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thegnomelord · 4 months

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this isn’t a request but you’re the only writer i know who writes the monster!au so

dragon!reader and dragon!price are haunting my thoughts. dragons usually have to hold themselves back when sparring because they’re so much stronger than other monsters but with price & reader they don’t need to, to the point where the other members of the 141 are kinda wondering if they need to intervene.

what they do or don’t know is this is you and price courting, testing each other’s strength to assess whether you’re suitable mates. once you have decided you’re suitable it continues in the bedroom, fighting for dominance and testing each other’s stamina as price rides you or you pin price down and see if he can take all the strength behind your thrusts.

OH god I LOVE the way you think! I know @rodolfoparras also did a dragon price some time ago but I'm happy to let my monsterfucker out lol :D I'll consider this a spitball thingy but GOD DAMN did my hyperfixation hyperfixate on this :Ddd kinda rushed at the end but it's 3AM :/

CW:NSFW

What about if dragons measure not just raw strength, but all other aspects as well? They're prideful by nature and with so little of them remaining no self-respecting dragon will settle for a witless brute or a powerless scribe.

Price had lost hope in finding a mate centuries ago because he's even pickier than most of his kin; in his view, a proper one needs to be strong enough to completely pin him down, needs to be smart enough to see the insults in his honeyed words and give back as good as he does, needs to be clever enough to lead men as good as he does.

A proper mate needs to keep up with him on all levels.

And for a dragon of his age, that's an unachievable set of criteria. Oh sure, many of the dragons he's met over the years have tried to match him, but all fell short, leaving him lonely and unsatisfied.

Then he met you, a fellow Captain, a fellow dragon. Though only a few centuries younger than him, you're a wyrmling in his eyes, your scales like shining metal compared to his muddled gemstones. An arrogant wyrmling if the way you peacock for him the first time you enter the training room has anything to say about it— your wings spreading out and muscles rippling, back straightening out to make you taller, scales glinting in the artificial light; little details that anyone else can brush off as a simple stretch but to a dragon it screams of your interest in him.

His slitted eyes roam across your body, both equal parts disdain and curiosity. "Got somethin' ta say there boy?" His words are rough like sandpaper.

"No, no." You hum as you get into the ring, every little movement purposely done to showcase your hard earned musculature. "Just that you should skip out on this fight. Wouldn't want you to throw your back out old man."

"Old man huh?" His eyes blaze with the same fire at the end of his cigar, your words igniting something in his chest that had long been extinguished. "I'll show you old."

And suddenly he's in the ring, both of you trading blow for blow with the same savagery your progenitors had frightened mankind with for millennia, your claws leaving deep grooves in the concrete when you miss his side, his tail smashing a portion of the ground into dust when you avoid it, the ground between you cracking when you try to push the other away, loose scales and dust and debris littering the ground as you and Price wrestle on the ground.

Both of your teams watch from the sidelines, your team calming the other members of TF141 that this is just how dragons are, pointedly ignoring your victorious snarl when you pin Price down to the ground, your clawed hand harshly pushing his face into the concrete to the point you might break his nose as you bite the back of his neck, forcing him to submit. "I win,"

"Not fer long." He snarls back just as deep, feeling alive for the first time in who knows how long. "Best two out of three." And with that he jerks, remaining wing slamming into your side and knocking you off balance long enough for him to fling you into the wall opposite of him.

You don't know how many rounds you go before you're forced to stop by a very pissed off Laswell, who also pointedly ignores the obvious bulges in what remains of both of your pants, giving both of you a stern talking to about wrecking the damn training room.

You're ready to leave after being chastised like a child but Price is quicker, passing you with a "Good fight back there." rumbling in his throat, the soft scales of his wing brushing along your jaw. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you meet his gaze, and Price has a good poker face but the smoldering look in his eyes and the low grumble in his chest makes it's obvious you've peaked his curiosity.

But that's just the start, the hard part is keeping it. While regular dragons may spend time with a potential mate conversing on scholarly subjects or having philosophical debates, you and him have a more practical way of assessing the other's intellect — Battle plans.

To your teams it sounds like a harsh argument, ideas thrown around and sharp insults tacked on top, their heads ping ponging between you and Price as you look over maps, trying to one up the other. Eventually your teammates leave you to settle this on your own.

"And I'm telling you, old man," You growl, both of you so close there's barely any space between you as you point at the map. "We can push a smaller team through the forest while we lead the frontal assault, our wip's not going to have anywhere to go then." You huff, holding your head up high to make it obvious you're proud of your idea.

Price gives you the stink eye, before he scans the map again, humming to himself. After a few seconds he lets out a scoff. "We don't have enough men for that." He says, but the sharp edge in his tone is dulled. "But—" His tail moves to brush against your own, your rough scales brushing against his smoother ones. "—It has some merit."

Price doesn't draw attention to the way your tails intertwine, wrapping together like two snakes, and neither do you. But the short purr that bubbles out of your chest says everything he needs to know, growing louder when he answers with his own, your shoulders brushing together. "Aight, back to work." He cuts your purrs short, but you can't hide the pleased look on your face as your tails remain coiled together.

Then comes the actual courting dance.

One late evening spent looking over documents in the privacy of his office, your tails once again coiled beneath the desk after successfully having proved your wit to him again, absentmindedly telling embarrassing stories of your respective teams. . . Price has a revelation. You might be it. "Hey lad."

You look up, your full attention on him. "Yeah?"

With a mumbled grunt too quiet for you to hear Price slides a hand beneath his shirt and pulls a large green scale from the meat of his shoulder blade, the wound healing before it can even bleed.

Instinctively you know what this means, for knowing how a prospective mate treats an extension of you will show how they'll treat you. But you still speak up, needing proof for your own mind that you're not insane and haven't been burning the wrong tree. "What?"

Price glares at you, "Don't play dumb," He says as he slides the large scale across the table to you. "It doesn't suit you." There's an underlayer of heat in his words, blue slitted eyes looking you over in a much more appreciative light.

You can't control the big grin that spreads across your face, "Oh, then what does suit me?" You ask as you follow his lead, yanking out one of your larger scales from your own back and sliding it to him. It makes the difference between you two obvious, his green scale muddled with age compared to your shiny one.

"Arrogant muppet." The gentle way he picks up your scale clashes with his harsh words, cradling it in his hand like it'll crack at the slightest of touches, his face reflected in the surface.

You grin, "Just confident." You feel his sharp eyes judge every minute twitch of your fingers as you pick up his scale. Price's poker face hides the way his heart melts at the loving way you brush a thumb across the surface, how it throbs when you don't immediately attempt to make it shine like some whelps once did, accepting him for how he is by putting it in your breast pocket.

God, he doesn't even know how much he'd fantasized about something like this when he was still young, vestiges of a purr escaping his throat at the tender way you treat his scale. "Right." He shakes his head and places your scale in his own breast pocket, handing you another stack of papers. "Get back to work."

You grin and do as he says, wings twitching as a sign of joy, your tail squeezing down on his and receiving a squeeze in kind.

Price feels like a horny teen when he lays awake in bed late at night with your scale held between his claws. He feels stupid for feeling so giddy at the thought of having a mate, a proper mate, yet his body thinks differently. Just holding it in his hand is enough to make him grow hot, your scent still clings to the scale and Price finds himself holding it close to his nose to familiarize himself with it and Hell his body loves it, cocks growing hard in record time and his thighs wet with slick. The poor thing doesn't even know what to relieve first, his free hand constantly going between stroking his cocks and fingering himself, mind craving the heat of another dragon that he'd been deprived of.

What Price doesn't know is that you're in the same boat, biting your arm to silence yourself as you imagine it's Price you're breeding instead of a pillow, splintering the headboard from how hard you're gripping it in an attempt to not damage the scale.

Then shit hits the fan when during a routine mission you two are ambushed, and while two dragons are no easy prey for mankind, humans have long since gone from using rocks and sticks. You catch sight of a sniper's scope glint seconds before the bullet targets Price, and in only a few seconds to think you throw yourself in the way, Price's scale in your breast pocket puts enough resistance to make you survive the bullet, but you feel it crack, and that. . . that sets you off.

Price doesn't even have the time to lift his gun before you're tearing through the battlefield like a man possessed, anger burning like a volcano in your chest for trying to hurt him, elemental breath and draconic strength unleashed to it's fullest potential.

And Price? Price watches the show with that same heat burning in his belly, forced to bite his lip to silence the pleased purrs as he rubs his thighs together while you tear flesh from bone, mate flashing in his mind. Look how he protects you His mind purrs, Good mate. Perfect mate.

"I'm sorry." You whimper when you've finally calmed down, the battlefield nothing but a ruined crater and the shards of his scale held tenderly in your cupped hands. "I failed, I-"

"Come here." Price cuts you off quickly and pulls you down into a harsh and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He parts just a fraction of an inch, "You passed." He growls and only then do you notice the sharp arousal in his scent, your animalistic hindbrain jumping for joy as you kiss back because holy shit he considers you worthy.

And now that he's found his mate? You best believe his body is going to make up for all the centuries he'd spent alone.

It doesn't even take a week for him to enter heat, waking in a daze with his twin cocks hard and his thighs glistening with slick, your scent lingering in the sheets and your side of the bed still warm. The walls almost shake from how deeply he growls when he registers that you're not next to him, just enough sense in his head to throw on a towel around his waist before angerly stomping through the halls to find you, sniffing you out like a bloodhoud.

"Bloody muppet." Price growls as he yanks you by the horns back to his room, the scent of his arousal so potent you're struck dumb, letting yourself be pushed down. Price's claws slice through your clothes, his hole so slick and eager for you he doesn't even need to stretch, just jumps onto your lap and in one fluid motion takes one of your cocks to the root. "Fuckin' finally." Price hisses, instantly setting a harsh pace of bouncing on your cock that would have had a lesser race end up with a crushed pelvis.

You grip his hips for dear life, surging up to mark his neck and shoulders with bites as he does the same, his ass clapping against your thighs. "Mate." Price moans, hole clenching around you, his cocks leaking against your stomach. "My mate." He grips your hair and pulls you into a bruising kiss, "Going to last long for me yeah?" He asks, a bit of mockery on his flushed face as he feels you cum inside him, riding you through your orgasm as the sudden onslaught of sensations frazzles the intelligent parts of your brain. "Not going to disappoint me now are you?"

Good thing dragons have really short refractory periods.

"Not a chance." You snarl and flip him over suddenly, rumbling purrs escaping your chest from the surprised sound he makes. You attempt to pin him down and he squirms out of your hold, another bout of wrestling breaking out between you that has you two tumbling off the bed and onto the ground.

"That so whelp?" Price breathes out when you manage to pin him down, your strong hand keeping his face flush with the floor. "Do you really think you can keep up?" A pleased thrill runs down his spine from the sensation of your weight bearing down on him, his knees automatically locking up to hike his ass up, tail flipping up to display his slick hole for you.

"Do you?" You counter, one hand on his head, the other pressing both of your dicks together, your two tips pressing against his ass. "You're so wet and desperate, should have just pinned you down the moment I saw you instead of courting you." With one sharp thrust you push in, a pained and elated moan tearing out of his throat at the sensation of your twin cocks spreading him wider than any toy ever could, scratching that itch he'd had for who knows how long.

The stretch and burn and pleasure muddles his mind, reduces him to low animalistic snarls and growls as he does his best to push his hips into yours. "Hurry the fuck up." Price orders, whole body shaking from the way you set a harsh pace, bashing on his prostate, your balls slapping against his own, each hard thrust pushing and pulling his face across the floor. "I'll- fuck- fall asleep."

"You sure about that?" You push your weight further on him, forcing his wing to spread out, your own partially wrapping around him, "Seems to me like-" A bit of elemental breath leaves your throat when one particularly strong thrust has his hole clamping down on you, his back arching to push his hips as close to yours as one of his cocks spews cum on the floor, "-like you're not in a place to order me around."

"You- ah-fuck-ah- wanker." His insult would be a lot more hurtful if he didn't whine like a bitch in heat, both of you devolving into primitive snarls and growls with the only thought on both of your minds being the need to fill Price with as much of your cum as you physically can.

#Spittballs with Gnome #Idk how this happened #my hyperfixation got wayyy out of hand #n my monsterfucking got out of hand #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #top dom reader #cod modern warfare #cod smut #cod x male reader

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rad-batson · 1 year

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Headcanons of Tim and Damian’s Love/Hate/But-Mostly-Begrudging-Love Relationship (They’re My Babies)

They will take EVERY opportunity to be a little bitch to one another

Tim: “Don’t get too close to me. You probably have rabies.” Damian: *actually bites him*

Damian tripped Tim once, which started an all out prank war that lasted several months. It only ended when Bruce walked into a glue trap and couldn’t reach his phone to call for help. But he couldn’t figure out who put it there so they were both grounded. (It was Tim.)

Tim teaches Damian to finish his vine references when Bruce tells them they need to “bond.” They proceed to try and speak in exclusively vine references and TikTok sounds during patrol. Bruce benches them for his own sanity.

Damian: “I’m not touching you” *gets pushed down the stairs*

Tim: “I’m not in your room” *gets hit in the face with a book*

Tim calls Damian short even tho he’s only like two inches taller for quite a bit of time (and Damian never hears the end of it after Tim’s growth spurt)

Family Game Night could go in one of two ways: they’re opponents and spend the whole night one-upping each other OR they team up and wipe the floor with everyone else’s pieces

Damian: “Just trust me.” Tim: *remembering that one time Damian tried to kill him* “Okay.”

Tim: “Don’t ask questions.” Damian: *recalling the multiple genocidal Tim variants* “Whatever.”

During one Wayne Gala, they make up this game called Freestyle Checkers where they choose guests as their “pieces” then subtly manipulate them into walking to their opponent’s side of the ballroom without talking to someone from the other team or they’re out. No one can know that they’re part of a game or their opponent wins by default.

Bruce is proud of them at first for being more sociable during galas until he realizes what’s going on and immediately loses five years from his lifespan.

Both have attempted to fake their deaths to get out of the same school project

They’re both notorious for stalking people to get information instead of just…ya know…asking like a normal person. So they’re bound to team up one day.

Like maybe it’s Bruce’s birthday soon and both are like “No, I’m getting him the better present,” but then they run into each other in the vents trying to find out what he wants and they end up trading secrets. Just brotherly things

Tim: “I need you to follow this guy for me. I think he’s our culprit.” Damian: “I would rather die than take orders from you.” Tim: “I’ll buy you that fancy oil painting kit you want.” Damian: *already changing into his Robin gear* “Where is he?”

Tim makes Damian play the dumb, helpless kid in all of their covert operations, which pisses Damian off until he gets so good at it that he uses it to his advantage and annoys the hell out of Tim when they’re paired up for public appearances

“God, he’s so annoying.” “Yeah, totally.” “What the fuck did you say about my brother?”

Damian is the only person who can get Tim to actually sleep for once. No one knows how he does it, but the strongest theory so far is blackmail

Tim “I’m ignoring Bruce’s instructions because they failed the vibe check” Drake and Damian “I can totally do this mission that requires four people on my own” Wayne teaming up behind Bruce’s back and immediately getting into deep shit but somehow making it out alive with the bad guys behind bars.

During one of said missions, they thought they were going to die and said “I love you” to one another. After they survived, they silently agreed to never mention it again.

Damian gifts Tim a new board that he designed for his birthday. It took weeks. Tim cries

#tim drake #damian wayne #batfam #dc #dc robin #red robin #robin damian #batfamily #incorrect batfamily quotes #they love each other #dc universe #damian al ghul

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ghostandsoap · 1 year

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Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL.

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with.

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.

It’s classified.

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew.

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire.

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over.

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows.

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were.

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way.

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was.

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?”

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed.

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving.

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.”

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain.

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up.

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N].

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more.

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything.

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful.

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe.

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core.

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad.

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor.

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective.

“The alleyway,” You strained. “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong.

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.”

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.”

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity.

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story.

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left.

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step.

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared.

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What?

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy.

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying.

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.”

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this.

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?”

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.”

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?�� You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head.

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter.

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.”

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out.

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway.

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now.

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always.

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering.

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that.

“Too close.”

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back.

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked.

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this.

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story.

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days.

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word.

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more.

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice.

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.”

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.”

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akumakosuke · 2 months

Text

Satoru Gojo was born a god among mortals.

From the moment he opened his eyes he was automatically better than everyone, worth more than everyone.

Satoru Gojo stands alone atop a pedestal at the pinnacle of Jujutsu Sorcery, forever destined to bask in the glory of being the strongest. No one could ever dream to reach his level, he didn’t dream to reach his level but it was cast on him like a curse.

He is a cursed child indeed.

Exactly a week after the miracle birth of Satoru Gojo another clan also welcomed a miracle birth.

M/n Goto was born a god among mortals.

From the moment he opened his eyes he was automatically better than everyone, worth more than anyone…except…

M/n Goto forced the pedestal to grow.

Satoru Gojo tipped the balance of the scales and M/n Goto totally destroyed the scale.

All curse users went into hiding, curses became almost completely inactive for an entire year following the birth of two gods.

During the first few years of their lives they remained blissfully unaware of how deep their destinies intertwine, how truly connected they are.

The day they met was another day to go down in the history books.

Two lone gods, wandering a world that will forever be beneath them, filled with people who will forever be beneath them.

Their paths cross and in that moment time stands still for the young gods, a feeling they’ve never experienced, a sudden tugging at their souls, telling them to turn around and they do.

Crystal-like icy blue orbs clash with star-like fiery red orbs and in that moment two lonely gods became a little less lonely.

The two grew close much to the dismay of many. They knew of their places in the world and they knew no one else understands but them. No one else understands they’re cursed children.

Days of meeting for play dates turned into weekend sleepovers, weekend sleepovers turned into months of bonding, months slowly turned into years and M/n and Satoru thrived, they grew and changed but their bond only got deeper.

They pushed each other to the limits, forcing the other to evolve and keep up and evolve they did.

By the age of 15 they were both Special Grade sorcerers heading into their first year at Jujutsu tech.

Their relationship has also evolved over the years much like their power.

They’re best friends, sure they’re closer than most best friends. They have regular sleepovers and share the same bed, unable to fall asleep without cuddling and sure they are affectionate in public, always staying glued to the others side, an arm around a shoulder here, hands resting on the others hips there and maybe they have kissed a few times but that’s just them being best friends, totally platonic!

Do they have an unspoken agreement to reject any advances from other people? Yes.

Do they acknowledged the agreement? No, that’s why its unspoken, just like the reason they reject everyone else, an unspoken mutual agreement to be each others and only each others without putting any labels on it, besides its not like there’s anyone else alive that could ever tear them apart, come between them or even stand on the same level as them.

Suguru Geto.

The moment M/n and Satoru met Suguru their pedestal was forced to widen again.

They were confronted by another and they had mixed feelings about sharing.

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

Okay so I was thinking of making this into an entire fic but im not sure.

I have a lot of ideas already, especially about the in depth relationship of the three of them and how they would function.

It would focus on M/n, Satoru and Suguru and how their relationship develops throughout the years in Jujutsu Tech and what would happen during the hidden inventory arc with M/n present and how he would affect the story.

There will be smut of course with Domtop Amab M/n and Subbot Satoru and Suguru .

Let me know if I should make a full on fic or just a smut with a bit of plot sprinkled in~!

#akumakosuketoughts #dom male reader #seme male reader #top male reader #male reader #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru x male reader #gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x male reader #geto suguru #suguru x male reader #geto x male reader #suguru geto x male reader #sub jjk

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luveline · 14 days

Note

missing eddie and roan rn🥲

can we get something were roan brings home flowers she picked during recess for reader🫶

Eddie and Roan —Eddie’s daughter brings you a bouquet when you’re sick. (step)mom!reader

Roan skips up the path to the house with a big smile. “Dad, come on!” she demands.

Eddie’s trying to carry three paper bags of groceries and close the trunk at the same time. He is not receptive to criticism at this present moment. “Shut up, babe.”

“You shut up!”

“You first.” He drops the keys by accident. “Ro, can you come and grab these for me? Thank you.”

She races to grab the keys and then back to the door. “Dad, COME ON!”

“You’re being super rude and irate right now but I forgive you,” Eddie says, yanking the door open to let her inside, “because I know you’re hangry.”

“Not hangry!” she denies, bursting into the hallway and kicking her shoes so hard against the shoe rack that the top layer of your work shoes topple onto the floor. “Mom!” she shouts, one word lined heavily with joy even now. She’s been calling you mom for months and it doesn’t get any less exciting for her, clearly. “Y/N! Y/N, I got you something! Where are you?”

“I’m in bed!” you call, sounding excited yourself, if a little confused. “What did you get me?”

Eddie wasn’t aware of any gifts. He puts the groceries on the counter in the kitchen and follows his charge up the stairs, curious and not wanting to put stuff away anyhow. Roan tumbles into the master bedroom still wearing her red vinyl coat, door slamming into the wall, you wincing in bed.

Eddie winces too. “Ro,” he says desperately, “come on, bub, she’s in bed rest, remember? So we’re being careful about loud noises. I told you twice today already.”

“Sorry! I just want to see you,” she says, straight to your side and arms up expecting to be helped.

You pull her into your lap. “I’m sick of resting anyways.”

Eddie intercepts Roan’s hug to lean down over you and give you a gentle kiss, of which you are extremely receptive. He gets butterflies thinking about you to this day, and having you raise your chin to receive him intensifies them by half, then whole as your lips do finally touch.

“Okay day?” he asks.

“Really quiet,” you say, tugging Roan up into your chest before she can get jealous.

“Head?” he asks.

“Fine. Barely a headache anymore.”

Eddie bites his lip. Not too long ago you were in a hospital bed practically catatonic. He cannot afford to be uncareful with you. You’re too much to him.

“Promise?” he asks.

You’re distracted from answering by small hands on your face. “Mommy, I was talking to you first.”

“Sorry, baby, yes you were.” You sink further down. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Roan could forgive you for almost anything. She wiggles where she’s sitting on your stomach, hands clumsy at the bottom of her coats zipper, her chest rising and falling after her sprint up the stairs. Eddie and Roan are still both cold enough to have it emanating from their coats, but you don’t care, you just want your after school cuddle.

Eddie peels out of his coat at the same time, takes his shoes off with some self-chastisement (mud upstairs is awful and rude of him and he’ll spend the evening trying to rub it out of the rug because you really like the rug and he likes you), and sits on the bed by your feet.

“Oh, what have you got?” you ask warmly.

Eddie bends his head to watch her pull flowers from her overall pocket, one small stem at a time. Daisies and buttercups with petals smaller than her fingernails. They keep coming, ten then twenty, maybe thirty flowers on your chest. The stems are broken, but they’re all more alive than anyone could have hoped for considering they’d been sandwiched in her pocket for hours.

“These are for me?” you ask.

“All for you. Except this one for dad,” she says, picking up one of the bigger daisies. “And maybe this one for me.” She grabs a buttercup for herself.

“Aw, thanks baby. These are gonna make me better, huh?”

She looks like him when she smiles. Cheesy, cute, she arranges the flowers in a bouquet in her hand and presents it to you grandly. “I picked them at school behind the wooden house. Do you like ‘em?”

“I love them,” you pronounce, just as grand but not half as loud.

“I love you.”

“You cheesball,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

“Ignore him.” You touch her cheek with a fondness that makes his jaw ache thinking about the love behind it. “I love you too.”

“And you’ll be better soon,” Roan says.

Eddie can answer that one. He holds your ankle through the sheets, and gives your calf a quick stroke. “She’s gonna be a hundred percent any day now, bug. Better be extra gentle with her to help her along.”

Roan rubs her bouquet of flowers softly under your chin. “I’m gentle,” she whispers.

You rake your fingers through her hair, a half centimetre a second, fingertips drawing down between her shoulders. Such a mom thing to do, Roan dissolves like sugar paper in the rain.

Eddie smiles. “Alright, I’m jealous.”

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help-itrappedmyself · 2 months

Text

Summoning Game Show Part 7

Masterpost

Okay. This is technically the end of Summoning Game Show! There is room to write more, but that probably won't be coming for a little bit. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and sharing. I am so so happy that people liked it and interacted and everything. I had a great time and I hope you like the end.

~~~~~

Red, Nightwing, and Robin soon find themselves in an office/meeting room of sorts. They’re seated on a couch in front of a table.

Danny closes the door behind them. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t think you could drink it.”

Danny takes a seat on a loveseat across the table from them. He has a small green dog with a spiky collar sitting in his lap and he pets him absentmindedly as he gets settled. Robin is laser focused on the dog.

“What would you guys like to talk about?”

“Who is that?” Robins asks immediately.

“This is Cujo!” Danny smiles down at the Cujo and he wags his tail when he hears his name. “You guys don’t mind him being in here right? He’s mostly well behaved.”

Robins shakes his head. “We don’t mind. Just…”

“Ah, dead animal. Well, animals get ghosts too.” Danny explains. “ Personally, I like to think that Cujo is happy.”

“His collar says Axion Labs.”

Danny nods at Robin, fingers playing with the collar. “ He used to be a guard dog for them.”

“What-” Robin is cuts off as Danny and Cujo start glowing more brightly, Cujo starts growling and his form flickers.

“Never- never- ask a ghost how they died.” The boys all nodded, and Danny and Cujo stabilized as they calmed down. “It’s very rude. Now, to business, why did you want to summon me? ”

“We do a lot of travel, space, dimensions and everything and we just wanted to learn more about this realm. Maybe set up communications, that kind of thing. A learning experience.” Nightwing explains.

“I mean, we clearly don’t know enough considering we didn’t know you could help Hood. Or that he needed help in the first place.” Red mutters the last bit.

Danny eyes them all warily. “Historically, we don’t really do well when people want to learn more about us. What exactly do you need this information for?

“”Just to learn. I told you, I like to know things.” Red said.

“Well, I can’t just give out any information, but if you want to ask me some questions until Hood gets back, I’ll answer what I can.”

“What is this place actually called?” Nightwing asks.

“Oh, it has lots of names, because it’s lots of places. This is the Infinite Realms, home to all afterlives and the dimension between dimensions.”

“Home to all afterlives?” Red is flabbergasted. Red wasn’t sure that he believed in any afterlives, and now there are multiple? “So you’re all dead?”

“No.” They wait a moment but Danny does not elaborate.

“So there are living people here?” Nightwing asks.

“Obviously.”Danny makes a face at them. “Everyone here is living. You need better terminology. Humans are very narrow when it comes to life and death.”

“That’s because usually you’re either dead or alive.” Robin is struggling to comprehend the possibility of an in-between.

“That seems very narrow-minded coming from people who came here with someone both alive and dead.”

“Hood?” Red asks.

“Hood is alive.” Nightwing states.

“And dead!” Danny chirps. “There are many in-betweens, most leaning to one side or the other. Hood leans more towards being alive, but his being alive is dependent on ectoplasm, so he’s at least a little dead. Though the fact that he was able to live with the ectoplasm he has means that he is mostly alive.”

“What is ectoplasm and how did Hood get it?” Red is very curious now.

“Oh, everything. Most of the Infinite Realms is made out of ectoplasm , including most creatures in it. “ Danny puts his hand together and green liquid pools in it. The same green as everything outside.

“So, that’s probably the Lazarus pits.” Red mutters. “ Explains the exposure bit.”

“You have ectoplasm in your dimension?” Danny asks.

The boys nod. “There are a few pools of it around. One guy in particular likes to hoard them to keep from dying.”

Danny frowns.

“That’s a violation. Ectoplasm is poisonous for humans, radioactive.” Danny complains. “And if his ectoplasm is as bad as the ectoplasm in your friend, that is not healthy.”

“It would be, he’s the one who exposed Hood to it in the first place.”

Danny groans. “Alright, I’m going to need a list of all the locations you know of in your dimension, and if you have a way for me to contact whoever is hoarding the ectoplasm that would be great. I’m going to have to take care of that.”

There’s a knock on the door and Danny calls, “Come in!”

Frostbite opens the door for Hood, who comes in without his helmet, but with a mask on. “Guys, this is my new doctor. He’s great.” Hood says.

“Glad you’re doing better!” Danny smiles at them both as Hood takes a seat. Frostbite nods his head, then leaves again, shutting the door behind him. “Frostbite gave you a rundown of what’s to do and what’s going to happen now that you have healthy ectoplasm?”

“Yep, explained all the side effects, but I’m already feeling much better.”

“Wonderful! So If you guys wouldn’t mind just giving me that information so I can follow up on it, I think we’re done here.”Danny stands, putting Cujo on the seat as he vacates it.

“We would like to be able to get in contact with you, if you’re coming to our dimension, that way we can tell the rest of the heroes what you’re up to and everything. Is there any way to communicate between our dimensions?” Red asks.

“Frostbite also said I would need to discuss a way to get fresh ectoplasm from you until I can create my own reliably.” Jason cuts in.

“Well, looks like I have lots of business in your dimension. Do you guys have communicators that you use? Anything from your dimension on you right now?”

They all nod. “Cool, hand me something, two-way, that you don’t mind losing because after I fix it up you won’t be able to contact anyone except for me on it.”

Red hands him a phone, Danny opens it up and messes with the insides before putting it back together. Then he turns it on and calls his Ghost business phone so he would have the number. He hands Red back the phone, picking his own up. “What should I name you guys? Is it always going to be Red on the phone?”

“Probably not.” Red says. “Especially if Hood needs things from you as well. Just put us under Bats.”

“Bats is weird, but whatever you say.” Danny finishes with his phone and smiles up at them. “Thanks for competing! I’ll be in touch.”

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up.

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well?

DINGUS: so it seemed.

ARGYLE 😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour.

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe.

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance?

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next?

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve.

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first.

He’s making no move to get up off the floor.

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.”

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through.

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious.

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you.

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion.

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?”

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.”

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything.

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?”

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.”

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.”

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms.

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush?

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively.

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.”

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.”

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit.

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?”

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better.

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.”

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.”

“Then consider this your notice.”

Is this what I had always been missing out on?

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning.

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever.

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?”

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.”

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.”

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you.

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there.

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home.

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really.

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions.

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation.

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.”

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?”

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?”

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?”

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.”

“What have you guys been doing?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.”

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?”

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says.

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.”

“Am I?”

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder.

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.”

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.”

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.”

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.”

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet.

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.”

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket.

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.”

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over.

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now.

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around.

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.”

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night.

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly.

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center.

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well.

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it.

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches.

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now.

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now.

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.”

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.”

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.”

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?”

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t.

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing.

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it.

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to.

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave.

Eddie’s quick to follow.

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure.

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C.

Leaving now is not leaving forever.

But it sure does feel like it.

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave.

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you.

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?”

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?”

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck.

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.”

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you.

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Time. You two needed time apart.

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet.

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away.

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful.

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went.

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart.

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.”

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.”

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat.

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind?

That wasn’t really complicated.

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.”

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes.

You wish you would have kissed him.

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-”

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend.

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours.

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be.

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems.

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted.

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you.

Rough’s a good way to put it.

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it.

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend.

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy.

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress.

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie.

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along.

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless.

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration.

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again.

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two. And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s.

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two.

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him.

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time.

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to.

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears.

EDDIE: Make it home okay?

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now.

YOU: yep. my roommate just left.

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember?

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud.

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone.

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams.

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care.

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened.

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now.

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds.

EDDIE: Ah. I see.

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over?

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems.

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down.

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours.

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos.

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you.

YOU: About what?

EDDIE: I’m not home right now.

Your heart clenches.

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not.

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere.

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is.

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step.

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you.

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him.

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues.

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist.

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.”

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter.

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool.

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?”

“Start over?” you question wearily.

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.”

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves.

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.”

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I��m Eddie.”

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you.

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss.

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home.

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.”

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #this feels so surreal to post jesus christ #thank you guys genuinely for all the love #i will be making a sappy post before i post the epilogue on thursday #i just #wow #yeah #i did it #again #i finished a fucking fic

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coaaster · 3 months

Text

Cold Sheets;

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ - minors DNI!)

Word Count: ~1560

Summary: Jason wakes up to an empty bed.

Warnings: Smut (hinted at and described in one scene), possibly OOC Jason, reader described working as a nurse, self-indulgent ngl, slight angst with a happy ending :)

A/N: I’m in love with Jason Todd, it’s actually a problem.

—

Last night was probably one of the best (and hardest) moments of Jason Todd’s life.

You and Jason have been in a long standing, strictly friends-with-benefits relationship. Recently, though, there’s been more emphasis on the friends part, with the two of you occasionally going over to each other’s houses just to hang out and spend the night. After patrol last night, and upon returning to his depressingly empty apartment, Jason called you. And this time, not for a booty call. He knew you would’ve just finished a late night shift as a nurse, so you were no doubt looking to return home and sleep. But after a particularly gruelling patrol, Jason needed to know that you were alive and breathing.

The feeling in his chest when he thought about you while on patrol couldn’t be ignored anymore. Though Jason was the one to set such strict boundaries on your relationship, he couldn’t help but feel you needed to know his feelings had changed. He wanted more with you. But he wouldn’t tell you that tonight. For now, he just needed you in his arms. That thought alone was the only one keeping his guilt at bay for keeping you awake just a little longer. You answered the phone, clearly exhausted, but warm to the idea of going to Jason’s to sleep.

And, for all intents and purposes, Jason would have let you do just that. His cock was half hard already from the adrenaline rush of patrolling, but it shouldn’t have mattered. He could see how exhausted you were as you walked through the door. But as soon as he had you in his arms, his mouth on yours, he couldn’t stop himself. His tongue was in your mouth, and despite the obvious exhaustion on your face, you responded just as enthusiastically, understandably tense from another long shift.

“Need you, baby.” Jason whispers into your mouth, before fucking you every which way he could on any surface, until finally ending up in his bed.

Jason noticed the sex between you two getting noticeably softer over the months, inevitably leading up to this particular night. With your soft voice calling out his name, both your hands intertwined and your pussy seemingly extra snug this night, a confession had basically been pulled out of him. How much he needed and wanted you, how he couldn’t sleep tonight without knowing you were okay. How he wanted more. So much for waiting to tell you. Sweat dripped from Jason’s brow as he fucked into you so deep that you (hopefully) couldn’t think too hard on his words. The occasional comment on how tight and wet and perfect your pussy was for him was sprinkled in here and there, of course. But you, smart as you were, knew that this wasn’t just a sex thing, and you looked deep into his eyes and whimpered that you felt the same. That you needed him, worried about him when he was out on patrol. Your own winded confession had Jason coming on the spot. It was almost embarrassing if you didn’t look so cock-drunk because of it. You both lasted another round, Jason whispering more sweet nothings into your ear and you whimpering out in overstimulation. You both fell asleep wrapped up in each other's arms.

Upon waking up, Jason’s chest warms at how last night turned out. You very easily could have rejected him, could have said that you didn’t want his feelings on top of the amazing sex. But you didn’t. Yet when he turns to look at the other side of the bed, his chest goes cold. It’s empty. The sheets are rumpled, and when he runs a hand over them, they’re cold to the touch. He checks his phone quickly to see if you’ve left a message, or the nightstand for a notepad with your writing on it. Surely you would have left a message if you had gone out. But both are empty.

Jason sighs in resignation and wonders. Maybe he did come on too strong. You probably just wanted to have some nice, stress-relieving sex after a long shift, free of feelings, and then sleep. Or maybe it was just a heat of the moment thing for you, Jason thinks. That thought hurts Jason more than he cares to admit.

Jason grumbles as he gets up, pulling on some briefs lying on his chair of yet-to-be-folded laundry. He lives alone, so the action is unnecessary, but he doesn’t feel particularly up to seeing his naked self in the mirror. Not so soon after last night, anyway.

When Jason goes to walk through his bedroom door, he hears a clattering sound coming from the kitchen. Immediately, Jason thinks there must be an intruder. What else could it possibly be?

Momentarily forgetting that his apartment has one of the best security systems in the city, Jason turns the corner, armed with a candle holder. It’s not a gun, but in the hands of a trained killer, it would do. Chose the wrong house on the wrong fucking day, buddy, Jason thinks.

But upon entering the kitchen, Jason sees… you? You’re humming under your breath, standing over a fresh pot of coffee, dressed in… is that his shirt?! Jason can’t help the little skip in his chest at the sight of you. Well, this is infinitely better than an intruder. He was so sure you’d left, too overwhelmed with the knowledge of his feelings for you. But you’re here. He never should have doubted you.

Jason chuckles, dumping his makeshift weapon on to a side table. You jump at the sound, turning to see a very much awake Jason Todd.

“Oh! Morning, I made us some coff-“ Jason’s arms wrap around your waist, head buried into the crook of your neck. “-ee?” You wrap your arms around Jason’s shoulders, running a hand through his undercut.

“Everything okay?” you whisper lightly, listening to the sounds of Jason’s breathing. He turns his head, burying his nose into your hair instead.

Jason hums an affirmative and pulls back to look you in the eye. “Thought you left without saying goodbye this morning,” he says, half joking as if to not worry you. He lifts a hand from your waist, his fingers running over your cheek and down your jaw in the hopes of distracting you from his concern. It doesn’t work, because you know him so well. You hold his hand against your cheek, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

“Nah, I just needed my morning coffee.” You kiss his hand again, “Probably would’ve woken you up if I was going somewhere, anyway.” Jason hums, satisfied with your answer. You clear your throat.

“So, about last night…” Jason’s face drops. He knew this conversation was coming, but he would’ve appreciated a bit of a roll around in the sheets before it happened.

Jason returns his hands to your waist and looks you in the eye. “If it’s too much for you, we can just ignore it.” Though it hurts Jason to say, he knows it’s true. He could pretend to never have said what he did, and even abandon the whole ‘with-benefits’ part of your friendship. As long as he got to be near you, that was enough.

You raise your eyebrows in response. “Oh.” You look disappointed for a moment. “Well. I was going to say that if you really meant what you said last night, then you should probably take me out on a date, but…”

Jason’s face blanks. “Wait, what?” That was not the direction he thought this conversation was taking. His heart beats faster in anticipation.

You blink up at him. “What do you mean, what? Hang on, were you just saying that to get off or-“

“No, no, of course not, I-“ Jason breaths in slowly and then looks back at you. “Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

You’re bewildered for a moment but Jason quickly explains.

“Let me take you out on a date. A proper one.” He steps in closer, cupping your face. “I did mean everything I said last night. I want more with you. So- fuck, I’ve never done this before.”

You roll your eyes playfully, muttering a clearly under your breath, which Jason pinches you on the cheek for in jest.

Jason’s grinning now, and a smile is spreading on your face, too, “Let me take you to that Italian place you always talk about. Tonight.”

You tap your chin as if in thought, “Hmm, I don’t know, I’m pretty busy tonight…”

“Liar.”

You gasp dramatically at his accusation, but he’s smiling, at least. Considering he knows your schedule back to front, you’re not surprised he would call you out so quickly.

You pull him closer by his thick waist, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. The tops of his cheeks turn a shade of red and you can’t help but think that, despite Jason’s large size, he was still so fucking cute.

“Yes, Jason Todd. Take me out to dinner.”

Jason looks down at your smiling face, wraps his large hands around your waist and sighs. He leans down to kiss you, without the intention of it leading to more. Because he can just do that now.

Scratch what Jason said about last night. This is the best moment of his life.

—

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc #red hood #jason todd #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #jason todd fluff #i’m gnawing at the bars of mY enclosure to get to this man #dc drabble #jason todd drabble #jason todd x reader drabble #jason todd u silly goose how could u EVER think i’d leave you behind

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bonny-kookoo · 3 months

Text

Jungkook

YEARNING || Intro

Some meetings are nothing but fleeting coincidence- others are what we call fate.

Tags/Warnings: Dragonblood!Prince!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Some fluff if you squint?, Jungkook is emotionally constipated oops

Length: 4.8k Words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

It’s been a long time since you’ve been put in your cell, and yet, you don’t provide the castle guards with any answers they might seek.

The straw pinches and picks at your skin, but it’s warm and soft whenever you sleep. The food you receive is barely enough to fill you, but it keeps you alive, and gives you something to do during the day. The only sunlight you get is from a small, barred up opening far up on the back wall of your cell- one of many, placed in rows, but always with a wall in between each cage to separate the prisoners. Isolate them.

Today, it’s raining.

Two guards enter the hall underground you’re in, opening your cell. “looks like you’ll get a shower.” One chuckles, before he puts the shackles around your wrists, tugging you out by the chain that connects them to one another. This is also not new. Sometimes, they’ll put you out in the snow, or the wind, or today- the rain.

But you’ve got nothing to say.

The light stings your eyes as you can hardly see, stumbling more than walking after the guard who chains your hands to a large, wooden construct meant to hold onto the chain from your shackles. “Maybe it’ll wash the grime off.” The guard jokes to the one next to him, before he leaves your already shivering body behind.

As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you look up- finally able to see the flying dragons above clearly, their wings keeping them circling in the skies, colors mixing.

This is why you’re here.

Dragons are seen as dangerous, wild and violent creatures that humanity needs to be protected from. Therefore, dragon eggs and nests need to be reported, and any sightings too- so when you failed to do so, and even offered a once injured beast shelter, you’ve made yourself an enemy to the kingdom.

Especially because you refuse to reveal where it went after you’ve nursed it back to health.

And you will continue to stay quiet, because you know that dragons aren’t the vile beings they’re made out to be. No- the real beasts are the humans here, who enslave their own people just for choosing to help an injured creature that’s not of the same kind.

This isn’t fair.

And if that is what life is all about- you don’t want it.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

They throw a young man into the cell right next to yours, where you’re still laying on the floor, still recovering from the rain and cold from yesterday.

He can’t be just a normal human being- the jewelry he still wears on his face and ears distinctive, just like the ink beneath his skin. He’s probably one of the dragonblood people.

He watches you for a good while, before he actually speaks, quietly so. “what did you do?” He asks, and your eyes look at him from where you’re laying on the floor near the hay.

“…I hid a dragon from the kingdom.” You answer just as quietly, eyes closing again.

“Why?” the young man asks.

“Because it.. was hurt.” You simply offer the truth.

“Did they survive?” He questions further, and you nod, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Can you hear them?” the man asks, but you shake your head.

“I’m not one of them.” You answer. “I’m just.. human.” You tell him, and he falls quiet again.

Having nothing more to say.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Today, they’ve taken you both out again. Him in the cage, you chained up near him, hands bound by shackles attached to a wooden post.

It’s nighttime, and they’ve not yet taken you back inside like usual.

“You cannot hear them..” Comes a voice from the side, the young man turned towards you, the fire of a nearby torch reflecting off of his dark eyes. You nod- he’s most likely been imprisoned for a reason regarding dragons as well. “and yet you helped them?”

You shrug, which is barely noticeable amongst your shaking body. “..it felt unfair t-to leave it and l-let it be captured.” You admit to him. “E-everything was fine.” You say, and he just watches you, only a few larger dragons now left in the skies above. “but- b-but then I fought with my brother. And so he wrote a letter t-to the court.” You giggle, remembering the poor writing of his. Frankly, you couldn’t write at all- but still. For someone who thinks so highly of himself such as your brother, he sure lacks in every task and talent.

“What did you fight about?” the young man wonders.

“H-he had told me I had t-to leave the house we inherited from our p-parents, because he’d found a potential woman for himself.” You say. “A-and I told him to at least let me stay in the c-cabin close by.” You explain, voice stammering due to the cold. “He said I couldn’t. So we fought. Because.. I had nowhere else to go.” You admit. “I was scared.”

The young man is silent at that.

“can you hear them?” You ask, eyes closed as you hear his own chains move around with him as he adjusts his sitting position.

“I can.” He tells you, and you smile.

“Do you think they know?” You wonder, an open question he interprets as you asking if they know of your past actions for them. “maybe t-that’s why they’re above..” you figure, and it’s quiet for a moment.

“They know.” He tells you, and you nod, accepting that answer. He’s most likely just trying to comfort you, and you appreciate that. Your shivering slowly stops, and you know it’s not a good sign.

“I’m glad.” You say to him, tension leaving your body as you open your eyes again- surprised to see him look at you still, but his gaze doesn’t unsettle you like it does the guards. Maybe because to you, he’s an equal. He’s just as much in this situation as you are.

“Hold on a bit longer.” He says, and you’re not sure what he means by that- when suddenly, something crashes down, sky darkening as it fills with dragons, fire filling up the ground for a moment as one of them shields the young man from the guards approaching. He’s saying something, you’re not sure what- as his cage is torn and bent apart, steel unable to hold it’s shape against the claws of the beasts claiming the skies and mountains as theirs.

A dark brown dragon approaches you, bites at the chains of your shackles, before they break and have you released- body falling to the wet ground, where it is picked up by hands to be placed on the back of the beast.

You’re not very aware what happens. You just feel cold- and oddly warm, all at the same time.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

When you wake up, you’re warm- and also, not alone.

There’s multiple little.. animals? All laying on the blankets that cover you- and as you look closer, you realize they’re young dragons. “Oh, you’re awake.” A man says, noticing your opened eyes. “I was worried you might need more time. My name is Seokjin.” He offers, before adjusting a pillow. “You’re.. somewhere safe. That’s all you need to know for now.” He kindly offers, when the door opens.

“Oh, she’s up.” The other man says, politely nodding towards you. “I’ll tell the kitchen that she’ll eat too?” He asks, and Seokjin nods.

“But only some soup for now, the same as the others we took in.” He explains. “and yes, that includes Jungkook. Make sure he doesn’t steal anything from the kitchen.” He says, as the man chuckles and leaves. “That was Taehyung, by the way. He’s mainly responsible for the young hatchlings- but he’s also in charge of handling the new Hiwerns we took in.”

“…Hiwern?” You wonder, and Seokjin nods.

“yes. Hiwerns- are you not one?” he wonders as be helps you sit up. “Jungkook didn’t tell us much about you, so I assumed you were- despite you being rather.. small.” He says, and only now do you notice how tall he is.

“Jungkook?” you ask, unsure. “the.. other prisoner?” You ask, and Seokjin smiles.

“Yes. He was taken after he got caught off guard.. but we all know what the prince is like.” He laughs, making your eyes widen. “Wait.. you.. seem confused.”

“I am.” You say. “I’m not.. I don’t know anything about a.. prince?” You question, when someone walks in-

The man you remember.

“Jin, why do I need to keep eating soup- oh.” He notices, looking at you before his face becomes more gentle. “Hello. It’s good to see you up.”

“She’s a bit confused.” Seokjin says, as Jungkook nods.

“I figured.” He simply sighs. “I’ll talk to you later. I’d like to talk to her alone right now.” He requests, and Seokjin leaves, while Jungkook stays behind to sit on the edge of your bed.

He looks different. Skin clean, and dressed in clearly well made clothes- fit for a prince, like Seokjin had mentioned. “ask away. You must have many questions judging by the way you look.” Jungkook says, and you look to the little dragon hatchling that curls up near your legs, continuing to sleep.

“Hiwern.” You begin. “What.. is that?” You wonder.

“I’m a Hiwern. So is he, and almost everyone else here.” He simply replies. “Hiwerns are.. people who have dragon blood inside of them. We’re like.. descendants of the more traditional dragons, so to say. That’s why we can hear them, and speak their language.” He offers as an explanation. “that’s a very simplified version of it all. But you don’t need to know much more than that.” Jungkook says.

“…and you’re a prince?” You ask a bit more hesitant, and he nods.

“I am. At least, for the Hiwern people.” He shrugs. “for your people I’m nothing more than a monster.” He says, and you shamefully look down.

“What.. what is going to happen to me?” You wonder, and he just smiles as he gets up, hissing a bit probably due to his injuries he sustained while captured.

“You’ll heal. After that, we’ll bring you back to your people.” He reassures you, as he opens the door to let Seokjin back inside-

Leaving you with a dark wish to never heal at all.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

The snow is deep, as you and Jungkook walk through the woods in the mountains together.

You’re humming a song that catches his attention, making him turn to look at you over his shoulder. “how do you know this song?” He questions.

“My mother hummed it often. I just.. picked it up.” You answer a bit hesitant. “I can stop if you want..” you say, but he shakes his head.

“its no problem.” He answers. “your voice is.. soothing to listen to.”

“What is.. the song about?” You ask, awkwardly asking your questions because you don’t want to overstep a line- but this is a unique opportunity to satisfy some curiosity you’ve always had.

“The song of the daughter.” He answers. “it’s.. a tale of the first Hiwern daughter of the mountains.” Jungkook explains. “according to.. tales, there were once four daughters born from a dragon mother. One in the mountains, one near the sea, one in the desert, and one in the woods.” He recites. “and they gave their gift of dragonblood to their children, and so on. That’s how.. we apparently came to be. Sons and daughter’s born and travelled, and we eventually formed our own society.” He shrugs.

“So.. there’s Hiwerns all over the world?” You ask, and he nods.

“But since the royal families have made the act of dragon-speech illegal, we have been hiding.” He explains. “where is.. your family?” Jungkook asks as he walks further down the mountains with you.

“My mother was hung a few years ago, for.. the same thing I was supposed to be hung for.” You say, walking next to him. “but.. they didn’t hang me, because they wanted me to tell them where the dragon went.” You explain. “so they could find the nest.”

Jungkook stays quiet for a while, before he speaks again. “You said you have a brother?” Jungkook asks, and you nod.

“I was living with him after my mother died. Until.. he sent a letter out that exposed what I’d done.” You say.

“He’s a human too, I assume?” Jungkook wonders, and you nod your head.

“though we are only somewhat blood related. We have the same father, but not the same mother.” You tell him. He nods, quietly, before he walks further.

“this is as far as I’ll take you.” He says, before offering the bag to you. “There’s rations in here, and something to help you on your way.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You tell him, but he shakes his head.

“take it as.. me repaying the kindness you’ve shown before.” He offers. Under different circumstances, he would’ve let you stay with him- but he can’t simply trust a kind face and gentle hands in times like these.

You’re still human. And humans can’t be trusted.

So you nod your goodbye, quietly, as you walk away from him and towards an uncertain future-

Leaving the prince with a slightly bitter taste on his tongue.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Jungkook knows what the dragons are doing just a few days after you left- but that doesn’t mean he quite understands their reasons for doing it.

Sure, you’ve helped a young dragon in the past. And sure, you’ve been very sweet to the hatchlings too for the very short time you’ve been here. But why do all dragons seem to have this.. strange interest in you?

“You seem in thought.” Namjoon asks, as he places his books back into their respective spots in his library.

“I am.” Jungkook’s responds, looking out the window. “There’s.. do the dragons seem to be acting.. strange to you?” He asks, and Namjoon turns around to face him.

“..You’re talking about her.” He says, and Jungkook nods.

“They’re not very clear in their reasoning as to why they seem so interested in her.” Jungkook says. “and it’s most certainly neither prey drive nor distrust.”

“Its curiosity.” Namjoon finishes, as he puts another book between two others to keep them all in order. “Maybe because she’s living out in the open. From what I’ve heard, she’s not gone to any villages yet.”

“No.” the prince denies. “they.. almost watch over her.” He shakes his head, arms crossed. “Feann keeps flying over the area she currently resides in. And Gowren apparently keeps her company at night.” He explains, remembering the things he’s heard from the wild dragons of the area. “But they refuse to tell me their reasons as to why.”

“protectiveness. Interesting, considering she’s got no Hiwern blood.” Namjoon agrees with the prince’s suspicion. “they should naturally be wary of her- but if you remember, the hatchlings didn’t mind her either.” He offers.

You definitely spoke the truth when claiming that you were human, that much he knows. So why this interest in you?

“Maybe you could send out someone to check up on her.” Namjoon says. “I know this is making you nervous.”

“I probably have to.” Jungkook agrees. “I don’t want them to become too friendly with a human. The younglings might misunderstand, and lose their natural fear of humans.” He worries, and Namjoon nods.

“How about you send out Hoseok? Yoongi might be human, but he would most likely just intimidate her.” He proposes. “and, Hoseok is faster.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook nods. “thank you.” He nods,

Walking out the library to find the man in question right away.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“Oh.” You say, spotting Hoseok walking towards you. You’ve seen him before, fleetingly, but you can remember faces well.

“You’ve come fairly far.” The man tells you, before he nods politely, and sets down a small bag of things. “these are sent by Seokjin.” He informs you, and you accept the bag that’s filled with some foods for you to eat, as well as a blanket.

“I- I’ll be out of the area soon, I promise.” You tell Hoseok. “I’m just.. not that fast.”

“There’s no need to rush, really-“ He starts, when suddenly, a young but large dragon clumsily makes its way down to instead almost.. shield you from the man?

“Huh?” you’re caught off guard, and mostly confused.

“This is.. something else.” Hoseok says, before he says something in a language you don’t understand- and you take it as a message to leave, as you slowly get up from your spot, to bury the remnants of the little fire you made, so you don’t draw too much attention to your existence. “where are you going?” Hoseok asks.

“Away.” You answer. “I’m not sure where to.. but I really don’t want to cause any problems for you or anyone else, really.” You explain yourself. “Prince Jungkook gave me the chance to be set free and start over- it would be ungrateful not to take it.” You tell him, and he nods.

It's not his place to question your actions.

And so he makes his way back, returns to the safety of his home and hidden town hidden by the high up mountains, where Namjoon already informs him that the prince wants to hear what he’s found right away.

“She gives her thanks. For the supplies I’ve given her- though I did not reveal the actual sender, like you told me to.” Hoseok says as he sits down with Jungkook, who’s just finished eating in his room.

“..was she well?” He asks, and the older Hiwern nods.

“She seemed fairly good given her situation.” He offers. “she is leaving the area as we speak.”

“I did not tell you to send her away.” Jungkook growls a bit argumentative, and Hoseok shakes his head.

“I know. It’s her choice she made herself.” He instead answers, though it doesn’t seem to pacify the prince very much. “why? She’s right in saying that it is for the best.”

“Id argue against that. Its for our best- but not hers.” Jungkook mumbles, understanding very well that you can’t just waltz back into the human towns as if nothing happened. You’re still wanted after all- and this time they won’t be so lenient, he’s sure of it.

“How come you’re so concerned, yet you sent her away?” Hoseok asks, curious. “We’ve taken Yoongi in, years ago. So it’s not like what she is could be the problem.” He almost teases.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook answers, leaning his chin on his hand. “I don’t.. I’m not sure about her.”

“You’re scared of a human?” the older dragonblood laughs, but the prince just rolls his eyes.

“it’s not fear. But.. uncertainty.” He admits instead. “The dragons are awfully attached. And so is my blood.” He says, referring to his inner dragon. “I’ve been.. dreaming of her.”

“Oh no, I’d rather not know.” Hoseok jokes.

“Trust me, I’d rather have simple desire filled visions than.. whatever it is that’s going on. If it was just sexual dreams I’d at least have a proper explanation as to what I’m supposed to do about it.” Jungkook shakes his head. “But instead, I just.. hear her sing.”

“Sing?” Hoseok wonders, interested.

“Humming, to be precise. The song of the Daughter.” The prince explains. “it keeps echoing in my head, and it’s quite frankly starting to drive me crazy.”

“And you think sending her away will help?” the older man asks without needing an answer. “it’s what you think you need to do, but what you actually need-“ hoseok stands up to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “-is an answer.”

“..You’re right.” The prince runs a hand over his face. “I’ll send out someone to find her, and bring her here. I can’t go on like this.” He says with frustration, before getting up to talk to Namjoon.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Maybe, sending Yoongi was not quite the brightest idea the prince has had.

Because Yoongi notices quickly, that despite being on horseback, there’s no catching you. He’s spotted you already, has called out to you- but just like a freshly hatched dragon youngling, you seem to have an ingrown fear of anything remotely human. And the distrust is also clear, as you do not seem to care about his explanation of being sent by the Hiwern prince himself.

He can’t blame you. A former slave himself, he knows that his own kind is never to be believed.

There’s no arguing with you, as you play a game of hide and seek it seems like, and in a way, it’s almost an exciting change of pace for the usual slow and steady life in the mountains. “Please stop-!” He calls out again as he spots you once more-

But you’re running. And by the dragons above, you’re fast.

His horse is trying to keep up, even through the trees and bushes, but you’re at an advantage as you jump and duck your way left and right, until you find yourself out in the open, a river flowing past in quick motion. You would’ve had to cross it either way. There’s no way around it.

“Don’t do that!” Yoongi warns, well aware of the slippery stones and strong current most likely becoming a death trap if underestimated- and you seem to do just that, as you make your way through, legs soaking up the cold water. “stop- you’ll get hurt!” He calls out once more, but you just glare at him-

A fire equal to a dragon’s breath in your eyes.

And then, you slip, and fall right into the water, making Yoongi lead his horse as fast as it can run next to the riverbed, to keep an eye on you as best as he can- but the moment you seem to lose consciousness, he knows he’s lost.

“fuck!” Yoongi curses, horse refusing to move m as a dragon dives down from above to help- body blocking the river for a moment to catch yours against it, giving Yoongi an opportunity to drag you out and into the nearby grass.

The silvery dragon watches intensely as Yoongi helps you cough up the water swallowed, while others swarm the skies as if they heard the commotion and came to see for themselves. “can you hear me? What hurts?” Yoongi asks, concerned but also annoyed- and you just shiver for the moment, seemingly accepting whatever fate might fall onto you.

The fellow human sighs, before he moves to his horse to fetch a blanket he packs for emergencies- wrapping it around you, before he helps you onto its back to bring you where Jungkook had requested you to.

He's holding onto you with one arm, your body leaning against his front as you sit in front of him. “…how will I die?” You ask with a hoarse voice.

He chuckles. “hopefully not at all.” He answers. “The prince will already scold me enough for having you fall into the river.”

You sleepily watch the dragons above follow hou both- and decide that you believe him.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize.

“no need.” The man denies. “I can understand. And I would’ve been just as wary if I was you.” He offers.

“Why.. do I have to go back?” You wonder. “did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s nothing bad.” He reassures you, as he’s let through by the guards stationed a good while before the town begins. “you can sleep soon. Hold out a bit longer.” He requests, and you nod, trying hard to do just that.

But just as a concerned looking Hoseok and Seokjin help you down the horse, you can’t stay awake any longer.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“She’s still asleep.” Seokjin says, as Jungkook stands in front of the door to your room, as he’s been told.

“It is almost noon. I need to see her-“ the prince argues, but the older man shakes his head as he takes the hand from the door.

“She needs to rest first.” He urges.

“Rest?” Jungkook questions. “What happened?”

“According to Yoongi, she was scared and did not believe him when he told her he was sent by your request.” Jin explains. “She ran off, and fell into the river close to the south border of the woods. Qen helped- if she didn’t block the river and catch her, we most likely would’ve lost her.” He says.

Jungkook stares at the door.

“I’d like to see her, still.” He says, unsure why he feels this urge. He really should let you rest, but he at least wants to look at you, for reasons he’s not sure of.

“But do be quiet.” Seokjin sighs, as he opens the door to the room you’re sleeping in, a hatchling having entered from the window, sleeping soundly on your legs.

Jungkook walks in with stealth, not wanting to disturb your rest.

He stays near the door, not walking any closer, and it helps his ache quite a bit already to just see you sleep there. Like his mind if finally reassured again that you’re close by and taken care of, his chest feels lighter, not as constricted as before.

This is wrong.

The signs all point to one simple answer, and he knows it, as does Namjoon, and most likely Seokjin and Hoseok as well. But a connection like that can’t be, isn’t meant to work and shouldn’t be condoned nor explored by himself. You do not belong in his world, and neither does he belong into yours.

He has to fulfill his own blood’s final task, after all- bring a Hiwern child into this world, to keep his people alive for another generation. Something that only a hiwern Mother can do for him, as dragonblood is only given to the child by the mother, not the father.

He would betray his entire kind if he was to give into whatever this sick and twisted joke of nature is.

And he can’t do that, especially not as a prince. He’s got a duty to fulfill, he’s viewed as a leader and example. Anyone else would most likely be looked past- but not him. All eyes are on him, at all times.

He can’t do this.

So he instead makes his way out the door again, to find Namjoon and cut this bond before it can get any tighter.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“I do not care.” Jungkook argues, pacing from side to side in front of the window of his study, Namjoon sitting down with a troubled expression on his face. “Yoongis situation is not the same as mine. He will bring a Hiwern child into this world, I will not of I let this happen.” The prince argues.

“You don’t even know if she has any emotional connection to you.” Namjoon tries to explain. “If you would just take some time and-“

“And what? Let this bond grow until we both get hurt when we inevitably have to sever it?” The prince scoffs. “I will not be the reason my kind fails to survive.”

“You’re acting as if we’re on the brink of extinction..” Namjoon tells him. “What are you so scared of?” He worries, and Jungkook falls silent, as he looks outside the window.

“Of setting a wrong example.” He mumbles. “Even if the people accept it, what if it sets off a chain reaction I can’t control? Humans aren’t to be trusted, let alone get close to. The fear we teach our children has to stay intact.”

“And it will. Yoongi still can’t get close to any of the younger-“ Namjoon starts, but Jungkook snaps his head around, still upset.

“And yet she seems to be considered as a surrogate mother for the hatchlings. Namjoon, you’ve seen it too- I don’t know what sick joke they’re playing on me right now, but I can’t let this continue.” The prince says. “she will leave, after we separate the bond. And that’s final.”

“I hope you know that you’re asking a lot of me.” Namjoon lowly says, and Jungkook nods, serious.

“and if you can’t do it,” Jungkook says, before turning around again-

“Then I’ll find someone else who will.”

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook x reader

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daycourtofficial · 7 months

Text

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself

Summary: Cassian knows Azriel is seeing someone, but he keeps denying it and Cassian is determined to find out who he’s seeing

Author’s note: my personal headcanon is that Cassian is EXTREMELY nosy and loves knowing everyone’s personal business 💕 He’s just like me 💕

Azriel was seeing someone, Cassian was sure of it. The others think he’s being a bit too obsessed with the shadowsinger, but Cassian has a gut feeling that Az is seeing someone and purposefully hiding them.

Over the years, they’ve all had lovers and flings that they kept to themselves, mostly because they didn’t matter much and were casual, short-term things. This time feels different. Cassian thinks Az has been seeing someone secretly for months.

Az seems happier, he seems more reluctant to stay out drinking, he even delegated assignments that were “too long” to others.

Cassian needs to know who this fae is and whether or not they’re good enough for his beloved brother.

Unfortunately for Cassian, Azriel is the night court’s spymaster. He can’t exactly follow him around. He’s tried it. Azriel just maneuvered in and out of random shops, making Cassian go insane trying to find him.

He has concocted what he thinks is the perfect plan.

Cassian slept on the floor below Azriel’s. No one wanted to share a floor with Cassian because he “snores too loudly” or whatever they tell him. Fine by him, he gets an entire floor to himself.

The past few nights Cassian has been staying in one of the other rooms on his floor - the room directly underneath Azriel’s. He’s been staying up to see if he can hear any noises coming from above.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he hardly heard anything last night, except what he had convinced himself was two pairs of footsteps at one point. He decides it’s now or never when he wakes up, racing up the stairs to Azriel’s floor. He knows he has to be quick - his stupid brother’s stupid shadows alert him to any disturbance, so the time is now.

Cassian runs to Az’s room, takes a split second to catch his breath, then shoves the door open, finding Azriel waking up in bed. And a mysterious shape next to him under the covers.

“Cassian,” Azriel states, “what in the Cauldron are you doing here?”

Cassian can’t take his eyes off the shape under the covers, but he realizes if he wants to find out more, he has to keep his true intentions of coming a secret.

“Well I could ask you the same.”

Mother boil him, that was definitely not the right response.

“This is, in fact, my room. If you come by after lunch I’ll provide you with a tour.”

At that, Cassian begins to look around the room more, noticing mugs on the twin nightstands that surround Azriel’s bed. On the nightstand closer to the amorphous blob under the covers, was a stack of four books, one of which looks very familiar.

“Azriel, I didn’t know you could read.” Cassian states, trying to rile something of the shadowsinger.

“Piss off, Cassian. Of course I can read - it’s you who everyone thinks is illiterate.” Azriel was getting more and more annoyed by this intrusion, worried about if you were still asleep by his side or awake for this. He had just enough time before Cassian plowed down the door to cover you with his duvet.

“This book looks familiar. Isn’t it (y/n)’s? She’s going to kill you if you get ring marks on her book. She almost filleted me alive when I bent one of the pages of a book before.”

At hearing your name, you stirred just a tiny bit, both Illyrians going still at your movement.

Cassian looks down the bed, seeing your foot jutting out from under the covers.

“Az, I never knew you had such small, pale feet.”

“I hide them in my shoes, stop looking at my feet you weirdo. Why exactly are you here again?”

Cassian cannot come up with a good enough lie for why he was there. The room is silent, until he decides on, “You’ve been sleeping in too much recently - wanted to make sure you were coming to training today.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, seeing right through the lie. “Cassian, training is in 2 hours.”

“Well, I know you like having time to eat breakfast and wake up before training, so I’ll just help you pull the covers off-“

Cassian reached for the duvet, and Azriel grabbed Cassian’s hand, squeezing it so tightly, the general was afraid he’d lose circulation.

“Don’t you dare do that.”

And Cassian has the upper hand.

“And, pray tell Az, why not?”

The blanket begins to shift, and a hand comes out from under the blanket, pulling the blanket down just enough for your messy hair and your eyes to be seen by Cassian.

“Because it’s really cold outside of the blanket.”

Cassian was gobsmacked. His jaw literally dropped, and he kept pointing between the two of you, going “you.. and you!”

He heard you giggle underneath the blanket. “Yes, Cassian.”

Cassian, still shocked at this revelation, could only think to ask “Was last night the first time?”

“Not that my sexual endeavors require your knowledge, Cas, but we’ve been seeing each other for about 8 months now.” Azriel remarks, a smirk growing on his face.

“EIGHT MONTHS?!” Cassian bellows, “you’ve been sleeping around for 8 months and DIDN’T TELL ME UNTIL TODAY?”

You had never seen Cassian so upset before.

“Well,” you say, “at first we wanted it to be a secret from everyone, because you all are so nosy,” at which Azriel makes a pointed face at Cassian, “and then a few months ago we thought it would be funny to see how long before everyone found out so we started being a bit less secretive.”

Cassian begins thinking back to the past few months. He recalls going to Rita’s with everyone one night, and in his drunken haze he swore he saw you nestled into Azriel’s side while everyone else was dancing, but he chalked it up to drunken lenses. There was another day where you were just coated in Azriel’s scent, but he chalked it up to the flight the two of you embarked on earlier that day.

“That’s why for a few months neither of you would come out drinking with us!”

You both nodded.

“Oh gods, I can’t wait to tell everyone - RHYS!” He starts screeching for Rhys, who winnows in very quickly, looking very pleased with himself.

“Yes, Cas?” Rhys smirked, knowing where this was headed, and very excited to watch the outcome.

“Look! Him! And-and her! For MONTHS!” Cassian says, pointing at the two of you still in bed.

“Yes Cassian, I know.”

Cassian turns to his brother, “they’ve been hiding it for months, the b- what do you mean you know?”

“I know.” Rhys says, his smirk taking up most of his face.

“How’d you find out?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night wanting cookies and I found them making out in the kitchen.” You slowly sink back under the covers a little in embarrassment, remembering Rhys making his presence known with a quiet cough as you were kissing Azriel in the kitchen. The shit-eating grin on his face as he asked “midnight snack?” is one you won’t forget.

“Wait, does anyone else know?” Cas asks, putting his hands on his hips in indignation.

Rhys puts his hand on Cassian’s shoulders. “Everyone else knows, you were the last to find out.”

The look Cassian gave was pure offense. He had never felt so offended in his life! Being the last to know about you and Azriel. He loved both of you dearly, and he felt a little offended you didn’t want to tell him.

“Cassian,” you say, as if you also possessed the gifts to read minds that Rhysand does, “we love you, we just know how much you love finding things out, so we thought you’d love to snoop around and find out. If I weren’t naked under this blanket, I’d come hug you.”

Cassian gives you a suggestive look and winks, causing Azriel’s wings to wrap around you in a cocoon.

“Now that everyone knows, can you both please leave us alone?” He huffs, wrapping his arms around you as well.

“Does Rita know?” Cassian asks, acting oblivious to you two clearly wanting this public spectacle done with.

“No, she doesn’t” you say, peaking your eyes out over one of Az’s wings.

With that, Cassian bustles out the door, excitement coursing through his veins.

“He’s like a dog with a bone,” you laugh, “he’s precious.”

“You two do know he’s going to tell all of Velaris right?” Rhys says, reaching to close the door.

“Aww let him have it, he’s just excited.” You say, nuzzling into Azriel’s chest as Rhys shuts the door.

Walking through the streets of Velaris later, Cassian truly made the rounds telling everyone, with people offering you congratulations and happy tidings on your relationship. Azriel wasn’t very fond of everyone knowing, but he found it incredibly sweet how happy they all were for the two of you.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 5 months

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Look I know we don’t really like soft SoapGhost but I do

I just like the thought of them together but the quiet moments. When they’re off mission and they’re exhausted to the point that speaking takes too much out of them, but they can’t seem to drift away from each other, which is surprising for Ghost.

Soap haphazardly tosses his gear off, relishing in the relief his feels while Ghost puts his gear and Soap’s neatly back where it belongs.

They both take a shower together. Soap washing Ghost’s back and hair for him while Ghost lets the hot water wash off the mission.

When they’re dressed in comfier clothes they both crash on the same bed together, barely fitting on it at the same time.

Ghost laying comfortably on his back, Soap laying comfortably on his side.

Ghost has his arm around Soap, his chin nuzzled against his head.

Soap has his arm around Ghost, his ear pressed right against his heart.

The two breathe slowly in unison, sleep not quite there but enough to have them dozing off together in the warmth of each other.

“Glad you made it, Johnny.” Ghost whispers into his hair, the first words he’s spoken since the landed.

“Aye…glad you’re still here, Simon.” Soap whispers back, not one to get any louder.

And after those last few spoken words, as if they needed confirmation they both were still alive, still there, they finally fall asleep.

#soapghost #ghostsoap #sorry but like #yeah they’re not soft men #but also let them have some peace #first time writing for them #enjoy whatever the fuck this is #soap x ghost #modern warefare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

Text

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #kas!eddie #established steddie #pre-S4 relationship #presumed dead #(but obviously NOT)#happy ending #steve mounts a one-man rescue/retrieval mission because he's heartbroken #eddie recognizes the love of his life because in light of everything he HELD ONTO THAT LOVE #steddielovemonth #love is the only thing we can take with us #stranger things

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