#*FALLS TO MY HANDS AND KNEES. CURLS UP IN A BALL. SUFFERS* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

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i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) ; suguru geto

synopsis; everyone has a weakness. some are harder to get rid of. (or, alternatively; suguru geto befriends a non-sorcerer as a child.)

word count; 10.0k

contents; suguru geto/reader (not explicitly romantic but the subtext is there), gn!reader, geto-typical angst, childhood friends to [redacted], mild gore, suguru geto’s defection but with added angst, twisted depictions of love, depictions of stalking, depictions of death/murder, general bloodlust (geto wants to kill u soo bad but also not really), unresolved yearning, hurt/no comfort, curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; ok so. this is kind of a mess. just my own take on geto’s childhood and defection + how i think he’d deal with a non-sorcerer reader after defecting……. so it turned out kinda. Dark. it’s entirely sfw to be clear!!! just sorta twisted. in conclusion i love my cult leader wife who wants me dead <3 (pls listen to ’kill me’ by indigo de souza it is SO geto)

suguru geto meets you in the afterglow of sunset, by a dusty summer creek.

it’s his special place, hidden in the outskirts of your tiny town; a place where the water glimmers with silver-hued fish, and all the biggest cicadas reside, singing softly and waiting to be caught.

a place where he can be himself. alone, with no one to curse him.

— except, this time, he isn’t alone.

your crying face is the first thing he sees. big, wet tears, cascading down your scrunched-up face, accompanied by little sniffles as you sit there. curled up into a ball, knees against your heaving chest.

the next thing he sees is the bruise on your leg. a scrape on your knee, gritty and a little bloody, but it’s not so awful. he can tell that it hurts, though — you bite your lip to stop yourself from trembling, like you’re trying to be brave. but you look pained.

and it sends a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru was born with a bleeding heart, an empathy unusually developed for his age. always pushing him forward, coaxing him into taking action; this nagging desire to protect, to nurture. born with an inability to avert his gaze from the suffering of others.

so when the two of you lock eyes, he manages a smile. warm and soothing, even though deep down he’s alarmed. but he masks it, slathers over it with something kind, something comforting — and he can tell that it works, from the way your teary eyes seem to soften in the buttery hue of the afternoon glow.

you’re crying. and suguru finds himself wanting to wipe those tears away, more than anything. you look small, and you’re in pain.

(protect the weak, urges some voice in the back of his mind. insatiable. protect those who can’t protect themselves.)

he asks for your name, all while cleaning your wound. the wince that slips from your lips when the cold water of the creek licks at your knee makes his heart clench.

but you tell him. you tell him your name, as the sun sets in the horizon, and he tells you his.

suguru. a sweet kid who sees you fall and patches you up. a cool kid who teases you a little for being so clumsy. who holds your hand tightly in his own, to make sure you won’t fall again.

the sun melts away beyond the cluster of trees that surround you, its burning glow breaking through the gaps between the branches and dyeing the summer creek a deep red. illuminating your blurry silhouettes, as you walk back home. hand in hand.

and that’s how it begins.

the two of you grow closer, in the same way flowers who share a stem learn to lean on each other, grow in the same direction, a mess of mingled roots. a natural connection, blooming out of nothing more than a sweet coincidence — that kind of blissful, innocent childhood friendship. the kind you never have to question.

you learn very quickly that suguru isn’t like the rest. that when compared to all the other kids you know, he’s mature, almost mystical, like he knows something they don’t.

you learn that there’s a gentleness to him, one he could never fully hide. one that shines through when he looks at you, when you play and laugh to fill the silence of the hills overlooking the small town you both live in.

you also learn that he can see ghosts.

curses, you’ll both come to learn, but that’s later. for a child in a remote town, isolated and alone, the familiarity of the ghost stories that adults tell you is the only kind of comfort suguru has to cling to. something lighthearted, to explain the predicament that haunts him — the flickers of black in his vision, that lingering taste of charcoal on his tongue.

suguru is different, you realize, different from the rest. and you eventually learn, from him, that you are far from alone in that belief.

in the town you both had the misfortune of being born into, suguru is the black sheep. his parents think there’s something wrong with him. the other kids think there’s something wrong with him. he isn’t right in the head, they whisper, he sees things that aren’t there.

(it’s a debilitating isolation that never truly leaves him.)

so suguru learns to stay silent, learns to keep his pretty little mouth shut, learns to lie. it’s easier that way. easier to survive, in the remoteness of your tiny town, with all the adults who scorn him and look at him like he doesn’t belong anywhere at all.

and suguru learns to be content, in that solitude. that heaven-granted isolation. a lone white chrysanthemum, in a sea of red and lavender; blossoming alone.

but then suguru meets you.

and, contrary to everyone else, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. when you tell him that he’s different from the rest, you mean it in the best possible way. you say it with starlight in your eyes, gleeful, giddy. like he’s special, not broken. like you’re also tired of those other kids, those sneering adults, the silence of a town so isolated it could crush a child’s heart.

like you have something in common. like you’re the same.

and you stay by his side. throughout the most difficult years of his early life, when he’s still growing accustomed to the duty he’ll have to bear for the rest of his life, you’re there. every single day. to smile at him, to speak to him like you’re both just normal kids — even though suguru is well aware that he’s anything but normal.

(when he’s with you, he feels like it, though. feels like he’s just a normal boy, like there isn’t something glued down wrong inside his brain. something twisted, something that needs to be plucked out.)

suguru finds comfort in you. in your presence, in the notes you pass him when classes get boring, in the way you cling to his sleeve while exploring the woods during recess. in the way you grin so brightly after managing to catch a firefly in the darkness of the summer night, all proud and toothy, a childlike innocence he wishes he still had.

you’re sweet, and understanding, and suguru thinks you might be the coolest person he knows. you’re his friend, his very best friend, his one and only.

and when he tells you what’s wrong with him — when he tells you what he can see — you ask him something that will forever rest in his subconscious. a flicker of precious, fleeting, genuine acceptance, one he won’t ever feel again. not until he meets a certain boy with blue eyes, but that comes later.

(a memory he’ll return to, over and over again. even after all the evil in the world has already descended upon him like a crackling hurricane.)

what do they look like?

there is no judgement in your voice, in the way the question slips from your lips. no mocking laughter, no silent rejection or whisper of crazy, evil, wrong. there’s only you, the way you’ve always been, curious and understanding and wise beyond your years.

suguru decides, right then and there, that he’ll protect you forever. no matter what.

you can’t see curses. you aren’t like him, in that regard, and he learns that quickly. and as suguru grows up, grows a little taller, a little wiser, he is glad that it’s true. he’s glad, because he already knows what kind of road lies ahead of him.

he already knows what kind of world you both live in, how unforgiving it can be. how many people die every day, every second, because of monsters only a select few can even see. he already knows that curses aren’t the eccentric, silly ghosts you were hoping for when you were kids — but pure, unadulterated evil.

(he already knows what they taste like.)

and suguru takes careful measures, day by day, to keep you away from it. as much as he can without lying outright. you’re curious, by nature, almost fascinated by curses and sorcery and everything you do not understand. an endearing trait, though it exasperates him to no end.

someone like you has no business sticking their nose into that kind of cruelty, he thinks, that kind of bloodshed.

and you’ve always been clumsy, a little scatterbrained. enough to make him worry instinctively when you’re out of his sight. like when you tripped and scraped your knee, by that tiny summer creek, all because you wanted to catch a dragonfly.

so he tries his best to keep you away from it, all of it, away from a darkness he knows would swallow you whole. away from the small, weak curses that sometimes litter the woods or the schoolyard; away from his cursed technique, the disgust of a power he never once asked for.

(he never lets you see him swallow those things, never lets you witness the way he throws them right back up again before it happens so many times that he grows used to the disgust. you’re sharp, though, and he can’t hide the grimace that always lingers on his features.

you don’t ask — you only give him a packet of gum, to chew away the taste with, and suguru thinks to himself that he’ll love you forever.)

time passes by, slowly but surely, and the two of you stick together.

and as he grows into his teenage years, so much weight already resting on his tiny shoulders, suguru has already developed some sense of it all. of his ability, of the world of sorcerers. he’s already spoken to people like him, has already been made well aware of his potential.

he’s already been given a choice, a choice that was never really a choice at all, but he decides that it doesn’t matter.

suguru decides to become a sorcerer. to train his abilities, to hone his skills. to eventually move away, from the stifling silence of that town, the silence that was only ever filled by you.

and suguru thinks to himself that he’s doing this for you. that in doing this, in being this, he’ll fulfill his promise to protect you.

(forever. no matter what. he echoes the words in his mind like a prayer.)

suguru wants to protect those who cannot protect themselves. those who are weak, those who are alone, people he has the power to help.

but more than anything, above all else, suguru wants to protect you.

you are the most precious thing in his life. and if he can turn the world a little brighter for you, just a little bit kinder, then isn’t that enough? isn’t there enough meaning in that to give him the strength he needs?

there is. suguru decides that there is.

so when he tells you about his plans, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, he does so with conviction. he knows that you will understand, because he knows you. you’re his best friend.

and he’s right. you do understand. you’re proud of him, and he’s your best friend, too.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

the instantaneous answer makes suguru smile. not the kind of smile he plasters on to appease the adults around him, nor the smile he wears when he needs to lie convincingly. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the moon; a warm, gentle smile, one you’ll always, always associate with him.

(forever and ever. no matter what.)

and when suguru eventually has to leave, for a high school he’ll spend the next few years of his life living at, he carries that conviction with him. his choice is steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. the only one that matters.

the whistling of the wind breaches his ears, as you both stand on the platform and wait for his train to arrive. a spring breeze caresses your skin, and suguru’s bangs flutter in the wind. sunlight scatters across the train tracks and seagulls cry out in the distance, and the acute sensation of a parting lies heavy in the air.

it’s embarrassing. it’s childish. suguru wants to claim that he isn’t a child, anymore; that he wouldn’t give in to hesitation, at the sight of your meek expression. that he wouldn’t cry, at the thought of moving away from his best friend.

but the slight puffiness under his eyes is evidence enough. evidence of the tears he shed last night, when the reality of the situation finally dawned on him.

suguru doesn’t want to part from you. he’s nervous, too — leaving you alone in that town, all by yourself, with no one around to protect you properly.

it's stupid. because deep down, he knows that you’ll escape too. that you’ll come after him, no matter how long it takes, that'll you'll both end up in tokyo. that you'll end up together, despite his duty as a sorcerer — eating soft serve ice cream cones, playing shooting games at the arcade, strolling around the big city aimlessly. doing all those things you always talked about doing.

because the two of you will always, always find your way back to each other. just like how he found you with that bruise on your leg, all those years ago, a fated encounter as natural as the glow of sunset. two lone dragonflies, who always meet somewhere in the middle of a dusty summer creek.

still, suguru can’t help but feel sad. a little lost. he can only hope you don’t notice the soft frown on his face, the faint redness of his eyes.

(then again, when have you ever not noticed something he was trying to hide?)

there's no need to worry about it, suguru knows. he’s never had to worry about you judging him, looking down on him. never you.

and when his gaze falls on your face, after the train he’s supposed to board screeches to a halt behind him, your own tears are enough to make him realize how silly he’s being.

he laughs, from the bottom of his stomach, when you tackle him into a hug and tell him with teary eyes that you’ll come visit. he squeezes you especially tight, in a boyish fashion he can never quite hide from you, and murmurs into your ear that he’ll be waiting.

he asks you not to forget him. you laugh through your tears, and tell him that you never could.

before he has to let go and step into the train, you tell him that you love him, and his grin blooms with honeyed affection. he ruffles your hair, always gentle, always teasing, always the same suguru.

he tells you that he loves you, too.

— then he’s gone.

(you’ll forever regret not convincing him to stay.)

the two of you stay in contact, all throughout his first year. texting, calling — making sure neither of you get the chance to forget the other. suguru tells you about his life, his missions, his classmates, leaving out all the gritty details. and you listen; attentive, curious.

at one point, you even visit him. his friends tease him relentlessly, but all he does is roll his eyes and flick their foreheads, biting back a smile. that makes you laugh, and he’s relieved that the sound hasn’t changed in the slightest.

and suguru stays the same, throughout that one first year. he is steadfast, unyielding, decisive. he has a conviction he’ll never let go of, and people he's vowed to protect. people he needs to protect.

(non-sorcerers, is what he tells satoru, and he means it. but suguru chooses to omit the fact that he specifically wants to protect one single non-sorcerer, above all else.)

and suguru is happy, with his choice. thoroughly and wholly. the road ahead of him will be long, full of obstacles and thorns, but he always knew that would be the case. and he knows that it’ll hurt, that it’ll be tough, but he also knows that this is what he sincerely wants to do. what he was meant to do. the only choice worth making.

suguru is content. suguru will not falter.

— then, his second year descends upon him.

riko amanai dies. toji fushiguro dies.

satoru gojo becomes the strongest sorcerer of the modern era.

(and suguru geto is left behind.)

it is a slow, sinking realization. one whole year to lose sight of his goal, lose sight of the conviction he held onto so tightly. one whole year to feel it slip through the gaps between his fingers, helpless to stop its course. everything grows muddled, molding, rotting before he has a chance to root it out — and all he can do is wait, as it festers like bile in the bottom of his gut.

suguru geto falters.

(he doesn’t quite know who he is, anymore.)

words he’s swallowed down like curses all his life keep flooding his subconscious, building up inside the back of his throat, spinning and spinning and spinning inside his brain until he feels sick enough to throw up. evil. crazy. protection. responsibility.

duty, duty, duty —

(what does that word even mean?)

suguru doesn’t remember. he can’t recall what made him step onto that train with such conviction, how he was able to smile so assuredly. how he was able to laugh, from the very bottom of his gut, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. he just can't remember.

who is he doing this for? what meaning lies in all this pain?

suguru keeps watching, hoping for an answer that’ll save him just enough. waiting and watching. he’s always just watching, isn’t he? never changing anything. always too late, too weak, too fucking useless to stop even a single person from dying.

he watches helplessly as a little girl gets shot in the head, for the crime of having been born different, for the sake of simple currency. watches helplessly as satoru carries her lifeless body in his arms, across a room full of people so vile that some deep, rotten, intrinsic part of suguru just wants to —

but there would be no meaning to it.

(does there really need to be one?)

suguru honestly doesn’t know, anymore.

riko dies.

(curses spring up like flies. he devours and devours.)

then haibara dies, too.

(in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of clapping.)

sorcerers. non-sorcerers. curses.

the words begin to rot inside his mouth, like wilted flowers, syrupy sweet and nauseating. crumbling on his tongue, numbing his senses until it’s all he can taste. a mouthful of honey, sticking to the walls of his throat, too sweet to stomach.

this is wrong, he thinks. everything is all wrong.

everything is wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.

— and then there’s you.

during your third year, both of you are busier than usual, but still find the time to talk when you can. the normalcy of your little stories is a comfort, to suguru — but also makes him burn with something he fears may be close to envy.

you tell him about your new school, your new town, your new beginning; bright and dazzling. one that suits you just fine.

the two of you are different, he realizes, all at once. some part of him always knew. you were born to be happy, kept away from the bloodshed, hands unsullied by the deep red that always dries beneath his fingernails. there was never a place for you in the world of curses. and he’s glad, that it’s true, he always has been, but —

(resentment festers in his gut. he can’t tell how long it’s been there, and he’s afraid to know the answer.)

these days, suguru takes a little longer to answer your texts. his voice comes out sounding a little more fatigued when he’s speaking to you through the phone, and he doesn’t talk as much as he used to. your voice soothes him, though, he thinks. just a tiny bit. but it’s enough.

(he’s doing this for you, too. he can’t forget that.)

and when you come to visit him, during his third year, suguru is surprised. surprised to see you, standing outside of his dorm, bags full of his favorite snacks in hand. smiling.

you look the same as always.

(he’s the only one who’s changed.)

it’s a pleasant surprise, though, despite everything. he really did miss you. in his life, your presence alone has been nothing but a comfort, for as long as he can remember. even now, when everything feels so blurry and uncertain, you appear to him as a flicker of starlight; shining through the darkness that’s been plaguing him for the past year.

so he tries to smile, tries to sound the same as always, but he knows you don’t buy it. you know because you know him, despite everything.

suguru wonders what you would think of him, if you could hear the thoughts he’s been having these past few weeks. he wonders what he looks like, reflected in your eyes. he wonders how much he’s changed since you last saw him.

(he hasn’t felt like himself in months.)

your presence is like a balm, to his soul, but it also seeks to hurt him further. because you’re still the same. still so understanding and wise and patient. you can tell that he’s fading, and he can tell that you can tell. but he doesn’t want to tell you why. he refuses to open up to you, because what would that accomplish? how could you possibly understand?

how could you understand his hatred, his resentment, towards the very people he’s supposed to protect? he told you that, himself. he decided to protect them, on his own accord. that’s his duty — steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. that’s all it was ever meant to be.

protect the weak. protect the ugly. protect everyone except his comrades, until all of them lie dead in a pile of maggots and tangly limbs and buzzing flies.

a bitter, heavy kind of vomit settles inside his chest, his throat. and somewhere deep inside suguru’s mind, in the very bottom of a drawer he vowed never to open, the image of non-sorcerers shifts, distorts, flickers on and off under the light.

protect those monkeys until his very last breath.

(what a fucking joke.)

you couldn’t understand. he doesn’t want you to. he promised himself that he would keep you away from that kind of darkness, no matter what, and —

and you’re the only good thing he has left.

not only that — you’re a non-sorcerer, too. and suguru knows what that means. if what his brain is telling him is true, if that’s really how it is, then you are no exception. then you’re just like the rest, something lesser, nothing but a —

(he thinks he might throw up.)

suguru does not tell you anything. despite everything, despite your pleading expression, despite the heavy bile at the bottom of his gut. he does not tell you what is truly wrong. he does not open up to you.

and that is suguru’s first act of betrayal, to you. before he even betrays the jujutsu world.

(it is perhaps the only betrayal he’ll ever feel any kind of remorse over.)

you try, though. persistent in your affection. he loathes how little you’ve changed, how brightly you still shine when reflected in his eyes. you sit right next to him, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, stars blurred by the light pollution, and tell him what you always have.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

…

suddenly, all he can hear is the whooshing of the sea. as if he's been pulled underwater, a heavy weight tugging at his limbs, lungs gasping for air that doesn't exist. pure static, in his ears, a sharp crack of something. like a rib, or a train of thought. all he can taste is saltwater.

the dam begins to break. it cracks at the edges, like two giddy children poking a stick into a puddle layered with ice, giggling at their scattered reflections. memories resurfacing, images flashing in his subconscious. suguru looks at you like he’s lost. something inside of him breaks, disintegrates into a pile of despair.

because you don’t understand what you’re telling him. you don’t understand what he thinks about doing, sometimes, when the nights are especially long and the school is especially empty and the taste of curses lies especially thick on his tongue.

you don’t understand. you never will.

but you’re smiling at him, so very gentle. so accepting, so all-encompassing of everything that’s good, everything worth cherishing. just like always.

suguru recalls your teary face; when you scraped your knee, when he left that town behind. he recalls all the ways you’ve soothed him, saved him, in all the years you’ve known him.

i’ll definitely come visit. i love you.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

what do they look like?

— suguru falters. these days, that’s all he ever seems to do.

how could he hate non-sorcerers, when you’re among them? how could he hate a world that has you in it?

(he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. he can’t hate you. not you.)

the words that spill so very easily from your lips break him. he can’t tell if you’ve mended the damage, or only worsened it. he can’t tell where the jagged hole inside his chest ends and begins. he can only tell that it’s extending, extending, extending.

suguru wants to fall apart. he wants to fall apart, for only you to see, because you’ve always been the only one who could ever understand. the only one who wouldn’t turn your eyes away from him, even back then. the only, only one. the only other white chrysanthemum.

he wants so desperately to be honest with you, to let every dark thought he’s ever had flow out from his lips. for you to hear, for you to scorn or to accept at your leisure, doom him or bless him, a bleeding dog at your feet. to get rid of the tangled mess of thoughts inside his muddled mind — to just let go of everything, even if it’s only for a minute or two. just a second would be fine.

suguru wants to drag you down with him. drag you down into the depths, into the abyss, to share the weight of his suffering. so that you can be together, just like you always have; through thick and thin. always and forever.

but he doesn’t.

(and what a betrayal that is.)

suguru keeps his pretty little mouth shut, and he gives you a smile. a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, the kind he always wears when he needs to lie convincingly.

he could tell you so many things. could ruin you completely, take you down with him. hand in hand, staining your unsullied skin with the blood on his own. into the gaping maw.

but at the end of the day, he chooses not to.

suguru chooses your peace of mind over his, just like he always has, and feeds you a vague half-truth. not quite a lie, but something that ignores the underlying question of your statement, a silent plea for sincerity. something deep and true, but almost sorrowful.

i know, he says.

i know you will.

the moment does not save him. but suguru does feel just a little more hopeful, a little less like he’s slowly rotting from the inside out. a little less like he’s completely and utterly alone, isolated in his agony.

you are the same as always. and what a relief that is.

(for you, he can wade through the hell for just a little longer.)

when it’s time to say your goodbyes, suguru can tell you aren’t satisfied. that you wish you could do more. but he also knows that you won’t push it, because you’ve always respected him in a way no one else ever cares enough to do.

before you leave, you tell him that you love him. in a quiet voice, a whisper, as if trying to squeeze some sincerity from his chest — a last-ditch attempt at reaching him. he squeezes your hand, instead, and doesn’t say it back.

suguru just smiles, flimsy, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

you look like you want to say something, but you don’t.

and he watches you go, with forlorn eyes, until the dot that is you gets too small to distinguish from the darkness of the night. until he can almost delude himself into thinking that you’ve turned into a star. he watches you go as if trying to burn the sight into his memory, as if this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

(the curse of i love you rots in his mouth, unspoken, unvoiced.)

two weeks later, suguru stands in front of a cage, covered in blood.

the girls in front of him, skinny, frail, crying — beaten and exhausted — look at him like he’s a god. him, pale, smiling, with blood staining his white uniform, bathed in moonlight —

like some kind of angel of death.

suguru soaks up the metallic scent of the room, basks in that sickeningly sweet feeling of release. he soothes the girls, as best he can. he leads them away, careful not to let them see the bodies.

(there isn’t much left of them, anyhow.)

suguru geto makes his choice. the only choice that matters.

he will twist himself into a curse. he will devour his ideal, until it’s all that’s left of him. he will embody it, become it, through and through. it’s fine if he dies in the process, it’s fine if everyone dies — just as long as it means something.

that is the conviction he will carry with him. the decision to only ever see the line between ends and means, the bright light at the end of a never-ending tunnel.

the blood of an entire village is on his hands.

(a part of him wants to throw up. another grins with ecstasy. every part agrees that it was inevitable.)

their screams weren’t beautiful. they were aggravating, revolting, the wretched buzzing of bugs ringing like static in his ears. but it felt good. it felt just. something in his bones settling into its rightful place, a spark of affirmation.

and suguru doesn’t stop there. as if desperate for the cup to finally run over, to make sure that there truly is no going back, his feet take him to a place he always hoped he’d never have to see again.

when suguru returns to that stiflingly silent town, to kill his parents, you are no longer there.

it’s not a surprise. he knows you escaped, long ago, just like him — just like you always said you would. not quite to tokyo, to your grave disappointment, but you managed to find some other town to live in. bigger, better. the new beginning he always hoped you’d get.

suguru does not want to think of you. he doesn't want to remember your face, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes shone in the light. he wants to erase every single trace of your existence from his memory, if only to protect you from the person he will soon become. or perhaps only to spare himself the heartache of it all.

but when he passes by that one summer creek, forgetting you becomes an impossibility.

his eyes gaze at the silver-hued fish, sparkling beneath the moonlight, the big cicadas singing sadly under the shadows of the trees. he closes his eyes, and breathes in the solitude, and recalls a child with teary eyes.

suguru knows what school you go to. he knows what your town is called, what your street looks like.

and it is far, far away from the town he’s in. far from tokyo, too.

— and suguru is relieved.

(it gives him an excuse not to hunt you down just yet.)

the sight of his childhood home stirs no fondness in his heart. it is empty, it is silent, it is the same as always. and now it doesn’t even have you in it, anymore.

so it doesn’t matter.

suguru moves on with conviction, with bloodstains scattered across his clothes, seeping into the fabric. the screams of his parents don’t mean anything — they blur together with old echoes of evil, crazy, wrong.

(there is something wrong with that child.)

their blood sticks to the soles of his shoes and he is repulsed by their fragility. their blood stains his shirt and he is elated by the irony of it all. all he sees is a blur of red.

the road before him becomes clear.

finally, there truly is no turning back. that one sliver of good still left in him, crushed beneath the heel of his boot. at last. homicide, patricide — the more he adds, the easier it’ll be. easier to distance himself, easier to convince himself that his choice matters. that the blood of mere animals is a small price to pay for the future he envisions.

that he is right. that he is just.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing it is.)

there is still much left for him to do. so suguru leaves the town behind.

he leaves that tiny summer creek behind.

it is a premature death; a resignation of identity. he isn’t an adult, not yet, but he has long since stopped being a child. he stopped being a child the moment he saw a bullet go through the skull of an innocent girl, the moment he saw haibara’s ghostly pale skin. no sorcerers stay children for very long.

none of it matters, anymore.

time passes with a speed that’s almost frightening.

suguru disappears, almost entirely faded, leaving only geto in his wake. a new person, an entirely different human being — ten years of living in an echo chamber, ten years of forming his personality in the shape of something twisted.

(something almost divine.)

and geto is right. just. geto has conviction, and that’s all he needs. everything goes according to plan; geto has a goal, and a family to pursue that goal with, to pursue that goal for. everything finally feels just right. breathing feels a lot easier. living feels a lot easier.

but everyone has a weakness.

and there is one thing, only one thing, that still acts as a thorn in his side. something that holds him back, a stain yet to be wiped away, a piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. a tattered memory, clinging to his subconscious as if haunting him.

(i’ll support you, no matter what.)

if only you could see him now.

when geto left his old life behind, he did not contact you. he did not say goodbye. he threw away his phone, deleted every single thing that someone could use to locate him with, and left. he hasn’t heard from you in years, hasn’t spoken to you.

but he has seen you.

geto knows where your town is. what your apartment looks like. he knows what university you go to, where your go-to café is located.

so resisting the temptation eventually becomes impossible.

he tries not to think of you, he really does. he tries to act like you are nothing, to him, because you aren’t. you are proof of weakness and a fragility that geto loathes, proof of his own foolishness, his young naivety. you are everything he hates and everything rotten and everything he’s vowed to cleanse from the earth.

but, despite that undeniable truth, geto cannot help but seek you out.

he tells himself that it means nothing. that he’s only doing it to make sure he knows where he’s got you, like a predator watching over their prey, preparing to lunge out of hiding when the moment is right. because geto knows that your death, at his hands, is inevitable. what you are is a weakness, a connection that lingers on his skin like a mold, one he still has to the creatures that disgust him so.

so it’s inevitable.

in reality, he should have killed you first. before his parents, before the village — he should have killed you, because that would have solidified his devotion in a way nothing else ever could. but he didn’t.

geto likes to think of it as a symbol, of sorts. that he’ll save you for last. the same way children eat every last part of the cake, greedily, before gulping down the strawberry. every single non-sorcerer will be dead by the time he gets to you. you’ll be the one remaining obstacle, the one final stain to rinse away before his dream becomes reality, the one thing still standing between him and the divinity he seeks.

it is an honour, geto thinks, an honour he would not bestow to anyone but you.

but until that time comes, all he can do is watch over you. silently, so you don’t notice. always from afar, sometimes through the eyes of the curses he’s bound to. just to make sure that you’re still alive. that you haven’t tripped over your shoelaces and gotten yourself into a car accident, or gulped down a mouthful of food too fast and choked to death, or anything similarly pathetic. he wouldn’t put it past you. really, he has no idea how you’ve survived this long without him.

weak, fragile, clumsy. soft enough to sink his teeth into. you are everything that geto hates. you are nothing, nothing at all.

(and you are the same as always, despite everything. what an aggravation that’s become.)

he watches you, anyway; like a god finding amusement in his creations, an omniscient overseer watching you stumble day to day. he watches as you live your life, as you talk to other people with that familiar smile on your face. it hasn’t changed in the slightest.

he watches you laugh, watches you grab a crêpe from a street vendor, watches you cry when you think nobody is there to see.

(the sight sends a tremor running through his soul, one he desperately wants to pretend not to feel.)

on melancholic summer days, when the sun paints the sky pink and golden, he watches you clutch onto his old sweater. one you always said you were going to return, but never did — never got the chance to. you used to tell him it was too comfortable not to steal. that it smelled like him, that it made you feel less lonely. geto so tenderly wishes he could have forgotten those words, by now.

but he watches you, in the solitude of your apartment, as you bury your face in the wool and inhale the fading tinge of his old cologne. then you cry and cry, like a child, until the moon rises in the sky; until you’re breathing softly, lulled to sleep by his scent.

(geto thinks to himself that you are a fool, to still miss him after all these years.)

it’s not an everyday occasion. most days, he does not think of you. there are many other monkeys to kill, many things to discuss. there’s money to be made, plans to be forged, wars to be brewed. geto is a busy man. a family man, no less.

but when boredom is all he can feel, he still finds himself seeking you out. just to make sure no one has gotten to you before him. just a god enjoying the struggles of a lesser being.

that’s all it is, geto tells himself. that’s all it’ll ever be, from now on.

no one needs to know if he spends the occasional morning checking up on you, curious if you did well on that exam you were studying for. no one needs to know if he absorbs the curses that sometimes cling to your fragile skin, gulping them down before they cause too much damage. no one needs to know if anyone who gives you a little too much trouble suddenly disappears off the face of the earth.

no one needs to know if he reminisces, every once in a while, when the summer nostalgia is too much to bear. about your childhood, about that question you asked him — a million years ago, back when the center of his universe was a single summer creek.

(no one needs to know if he finds comfort in your presence, even now.)

on days when the moon hangs low in the sky, and geto can’t choke back the longing in his chest, he sits by your bed and watches you sleep. a forlorn expression on his face, lips stuck in a tight line. it’s risky, careless, but he’s helpless to the temptation.

most nights, you lie perfectly still. so still he can almost delude himself into thinking that it’s over, that you’ve passed on, that he won’t have to kill you after all. sometimes you twist and turn, mumble something unintelligible under your breath that he doesn’t catch.

he wonders what you dream about. he wonders if you ever have nightmares, if they’re ever about him. he wonders why he even cares at all.

geto resents you. resents you for existing, for smiling every day, for being a bridge between him and lesser creatures. he resents you, resents you, resents you.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing, indeed.)

— he could kill you so easily.

he wouldn’t even need a curse to do it. a flick of his pinkie would be more than enough. that’s how fragile you are; asleep, right in front of him, breathing softly while he watches you like how the fox watches the lamb.

(he could end all of this, right now, in the silence of the night. in your most vulnerable state.)

and yet, geto allows the opportunity to pass him by.

he can’t get too greedy. that’s what he tells himself, as he slips out of your window in the dead of night, leaving your sleeping figure behind him. it’s not the right time. he can let you sleep, for just a little while longer. the bags under your eyes have looked especially heavy, recently.

(he tries not to remember the sleepover you had as kids, when he stayed perfectly still as you dozed off on his shoulder. doing his best not to wake you, watching you fondly until the sun began to rise. back when all he wanted was to protect you.)

geto knows that you know he’s not dead. he knows because he’s almost certain that satoru spoke to you, back then, even if he probably didn’t let you in on any details. because he knows that you’re sharp, sharp enough to know that he’s alive.

and even if that were not the case, geto knows because he’s sent you gifts. letters. absentminded, almost taunting, cruel in their joviality — always anonymous, always mysterious and vague and impossible to trace back to him. but he knows that you know who they’re from.

a little dance, if you will. geto haunts you like a ghost. he never lets you see him, but he lets you know that he’s there, sometimes. just out of frame.

he can only hope it’ll eventually haunt you to death.

(if it ends up as a comfort to you, instead, then, well — it is what it is.)

all of it is a safety measure in disguise. a way to satisfy the yearning inside his chest, without coming too close. that doesn’t mean he never falters, though.

every once in a while, he feels strangely compelled to talk to you. to waltz into your home, in a lighthearted fashion, to soak up your shocked expression. to ask how you’ve been, casually, and watch you stammer, stumble over your words — he can imagine the face you’d make, the way the lilt of your voice would tremble. would you cry? he can’t help but wonder, sometimes.

yet he always resists the temptation. careful, cautious, with every move he makes. like a shadow. he deliberately leaves no traces of himself behind, no breadcrumbs for you to follow like the curious creature you are. geto lets you know that he’s there, but he doesn’t let you see him, because if he talks to you he knows that he’ll kill you. and he can’t have that, not just yet.

eventually, he’ll do it. he’ll do it, and he’ll watch as your blood stains the silk of his robes like the inevitability it is. but not yet.

you’ll be the last one, the last one he’ll kill. the final proof of his devotion.

until then, he can have this. this sickeningly sweet scrutiny of your life, your life without him. the sound of your laughter, the reflection of untainted light in your iris.

(you are the same as always, and you are a weakness that geto is learning to live with.)

he can’t rest, won’t rest until it finally ends. until the curtain calls on your bloodied body, until he feels the cold skin of your palm against his lips.

only then will he finally know if it was all worth it. only then will he be free of this yearning. only then will he be able to say that the last remnants of suguru have been well and truly cleansed from his soul, that there is nothing left of the person he was.

only then will geto be able to call himself wholly divine.

but until that time comes, he can do nothing but watch you. when the temptation begins to crawl under his skin again, when he needs to remind himself of what he’s fighting for. that one thing, at least, never once changed; suguru geto has always fought for you. for your protection, for your survival, for your demise.

for your happiness, in life or in death.

(geto hates you, loathes you, resents you for being what you are; but suguru will always, always love you. forever and ever. no matter what.

and that will be their undoing.)

suguru geto dies without saying goodbye to you.

if there are any regrets to speak of, any at all, then maybe that’d be it. he never got to see that shock on your face, never got to hear you stammer in the way you always used to when you were nervous.

in the golden hue of sunset, the last of his resentment finally fades away. the curse known as geto disappears, and what remains is no more than a ghost — the ghost of suguru, the person he was, the person he never quite stopped being.

and when geto disappears, when the last of his resentment fades away, suguru finally allows himself to think of you. fully, without interruption, without unspilled blood festering beneath his tongue. just one single touch of sincerity, one last indulgence before it all ends. he thinks of you, you as a person, not you as a non-sorcerer. he gives your memory the respect it deserves. something worth cherishing.

he wonders what you’re doing, right now. he wonders if you studied enough for that exam next week, if you found a good gift for your friend’s birthday party. he wonders if you still miss him, even though he'll never be deserving of it.

satoru stands in front of him, genuine, sincere. and suguru thinks that he is a fool, just like you; to still have any kind of affection left for someone like him. after he left you both behind, that summer.

satoru doesn’t curse him. suguru wishes he would.

a soft bout of laughter falls from his lips, as the sun sets behind him, and he knows you would have found the sight breathtaking. you always did love sunsets, didn't you? the sun was setting when he found you with that bruise on your leg, he recalls — such a miniscule detail. he wonders why he remembers only now.

suguru chokes back his tears, still smiling. it’s a smile of love. a smile of regret. he thinks of satoru.

at least curse me a little at the very end.

those should be his final words. he should avert his gaze, follow the script, tear his eyes away from the only other person besides you who ever truly knew him —

but he doesn’t. he can’t. suguru looks straight at him, at satoru, into his eyes, so blue they seem to gleam in the orange hue of the melting sun. sparkling like little galaxies, like the crinkling of soda pops, like crystallized summer skies. he looks beautiful, as beautiful as he always was.

(i wish i had told you, suguru thinks. i wish i had told you everything.)

in a voice so small he barely hears it, so tender that geto would’ve felt disgusted to his very core, suguru asks his best friend for one last favour. he’s not sure why, not sure why it matters —

but maybe, just this once, it’s fine if it’s meaningless.

satoru listens, intently. he looks at his best friend with eyes so soft it makes suguru want to laugh and cry and go back to a time when they were all happy. but they can’t, that choice was lost ten years ago — he threw it away. smothered it beneath his boot heel. there was never any going back, from the very beginning.

satoru answers his plea. one final favour, one best friend to another.

of course.

a shaky breath. he can’t tell who it came from.

of course i will.

suguru smiles. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the sun. it’s the last time anyone will see it.

satoru clenches his jaw. he crouches down, and presses his fingers against his best friend’s battered body, right over his bleeding heart. he will never, ever forgive himself for what he's about to do.

(suguru already has.)

and the moment before the last flicker of light leaves his eyes, suguru chooses to think of you.

he thinks of your smile, the way your lips curled up at even the smallest things. he thinks of your curiosity, how it always lead him back to you. he thinks of what could have been.

he thinks of that question you asked him, all those years ago — how accepted it made him feel. that sensation of being understood. suguru thinks you saved his life, that day.

(he never got to thank you for it.)

you were his childhood friend. his nearest, dearest, oldest one.

suguru doesn't believe the world he lives in is kind enough to allow him a second chance. and he doesn't think he really deserves one, either way.

but if there is a next life, if he’s lucky enough to be reborn —

then suguru hopes he’ll be born as a dragonfly, so he can find his way back to you.

he’ll meet you, again; in the afterglow of sunset, by that dusty, forgotten, tiny summer creek. framed by silver-hued fish and cicadas, and the silence of a town that glimmered while you were both in it.

he won’t be able to wipe your tears away, won’t be able to clean the bruise on your knee — but he can be with you. and maybe, in your next lives, that’ll be enough.

(what a lovely thought.)

suguru smiles, and lets a final breath of air course through his burning lungs.

— it tastes like summer.

there is a silent understanding, between the two of you.

it’s been ten years since you last spoke to satoru gojo. it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation, and somehow, you doubt this will be an exception. an acute awareness lies heavy in the air — and deep down, some part of you knows what he’s about to tell you.

(as if it was an inevitability.)

gojo doesn’t smile. his voice has no masked amusement to it, no sense of joviality. if you strain your ears, you think it may even be wavering, slightly, so faint it’s hard to tell for sure. just that one low shiver of his lips, saying more than words ever could.

he doesn’t beat around the bush. and you see that for the kindness that it is, despite the ice cold chill that creeps into your veins when his words spill out into the air, a full body shiver traveling down your spine.

he tells you that suguru is dead, and you don’t flinch. you don’t even cry. that comes later.

in the moment, all you can do is nod, a little pitiful, teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. like you’re trying to be brave.

truthfully, you had a feeling that was the case.

sometimes, it was as if you could feel him. just barely out of reach, a certain cologne lingering on your windowsill, a box of cookies you’ve liked since you were little delivered to your doorstep. a sudden feeling of being watched. a note wishing you luck on whatever exam or driver’s test or job interview you had the next day, accompanied by a silly smiley face so distinctly suguru it made you want to cry.

— how cruel of him.

but you couldn’t help but feel comforted by it, all the same. it made you feel like he was still with you, somehow, like he still cared. even though he disappeared from your life without saying anything. even though gojo told you explicitly all those years ago to stay away, if you ever saw him, as if he was suddenly dangerous —

but you could never be afraid of him. you don’t think you have it in you.

to you, suguru will always just be the boy who helped you up when you scraped your knee, all those years ago. a sweet, cool kid, who held your hand firmly and gently wiped the blood off your skin.

(he’ll always be your nearest, dearest, oldest friend. even if you aren’t his.)

but lately, there’s been nothing. you haven't felt any traces of him at all, no lingering gazes boring into your back. so you knew. deep down, maybe you always kind of knew.

gojo looks at you with compassion, understanding. and without him having to say it, you know he loved suguru too. you know because his breathing is shaky, because his eyes look puffy from hours of crying; you know because grief is like a stench, thick and heavy, overwhelming, one that clings to your skin and haunts your very being. just like love.

and you can smell it on the both of you.

(you both loved the boy who died for his ideals, the man who was so moral it killed him.)

the news will sink in, later. you are sure that you will crumble, and you are sure that you will cry. you’re sure that the road ahead will be a long one, full of obstacles and thorns. but that’s fine. you’ll deal with it when the time comes. suguru was always a little mystical, a little too good to be true.

maybe you always sort of assumed things would end like this; that he’d walk ahead without you, with all his whispered secrets and gentle lies.

(asshole.

he could have given you a call, at least. even just once.)

for now, all you can do is try to keep your trembling skin intact. and you assume that gojo will leave, now that you know, that this was all he came here for. just a messenger of death, coated in a grief so strong you doubt he’ll ever be rid of it.

but gojo doesn’t leave.

he hands you something, instead.

a polaroid, you quickly realize. a photograph, of three kids — one with white hair, one with brown hair, and one with black hair. the black haired boy is trying hard not to smile, you can tell. the other two have got their arms around him, squeezing his body tightly with matching grins, throwing up peace signs. he looks at them with exasperation in his eyes, but you can tell that there’s a love there. you can tell, you know, because despite everything, you still know him.

a lump forms in your throat.

it’s not the original copy, is what gojo tells you, apologetic. you’re almost certain that he kept it for himself, and you don’t blame him. i’m sorry. but i wanted to… you know.

(he wanted to give you something to hold onto.)

the gesture is a little bit awkward, just a tad clumsy. but it’s a genuine concern, a sincere kindness. you aren’t really surprised that suguru spent his last moments with this man instead of you.

gojo continues to speak, and you continue to listen, attentive — hungry for anything to mend the hole in your heart. but your eyes never once stray from the photograph.

(suguru looks so, so happy.)

he tells you that suguru talked about you a lot, back then. and without him having to say it, you know what he really means is he loved you a lot. the words of consolation ring like static, in your ears. it hurts. the hole in your heart just keeps extending, extending, extending.

gojo notices. so he gets to the point, the final point, the only one that matters. this is his duty, too — granting suguru’s last request. the only one he ever asked of him in words.

(it’s the least he could do, for the man he loved so dearly, the one who left him behind in the shadow of summer.)

he tells you that there’s one more thing. that suguru asked him to tell you something, that it was the last thing he ever said. words that he wanted you to hear, more than anything.

gojo’s voice does not waver. it is not his place.

you listen. you listen as if it will bring him back. you listen as if it is the last thing you will ever do.

and gojo speaks.

the words mean everything, and also nothing at all. how very like him. they bounce off the walls of your apartment, spilling into the suffocating air, echoing inside your mind. cutting into your bloodstream, rooting themselves in a particularly soft spot deep within your ribcage, chrysanthemums blooming from your flesh. petals filling up your stomach until you can scarcely breathe.

the final words of your childhood friend. your nearest, dearest, oldest one; suguru geto, who you will always love, in the same way the sun loves the moon, as naturally as breathing.

the dam breaks. the sky shatters. the sob you choke on tastes salty, and gojo looks remorseful, his figure blurred by your tears. everything comes crashing down around you — an inevitability you were hoping to put off, in the same way suguru put off talking to you all those years.

and now, finally, he tells you his honest feelings. when it’s already far too late. how very, very like him.

(tell them i’m sorry. and that i hope their exam goes well.)

— honestly. what a fucking asshole.

not once did you ask for an apology. you never wanted one, never thought to even wish for it. you didn’t need one.

all you wanted was for him to come back to you. to find you, again, the way he always did.

tears cascade down your scrunched-up face, big and childlike, but no one’s there to wipe them away anymore. you cradle the photograph in your hands, savouring every single memory you have of him. all the love your heart can muster.

the tears never seem to end. they continue to run down your cheeks, until all you can smell is sea salt, until the sun has set in the horizon, until the moon has hanged itself in the sky. a silent comfort, but it’s not enough. it never will be.

a sniffle pushes past your lips, and you hear yourself laugh — bitter, raspy, gentle all the same. what a moron, you whisper, a soft lull of your tongue. didn’t he know?

(you forgave him long ago.)

bonus 👀

#get u a man who loves you so deeply it causes him cognitive dissonance #im a lil unsure abt this piece pshshs but it has a rly special place in my heart!!#i just like the idea of geto being so desperately in denial about his love for u that he forces himself to hate u. self-affirmation yknow?#subconsciously putting u on a pedastal above the rest… being unable to let go of the connection between u even though he wants to sever it #having this evident fondness for you but its constantly battling with the part of him that hates what your existence means for him #telling himself that he’ll ’save u for last’ but its more of a measure to keep himself from killing u bc he knows his ideal is unattainable #so he’ll never have to kill you. it'll never get to that point. he wants to so badly though. but does he really?#yeahhh. im normal abt fucked up curse user geto <3 soft canon divergent sugu is still my fave to write for tho #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #geto angst #jjk angst #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x y/n #jjk x y/n

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pandorxxx · 1 year

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Return to sender

Lo’ak (18) x Omatikayan fem reader (19)

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, p in v, slight choking, praise kink, cursing, squirting, blood, soft-dom lo’ak.

🔞Minors, do not interact🔞

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You shouted angrily, as you stood in-front of your mate, devastated at the favor he asked you.

“Listen, I don’t feel any better about this than you do. I just feel bad, it is his first rut, and he is suffering.” Neteyam gestured calmly, as he started getting choked up from his own tears. Your gaze softened when you saw neteyam’s eyes, tears threatening to fall. You sighed loudly as you looked to the ground.

“H-how bad is he?” You asked hesitantly, trailing back up to meet his gaze.

“Really bad. Worst than I was. Every time I visit him, he’s curled into a ball on the floor. He refuses to eat or drink anything, and that is not good.” Neteyam explained, running his hands through his braids nervously. You hated that this was affecting Neteyam so much, and you also hated that lo’ak had to go through this alone. You hesitated, but finally spoke.

“So, you want me to calm him? Does lo’ak know about this plan?” You asked, searching for Neteyams eye contact.

“He knows. He’s waiting for you.” Neteyam muttered. Those words made your heart rate skyrocket.

He’s waiting for you…

As in he’s ready to pounce on you with no mercy. You remembered how aggressive Neteyam was during his first rut, but Neteyam said that lo’ak was worse than him. What did that mean for you? Would Neteyam even want you back when he sees your bruised and battered body? Would he still love you the same?

“I will do this for you, so do not look at me different when I’ve only done what you’ve asked.” You say sternly, pointing your finger in his direction. He looked at you in utter confusion, walking over to you.

“I would never look at you different. You are my one and only.” He confessed softly, caressing your cheek. You smiled up at him, melting into his warm touch.

“Let’s get it done.” You nodded, holding out your hand for him to take it. You two walked out of your hut, making your way to lo’ak.

You finally make it to his hut. Your ears perked, and eyes dilated from his strong scent. It was enticing, addictive. Neteyam turned to you, grabbing your hands.

“Ok, before we go in there, I want to ask you again. Are you ok with this?” He asked, searching for any doubt in your eyes. You looked into his eyes, squeezing his hands.

“I will be fine. I must help him.” You said in a reassuring tone, before walking towards the door. You opened it, and to your surprise he was tied to the wall. Lo’ak was completely delirious, muttering complete gibberish. He was sweating profusely as he panted loudly. His braids hung in-front of his face, almost hiding his glowing red eyes.

You gulped loudly, looking back at Neteyam. He was much worse than yesterday. Neteyam noticed lo’aks bloody wrists, most likely from trying so desperately to escape the restraints. Neteyam was starting to get worried for you, but he put his pride aside for lo’ak.

“l-lo’ak? It’s me, y/n.” You spoke nervously, walking over to him. You kneeled in-front of him, pushing his hair out of his face as you lifted his chin. Lo’ak finally looked at you, smiling loosely as his heart rate started to pick up.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s me. I’m here to help you, ok?” You smiled, tears blurring your vision as you watched him suffer. You felt so bad for him, he looked completely exhausted.

“T-thank you.” He cried, lip quivering from the pain he was feeling. You nodded at him, looking back at Neteyam.

“I got him, you go.” You smiled, shooing Neteyam off. Neteyam was devastated, giving his mate away like he did. He walk towards the door, looking back at you one more time before shutting the door behind him.

“What do you need me to do? Do you want me to untie you?” You asked, sitting on your knees in-front of lo’ak. He scanned your body, before looking up at you.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you. It is better to keep me tied.” He growled, hanging his head back down. You sighed, trailing his body before getting a glimpse of his loincloth; completely soaked in his own cum as his bulge pulsated through the material. You looked back up to his limp head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, your wrists are bleeding.” You explained, going to untie his left wrist gently. He whined the entire time, as his arms shook from the sharp pain. You finally got it a-loose, guiding his arm to the ground. You grabbed the damp cloth next to you, gently wiping the blood away. He winced in pain, staring at you with tears in his eyes.

“I know it hurts, but I have to clean it.” You stated, dipping the cloth in the bucket of water, repeating the previous action. You held his large hand in yours, bringing it to your heart as you prayed to the great mother, asking her to help lo’ak through this. He watched you intently, feeling your heartbeat on the back of his hand. He turned his hand in your grasp, placing his palm on your large breast. He trailed his hand down to your loincloth, pulling you onto his lap by the band. You were now straddling him. You were surprised by his gentleness, as he pulled you closer by your lower back.

“I-I can’t take this anymore, y/n. I’m sorry that it had to come to this.” He cried, leaning his head on your chest. You wrapped your arms around him, caressing his head as you rocked him back and forth.

“Do not apologize for this. I love you, lo’ak. I will help in any way I can.” You confessed in a shaky tone as a single tear fell from your eye. He looked up at you, eyes wet from crying.

“I will be as gentle as I can, I promise.” He nodded his head at you frantically. You nodded with him, wiping his tears away.

“I know. And if you can’t be gentle, that is ok too.” You stated, going to untie his right wrist.

“No, I’m ok for right now.” He muttered, tapping your back. You slowly pulled away from his tied arm, nodding in agreement.

“Just umm, untie this, please?” He asked softly, looking down at his loincloth, and back up at you. You smiled before placing your hand on the band. He gasped loudly, trying to scoot back from your touch.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked, pulling your hands back slightly. He sighed, shaking his head.

“No, I’m just a-little sensitive right now.” He chuckled breathlessly, before shifting his hips underneath you. You felt his cock rubbing against your clit, making you gasp slightly. You almost felt bad for enjoying that subtle movement.

“o-ok, I’ll go slow.” You smiled, untying his loincloth gently, letting his cock spring up, hitting the bottom band of your top. His cock was heavy against your stomach, as the tip oozed precum. You didn’t really have to worry about adjusting to him, as he was about the same size as Neteyam, but he was a-little thicker.

“Listen, go at your pace. I-I don’t want to hur-” you cut him off by placing your finger on his lips.

“I’m going to handle you. Don’t worry, ok?” You licked your lips, looking deep into his eyes. The fire in him started to ignite, as he pulled you closer, kissing you passionately. You melted into the kiss, biting his lip as you moaned in his mouth. He untied your loincloth with his free hand, sliding it off of you and throwing it to the corner. He pulled you closer by your lower back, thrusting up between your folds. He pulled away from the kiss as he tried to regain his breath.

“I need you, now.” He growled, lifting your ass up with one arm, slamming you down onto him. You let out a loud moan, feeling his swollen tip brush against your sweet spot. He whimpered loudly, throwing his head back on the wall.

“Do you want me to move, or do you need a minute.” You asked softly as you watched him cry out in pleasure.

“C-can you hold me? Please?” He whined through shaky breaths as he looked into your eyes. Your eyes widened at his request, but you nodded, pulling him into your chest.

“Just go slow first. Please?” He whimpered into your breasts as he held your back tightly. You caressed his head as you started bouncing slowly. His cries became louder, but muffled in your chest. Your eyes rolled in agonizing pleasure. You were trying to go slow for him, but you couldn’t take the torture.

“C-can I- ugh- speed up?” You asked in between moans. He nodded in your chest, tapping your back to give you permission. With that, you sped up the pace.

“Fuck yes, y/n!” He muttered, finally throwing his head back as his eyes shut tightly. You held onto his shoulder to give you leverage as you whined your hips into his. His rut officially took over as he started thrusting into you hard. He grabbed your neck to push you down into him.

“You feel sooo fucking good.” He growled, watching his pelvis slap into yours with every stroke. You couldn’t help the way he was making you feel, it was almost euphoric.

“Mhmm yes yes yes! Just like that, don’t stop!” You moaned, placing your hand on top of his. He hit your sweet spot one good time making your mouth fly opened. All that could be heard was squelching sounds from each thrust.

“You like when I fuck you like that, baby?” He growled, kissing your bottom lip. You nodded wildly, trying to gain your voice back. You finally gasped out loud, trying your best to catch your breath. Something took over you and before you knew it, you were bouncing on him at the speed of light.

“Shittt, y/n! You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl!” He moaned, slapping your ass as he watched your breast jump with every bounce in his lap. You noticed that he was just staring at them, hungrily.

“Mhmm, do you wanna see?” You moaned, untying your top. His eyes widened, and he licked his lips, desperately waiting for your breast to burst out. You finally got it a-loose, taking it off seductively before throwing it towards the corner. His hand released your neck, trailing down to your plump breast as he massaged it. You slowed down your pace, rocking back and forth into him.

“You’re gonna make me fucking cum!” He whined, feeling your walls clench around him.

“Yes! Cum for me!” You whimpered breathlessly as you chased your own orgasm. His head went back, as his cock twitched inside you. He couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Ohh fuck, get up! get up!” He yelled, thrusting up to get you off of him. You held his shoulders, riding him faster.

“No, go ahead. It’s -ahh- it’s fine.” You nodded, reassuring him that he could fill you up. You felt your muscles tense, signaling that your orgasm was near.

“Ahhhh yes!” Lo’ak growled loudly, pumping his seed into you. It felt so good that you came undone yourself, cum oozing from your sweet walls onto his shaft.

“Shit shit shit!” You cried, twitching on top of him. He fell into your chest, thrusting into you ever so often to keep as much of his cum in you as possible.

“A little better?” You asked him, hugging him close to your heart. He wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, nuzzling his head in your breasts. He nodded weakly before pulling back to look at you.

“I-I think you can untie my other arm now.” He winced, pulling at the restraints lightly.

“No, no do not pull at it. Let me help you.” You smiled, reaching up to untie him. His gaze was locked on your breast as they gently rubbed across his face. He pecked before kissing them passionately. You let him continue as you still untied the tight knot around his wrist.

“They’re so pretty, y/n.” He muttered, creating hickeys next to your nipples. You finally got his hand untied, making him unlatch from you and cry in pain.

“I know, sweetheart. Just let me wipe your wrist clean.” You stated, grabbing the damp cloth, rubbing his wrist gently. The room fell silent for a moment as lo’ak watched you wipe his blood clean. He knew it was wrong, but he was slowly falling for you. You were taking such good care of him in all aspects. It made his heart ache, knowing that he couldn’t truly have you. You glanced up at him, catching his eye contact.

“How do you feel?” You asked nicely, kissing his knuckles. “I feel like I could go another round.” He growled, sliding his hand up to your waist.

You chuckled, nodding softly.“Then that’s what we’ll do. How do you want me?” You tilted your head, eyeing him up and down. His ears perked up at your sweet voice.

How do you want me? Replayed in his head as his chest started to rise and fall rapidly. He stood up with you in his arms. He let you down gently, guiding you into the wall. He sandwiched you in, slapping his cock on your ass. He bent down to your ear, placing his hand on the wall next to your head.

“I wanna thank you for helping me out, y/n. You’re doing so fucking good, taking such good care of me.” He whispered, fangs grazing your neck as he took a bite. Blood started trickling down your back, gliding across the humps and curves of your body. You gasped loudly as you felt him go down to lick you clean, bottom to top.

He came back up to your ear, grabbing your neck from behind. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but I can’t help it anymore.” He sighed in your ear, sliding his cock into you slowly. You clung to the wall, overwhelmed by the full sensation. He engulfed your hand with his, sliding it into a fist as he pounded into you. The sound of skin clapping and moaning took over the room.

“I-I hope that this doesn’t sou-mmm - sound ridiculous.” He started breathlessly as he rutted into you relentlessly.

“b-but I want this forever.” He moaned in your ear before licking it. Your eyes widened at his confession. You shook your head lazily, whimpering from the pleasure.

“N-no, you do not know what you are saying.” You spoke breathlessly as you felt that familiar knot in your stomach. He turned you towards him, picking you up by your thighs before sliding into you once more.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, and somewhere deep down…” he started, sliding his hand down your breasts. “You want this too. I can tell by how your body submits to my touch.” He whispered sliding down to your waist, bouncing you up and down. You bit your lip, throwing your head back on the wall. A part of you wanted this, and you hated that. Lo’ak knew how to talk to you, how to hold you, how to fuck you right. His mind was crystal clear even in the deep fog of his rut.

“Don’t hold back, y/n. I wanna hear you scream my fucking name.” He whispered, thrusting into you hard. He attached his lips to your nipple, swirling his tongue around it. You couldn’t take it anymore. You were trying to suppress your pleasure-filled outbursts out of respect for Neteyam, but lo’ak was killing you slowly.

“Mmm I-I can’t!” You whined as tears rolled down your face. He sped up the pace, trying to get you to talk to him.

“Yes you can, tell me what you wanna say. This is our only chance, y/n.” He moaned, kissing your bruises as he glared into your eyes.

“Lo‘ak I-l!” You shouted, feeling the knot in your stomach unraveling. He rutted into you fast, shaking the hut with all of his movement.

“Yes, y/n! Just fucking say it baby!” He grunted, placing his forehead on yours. You didn’t want to say it, but your body was taking over.

“I LOVE YOU, LO’AK!” you screamed, shaking uncontrollably in his arms as you squirted all over him. He nodded in pleasure, watching you come undone on him.

“Fuck, baby I love you too!” He growled, engaging in a salacious kiss, as he came deep inside of you. He moaned into the kiss, pumping into you occasionally. He pulled back from the kiss, staring straight into your eyes. You watched his gaze soften, as his eyes returned to normal. He trailed your body, looking at the damage he caused. It wasn’t nearly as much as Neteyam caused, and you appreciated that lo’ak took it easy on you, even in his state.

His head hung low in disappointment for hurting you. “Y/n i-“ you stopped him with a peck on the lips before pulling back.

“You did not hurt me. You were as gentle as you could possibly be, and I appreciate that.” You smiled looking down at the connection that you two had created. He looked down as well, watching his cum seep out while his cock was still inside of you.

“I-I’m sorry, let me put you do-” he started before you cut him off again, pulling him closer.

“w-wait! I-I umm…you told me that you wanted this forever. I just-I…” you stumbled on your words nervously, hesitating to look up at him. He chuckled, grabbing your chin.

“I meant what I said. Us being together is impossible, and I know that. I-I just wished that I’d met you first. Maybe things would be different.” He confessed, gazing into your doughy eyes. You started to get choked up, almost feeling the same way. You sighed, grabbing his hand lightly, gazing at it before speaking hesitantly.

“Lo’ak, I-… I see you.” You confessed between shaky breaths, feeling tears well in your eyes. His gaze softened as he smiled at you softly. He kissed you again, thrusting into your softly.

For the next day, you helped him throughout his rut. You were the only one that got him to eat and drink water. He would clean you and himself between rounds, and tend to your wounds. After the storm finally cleared, he dressed you, as you did him.

“How do you feel?” You asked, tying his loincloth on him. He watched you with nothing but pure love in his eyes.

“Better. Thank you, y/n.” He smiled, meeting your gaze. You blushed as you finished tying his loincloth.

The door flew opened, startling you both. Neteyam stood in the doorway, eager to take you back home.

“You look better, baby bro!” Neteyam smiled, walking towards you two. He gazed down at your body, seeing the bruises and marks that lo’ak left on you. It made his heart sink, knowing that those marks weren’t from him. He shook his head lightly, snapping himself out of the self inflicted jealousy.

“Well, let’s take you home and get you cleaned up.” He scanned your body once more before meeting your hesitant gaze.

“Don’t worry, I already did.” Lo’ak butted in, smiling at you softly. You threw your head down, trying to hide your smile.

“Oh ok, good! Did you eat y/n?” Neteyam asked again, pulling you close by your shoulder.

“Lo’ak and I ate together this morning.” You muttered, meeting lo’aks soft gaze again. Neteyam watched you two talk through eye contact, and it made his stomach churn. His worst fear was becoming a reality. He was so worried about lo’ak that he didn’t even think about the fact that…

You two could fall in love.

Idk why this literally took me all day to write but here it is. Ummm I kinda like it, it’s super cuteeee. As always, love y’all to death, and I’ll see y’all soon❤️🫶🏽

Outtie❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

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beeperis · 18 days

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i've been ghosting // Tim Wright/Reader

cross-posted on my Ao3 summary ; tim can't sleep without you. warnings ; implications of suicide, death, fictional afterlife (I just kinda made stuff up as I went tbh), paranormal, angst with slight comfort notes ; the lore may be incorrect but by golly. I need to get this out of my system. also not edited, I need to sleep (currently 3am)

It's easy to assume death is the only way to finally escape the Operator. You figured that all your friends who were formerly tormented by It were no longer suffering, since they were six feet under or missing. It pained you to relive the evening of your death, but it all ended in a bathtub with your favorite song playing in an effort to build up enough courage.

Obviously, there were people you regretted leaving behind: your parents, who you had to distance yourself from in order to protect them. Your friends who laid awake at night questioning what they could've done differently, or why you stopped talking to them one day without warning.

Tim Wright, the one who had unintentionally gotten you roped into what eventually ended your life.

By some odd accord, his drab apartment is where you ended up. You remembered dying. You remembered your lungs filling with water before peacefully falling victim to unconsciousness. And now, you were sitting in the corner of the room watching him sleep.

It wasn't like if you were trying to be creepy. It was one of the only things you could do: watch Tim lay awake all night, get out of bed late in the afternoon, go to the bathroom and occasionally eat, then return and sleep for a long time.

It was depressing, to say the least.

At night, your presence would curl up beside him in bed as he would shiver and pull the blankets further up on his body. You frowned at the idea of him only thinking he was cold. When he got up to go to the restroom, you'd follow right behind and wait outside the door until he was done. You lit up whenever he'd go to the kitchen and actually eat.

That night started off no different than the previous. He got ready for bed as you sat patiently, admiring him like a lost puppy or a stalker. Tim yawned and crawled into bed, covering himself up to his hips. You curled up behind him like you usually did, except this time, he laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"I miss you." Hearing Tim's voice shocked you, causing you to abandon your usual position at his side and sit upright. You stared down at him, his deep brown eyes staring into nothing. Part of you wondered who he was talking about; he'd lost so many.

Almost as though he was answering your question, he continued. "I just wish I could've told you I loved you. That day I went over to your house to check on you, finding you like that…" Tim trailed off, his voice choking up whilst his eyes welled with tears that glistened from the light of the TV.

After a moment's pause, his body slightly trembled with heavy, troubled sobs. The sight broke you. You were sure there wouldn't be any pain in the afterlife, but watching the one you treasured more than the stars crumple into a hellscape of his own mind was simply too much.

Tim curled into a ball, fully breaking and hugged his knees closer to his chest. You wanted to cry too, listening to him mumble, "it's my fault," through broken cries. On instinct, you placed a hand on his arm like how you'd done comforting him in the deaths of his friends. Tim froze.

He stopped crying, but still remained tensed up. He never even made a sound. Instead, his eyes fell to where you had touched his arm. Something felt so familiar about whatever brushed against his arm, but he disregarded it as being a bug. Still, it felt like he couldn't continue crying.

This didn't go unnoticed by you. Finally, you recognized a glimpse of nostalgia in those profound, fawn-colored eyes. Experimentally, you reached out to hold his hand in your translucent one.

Tim abruptly sat up in bed, breathing heavily as he stared at his hand. So cold, yet it held the warmth and fullness of a lover claimed by the inevitable fate of time. You could've sworn you heard him mutter your name.

Daringly, you brought up another cold hand to caress his face. "I'm here," you spoke softly to attempt to reassure him. You had no idea if he could hear you. More than anything, it was a plea for him to notice you. To look you in the eyes and smile with the same familiarity, wrap you up in the tightest hug you'd felt in ages, and promise to never leave your side.

Rather than doing any of the aforementioned, tears continued rolling down Tim's cheeks. "I miss you," he cried once more. You could handle it no longer, and uncertainly tried wrapping him in a hug. To your surprise, it seemed as though he felt it given the way his body relaxed, almost easing into your nonexistent touch.

After a few more heart-wrenching tears and whispers of, "I love you," and, "I miss you, baby," Tim finally began easing himself back down into his bed. You, as always, were curled up right behind him. Your eyes wandered over to his digital alarm clock, red letters lighting up certain portions of the room.

It was 2:22 am when he finally went to sleep, clutching a tear-soaked pillow he imagined was you.

#tim wright x reader #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets #masky x reader #marble hornets angst #tim wright #tim wright imagine #tim wright angst #gn reader

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imarvelatthestars · 1 year

Text

Ner Kar'ta

Pairings: established Echo x Reader

Warnings: Echo has phantom limb pain. I made the executive decision to have his legs amputated to the knee. Some miscommunication, but it ends well.

Notes: Is Wrecker my Bad Batcher? Yes. Is Echo quickly taking over my heart? ...Also yes. I am Soft for him.

You don't remember why you're awake, you only know that you're vaguely conscious and swimming in the dark of your room. Something shifts on the bed, heavy and foreign, and for a moment your sleep-hazed mind thinks there's an intruder, but then you hear the soft exhales of your lover, the shaky, unsteady trembling of his body radiating into the bed, and your anxiety stills for a moment before reigniting again.

"Echo?" Your voice is coarse from sleep and you still can't make out the shape of him until one of the lights on his headgear blinks. A yawn washes over you. "Mm. You okay?"

There's a moment where you think his breath catches, then, "I'm fine, cyare. Go back to sleep."

Sleep is calling out to you. Your eyelids are heavy and you can feel crusties in the corners of your eyes still. The blankets are perfectly warm enough, everything is just right for you to simply slip into a dream and Maker do you want to, but... it's just not the same if Echo's not lying next to you. And truth be told, you miss him even when you're sleeping.

So you worm your way across the bed to curl up around his body like a lothcat, your head near his hip and your torso curved around his backside so the rest of your body balls up and nestles into his other thigh. You could fall asleep like this. For a moment, you almost do. His body heat is radiating through his sleepwear and yours, and there's a gentle movement to the bed that's enough to lull you into unconsciousness like you're a youngling all over again.

But something bristles uncomfortably in the back of your mind. Because Echo's not talking to you, not touching you like he usually does when you snuggle. He's rigid and unmoving, except for the jostling of his leg.

Suddenly the world is in perfect focus, screaming into clarity as you rocket from your daze to full, attentive consciousness. You're scrambling into a sitting position and it's tossing Echo around a bit as your knees dip into the mattress, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't make to stop you. This is wrong.

"Echo?" You grasp at his shoulder, gentle but worried. "Love? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't look at you. Something is very wrong.

"It's nothing, I... can't sleep."

You lean into him, take his chin in your hand to turn him toward you, even though you can't really see him, and you feel how tense his jaw is. He'll break a tooth if he clenches much harder. Your hand wanders down to his thigh, soothing over the muscle until you realize he's got a hand there too. It's pressed into the space just above his knee, kneading the muscles with enough force that you know it hurts. But you also know it can't hurt much more than whatever pain he's already in.

"Cyare," you chide, but there's not much bite to it. You're more worried than upset with him for trying to hide this. "How can I help?"

You both know there's nothing you can really do. This phantom limb syndrome, as the medics have termed it, is as perplexing to them as it is to Echo. They still can't figure it out, how to stop it, how to ease his suffering, and you know that's not their fault. The medics have done their best to help him, but it doesn't quiet the rage that simmers low in your gut every time the man you love is doubled over with pain.

"Stay," he grits.

"Always," you promise as you settle yourself behind him, one arm draped loosely up and over the shoulder to settle on his collarbone. Your other hand stays on his thigh and rubs gentle strokes over the trembling expanse of his muscle.

You stay like that until the pain subsides, until the frantic thumping of his heartbeat stops pounding into your skin, until your knees are stiff from kneeling and your lower back twinges a bit at the awkward position, until your love finally sighs and slumps back into you. He's exhausted now and some of your own fatigue has started to creep back in and whisper in the back of your mind.

"Come back to bed."

That's all it takes for your trooper to settle in beside you. You let him maneuver himself however is comfortable for him, although if he let you you'd absolutely wrap your every limb around him and never let go, bury yourself in his scent and warmth and the wiry strength of his arms until the world went away, until it was just the two of you. But his nose resting in the curve of your shoulder, his breath stirring your hair, a scomp on your waist, and a leg between yours will do nicely.

You're already drifting off when you reach blindly for his scomp arm, nearly knocking him off in your confusion. The metal is cool against your lips when you kiss it.

"Mm, love you," you manage between sleepy mewls.

The breath in your hair and on your neck stutters. Then comes the sound of your name, deep and rough in Echo's throat. You sigh happily and give his scomp another kiss.

"Love all of- oh," you yawn, "all of you." And then you're cuddling it like it's some plush tooka doll and you're five years old, pulling his arm over your shoulder so you can tuck the tip between the pillow and your cheek and nuzzle your nose against the base. "Doesn't feel right t' sleep without you."

His voice rumbles to life at your back. "You're too good t' me."

A snore jolts out of you, snapping your head up to attention for a moment as you try to stay awake just a bit longer, just for him. "Uh uh. Not good 'nough. F'r you."

A final thought passes through your brain then. My Echo.

His voice draws you out of the darkness. You're not sure if it's been two seconds or two hours, but you mumble into some sort of awakened state at his beckoning.

"Cyar'ika?"

Your brain wavers between awake and asleep for a few long moments. Echo or sleep? Echo? ....Or sleep? Both sound good. Sleep sounds better right now.

"Mm." It's little more than a graceless grunt, a little grumpy on the fringes.

The lukewarm metal pressed into your face shifts and you grumble in frustration as it starts to disappear. "Stop... Lemme slee-...." Your mouth is too tired to work properly. And then you fall back asleep for a breath, only to be jostled back awake by the sound of your snoring. "Shuddup."

"Cyar'ika?" he says again, and you turn over a little to look at him better. You can only see the lights on his headpiece.

"What?"

Echo chuckles softly. His nose rubs up against your cheek. "You really mean it?"

The fuck is he talking about? Sleep is tugging at you and you're fighting it with everything you have just for him to start talking nonsense?

"Mean what?"

His kiss on your cheekbone soothes your irritation a hair. "I'm yours?"

You deadpan. "Oh. Mm, yeah, honey," and you turn back onto your side so you can finally get back to sleeping.

Someone snores again. Annoying. The shape of a scomp arm is carving itself into the side of your face. The warmth at your back shifts, it breathes and trembles a little, and then a hand slides over the crown of your head.

"Marry me."

You're nodding as if the words buzzing in your ears make any sense. "Mhm."

"You okay?"

Wrecker's voice is gruff, but soft, curious. It snaps you out of your head and you look around for a second, blinking in confusion until you finally realize where you are and who you're with. Your gaze shifts to the floor.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."

Except you're not, and neither is Echo. He's been acting strange for almost the entire day. He woke up like normal, stiff and grumpy and tenderly affectionate like he always is, but then something had changed between you stumbling out of bed for a shower and him getting his morning kaf. He wasn't looking you in the eyes, he was avoiding your touch, and you still can't figure out why.

Wrecker scratches at the back of his neck and exhales a shaky kind of laugh. "You sure? 'cause usually Hunter has ta peel the two of you off each other. And you look sad. And so does Echo."

It surprises you sometimes just how observant the rest of the Batch can be and especially Wreck. But he's right.

You glance at the extended gangplank and what little snippets of the outside world you can see - a landing platform, some droids, sunlight curving around the shape of a clone's shoulders and casting his shadow on the ground. It looks like Hunter. Great, because what you really want right now is for someone else to be privy to whatever stupid thing you've done to upset your lover.

"I think he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

But as you shoulder your way around the big guy and start down the ramp, your mind flashes back to the previous night. The way Echo had been shaking, your hand on his thigh, his scomp under your cheek when you fell asleep, the sweet nothings whispered in your ear. Except you don't remember any sweet nothings. You remember cyar'ika and I'm yours and... marry me. Electricity goes sparking up your spine, your eyes goes wide, you swear your heart stops beating and your lungs forget how to function.

He asked you to marry him. Echo asked you to marry him. All those years spent missing him when he was on Skako Minor, the overwhelming joy when Rex told you he was still alive, the moment you first reunited with him, crying and shaking and refusing to let go, all of it had led you to this moment. A promise, a vow to be shared with the only person who really mattered in the whole wide universe and you were half asleep when he finally popped the question. Something stings along your waterline as your eyes go misty because you don't even remember your answer. You would be a fool to say no, you would never say no in your right kriffing mind. But maybe you did? Maybe that's why Echo's been off the whole day?

You go stumbling out of the ship like a drunk, twisting and turning around in a wild attempt to find Echo's face among the chaos littering the landing platform. You see Tech performing a diagnostic on one of the wings, Hunter chatting with a reg, Crosshair lurking in the shadows of a stack of crates and chewing on a toothpick, but no Echo. Your stomach suddenly cramps up; you're going to be sick if you can't find him.

"Echo?" you yelp. It's a little embarrassing how panicked you sound, all sick with worry like a little youngling. You scurry over to Hunter. "Where's Echo?"

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

Maker, will people just stop asking you questions? "Where is he?"

You can only imagine what Hunter sees when he looks into your eyes, but whatever it is seems to be enough to grant your request. He tilts his head so his chin is pointing to the opposite side of the ship. "He's helping Tech with repairs-"

You almost lose your balance tripping over your own feet, then the gangplank, then a spare droid frantically trying to wheel out of your way. It's all a blur for a few seconds until you scramble underneath the Marauder's wing and there he is - one knee bent, his good arm braced against the hull of the ship and his scomp attached to a port. His brow is furrowed and damp with sweat. He looks tired. But he's there.

"Echo."

When he looks at you, it's like the rest of the galaxy melts away. His expression is strained, but it still lights up when he sees you, even if only slightly.

"Cyare," he sighs. "What-"

Your feet have carried you to his side before you can even register it. "I love you," you say as your palm lifts to cup his cheek. And as Echo tilts his head back to look at you properly, his eyes go big and soft and it grips you by the heart like he always has, ever since the first day you met him. "Of course I'll marry you. If you still want me?"

The scomp clicks when it unlocks from the port. He's fast on his feet, one arm still braced against the hull of the ship to keep him balanced as he stands, but then he's on you, pressing a kiss to your lips and your cheeks and your eyes, humming and rumbling into your skin while you sigh and giggle against him.

"Ner kar'ta."

"Uh-uh," you say as you shake your head. "You're my heart. Always."

Your hand presses flat against his chest, tucked into the spot just beside his heart where a blue handprint once marked his armor. That was a long time ago. Much has changed since then, but you know this one thing has never changed and it never will. You will always love him and he will always love you.

#echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo x you #echo x you #ct 1409 #echo #tbb echo #star wars #there's an echo shaped hole in my life after s2 e7&8 so have this finally finished draft!#also i changed the title like 2 minutes after i posted it sorry

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 6 months

Text

KINKTOBER - Good Dog - BandaSunatoxReader -

DARK - Extreme pet play (actually this may not even be that) - Name calling - Slut shaming - Kindapping - NON/CON - Breeding - DARK BANDA - MDN - +18 - PLEASE READ UNDER YOUR OWN RISKS - I BELIEVE THIS IS THE STRONGEST THING I HAVE MADE -

Summary: Banda wants a pet to make him feel less lonely. Inspired by the movie "Good Boy".

"I need to take care of something, be a good girl and wait here, ok?" Banda's condescenting tone could be hear as he left you water and some food on the floor.

You did not move for a moment but seeing him waiting by the door you knew you had to.

"Woof"

"Thats my girl" and with that he was gone. Screams and pleads could be hear from afar.

Where were you? You did not know. You had met Banda by chance in a date app. And that was a big mistake. His red flags showed at the end of the night, when he pushed you against him and told you how he needed a pet to keep him company and that you would be perfect.

You never tought it would come to this.

The dog suit was uncomfortable the first days, not being allowed to go on two feets was humillating. And no words but woof or any type of sounds.

Banda had made that suit years back, when he was too deep into pet play, leaving your private parts expossed to the cold hair. Your human face was vissible. It was like these big full body pijamas. But more kinky.

You shoved your face into the food. Not taking a risk of using your hands. You had done that the first months and it had ended with you getting beaten up by him.

He would also put you on a cage. And leave you there for days, these were the worst. He left you there one entery week. Because you had talked back to him.

Now you never did that.

You were his pet, his dog. He could trow a ball and you would go after it. He would call you to pet you and you would go. He would made you suck him off (and god help you if you think on biting him) while he stalks his next victim.

Banda would also taunt you. Making dinner for two and waiting for you to make the mistake of getting up and eat with him. He would leave you a dog bed besides his own human bed looking at you while you droff to sleep, thanks to the drugs he adds to your night food.

Something he loves to do-

"Im back, I hope I dont see any food on your hands, dogs cant use them...and dont have them, maybe I should remove them?" He asked. He had blood all over his shirt and face. The woman he had brought with him must have suffered a lot.

You just whined, scared that he would mutilate you.

"Oh, I know you wont do that. You are good" Banda said getting on his knees and petting your hair. "You know...I tried having sex now but....I cant seem to get hard if its not you"

Oh- here it comes, something fucked up he likes. Fucking you in all fours, telling you to still make dog noises (but he does let you moan or scream during this).

Banda does not have to tell you to turn around, to show him your expossed pussy to him. Does not have to order you to get your ass up. You know the consequences.

"Thats it" He murmurs letting his dick out, pushing the head against your lower lips. "You feel me? Of course im not inside yet, I dont want to have to call the vet"

Oh, it almost sounds as if he cares if he hurts you. Its like he never said a thing, when with one single move he shoves his dick inside you making you bite your lips. Tears falls from your eyes as his hips bucks against yours. His dick hitting your insides as he pushes himself on top of you almost making you fall.

"I- have been thinking" he says between deep breaths. "What if I make you have pupps? Do you think I should raise them as humans or dogs?"

The question makes your stomach curl in disgust but Banda seems to like the idea, as he uses one hand to go for your clit making you let out a suprise sound.

"Maybe you alwyas wanted this? Being treated as an animal, just having to eat, sleep and do as I say, no work, no stress"

A slap over your clit made you cry out.

"Yeah...I knew you were just a slut, a slut in heat who needed to be breed"

He continues to pounds into you, your legs tremble feeling your orgams aproacching and he knows that. He makes sure you dont fall against the floor.

"Cmon...give it to me, come all over my dick and show me how much of a slut you are"

You want to fight it. You truly do, but your body responds to the basic stimulation, in seconds you are cumming around his dick.

Banda follows close, he spills his seed inside you, making sure all of it stays inside.

"You are an animal" he ends saying kissing the top of your head "I will clean you later, I still have things to do"

The beep of his phone catches your attention.

"Seems like my next play thing is here, should we get you a friend?"

#alice in borderland #aib imagine #aib imagines #alice in borderland x reader #banda sunato x reader #tw:non/con #non con #kinktober

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maggie32432 · 10 months

Text

Rafael Barba Imagine - Wrong Place Wrong Time (Part 4)

You are a detective for NYPD’s SVU under lieutenant Olivia Benson. In Season 17 Episode 10 you are abducted as a hostage with Olivia and Rafael is outside the scene.

Kailyn falls into Rafael, hardly able to stand on her own at this point. The paramedics try to get to her, but she shoves them off as Rafael holds her tighter than ever before. One of his arms is around her shoulders and the other is against the back of her head. "I've got you, I've got you," He repeats as he helps her back toward the van.

"Rafa," She mumbles against his clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're staying with me tonight," He says and I just nod, glancing around his apartment, though feeling incredibly numb throughout my entire body. "I-" That's when I feel myself crumble for the first time since it all happened. Tears run from my eyes as Rafa holds me close to him, helping me to sit down on the bed. "Why were you at the scene? You're normally just needed after," I joke, though my voice incredibly small and weak, and he smiles, wiping the tears from my cheeks but then looks away, "I knew you were in there. I couldn't not be there," He says and my heart softens.

"H-he had the gun against my head the entire time," "I know," he says, voice as soft as butter at this point, "All I could think of was that I would never have gotten to tell you how I feel...I have wasted so much time being afraid of my own feelings," I whisper and he looks at me, now his eyes softening too.

"Well now we have all the time in the world. You wanna use the bathroom to wash your hair?" He says and I smile, for a lawyer he sure is not direct right now. "Yes," "I'll run you a bath," he says, kissing my temple before walking into the bathroom as I take off my jacket and kick off my shoes. I hear him come back into the room and even the sound of his footsteps made my heart skip a beat. "Breathe, you're safe now," He says, coming back to me and I feel my heart racing now, but for a different reason. He takes my hand and I feel my body shaking again as he leads me into the bathroom.

I walk into his large bathroom and see the tub filling up with bubbles and warm water. My body feels weak. Weaker than I care to admit as I feel Rafa behind me. "Would like me to wait outside?" He asks breath against my shoulder, but I shake my head, "Stay," "Te cuidaré" he whispers as I hesitantly pull my top off. I did not think that the first time Rafael would see me naked is him helping me wash blood out of my hair. I pull the rest of my clothes off before stepping into the warm water, still not quite feeling like myself.

The water surrounds my skin as I sit down, wasting no time to curl into a ball. Rafael sits beside the tub, ready to wash my hair and be careful to not touch my stitches. I glance up at him to see him staring at me with a more loving look than I've ever seen before. "I wish he didn't die. I wanted him to suffer the consequences," I mumble against my knee and Rafa nods, "I know, I'm sorry," He says and I just continue to look down at the water.

His hands massage my head and I lay back contently, now feeling slightly more comfortable to show my breasts. The water quickly turns pink, but Rafa never stops. After letting me sit for a while, he helps me out of the tub, letting me borrow some of his clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafael holds her as she stumbles from the tub. The towel is wrapped around her body loosely, but even for the experienced ADA it's hard to watch her in such a rough shape. The stitches in her forehead ache as she looks more exhausted than he thought possible. After having a gun held to anyone's head for hours that entails therapy and a psychologist note in order to go back to work, but he's sure that Kailyn knows all of that.

"Come to bed, cariño," he says as he helps her lay in his sheets. "Rafa, why have we spent all those nights going over notes in my apartment when you live in a place like this?" she asks, eyes already closed against the pillow, He chuckles to himself, "I'll go to the guest room," "No!" she exclaims, eyes opening and perking up as she grabs his hand. He realizes through this how traumatized she really is, "Okay, okay. I'll stay," He whispers and she nods, body relaxing back against the mattress.

Barba's phone buzzes with a text from Carisi, Sonny: How's McCann doin? Have you talked to her? Barba: She's fine. Staying with me for a while. Sonny: Take good care of our girl for us

Rafa turns his phone off to look back at Kailyn. "I was thinking the same thing today," "Hm?" She asks as he crawls into bed on the other side, laying beside her. "I thought that-well, if I lost you then I never-I never would've been able to tell you," He says, "Tell me?" She asks, now opening her beautiful blue eyes, "Te amo," He whispers and her eyes widen, "I love you," she whispers back, putting her hand on the side of his face.

His eyes close at her touch, "I thought I was going to lose you today," "I'm here," His eyes shut as he holds back the tears he didn't know where coming.

#rafaelbarbaxreader #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x OC #rafael #barba #svu #svuimagine #svu imagine #lawandorder

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cluelessatthispoint · 11 months

Note

hi!! saw ur reqs open <3 could you persnaps make something with engie? engie angst is such an unexplored genre and it makes me rabid !!! make that engineer suffer!!

OH! this sweet Texan boy is going to be in agony! I'm just so happy with angst....I like they way you think :)

Warnings: Blood, angst, suffering, hurt no comfort

~~~~~~~~

White hot tears sting painfully as they fall down his cheeks. The feeling of his poor abused lungs rapidly expanding and contracting fill him with lightheadedness and nausea. A truly miserable combination. Viscous dark crimson blood trickles and flows from the gash on his lower belly.

"Hnng!"

Waking up in a cold sweat his bright blue eyes scan the dark room. His breathing erratic and his left hand pressed firmly on the spot on his stomach. There is no injury, there is no blood...but the feeling of hot tears stinging his eyes is real. The cool crisp sheets cling to his skin, sticky from sweat. The dark room offers no comfort to alleviate his rising fears.....The feeling of something not quite right. The feeling of being....wrong. Wiping away the hot tears from his eyes he lets out a soft pitiful whimper.

Dying and respawning, dying and respawning....an endless cycle. A cycle of pain, adrenaline, fear and blood. A whine escapes his tense vocal cords, and he can't help but sob quietly into his other hand. His shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. The sting of the cold metal from the gunslinger making contact with his sweaty, tearstained face sends shivers down his spine. A choked-up sob bubbles in the back of his throat.

"Oh God"

"Oh God..."

It hurts...Every damned breath burns. Every once in a while, the respawn gets finicky. Everybody on the team knows that. Sometimes you come back the same...sometimes you don't. It's an easy fix really. Just shoot the poor bastard and hope the respawn catches the mistake. But sometimes, no amount of sending someone through respawn will fix them...Last week it was Pyro. His best friend, his loyal arsonist companion...the week before it was the Heavy....

It's almost funny how easy it is to watch someone get their files deleted from the respawn internal databanks....The next time the person dies...they just...don't come back....It's easy to just flip a switch and send them off to their death. How they smile and think to themselves that the respawn with catch them. An enraged wail leaves their mouth. Tossing off his sweaty sheets Dell moves with lightning precision and speed to the computer lab. Checking every file...monitoring every action from the past few weeks up till the present. His file stared back at him...clenching his fist tightly he roars as he punches the monitor. The sound of his despairing, hoarse voice echoes throughout the lab. It sends small vibrations through the walls, and he punches the screen again and again in a blind fury until his hand is nothing but a bloody shredded mess. Blinging hot pain shoots up his arm and throbs with each beat of his heart.

"No...not me...not my turn...It's not my time yet..."

"IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN TO ME!"

Collapsing to the ground with a resounding thud. He slowly brings his knees to his chest as best he can, he curls into a ball. Dell hasn't felt this scared since he was a boy. A young, stupid and foolish boy...his sobs are much quieter now. His blue eyes gaze at the floor in front of him. Seeing nothing and everything.

"God no...not me....not yet....."

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

~~~~~

well, how was that for ya? :)

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hearts4golbach · 7 months

Text

Light Shower. (Sal Fisher x Fem!Reader.)

part 7

"and all my anger, sadness, regret disappeared, its madness."

I walked next door to Sals apartment and knocked on the door. to my surprise, Henry answered. he looked like he was in a rush.

"Hey, Mr fisher! are you okay?" I asked cautiously.

"yes, thank you, sweetheart. I'm about to be late for work." he gave me a sad smile. "cone in, sals in his room."

"thanks, I hope you make it in time." I grinned back at him.

I knocked on the door before walking into sals room. he was laying in his bed in boxers and a T-shirt. he was playing on his gear boy.

"Hey, babe. you okay?"

he looked over at me and sniffled. "I got sick somehow." sal chuckled.

"oh, I'm sorry, sally face." I rubbed his arm. "can I crawl in with you?"

he nodded. "if you wanna catch whatever I have."

"I can take it." sal blushed. i climbed in, wrapping my arms around his waist, meanwhile making sure I didn't get in the way of his vision. "how are you not suffering with your prosthetic on?"

he giggled. "I am suffering."

"have you taken medicine and atleast drank a little water?"

he paused. "uh..."

"sal!" I exclaimed, getting up. I went to get him a glass of water and a little medication. I brought it back to him. "cant have you dying on me, damn."

"I'm not going to die, Y/n. it's not that serious." he rolled his eyes.

"you never know!" I replied in a sing song voice. I crawled back in bed next to him and handed him the water and cough syrup.

he took off his mask and quickly took the shot of medicine, grunting as he did so. he took a sip of water. "thank you, love." he gently kissed me, staying against my lips for a few seconds before pulling away. I moved his hair out of his sweaty face before moving back to my original position around his waist. I listened to him hum as he played his game before slowly falling asleep.

I woke up a few hours later, around 10. sal was asleep, too. I stretched before checking my phone.

larry: wya Todd's parents just gave me more weed ;) - 9:18 pm.

larry: Y/N!!! - 9:26 pm.

larry: uve got 2 be shitting my dick - 9:31 pm.

me: oml sal is on his death bed I can't leave him - 10:18 pm.

larry: idc bring his ass with!! - 10:21 pm.

me: he's sleeping

larry: wake the beast from his slumber and let's goooo

me: ure annoying lol

larry: I give u free weed that's not possible

me: my bad gangster let me see if sal wants 2 go

larry: tell his ass I got soup

me: lol ok

what I didn't realize is that sal was awake already. I turned to look at him, bit he was already looking at me. I jumped. "you scared me."

"sorry." he apologized with his raspy voice. he sounded worse. he kissed my forehead.

"we don't have to go to Larry's, you sound worse."

he cleared his throat. "I'm fine, he seems desperate and he has soup."

"mk." I whispered, gently kissing his soft lips. he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me in. "maybe we should just stay here."

we got up and sal put on pajama pants, tossing me a pair too. sal strapped his mask back on and we made our way down to Larry's apartment.

me: u better prepare soup cuz I'm pretty sure that's the only reason he's going

larry: already on it :D

larry and I got baked while sal happily ate his soup, with his mask on, of course. after he had finished, I laid my head in his lap and talked to larry about his girlfriend.

"dude, she has the biggest tits I've ever seen!"

"bigger than ashs? no way."

larry rolled his eyes. "sure."

"damn, bigger than mine!?!" I exclaimed. I glanced back at sal, who's ears were turning a shade of pink. I smirked to myself.

"yep."

sal coughed. "no way were talking about this. I don't even believe that."

"oh my god, sal."

I sat in my hospital bed, trying to comfort Y/n. she hadn't been allowed to take her pain meds that day.

"I'm sorry you hurt, Y/n." I frowned, watching as she curled up into a small ball.

"it's ok, sal." she whined as she pulled her knees closer to her chest. "can you read me a story?"

and I did. I read her 3 of the stories dad had brought me while I stayed in the hospital. i kept reading until I realized she had fallen asleep. I wasn't completely sure she could fully hear me through my bandages, though.

I took care of sal the next week, making sure he took his medicine and drank water. I stayed most nights with him so he didn't have to be alone. the funny thing was, by the time he was fully healed, I was sick, myself.

#ash campbell #sal fisher #larry johnson #fanfic #sally face #fanfiction #friends to lovers #light shower #melanie martinez #sal fisher x y/n

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pleasesendfrogs · 9 months

Text

WIP Wednes(Fri)day

I KNOW IT'S FRIDAY, AND I DO NOT CAREEEE!!! IT'S WEDNESDAY IN SOME UNIVERSE!!!!

I can't wait to finish this! It's kind of a side project while I work through writer's block from Spier's journal.

TW: Incest, psuedo incest, rape/non-con, hospital-setting, abuse, violence, cannabalism?, wounds, injury healing

Spider squints as he slowly wakes up. He slowly becomes aware of the pain in his body; the aching. The worst pain is coming from his right arm, though. It feels like someone took a knife and dug out as much flesh as possible. He groans as he slowly tries to sit up and fully open his eyes. He’s not on the island. He’s not on the SeaDragon. The lights are too bright, and they sting his eyes. There’s an IV in his arm, and he vaguely becomes aware that his ankles are strapped to the bed. His mind feels fuzzier than usual. Like someone’s shoved cotton balls in his ears to muffle his thoughts.

The room he’s in looks so sterile, and it takes him a few moments to realize he’s probably in the medical area of Bridgehead.

He chokes on a sob. How did he get here? He thinks as hard as he can, remembering how he had been wandering off from the maruis, and I made my way to the forest on the island. It always felt more like home than the ocean had. And then, well, someone had been there too. Spider had thought it was just Kiri coming to see what was wrong.

Spider’s memory stops there. Since he’s restrained at Bridgehead, he assumes Jake or his dad came and found him. It doesn’t make sense to him how they were able to get onto the island without alerting anybody.

Did they do this to him?

He checks his arm and sees that it’s wrapped tightly in a bandage. There’s dry blood and the faint smell of iron that makes him want to vomit. He assumes he’s on pain meds due to the way his brain feels so fuzzy, but it still hurts so bad.

The sheets of the bed cover his legs, and a paper-thin gown covers his chest. It crinkles at every move.

He’s going to be in so much trouble. This is just the beginning. He reaches a hand to his arm and winces. He presses very lightly, trying to figure out what kind of wound he’s suffered. He nearly gags when it feels like skin and muscle have been torn out of his body. It’s a shallow dent, but he can feel the cloth touch parts of his arm that should never be pressed against anything. He feels tears of despair well up in his eyes, and he knows he won’t be able to stop them as soon as they fall.

He tries to curl in on himself with his restrained ankles, and he lethargically scoots closer to his feet so that he can pull his knees to his chest. It makes him feel more secure.

He cries like that for a while, hating himself, hating the feeling of cuffs heavy on his ankles, hating Jake, and hating his dad.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the door to the room opens, and Quaritch walks in, a grim look on his face.

“You’re awake,” He says, his voice stern and emotionless. Spider sees his dad, his tall, strong, and powerful dad. He thinks about the feeling of those big hands in his hair, on his chest, holding him close and making him feel safe. Spider can’t help the way he looks up at his dad with such a desire, a need.

His lip trembles.

“Daddy,” His voice breaks, and he is crying. He’s crying harder than he’s ever cried. His body is shaking, and his lungs are gasping for air. He’s surprised when he feels those big blue hands stroking his hair, and pulling him close. He doesn’t even feel shame when he clings to his dad, just wanting whatever comfort the man will provide. He craves it. He needs it.

It feels like years have passed when Spider’s sobs stop, and he’s just sniffling. He finally found his voice.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no you shouldn’t have,” Quaritch murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Spider’s kiss. “But it’s alright now. You’re back where you belong.”

“What happened to my arm?” Spider asks hesitantly. Something twitches in Quaritch’s face, and he looks like he’d like nothing more than to run away and never answer another question, which, of course, piques Spider’s interest. His eyebrows furrow. “What happened?”

“When we came to get you, you got aggressive, and-” He halts, trying to find the right wording, “You said something that really upset him, and he- he ended up taking out a chunk of your arm.”

Spider’s heart sinks in his chest. Jake did this to him.

Jake had been violent before; it wasn’t new. Spider had become used to it. However, he never thought he could be the victim. In the past, when Jake had been having an episode, he got a bit more aggressive, and Spider was left with more bruises than normal, and even that pissed Quaritch off, but even the thought of Jake taking a whole part of his arm out, ripping it from the skin, probably with teeth, is shocking.

“He bit me?” Spider asks. It’s not a question, he knows that’s what happened. He almost gags when he thinks about where the part of his flesh went.

Quaritch just nods in reply.

“Why isn’t he here?” Spider’s voice is tense, and bitterness hangs on to the edge of his words.

“I told him he couldn’t come in. He’s outside.”

“I want to see him,” Spider murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Quartich sighs, and gently shakes his head, “No, he’s not ready.” Spider feels his chest start to swell with anger. He should be angry. He woke up, having been kidnapped for a second time, and one of his captors took a bite out of his arm.

“He’s not ready? What does that even mean? Did I eat a piece of his arm that I’m suddenly forgetting?”

“Spider,” A warning. Spider ignores it.

“No. This is bullshit. I was finally- finally away from you fuckers,” Spider looks down at his hands. They’re shaking. “And you took that away, I could have- I could have been happy again, and then a stupid fucking recreation of Jake Sully decided to grab me and eat part of my fucking arm!” Spider’s voice is almost a yell, and tears are streaming down his face. He’s surprised his body still has enough water to cry.

Quaritch stands, and Spider flinches, expecting to be struck, but the recom turns and walks out of the room without another word.

Spider doesn’t know what to do.

They leave Spider alone for three days. They change his bandages before he goes to sleep on the first night. It hurts. No matter how slowly they peel it away, the scabbing sticks to the bandages and blood drips down his arm. The pain meds dull it a bit, but he still whines and groans.

#ao3 writer #avatar #avatar twow #avatar way of water #ao3 reader #jake sully #spider socorro #recom jake #recom miles quaritch #recombinant jake sully #ao3 dead dove #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #whump #whump writing #the dove is rotting in its grave

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shade-pup-cub · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump 2024, Day 7: Legend & Chain - Suffering In Silence

Fandom: LOZ/Linked Universe

Summary: Legend isn't one to say he is struggling internally, but he was and it was building up. Wanting to feel anything outside of being numb, he cuts into his left arm. Something he hasn't done in years, well, since Ravio came into his life. With the voices in his head, he needs something stable and familiar, but when he gets home, Ravio isn't there. It's all too much... the bottle hidden under the floor board has never looked so appealing.

CW: blood, cutting, depression, suicide, self poisoning

Not my fave and deffo not my best.

He desperately wanted to feel the comforting weight of a hug that Sky or Twilight always gave on a rough day, the proud hand on his shoulder from Time, the encouraging elbow from Warriors, the lull of Hyrule’s head on his shoulder after falling asleep, Wind jumping on his back when his feet were hurting, Four’s threatening tap at his knee cap for a comment on his height, to feel Wild’s hand slip into his when they entered a too crowded town.

But he couldn’t…

Legend couldn’t feel a single damn thing. The voices had gotten out of control. He had meant to tell someone of his struggles with depression, but he was too far gone before he realized what was happening.

He always metaphorically was wearing some kind of mask, so his fake smile and half ass laughing at a joke was normal. The others never assumed anything to be different with him.

The morning he was last to rise, refusing to eat breakfast or even talk to anyone was when they grew worried for him.

Hyrule tried to softly talk to him, but the Vet just turned his head away, eyes closed. If they were open, he would have seen the hurt from the action. Then again, it would have been something else to add to the pile of fuck ups he had done in his life.

He couldn’t bring himself to be mean to Sky, but he also didn’t have to be open. The Sail Cloth laid on his shoulders would normally bring so much security, but it felt like needles raking across his skin. It burned…

He knew he needed to eat. If it wasn’t for himself, he needed to eat for Wild. He had made Legend’s favorite, berry crepes, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. He kept it down for as long as he could, fighting against the bile that rose up to the back of his mouth.

Seeing that everyone was truly asleep outside of Twilight, he raced to the treeline and expelled everything that he tried to keep down.

Twilight tried as Wolfie that night. Legend turned over in his bedroll so he couldn’t see anything apart from the dark forest around them.

With everyone trying their hand at cheering him up or trying to figure out how to help, Warriors was the last straw. The playful nudge of his elbow had the well seasoned hero turning around, fist already balled and headed for the Captain’s face. He didn’t stop at one and he didn’t stop at five. He only stopped when someone, maybe Time, grabbed him from behind. He screamed out to be let go, thrashing, landing a kick to someone blindly.

“Let me go!! Let GO! ” If a true fight broke out, he would have been let go, but when his voice broke and an anguished sob came out one after another, he was kept in whos ever arms were around him.

“Legend, are you keeping an injury from us?” Time’s voice rumbled quietly.

“N-no.” he sniffled. Yes.

“Then what has you so worked up?” Legend didn’t answer, only ripped himself from the older hero. He grabbed his blanket, wrapped it around his back and over his head so he could curl up against a tree.

Sighing, Time stopped whoever was about to approach. “Leave him be.”

Please don’t…

Come back…

I’m sorry…

Help me…

I need you guys…

MAKE IT STOP!

Legend didn’t sleep as the voices kept tormenting him, making him doubt everything he had ever known. He wanted them to go away. He wanted to feel something, anything out of the numbness he had fallen into. Sheltered from prying eyes, he pulled out the small knife from his boot and pushed up his left sleeve.

The hair splitting blade didn’t need to be pressed hard into the soft skin to make a cut. One droplet of blood formed at the bottom of the cut and Legend didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel the three that followed. Pressing harder, blood ran slowly in a single line down to his palm.

He felt-

Nothing.

So much nothing that he continued to repeat the action until his hands shook, crimson soaking into his blanket under his left leg. He watched it drip from his fingertips, admiring how it could fall to the dirt and be absorbed, never seen again. He would do anything to be the same. For now though, he quietly popped the cork to a potion to heal what he had done. He didn’t need a furious Healer and blow up on the kid.

The morning’s unpleasant and unwanted light came early. Legend gave a huff to how cheery nature was being and packed up the few things he had out of his bag. A mile walk revealed a new portal and a familiar scenery. Legend was home. It should have been concerning how close the portal was to his house, but he just wanted one good thing in his life. Ravio…

“Ravio?” There was a hum of happiness when he called for the merchant. He walked through the house searching, but his partner wasn’t there.

“Hey Legend, there’s a note.” Wild announced.

Mr. Hero,

Will be in Lorule for a couple of weeks.

Hope I don’t miss you. Leave a letter if you do get this.

Miss you, Bunny!

~ Ravio

There was no date to go by. When was he going to be home? Why wasn’t anything going right?! He crumpled up the letter and stormed off for their shared bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. The others knew to make themselves at home.

In his dark room, looking at himself in the mirror on the back of the door, he resented everything he saw. How did it all get this bad? When did it start? What made him spiral so deeply?

Hyrule… The Hero of Hyrule was the reason.

The world they had just been in was Hyrule’s, his successor. His world should have been safer, better off than it was. Legend fought for years, six adventures, to protect future generations and Hylia made it all in vain.

His uncle's death, in vain. Having to break his sister out of a cell, in vain. Having the girl of his dreams ripped from him by his own actions, whether she was an actual dream or not, in vain. Slaying Ganon over and over and over… in fucking vain!

It was all for nothing if Hyrule had to pick up the pieces that he didn’t know he left. Pieces he hadn’t left yet. What goes so wrong that the poor kid has the Demon King's own blood running through his veins? Monsters all across his world have hunted him down to sacrifice him in order to raise Ganondorf back from the grave.

“Look at you, hero, pathetic!”

“Shut up.”

“Worthless, useless boy.”

“Shut, up.”

“All you did was force your fight onto him.”

“Not true.”

“You can’t even look at him without seeing your failures.”

“Stop.”

“You're a failure. So shameful.”

“Please…”

“You can’t save him from his fate.”

“I need to… I need to protect him.”

“You can’t, hero.”

“But-”

“He would be better off-

“There has to be a way-

-without you.”

-to prevent all this.”

“The world would be better off with you dead.”

“... Wait.” Legend looked over to the trunk that sat at the end of the bed. “That would work.” He pushed the heavy trunk to the side, revealing a loose wood plank that he kept two things in. Poison and the antidote. He had never been so happy to see those two bottles. He smiled for the first time in weeks, tears rolling down his cheeks. He was starting to feel again.

“Toss the antidote.” Legend did… threw it as hard as he could at the mirror that held his image. It shattered right where the reflection of his face was, cracking the mirror in the process.

The door handle rotated, but still locked. “Legend?”

No! He needed to do this, he had to, for Hyrule! He opened the bottle holding the silver looking liquid, smiled and downed the whole thing.

#ao3 writer #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #linked universe #hero of legend #lu legend

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bluiex · 1 year

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Hullo! First off, loved your double life cheating one-shot. It hurt in all the good ways. Second, I'm glad to announce that I am almost done with this hurt/comfort third life desert duo fic I've been writing for the past, like almost 4 months at this point lol. So, in terms of celebration for all of my suffering, here's a little extract from a scene I wasn't gonna add, but decided to anyways. Warning, mention of animal death, hehe

Scar stared at the carrot, out of focus. He could almost see Mr. Bubbles, if he was smaller. He lost his giant bee too, he realized. Dogwarts not only killed Pizza, but they kill the innocent Mr. Bubbles. His hands trembled. This was all his fault.

He was the one who got attached to those animals. He made himself vulnerable, he knew that. And yet, it still hurt. And yet, the urge to kill them didn’t fade away, no matter how slow he breathed. They were gone, forever erased from this world, leaving him alone.

Scar gasped a breath, noting how heavy his body felt, noting how he couldn’t bring his arm higher to eat the golden carrot, noting his vision was blurry, not out of focus.

He heard the flutter of wings and the footsteps before hearing and feeling Grian’s panic. Grian fell onto his knees, putting his hand on Scar’s cheek to raise his head. For red eyes to meet green ones. Scar turned to look away, drip landing on his forearm, cold against his warm skin. Grian tried to hold his wings still, but they flapped and ruffled, making him slightly groan. He focused back on Scar, hand on his thigh and, woah, since when was Grian’s hand so warm?

“Scar, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Scar sniffled and tried to swallow the ball in his throat, to no success. Cheeks became wet quicker than his fall in the ravine.

“Is—” his throat constricted, and he swallowed again, “—is she truly gone?”

He didn’t know how Grian understood what he said, his voice was merely a whisper, jumbling over words, it even sounded wrong to his ears. But when he looked back to his partner, his concerned look was back.

“Oh, Scar,” he murmured.

Scar let out a sob and curled on himself, ignoring every tear in his body, ignoring the stretch on his wound and the piercing pain it gave, ignoring his surroundings. He just couldn’t understand, even if it made perfect sense.

Pizza was gone.

Pizza was dead.

And that’s when it hit him. They were all gonna die eventually. All disappear from this world. No survivors, no more alliances, no more wars, no more stealing cookies. Just like Pizza, everyone’s life held on a string, just waiting for the punchline to cut it.

But Pizza was dead.

And it hurt.

Something hit his lips, and when he opened his eyes, his appreciation for Grian only grew. The avian had the golden carrot in his hand and helping Scar eat to close up the wound. Scar obliged, and they sat in the silence of the crunch and the slight moos from the cow deep underground.

A wave of energy spread throughout his body, easing the tension but not the ache in his hips. It seemed the rest of the day was crutches day.

“Can we have a funeral?” he asked, voice quivering and quiet.

Grian gave him a warm smile.

“Of course.”

Grian was the one who did most of the work. Digging a hole large enough to bury Pizza, dragging her corpse in it, and helping Scar build a coffin to cover the uneven ground. He placed the headstone while Scar wrote the epitaph on a wooden plank. Grian hammered it above the coffin and join Scar, both staring at it as the sun turned to dusk.

Rest In Peece Pizza. Friend, Sister, Moter

Scar could only stare at the wooden structure. He couldn’t shed any tears anymore. The ball around his throat became bigger, and Scar was ever so grateful when Grian placed his hand on top of his, running his thumb across his knuckles. The cries of mobs surrounded them when the sun disappeared in the horizon. Grian nudged him to come inside, but Scar remained impassive, gaze never leaving the coffin.

Grian grew a bit more restless, wings fluttering behind him.

“Scar.”

Scar shook his head, grip tightening around the handles of his crutches. Grian sighed, let go of his hand and went back inside. Scar tried to make his mind stop wandering, stop thinking of taking his netherite sword and plunged it on Grian’s back, stop contemplating blowing their base to the ground.

He rested one of his crutches on the coffin and placed his hand on top of it.

“They’ll get what they deserve,” he murmured in the cold wind, not that he could feel it. “They’ll regret the day they took you out of this world.”

He took back the crutch and joined Grian inside. His partner was sharpening his sword but jumped when he heard the door opening. He poked his head out of the door that lead to the kitchen, eyebrows frowned. Scar sent him a wavering smile and passed him to sit on their bed.

His mobility aids were both leaning against the wall close to him, in case he woke up one morning not being able to do much. Even with this enhance senses and strength being red gave him, it wouldn’t dim the consequences of whatever affected his body.

The shuffling of feet approaching dragged him out of his head. Grian had a hand on the door frame, wings held tight together. Scar simply sighed and patted the bed. Grian cautiously joined him, wings itching to wrap around them.

Scar let out a chuckle, leaning against him despite their height difference. Grian opened his mouth, only to close it promptly, red on the face, and let his wing wrapped the both of them against the chill of the night—or Scar assumed, since Grian’s chin wasn’t trembling anymore.

Grian placed his hand on Scar’s thigh, and despite Scar absolutely beaming at the touch, it felt like this little weight made the ache even frailer than it already was. He took his partner hand and settled it on Grian’s thigh instead.

Grian squeezed his hand and they stayed like this for a while, in the silence of the desert. No more buzzing of wings, no more small braying, just their breathing and the far away awakening of mobs at the foot of their mountain. Scar had never wished for the world to be louder.

-- tired Bloop anon bc it is 1 am in the morning when I sent this

Hehe thank you I'm glad you liked it an it hurt <3

AYO THIS IS JUST *yells and sobs into a pillow* I CANT-- SCAR POOR SCAR hnnhgfbhd dude I'm really excited for the full fic

#bluie gets an ask poggers #long post #tw angst

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talesofmetalandmagic · 1 year

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Azir vs Crying

Azir has always been a fragile, skinny kid with a proclivity for tears. He would have probably been less of a crier if his regular, age-appropriate bouts of tears – getting hurt in training for battle, reading sad stories, regular stuff – was met with empathy instead of “you’re of imperial blood, stop sniveling”. But alas.

As an adult he thought himself more tempered. When his parents and unborn sibling died in such a terrible fashion he didn’t even tear up. He just fell numb, hazy, going through the motions with Xerath’s firm hands to guide him. He would cope in ways that were seen as more appropriate for an emperor: drinking, either fine wine or sleeping powders, going for long hunting trips on his own, training at the sword and yes, intercourse.

When he’s Xerath’s prisoner he cannot do any of those things – all he gets to drink is molded, sanded water, he cannot go as he pleases, he’s not allowed to have a weapon and the greatest erotic intimacy he has is “extemporaneous fantasies that come and go” (forcefully desexualizing the notoriously promiscuous ex-emperor is also part of Xerath’s way to take everything he ever had). So, after his defiant streak is nipped at the bud and long months of toiling and humiliations pass, he reverts back to tears.

He finds himself sobbing when punished, damping Xerath’s feet with his tears. Sometimes it’s the sheer pain that gets him – infected, festering wounds, that one time he breaks a talon or gets his hand crushed under a block of sandstone. Sometimes he doesn’t even sob or whine: he just curls up in a soft ball of feathers, head between his knees, fingers stroking himself in a parody of comfort, and lets the tears fall down in perfect silence. His eyes always feel either damp, reddened by the salt and the constant rubbing, or sting so much keeping them open for his work makes him cry even more.

(Xerath would have him dip his head in a bucket of saltwater on a daily basis for a while whenever he felt he was getting too infected… you can imagine by yourself how much that stung and how strained the required “thank you, my lord” would be)

All that exists in his head is the perspective of finishing the temple – then, even these tears will become a memory. He has no idea where he gets that water, since he doesn’t drink much and they’re in the desert. Yet the tears won’t stop, and sometimes even when he’s at peace, albeit curled up in his cage and tightly hooded, they come on their own because it’s just too much.

“Azir, my dear” Xerath would ask. “Do you think this conduct befits one of imperial blood?”

“No, my lord” he knows what he wants to hear, it’s been beaten and slapped into him. “I wasn’t deserving of the title. I should stop sniveling and get myself to work… yet my foolish temper…”

“Yes, of course. You’re starting to admit it. You never deserved anything… even your parents knew. They’d be cheering me on, if they saw you in such a state.”

Xerath doesn’t actually think crying is a source of shame, of course. But as it’s been established, he knows what makes Azir tick.

His friends and entourage – Sivir, Taliyah, Kai’sa, Akshan, Samira and Nasus – are of a different breed. They know crying is liberating and comforting and there’s nothing “not imperial” in shedding tears. Azir is very glad to be told, because when the first tide of effects from his indenture comes, so do his tears.

He screams himself awake, tears dripping into his sheets, when nightmares come. He gets choked up and misty eyed when rediscovering small treats and pleasures – sweet food, self-care, music. And when he’s referred to as “Imperial Majesty” by someone who’s not in his little circle, his cheeks get damp once more.

“I used to cry all the time”, Taliyah recounts. She never thought she’d be intimate with Azir of all people. “I think it helped me survive. My master, Yasuo, would let me finish and offer me a treat to clean my mouth. I saw no shame in his eyes.”

“You’ve suffered a lot, my lord. Don’t torture yourself further by denying yourself a good cry”, Samira would say. Mercenaries always cry: it’s free, easy to do, and helps maintain the facade once it’s done.

But of course it’s Nasus who keeps him the closest and sees the most of his breakdowns. Azir loves hearing his beating heart when he holds him to his chest, patting the feathers, sharing body heat.

“You’re doing good, my sweet lord. Let it come… shhhh, shhhh… I have you. Can you hear my voice?”

Sometimes Azir wonders what’s pushing that man towards him so unconditionally.

“Always remember this, my lord. I’d much rather have you here crying… than knowing I lost you smiling.“

He’d be most glad to say the same for his poor Renekton.

“Does it ever stop, Nasus? I want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t stop happening, my lord. But it stops being so heavy. And no one deserves it more than you.”

#lol #league of legends #Azir #Omah azir #emperor Azir #Xerath #Nasus #Taliyah #Sivir #akshan #Samira #Kai’sa #Shurima #azir’s new groove #tears are healthy

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babyjakes · 2 years

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forever and a day | 21. wounded.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of the aftermath of child abuse/neglect (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). mentions/descriptions of past CSA and CSM. medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.somewhat evil!Tony Stark (eventually).

[Steve]

As soon as the little girl’s bright green eyes meet mine, she lets out a muffled sob, twisting her body sideways to shield her wound from me. Glancing around anxiously, she searches for an escape, but finds none other than the doorway I’m standing in. Curling her little knees up towards her chest, she lets out a cry of pain, her head falling in defeat. Taking an instinctive step towards her, I try to open my mouth to say something, but for a moment my entire body feels frozen in shock.

What happened to her side? Did she do this to herself? What am I supposed to do?

After a few more seconds of processing all of my racing thoughts, I snap out of my daze, my heart shattering in my chest as Girl continues to weep helplessly before me. As slowly and carefully as I can, I begin to approach the wounded child, bending my knees down and holding my hands flat out in front of me in hopes of making myself seem like less of a threat. Girl peers over at me, her pink cheeks soaked with tears. When her eyes begin fluttering, her body jerking harshly against the wall behind her, I don’t even need to ask; I can tell by her face that she’s remembering the last time she saw me, the memory of the agent’s face being pounded in flashing through her terrified mind. Glancing back at me, the child whimpers, her little voice coming out broken and desperate, “Please, please don’t. Sorry, please. Please, wait- d-don’t hurt Girl.”

Softening my gaze at the little girl, I shake my head reassuringly. “I’m not here to hurt you,” I murmur softly, “honey, it looks like you’re injured. You’re bleeding, sweetheart. Please, please let me help you.” At this, Girl twists her shaking form further, pushing herself up against the wall as firmly as she can to try to keep the blood hidden away from me. But in the end, there’s nowhere to run. And I know that probably scares her more than anything. Her only way out would require her to pass me.

“Please, sorry,” Girl continues to plead as I take another step towards her, the space between us slowly closing. “N-no- wait, please.”

“Sweetheart, hey,” I coo, wishing I knew how to ease the little one’s fears. “It’s okay, Girl. You’re okay. I’m not gonna-” my voice cuts out as I feel something sticky beneath my shoe, prompting my gaze to fall to the trail of blood leading up to the quivering child.

“Sorry, r-really sorry- didn’t mean to, will clean it up, please,” Girl hiccups, her eyes widening at the sticky red liquid that’s been smeared across the tile floor. Pressing her hands further into her injured side, the girl winces, the sound of the balled-up tissue squelching against her bloody flesh causing me to wince.

“Girl, please let me help you. What happened, sweetie? Why are you bleeding like that?” I ask desperately, tears building in my eyes as I watch the poor kid writhe in pain.

“Sorry, please,” Girl sobs, her little feet kicking out in front of her under her knees that are still being held up close to her.

Pausing for another moment, I realize I’ve reached an impasse; talking the child through this isn’t seeming to be getting us anywhere fast. Aright now, without having any sort of idea what kind of wound could be producing all this blood or how long Girl’s been sustaining it, I don’t know how much time we have before she could very well bleed out right in front of me. Noting this, I sigh, deciding that even though I want to give Girl as much time and space as she needs, ultimately, time and space just aren’t a luxury we can afford right now.

Taking a deep breath, I forge the last several steps to the girl, finally lowering myself fully to my knees in front of her, only a few feet away from her shaking form. Girl slams herself against the wall again, this time, the side of her head knocking against it. “Hey, it’s okay,” I soothe quickly, not wanting her to hurt herself any further. “I’m not going to hurt you, doll. I promise, I pinky promise. Just… please, Girl. Please. I need to see it.”

The child ducks her head down fearfully at my words, not able to look at me. Getting no further response, I sigh again, knowing that I’m not going to be able to examine her injury without a decent amount of resistance.

As carefully as I can, I reach out my hands to the little girl. Her eyes widen at the movement, and she cowers back from them, but has no space left between her and the wall. Soft sounds of her breathing escalating fill the air. “Hey, shh, shh. Gentle, see?” I murmur, “gentle hands, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you. Nothing’s gonna hurt; I’m just gonna take a look at you, doll,” I tell her mildly, placing my hands on her shoulders and turning her body to face me. Girl lets out a pathetic whimper as I come in contact with her, tears dripping down her puffy cheeks. She tries to fight me, but as always, her weakened body is no match for my super-soldier strength. Her shoulder blades press back into the wall and her knees fall away lamely, her legs splaying out in front of her as she faces me, her hands still clutching her side as blood seeps through her fingers. “Sweetheart, what happened?” I ask breathlessly. The girl keeps her head down, not saying anything. Seeing my chance to finally find out what’s happened to her as she sits defeatedly before me, my hands move down and land on hers, and gently, I begin to pry them away from the blood source.

“W-wait, please,” Girl whimpers miserably, but it does little to stop me. Gathering both of her hands in one of mine, I use my other to gently remove the bloody tissue from the wound. Below it lies a relatively small opening, perfectly circular. Alarmingly deep, and as I look more closely, I can see a hint of metal flashing out from inside.

It’s a bullet wound.

“You got shot?” I all but yell, completely forgetting to soften my tone from the sheer shock of the discovery. Girl flinches back and her arms fly up in front of her face to shield herself from me; shaking inconsolably, she begins to cry harder, and I feel my body weakening, absolutely stunned by what I’ve found. “Oh my god, I-… sweetheart, I-… I had no idea. None of us did. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Th-thought you’d be mad.”

Guilt and heartbreak sweep over me as I stare at the gushing wound, tears building in the back of my eyes as I shakily reach up to tap in on my wire. “Bruce. I-I need you here, ASAP. We’re in- in the guestroom. Girl’s-… I-I-… she’s been shot. Please, hurry.”

Girl continues to sob as I wait for a response. After a few moments, there’s a buzz in my ear. “I’m on my way. What do you mean, she’s been shot? What the hell happened?”

“It-… back at the safe-house,” I reply. “I just found out. None of us knew.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon. For now, just… apply pressure to the wound.” And then, with a break of the static, he’s gone. Sucking in a shallow breath, I force it out through my teeth. I can’t believe this happened. I can’t believe none of us knew.

Trying to shake off my shock for the sake of hopefully saving the little girl’s life, I turn and throw the bloody tissue in the trashcan, reaching up and taking one of the hand towels off of the towel rack. Returning in front of Girl, I fold it up, holding it firmly in my hand. “Okay, sweetheart. I need to press this into your side, okay? I’ll be as gentle as I can. It… it might hurt a little, honey. We just gotta try to slow the bleeding.”

I wish there were something else, anything else that we could do, but Bruce was right. A wound like this needs pressure. If it were on an arm or a leg, we could tourniquet it, but it’s her side; our options are limited. Girl whimpers at my words, squirming up against the wall. “Please, please don’t t-touch it, don’t touch it.” I sigh, hating that I have to do this. Inching closer, I reach out and scoop the child up in my arms. Thrashing about, she continues to beg. “Please, p-please! No, please, w-wait-”

Placing Girl on my lap with her back pressed up against my chest, I wrap one arm around and hold her under the armpits to keep her held close to me and still. My other arm brings the towel to her side, and though every ounce of my being hates what I’m about to do, I convince myself I must. Bracing for the little girl’s protests, I press down, hard. Girl lurches at the contact, letting out a sharp cry of pain. A tear trails down my cheek as I hold her steadily, pressing the fabric into the tender wound.

“I know it hurts, I know. Shhh, it’s okay- I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say; I know that the only thing running through her mind is that I’m hurting her. She was scared that I would, and now I am. But I have to; what else can I do?

“Please, stop, s-stop!” the wailing child begs.

“Honey, we-… we have to stop the bleeding,” I try to explain, “it’s okay, shh-shh shhh.” Girl sobs, hanging against my arm that’s holding her up. “You’re okay, kiddo,” I continue to soothe through my own tears. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

As I’m finishing my sentence, Bruce bursts through the door, looking just as panicked as I feel. He hurries over, crouching down in front of us. “Oh god,” he exhales.

“No, p-please,” Girl cries at the sight of the doctor, struggling against my firm grip around her.

“We need to get her down to medical,” Bruce decides. “Can you carry her?” I nod without a word.

As the dark-haired man stands before us, I lift the child up in my arms, holding her close to me as I continue to apply pressure. “Please, n-no,” she whines, tears continuing to trail down her cheeks as we hurry out of her bathroom and room, eventually making our way down the hallway. When we reach the lounge, we’re met with shock from the group sitting at the sofas. Peter rises to his feet, a look of alarm spreading across his face.

“Oh my god- what happened?” he asks.

“Bruce, what the hell?” Nat adds.

Bruce is busy hitting the elevator button, though, and when he turns back to address the group, the doors slide open. Peter hurries up and joins us in the elevator. Girl’s now sobbing loudly against my shoulder; I wish I could reach up and stroke her hair, but my hands are full. “You’re okay, shh, shh,” I coo, gently swaying her from side to side in attempts to soothe her painful cries.

As soon as we land on the floor for medical, we’re all rushing out of the elevator in a blur and nearly running down the long white hallway. Bruce turns into the first exam room on the right, and I follow, Peter trailing close behind.

“Get her on the bed,” Bruce demands, flinging open the cabinets and beginning to pull out various medical supplies. Trying to keep the towel pressed to her side, I gently set the little girl down on the mattress. The child twists and turns slightly, appearing too weak to even sit up to try to escape. Bruce takes the cloth from me and lifts it up, revealing the wound. “Jesus christ,” he mumbles, turning back to get his tools ready.

As Peter stands anxiously to the side, I let out a puff of air, practically collapsing down on the edge of the bed as I reach out and brush Girl’s hair out of her face. She looks at me, her bottom lip wobbling in fear. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re gonna fix you up, make you all better. You’re okay, you’re gonna be just fine,” I promise her. Bruce continues to prep his gear, and a question pops up in my head as I stare into the little girl’s watery eyes. “Girl,” I begin, sucking in a breath. “You got hit by a shot that went through the bed?” She nods. “Then why-… how come we couldn’t hear you? Why didn’t you-… how did-… sweetheart, how did you keep from screaming?”

Girl’s quiet for a moment, as if she doesn’t want to tell me. Then, her expression falls, and her voice comes out sounding more gutted and defeated than ever.

“You said t-to be quiet.”

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#faad #faad: wounded #eun's writing #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers x child!oc #dad!steve rogers #the avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction

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