#I live in a constant state of guilt now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alexias-putellas · 2 months

Text

between us // a.putellas x reader x j.hermoso

a.putellas x reader x j.hermoso

you’d had a crush on alexia from the moment you’d laid eyes on her the day you signed your barcelona contract. she was pretty and kind. and unfortunately, taken.

the barcelona girls took you in as one of their own almost immediately and within a week, you felt like you’d known them forever. of course, your feelings for alexia grew and grew but your friendship with jenni had also blossomed so you decided that it was better to have alexia in your life as a friend then not at all. same with jenni. the last thing you wanted was for either of them to hate you.

since lucy and keira had pre-warned you about how affectionate the spanish could be, you never questioned how close you became with the couple as the months flew by. your teammates never said anything either so you assumed it was normal.

you never thought twice about being invited to dinners, or about the way jenni would pull you into her side during movie nights with the team. and you only lived a few doors down from alexia so her constant presence in your apartment was normal for you.

and that night was no different. music played softly in your bedroom as you held two pairs of earrings up, nudging alexia to get her attention. she quickly pointed to your go to statement earrings and you beamed, swiping your favourite necklace before heading into the en-suite. you figured it was easier to use the bathroom mirror instead of kicking alexia out of the way to use your vanity mirror.

you held your necklace out to jenni once she’d looked up from her phone, pushing herself off the sink and gently taking it from your hand. you turned around, feeling a shiver run down your spine as her fingers ran along the back of your neck, brushing your hair to the side.

jenni fastened the necklace and you thanked her softly, ignoring the way her hands slid down your arms. your eyes flickered towards your room as you put your earrings in, noticing alexia moving around.

she sat down on your bed and you swallowed thickly, eyes trained on her legs that looked even longer in the dress she was wearing.

“isn’t she pretty?” jenni’s question was a whisper in your ear and you felt yourself nodding.

“yes. ale is very pretty.” you hummed in agreement but then froze, realising what you’d said and who you’d said it to.

hearing jenni’s soft laughter didn’t make you feel any better, neither did the kiss she pressed to your burning cheek. “you should tell her.”

“what?” you laughed nervously, stepping forward and out of her grip. “why would i do that?”

she reached out for you again, grabbing your waist and pulling you back. a small huff left your lips as you hit her chest, the blush on your cheeks deepening. “i think ale should know what you think of her.”

“i–i think you are very pretty too, jenni,” you breathed, thinking jenni’s actions were due to a sense of jealousy. “not just ale. you’re both very pretty.”

your flustered state only worsened when she turned you around, hands tight on your waist. when her eyes flickered to your lips, you knew you were a goner. “puedo besarte?”

“yes. god, yes.”

jenni’s lips were on yours in an instant and you threw your arms around her neck, pulling her closer.

guilt hit you like a ton of bricks when you separated. you rubbed at your swollen lips, backing away from the spaniard silently.

you avoided alexia’s gaze as you made your way over to your wardrobe, swinging it open to reach for your favourite pair of heels. your stomach twisted. were you really going to act normal and have dinner with alexia after kissing jenni mere feet away from her?

after slipping on the shoes, you turned around, ready to beg for alexia’s forgiveness. but she was already stood there. you studied her face. she wasn’t angry. maybe she didn’t know.

“can i kiss you now?” she asked quietly and your legs felt like jelly as she reached out to rub her thumb along your bottom lip. “or does jenni get you all to herself?”

if it was any other day, you would’ve asked questions first. but jenni’s kiss still had you reeling and you didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to kiss alexia again.

so you leaned in without a second thought.

the guilt you were feeling faded but was soon replaced with confusion. with hesitation, you gently pushed alexia back. her eyebrows furrowed and you placed your hand on her chest to keep her there. doing the same with jenni when she approached.

“what is happening? what is this? a one time thing?” you asked, looking between them quickly.

you regretted asking that last question almost immediately. you were not ready to hear the answer. your heart wouldn’t be able to take a one time thing but you didn’t know if you’d have the strength to reject them if they’d said yes.

“what do you want it to be?” alexia asked, voice soft and soothing. you swallowed thickly, the anxiety swirling in your stomach.

you had no idea what to say. you wanted them, in every way possible. but if they rejected you, where would that leave you? or the team? you didn’t want to be the reason the whole thing fell apart.

“cariño?” alexia’s voice pulled you out from your head and you inhaled sharply.

“what–what if i want something more then a one time thing? something serious?” your voice trembled slightly as did your hands.

jenni reached out and gently brushed her fingers along your cheek. “we want that too.”

“really?”

“you sound surprised,” alexia smiled and you realised that the mood had shifted. “we have been flirting with you for months, did you not notice?”

jenni grinned as your blush deepened. you rolled your eyes and swatted her hand away after she pinched at your cheek.

“you two are mean,” you murmured, shouldering passed them both. alexia wrapped her arms around you and pulled you back, nuzzling your neck as you giggled quietly. “are we still going for food?”

“i am not sure, hermosa,” alexia said, resting her chin on your shoulder. “if jenni and i are so mean, why should we take you?”

you looked over at jenni but she just shrugged. you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “is this how it’s going to be? you two ganging up on me all the time?”

jenni moved to stand in front of you, gently cradling your face and rubbing her thumbs along your jaw. you noticed her glance at alexia.

“vamos, ale. i think we need to show our girl just how nice we can be.”

ᡣ𐭩

a year into the relationship, jenni and alexia were very much used to hearing you rage at your international teammates over the phone. normally, you showed your girlfriends decency and tried to keep the noise down but when your competitiveness flared, it wasn’t always doable.

“georgia, stop cheating!” you shouted, glaring at the tv screen in front of you.

“it’s mario kart mate! how can i cheat?”

“i don’t know but you are! oh my–tooney! fuck off!” you clenched your jaw as the cheers sounded over the phone, both georgia and ella managing to beat you, the self-proclaimed mario kart champion of the lioness camp. “you know what? i hate you all.”

“what did i do?” leah asked and you could hear the frown in her voice.

“guilty by association.” you told her.

“doesn’t seem fair.”

“not my problem. i demand a rematch!”

“no.” georgia and ella said simultaneously.

“uh, yes.”

“oh, please don’t start this back and forth again.” you heard niamh plead.

“not our fault she’s a sore loser.” georgia muttered and you gasped.

“i am not!” you protested, getting radio silence in response. with a scoff, you shut down the tv and the xbox before snatching your phone. “i am ignoring this phone the next time sarina calls, do you people hear me?”

“loud and clear!” ella chirped. “don’t answer it!”

in that moment you decided that, for once, you’d be the bigger person. so you ignored the jeers of your friends and hung up, muttering angrily under your breath as you made your through your apartment.

you headed into the bedroom to see alexia leaning against the headboard, looking over at you with an amused smile. “they beat you?”

“they did not beat me, they cheated.” you huffed.

“maybe you are not as good as you think you are.” jenni’s voice echoed from the en-suite and you turned around.

“if you cannot even pretend to support me, jennifer, what are we even doing here?”

jenni laughed and you huffed again, crawling next to alexia and nestling into her side. when the brunette finally joined you, you kicked at her, letting out a yelp when alexia gently pinched your thigh. “be nice, amor.”

“be nice,” you mocked her quietly under your breath. after a few seconds, you attempted to crawl out but was immediately pulled back by the blonde. “hey!”

“where are you going?” she asked, tightening her arms as you wriggled in her grip.

“i am owed a rematch.” you told her, prying at her hands.

“no.”

“no? uh, yes,” you tried to leave again but alexia quickly flipped you onto your back, laying on top of you so you couldn’t move. “aw, ale, get off!”

“no.”

“stop saying no to me,” you groaned, wrenching your arm free and reaching out for jenni. “help!”

“no!” alexia lifted her head and glared at you, grabbing your hand and pinning it to the bed. “it will not kill you to have an early night for once.”

“it might.” you muttered, earning yourself another pinch.

with how genuinely annoyed she sounded, you half expected alexia to shove you over to jenni but she didn’t. instead, her arms snaked around your body and she nuzzled further into you.

you pouted over at jenni and she kissed it from your lips, leaning over and flicking off the lamp. you glared into the darkness, feeling jenni press another kiss to your head.

after what felt like forever and you were sure that both jenni and alexia were asleep, you wriggled from your space between them and swiped your phone, quietly slipping out of the room.

you jumped onto the sofa and opened the lioness groupchat, typing only two words with determination flowing through your veins.

REMATCH NOW

…another series anyone??

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #jenni hermoso #jenni hermoso imagine #jenni hermoso x reader

803 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 15 days

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Running an errand together brings out even more sides of Eddie Munson, including one that you wish you'd never seen (5.2k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter six: the eye of the tiger

Guilt fit like the shoes your mom forced you to wear as a kid, the dressy ones reserved for special occasions. It pinched at you, dug into you, a constant reminder of its unwelcome presence.

And so you did everything you could to alleviate the discomfort. On Wednesday, Dad mosied into the lobby for his shift to find the floor meticulously swept; there was not a speck of dust in sight. If he had any suspicions, he didn’t bother to show them. He was probably just grateful for the help regardless of its cause.

Mom, as usual, was more skeptical of your intentions, raising a disbelieving brow when you presented her with the bills you’d reorganized by their due dates. You’d offered up the excuse of being bored with nothing better to do. Did she buy it? Unlikely. But she also didn’t pose further questions, choreographing another step in your dance.

And when Dad hung up the phone Friday afternoon, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose, you jumped at the chance to fix the situation.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up with a start, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize you’d been standing in the doorway.

“That was Uncle Mo,” he said with an elongated sigh. “The delivery truck won’t start; something’s busted, I guess, so we won’t get our wallpaper until it’s out of the shop.”

“I can go after class,” you volunteered. The shop was a twenty minute bus ride from school, no transfers required. Lugging it on the subway back home might prove more challenging, but you could manage it.

He dashed your dreams with a swift shake of his head. “They close early for the Sabbath.” Which meant they’d be closed all day tomorrow, too.

Dad glanced around at the walls, lip scraping over his bottom lip. Their barrenness unsettled him; his pride and joy left empty and exposed.

Imagine how he’ll feel once this place is boarded up for good. Bet he won’t care about some ugly walls then.

“I’ll go on Sunday.” The promise practically made itself before you could stop it. Your final paper was due on Tuesday, and you had planned to spend your weekend finishing it, but that would need to take a backseat until the wallpaper crisis was resolved.

You could be part of that solution. For now, at least.

Sunlight teased summer’s beginning and warmed your skin. The walk to the subway station required you to cross paths with the mailbox you’d fought with—and humbly lost to—a few days prior. Dejection shot through your chest as you paused in front of it, focusing on a spot of rusted metal where the paint had flaked off. Short of intercepting the United States Postal Service, there was nothing you could do. Besides, your acceptance was probably already locked inside NYU’s admissions office, sitting among a pile of identical envelopes. Most of them, you suspected, were mailed with exuberance and not with the trepidation you carried.

The station’s stuffiness engulfed you as you descended the stairs, fingertips brushing the railing to ensure your balance. Your return trip would be short of torture, sweat prickling beneath your arms at the mere thought of dragging wallpaper through the thick humidity. You might have to splurge for a cab to avoid melting completely.

Frantic, impassioned guitar strumming grabbed your attention just before you approached the turnstile, echoing off of the concrete and infiltrating all of your senses. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw that Eddie was the source of the noise. He leaned against the wall as he played an electric guitar—the same one he had clutched so dearly when sleeping at the bus stop. There was no microphone, no amplifier; just him and his instrument. The case was open in front of him, now holding a few scattered dollar bills and some loose change.

He didn’t notice you, not at first, so you took that opportunity to silently watch him. His head nodded along with the beat, his voice a low timbre as he sang.

Trust I seek and I find in you

Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view

And nothing else matters

The chords were nearly drowned out by his vocals, and the softer strumming should have clashed with the harsh lyrics, but he made it work.

It was somehow even sadder than when Metallica played it, though not from a lack of power. Eddie’s version intertwined anger with desperation, a somber reprise of the gritty original.

Deft fingers pressed into the frets, the pick pinched between the other hand’s thumb and forefinger. He took a step forward to launch himself into the chorus with a combination of focus and ease. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. Whether he was in front of a captivated audience of thousands or a smattering of indifferent commuters, he was a rockstar.

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

Heat blossomed in your belly at his gravelly voice, the way he pulled the notes from the depths of his diaphragm and belted them out. The E train came and went as it screeched along the tracks, but you remained as though the soles of your feet were glued to the ground.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

No, nothing else matters

For a brief moment after finishing the song, Eddie’s chest puffed out with pride. It quickly faltered in the absence of applause, but before he could play another song, his gaze landed on you. He grinned and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Part of you wanted to fix it for him, to tuck it behind his ear or sweep it all back into a ponytail, but you refrained. Instead, you dug into your purse and tossed a dollar into the case.

“Was that the one I gave you for the cab?” Eddie asked, fingers absently brushing over the strings in a series of random chords.

“Nah, this was from the other asshole guest who made me late for class.”

Your jibe caught him off-guard and he actually laughed with such force that he had to stop playing. “And here I thought I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot. “Are you going to the library or something?”

You lacked the energy to explain that the library was in the opposite direction, opting instead to cut to the chase. “Picking up the wallpaper.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “I thought it was being delivered.” As you relayed the whole broken-truck saga, he started sliding the guitar strap up off of his back and crouched down, stuffing the money from the case into his pockets. “Cool. I’ll go with.”

“Oh, I wasn’t–” You paused mid-sentence to consider your words. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can do it on my own.”

“S’fine.” Eddie laid the guitar down with the fragility that one would handle a newborn baby and snapped the case shut. “Didn’t realize this station is basically dead on Sundays. I normally just play here during the week, but I’ve been out of commission.” He held up his bandaged finger and pouted impishly.

The familiar playfulness settled back into the conversation, breaking up any lingering awkwardness, and you snatched up the opportunity to tease him. “Ah, right. Your man stuff.”

“Very manly. Burly, some might say.” He extended one hand in front of him, palm up, to gesture towards the turnstiles. “Shall we?”

You led and he followed behind so closely that his chest smacked into your back when you stopped in your tracks. The uneven weight distribution, courtesy of the guitar case lolling at his side, thrusted him forward, the metal buckle on his belt digging into your skin through your shirt.

It set off a domino effect, one that had you falling face-first to the ground. Before you could even brace for impact, you felt Eddie’s fingers digging into your hip and tugging you upright. The way he caught you was almost reflexive, his grasp controlled enough to avoid bruising your skin, but strong enough that you realized he could if he wanted to.

“What happened?” His tone was mixed with both concern and amusement; a crackle of laughter broke up his question.

An embarrassing adrenaline surge shot through you, bringing with it a chill that immediately preceded a heatwave of perspiration. “The, um…” You lamely pointed at the card swipe machines that had replaced the token receptacles. “I forgot that we need those MetroCard things.”

Eddie let go of your hip and you felt his absence almost immediately. “No, we don’t.” He left no time for questioning, hoisting the case to the other side and pushing himself up and over the bar, landing on his feet with cat-like dexterity.

You stared at him in disbelief. Sure, you’d jumped the turnstile a time or two, but that was back in high school, under the influence of friends you hadn’t talked to since.

“What’re you waiting for?” He called out. A Cheshire-cat grin graced his lips.

What were you waiting for? It’s not like the transit police were scouring the station. The poor schmuck stuck at the now-defunct token booth was exasperatedly trying to explain the new system to an older gentleman; he probably wouldn’t have noticed a wildebeest stampede. And you certainly weren’t eager to contribute to the politicians who lined their pockets with taxpayer money.

Fuck it.

In one swift motion—much more graceful than your earlier stumble—you mimicked his actions. One foot, then the other, your biceps supporting your body weight.

“You little rebel.” Eddie tutted, his smirk showing off his teeth. You never noticed the way one canine is slightly sharper than the other, and it digs into his lower lip. “This is how it starts, y’know. One day, you’re skipping out on train fare; the next, you’re committing armed robbery.”

If he kept rubbing your nerves raw, you might be more tempted to commit homicide.

Another E train arrived not long after. You were an expert at scouting empty seats, and you made a beeline for the first one you found. There was another one across the way, just vacated by a woman pushing a stroller, and you assumed Eddie would take it.

Instead, he shoved his guitar case towards you, parting your legs between the knees, and grabbed onto one of the overhead handles.

“Can you hold this?” Eddie asked belatedly. He rocked forward onto his toes as the train moved to keep his balance. A guitar pick necklace swung out from beneath the vee of his shirt and swayed above you.

You drank in the way he towered over you, so close that he was all you could see. The mingled scents of the motel’s soap and a musky deodorant wafted off of him and enveloped your senses. For a second, there was only him, and whatever the outside world had to offer was just shy of meaningless.

“There’s a seat down there.” You peered around him and gestured to the one you’d spotted earlier, careful not to point at anyone.

Eddie looked but declined with a shrug. “Nah, I’m good. I like standing.”

“See, that’s the kind of thing that separates the natives from the transplants.” You smiled up at him. “You didn’t even want to sit down after a gig? Or a long rehearsal?”

“I didn’t really ever take the subway,” he admitted. “Maybe, like, once or twice.”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “How did you get around?”

“Taxis, car service.” He ticked off the items on his free hand. “One time we rented a helicopter, but then the label threatened to revoke the company card.” He chuckled forlornly, like the memory was heavier than an impromptu helicopter ride.

“Sounds like you were living the life.”

Eddie shook off his wistfulness with a cheeky grin. “Hell yeah. Expensive restaurants, swanky hotels…did I ever tell you about the time we trashed our room?”

“You did not.” You’re not sure you want to know, considering he’s currently staying in one of yours.

He laughed. “Get this: we come back to the hotel after a gig. We’re all fuckin’ exhausted. As soon as we walk into the lobby, the night manager is on us like a hawk. I mean, the guy gave a stink eye like you wouldn’t believe.” He tried mimicking him, but he was too upbeat to embody the manager’s full ire. “Anyway, we’re not in the room for five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Of course it’s that schmuck, warning us about the noise policy.”

You looked at him incredulously. “That’s why you destroyed a hotel room?”

“Mhm.” Eddie proudly nodded, not missing the way concern furrowed your brow. “Don’t worry, Heiress. I’d never trash your place.”

“I’d have to get Phyllis after you.” Laughter bubbled out of you at his visible cringe, probably thinking of being on the other end of her baseball bat. “Okay, so what’s the dumbest thing you guys bought with the company card?”

People pushed through the aisle as the train pulled up to the stop, elbows nudging Eddie until he was practically on top of you. Every hair on your body stood up at the sudden change in proximity. “Probably one of those stuffed tiger things for our apartment,” he admitted.

“You and your band bought a taxidermied tiger?” You scoffed.

His face flushed, and he scratched at his jaw like he’d been caught red-handed. “N-No, not the whole band. Just me and the drummer. We, um, she was my girlfriend, I guess.”

Puzzle pieces started falling into place and interlocking curves. His ex-girlfriend was also in the band, which was probably why they broke up once Eddie quit. “How long were you two together?” You instantly regret not asking about the tiger instead, for his sake and yours.

“Hard to say; we were pretty on-and-off.” Eddie tried to play it off casually but terse laughter gave him away. The subway lurched and Eddie swayed forward again, his knee grazing yours. “But it was about a year from start to finish.”

You let the information sink in. He had a girlfriend in Death’s Echo, but he seemed to be unattached at the moment. Made sense, considering he was living in your motel rather than with a partner.

“That’s what no one tells you about money: it runs out.” Eddie continued. “It’s like, common sense or whatever. But when you have no money and then you get a shit-ton of it, it’s hard to imagine ever going back.”

His eyes found yours like he had been searching for them, and you held his gaze until a monotone voice crackled over the speaker, announcing that the train was approaching the Forest Hills-71st Avenue station.

“We have to transfer here.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly not thrilled by this extra step, but he followed your lead without any audible protest.

“Y’know,” he said as the doors opened, the two of you joining the swarm of people pushing their way out, “my neighborhood back home was also called Forest Hills.”

“Seems fancy,” you quipped.

He laughed, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. It’s the most glamorous trailer park in all of Indiana.”

The faux pas curdled in your stomach. What were you thinking? He had just confessed that he was broke before Death’s Echo.

“Sorry, that was stupid.”

He shrugged off your comment, seemingly unbothered. “How many stops is this next one?”

“Just two.”

He hummed his acknowledgment, and with the R train less crowded than the E, you found seats adjacent to one another.

You did your best to ignore the way his right leg brushed your left, the worn denim against your bare skin as the train jostled him. He murmured a barely-audible “sorry.”

There was no reason for him to apologize, and you almost told him this, but you substituted a tight smile for words. Truthfully, you were glad he confirmed that the touch was accidental. You’d nearly nudged him back, a secret handshake of sorts, and your body burned with the mere prospect of embarrassment.

The train screeched to a stop in front of a sign that barely read 63rd Drive-Rego Park, most of the letters covered in colorful graffiti tags.

“This is us,” you said, handing him back his guitar so you could stand up.

Eddie stepped aside with a small bow, equal parts awkward and endearing. “So, uh, where are we going, exactly?” He stayed close enough so you could hear him over the cacophony of commuters.

“S’just a few blocks.” You maintained your fast-paced stride so as to not get bowled over.

He kept up with you surprisingly well for someone unused to navigating the city’s public transit. The fresh air welcomed you as you ascended the stairs, leaving behind the station’s mugginess. Conversations and traffic replaced metallic clunking while you weaved in and out of a sea of pedestrians, checking every so often to ensure you hadn’t left Eddie behind.

Bold white letters on a maroon awning proudly proclaimed Eisen’s Paint and Supply, and the faint sound of bell chimed when you opened the door. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, eyes lighting up when you walked in.

“Uncle Mo!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Uncle Mo wasn’t your father’s brother, but their bond went beyond blood relation. He was part of nearly all of Dad’s stories since they’d met in high school: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

There was more gray in his hair and in his beard than the last time you’d seen him, the lines from his lips to his jaw more pronounced, but he still wore the same cologne that you’d remembered. The familiar scent was like home, a reminder of all of the Thanksgivings your families had spent together before the motel engulfed your life.

He beamed, his hands bracing your upper arms as he got a better look at you. “Look at you; so grown up!” His eyes misted over for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “How long has it been?”

“Too long.” You turned back to Eddie, waving him over and introducing him. Uncle Mo politely extended a hand that Eddie shook quickly before shoving his fingers back in his pocket.

“Before I get your paper,” Uncle Mo said to you with a mischievous smile, “I have a bit of a surprise.” The stockroom door swung open on cue and a young man stepped out from behind it.

Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, every bone in your body vibrating. “Ben?” The name was muffled but still audible, and Ben opened his arms just in time for you to tackle him in an embrace.

His gangly teenage limbs had been replaced with hard muscle, his chest straining through his t-shirt. There was no trace of the wispy excuse for a mustache he’d once proudly sported; his face was freshly shaven, only the slightest evidence of his stubble scratched against your cheek when he pulled you to him.

“I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me you were stopping by,” Ben said, finally letting go after a few moments. He looked at Eddie as if noticing him for the first time. “Ben. Nice to meet you.”

Eddie said nothing in response, his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever friendliness he’d shown Uncle Mo was clearly not being granted to his son.

“Ben, this is Eddie,” you hurried to explain before the tension became unbearably dense. “He works for the motel, doing different repairs and odd jobs. Whatever we need, really.”

Your old friend nodded and brought his attention back to you. “Do you guys need help bringing the wallpaper back? I don’t have anything to–”

“We’ve got it.” Eddie cut him off curtly, clipping the conversation’s wings. His eyes narrowed in judgmental assessment and their milk chocolate hue turned dark.

Ben had evidently stepped on his toes; you thought back to the wasp’s nest and his adamance to clobber it with a baseball bat despite your insistence to wait until you bought the spray. You shot Eddie a look that he either disregarded or didn’t notice, because his clenched jaw never loosened.

“Right, yeah.” A blush crept into Ben’s cheeks, the other man’s brusqueness catching him off-guard. “But we should catch up soon,” he said to you, “maybe grab a cup of coffee?”

It was an effort to ignore the way Eddie tensed up; even more so to pretend like his reaction hadn’t stirred something inside of you. Everything between you and him, and you and Ben, was strictly platonic. Whatever melodrama he’d conjured up was his problem, not yours.

Your relationship with Eddie teetered between acquaintances and friends; he was in no position to get bent out of shape over you going for coffee with Ben or any other man.

You pushed the intrusive thought away long enough to answer Ben’s question. “Yeah, of course! You’re home for the whole summer?”

“Actually…” Ben’s grin widened, harboring a secret he was eager to spill. “I’m back for good. You’re looking at Dr. Benjamin Eisen, D.D.S.”

“That’s amazing!”

He nodded happily, enthusiasm unrestrained. “Thanks. I’m hoping to open up a practice nearby, so I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

That was the best news you’d heard in a while. The pair of you were once inseparable, always devising plans to convince your parents to extend their visits. When you were six, you’d almost started a fire trying to put on a pot of coffee, hoping that it would coax the Eisens into staying longer.

Too bad you’d forgotten to add the water.

Uncle Mo returned from the stock room with rolls of wallpaper, and his son shuffled towards him to take one from his grasp.

“Are you sure I can’t help out?” Ben tried again. He only looked at you when he spoke.

You almost took him up on his offer, the reply sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie answered for you.

“We’re good,” he said flatly, taking the rolls from the other men. “I used to lug around amps all the time. This is nothing.”

He’d uttered the same phrase before taking a bat to a wasp’s nest, and he’d ended up hurt. Still, inviting Ben along would almost certainly guarantee an awkward commute home. At best, you’d force stilted small talk; at worst, Eddie might shove Ben onto the tracks.

“Thanks anyway,” you said politely, trying to temper your irritation.

Ben gave a tight smile, brows shooting up when remembered something. “Let me give you my new phone number so we can set up a time to meet up.” He plucked a business card from the little plastic container on the desk, flipping it over and scrawling his number on the back.

“Sounds great.” It truly did, save for Eddie’s glare that made you grateful looks couldn’t actually kill.

Tucking the card into your purse, you held him in one last hug before bidding them goodbye.

Eddie said nothing the entire walk back to the subway station. He strode there despite heaving around a guitar case and cylinders of wallpaper. You suspected he could have flown there if he wasn’t so bogged down. The closest he came to acknowledging your presence was the scoff he let out when you veered off-course to buy a MetroCard.

You ignored him, still fuming over his behavior towards Ben. With trembling fingers, you dropped your change into the coin slot, acutely aware of his presence as he stood beside you. He was close enough that you could hear his tense sigh, as though his frustration was justified.

Yanking the card out from behind the swinging Plexiglass, you silently stalked over to the turnstile, Eddie begrudgingly hot on your heels. The tiny diagram showed the magnetic strip facing downwards and you did your best to emulate it. After two failed swipes, the machine relented and gave an approving beep.

“Go,” you told Eddie, and when he stared at you blankly, you repeated yourself with considerably less patience. “Go.”

“Okay, okay.” There was no hiding his surprise at your insistence, the sharpness of your tongue. He obviously wasn't accustomed to taking the attitude he dished out. His eyebrows crashed into his hairline as he maneuvered through, wallpaper bumping up against the metal gates.

There wasn’t enough money left on the card for you, so after a brief glance at your surroundings, you once again lift yourself up and over to the other side. The metal barrier seemed laughably obsolete beneath you.

Eddie blinked twice in rapid succession but composed himself before you reached him again. A peculiar expression graced his face; not so much amusement as much as admiration. If you weren’t so annoyed with him, with his antics back at Eisen’s, you might have cracked a joke about his bad influence rubbing off on you.

The first leg of the trip—the shortest part, as it were, went smoothly. It was once the E train departed from Forest Hills that it almost immediately halted, the exasperated conductor announcing that extensive track work was causing delays.

“Fucking great,” you muttered. Experience told you that the remainder of the ride would be stop-and-go, which meant more time spent with Eddie.

He’d exhaled an exasperated sigh of his own, eyes flickering over the subway car and foot tapping to a beat only he could hear. When he finally spoke, it was the last thing you’d expected him to say.

“Wanna play I Spy?”

“Um, what?”

“Y’know, I spy with my little eye…” he explained, as though you were confused about the game concept.

It took every last ounce of energy not to burst out laughing at his odd request, though it helped that annoyance still tarnished your mood. “All right. Sure.”

“Cool.” He glanced around again, rubbing his palms over his thighs in concentration. “Okay, I spy with my little eye, something purple.”

Squinting, you searched for shades of lilac and violet. “That woman’s shirt?” You jutted your chin towards an older woman sitting across the car.

“Nope.”

“That little girl’s shoes?”

Eddie just shook his head, his dimples gradually deepening with each wrong answer you gave.

Your next three guesses were also incorrect, and Eddie triumphantly pumped his fist when you admitted defeat.

“It’s the words on that sign,” he said, pointing to an advertisement for psychic readings.

It was your turn, and it didn’t take you long to find your target.

“I spy with my little eye, something…douchey.” Your gaze never left his face, watching the skin crease between his brows as he connected your implication.

Eddie threw his head back and cackled, drawing the ire of your fellow commuters. You shushed him with a hiss, his apathy only fueling your anger.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms upwards. For a second, you thought he might drape one over your shoulders, but he brought them right back to his lap.

“You guess?” You gawped, and he laughed even louder. “You were a total asshole to Ben for no reason.”

Eddie’s voice got feather-soft; you had to lean in to hear him. “Trust me; I had a reason.”

You snorted. “What, him offering to help carry the wallpaper threatened your ‘man stuff?’”

“Something like that.”

Crossing your arms, you shot him a bemused grimace. Whatever testosterone-laden excuse he concocted would just strengthen your irritation, so you saved yourself the headache and plundered on.

“Ben and I have been friends since I was born.” That wasn’t an exaggeration; a photo of one-year-old Ben holding newborn you was tucked away in one of Mom’s albums. Dad had snapped the photo while Uncle Mo sat next to his son, helping cradle your head. You were only a few hours old. “Whatever your problem is, don’t make it mine. Or his,” you add.

Eddie had no response to that, and you preferred it that way. Maybe he was learning not to argue with you, especially when he was so obviously wrong.

Your response halted all conversation for the rest of the extended ride and continued during the short trek back to the motel. The quiet was necessary, but not peaceful, and you refused to buckle when an invisible pull urged you to talk again, to push past the discomfort. If you couldn’t outright tell him that he’d upset you, the least he could do was feel that anger.

“Where do these go?” Eddie asked once the motel’s doors closed behind you. You pointed to the supply closet and he ambled over, wincing as the hinges squeaked in a plea for lubrication. “All right, so, I can get started on this tonight if you want.”

You considered this for a moment before shaking your head. The lobby could survive another night with bare walls, but you needed a break. A break not just from Eddie, but from his naivety to his actions having consequences.

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

He stilled, his hands halfway in his pockets. “I mean, I was going to stop by anyway; I might as well—”

“I think I just need some quiet tonight.” It was the nicest response you could muster, though the way the words passed through your clenched teeth gave away your annoyance.

“Oh.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Confusion tied his tongue, but if he didn’t realize the mistake he’d made, you were in no mood to spell it out. He waited a beat for you to follow up, to iron out the creases with an explanation that had nothing to do with his earlier behavior, but that never happened.

The lack of reassurance pained you, too. You despised leaving matters unfinished; part of you wanted to apologize—for what, you weren’t sure—just to have some resolution.

Eddie raked his fingers through his curls. “Well, I’m sorry for pissing you off, or whatever.”

Or whatever. Those two words almost had you smacking him upside the head with the wallpaper tubes. Maybe sealing his lips with the glue, too.

The worst part was the shock on his face when you’d wordlessly stormed out of the supply closet towards your room. Like he had no idea what he’d done wrong or why his non-apology fell flat.

No, that was a lie. The worst part was actually the pang of disappointment in your chest when there were no footsteps pounding down the hall, no knock on your door, no attempt to talk through the situation. As much as you wanted to be left alone, you’d clutched to an optimistic sliver that he would follow you. It was a pathetic need for proof that he cared about you as more than just his employer. As his friend.

But there was nothing.

That silence hurt most of all.

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

261 notes · View notes

prismatic-bell · 6 months

Text

So I want to start this post with the understanding that it is based ONLY on my personal experiences as a 35-year-old American and what I saw as a teenager. It should not be taken as a prognostication of doom—it’s a call to keep your eyes open.

So right now, one of the biggest (and very justified) criticisms of what’s happening in Gaza is that the head of Hamas isn’t even in Gaza. He is in Qatar. This is a known and established fact. If the goal is to take out Hamas, then they’re shooting in the wrong place.

Now I want to take you back to 2003.

George W. Bush has just announced that Iraq has 48 hours to turn over Osama bin Laden, or the United States will invade. They did not turn him over. We invaded.

If you’re too young to remember this, then the anti-Iraq/Afghanistan-war number you’ve most likely heard is “over a million dead civilians.” That number is true, but as someone who lived through it, I want to add some stuff you may not know or have heard of.

There was constant fear of the draft, and enlisted soldiers were often “back door drafted,” meaning when their contract was over it was reupped without their consent and they had no recourse. This led to a lot of families being torn apart and living in a constant state of uncertainty and fear. THIS, in turn, led to radicalization of soldiers who came home with no more support network and no assistance to readjust to civilian life. You want to know where all the Millennial MAGA came from? I’d be willing to bet a nickel almost all of them either were soldiers in Iraq/Afghanistan, or knew somebody who was. I knew someone who’d enlisted because his family had been enlisted men all the way back to the Civil War and he genuinely believed he was doing a good thing, and after what he saw on his first tour he re-enlisted twice, as fast as they’d take him, actively trying to get himself killed due to guilt and severe trauma. I guarantee he wasn’t the only one.

We had Blackwater. We had “enhanced interrogation.” (Translation: waterboarding and sleep deprivation, among other forms of torture.) There were photos and videos released of soldiers gone absolutely crazy with power doing stuff like peeing on prisoners and mocking them. One image that will haunt me forever is a copy of the Quran smeared with pork. There’s no need for that. It saves no lives, it produces nothing but pain, it occurred only to be cruel.

Iraq and Afghanistan caused over a million civilian deaths. It also caused the mass insanity of a country.

…..oh.

Did I mention Osama bin Laden was in Pakistan the whole time?

Yeah.

We invaded two countries, murdered over a million civilians, tortured thousands of people….and all of it was for nothing. Yeah, we got rid of Saddam Hussein and that’s a good thing, but it opened up a whole different can of worms in the region, and also led to the US being the first democracy in the world to invade another nation without being attacked first. You can imagine that looked just GREAT for our position on the world stage.

So, uh.

Israel’s bombing the shit out of Gaza. The heads of Hamas aren’t in Gaza. They’re in Qatar.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

So two things of importance here. One, keep an eye on Qatar, and if you hear a PEEP about any potential “military operations” there, remember Iraq and Afghanistan. And two….you’re not going to like this. But it has to be said.

Iraq and Afghanistan occurred under a Republican president and Trump is currently the Republican front runner. To remind you, Trump said multiple times he wanted to start a nuclear war, and his party is full of Christian dominionists who want Israel to take all of Palestine because they believe this will trigger the Second Coming. In other words what Biden is doing is extremely bad but he can be pressured to do what’s right (we’re seeing it happen right now, with his officials admitting he’s feeling the pressure for a ceasefire). Trump WANTS TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE PLANET ON PURPOSE, and has backing from his party. You have to vote against him. You have to. I do not condone what Biden is doing but I also enjoy living, and I’m pretty sure you also would prefer to be here rather than not.

Keep an eye on Qatar. Vote against Trump and keep the pressure on Biden. You really want to help and don’t mind playing dirty? Find some left-wing Israeli organizations you can donate to. The party responsible for what’s happening, Likud, is far-right (Netanyahu is buddies with Trump and that should tell you a lot), and there have been sustained protests against them for almost a year. The fastest way to Palestinian peace is to get the wannabe-dictator and his coalition out of power, topple Hamas (not the Palestinian people, explicitly HAMAS), and restart peace talks. We’ve been EXTREMELY CLOSE to peaceful solutions before, and by peaceful I do not mean “because one side is dead,” I mean “because the two sides were ready to work together.”

(No, I am not saying you shouldn’t donate to Palestinian charities—you can in fact do more than one thing at a time. Although I will tell you to do some double-checking on any Palestinian charities you donate to because apparently right now money is having a really hard time getting through. Make sure you’re working with a legitimate organization and not getting scammed by some asshole in Canada looking to capitalize on a tragedy.)

Peace can happen, and in our lifetimes. I would love to see a world where al-Aqsa and the Third Temple stand proudly side by side on the Mount as a reminder of what peace can do. But we have to keep an eye on all fronts. And that means learning from history.

342 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 10 months

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕍𝕀: 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝔾𝕠 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕕

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: Even in your state, memories of your past can't help but flood your subconscious, as Neteyam has a conversation with his father that will change the way he's viewed the last seven years of his life.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (mentions of violence, battle, blood, death), strong language.

wc: 6.8k words

a/n: this chapter was written to pretty much be a mirror of last chapter, with the same concept of flashbacks vs present time, except this time we get to see Vi's memories from the 7 years they hated each other, which will hopefully provide context for why Neteyam's hatred doesn't only stem from that fateful conversation he overheard, but also from her petty, vindictive actions, that only grew as time went on. i hope you enjoy this chapter, besties (i feel very insecure about it so pls go easy on me, i'm still recovering hahaha) x there's only two chapters left, and i'm already sad about this story coming to an end, but i hope you enjoyed the ride. pls don't forget to leave a comment or a reblog and tell me your thoughts, i loveee to hear from you so much!

na'vi compendium: txepvi - spark, sa'nok - mother, ite - daughter, Olo'eykte - female Olo'eyktan, oare - moon, nawm - great, syä - bitter

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

Neteyam hasn’t blinked since the accident, it feels. He definitely hasn't blinked since he did last, when you opened your eyes and then closed them again, never to be opened since. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why it matters so much that he stays so acutely present and aware, so that his eyes are locked onto your sleeping frame, doesn’t know why the thought of falling asleep and missing you, missing your eyes fluttering open or staying shut forever hurts him so beyond reason or words, so beyond anything he’s ever known. So he hasn’t blinked. Everyone else was long gone, including his grandmother, who hurried to the tree of souls to pray for the safe return of her family and the rest of the brave Na’vi warriors who were still fighting in that wretched battle, the one that seemed never-ending, the one that riddled Neteyam with guilt for not taking part in.

“There’s nothing we can do for her now, ma ‘itan. She’s in Eywa’s hands now, we just have to wait and see.”

Neteyam hated those words. With a burning passion. Wait and see. So passive, so out of his control, so… hopeless. And yet here he was. Waiting, to see if you’d ever wake up, to see if his family, his mother and father, his friends, his clan members would survive the night and the challenge that might overtake them without him being there to help or stop it, or even witness it. Seeing, seeing you, powerless and lifeless, just a flicker of the bright spark you've always been, it stirred something in him.

You were so beautiful. He hated himself for realising it, but you were. You always have been, and although so much of your beauty came from the soul that was wild and untamed and too big to be contained inside you, still, you were beautiful. And like this, no usual frown or defiant smirk that you reserved for him, he could focus on your face and realise that you haven’t changed that much in all these years, not as much as he has led himself to believe in time. Like this, in this light, with a peaceful look on your face, eyelashes casting shadows over your lapis cheeks, your tahni glowing dimly and flickering softly, your lips slightly parted as you breathed in and out, you reminded him a lot of the Vi he used to love, the Vi before the ugly fights, and the constant war, before the hurt and the pain, before every day was just another opportunity to see who could hurt the other the most. He always thought you won those, all of those.

“T-tey…”

His musings come to a swift closure as your lips move minutely, air barely getting pushed past them. You were speaking, and he felt himself coming back to life with each sound coming out of your mouth.

“Teyam…”

It's getting dark and it's all too quiet And I can't trust anything now And it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake

“Teyam…”

You wake up in a sweat, like you did most days these days since the Iknimaya, whimpering the name of the boy you used to call your best friend, that you no longer could, for reasons you still couldn’t understand, that you feared more and more you never would. In your dreams, you fight and make up, and he tells you he’s sorry and that it was just a misunderstanding and that he’ll do whatever it takes to win you back, because just like you’ve gotten used to over the last few years, you two will always be bound by the hip and there was nothing that could ever come between you. It was a nice sentiment, but one that never manifested itself to you in any waking moment, as, since your Iknimaya, Neteyam has treated you like a stranger, like an ugly thought he fought his hardest to banish from his mind.

With a deep sigh, you put new clothes on and struggled to eat a few pieces of yovo fruit you picked up off the floor on your last hunt. You missed the food Neytiri made, and although they still brought you nourishment fresh every time they made it, it wasn’t the same without the familial, loving atmosphere you’ve come to rely on all these years, so you barely touched it, choosing instead to give it to the other orphans of the war that hadn't been as fortunate as you. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back to them, no matter how many times they asked. Not when you knew that if you did, you’d be met with a dead stare you couldn’t handle looking into, not without crying, and there’s nothing you hated more than crying in front of people. There’s nothing you hated more than showing weakness, and he didn’t deserve to see you weak. Not anymore.

Days dragged in training without someone to help time pass faster, without someone to brighten up your days, but they did pass. You had to sit next to Neteyam in briefings and in shooting practice, your ikran still played with each other even mid flight until one of you had to will them away from one another so as to avoid an awkward interaction, his presence and spirit was everywhere around you and in you and yet, it’s like you didn’t exist in his life anymore.

"Come over for dinner, kid. It's been weeks. We miss having you."

You didn't know how many more excuses you could come up with to not do as Jake said, although you did suspect they knew about your and Neteyam's fallout. It was hard not to know, when the air shifted whenever you were in each other's presence, when it became icy and glacial and empty like a vast, cold tundra that you couldn't escape no matter how much you tried.

"Jake..."

"I know, you're sick and you don't want to get Tuk sick, you're too tired for food so you're just gonna crash in your tent, you have discovered a new allergy to an ingredient that Neytiri uses that's never been a problem in the years we've known you, but it suddenly is now... still, just come, okay?"

"Look, I promised your dad I'd take care of you. I can't do that if you're gonna push us away. Whatever it is between you and Neteyam... it will pass. You love each other too much for it not to pass. But hiding, moping, walking 'round looking hopeless and aimless - it isn't you. I need you to be the spark I know and love and fight. You've never gone down without a fight - don't start now. Ok?"

“Ma ‘itan.”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped in the direction of the tent flap prying open, his mother’s lean, graceful figure emerging and he immediately rose from his spot to hurry to her side and envelop her in a hug they both desperately needed. She was fine. She was here, and walking and standing… alive. She was alive.

“Sa’nok! Where’s father? What took so long? Is everyone ok? I am -”

“Shh, Neteyam.” His mother was a warrior, always. She was strong and capable and skilled, she was tough and knowledgeable. And yet somehow, beneath it all, she was still soft and kind and caring and empathetic, she knew exactly what her kids always felt, and she knew exactly what to say to make it better. When she her hand found the back of his neck, guiding him into her embrace, his face gently tucked in the crook of her neck, Neteyam found himself sobbing, finally able to let the pent-up emotion surface, all the anger, and sadness and guilt, and relief the last few days have brought washing over him and onto his mother’s shoulders, and she cooed affectionately, not saying a word. She knew there was no need for words, no words could ever made this better.

“She’s dead, mum. Oare’s dead.”

“I know…”

“Please tell me everyone’s alright. Please.”

“It will all be alright, son. Everything will be alright.”

It will be alright… Everything will be alright.

Oh, I'm holding my breath Won't lose you again Something's made your eyes go cold

“Alright, now that you’re back in our tent, where you belong, we thought we’d celebrate both your and Neteyam’s incredible iknimaya! You both did phenomenally, kids, and we are so, so proud of you both. The youngest to ever have done it, too! I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I’m pretty sure it’s all my training regi-“

Jake ceased his monologue as soon as he noticed the dead silence in the tent, and the awkward looks that Neytiri kept shooting him when she discerned both your and Neteyam’s gazes stuck to the floor, a cold look on his face and an uncomfortable one on yours, neither of you in a celebratory mood, neither really ready or willing to relive the Iknimaya and how a beautiful, ethereal day turned into a nightmare in hindsight, plagued forever by the ill-feelings now tugging at both of your hearts.

You stared at Neteyam, as did most of his family, even the young Lo’ak who could not truly understand what was happening, why people were quiet, but could still feel the atmosphere shift, the air thicken, the silence linger and weigh heavily on all the people present in the room. Despite it all, you kept staring, kept hoping that throughout the newfound ice that enveloped the golden aura that he always exuded, that was your home and your light, your biggest question and adventure, your safety net and peace all in one, the memory of that night, so beautiful and far-removed, would bring him back to the boy you loved, the boy you needed, the boy you missed.

He was silent, still, a frown on his face and anger clear as day in his beautiful eyes, that you barely recognised, that you couldn’t believe belonged to Neteyam, your 'teyam. You kept staring and kept staring, until you felt the so-far unflinching sadness and despondency stew and seethe, until it changed and evolved, until you felt the familiar bubbling of anger remove reason or rhyme from your soul, until all you saw in front of your eyes was red, and Neteyam was the one taunting you with the blood-coloured cloth dangled in front of your face. Neteyam wanted this? Wanted to dismiss you and discard you like a toy he outgrew? Fine. You would make sure he regretted it - you have always been wild and creative, and without him, you now had heaps of time to be both, at the same time, all towards him.

“Thank you, Jake. We couldn’t have done without your help and guidance all these years. Thank you for everything you and Neytiri and Mo’at have done for me, and I’m happy to tell you that, despite my momentary lapse in judgement, I am not going anywhere. I want to be here, I want to be part of your family if you want to have me, and I will let nothing stand in the way of that.”

As you talked, you rose from your spot to hug your adoptive parents, and they happily returned the gesture, pulling you tightly against their chests and pecking the top of your head. Lo’ak and Kiri joined enthusiastically and before long, you were suffocating in love and care and familial affection, Neteyam nowhere to be found. You were sad about it, you couldn’t help it, but for the first time in weeks the sadness was second-place, and so you found a small smirk haunting you at the prospect you were hurting him even a small amount - maybe a small fraction to the hurt he’s caused you, but there nonetheless.

“Also… do I get a special reward for beating the Iknimaya in record time, the fastest it’s ever been done? I feel like I’m well on the way to stealing Neteyam’s spot as the next Olo’eykte. Wouldn’t that be just a riot?”

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out Something's gone terribly wrong You're all I wanted

"How is she?" Neteyam's eyes were heavier by the second, so tired and spent in light of everything that's transpired, in light of the bustling of crowds outside meeting what remained of the Na'vi forces that fought in a battle that while Neteyam wasn't sure, he suspected took more lives than he'll ever be able to live with. Kiri was quiet as she entered, and Neteyam was grateful for his sister, who stood with him most of the night, who checked in on you while the Tsa'hik was preoccupied with other, more pressing matters.

"The same, I think. She hasn't woken up, I don't think. She hasn't moved."

Kiri walked the length of the tent until she reached you, kneeling by your side and pressing the back of her palm on your forehead. She had something wrapped in a leaf that replaced her hand and Neteyam watched with curious eyes, hoping that by paying special attention to whatever remedy that was, it would work harder and faster, would bring you back screaming and thrashing and cursing him out, because if there's something that he's realised since your accident, it was that anything was better than the deafening silence that he couldn't escape and couldn't imagine living in for a second longer than he had to. Anything was better than this.

"Her fever's not going down. I think whatever it was she scratched herself on while she fell was poisonous. That, combined with the impact of the fall... she's lucky she's alive, Neteyam."

Neteyam couldn't help the shudder that took over his body. He didn't have any hair, the way that humans did, but he imagined if he did, it would all be standing up like blades of grass on the ground, taut and barely-moving in the warm breeze. He shifted slightly so Kiri could perch herself next to him, arms touching as she leaned on him, before placing her head on his shoulder.

"Why are you still here, big brother?"

Neteyam thought about it, until he couldn't anymore, because the thoughts weren't making sense, because they all contradicted each other, because he was tired and heartbroken and distraught, and losing Oare was obviously making him soft and delusional.

"You know you're in love with her, right? Please tell me you realise this, at least now, after all this time, in light of everything that's happened, in light of how you've acted it because of it. It's been so long, Neteyam. So long of us watching you be horrible to each other and hope that one day, you'd both wake up and realise the only reason you're acting like this is because you're too blind to see what's right in front of your eyes."

Neteyam's eyes widened progressively more with each word uttered, until they were so wide it hurt. To hear it out loud, spoken so casually, as if it were a fact, shocked the Sully man. Us? Who else thought this? Who else could possibly be blind enough to perpetuate such disparaging ideas that made Neteyam's skin crawl even at the notion.

"I'm not in love with her, Kiri. I can't be in love with her. After everything she's done... everything I've done... this can't be love. Maybe it was, once. Maybe I loved her once. Maybe I loved her so much I couldn't imagine my life without her." Neteyam sighed, looking at your face, tears pooling in his eyes as early memories of young Vi juxtaposed against later memories of you, so many memories he wanted to forget and banish from his mind, so many cruel, harmful, ugly memories that made up most of his view of you now. "But not anymore."

Kiri rises from her spot with a sigh, patting her brother's head with an exasperated sigh, before she leaves.

"You haven't moved. You haven't slept or eaten, you haven't blinked. Our parents need your help bringing back the injured, the clan needs your help as the future Olo'eyktan, and yet... you haven't moved. I think that says everything. The first step in solving any problem is recognising there is one, brother. The sooner you admit your feelings, the sooner you can work towards fixing your broken relationship."

Stood there and watched you walk away from everything we had But I still mean every word I said to you He will try to take away my pain and he just might make me smile But the whole time I'm wishing he was you instead

Desire burning deep in you was the only thing you felt as Akxo continued to trail kisses on your neck, a string of saliva connecting the purple lovebites that still stung slightly from when he marked you with them just a few minutes ago. With your eyes closed as they were, it was almost easy to imagine you were all alone, just you and this guy you’ve known your whole life but only recently realised had become a man, powerful and strong after just completing his Uniltaron just a few days ago. Despite your imagination, though, you were, in fact, not alone, nor isolated, but in plain view, propped against a tree of the clearing where you all trained in, that still had people working hard to improve on their skills, which is probably what you should be doing. But there was something so innately satisfying about doing this instead, as soon as Jake had to leave and tend to his other Olo’eyktan duties and left you and Neteyam in charge, doing it so he could watch, so he could stew in the bile that was his existence and know there’s nothing he could do to stop it, because he had no leverage over you and no power to hold over your head. Not now, and never again.

Jake had been wrong. Whatever it was that happened between Neteyam and you didn’t pass, not a few months and definitely not now, years later. If anything, it got a lot, lot worse. Because while in the beginning it was uncomfortable silence and cold and unwieldy dejection, it was now fire and blood, it was teeth and claws, it was anger and resentment. You recognised a lot of it came from you. Most of it came from you. Because Jake might have been wrong about some things, but he was right about others. You’ve never gone down without a fight - and if a fight was what Neteyam wanted all this time, a fight was what he was going to get. Because while he might have been comfortable with the quiet, you wanted yelling and chaos, to reflect the hurt in your heart that hasn’t diminished even after all this time. You wanted to make him pay for banishing you from his mind and heart, from his life that you used to know so intimately, and you were good at payback, and continued to get better over time.

“Are you trying to derail this whole fucking training session?” His voice, that you wanted to say hurt your ears, but if you were honest with yourself, it never could, not when it was melodic and beautiful, not when it still haunted your dreams, made Akxo straighten up faster than you could tell him to not bother, and you chuckled, a low and humourless sound that you’ve come to associate with dealing with Neteyam.

“Don’t tell me you can’t ever handle a bunch of 13 year olds, Neteyam. I knew you couldn’t do anything right without me, but still, this is low, even for you.”

“Akxo, I don’t think I’m making myself clear. She may be immune from the Olo’eyktan’s judgement, but you, my friend, are not. I’m sure there’s better ways to spend your days than wasting your breath on her. Trust me, she’s not worth it.”

“Ah, Neteyam, there’s no need to be bitter.” Your smirk only deepened as you ran your hands over your new flame’s abdomen. “One day, you too will find someone who won’t recoil at the thought of being in your presence, but you might need to work a little harder to not be so hard to stomach all the time for that to happen. I can coach you if you want, I mean… it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to help you, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

I know, I know I just know You're not gone, you can't be gone, no

“These are the last of them.” Neteyam tried not to recoil in agony at the sight of so many dead Na’vi and pa’li, so many ikran, so much loss, more than anyone should ever know, but especially their tribe, that has had to come to terms with grief in a way most other tribes aren’t, in a way that’s unnatural and premature and wrong. It was all so wrong.

Kiri was right, he had to help. He had to help not because it was his duty, but because it was right. He couldn’t keep looking at you, not when every second he did, Kiri’s words rang in his ears and made his eardrums pound so hard it felt like they were about to explode, not when every second he spent thinking of you was making him feel a mix of emotions that he didn’t, couldn’t understand, not when the exhaustion from the last few days made him question himself and ponder if his sister was indeed right all along. So Neteyam left you in that tent and put you under lock and key in the back of his mind, and dealt with the immeasurable loss that once more plagued his clan.

“Nawm Sa'nok, why?! My son, my son! There is supposed to be a balance! This isn't balance!” The wails of the woman, whom he’s known ever since he was born, that he can still remember playing with him when she brought his son over his family’s tent, hurt beyond comprehension. The usual peaceful, harmonious laughter and chatter intertwined with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and soft, distant songs of animals and birds were gone, drowned by the cries and screams by the people that were trying to identify the dead, and figure out if life would ever be the same again.

"Neteyam, ma 'itan. He's gone, he's gone! Oh, Great Mother!"

Neteyam's breath got pushed out of his lungs at the impact of her body crashing into him, that he struggled to keep upright as she was buckling under the weight of her loss. Her son was a good warrior, and a friend. He couldn't come to terms with his death, couldn't understand what was truly going on, his mind almost protecting him from the overwhelming grief by numbing his thoughts, by removing him slightly from the realities clearly displayed to him, that he experienced almost like in a dream.

"It's going to be alright, auntie. We're all going to be alright." His mother's words, a mantra he repeated to himself every second, now the only thing that he could utter, the only thing that didn't feel redundant... even though it was.

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out Something's gone terribly wrong Won't finish what you started

Well, here you were, ready to eat your words, as the curiosity got the better of you and you found yourself sneaking to Neteyam’s new hiding spot, that he didn’t know you knew about, that you found yourself coming to a bit too often to call it nonchalance and yet, you just couldn’t help yourself. It was an itch you had to scratch, seeing what he was doing, who he was with, finding new ammunition for your petty revenge, it was all for research purposes, you always told yourself.

Whatever you saw here, and there were some wild things, you always kept quiet and left without ever being spotted, maintaining your cover and whatever dignity you knew would disappear if your friends found out you were stooping so low. But somehow, right now, watching as Neteyam was whispering sweet nothings in a stupid little healer’s ears, telling her how good she’s taking his cock and watching her eyes roll back in her head, your blood was boiling.

You didn’t know why it was boiling, it’s not like you haven’t seen him fuck girls before, or try to, it’s not like this was a completely unusual occurrence, but it was new just how into it the girl seemed to be. How desperate for his touch, how needy to feel him. Your fingers twisted around a branch so hard it snapped and you ducked as their heads snapped into the direction of the noise. You were just mad that you lost a subject that you knew got under his skin. That’s it. That must be it, not at all because your mind was conjuring all the ways that you should be in that girl’s shoes, and how he should be making you feel this way. No man’s ever made you feel this way. No man’s ever made you cry, the way she was crying, gripping at his back and shoulders so hard his skin was broken and bleeding. You hated him, that’s all. That’s why your blood was boiling.

Well, he wouldn’t get the last word, not if you had anything to do with it. You returned to your spot around an hour later, half happy, half annoyed out of your mind that they were still going at it, and she was still screaming and crying, and he was still whispering praises in her ears, although they did have the decency to change position so at least you couldn’t see much anymore. With a wide smirk on your lips, you waited, until the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the endless green forest.

"Neteyam, are you there?"

Jake sounded angry, and you stifled an evil laugh as you saw them both scramble to untangle themselves from each other and from the floor, the girl's cries no longer of pleasure as she couldn't figure out how to tie her top around her neck anymore.

"Nete-, oh, my fucking God!" English came naturally to Jake, even 20 years later, whenever he was feeling any extreme emotion, and you were happy for the strenuous effort you put into learning it as a child just for this one moment, right here. This was all worth it. "Kole, your mother was looking for you. Can you just- oh, fuck - can you just go and meet her, please?"

"Yes, of course, ma Olo'eyktan."

You were still grinning about the interaction and the ass kicking that followed a couple days later, as you came back to your tent for the night. The smile faded progressively as you neared the entrance, as small whimpers and pleasured groans could be discerned vaguely, coming from behind your tent, a small nook that only you really knew about or frequented, that now was obviously occupied, by a person whose voice you recognised all too well. No way. Sure enough, as you snuck around the tent, a continuation of whatever it was you interupted a couple days ago was well underway, and you bit down a curse, enraged at the way not only did you not, in the end, get the last word, but Neteyam's new hiding spot was just about to ruin whatever remainder of peace and sanity you had left.

When you entered your tent, a small piece of paper with some writing rested on your sleeping mat, yet another human skill Jake insisted on his family to know, that you now regretted.

"This is for ruining my hiding spot. Enjoy hearing all the girls who don't recoil at the thought of being in my presence."

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out Can't breathe whenever you're gone Can't go back, I'm haunted

Neteyam watched as his father entered the tent, a heaviness that he rarely lets people be privy to wearing him down and slouching his shoulders. Neteyam couldn’t imagine what his father was going through, couldn’t imagine how someday, he’ll have to bear this burden and do it well, do it honourably and proudly and still keep a head held high and keep it all together so other people can fall apart around him.

Neteyam had mostly love for his dad - deep, unconditional love that will never falter, not even in the face of adversity, or in the face of the deep seeded resentment that Neteyam still had after the years of torturous training, of pressure put on his very young shoulders, of guilt-tripping and being blamed for his brother’s mistakes, of being pushed aside and replaced with you, the perfect daughter who could do no wrong in his father’s eyes. Even despite all of this, Neteyam loved his dad. And yet, watching him come in, sad and worried sick about you, his lips pursed in a straight line, words on his tongue that Neteyam knew were coming and was terrified of… the love faltered just a little.

“Mo’at said she got poisoned falling off her ikran.”

“Yes. Oare’s dead.”

“I saw her in the line-up.” His father turned his sights from you to his oldest son, sighing as his eyes set on him, anger flashing in his eyes briefly before composing himself.

“What the hell happened out there, Neteyam? We were counting on you. On both of you.”

Neteyam had no answer to that. He’s tried so hard to bury the thoughts, because he knew that if he succumbed to them, the guilt would eat him alive and pick its teeth with what remained of his frail bones. He didn’t think of how this was his fault, your fault, how if these stupid fights, that now seemed meaningless and daft, didn’t occupy so much space and time in both your minds, you would have slept, you would have not been tired and distracted, Oare wouldn’t have felt the nerves and fears emanating from you, and you would’ve done what you do best, inspire some people, kill others, be next to Jake, like you always were, like Neteyam was normally next to his mother, and get it done. The two of you were indispensable to the clan, as much was clear now. And although it wasn't fair, how much pressure there was on both your shoulders, it was the way things were. And now both of you will have to live with the consequences of your actions, will have to find a way to look the people in the eye again, knowing that you directly caused their family’s demise and the clan’s sorrow.

“Do you understand how serious this is, Neteyam? We lost good people today. Good people, strong people, dependable people. And the two people who I counted on the most left us all for dead, to fend for ourselves. This isn’t what I taught you. This isn’t who I raised, Neteyam. Even Lo’ak pulled his weight. We’re going to be reeling from these losses for the rest of our lives, and this has set us back months, and I need you to understand the weight of your actions.”

Another sigh and a frown that aged the Olo’eyktan by a good 10 years was the last sign of disapproval before his attempt to leave Neteyam by himself, but for the first time in his life, Neteyam couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know whether it was his words, or the continuous battle with you that he’s had to fight for the last 7 years, all years in which he’s felt heartbroken, and resentful, and inadequate, and pushed to the side, and ignored, and worked to the bone for very little appreciation, or the fatigue wearing him down, or the loss of your ikran, or the guilt that’s been gnawing at him long before his father’s contribution, but for the first time in his life, Neteyam’s anger was directed at someone else rather than you.

“Understand the weight of my actions? Do you hear yourself right now? This whole mess, this whole shitshow that I’ve gone through, that we’ve both gone through, it’s all your fault. All of it. This is going to weigh on me just as much as it will weigh on you, and the loss of these people, of Eywa’s children, will haunt me for the rest of my life. Of our lives. So don’t sit there and talk to me about responsibility, and about losing people.” He couldn’t help look at your unconscious form, that more and more felt like your own body was trying to protect you from the sadness that would wait for you when you woke. “I lost the person I loved the most, that was my shelter from the storm, a storm you caused. All you do is push me, and push us, and I’m so fucking tired of it.” a sob is all it took for his father to rush to his side, concern and confusion deeply rooted on his face as it met Neteyam’s, when his hands found his face and rose it to his level.

“What are you talking about, son?”

Neteyam’s chest was heaving with unshed tears as he looked in his father’s eyes through the fractured, refracted lens of the liquid threatening to spill.

“I heard you.” One tear. “That night, the night after the Iknimaya.” Two tears. “I heard you telling grandmother how you want her to be Olo’eykte in my stead. How she deserves it.” Six tears. “I heard you… as you told her Vi would never have me. That she said she would never want to be my mate.” Too many tears to count.

“Oh, Neteyam…”

“I worked so hard, my whole life. I sacrificed more than anybody I know. And I did it all to please you, to live up to you. I did so you’d be proud of me, so you’d love me, and accept me. I did it all so I’d a good leader, a worthy Olo’eyktan, someone the clan can rely on to protect them.

I spent my whole childhood crying and aching, hating my life, wishing I could be anyone else instead, but I thought it would all be worth it one day because you told me as much, and that I have a title to live up to. And then I met Vi, and she changed everything… and I loved her, dad. And in one night you managed to take everything away from me.

Do you have any idea what that did to me? What the next seven years, in which we hated each other and competed for your love and praise, for your attention and affection, did to me? I’m there for everybody all the time. Every day and night, I am here for you, and for mum. I am here for Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk. I am here for the clan. I am the mighty soldier, the doting brother, the dutiful son, the concerned clan member, the understanding karyu, the unbroken arrow in the quiver of your army.

Do you know there’s not a single day that I don’t hurt, that it doesn’t kill me inside, little by little, without a single soul to talk to, that cares or bothers to listen to my struggles?”

Sometime during that monologue, that Neteyam’s kept in his soul his whole life, he found himself in his father’s embrace, who was quiet and listened, who said nothing and just waited. Neteyam was sobbing in his father’s shoulder now, and he couldn’t find it in him to stop, like a spring that was buried underground with none the wiser until poked in just the right way, with unending streams now able to either fill a dam or flood a village.

“Neteyam… fuck. I’m so sorry, son. I didn’t know. Any of it, I didn’t know. Neteyam… you never said anything. You never brought up that night, and I wish you did, son… I wish you did because if you had, then you would know that those words that you heard… those words weren’t mine, Neteyam.”

There are very few moments where Neteyam feels like his soul has somehow exited his body and he’s experiencing a moment almost like from outside himself, like a stranger looking in. That’s how he felt now, as he could see himself removing his head from his father’s embrace, a dazed and almost uncharacteristic expression trying him.

“What did you say?”

“That night, if I remember correctly… we were talking about how well you did, both of you, in the Iknimaya. We were laughing at the fact you were both late, how I’d have to pretend to be mad and punish you, when in reality I not only expected it, but almost desired it, that you took that day to enjoy yourselves, to feel free of some of the burden I know I’ve placed on you.

I was reminded, seeing her, of her dad. Her dad who asked me to take care of her before he passed. Of the words he told me. That even back then, as nothing more than a child, he knew that she was special. That under other circumstances, she would have, no doubt in his mind, become the next Olo’eykte. That she was born for it, made for it. Those words always echoed in my ears as I watched her grow, and seen for myself the talent that comes so rarely, it seems almost like a fable. That I only ever saw in you. I considered it, making you both leaders at the same time - unheard of, maybe, but you both deserve it, you’re both made for it, and you used to complete each other, like two pieces of a perfectly fitted puzzle. That’s it, son. I would never want to replace you, Neteyam. I would never even think of it. Not only because you are my son, but because you are the greatest person I've ever met. Because there's no one else, there can be no one else.”

Neteyam saw his face drop, his entire body shuddering under the weight of the new information, that changed everything, that he could have known all these years and yet didn’t, that shifted Neteyam’s whole world on its axis yet again and he almost wanted to reach out and console himself, the man that looked as young and scared as a pup lost in the woods, like he used to look all the time before he met you, like he swore to himself he’d never look like again after he lost you. His dad didn’t want to replace him. He never wanted to replace him. What was he supposed to do now, with this momentous information that he never thought he’d get to hear?

“I’m so sorry, son, that you’ve had to bear this weight all by yourself. I’m sorry for my contribution in it, and that I failed to see how I made it all so much harder to stomach. Your mother and I love you so, so much, Neteyam, and we want to be there for you, but, son… you don’t talk to us. You keep everything buried inside. We can’t help what we don’t know. We try our best, and we’re so sorry we failed you… that I failed you. And about Vi… Neteyam, you have to speak with her. You’ve carried this in you for far too long. You need to let it out. Let her explain. Let her give you an answer, or closure.”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?”

Neteyam didn’t know if his dad was saying this more to his son or to himself, but right now, it didn’t matter.

“She will, son. She’ll wake up.”

The only other time Neteyam's left you since the accident was after the talk, the overwhelming urge to wash his face at the nearby river finally too great to be ignored. The water helped a little. It grounded him and nourished him, as much as it could, and Neteyam was slightly taken aback at the way his soul felt just slightly lighter, how his father's words, and the conversation he should have had years ago and didn't, changed so much in his mind. His father was right. Kiri was right. It was time to talk. Years and years of torture and pain, and it was finally time to talk. He just hoped you'd actually be there to listen.

Neteyam was startled by a frenzied Lo'ak, rushing to his side, panting as he put a hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath as he spoke.

"Have you seen her? Have you seen syä?"

"What do you mean, Lo'ak?"

"She's gone, bro. She's not in grandmother's tent anymore."

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time Never ever thought I'd see it break Never thought I'd see it

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak@sweetbread-m@eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog@hannabanana-09 @xylianasblog @misscaller06 @yeosxxx @myh3artttt @teyamsbitch@musicownsme @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @zoetrope1997 @itsmy-alteregohere @ntymavtr @curlszx88 @maki-z @riatesullironalite @baahsaama @luna-salem @teyamtesuli @koing-slvt @call-me-doll-face @puresirius-things @saturniac (sorry if i missed anyone this list is getting so longgg)

553 notes · View notes

sunny-mercya · 5 months

Text

Bittersweet

Geto Suguru x Male Reader | Platonic! Guilty Gojo Satoru x Male Reader

Fandom -> Jujutsu Kaisen

Masterlist

Gojo always detest it when he had to visit you. It wasn't because he hated—a strong word, more like dislike—you, if anything, it was more out of the still immense guilt he feels in your presence.

A guiltiness which eats him up, making him a pitiful whimpering mess in the nights. Bawling his eyes out at the empty shrines, after every visit—his confidence crumbling into nothing but dust, the insecurity resurfacing again and haunting him like the phantom, dull, pain he feels in his eyes and back.

It was his fault. His damned fault that you're like this now. A mere shell of apathetic lethargy and suicidal tendencies—three tries had almost succeeded.

So yes, Gojo detests, hated it even, to visit you. He had to though, in his sole duty of being your friend—even when you once had said, he isn't anymore a friend but a stranger—and because leiri made him to do.

Trotting up the stairs to your apartment, bags in one hand and the other causally in his pant pockets—playing with the house-keys—Gojo thought what to cook for you.

Perhaps your favourite? No, no, that it is only reserved for the Sundays. A light meal then? Something with fish? Pizza or Pasta? The list is endless to choice from and giving him a headache.

Shoko had told him, in her doctoring lecturing way, to create a Meal-Plan and only cook light meals for you—easy to digest—and nothing too overall fatty and heavy.

Gojo had waved her off, nagging at her how you wouldn't be able to enjoy the goods of foods with something dumb as a "meal-plan".

In the end, Gojo admits that Shoko was indeed right. Considering the amounts of meals and dishes he had taken home for himself, giving it away to his students or the homeless or had to throw it all away. After all you couldn't eat more than, on your good days, three to four bites—till hours later you would heave it up into the toilet again.

A Meal-Plan, huh? Yeah he could do that. Megumi can help him too.

Unlocking the door, Gojo stepped in and announced his presence.

~~~

After emptying out the bags and putting away the items for now, Gojo ventured into the living room—knowing well you're in there, either sitting or laying on the couch and watching whatever is being shown in the television.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, once upon seeing a half finished puzzle on the coffee table and messy toys around it.

Megumi had brought them over during his last visit, telling you; these are much better to beat boredom than some television. Next time I'll bring some books.

Gojo was glad, relieved even, that you played with it.

Crouching down in front of you, blocking the view to television with his still towering high, he takes your hand in his—greeting you with a more softer gently smile.

»Sky eyes,«

Gojo had decided long ago, when you had first muttered those words to him—in the very beginning of your mental downfall, now a in a constant state of lingering decaying—that this was your way of greeting him, how you told him that you're aware of his presence.

Gojo had once made a mistake to come with his blindfold and spooked you so much—you really had believed and still would, if he tries again, that Gojo had been some kind of intruder with evil intentions—you screamed shrill and released a upcoming hurricane of thunderstorms with your cursed energy—now particularly sealed away for your own safety.

So now, whenever Gojo comes over he wears his round shaped sunglasses from his highschool years.

»Yeah, it's me, how are you today [Nickname]?« he asked questions even when he knew he wouldn't get replies from you.

»Hungry? I will made you some nice chicken nuggets, brought the Dino-shaped this time«

Gojo was aware he babbles. He doesn't care, he rather talks nonsense to himself and your apathetic self—than listen to the constant annoying chatter of the television and the upcoming silence which would follow afterwards.

»C'mon [Name], it's bath time,« Gojo picks you up, carrying you into the bathroom and sitting you down on a stool.

He fills the bathtub, making sure the temperature was neither too hot nor cold. He adds some bubble foam to it and two toys.

Gojo undress you slowly, cautiously of your still fresh wounds—self-inflicted days ago, when a night had gotten worse again. Sitting you in the water, he washes you. Humming happily some melody, occasionally joining you in moving the toy ducks arounds.

»Quack squishy wuack«

»Yeah, wuacky quacky [Nickname], look there wants to join another ducky« he showed you the third toy duck, adding it to the water.

A squeal of joy came over your lips, looking with wide eyes at Gojo, happiness radiating off from you as you continue to play.

Gojo's lips trembles, guilt crawling up his throat again.

~~~

Nights are cruel in their own way. Leaving the thoughts spinning and setting them free. Bringing out a loneliness and feelings once deep buried down.

Gojo buried his head in his hands, slightly gripping his snow white hair—you once said to him, how his hair reminds you of the first snow—sitting at the edge of your bed.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, breathing in a pattern of three-five-five. His thoughts are going haywire again, flaring up the guilt—which is now so thick in his throat that he couldn't swallow anymore.

He looks at you—such a peaceful expression on your face, already so deep in the blissful dreamland—moving his hand to slowly drive through your hair with his fingers, all the way down to your cheeks and caressing them.

His gaze goes to the few photo frames on your nightstand, the small nightlight illuminates only so much. One particular photo always captures his attention.

It was a photo of Geto and you, happily married with Nanako and Mimiko—when they had been around 3 years old—in your arms.

A time where you had been the uttermost happiest. Now it was in ruins, leaving you all alone.

If Gojo had been a bit stronger, if he didn't let Geto go, back then when they had argued over jujutsu sorcery's politics and their moral beliefs towards the world, had been more stubborn—than it wouldn't have ended like this.

With his best friend being dead—at fault for this was Gojo himself, he was the one who killed Geto after all—and you, who had already lost your husband and losing your daughters shortly after—till today you didn't know how they died and Gojo thanked the above that it hadn't been him who done that—who is nothing but a decaying shell forevermore.

»Ya know, [Nickname], I've decided you gonna move in with me now. So I can take even better care of you.«

That's what Geto would've wanted.

#male reader #x male reader #anime #manga #fanfiction #malereader #oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto suguru x male reader #geto x male reader

175 notes · View notes

swelling-ftm-belly · 1 month

Text

The Surrogate, finale

I must have been six months along when I stopped showing up to work, my pregnant belly so huge I wondered if I’m indeed carrying your twins, my breasts blew up in size, I was lactating and so sore I couldn't bind anymore. and I didn’t dare to go outside. my pregnant body was alien to me, a constant reminder that you bred me, that you claimed my fertile, little boywomb. despite me protesting and not being ready, my body betrayed me and carried your seed so eagerly.

the worst was how that made me even a bigger whore for you. I was so desperate and vulnerable, my pregnant, swollen pussy needed your cock and your touch even more. i wanted you to fondle and massage my lactating, embarrassingly big tits, i needed you to suckle on them with your tongue and lips, tour hands caressing my huge belly and feeling our babies kick inside me.

our babies. I looked at my belly in the mirror and I realized that you also made me a young dad, so soon. i was still in college, working part time to support my studies, but now, there was no doubt i’ll be dropping out.

I became dependent on you, and you accepted it eagerly, you couldn’t get enough of my pregnant body anyway.

it was the day of my ultrasound check when we ran into your husband. we came out of your car, my pussy still dripping with your fresh cum because you fucked me hard just before we left my place.

his eyes filled with shock as he stared at my pregnant body, and then stared at you. I felt moisture in my shirt and realized that my breasts were dripping milk, too. I was so ashamed, so embarrassed, I held my huge belly with one hand and tried to hide my chest with the other. I whispered, “I’m sorry I got pregnant.”

the three of us went together to the clinic. After months of denial and avoidance, I was finally there, getting properly checked. the doctor confirmed that I was carrying twins, and informed us of a due date.

it was sooner than we all expected, it was obvious that you were feeling a lot of guilt, your husband stayed silent, you drove and I was in the back seat. when you were heading to my place, your husband uttered, firmly, “no, take us to the house.”

your husband wanted me to stay at your place till I gave birth. and he started to warm up to me, probably feeling sorry over my gravid state, you being the culprit. he became caring, thoughtful, as my belly continued to grow, there were days I couldn’t imagine it getting any bigger, and I’d wake up the next day even more gravid.

I almost became bed ridden, it was a torture, my pregnancy hormones were still wild, my pussy swollen with need, my body needed attention, and you couldn’t do anything about, now that I’m living here, under the same roof with your husband. I thought I'd die from desperation.

one day you were still at work, when I was lying in bed, touching myself, imagining it was your cock or your tongue, I must have been whimpering at bit too loud, your husband must have heard.

he hurried to my room, “are you alright?” probably worrying about the babies. excpet they were fine, kicking in my belly, as my legs were spread, my fingers on my swollen lips, my pussy leaking. he stood there, a look of shock and something else in his eyes.

he came closer, and sat on the bed. I was drowning in shame, I was naked, and I wasn’t comfortable yet in my massively pregnant body, being seen naked. he whispered, shyly, a shyness I never saw in him before, “do you need help?”

I nodded, his hand moved slowly, his fingers touching me slightly, “does this feel good?” I nodded, he continued, over my clit, my lips, then into my hole, he put a finger, then too, I spread my legs wider, whimpering with need. “do you want more?” I nodded. He took off his pants, he breathed heavily, i was panting, he spread my legs, put each on his shoulders, and plunged his erect cock inside me. I screamed, he continued thrusting, his hands on my breasts, cupping and squeezing, I was screaming with each thrust, my belly moving up and down, the babies kicking.

I heard the door open and you came in, you walked on us fucking, it didn’t seem as if you were surprised. I haven’t been fucked in a while, and I didn’t hold back any screams of pleasure, and you joined shortly.

after your husband shot his load inside me, it was your turn. I was on my back on the bed. my legs spread, your cock inside me, and your husband was suckling my engorged nipples, your hands was on my belly while your plowed me with your massive cock. I came hard, many times, and you both came inside me many, many times.

I gave birth to your twins two months later, at your home. you both doting over me the whole time.

I wondered if my relation with you two would end once I delivered the babies, but your husband insisted that I stay just a bit longer, at least for chest feeding.

I wouldnt’ know if it was a real excuse, when i was ready again, your husband was the one to fuck me first.

I wasn't getting into the mood yet, but seeing me chest feed the babies set him off, one night he waited till i put them to sleep then bent me over and ravaged me. and I couldn’t stop him.

I was aching to be fucked again, fucked and filled. i spread my legs as he fucked my sore, stretched pussy, his hands squeezing my milk-filled tits.

i whimpered and protested, ‘no, daddy, no.” but he couldn’t keep his hands off me. and it seemed like you were oblivious to that fact.

while you kept away from me, allowing me time to recover. my body, still tender, soft and swollen from the pregnancy, was being ravaged multiple times a day by your husband. i let him do it, he would fuck me as he pleased, and I was craving to be filled and claimed again.

you only found out months later, when my belly started to swell again, so soon. and there was no doubt that it was your husband who knocked me up this time.

#ftm pregnancy #mpreg belly #ftm breeding #mpreg kink #mpregnancy #ftm sub #trans breeding #trans pregnancy #ftm bottom #ftm cnc

91 notes · View notes

minho-hoho · 1 year

Text

Shush

☾ GENRE ➝ yandere, mafia

☾ PAIRING ➝ yan!mafioso!yeonjun × gn!reader

☾ WARNING ➝ yandere themes, mafia related themes, violence, blood, murder, etc...

☾ REQUESTED ➝ no

☾ WC ➝ 0.8k

☾ NOTE ➝ uhh i actually wrote this and a quite lengthy taehyun one shot but it got deleted so sksksks i just lost hope and stopped coming to tumblr for a while srryyy

MASTERLIST

you were shaking under the covers of your bed, as if the almost constant state of fear you were living in wasn't enough, yeonjun had to do his business in your house. the screams and threats were freezing your blood, you were terrified that anyone would get hurt, and that you, would get killed because of what you considered yeonjun's reckless behaviour. for someone who claimed to only want the best for you, and only acted with your best interest in mind, he sure was being dangerous towards your safety. the only thing you could do was wait patiently, praying that whatever thing he was doing, was ending soon.

you heard a scream of intense pain followed by a loud thud. the voice didn't belong to yeonjun, but you didn't know if that reassured you any better. did he kill someone in your house? you wanted to get up and check up on him, and what happened, but the thought of the possibility of seeing a dead body laying on your living room's floor was frightening.

you carefully tiptoed to your bedroom's door, and tried to listen to any sounds that might come out of the living room. for a few seconds, only a dead silence fell on your ears. the silence stopped as a string of curses left yeonjun's mouth.

quietly, you slightly opened the door, enough for your voice to be heard.

“yeonjun..?” you called out his name, your voice quivering a little.

his eyes immediately darted your way, looking at your figure peeking through the door. not knowing what to say, he stared you, his dark gaze piercing your skull.

“what happened, is everything okay?” you asked, a bit reluctant, not being able to decipher his emotions.

yeonjun sighed, looking at the corpse laying next to his foot.

“this is what happens when you decide to go outside and disobey.” he walked towards your door.

it was true, you went outside and went out with some friends when you were forbidden to do so, as yeonjun was scared that the wrong people would get you and him, and hurt you. you regretted ever going out with someone heavily involved in the mafia world, in every step you took, you were reminded of the risk that and of the chances that you'd get harmed by anyone in the opposing mafia to yeonjun's. and on top of that, you added his obsessive and overly protective behaviour towards you, you deeply regretted ever agreeing to go out with him, your mental not being able to take any of yeonjun any more.

but even if what you did was objectively dangerous and stupid, did that mean that he had to kill someone? at this point, you didn't know whether he did it to protect you, because of his borderline psychotic and obsessive behaviour or because he simply enjoyed witnessing the death of over human beings.

“because of what you did, people now know about you, and i need to kill even more people for you.” he was now in front of you, towering over you, maintaining a chilling eye contact with you.

“no matter how much i warned you, you still went against my directions. do i need to threaten you? to show you the corpses of the people i've killed? because i can, and i will if that's what you need.” shivers ran through your body, you knew that by working in a mafia he had to do some shady stuff that potentially involved ending some people's lives. but you never thought he'd kill some people because of you. especially if it could have been avoided.

a wave of guilt washed over you as you felt at fault for the death of many. your shoulders dropped, and tears started to well up in your eyes. yeonjun's eyes were piercing through you in the silence. you looked down to your feet, remorse still eating you, you took a shaky breath before muttering low excuses, your voice unstable.

unbeknownst to you, yeonjun was smirking. his efforts were paying off, he had successfully manipulated you into feeling culpability for things you didn't even control. he was now sure you'd never leave his side, which was his ultimate goal, it was all he dreamt of.

he sighed, before taking you in his arms, startling you a little. “it's okay, just, don't do it again, okay? let's not spill more blood than needed. be careful, and as long as you follow my orders to the letter, you'll be safe and happy.” his shirt was now wet by your tears, you nodded, determined to not make any more mistakes.

yeonjun grinned, he kissed the top of your head. you sobbed in his chest, as he softly rubbed your back, trying to comfort you back into a happier state.

he finally achieved his most important mission, and he was more than overjoyed inside.

PERM TAG LIST! : @stacey-stonem, @sh1mzu, @axartia, @echantedrose, @leeknowbuttsmasher, @nikipedia07, @deafeningballoonnacho, @scrumptiousphilosopherunknown

403 notes · View notes

soaringthroughthegalaxy · 5 months

Text

Wash Away the Pain #2 - Hunter

Fleeing Kamino, Hunter knows they’ve made a mistake, but he isn’t sure how to fix it. Could they even fix it? Who knows. All he does know is that he’s way out of his depth.

Pairing: Hunter x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: whump, guilt, hurt and comfort, brief mention of order 66, hopeful ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series where each of our boys will get their sad/angsty shower time, but they can be read as standalone's.

Check out others in the series: Echo, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

ps; don't care what's canon or not, the Marauder has a fresher 😂

It’s late, but Hunter can’t sleep.

How did things go so sideways?

They never leave their own behind, and yet…

He sighs, head thunking back against the shower wall. There wasn’t much room in the small fresher on the Marauder, but it was the only space he could be alone with his thoughts. Guilt churns in his gut. What the hell had happened to his baby brother? Why had he fired at them?

Crosshair’s demeanour had changed ever since the order on Kaller. His brother would’ve never fired on a child in the past; he would’ve listened – albeit with a snarky comment – when told to stand down. It was as if Crosshair had been replaced by someone else.

But rather than getting to the bottom of it, they’d left him.

He’d left him.

So much for being a good leader. A good brother.

The quiet click of the fresher door doesn’t even register to Hunter as his thoughts spiral, clutching the bandana wrapped around his fist.

The touch of your hand on his tattooed cheek rips him from his thoughts, head tipping forward to look at you standing before him under the shower spray.

You’d heard Hunter get up and had heard him head to the fresher and turn on the shower. Tech, Wrecker, and Omega remain asleep. Echo is on watch as you travel through hyperspace. As the squads nat-born medic, called in because of the inability of your boys to get along with regs, it was your job to look after their wellbeing. And now it felt like Hunter needed some care.

“Hey, H.” You greet him softly once he looks at you. Living in such close quarters had desensitised you to nudity – you’d seen all the boys in varying states of undress over the years and had even ripped blacks from them when they’d been injured to give you more room to work.

Hunter doesn’t bless you with any words, just a tiny nod of his head in acknowledgement. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand what’s going on in his head.

“It’s not your fault.” You whisper, fingers smoothing down his face and neck, pushing back wet strands of dark hair plastered to his skin until your palm presses against his chest.

Hunter’s gaze lingers on yours, searching for reassurance that you may hold the answers he desperately seeks. The steam from the shower swirls around both of you.

“I should’ve done something,” Hunter mutters, his voice a low rasp. The guilt in his eyes mirrors the storm within him. “I left him behind. Left my own brother.”

Your fingers smooth over his collarbone, a gesture of comfort. “You did what you had to do to protect the rest of us. Crosshair wasn’t himself. You couldn’t have predicted it.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens, and his gaze drops to the swirling water pooling at his feet. The Marauder’s constant hum provides a backdrop to the heavy silence between you.

“He’s my responsibility,” Hunter admits, a raw vulnerability in his voice. “I should’ve found a way to save him.”

Your fingers tilt his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze again. “Hunter, you’re only human. You can’t control the choices others make. All you can do is protect the ones who are still here.”

He closes his eyes briefly as if trying to shut out the haunting images that plague his mind.

“You’re not alone in this, H.” You assure him. “We’re a team, and we’ll figure this out together. Whatever happened to Crosshair, we’ll find a way to bring him back.”

Hunter’s shoulders relax, if only slightly, under the weight of your words. The subtle touch of your fingers against his chest feels like an anchor, grounding him in the present moment.

A mixture of gratitude and anguish plays across Hunter’s features. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, he steps forward, his wet skin meeting your soaked clothes as the shower’s spray cascades around you both.

Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. A hand cups the back of your head, the other around your waist, holding you close. The water from the shower mingles with the tears that escape his closed eyes. You hold him, offering solace in the only way you know how. Hunter’s breath steadies as he clings to the lifeline of human connection.

As the minutes pass, the weight on Hunter’s shoulders seems to ease. The guilt doesn’t vanish entirely, but it becomes a shared burden. You pull back slightly, holding him at arm’s length. Your eyes lock onto his. “We’ll find him, Hunter.” You affirm, your voice unwavering. “Whatever changed him, we’ll get to the bottom of it. And if there’s a way to bring him back, we’ll find that too.”

Hunter’s expression softens, a mixture of gratitude and determination replacing the turmoil. He nods a silent agreement that resonates through the small fresher. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, the steady hum of the Marauder and the pattering of the shower the only sounds in the room.

You reach for his hand, unfurling the bandana wrapped around it. Quietly, you wrap one end around your hand, too. “We’re with you, Hunter. No matter what.”

Hunter’s grip tightens on his end of the bandana, the physical connection serving as a tangible reminder of the support he has. “What do we do about the kid?” He asks softly, thrown so far out of his element.

You shrug, not having thought that far ahead. “We figure that out, too. You said it yourself: she’s one of us.”

“Never raised a kid before.” Hunter murmurs, brows drawing down into a frown. He could remember himself and his brothers at Omega’s age, but that was his only reference point.

A soft laugh leaves you, echoing in the fresher. “And you think I have?” You tease, delight flaring in your chest as Hunter’s lips pull up slightly into a smile. That was more like it.

Silence lingers between you both again, comfortable as always, but you watch as Hunter’s eyes glaze over a little. “He’ll think we abandoned him in favour of her.” He swallows, jaw clenching as the earlier guilt rears its head again.

“Perhaps, but we know that’s not the case.” You reassure him, hand shifting from his chest to smooth across his bicep, across the dark ink that shades it. “We were kitting up to go and find him, to break him out of wherever he’d been taken.”

Hunter knows you’re right, but pushing away his thoughts is hard. “Should’ve stunned him. Should’ve…”

“Hey. We’re not falling down that ash-rabbit hole, okay?” Your voice is more assertive this time, though still laced with care. “There’s a lot of ‘should’ve’ in life, but if that’s all we focus on, then we miss out on the here and now and forget to look to the future. What’s done is done, how we survive this…takeover…of the Empire, and how we get him back are all matters.” You insist, both hands rising to cup Hunter’s face to draw his focus to you.

It works. Hunter’s eyes find yours as he leans into the comfort you willingly give him. “Think we’ll survive?”

“I’ve spent three years with you. I’ve seen you guys pull off the impossible before.” You point out.

Hunter’s lips quirked into a half-smile, a glimmer of hope breaking through the clouds of doubt that had shrouded him. “Yeah, well, we have the best medic in the galaxy on our side.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood, but it does its job. “Flattery won’t get you out of the next round of physicals, Sergeant.”

He chuckles, the sound a welcome reprieve from the heavy atmosphere that had lingered moments before. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Let’s get some rest.” You suggest, the exhaustion evident in both of your eyes. “We’ll face whatever comes next with clear heads and a plan.”

With a nod, Hunter switches off the shower, and the two of you step out to towel off, changing into clean blacks stored in the only locker in the room. As you return to the racks, you glimpse Omega, still curled on her makeshift bed. She stirs slightly but settles quickly. Hunter places a hand on your shoulder, a silent expression of gratitude.

As you settle into your bunk, you glance at Hunter, resting in his bed across from you. His eyes meet yours, and an unspoken promise is made in that shared gaze. The journey may be arduous and treacherous, but together, as a family, you will face it all. The Marauder hurtles through the star-studded void, a small vessel carrying the hopes and dreams of those who refuse to be crushed by the weight of a galaxy in turmoil.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

#the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #hunter x you #the bad batch hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #hunter #clone force 99

109 notes · View notes

robby-bobby-tommy · 5 months

Text

This one won't be in a form of any cohesive drabble. It's a mix of truth and hcs

Imagine how Fit feels. He, the man of 2b2t and constant betrayal, where survival mastered the most, stayed behind, loosing precious time to escape safely, only to stay with Ramon. As much as I thought Fit would fully revert to his old self, but his progress is still there. He desperately tried to break the block below to get his son out of this hell. Then the Eye spoke. Ramon wasn't dumb, he knew what's happening. He placed his last signs "bye dad. Give them hell".

"I will...I will!!" Fit said, running away. No, he couldn't allow himself leave with his baby boy.

He ran back. "Ramon!! Ramon!" He screamed. As the rocks fell, giving veteran a concussion and breaking his prosthetic arm, he started. Spitting blood, he tried to put his hand on the glass, where Ramon can place it. But there was no Ramon. His son was once again ripped away from him, so he had to run. Bleeding, he ran as fast as he can.

Imagine how much survivor's guilt he feels, being able to save only Bagi. The murderer, the untrusting war criminal, who taught himself to put his own life and safety first, yelled "I can save people! " After his best friend and member of morning crew landed, unable to fly again. Imagine how much Fit changed, risking his own safety and live, to save at least one person. Then imagine how much he despises himself for not thinking of Dapper first. Veteran might've saved someone, but in one big boom he probably lost his son and love. And he wasn't alone. He doesn't want to believe his baby boy made in heaven is gone, but this thought will eat him alive.

Now this is a totally hcs territory. There's no proof in lore, but I wanna.

Fit has already stated that he won't cry, while his on stream. This is a gift from the past, because to cry is to show a vulnerability, and to show vulnerability is to get trapped, killed, tricked, destroyed. So I imagine this veteran to show his distress in other way. He didn't built the gym for nothing. Back on island, he destroyed. He punched a punching bag or burned the ship down, but it was his only way of relief and coping (kind of like this) . So now, on the ship, when all memories of purgatory, Pac, Forever saying "don't get emotional about it", his lost friends, but most importantly, Ramon, he started to punch everything he could with his normal, human arm. He doesn't care if he'll break his knuckles, it would be better, honestly. Maybe physical pain will supersede his psychological one.

Imagine Fit, alone, on the stern, watching whatever happened to the island. Imagine Fit start to punch the railings, the floor, everything his hand could reach.

There's when my second hc comes out. I had this HC for a long time, but had no situation to put it in.

Fit didn't change anything about his arm, because it was the only thing he had left of Ramon. This is why it broke during the earthquake. Now it was hanging limp like yolk, reminding of son he couldn't save, good life he couldn't have, and the past he had. For me prosthetic arm represents a lot of things, but mostly his past on 2b2t and his mission. So imagine Fit looking at the knuckles on his left hand that had "2 b 2 t" Gravured on it. Imagine him being so overwhelmed with guilt, pain and flashbacks ripping his own arm away, punching it, trying to break it to get all the pain away (again an arcane example. Not quite as teary but you get the idea. TW flashing colors). But God bless Ramon for making his arm ultra durable. So he just keeps punching his past, his duty, purgatory, only hurting himself more. No one could say now, if these tears were because of damaged skull, bleeding shoulder and hip, pulsing with ache in his knuckles or a psychological breakdown.

After calming down as much as he could, and put his armed back on, he limped in the main place, where everyone surviving were. Their backs are turned away from the entrance.

"But the most important question. Where is Fred?" Tubbo said, jokingly.

But Fit wasn't in the mood for jokes. Pushing someone away he limped to his fellow morning crew member. "We potentially lost our kids, and the only thing that you think about is your f_ck boy?" Veteran used all his left self control to not raise his hand on Tubbo, but he was pulled away.

So here they are. The only surviving, losing so much, but still alive, praying that maybe, somehow the eggs are fine.

97 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 7 months

Text

A Night in the Undercroft (3/4)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!mc

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff // Words: 4.2k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: After visiting Anne in Feldcroft with Solomon being the horrible person that he is, Sebastian and MC return to the Undercroft for some healing intimacy. (Give this boy a hug already!)

Warnings: Angst! Verbal abuse! NSFW! MDNI! Explicit sexual content! Horny teenagers! Rough sex!

-- Part 1 -- Part 2 -- // -- Part 4 --

Last warning: There's trauma and there's smut. And two people having it rough.

The Nightmare

Sebastian remained lying there, holding her, his mind too troubled to ease into sleep that quickly. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and closed his eyes, trying to focus on her warmth instead of the nagging thoughts of dread and bitterness.

When sleep eventually did grace him with its presence, it might have started out nicely as he remembered what they had just done together. Seeing her come undone due to his touches had been one of the best experiences in his life. Burying himself into her warmth came close second. Moving with her, their bodies so close, deeply connected, both physically and emotionally, becoming one, he couldn't have dreamt of anything better.

Yet along with his euphoria came the very familiar feeling of guilt. He would never admit to it in a conscious state, but whenever exhaustion washed over him and thinned the veil between his conscience and his deepest, darkest thoughts, those emotions started gnawing on his insides, turning every beautiful experience into something much darker, tinting it with a sad edge, forever corrupting it in his mind.

It was one single question, one single thought, that turned everything good into something he quickly regretted, or was told to regret.

How can I be happy when my sister is in constant pain and withering away with every passing heartbeat?

It was this question that was always in the back of his mind. He had done everything to distract himself from it and for a while, it had worked. Nebbia had made sure of it. She had felt, unconsciously or not, that he needed her to be close, constantly. She had known that if he had spent the night alone, it would have destroyed him. After what had happened in Feldcroft today, he had been absolutely certain that he would have either stayed up all night, forcing the nightmares away, or if he had surrendered to them, they would have damaged him only further.

And he had hoped, by spending the night with her, he would be able to fight them, fight the guilt and resentment, but it wasn't enough. It never seemed to be enough. How could he possibly top this, having her so close, feeling her breathing against him, her body warm and right there on top of him, and yet there he was, his mind clouded by darkness once again. And sleep was just a fickle thing, an illusion of rest, at least for him. He always woke up even more stressed, even more exhausted.

He had long realized that he wasn't just looking for a cure for his sister, but for himself as well. He needed her to be healthy again, back to her old self, to finally allow him to live his own life again. It was selfish, he knew that, but if he was to come out of this without completely losing himself, he needed it to happen that way. And he knew, in order to enjoy the little happy moments the gods had been gifting him as of recently, he had to research even more, find more books, more possibilities, more ways to finally be rid of this horrible curse.

For Anne, and for himself.

He breathed deeply and his thoughts finally quieted down a little, only a low throbbing behind his eyelids now. Darkness surrounded him. But that was never a good thing.

He found himself in a dark room, unable to see anything, not even his own hand. In spite of that he started walking, slowly, step after step, not afraid of the dark or the unknown. Yet there was something looming behind him, an even darker shadow that made him walk faster until he was running, breathlessly, deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Unable to get anywhere, he stopped and turned around, facing whatever was chasing him. His heart was pounding inside his chest as he clenched his hands into fists, bracing himself for whatever was coming. But when the voices grew louder, surrounding him, yelling at him, growling and snapping, grumbling and teasing, always angry, always condescending, he quickly found himself on his knees, his hands pressed on his ears, screaming for them to stop.

It was always Solomon's voice that haunted him, found him in his darkest dreams, turning every sleep into nightmares. Sebastian had tried to ignore him, cut him from his life, but how could he when it was his uncle who was caring for Anne? He needed him to care for her when he was at Hogwarts.

How dare you continue your education when your sister had to drop out? How dare you drop this responsibility on me? When it is your fault? It is your fault! You should have looked after her! You should have protected her! You're her brother! That is your duty!

He was already on the floor, a whimpering, screaming mess, rocking back and forth, trying to shut out the voices but they only got louder and louder, drowning out everything else.

And how dare you bring this girl to us today? Do you want to torment your sister? Show her how happy you are when she is withering away? How dare you! And always those ridiculous attempts at giving her hope! There is no hope! There is no cure!

“Shut up!” he screamed. “Shut up! Please!”

But Solomon's voice echoed through his head, through the darkness of his nightmare, and he was unable to stop it, unable to fight it. It would torture him until he finally woke up again, if he woke up again, and it would leave him feeling even more dreadful than before. Like always.

Yet through the darkness of this night's anguish came a softer voice. Barely audible amongst the yells and screams and growls, but it was there. And he scrambled to his feet, his head spinning and his heart racing, and he followed it. It called to him, gently, lovingly. Suddenly there was a light, a tiny little light in the far back of the dark room. He ran quicker, and even though the loud voices were right behind him, he reached out a hand and took a leap, grasping at the flimsy light, putting all his hope into it.

“Sebastian!”

He woke up with his throat hurting and a gasp falling from his lips. It took him a long while to come to his senses, realizing that the voices were gone, the darkness was gone, and he was lying on the lumpy couch in the Undercroft. And she was there. His eyes could barely focus on her pale face, but when they did, he inhaled deeply, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth. He reached up and cupped her beautiful face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, unaware of the tears falling from his lashes.

Nebbia watched him out of those big green eyes, concern plastered all over her pretty features. Her hands were on his face now, and he felt her wiping at his cheeks, only then noticing his blurry vision and burning eyes. He swallowed hard, blinking the tears away as best as he could. Yet his attempt at smiling failed miserably as his jaw clenched up immediately.

“Are you okay?” he heard her whisper as she watched him closely. “You were... screaming in your sleep.”

He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, unable to meet her caring gaze any longer. His hands moved to her back, and even though he needed the comfort, he started rubbing her shoulder blades gently instead.

“Just a nightmare,” he admitted eventually, his voice hoarse. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you...”

“I'm only scared for you,” she said softly, and he felt her resting her head on his chest, lovingly stroking his skin as she settled down again.

“Don't be, I'll be fine,” he replied, not believing his own words. He opened his eyes and stared up at the vaulted ceiling, breathing deeply.

“I'm here for you, you know that, right?” she whispered after a moment of deafening silence.

He chewed on his lips before he pressed them to the top of her head. “I know. Thank you,” he then said quietly.

“No matter what,” she went on and shifted against him until she was facing him, her hand gently stroking his cheek. “Do you hear me?”

Her gaze was firm, and he wanted to believe her so badly, wanted it to be true, even though he knew he would lose her eventually as well. Like he would lose everything eventually. Because he didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve her.

“I hear you,” he whispered, holding her gaze.

She seemed unconvinced and rightfully so. Her hand moved to his jaw, and she pulled his face towards her before closing her lips around his gently. Her kiss was sweet, and every single touch, every little brushing, every little sucking, the smallest movement of her tongue asking him to open his mouth, felt wrong. The darkness was still too present in his head and every good thing turned bad again, even outside his dreams. And he wanted to scream yet again.

Let me have this! Please!

He closed his eyes, another tear falling from his lashes, as he kissed her back defiantly, hoping to savour the feeling, make it good again. Parting his lips for her, he pushed his tongue against hers demandingly, quickly turning the sweet kiss into a more passionate one. One of his hands grabbed the back of her head and pushed her even closer towards him, while his other hand travelled down her back until it closed around her bum cheek tightly.

She squeaked against his mouth in surprise, and that reaction alone caused him to smirk again. Kissing her more firmly, he kept kneading her soft flesh, his fingers teasing right along her crack downwards, his fingertips brushing against her folds as he remembered the first time he had touched her like this.

You will not take this from me! Never!

His other hand wandered down her body as well until he grabbed her rear with both hands, kneading and pulling her cheeks apart, moaning softly against her lips as he deepened the kiss hungrily. She squirmed on top of him, quiet whimpers falling past her tongue as she explored the inside of his mouth curiously. She might neither look it nor sound it, but she was just as eager to be close to him as he was to being close to her.

It had surprised him the first time he had kissed her, and it continued to surprise him, but it grew on him, and it made him want her even more. She was perfect. He didn't quite know if she was perfect for him, but she was perfect nonetheless, and he was lucky to have her give him this sort of attention. He was lucky to have her, period.

“Nebbia,” he growled quietly, kissing the corner of her mouth to catch his breath. “I need you,” he almost whimpered darkly, riding that post-nightmare vulnerability with all he had.

“I'm right here,” she replied, her hands holding his face firmly as she looked at him, her lips trembling and swollen already. “How... do you need me?” she then asked, correctly guessing his intentions.

He kissed her once more, with his tongue firmly gliding over her open mouth as she gasped against him, before he grabbed her shoulders gently and turned her around so that her back was pressed against his chest. Shifting behind her, he slid one arm under her body and held her close, while the other hand moved over her and gently grabbed her right breast, kneading it playfully as he pressed his lips against her shoulder.

She didn't seem too content about the new position, but she didn't object. He kept kissing the back of her neck, nuzzling his nose into her hair as he started grinding his hips against her rear, firmly pressing his hardening cock between her cheeks. He heard her whimper slightly, but instead of moving away, she pushed her backside firmer against him, craving that friction. He chuckled against her. His hand moved to her other breast, his fingers quickly finding her pert nipple, kneading and rubbing and rolling it to coax those sweet sounds out of her throat.

Of course she obeyed, and her moans quickly filled his ears, drowning out the distant voices. A groan escaped him, and he let his hand wander down her body, over her stomach and right between her tight thighs, his fingers sliding between skin and flesh until he found her slick. She arched her back into him, breathing heavier now. He held her close to him, his other hand stroking over her collarbone until he closed his fingers gently around her throat, just to hold her, until he felt her swallow against his palm. It took only a light squeeze to make her moan again.

It was almost too easy to get these noises out of her. He still loved every single one.

Kissing her shoulder, he kept pushing his cock between her cheeks, letting it slide through her wet folds as he started stimulating the little nub above them with a firm grip of his fingers, slowly circling it at first, then rubbing it tighter, until he pressed against it almost forcefully. She moaned louder, her legs twitching against him. Her fingers clawed at the hand around her throat now, not to make him stop, but to hold onto him as her body started shuddering and convulsing.

He let go of her clit and grabbed her thigh instead, firmly pushing her legs open to give him better access to her beautiful pussy. He kept moving his cock through her wet folds, coating himself with her slick, hardening more and more before he gave himself some quick reassuring strokes, until he grabbed it firmly and without any further preparation pushed his tip against her entrance, lying back a little to tilt her pelvis against him.

When he pushed in slowly but relentlessly, she cried out loudly, and he gripped her throat in response. “Shh...” he purred softly and kissed her ear. “Relax...” Her whimpers grew quieter, her body quivering slightly. He kept on pushing into her until he was swallowed by her tight warmth entirely, his balls pressing against the back of her thigh.

He heard her sobbing quietly and quickly grabbed her chin to turn her head towards him a little. She gasped, and he pressed his lips to her jaw, cooing consolingly. “Does it hurt?” he asked gently, almost hoping it would.

“Yes,” she admitted, and he couldn't help but feel a little proud. It was a sick and twisted thought, but a comforting one at that, that he had this power over her. He could do anything to her, make her happy, make her scream, hurt her only to comfort her after.

He kissed her cheek, tasting her salty tears. His tongue moved over her skin, lapping with long, broad strokes, while he started moving his hips against her, skipping the slow and gentle pace, falling right into a much quicker, more rapid rhythm. She moaned and whimpered, almost whined as she pressed her back against his chest. He slammed hard against her rear, the slapping of flesh against flesh music in his ears. His free hand moved back to her clit, and while he drove himself into her at a relentless tempo, he started rubbing and kneading the little nub between his fingers.

She cried out and squirmed against him, her chest rising and falling fast against his arm, her hard nipples brushing over his skin, making him pay more attention to the pert buds as well. Rolling and teasing them between the fingers of his other hand in the same fashion he was handling her clit, he quickly felt her coming undone right in front of him. Her moans grew louder, her breaths erratic and her entire body tensed, her thighs closing tightly around him as he kept thrusting into her through the waves of her orgasm.

She was convulsing against him, her back arching, her shoulders rolling forwards as her entire body seemed to twist in on itself. He gripped her tightly, holding her firmly in his arm as she spasmed more and more, until she screamed a muffled scream and stopped moving altogether, with only her whimpers showing him that she was still with him. He kissed her neck, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, calming her as he kept rocking his hips against her, faster and harder, using the clenching of her walls to push himself over the edge.

Yet it took longer this time, and he gritted his teeth, holding onto her body tighter as he quickened his pace, ramming into her as forceful as he could, as fast as humanly possible, fuelled by her whimpers and moans, until at last, he felt his cock twitching and he was ready to bust. Instead of emptying himself inside her again, he pulled out then and grabbed his girth firmly, pumping and squeezing until he spilled his seed all over her rear and between her thighs with a loud grunt.

He rolled onto his back, still holding his throbbing length, feeling more strands of cum spurting from his tip and dripping onto his hand. He was breathing heavily, his head completely empty. The voices were gone. Smiling to himself, he let go of his death grip on her body and snaked his arm back, gently rolling her over to face her again. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face flushed and her cheeks wet, her lips trembling. She sniffed quietly and slowly settled on his chest, her somewhat curious gaze on him.

“Do you feel better?” she whispered, her voice as strained as his.

He turned his head towards her and nodded, breathing loudly through his nose as he chewed on his lips. He let go of his cock then and wiped his seed on his leg, before raising that hand to gently touch her cheek. She watched him closely for a moment, before her eyes wandered towards his hand. Without hesitation she grabbed it and cradled it between her fingers, before bringing it to her lips and kissing it softly.

When he noticed that she was kissing away specks of his cum, he blushed deeply, his breath hitching in his throat. Unconsciously or not, but she was very meticulous in cleaning his fingers, her tongue flicking around his digits gently and thoroughly. And all he could do was watch her with wide eyes and a small proud smile on his lips. She was absolutely perfect.

Once she was done, she kissed his fingers again, before she stopped to look at his hand, then moved her eyes back to him, and once he held her gaze, she closed her lips around his fingertip and started sucking on it. He was so surprised, he issued a short laugh. So she wasn't as innocent and unknowing as he had thought.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked quietly.

She pulled his finger out of her mouth with a wet pop and smirked, despite the violent blushing of her cheeks. “Must have read it somewhere...” she whispered.

He chuckled at that and moved two of his wet fingers against her lips, gently stroking her mouth as she opened it for him. He explored the inside of her cheeks with deliberate touches, stroking and caressing, until he moved his fingers deeper, pushing against her tongue. He watched her closely, and when her eyes widened slightly, he pulled back again, despite his need to feel the back of her throat. But perhaps she wasn't ready for that yet.

It had been an eventful night, he shouldn't push his luck.

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and leaned in instead, pressing his lips against hers gently, his hand stroking the side of her face as he kissed her softly. Her hands rested on his chest as she kissed him back gingerly, her lips closing around his bottom lip, before he got his tongue involved again. She was quick to respond and pressed her own tongue against his, tasting and licking, lips brushing and sucking, the kiss only a small representation of his many emotions for her.

Breathing heavily against her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him fully, feeling her legs still slightly twitching. As he kissed her deeply and as her hands moved up to cup his face, he shifted beneath her, suddenly overwhelmed by how lucky he was: feeling her soft skin against his, her gentle touches, her unwavering affection for him despite all the things he had her endure tonight. It felt too good to be true.

He inhaled sharply as he turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss reluctantly, but necessarily. She continued kissing his cheek and jaw as he tried to catch his breath and calm his heart – and the doubts swirling through his head. Too bad the post-haze clarity would come so soon...

“I don't deserve you,” he heard himself whisper, barely audible to his own ears, yet she looked up quickly, and he noticed a shadow of concern washing over her face as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you say that?” she whispered back, her hands grabbing his head and turning it back to face her. She sounded almost stern.

“Because I don't, you are too good for me...” he said and pressed his lips together.

“With that logic,” she replied, frowning. “I don't deserve you too. Because you are too good for me too.”

He watched her long and hard. “I'm not as good as you think...”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You are good to me. You've helped me so much already, in this short time that I'm here, that I've known you. You were always there for me, selflessly so, the first friend I ever had, the first...” She stopped and inhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I know why you think you don't deserve me. I know you feel guilty, because... how can you be happy, when your sister is not?”

He stared at her. How could she read him so easily, how could she say those words that have haunted him for so long?

“It's not your fault. That curse is not your fault!” she continued, watching him imploringly. “It was not your fault that Anne was cursed, you couldn't have protected her! She is her own person, she makes her own decisions. She wanted to help and found herself at the wrong place at the wrong time. There is no one at fault here, only the one who had cursed her.” Her voice was strained and shaking, but it brought her point across nevertheless.

Yet he couldn't reply to her well-intended words. He couldn't admit to them. Who was he to agree to this girl who tried to make it easier for him? He didn't deserve to have it easier. It wasn't fair! “It isn't fair...” he heard himself mutter, and his eyes started to burn. He inhaled sharply and looked away, feeling a tear fall from his lashes as he blinked. He quickly tried to wipe it away, but a tiny hand grabbed his wrist.

“I know it isn't fair,” she said softly and pulled his hand down, gently stroking his cheeks with her own fingers instead. “But you don't have to blame yourself for it day in and day out. I don't mean that you should forget it entirely, but... think of yourself for once, savour those little moments that make you happy. You won't be of any help to Anne, or anyone for that matter, if you push yourself to complete exhaustion and... utter madness.”

Her words echoed through his head, slowly sinking in. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, before he looked back at her. “Where have you been all my life?” he then whispered, words spoken with a smirk to play it off as a tease, but he meant every single one of them.

“I'm here now,” she whispered back, her thumbs grazing over the smirk that deformed his lips. “And I'm not leaving.”

He frowned at that. “Don't promise that...”

“Why not? Unless you don't want me any more, but if it was just me, I'd choose to stay with you, no matter what...”

He shook his head slowly, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “You truly are too good to be true...” he whispered and leaned closer to kiss her softly. “Now stop being so sodding cute and genuine and perfect, okay? I can only handle that much!” He chuckled against her lips.

“Fine,” she agreed reluctantly and laughed softly. She kissed him back slowly, before nestling in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply.

He hugged her tighter to his body and kissed the top of her head. “Glad we settled that.”

“Me too,” she murmured.

“You always need to have the last word, eh?” he laughed.

“No,” she said with a smirk – definitely having the last word.

Notes:

Writing from Sebastian's POV always makes me go a little overboard. He turned out a little twisted, but come on, that boy is damaged, why shouldn't he be?!

So, part 3 of my four-part smut-series that I wrote in one entire afternoon and am now content-vomiting on tumblr and AO3, I can't help myself.

Part 1 - The Night (1)

Part 2 - The Night (2)

Part 4 - The Day After

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #smut #hogwarts legacy fanfic

72 notes · View notes

mania-sama · 1 month

Text

Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Crime and Punishment: Short Bungou Stray Dogs Analysis

Finally finished Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. i might do a post talking about my actual thoughts on the book, but not right now because I'm INSTEAD gonna talk about BSD Fyodor because, if I'm gonna be honest, a large part of the reason I read this book was to see if I could get an insight on what his ability could be (obviously I also read it because I know it's an extremely influential book to the psychological thriller literature genre, and it's made me want to read more of his books because I am absolutely entranced by his writing style).

SPOILERS: This book did NOT give me a single damn clue to Fyodor's ability.

However, I do have a better understanding of why Asagiri chose to write Fyodor in that specific way, with the added effect of making Fyodor much more understandable. I have a better appreciation, I think, for Asagiri's character writing. Let me explain:

The large, overarching theme of C&P is the idea that some people are naturally born with the right to kill. That is, people are naturally born into two categories: "Ordinary" and "Extraordinary". The majority of the population falls into the former - they live their lives in submission to the law and to those above them. In essence, they do not have the "right to kill"; they are otherwise overcome with guilt, regret, or simply caught for their wrongdoings.

The latter category has very few people in it, and for a simple reason - they are the ones who are, essentially, above the law, and therefore, the lawmakers. They are the ones who lead the revolutions, sit on the throne, and most importantly, kill when they need to kill and do not hesitate to "step" over their crimes as nothing more than the necessity to power. They are not caught. In fact, they are hailed as the greatest leaders. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and his most constantly referred example, Napoleon. These are the born with the "right to kill".

The main character, Raskolnikov (of whom I will be calling the affection Rodya because I am NOT spelling his name over and over again), believes himself to be a "Napolean". Rodya is the one who came up with this theory in the book, after all. However, he finds out, near the end, after several blunders and mental breaks, that he is not one of the people who can "step" over their crimes. He hesitated before killing his target. His guilt for his two murders sent him into a feverish state for days on end. He walked to the police station to confess his crimes a million times before finding some reason, right before he was meant to do it, to chicken out and continue living life under this ever-evolving notion that he was sorely mistaken about himself. Rodya is not the "Napolean" he thought he was born to be.

How does this relate to the Bungou Stray Dogs character? I believe that Fyodor is, essentially, the embodiment of the "right to kill". He is everything that Rodya thought he was, which is an excellent analysis on the part of Asagiri. One of the first things Fyodor does is kill Ace, then a relatively innocent child, Karma. He does this without blinking, without a hint of remorse, and proceeds with his day. He knows that this is his right, that he is the one above others, that he can kill and he cannot be caught for it. He claims to have mastered and tamed his own ability. Why? Because he is the "Extraordinary."

Another theme that I find quite intriguing is religion. In truth, it really isn't that prevalent (though there are a great many Biblical quotations and references throughout) until the last part, Part 6, of Crime and Punishment. Rodya has a near-constant epiphany with religious belief, even at one point stating, point-blank and in irritation, that God isn't real and He certainly isn't helping anyone in the mortal plane. He oscillates between claiming that the "Devil" forced him to kill, to saying that believers are frantic and stupid, then to kissing the dirty ground in repentance for his crimes. He state of mind ends in that repentance state, a supposed believer and eager to start his life anew.

To make Fyodor a devoted believer in God, with a set viewpoint and acting as an executor of God's will, is, once again, an excellent choice. Rodya's irritation and inner turmoil were one of the many reasons why he failed miserably in maintaining the secret of his crimes. Fyodor is none of those things: he is calm, cool, collected, and set in his ways. Interestingly, in Crime and Punishment, the vilest character also seems to have no particular issues with religion himself. And he, for the most part, gets away with his heinous crimes completely. This battle of belief, and relating it to God, provides a healthy insight to why Fyodor has obtained the "right to kill", versus Rodya, who was born "Ordinary."

The last point I want to seriously touch on is less about Crime and Punishment and more about the author himself. However, I did learn about this through reading the translator's notes (the translation I read is by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Second Edition (2021), Vintage Classics). Dostoevsky was hugely indebted to Nikolai Gogol as a successor to Gogol's ingenious literary developments in "fantastical realism" and satire. Dostoevsky made several references to Gogol's works in C&P, and none in a critical manner. In the animanga, the roles are completely reversed; Nikolai is the one chasing after Fyodor, admiring his intellect and "ingenious" with the eventual goal of setting himself free. This idea of flipping authors' relationships on their heads is part of what makes Bungou Stray Dogs so entertaining to consume, and it takes a great deal of research and effort to be able to adjust these relationships so that they clearly reflect the real-life ones.

As for one afterthought, the name "Rats in the House of the Dead" appears to be a clever play on the Dostoevsky book Notes from the Dead House. I haven't read this book yet, but I want to (along with Notes from Underground). I'm curious to see if there is any further correlation, but I would assume not, considering the contents of the book.

NO. I did NOT find literally anything that could help me decipher Fyodor's ability. Rodya literally confesses his crime like a week and a half after he commits it. No character in this novel, nor theme, reflects whatever the h e double hockey sticks Fyodor has going on in BSD. I have theories, but they have literally nothing to do with Crime and Punishment outside of the base fact that his ability has something to do with killing (which we already knew). Woe is me. I'll get over it, I guess.

32 notes · View notes

neonghostlights · 8 months

Text

The Way I Am

A Where Is My Mind Blurb. This takes place after series and although this blurb isn't happy, Eddie and Readers story does have a lot of happiness in it in the future. I just want to show that things are not always perfect after she gets her memories back. I have plenty of blurbs planned to show their happiness too.

Warnings: Angst, blood, arguing, hurt/no comfort, 18+ only

March 5th, 1987

You heard the squeak of the sliding patio door dragging across the metal track. He didn’t say anything at first because he simply didn’t need to. His slippers scratched against the planks of wood with each shuffling step he took closer to you. He always walked ridiculous in those slippers but he wore them because you bought them for him.

The coastal breeze whipped through and you pulled the knitted cardigan that you had grabbed on your way out around you tighter. It was still dark outside and you could catch the stars twinkling between each passing wispy cloud.

His warm hand caressed the back of your neck, a silent acknowledgment that he was there. His touch made you shiver, not because of him but because of the reminder of your nightmares brought with the feeling.

“You couldn’t sleep?” He asked as he sat beside you on the wooden bench next to you. He reached in his pajama pants pocket to fish out his lighter. The wind made it difficult but he finally got his cigarette lit and took a deep puff.

He played it off. You knew he knew you couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

His hand found your leg, a firm weight to keep you from floating away into the sky. Nights like this were hard, when the nightmares were too real.

You had woken up thrashing in bed, drenched in sweat and with bloody palms from digging your nails into them without realizing it. You knew you had woken him up, like you always did when you were like this. Eddie was such a light sleeper now because of you.

It made you sick with guilt to know that he was up with you instead of back in the warm bed. Sometimes you wondered if all of this was even worth it. Maybe he would have been better off if you had never gotten your memories back. He could have the chance to be out here living a new life that he deserved without having to worry about the state you were in.

You were damaged now. Vecna free but still ruined from the imprint left in your mind. Some days you were always looking over your shoulder, afraid you’d see him standing behind you. Some nights, like tonight, the nightmares were far too real to just be dreams.

He held the cigarette out for you to take. You took it, your fingers brushing against his for a moment. The smoke filled your lungs before you pushed it back out, watching it swirl up into the sky.

You sighed, handed Eddie the cigarette back and leaned your head against his bare shoulder. You could feel the goosebumps on his arm as you ran your hand up and down his skin to bring him some warmth.

“Go back inside,” you muttered to him softly.

“No,” he simply said. His eyes were focused into the distance, like he could see past your neighbors house and into the horizon. You wished you could read his mind and knew what he was thinking.

You sighed and kicked your feet, not wanting him to know you were staring at him.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t talk to me about it,” he admitted, still staring off into the distance.

“Eddie, just go back inside,” you snapped, words coming out harsher than you meant. This was the new way you handled things when they got too hard, you snapped and unfortunately Eddie was always on the receiving end.

“Stop pushing me away,” he said now with his eyes on you, “I’m not going anywhere and you don’t have to deal with this by yourself.”

He said the words without anger, only frustration. You knew Eddie could only stay so kind to you but his patience was running thin from his constant worrying.

“I do have to deal with this by myself because it’s not like you understand,” you shouted, standing up from the bench. “It’s my head he was in and I’m tired of being so afraid all of the time. I’m tired of dreaming about him at night. I’m tired of seeing you die every night.” Your voice cracked from the tears threatening to spill. You tilted your chin up, willing them not to fall.

“Just talk to me. Or, shit, see that therapist like we were talking about,” Eddie offered with a pained expression.

He reached for you but you took a step back, avoiding his touch. It was all too much right now.

You wished you didn’t have to see the things you saw when you fell asleep. You were exhausted from night after night of only an hour or so of rest. You were sick of the guilt that plagued you from keeping Eddie up as well as you tossed and turned.

The dreams were just too real and it felt like you were back in that place watching Eddie bleed in front of you with no hope of surviving.

“Just go back to bed, Eddie,” you begged, letting a single teardrop go.

Eddie sighed as he cast a long, sad look at you. You sat back down on the bench silently, looking back up at the sky.

You heard the door slide close again as he went back to bed alone and left you alone with your thoughts.

Later that night you crawled into bed beside him, reaching for him in the dark. He hadn't fallen asleep, and you knew he had been waiting for you like he always did.

Eddie always waited for you.

You curled beside him hesitantly, but he pulled you closer, accepting the warmth you brought.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you laid your head against his chest, letting his heartbeat lull you back to sleep.

You felt his lips brush against your forehead in a sleepy kiss. You knew everything would be okay.

Tomorrow you would do better.

#eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst

80 notes · View notes

enaelyork · 7 months

Note

Love all of your headcanons and posts!

What are your headcanons for being on the ship and thrown into another galaxy with Exile Thrawn?

Hiii i'm so so so sorry for delay ! I was sick and my work takes so many time. So here we are =D So many things to say about, so i decided to limit myself to the very beginning of the exile. Hoping you like it.

There's a lot of talk about officers appreciating and admiring Thrawn for his military prowess, but you're clearly not one of them. For you, Thrawn got to his position by luck and above all - and you must recognize this - because most Imperials are idiots.

However, you were assigned to the Chimaera, which did not help your good relations with your superior. You are also very surprised to see the calm with which he handles your protests. Because you are the first to contradict him, the first to never agree with him and... Very strangely, the one who spends the most time in his office.

When the incident took place, when the shock carried you and the entire ship into the unknown, you were unable to contain your anger. You were afraid, but above all, you were mad with rage against him who predicted everything and who was not able to anticipate this catastrophe.

The idea of being stuck there, somewhere, far from everything with him is literally unbearable for you. Seriously ? You would rather end up in a sandy desert and die of thirst.

You notice that despite the fiasco you are the victim of, Thrawn remains surprisingly calm when observing the damage to the ship. Yet there is something hovering above him and you are unable to define it. It drives you crazy this constant indifference to everything that seems to happen to you because of him.

In your own way, you try to act to find a solution. You note the damage suffered by the ship, count the number of deaths. Discovering that some of your friends did not survive the shock is difficult for you to take. The worst ? Report it to your superior who remains impassive in the face of your distress and the seriousness of what is affecting you.

After several days of struggle, your body becomes exhausted as much as your mental strength. Nothing seems to allow you to be located by the Imperial forces. Nothing tells you where you got lost. Distraught, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, you notice that Thrawn is watching you.

And it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

You walk up to him, your eyes filled with anger and tears, and throw your badges at his feet. Deciding that being far from the empire allows you to free yourself from its authority. You scream. You fume to see him so indifferent, so impassive while there are still lives to save on this ship, that the empire needs your help.

He lets you explode, remaining impassive in the face of your anger. The truth is that the anger you direct at him is also directed at you. You are unable to admit that despite all your efforts and the accumulated fatigue you are unable to find a reasonable solution.

You thought you would make him react by putting yourself in this state, but he just asks you if you are finished and leaves without another word.

At nightfall, when you have been in exile with him for several weeks now, you are wandering aimlessly in the carcass of the Chimaera when you notice a light on the main command deck. Thrawn's shadow casts over you as you sneak in to spy on him.

He looks defeated, the light from the holoprojection further stretching his already tired features. Even though he remains in a deep state of concentration, what you see on his face that evening upsets you more than you would like to admit.

Trouble. Disappointment. Pain. Guilt. Thrawn probably realizes that he will be stuck here for a long time and that he will miss important feats of arms for the empire. That he will be cut off from the world and his loved ones for much longer than expected.

And it breaks your heart.

On the holovid, you discover that the Grand Admiral has also put his time to good use. Rather than looking for a solution inside the ship, he has undertaken excavations outside and numerous symbols are projected onto the central table. Symbols that you have already seen in books when you were a student and which are not that foreign to you.

-Dathomir. You said in a breath. The look he gives you then petrifies you in a strange way. As if your heart had just stopped beating and started beating faster than normal. Had you ever realized the intensity of his gaze before this moment? You put these strange emotions down to fatigue before he speaks.

-Perhaps we have before us the solution to all our problems, lieutenant. He whispers in a monotone voice. You are stunned by the amount of work he has accomplished in such a short time and you are angry that you were so wrong.

-Will you help me? He ends up murmuring at your silence. That’s when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off you for many minutes. After a brief moment of hesitation, you end up nodding your head.

-I've never been very cooperative, but I'm willing to make an effort. You admitted slowly, eyes glued to the ground.

-Stay as you are. It’s your spirit that I’m going to need to bring us back. For your mind and your intelligence.

These words hit you like a crashing space cruiser. It’s violently sweet and you’re not sure your heart will survive it. Either way, you're convinced this is the start of something different. That this exil will introduce you to Grand Admiral Thrawn like no one has ever seen him.

#star wars #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #fanfiction #star wars thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawn x reader #thrawn ahsoka #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka thrawn #star wars fanfiction #star wars headcanon #headcanon prompts

68 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 3 days

Note

Yandere concept for Sans Undertale with Broken! Darling? I really love you writing and thank you for your hard work!!

Ooo~ I see you've given me more angst material. This may be short... but I hope it's an idea that's intriguing >:) I'm happy you enjoy my work, people like you are the reason I write.

Yandere! Sans The Skeleton with Broken! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Denial, Manipulation, Mind break (Darling), Dark themes, Trauma implied, Dissociation implied, Stockholm syndrome implied, Guilt, Forced relationship/companionship.

I'm going to be honest, if Sans broke his darling it could go one of two ways.

You reciprocate... or become a husk of your former self.

The second option would be the one to break him too.

Sans himself is already under a ton of mental strain.

RESETS are a big cause of this.

Normally, Sans wouldn't get to this point.

His obsession over you normally doesn't result in kidnapping.

Although... I suppose it could if the normally laid-back skeleton managed to snap.

Even then, due to his nature he plays it off when he first brings you home.

It's eerie how casual he is with it, admitting that you now live with him and the doors are blocked off by bones....

Despite his laid-back nature, that does nothing to ease your mental state.

In fact it may make it worse.

First of all, you can just tell something deep in Sans changed to cause him to do this.

He's once again masking his true emotions about you, always trying to distract you from the fact he kidnapped you.

This works for either intention he has.

He just can't deal with only watching anymore.... he just had to have you.

Which eventually leads to your slow mental decline and break-down.

To get to such a point you'd have to go through a lot.

Several escape attempts... a ton of pleading... the isolation of it all....

For you to break you'd have to feel helpless.

Considering how powerful Sans really is, there's a good chance you aren't leaving if he doesn't want you to.

I personally feel Sans would feel bad and try to work things out before you get to such a point.

However... maybe things go too far.

Maybe Sans accidentally breaks his dearest.

Eventually they'll realize that escape isn't happening.

Not unless he allows it.

Such a thought may be enough to break you since Sans also dislikes punishment.

Soon you'll just... give up.

It really isn't worth it anymore, is it?

Isn't accepting your fate better?

Maybe then you can go outside.

Now, if you break and end up reciprocating, Sans is guilty but pleased.

He feels bad since he knows what was done to get you to this point.

Although, he tries to ignore such thoughts by distracting himself with you.

After all... now you love him, right?

The love may be artificial and not genuine... but perhaps it can be enough to soothe his own pain.

Then there's the opposite, you break and just... aren't you.

You're a shell of your formal self, you're there physically... not mentally.

You can no longer cope with this stress, soon Sans realizes this when it's too late.

You're like a living doll.

He can feed you, hold you... but you won't speak.

You're both you... and not you.

This would break Sans as he knows he's lost you.

There's no coming back from this, it becomes the only time he wishes for a RESET.

After all... then he could have you back.

This outcome he'd regret much more.

For him... this may be worse than you dying.

This second outcome is a constant reminder of what he's done...

Leading him to keep such a memory forever, even after a RESET if it ever happens.

#yandere undertale #yandere sans #yandere sans the skeleton

27 notes · View notes

isabella-kr · 7 months

Text

Chapter Twelve: Killer

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: No-Face is forced to face the crimes of her past.

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture, injuries, blood, human trafficking, assassins, murder and death.

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: I would like to apologise if this chapter feel off, or rushed. I scrapped and rewrote it ten times, at one point even deleting 6k words off the face of the earth.

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

GIF not mine

The inside of the chopper felt almost like a second home to her. After the many hours she had spent inside the machine, its metallic walls and loudly whirring blades felt more familiar than not. The smell, although having her scrunch up her nose the first time she had entered one, was now almost welcomed; a sense of familiarity.

She easily tuned out the men around her, their gruff voices reaching her ears despite the loudness of the chopper itself; the blades whirring, the radio beeping, stuff rattling on the walls, and even the voices that continued to reach her through her comms. Even through it all, she had managed to tune out everyone and everything around her, too focused on the touch that had lingered on her shoulder.

“You sure you’re alright?” Price’s voice echoed in her head.

He had pulled her aside minutes prior. His hand was on the bend of her elbow, guiding her away from the chopper she was ready to board. He was ever so concerned, an expression she had noticed often on his face, whether it was over something minor, like a soldier breaking a finger, or something major, like a mission gone wrong.

It was as though he was in a constant state of concern and worry.

A part of her felt almost responsible – guilty – as her problems, nay, her mere presence was bound to cause some sort of stress or worry. The way she had watched him go from disinterest and anger he held months ago during those first few weeks she was reintroduced into his life, to concern, and sometimes even happiness, was touching, really. The way he laughed whenever she told him a joke he had most definitely heard a million times before, or how patient he was with her when she, for the first time, experienced something basic that most would have experienced many times in their lives.

His concern was appreciated, but with the guilt of having killed someone from her past, and the many awful memories that were coming back to the surface as a result, she couldn’t help but feel like she did not deserve his concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, her lips pulling into a small smile.

That wasn’t a lie. Despite the turmoil she was currently feeling, she was trained to not allow her emotions get in the way. She would be fine, and she would see the mission to completion no matter what.

He raised a brow at her but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, “Alright... but I’ll need you to make me a promise.”

She looked around for a moment, her eyes settling on the bright moonbeams that painted the ground and reflected off the windows. The silver light highlighted the side of his face, his eyes seeming sharper than always, the blues like the ocean on a cold winter’s day.

“Okay,” she whispered, her tongue wetting her slowly drying lips.

He took in a small breath, his eyes searching hers, “The moment it gets too much, I need you to tell me.”

“I’m fine-”

“I understand that,” His voice remained calm, assuring almost, “I understand that you’re alright now, and that you were brought up – trained – not to... show... emotions, but this won’t work in the long run. I need you on your best out there or else you become a liability; to me, yourself, and everyone else.”

She just nodded, her eyes briefly drifting down to the tips of her shiny boots. She played with her fingers, her nails digging into the skin of her thumbs as she cleared her throat and looked back up at him.

“I understand,” she said.

“Good,” he smiled, “For now... you’re fine, yeah?”

She sent him a small nod as her teeth nipped on the inside of her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as his hand raised and formed a fist, and thinking he had wanted to fist-bump their agreement – like she had seen many soldiers do before – she raised hers as well.

Except... his thumb was stuck up.

It wasn’t a fist, but rather a thumbs up. Unsure what to do, with her knuckles pressing against his, she felt slight panic form in her chest. Without thinking much about her next move, she reached forward and enveloped his thumb in her hand.

Her brows furrowed as soon as she did so, silently cursing herself out for embarrassing herself right in front of him, “Um...”

“That works too,” he breathed out a small laugh before pulling his hand away from hers and placing it on her shoulder. He squeezed the area with an assuring touch; firm yet gentle. His thumb brushed along her uniform, lingering for a few seconds before he inevitably let go and bid her a silent goodbye.

It was then that she entered a chopper, her boots stomping hard against the metal, and his touch lingering on her shoulder as though his hand was still squeezing her flesh. As she took a seat on one of the cold benches, she brushed off her shoulder and slipped her usual mask over her face.

“Take that shit off,” An American soldier spat, pulling the night-vision goggles off as the reflection blinded him.

Oh.

She had almost forgotten about the mask’s original purpose to blind people. It wasn’t made only for concealment; it was a weapon just like any other part of her old uniform. All it did was remind her of memories she’d rather forget – of the monstrosities she had committed... ones that were later used against her.

The cold room was dimly lit, the plastic light shade swinging softly despite the lack of breeze; it was stuffy, the feeling of cold and uncomfortable humidity sticking to her bruised skin. Her face hurt; her body hurt. Every bruise ached, and her muscles felt like they were on fire from being forced to sit in one place for hours upon hours at a time.

She had lost track of how long she’s been there. Was it mere days? No, she’s been there far too long. But then, time tends to drag, making minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days. Was it weeks? Possible. Months? Also possible.

The hostiles had tried every possible thing to break her. They beat her, bruising her skin beyond belief. They used atrocious music that made her mad, the irritating tune still stuck on repeat in her head. They bluffed, saying they would hurt her loved ones if she didn’t cooperate, which only confirmed her suspicions they knew nothing about her, or of the people they are up against.

They didn’t break her. She didn’t show emotion. No fear. No anger. Just pure indifference. She had accepted the possibility of death many years ago, and their threats did nothing to her.

They did nothing.

Nothing at all.

Or did they?

She was exhausted. Her eyes burned, and her handcuffed hands shook from hunger and stress she didn’t want to admit to. She was scared, but she refused to show it.

She wanted to go home – to the compound. To the only place she’s ever known to be relatively safe; where she wouldn’t be tortured to death, and where the memories of her mother embraced her in her darkest times.

Her burning eyes drifted to the creaky door as it was opened, and a woman with short blonde hair entered the room with a laptop in her hand. She’s seen her before just standing in the background, gathering information from those who tried to break her.

Two burly men entered behind her, carrying a metal table which they set in front of 3-2-6 before leaving the room and leaving the two women alone. The lady sat on the other side of the table, and carefully placed a bottle of water on the table beside the laptop.

She didn’t open the laptop yet. Instead, she set her arms onto it and looked into her eyes, her striking blues sharp, as if trying to break through her walls with a mere look. It felt as though she was analysing her; her dishevelled hair, her dry and cracked lips, her tired eyes and darkly bruised cheeks.

“My name is Kate Laswell, I’m with the CIA,” she explained, her eyes still boring into hers.

Why was she introducing herself? No one else did.

“You haven’t said much since you got here,” she said, slightly tilting her head to the side, “It’s impressive, really. Most break within a week.”

Silence.

3-2-6 wet her lips, the inside of her mouth feeling like she’s just held cotton between her cheeks for hours on end. She cleared her throat, yet she still said nothing.

Laswell stared at her for a few moments, as if giving her time to reply, but when no sound came, she spoke once more.

“We’ve swept our databases in search for you,” she said, her words clear and voice monotone, “We found nothing. No name. No age. No birth certificate. Legally, you don’t exist... why?”

Still nothing. Not a word left her dried up lips.

“Okay,” Laswell spoke, and opened the laptop.

The clicking of the keyboard filled the room, bouncing off the walls and drowning out the silence that had settled upon them. The CIA agent was quiet, her fingers working diligently on the laptop, eyes focused.

Eventually, she turned the PC her way and clicked on the space bar.

A video played; CCTV footage to be more precise. A group of people at a restaurant smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves. They were happy… until they weren’t.

A silent explosion. The tables were thrown, crashing against the walls. Plates cracked. Glasses smashed.

People fell to the floor. Blood coated the once pristine restaurant, with the rubble of the explosion only causing more and more harm.

She switched to another video. A couple in a park. A colourful blanket was spread beneath them, a large bouquet by the woman’s side as they shared as small, store-bought cake. They, too, looked happy, with smiles from ear to ear and silent laughter escaping her lips.

And then-

Blood.

The man’s body went limp as a bullet travelled through the air and lodged itself straight in in his skull. He doubled over, falling onto the woman’s lap as she screamed bloody murder, his blood coating her white dress.

The video switched to another.

And another. And another. And another.

After what felt like hours, with her eyes stinging more than ever before, and her throat dry as the desert - the bottle of water mocking her as it stayed closed on the table – the videos finally stopped. The screen went dark, and the laptop was promptly shut.

The door opened, and two men with their arms crossed entered the chilly room. One was bald, with eyes striking as he glared at her. He was the leader, that much she could tell as his mere stance revealed the power he held. The man beside him was younger with dirty blond hair, yet the small wrinkles on his face betrayed his age and the years of experience behind him.

They didn’t say anything, the bald one merely sharing a look with Kate Laswell, nodding as they seemingly exchanged a silent conversation.

Laswell cleared her throat and wet her lips, pushing the laptop to the side as she took in a breath, “There’s more where that came from.”

More CCTV footage. More lives lost.

“The question is: why? What’s the end goal?” she asked, her hands crossed on the table, “What are you fighting for?”

What was she fighting for? What was she fighting for?

She never questioned her orders, but her missions were never explained either. She only knew the who and where, the why was irrelevant.

She didn’t need to know the why. The reason for her missions was unimportant, only their completion mattered, and she always made sure she completed hers to the best of her abilities.

But why? Why was she killing all those people?

She shook her head, the exhaustion and pain getting to her. She considered herself tough; mere torture would not break her. But she’s been there for weeks. Her body was weak, and as much as she hated to admit it, her mind was, too.

She was starting to question her orders and everything she had ever known. She was on the right side of history – that’s what was ingrained into her from the very moment she was born. She was one of the ‘good guys’. All those people, the ones who lost their life at her hands, they all deserved it in one way or another, that much she was certain of.

Or was she? Did they deserve such brutal deaths? What was her – their – aim.

There were so many of them. So much blood spilled. She had forgotten about a large percentage of them, her victims not important enough for her to remember their names, their faces, or even the sound of their voices.

All that footage, and she didn’t even know if she was the one who had killed them or someone else. It could have been anyone else from her compound, or perhaps a completely different one entirely. She didn't know.

She didn’t-

“Who’s paying you?” the bald more spoke up yet didn’t move from his spot by the closed door.

Paying?

Her expression must have betrayed her, for Laswell immediately noticed the confusion she was feeling.

“An Assassin for hire, that’s what you are, aren’t you?” she raised her brows, “They give you a task, you do it, you get paid. Now, we’re assuming you have a goal of your own, as that seems to be the case with people in your line of work. So... what is it?”

Silence. Her eyes moved down to the table as she digested their words. Her words were caught in her throat and formed an uncomfortable lump. She took in a breath, no longer knowing what to think.

“What was so important for you to kill all those people?” Laswell’s voice had an edge to it as she pulled out a folder from underneath the laptop and opened it up.

Inside it was a picture of a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and a bright smile on her face. The apples of her cheeks were rosy and lifted, her expression radiating happiness she has seen many times when on missions, yet never in the compound.

“Julie Croft,” Laswell revealed, “A nurse. She was found poisoned at the hospital she worked at. When we looked through the CCTV we found this.”

She pulled out another picture... of her. She remembered the mission like it happened yesterday. Undercover with fake injuries. She poisoned the woman’s coffee, with what exactly she wasn’t certain. But it was a mission well done, and that was all that mattered back then.

“Antonio Torres; a human rights activist. Anna Kowalska; a veterinarian....”

She pulled out pictures after pictures, all of which were her confirmed kills. Women’s rights activists, doctors, teachers, therapists, cleaners, volunteers. Women, men, children. None of whom held what would be considered dangerous, or threatening lifestyles. They were considered harmless citizens, many of which helped and even saved the lives of others. None of them deserved to die, and especially not at her brutal hands.

Her chest felt heavy. She could hear her trainer’s words in her head, telling her to never believe their enemies. Take everything with a grain of salt. Throw your emotions out the window and don’t let them manipulate you. But her weakened state didn’t allow her to not take any of it to heart. She wasn’t killing people who threatened their cause – whatever their cause even was – they were civilians with nothing heavy on their souls. They were innocents and their deaths made no sense.

“This is pointless,” The bald man spoke, his eyes narrowed into a glare, “If we can’t get anything out of her... then the Shadows will.”

The man beside him smiled, pushing himself off the wall and moving to stand behind her chair. His rough hands grabbed onto her shoulders; his touch painful against her already existing bruises.

No-

She didn’t want to... she couldn’t take it anymore. Everything she was taught, everything she was told was pushed to the back of her mind, and as she watched the lady before her stand and walk back towards the door, she suddenly spoke.

“I don’t-” her voice was hoarse and barely audible, but it caused the woman and bald man to stop in their tracks. She cleared her throat, a cough rolling from her chest, “I don’t know.”

The two shared a look. The man behind her let go off her shoulders and Laswell walked back towards her. She opened the bottle of water and with careful hands, pressed it against her lips so she could drink.

“You don’t know what?” the bald man’s words echoed in the room as he stood on the other side of the table, his eyes locking with hers.

The water soothed her throat. With her mouth no longer dry and uncomfortable, she wet her lips and cleared her throat once more, yet her voice was still hoarse, “The... end goal... I don’t know what it was. I don’t ask questions.”

Laswell took a seat before her once again, eyes locking with hers, “You get your tasks, don’t ask questions and get paid. Most clients like to share as little details as possible, so it makes sense,” she nodded thoughtfully.

The bald man behind her agreed, and then took a step forward, “My question is how you managed to get all those clients. You are young... too young for so many assignments.”

“I...” she exhaled sharply, her tired eyes struggling to stay awake after so many hours of ongoing torture, “I don’t get paid. I don’t have clients.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them. She could feel the man behind her glaring her down as Laswell and the man shared a look. Ad he opened his mouth to speak, Kate had cut him off. Her eyes held a strange look to them, as though she was reading straight through her.

“Then why?” she questioned.

Her brows knit, “Why don’t I get paid?”

The bald man slammed his hands onto the table, “Why do you kill?”

“I have to,” was what she told them, “I do what they need me to do. If I don’t-”

“They?” Laswell spoke once more, hand held out as if telling the two men to allow her to speak – that she would take care of this. “Who are they?”

“I don’t-”

That was a good question. Truth be told, the people who gave out the orders were never there, their word was simply passed on through someone else. A high-ranking assassin most often, one who now trained the younger generation as they were either too old or had been injured on their last mission. Yet their knowledge and loyalty were not questionable, and they were not killed or given up like many younger assassins had been had they gotten severely injured on their mission.

“I don’t know,” she swallowed thickly.

She was too tired for this. Her body ached too much. Her eyes stung. Her throat hurt. It was all getting too much.

“Don’t lie!” the bald man raised his voice, “Cooperate.”

“I am!” Her voice raised, the frustration of the lack of sleep getting to her.

Her emotions were getting to her for the first time in years.

He continued to push. An accusation after accusation, his voice raising, his hands slamming against the table. Threats rolled off his tongue like an early-day greeting, his eyes holding nothing but hatred and disgust as he yelled and yelled and yelled.

“Who are they?” He yelled for what felt like that thousandth time that evening.

“I don’t know!”

“Then how do you know them?”

“I don’t know!” she panted, her eyes blurry, “I never met them, all their messages are relayed by the others!”

“The others?” he questioned.

“At the compound!” she yelled back, “The mentors; the older ones. They train us, they show us everything we know, and they pass on messages. They choose who gets to progress, they-”

She took in a shaky breath, the others suddenly falling quiet, even the bald man not saying a single word.

Kate Laswell broke the silence, her voice quieter than before, “What’s your name?”

What? What did that have to do with the conversation at hand? She was confused, yet replied nonetheless, hoping the cooperation would cease this verbal torture.

“A-326,” she simply said, brows furrowing when they looked at one another.

She had said it so casually, and it only made them realise how normal that name must have been in her world. How normal it was for her, and perhaps many others, to be dehumanised and used as puppets in a much larger game they didn’t even know they were a part of.

“How long have you had that name?” Laswell asked.

“I was given it when I was born,” she said as though it was obvious.

Laswell inhaled deeply and leaned back on her chair, “Your mother gave birth to you at the... compound, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“And she was born there, too?”

“No,” No-Face shook her head, “She was saved when she was six.”

“Saved?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “They are taken from their families, yes, but... we are told that, ultimately, they are better off at the compound, where they are trained properly.”

Silence.

Why did they grow silent?

They all stared at her as though she had grown another head.

“Jesus Christ,” the man behind her suddenly spoke, which only worsened the tense atmosphere.

Laswell took in a breath, and then muttered, “They’re getting trafficked,” she said, more to herself than to the others in the room, “It’s a trafficking ring. Those kids are getting brainwashed, trained and moulded into killers.”

“This is bigger than we thought,” The bald man muttered, his footsteps echoing as he made his way towards the door, which creaked when he pulled it open.

She could hear his whisper in the background, speaking to the men outside of the room before completely leaving the run-down building. Her tired and burning eyes snapped to the door when two men entered, their eyes less angered and hateful than they had been before when they made her life a living hell.

One of them reached behind her, and as his keys jingled, hie unlocked the handcuffs which held her in place for too many days to count. They had been digging into her skin, leaving inflammation and scabs behind, the pain becoming much more noticeable now that they were off her wrists.

The other grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her up to her feet. She wobbled, the world swirling due to the dizziness; she hadn’t stood up in days, and so it was no wonder her body reacted negatively when she was forced to do so. She groaned in pain, but her eyes widened in panic when they began to remove her from the room.

“Where-” she tried to fight them, “Where are you taking me-”

The men didn’t reply, and instead continued to pull her towards the creaky door. She didn’t want to. She was afraid.

Were they going to kill her?

No.

She didn’t tell them enough for them to kill her. They would no doubt want to know more and more and more. Their questions would be never ending. Every awful detail and every memory, they’d want to know it all.

Torture. That was the only option left. There was just more torture to come.

“I’ll cooperate,” she tried to argue, yet her voice came out more begging – more desperate – than she had hoped.

As they pulled her through the threshold, they were stopped in their tracks. The muffled voice of Kate Laswell rang in her ears, and soon enough the rough hands were pulled off her bruised arm, soon replaced with Kate’s much softer hold.

“It’s alright,” she assured her, “We’re going to help you.”

Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lora21 @kafeyjen

60 notes · View notes