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atropxs · 6 months

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Spill your Guts; Eddie Munson

summary: eddie gets you high for the first time.

warnings: drugs (weed), vomiting but not described in detail, innocent!cheerleader!fem!reader, mutual pining, nonsexual nudity, no y/n.

word count: 5.2k

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Ten minutes had passed since the fifth period bell rang and you were starting to think Eddie Munson had stood you up. Maybe he just decided that the straight-laced cheerleader wasn't worth his weed or his time. Hell, if you were in his position you might have just done the same. He was probably hiding out somewhere, just to see how long you'd stand alone in the dank basement hallway waiting for him.

Just as you were about to tuck your tail and head into fourth period English, mind racing to come up with various excuses to explain your whereabouts, Eddie's tall frame turned the corner. He smiled as he saw you waiting then wordlessly called you over, nodding his head to a door at the end of the hall.

"You're late." You huffed under your breath as you walked his way.

He held up his lunch box, dangling it in front of you; taunting you with it. "Actually, I'm right on time."

"Hold still," He ordered as you stopped beside of him. You barely had time to process what he was asking before he was plucking the hair pin out of your ponytail.

"Hey," You reached your hand up to stop him but he swatted you away. You jutted your bottom lip out in frustration, the act of which caught Eddie's attention in his peripheral vision.

He looked down at you, tilting his head in a doglike manner as he tried to level with you. "The door's locked, do you have any better ideas?"

You shook your head, causing a stray piece of hair—the same one you were holding in place with the bobby pin—to fall onto your forehead.

"That's what I thought. Now, put the pout away." The words were almost rendered unintelligible thanks to the bobby pin being bent between his teeth.

"But my hair—"

"Looks fine. Always does." He paused between sentences, as if he were unsure if he should add the last part or not, but then decided to go for it anyway.

"You really think so?" You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. He smiled at you cheekily, the bobby pin still dangling from between his front teeth.

If you weren't mistaken you saw a faint blush coat Eddie's cheeks before his got on his knees to pick the lock. You flinched at the clinging sound his rings made as they came into contact with the door knob, already he was being too heedless for your liking. However, much to your dismay, the noise was quickly dwarfed by Eddie's metal lunchbox hitting the ground and echoing down the hallway.

"Eddie," you hissed a warning, looking up and down the hallway for any signs of life, despite the hall going unused for nearly a decade. "You're being too loud, someone is going to hear you."

"They're going to hear us. We're in this together now, princess."

Before you could make any rebuttal Eddie had the door opened and was up from his knees with his hand on the small of your back, ushering you inside. You blew the stray piece of hair out of your face—and really wished you had your now mangled bobby pin back—before you walked in, Eddie on your heels.

The room was bigger than you thought it would be, however most of the space was taken up by what looked to be an old water heater. The robust smell of mildew and mothballs tickled your nose. Mops, brooms, buckets, and various cleaners were scattered on shelves. As Eddie closed the door behind you everything around you went dark, all for the sliver of florescent light under the door cast from the hall. You felt around for the cord hanging from the light on the ceiling.

Eddie put his hand on yours, halting your actions. "It doesn't work. Hasn't since the sixties." He said it like it was obvious information.

"Eddie," you almost whimpered, uneasy from the dark. "How are we supposed to see?"

"Aww, is the little cheerleader scared of the dark?" Eddie playfully nudged you in the ribs. "Or maybe she's scared of the things that could be hiding in the dark." He walked his fingers up your spine in a spiderlike manner.

"I am not." You scowled as squirmed away from his touch.

"Liar." You heard him chuckle, followed by the sound of his backpack unzipping. You watched his figure in the dark as he pulled a flashlight from his bag and set it in the middle of the floor. The light cast strange shadows around the walls of the room.

"I need your jacket," He spoke, taking off his own jean jacket and stuffing it in the crack between the door and the floor.

"But it's cold in here," You complained.

"We have to seal the door so the smoke doesn't get out, otherwise we're sure to get caught. So, unless you have any other clothes you want to take off, I need your jacket."

"Why don't you take your clothes off?" You retaliated before you could think through what you were saying. You could feel your cheeks turning a bright crimson as the gravity of your words set in. Suddenly, you were less afraid of the darkness and infinitely more thankful for it. Eddie opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly cocky, but you held your hand up and cut him off.

"Never mind, just take it." You slid the kelly green letterman jacket from your shoulders and threw it to him. You purposely made a show of wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched the last of the hall light be snuffed out.

"Come over here," Eddie paid no attention to your dramatics as he led you the corner farthest from the door. He plopped himself next to the water heater and patted the spot next to him. There was just enough room for the both of you, had either of you been any bigger neither of you would've fit.

Your right side pressed harshly against Eddie's left. You could feel his bicep flush against your arm. The room was suddenly a whole lot warmer—from the water heater or from your collective body heat, you didn't know. You let out a small awkward giggle as your elbows knocked together while you soothed down the skirt of your cheer uniform.

"You don't have to do this, y'know. I won't say anything if you back out." You were sure Eddie meant the words to be comforting, but to you they just confirmed that Eddie thought the same thing everyone else did about you: you were too much of a good girl to actually go through with something like skipping class and doing drugs.

"If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't've came." The words came out a bit harsher than you had intended them to. You felt Eddie's arms shift against yours as he put his hands up in mock surrender. He said nothing but his breathing picked up a little, you only noticed it because it was now the same labored intensity as your own.

His chest brushed your legs as he reached for the lunchbox and handed you the flashlight. You shined the light on the rust red pail as he clicked it open. Your eyes rested on the contraband sitting in front of you; various amounts of cannabis sat precariously organized in tiny plastic Ziplocks. Eddie began to dig through them before plucking out a small cigarette-like roll. He held it up for you to see.

"This is a joint," He explained, going slow so that he could be sure you were comprehending.

"Obviously," you rolled your eyes at him, you may not have smoked one but you had at least seen a joint before.

"Okay, miss know-it-all," he laughed away your attitude as he reached between you and grabbed your hand, you tensed as his skin made contact with your own to gently place the joint in your palm. You held it between your pointer and middle finger, the same way you'd seen people hold cigarettes in the movies. Eddie really laughed this time as he plucked the roll from your fingers and replaced it between your thumb and forefinger then molded your hand so that you were holding onto it tightly with your remanding three fingers in the air. "I guess just knowing what a joint is is the extent of your knowledge?"

"Fuck off," You mumbled cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"You don't have to know everything all of the time. I don't expect you to know anything about this." He pilfered through his lunchbox, presumably looking for a lighter.

"Why?" You hoped you didn't sound too much like you were interrogating him.

"Oh, c'mon. You're such a good girl." Those words from his mouth had more of an affect on you that you would have liked to admit. You clenched your thighs together and scooted closer to the wall, hoping to God Eddie didn't notice.

"I am not," You huffed hoping that the darkness concealed your smile. "If I was a good girl I wouldn't have even considered coming here."

"Why did you then?"

"Because you invited me." Playing dumb when the conversation turned to something you didn't like was a skill you'd mastered all too well. Besides, you were not about to spill your guts to Eddie Munson.

"But why did you come?" You were convinced Eddie could see right through you.

Because you invited me.

"Because I wanted to. Now, please hand me the lighter so we can get on with it."

Eddie dropped a silver Zippo lighter into your palm, the words Edward Munson engraved just below the lid.

"Thank you, Edward." You tried not to smile as you placed the joint between glossed lips and flipped the top of the lighter. With a manicured thumb you struck the wheel and waited for a spark but it remained unlit. You struck it again to no avail before shaking it closed.

"Munson," You said with the joint still between your lips. "Your lighter is dead."

Eddie took it from you and in one fluid motion he popped the lid open and produced a flame.

"Looks to me like she's still kickin'," He watched as you scrunched your brows in the dark, noting duly the way the flashlight tucked between your knees cast shadows in the contours of your face. With gentle hands he plucked the roll from your mouth and placed it in his own. "I want you to watch me first," Eddie spoke through pursed lips as he lit up the drug.

"Suck...Inhale...Hold...Release..." He narrated each step as he went, a small cloud of smoke escaped his lips each time he spoke. "Sound easy enough?"

You nodded as Eddie brought the joint to your lips, his hand millimetres away from your face. You sucked in the scent of him in along with the smoke, giving your first taste of the drug a peculiar Eddie-like quality. You were halfway convinced that you could feel the heat where his lips had been on the joint a moment before. You blew the smoke out quickly.

"If you want to get high you actually have to inhale," Eddie teased as he passed the joint to you. "Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, "Hold it how I taught you to." You readjusted your grip around the tight bundle, being careful to keep your fingers away from the burning end.

"Good girl," He praised then waited for you to refute him again. You didn't this time, instead you looked up at him and shyly fluttered your lashes.

Eddie smiled down at you and for the first time you allowed your gaze to linger on his face, mapping out the crinkles that surrounded the exterior of his dark eyes and the dimple sunk into his cheek.

The pounding in your chest increased as you placed the now lit bundle back between your lips. Suck. You did as Eddie had said said drawing in the smoke and letting it sit in your mouth.

"Inhale, now." Eddie reminded you. You did your best to try to swallow the smoke down but instead you put yourself into a coughing fit.

"Easy does it," Eddie gently pushed your head into his chest to muffle the sound. He rubbed your back consolingly as he shushed you, reminding you that you had to stay quiet before giving you the instruction to try again.

You repeated the first two steps again, this time succeeding in engulfing the smoke into your lungs. You held it there for a beat, noticing that Eddie had yet to take his hand off of you and that he was still rubbing small circles on your shoulder blade with his thumb. For a moment the sensation was all you could think about but Eddie's voice broke through the brain fog and reminded you to breathe. He took the joint from your hand as you exhaled.

"How long does it take?" You asked nervously, your knee bouncing in waiting.

"How long does it take to do what?" He was smiling like he knew exactly what, but still wanted to hear you say it.

"To kick in," You had to focus to keep your eyes on him especially when his hand was snaking down your side. You didn't even think that he realized that he was doing it. If he did, you hoped he didn't realize the affect it was having on you.

"Relax, hot stuff." He brought his hand over your thigh and rested it on your knee, applying the slightest bit of pressure to keep you from shaking, the cool metal of his rings caused you to shiver anyway. "Don't focus on what is going to happen, focus on letting it happen."

"Eddie," you tried not to whine, now was not the time to beat around the bush. "Please, just tell me."

"You'll feel it soon enough, doll. Until then you're just going to have to wait it out." He passed the joint back to you and watched in awe as you took another hit, when you tried to pass it back to him he held up his hand motioning for you to hit it again.

"Hitting it only once before passing is like wearing a neon sign saying you've never smoked before—"

"Well I haven't smoked before."

"—Hitting it twice is optimal, it's just enough to get a buzz without causing the person with you to loose theirs. Three times is babysitting, and you don't want to do that." Eddie explained as you exhaled for the second time.

Eddie could taste the remnants of sweet artificial strawberry lip gloss around the edge of the joint as he took his turn to hit. You watched him, trying to make note of everything that he did. His Adam's apple dipped down as he inhaled the smoke, stayed stagnant as he held it for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, seconds, then bobbed back up as he exhaled through puckered lips. You wondered if you looked as nice as he did when you smoked.

"How will I know when it kicks in?" You asked in between your first and second hit.

"You'll know." His forefinger began to tap rhythmically on your knee, you were not in band but you could recognize 4/8 time.

"But how?" You passed it back to him barely able to focus on counting your hits because of the drumming of his guitar calloused fingers.

"You just will." He took the joint away from you. "Maybe you should wait a few minutes before you smoke anymore of this, we don't know how high your tolerance is."

"Eddieeee," You whined, making grabby-hands and causing him to hold it farther out of your reach.

"Just wait five minutes, then you can have it back." He said like it pained him to tell you no.

"But you're not taking a break."

"Because I know how much I can take, you on the other hand, princess, might over exert yourself." Eddie took a fourth hit and then a fifth, you watched him as you waited in anticipation for the drugs effects to kick in, jealous that you couldn't keep up with him.

"Babysitter," you mumbled, a tad bit more out loud than you'd meant to.

Eddie choked on the smoke as he playfully slapped your knee and broke out in laughter, you did too. You couldn't help yourself, the sound of his jubilation was just that contagious.

"I am not," Eddie laughed as he released a puff of smoke.

"You are so," You almost couldn't choke the words out for the way you were giggling, it seemed as though everything was way funnier now that the drug was in your system. "You're like the President of the Babysitters Club."

"I'm already the President of the Hellfire Club, and I can't be the President of two clubs, no one has time for that."

"Oh, how could I forget about the cult of virgins," you rolled your eyes as you released a guttural laugh.

Eddie slapped your arm playfully as he tried to force himself to stop laughing and feign sincerity. "We are not virgins."

You gave him a you-have-to-be-shitting-me look and he spoke again. "Fine, I'm not a virgin, the rest of the club's virginity is... undisclosed." You were both laughing so hard now either of you could barely speak.

"The leader of the cult of virgins isn't even a virgin. My life is a lie."

As Eddie took another hit you could tell just by looking at him he had some sort of burning question, but when he handed the joint back to you, you were so grateful to have the drug back in your possession that any thought of prying whatever he had to say out of him completely slipped your mind.

This time you didn't even have to think of each step that Eddie had told you as you smoked, you preformed the actions almost instinctively.

"How old were you when you first started smoking?" you asked innocently.

"Around fourteen if we're talking weed. Twelve if we're talking cigarettes. What about you?"

"This is my first time smoking anything."

"Not even cigs?" Eddie looked astounded.

"Not even cigs. My parents would flip their shit if they caught me smoking.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Eddie was chewing on his bottom lip. You couldn't stop staring, and you were beginning to think he was starting to notice. You handed the joint back to him.

"yea, because having strict parents is everyone's dream."

"I think it'd be nice to have someone care for you so much that they want to protect you like that. My parents didn't give a shit, and my uncle gave a few shits but maybe if he'd given a few more I wouldn't be here right now."

"My parents give entirely too many shits, and I'm here too."

"Because of me."

"Because I want to be."

Eddie took a deeper inhale this time, holding the smoke in his lungs for a longer time than you'd seen him yet. When he spoke his tone was different. Huskier. "You're a little spitfire, you know that?"

You gazed at him through the smokescreen, watching to see if he expected a response. "Only sometimes." You said finally.

"Do you think i'm a bad influence on you?"

"Yes." You said simply. Eddie smirked at you, bringing the joint up to your lips himself. "I have too many good influences, I'm in need of a bad one." You said softly as you exhaled.

The room was slowly beginning to spin. Maybe it was spinning this entire time and you just noticed it. You couldn't tell. The shadows on the wall became animated; the noises outside amplified. You were cold and too hot all at once. The lines separating Eddie's figure from the wall began to blur and you had the sudden thought that Eddie was going to fall through the wall at any moment. You grabbed hold his shirt collar and pulled him toward you.

"I'm having so much fun." He was so close now that you had no choice but to look into his eyes. Then you had another thought, "I want to kiss you."

You hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"I think you've smoked too much."

"I think so too." You laughed hard and loud. Eddie could get used to hearing that sound. "I still want to kiss you though."

"Shh," Eddie's hand clasped over your mouth suddenly, cutting off your laughter. The metal of his rings sinking into the plush flesh of your lips. You fell silent at once, as you did you could hear the faint sound of jingling keys crossing the door.

"I thought you said no one used this hallway." Fear was evident in your voice.

"They don't...usually." Eddie smiled at you cheekily as he pressed his hand further into your lips, as if that would stop you from asking anymore questions.

"What if someone comes in here?" You whispered through Eddie's hand.

"They won't," Eddie answered, somehow deciphering your mumbles.

"But what if they do?"

"Then you'll let me do the talking."

"But—"

"Shh, you're making yourself paranoid, dear. I've brought people in here loads of times and we haven't been caught yet."

"Oh." The admission hurt worse than you thought it should've. Your stomach turned and suddenly you weren't worried about whoever was outside anymore, instead your mind reeled with the images of him knocking knees in the janitors closet with another girl.

Eddie must have realized his mistake as he quickly blurted, "No, no, not like that—I mean..." But you didn't hear the rest of his explanation because you felt something lurch in your throat, and knew with a sudden sureness that you were about to spill your guts. This time, you meant it literally.

"Eddie..." You pushed his hand away from your mouth and tried to warn him of what was to come, but he just kept talking. You leaned over his lanky legs and felt around in the dark, just having time to grip onto what you hoped was a mop bucket and retched right in front of him

"Oh shit. Are you okay?" As soon as Eddie realized what was happening he gently grabbed the end of your ponytail, keeping it out of your face. Your answer came in the form of another wave of nausea.

"I'm sorry." Tears of discomfiture rolled down your face and you didn't know how to stop them. You tasted the drug in your mouth and throat and your stomach churned once more, this time it was out of substance to surge up.

"Hey, hey, it's alright." Eddie helped you sit up against the wall and handed you a bottle of water from his bag.

The water mingled with the tears that trickled down your chin as you drank. Your mind, still gone from the marijuana, barely registered Eddie softly grabbing your jaw and wiping your mouth with his thumb before disposing of the sick residue on a set of green and white microfiber towels you thought you recognized from the annual cheerleader car wash fundraiser. "It's my fault. I knew I should've made you stop earlier, you just looked so... Never mind."

You were too woozy to pry, but when you looked up at him with woozy eyes—You couldn't tell if your vision was blurry from tears or from the drug—He seemed sincere.

"It's not your fault," You murmured, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you became hyperaware of Eddie's hand still holding your chin and the way he seemed to be studying you with red-rimmed eyes. Your eyes darted to his lips, then to his lunchbox where the mostly smoked joint lay snuffed out on the lid. when had he done that? When you turned you attention back to him, his eyes were on your chest. Instinctively, your hand shot up covering your breast.

"I-I wasn't...It's just..You've, uh, got a little something," Eddie pointed to your chest, and as you dropped your hand you saw where a spot of sick stained your uniform.

"Shit," You huffed, holding back another wave of tears, "Great, now I've got to go around for three more periods with vomit on my top."

"I have an extra shirt in my bag if you want to borrow it." Eddie offered, already hopping up to dig around in his backpack for it. When his hand emerged he was holding a crumpled baseball tee, the picture of a smiling demon printed onto the fabric. "It's, um...," He smelled it and tried to hold back his reaction. "At least it doesn't have puke on it." He offered you his hand to help you up off the floor.

"Thanks." You smiled as he pulled you up, you couldn't help but to notice the way the veins in his arm tensed as he took on your weight. "Thanks for this too," You took the shirt from him eagerly, though it really did reek.

"It's no problem, really." Eddie's words were followed by an awkward silence, neither of you sure how to best approach the situation next.

"Are you going to just stand there and watch me change?" You asked him playfully, hoping the sarcasm masked the giddy nerves at the thought of him seeing your indecent exposure.

"Did you want me to?" Eddie responded with just as much sarcasm. He put his hands in his pockets and lightly whistled as he turned to face the opposite wall.

"Perv, you won't even kiss me and you think I'm going to let you see me naked."

"I don't fancy kissing the same lips I watched your lunch spill from five minutes ago." You could hear the smile in his voice. "What was it that they were serving today? Cheeseburgers?"

"Sloppy joe, actually." You retorted.

"Even worse."

"Whatever happened to 'In sickness and in health?'"

"I didn't know we we married."

"As if I would marry you."

"You'd kiss me though?"

"On second thought, you said you'd had countless girls in here, get one of them to kiss you."

"I said I had brought countless people here. Not girls."

"Touche." In the dark you fumbled around to find the zipper of your uniform, patting around with blind eyes attempting to yank it down. After three failed attempts you sighed, "Eddie, can you help me?" You heard him hum in the dark. "I think my zipper is stuck."

You heard his boots— Doc martens, he must have had to save up for a while to afford those—squeak on the floor as he turned to face you again. Wordlessly you held your hair away from your neck and lowered your head, giving him permission to partially unclothe you.

His left hand sat on your waist, the other at the base of your neck, slowly slipping the zipper down. You heard his breath hitch as the garment fell from your shoulders, the back of your torso now completely visible to him. He watched with eager eyes the movement of your shoulder blades in the dark as you let the top fall from your arms before throwing it on top of your backpack. The outline of your breasts cast in shadow from the flashlight which lay abandon on the floor. "I need you to help me put my—your—shirt on."

"Why can't you do it?" He asked, but he didn't sound like he minded fulfilling the request one bit.

"Because m'too dizzy."

As Eddie took a slow step toward you, you allowed yourself to fall into him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, bare breasts against his chest. If you listened closely you could swear you could hear the heavy beating of his heart. "M'tired and you're warm."

"You're a hot wreck," He shook his head full of frizzy hair. Slowly, he held your loose limbs skyward, slipping the shirt on over your head.

"Don't mess up my hair," you warned, not sounding nearly as tough as you meant to.

"Impossible." Eddie smoothed his shirt over your green skirt, the fabric loose and long on your frame, a stark change from your tight cheerleading uniform. He pretended to adjust the shirt in the back, but it was just an excuse to have his arms around you.

"I like this. I like you." The words came tumbling out, the drug alleviating all apprehension.

"You're high. You don't mean that." Eddie looked like those words hurt him to say. "Tell it to me when you're sober."

"I will."

With slow blinks you came to the realization that Eddie was waiting on you to move away first. with unsure movements you stretched your shoulders, reminding him of a baby bird just coming to the shocking realization that it has wings.

"Does it look okay?" you stepped back from him, motioning to your outfit.

Eddie's reply came out in a thousand stumbles and stutters, in awe at the sight of you, but eventually he managed to choke out a yes.

The taller man stepped toward you once more, putting a delicate hand on your cheek and shifting your gaze to him as he pulled a small bottle out of his pocket. He dropped the liquid into his own eyes first, and then angled the bottle over yours. "Don't blink."

"What do we need that for?" You squinted as the droplets made contact with your lenses.

"Takes away the red." Eddie replied simply before giving himself a few more drops. You gave him a look of confusion. "Weed widens the blood vessels in your eyes."

"Will they ever go back to normal?" Your voice was full of concern.

"Of course, honey. Y'know, I think this might be the only subject that I know more than you in," Eddie laughed as he knelt down and began to pack his things back into his backpack.

"I could tutor you sometime, y'know, in exchange for this," You leaned against the wall to keep yourself from falling.

"You want to hang out with me?" He acted more shocked at this admission than the one before it.

"Hey, I said tutor not hangout." You laughed, "But, you're not too bad, so I guess if you wanted to hang out, I'll allow it. plus, I get this cool t-shirt, which so totally doesn't smell like weed and the bottom of a gym bag."

Eddie threw his head back, laughing like a loon. "Hey, that's my signature scent. And, only members of the Hellfire Club get those. So, that means you're in."

"I want to hang out with you, not every nerd in Hawkins High."

"They're my friends."

"Well, your friends are nerds."

"Listen here, hot stuff, you've got my shirt, you're in my club."

"Ed's," you groaned, taking time to roll the nickname around on your tongue. It sounded good. Eddie thought so too.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader fluff #fanfiction #original content

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milkzoro · 7 months

Text

backrooms

warnings: MDNI, gore, sadism, dark content, surgery, blood, organs, fucking open wounds, non-con?

minors do not read. please look at warnings.

summary: a doctor does unnecessary surgery on you.

☆彡

“where am i.” your heart shook with each second passing by.

it’s so cold and the room smells thick, like mildew and cleaner, you were almost suffocating. endless hallways formulate as you’re running faster. was there really no end?

someone’s here though. you heard it, a voice calling out a number, “238,, 238?……… shit.” it echoed over and over again, what are these numbers?

the white walls and tiles didn’t seem bright at all, the lighting in the atmosphere was dim, lights flickering the deeper you went.

footsteps… rubber soles squeaked against the ground.

“238? now why are you out here by yourself, let’s get you back to your table.” he handled you with care, effortlessly moving you with him. you wanted to retaliate but was unable too.

the man, or… doctor?, towered over you. his presence scared you but something allowed you to make eye contact with him. his eyes glowed yellow. he was not smiling, there wasn’t any sort of emotion lingering in his face.

you felt tightness suffocating you,, moments’s like this were fabricating out of thin air. these tattered and dirty restraints, the doctor did not put these on you. buckles tucked your arms tightly behind your back, you were choking on your words, unable to speak.

why am i in restraints? what is he doing?

“a-are you my doctor?”

“no.” he continued to lead you towards ‘your room’.

you walked in front of him, feeling his presence guiding you to the correct room. his eyes were glued to you and you dared not to look back. your eyes squinted tightly as panic starts to set in.

the empty walls felt like an additional restraint weight on you, not one aspect of this place was comforting. there was a door though, it appeared after, what it seemed like, hours of aimlessly walking.

“we’re back, let’s get you on the table.” he assisted you and you settled on the cold surface, unsure of what to do next. hinges and rummaging sounds filled the room, hearing a final ‘snap’ of his gloves as he turned back to you. he briefly looked at a document before turning his attention back to you.

“hmm, y/n-ya? i have a lot planned today, there’s something i’ve been wanting. and you’re my lucky guest.”

with your arms still tied behind your back he reaches his gloved hand up to your lips.

terror consumed your face. “please! what are you gonna to do me?”

he looked so evil standing before you. his lips curled into a smirk before answering. “hmm i’m gonna cut you up, play with ya a little bit.”

you froze.

“open up, it would be beneficial if you would swallow this for me. say ahh-”

you didn’t trust this man but there was no way you could make it out of here on your own, maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel if you just comply.

without a word, you open your mouth for the doctor.

“can i ask what that was?”

“ketamine.”

“…”

“it’s like an anesthetic, keep you calm, the pain will be pleasant okay y/n-ya, don’t worry darling. i’ll fix you up after.”

you laid still on the table, the effects of the drug taking over your body.

you could barely move, your finger tips traced along the edge of the table to make sure you could still move. not much but there was still a little bit of feeling there, and you noticed your restraints were off as well.

the room now had a glow to it, it felt dream-like. ahh yes this is just only a dream. a soft smile came to your lips while your mind chilled out.

“you’re being so obedient, y/n-ya, thank you. gonna get started okay.”

he heard soft whines from you as his blade sliced effortlessly through the first layer of your skin, seeing the scarlet liquid made his eyes sparkle. he cut two deep cuts to test the waters. one placed on top of your right thigh and one smaller on your abdomen, right below your belly button. you were hardly moving. maybe he had given you too much.

“can you speak y/n-ya?” there was a tinge of concern in his voice.

you were unresponsive.

he sighed, he wanted to hear you. but the sight before him made his cock twitch. your parted lips, red liquid pooling around your body, you looked so beautiful.

he couldn’t wait, his cuts were astonishing, like he was proud of his work. they weren’t deep enough though, he had to do some removing..

the scalpel shined under the dim light as his prepared his section. his blade making a fine line of a cut around the width of your thigh. small beads of crimson gathered before he wiped them away, he cut deeper.

it felt never ending, going through layers of skin, fat, muscle and eventually bone. he was finished, eyes filled with desire as he hurried to clean up his workspace. he properly conserved your severed limb. now for the hole.

there was a perfectly snug pocket that was already naturally within the thigh. it rested between the biceps femoris and the intermuscular septum, those were two main muscles and they connected with a soft, fatty tissue that easily broke away with light pressure.

he wiped his hands clean before removing a condom from his lab coat pocket. his hands were trembling with excitement.

the doctor was too impatient, his cock hardened with every sight of you. he took one last look at you before lining himself up with your sciatic nerve. he sighed heavily as he pushed all the way in. feeling your nerves and tendons pop against his shaft made his eyes roll back. “f-fuck.”

he began to slowly fuck himself into your thigh once he felt the tension of tissue melt away. pumping in and out as red liquid squirted onto the operating table. loud groans filled the space, he was so close, but he needed something from you.

he continued his deep thrusts as he shoved two of his fingers into another open hole in your thigh. it was another nerve, this one controlled your movements. he needed to see you writhe in pain.

his long fingers scissored and curled inside your tissues, pushing up and swirling trying to get you to move.

“c‘mon y/n-ya…” his breaths were shallow, he was near his high.

your right leg started to spasm and squirm under the doctors touch. he even stole some groans from you. the pain must be unbearable.

his head fell back as he heard those sweet whines from you. your severed thigh jolted against him causing him to fuck your hole deeper.

“fuckk just like that haah-“ his moans grew more and more sporadic as the heat in his lower abdomen grew stronger.

the blood and fluids made it so so slippery, it was hard to manage his thrusts but fuckk he was enjoying every second of it.

his eyes tightened as he felt his orgasm taking over. one last look at your emotionless face had him there, rutting recklessly into your broken down tissues. he whined and panted, one last pump sent him over the edge.

“shit! fuck. fuck—. fuuuck.” his words were drawn out as he came down from his high, lazily pulling himself out and removing his gloves and ruined condom.

only one limb down and he gets to play with you for hours. how lucky is he.

‘please just wake up soon.’ he wanted to feel your cunt while your were conscious.

#trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece smut #cw gore #one piece x reader #one piece #dead dove fic

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unholyhelbig · 10 months

Note

PART TWO OF SPIDER!PERSON SOULMATES

[a/n: Thank you all for the response to the first part of this! Here is part two, and depending on demand I may do a third part. Let me know!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: mild injuries, horrible parenting, labs [?]

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

Read Part One | Join my Taglist!

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

There was a trivial feeling to packing a duffel bag that you pilfered from the nearest thrift store. It was resting between a tapestry of crudely drawn frogs and an old vacuum cleaner that was still caked with dirt. It was small and the upholstery was falling apart, but it was enough for the little clothes that you allowed yourself.

If you had a few more weeks here, maybe you would have bought the frog tapestry and hung it up. The walls of your apartment were just as empty as they were two months ago when you painfully slid across the gravel rooftop of the very building you rented in.

You’d dislocated your shoulder and leaned up against the door to push it back into place, trying to swallow back the metallic taste in your mouth. The landlady opened the door and eyed you, her cigarette lit and angry in the dark. Old pink curlers were in her hair, and she blew a puff of smoke into your face.

They’d just had a room open up, and you used what little cash you had to pay the first half of rent for the month. That night you slept curled up on the wooden floor with your sweatshirt under your head. It was the most peaceful sleep that you’d had in months.

Kate and Peter lived across the hall in an equally shitty apartment that was somehow done up nicely and with a certain type of style that every Peter Parker you had met in the past couldn’t pull off. It was just your luck- to find Kate Bishop so soon after you had crash landed.

It infuriated you that there were so many rules along with the lack of rules that dimension hopping possessed.

Don’t interact with other versions of you- which, wasn’t a problem. There was only one you and it was difficult to keep track of that much.

It’s better not to mess with fate. Really- keep to yourself and don’t’ do anything superherolike because you carried a signature, and that was easily trackable. The last thing you wanted to be was trackable.

Don’t fall in love with a different version of your person. This is the one that you broke all the time, without fail.

It’s why you were shoving everything you owned into a bag and lifting up the floorboard in the back corner of your closet to retrieve the pocket watch. It used to be a pocket watch, anyway. Your father had enhanced it and tinkered until a portal tore into the universe and he stepped into it, hoping that it would work.

It did. From there he changed that pocket watch to something wearable, something that you could alter on your wrist. When you stole the original watch, you used to it jump to Earth 267, only for a moment, to disable the tracker before you hopped three more earths and found someplace to sleep, and cry, and think.

You squeezed the cold metal, breathing in. There wasn’t time to linger. You shoved the golden watch into your pocket, slung the duffel bag over your shoulder, and opened the door to the hallway. The green overhead lights tinted everything in a dingy blue, the carpet in the corridor smelled of mildew. You’d left the brass key and an apology note on the empty kitchen counter, which wasn’t your style, but also a hell of a lot nicer than the other tenants that occupied the space.

A small breath escaped you as you stared at Kate and Peter’s door. Part of you expected one of them to burst through it, but everything was silent, save for the methodic drip from the water pipe in the stairwell.

Two weeks ago, Kate had stolen you from the elevator the second the rickety doors screeched open. You were carrying a well-done steak that was left to congeal with mashed potatoes and gravy after a patron took a single bite. You’d wrapped it in tin foil, your body aching.

You were ready to crash on the single bed pushed against the back wall of your apartment, entirely content on scarfing down cold food and reading another chapter of a pulp horror book you’d thrifted along with a lamp without a shade.

“Y/n, you have to help me.” Fear and questioning must have flashed across your face, because Kate squeezed your arm and a warmth flooded your stomach. “There’s this massive spider in the shower, and Old Woman Harbor told me to shove it.”

“It can’t be that big.”

She deadpanned “It has its own zip code. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Where’s Peter?”

You asked the question even as you resigned to your fate and let her grasp your hand, tugging you towards her apartment. It was decorated much nicer than yours, seeing as it had furniture, and smelled thickly of cinnamon. There was a comfort that radiated from the space- it was lived in, it was personalized.

“Pete? Please, he’s more afraid of spiders than I am.” Kate turned to you, watched as your eyes flitted around the room, taking in the art, and the books, and the records. “Rescue me, fair warrior, for I am at the mercy of an eight-legged creature from darkness.”

You had scooped the spider onto a piece of paper, using a mug that was holding discarded pens and keys that led to nowhere. It was a big spider and you tried to ignore the way it blinked at you as you slid open the window and gently set it on the damp fire-escape.

The door that you stared at now didn’t open to that familiar comfort, or that deep cinnamon scent. You pulled your hood over your head and pushed into the stairwell. Instead of going down, towards the street, you went up to the place where it all started.

The pocket watch that weighed down your clothes packed a punch. There was an electromagnetic pull, everything would raise into the air and then come crashing down. Better some gravel than the shitty furniture you had acquired.

A light drizzle cool your cheeks, the lights from buildings around you were blinking on and off with activity. There wasn’t a moment in this city where it wasn’t raining. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth, or the season. Either way, you looked up for a few, long moments, letting the drops soak your collar.

Lightening flashed, shading the limestone of the building, your breath as it pushed through the air. There had been dozens of universes, each one different than the last. But the tugging, the importance of this one, lingered against your skin. No rain could wash it away. No amount of swallowing your pride could make any of this feel right.

You clenched your eyes shut and fought back emotions that clung to you. This was better for everyone. It was better to leave- because the one moment that you had let yourself be you was enough for your father to pick up on a signal. He’d rip through the city if you stayed. Rip through Gary, and Peter, and Benny, and Kate.

“You were just going to leave, then?”

Kate.

She was silhouetted by the dim light of the stairway, but only for a moment. The door fell closed behind her and suddenly, the two of you were alone on the rooftop. Even in the darkness of the night, you could see the anger written across her face. It wasn’t quite disgust. Not yet.

Her words rumbled over the rain. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m not going to fight with you. Not again.”

You set the duffel bag down and turned to her, took a few steps away from the edge of the building. There was a good distance between you. Water had matted her hair down and dripped from the point of her nose and slope of her chin. There was hurt in her eyes.

“You’ve never fought with me.”

“I’ve seen how this plays out.”

“With all the other Kate’s!” she raised her voice, gesturing angrily. “Dozens of them, from what I figure. You appear in their lives, and then leave and how do you think that makes them feel? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’d rather you be in pain than dead. Do you not understand? I’m fated to be with you, but you’re also fated to perish in every single universe where we cross paths. I’ve mapped them, I’ve… I’ve lived them and I may be a coward but better a coward than the cause of your demise.”

You had closed the gap between you. She was taller by a few inches; the furrow of her brow was prominent. Your bones itched to pull her close, to ignore the rain, and the cold, and feeling of defeat in favor of her body against yours, if only for a moment.

She whispered. “Eventually, you’re going to run out of worlds. Don’t you think it’s worth it to fight for the one you’re in right now? To fight for me?”

Pain ripped through you and you gave in to the cold of the rain that soaked into your clothes. You had resigned yourself not to cry in front of Kate Bishop. But water was dripping down your face and you could hardly muffle the sob that pushed through your throat.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do,” Your voice cracked, “was fight for you, Katie.”

The archer had softened, her head lilting to the side for only a moment before her angry exterior dissolved and her hands were on both of your cheeks, applying gentle pressure. Her eyes were red, strands of black hair adhered to her forehead.

She finally said, “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

You ended up in her living room in front of one of the original fireplaces. The brick supported the building, and that was the only reason they hadn’t been repurposed into something cheaper. Old Woman Harbor didn’t’ pay for central heating, or air, but the brick hearths made up for it. You had lit your own once, reading by the warm glow.

Kate had supplied you with sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled like lemon, like rosemary with a hint of detergent. She’d draped a blanket over your shoulders and handed you a cup of mint tea despite your protests. You both sat cross-legged, parallel to one another, knees barely touching.

Your duffel bag was by the door, dripping water onto the floor. You’d slid the watch from your sweatshirt and into the pocket of the pants you were provided with. Your nose was still red, cheeks pink from the steam of mug you held under your chin.

“I thought I answered all of your questions.”

“Don’t get defensive.” Kate pulled her knees to her chest, rested her chin against them. “I need you to tell me why your father is after you, why he’s so hellbent on making sure you don’t exist anymore.”

You took a scalding gulp of tea, mint filling your lungs. It burned, made your eyes pinch with water, but it was a better pain than remembering something you had tried so hard to forget. Your instinct was to run away from this Kate. But she was so, so much like yours- the one you had lost and yearned for.

She watched you quietly, taking in your movements and your procrastination. There was no pushing, not anything past the initial question. The warmth from the fire was beginning to settle into your bones.

“My father is a geneticist. He spent his entire life trying to splice the DNA of different things with humans, and his partner, Lyla- she specialized in interdimensional travel. They were funded by Alchemex, given free reign of the labs and unlimited funding.” You swallowed the artificial sweetener taste on your tongue. “Everyone thought they were capable of wonderful things.”

Kate’s voice was barely a whisper. “What changed?”

“My father became obsessed with creating the perfect creation. He started taking DNA from bats and splicing it with monkeys. Wolves and hamsters, fish and lizards- you name it and he tried to achieve it. He was getting to the point where he wanted to splice human DNA with something more. Lyla was the only one who could reign him in, not even my own mother could get through to him.

“Christmas Eve, Lyla was staying late at the lab, and her technology faltered. It was an interdimensional travel device that was stronger than a pocket watch they toyed around with in college. Either way, something went wrong, wires got crossed and suddenly, Lyla was gone.”

“Into a different dimension?”

Your eyes were damp, clouded with emotion. You shook your head and when you curled into the cup in front of you, a tear escaped, landing on the soft fabric of the blanket. You were quick to wipe it away, to steel yourself.

“My father can still talk to her. I don’t know how, I was never the science kid, you know? Music was my thing. I was a prodigy, even. Miguel, my brother, he was the one that followed in my father’s footsteps. The one who gained his respect.”

You hugged the blanket closer to you, shuddered into it. Kate flinched as if she wanted to move and comfort you, say something to ease your worries. But you both stayed where you were.

“A year after Lyla, I came home from college for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and though my mom begged my father to stay home for the day, he went into the office. I was sent to Alchemex to get him.” You laughed wetly, using the back of your hand to wipe away moisture “Which was stupid. He didn’t like me. He barely tolerated me.”

This time Kate did reach out, her fingers were like an electric current as they touched your knee. You flinched, then settled into the familiarity of her grip. You placed your hand on top of hers, constricted your fingers around hers. It was holding you in place.

“The man that I saw that night was not my father. I knew that we had our issues, our lack of connection, but there was this cold, detached look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.” You whispered the next part, not finding the words. “One minute he was there, the lab was there, I was there and the next everything was black, there was this horrible pain in my temple.”

“He knocked you out?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, he did. A hell of a lot of force too. When I woke up, I couldn’t collect my thoughts, not all the way. The only thing that I could think about was my mother and how she had worked so hard on dinner and how it was getting cold. Which is so, so stupid, right? Worrying about the quality of mashed potatoes when my own father had me strapped to a lab table.”

You frowned, trying to remember. This part of your story was ebbed in pain. You were in and out of lucidity. There were lights that fuzzed at the edges and a surgical mask over your fathers face. He didn’t talk, but you pleaded. As much as you could, but knew it was worthless.

“He was ready to take his experiments to the next step. He wanted to try to morph DNA with a human and I was… I was there. I was convenient for him.”

Kate’s voice was soft, weak. “Jesus Christ,”

“When he wasn’t in his lab, he was traveling, searching the world for animals and insects that would aide him when he did finally perfect his craft. One of the spiders he brought back from his travels was the Evarcha Culcivora. The vampire spider.”

She blinked at you, clenching her jaw “The what?”

You laughed, some joy returning to your words. “Yeah, cute little thing, actually. It’s a jumping spider, and got it’s name because of it’s taste for blood. It doesn’t bite humans, though. Just mosquitos.”

“And that’s what he chose to…?”

“Mm, and it worked too. The pain was blinding, nearly unbearable. It felt like a million hornets had been shaken up in a glass and then pumped into my veins. Through all of it, I had broken free of the table, had enough strength to get away from him. I did the cowardly thing and I ran.”

“Coward? Y/n, he altered the DNA of his own child. There is a difference between being a coward and being alive.”

“I felt like a coward, and I suppose the habit stuck.” You shook your head, trying to clear the jumbled memory of pain and fear. “I… I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I blindly grabbed at his inventions. The only thing I could remember was you. The you in Nueva York. There was a ring on my finger, and when I looked at it, I knew where to go.”

Kate swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, they were stormy, saturated in despair, and longing. You couldn’t read the other emotion, her thumb moving over your knuckles.

“It’s the biggest mistake of my life. Leading him there.”

“He killed her.”

“Shot her twice in the stomach.” Your throat tightened. The collar of the sweatshirt Kate leant you was damp with tears. “Whatever sanity he had left was gone the moment he pulled that trigger. So, I pulled the one on the pocket watch. I let it take me wherever it wanted to.”

The silence lingered between you both, wood cracking as fire ate its way to the core. You took another gulp of your tea, it was cold now, coating the back of your throat with a fresh flavor. Kate had pulled her hand back into her own lab, stared at them for a long moment.

“Running is the only thing I’m good at.” You broke the silence. “I carry this… signature. Each time I use the watch, or do anything that’s remotely spider-like it pings on my father’s radar. He’s torn whole universes apart looking for me. Looking for one of his only successful fusions.”

“So, the other night, when you swooped in and helped Peter and I?”

“He knows. So, logically, it would make sense for me to go back up to the rooftop and get to the next universe.”

“And illogically?” Kate asked, raising both of her eyebrows. “What’s that option?”

“Kate,” You warned “There is no other option. I’m not strong enough to fight him. What he did to me, it gave me increased speed, and agility, and strength. Fuck, it even gave me fangs. But he’s too powerful.”

She groaned dramatically “Do you always have to do everything by yourself? Y/n, you’re not alone here. You have me, and Peter.”

“While I appreciate that, Katie, I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“Okay!” She sighed, lowering her voice “Okay. Then I’ll call Clint and he’ll call the rest of the Avengers.”

You frowned and took a long gulp of your lukewarm tea. The mint made your throat tingle, your fingers twitching around the mug. The Avengers. You’d met all of them individually, in between universes where they fought their own battles- aliens from different worlds, and creatures that rise from ash.

“Clint,” You whispered, eyes finding Kate’s soft grey ones “What is he to you here?”

“My… my mentor. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but I mean, I think I’m wearing him down.”

You laughed; the sound filled the room like a crackling fire. Kate gave you a proud smile that reminded you of a parent watching their kid walk for the first time or accept an award on stage. It was endearing and made your heart hum with longing.

“Good, good. I’m glad.” Again, you looked down at the muted brown liquid in your cup. “Katie, while that is incredibly noble of you, I have a feeling that the Avengers have bigger threats then my world hopping.”

“You won’t know unless you ask. And don’t give me that bullshit about getting turned down in different universes because this is my universe and if you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely charming and persistent.”

“I’ve noticed,”

Kate swallowed hard and took her hand from your knee. You fought a complaint about the lack of warmth, of comfort, but her palm was quickly against your cheek. She smelled like rain, damp and silent. Kate’s thumb moved soothingly, tracing the contours of your face.

“I know what it’s like to want to run, y/n.” her voice was a choked whisper “But just this once, please, stay. We can figure this out.”

“Kate,”

“Seeing you up on the roof, with that pocket watch, knowing that you could vanish into another universe in the matter of seconds and I’d never… I’d never see you again, it scared me. I don’t scare easily.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, clenching them so hard that you could see stars. When you opened them, she stared right back, so resolute and solid and touching your face. You had tried so hard to keep away from every single Kate Bishop you came across, for her safety. You hadn’t felt her hand since a ring weighed it down.

Every part of you wanted to give in and let her hold you, let her comfort you and make everything okay. Her words made you believe they might be.

“Forty-eight hours.” Kate begged “Give me 48 hours to fix this, and take you out on a proper date.”

There was apprehension in your voice, and in your stare. Kate would move earths for you, that was clear by her expression, her contemplation. “Okay, Katie. 48 hours.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x you #Kate Bishop x y/n #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Comics #marvel cinematic universe #kate Bishop fluff #request #soulmate au #spiderverse #earth 2099

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musutofu · 11 months

Text

【 Broken Promise 】

♡ pairing | Aizawa x ᶠᴱᴹ Reader

✑ word count | 3.3k

✎ genre | angst

✗ warnings | slight grief mentions, slight injury, mention of past injuries

It smells different. His apartment has always had a scent about it, something neutral and unassuming; laundry detergent, dish soap, glass cleaner, the occasional hint of aftershave when he bothered with the more menial details of personal upkeep. Some things are fine being neglected for a short while. Keeping off hours eventually leads to less pressing matters being overlooked. His hair, long and unkept aside from the basic washing and conditioning, his face and its pickling stubble, the cup left in the sink all day. But it doesn’t smell like unwashed dishes or forgotten laundry growing mildew in the washer. No, the scent is something foreign, something distinctly misplaced in the utilitarian space of his home. There’s still the sharp bite of chemicals or the muted smell of himself that lingers in every corner of every room. But there’s something else there too as he closes the door behind him.

The hall light sensors are useless with the bulb having blown out weeks–maybe a month?–ago. Still the sensor clicks dutifully as he unlaces his boots. He kicks them towards the wall. It’s like with most things. They’re where they need to be, unsightly in the way they’re surely strewn in the corner but out of the way of the entrance. Except instead of the familiar thud of steel-toed boots hitting the wall there’s a muted thud as they settle up against something softer. The sensor clicks again as he straightens up, responding to the shape of his silhouette moving as he squints in the dark then decides he must’ve left another pair of shoes abandoned in the entryway. Except there’s still that niggling instinct clinging to the change in the air. It’s a comforting change, a familiar one, but a change nonetheless.

Unplanned and certainly unwelcome as the exhaustion of nearly twenty hours with no sleep begins to settle over him in full. Even as he tosses aside his capture weapon weight seems to settle over his shoulders and pull at his stinging eyes. His drops are nearly out, but there’s a revolving stock in the bathroom. It’s all he keeps under the sink aside from a sparse few cleaning supplies. The empty bottle bubbles and hisses its defeat as tries to soothe the burning in his eyes, only the left one managing to be relieved. The bottle thuds loudly as he drops it in the recycling, nearly kicking the plastic bin over as he shuffles past the kitchen. Except it shouldn’t have wobbled. The bottle shouldn’t have landed so emptily at the bottom of the bin. It had been full when he left, he’s sure of it. His hand slaps blindly at the counters, feeling the cool stone beneath his palms as he squints his bad eye in the pale light peeking through the window over the sink. There should be an empty bottle of sesame oil on the counter, left there because he’d been too lazy to take the recycling downstairs. Now the counter is void of why such a bottle and cleaned of any mess that might’ve accumulated between cooking his shabby meals between shifts and sleeping.

The renewed scent of chemicals makes sense. The familiar scent of his wife makes sense. It’s a familiar smell he could lose himself in. Something slightly artificial, enhanced with perfumes and fragrances but beneath it was something intrinsically her. And now his apartment is all but steeped in it. He stops only for more eye drops before shambling towards his bedroom, exhausting weighing down each footstep like lead shoes. The door is slightly ajar and his bed is made, his sleeping bag folded innocently atop the newly washed sheets. But the room is otherwise empty, filled with only the barest hint of moonlight streaming through the partially opened curtains. He never bothers to open them. He’s never home when the sun is out. Dawn finds him rising or collapsing, coming or going. And despite his exhaustion he abandons his room in favor of the living room.

She’s helped herself to one of the spare blankets, made a nest for herself with the throw pillows as she sleeps happily on the couch. Her breaths are nearly silent, only the faintest snores leaving her lips. His eyes have started to adjust to the darkness and he can find the smaller details of her face as he kneels in front of her, joints cracking in protest.

“What are you doing on the couch?” He asks, eyes tracing over the strands of hair that have fallen across her cheek. She hates sleeping with her hair loose. It always gets tangled in impossible knots and while he’s less worried about his own hair he knows she values her own. His voice is enough to stir her despite the low, gruff tone of it. She blinks herself awake, stretching in the confines of her blanket cocoon like a cat. Hands slipping out above her head and toes pointing as she makes a soft noise. He should’ve asked what she’s doing here at all. He hasn’t seen her in weeks–maybe months, he’s been doing his best not to keep count–and yet she’s found her way into his apartment. Cleaned and coiffed it in anticipation of his return. She doesn’t answer either of his questions. Instead she sniffs and blinks in the darkness that’s settled over the room.

“Welcome home, Shouta.” She smiles lazily, arms reaching towards him. He allows the contact but doesn’t return the embrace. His hands stay firmly in his pockets.

“How was your patrol? Are you hungry?” He is but he’s also more tired than he’s been in awhile. This interaction is draining him more by the second. Just the barest hint of her comforting scent settled over his home tugged at his already frayed heartstrings. He thought they were done with this by now.

“What are you doing here?” He asks again as he watches her fold the blanket and rearrange the pillows. She’s humming to herself, an old song that hasn’t been popular in at least a decade. It reminds him of a different time, different people. She was different. He was different. So much has changed. And yet here she is stretching in one of his oversized shirts that slips off the edge of her shoulder. He sees the edge of a scar before she tugs the shirt back into place and pads off to the kitchen. He hadn’t confirmed or denied his hunger but she flicks on the light and starts poking around in the fridge that is suddenly well stocked beyond the meager necessities he buys for himself. She’s still humming as she sets out everything she needs for whatever she’s making, pausing only when he says her name. She doesn’t take her head out of the fridge but she stops moving and he finds himself staring at the strip of skin peeking out between her shirt and shorts. There’s a bruise there. It looks to be nearly healed but he notices anyway. It shuts up whatever he was going to say and she continues on with her humming.

“Does Hizashi know you’re here?” That question she deigns to answer.

“Not yet. I was going to see if he was free tomorrow.” He watches her hands as she works, chopping vegetables that would’ve wilted and rotted in his fridge had he bought them for himself. There’s a simple silver band on her left hand. Still. He swallows what he wants to say and focuses on her cooking. He’s never been one for overly complicated food. Just enough to keep him going. It didn’t always taste the best, didn’t make the apartment smell warm and inviting the way her cooking does. She’s just as methodical as he is. Pragmatic in the quick cuts before she sweeps the slices into the pot boiling on the stove. The knife misses the counter when she goes to set it down and he watches her training take over as she catches it before it hits the floor.

“How was the mission?” He asks at last. Because really he knows why she’s here, why she chose to come here instead of her own government-issued lodging across town. The Hero Commission offered their more valuable operatives a comfortable lifestyle outside of their work if comfort is a roof over their head and furniture picked out of some high class catalog. Her apartment looks like a showroom, a place untouched by an actual inhabitant. And if it weren’t for her clothes in the closet and food in the kitchen it could be mistaken for a sample unit in the highrise building. His apartment is comparatively shabbier. In a less expensive part of the city. Smaller, with cheaper furniture. But his apartment would look exactly like hers if she hadn’t taken it upon herself to decorate it. The pillows she fluffed when she woke were picked by her, the blanket she folded was a Christmas gift she’d brought over. This place is her home and yet he’s always surprised to find her here. He’s done his best to keep her away. Short of sweeping her off his stoop like a stray cat. Because he loves her, wants nothing but her happiness.

She looks happy now as she stirs whatever she’s making with a pair of chopsticks.

“It was fine. I got a bit roughed up, but nothing I can’t handle.” And there it is. She got hurt. He’d gotten banged up on patrol, too. A villain threw him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. There are surely bruises taking form along the length of his spine. It’s barely throbbing now, just a dull thrum through the fading flush of adrenaline in his body but it’ll be hard to manage when he wakes. Still he doesn’t draw attention to it, only humming in acknowledgment of her words. This is how it has always been between them. Injuries are inevitable. It’s expected in their line of work. Some are more dire than others. Truthfully they’ve been lucky in their careers. Luckier than most. Some heroes sport visible scarring across wide swathes of their bodies, some lose arms or legs, and in the most egregious circumstances they lose their lives.

He’s seen his fair share of lives lost to the pursuit of heroism. His thoughts stray towards the past, focus slipping in a way he wishes it wouldn’t. Dwelling on a time long past won’t change the present. Here and now is what matters and yet he can’t help but think of pale blue clouds and medical tape. Of his own wounds that refuse to heal even after so long. He isn’t naive to the realities of the job. Debilitating injury, death, they come with the territory. She knows it as well as he does and yet there’s a clear divide between them. He doesn’t wallow in it. There are enough things to be concerned with in his life without considering the looming reality of his mortality and she doesn’t think about it either. Really he hasn’t met a single hero that looks too closely at what it means to dedicate yourself to the cause, to accept what may come every time you put on your costume. He resents the ones that aren’t so keen on action. The ones that prefer to give interviews in glossy magazines and lend their likeness to ads and merchandising. It cheapens the profession in a way that turns his stomach. A grimace, deeper than his neutrally dour expression must be tugging at his mouth because she asks what’s wrong as she tries to feed him a spoonful of broth.

“Nothing.” He says after swallowing.

“It’s something.” She sing-songs, going back to making her ramen. He rarely bothers with making his own broth but it’s something of a comfort to her. The plain routine of a recipe. Reclaiming stability, she called it. So much in their lives is unstable and yet she finds a soothing sort of stillness here. It’s home in a way her government-issued dwelling will never be. And to him it only really feels like home when she’s around.

“You’re still wearing your ring.” He says finally. The exhaustion keeps the emotion at bay, stripping his voice of anything but mild curiosity, but it’s more than that. He’s happy to see that little ring. A simple band with a tiny diamond. All he could afford in his novice years as a sidekick. He expected her to scorn it after what he’d done but there it is still sitting proudly in the place he’d put it.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Her voice has lost its amicable tone at last. He’s been waiting for it, expecting it since she first woke. This was a tenuous calm before the storm. There’s a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be wearing it anymore. First of them being their separation. At his behest. Death has been at Shouta’s heels for months, nearly a year. The villains have been getting stronger and he’s had his own close encounters with death. He didn’t need the reminder that he couldn’t do this forever but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon. A naive notion to think it couldn’t happen to him, but only when he was ready. He expected it later, when he was past his prime, his body beginning to betray him with age as his stamina and agility began to wane. Not now. Not yet.

“Nothing to say?” What can he say? There’s no defense for what he’s done. He broke his word, his vows that he made to her. “Huh, you’re usually quiet. I thought it was so odd that you had so much to say at the hospital. You must’ve bumped your head harder than they thought because you couldn’t even go through with it. You all but chased me out and for what?”

The hospital. So many months ago. He remembers it only vaguely. Everything was a hazy wash of bright fluorescents in a stark white room, thick bandages limiting his sight to only small portholes. There was pain, so much pain. And a deep, aching regret. He wasn’t afraid. Even when they told him this could be the end, he wasn’t afraid. He was angry. Angry that he was going to leave the best thing that ever happened to him. He tried to fix it, to let her go easily, but it only served to do the one thing he was afraid of doing. In trying to protect her from the grief of losing him, he pushed her away. Ranted and raved until his hoarse voice gave out to a rasping whisper.

By the time the haze of the concussion and morphine faded it was too late to mend what he’d broken. He can’t even remember his exact words, but whatever was said was enough to drive her away. But clearly not far enough. He’s glad for it. Even when she ignored his texts and dodged his calls he couldn’t bring himself to make what felt like a nightmare reality. All it would take is a few signatures and filed paperwork and the relationship he’s spent so many years cherishing would disappear. It seemed too easy, too quick. And it made him wonder if death would’ve been the better alternative.

“Of course, I couldn’t go through with it.” He hadn’t meant it. Not truly. Not ever. It was a stupid, fleeting thought that he acted on in the heat of the moment and he’d spend the rest of his life–no matter how long or short–regretting it. Seeing her walk away had hurt worse than anything he’d been feeling at that moment, but he’d done it to himself. She sets a bowl in front of him and stares. It isn’t an expectant look as if she’s waiting for him to eat. She’s looking for something, lashes moving every so slightly as her eyes flit across his body. When she finds what she wants a rueful smile overtakes her face and she hands him his chopsticks.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can say. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s all he has. A lifetime of penance won’t make up for the pain he’s caused. And pain is what he wanted to spare her. They knew pain. Physical and emotional, they knew it well. There’s an intimacy with suffering that comes with grief. A lingering ache like a bruise that never truly heals. He wanted to spare her a repeated visit but distance doesn’t soothe the pain. If he had died she’d never know how deeply he regretted chasing her away, how happy he felt to even smell her scent and know she’d been here. And he knows that if it had been her hooked up to those machines, clinging just barely to consciousness, he would’ve wanted to be by her side until the bitter end.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

“I never left. Where would I go if I wasn’t with you? There are few people I love left in this world. I don’t plan to lose anyone else without a fight.” Being a person of interest within the Hero Commission comes with its perks but the downfall is that the higher someone soars the harder they fall. The most dangerous jobs are given to those trained under the Commission, molded to be heroes nearly from birth. And dangerous jobs have their consequences. There are very few heroes who can say they’ve never lost someone in the line of duty. Their loss came early, stripping away the shiny veneer of heroism before they got too swept up in the facade projected to the outside world. Not everyone is going to make it. No one was ever too young, too inexperienced, or too seasoned and beloved to die.

“You seemed so upset I thought you’d hit your head and gotten amnesia. I thought you forgot who I was. I was so scared. But you didn’t go through with it.” She looks up at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “You didn’t mean it. I forgive you, Shouta.” He hadn’t asked for it. Couldn’t bring himself to. He could apologize all he wanted but she didn’t have to accept it, accept him. And yet here she is. In his kitchen. His home. Their home. Cooking for him because she knows he hasn’t been eating properly and cleaning because he always means to but can never find the time between teaching and patrolling.

She looks perfect. The kitchen light highlights every stray strand of hair standing on end after she fell asleep with it hanging loose. It collects the white glow around her head like a halo as she eats her noodles, content to enjoy the slow mending of their marriage.

“Promise me one thing though?” She says after a while. Anything, he wants to say. Anything she wants and it’s her. Whatever he has to do to atone for what he’s done.

“This time around let’s stick to what we said.” She laughs when he frowns, tension gathering between his brows. It’s what he deserves if she means what he thinks she does. The next time he makes a threat like that he has to follow through. The next time he turns her away she’ll stay home. Follow through. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not after knowing these few months without her. It had been something like grief. He lived in a haze. There was nothing beyond the next step, the next breath. His life had crumbled into going through the motions. It felt purposeless outside of his work so he drowned himself in it. Teaching, patrolling. Anything outside of his utility towards society disintegrated. He’s seen what could be without her. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A fitting punishment for pushing her away.

“We said ‘til death do us part. This time I’m holding you to it. You’re not getting rid of me without a fight.” She says it with a smile but there’s a hint of melancholy in her voice. Death could be tomorrow. One patrol gone awry. One mission where backup is a moment too late. They only have these precious few moments and he’ll be damned if he lets her slip through his fingers again.

#aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #mha x reader

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trans-cuchulainn · 5 months

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advice on making my bedroom not get mouldier? treated the existing mould with mould&mildew cleaner and have had a dehumidifier and an air purifier running all afternoon (too cold for windows open to ventilate). drying laundry in the room is unfortunately unavoidable which is why the dehumidifier is there but the mould is actually at the opposite end of the room to the laundry and seems to be more because I have the audacity to need to breathe while sleeping, so, need a long term solution

#personal #the mould cleaner destroyed a bunch of the paintwork so apologies to my landlord #but also if these windows were less shit i probably wouldn't have mould #or you know. if the house had central heating. that would probably also help avoid mould #it being typically 12-15°c in the bedroom isn't doing anything much good

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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The Limit

Sequel to Stress Relief, Right Through Me, Waiting, Honey I’m Home, Won’t Give Up, Midnight, and Dinner Time

Warnings: noncon, housewife kink, fear, mommy kink, lactation kink, postpartum depression, abuse/spanking.

Even though it’s a drabble, I do appreciate any comments and feedback you have. Thanks for reading!

👗👗👗

The baby screams as you push the mop across the floor. You ignore her as you continue to sop up the mildew and cleaner. You can’t let Clark see the mess. Not again.

The wailing continues but you focus on the task. You don’t want her touching you, grabbing at your chest, wanting the only thing she cares about. She didn’t want your love, not your warmth, nothing but food, food, food. You’re a cow to her, just like you are to her father.

You squeeze out the dirty water with the plastic lever and slap the sponge back to the tile. A red glow suddenly tinges the wall and darkens your shadow before you. You turn as Clark stands with his chiseled jaw locked and watches you.

“She’s crying,” he snarls as his eyes beam a hot crimson.

“Sorry, I was trying to get this all cleaned up–”

“She needs her mommy and you’re out here with the mop?”

“Honey, I was just finishing up but I was going to–”

“Go, deal with her,” he slams his bag on the counter and huffs.

“Yes, Clark,” you dip your head down and lean the mop in the bucket, “sorry.”

“You will be. Get her what she needs, then I get mine.”

You don’t need any other orders. You know what he expects. It’s not the first time and will hardly be the last. Yesterday, the chicken wasn’t cooked through. The day before, you forgot to tie up the trash as you left it by the door to be taken out. And Monday, Martha’s diaper was wet.

You enter the bedroom and take her from the crib. You lift her and cradle her. She’s a few months now, bigger and even more hungry. You check her nappy, it’s dry. You go to the glider and sit as you pull down the top of your dress and unhook your nursing bra. She’s quick to latch and you grunt at the twinge that comes from her tugging suckle.

She drinks until it leaks down her chin and you detach her, burping her until she’s calm. You get up and place her back in the crib with her stuffed hippo. She’s content, for now.

You go to the bedroom. The shower’s whining through the open door, steam wisping out. You quickly undress and wipe up the leakage around your nipples. You listen to the water slaking down naked skin and get on the bed. You tuck your knees under as the tenders bruises across your ass tingle. Each night, there’s more.

He emerges and you keep your face away from him as he moves around. He tuts as he goes to the dress, his ass flexing as he stops, the thick muscles of his thigh bulging with each step. You shiver and your fear peaks.

No, you don’t feel, you can’t.

“Since it’s not getting through to you,” he turns and stretches his fingers, a reminder of the spankings still needling at your skin from nights before, “honey, I really didn’t want this.”

He pulls out a belt and examines the thick leather. He folds it in half and snaps it against his palm. You hear a babble, the baby making noises that will soon grow to more cries, to that intolerable blare.

“Stay,” he warns as he comes towards the bed, “this will be the last time you learn this lesson.”

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #dcu #dc #superman

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deepcleanwashingmachine · 4 months

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Why is it recommended to use a washing machine mildew cleaner regularly?

A Washing Machine Mildew Cleaner is specifically designed to target and eliminate mildew, mould, and unpleasant odours that can develop in the rubber seals, drum, and other parts of a washing machine. Here are some good reasons to regularly use a washing machine mildew cleaner: • It effectively removes mildew and mould that can accumulate in the rubber gaskets, seals, and other hard-to-reach areas of the washing machine. This helps prevent the growth of harmful microorganisms that may cause health issues and unpleasant smells. • Washing machines are often prone to developing musty and unpleasant odours due to the accumulation of acteria. A mildew cleaner helps eliminate these odours, leaving your washing machine smelling fresh. • The regular use of a washing machine mildew cleaner helps prevent the buildup of residue, detergent scum, and other contaminants that can contribute to the growth of mildew and Mould. This can also enhance the overall performance and efficiency of the washing machine. • When you keep your washing machine clean and free from mould, it not only improves its efficiency but also contributes to the longer lifespan of your washing machine. • A clean washing machine ensures that your clothes are washed in a hygienic environment. If you regularly remove mildew using a good washing machine mildew cleanser, it helps prevent the transfer of these contaminants onto your clothes during the washing process. • Washing machine mildew cleaners are typically designed for easy application. Many come in the form of tablets, powders, or liquids that can be added directly to the drum or detergent compartment, making the cleaning process convenient for users. • These cleaners are usually suitable for use in both front-loading and top-loading washing machines, providing versatility for users with different types of appliances. It is recommended to carefully follow the manufacturer's instructions when using a washing machine mildew cleaner, and consider using it as part of your regular maintenance routine to keep your washing machine in optimal condition.

#washing machine mildew cleaner #Washing Machine Door Seal Cleaner #How to get rid of Washing Machine Smell #Tips to Remove Mildew From Washing Machine #Washing Machine Mold Remover #Washing Machine Mildew Cleaning

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dark-elf-writes · 2 months

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Out of curiosity, who else has gone to use their shower and someone left the somehow still wet even though it's the next day washcloth sitting on the floor just past the shower door where no one could possibly see it and you step in it? But you can't say anything because it'd be starting a fight or being petty even though he couldn't be bothered to pick it up or at least wring it out.

In my case it's not even a roommate but a guest staying over for a week. And I know if it was the other way around they'd be screaming.

That’s just asking for mildew like what??? If you use a cloth and cloth so wet you at the very least have to hang the cloth up so it doesn’t Grow Things™️. Also a guest?? A G U E S T. When I’m a guest I try to make it like I wasn’t even there! I once cleaned a carpet and did laundry in the sink drunk off my ass because I didn’t want to I convince someone and I would have gotten away with it if I didn’t leave the carpet cleaner in the room. To leave a gross cloth just around? Couldn’t be me

I’m also someone who hates the wet feeling so I would lose my damn mind if this happened to me

#the elf talks

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Ultima Ex Nobis | ch. II

Nessian AU word count: ~2,4k words warnings: mentions guns summary: Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

masterlist

“You know how to use a gun?” Cassian cocks a brow, honest curiosity etched into his features. Nesta looks almost incredulous, her brows raised amd her eyes wide open. “I have worked as a librarian before and my hobbies were dancing, sports and reading, do I look like I can use a gun?” Nesta says sharply and throws up her hands.

She was infected with Cordyceps when she was barely eighteen years old, had lived a perfectly normal life of a teenage girl before. Obviously she could not use a gun.

“A simple no would have done as well,” Cassian grumbles and shoves a hunting knife into the strap on his thigh. He passes a similar one to her, motioning for her thigh. “Then use that. I am pretty sure you at least know how to stab someone.”

The young woman rolls her eyes, ignoring the comment, and takes the knife from his hand, strapping it to her thigh. Or rather trying to. It slips through the small band and Nesta has to try again. And then again.

“Can’t your fingers make it work?” Cassian queries when he watches Nesta struggle. His brow is lifted, a smirk playing on his lips. He is clearly amused but that vanishes the moment she sneers at him and opens her mouth.

“I assume that this is what women ask you when they are tangled in the sheets with you.” She flashes him a fake, taunting smile.

Cassian growls lowly, nostrils flaring in challenge. “Careful, Nes.” “For you it is Nesta.” “What if I prefer Nes?” “What if I prefer that you shut up?”

With a smirk on their faces, they both glower at each other, eyes like burning flames, tension so thick between the two of them one could cut it with a knife. Humidity is high in the small garage they are in, collecting all kind of things for their journey, that Nesta’s skin feels hot and clammy.

She would have to be back in ten minutes, so they cannot waste too much time. Every second counts.

Nesta’s gaze strays. There are many shelves filled with different-coloured boxes and cans. Antibacterial sanitizer. Stainless steel cleaner.

An old broom leans in the corner, the smell of dust and petrol filling Nesta’s nostrils when she scrunches her nose and glanced back at Cassian who packed some of those colourful cans into a big backpack. There is ladder next to her and for a moment Nesta wonders if she could climb over the security fences with it. Stupid thought, she admits. First, it would not be high enough, second, she would totally get caught. They are standing on a cement floor with mildew spiderwebbed across it. Nesta shudders when her eyes follow the lines — it reminds her of the fungus, of what the fungus and how it spreads in the brain looks like. She has seen it on the pictures in Keir’s laboratory. Nesta forces her eyes too look away, not wanting to keep thinking about it any longer. The scar on her lower arm is reminder enough — reminds her every minute of every day about the Cordyceps virus.

When Cassian picks up a little tool box and packs it, his gaze shifts to Nesta, standing in the middle of the room. She tries to be all strong and tough, but to him she seems like a picture of misery. She looks young and fragile, she does not seem so cold and spoiled anymore. In all honesty, she seems sad and lonely. Something about the dark blue splotches on her lower arms from where they have drawn blood from her over and over again, makes the content of his stomach sour. He does not specifically like Nesta, but still they should not have done that.

He gaze moves lower and—

“You have no other shoes?” Cassian examines the old Converse she is wearing. The are worn out and dirty, their sole not in the best shape. They are a light grey colour and they are probably her most treasured item at this point, as there is not much she could keep from her old life.

“No.” Nesta’s answer is tight and Cassian knows that they will just have to deal with them, as time is running out. They only have seconds, they need to leave as quickly as possible, there is no time to look for new shoes. The sun has already started to set, which means Nesta would have to be back any moment. This is a race against death – if they got caught it would mean their end. Keir would do cruel things to him, Cass knows that, but what would be even worse is that Keir would do unspeakable things to Nesta and he would not let that happen. Like her or not, but he is her protector, her escort from now on, no harm could come upon her as she just like everyone has not chosen this life herself.

“We need to leave,” Cassian cautions and once again checks the gun and knife strapped to his belt.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Nesta purses her lips.

The corners of Cassian’s mouth jerk up when he tries to glower at Nesta. When he regards her for a moment he has to admit that maybe he does not hate her that much. She does something to him. There is something about her, a fire she ignites inside of him, that other woman have never been able to. And that only after a few minutes, that is indeed surprising, Cassian thinks and looks at her for a moment longer. His eyebrow raises, a smirk appearing when Nesta starts to glower and lifts her hand in despair. “What?” she snaps. “Is there something on my face.” “Just a feisty little mouth,” Cassian casually replies and switches off the light. Now they are both in the dark for a moment which is…strange somehow, somehow also not that much.

But thank God, it is over soon enough. Cassian carefully opens the door, as slow possible, and peeks outside. It has gotten a bit cooler and also calmer outside, a soft breeze is blowing which makes the trees whisper and rustle, but other than that one can only hear voices in the very far distance.

Cassian looks around for a moment and then reaches his hand back for Nesta to grab it, but she skillfully avoids it, sidestepping his arm and peeking outside as well. “Can we leave already?”

Her voice is full of cool boredom, her back straight, her chin held high.

When Cassian steps out without a word being said, Nesta follows, sticking, even though she hates it, close to his side. She really somehow does not want to be on her own out there and so it is better and also smarter to stick to Cassian rather than being alone.

They carefully move over the open field, towards the security gates. Cassian never wastes a moment of checking his surroundings, his eyes watching for every small movement, his ears listening to every sound. They pass the door Nesta has earlier been brought through and Nesta dares to glance back one last time. Would she ever see this place again? Secretly she hopes not. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life with Cassian Cadell, it would be better. Somehow at least. But then, everything would be better than staying here. Cassian dislikes her just as Keir and Briallyn, but at least he does not hurt her…

Cassian fumbles with something in the back pocket of his army pants, pulling out a key and inserting it into the lock. He holds the croaky iron gate open. Once him and Nesta have slipped through it, he locks it from the outside and drops the key into the grass. “Only borrowed it and I have no more need for it,” he states matter-of-factly. It elicits a tiny, barely-there chuckle from Nesta, but she quickly catches herself and laces her features in cool indifference just once again.

Only then it hits her—

She is outside. She is outside! She has finally left the place she has been held captive in for the past years. She is free. This is freedom. Now she is free. A loud and relieved sigh leaves Nesta after she inhales deeply – the smell of fresh air, grass, still a tint of decay and motor oil fill her nostrils. But this is the outside world, this is nature, this is…good.

“Let’s go, shall we?” she says and smacks her palms on her thighs. Cassian is only a little surprised about her eagerness, but he partly understands, having read her expression. He has seen how somehow the tension loosened, fell from her in thick layers. She looks more at ease now, calmer and…happier. She seems relieved now, like she can breathe for the first time in a long time.

Moving away from the fenced area, Nesta can’t actually believe that it has been that easy. She wants to knock on wood, because this seems surreal. It has been that easy? It has been that easy!

Cassian walks fast, Nesta tries to keep up. She has long legs, but nothing compared to Cassian's strong, long legs. While he is casually and quickly walking, Nesta jumps most part of the way, trying to keep up with his pace and soon is out of breath. “A little slower, please.” “I doubt this is what you tell males in the bedroom,” Cassian chuckles and when Nesta huffs he adds, “Sorry, but you had to see it coming. A little payback for earlier.” Nesta just rolls her eyes at him, releasing air through her mouth and pushes past him. Why do they have to talk about bedroom activities so often? This is strange…especially for people who have never really met before. She wears a pinched expression when she stalks forward, brushing the long culms of grass out of her way.

It is when they reach the end of the what has seemed like an endless field that they step onto street, overgrown with weeds and grass. Nesta narrows her eyes, trying to make out anything in the distance. Night has finally started to fully set and it is getting darker by the minute. But there is one thing she can make out. Namely that the rotting sidewalks are hardly visible. The decaying buildings lining the street are evidence that there has once been life here. Most of the windows in the house closest to her are covered in grime or broken. Nesta wonders for how long no people have lived there, for how long no cars have travelled on the street, for how long no person has been here at all. She must have spoken her questions out loud because Cassian answers. “For around six years. They shot at every car that only neared the fenced area. They have been sick with fear, expecting infected in each car, they did not care if there were children in it, adults, elders.”

Nesta’s stomach churns with nausea and she dips her chin a little, acknowledging his honest answer.

Cassian steps closer to her, pointing forward. “We won’t stay here. It is not safe. They will notice your absence. I know it must be exhausting, but we have to travel on for at least one or two hours. Then we look for a place to sleep.” Nesta shrugs her shoulders. She can’t really protest, because staying here would mean their death. And even though she does not really like her companion, she really does not want to be the reason for his death.

And so they keep on walking. For a long time they travel on the street. A street that is no longer traveled on, this makes it feel even odder somehow. All life has been wiped out from this place. There is no living soul left and—

“So how did it happen?” Nesta stops, surprised about the warmth in his tone. Her feet are planted wide when she looks at him and Cassian also stops. “The immunity, I mean. How did you do it?” “I got bitten by one of those fungus fuckers and did not turn. That is how it happened,” Nesta says matter-of-factly. There is no further explanation because she herself does not know how she got immune. She has questioned herself the same for six years, there is no answer to it. Why it had to be her. Why exactly her. Well, there probably is an answer, but no one would tell her. Keir, she assumed, knew exactly how it happened, but he never told her.

Cassian understands that she does not want to continue talking and so he bows his head, his hand falling to her arm to make her move again. They cannot risk stopping.

When his warm palm comes in contact with her cold upper arm, there is a light pinch in his heart. She is freezing. “You are cold?” “I am fine.” Once again the sharp features and the pinched expression appears and Cassian decides that she maybe deserves to be a little cold if she does not want to accept his help.

Straying from the street and then through thick, wet grass, they walk on, crossing many small paths until they can make out a forest that stretches in front of them, the tall, weathered trees rising from the ground, towering over them and brushing the skyline. That much they can make out, the rest is darkness. Night has arrived and that means—

“We stop here. I will set up our little tent. I will take the first watch, you sleep.”

“Our little tent? You said nothing about us having to share a tent.” “Yes, Nes, our tent. Well, now I am saying it. Make yourself useful and grab the torch.” A grin splits Cassian’s lips when he watches the sourness fill every fiber of Nesta’s face, her piercing stare attacking him like little daggers. That is the sort of fire he has to admit finds all of sudden very attractive. He likes her like that a lot more than when she is cold and indifferent.

~~~~~~~~~

tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @headcanonheadcase @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf

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