#been hangin with that crowd for a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweets-library · 2 months ago

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care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly.

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in.

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better.

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it.

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly.

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking.

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you.

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?”

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted.

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.”

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion.

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally. The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

#aizawa thirst #aizawa/reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #daddy k!nk #daddy issues

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago

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Limo

Johnny Cage x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: jealousy/insecurity, insinuations to smut (natural johnny jokes), lots of drinking for some reason idk what i was on

Author’s Note: i loveee johnny and writing for him is so fun. I think i kinda mixed the spicy fluffy lol, i hope you liked it darling!! I had sm fun with him <3

Requested: by anon, I loved your Johnny Cage fic. Can I request another one where he’s with the reader, but she’s still nervous he still has feelings for Sonya? Fluffy or spicy ending is completely up to you, but a happy ending for everyone is all I ask. You’re the best!!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Johnny wouldn’t call himself a frequent drinker. He liked to have a beer at events and a glass when he was winding down at home. Sometimes he would have a nightcap, just to end things right. Every once in a while he would go out drinking with friends. Well, he liked to drink with you, that was always fun.

So maybe Johnny was a frequent drinker. But he wouldn’t call it a problem.

Your giggles were like music to his ears. He could hear them from another room, identify it in a crowded space. He sat across from you on your shared California king bed. The bedroom was filled with posters from his movies, larger than life, a huge TV hanging from the wall. There was a discarded beer bottle beside you. You had a glass of your favorite in hand, something Johnny had made for you. He was a bartender in a movie. Ten years ago.

“No more Jon. No more,” you said, and you were still giggling.

“C’mon, c’mon. Don’t be a party pooper.” His words were slurred. You could understand him despite it.

“There’s no party!” you argued lightly. It was just the two of you at home, in bed. He had turned on some music, connecting it to a speaker in the lights. He had the whole place rigged with random electronics.

“This is our party,” he said, grabbing your hands. He spilled your glass and you were both laughing again.

“You’ve been to real life parties Johnny. All the good ones, the crazy Hollywood ones. You call this a party?”

“Yes! This is my favorite kind of party!”

You were only slightly intoxicated. In fact, you were mostly drunk from Johnny's presence. You enjoyed moments where you just got to sit together, laughing at his absurdness. People tend to think it’s his downfall. In truth, it was the most charming thing about him. You had never known Johnny to be anything except pleasant and funny.

“Oh come on,” you said. You put down your glass beside you. Your bedside table was covered in things, from tissues to pills. You looked back up at him. He had sunglasses on top of his head, even though the sun had gone down ages ago. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His natural state of being. “What’s been the craziest party you went to?” He thought about it for a moment. He sat back, letting go of your hands. You raised an eyebrow at his studious gaze.

“There was one like five years ago. People were hangin’ upside down, snorting stuff!” He shook his head, laughing fondly (and drunkenly) at the memory. “Like from the ceiling from hooks! I tried to get up there but Sonya told me I wasn’t allowed to. She was always a party pooper, never wanted to have any fun in front of other people.” He shook his head, a far away look on his face. “She did let me lift her up so she could order us drinks over everyones head. That was hella smart,” he pointed out.

Your face lost some of its joy at the mention of Sonya. You tried to bring your smile back, not let it bother you. Johnny had always been open about his past romances. He was a womanizer, it was part of his image. Even after his constant assurance, it bothered you a bit. The random girls less so.

Sonya Blade though…

It was his longest relationship before you. They still worked together sometimes. He still mentioned her, off handedly, like she was a fond friend.

“You good babe?” You blinked a couple of times, looking back in his eyes. You plastered a fake smile onto your face, trying to let the alcohol in your system sink in. You nodded quickly, grabbing your glass again and bringing it to your lips.

“Perfect!” You cleared your throat. “Sounds insane.”

“We should try that next time,” he said. “It was one of my better ideas.” You nodded again. He squinted, sitting all the way up on the bed. The comforter was all messed up from the two of you moving around it. He couldn’t exactly place what had gone wrong but he knew something had been changed.

“You have plenty of good ideas.”

“Yeah, one time I used my powers to get us free drinks.”

“You still do that.”

“It’s really successful. Can you blame me?” You shook your head. You finished your glass. Johnny studied you, squinting his eyes.

“I’m gonna get another glass.”

“Wait wait, woah!” He grabbed your hand before you could go far. “Wait, something just happened but I don’t know what it was. The vibe changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you assured him. “I just want another glass!” Johnny didn’t know a lot but he knew you. He knew the way you smiled and the way you sometimes covered up your emotions to save him. Even when he said you shouldn’t, you did.

But arguing with you seemed like a mute point. He wanted things to stay good. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Jon.” You leaned forward, giving him a kiss. His lips were plump and extremely kissable. It never failed to make you feel better. You kissed the edge of his mouth, leaving faint flutters on his skin. He smiled, shining his movie star smile.

“Can you get me another too?”

Johnny hadn’t even broken a sweat. He could go for round after round and come out of it unscathed and ready for another. You hopped back up, rubbing the tiredness from your face. You stretched your neck back and forth.

“Tired already?” he teased. You rolled your eyes. You guys had started to train more together. It saved you both a trip to a gym and it proved that you could get all your anger out in a healthy way. Healthy being a relative term.

“I’m goin’ easy on you,” you joked. You stood up straight.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and walked over to the edge of the matt so you could grab a drink of water. You were less ‘indestructible’ based and more ‘power’ based. “You know there’s always other stuff we can use the mat for.” He walked over to you, grabbing his own bottle. You gave him a look as you gulped down your water. He smiled suggestively.

“I’m not falling for that this time.”

“You make it sound like you aren’t a willing participant.” He flipped his water bottle and caught it. “Hey, there’s a party in the hills tonight. I was gonna go but I figured I could take you.” You hummed in consideration. He watched you eagerly.

“Sounds like you have ulterior motives.”

“I always have ulterior motives.” He was looking down at you with a hopeful gaze. Johnny’s eyes crinkled at the sides. Parties with him were always fun, if not overwhelming. He knew everyone and always wanted to talk to them. He dragged you around like a trophy. But by the end of the night, you were always laughing and always gleefully drunk and happily tied to his side.

He tilted his head.

“Please?”

You bit your cheek, making an exaggerated face of contemplation.

“Alright.”

“Yes!” He kissed your forehead, giving you finger guns. You rolled your eyes. “I’m gonna go start getting ready. Takes me forever, you know.”

“I know Johnny.”

“I gotta call the limo.”

“Drink! Over here!”

“Johnny, you have to order the drink!” you said, laughing. He looked down at you, shaking his head.

“They’ll figure it out!” “What’cha want man!?”

“Fuck!” Johnny exclaimed. You laughed, knocking your head against the booth. You were shoved right beside Johnny, close enough where you were practically sitting on him. You had an arm over his shoulders, tracing things into his neck. It was making him restless. Which made him hot. “Something fruity!”

“For the lady?!”

“For me! I like fruity things!” Your laughter intensified. He turned back to you.

“What? What?!”

“Nothing,” you promised. You patted his chest. You were both down a few. It was so loud. The flashing lights made you feel immediately higher than you were, Johnny’s voice drowning into the music. People’s voices were overlapping in excitement, there were bodies on bodies, sweat and spit swapping.

The waiter gave Johnny some magical drink of unknown origins. He started to drink it immediately.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered. “Sonya used to love this shit.” You tensed. You didn’t want to have this conversation here, now.

“Yeah?” You receded your hand. You put it in your lap.

“All tough girl but always liked the fruit drinks,” he explained. “Pineapple juice or something.” You grabbed your drink and took a swig. The liquid going down your throat felt good, despite the burn.

“Hm.” He turned to you, noticing the absence of your touch.

“You good?”

“Great!” you lied.

“You sure?” You turned to him. You couldn’t be sure if it was the liquid courage or the environment but it made you want to say something. You wrapped your hands around the glass tightly.

“You sure talk about Sonya a lot,” you observed. You hadn’t meant for your voice to come off as aggressive as it did. It was fueled by the constant silence, the moments where you bit your tongue. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was a flash of hurt across his eyes but you didn’t catch it. “I mean, if you wanna talk about her that much, you don’t have to do it with me. She’s your ex Johnny.”

The music muffled in Johnny’s ears. It was like he was watching you speak outside of himself, like it wasn’t him you were speaking to. You were always fun and easy to bounce off of. You never showed any sort of issue with Sonya outwardly.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice almost inaudible over the club.

“C’mon,” you grumbled. “I know all of the dates you guys used to go on. What kind of books she would read, the drinks she would order.” You fidgeted in your seat. You weren’t sitting on top of him anymore. “I mean, it’s like you still love her.” Your voice was laced with venom, all the insecurity behind it coming through.

Johnny’s big puppy dog eyes fell. He had no idea you felt like that. He wished you had told him before. He started to shake his head aggressively, turning to face you with his entire body. He grabbed your hand gently. His big hand held yours with such soft intentions.

“I don’t. I swear to you,” he said, trying his hardest to ground his voice. “I don’t love her anymore. I love you.” You didn’t make eye contact with him. “We were just together a long time, some of the stories I wanna tell you have her in it.”

You finally met his eyes. You felt immediately embarrassed, sobering up quickly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I brought it up,” you said, shaking your head.

“No, it’s something. It clearly bothers you.” He made you face him. His eyes were oozing with concern. He still looked kind of drunk but he could have fooled you. “I’m sorry.” He held your hands tightly, putting your drink back on the counter.

“Me too.”

“Don't apologize.” He bit his lip. “Baby.”

“Johnny.”

“You wanna dance with me or somethin?” You laughed gently.

“I do.”

“I promise I’ll stop bringing her up so much. I don't love anyone but you.”

“Samesies.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” He gestured with his head towards the dance floor. “Dance?”

“Or we could skip the dancing all together and go back to the limo?”

“My girl. My girl, my girl.” He inched closer to you, kissing you cupping your face. You felt entirely consumed by his scent. He stood up, holding your hand. He slipped off his shimmery jacket and handed it over to you. “It’s gonna be cold outside for a minute. Put this on.” “Yes sir.” He moved around the other people at the table, saying quick goodbyes to anyone sober enough to pay attention. He threw his arm over your shoulder. You put your arm on his hip. He leaned down to whisper to you as you left. He tossed some money on the table.

“I just wanted to put more clothes on you so I could take them off.” “I know Johnny.”

“We should get matching tattoos.”

“Johnny, one thing at a time.”

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x fem!reader #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat fanfiction #johnny cage imagines

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ohdorothea · 3 months ago

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This tournament is being run by and for queer fans so please keep that in mind! Homophobes will be blocked on sight <3 More polls here and more info here! Lyrics for the songs and FAQ under the cut!

Innocent lyrics

I guess you really did it this time

Left yourself in your warpath

Lost your balance on a tightrope

Lost your mind tryin' to get it back

Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days?

Always a bigger bed to crawl into

Wasn't it beautiful when you believed in everything

And everybody believed in you?

It's alright, just wait and see

Your string of lights is still bright to me

Oh, who you are is not where you've been

You're still an innocent

Did some things you can't speak of

But at night you live it all again

You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now

If only you had seen what you know now then

Wasn't it easier in your firefly-catchin' days?

When everything out of reach

Someone bigger brought down to you

Wasn't it beautiful runnin' wild 'til you fell asleep

Before the monsters caught up to you?

It's alright, just wait and see

Your string of lights is still bright to me

Oh, who you are is not what you've been

You're still an innocent

It's okay, life is a tough crowd

32, and still growin' up now

Who you are is not what you did

You're still an innocent

Time turns flames to embers

You'll have new Septembers

Every one of us has messed up too

Lives change like the weather

I hope you remember

Today is never too late to be brand new

It's alright, just wait and see

Your string of lights is still bright to me

Oh, who you are is not what you've been

You're still an innocent

It's okay, life is a tough crowd

32, and still growin' up now

Who you are is not what you did

You're still an innocent

Lost your balance on a tightrope

It's never too late to get it back

🫶🫶🫶

Electric Touch lyrics

Just breathe, just relax, it'll be okay

Just an hour 'til your car's in the driveway

Just the first time ever hangin' out with you tonight

I've got my money on things goin' badly

Got a history of stories ending sadly

Still hoping that the fire won't burn me

Just one time, just one time

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch, mmm

I've been left in the rain lost and pining

I'm tryin' hard not to look like I'm trying

'Cause every time I tried hard for love, it fell apart (Woah)

I've gotten used to no one callin' my phone

I've grown accustomed to sleepin' alone

Still, I know that all it takes is to get it right

Just one time, just one time

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch, mmm

I was thinking just one time (Just one time)

Maybe the stars align (Just one time)

And maybe I call you mine

And you won't need space

Or string me along while you decide

And just one time (Just one time)

Maybe the moment's right (The moment's right)

It's 8:05 and I see two headlights

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch (Ooh)

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life (Life)

And I want you now, wanna need you forever

In the heat of your electric touch, mmm

🫶🫶🫶

The question is which song is queerer to you! Queerer can mean whatever you want it to mean; you might consider a song queer because you think it was written that way, or because of Swiftian lore. It might be queer to you because of how you relate it to your own life. Maybe you think from a purely literary standpoint the lyrics have queer themes; maybe you're just thinking about vibes!!!

If you’d like to send in interpretations or propaganda for a specific song you can send them to my inbox! All interpretations are welcome and let’s be open and kind in response to all interpretations <3

#tsqst

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streamafterlaughter · 1 year ago

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Fundamental Differing

Chapter XX: A Fine Line Between Hope And Despair

nav | masterlist | playlist | prev. chapter | pin board

summary: your night turns sour when you can’t bring yourself to leave eddie’s side just yet.

a/n: everyone please give a round of applause to me, willow, for completing two chapters within four weeks of each other for the first time since october! i love when i’m motivated it makes me feel sooooo good about posting. i hope y’all enjoy! a scene included was inspired by this post

tags: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, afab!gnc!reader, use of y/n, mutual pining, angst, these two can’t catch a break

cw: sexual harassment, descriptions of violence (eddie gets beat up), wounds, mentions of blood. this fic includes mature content not suited for readers under the age of 18. MDNI

March 1986

Eddie’s POV

“Eddie, please. Stay with us, please. Baby, baby please.” Your voice is muted, like he’s underwater. He’s hurt. Bad. Chunks of flesh have been torn from his torso, leaving only bloody holes that rise and fall as he tries to breathe with little luck. It hurts to move at all, and the corners of his vision are starting to blacken. He has a particularly large gash just under his chin, and you won’t look at him, afraid to reveal anything about his own condition to him.

He knows, of course. There’s no chance he’s making it out of here alive, but that won’t stop you from trying. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Get outta here while you can, yeah?” It’s barely a whisper, more of a rasp, a ghost of what his voice once was.

“No. No! How could you ask such a thing of me? Help is coming. I’m not leaving you. I won’t.” Your voice is beyond broken, each word forced out between violent sobs. The creatures responsible for tearing Eddie apart have seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving the world around him now eerily silent, save for Dustin sniveling behind you. “The rest are on their way. We’re gonna get you outta here, okay? Eddie? Baby you can’t close your eyes, keep talking to me…” But your voice quickly fades as his eyes start to flutter.

—

April 1986

“No. I’m not letting you do that.” Eddie turns his back to you, facing the wall. He’s been in bed all day, sulking, in pain, and taking his frustrations out on you.

“Eddie, please. Wayne isn’t home and you need to change the bandages. Please. Let me help you.” You reach for your boyfriend, and he recoils from your touch. It breaks your heart to see him like this, and you know it’s not his fault, but it still hurts your feelings.

An idea comes to you. It’s a risk, it could seriously piss Eddie off. “Okay. Guess I’ll call Steve.” You turn to get up, but you’re stopped by the firm grasp on your wrist.

“Absolutely fucking not,” For someone in so much pain, Eddie is still very strong.

“Will you let me help you then?”

He groans, long and low. “Fine.”

“There. Now was that so hard?”

—

Present Day

Your POV

“Thank you for comin’ out tonight, be sure to catch our show tomorrow night! You know this one, let’s fuck this place up!” Of course, they start in on Master of Puppets, the finale to end all finales.

You can sense Eddie’s eyes on you in your peripheral, burning a hole through the side of your head. When you look at him, he’s beaming, grinning ear to ear as he completely ignores the band in front of him, focused instead on you singing and head banging along. “What’re you all smiley about?” You tease him, nudging his shoulder.

He shakes his head shyly, hair obscuring the blush on his cheeks. “You know damn well.”

You giggle, taking his hand in yours. “Thanks for hangin’ out. I know it’s not easy.” Eddie scoffs, lacing his fingers between yours. “It’s the easiest thing in the world, actually.” You know he’s lying, but it’s nice to hear anyway.

—

The crowd disperses outside, the warm air hitting you as you exit the club. Eddie plucks a cigarette from the pack and offers you one that you take gratefully. Metallica fans do double takes as they walk by the pair of you, some mumbling to their friends about how “That’s Eddie Munson! and Y/n L/n!” You snort as Eddie waves to a group of gawking girls, and you have to hide yourself in Eddie’s chest as one of them trips over their own feet, not paying attention to where they’re going.

“You wanna grab a bite?” Eddie offers, swinging your arm and his as you walk back toward the hotel.

“Yeah, I’m starved.”

You walk for what feels like awhile, your hand never not touching his. Eventually, you happen upon the neon lights of a bar and grille, rock music from twenty years ago buzzing in the cheap outdoor speakers. The place is fairly packed, and you find yourself more anxious than you’d prefer. Eddie must notice your posture change, because he squeezes your hand. You look up at him, and the question is clear in his eyes. Are you okay?

You nod, and squeeze his hand in return before clearing your throat to answer the hostess. “Two, please?”

The girl is young, probably in high school. Her big eyes flick back and forth between you and Eddie a few times as she pops her gum, as if trying to place where she knows you. “Follow me.” She says finally, without any indication that she knows a thing.

“Psh, square.” Eddie whispers, and you have to bite back a cackle. She seats you at the bar, crammed between each other and a stranger.

—

Eddie’s POV

It’s your turn to ask, but you use your words. “Are you okay? Sorry, I mean, is this—“

Eddie shakes his head, halting your anxious ramble. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me.”

“What can I get ya?” The bubbly bartender appears seemingly from thin air, causing Eddie to jump. “Ope! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya! I’m Lizzie, I’ll be your server this evenin’.”

As Eddie overcomes his startled heart, you order a drink for yourself, a soda for Eddie, and an appetizer of soft pretzels. When the waitress whose name he’s forgotten disappears across the bar, you turn to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Truthfully, not much. For the first time in a long time, Eddie’s mind is quiet. “Nothing, if you can believe that.”

Your smile widens, and Eddie feels his chest tighten. Oh, right. There’s always that. Always you. “What about you?”

You shrug. “I’m having a lot of fun with you.” You sound sincere, and without a drop of pity.

“Me, too. A really nice time.”

Bubbly Waitress returns suddenly, almost slamming the glasses on the counter in front of you. “Here ya are! I’ll be right back with those pretzels.”

She leaves, and when Eddie turns his attention back to you, you’re already looking at him, hiding your fit of giggles behind your napkin.

—

Your POV

“I’ll be right back.” You’re about halfway through your meal when your bladder betrays you. Eddie nods, and you push yourself from the stool to locate the restroom.

When you’re finally able to see the door marked RESTROOMS, your path is obstructed suddenly, vision blocked by the chest of a large, solid form of a bar patron.

“Hey honey, you here on your own?” His speech is dreadfully slurred, and you look up to find his lips practically wet with liquor.

Even if you were, what makes this brick think you’d reveal it to him? Oh, right. Probably the alcohol. “No, I’m not. Would you excuse me, please? I need to use the restroom.” You don’t want to make this man angry. Somewhere, deep in your DNA, you feel the need to appear pliant to this man. Because he is a man, one very clearly stronger and more confrontational than you.

“Aw, c’mon. Let me buy you a drink, sexy.” His hand comes far too close to your chest for your liking as he pleads again with you, the rank smell of whiskey tickling your nostrils.

You glance to where your company sits, and find him staring back at you, watching like a dog for signs of trouble. He catches your eyes and you let the tiniest of nods slip. He’s off his feet in seconds.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Hey, baby! There you are.” He approaches with his arms wide, and you latch onto his lifeline. He shoves the giant out of his way with little struggle and wraps his arms around you, squeezing protectively. His heart races as you claw at him, practically shaking as you bury your head in his chest.

“Yo, bro. I was here first.” This guy just won’t quit.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie turns to face the guy, who’s about two inches taller than him and twice as built.

“You can have a go when I’m done, man. Back off.”

Eddie clenches his fists at his sides, so tightly he’s sure he’s drawn blood. He breathes deeply through his nose to stifle the fire in his chest.

“I’m not interested, asshole!” You spit from over Eddie’s shoulder, and he relaxes the tiniest amount.

“Oh shut up, bitch, you’ll get my dick whether you like it or not.”

He blacks out after that. When he comes to, Eddie is on top of the gigantic man, fist coming down onto his face at full force. Quickly, the guy rolls over to gain the upper hand, and Eddie has no time to react before his nose is crushed by his punch, gushing blood into his mouth.

“Hey, HEY! You two, FUCK OUTTA MY BAR.” The manager is a short, hairy man with a gold chain dangling around his exposed chest. Before Eddie can register what’s happening, three clones of you hover over him, scooping his limp body into your grip to carry him outside.

—

Your POV

“I know. I know! He’s sober. I don’t know why, Steve!” You’re trying to stay quiet as you beg into the phone for Steve to come bail Eddie out of jail. You're at the police station, filing a witness report, explaining in every way you know how to that Eddie is not in the wrong for this.

The cops won’t listen. Of course they won’t. Because “talking to a lady isn’t against the law, ma’am.”

It takes about an hour, but Steve shows up with words from the big fancy lawyers, and that somehow gets Eddie out of shackles. Typical.

Eddie is beaten, badly. His eye is almost swollen shut, turning black and blue at an alarming rate. His face is stained with the blood from his nose and mouth, as well as his white t shirt. You feel your heart crack and spider at the sight of him. The edges of your vision darken when he tries to smile and winces.

—

“What the fuck happened?!” You’re at the hospital. Eddie needs stitches in his forehead, and is being kept overnight to monitor him for a concussion. The ice pack given to him by the police sits melted in his lap. The usually bright fluorescents are dimmed to a hazy glow to accommodate for the time of night.

“Sh, Stevie. Stop yelling.” Eddie covers his eyes with one hand dramatically, reaching the other blindly to Steve’s face.

Steve slaps his hand away before continuing. “I feel like every time you two are together, there’s trouble. I’m starting to regret-“ He catches his tongue when your eyes widen. “Never mind. The guy said he won’t press charges if you don’t, and we gave him a thousand to keep that word. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Steve, he was harassing me. I needed help, he was too big, he could have killed me.” You speak finally, angry at your friend now. “Eddie was there for me, something I’m pretty sure is your job, Steve.”

Steve gapes at you, speechless.

“It’s okay, Stevie. Don’t feel bad, I was sober. I made this stupid decision without a drop in me. There’s nothing you could have done to stop it.”

Steve huffs. “Well. I’m glad you’re both okay. I just need you guys to keep a lower profile when you’re out so this shit doesn’t happen.”

“Oh yeah, Steve, sorry. I’ll remember that next time I have to piss in public.”

The two of you bicker before Eddie interrupts with his shushing, finger to his swollen lips. “Though I would love to continue this very important discussion, I need to go to sleep.”

“Uh, Ed, I hate to break it to you. You’re not getting sleep tonight.”

Eddie sits up and winces at the pain. “What?”

You nod. “You can’t sleep. Not for awhile, anyway. They’re afraid you have a concussion.”

“Well, shit.” He groans, opening his eyes. “Now what?”

“We can keep you awake?” You offer, and Steve seizes the opening.

“We’ll do it in shifts. Y/n, take a nap first. I have to talk to Eddie anyway.”

—

Eddie’s POV

He doesn’t have the energy to fight with Steve, so he watches you exit the room with a small wave to him, and a quick hug for Steve.

“Seriously?” Steve places himself at the end of the bed. “You willing to risk everything for that? For some macho guy pissing contest?”

“You woulda done the same thing for them, for anyone. That guy was a moron.”

“Maybe, but you have a career, Ed. A reputation.”

“First of all, fuck you. I thought you got over that elitist shit after high school. Plus, if anything, I’m proud to have that reputation. I don’t take shit from guys like that, I don’t think that’s a problem.”

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Look, man. I didn’t wanna tell you this, but you’re on thin ice. The label wants to drop you.”

Eddie’s ears are ringing suddenly. He thinks he’s heard wrong. There’s no way. The brute must have punctured his eardrum. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t know the details. Your agent called me last week to tell me the executives weren’t happy with all the negative attention you’re getting. If this shit from tonight gets out, you’re almost surely cooked.”

Fuck. Fuck! “What are the chances of that happening?”

Steve shrugs. “Was anyone taking pictures?”

Eddie tries to remember. He remembers the song playing, I Can’t Live With You by Queen. He remembers the guy smelled like cheap beer and thick body spray. He remembers the fear in your eyes before he came over to you. He remembers the anger. Then nothing. “I don’t know.”

“Then I don’t know either. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

—

Your POV

You wake to Steve standing over your makeshift cot. “Hey, I’m gonna get back to the hotel. You okay to keep him awake?”

Your eyes wander to the clock above the door. 3AM. Shit. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. You sit up, squinting even in the dim light of the room. Eddie’s eyes are seemingly focused on the pages of a lifestyle magazine.

“Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you.” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“Bye, Stevie. Love you too.”

He exits after saying goodbye to Eddie, the door closing quietly behind him. “Alone at last.” Eddie teases, patting the bed next time. “Doubt it’s any more comfortable than the cot.”

You shrug, dragging your sluggish body into the small hospital bed, under the paper thin blanket barely big enough for one of your legs. “God, I don’t think you need me to keep you awake, this shit is so uncomfortable.” You squirm around trying to get cozy without imposing on Eddie, but he seems to catch on. He stretches his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to lay on his chest.

“This okay?” He asks, voice hoarse with sleep.

“It won’t be if I fall asleep. What use will I be then?” You don’t bother lifting your head to speak, you can feel your eyes closing against your will.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you awake to keep me awake.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

You feel him shrug. “Tell me a story.”

“What?”

“Y’know. A funny story, a happy anecdote. I like hearing you talk.”

You debate arguing, but ultimately decide you owe him at least this much for taking such a beating. You think for a minute, what you could possibly say to Eddie to both keep him awake and entertained.

“Did I tell you about the time I met Bono?”

“What?!” Eddie cackles, shifting so he can look at you. “You’re lying.”

“I promise! I was in Boston, 1981. My dad took me to their concert at this tiny club called The Paradise. It was one of their first shows in the states, so they could play a teeny tiny venue with no issues.” You recall the night as you tell the story. Your dad had gotten tickets from a work friend, and he knew you were a huge fan at the tender age of thirteen. “We ended up running into him at the bar, and I had no idea what to do. I just kinda poked him.”

“Poked him?” Eddie’s bewildered.

“Yeah, like,” You playfully poke Eddie in his arm. “Poke. That’s it. Didn’t say a thing.”

“What did Bono do?”

You shrug. “I don’t remember. I think he just laughed it off, maybe said something to my dad.”

“Why’d you poke him?”

You shrug. “No idea.”

Eddie laughs, and you giggle with him. It’s such a stupid event, but it does the job of keeping Eddie’s eyes open.

—

The sun streams through the blinds of the stale, gray hospital room, rousing you from sleep. Sleep?! Shit! You wake up frantically, only to realize the bed is empty. “Eddie?!”

The toilet flushes, and you hear the faucet start. Okay, so he’s awake, that’s good.

Eddie exits the bathroom wiping his wet hands on his hospital gown. He’s put his jeans on underneath it, as if afraid you’d see his naked ass. The thought makes you blush. “I’m so sorry, why didn’t you wake me?”

Eddie sits back down on the bed, swinging his leg up and around you, locking you between his thighs. “You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bring myself to. ‘s okay, I stayed up.” He shrugs. “Doctor said I was good to go, I was just waiting for you to wake up.”

—

Eddie’s POV

Steve is parked on the curb outside. He scowls at Eddie when he enters the passenger seat, leaving you to climb into the backseat. He’d usually let you ride shotgun, but he volunteers to take the brunt of Steve’s lecture. “Lay it on me, big boy. I know you wanna.” At first, Steve says nothing, stewing in his own frustration, chewing the inside of his cheek as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Y’know,” He starts after agonizing minutes, “I think I said my piece. I’m not pissed, if that’s what you mean. I know why you did it.” He lowers his voice so you can’t hear him over the music in the back, “I would do the same for them. For you, for anyone here. But you gotta remember who you are.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t want to argue, and his head is still throbbing, but Steve just knows how to light him up.

“It means you’re famous, Eddie! Like it or not, people know who you are. They like you, love you even! You can't beat up random guys in bars anymore. Not if you wanna keep your job.”

“What if I don’t want to keep my job?” He bites without thinking, but there’s a truth to his question. What if?

That catches Steve off guard. “What?”

“What if I wanna quit? Y’know, be normal, do normal guy things? I could work as a mechanic, move somewhere nice with the money I did save. What then?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Steve.”

He blows a breath through tight lips. “Well, you’ll have time to think about it. After this week, the leg is over. You get four weeks to do whatever you want before we hit New England and Canada. Give you some time to figure your shit out.”

This hits Eddie like a brick to the skull. A whole month of no touring. Where is he supposed to go? He can’t bear to face Wayne and Hawkins again yet, and Boston is way out of the question if you’re there. You. What are you gonna do? Do you even know about this month off? You probably do, you pay attention to those things, while Eddie barely knows what day of the week it is at any given point.

What is a month away gonna do to the progress he’s made with you? You said you needed time, but space, too? He’s starting to panic.

“Earth to Edward?” Your voice calls him back to the present.

“Hm?”

“Food. You want?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, sure.” He shoves the cloud of dread out of his brain for now, and follows you and Steve into the diner.

—

a/n: believe it or not, the bono story is true, but it happened to my dad when he saw U2 in Boston in ‘81. My dad poked Bono. Not sure why, but he did!

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#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!reader #afab!reader #gnc!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #90s au #stranger things #strangerthingscentral #st4 #best friend!steve #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

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kiliinstinct · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 30

Rating: R Pairing: Nalu FF.Net || AO3 [Ch: 1] ||| [Prev] | [Next] Happy Birthday to me! Here's an Update! Remember to thank @phoenix-before-the-flame for their Beta work! * April Post Date: 16th As you can see, there will be only one post next month due to me taking part in Camp Nanowrimo. (Similar to Nanowrimo but shorter.) Two chapter posting will continue in May. Those Dates will Appear on the Next Update.

Gajeel knew they were coming.

Before morning hit, he expected the hurried steps and smell of angry magic tickling his nose. He would have been disappointed otherwise.

Laying in his cot with one leg over the other, he affected the perfect air of calm indifference, holding back a snort. Honestly, who in their right mind wouldn't come running after his little stunt? Getting loose was one thing, but sniffing out one of the fairy’s dragons and cornering him in his own home? Gajeel was surprised they hadn’t come sooner.

The door to his cell swung open, revealing the chief all but vibrating in waves of magical power. Sweeping through the small room, the pressure of his power rattled the cot beneath him. He resisted the shiver that traveled down his spine while gooseflesh pricked along his skin. Obstinately, he met the old man’s venomous stare with an arched brow, feigning unconcern.

He couldn't react. Not yet.

Whistling low, he pulled a grin that made his visitor’s eye twitch. A fact that brought him satisfaction as he noted the scents of others crowding the hallway. Good, so he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could handle a possible threat alone. Gajeel could respect that at least.

”Damn is this how ya' greet people in the morning?“ He asked innocently, ”if Kage pissed himself, I’m laughin’ til my lungs give out.“

”I don’t appreciate lying, boy.“ Makarov accused without preamble; His magic strengthened, flowing around the room like an ominous wind, shaking dust from the rafters as bits of broken stone rattled against the floor.

”I ain't lied since I got here.“ He replied, grin widening, ”something wrong?“

Makarov’s eyes narrowed as another wave of magic emanated from his body. It swept across the building and the fortress shuddered and creaked in its wake. Stepping inside, the rising pressure almost stole Gajeel’s breath. He leapt to his feet as the old cot groaned, legs giving way under the power being exerted as it collapsed to splintered boards.

This was more than a show of power; This was a threat.

Instinct and common sense told Gajeel to make a break for it, but he held his ground, digging his sharpened nails into his crossed arms. He stood straight. Too straight. The old chief stood before him with a presence that belied his age and size. If he noticed how stiff the metal draconis became, with pupils blown unnaturally wide, he remained silent.

“You tell me,” The old man hissed. “You seem to be under the impression that you are a guest of some sort. The chains may be gone but you know as well as I that you forfeited your freedom the moment you came within these walls.”

A crack split the stone beneath the window behind Gajeel, neither paid it any mind. Makarov continued fiercely, “ You seemed a smart enough man to understand that. And yet you took it upon yourself to slip away, stalking through the streets of my home like some sort of animal. Tracking down Lucy-”

”Calm down, old man, I ain't interested in the blondie! I told you that already!“ Gajeel retorted, swallowing thickly as the chief's magic sought to overpower him.

“ I’m here for the other one you got hangin’ outside there like a dog on a leash.” Gajeel said, catching an answering snarl to his barb. A glimpse of pink flashed before the entryway before multiple sets of arms drew him back. Underneath the shimmering pressure coming from Makarov appeared a touch of heat. It took to the air in a haze, molding with the immense pressure.

He recognized it immediately, smirking as his gaze peered through the doorway, “The pink brat’s important. Not his girl.”

”And what? Breaking free to harass him is your idea of a formal meeting?! That was outside of our agreed terms and you-”

“Agreed what?!”

Fire sparked to life just beyond Gajeel’s sight as the voices of many yelped in surprise. Their restraining hands fell away as Natsu stormed in, fists ablaze with unbridled fury. “You WANTED us to meet?“

”Natsu! I did not give the command to-“

He wouldn't hear any of it, “No! You acted like you knew nothing about what he wanted from me! and all along you were lying-”

Oh Gajeel was enjoying this- the thrum of pressure lessened and his posture relaxed considerably “Not the smartest move there, Gramps, now was it?”

Natsu turned his glare on Gajeel, yellow bleeding through those dark irises as scales pricked along the edges of his eyes. He spied the hints of darkness that speckled through the orange flames billowing from Natsu’ skin. That’s all it took? Laughter burst forth with no resistance, too pleased by the situation.

“Well well, if it ain’t the man of the hour.” Gajeel greeted with a sneer, “Didn’t take you for a snitch considering…” He let the sentence hang unfinished in the air, innocently tilting his head at the other despite the murderous intent rising in the room.

Snarling, the fiery draconis stepped forward, but Makarov threw out a hand to block his path.

“Enough!” Makarov shouted, fixing him with a stern glare that stopped him in his tracks. “Stay put and silent. As for the rest of you-,” He waited for Lisanna, Levy and Freed to poke their heads through the doorway, both girls looking far more sheepish than the other, “Get in here and get him under control. There's no point in standing by if this fool decides to start causing a scene.”

“I'm not a fo-!”

“Natsu.” His voice rumbled with the force of his power,“I said enough.”

His mouth shut instantly with the blaze of his flames receding just enough to make the temperature bearable. Hatred burned in his now amber eyes, refusing to take them off the metal draconis while the others filtered in. Warily they stood behind Natsu, apprehensively eyeing Gajeel. Paying Natsu no mind, he turned his attention to the others, taking a quick assessment.

Nothing impressive to look at. The group didn’t look like wranglers of any sort, but the white haired girl held herself strong and ready by Natsu’s side. She was poised to grab him at a moment's notice. The other two… blue and green haired mages that reeked of ink, stood by her side. The taller man rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, just as ready and the shortest one appeared nervous, bravely holding her hands in a curious manner, eyes wildly flicking about the room. A caster perhaps?

His eyes narrowed as the last two scents finally answered his unasked questions. These were the fabled barrier makers keeping Kage in check. He’d have trouble with them if things went south.

Makarov cracked his back with a groan, ignoring Gajeel’s snickering. He rubbed his temples in exasperation. “Now then,” he muttered, “You need to explain yourself. Now.”

The Draconis hadn’t moved since the chief’s command, but his body trembled from adrenaline coursing through him. Every second, another scale dotted his skin red, peeking through pieces of bandage that still covered his many wounds. Gajeel watched the smoke that rose from his body with a mild interest.

And then he bared his teeth in return, mocking a snarl.

“Enough about me. Let’s talk about him for a bit.” He stated, cracking his knuckles as he matched Natsu's gaze. Neither blinked, one growing more agitated while the other remained irritatingly calm.

“Now I know you fairies can get emotional, but you wanna explain why he’s about ready to pop? Don’t tell me you couldn’t get that lil temper of yours under control after all this time away from home.”

What little flame was left on Natsu’s person burst back into life, now more black than red, proving Gajeels’ point. He took a menacing stop closer, fingers flexing with sharp claws glinting in the light. The Chief stretched out his arms and shouted a warning, holding Lisanna off from charging her own magic. She nodded, but remained poised, with shimmering silver crawling up her arms in a brilliant web.

Natsu didn't notice, too distracted by Gajeel while he hissed steam, ”Wanna say that again you son of a-“

”And that.“ Gajeel said pointedly, snapping his fingers, ”Had to see it myself to make sure. Did you suckers really think black flames are normal?”

His snarl cut off as he blinked owlishly, nervousness filtered into those wide eyes. His magic still flared, casting shadows to all corners of the room. But the others took note of the streaks of oranges and reds slowly breaking through.

“Plenty of us noticed. He's always been like this,“ Makarov admitted, mustache twitching as he frowned, ”Black fire is as natural to him as breathing. Though it seems to flare when his temper has reached its limit.”

”... umm,“ Levy chimed in, uncertainty pulling at her features as she nervously stepped back. Freed placed a calming hand on her shoulder and she nodded, digging her heels into the floor and inhaling deeply to soothe her nerves, ”We have other fire wielders here, they use purple flames. And though I’ve never seen it personally, our traveling group has encountered people who use flames of all colors. Black isn’t so strange, is it?“

”You really got ‘em tricked good haven’t you flamehead?” Gajeel scoffed, waving off her question, but considered her words regardless. Storing the new information in the back of his mind he motioned towards Natsu again. “Get it outta your heads from now that draconis fire is anything close to what normal fire magic is.”

He pondered his next words carefully.

“I’ll let ya in on a clan secret.” He continued gleefully, ignoring Natsu’s growl of warning. “Despite what he’s made you think, black fire ain’t exactly common back home. Rarer than rare. No run of the mill fire draconis could make those flames unless they were-”

“SHUT UP!”

Fire spilled from his mouth as he shoved his way past Makarov, ignoring the old man’s shouts to stand down. Up close Gajeel could see the glow of flames gathered in his throat, even through the heavy bandaging, ready to let loose on a man who was saying too much.

Freed unsheathed his sword, purple runes rising forth from the blade as sweat beaded on his brow from the sweltering heat. “Makarov,” He began tremulously, “I think it would be prudent to-”

“Shut up.” Natsu snapped in a startling voice that sounded closer to beast than man. He could barely be seen behind the thick dark flames that swirled violently around him. Only the brightness of amber eyes shone through with more fear than rage.“Whoever this bastard is, he needs to shut the fuck up before I rip out his fucking throat-”

Gajeel cocked his head to the side and chuckled. For all the blustering and the threats, he didn’t call upon his own scales to meet the call to fight. He took the brunt of the black flames unprotected, unblinking at the heat scorching his skin. The others couldn’t see it beneath the cloak of flames he used like armor. But Gajeel could see everything. Only his eyes were strong enough to pierce through the head and see how Natsu’s body trembled.

He smirked. He had him cornered. Like a desperate animal. And Gajeel wasn’t afraid of animals.

”What's wrong, hothead? Don’t want me to let something slip? They’re your clan after all. They have a right to know about you. S’not right to keep family in the dark-”

”I'm warning you to shut up right-!“

Gajeel bent to meet him at eye level. His voice rose mockingly above Natsu’s and everyone clearly heard over the roar of his flames.

“-You know exactly why I'm here, don't you, Prince?”

Outside the rumbling keep, Lucy held herself tightly, enthralled by the stranger she’d met. Erza stood by in silence, listening fondly as the two celestial roma spoke. Lucy was eager to know of the state of the other clans and Jellal was more than happy to share what he knew. All were blissfully unaware of the state of things beyond Jellal’s holding.

“So they're…..all safe?” She asked, eyes wide and watery in relief, “No others were attacked?”

“You knew of the ones before your clan began its North-bound trek,” He replied, lounging easily in his chair with a hand resting light atop hers. They'd begun their chat in earnest once Lucy gained control of her emotions enough to stop crying. Now she sat upon the edge of his bed, restlessly fidgeting. Her grip in his was tight as steel in an attempt to ground herself. It was hard to accept the reality; She truly wasn't the only one left after all.

Jellal continued with a faint smile, “I can attest that the other branches made it past the mountain ranges to our haven. Only stragglers like myself ran into issues.”

“I still can't believe Erza knew you all along,” Lucy looked back at the redhead, “Why didn't you mention earlier?”

She coughed into her hand, cheeks turning red at the attention suddenly turning to her, “my excursions outside of the clan I like to keep private unless I feel it necessary to share. That being said, I wasn't sure if he was alive or not and didn't wish to give you false hope.”

This was enough to appease Lucy, who tilted her head right back to Jellal excitedly, “and you weren't hurt too much, were you?”

He didn't bother hiding the truth, ”No, I was not. Jose and his men were not pleasant by any means, but they wanted to keep me alive. … I'm certain they want the same with you, as well.“

That was a quick dampener to the mood as Lucy's hand twitched. Her mouth twisted into a grimace and she wavered between keeping her own counsel and asking more questions.

Makarov had kept most of it secret from her, giving her just enough information to mildly satiate her curiosity, but it wasn’t enough. Here, however, was a man of her own blood who could explain everything.

”... is Makarov aware I'm talking to him?“ She asked, curious how much the chief was aware she had found another way to the truth.

A guilty silence from Erza was her answer. Looking to the wall, she fiddled with the straps of her bracer. That was all Lucy needed. For once he was in the dark and Lucy had all the answers laid bare before her, and she hungered for the truth.

Perhaps this could be considered a breach of trust. One that Lucy was unsure if she should take. However... looking at the bruises that dotted Jellal's arm and thinking back to the attacks that began all because she was with them, she couldn't remain in the dark much longer.

“... Was it any celestial,” She asked, voice low, “Or just me? Were they responsible for my Parents-“

She was silenced before the line of questioning could continue as Jellal rested his other hand on her shoulder, sighing. ”I wanted to verify that for myself. And I'm unsure if you'll like what you may hear.“

“Please,” she urged, “I need to know.”

He released her hand and slid from his chair, gaze turning to Erza for a second as he contemplated his next words. Whatever he read in her expression was enough for him to make up his mind. Looking down at the determined Romni, he motioned to the book he'd left shut at the table.

“That you do. But not yet. I think it best I have a meeting with the Chief first to discuss the stirrings I've seen out there,” he decided, dropping to his knees to kneel before her, “but as a fellow Celestial, I promise I will tell you everything you wish to know afterwards. It may not be ideal, but can you accept these terms?”

It wasn't what she wanted to hear and while her shoulders sagged in disappointment, her mind spun with possibilities. Promises were important. No Roma of the celestial blood would dare break one if made. This was it. Her heart pounded at the thought.

She just needed to wait a little bit more.

“Is ... there anything else you can tell me, then?” She asked instead.

His visible relief melted the weight in the room as he looked to her injured leg. The old wound was hidden from him but he spied thin golden strings wrapped gently around her knee, undisturbed in their workings as they hummed with a magic no different from his own.

“Erza may have let it slip that you had issues reclaiming your power.” Humor filled his voice. ”Though there are some differences, I know our teachings have some similarities. Perhaps I can assist?“

Her smile grew so large she felt it would freeze into place, never to change again. ”I would like that.“

And assisted her, he did. He told her things about their abilities: the way the night enhanced them, how to mold the light of the stars to their bidding. Lucy was a natural, he told her, observing her knee with a keen interest. While the current effects did their job well, the efficiency was lost to inexperience, something he expertly talked her through with a guiding hand and patient voice.

Fragmented memories came to the surface with every word. Memories Lucy once refused to let surface. They trickled thoughts of a family long lost, but the old pain from her grief didn’t join them. She watched in awe as Jellal instructed her, hanging onto his every word and practiced motion. The familiarity of it all almost pushed her to tears again.

Erza watched in amusement as Lucy keenly absorbed everything he said. As the minutes passed by she took to the floor, withdrawing a rag and oil from a pouch on her belt to lathe over the length of her blade in delicate strokes. She was as patient as Lucy's teacher and would continue to watch and listen as Lucy relearned her abilities anew.

She was giddy, watching as the magic pooled in her palms and glimmered, casting a warm, yellow glow upon her skin. It was basic: a brief lesson of control that she once did as a child under a parent’s guiding hand. But to do it again without fatigue or pain clouding her mind left her childishly happy.

Jellal eased his weight back into his chair, fondly watching Lucy’s growing excitement. Her eyes glowed from the magic within, widening as a coo left her lips as she observed the swirling depths of her magic. She was, quite literally, starry eyed and her happiness pulled at his heart. To think that something so simple brought her so much joy, he couldn’t imagine the grief it caused to have her magic locked away.

He hummed and looked to the ceiling, eyes glazing over in thought as if he was watching the sky rather than the aged wood above.

Reaching a decision, he snapped a finger and grabbed a candle off the table.

“Lucy,” He asked, holding it aloft between them. The flickering light grabbed her attention as she curiously waited, “What is your experience with talking to the stars?”

Oh. This lit a light inside her mind, eyebrows rising into her hair. “I wasn't allowed to as a child. Even when I was older it was still something kept from me. But I've made ... attempts.”

“Even if you didn’t participate, did you watch anyone in your family do it?”

She shook her head, “I was always sent off to bed before they began.”

At the dubious stare he gave her she quickly amended, “I mean, I tried to sneak peeks. Of course I did, but they always seemed to just know and shoved me back off to bed before I could witness anything.They must’ve had their reasons so I eventually figured not to question them.”

He noted her admittance with a tilt of his head. “How odd. Are you aware of the meditations involved at least?”

When her eyes lost focus, attention leaning towards a speck on the wall, he followed with the candle flame, “I admit, it's much easier at night, but we can practice now all the same. Sometimes the stars speak regardless.”

Attention regained, Lucy flushed prettily and the magic in her palms dimmed with her embarrassment, “Is that what I've been doing wrong?”

“Hmm?” He prompted, settling the candle back down. He reached for a pack of matches, striking one to life as he moved to light a second one.

Well now she just felt silly, ”I can’t recall if I heard them as a child, but within the past year I’ve heard them without trying anything. They were just these voices either whispering nonsense into my head or shouting loud enough to give me migraines for hours on end. I've tried to reach out to them, but I suppose without knowing the proper ways I've never been able to instigate it.“

The match he was using to light a third candle dropped from his fingers, snuffing itself out as it clattered to the floor.

His eyes narrowed, his tattoo beneath his eye crinkled as his brows drew close together in suspicion. Gone was her patient teacher, replaced instead with a sudden interrogator. Even Erza glanced up at his change in tone.

”... you've heard them?“ He repeated with a mystified air, ”no meditation? No prompting? Just... voices?“

She felt very insecure under his cold gaze. Her magic faded beneath her skin and she shrunk in on herself. Her arms fell to her lap to fidget with her skirt. ”.....am I not supposed to?“

Had she just admitted to being absolutely crazy?

“No, no , please, I apologize,” setting the candles aside, he quickly moved to brace her shoulders, expression wide in surprise, “I didn't mean to offend you, it's just…” He gnawed at his lip, “.... not how we normally do things. In fact, I've only heard of one occasion it was done in such a manner and that was-”

He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, “Nevermind you mind that. Perhaps I'm over thinking it and it's just a sign of you needing to regain control of your abilities. Meditation can help with that.”

Lucy bit her lip as she observed him. He was avoiding her gaze, looking everywhere but her. Sometimes his eyes flickered occasionally back to the aged book. Erza stopped wiping down her blade, eyeing the two of them with intense scrutiny. Her gaze practically drilled a hole into Jellal's stiff back.

“You promised to be truthful with me.” Lucy said blankly. He flinched at her accusation, pulling his hands from her shoulders. Guiltily he ran a light finger over his wounded wrists.

“I did.”

His emotions played out on his face- the confusion, the concern and the briefest hint of clarity before he steeled himself. Donning a placid mask, he spoke again. He cut Lucy off before she had the chance to protest.

"Our promise is not broken,“ He admitted, once again reaching for the candles, ”That I can assure you. But I may need to speak with your chief sooner than I expected. I’ll have to inform him of this immediately.”

“Informed of what?” Lucy dug. Erza rose to her feet in a clank of heavy metal, worriedly looking at Lucy then casting a suspicious eye at her friend. “ What are you talking about?”

“At least tell me this much.” Lucy begged. She wanted to know, before following anything else, she HAD to know.

Jellal sighed and lowered his gaze, blue fringe of hair blocking his expression further, ”... That perhaps, Jose was on the right track. That you may be the one Celestial none of our kind would ever want him to get his hands on.”

He gripped his hands tightly, mirroring Lucy as the world seemed to fall out from under them. She. she had to know more! But from the look on Jellal’s face said the discussion was already closed. He wouldn’t tell her.

Not yet at least.

---

All Natsu felt was rage when he came to. The ghost of a snarl rested on his tongue as his instincts sparked back to life.

He wanted to burn something. No, someone.

That other draconis just wouldn’t stop talking. Every word he uttered in that grating voice of his was deliberate, carefully chosen to dig under his skin and set his blood to a boil. It had driven Natsu closer to the edge beyond the realm of reason.

He had no right to even be here. A stranger with a self assured sneer standing freely in Natsu’s home, looking down on him without a care. He had no right to live after that awful word fell from his lips. Natsu screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory to no avail, it echoed in his mind.

Prince.

He vividly recalled the look of sly victory that settled in the man’s piercing red eyes. He didn’t bother to keep his gaze on Natsu when the title spilled from his lips. Instead, his gaze settled on those behind Natsu. He couldn’t see their bewildered faces as they looked to him for confirmation. For the truth.

He only saw red bleeding away to darkness as the world closed in on him. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, louder than the blood rushing through his ears. It drowned out his only frantic thought- 'They can't know. No one can know, stop him, shut him up, shut him up shut hi- NOW.'

The fires around him swirled like a cacophonous tornado. Any hint of red in its depths was stolen by the black flames pounding at the walls. Gajeel stood arrogantly, unperturbed even as the raging wildfire licked at his skin. The cracking of stone walls under the blast and the groaning of the abused ceiling above were sounds lost to the fury inside his heart. The incessant screams and desperate cries for him to calm down were barely registered, as the others fought to regain his attention over the one word that repeated in his mind over and over again.

He lunged and the room erupted in frantic shouts.

Freed flung himself before Levy and Lisanna, swiping his sword in an arc that sent a line of runes across the floor, protecting Gajeel. It lasted mere seconds against the onslaught before it crumbled under the flames. Pressure dropped to nothing as Makarov grew in size, magic swelled around as he shoved the others out the door. Grasping the burning draconis with an oversized hand, he held the feral draconis back with a power the keep could barely contain.

Power ballooned in his chest, forcing its way up his throat. He dug his claws into Makarov’s seared skin, all sense of himself lost.

Everything went dark after that. While Natsu blinked at the ceiling, clarity returned to him slowly, allowing him to pick up the pieces of his actions and realize his location was different. He wasn’t in Gajeel’s cell anymore.

What... just happened?

He knew this room and knew it well. It was a side room in the keep that Makarov often snuck off to for short naps. The old man’s light scent on the sheets was strong evidence to that. He blinked again when he caught Freed and Levy’s scents as well despite the silent room being void of anyone else.

Straining to move, Natsu grunted in surprise. He realized with horror that he couldn’t. And it wasn’t the weariness deep in his bones that stopped him. He struggled to bend his neck, finding himself covered in runic spells, shifting lines of words he couldn’t read. They bound his wrists and ankles. Now wonder he could smell the two Rune Enchanters . It was their handiwork.

But why? How did he even get here?

”Finally back to your senses are you?“ Makarov’s voice echoed from behind and Natsu craned his head back as far as he could to catch a glimpse of the Chief sitting on the floor with arms and legs crossed, almost as if he’d been dozing for quite some time.

The world swam in and out of focus for Natsu, he couldn't make heads or tails or what was going on. Why was he being held down? His growl of frustration was pointed towards Makarov as he strained against the runes binding him. They didn’t dig at his skin. In fact he barely felt their presence save for a light buzz of magic, but they were unbending against his struggle and he was too drained of his strength to give it his all.

Prince, the word echoed in his head once more and a panic began to settle into his bones.

They- they knew. They heard Gajeel’s admittance of a secret he had long since buried with his past. He stared at Makarov wide eyed, the old man stayed still as a statue, eying Natsu critically. Dread soured the air as Natsu gasped in shaky breaths.

They had him tied up for it.

Why else would they tie him down if not to do something with that information? A surge of betrayal stole his breath even as logic desperately screamed against it. This was his family now, they would never-

“What's going on?” He rasped, breaking free of his turbulent thoughts, “why can't I move?”

”Good, you're definitely more lucid than you were thirty minutes ago,“ Makarov rose from his seat with a low groan, unusually hunched in his posture as he hobbled over to Natsu’s side. His tired eyes keenly swept over the draconis as he let the question go ignored for the moment. ”I was worried about you for a bit there.“

Relieved to take the strain off his neck, the draconis followed his chief's steps in rapt attention.

He was never one to ignore a question. Take frustratingly long to answer as he sought the right words? Yes. The chief was a man of patience, something he often butted heads with the fiery draconis over as he seemed to have none. But Natsu was wise enough in this moment to not demand speedier answers. Not when he couldn’t move.

But the question bubbled in his chest, burned the tip of his tongue and refused to be quashed down. It died on his tongue only when Makarov stumbled, gritting his teeth to quiet the pained hiss that left him.

Gramps was wounded? How? Who- he struggled to sit up again, desperately trying to reach the old man’s side to help him. His thrashing was cut short by the chief laying a hand against his chest, giving a firm pressure to hold him down.

“None of that,” He chided, “I'm better now that you’re awake. Wendy has already had a look and Porylusica will be double checking later. I'd rather talk about you.”

“But-” he tried to remember on his own, what exactly happened during his outburst, who could have- the only conclusion he could figure sharpened his features in a barely concealed rage, “Did that draconis-”

“No,” interrupted Makarov, fingers flexing on Natsu's chest. “. Gajeel has not laid a finger on me. In fact, if not for him, everything would have gone much worse.”

Gajeel …? The name sounded oddly familiar to him but he couldn’t ruminate on it further as the master’s words only served to confuse Natsu, “He's the one who snuck around and said all that- what do you mean thanks to him?“

”... I almost think it's better for you to see for yourself,“ Makarov muttered more to himself than to Natsu but negated the idea immediately, ”no, perhaps not. Not in your condition. Who knows what it would do to you to know the truth so quickly.“

The truth?

Already his earlier ire was starting to rise again, simmering under his skin as heat swelled and smoke started to leak from his nose, ”This ain't making any sense! Can't you just-“

Makarov continued in his inspection, silently ignoring Natsu’s outburst. He examined the magic bindings on the draconis' body and clicked his tongue at the growing singe marks on the sheets. Wordlessly he shot Natsu a look that demanded his silence.

The stony intensity in his eyes cut Natsu off immediately, “I can’t just proceed further without caution! This situation has fallen from my grasp without my knowing! And you especially my boy! I cannot just-!”

He sucked in a breath to steady his nerves. Natsu could hear the frantic beat of Makarov's heart hammering away in his chest and the old man wobbled on his feet. Natsu whined, “ Gramps please.”

His shoulders fell in defeat and his other hand found its way to rest atop Natsu’s crown. A calming gesture. But if it was to calm one or the other, Natsu couldn’t tell. “...Before I explain anything, I need you to promise me not to blame yourself.” He continued in a low voice. “In fact, I need you to mentally prepare yourself to remain as calm as you can manage. I won't say anything further until you prove to me you can do that.”

How could he-? ”I can't just not feel things!“ Natsu protested.

”Promise me!“ Makarov's voice was a harsh whisper, bordering on pleading, ”My boy, it is alright to feel, but you mustn't 'react'! Do you understand?“

His desperate plea froze Natsu in place, staring wide eyed at Makarov’s face. At that moment, he reminded Natsu of another man he wanted to forget. A man who never shied away from his fire even as it was thrown around in frustrated bouts that burned the area around him.

It was safe then, screaming his rage in a room designed to contain his outbursts til he grew weary. And a comforting arm would wrap itself around his shoulders. Warm eyes that always beheld him with quiet pride would meet him at eye level, accompanied by whispered instructions that held no fear. No judgement.

'My son... it is alright to be angry; to feel it and express it, but you must not react. You must control yourself. Can you do that for me?'

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and Natsu forced the memory out, nodding vigorously to his chief. “I'll... I'll try.”

Makarov waited in silence for a few seconds, watching as Natsu closed his eyes and took in deep breaths. Allowing his body to relax against the sheets, the burning embers of his body simmered and the smoke dispersed. It was hard to dampen his own inner flame, but with a few more breaths, he managed.

Makarov sighed in relief, “Good. Now keep it tethered. I’ve always known you to have a temper on you but I see now why Gajeel treated your outbursts as abnormal. I don't appreciate him purposefully baiting you. That man took too much pleasure in the barbs he threw at you, but I believe, I think this is something we all needed to see.”

His grip on Natsu’s chest tightened. “Your black fire has always been a point of interest, but never one of danger. It’s become so rare in these past years I'd almost forgotten it. But today…..This level of anger and hatred…. I’ve not seen anything like this from you before; The reports Laxus and Cana gave of your fight with Kage, today's instance hardly compares….. I’m worried for you.”

Today?

What did he mean by…?

Makarov patiently waited for him to connect the dots. He was often like this, giving others the chance to find the truth at their own pace instead of thrusting it on them all at once. But nothing made sense.

Gajeel wasn’t at fault for what Natsu could barely recall no matter how hard he tried. It made him feel light headed as he fought to piece together all that was laid out for him . Annoyance started to take hold. He inhaled deeply to steady his slipping nerves and almost choked on it when a familiar scent coated his tongue.

The muted scent of charred flesh, burnt black beyond recognition. It wrapped Makarov as he stared down at Natsu, forlorn, waiting for it to click. He didn’t need to see to know how bad the injury was and the truth struck his chest like a pile of rubble crushing his bones.

Natsu didn't always put things together as fast as the others, but this wasn't something that flew over his head, “... it was me….?”

No. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He searched Makarov’s grim expression for something that said otherwise but woefully found nothing of the sort.

The limp, his restraints…. The hand on his chest, how didn’t he notice the burns that marred Makarov’s fingers sooner? Panic seized him.

“What did I do?!” Natsu’s terror threatened to choke him. He vaguely recalled Makarov’s order to stay calm but control was slipping from him again as fear sank its claws into his frazzled brain. ”Where are the others?! Did I-“

”No,“ Makarov chided gently as he moved to rest his hand against Natsu's forehead, ”Freed moved quick enough to protect the others from the initial blast while I held you down, but the explosion was bigger than any of us could’ve imagined. If not for Gajeel knocking you out, the Keep may have been lost. I had guessed his affinity with metal, but to see an entire arm turn into it was something else entirely.“

Natsu wished he could do something instead of just laying there. He wanted to run, to cover his face in shame, to sink into the floor away from Makarov’s worried eyes that held no fear. There was only pity in their depths that made him feel worse. His breathing grew harsh as everything began to come back in vague pieces.

The memories were faint and blurred from the anger he'd felt, but with the chief's recollection he could catch the hints of surprised shouts and the crackling burn of splintered wood in his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if the room was nothing more than a gaping hole in the side of the building. The realization reflected on his face in horror and despair.

He'd hurt the old man. He could have killed everyone if not for Freed and that damned, filthy metal head and it was all because he couldn't control his temper.

He couldn't remember reason, try as he might, his rage had ignited something that made him blind to everything around him.

The tears that streamed down his face were unnoticed until a choking sob wracked through his body. “I'm sorry... ” He rasped, “I'm so sorry-”

Makarov continued to rub his forehead, shushing him quietly with clicks of his tongue and a gentle hum. It wasn't the same as the night before, when Lucy had held him tight, but the comfort was there. It had always been there. The chief was respected and loved for more than just his leadership and strength, he had always acted as a father or grandfather to the majority of magic users in his home and Natsu was no different. He shuddered beneath the touch, whimpering softly as his inner turmoil threatened to boil him alive.

“I told you,” Makarov murmured, voice low and mixed with pain, “it's not your fault. Whatever this is... this madness, it can be tempered now that we know about it. Don't just blame yourself for what you can't control: at least not yet.”

But he could control it, Natsu thought. He'd been taught so long ago to keep his rage in check, the lessons were a part of him for as long as he could wield those dark flames.

When had he begun to lose it? When had he stopped caring to hold the dark vestiges of it in check? He didn't have the time or the mental power to think it through in that moment, too aggrieved by his own actions, but he nodded despite himself, desperately wanting to believe anything Makarov said.

He didn't know how much longer he sobbed, unable to move while the elder stayed at his bedside. All he knew was the anguish at his own mistakes and the wild thoughts swarming through his mind in a tornado of regret.

If only that draconis hadn't come, if only he hadn't come to Natsu's window last night if only- he must have begun to mutter the thoughts out loud as Makarov quickly shushed him.

“I'll take care of him myself,” He assured, voice gruff, ”whatever he's after, it's not Lucy. What he has done to you is another matter that won’t go unpunished. He's followed my rules down to the letter, so far. You don't need to do a thing.“

”but...“ Natsu struggled through his words, sniffing as his earlier tears stuffed his nose and made his eyes far too swollen to be comfortable, ”we, I can't just-“

”Natsu,“ Makarov warned, removing his hand to flick the boy's chin in a sharp reprimand, ”as your chief, I will handle it. I can’t let you do anything in this state. His interest is clearly focused on you, not what Jose wants. I beg of you, please, hold yourself back..“

Natsu couldn’t. It wouldn’t be enough. It sounded so simple to do but how could he? Not when everything he’d struggled to build for himself was at stake. Why couldn’t Makarov get that?

”He knows about me…..who I am.“ Natsu whispered, voice cracking as he tried to get his point across.

Makarov hesitated, lifting his hands from Natsu at the reminder of a bold truth. True the questions burned at the old man’s mind. It was another strange puzzle piece to an already complex situation that continued to swell out of his control.

But what was he to do? The boy before him was just that: a boy as terrified as the day Makarov carried him in his arms to a new life. He rested his palm over Natsu’s heart, the erratic beats thumping wild enough to rattle his bones.

”A secret you have kept hidden for good reason I'm sure,“ Makarov agreed softly, ”but we all have our own secrets, and yours has been forced from you in a terrible way. It’s something I would like to speak with you about, but only when you are ready. For now I need you to recover. Focus on staying calm in the coming hours: understood? I’ll be back later to check on you.“

Natsu had no choice but to nod his head as another wave of guilt washed over him. Makarov gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he turned away, limping towards the door. It was painful to watch as he dragged a leg lamely behind him despite his best efforts to appear hale and hearty. He could see it now, the burnt edges of his pants, and the tight wrappings of white bandages spotted with red through the charred holes in his shirt.

He tilted his head towards the wall and clenched his eyes shut, unable to accept the truth that he was the cause of everything. Makarov’s groan of pain was shut out by the door clicking shut, leaving him completely alone.

Natsu bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, forcing back another whine. More tears threatened to spill down his face. Not even the tang of his own blood filling his mouth could distract him. He deserved it for what he’d done.

What else could he do if he wasn’t careful and lost control again? Just how much damage would be done because he wasn’t strong enough? The thoughts clung to Natsu’s mind the rest of the day, unable to think of anything else.

#fairy tail fanfiction #nalu fanfiction #ft fanfiction #nalu #natsuxlucy #Natsu Dragneel #Lucy Heartfilia #plot bomb drop #AWAY #this chapter is my gift to myself #and i think i did good lmao

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angie-long-legs · 2 months ago

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christmas starter for vox [ @hazbinned ]

A Christmas market was certainly not something one would expect to see in Hell. And yet, every year, Pentagram City played host to the demonic equivalent of such an event, held by a group of nostalgic sinners whose yearning for days gone by manifested in the recreation of earthly festivities. However, considering this was Hell, some vendors were a little less wholesome than a Christmas market typically called for. Slotted in amongst the usual tables of holiday-themed trinkets and knick-knacks were distinctly scummier-looking stalls, displaying everything from knock-off Fizz-bots to stolen VoxTek products; from used weapons to (hopefully unused) Lust-brand sex toys. The result was an unsettling amalgamation of genuine festive cheer and soulless, phoney cash-grabs. It was the black market on a white Christmas, polar opposites bleeding into one another to create their own unique shade of morally grey.

None of that particularly mattered to Angel - all he wanted was somewhere he could go incognito. Jam-packed with holiday-making sinners, it was easy for him to slip through the crowd unnoticed, especially with the addition of winter clothing. A pink and white striped scarf masked the lower half of his face, while a black woolly hat with a hot pink pom-pom atop it was pulled down to shield him from any potential gawking. Angel tugged his jacket around himself, shivering as the cold December air nipped at his rosy cheeks. At least, here, he could blend into the background. For once, he was invisible.

For once, he wanted to be.

What he didn't want was to return home to the hotel on Christmas Eve with smeared makeup and puffy eyes, the bright, cheerful joy of his friends snuffed out the instant Angel showed up damaged. They deserved to celebrate without having their good spirits marred by the porn star's sob story. The evidence of a particularly rough shift was a brutal reminder that neither he nor they needed: that his circumstances were no less dire during the season of giving.

Givin' me a fuckin' black eye, Angel thought with a bleak chuckle, puffs of chilly air forcing their way out from behind his scarf and clouding his vision. Morbid humour. Merry fucking Christmas.

As the frosty air disapated, a familiar face revealed itself to Angel from across the bustling street. An unmistakable TV-headed demon was hunched over a stall, and appeared to be inspecting its trove of treasures with intense focus. Angel frowned, side-stepping towards the Overlord before he could register what he was doing. He came here to be alone, after all, not chew the fat with the CEO of the very place he was desperately trying to forget about. So, why did he now find himself approaching him?

As always, it was curiosity. Just what exactly was Vox doing here? Had he been visited by a ghost who had encouraged an appreciation for small businesses, perhaps? Or was he here to cuss out the vendors selling stolen VoxTek products? Admittedly, the idea of an Overlord causing a scene in the middle of a Christmas market was pretty entertaining. Maybe the holiday spirit was alive, after all!

"So," Angel said breezily as he sidled up to the media demon, looking straight ahead at the market stall rather than at Vox himself. "Who's the unlucky sap ya waited until Christmas Eve ta buy a present for?"

With a quick sideways glance, Angel made certain that neither of the two rather recognisable demons had been clocked before he turned to acknowledge the other.

"Or is there some other reason yer hangin' around this overpriced junkyard in the freezin' cold, all by yerself?"

divider by @issysh3ll

#im trying so hard not to hate this :D i feel like once i have a reply to work from itll be fine but for some reason this starter EVADED ME #ic: cameras are rolling #starters #christmas threads #hazbinned #hazbinned vox #flat faced prince: vox

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hippiegoth97 · 1 year ago

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Last Christmas: An Eddie Munson x Reader Holiday Story Pt. 2

Description: You and the gang play White Elephant, opening and stealing one another's gifts. You end up with a present you least expect, and share a dance with friends. When you and Eddie take a turn on the dance floor, things get a little too close for comfort. Can you and Eddie salvage your relationship, or are you too far gone?

Warnings: swearing, female reader, drug use, alcohol use, angst, heartbreak, crying, light smut mention, fluff

Last Christmas Pt. 2

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes...

Eddie's POV

You watch silently as Y/N walks towards the rear of Harrington's humble home with Robin and Argyle to have a little smoke session. Usually you'd join them, since you're quite the stoner yourself. But you can see you're far from welcome, she wants absolutely nothing to do with you. Her words earlier, no feelings at all, ring in your head over and over. "You good, Munson?" Steve asks once the trio slide the glass door shut behind them.

"Not really. But that doesn't really matter, does it?" You say bitterly, taking a swig of your eggnog. Usually you hate the stuff, but you've been steadily consuming it to keep yourself in one piece. Seeing Y/N again feels just as awful as the day she left and never came back.

"Don't say that, man. Of course it does." Jonathan pipes up, flashing you an apologetic look. You just shrug in response, unsure of what else to say. You really wish you weren't having this conversation at all. Clearly you have no chance of getting Y/N back, so what's the point of rehashing the same old shit?

"Even so, do you guys really wanna hear about my extinct love life for the millionth time? It's Christmas, there's supposed to be music and presents and all that holly jolly crap. Maybe I should go, I don't wanna bring you guys down all night." You start getting up to leave, but everyone quickly protests. You sigh, plopping back down into your chair. You know for a fact they'd sooner tie you down than let you walk out that door. There's more of them than there are of you, and Steve is ridiculously strong. "Fine! I'll stay! But can we drop it? Please? I'm hangin' on by a thread as it is." You sniffle, exhaling sharply as tears prick your tired eyes.

"Eddie, we really think you need to have a talk with Y/N." Dustin says, looking away from the claymation elves singing about making toys to speak to you seriously.

You just shake your head, the thought of that alone makes you want to off yourself. "Nah, man. She wants nothin' to do with me. And I don't blame her." Your voice trembles slightly. Goddammit, here come the waterworks.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, dude. Robin told me Y/N still sleeps in your old t-shirt. She used to sniff it for the scent of you when she thought Robin wasn't looking. She cried for hours when it didn't smell like you anymore. And she hums your guys' song all the time without realizing it, "Beast of Burden", right?" Your eyes widen at Steve telling you this. The possibility that Y/N doesn't completely hate you blows your mind. Since the day she walked out the door, she's never contacted you again. She had Robin pick up any of her stuff still at your place, exchanging it for the things you left with her. The only thing missing was that beat-up Mötley Crüe t-shirt, you figured you'd lost it while you were drunk or something.

"Either way, I don't think she's in the mood to talk. I don't wanna hurt her again." You really don't get why everyone seems to have planned this ambush tonight. No doubt Robin and Argyle are working their mojo on Y/N to convince her to speak with you. You'd love it if she did, but you can see it now. She's letting them have an earful, telling them to mind their own fucking business. She's so damn stubborn, it's one of the million things you love about her. Loved, you mentally correct yourself.

"But you're both sitting here like goddamn ticking time bombs. Any minute, you're bound to explode. Unless you resolve this. We're not saying you'd necessarily get back together, but it would be good for both of you to work towards being able to tolerate sitting in the same room." Nancy takes her turn now, and you just roll your eyes.

"You guys really can't let this go, can you? Why do you care so much about mine and Y/N's relationship anyways?" You finish the rest of your drink, setting the empty glass on the floor. You cross your arms in frustration, waiting for this stupid talk to be over.

"No, we can't let it go. Because you and Y/N are our friends, and we love you. And we've had to sit and watch you both be in pain for months. And none of us can make that hurt go away, only you guys can do that." Mike says, hoping you understand how hard it's been for everyone to watch you and Y/N suffer.

You sigh, dragging your palms down your face. Partially in aggravation, and partially to wipe your tears away. "Fuck! Fine! But I'm not gonna force it. If she won't talk, I'm gonna let her be. Fair enough?"

The group nods in agreement, murmuring various 'yes's and 'okay's as they finally drop the subject. "I'm gonna go get the others from outside. I'd say now's as good a time as ever to start the game." Max says, standing up from her cozying up to Lucas. She walks to the door, sliding it open before shouting into the cold. "Hey, potheads! Hurry up, it's time for presents!"

Y/N POV

"Alright, who wants to pick the first gift?" Jonathan asks, taking on the task of supervising this little game. Nobody volunteers, when Robin speaks up.

"How about we have Y/N go first?" She smiles at you, trying to get you in the spirit of things. You roll your eyes, she's incorrigible sometimes.

"Uh, sure. Step on up, Y/N." Jonathan says awkwardly. You take a deep breath, standing up slowly as the weed has finally decided to kick in. You walk over to the tree, looking over the plentiful pile of presents wrapped in shiny paper. You pick up a smaller one, leaving the larger gifts for the others. You return to your seat to open it, tearing the paper to reveal a jar of soaking salts.

"Ooh! These'll make bathtime very relaxing!" You say cheerily, showing everyone what you got. You actually really like this present, long hot baths are one of your favorite ways to relieve stress. Everyone murmurs in agreement, and Robin goes next. She gets a matching hat and glove set, which looks very cozy. Next is Argyle, who opens up a box of fancy chocolates.

"Sweet! I've got major munchies, man!" Argyle says, opening the box and taking one of the sweets out of its wrapper before popping it into his mouth.

"Well, safe to say that gift is out of play now." Jonathan shakes his head, his poor friend clearly doesn't understand the rules. Nobody seems to mind though, it's just chocolate. Next to pick a present is Nancy, who decides to steal your bath salts. You stand up to open another present, which turns out to be a Magic 8 Ball. You're less enthused about this item, but you figure one of the kiddos will take it off your hands at some point.

"Okay, my turn!" Steve says while rubbing his hands together. He picks up a gift bag, pulling a pack of warm socks from under the tissue paper. "Wow, just what I wanted." He says sarcastically, wondering if his parents secretly put a gift of their own in the bunch before leaving town.

"I will happily take those off your hands, Stevie." Eddie says, holding out his hands for Steve to toss him the socks. He catches them with ease, placing them in his lap. Your eyes meet again, and he instinctively gives you a small smile. You return it out of reflex, before realizing who you're looking at. You quickly frown instead, turning away to see what Steve reveals this time. It's a D&D starter set.

"Dammit." Steve mutters, cursing his inability to pick one of the better presents. Next up is Will, taking a chance with a larger box. He tears the paper away, revealing a portable radio.

"Nice!" Will says, very pleased with this find. Jonathan and the rest of the kids take their turns, most opting to open a brand new gift as opposed to stealing someone else's. The next six gifts are a Stephen King novel, the Star Wars trilogy on VHS, a Santa Claus mug with hot cocoa mix, a sketchbook, a knitted blanket, and a Walkman. Max steals the D&D set from Steve, deciding to give the game a try since the boys love it so much. Steve gets to pick for a third time, and he ends up with a thick, cozy scarf.

"Now this I can live with." Steve says, smirking as he’s got something he actually wants. Erica is last, taking your 8 Ball for herself. She claims she'll use it to make any and all further decisions for the foreseeable future. This leaves you empty handed once again, and there's only one gift left beneath the tree. Jonathan hands it to you, and everyone watches in anticipation to see what's inside.

You tear open the paper, pulling the lid off the flimsy box beneath. And inside, is a Santa hat. With devil horns glued onto it. Just like Eddie's. Leave it to you to end up with the gift that your ex-boyfriend brought. The room goes completely silent, and you don't know what to say. Your eyes dart across the room to him again, and he tries his hardest to silently apologize. You can feel the others watching you two, waiting to see what happens next. You look away, inspecting the hat for a moment. You rub your fingers over the fuzzy material, smiling slightly at the hand-stitched letters that spell 'SATAN' on the white brim. "You can trade with me if you want, Y/N." Robin offers, extending her gift to you.

"No, it's fine! It's a cute hat, cheeky." You giggle genuinely, it really plays into the sense of humor you and Eddie used to share. You wanna be a good sport, and not hurt his feelings. You pick up the hat, settling it on top of your head with a big smile on your face. It's very warm, but comfortable. You imagine you look a little silly, but you don't mind it one bit.

"Alright then, looks like the game is over. Anyone need a refill?" Jonathan asks, and every adult's hand goes up into the air. You may have graciously accepted your present, but the tension in the room has only gotten worse. You and Eddie keep looking at each other curiously, but avert your gaze when either of you get caught staring. "Yeah, sounds about right." Jonathan sighs, gathering everyone's glasses to head into the kitchen.

"You really don't mind it?" Eddie asks as the others move on to other activities. The kiddos open Max's D&D box, showing her how to build a character and how the game works. Nancy gets up to put on some music, picking out a Rolling Stones album from Steve's extensive collection. Some Girls, to be exact.

"Not at all, Eds. You know I love shit like this." You reply, realizing you just used his nickname. Maybe you don't need that refill after all. His eyes widen when he realizes what you said, hoping this means you'll talk to him...and maybe take him back. "Don't get any ideas, Munson. I'll get back together with you when hell freezes over." You quip, not meaning it in a hurtful way whatsoever.

"Well, we are in Hawkins in the middle of winter. I'd say that's pretty close." He retorts, making you laugh. It's been so long since he's done that, and you can't help missing it. Jonathan returns with the drinks, and you decide to throw caution to the wind and keep drinking. You're feeling warm and fuzzy inside, despite the perfect storm brewing between you and Eddie. You put it aside for the time being, focusing on enjoying the night with your friends. All your friends.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the group as a whole is able to fall back into the familiar groove you used to share. There's no more worried glances, awkward silences, or talks about your past relationship. Everyone's joking, laughing, and having a great fuckin' time. You have a dance with a few members of your little band of misfits. Steve, Robin, even Dustin. You can't stop smiling, downing a steady stream of eggnog the whole way to keep yourself merry and bright.

You're having a rather uncoordinated turn with Argyle, when the record begins to play a tune you haven't heard in an eternity. "Beast of Burden", the song you and Eddie once claimed as yours. You stop moving, noticing him walking over to you. He's taking his shot, hoping this is enough. "Mind if I cut in?" You look at him, finding his impossibly large brown eyes gazing at you expectantly. He gives you a kind smile, holding out his ringed hand.

"Fuck it! I'm pretty wasted. And everyone else has had a turn. Why not?" You reply with a hiccuping giggle. You take his hand, letting him pull you into his space. He clasps your fingers together, his other hand going to the small of your back. You put yours on his shoulder, sharing an awkward look as Mick Jagger begins to sing.

I'll never be your beast of burden. My back is broad, but it's a-hurtin'. All I want is for you to make love to me. The opening lines remind you of the first time you heard this song with Eddie. It was late one night, in the fall if you recall it correctly. You'd gone on a long drive all over town, not caring about the final destination as there wasn't really one in mind. The radio played real low, and you smoked cigarette after cigarette while staring out the window at the full moon while Eddie drove. Conversation was light, the two of you in comfortable bliss. And then the opening riff spilled forth from the worn stereo speakers in his van, prompting him to turn the volume up. "Shit, this is one of my favorites." You remember him saying, smiling at you to see if you also recognized it. You hadn't heard it before, but you listened closely to the words.

I'll never be your beast of burden. I've walked for miles, my feet are hurtin'. All I want is for you to make love to me. Eddie sang along with Mick, in perfect key at that. It was far from the first time you'd heard his deep, sultry tone. He is in a metal band, after all. But nevertheless, he enchanted you time and time again. And this particular evening from the recesses of your memory was no different. You watched his lips open and close in various shapes to form the lyrics, his face dimly lit by every passing street lamp. This dashboard performance in particular felt different from the others. He was tenderly asking you for something. To love him forever, to have him as yours the same as he wanted to keep you for his own.

You gladly granted the request, your heart soaring across the universe at the thought of never letting Eddie go. When the song was reaching its end, you had ended up at the edge of Lover's Lake. The maddening man in the sky reflected upon the still, black waters. Stars twinkled overhead, it was the most beautiful night. Eddie killed the ignition, inviting you to the back of the van like he'd done so many times before. You followed him like a moth to a flame, letting him lay you down on the mismatched blankets splayed about the floor. You made the sweetest love you'd ever had, sealing your promise that you thought would never be broken.

The two of you sway to the music, slowly rotating in a cautious waltz. You do your best to loosen up, bringing yourself a bit closer. Eddie's had a considerable amount to drink too, playfully crooning the lyrics of the song to you. Just like the old days. "Am I hard enough? Am I rough enough? Am I rich enough? I'm not too blind to see." Your smile grows wider at him singing for you, you used to love it when he did this. His voice is gorgeous, and he made you feel like the most special person in the world when he'd serenade you with your favorite songs.

The others pretend not to stare as they make their own pairings to dance. You ignore their approving glances and nods. It's like everyone else disappears, leaving only you and Eddie in the room anymore. Your movements are more fluid now, facilitated by the weed and alcohol. You let Eddie lean down to softly sing the repeating 'pretty, pretty girl' part of the song in your ear. His chest is flush against yours, and it's almost as if you've never been apart. You want so badly to just smash the walls down, and let him back in. Nostalgia and longing wash over you, tempting you to take what you've been wanting since the day you walked away.

He pulls back a moment, meeting your hazy eyes. You can see loud and clear that he still loves you, and he can tell you're mirroring the sentiment back at him. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the pace staying in sync with yours. Your mouths are dangerously close together, and your breath fans in each other's faces. The sickly sweet scent of rum and sugar cookies wafts between you. He tries to make a move to kiss you, and you almost lean into it. But when you really look at him, you can't help remembering how you two ended in the first place.

You drop his hand and push him away, a single tear falling from your eye. "I-I can't." You choke out the words, frantically looking at everyone staring at you.

"Y/N-" Eddie takes a step forward, reaching for your arm.

"Don't!" You back up again while shaking your head, turning away to leave the room. You push past Nancy and Jonathan, and you begin to sob uncontrollably. You make a break for the stairs, your heels thumping as you bound up each step.

"Go after her, you idiot!" Steve yells to Eddie, and you try to find a place to hide. It's too much, you can't just pretend he didn't break your heart into a million pieces. You can't act like everything's okay now, because it isn't. You hear another set of shoes coming up from the ground floor, just as you run into Steve's parents' room. You slam the door and click the lock, leaning against the wood while your chest heaves.

"Y/N?" You hear Eddie's voice from the other side. Why can't he just leave you alone?

"Go away, Eddie. I can't do this." You say through your tears, pulling the Santa hat from your head. You don't want to wear it anymore. You toss it across the room, refusing to look at it again. You slide down to the floor, your knees tented in front of you. Your head falls in your hands, tears and saliva soaking through your dress.

"Y/N, please? I just wanna talk." You can hear the pain in his voice, and you fucking hate it. You hear him shuffling to sit on the other side of the door, his own stifled cries spilling out. His hand brushes the finished wood, wishing he could feel you through it. "Baby, please. I-" He begs.

"Don't call me that! You lost the right to use that name a long time ago." You shout, turning around to face the solid barrier between you.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Just...I don't wanna be like this anymore." His voice trembles, he's just as shaken to the core as you are.

"I don't either, Eddie. But what else is there? You ended us, when I thought you'd never do that."

"I know. And I'm a fucking idiot." Eddie replies through clenched teeth, he's so frustrated with himself for making such a dumb decision.

"Well, at least you admit it." You can't help cracking this small joke, making both of you laugh on either side of the door. Even though you can't see each other, you know exactly how the other's face and body language looks with every passing word.

"Steve said you still sleep in my shirt. Is that true?" He asks, unable to rein in his curiosity. You gasp at the question, Robin must've said something to him.

"Yes." You say softly, not wanting to admit it. "But only because it's comfortable." You try to make up an excuse, but you already know he doesn't believe you. "Robin said you were really messed up after I left. Is that true too?" You figure you might as well get some confirmation of your own while you're trapped in here.

"Shit, yeah. I don't think I had a sober moment for at least two weeks after you left. It was awful. But I couldn't stand to keep being reminded of you at every turn." Eddie recalls how those drunken, drug-addled days played out. He woke up late, head pounding from the night before. He'd crack open another beer, and smoke a blunt or two before breakfast. All he could manage to eat during that time was Honeycomb cereal and Poptarts. Not to say those stayed in his stomach long, far from it.

By lunchtime he'd be face-first in the porcelain throne, rejecting every last bit of sugary snacks and booze. And the cycle would continue. More alcohol, toss some cocaine in the mix, another joint, or a few. Reefer Rick even threatened to cut off his supply if he didn't stop consuming all the product. He had to work twice as hard to recoup the cost of the illicit substances. And all that did was further remind him of how he lost you.

"Jesus, Eddie. I'm sorry." You can't help feeling bad when you hear the words from his own lips. A secondhand story doesn't have nearly the same impact.

"Not your fault. I did this, remember?" This is absolutely killing you, you can't stand the sullen tone in his voice. It makes you want to unlock the door, to allow him back where he clearly belongs. But that's not enough. You can't put the past behind you and give it a second try so easily. Especially when he could just as easily break your heart again, deeming himself unworthy of you. Just like last time.

"Why did you? We had a good thing, didn't we?" You really want to understand why he made that decision all those months ago. He technically gave you a reason, but was that really enough to end a relationship?

"Of course we did, Y/N. It was the best thing I've ever had in my entire life." Eddie says, complete and total regret working its way through his body. It cuts like a knife, deep and jagged. More tears spring from his eyes, tapping wetly as they land on the hardwood floor below him. His heart aches for you more than he ever thought possible. You're so close, and yet you're a million miles away. If he wanted to act selfishly, he'd smash this damn door to pieces and scoop you into his arms. But he won't, because it's not what you want. And that's the only thing that has ever mattered to him.

"Then why?" You hoarsely croak out the words. You're fighting to swallow a wedge in your throat, it's grating and bitter. Like a lump of coal scraping your esophagus. You press your hand against the door, laying your head beside it. You want to be closer to him in this silly, small way.

"Well, it's like I said before. I didn't feel like I was enough for you. You were starting college soon, and I know you're gonna be something great." Eddie smiles slightly at that thought. You have big dreams of saving the world, changing it for the better. He'd listen to you talk for hours about cleaning up the oceans or regulating big corporations that over-pollute. Seeing your eyes light up when you cared about something made him even more helplessly in love with you. "Whereas, I'm gonna be stuck flipping burgers or fixing cars my whole life. Would you really wanna spend your days with someone like that?"

"I told you before, I didn't care about that. I just wanted to be with you. What you did for a job or how much money you had was always a non-factor for me. People do those things their whole lives, and there's nothing wrong with that." You reassure him, speaking sincerely. Just because others may look down upon those who work in 'unskilled' jobs, that doesn't make them worthless.

"But how could I provide for you when I make shit pay like that? You deserve someone who can take care of you, Y/N." You really have no idea why Eddie insists on this idea that he has to be the big spender in the relationship. It's oddly old-fashioned for someone like him.

"Eddie, did I ever say I wanted you to be the 'provider' in our relationship? You know better than anyone I don't subscribe to medieval ideals like that." You don't mean to come off so harsh, but it's a bit annoying that he seems to ignore this rather fundamental thing about you. "Plus, you provided plenty. You were kind, sweet, and loving. You comforted me in my weakest moments, and we made so many meaningful memories together."

"I know, you're right. The more I say it out loud, the stupider it sounds." He chuckles dryly, shaking his head. But there's something else, something he's kept close to the chest this whole time. You can sense the hesitation in his voice, the little hitch in his breath when he forces his tongue to hold back.

"What is it, Eddie? Please, tell me." You ask quietly, wanting to know what he's been hiding.

"I was afraid you'd outgrow me. You'd slowly earn your degree, make new friends. Then you'd no doubt go wherever the planet needs you, and where would that leave me? You'd see how big and beautiful the world is, and being with me would pale in comparison. And then you'd leave, finding a foxy marine biologist instead or something. Then you'd win some kinda Nobel Prize or some shit, and I'd still be here in Hawkins. With nothing to show for it." He realizes how silly he sounds now, how he's spent so long fantasizing about you leaving him behind.

"Thought about that a lot, did you?" You ask, unable to hide the smirk in your voice. You understand his fears, you'd probably have them too if the roles were reversed.

"Every goddamn day, Y/N." He chuckles again, but he sounds far from happy about it. Your face falls, there must be a way for him to see that his anxieties held no water.

"You do realize I would've taken you with me, right? If your hypotheticals ever came to be, I mean." You speak matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Eddie still doesn't understand, does he? Just as he claims to love you to the ends of the earth and back, you feel just as strongly. If not moreso.

"Yes, you big idiot!" You exclaim, grabbing his attention. "I would've had you by my side every step of the way. We would've moved in together while I went to school. Then after graduation you'd come with me to wherever I was interning at, until I’d eventually lead the charge in some world-saving research. And then you'd be right there in the audience while I accept my 'Nobel Prize or some shit', dressed in a cute tux and everything. And then we'd go home to our house, and our pets or plants or whatever." Eddie's eyes widen at your words, he never imagined that you would actually want to spend the rest of your life with him. Him, the metalhead, freak, loser, asshole that deals drugs.

"Thought about that a lot, did you?" He parrots your previous statement at you, drawing light laughs from both of your mouths.

"Every goddamn day, Eds." Another copied comment, and another slip of his nickname. You're headed for trouble if you don't knock it off.

"Fuck, I wish more than anything I could take it back, Y/N." Eddie says, desperately wanting this conversation to end in reconciliation. He wants you, no, needs you in his life. You're like the sun in the sky, the air in his lungs, the ground beneath his feet, the blood in his veins. You are everything to him.

"So do I." You reply simply, the tears have been steadily pouring from your eyes this whole time. As is the case with Eddie, you suspect.

"Would it be so terrible to try again? I miss you so much, it's killing me." There it is. That oh, so dangerous question. You've been simultaneously dreading it and wishing for it all night. How easy it would be to accept him back into your heart, to reignite the burning flame of love you used to share.

"I miss you too, more than you know. But I don't want to get hurt again. I can't go through the hell you put me in a second time." You sniffle, unable to stop yourself from remembering the endless sob-fest you had at Robin's for the first few days after your breakup.

"I promise, I will never let you go again. I'll never be so fucking stupid." He pleads, yanking at your heartstrings.

"But how do I know for sure, Eddie? I was under the impression that the first time would never come, and it did. Who's to say you won't break us to pieces again when things get tough?" As much as you'd love to be together again, you have valid reservations about the prospect.

He doesn't say anything else for a minute, carefully considering what you've said. He feels so fucking awful for hurting you, and he wants to prove himself worthy of a second chance. "What if we move in together?" He blurts out, as it's the first step in your little fantasy about the future.

You scoff, he can't be serious. "Eddie, you don't have to jump the gun like that."

"I'm serious. I wanna be with you, commit to a life with you. What better way to do that than to get a place together? We could look after New Year's if you want. I think there's a place by-" His tone is frantic now, eager to sell you on the idea.

"Eddie, slow down!" You shout, interrupting his babbling. He shuts his trap, his teeth clacking at the force. "Look, it's really sweet of you to offer. But I think we would need time to get reacquainted first, to see if this would even work again." He perks up at your words, hoping this means you're saying yes to him.

"I'm sorry, you're right. But, does that mean we can give this another shot?" He asks expectantly, crossing his fingers and praying to whatever God is up there that you'll take him back.

You sigh, shaking your head as you giggle at the thought. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this. But yes, we can try again, Eds." You say as you stand up, clicking the lock to open the door. Eddie falls forward into the room, almost smacking his head on the floor. You shriek in surprise, and he bounces back up in no time. He scrambles to his feet, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in what feels like hours. He laughs awkwardly, blushing hard as he rubs the back of his neck. You giggle in reply, rolling your eyes at his clumsiness.

You move closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his go around your waist. You're standing in the threshold of the room, looking up to see some mistletoe hanging right above your heads. "Well, would ya look at that? Seems like the Harringtons have the right idea." Eddie says, returning his gaze to yours. The air between you is different now. It's no longer somber and heartbroken, but filled with unbridled joy and a dash of booze-fueled lust.

"That they do." You reply, just barely above a whisper. You can't stop staring at each other's lips, the familiar scent of Christmas treats dizzying your heads in your proximity. Eddie's just about to bring his lips to yours, when-

To be continued...

#writers on tumblr #smut #stranger things #fanfiction #hawkins #eddie munson #1980s #christmas

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dhcmpirs · 2 years ago

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Person: The Father of His Children @danteragnulf Location: where the hipsters are hangin Kay always thought magic was more about what you intended to do with it than actual prowess. The fire thing, it was a hard element to control for an angry teenager who’d grown into a miserable adult masquerading as someone fun. He sort of thinks drugs are the same. Take something while already in a mood, it was just going to make it worse. Normally something like this would be written off as a work function and he would attempt to keep up appearances for Cloe’s sake and yet that’s harder to do after the peace treaty bullshit in general, he thinks he’s allowed a night to wallow. And wallow he does, he’s practically sulking off to the side of where the artsy types have all gathered after he’s done lingering around a few vampire’s he’s acquainted with, and normally it’s the environment he thrives in, but he stays quiet, goes through a couple cigarettes, sips from an IPA that’d been handed to him the moment he’d set foot in the campground. He’d been too polite to tell the art grad student who’d handed it to him that he might be pretentious, but he wasn’t that pretentious. The silver lining is he gets to hear Dante play though, gets to sit there quietly a few feet away throwing stupid quips at hipsters who keep passing him the joint they’ve got despite the fact that he’s clearly not listening to a single word they’re saying. Mostly because through the haze, through being annoyed as hell about maybe ninety-eight percent of what’s going on in his life, Dante’s voice is crystal clear. Silky smooth and soft above a few guitar chords and the only reason he hasn’t plastered himself to the wolf’s side is because he knows his filter is gone enough that he’s going to crawl into his lap right then and there and beg him to stay. But even when the guitar is set aside after a while and the little crowd has broken up a bit, even when he thinks he kind of needs to say something about it, he opens his mouth and derails his own train of thought entirely. “What inspires you when you write your own stuff?” It’s practically muffled against Dante’s bare shoulder because of course he didn’t show up to this thing with a shirt on, on account of Kay is actually convinced the other man is something he’s dreamed up in his head and has been let loose on the world. So yeah, of course he wouldn’t be wearing a fucking shirt but he’d be wearing some sort of sport ball shorts.

#dante 04.#mercuralia.#drug tw #//again i say cut this

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chainsxwsmile · 1 year ago

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70 horrible questions: 12, 26, and 30

70 horrible questions:

12. Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

“Hah! Plenty times. Especially in my younger years, hangin’ ‘round with a tougher crowd. Goin’ from feedin’ frenzy to feedin’ frenzy all night. Didn’t make the best decisions durin’ those years. Didn’t stay true to m’self either. Just tried to shut out any feelin’s of guilt or emptiness.

“Glad I’ve come quite a way from back then!”

26. What are you craving right now?

Bruce paused, and an abashed expression spread across his face. “Would it be uncouth if I said ‘blubber’? In my defense, any meal from a whale keeps me full for weeks on end. And makes any fish-cravin’s a whole lot tolerable.”

30. What’s irritating you right now?

“Not much! It’s been a while since any human diver’s interrupted our meetin’s. That’s the biggest reason why we had our last meetin’ place in a minefield. Humans wouldn’t go miles near that place! No humans. No interruptions. Most of the time.”

#answered #verse: canon #houseflyy #thank you!

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awakenthemusic · 2 years ago

Text

What You Wish For: Chapter 2

Sam and Dean arrive at the Roadhouse to find some very familiar, and unexpected, faces.

Under the cut or on Ao3

Considering Dean had spent the last few decades driving away from the Roadhouse, the drive back was surprisingly quick. Like, they got there in about two minutes, quick.

Time clearly wasn’t the only thing that worked differently in heaven.

Dean parked in front of Harvelle’s as the sky flared in a multitude of colors with the dying light of the sun. He waited for Sam to catch up with him, then pushed open the Roadhouse door.

The familiar smells of stale beer and gun oil wafted over Dean. A handful of patrons sat at the bar to his right and more sat at the tables scattered in the center of the room. The jukebox stood in its corner to the left, classic rock playing low as its neon glowed a bright blue. Through the crowd, Dean could just make out the pool table standing in its alcove at the back of the room.

Ellen looked over from behind the bar and called, “Sam and Dean Winchester.” She smiled and asked, “How in the hell are you, boys?”

Before Dean could think of anything to say, Ash piped up from his spot near the pool table, “Dead! Again!”

Groaning laughter spread across the room and Dean wondered just how many times Ash had told that particular joke.

Dean couldn’t help but grin as he called out, “Hey, Dr. Badass, how’s it hangin’?”

Ash threw his arms out wide and said, “Free and easy, compadre, free and easy.”

“You dudes ain’t been back in a hot second,” Ash continued as he sauntered over, flipping his mullet casually. “Used to be I couldn’t go two weeks without having to rescue you from whatever memories you got yourselves stuck in so we could catch up and grab a beer before the powers-that-be sent you back dirt-side. Now, you never call, you never write…” Ash punched Dean in the arm and winked at him as he said, “I was starting to take it personal.”

Dean rubbed his aching shoulder as Sam chuckled and said, “Sorry we haven’t died in a while, I guess?”

Ash magnanimously waved it off and said, “Water under the bridge. But what am I doing wasting time?” Ash leaned over to shout toward the swinging door behind the bar, “Charles, you’re gonna want to see what the cat dragged in!”

Dean exchanged a confused glance with Sam. Who did they know named Charles?

The door swung open and Dean caught sight of a flash of red between the patrons seated at the bar as a familiar voice grumbled, “I swear to Hermione, Ash, if you want me to look at another hot guy you met…” The figure rounded the bar and froze, her mouth dropping open. “Sam? Dean?”

Dean felt like he’d been sucker-punched. It was Charlie, their Charlie. Not some alternate-universe knockoff.

Charlie launched herself at Dean, stumbling him back a couple of steps and nearly knocking the wind out of him with the force of her hug.

Dean couldn’t care less about breathing right now. He gathered Charlie in close, squeezing her just as hard. He rested his chin on top of her head and seriously considered never letting her go.

Damn , he’d missed her.

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean said, his voice rough.

Charlie’s voice was suspiciously watery as she burrowed closer into Dean’s chest and said, “Hey, handmaiden.”

That surprised a sound out of Dean that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. Tears pricked at the backs of Dean’s eyes and he had to fight past the lump in his throat to say, “I’m so sorry.”

Charlie pulled back far enough to glare up at Dean, fire in her eyes as she said firmly, “My death was nobody’s fault but the asshole who killed me. None of that was your fault. I make my own decisions, handmaiden, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Dean nodded, his eyes watery. He dropped a kiss on Charlie’s head before he finally stepped back. Dean cleared his throat to try and dislodge the emotion caught there.

He turned to find Jo standing next to Sam, clearly having just hugged him in greeting while Dean was busy with Charlie. She said, “Hey, Dean.”

Another pang of guilt hit Dean. Even though logically he knew they were all safe now, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed Jo, Ellen, and Charlie. If he’d just been faster, smarter maybe they would have had a chance to live instead of dying too soon.

Jo cocked her head and said, “I’ll second what Charlie said. None of what happened was your fault.”

Dean cleared his throat and said, “Come ‘ere.”

Jo smiled softly and stepped into the hug. She leaned up to Dean’s ear and said, “And I will get details on the whole ‘handmaiden’ thing.”

Dean chuckled and dropped a kiss on her forehead as well. He breathed deep as she backed out of the hug, pushing back the last of the tears.

Ellen smiled softly at their reunion and cleared her throat before saying, “You boys sit yourselves down right here and tell us all about what you’ve been up to before someone yanks you back out of here again. Oh!” She clapped her hands together and said, “I’d better call Bobby. That old buzzard’ll have my hide if finds out he missed you.” She grabbed the handset of the bar’s ancient landline and started to dial.

Dean frowned. Sam had just gotten here of course, but why hadn’t Bobby told Ellen that Dean was here to stay this time? Dean shuffled his feet and said, “Um, I think we’re officially out of ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards this time.”

Ellen paused, her face falling slightly, then put the receiver back down. She nodded decisively, saying, “Well, then. Looks like you boys have time to get settled in before the party.”

Dean blinked and asked, “What party?”

“The party we’re gonna throw for you boys tomorrow,” Ellen said with a twinkle in her eye.

Dean and Sam both started to protest at the same time, but Ellen would hear none of it. She silenced them both with a gesture and declared, “You boys are finally here to stay. We are throwing you two the biggest blowout heaven’s ever seen and that’s final!”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of good food, friendly banter, and party planning.

Bill Harvelle, Ellen’s husband, turned out to be a big bear of a guy with an easy smile. He was instantly on board with the idea of throwing a welcome party for Sam and Dean and didn’t seem to hold a grudge against either of them for the fact that their dad had been involved when Bill had died.

When Ellen finally noticed how late it was and offered them a place to sleep, Dean gratefully accepted.

Charlie volunteered to show Sam and Dean to the guest rooms. She led them up the stairs at the back of the building, gushing happily about all of the technological hijinks she and Ash had been getting up to since everything had changed in heaven.

Dean could practically hear everyone involved in cybersecurity back on earth letting out a collective sigh of relief that Ash and Charlie had never met in life.

The guest rooms were small and simply furnished, but they were still a damn sight better than most of the places that Sam and Dean had stayed in their lives. Each room had a bed, a dresser, and a small table and chairs. There were no strange stains and no bugs or other vermin running around. But the real highlight of the room was a large window that looked out on a magnificent view.

Moonlight sparkled over snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance as evergreens danced in the same cool breeze that fluttered the curtains.

It had been quite a few years and several apocalypses ago, but Dean would bet every cent he owned that the real-life roadhouse hadn’t had a view like this.

Charlie suddenly gasped, “Oh! I almost forgot the best part!”

She motioned Sam and Dean over to the dresser and said, “Check this out.” She opened the top drawer and gestured inside.

Dean frowned and said, “Okay, it’s empty.”

Charlie grinned and said, “Exactly,” then shut the drawer again. Dean was about to ask if she was feeling alright, but she silenced him by holding up a finger. She paused dramatically for a moment, then opened the drawer again with a flourish as she said, “Et voilá!"

The empty drawer was now stuffed full of flannel shirts. Dean looked closer and felt his eyebrows rocket upward. He said, “Those are my shirts.”

Charlie just nodded, a twinkle in her eye.

“What the hell?”

Charlie laughed at their dumbfounded expressions and explained, “It’s heaven, bitches. Anything you need, you just think about it and it shows up; clothes, food, even places; anywhere you want to go is always just down the street.”

Well, that explained their weirdly short drive earlier.

Charlie continued, “It only seems to work where you can’t see it, though. I guess somebody up here figured that having shit pop up out of nowhere would freak out the muggles too much.”

Sam leaned over Charlie’s shoulder to look into the drawer for himself and said, “That’s unbelievable.”

Charlie said, “I know, right? We’re all still getting used to it.”

She jumped suddenly as an idea hit her. She closed the drawer again, then paused, wrinkling up her face in concentration. She pulled the drawer open again and gestured for Dean to look inside.

Instead of Dean’s clothes, there sat two leather arm braces, similar to the ones he wore during their LARPing stint in ‘Moondoor.’ Charlie had clearly dreamed these up herself, though; they were a deep green color and had little symbols embossed at the top.

Dean picked them up and tilted them in the light to get a better look. The symbols were little raised Impala logos in the leather. He grinned and said, “Awesome.”

Charlie smothered her grin, straightened to her full height, and, in an imperious voice, said, “Only the best for my handmaiden.”

Sam laughed and asked, “You LARP in heaven?”

Charlie scoffed, “Duh. Think about it, costumes that we can make instantly, as many fake weapons as we want, not to mention we can literally go anywhere that we can imagine; Helm’s Deep, the bridge of the Enterprise…” Charlie bounced in place and said, “Once we get the logistics of the wands and brooms figured out, we’re going to recreate the Battle of Hogwarts, it’s going to be epic!”

Dean grinned fondly and said, “Well, you’re obviously right at home here… I gotta ask, though. How’d you wind up at the Roadhouse?”

“After everyone ‘woke up’ in heaven, Ash was the first one to establish communications between people.” Charlie chuckled, “Hell, he had a rudimentary internet up in a matter of hours. After that, a bunch of programmers and hackers joined forces to bring heaven into the twenty-first century. Now we’ve got a decent internet proxy and we’re working on getting access to things like social media and Wikipedia—” Charlie stopped and yawned wide, then said, “Well, to cut a long story short, Ash and I met online, worked together, and decided to meet in person. Once I got here and we realized that we’d all met you two, I had to stick around. Plus,” Charlie grinned and winked. “I kinda started dating a certain hot bartender…”

Dean’s brain short-circuited. Wait… Jo was gay? And she and Charlie were… What?

He vaguely registered Sam congratulating Charlie as his mind whirled.

An old, nasty voice started up in the back of Dean’s mind, grating like nails on a chalkboard as it started the old, familiar chorus of dirty… unnatural… wrong…

His skin prickled with the sensation of hundreds of eyes watching him, waiting for him to let down his guard, waiting to haul him back to hell.

Dean broke out in a cold sweat as every inner alarm he had started to blare out a never-ending stream of not safe, not safe, notsafenotsafenotsafe…

Dean stood paralyzed with fear as Charlie described her relationship with Jo; their dates, visiting Charlie’s mom together, and living together here in the Roadhouse. Charlie smiled, her eyes lit up with love, as she gushed about how much she cared for another woman… and nothing happened.

The skies didn’t open to pour the wrath of heaven down on them. Angels didn’t burst out of the woodwork to haul Charlie and Jo away.

Nothing happened.

Dean breathed through the panic and tried to make sure none of his freak-out showed on his face as he pulled himself together. An idea popped into his head and, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Are there other gay people in heaven?”

Dean froze, his eyes widening as he realized how that probably sounded.

Sure enough, Sam shot him an exasperated look and said, “ Dude. ”

Charlie didn’t seem to take offense, though. Her eyes softened with some emotion that Dean couldn’t quite place and said, “Yeah, I mean, we haven’t organized a parade or anything, but there are tons of queer people on the forums, connecting with each other and talking about culture and whatnot.

“Right, no, yeah. Makes sense, I mean… Right.” Dean nodded like any part of his speech made sense and tried to open a hole under his feet with his mind. The hole didn’t materialize as planned, but fate took pity on him, because just then Charlie yawned again and rubbed at her eyes.

She said, “Yeah, well, you know me; come for the tech, stay for the hot ladies.” She smirked, “Although, I also come for the hot ladies, if you catch my drift…”

All the previous awkwardness and panic were forgotten as Dean cringed at that mental image. He groaned, “Dude! You and Jo are like my little sisters. I don’t need to hear shit like that…”

Charlie laughed and bounced her eyebrows suggestively, delighting in Dean’s trauma. “Well, speaking of Jo, I think it’s time to hit that…” She paused for Dean’s groan, then continued, “...hay. ‘Night, bitches!”

Sam chuckled and shook his head as Charlie sauntered from the room. He said, “She’s right.”

Dean glared and Sam held his hands up and chuckled, “About going to sleep. It’s getting pretty late.”

Dean huffed out a sigh and said, “Yeah, ‘night, Sammy.”

Sam turned to leave but hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at Dean with a look on his face that Dean couldn’t quite identify.

Leftover fear and dread coiled in Dean’s stomach and he suddenly realized that he hadn’t actually asked Sam if he was cool with staying here; Dean had just accepted for the both of them.

I’m such an idiot, Dean thought to himself. Of course Sam doesn’t want to stay here, he’s probably got about a thousand other places he’d rather be. Hell, his wife is probably waiting for him somewhere up here (what did he say her name was again?)

Dean shuffled his feet and said with a nervous chuckle, “Hey, man, we don’t have to stay here. If you’d rather go somewhere else—”

Sam cut off the rest of Dean’s sentence by lunging across the space in between them and yanking Dean into a hug.

Sam squeezed Dean so hard that Dean idly wondered if you could break a rib in heaven. Sam choked out, “ Damn, I’ve missed you,” and buried his face in Dean’s neck.

Relief flooded through Dean as tears once again rushed to his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his brother and said, “I missed you too, Sammy.”

#destiel #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural #what you wish for #wywf #my fics #dean winchester #castiel

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