#and it sometimes gets him places and it sometimes works to his detriment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jinnie-ret · 2 months ago

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cover me

poly!stray kids x fem reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: stress from uni/work

word count: 1.5k

summary: money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

requested: @straykidsnerd255

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Every time she tried to take one step forward, something would ultimately knock her back twice as far. Finally having a very generously paid job as an intern at a big company was serving her well, yet with the return of going back to university, finding a work-school balance was becoming difficult.

Truly, that was the hardest thing. She had great people around her, those being her uni friends or her loving boyfriends, the renowned Kpop band, Stray Kids. The way they cared for her and each other with such strong morals and support meant that surely it would be easy to confide in them.

Not always, especially in this case.

Other times she would be thankful for the fact that her partners all had a longer practice at the company, not to their own detriment of course, but because it gave her more time to get herself together and paint on a calm picture of 'I'm definitely not struggling right now and on the brink of my second breakdown of the day'.

However, this time she really needed them. The stress had amounted to such a level that she felt it right through to her bones, and so she found herself crying over the smallest things, which in turn let out the release of her biggest pain.

"Stupid shoes, why aren't they organised, there's too many," she sniffled, sat on her knees by the front door as she began to cry at shoes. Yes, shoes. Her boyfriends' shoes to be specific. She would have thought at least Seungmin would have berated the others for their lack of organisation at this point but even his were out of place.

"They didn't even match them back up," she cried, and more tears spilled out, "oh, why am I even crying right now?"

Sometimes being in such a state meant that it was hard to understand your own feelings, your thoughts far too occupied with the wants of other people to be able to manage the basic needs of your own.

Eventually she gave up on the shoes and wiped her tears, walking slowly over to the sofa and letting her body fall into it with a soft thump. She tugged a soft velvety blanket over herself, one that Felix probably picked out due to it's plush exterior, and instinctively cocooned herself. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes hot and burning as the tears kept falling. All it took was a reminder on her phone for a work assignment, and a uni assignment, to trigger a sob to catch her throat.

"Too much," she sobbed to herself, trying to muffle the sounds even though there was no one else to hear them, "it's too much."

She was wrong. Not about her feelings, gosh, no, but the fact that she thought she was alone.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hyunjin was crouched down right in front of her trembling form, almost hidden if it wasn't for the blanketed lump that had been shaking so much it couldn't have been natural.

His hand brushed her hair back and his thumb rubbed under her eyes, catching the tears that seemed to keep appearing. Hyunjin watched on in deep concern, just like their other boyfriends did the more they realised something was wrong.

"What? When, when did you get back?" she gulped down her sobs, or attempted to, even though her words still came out messily. She sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and resting around her hips.

"Don't worry about that, love. Just tell us what's going on, yeah? What's wrong?" Chan held her against him immediately, taking a seat ñext to her. The only time his arm that was wrapped around her moved away, was to let Jeongin lift the blanket back up to keep her warm.

"I don't know," she sniffed indignantly, coughing lightly through her cries when she tried to clear her throat. Her arm pressed against the lower half of her face.

"You're getting yourself in a state now, come on, move your arm, you know you don't have to hold back in front of us," Seungmin sighed sadly, seeing his girlfriend so stressed. He pulled her arm towards her lap which he was sat in front of, holding her hand with one of his own and the other rubbing her knee.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically at first, until hearing the rest of what he had to say and tilting her head up to the ceiling to blink away the rest of her tears.

Chan pressed a kiss against her forehead, and everyone was around her to offer comfort, Felix and Changbin in particular wanting to jump out of their seats on the adjacent sofa to take all the pain away.

"What's got you to upset, jagi?" Jisung pouted, his own eyes glistening as he saw how upset you were.

"It's stupid, really," she began, rubbing at her eyes roughly, Hyunjin subsequently tutting at her and pulling her other hand away that Seungmin wasn't occupying.

"We're not doing that, jagi," Minho shook his head, brows furrowed, looking down at the floor with his hands folded together, "if it's upset you, it's not stupid."

"Exactly, please just tell us, you know we just want to help, that's all," Felix quickly pitched in, face crumpled sadly much like your own.

"There's just too much going on really. You know? Like, oh-" she had to cut herself off when her voice cracked with emotion again.

"You're ok, take your time," Jeongin gave a small smile and nod to reassure her.

"We're listening, baby," Changbin's raspy voice rung out.

"I've got a good job right? Like, it pays so well, but now with going back to uni it's just like I don't have time for anything. I-i'm having to squeeze in hours where I don't have them because my boss won't help me work around my timetable," she explained, the clashing of two parts of her life and time issues being what was clearly causing so much turmoil.

"I'm sorry, darling," Chan tugged her closer to him, a frown on his face.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault, is it? I'm just so tired, I'm exhausted," she admitted, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath in order to not cry again.

"We'll help you figure this out, ok?" Hyunjin leant his head against her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," she let out a deep breath and nodded.

"I think you need to focus on uni, love. If work can't meet you in the middle then, it's hard," Seungmin trailed off, not wanting to fully leave her in the dark but not wanting to be too blunt.

"What do you think, jagi?" Jisung wondered, curled up against Minho, one leg hanging over the older's lap.

"I don't know. I don't even wanna make any decisions right now," she shook her head tiredly, blinking a couple times.

"That's understandable, baby, how about we just relax for now, ok?" Changbin suggested.

"And if anything else is upsetting you, please tell us," Chan huffed with a knowing smile.

"Ok, promise," she grinned.

₊˚⊹♡

She must have fallen asleep without realising, as she found herself waking up to Jeongin and Felix giggling over something on the latter's phone.

"What's going on?" she murmured tiredly, pressing her face deeper into... Jisung's chest, it took one whiff of his cologne to be able to tell it was him.

"Had a good sleep then, hmm?" Minho poked her forehead, slow blinking at her.

"Mm, yeah," she nodded, "Lixie, Innie, what's funny?"

The two froze, looking at her a bit guiltily.

"Well, umm, you know we have that camera in the hallway, just in case for security, like if someone broke in or-" Jeongin began to ramble awkwardly,

"I know, yeah," she nods, adjusting her head against Jisung's chest as he loosely keeps an arm around her, securing her to him.

"We're actually sorry for laughing, babe, it's just... You were crying over our shoes earlier?" Felix can't even keep eye contact as he explains.

Jisung stifles a laugh and so she slaps his chest playfully through her mild embarrassment, making him yell out dramatically.

"What's Sungie done now?" Hyunjin asks as he flops onto the sofa, entering the room again after leaving Chan, Seungmin and Changbin to managing the cooking.

"It's more about what our jagi did," Minho teases, looking at her with a smug grin.

"Guys, I was stressed, leave me aloneeee," she huffed, but it didn't stop the light laughter that filled the room knowing that she wasn't completely upset about it.

"Sorry, but..." Jeongin chuckles again, "the way you throw the shoes away from you is so funny!"

"What did our shoes do to you?!" Felix laughed again as he watched the video on replay.

"They smelt bad," she grinned happily, teasing them back as revenge, "specifically Ji's."

"Yah!"

Jisung gave her a noogie, keeping her trapped in his arms. He couldn't let her discredit him like that.

"Sorry! Sorry! Hahaha!"

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jo-harrington · 10 months ago

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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover

Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events

Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 2022. Such a weird time.

A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.

But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.

A new, old person. Eddie Munson.

Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.

So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”

If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.

That’s just not how the universe works.

At least…not this one...

October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.

But Eddie Munson was real.

Sometimes to his detriment.

And for the most part, it was alright.

He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.

It would be his day week month year sometime soon.

Wouldn't it?

But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.

What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.

It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."

"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."

No...no you weren't.

Why couldn't you be real.

See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.

A show where you were his favorite character.

And crush.

You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.

And man...Eddie had been there.

He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.

He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.

Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.

Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.

He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.

Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.

Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.

He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.

He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.

And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.

If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.

He knew…he just knew.

Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.

"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.

"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."

"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."

By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.

And then the unthinkable happened.

September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.

Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.

On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.

Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.

He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.

Or a big one.

How could he have known this would be anything but one...

Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.

He adored you.

Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.

He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.

The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.

Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.

Gross.

Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.

Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.

...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...

Eddie went rigid as he read those words.

The show...coming to an end?

"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."

He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.

The title of the feature was like crit hit.

The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.

One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season

The final season was a sham.

Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!

He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.

It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.

Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.

Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.

And you? You took a backseat.

Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.

Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.

Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.

Worthy of being the main character for once.

Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.

And Eddie cried.

The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.

He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.

The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.

"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.

It was a strange feeling.

Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?

You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.

But that wasn't you.

You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.

How could he go on without you?

Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.

If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.

Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.

He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.

The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.

"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.

Or until he needed a condom.

Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.

But there you stayed.

Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.

At least for a little while.

Eddie tried.

He did.

He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.

The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.

The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.

Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.

There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.

Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.

That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.

"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."

Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.

"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."

He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.

"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”

He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.

He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.

He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.

It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.

He could do this.

Or...

He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.

And given the choice?

Eddie Munson chose the latter.

And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.

Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.

They were cherished nights with you.

Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.

Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.

Third times a charm and all right?

He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.

Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.

Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.

He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.

An eternal bond, just you and him.

He stopped his ramblings at that thought.

It was a strange moment of clarity.

Where had that come from?

"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"

What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.

One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.

And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.

It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.

You'd never answer; you weren't real.

"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"

If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.

And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.

Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.

This crash, however, started a ruckus.

Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.

Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.

What else was there to do in the Midwest?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.

"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"

"Mom! Stop!"

"The car, Max!"

Maybe there'd be a fight.

He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.

He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.

Or it was a coincidence.

Or a dream.

Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?

Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.

But with the same license plate number?

The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.

"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."

It was a coincidence. It was a dream.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.

It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?

Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.

It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.

And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Because that driver was you.

Next Chapter: Alternate Universe

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#Eddie munson x reader #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson #stff updates

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sharkiethrts · 7 months ago

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prompt: meeting highschool sweetheart! sunday for the first time. oh, just how charming he tried to be

relations: sunday x reader

notes: this is modern au! with little relation to the actual story. There are NO YANDERE THEMES in this particular work, I'm more focused on picturing the human side of Sunday (without the detrimental effects of the dream master's manipulations).

warnings: none.

He talks a lot. Though you find that every word he says tend to fill with immense knowledge that seemed to peruse all the right places that clicked all the content your teacher had tried to impart upon the class. At this point, he made the teachers' comments seem more like an add on to his lessons. A rendition, almost.

He doesn't seem to have ever possessed a single vacuous thought in his life.

He's resplendent, too. Which added onto the charm, even if the classmate had found the subject particularly boring, they'd have to focus their gaze on him at least. If his charms hadn't worked (how, even), then his commanding presence should do the trick. Even when he wasn't speaking, you found that your gaze often found their way so incredibly naturally to him.

You think he knows of his charm. Otherwise, why would he be so confident in offering to relay the summary of Kafka's 'metamorphosis' so eagerly to you as an accompaniment to your reading.

"Kafka's self esteem has essentially pledged itself upon the approval of his family, which led to the derelict condition of his heart at the post-climax of the story..."

His voice is nice too. If the noises of the library are a cacophony of miserable sounds, his seems to have conducted all of it into an irie melody. You find yourself wondering whether his interactions with you have been a combination of polite passes and a shackled formality to maintain with another. You aren't an idiot, though you can be rather forgiving to details, you certainly haven't missed the unctuous smile and words he gifts to another.

You'd like to think that you'd be able to catch it when his facade starts showing but with the way his golden eyes introduce you to a drowning reverie, you start to doubt it.

It's not your first interaction, since his eager summarisation of Great Expectations two months ago, he hasn't stopped approaching you.

A part of you start to suspect that he had planned this. Every Friday, twelve forty-five, at the fiction corner.

You'd once change your schedule, moving it an hour later and happened upon Sunday impatiently waiting by the non-fiction corner, just two steps away from the fiction corner. When your eyes met, you think you saw a hint of splendor relief. You had quickly turned away. So you missed the rest.

"Are you perhaps tired?" His questions brings you back to reality, your eyes blinking furiously from how dry it had gotten by the past minute of you completing gazing off, "I understand that you had biology just prior to this, so I'd understand if you'd prefer to talk about something... easier to swallow... Macbeth, perhaps?"

There it is again. His not-so-subtle-now-that-you've-caught-on way of leading your time together to become a plethora of unending adventures. He doesn't offer to walk away but rather, a simple remedy of a new book. Sometimes a longer one, he had tried to sneak Harry Potter in once. Sneaky boy.

Seriously though? Macbeth for an 'easier-to-swallow' alternative? Now he's getting sloppy.

You test him.

"How about we part ways for now?" His eyes turned cautious. You decide to push it further, "I don't wish to burden your... already crowded responsibilities," you're certainly aware of his role as the golden boy of the Oak family, "Nor do I wish to force more ingratiating words out of you," You're certainly aware of his hidden affections for you by now, "Now that I think of it, haven't this been going on for... three months? That doesn't sound too fair to you-"

"-Two months," He cuts you off, his eyes now looking slightly strained. His posture taut, "You shouldn't be worrying of anything of the sorts, I'm completely happy to revise any type of stories you're interested in..."

That reminds you, your lie of being interested in Metamorphosis. You're sure that he hasn't read of it, yet, with his superb recounting of it to you? He must have spent his week revising.

"You don't need to be so... genteel," You smile, knowing exactly what a fool you're making of him, "I'm not exactly the most exciting conversation partner."

"Nonsense!" He cuts you off again, suddenly forgetting his manners, "You make me feel excitable things, I can assure you-" His cheeks suddenly turn red. His mouth closes. Then opens. And shuts again.

You let out the cheekiest smile you can possibly muster, "... Excitable, you say?"

You watch his neatly folded collar wrinkle for the first time.

"Nothing scandalous!"

You weren't thinking of such but now you're certainly curious, "I'm not quite sure I believe you."

Oh, did his tie loosen? A new sight to behold indeed.

Best to come at twelve forty-five sharp next week then.

#sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sharkie works ; all honkai #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #modern soft! sunday #highschool sweetheart!sunday #soft!sunday

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mcntsee · 5 months ago

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— ★fic recs 'twenty four

Hi! This is a masterlist for all my fic recs. This list will continue to update as I read and find more things to add. Credits go to the respective authors!

↳ Please make sure to check out the warning on each fic. Some of them contain stuff that might be triggering for some readers!

keys;

🫐 — angst

☁️ — fluff

🎧 — nsfw

spencer reid recs;

— ★ series;

↳ trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs [ongoing] ☁️🫐

summary: the one time the bau needs you + the four times you need them.

↳ twisted by @dreamwritesimagines [completed] 🫐☁️

summary: no one can outrun their past.

↳ pierced by @rynbutt [completed] ☁️🎧

summary: moving into a new apartment in a new city is stressful, what's even more stressful is when there's a fucking murder in the apartment across from yours... at least the fbi agent is cute.

↳ american teenager by @lanascinnamongirls [ongoing] ☁️🫐

summary: all it took was one case. one case and you were back in your small town in your home state of missouri.

↳ say that you love me by @none-of-your-bullshit [completed] 🫐☁️🎧

summary: what happens when an ex cia operative survives an attempted murder and is plucked straight out of georgetown by david rossi?

↳ do you believe me now by @nereidprinc3ss 🎧

— ★ stand alone:

↳ forgiven by @reiding-writing 🫐☁️

summary: you lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

kaz brekker recs;

— ★ series;

nothing here yet…

— ★ stand alone:

↳ three taps by @happyyyandcrazyyy 🫐☁️

summary: kaz taps three times. it’s his way to say i love you, i care.

↳ dive into the waves below by @rubysunnday 🫐☁️

summary: pekka rollins's reign is over and it's time for the new king to take his place (or kaz settles into his new office and his beaten face needs some tending to)

↳ alright by @liberty-barnes 🫐☁️

summary: you’ve been flirting with kaz ever since you started working as his bartender. systematic rejection gets tiring after a while, but sometimes all you need is a good chat and a large bottle of vodka.

↳ bloody hands by @rubysunnday 🫐☁️

summary: kaz never feels the need to explain his entire plan. he knows that, whatever happens, it will inevitably go according to plan. but when his plan goes wrong and y/n is injured, kaz is suddenly forced to comprehend with the skeletally hand of death once again.

↳ initials by @triptuckers ☁️

summary: for as long as the crows can remember, you’ve worn a ring with initials on it, and they’ve been trying to figure out what they stand for ever since

↳ love story by @luna-writes-stuff ☁️

summary: kaz hasn’t known life without you at his side. he doesn’t see reason for you to abandon him any time soon and he isn’t planning on letting you go either.

↳ what do you want from me? by @rubysunnday 🫐☁️

↳ this is what happens by @fishley 🫐

summary: a look into the journey of kaz losing another person he loves and how it not only affects himslef, but everyone around him.

↳ dark days by @rubysunnday 🫐☁️

summary: mr and mrs rietveld. a locked vault and approximately ten minutes of air left. what could possibly go wrong.

↳ his star by @alpurrtwhizkersss 🫐☁️

summary: kaz saves reader from drowning

↳ dust and rubble by @writing-havoc 🫐☁️

summary: a plan goes wrong. you get injured. kaz tries to help-

↳ pocket watch by @writing-havoc ☁️

summary: after years of patient progression on his phobia, kaz finds the opportunity to reciprocate

↳ call me what you like by @sophierequests ☁️

summary: kaz and the reader have been married for quite some years now, unbeknownst to their friends. but what if a slip up causes this shared secret to come to the surface?

↳ sweetheart by @bloodwrittenballad ☁️

summary: kaz's reaction to you calling him sweetheart

↳ the way of the water by @bubbles-for-all-of-us 🫐☁️

summary: reader is a tidemaker and during a heist kaz falls into the water and she uses her powers to pull him out and helps him through a panic attack

simon "ghost" riley recs;

— ★ series;

nothing here yet…

— ★ stand alone:

↳ alive by @criminalamnesia 🫐

summary: simon loses you

↳ phantom touch by @ghostheartfelt 🫐☁️

summary: you and the 141 are deployed to austria with the intel of a drug boss known as rolmuth who is harboring romanian soldiers to the east coast to smuggle illegal mercenary personnel into america. what happens when a rapid snowstorm picks up and you are separated from the others then further captured and interrogated alongside your lieutenant?

alastor;

— ★ series;

↳ a doe in fall by @hazelfoureyes [ongoing] 🎧

summary: a burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. the chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

↳ painted smile by @worldofkuro [ongoing]🫐☁️

summary: you couldn't wait to meet new friends. what you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

↳ deer dolly by @ohproserpine ☁️🫐

summary: “wife?!” angel dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “freaky face is married?”

↳ a misconduct of love by @hurthermore [ongoing] 🫐(☁️)

summary: control was something you always severely lacked in. so when a radio host enters your life, and seems to yearn to not only posses you, but for you to posses him in turn, you indulge in a love affair with the man your husband introduced you to.

— ★ stand alone:

nothing here yet…

hobbie brown;

— ★ series;

nothing here yet…

— ★ stand alone:

↳ where's my love by @autumn-hiraeth 🫐

summary: hobie's cannon event

#kaz brekker x reader #spencer reid x reader #alastor x reader #hobie brown x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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enviedear · 2 months ago

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hey Olivia talk about Jason and love letters pls

i can never say no to you, not like i'd say no to rambling about jason lmao!! link here to what inspired this <3

swing by my askbox 🧸ྀི

basically, i think believe that jason would be not only the best at writing love letters but also the most genuine about it. to him, they come from a place of utter devotion. in my hc, i think he'd just really struggle with getting his words out. he hates the way they sound, that they never fully convey what he means, that he stops himself more than he allows himself to speak, and mostly, he cannot handle the pressure of a time constraint. even if someone were to give him all the time in the world to open up, his chest would still get tight and his throat would feel scratchy and raw. jason todd is a victim of analysis paralysis there i said it.

no—he NEEDS another outlet, another form of communication. so he writes. he always loved reading, annotating in the margins—now he does it to his own words. At first, he doesn't even count what he writes as love letters. he's not waxing poetry, he's just explaining his fucked up perspective because you deserve to know. you deserve to be privy to whatever's going on in his head. he fails (for a while) to understand that is love, the very crux of it. the devotion to spend his free time explaining what his mouth refuses to say is love in its purest form.

his words are sweet too, no matter what he's writing. he knows his audience, you. his letters always start the same, with the salutation of 'sweetheart' and an "i love you." sometimes, all that's written is a long run-on about how he feels, how overwhelmed he is. other times, it's reminders of how much you mean to him, how happy you make him. and of course, quotes.

i am a firm believer that jason todd quotes his favorite books (modern and classic) so you better assume he's throwing in quotes that remind him of you. things like "what does money matter? love is more than money." from dorian grey after you had confessed to feeling bad about him spending money on you, or "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." from emma after an argument rooted in his apprehension for sharing, and "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." makes a common appearance. you're unsure as to why he quotes shakespeare so much, especially that line—but he's not. he knows it's the truest cohesion of words he could possibly find to explain to you just how crucial you are to him. detrimental even.

but it's not always super intense—a lot of the times it's simple letters. letters hung up on the fridge, on the dryer, in your car, even scattered little love notes in your purse/wallet. things like, "washed your clothes. you really need new leggings, i put money on the counter." / "changed your oil. remind me again in six months. i love you." / "missed you this morning. i'm coming home with dinner, your favorite. i love you."

where other men fail to find a form of communication that works for them, jason todd exceeds. besides, he's seen death once and he's not meeting it again without you knowing just how much he absolutely adores you. if he can't be here forever to give you the love he's practically overflowing with, at least the letters can outlive him. he'd like to be remembered that way—just by his saccharine sentiments for you

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @ 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 (𝐦𝐞)

#dc jason todd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #redhood x reader #—askolivia !

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starryeyedjanai · 1 year ago

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@eddiemonth prompt: magnetic | kinktober prompt: sex toys sex shop worker eddie ficlet | rated: mature | read on ao3

Eddie's a little bored.

Applying to work at a sex shop was thrilling when he first thought about it - it felt a little risqué, helping people find cool new ways to have fun in the bedroom and having little anecdotes to come home and tell Chrissy or the band about.

But sometimes it's just really fucking boring actually.

Checking people out is still just checking people out like he would at a grocery store - with the sometimes added detriment of them being super weird or embarrassed to be buying whatever they're buying, some guys getting aggressive or defensive about their purchases.

And restocking shelves is still just restocking shelves regardless of the fact that he's putting dildos on the shelf instead of something else.

It's slow in the mornings on the weekdays that he typically works, and today, his coworker called out so that makes it even worse.

The best, or most entertaining, part of the job is observing people shop and trying to guess what they're gonna buy based on appearance alone. When he has coworkers working alongside him, they always play this game and see how close they get.

But today, he's alone and bored out of his fucking mind.

He's restocking some lube just to be doing something when the bell over the door dings, letting him know a customer just walked into the shop - the first one of the day.

He keeps shelving the lube from the box in his hands and hears the customer approach after a minute. He's expecting them to either try and get his attention or to retreat to a part of the store where there are no employees - people are sometimes weird about being perceived in a sex shop even if it's by the people who work there.

Instead he hears a voice he hasn't heard in years, a voice attached to a face that still haunts his dreams - his first crush, his longest lasting crush, inopportune as it was considering it was on one of the most popular guys at his school.

He hears Steve fucking Harrington's voice say, "Uh, 'scuse me, just need to grab this," and a hand - one veiny, hairy hand - reaches by him to grab one of the bottles of lube he just placed on the shelf.

Eddie looks over his shoulder and - god, Steve is just as devastating now as he was in high school, his hair tousled and perfect, his pretty face dotted with moles that Eddie wants to map out with his tongue.

Steve smiles and nods at him in acknowledgment and moves along to whatever his next item is, leaving Eddie to spiral in his thoughts as he moves to the cash register to ready himself for whatever items Stevie-boy brings up to the counter.

In his many, many fantasies about him, he never really struck Eddie as someone who bought or used sex toys.

The rumors in high school would have him believe Steve's a god in bed without the assistance of toys anyway. It's been years since they graduated, so maybe he's expanded his horizons or his girlfriend is into them or something.

Or maybe he's delving into kink the way straight boys sometimes do. Walking into a sex shop like they own it, thinking that buying a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and a bullet vibrator makes them the pinnacle of BDSM, a dom who doesn't even know what half the letters in that acronym stand for.

He's going through what Steve could be looking at based on where he sees him in the store on the antiquated security cam feed on the computer. He doesn't seem to be looking at the wall of BDSM for dummies in any case.

He got the lube Eddie was shelving- a water based one. And he's in the anal toys corner of the store.

Well, he'll be damned. Either Steve has a girlfriend who wants to try anal and he's looking for a beginning plug set to help her along or he wants to try anal.

Interesting.

The Steve Harrington of Hawkins High in Bumfuck, Indiana probably wouldn't have been caught dead in a sex shop and here he is, some odd years later, looking at butt plugs and flared vibrating dildos from what Eddie can tell from the grainy video feed.

He almost wants to go over and see if he can help him, learn more about what he's looking for, but hearing what his old crush gets up to in bed might spark a whole new set of fantasies for Eddie to revisit and can't put himself through that.

Especially with this new image of Steve he has in his head - the same lips he's fantasized about kissing a million times before, but on a face that's only gotten better with age. He's lost some of the softness in his face, his jaw strong and still so pretty to look at.

He was magnetic in high school, drawing Eddie's eye every time he walked into a room, his embarrassing crush making him glare at him more than anything, but now? Looking the way he looks now? He's a goddamn force of gravity and Eddie wants to get pulled into his orbit.

He wants to strike up a conversation, wants to talk to him, but he doesn't think he could handle walking up to Steve and learning what he likes in bed, so he just waits for him to get done shopping and watches him walk up to the counter.

Steve sets the items down on the counter and Eddie looks down at them, feeling a flare of heat spread through his body at the items before him.

"Hey, I know you from high school. Munson, right?" Steve asks, pulling Eddie out of his stupor.

"Yeah, uh, hey. Steve. I- Eddie," he says intelligently.

"Right," Steve says, pushing the lube forward trying to prompt Eddie into action.

He grabs the lube and can't seem to help himself when he says, "You know, this dildo isn't really for beginners. Unless you know what you're doing and have a ton of patience and, well- you are buying lube, so that's good-"

"I'm. Not a beginner," Steve says, interrupting Eddie's spiel.

"You- what?" Eddie asks, his brain still a little fried from seeing Steve fuckin' Harrington walk up to the counter with two bottles of lube - he went back for a second - and an anal dildo with a girth that's not dissimilar to Eddie's fucking fist.

"I'm definitely not a beginner. That's kind of a rude assumption, don't you think? Aren't you supposed to be impartial to what customers buy?" Steve asks, the grin on his face betraying the words coming out of his mouth.

"Uh, fuck. Fuck. I'm so sorry. I really shouldn't have said anything," Eddie says, cringing at himself. He normally wouldn't have said anything, but then again, he normally isn't face to face with the guy he's had more fantasies about than he can count.

"It's fine. I mean, you knew me in high school and that guy wouldn't have any clue what to do with this," Steve says, gesturing to the box with the dildo in it on the counter. "Luckily I'm not that guy anymore."

"Yeah, lucky," Eddie says wearily, grabbing the box and scanning it.

He wants to ask, 'So you know what to do with it now?' and then 'would you want to show me?' But both of those things would be wholly inappropriate to ask a customer so he clamps his mouth firmly shut, rolling his lips between his teeth.

The look on Steve's face says he knows what Eddie's thinking even without him saying it - the small smirk on his lips when Eddie looks up after finishing ringing him up is annoyingly attractive.

He tells him his total, running on autopilot and trying so hard not to think about Steve straddling the dildo he's bagging up for him and sinking down on it, eyes rolling back at the stretch. Fuck.

Steve hands him his card and Eddie swipes it and waits for the receipt to print before he hands it back to him along with his receipt.

Eddie's opening his mouth and putting his foot directly in it again when he says, "Good luck with your, uh. Jesus christ - please ignore me. I seem to have forgotten my brain to mouth filter at home today."

Steve laughs and asks, "Do you have a pen?"

"Uh, yeah," Eddie says, fumbling with the pen beside the register before holding it out for Steve. Their fingers brush as Steve takes it from him.

He turns the receipt over and writes something down on the back of it. He slides both the receipt and the pen back across the counter.

He says, "You seem like you might need some lessons in keeping quiet instead of running your mouth. I have a few gags that you might like. If you're interested."

Eddie's mouth drops open and Steve smirks at him. He grabs his bag from the counter and taps his knuckles against the counter.

"See you around, Eddie Munson," he says, walking away. He turns around when he gets to the door and finds Eddie still gawking at him. He waves at him and Eddie, in his stupor, manages to wave back.

Steve pushes the door open and leaves, the bell dinging again.

Eddie wheezes out the breath he was holding. He looks down at the receipt and finds a number scrawled on it.

He scrambles to pull his phone out and enters the number into his contacts.

He texts the contact saved as STEVE FUCKEN HARRINGTON 🍆🥵🔥 immediately, not giving a damn about how down bad that might make him look.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #eddiemonthafterdark #steddie ficlet #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve x eddie #janai.doc

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eldritch-spouse · 3 months ago

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Next part to [this series]

[Minors DNI][Fem reader][Interactive poll!]

TW: Kidnapping; Descriptions of gore.

He watches you put the cup back down.

It had been a bad decision to give you a taste of such. Hudsyn can admit that much.

Could he be blamed however, in his want to make you appreciate your time with him more? An angel's tears- The delicacy of times forgotten, something both holy and blasphemous, rich spoils only he can gift you. Can you even comprehend the magnitude of what he's offered you?

The two of you, enjoying a priceless commodity, one which no other common mortals in this world can even conceive of in this day and age. It's poetic, it signifies your importance, your achievements to come- It's romantic, dare Hudd say.

And yet, it was also a mistake. More and more, he gets painfully reminded of the risks of romanticism, of letting that little spark of pride in him -What's left of it- Blind him to reality, sideline his goals. Hudsyn's never wanted to impress someone as badly as he does you and it shows. Perhaps to you it doesn't, but to the few who know him, it'd be the most glaringly obvious slap to the face.

Point being, that drink had its uses. It was meant to keep you lulled, susceptible, easy to grasp his meanings and emotions. He didn't plan for the possibility of him being unable to keep his feelings in check, which, to be fair, isn't something Hudd often has to worry about to begin with. They bled into you, some less pretty things dancing around his excited mind… Put you on edge, overwhelmed you. Whatever channel was formed between you two was interrupted by something else at the end, something Hudd desperately hopes he can keep at bay now that you've obediently placed the cup down.

Dangerous. Dangerous unknowable variables. Thorns.

That cup. He wanted to blurt out the oh so riveting references it possessed instantly, but far be it of the demonoid to prematurely ruin a surprise. The feathers, the eye, the celestial tears- Oh, it's in moments like this that he can't help sing his own praises. He's charming. He's clever.

Hudsyn admits he's been stalling.

Not that it's detrimental to his goal, he was entirely honest when he told you that you still had a nick of time to converse before things got serious. And it's only natural he'd want to take advantage of every second he so graciously granted the two of you to ground himself, to calm down, to focus. Because, as he said, you're about to do something very very special together. It's a tricky situation, but if it all goes swimmingly, you'll be the ones to fix Hell's murky history, to finally glimpse into the world before monsters, before abandonment, before sin. Translating it into scripture.

The one true scripture of the world that formed Perdition.

Just thinking about it has Hudd a little emotional. Okay, very emotional.

Can he cry? These eyes, the way they work… Hudd has wept enough. Perhaps angels can weep in his stead now.

To think that you'll do this with him, for him, his darling precious mentee- There for him always, understanding, empathetic, a breath of much needed fresh air for his starved lungs and unfortunately also the bane of his loins. It's been too long since the demonoid was this consistently aroused. A state that should disgust him, yet the images conjured in his mind never seem to let him get rightfully upset. Oh, you and him will be beautiful. You will make everyone proud. Hudd only wishes he could make you see that now, take away the little seed of doubt he sometimes sees in your eyes. You need never doubt him, he knows best, and you've been aware of such up until now too.

" Mentee. " He starts, after a pause. " We ought to get to work. "

There. Focus. Good.

When you look at him, hues betraying an inner battle, hesitant yet curious, he really cannot fault you. For as much as Hudd has spent small eternities planning this day from start to finish, he alone cannot guarantee its success. You play too large a part to do so, without you, without your cooperation, everything will be so needlessly hard.

And yet… In the time he's come to know you, Hudd’s sixth sense hasn't technically failed him. You fit the profile of someone he needs for this kind of thing. Why, at times, you even revealed yourself as knowing more than any ordinary human should.

You wouldn't just walk out. Wouldn't get in his way.

You're better than that. You're intelligent enough to understand, you will know to make the correct choices when the time comes.

He trusts you with the most important moment of his life.

And the realization sends a rattling shiver down his spine.

When he stands up, so do you.

This has been scaring you a little.

Hudd was never someone you'd consider easy to read, not exactly an open book, even if he seemed to want to be transparent at times. Intriguing, cultured, fascinating and… Unsafe. Frantic. Invasive.

Hudd is a man on a mission, that much has been clear from day one.

And the depths of his dedication are something you're only truly grasping now, after being… Kidnapped, into this location. After becoming a part of his project.

The historian had yet to lay a hand on you. There's no immediate danger, only tension, unease- And that ever present morbid curiosity that begs you to discard any crumb of self-preservation you have.

What were the images you saw in his mind? Why did you see those things?

Who talked to you?

Help. Who asked for your help?

" What are we doing? " Something you feel the need to ask again. Maybe this time you'll get an answer.

The demonoid pauses, a hint of irritation flashing there for a moment. " Follow me, if you will, there are some things you need to see to understand, and I do not enjoy wasting breath. "

That robe-clad form turns towards that hall again. The voice… It came from there. No, you heard it in your mind, but the fact that it beckoned you to glance that way... Does something loom there? Hidden in that thick blanket of darkness that threatens to swallow the rest of the room? Whatever it is, if it is there at all, sounded small. Helpless. Corralled.

Desperation, but entirely unlike the one you felt in Hudsyn.

" My, are you really that tired? I need you to make an effort to keep up with me here, Mentee. This is important. “ The demon tuts again, coming closer to you. It's odd, you've never really paid that much attention to the difference in heights between yourself and the historian up until now.

He's taller than you. Not by that much. If you had to guess, around the six foot mark, six foot something. But those horns, the way they curve over his head like great symmetrical arches, the pitch black canvas of his face and the mystery of what lies beneath, what he tries to cover thoroughly enough to never wear anything other than those plain robes. Hudd is a tad creepy.

“ You won't forgive yourself if you falter during this. “ He warns, stern.

There's a gulp, you don't like the way he's talking. It's very clear you'll be doing something risky eventually, and you don't particularly want to chance being harmed. The fear has to be evident in your face, because he continues.

“ I have mulled over this for more years than you have been alive, protégé… So long as you follow my instructions, everything will go perfectly, and we'll emerge with the answers we need. “

A pallid palm extends in your direction, fingers curling slightly and claws glinting. “ I chose you because I know you are capable of doing this with me. Come. “

And, maybe because you can’t control your rabid curiosity anymore, maybe just because he believes in you so much, you take that hand in yours.

It feels like the seal of a promise, a contract officialized in impulsive compassion.

What would happen if you denied him now anyway? You haven’t the faintest idea where you are, bereft of any personal belongings except the very pajamas you went to bed with. Could you find a way out of his home if things went south? Could you find help in time? Would Hudd hurt you? Or… Would he simply drop you back home?

No, this is too important to him, you’re not willing to believe breaking the perception he has of your “potential” is something the demonoid would take very well.

He smiles, nodding.

Pulled along by said hand, its hold more of a periodic squeeze than anything, you’re guided into that hall. And, as soon as you set foot in said ambiguous darkness, the shabby lamp that furnishes the wall at its very edge crackles loudly, the bulb within it giving its last few sparks of light before becoming utterly useless. In that moment, you truly become submerged in a sea of blackness, unable to pinpoint where you're going at all. Hudd, on the other hand, seems hardly bothered by the change. Perks of being a demon, you presume…

When you step over something that creaks, your hand instinctively tightens around the historian's, causing him to audibly halt.

“ Oh… “ He starts, a giddy hint lying there. “ You can't see very well, can you? “

" No. "

“ Forgive the lapse, this house… It's been a while since I did maintenance checks on it. Here, I will guide you, mentee. “

A warmth envelops your side, one of Hudd's hands presumably sets on your right shoulder and the other balances your front. The sensation of those pointed claws poking through your pajamas is mildly stressing. If he were to put the smallest amount of pressure on them, he could probably draw blood.

The demonoid's closeness is a tad confusing, the only thing audible now being soft footfalls and his slightly uneven breathing. Why not just get a flashlight? Does he seriously not have any?

A sudden intake of air has the hairs on your back rising. You'd rather stumble through the dark than feel this stifling hold upon your form. Hudd hasn't said a word but he feels and sounds even more excited than before. Like this, you are once more reminded of your short-comings as a human, and how every one of them is against you if you were to attempt to flee.

“ There's a staircase ahead, you should… Grab onto me. “

Ah, that makes a little more sense.

He wasn’t lying, because sure enough, you feel the first step, as well as his hands tightening around your body. Although your arms spread in an attempt to perhaps find a wall or a handrail, you’re unable to, having to pace yourself and take Hudd’s advice instead.

“ I won’t lie, sometimes I do forget how fragile humans are. Just look at you, blind like a bat, a fall from this staircase would probably break more than a few bones. Hm… Now that I think about it, you could die, if you fell just the wrong way. “

What the Hell is his problem right now…

“ Ah, I didn’t mean to alarm you. “ He has the nerve to say, helping you down yet another step. “ Besides, I’m here, I would never let that happen to you. “

Reassuring. Totally.

Just how many steps does this staircase have? Maybe having no vision alters your perception of time, or maybe he's descending at a snail's pace, but it feels as if you've been going down for too long. You're antsy.

“ In any case, it's rather convenient the lights aren't working very well in this next area. A different kind of lighting is necessary for it all to work. “

It all… You still don't know what he's on about.

When it feels as though you two have finally reached another division, a pause unfolds. Instead of letting you go, you feel him move to stand behind you, silently. Both of his arms shift to now hold you against him by the waist. Sensory experiences heightened by the lack of visual input, the soft rise and fall of his chest is felt clearly, as is the shape of a rather thin build behind those deceitful robes.

Seconds pass in this stillness. Part of you is hoping he'll reach for some kind of light switch on the wall or continue to guide you somewhere else, but all the demon seems content to do is stand there. If you didn't know better, you'd say he's lost too, or falling asleep.

" ... Hudd? "

No response.

" What's happening now...? "

For a few more moments, he doesn't make a peep. The very second you're considering ripping yourself free of his grasp, the monster finally speaks.

" I've been waiting for this long enough that it almost feels like a dream, you know? "

" H- Huh? "

" Shh... "

A palm slithers up your front, a finger tapping at your chin before softly resting on bottom lip.

" Ever since that night, actually. "

You figure he's going to enter another one of his long-winded speeches, so it's better to just let it happen.

" At the time, fool that I was, my act of theft was done out of spite. I wanted to save my dignity, to lash out in the only real way I could before disappearing... " He sighs. " Turns out what I unknowingly got my hands on was the very key to my success. To proving everyone wrong. To be more than any of those worthless, cowardly animals ever could amount to- "

His tone dips to a growl so bitter it drips poison.

" For decades, I have been putting everything together, down to the last detail. Mentee, I've translated ancient infernal enough times that it could be my mother tongue by now... "

There's shifting, warmth reaches the side of your face. When he opens his mouth again, a dialect you can't make heads or tails of is whispered into your ears. It's harsh and grating, aggressive, filthy. It makes you want to scratch your face.

" There was a time when things were so different. It's almost hard to conceive of now... I ventured into a place I should never have, according to them, but it opened my eyes. Perhaps I didn't leave unscathed, but it gave me the courage to do what I'm doing now, to do everything that has lead up to this. And even, to seek you out. "

" I persevered. I didn't let them dictate what I should do, I didn't let them define my actions or even continue to punish me for daring to make a breakthrough! "

His hands move again, this time to grab yours and place them on your front, wrapped by his.

" Perhaps it doesn't matter to you, but I want you to know that I've lost a lot in this search, and you can't fathom how much getting this far means to me. "

" I know you're scared. In the past, I would also see this as something frightening. But both our fates will rely on one thing alone today, your ability to listen to me. "

" O- Okay. "

You're not sure what to say to that, or even if you should pry into what little of his past this demon has let slip.

" Are you ready, protégé? "

What use is there stalling anymore? You can't even go back up the stairs alone. " ... Yes. "

" Very well. Then, I ask you to remain calm. "

Finally, almost begrudgingly even, Hudd detaches from you, moving fluidly in the darkness, the sound of a match being lit resounding across the walls. Little by little, candle flames soar, you can see the silhouette of his horns as the historian moves to quickly create a dimly lit atmosphere in the room.

The sight that greets you is more than a little disconcerting.

This room, or basement rather, is in disrepair. Wherein the living room you had been conversing with Hudd looked rather spacious and and well put together, even comforting- This division barely has any kind of furniture in it aside from shelves and work benches currently drowning in ambiguous paraphernalia. The walls themselves are badly chipped and cracked, no semblance of paint to cover what you really hope aren't splashes of long-dried blood. Some long gashes running their length can only be the result of claw marks. Scuffles. Papers litter the place. Some printed, others harshly scribbled, pages ripped from books, hurriedly pinned or glued to walls, combed over so many times that their edges start to crinkle and yellow, text fading. Pens and markers in various states scatter on the ground.

This... This is like a madman's playground.

Not that you ever though Hudd was very down to Earth.

It feels as if just stepping into this room has drained some of your very sanity. You can picture him clear as day, bent over these tables, scribbling frantically, pinning things together, wrangling someone or something into this location to do who knows what with. The more time you spend around this demonoid, the less you seem to know him.

Opting to say nothing regarding this mess of a room, you focus instead on the larger illustrations half-covered in illegible text. It only takes you a few seconds to realize how similar in nature they are to the ones you spotted upstairs, on his wall. Granted, those were a little too far away for you to actually discern what contents they displayed. But the one he specifically showed you, the one with the angel, is similar to these.

Truth be told, you don't want to believe Hudd. When you looked at that creature he had drawn, many things came to mind but an angel was your last ditch answer. And yet, he eagerly confirmed it. Told you there were more even, here on Earth. Madness, maybe he really is starting to see things, maybe he's ill. Perhaps all this time you've been humoring the drivel of a demonoid entirely disconnected from reality. Well, either way, it doesn't really matter, you just have to make it through whatever this is, right?

He's been... Nice to you, so far. Kind of? You're pretty sure he likes you. Yes, that's a point in your favor.

The illustrations on these walls depict the same being, different parts of their body in more detail. It's a fascinating thing to look at, several notes and underlined information accompany these decent sketches of the lifeform itself, the angel.

What did Hudd say it was again, a guardian?

You confess you don't really understand why this entity looks the way it does or why the demon is so obsessed with it. Might as well ask.

" Hey Hu- "

" Ah, don't mind those. " He starts, close enough to your figure that the skin nearly leaps off your body. " We don't have time to comb over my documents, as rich in knowledge as they are, yes, you will listen and learn as we go along, yes? "

" ... Uhuh. "

" I will ask you, once more, to remain calm. "

It's hard to do so when he keeps reminding you of such. Paranoia dances just beneath your skin as you attempt to nod slowly.

It seems to be confirmation enough, the demon only hesitating for a couple of silent seconds before moving further, into a section of the room you hadn't even cast thought towards. How could you, when everything else was so jarring? The obscured right edge, kept dark on purpose you can only imagine...

A final, tall candle is lit when Hudd stretches, and something likes beneath it, obscured by an inconveniently placed desk, revealing a smooth expanse of what you can only call a head. Immediately, you take a few steps to the left, forward.

The blood in your vessels stutters.

You had expected, unfortunately, to find someone else in there. Some poor soul who, like you, had gotten the bizarre demon's attention and, unlike you, didn't learn to manage his eccentricities well enough.

Little did you think reality could be worse than that already glum possibility.

Because, there, on the cold and harsh ground, shackled to the wall with rusted chains and scribbled magic engravings around them, is what can only be an angel.

The angel.

The one Hudd showed to you only mere moments ago! The one in these pictures, these sketches, detailed from head to toe like some kind of laboratory experiment, some rat.

They seem unconscious, huddled into as small of a ball as they can be, leathered wings frozen in an uncomfortable shape, like the crooked legs of a dead insect. Something mars their pale hide, a series of unknowable symbols expanding into every limb, looping around their torso, probably following into the expanse of their back and even reaching those... Odd tentacles on their lower-half. You're smart enough to understand this isn't simply a tattooed angel, how ludicrous, these scripts are magical in nature, and they've been inflicted upon the holy being. Every now and then, the darkened marks pulse a faint reddish light, and it takes you a moment to understand that the pace is akin to a heartbeat. Their heartbeat.

This lifeform is being kept in a stasis, an unpleasant one if you had to guess.

The crease on that thin abdomen you couldn't quite understand opens the slightest amount, revealing what must be a beautifully colored eye for a sliver of a second.

You can almost begin to imagine what they might look like, without those sigils, without the chains holding their wrists up to the wall...

Yes, beautiful in its own right.

Not your first idea of what an angel might be, but simply gazing upon them brings you an intense sensation of awareness. Instinctually, it's as if you recognize you're in the presence of someone that begets authority and safety.

Never have you felt something similar to this. Perhaps when you were but a youngling, feeling content in the arms of your parents as they pulled you out of a troublesome situation.

You want to get closer to this creature.

" ... please. you came! "

This time, the voice startles you. Because it sounds that much closer, that much desperate, as if a force were shaking you from top to bottom, begging, crying, do something-

" Mentee! "

The noise that leaves you is akin to a goat's bleating. Hudd blinks.

" You've been standing there like a donkey this whole time! "

You frown. " Hudd... That's- That- "

The demonoid huffs, combing over the scripts on the floor and hurriedly testing the sturdiness of the chains holding the angel's wrists. With their head bent at such an angle, you can see the cloth covering it droop, but there's no visible seam between it and the angel's skin. Whatever could be beneath it?

" The specimen I showed you, yes. That's it. Did you listen to a single thing I said just now? "

It.

The demonoid scratches his way back up to a rapid stand and approaches you with a look so dead serious that it deeply unsettles you. " I have come too far. You are not allowed to freak out on me! "

Yes. For your own good, you shouldn't freak out at all.

" But Hudd... Why is he chained to a wall? What- What are you doing to him? " It's impossible to mask the growing distrust, the anxiety, you have no idea what to think of this monster.

Clearly he's not well, and possibly, he's not sane either. But this franticness, as if he's on the clock for something incredibly important, what is driving him to be this unhinged?

The demon shakes his head like you're not quite all there mentally. " Do you sincerely think an angel would willingly converse with me, mentee? I hold no ill-will towards these beings, but all of them would have me set aflame in celestial fires! It's not as if I could merely ask one to clarify a few things... "

Point taken.

" I had... Well, I'm not happy about current circumstances, I know I must look like a mindless torturer to you, but to do this safely, I could only think to remove this guardian from his flock. Not an easy task, mind you. "

This is insane. A flock? Meaning there are possibly more angels out there looking for this one. How does he plan to evade them? Has he thought that far ahead? You hope, against all odds, that Hudd bothered with that. He tends to be thorough, maybe he does know exactly every single risk he's taking right now.

" Pay close attention. " He says, handing you a thoroughly yellowed scroll. The paper feels odd. Where had he been hiding that? " He's currently dormant, and I'm going to wake him up. "

" You're insane. " It escapes you before you can halt it.

Hudsyn very visibly fumes, growling and tugging at a horn. A tone you've yet to hear from the monster rips from his ribcage. " Will you just fucking listen! "

Alright. Okay. Sure.

Your silence calms him. " There's absolutely no reason to fear, I have him entirely under control, all you have to do is follow my instructions if I tell you to do something, it won't be too complex. "

The silence from your part continues as you merely nod, ever confounded and doubtful of where any of this is going. That's a common thing here, isn't it? No matter how much Hudd insists you're vital to this, no matter how eager he is to have you involved and to ramble, you never understood a single thing about his goals, about his methods. A historian, he calls himself, scorned, interested in mapping out the "true" history of Hell and its Rings. But how does a captured angel feature into this?

Hudd sees the annoyance written plainly on your face.

" Please protégé. I know this doesn't look right to you, I'm not dumb. And if we had more time on our hands, if- If I had structured things better, taking into account your- " He sighs, turning away like he just tasted something horrid. " I wish I could have explained things to you better. Talked to you better. But... "

There's a forced cough. " I haven't talked properly to anyone in years, honestly. Maybe, lost in the grander scheme of things, I forgot how to along the way. "

Something heavy starts hanging in the air, the atmosphere drips with sudden awkwardness. No normal demon of his kin would say such a thing if they weren't grasping at straws, if they weren't at the limits of their mind, fraying their nerve endings.

Maybe it's pity, maybe it's sympathy, but you can't help wonder why Hudd is the way that he is, if all this time he's just been calling out for help or acting out to process something he's yet to reveal. Truth is that, unhinged or not, the demon sees in you someone he can trust with what he considers to be the culmination of his life's work and his sole goal moving forward. You are, effectively, his only anchor.

One doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to understand abandoning the demon in this moment would cause him to break down spectacularly. Putting aside what might happen to you as well.

" So... " Breaking a tense silence has never really been your forte. " How do we wake him up? "

Hudd's head snaps your way, and like a switch, he dons the most excited grin. " Easy, mentee! See those symbols on the guardian's chest? I just have to smudge one away, but only one! " His finger raises humorously to emphasize. " We want him conscious, not alert and energized. "

" Is it... " You watch as Hudd shoves important items into desk shelves and arranges a wide radius around the chained angel. He seems to be thinking of any last minute adjustments before going through with this event. It's making your skin crawl. " Is it safe? "

Crouched next to the angel, Hudd gestures for you to get closer, which you tentatively do. Pallid hands grab onto one of yours. " Trust me. I have planned every detail of this. "

The very moment your anxiety starts to die down a little, Hudsyn lets go of your hand to reach under his robes and place, on the ground, a blade.

And his gesture becomes moot.

The entire thing is black, patterns of what you'd guess is gold lining the sleek segments. It looks incredibly sharp and emanates warmth, you'd be a fool to think of it as an ordinary knife.

" Alright, get ready. "

Trying to distract yourself from the nerves steadily climbing back up your spine, you instead inspect the scroll previously handed to you. Predictably, it's not in a language you recognize. It's definitely not infernal, in fact, this feels like a mixture of different foreign alphabets jumbled in a pattern that seems random, but you're sure must hold meaning, if Hudd is holding onto it. It feels old enough that it might disintegrate into ashes on your fingers.

" ... Hey, what does it say in he- "

A flap startles you, scroll clutched tight to your chest as the captured lifeform, the angel, starts stirring. Those leathery looking wings flap harshly a couple of times and his neck twists in a jolt of desperation to stretch, to rise, before the air escapes his chest and the entity sags, wilting to the side soundlessly.

Oh God. It's awake. The guardian is awake, it's alive!

You glance at its chest again, past the light blue cloth, seeing where Hudd wiped the sigil. He's just as still as you are, frozen, evaluating. You notice his claws hovering next to the blade.

In spite of being well awake, the angel doesn't do much of anything, limiting himself to breathing as well as he can in this position. Although his mouth is uncovered, he doesn't say a single thing. The eye on its stomach opens once more, this time fully, and you can hardly believe how beautiful it is. Looking into it, a swirl of warm hues welcomes you, this gentle warmth spreading across your whole figure the longer you stare into it. Hudd doesn't seem to feel any of this, unfazed.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the only eye that reveals itself, because the odd fissures in the angel's immobilized hands part, and from them, two smaller versions of his biggest eyeball are unveiled.

Woah, you've never seen that before...

The guardian looks around. Although, nothing about him betrays fear, sadness or even anger, he's just appraising his surroundings, as if relieved.

" Guardian. " Hudd begins, tone authoritative when he sits and crosses his legs. You don't quite know what to do, so you sit next to him wordlessly.

The angel senses your movement, three eyes focused solely on you for a couple of tense seconds. You've been trying to ignore it, but deep down, you know this is the voice that has been calling out to you this whole time.

" Demon. " He replies, calmly, with no real animosity or much of any inflection honestly. One of his eyes remains glued to you, the others disperse to the infernal monster. Yes, that voice, unmistakable...

" You have been transported here for one reason and one reason alone. "

Hudsyn looks serious in a way you've never seen him before. And you suppose that's warranted, this moment is crucially important to him. You can imagine all the nerves brewing under that impeccably collected act he's putting on. He even seems to think of his body language, keeping it entirely neutral, surveilling the angel with the eyes of a hawk. Even then, can those eyes compare to those of a holy creature?

Is Hudd not playing with something far too complex and foreign to be manipulated?

" I have something of great importance in my possession, and I only crave one thing, to understand it. " There's a measured pause. To the demon's credit, his captive does look engaged. " But see, for me to achieve such, I first need to understand something a lot more complex, something my kind wasn't made to grasp. "

The scroll is taken from your grasp, bounced onto his.

" The languages of siadar. "

It's a term not too well-known to you. Although you have a vague idea of what highers are, and recognize the names of the two apparently said to be on Earth at this moment, Hudsyn is a lot more well-versed in all of this than you ever will be, in all honesty.

The angel becomes, somehow, even more motionless at the mention of siadar. Like stone, really, unblinking, judgmental stone blazing into the demon beside you. It feels like a piercing gaze, a forceful stab into one's deepest wants. Whatever the guardian sees there, he doesn't approve of it.

" I would advise you not to meddle with what does not concern you, Hudsyn. " He starts, slow, tentative, trying to pass some sense into a monster that never had any to begin with.

" Spare me the moralizing, the lot of you are mere cattle. " Hudd huffs.

The angel tilts his head slightly, as much as he can. " Cattle... You find it demeaning that we have a purpose? That we exist to be extensions of our Mothers and Fathers? There is dignity in service. "

The demon looks ready to belt out a couple of retorts, yet holds his tongue at the last second, eyes narrowing in realization. The two are playing a game you're not fully aware of.

" I have no time to entertain this type of debate. " Clawed hands wave the topic away. " And I'm no fool either, I know every each one of you can read the scripts of your Lords, you will read one for me. "

Hudsyn caresses the scroll previously in your hold as if it were a newborn, fragile and immeasurably precious.

" Those scripts are incoherent to you for a reason. They are not meant to be interpreted by anyone other than celestials and siadar. " The other cautions once more.

" Bah-! That's for me to decide! " A growl rises in his throat, yet fails to instill the terror it should've.

" You judge yourself a lord of this world's balance? Delusion favors you greatly. "

You blink.

" Balance?! You call this putrid stagnation balance? If no one else will, then I must set the records straight, whether you like it or not. Balance... " Hudd huffs. " I don't care for it. "

" ... I see. " There's a long pause as the guardian takes that reply in, it appears to have revealed something to him. Eventually, that eyeless veil shifts in your direction, sending a paralyzing jolt right through your core. " And you? Do you value balance? "

You cannot answer. The words are stuck to the roof of your mouth, which seems to dry and burn whenever you so much as try to make a sound. Holding eye contact with him is not an option, for a mere glimpse of those hues fills you with too much emotion at once.

A snarl resounds. " Quiet! This encounter is between you and I only. "

" And yet she is here. " The other retorts easily. " Am I wrong to assume you value this lesser's input? "

" My mentee and I are on the same page, you won't bother her. "

Another pause. The guardian painfully rolls his head back in Hudd's direction. You wonder why he does that, when his eyes aren't there.

" Very well. "

Hudsyn unfurls the scroll, confirming to himself that this is, in fact, the correct one. Part of you is too scared to guess how many cursed scrolls he could have lying around.

" Protégé. "

You jolt.

" Grab a paper and a pen, you'll find some around. "

It's a while before you do, admittedly. Not only are you shaky with anticipation, this room is a complete mess. Eventually, you come across a crumpled stack of blank paper and a pen that has seen much better days. That'll do.

You're about to take your seat back when one long sleeved arm rises.

" No. Take a few steps back. " He waits until you comply. " Sit there. I don't want you looking at him no matter what, you hear me? "

" Y- " Your own saliva chokes you. " Yes. "

" Good. "

And just like that, the scene closes between Hudd and the captured guardian.

Hudd combs his fingers over the aged paper again, before holding it up to the guardian's main eye in complete silence for a couple of seconds. You don't know if the ensuing pause is born out of the angel's reluctance to translate or if he's simply processing the document. Hudd breaks it anyway.

" Now, I may not understand much of this language, but it doesn't take a genius to understand that these- " He points at a section. " Are supposed to be numbers. And these- " Another point. " Are axis indicators. "

That large celestial eye drifts from the paper, towards Hudsyn.

" These are coordinates. You'll translate them to me. " Seemingly getting excited by his own ingenious set up, Hudd has the nerve to tap a claw against the angel's veiled head. " Remember that you taint yourself everytime you lie to me, bahah... "

You have no idea whether the runes applied to the guardian's body actually hurt him whenever he attempts to deceive someone, or if Hudd is just being theatrical about the purity of angels as a whole.

The guardian doesn't find this nearly as humorous as Hudd does. " You know not what you ask me to do, demon. "

And, like a switch, the demonoid gets serious too. " Oh, but I do. Start talking. "

The aged paper is brought closer to the angel's main eye, not that you think a 'celestial' would have sight issues. Yet, perhaps in an effort to stall, or simply because he can't quite believe what he's reading, the guardian refuses to utter a single word. Tension wordlessly rises between the two monsters, thick enough to choke your own cool. Fortunately, or unfortunately, one of them is vastly immobile. The large orb on the angel's abdomen shifts and blinks, he's very clearly able to understand what's written in at least some of it.

It makes you wonder.

Is it just that an angel is prohibited from disclosing the nature of any higher documentation without explicit permission, or is it that the information contained in this specific one is of such abnormal sensitivity that he'd rather remain locked in a mad man's possession than reveal it?

Hudd's shoulders quake, you assume he's overwhelmed with rage until short, raspy chuckling rings.

" I don't think you quite understand that you have no choice. "

Anxious, you begin quietly tapping the pen on an empty page, soothing growing nerves. The guardian offers no direct response, silently and slowly turning his face away. Similarly, his hues point to any target but the scroll's contents.

" Very well... And I had been so clear about it too. "

When Hudsyn sets the scroll down neatly, his freed hands gravitate towards the blade and a lump forms in your throat.

Angels... Elusive creatures. For all his often concerning raving, the demon has been consistently right on one thing. We no longer know how they function, that information has been degenerated and lost. It's impossible to know what truly harms an angel. How to effectively kill one. Some records claim that an angel can and will heal from all bodily damage inflicted upon them, that one can only ever slow them down. Others say that no earthly weapon can even nick them. What of fiendish weapons? What of their own weapons? Has an angel ever pointed its tool at another and sought to harm them? How did the first angels and the first demons fight?

More importantly, what does Hudd think he's going to achieve with that blade?

The angel doesn't budge at the sound of its' sharpness grinding across the floor. Hudd rises, you can't even see his face from this angle, but you understand that he's staring the celestial being down, giving them a few seconds to reconsider, to lose bravado. They don't.

You expected many things.

Perhaps that Hudd would hold the blade to the other's neck, slice across their forearm, even jab that knife into those bizarre tendrils. But then, it's foolish to try and predict the moves of a monster so desperate to achieve their self-proclaimed life's goal.

A flash of movement unfolds, the candles around the room flicker, and a horrid wail pierces into your ears.

It's not the scream of someone who's been stabbed, it's a harmonious, broken screech of a creature that never knew real pain. More than suffering, it's a cry of pure shock and fear.

As soon as the lighting stabilizes, you disobey the demonoid's wishes and crane your neck to see Hudd tightly gripping the angel's right wrist. The blade has pierced through their palm, through the eye that was supposed to be there. A sizzling noise stands out amidst the angel's shrieking, the rainbow-like hue of colors that ooze from the wound rapidly burning into a tar-like void. The blade... Scorched him? You don't understand.

All you know is that his cries are making your hairs stand, and that Hudd just stabbed someone. " Stop- Stop it! " You choke out.

It's only a few spine-chilling moments after your call that Hudd stops grinding the sharp object, yanking it right out and shaking the contaminated blood away before taking a step back. The guardian trembles, agony wracks him, the two remaining eyes shedding large, shining tears while the fingers of his mangled hand twist like the legs of a dying insect. He seems befuddled, staring at Hudd and the stained blade as if what just transpired couldn't be possible.

" That eye's not coming back- " Hudsyn snorts. " Believe me. "

Consistent in his madness, the demonoid clumsily wipes the knife on his robes, before making a much more shallow cut across his own palm. You hear the sound of his skin zipping apart, blinking when he quickly holds the dripping appendage over the angel's ruined socket.

All it takes is one drop of his blood.

The guardian grits his teeth, a sound not too different from the choked groans of someone who's bit their own tongue, before managing to throw his head back hard enough to make a gruesome thud against a now dented wall.

" GODDESS- "

It's a plea. Just the mingling of Hudd's blood with his own makes the celestial cry for their salvation, like a lost cub echoing calls for its' mother.

In the middle of the dread consuming you, it's impossible not to spot the veins of black spreading on his arm now, making small blisters on pale skin. An allergic reaction? Is his body trying to expel it in pockets? It looks incredibly inflamed and uncomfortable.

Finally, after allowing the angel's frightened sobs die down minimally, Hudd appears to be done with his torment. It's incredibly unnerving how he just... Sits back down, as if nothing had transpired.

" Are we ready to read now? "

" Stop this... Stop. "

The angel murmurs, voice small, a trembling whisper cradled in pure terror.

" I'll stop. I will, trust me, I'm not here to torture you- " Hudd laughs, as if the notion were ludicrous, as if he didn't just deliberately heighten the guardian's pain only moments ago. " Just read for me. "

The scroll is once more brought close to the angel's largest eye. Hudsyn looks serious, unrelenting. You can picture those pinprick white eyes blazing eerily at the celestial, the same way they once did when he showed up at your home. Unannounced, uninvited, with dubious-intent.

Imagine what he might have done to you then, if he felt like it. This demonoid has an angel subdued and wounded right now, a human is hardly an opponent. You picture yourself in the guardian's place, getting a knife drilled through your socket, a visceral chill shakes you.

" Read, angel. Or I'll scoop the other one. " Hudd turns back to you for a second. " Mentee, would you like a little souvenir from this adventure? Perhaps a resin paper weight with a guardian's eye? "

You don't answer. He's not looking for an answer anyway.

The guardian in question takes a few moments to deliberate on something. Probably the consequences of doing this, of providing a demon with information it most definitely is not meant to have. You have a feeling there's too much in that head for you to even begin to grasp.

More stiflingly silent seconds pass before his voice finally rings again.

" From the depths of our glorious Perdition, I pen these words with naught but ultimate scorn and haste, for my own existence is far from secured. Even now, I hear it all, above. Defeat, disorder, panic. I sense an age of calamity and ruination will befall this annex, His Kingdom, His chosen. "

The guardian pauses, likely to translate what must be entirely alien vocabulary into something tangible. Hudd fists the ground, not merely jolting you into action, but also reminding you to jot this down.

" Eden sings today, frivolous, mocking choirs in our skies, for their brutish extermination was successful, and they think themselves supreme. We know better, we are better, us the ones who were always loyal. He holds nothing from us, and this is not the end. May the Curator be as good as blind, for what he received was the mere flicker of Him. "

Hudd tugs at one of his horns, wheezing breathlessly.

" He remains with us, always. I do not weep, because the one who finds this finds Him. I will make sure of it. Welcome Him. Cherish Him. Make Him proud. Be more than us. Be worthy. "

" The great silence chases after me, these moments are my last, these breaths are my last. I beg you to seek Him, when the time is right, when the Dust has settled. Below lie the... "

The angel's voice dims into a whisper, then nothing at all. Your hand shakes over the paper.

" The coordinates! " Hudsyn all but shrieks, nearly ripping the scroll from how tightly he holds it. " Read them!! "

Silent and motionless, the celestial begins crying again. He knows what this will achieve already, he knows he can't lie. You have an inkling of what this scroll is conveying, and if it's enough to make an angel cry... If it's real...

" FUCKING TELL ME- "

The demonoid is hysterical. Understandably so, this is the very plateau of all he's worked for, and he's being unceremoniously edged along. You suppose you'd be half as mad as him too.

Patience eroded, nerves frayed, Hudd spares no mercy for the angel's continued stalling, picking the bloodied knife back up.

Quiet sobs turn into screams of desperation, distressing pleas for him to wait please wait don't please don't stop please-

You know what he's going to do, the second eye on the angel's unblemished palm will be destroyed, just as promised.

Time seems to slow down as your heartrate quickens. You ponder what to do. There's a heavy-looking vintage lamp beside you. It's not being used, of course, but it's there nonetheless, collecting dust. Quietly, you set the papers aside, rising to a squat and stretching just enough to grab it, the cord dragging along. The metal is cold and dense in your hands. It provides a sense of safety.

Do you trust the demonoid the same way he claims to trust you? Do you want to see where this goes? Is letting him achieve this the safest option? Do you share affections for this monster, in spite of his erratic nature?

Or... Is the angel, the voice in your mind, a way to avoid something catastrophic? A way to free yourself?

Hudsyn hunches over the wounded, begging guardian.

#Hudd oc #pinnie's art #monster oc #monster boyfriend #monsterfucker #terato #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster x reader #monster x you #demon oc #angel oc #minors dni

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contraryclock · 3 months ago

Text

stupid ass Don Quixote ramblings

hi this is my first tumblr post but i really wanted a good place to put this

spoilers for all of current limbus company, including Murder on the warp Express, the Don Quixote book (( kinda )), and a musical (( i'll get there ))

please humor this deranged rant about a character i havent read the source book of

so basically ive had a theory since Don was even teased that she's less so based on book Don Quixote and moreso based on the Man of La Mancha musical which is. an insane thing to suggest but hear me out here (( ive since changed how i word my stance to the much more mild "it will most likely delve into the themes of both works and reference both" because suggesting they would discount the book entirely is TRUE insanity ))

her quote (( from teaser tweets that i cannot find anymore? they seem like they were deleted which sucks )) was "To reach the unreachable star!" or something which is notably not a quote from the original book ((as far as im aware at least?)), and suggests. a lot i think!

One of the most notable differences between Man of La Mancha and the original Don Quixote is their tone and attitude towards Quixote. In the original text, he's shown to be a fool who is ignorant to the vastly more interesting world around him, and prefers to instead sink deeper into his delusions of reality equating to chivalric literature. This makes sense as Don Quixote was written as a parody and mockery of the genre

La Mancha is, notably, much more forgiving on Quixote's character, showing that while still a fool, and his insanity often detrimental to those around him, he is still a good person at heart and that he truly wishes to pursue this justice he posits

I usually say it as "Don Quixote is about how reality is beautiful, and La Mancha is about how sometimes one should strive to make reality a little more fantastical" although i dont know if that. is the most accurate comparison. both Don Quixote and La Mancha have a lot of themes and stuff going on

one of the things that made me scream was learning about "Miguel" being written on don's LCB combat spritesheet instead of her listed name

which if you've seen or read a summary of la mancha is a huge alarm bell

In La Mancha, the whole thing is shown as a Play within a Play

Miguel de Cerventes is sent to prison, awaiting trial by the inquisition, and is tasked with defending himself in a mock trial with the other prisoners so they dont take his belongings. His defense is Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha! With the prisoners acting out the various roles he assigns them, and him acting as the leading man, Don Quixote himself!

that was most of the things that made me think "Oh, maybe it'll be La Mancha!" and then this happened

and i sort of lost my god damned mind

because like what if this is miguel... what if shes simultaneously playing out her life as don quixote as a her delusion, and as her dream, but also as a statement...

idk but this isnt JUST about Man of La Mancha bc i think this has a few implications for how don's canto is going to go

In both don quixote and la mancha, they send someone to cure quixote of his delusions

The final thing they try is setting up an act where a "Knight of Mirrors" duels with Quixote, which ends up working.

The Knight forces Quixote to see how he is perceived by others, to see the truth that he is no knight.

ignoring the stuff with vampires and mirrors for a second, i feel like this could be more mirror world shenanigans, where either the knight IS a mirror world don quixote, or is someone who will show her mirror worlds. Whatever that will imply!!! i dont know its exciting!!!!!

Her being absurdly old and powerful, plus bloodfiends having a whole familial adjacent hierarchy makes me think theres a LOT of bloodfiends out there that would want her back

I dunno!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im insane!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! i just wanted to get my thoughts out before her canto actually happened so i can say that i did indeed have an opinion on this

-limbus assets taken form Lunartique's asset google drive go look at it -text written by me and not proofread

ok thanks bye dont follow me byeee byeeeeee

#limbus company #don quixote #limbus spoilers #project moon #ramblings #if her name ends up being confirmed as Miguel i will cry so loudly in a joyous chorus of crying loudly #forgive me #fan theory #limbus don quixote #lcb

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kachowden · 2 years ago

Note

How did Jessie’s infatuation with his darling start?

Ohoho this is a fun ask! Thank you anon

To be honest Jessie and your meeting wasn’t all that magical. You didn’t help him gain sentience. He had that long before meeting you. And you weren’t the first person to treat him like he was “human” either.

In fact, you two had worked together for a while before his obsession started, and he knew for fact that you were not a fan of androids.

But you were never outwardly rude to him or any of the bots in the work place. Whether because they were above you on the social pyramid, or because you just couldn’t be bothered, he wasn’t sure. (It was the last one btw)

He liked to believe that you were simply too morally upright. You couldn’t find it in yourself to treat anything poorly even if it was something simply made of code. Except for your stress ball maybe. He’d seen crumpling buildings in better shape.

Jessie knew you weren’t a bad person, despite your…biases.

He liked that about you.

But he didn’t love you. Not yet anyway. He just admired you.

To be honest that’s how his feelings started out, and still very much are. Admiration.

You were one of the best human workers he’d ever met.

Hardworking, determined

Even at times going out of your way to help out your coworkers, or stay late to cover for them.

(Admittedly you were just doing it for the bonus but he didn’t need to know that.)

His admiration just kind of grew from there, into a bit of a puppy crush. He still admired you greatly, but he couldn’t really help but get a little more nervous around your presence now.

His eyes would wander to you randomly during meetings. He’d notice small habits of yours. Sometimes when booting up, one of his first thoughts would be whether you were coming in that day.

Occasionally when reviewing the workloads he’d pause on your name, and maybe zone out for about 5 minutes before getting back to work. (Then maybe go back again to look at your file)

Sometimes he’d bring you coffee, only getting the order wrong once before it never happened again.

He’d be a bit more lenient with your work, or schedule, or holidays. Simple stuff like that.

It reached its peak though, during a very simple moment. That realistically could’ve been avoided.

He tripped. How’d he trip? His shoelace was untied. How was a supposedly flawless being able to have an untied shoelace? Simple. He was thinking about you and forgot to tie it that morning.

And while granted had he fallen, he would’ve been fine. Maybe a wire knocked loose or a scuff on his silicone skin, but nothing detrimental.

But, of course, you deciding you didn’t want to deal with the possibility of any extra paperwork, swooped in.

You caught him. Literally. You caught him.

That was it. That was the big “Bang” moment.

Jessie officially fell in love with you because you caught him.

Call him delusional but he believed it was because you cared about him. At least a little. Not to mention your arms were very comfortable and very strong because he’s made almost entirely out of metal and that’s not light at all and you were also very hot and omgyouwerelookingathimandyoupickedhim up and-

He pretty much short circuited after you put your hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.

So you had to file paperwork anyway.

And suddenly deal with your boss becoming 10x clingier than before seemingly out of nowhere.

Not that you cared too much given the nice fat bonus you ended up receiving.

#yandere #x oc #yandere x reader #x reader #android oc #yandere concept #yandere robot #Jessie oc

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

Text

Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Four: [Men & Their Many Masks]

Summary: You and Jake find yourselves alone in his cell for what feels like a week. Passing the time with mundane conversations. But when The Commander and his fellow officers finally come back? Things take a turn for the worst.

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“How’s the leg?” In life, only one thing is certain apart from death and taxes. No matter how hard you try, no matter how good your intentions are, you’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to hurt people and you’re going to get hurt. “Feeling any better than the last few days?”

“Stings, but yeah I think it’s starting to heal.” But you never thought you’d be hurt quite like this. And if you ever wanted to recover, there was really only one thing you could say. “I forgive you though.”

Jake smiled softly as he sat with you on the floor of the cell the two of you had been put back in for what felt like days at this point. He was just grateful he could hold you, that there were no bars to separate him from keeping you safe. His arm was slung around your shoulders as your head laid heavy against his shoulders. Just sitting, both waiting for the hell that was sure to come.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Jake couldn’t stop thinking about it, your screams that was. The agonising cries that escaped from your mouth as he sewed your thigh up without any anaesthetic, without proper medical training or knowledge. “Might have to consider a career change when we get outta here.” You could hear in Jake's voice that he was tired, but he’d never admit it to you, just how tired he truly was.

He’d stay up while you slept with your head in his lap or head on his shoulders. He’d stay awake and keep a watchful eye over you as the days mixed in with the nights. He wasn’t about to let anyone take you, he wouldn’t let them. He’d stay awake as you slept stroking your hair back out of your face all the while he’d eye of the passing insurgents that walked past in the hallway.

You wouldn’t tell Jake, but sometimes you’d wake up from his constant mumbling. The mantra he’d say over and over and over again as you slept:

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, I’ve got you.”

“Hmm—“ You mumbled in response as you very tiredly lifted your head from the comfort it had found against Jake's broad shoulder. “Career change definitely seems in the cards.” You weren’t lying. “A desk job with zero dangers sounds pretty good right about now.”

In the time that had passed you and Jake by in the hell hole you found yourself in, there had been times where you’d both fall into mundane conversation just to fill the void. Now must have been one of those times—because instead of sitting in the dimly lit cell with dirty floors and concrete walls in silence, Jake kept the conversation going just to hear your voice.

“What made you wanna be an aviator in the first place?” You didn’t reply straight away as you moved your leg a little, needing to keep it from going numb. Jake's handy work hadn’t been all that handy. He’d left the pant of your flight suit torn and in tatters from where he’d cut the Normex to get to your thigh.

“My dad.” You began. “He’s my hero, always has been always will be.” It was the first time Jake had seen you smile since before he was sewing your thigh back up. Jake wasn’t about to say what he was thinking either, if he did it would have your smile disappearing far too quickly. Your dad was the Commander of the Pacific Fleet, would he have signed off on this mission?

Jake felt like you could light up the darkest of rooms with that smile of yours. So genuine and pure. Full of love and pride for whatever the topic was. “I remember my OC at basic found out who he was and I’ve had the callsign since.” It was stuff Jake wished he’d asked you about at the Hard Deck. Not here on the floor a million miles away from home. He wished he’d put his pride aside, he wished he told his ego to take a hike, because he didn’t know you. He didn’t want to get to know you, but now? You were here because of him and not once had you put the blame on him. “He was always my biggest inspiration, just wanted me to chase my dreams you know.”

“Sounds like a good guy.” Jake replied as he looked at your thigh, god he’d done an awful job. He could see how raw the wound still was. How inflamed the skin around the stitching was. He felt awful—but it was still better than the alternative.

“What about you? What made you wanna join the Navy?” Your voice broke Jake from the tailspin his mind had gone into as his eyes went from your thigh back to your eyes, not as shiny as they had been in Admiral Simpson's office, but still just as beautiful and just as captivating.

“My old man wasn’t as supportive as what your dad seemed to be.” Jake explained as he watched you maneuver yourself so that your head was laying in his lap. Back laid up in the dirt. Looking up at him like he was your greatest protector. “He was an Army triage doctor.” You wouldn’t have ever picked that, especially after seeing Jakes stitch work.

“Guess the apple fell a little far from the tree huh?” You teased up at him, a soft smile crept itself across your lips as Jake laughed gently with you. He nodded in agreement, he knew he was nothing like his old man. He never wanted to be like him either. If Jake Seresin could be anything in the world, he’d choose to not be his fathers son.

“He wanted me to join the army, said every other branch of service spent their time sucking each other's dicks and crying about how much they missed their mama’s.” Jake chuckled to himself as he let his head rest against the concrete. “The day I told him I joined the Navy, he beat me near black and blue.” Jake saw the way you looked up at him, with sympathetic eyes and a worried frown. “I left Bradshaw hanging one day in water training, it was supposed to be a team exercise but I bailed.” Jake hadn’t told anyone this story before. He hadn’t really had to, Rooster always did it for him and the narrative was born. “I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to get him out so I just bailed.”

“Hangman—“ You got it. He always left people hanging. It made so much sense.

“It’s an excuse to not get personal.” Jake finally looked down at you, his hand had absentmindedly been running through the mess that was your hair. “Once I’m involved I can’t get out.”

“Hangman wasn’t flying our F-18 when we went down was he?” You asked as the realisation really kicked in. “It was just you.” The Jake who cared about the people around him, the Jake who would go above and beyond to make sure Phoenix was treated equally. Jake who made sure to have glasses wipes in his locker for Bob if he ran out. Jake who was always there to be Fanboys wingman at the bar. Jake who always made sure Rooster had a way home when he got a little carried away. Even if it was his couch. Jake who never told Coyote it was him who set him and his girlfriend up that one night when he was too afraid to talk to her. He wrote the notes they both received, the penmanship should have given it away. Jake who carried an epipen in his car, locker and tucked away in his kitchen for Payback—he’d never seen a grown man so allergic to peanuts.

That Jake was the guy who went after Rooster. The version of Jake Seresin who was sitting here right now playing with your hair. Not Hangman who’d stare at you from across the Hard Deck trying his best not to get involved. Fighting every instinct he ever had to want to get to know you.

“I tell you what, if Bradshaw doesn’t cover my tab for at least a few months after this I’m gonna be pissed.” Jake laughed it off as you followed suit. “Hangman’s just an easy character to hide behind.”

“He’s a safety net.” You understood where Jake was coming from. “But be honest with me will you? because I’d rather die knowing the truth than always wondering.”

“What’s on your mind?” Jake was curious, where were you going with this?

“Is it Hangman who hates me or is it Jake? Because I think I can handle Hangman.” You were being as honest as you could be as you laid in Jake's lap looking up at him. Stubble had begun to cover his chin and cheeks and boy did it look good. The bruises not so much. “I think I could handle Hangman, but I don’t think I could handle it if the real you had a problem with me.”

Jake frowned when your eyes never left his. You looked him dead in the eye, unafraid of whatever answer he might give you. His hand curled in your hair as he bent his knees to raise your head closer to his and before you even had a chance to register what was happening?

His lips were softly planted against yours. Huh, that wasn’t what you were expecting.

His lips were chapped but still so soft if that made any sense. You always thought Jake Seresin would be a good kisser, not that you’d ever thought about it for more than a fleeting moment. But still, the fact was proven to be true when he ran his tongue slowly across your lip to ask permission for more. You granted his request without so much of a second of hesitation.

There was a small fraction of desperation that showed its ugly head when your hand came up to grip at the back of Hangman's neck. With his knees bent up into his chest you were raised as close to him as you possibly could be. Drinking in the gentle touch of each other's fear.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Hotshot.” Jake paused to catch his breath before things could get too heated too quickly. His forehead made its home against yours as you closed your eyes and tried to control your heart beat. “I was scared.” He finally explained. “I was scared I’d be the reason you'd end up dead and I just thought, that if I didn’t get to know you, losing my first WSO wouldn’t hurt as much as they say it does.”

“But here we are—“ You reminded Jake of your current situation. “We’re gonna die here, and you spent weeks avoiding me like the plague only to end up rotting next to me in some hellscape prison anyway.” You couldn’t help the irony that escaped as you chuckled softly.

“You’re not gonna die in here Y/n, I promise you.” With a gentle kiss to your forehead, Jake wrapped you up completely in his arms. His chin remained utop your head as he watched the door. He could hear people outside in the corridor—but they remained out of frame. A scare tactic probably. “Get some rest for me.” Jake whispered as he felt you cling to his chest. “I’m not gonna let anyone take you.”

“Jake?” His warmth brought a comfort to you that you’d never not crave.

“Yeah?” Your voice brought a solace Jake would never not need.

“If you hadn’t gone after Rooster, it would probably be him in here right now.” You reminded him, it was something Jake didn’t like to think about. The what if of it all. All the what ifs there were.

“Yeah, yeah it probably would be.” He replied softly, a deep bust lingered in his tone. “But you wouldn’t be if I hadn't.”

Forgive and forget. That’s what they say. It’s good advice but it’s not very practical. When someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. When someone wrongs us, we want to be right. Without forgiveness? old scores are never settled, old wounds never heal. And the most you can ever hope for, is that one day, you’ll be lucky enough to forget.

“I forgive you Hangman.” You spoke into Jake's chest. He knew you already forgave him, Jake that was. But to hear you forgave his alter ego too meant a hell of a lot more than you could ever know. “I forgive him too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Up and at it Lieutenants!” At any given moment, the brain has fourteen billion neurons firing at the speed of four hundred and fifty miles per hour. “The Commander wants to see you, Hollywood.” One of the insurgents snickered as he unlocked the cell door, letting in far too much light as he did so.

“You’re not taking her.” You don’t have control over most of them. When you get the chills, goosebumps. When you get excited, adrenaline. The body naturally follows its impulses, which, you believe, is a part of what makes it so hard to control those impulses. “No way.” Jake had been up since you’d fallen asleep in his warm embrace, he held you closer and a little tighter as the guards stepped into the cell you were both being held in. It was instinct, impulse. “You’re not taking her away from me, wherever she goes, I go.”

“Oh I can assure you, we’ll take her by force if necessary.” You were barely awake, but you heard it loud and clear. The buzz of a taser Jake had already had a run in with. “So I’m going to give you another chance to do what I fucking say, hand, the girl, over.” The buzz only got louder as the man dressed in all black stepped further into the cell.

“I’ll go—“ But of course sometimes you have impulses you would rather not control, that you later wish you had. “I’ll go, but leave Jake alone.” You added as you sat up. Your leg throbbed as you tried to bend it at your knee. “Please?” You begged as Jake held your wrist to stop you from leaving his side. But when you looked at him with pleading eyes he knew you had to go. “There’s no need for the taser.” You turned back to the man who towered over you. “I’m coming.”

Without a word, the man shut off the taser in his hand and pocketed it. He didn’t look all that impressed as he removed his mask, revealing a blonde haired blue eyed man with a scar that ran the expanse of his face. Cutting him essentially in half. It was ugly and red and as prominent as a scar could be. Keloid style.

“The Commander wants to speak with you.” He informed you once again. “And he isn’t a patient man so move.”

“Let me help you.” Jake insisted as he stood up before you could even begin to try. Your leg was killing you. “Here, take my hands.” He gestured for you to place your hands in his so he could pull you up with ease, such ease it shocked you. Jake was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked sometimes. And he was strong, you’d seen his bench press.

“Thanks, I’m okay, I promise.” You lied through your teeth, a part of you wanted to cry in pure panic because you couldn’t feel your toes. But what good would that do? Jake helped you to your feet until you were steady before he pulled you in closer.

“Remember you give them nothing alright?” Jake held your face in his hands as you nodded. “You don’t give them a reason to hurt you, you do what you have to do and don’t you dare worry about me.”

“Okay.” You nodded.

“I’m right here.” Jake reminded you before you were harshly being pulled away by the blonde haired blue eyes scar having man. He wasn’t as gentle as Jake was. “I’ll be right here!”

By the time you were down the hall Jake’s mind had already begun to run through a rolodex of scenarios that you might find yourself in. He was, however, too exhausted to even stand on his own without a reason to fight. He took a knee, gently, feeling faint from the lake of sleep, food and water that the two of you had been provided. It was enough to keep you from starving but not nearly enough to replenish already exhausted muscles.

“Unfortunately for you my good man we’re gonna need you up on your feet.” The insurgent left behind with Jake snickered as he held a bunch of rope in his hand. “I’ll give you the option to cooperate or again, we’ll force you.” Jake let out a laugh that was laced in uncertainty.

“The day I cooperate with any of you evil sons of bitches is the day hell freezes over.”

“You’re call Lieutenant.” The insurgent who had yet to show his face sighed as he took out a baton from his holster at the side of his pant leg, sighed. “You’re call.” He waisted no time.

You could hear Jakes groans from down the hall. But even though you tried to turn around the guard who kept you walking forward kept you walking one foot in front of the other.

“Don’t try anything stupid girly.” He hissed as he stopped in front of an elevator, just waiting for it to dig. You watched as the numbers dropped— seven, six, five, four, until they reached your floor. B. B for basement. “In, or so help me god.”

You did as you were told. Jake had told you not to give them a reason. But from the groans you heard it seemed as though he’d already forgotten his own advice.

“How’d you get your scar?” You asked as you watched the elevator climb, one, two, three, four. “Looks like it hurt?” You weren’t sure why you were even asking, but the silence was deafening. The answer the blonde haired blue eyed insurgent gave you made your bones turn cold as ice as he turned around and slammed you up against the wall of the elevator, the sudden burst of mania made you gasp as he trapped you in his arms up against the wall. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, but first? He left a gentle kiss against the junction of your neck. His explanation was only two words, but enough to send you into a dizzying tailspin.

“The Commander.”

The body is a slave to impulse. But the thing that makes us human is what we can control. After the storm, after the rush, after the heat of the moment has passed, you can cool off and clean up the messes you’ve made.

All you can do to survive is to try to let go of what was. Freedom.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Get cleaned up, the Commander would like to have dinner with you.” You were expecting something, you weren’t exactly sure what but it certainly wasn’t this. You were standing in the middle of a bathroom. “He’d like you to wear what’s been provided.” The man with the scar spoke just under his breath so his voice didn’t echo. “Take your time.” He told you as his eyes roamed the expanse of your body before he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in the bathroom that smelled of vanilla and chamomile. Most likely from the candle burning on the vanity.

Odd. This was all very odd.

As confused as you were, you did what you were told. You stripped out of your disgusting flight suit that smelt gross enough to walk on its own and stepped into the shower. The second the warm water hit your body you cried. You cried until you couldn’t control the sobs. They echoed painfully off the walls as you washed away the grime that had built up on your skin and in your hair. Shampoo that smelled of apple and rhubarb reminded you of the pies Penny would make at the Hard Deck, which made you cry even more. You missed home.

As much as you enjoyed the feeling of being clean, you felt guilty knowing that seven stories below, Jake remained in the dirt. Still in his flight suit, still covered in grime. It was enough to nearly drive you insane from guilt alone.

You dried off and changed into the clothes provided. It had been an emerald evening dress with spaghetti straps at a length that went just above your ankles. It was odd to feel so beautiful in the situation you were in. You couldn’t pry your eyes away from the mirror, you looked ridiculous. With wet hair and swollen eyes. Bruises that weren’t even trying to hide littered your skin.

So you reached for the hair dryer, and the bags of beauty products that were on the shelf behind you and got to work. Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. Now was the time to put on a mask and front a brave exterior. You and Jake had to get out of this mess one way or another.

By the time you were finished someone was knocking on the bathroom door. You had been told to take your time but perhaps you had over done it.

“Yes?” You answered, standing tall and proud in the heels that had been provided. In the dress that was a little provocative.

“The Commander will see you now, Lieutenant.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to keep The Commander waiting now would we?” You spat, shoving past the guard who was someone you’d never seen. When he tried to guide you, you pulled your arm out of his grasp. “I don’t need your help.”

“Sorry ma’am, it just looked as if you were limping is all.” He apologised kindly, something you weren’t used to with the guards. He didn’t wear the same all black get up as the others. He wore a suit and tie, evening wear. A navy blue fitted attire with brown boots and tie to match. “My apologies, this way.”

He was right for what it was worth, you were in fact, limping. But you weren’t about to put your pride aside for that. You didn’t want The Commander or whatever the fuck his actual name was to know you were in pain.

It wasn’t long at all before you were being led into an near empty banquet room. Its clean cut aesthetic looked like a new world order. It made your stomach churn at the idea. The Commander sat at the end of a massive banquet style dining table made for twenty plus. He stood from his chair when you entered and his eyes never left yours as you hurried your way over to the chair set just for you.

“You look beautiful—“

“It’s the blush, a brand called prisoner of war.” You huffed as you sat down, not needing any help from the man who’d escorted you in. He stood just behind you with his hands held in front. “What’s all this?”

“I thought I might be able to explain our current situation a little better over a meal.” The Commander smiled as he gestured for one of the three Buttlers to pour you a glass of wine. “I was able to obtain your Naval records from the information Lieutenant Seresin provided.” It wasn’t all that interesting, you’d never really done anything of import. Sure you were a TopGun graduate but you weren’t first in your class. You didn’t stand out in a crowd. “I’d also like to take a minute to apologise for the wound you suffered—it’s never my first choice to resort to violence of such an extent—but I’m not—“

“A patient man.” You finished The Commander's sentence for him. “So I've heard.” Roasted chicken and vegetables, that’s what food was on your plate. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat even if you were slowly starving. It wouldn’t be fair to Jake. So you just moved your fork around and picked at the green beans. “If we could make this quick.”

“Have you got somewhere to be Miss Y/l/n?” The Commander tilted his head curiously, trying to figure out why you were in such a hurry.

“More like I’ve got someone to get back to.” You snapped back harshly. “I’d rather not waste my time listening to you babble on about defense budgets and the United Nations because let’s face it if the United States has their eye on you—you’ve probably done something to piss of someone in those bounds.” It wasn’t far from the truth of the matter at all, if anything you were right on the money. “And neither of those two topics really account for your probable anti-semetic ignorance.” You rolled your eyes as you wiped your face with the napkin beside your plate. “I’d like to go back to my cell now, even that shit hole’s better than being up here listening to some pathetic excuse for harbouring nuclear weapons.” You knew why your mission was to destroy that insurgent camp, it wasn’t rocket science. Nuclear weapons were a legitimate threat, and against Jake's wishes, you were catching some of his attitude.

“I was just going to discuss the geopolitical complexities of the topic, which is in no way the same as going to an anti-semetic place.” The Commander corrected you as he slammed his fist down onto the table. “We believe, as a Rogue Nation, that the United Nations, NATO, all the major international bodies that preach international solidarity should be held accountable for their actions in instigating wars that never would have occurred.” It was a speech you weren’t all that interested in listening to. But with nowhere to run, you did just that. “Sovereign borders should be abolished, one World, one Nation, no countries with different societies and structures, no Nations with different cultures and religions, a universal language, currency and healthcare systems that aren’t flawed, access to food, water, education that isn't currently available.” It was a lot to take in, hell this may have been a bigger problem than your superiors had led you to believe. “Do you see the bigger picture here my dear?”

“You’re certifiably insane—“ It was the only conclusion you could come to with the information you had laid out before you. “You’re talking about completely annihilating hundreds of thousands of years of cultural history and heritage across the world, you can’t justify that.”

“It’s been done before in history—“ Was all The Commander replied before he smirked and took a sip of his wine. “The insurgent compound you and your friend were sent to destroy? One of two I believe you and your higher ups were aware of, was full of women and children, my wife included.” Your brain was working in overdrive trying to digest all this new information at the same time while keeping a straight face. Trying to look seemingly uninterested all the while taking in critical information that could be used at a later date was harder than it looked.

“Tell me Lieutenant, what good would come of killing hundreds of women and children?” It was a trick question, or so you thought. “Your country has a very compelling history of instigating violence and provoking wars that never needed to occur.” The Commander wasn’t wrong, but it still didn’t make him right. “Countries like Australia and New Zealand follow, empires like Europe join the fight and then it’s Nation against Nation, ethnicity against ethnicity, culture against culture and religion against religion.” As much as you hated it there was a logic to The Commander's radical ideology. “There is no need for such violence—such loss of life, racism, discrimination, misogyny, homophobia; it could all be prevented if the entire world was one way. Had one ideology.”

“Tell me Commander, how do you achieve such a goal?” You asked all the while trying not to throw up.

“Complete nuclear destruction, pin countries against one another with tactical diplomacy that starts a domino effect—because something you Admirals have failed to realise Miss Y/l/n is that you can’t start a war against a Nation that doesn’t exist.”

“You seem to have the resources to find out anything you want.” You kept a straight face even if you were thinking of lunging yourself down the time to ring your hands around The Commanders neck. “Why do you need Jake and I for information?”

“I don't tend to believe everything I read on the internet my dear, it can be quite costly.” He smiled genuinely, it made you want to vomit, or perhaps that was the win. “I like to fact check, validate my findings. Captain Hewens told us that the United States Navy was planning a military strike against one of our compounds, so we were able to switch which site held what.” You couldn’t control your face as shock took over your expression. The Commander was willing to kill hundreds of people for his own political agenda—if you had succeeded in the mission? You could have caused an all out war. “With her help we were able to locate your mission file after an insider sold intelligence to the dark web for one point four million.”

You were now physically unable to hide your shock as your shoulders slumped in defeat. This was much bigger, much worse than you could have ever anticipated. Holy shit, you were going to die here. Where ever here even was.

“I guess you can always just put it down to the fact you and your friend are a hell of a lot less valuable than one point four million dollars.” The Commander chuckled to himself as he stood from his chair. His shoes clicked against the flooring as he made his way towards you, fixing his jacket as he did so with a proud chest. “You and your friend are nothing but pawns in a war your country has decided it’s in. But how can you be at war with a Nation that doesn’t exist? A nation with no borders or place or origin.” It made you shiver with dread and fear, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck sticking up like on a cat's spine. “We are the Rogue Nation miss Y/l/n, we are one world and one people, the sooner you realise who’s side you’re really fighting on the sooner your time here gets a hell of a lot easier.”

Your heart was racing a hundred miles an hour as The Commander reached out to squish your cheeks together between his fingers and his thumb. He turned your face towards where he stood beside you and growled.

“So before you go back to your cell, just remember, when I ask you or your friend for information? I expect to get it from either of you, the easy way or the goddamn hard way.”

“I’m not telling you anything you mentality deranged fuck.” You pulled your head from his grasp as you reached for the knife sitting beside your plate. Your food still sat uneaten, but the serrated knife would do just fine. You plunged it into The Commanders hand up until the hilt before you got up out of your chair in a panicked hurry. “You’re delusional!” It was then the blonde haired blue eyed man with the angry scar came bursting through the door. As of right on cue.

“Nathan—“ The Commander made not a single cry, nor a groan or anything as he pulled the knife from the palm of his hand and placed it back where you had originally picked it up from. Covered in a deep crimson. “Please escort the Lieutenant back to her cellmate. I’m sure he’s ready to talk, if not? You know what to do.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

#bruises // jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin whump #jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin angst #jake seresin x you

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Text

The Edge of the Knife

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Sometimes, pain is the only sense of control she has. So, she gives that to Daniel too.

Warnings: SH is mentioned but not described, fingering, bandage, knife play, branding, dom/sub dynamics, gentle Daniel, PinV, everything is consensual and very safe

Notes: Listen, y'all, this is probably the best thing I've ever written. I fell in love with this so fast. Also, I promise I'm working on requests! I just also have to find time to write things for me as well 😁

Masterlist

She wouldn't say Daniel is possessive. He doesn't care if she talks to other guys. Hardly gets jealous. Only intervenes if he can see she's uncomfortable.

He does, however, like to show her off. Show people she's his in the more unconventional ways. Hickeys and bite marks are the way he normally claims her. It wards off the unwanted attention and he gets to be smug about showing people she's his.

She loves it. Bathes in his adoration and want of people knowing she's his. He's always telling people how amazing she is to the point where Max even gets fed up with him because he's so smitten.

She is really his everything. Would give her the moon and stars ig she asked. He wants to show everyone she's his in every way.

The problem is, hickeys and bite marks aren't permanent and a tattoo is nice (he has many) but it's not as personal. It doesn't feel the same.

Now, on her end, she feels the same way. But she'd never say this to him. The fear of rejection outweighs the desire for him to make her his in a permanent way.

Her past isn't an easy one. It's not something she talks about often. It's heavy and she doesn't like thinking to much on it if she can help it.

The edge of the knife has been her attempt at regaining control. A pain she chooses in a life that hasn't ever given her a choice. It's not a good habit and she's aware of it. Daniel has done a good job of keeping her mind occupied enough. Even helping her find other healthy habits.

Yet her mind still wanders back to that place. That desire to choose where and when she feels pain. That desire to retain control over at least that one thing.

It's on a particularly hard day when she finally goes to Daniel. She'd been stressed beyond what she could handle. The weight of the world sitting uninvited on her chest.

He'd noticed this; Daniel is an observant person.

Her mind had wandered to distant and dark places. The depths she shouldn't wander to. She walks gently over to Daniel where he sits absentmindedly flipping the switchblade in his hands. Most likely double checking he still had it and it hasn't fallen into her bored hands.

When Daniel takes notice of her just standing in wait, he puts the knife away safely in his pocket and opens his arms to her.

The tears flow freely then, soaking into his shirt like it's a towel. His fingers run along her spine, shoulder, arm, and her legs. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Life's just hard right now." She admits through choked sobs.

Daniel hums into her neck. "Do you want something specific to help?"

She hesitates. This could be to her detriment. But she wants the knife on her skin so badly she's willing to beg for it. So, she takes a deep breath and prepares herself for whatever happens.

"I want you to mark me. Permanently." She cringes away from him. Though it's pointless, Daniel simply drags her gaze back to him with a hand layed gently on her cheek.

"I want you to be very specific. Do you want me to brand you with the knife?" He sounds serious, but there is a look of excitement in his eyes that betray his calm demeanor.

She shakes her head yes, assuming that will suffice.

"Words baby." She assumed wrong.

"I want you to carve me with your knife. I want you to mark me permanently. Want you to make me yours, Danny."

They eye contact he holds with her is gentle and considerate. She can see him mulling through his thoughts. His hand moves to her left hip, his fingers tracing things against it.

"How you you feel about the number three? Make you the only lucky charm I'd ever need."

She almost falls out of his lap. "Yes please." It's something like a whine mixed with a beg. It's desperate but she could care less.

"Now, I know this might be scary, so do you want me to have complete control over you? Or shall we skip that for tonight?"

"No please, I need you to take the control away. If you do it then I can't anymore. It'll be like ruining something intimate after."

"Then give me a few minutes. I want you waiting on the bed when I come back."

It doesn't take long to strip of her clothes as asked. Her mind wanders to what he could need that not in there bedroom already. She runs through a mental list in her head, but her thoughts are cut short by Daniel sneaking back into the room softly.

"Fuck love, you're sitting so pretty for me. My beautiful girl."

He's beaming at her. She can feel the blush on her face rise to her ears. Mostly because of the compliments, but also because of what he returned to her with. Daniel places some darker colored towels, water, and first aid supplies on the nightstand. It makes her swoon. Seeing him care so much and so willing to do this for her.

"I'm gonna tie you up now, okay baby?"

"Okay."

"Color?"

"Green."

Always attentive. Always checking in with her.

He takes his time securing her wrists to the headboard. There is no escape now. Daniel reassures her many times that she can back out. There is no shame in that. Then he kisses every inch of her body. Praises her for being so brave. "My beautiful girl, being so brave for me, letting me show the world your mine."

She's no longer in the darkest portions of her mind. She's given up to the voice of Daniel. Submitted her mind and body to him, letting him take car of her how he deems fit.

Her legs are not secured. She assumes that it's something to do either future plans. For now, he spreads her legs and places wet kisses and small bites around the space she needs him most.

She cries in relief when his tongue flicks her clit woth kitten licks. Her moans grow as he laps at her like a man who's starving. She repeats his name like she's praying to give her the release she desperately craves.

Its messy, but it's amazing. Daniel's hands place pressure on both her knees to keep them down. The tremors shaking through her body make her legs want to cage him there.

The rapidly building release stops suddenly. She bucks her hips I'm utter disappointment. She wants more of him. She needs more of him.

"You're doing so good for me baby. You'll get to cum, Just not yet." He winks. It makes her fall into that fuzzy, floaty headspace even more.

Daniel maneuvers their bodies into an odd position. Her left side is facing the ceiling but he has her looking at him. Her left leg is bent so he can still have access to her aching a needy heat.

His fingers are slow to fill her. Two, but with his rings on it feels like more to her.

"Are you sure you want this love? You're sure you want to show off that you're my girl?"

"Please Danny. I want this. I need this. Let the world know I'm only yours." She moans out. It's mildly slurred but she knows he understands. There is a glint in his eyes that it excited. His pupils are wide with arousal. His lips twitch up in that award winning smile she loves so much. It doesn't help she can feel how hard he is through his shorts.

Daniel loses his shirt, but his shorts stay on for the moment. Then he curls his fingers back into her, capturing her lips as he does. It's a sloppy and wet kiss that he spends dominating her lips. It's filled with love and passion, which is normal for them, but this one feels different. There is something primal about it.

His fingers do a number on her. He knows her body so well that his fingers work on autopilot. Daniel pulls away from the kiss and pulls out the switchblade in his pocket. He holds eye contact while gently tracing the outline of the three he plans on carving into her skin.

The cold of the metal against her skin pulls another breathy moan out of her. "You like how the feels baby? You like knowing I'm gonna make you mine?" If she could moan any louder it would alert the whole of Monaco.

"Danny I'm-"

"Shhhh, it's okay baby, let me take care of you."

It's startling, being three seconds away from the plunging her body and soul into endless pleasure and having the knife press deep into her flesh.

Three seconds becomes zero and the cliff falls out from beneath her. She scream his name as his fingers work her endlessly into overstimulation and the knife continues its path.

She can't hear. She can't see. Her mind is overrun with emotion. Her muscles contract as her nerves catch fire.

She can vaguely hear the man she loves talking her through it. The contrast between the filthy but loving words he uses only sends her further into submission.

Finally, his fingers slow and the knife is no longer touching her. She can hear in click closed an set on the nightstand.

She's just crying at this point in a writhing mess of pain and pleasure.

Then Daniel does something she's not expecting. His tongue hits the area of her hip that's now leaking crimson. It's animalistic the way he licks the wound clean. It's aggressive the way his fingers leave her just for his hand to find the wound and make her cry out ad he applies pressure. It's primal how his red coated lips find hers. His free hand wipes away her tears as he sings her praises. Her mind can only find him in the fog as he claims her as his over, and over again.

She watches with intrigue as the rest of his clothes fall to the ground. As his hands are wiped off on one of the towels that he then places under her. The goal to catch the excess blood running down her side.

Is a mix of gentle and possessive as he fucks her into the sheets. Her body and the mattress becoming one.

It's loving and beautiful. It sparks every positive emotion in her. The sting in her hip numbed from the feeling of Daniel flush against her skin. His hips rocking rhythmically and hitting every place she needs him.

She's lost by the time he finishes. His voice the only thing making sense in her head. She almost cries when she can no longer feel his skin of hers. The feeling of him gone more painful then the ache on her side.

"I'm here baby. We have to clean you up now, okay? Gotta keep my mark from getting infected."

He's gentle with her body as he cleans it. Though, she still hisses in pain as he works through disinfecting everything and plastering medical tape over it.

"You're so beautiful baby. Can't believe you're all mine. My everything. The love of my life. And now the only lucky charm I'll ever need."

The next morning is filled with sweet kisses and gentle looks. Daniel has to stop her from just ripping the bandage off and staring at the mark for hours. He simply keeps her hands busy in other ways.

When Daniel deems it safe to pull the bandage off, he's the one to do it. Nothing but lobe and adoration fills both of them as they see the, currently stabbed, mark on her hip. He places small kisses down the length of it.

In reality, the mark is only visible to them. But Max had invited them to swim and Daniel wasn't going to let the opportunity go to waste.

Did he get her a bikini that revealed more then neccecary? Yes. Is she wearing it and basking in his attention? Also yes. Something about the way he hypes her up just drives her confidence levels up.

Is everyone a little concerned when they see a very obvious scar of the number three on her hip? Again, yes. That concern quickly dies down when they see how happy she is when Daniel traces his fingers over it.

Max comes and asks teases them about it eventually. "I didn't know you were into that kind of thing!" He laughs.

Daniel looks between him and a certain Monegasque. "Mhmm, like you would do the same with your whole name to a certain someone." Her and Daniel laugh as Max turns a bright shade of red.

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blacklegsanjiii · 5 months ago

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If you had to give sanji a random devilfruit, which would you go for and what kinda story would you have around it 🤔

So kind of fucked up but my first thought was the calm-calm fruit. It'd probably be in the bag of food Zeff tossed him on the rock. Do I think he would use it in a healthy way? No. Would it be even more detrimental to his mental health? Yep. Does he use it to perv? No.

He would use it to hide his panic and his nightmares and everything 'not useful' despite what Zeff and the others keep telling him. It's a safety net so he doesn't bother people with his problems, with what's happened to him. He uses it for others as well, providing quiet spaces for those who need it. Sanji is incredibly selfless when it comes to others problems but you know he would encase his room in a calm bubble so the others wouldn't hear him in the night.

When he joins the crew he uses it less, not to hide it but more so he doesn't become overly reliant on it. The crew would know about it, I think after Arlong Park Nami asks him to use it on her so she can have some cathartic screaming without disturbing the crew and he obliges with a knowing and sad smile. He shows it to Vivi and Chopper and Ace who all find it rather interesting, he doesn't know if the Marines know because it's not listed on his poster after Alabasta. Robin finds it interesting that the man who hides has such a fruit, not that she says this of course, it's not her business to share. I think it would FUCK with Thriller Bark if Sanji used it to take the place of Zoro. He doesn't let Zoro hear what he says to Kuma and doesn't tell Zoro to give his regards to the crew, just watches Zoro collapse again before he takes it.

Zoro is pissed at him when he wakes up so he uses his fruit to let Zoro be angry at him without the others hearing. Sanji doesn't argue with him and just takes his anger. It is well deserved after all, but he tells the mosshead to be quiet for a bit, he doesn't tell Zoro why he did it, but Zoro knows, he knows the cook too well.

When the crew comes back together, after the loss of Ace Sanji offers his powers to his captain. Luffy uses it sometimes, usually after he wakes up from an awful nightmare. Things go as canon, Sanji is just sneakier than before. In punk hazard Nami has to figure out Sanji's fruit for a minute before they're all switched again. It doesn't work but imagine what finding out Sanji has Cora's fruit does to him?

Sanji offers the use of his fruit for some peace and quiet because he knows Law is stressed out and Law is staring at him in shock and bewilderment. It feels like a prank on the man as the man who looks like a smaller Cora almost has his fruit. They have a lot of the same mannerisms too so it's gotta hurt a bit. Law agrees and Sanji silences the galley for them as he cooks. Just lets the warlord sit as the rhythmic chopping and bubbling of the kitchen soothe.

In WCI, because I think it would be funny if the world still didn't know he had a fruit - like it's not public knowledge, so if it wasn't for the cuffs and Zeff, Sanji would have snuck back. I think it would be hilarious if he uses his fruit to sneak around, no one notices him come or go. So during the escape when he silences the whole ship everyone is shocked that it goes completely quiet as they sail away and realize someone on the boat has a fruit the world is unaware of.

In Wano it allows him to sneak away from the group and sneak around more than the others. Get more information and meet Yamato sooner and they relate heavily. He shows Yamato his fruit and Yamato is pleased by it because he would be. During the raid he uses it against Queen when he starts spouting shit about and copying his raid suits powers. Queen would flip about his fruit as Sanji smiles and finishes the fight.

#black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #cat burglar nami #vinsmoke sanji #answers #zoro roronoa #trafalgar d water law #yamato #yamato one piece #df!sanji

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writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

Waking Lions 17

Find the series masterlist

You finally give Price what you both want.

Warnings: Smut. That's it. PiV sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), teasing, dirty talk, cuddling, pet names.

This chapter has basically nothing to do with the plot, so if you want, you can safely skip this chapter.

Word count: 2k

John Price x f!reader

The view was even nicer without clothes in the way, something you decided as soon as you got John’s shirt off.

His hair felt good against your skin, but he wasn’t content to simply let you explore. He evened the playing field, tossing your shirt off somewhere in the room.

You were tempted to ask about the scars you could see, but, well… You didn’t want the distraction. Not tonight. Perhaps another time. Tonight you had a goal.

That thought in mind, you gently nudged him back, further into the room. He quirked one eyebrow at you but followed your lead, easy as anything.

“Got somethin’ in mind?” he rumbled, hands smoothing over your skin, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you against his fingers.

“I do.” You grinned, backing him up until you could push him back to sit on the bed. He bounced a little and tipped his head up at you.

“Guess I’ll follow your lead,” he murmured. Like it was that easy. Like he meant it.

Like he meant it for more than just this moment.

You swallowed hard and dropped to your knees to distract yourself. You removed your bra, tossing it aside and watching his gaze drop to newly-exposed skin with no small amount of satisfaction. He reached for you and you tsked, catching his hands. His hands were deliciously big and warm, and you knew you only caught him because he let you.

“Not yet,” you scolded lightly, guiding his hands to the side of the bed instead. “My turn first.”

John huffed softly but obeyed, curling his fingers into the mattress. He even lifted his feet, one at a time, to help you get his boots off. They thumped loudly to the floor when you tossed them out of the way, socks quick to follow. His chuff of laughter was short, but still enough for you to lean in, bullying your way between his knees to press your teeth to his sternum. His groan was so low you felt it against your lips and teeth more than you actually heard it.

“Minx,” he growled, fingers flexing against the mattress.

“Only sometimes.” You flashed a grin up at him, hands working his belt deftly. “You like my attitude.”

“To my detriment.” But John held still, looking down at you, eyes dark with desire.

“It works in your favor. Sometimes.” You had his pants undone in record time, tugging once so that he’d get the hint and lift his hips. Which he did. Your mouth watered at the sight of him bare before you, still seated on the bed. Fuck but you could just look at him all night, watching the subtle play of muscle under his skin, tracking the patterns of hair across his body. “You are entirely too tempting, John.”

His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth, probably to comment on your use of his name.

You didn’t give him the chance.

One hand held his cock steady while your lips fastened around the head, letting you lap eagerly at his taste. This groan was louder, less restrained. You didn’t chastise him when one of his hands cupped the back of your head, not guiding or restraining you. Just holding you.

You’d always loved doing this. Reducing someone to wordless pleasure. It wasn’t something you got to do all that often, and not something you were willing to do for every partner.

But for John? You were determined to see just how far you could push him.

The ache of him stretching your jaw and lips was delightful, his taste thick on your tongue as you sank further down. Your free hand splayed over his thigh to keep him in place, hair delightful against your palm even as you started to bob your head, slow and steady. The bitten-off swears just made you hotter.

“Fuck,” John hissed, his free hand clenching tight around the bedsheets. “Too good at this, love. Gonna let me get my hands on you?”

You pulled back, taking a few moments to breathe while he looked down at you, eyes nearly black with desire. “Not yet.” You grinned at his soft groan but allowed the hand on your head to remain. You were just having a little too much fun teasing him. But he allowed it, allowed you to take your time running your tongue along his skin, chasing the taste of him.

You did have some mercy, pulling back with a pop. “Don’t move.”

He blinked once but stayed where he was, watching with rapt attention as you shucked the rest of your clothes, tossing them elsewhere, to be dealt with later.

You gave him a moment to look, smirking down at him. Your knees settled outside his hips, your hands at his shoulders. His shoulders were every bit as strong as you'd always imagined, firm and steady under your touch.

"Need a hand?" He offered, voice rumbling in the scant space between you two. His hand landed on your hip, just holding.

"Nope." You licked your lips, looking down between the two of you at the girth of him. "You'll be a good stretch."

"Sure you don't–" John choked a little as you took him in hand, guiding him to your entrance.

Sinking down on him was a delicious stretch, a unique kind of painful pleasure. You paused half-way down to breathe, biting your lip to keep back your own sounds. John bumped his forehead into yours, far too tender.

“Alright, love?” he managed, voice tight.

“Just need a second.” You breathed in, holding his gaze. His facial hair tickled your cheeks, his smell nearly overpowering. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, allowing yourself a moment of just experiencing him.

Then you moved, sinking down the rest of the way, thighs trembling. “Fuck,” you gasped, ass resting against his thighs, the girth of him just the right side of painful.

“You feel bloody amazing,” he murmured, the hand on your hip squeezing gently.

You hummed softly, intentionally clenching around him just to watch his face scrunch, breath hissed out between his teeth.

“Minx,” he growled again, hips bucking up into you.

“You like it,” you managed, squeezing his shoulders before shamelessly moving. This was perfect - you could feel all of him, but you were in control of the pace. It was thrilling to see him under you, pliant and wanting. His other hand finally settled on your thigh, and you allowed it. He didn’t try to control the pace, just feeling your skin and offering support if you needed it.

Frankly, he felt amazing. Hot and thick, steady under you, making the best little punched-out noises. You could do this all night.

Except you really couldn’t, not when your thighs trembled and the coil of heat in your belly drew tighter and hotter.

“Fuck,” you finally gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, head tipping back.

“What do you need?” His voice was even rougher now, hands flexing against your skin.

“Touch me,” you finally gave in. You grabbed his hand, guiding his fingers between the two of you, showing him exactly how. HIs breath stuttered but he followed your example, reading you with almost frightening ease. Your gasp was barely muffled, eyes sliding closed as you moved faster, desperate now.

The coil in you snapped, sudden and sharp, and you moaned, eyelids fluttering as you came around him. John groaned, eagerly helping you through it, greedily watching every moment until you finally stilled on his lap. His free hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your forehead to his, holding you steady.

“Good?” he asked softly.

“Very.” You smiled, wiggling a little in his lap just to hear him hiss. “Not done with you yet, though.”

“My turn now, love.” John smirked, and you had a moment to realize he’d been indulging you, before the world flipped. John tipped you onto the bed, twisting the two of you so he was on his knees between your thighs, looking down at you. “Should make you keep your hands to yourself.”

“You could try,” you taunted, tipping your chin, both surprised and impressed that your head was actually on a pillow. “I don’t listen well.”

He smirked down at you. “I noticed.” He settled over you slowly, letting anticipation build again, holding your gaze. The heat of him against you was addictive, and you hiked your knees up over his hips. He huffed softly at you, equal parts amused and aroused. “Don’t need to tempt me, love,” he murmured, softer and sweeter.

“Don’t I?” But you smiled, hands cupping his cheeks to guide him down into a kiss. That got him moving, groaning softly against your lips as his hips pressed against yours. He pulled back just enough to watch you as he pushed into you again.

You shivered hard, biting your lip at the feeling. Fuck but he felt good - thick and hot and satisfying. Even better when he started to move, almost teasingly slowly at first.

“John,” you finally murmured, giving up on holding back your noises. Especially when his hips jerked at the sound of his name from your lips.

“Minx,” he rumbled again, softer this time, more affectionate. The next snap of his hips made you gasp, a wolfish grin stretching his lips. “Let’s see what other pretty noises I can get you to make, hm?”

And he promptly set about testing that with sharp snaps of his hips, lips trailing down your jaw and throat, hands roaming and touching every inch of you he could reach. He moved with purpose every time, watching you closely. He wound you up so easily you hardly believed this was the first time he was touching you.

You did your best to give as good as you got, but he was relentless and determined. You fell first, shouting his name, nails digging into his back. When his hips stuttered, you only tightened your legs around his waist, keeping him where you wanted him even as he swore and groaned.

He didn’t collapse on you, but he did relax a little, resting a bit of his weight against you. You hummed, pleased with this, fingers gentle now as you combed through his hair.

“Should’ve asked earlier,” he mumbled finally, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I’ve got an implant.” You shrugged a little, careful not to dislodge him. “And I’m clean.”

“As am I.” John finally pushed himself up and away from you, ignoring your little whine. “Gonna get a washcloth, love, that’s all.”

You pouted but waited for him, stretching out a little. A soft hum served as your warning before he cleaned you up, surprisingly gentle.

Far too dangerous.

“Stop running around,” you grumbled at him, and the irony of you telling him that was not lost on you. “C’mere.”

His lips quirked but he got into bed with you again, settling down and letting you wrap yourself around him, sated and warm. He made a good pillow, warm and firm but apparently perfectly willing to let you get comfortable. A scar on his chest caught your eye - a slash, looked like. Someone had gotten too close while he was unarmored.

You pressed a kiss to the spot.

“Tryin’ to tempt me again, love?” His voice was soft despite the teasing, one broad hand sweeping gently up and down your back.

“Not quite.” You didn’t elaborate, though, tucking your head down. It was safer to keep the depth of your affection to yourself. “Just getting comfy.”

His soft huff of air tickled the top of your head, but he didn’t stop the soothing up and down of his hand against your back. “Go to sleep,” he murmured, the softest you’d ever heard him.

You settled further against him, closing your eyes. You thought it would take a long time to fall asleep, with the warmth and scent of him so close, and your history of not sleeping well sharing a bed.

You were out in minutes.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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