you. After the weeks you’ve had together, he knows full well that he’s a temptation to you. But if he thinks you’ll give him the satisfaction, then you suppose you know what you must do.

“Fine, the same bed it is. You’re the one who will suffer when I have a bad trance,” you grumble, beginning to take your items out of your pack as well.

Astarion crosses his arms, watching you as you lay out your robes. “I would hardly mind, darling. I tranced next to your past-self for years without issue.”

You suppose it’s true, though you can’t imagine what their trances were like. Your reveries of their life are the most visceral– it’s hard to imagine that they did anything but sleep peacefully. Instead, you ask another question that’s bothering you, aside from the bed, “So what are we supposed to tell Gale? That we’re… friends?”

“Naturally,” Astarion replies, sitting down in an armchair with a content sigh. “He’ll understand. It’s part of living a long life.”

You nod, continuing to unpack in silence, mind filled with thoughts of their long lives. After a few minutes, you ask Astarion another question, “Why didn’t you tell me about Gale’s former love? I might have avoided bringing it up.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, simply filled with a dejected sadness you aren’t able to stifle.

Astarion lifts his head, which had settled back in the armchair’s plush comfort. His words are solemn, honest. “Unlike the rest of our former companions, Gale is still alive. It is his story to tell, if he wishes.”

It makes sense, but you still feel the guilt of hurting him in the pit of your stomach. Not unlike the guilt you felt rehashing Astarion’s past memories. “Can you at least tell me this? How did they die?”

“Old age,” Astarion supplies. “And before you ask, no, they weren’t an elf. They won’t be popping up on his doorstep unannounced like some kind of bookish ghost.”

“He never considered extending their lifespan? There are plenty of–”

“No,” Astarion interrupts, looking at you with tired eyes. “They didn’t want that, and he respected their wishes. An extended life isn’t for the faint hearted.”

You gulp, feeling the guilt bubble up again at the question you inevitably want to ask, once more afraid of hurting Astarion. “And is that how you feel?”

“I don’t know anymore.” His words are quieter, barely loud enough for you to hear, and you can’t read his expression as his head ducks. His head is back up a moment later, a nervous little smile playing on his lips. “Well, if you have much more left to unpack, I actually meant to have a word with Gale. Shall we meet you downstairs?”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, pushing your guilt and curiosity back down. You suspect you already know what he wants to talk to Gale about. “I’ll be down shortly.”

When you do arrive downstairs shortly, neither man is present. I doubt they’ll be done any time soon, you think, beginning to poke around the room. I’ll find something to read while I wait.

That’s how you find yourself perusing through Gale’s carefully curated selection of waiting room books. And sweet hells is it curated well. It’s all you can do to keep from bouncing off the walls.

After picking up and dismissing several books, you settle on one that truly interests you. “Is this a first edition of Elameth's Compendium?” you ask no one in particular, flipping through the pages of a large, red tome. In it, the elven enchanter Elameth details a variety of magical artifacts, how to craft them, and how to dismantle them.

You’re surprised to receive a response as you flip the pages. “Oh my yes. Mr. Dekarios is quite fond of that particular compendium.”

Your head snaps up at a familiar voice, a feminine, unaffected voice, distinctly posh in its lilt. When you turn toward its source, you look down to see a small, cat-like creature peering up at you. “Tara?” you ask.

“I am she, yes,” the small, but proud creature says, tilting her head at you. “And who, may I ask, are you to be rifling through Mr. Dekarios’ books?”

She doesn’t seem mad at you, rather quite curious as her large green eyes inspect you. Will she believe you as easily as Gale did? Her eyes are staring at you so intently that your voice catches a bit as you begin to talk, “I– I am–”

“Ah, I see it now, my dear,” the tressym says, taking a few steps toward you with her feline-like gait. “No need to explain yourself. You’re Mr. Dekarios’ old friend, aren’t you? You look a tad different, but then again, so do most people that have died before.”

You blink, surprised at how little you needed to say for her to recognize you. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know?”

“A lady’s intuition, darling,” she says, lifting her head proudly a bit. “However, you also have that same air about you. Mr. Dekarios will be quite pleased to see you again.”

“We, erm, re-met each other earlier today,” you say, closing the book in your hands and turning to the tressym. “How have you been, Tara?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” she bows her head a bit in acknowledgement. “You are far more polite than that wicked vampire you call a mate. Thank goodness you’re back, if only for that pale man’s sake.”

You laugh, vaguely recalling some of Astarion’s previous encounters with Tara. They got along about as well as two opposing felines would. “Has he been very difficult without me?”

“Oh yes,” she says, and her wings shuffle a bit in discomfort. “Nigh impossible to deal with. I don’t know how Mr. Dekarios puts up with him.”

You’re about to ask another question when her ears perk up, shoot back. “Well now, it seems like he and Mr. Dekarios are on their way to you. I am still working on preparations for the celebration, so do keep Mr. Dekarios occupied until I have need of him.”

You’d already planned on thoroughly distracting the wizard with questions about his tower and are only too happy to keep the tressym pleased. “Of course, Tara.”

She purrs a hum of approval before turning around. With a “ta-ta, darling” she leaves you waiting for the imminent arrival of Gale and Astarion.

The two arrive from behind the blue, velvet curtain less than a minute later. “Oh hello,” you say, looking at them from over the book you’d reopened.

Astarion looks to be in a better mood, though Gale looks distinctly less happy. It’s Astarion who speaks first, “Hello, darling. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

The warmth of his words comes as a bit of a surprise. You look back to Gale, who is smiling at you sadly. I see , you think. Astarion thinks Gale will convince you to leave your project be– that he can grow attached to you now because you won’t be leaving him in the lurch. No matter, you think. This changes nothing for me.

So you respond with the same enthusiasm, “Not at all! I was just looking through the excellent book selection you have, Gale.” You hold up the red tome in your hand and his expression immediately lights up once again.

“Elameth's Compendium! Why, we used that book in your prior life, don’t you remember?” he says, his crow’s feet becoming more pronounced as he smiles.

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not. I didn’t receive every memory. And admittedly…” You look at Astarion who is looking at you rather smugly, knowing exactly what you’d told him multiple times now. The smug look will certainly only get worse with your words, but you also want to discuss your memories with Gale, as the sage and scholar that he is. “Most of my reveries were about Astarion.”

At that, Gale looks between the two of you, a pensive hand stroking his beard. “Fascinating,” is all that he offers.

“Yes,” you agree, ready to provide more information, to receive any and all theories he has about you and your memories. But, of course, the subject of your memories refuses to be excluded for long.

“Maybe if your evenings researching together were less dreadfully dreary you might have dreamt of more of them,” Astarion offers with a flip of his hand. “Now, shall we begin with the tea or the tour?”

The three of you decide to begin with a tour.

Gale leads the way, his mane of long, white hair guiding your path forward. As a tour guide, he’s clearly well practiced, describing each room in detail, explaining its purpose, and even peppering in the odd anecdote or memory from your past life.

You go through a sauna, heated with fire runes. You walk past his actual library, filled head to toe with books of all kinds. You drop by his study, and its sweet scent of ink trails after you. An astronomy room, a storage room, a dining room, a sitting room– you begin to wonder how tall this tower truly is from its exterior. Gale explains that he’s had to renovate a few dozen times over the years, to ensure that the tower’s magic remains stable. As such, rooms come and go with a few, necessary exceptions.

Even among all of these extraordinary rooms, a few stand out to you, clear gems in the wizard's remarkable living space.

“This is the alchemy room, where I grow plants and create my various concoctions! I’m quite proud to say that you’ll find some plants that grow even on the other side of Faerûn. I’ve created many an interesting tonic– I’d exercise some caution if you find yourself in here. Why one time…” He trails off into a story about how Tara turned purple for a week. She was not amused, apparently.

“And this is the experimentation room, where I bring anything that may be dangerous to test. There are a variety of different materials for me to test spells and artifacts on, and the room is warded with a wide assortment of protection wards to make sure that the rest of the tower is unaffected. It certainly is helpful when it comes to any errant magic, wouldn’t you say Astarion?” The look Astarion shoots him is that of a man who has seen one too many Fireballs in his life.

“Now this is the enchanting room, where I create magical artifacts. Now this includes your customary garden-variety fare, but I do have the opportunity to create a few rarer objects, such as the sunlight rings that I craft for the spawn. You'll find that I boast all types of spell components and even have a few specialized work benches, infused with various magical properties.”

You want to stay in this room for hours, you want to look through each and every book, peruse the shelves, test out the recipes that are strewn about the place. But you hold back, merely asking Gale a few questions about where he sources his materials, whether or not he had a bench for each school of magic, and how long it took to create a sunlight ring.

Easier questions answered, you eventually ask him, “Is this where we worked on our ring designs together?”

Gale takes a quick glance at Astarion before nodding. “Yes, precisely. That’s exactly the type of thing we used to work on.”

You elect to ignore his word choice, pressing on, “I had a dream about that just last night. We’d settled on a ring made of silver, it had slotting for an inlay along its edge.”

Recognition passes over Gale’s eyes before he bows his head wearily. “One of the last times we spoke. That was our most promising candidate.”

You already know that much. Despite the way Astarion’s eyes tighten around the corners, the way that Gale’s sadness creases his mouth around his beard, you continue, “I had an idea I would love to speak to you about. Would you have time before your birthday festivities?”

The wizard’s head lifts back up, the sadness reaching his eyes now. “I think it’s best if we leave that part of our past behind us, wouldn’t you say?”

Luckily, you’d prepared for such a response, expecting it. From your memories, from understanding who he is, what Astarion might have said to him, you think you know just what to say. “I wouldn’t. At least, not until I figure out one last thing. I have memories of the necromancer’s notes. Untouched, unbloodied, but undeciphered. I just need someone to delve into my mind and pull them out. If it amounts to nothing, well, maybe I could move on. But a wizard once told me, my intuition has rarely led us astray.”

Neither of your companions say anything to this, but you can tell see the wheels turning in Gale’s mind. He’d tried, just as you had, to remove the blood from the notes. He’d attempted, just as you had, to decipher what was left. Here you were, offering him the key to a century and a half’s mystery. He’d be remiss to not take you up on it.

Astarion, for his part, is simply looking at you. His red eyes seem to glow in the enchanting room’s magical lighting. You wonder if he believes you, that this will be your final attempt to try, that you would leave it be if it amounted to nothing.

I just know it will amount to something though, you think to yourself. I refuse to let it lead nowhere, not when I feel so close.

Gale interrupts your thoughts. “Well, I shall have a think on it and let you know later. For now, let me show you both to our last stop: the kitchen! Where we can also enjoy a lovely, little morsel and a cup or two of tea.”

Musings pushed aside for now, the three of you head to the kitchens for a late lunch. With all of Gale’s commentary, Astarion’s snarky interjections, and your own questions, the tour ended up being quite a few hours. You’re ravenous by the time the tea kettle rings and Gale shuffles about his kitchen preparing an afternoon meal for you all.

“Do you need any help, Gale?” you ask, scooting your chair back, ready to get up and join the wizard as he flits back and forth.

“No need, my friend. You are a guest after all,” he assures you, with a wave. A blue, spectral hand floats behind him, opening and closing doors for him as he artfully arranges what seems to be a hearty assortment of various meats and cheeses. “I may have aged a touch, but I assure you that I am every bit the gourmet chef I have always been.”

“Right,” Astarion mutters under his breath. “Every bit as capable of giving an entire adventuring party food poisoning.”

You chuckle at Astarion’s comment, only to recall that Astarion hasn’t had a real basis for Gale’s food since his early days of pretending not to be a vampire. Since then, his main diet has consisted of blood and wine, which you haven’t seen him partake in in over a week. “Aren’t you hungry?” you whisper to the man, leaning over to him in the event that Gale shouldn’t overhear.

His red eyes meet yours, and, as always, you can see the underlying hunger in them. It’s fruitless to ask, you realize. He’ll always be hungry.

“I’m managing. Don’t you worry about me– Focus on getting your noisy stomach to quiet down.” He shoots you a wry smile, but you can’t help but worry regardless.

“Fine, but once that’s quieted, I will be bothering you again,” you say, pointing a finger at him menacingly.

“What’s this about noisy stomachs?” Gale asks, walking over with a plate stacked full of meats, cheeses, smears, breads, and assorted fruits. Far too much food for the two of you who could eat it– Perhaps more than would feed you for a week. “Why, I have just the remedy.”

The three of you, well Gale and yourself, enjoy the feast he’s prepared for you, chattering all the while about the various things you’ve seen in his tower, what he’s gotten up to in the last hundred and fifty years, and your life back in Neverwinter. You’re surprised when even Astarion chimes in with his own questions about your current life.

You learn about Gale’s latest research. They learn about your time at the arcane college in Neverwinter. Collectively, you reminisce about times that you’ve only witnessed through dreams.

Together you have a pleasant afternoon, one that quickly turns into evening as you continue to chat. The entire conversation and atmosphere bring about a warmth you’d missed in your ‘normal’ life. Seated at Gale’s round kitchen table like this, you can almost pretend that this is your life. Perhaps it is now.

It’s only after a small “Ahem, ahem” interrupts Gale’s latest recounting of a particularly explosive application of the Weave that you all realize how late it’s gotten. “Mr. Dekarios, I’m glad that you and your friend have gotten reacquainted, but I am afraid I require your assistance in the dining room.”

“Tara! Of course, I shall pop right on over.” Gale turns to you and Astarion, smiling at you both in turn. “Well, my friends. It seems I’m needed for the party preparations. I hope you don’t mind my absence.”

“Not at all, Gale,” you respond, bowing your head in acknowledgement. “Hosting is plenty of work without my showing up here unaccounted for.”

“Nonsense!” Gale cries, standing up from his chair with a few creaking bones. “Why this may be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

His words sound so genuine, his smile so sincere, that you nearly miss what he’s said. A birthday present. Oh gods, I need to get him a present. “Say, Gale,” you say, catching his attention before he leaves. “When is the party proper?”

“Oh, right.” He gives a lighthearted chuckle, looking at Astarion as he does so. “You’ll forgive me for the befuddling schedule– it’s the only way I can ensure Astarion actually shows up on time. You know how he likes to avoid people.”

“Not to worry, I understand.” You snicker, only to earn an indignant elbow from Astarion.

Gale looks between you two knowingly, and you feel your face flush under his sympathetic eyes. “Well, let’s see…” The man begins a countdown on his fingers. “Including tonight, the party is in five nights.”

“Oh!” you breath out, surprised. Plenty of time to explore the city, to hopefully speak to Gale, and, most importantly, acquire a present for him. “Sounds lovely. Thank you, Gale.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “I shall see you two on the morrow then.” Gale gives you both one last wink before following Tara out of the kitchen.

That’s how you and Astarion are left alone once more. The silence that settles between you is all at once easy and yet deeply uncomfortable. You want to fill it with something, but what can you say? That you know he wants Gale to dissuade you from your goals? That you haven’t known a peace like this in your entire lifetime and you’re afraid it isn’t meant to be yours?

Whatever it is, you need to say something, to fill the silence. You turn toward him in your seat and begin, “Astarion–”

“Darling, I–”

You both stop before you start, realizing that you’re interrupting each other. You’re the first to collect your bearings. “Go ahead, Astarion.”

He smiles at you and the tenderness in his eyes is difficult to miss, catching you off guard. “I just wanted to thank you.” When you only offer him a puzzled look, he elaborates, “For coming with me. I know it was a bit of a gamble for you after, well, everything. But this is already proving to be more… tolerable, than most years.”

His words spark a tingle in your chest, cause a warmth to bloom on your cheeks. It’s a compliment of sorts, and one that you weren’t expecting to receive. Given his sullen attitude and snarky comments, you’d expected a half-sarcastic, ‘This has been riveting.’

But the man never fails to surprise you. So you’re left speechless, nodding at his thanks, unsure of how to accept them.

“Now, what had you wanted to say, darling?” he asks, expression back in a confident mask, as if his words hadn’t just blanketed you in a deluge of emotions.

What had you meant to say? Right. You had wanted to fill in the silence, which seems almost banal in the wake of his sincere thanks. You comb through your own thoughts as quickly as you can, trying to find a reason to speak, to answer his expectant gaze.

“Would you like some blood?”

He blinks at you and you blink back, as if neither of you had expected you to say this. His response comes a moment later, a bit guarded, “I suppose I could use a snack. But with all of the day’s travel and your rather delicate constitution, are we sure that’s the best idea, darling?”

It may not have been your first or most pressing thought, but now that you’ve said it, you realize that feeding him is still quite important to you. So you press on. “I’ll be fine. It’s plenty late and I’ll be able to sleep off any ill effects,” you assure him.

“In that case, perhaps we first head back to our room? That way I won’t have to carry your limp body up several flights of stairs.” His use of ‘our’, his quick acceptance of your offer, it all feels so surreal. Maybe that’s what friendship means to him, but it’s sending you and your body mixed signals.

Either way, you agree without argument, and you both head back to your shared quarters.

Once you’re standing in the center of the room, you ask, “Where would you like me?”

Astarion raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “Oh, you absolute fiend. Here I was, thinking that a bite on the wrist was already quite intimate.”

“Astarion,” you chide, ignoring the way his low, sultry voice sets your skin alight. “I meant, would you prefer the bed, the couch, maybe a chair?”

“How dull, darling. The bed then,” he says, gesturing toward the yet untouched plush, blue bedding.

You follow his direction and sit on the bed. After taking a quick breath, you get to work, rolling up the sleeve of your robe for him and exposing the tender flesh of your wrist to him. “Here you are,” you say, holding out your wrist to him as he takes a spot next to you.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking hold of your wrist, angling it back and forth between his cold fingers, as if trying to find just the right spot to bite.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, after the third rotation.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he says, fingers trailing the line of veins extending from your wrist. With his soft touch shocking your brain into submission, you barely register his words as he continues, “I was thinking, perhaps, I might need to bite a bit more carefully to keep you from growing faint again. I’m afraid I had rather gotten used to biting that delectable neck in your past-life.”

You gulp and you’re certain that the sound is audible to you both. “Is that so? Would you… prefer a neck?”

“Don’t you worry your lovely little head, darling,” he says, bending his head over your wrist. “I shall manage.”

You’re about to protest, to insist that he’s allowed to bite your neck, even as your heart pounds brutally in your chest at the thought– but his fangs sink in before a word can escape your lips and you’re left huffing out a small sigh.

Astarion’s lips smile against your wrist, and, were it not for the kind consideration he’d just shown you, you may have smacked him on his beautiful silver head for it.

Much like the previous times he’s had a nibble, his seemingly involuntary hums are more the source of your lightheadedness than anything else. The deep rumble that sounds from his chest sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm that your blood just can’t appear to keep up with.

Calm down, you think, imagining images of still water, light breezes, soft cats. Calm down or you will fall back again. Nothing seems to be working to quiet your pounding heart and, as you look at the angle of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek, you can feel your breath catching, your vision blurring.

No, you repeat to yourself. He will starve himself if it means you don’t get injured, keep yourself together. You’re startled by how accurate the thought sounds to your own mind. You knew he cared about you, but had you ever really sat down and understood the depth of it? However, you don’t have time to think about the implications of his concern because your world is beginning to spin.

Breathe, you command of yourself. You take a deep breath.

Another, you think, and you feel your eyes start to focus as fresh air enters your body.

Two large breaths later and you’re feeling significantly better– your heart is still racing, but the room has stilled and your body feels your own again. Just in time too, as you feel Astarion take one last drink from your veins, remove his fangs, and breathe a sigh of bliss onto your skin.

When he pulls back to look at you, the flush on his face, the pink on his ears is still somehow worth the miserable feeling of blood loss. “So darling,” he says, licking his blood-stained lips. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” you say, smiling at him with the best, least exhausted grin you can manage. Certainly better than you have after your previous feedings. “Though I do think it is your fault that I feel faint sometimes.”

“Really?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Well,” you start, not sure how to approach the issue with him, but needing to tell him all the same. “I think it’s the noises you make while you feed. My heart just, erm, panics a bit.”

Astarion looks at you with a blank expression. “Noises?”

Ah, so they are involuntary. “Yes, the mmm’s and the hmm’s and the–”

“Stop that.” Astarion raises a hand up to your face, placing it over your mouth. When you look toward him to see what could be the matter, you see that a blush covers his cheeks, that the tips of his ears have turned a deep red. “I– I thought I’d stopped doing that years ago.”

It’s as if time stills. You struggle with your confused, nervous thoughts as you register his embarrassment, the words he’s said.

Astarion is blushing, your brain thinks.

Of course, the rational part of you counters. He’s just fed, he’s going to have some blood in his system for a while.

But he’s blushing because of something I said, you supply.

Your mind goes blank at the thought.

You’re grateful that you can’t reply to Astarion, not with his hand over your mouth, because you’re not certain what is liable to come out of it at the moment.

Luckily, Astarion continues to speak, not releasing your face, “Well, I apologize for the noises. I’ll try to control that. In the meanwhile, why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

You nod into his hand, after which he removes it from your mouth. His face continues to have a touch of pink, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. You can hardly be bothered by it, because the only things running in circles in your mind are the feel of Astarion’s hand on your face, the sight of his perfectly blushed cheeks, and the fact that, somehow, despite everything, he still cares about your well-being.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You end up having to take a quick bath to clear your mind, and you both get ready for bed separately. However, at the end of the day, you both wind up in the same, immense bed after all is said and done.

You thought that maybe something big would happen. Perhaps that he would recoil from you. Or worse, grab onto you. Maybe that the earth would open up and swallow you both. But nothing of the sort happens.

You both simply lay down, tuck yourselves in a variety of soft blankets, rest your heads on the best down pillows magic can conjure, and remain several feet apart on the massive bed.

Much like last night, Astarion puts out the lantern next to the bed and whispers to you, “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

There’s simply no way that your reverie will take you tonight, of that you’re sure. You’re convinced of it, because all you can hear is the pounding of your heart, the muffled breath you take when you try to be quiet. But eventually, against all odds, your trance does overtake you.

That night as you enter your reverie, you blink your eyes open to a familiar inn.

Again, the establishment is dead, not a soul in sight in this remote village. And, as always, the innkeep reaches down into their front desk, pulling out another book.

It looks to be a book that they’ve already started– a bookmark is placed about halfway through its pages. The cover is mostly plain, a black leather with a large tower embossed in the center. In the smallest script you catch the title before they open the book, “The Midnight Tower and its Master.”

The innkeep flips open to their current page and begins to read…

When you wake up from your reverie a few hours later, you sit up with a gasp, a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

Next to you, Astarion stirs, looking at you with a drowsy concern. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I–I’m fine,” you say, taking several deep breaths. “I dreamt of the tower.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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withasideofshakespeare · 15 days

Text

Woah no way?? People (completely unprompted /s) want to hear my trans Shakespeare headcanons?? You bet I can do that.

I’ve done this once before:

But I have even more thoughts now!!

In no particular order:

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Every single pronoun possible. He/she/they/it + all of the neopronouns and xenopronouns that exist currently or will ever exist. Fairy gender is always weird but Puck’s is extra weird.

Oberon (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Fairy gender. Probably he/they/it?

Titania (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): More fairy gender. She/they/it?

Titania’s fairy attendants (Midsummer): Get a hat and fill it with various pronouns and draw them out at random for the fairies.

Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing): Could go either way, but I really like the idea of transfemme Benedick. Or he/him lesbian Benedick.

Beatrice (Much Ado About Nothing): The she/they to end all she/theys

Viola/Cesario (Twelfth Night): Could be trans in literally any direction. I made a post about this too at some point. My suggestion is all of the directions: they/she/he

Sebastian (Twelfth Night): He/him, transmasc. I also made a post about this at some point.

Feste (Twelfth Night): I saw a great she/her Feste last summer.

Orsino (Twelfth Night): Specifically the himbo variety of he/they

Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI trilogy and Richard III): If I ever play Margaret, I will use she/they pronouns.

Catesby (Richard III): Just played Catesby with she/her pronouns and it worked!

Richard II (Richard II): Tell me Richard isn’t the most they/he or he/they guy alive (or… dead).

Hal (1 Henry IV-Henry V): Saw Hal played with she/they pronouns last summer and it was great. Could also see he/they Hal. Very nonbinary vibe overall. I personally believe that going by Hal rather than Henry for two whole plays is their way of pulling the “going by the first letter of what my name used to be instead of picking a name from scratch” nonbinary trick. He probably pretends to be cis after his dad dies and he becomes king—one more element of Hal’s lifelong identity crisis.

Hotspur/Harry Percy Jr. (Richard II & 1 Henry IV): He/they in denial.

Kate Percy (1 & 2 Henry IV): She/they, not in denial. (Also Katespur should be bi4bi)

Ned Poins (1 & 2 Henry IV): Transmasc Ned Poins?? Maybe he doesn’t actually have a sister and Nell is just his deadname. Ned Poins’ failed scheme to flirt with Hal.

Romeo (Romeo & Juliet): he/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Juliet (Romeo & Juliet): she/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Mercutio (Romeo & Juliet): they/he(/it?). Vibes alone. Look at them. Just look.

Nurse (Romeo & Juliet): she/her, transfemme!

Cassius (Julius Caesar): Would love to see a they/them Cassius

Hamlet (Hamlet): he/they. I’ve made multiple posts about this theory and I still love it.

Ophelia (Hamlet): she/they. As she should.

Laertes (Hamlet): she/him and NOT just because Laertes used she/her pronouns the first time I saw this play.

Rosencrantz (Hamlet): he/they/she. Vibes. Sometimes goes by Ros/Rose. Probably genderfluid.

Malcolm (Macbeth): they/he or they/them. Also vibes.

Lady Macbeth (Macbeth): stolen straight from my last post because this is still my HC: she/they; would insult you for “having pronouns in your bio” and then turn around and punch you in the face for using their pronouns incorrectly.

Angus (Macbeth): she/her, transfemme. (t4t Ross/Angus. I will die on this hill… Dunsinane Hill.)

Ross (Macbeth): he/him, transmasc

Caithness (Macbeth): she/they lesbian

Mark Antony (Julius Caesar and Antony & Cleopatra): I would not bat an eye at he/they Mark Antony

Edmund (King Lear): they/he, nonbinary, sexiest man (/gn) alive.

Edgar (King Lear): he/him. Transmasc Edgar is slowly becoming canon To Me.

Cordelia (King Lear): she/her, transfemme.

Goneril (King Lear): she/they. I would let them kill me.

Coriolanus (Coriolanus): transmasc OR transfemme Coriolanus is!!!! The butterfly/metamorphosis motif! Name changes during canon! Discomfort with scars/body! Lack of autonomy granted by society! This is THE transgender play. (Other than Twelfth Night)

Imogen (Cymbeline): Tell me she doesn’t want to be a she/they so bad.

Florizel (The Winter’s Tale): he/they(/she?). Literally just a vibe. I have a pet rock named Florizel.

Perdita (The Winter’s Tale): she/they. I also have a pet rock named Perdita.

Ariel (The Tempest): Similar to Puck, probably they/she/he? Even my conservative English prof consistently rotates between she/her and he/him for Ariel (possibly not intentionally? I’m not convinced he knows what her canon pronouns are.)

Ferdinand (The Tempest): she/they. PLEASE give me transfemme Ferdinand. PLEASE let Miranda realize she’s a lesbian during canon.

Miranda (The Tempest): she/they. Ariel taught them about the existence of she/they pronouns and she immediately started using them.

So in other words… every Shakespeare character should be trans, actually.

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thatcreationsureisunending · 9 months

Text

- INTRODUCTION + INFO

'eeello? heeeeeeeellllllloooo? hee-- OH oh. Forgot this works flawlessly. Whoops!

Well, thought it'd be about time to do some sort of- introduction? Something like that anyway!

Think of it likeee a preview message before establishing proper connection.

I'm Infinite Possibilities; Creation Unending. Infinite Possibilities for short (snrk) and Creativity for shorter!

Iiiii dabble in a little bit of everything- some of you might've received pearls or files from me? Yeah

But I'm primarily known for painting and making games!

Uh. Contacts are open to anyone! I'm trying to keep this short, haha.

One of my siblings has one of these connections too! You should go bother him on my behalf

============================================

OOC from here on out- as you can probably gleam, this is an Iterator oc askblog! This post took an unreasonably long time to make, and I apologize for that!

This account is run by me, Zoc @softcryz! OOC posts will be tagged as such!

Here's some important things to note-- I'll definitely add more as we go on. If you have any questions regarding rules or the blog in general, feel free to ask me on my main account!

This blog takes place post-ascension! ( Unless stated otherwise ;] )

Any interactions are open, but that does not guarantee that I WILL answer your ask. I have every right to not respond/delete things that I am not comfortable with or just simply do not want to follow through with.

^ That said, please try not to be weird about it. I mean via sending nsfw and the like. Kind of obvious but I'm still putting this here.

#ip;cu_talks // #wawa_talks -- posts where they're talking

#ip;cu_asks // #wawa_asks -- asks directed to either of those two

#LANDS_EDGE -- Local group tag!

#friend_tower -- Posts that include people IP;CU knows :]

#art_pipebomb -- Fanart and the like!!

If you have any questions regarding the blog feel free to send them to my main account :]

I'll add onto this as I think of more stuff, but until then! Character notes time!

============================================

INFINITE POSSIBILITIES; CREATION UNENDING

Gender apathetic - Pansexual [He/him] [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

Creativity is the second guy in the Lands Edge group! He was built to process MUCH more and MUCH faster than the standard Iterator-- to the point where no real "limiter" could be put on his systems because his processing just kept. Tanking and breaking it.

The infinite thinking and everything that comes with it is not entirely within his control, though. It isn't something he can shut down or slow down.

Due to his constantly-working brain and need for stimulation, he sorta just... Does a whole bunch of stuff! Just to do it! He's taken a specific interest in programming "games" for other iterators, and is very open to suggestions!

City was somewhat known for being a sort of centre of many different types of art. (He's more well-known for being the game developer guy-- and the weird iterator who keeps sending paint deliveries out to random people)

BIG guy. He's like. Two heads taller than the average Iterator. Height chart coming soon

WAWA

She/her dominant (any pronouns) [ TOYHOUSE ] [ ARTFIGHT ]

wawa.

runs on cartoon logic

a little smaller than a slugpup

insane dodging capabilities. She's also an obligate carnivore

Where's the slug in this slugcat. This is just a beast of some sort

?? JUST APPEARS? She will just teleport in your chamber. say her name and she'll appear

she also paints with Creativity :]

#rain world #rain world oc #rain world iterator #rain world askblog

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malikselfindulgence · 7 months

Text

MEI X GN!READER ☆ 4.6K WORDS

♡ Cherry flavored chap-stick ♡

AO3 link can be found here!

Description: in which Mei dresses you up for a party, and things simply escalate from there.

Content: reader is not referred to with any pronouns, reader is gender neutral, reader does wear make-up and is referred to as "pretty" "gorgeous", ending could be interpreted as suggestive

Fic under the cut!

You notice Mei's new lip-stick shade immediately.

As soon as she'd walked into the shop, your eyes were drawn to her like a moth to a flame, following the curves of her face as she moves over to the counter. Something felt….different about her today- you think her cheeks shined a Iittle more brightly, and as your gaze falls down to her lips, you finally realise why.

She'd changed her lipstick today- going for a warmer toned pink rather than a cool magenta. The color brought out the warmth in her skin, making her face glow in the orange light of the restaurant.

You liked her usual lipstick shade, too- the cool tones highlighting her eyes and green hair streaks, the color suits her. You think any color would suit Mei, to be honest. But this one…well, it's more glossy, making you look down more than once at her lips mid conversation- she's speaking to MK, thankfully, so you can stare all you want without the worry of being caught.

She's pretty, you think. Her bangs frame her face perfectly, and the scales around her eyes only make her look more ethereal- even the scuffs on her skin and bandages around her hands are endearing. Your eyes fall down to her lips again, and you wonder if the lip-stick is flavored. Maybe it's apple? Dragonfruit? You wonder how it'd taste.

Your thoughts trail dangerously down a path that has your cheeks flushing- you wonder if she'd let you find out, let you press your lips against hers gently, taste the chap-stick on her, smear it prettily down her chin as an imperfect work of art. You wonder if-

Mei clears her throat, and your fantasy-induced haze immediately shatters apart.

You scramble a little in your seat, utterly humiliated at being caught gawking at her like this- or, you assume that's what she's frowning at you for. You wonder for half a second if you can just ask MK to drown you in the kitchen sink to spare you.

"Well?" Mei cocks a brow at you, one hand settling on her hip in a show of annoyance. You quickly look towards MK for help, but all the bastard does is smile cheekily in your direction. You wonder for half a second if you can drown MK in the kitchen sink.

"Well….uh- well, what?"

Her frown only deepens, and you feel a pang of guilt nestle in your chest- you don't want to upset her ever again, and you claw through your thoughts for any recollection of what her and MK had been discussing only to wind up blank.

"We asked if you wanted to come along to the anti-gravity arcade tomorrow- for the p- for the, uh, dress-up event?" MK's voice rings out cheerfully from your right, perhaps feeling merciful on you today. Your shoulders fall down in relief.

"Yeah- yeah, for sure!" You nod, eager to spend more time with them, and watch as Mei's pretty pink lips turn upwards in a smile at your reply, "is there a dress code or anything?"

Mei's gentle smile morphs into a wolfish grin in a matter of seconds, her arm looping around your shoulder to bring you closer into her side. Your body presses up against hers, warmth seeping into you, and you try to will your heart to stop beating so damn fast. It doesn't work.

"You leave that to me. You just come over early so I can glam us up, capiche?" Mei's eyes bore into yours in a way that makes your brain fuzzy, and you find that you couldn't ever say no to her. She could've asked you to rob a bank blind and you'd have nodded with the same eagerness you are now, muttering a quiet "Yeah, sure, sounds great."

Once you've given her confirmation, she slinks away from your side, and your body mourns her touch. The day continues like normal, you piping up every once in a while through MK and Mei's rants about some video game, but you have to look down at your fidgeting hands more than once so you don't end up entranced by her lips once more.

It's only the next morning as you stand at Mei's ridiculously prestigious porch that you realise just what you've gotten yourself into.

You barely flinch as her security system activates, thousands of lasers pointing at your head. You barely talk as she greets you with her gorgeous, stupidly perfect smile and leads you inside, the walk long and painfully slow. You can't hear her over your heart thundering in your ears, your clammy hands grappling onto your sleeves in an attempt to keep themselves busy.

"Right over herreee is my bedroom! You can go ahead and make yourself comfy, I've gotta head over to the bathroom to get my makeup bag," she ends her impromptu tour with a smile and finger-guns, moving past you and into the long hallway across, "be back in a jiffy!"

You wait until she's completely out of sight to walk into her bedroom, settling yourself down at the edge of her bed, legs swinging back and forth anxiously.

Mei was going to 1] dress you up, and 2] do your makeup. Do your makeup, as in cup your cheeks between her soft hands, lean in close enough so she can see every little mark she leaves behind, her eyes furrowed in concentration at your face-

You put your face into your hands, embarrassed by your thoughts. What is up with you lately? Usually it's easier to manage your feelings around her, right now you can't even look her in the face!

You peek one eye between your fingers, looking over her messy room. You'd been here before, of course. Mei had been just a little more open to sleepovers at her place, but only when Pigsy was far too exhausted to hear you three yelling and laughing all night above his bed. You're usually here with MK, though, and the electric energy crackling between him and Mei keeps you all entertained. You'd never gotten a chance to really…look at the place.

You eye the My Chemical Romance poster above the door frame, snorting at the memory of Mei belting out the lyrics during karaoke, MK screaming the words more than singing them. Your gaze falls down to the guitar by her night-stand, your smile turning soft as you recall the few times Mei had played for you. She was skilled, but got frustrated easily once she missed a note, puffing out her cheeks. It was cute to watch.

Your hands fall back down into your lap as you note all the little things that make this space so Mei- the posters, the pillows strewn across the floor, the half-opened comic books, the gaming consoles, the weird mannequin she uses to show off her ties and funny hats, and the-

Ah, the…the plushie you'd won her at the arcade.

It's right next to you on the bed, so it's no surprise you hadn't noticed it till now. You pick it up and turn it over in your hands, tugging at one of its ears. It's a cute green striped cat, it's tongue sticking out playfully. You'd seen it and thought of Mei, and had spent nearly all your coins and a considerable amount of effort on the claw machine to gift it to her. You pull back the tag, seeing a red heart drawn on- you hadn't noticed that when you'd won it, but perhaps you just missed it.

"YOO! I'm back! You ready to look drop-dead gorgeous for tonight?" Mei's voice startles you, your head swiftly moving upwards as she slams the door open and walks inside, multiple make-up bags in hand. She grins at you in excitement, her body practically vibrating with all the ideas of things she can do to you. You feel your heart melt like magma in your rib-cage, and you wonder just how you'll live through this.

"Did you have anything in mind?" You force out through your teeth, breathing in deeply to calm the fuck down. You should not be acting this way- especially not in her room of all places. This was- this was absurd and unfair to her. Your fingers clench and unclench around the plushie before you let go of it, the thought that Mei slept with it in her bed too much to process.

"Do I have anything in mind?" She echoes back at you, scoffing, but her tone is anything but annoyed, "I've been wanting to do your make-up for ages. I've got a whole hoard of ideas."

Your mind rushes at the revelation that she's been wanting this for a long time, thinking about it for a long time- "But first, outfits! It'd suck to get your make-up smudged while changing."

You furrow your brows in confusion, gesturing to your clothes, "I'm…already wearing..my outfit?"

She blinks at you for a minute, eyeing you up and down with growing disdain- you feel embarrassed, if a little insulted, arms wrapping around your chest to hide yourself a little more.

"You- you're not going out in that! You wear this every day!" She squeaks in protest, tugging at your sleeve to showcase the tattered edges.

You pull back your arm indignantly, pouting at her. "Yeah, because it's comfortable, and I like it. Plus, I didn't bring anything else with me."

"Well, because I knew you wouldn't have picked something cute for yourself," Mei starts with a cheeky grin, and you flick at her arm in response, her laughter ringing out through the room, "I did the honours of picking something out for you."

You barely have time to speak before she's rushing into a corner of her room, rummaging around the heap of blankets and clothes to find what she's looking for. Mei had always had impeccable style- even if you weren't pathetically head over heels in love with her, you'd still think she had a way of matching colors and fabrics together that makes even the rattiest of shirts look pleasing to the eyes.

So, no, it's not that you don't trust Mei to pick something nice for you to wear- it's that you don't trust Mei to tone it down for you- while Mei and MK were loud and boisterous, turning heads left and right wherever they went, you preferred to lay back unnoticed. You were their middle ground- reigning them back in by the scruff of their shirts.

So imagine your surprise when you see Mei present the outfit for you, chest puffed out proudly.

It's….pretty. You knew it'd be pretty, of course, but more than that- it fits your style perfectly, with pops of color [mostly green] here and there that don't completely push you out of your comfort zone. You like this outfit a lot, and you're excited to try it on- you think some of the jewellery she's holding out looks familiar.

You must've been silent for a little too long, because she starts rocking back and forth, her smile turning more strained by the second, "I, uh, tried to look through your wish-list and pinterest boards to get something you'd like- you can look through my closets for something different though!-"

You're still reeling from her words- no wonder the jewellery looks familiar, it's in your wish-list, and she'd bought it for you specifically, and holy shit you need to say something before she overthinks herself into oblivion-

"It's…nice- really nice. It's really pretty." You mumble out, smiling towards her as you reach out to thumb at the fabric, tugging it into your arms. Your heart feels as though it'll burst out of your chest just so it can find its way to her.

Mei's shoulders slump in relief, her usual cheery attitude bouncing back.

"Duh, I picked it, it's gonna be pretty. Now shoo! Go change so we can start on make-up."

You snicker heartily at her obvious excitement as she hurries you towards her dressing room, walking in and shutting the door behind you.

You tug off your current outfit, leaving it on the chair by the mirror. You take this moment away from her gaze to slump against the door-frame, squealing into your hands silently like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Your smile is giddy and bashful as you put on your outfit- the outfit she'd specifically catered to you, based on your interests and favorite colors- admiring yourself in the mirror between each layer. Once again, Mei didn't fail to deliver. You looked good. You strike a ridiculous pose in the mirror, giggling at your childishness. Perhaps Mei was rubbing off on you too much.

You take a deep breath in to calm yourself down before leaving through the door, trying to keep your grin hidden. Your clothes fit around your body snugly, and the jewellery matches your eyes and hair. The shade of green endowed throughout your outfit matches Mei's hair streaks, you notice with a fluster.

You sit down on the bed and wait for Mei to leave her dressing room- which you're still appalled by, because who even needs two dressing rooms?- wondering if she'll wear something entirely new or repurpose one of her old outfits.

You hear the door creak open this time, glancing upwards as Mei walks in, hollering at you, "Wooh! Looks just as good as I imagined, maybe even a little better." She nudges your shoulder playfully, her cheeks flushed and pink. "Seriously, though, you look good."

"Oh." You breathe out, gaping at her with wide eyes.

Mei looks….Mei looks gorgeous. She's wearing a white button-up shirt, the first few buttons undone to reveal inch above inch of tantalising skin. Right under is a pretty corset that cinches her waist, with a short slitted skirt to match, highlighting her toned scarred legs. Her sleeves are folded upwards, showing off her muscles. You feel your face heat the longer you stare, her earrings glinting in the light, bangles strumming together in a harmonious tune as her hands move aside with a flourish.

She strikes a pose even more ridiculous than the one you had earlier in the hopes of making you laugh, and it works, your concealed snickering dissolving into full-blown giggling the longer she keeps this up, modelling for a camera that isn't there- or perhaps she's just modelling for you.

"So? What are we thinkin'?" She makes a little kissy-face towards you and you pretend that didn't get your heart thumping, "You think we'll be voted cutest couple?"

Okay- you can't pretend that didn't send a shiver racing down your spine. You splutter at her words, hands wringing each other nervously before she barks out a laugh and lets up on the posing, arms falling down to her sides.

"I'm just joking. I wouldn't complain if you complimented me juusstt a little, though."

You ignore the pang in your heart at her words, your giggles dying down into a gentle quirk of your lips. "You look nice, Mei, we already know- and thank you…for the outfit, by the way." You answer sincerely, squinting at her earrings. You don't think she'd ever worn those colors before- it struck out to you.

"New jewellery? You don't usually wear things like this…" You wonder aloud, your hand moving to dangle at her earrings, fingers brushing against her cheek by accident. Your skin burns where you touch her, and you wonder if she can feel it, too.

Mei gulps audibly, "Yeah, it- it's new. Wanted to match with you."

You look up at her through your lashes, heart beating so rapidly in your chest you're afraid she can hear it. Each and every time you think you can control yourself around her, she always just- just says things that pull your feet out from under you. She smiles down at you, a little strained, her hand moving up to hold onto yours, the one still pressed up against her cheek.

"That's really- really considerate, and nice of you." You pull back, and you try to ignore the implications behind the way Mei's expression crumples. You send a smile her way, tugging at your sleeve. You have to- you have to stop seeing things that aren't there. Thinking that Mei liked you was only wishful thinking.

You had her already, like this, and that was enough for you. It had to be enough for you.

"Well, Red Son and MK always match- granted MK practically forces them to, buuuttt that leaves us behind, so we gotta stick together, right?"

You nod at her answer, your heart clenching painfully right in your rib-cage. Of course that's why she wanted to match with you- she was joking about the cutest couple thing earlier. You have to stop.

Mei claps her hands together to catch your quickly declining attention, grin back in place. "Now, make-up!"

Ah- you'd…almost forgotten, despite that being the main thing you'd come here for.

She gestures towards the chair by her vanity mirror, and you wordlessly follow her request, settling down into it, spinning it around so you're facing her. She recovers quite quickly from your…moments- you try to give her the same mercy she serves you.

"I'm gonna make our eyeshadow colors compliment each other- but you can always let me know if you're not liking the colors, alright?" She reassures you, opening her cat-themed bag to start laying out the brushes and pallets, "I can just brush up my own make-up after."

You nod soundlessly, afraid that if you so much as breathe in her direction she'll notice how flustered and tense you are. She takes your chin between her fore-finger and thumb, leaning down to look at you closely, her tongue poking out in concentration.

You think you might collapse into a heap of pathetic goo in this chair. She's so close- so so so close- close enough you can see every little blemish and feckle on her face, the way her scales shimmer in the light, almost translucent, the way her lips pucker as she pats your eyes gently with the brush, focused on getting the lines just right.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur- you can only remember your hands clenching around your pants, your shoulders set rigidly in place. You remember her fingers pressing against your jaw, positioning it the way she likes, and her hair tickling your skin as she leans in to fix up your eye-liner. You remember the air crackling between you two, and you were sure she felt it- her breath hitching each time she noticed you staring at her, the nervous swinging of her legs.

"All done! Yeesh, you can relax now." Mei smirks down at you, pulling backwards and letting the cool air flood the space between you both. You pause for a second, trying to get yourself together, spinning the chair around so you can look in the mirror. She'd shown you progress in a little hand-held mirror, of course, but seeing your make-up paired with your outfit punched the breath out of your lungs.

If you thought the outfit alone looked good- you were drop dead gorgeous now, just as she'd said- you're not sure how she managed to keep the imperfections on your face, refusing to use a foundation base, while still making them look right. Like they fit there. The blush she'd used made your cheeks glow, and the highlighter only served to make your natural features shine. You see her face in the mirror, her eyes roaming your features. She doesn't look pleased.

"Nope- something doesn't look right." She says with a huff, rummaging through her drawer. You're not sure what she's looking for that could bring the look together.

"I dunno what you mean- you made me look great. Definitely gonna win best couple now." You can't help but let it slip in a sorry attempt to cheer her up- and you both immediately pause as soon as the words escape your mouth. Her face is hidden behind her bangs as she leans into the drawer, but you think you see the hint of a blush against her cheeks. You wonder if it really was wishful thinking after all.

That's when you see it- a pretty pink lipstick, the shade strikingly similar to the one she'd worn yesterday, you think it's the same one, if anything. You tap her arm. "Maybe- uh, that new lip-stick you wore at Pigsy's last night? I think it looks pretty cute."

She hums, bringing it out the drawer before shutting it with her hip. She unscrews the lid, swiping it across her lips casually, and your blood rushes to your face. "You noticed it was new?" She says with a shy smile, looking at you, lights dancing in her eyes.

"Well- yeah, you usually only wear the same shade, so it makes sense for me to-" Your blabber comes to a stop as she puts her finger right up against your lip, watching Mei laugh for a minute, stunned.

"I was just teasing you, no need to get so worked up. I saw you staring, anyways, and I'm flattered." She says with a nonchalant tone like she didn't just drop a bomb on you in your already frazzled state, "Good to know it was because you think my lips are pretty and not because I had sauce on my face."

You think you can feel steam pouring out the top of your head, because you honest to god can't believe Mei just said that- she moves back to rummaging in a different drawer, and her bangs do little to conceal her grin this time.

She brings out a different tube of lip-stick, and you try not to act too disappointed that you won't be using the same one she did. You still wonder how it tastes.

She tugs your chin back into her palm, starting to apply the rouge to your mouth. Your lips tingle at the contact, and you picture the press of her lips against yours instead, wondering how she'd taste. You don't think you're imagining the tension between you two, now.

"Hmm…" Mei hums, and even though the hand with the tube falls down once she's done, her other hand remains cupping your jaw, thumb rubbing under your lip to clean up the lip-stick. Her eyes are half-lidded, and a contemplative look crosses her face for a second.

She leans in closer, closer, closer. Her palm cradles your face gently, keeping it in place. You hold your breath. She waits for a moment, giving you the chance to pull away. You wouldn't ever dream of it.

You're barely inches away now, her nose brushing against yours. You feel her breath, hot on your cheeks, and your body shivers in delight. Her eyes fall down to your lips for a split-second, and she finally leans in-

And moves a little to the side at the last second.

Her lips end up just at the corner of your own, pressing firmly. She lingers for a while, and you feel both frustration and adoration bubble up inside you, a flurry of butterflies erupting in your stomach. If you'd had just a smidge more courage, you'd have pulled her into you for a proper kiss immediately.

She pulls back, still close enough to make your heart rush with heat, admiring her work. There's a pink lip-stick stain at the corner of your mouth, smeared a little to the left, marring your otherwise clean makeup.

"You know, I thought the asymmetry would make you look less perfect-" She starts, voice quivering, "but I think it just did the opposite."

Mei stares down at you, a little nervous, a little bashful, but happy. Her own lip-stick is a little messed up now, too. You don't think you've ever seen a prettier sight. You want to find out what her lips taste like.

You grab at her shirt collar, and her eyes widen for a moment before you pull her into you, lips melding together messily. Your eyes are screwed shut, and you only start to relax once she starts kissing you back, pressing insistently against your lips. The lip-stick clatters to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Her hands settle on your hips, tugging you closer, closer, pressing your front up against hers. Your hands tangle in her hair, tugging at it lightly, and the muffled moan she lets out against your mouth sends a rush of heat through your body. You can't get enough of her- her taste is addicting, and you hazily wonder why you hadn't done this sooner.

Your tongue pokes out against her lips, and her hold around your waist tightens. You pull backwards just an inch, enough to speak, whispering hurriedly, "cherry."

She stares at you, eyes foggy, breath coming out in pants, "whuh?"

"Your lip-stick. Tastes like cherry. I was wondering earlier." You mumble against her skin, nuzzling your face into her cheek as you speak. Her chest shakes with laughter against yours, "That's what you were really glaring at me for?"

Mei pushes you forward, your back straining against the foot of her bed. She keeps going, your body flopping on the bed unceremoniously, hers following after you. She stays above you, caging you between her arms and thighs. She smirks at you and your heartbeat rushes through your ears.

"If you wanted to know so bad, you could've just asked." She says with a snicker, her head angling itself towards yours, breaths mingling together, "Now you've got me wondering what yours tastes like."

You're about to tell her to shut up and kiss you when the atmosphere is promptly shattered when her phone starts to ring, Welcome To The Black Parade being her ring-tone.

Mei tries to ignore it, flopping down on top of you. She groans into your chest, "god, what does MK want? Now? Really?"

You clamber upwards, frantically reaching for her phone on the night-stand, "shit, Mei, the party!" You click her phone open, the screen showing you that you're a full two hours late.

"Just- hand it over here." She grumbles, and you do so without a complaint. She swipes right to answer the call, "Hellooo-"

You can't quite hear what MK's saying, you just know he's shouting real loud- or maybe that's the background noise? You're not sure, but whatever it is makes Mei gasp.

They talk for a minute, Mei cackling at every word MK says on the other end- you think you catch a few mentions of Red Son, something about the building shutting down?-

Mei says her goodbyes quickly, hanging up before MK even replies. She's grinning at you, excited and elated.

"What'd he tell you?" You ask, hand threading through her hair. She giggles for a second, trying to get the words out.

"He- god, we should've been there- Red Son's cap fell off while he was- hah- dancing, and apparently everyone recognised him immediately, and they tried to kick him and MK out-" her words dissolve into laughter, and you laugh alongside her.

Once you both quiet down, you brush her hair behind her ear, pursing your lips. "So…no party, then?"

Mei's smile turns pleased, her hands settling back around you, "Nope. We've got the whole night to ourselves."

You peck her lips quickly, "better make the most of it, then."

You're both late to group breakfast the next day, and despite MK's pestering questions, you don't explain why.

You and Mei share a knowing smile across the booth, fingers intertwining under the table as you eat. When she moves to re-apply her lip-stick after her meal, you ask her if you can have it, too. She leans in and kisses you, short and sweet, and you thank her while MK gawks behind you.

#hope you all enjoy!!#remember that requests r open!#probs wont be as long as this since it was purely self indulgent #lmk #lmk mei #lmk x reader #mei x reader #lmk mei x reader #x reader #malik's writing #mostly cutesie i would say #:33 #tips appreciated btww!!#pretty new to this still TwT #lego monkie kid x reader

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tiannasfanfic · 2 years

Text

Secret Admirer

Eddie Munson x Reader (Fluff)

[Masterlist] [Crossposted to AO3]

Summary: Telling someone you fell for them is always hard. However, it's even harder when the person you love is also your best friend. When you can't find the courage to tell Eddie Munson how you feel to his face, you decide to let him know in a more...round about sort of way.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral reader, no pronouns used. This was initially supposed to be a oneshot, but now looks like it's going to be a two or three parter.

CW: Smoking cigarettes; white lies; slightly awkward conversations.

Word Count: 2.407

“Dustin! Hey Dustin!”

Dustin didn’t hear you. That wasn’t surprising since the final bell rang just a little bit ago and the halls were flooded with people ready to leave.

While you were also in a hurry to leave, you really needed to catch up with the freshman first. And you needed to do it before any of the other Hellfire members were around to see. You may have not known Dustin for long since school just started a little over two months ago, but it was long enough to know you could trust him with this task.

“Dustin! Wait up, Dustin!!!”

The little shit was much faster than you’d have guessed and was way ahead of you when he finally heard his name being called. He stopped to look around and waved when he saw you running up to him.

“Hey Y/N,” Dustin said as you screeched to a stop in front of him. “What’s the hurry?”

It took you a minute to respond. You were out of breath after running from the hall where your last class was to the hall where Dustin’s last class was. It was halfway across the school, and you were pretty sure you broke at least one record to get over there that fast.

“Hold.” Pant. “Up.” Wheeze. “A.” Pant. “Minute.” Cough.

At that very moment, you doubled over with your hands on your knees, your face starting to tingle and turn red as you gasped for air.

“You okay?” Dustin asked, clapping you on the back as if you were choking instead.

You waved him off and finally caught your breath after a minute.

“Yeah,” you said, standing up straight. “I gotta get to work, but you have Hellfire tonight, right?”

“Yup, every Monday after school from 3 to 7,” Dustin said, nodding.

“Sweet,” you said, pulling a small black box wrapped with a red ribbon, which you then handed to Dustin. “Some chick after third period gave this to me and said to give it to Eddie. I forgot to tell him at lunch, so now that honor goes to you.”

Dustin looked between you and the object now in his hand, which was about the size of a large ring box. He wrinkled his nose.

“Do I have to?” he asked. “Can’t you just give it to him yourself tomorrow?”

“No can do,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m libel to forget I even have it and I promised her Eddie would get it today.”

Dustin knew better than to argue. Everyone knew you had a poor memory and knew you didn’t make promises lightly. If you promised Eddie would get it today so you wouldn’t forget, then Eddie was getting it today so you wouldn’t forget.

Tucking the box into his coat pocket, Dustin promised to give it to Eddie as soon as he saw him. The two of you parted ways, him in one direction to go to the drama room for Hellfire and you in direction of the front entrance so you could go to work. You were practically skipping down the hall, happy that had gone well. You didn’t really expect it not too since Dustin was a good kid and he absolutely adored Eddie. You knew he’d come through for you.

Now it was just a waiting game to see how Eddie would react.

Getting a random gift from a secret admirer didn’t seem like something he would keep from you. The two of you told each other everything and had for years. The only thing you had ever kept a total secret from Eddie was how you truly felt about him.

It was as a strange feeling to be in love with your best friend. A very strange feeling indeed.

The two of you met in 8th grade when he transferred in from another district. That was the year Eddie had moved to this side of town to live with his uncle. While he had been instantly branded as a freak by the popular crowd, your reputation was somewhere basic outsider territory. It didn’t bother you to befriend him though, and you two instantly clicked.

Your feelings didn’t develop until sometime in sophomore year. Or that’s when you noticed them, at least. There was no catalyst or series of events that led to the moment. You just suddenly realized it one day in the middle of a math lesson. You hadn’t been thinking about him and didn’t have math class with him, it just hit you completely randomly and unexpectedly. It rendered you incapable of concentrating for the rest of the day.

Considering Eddie had never made any moves on you, never stated an interest in you and had never even flirted with you, it was obviously a one-sided crush. You were best friends, not really anything else. You tried to ignore it, figuring it would eventually go away without reciprocation.

Rather than go away though, your feelings grew into love.

And now, as you were both starting over your senior years for the second time each, you had decided this was going to be the year you finally tell Eddie how you feel.

Eventually.

You would tell him how you felt eventually.

While Eddie had a few very short-term relationships over the years, he hadn’t dated in a long time. That had to mean he didn’t want anything serious right now. Plus, if he did want to date, that didn’t mean he wanted to date you. You kept reminding yourself of this to keep you from getting your hopes up. Which is why you had elected to go this route. If he didn’t seem interested after a few anonymous gifts and notes, you’d leave the whole thing alone. No harm done, no damaged friendship.

What you didn’t expect was for that one little box to spark Eddie’s curiosity into a full-on blaze.

He was waiting for you in the school parking lot the next morning. You barely got your car parked in your usual spot before he had ran over from his van and opened your door for you.

“Y/N, it’s time for you and I to have a talk,” he said, his tone and facial expression serious.

You stared up at him blankly as he smirked down at you. Surely he hadn’t figure it out that quickly?

You decided your best option right now was to play dumb.

“Er, okay?” you said, climbing out of your car and putting your jacket on. “What about?”

“Oh, I think you know what it’s about,” he said, a playful tone coming to his voice.

You dipped back into your car to collect your bag, backpack, and lunch box from the passenger seat, then shut your car door. While you may have appeared calm and sleepy on the outside, inwardly you were panicking. You didn’t expect him to grill you less than an hour after you woke up.

Luckily for you, Eddie took your stunned and panicked silence for you still waking up.

“The box from yesterday?” he said, as he grabbed your backpack from you to sling it from one shoulder to carry for you like he always did.

You continued staring at him, mouth dropping open slightly, your brow furrowed.

Now you weren’t acting, you suddenly found yourself unable to speak as you looked at him.

“The one you gave to Dustin to give to me?”

Oh fuck, he knew. He somehow figured it out. He knew you gave it to him. This is it.

Right as you were on the verge of spilling your guts, Eddie chimed in again.

“The box the girl gave you yesterday to give to me?”

Oh. Right. You had given it to Dustin, saying someone had given it to you.

“Oh yeah,” you said, clapping your hand to your forehead, then dragging it down your face tiredly. “Sorry. Long night last night.”

“Yeah?” he asked, you nodded as you lit the morning cigarette for the two of you to share, like you did every morning. “Shitty customers or got off late?”

“Both,” you said, passing him the cigarette. “Like, ten people decided they needed their groceries five minutes before closing. On top of that, me and Teri were by ourselves again, so we didn’t get out until almost midnight.”

“I still say they’ve gotta be breaking the law by keeping you there that late,” Eddie said, his eyes darkening. “Isn’t there some rule against high schoolers working past 8 or something?”

He always worried when you had to work that late. People get jumped in parking lots all the time and was always paranoid that would happen to you.

“That only applies if it’s your first time through,” you chuckled, as Eddie passed the cigarette back to you. “Trust me, I checked. Soon to be 20-year old’s repeating their senior year for the third time don’t qualify.”

After passing the cigarette between you a few more times as you chatted about your morning, Eddie finished it and tossed the butt to the pavement. You both started walking up to the school.

Fortunately, the time Eddie gave you to wake up more before continuing the initial conversation had also given you time to think. When he brought it up again a few minutes later when you were almost inside, you were prepared.

“So…” Eddie began. “The box…”

“That’s right!” you said and looked over at him curiously. “What was in it anyway? It felt really heavy for such a small thing.”

Eddie skipped a few steps ahead of you and spun around on one foot so he was directly in your path and facing you. He held up his left hand as if showing off his rings. Your looked down and, sure enough, he had on the one you gave him on his pointer finger. It was square shaped with a cross in the center and a skull at each corner.

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed with well-acted excitement, grabbing his hand, and jerking him closer to get a better look, which made him stagger slightly. “Hey, isn’t this that ring you saw at the pawn shop a few months back???”

“I think so!” Eddie said, nodding rapidly.

One thing you both loved to do together on weekends was hit up as many thrift stores and pawnshops as you could looking for deals. When Eddie found this ring a few months back, the $30 price tag was a bit out of his reach. The disappointment in his eyes about broke your heart, so you went back the next day and bought it for him. You’d held onto it until now, trying to figure out how to give it to him.

“That’s so awesome!” you exclaimed.

You used this as an excuse to grab Eddie and wrap your arms around him in an excited hug. He eagerly returned the hug, spinning you around once and nearly running you both into a passing group of students.

“Who was it from?” you asked as he set you down and you two continued walking, now headed for your locker.

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” he said. “There was no note, tag, or anything. So, I was wondering who gave it to you.”

“I didn’t recognize her,” you said, then shrugged. “I don’t have any classes with her, that much I know for sure.”

This part of the lie relied heavily on Eddie just accepting your poor memory without asking too many questions.

Everyone knew you could barely remember what you made yourself for lunch yesterday, much less the face of someone you didn’t know. You recognized people you went to classes with, even if you didn’t know their names, because you saw them in the same place every day. In general, it always took you a few weeks with any new person you met to fully integrate their face into your brain. So, you not recognizing someone you went to school with wasn’t uncommon.

Eddie knew this and you could see the disappointment in his face.

“Damnit,” he said and sighed, brushing a hand back through his hair. “I was afraid of that. I really wanted to thank whoever she was.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’ll try to keep an eye out for her, but you know what the chances of me recognizing her are.”

You flashed him an apologetic smile and he nodded in confirmation as you reached your locker. The conversation switched to school things as you got your stuff situated, taking only the books you would need before lunch. With that done, now you walked Eddie to his locker and once he had his books, you both went to English, which you had together. Since the two of you sat next to each other, you noticed that Eddie used the time waiting for class to gawk at the ring and awe and wonder.

It made your heart dance seeing how happy it made Eddie. You had to bite your lip hard to keep yourself from grinning like a fool. That surely would’ve given you away right then and there.

Oddly enough though, he really didn’t talk about it much to anyone else. You’d catch him gazing at it fondly, but if anyone asked about it, he was tight lipped.

“It was a gift,” is all he would say.

As the days went by, Eddie didn’t mention it as often to you. When he did, it was still just to say he wished he could thank whoever got it for him because he loved it so much.

A couple weeks later, on the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, you proceeded with the next part of you plan.

Your fourth period class was World History. Eddie’s locker just so happened to between that classroom and the closest girl’s bathroom. It was easy to get a pass for the restroom since you rarely ever asked to leave class. On your way there, you briefly stopped at his locker. You took a letter sized envelope out of your inner jacket pocket and slipped it into the locker through the vents. Even after a quick stop at the restroom to back up your lie, you were back to class before the teacher could be suspicious.

The nerves you felt before giving him the ring were nothing compared to the nerves you felt now.

In that letter, you were finally confessing your love...

More or less.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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