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wispforever · 1 year ago

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Some thoughts on Itachi

So, I've seen a lot of comments circulating about my tags on this post, and I'm intrigued at the interest. I didn't expect it, as I see much more pigeonholing of Itachi's character than honest to god analysis. No hate- I'm no stranger to Kishimoto's writing. Some of his characters were unfortunately butchered or never given the chance to be developed properly, and Itachi is most certainly no exception. That said, I like to grant him a bit more nuance than I see on most blogs. I think people get a little wrapped up in the supposed "moral implications" of exploring how Itachi was also a victim of the system, as well as someone who victimized many people. But it's silly to equate character analysis and context consideration with condoning genocide.

I have a good laugh every once and a while at the metaphorical gymnastics people do in order to stay in the good graces of a bunch of internet trolls who are just Waiting for any opportunity to tell you you love murder and think it's delicious just because you made a post exploring a character's background. Media is grey; it's layered and wonderfully complex. There are many wrongs and rights in every story, and many wrongs and rights within those wrongs and rights. That's what I love about Naruto. Often times it's really too much like real life. Instead of people being black and white, right or wrong, bad or good- they're usually in a tough situation, trying their best and falling short, don't have all of the information, acting with good intentions or acting on what they believe will bring about a lesser evil, and then end up hurting others.

But it is much easier to assign blame and move on. A so-called bad person will always be the perfect scapegoat for issues bigger than them. In Itachi's case, the fascist government in the Leaf. It's easier to say Itachi could have just refused and decided not to be involved, than to recognize that like almost every other character in the narrative, he was under extreme duress, living in a military state. He was a child whose existence, along with all the other children and adults in the Leaf, was only valuable as long as he could serve as a tool for the war machine in the shinobi world's fucked up political system. And saying this is not the same as saying he was not capable of better decisions or that everything that he did thereafter or in general should not be read critically or subject to hypothetical consequences. It is the same as a saying his actions cannot be fully understood without complete context, and the themes of Naruto will never come through if every villain is just "evil" with no further nuance. And it would be boring too LOL

That said, I love to think about Itachi's situation back then. The ages in Naruto are a bit muddled, a little inconsistent, subject to change and interpretation, but Itachi was a child when he murdered everyone in the Uchiha compound. Most sources say he was 13. It should go without saying that someone so young isn't capable of the same decision-making or critical thinking as say, a 30-year-old, someone whose brain is finished developing and has much more experience on Earth.

Itachi's experience at this point in his life is informed by his age, and it's obviously informed by his childhood, as he has no other place from which to draw conclusions. Itachi grew up in a warring state. He saw people die and was subject to extreme violence in his formative years. To make matters worse, he was taught that war was inevitable and the only thing he could do to guard against it was kill others before they got the chance to kill him (threaten the village). Thusly, Itachi internalized at a very young age that what was in his power was to minimize damage (to himself, to his village, and to the world). What was not in his power was to stop this violence entirely (by adopting a critical mindset and going against fascist powers).

A part of this I think people often forget is that Itachi has absolutely nowhere to adopt this mindset FROM, as even though his father and the other members of the Uchiha clan seek equity in the Leaf, if they were to overthrow the Hokage and create a new system, it would still presumably center around the same ideals (minus, of course, the oppression of the Uchiha as a group). Fugaku is the head of the Uchiha clan at this time. As someone who imposed near impossible performance-related expectations on both of his sons, and withheld love and affection whenever they came up short (so often that it was at the cost of having any considerable emotional bond with either of them), there is absolutely no good reason to believe that Fugaku would reform the Leaf using a non-fascist ideology. And if he did, there is no good reason to believe that he would be some kind of visionary LMAO

This is important to remember because when it comes down to Itachi's decision to either kill everyone in the Uchiha compound and his family, or be part of the coup that would overthrow the Leaf, some people treat it as though it's a choice between fascism and non-fascism, which it most certainly is not. And if it was, Itachi, as a child who had grown up immersed in this ideology, would not be able to appreciate the difference. This context allows us to understand further what Itachi was really weighing in that moment. Accounting for his young age and limited worldview, the only valuable difference in this moment to Itachi was the amount of bloodshed that he would "allow" to happen. Essentially, he sees the options as follows:

Either give in to Danzo and kill everyone in the Uchiha compound, or facilitate a coup where the current government is (hopefully) overthrown and risk starting another war.

Here, Itachi pauses. He has known war. He knows how it affects children, adults, families, and whole nations. The peace he's living in currently is bought with blood, but it's the only peace he's ever known. The alternative is horrifying. And a war in this context, Itachi likely thinks, would be his fault, as he has now been put in the position to "prevent" it. Danzo and the whole shinobi system have groomed him into thinking so. Itachi, at age 13, cannot understand that there would be no war; it exists only as leverage for Danzo's argument at this point. His sensitivities are being played on.

Fugaku, though he is not the same as Danzo, offers about as much help as he does (that being none). Fugaku has no interest in avoiding war; if a war breaks out, it's justified because it will still mean his clan will no longer be living in oppression. This idea is valid, as fascist systems and discrimination can only cease to exist when we rise up against them; unfortunately, this most often calls for righteous violence, as the oppressive powers will not be moved with peaceful shows (not to mention they are willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid losing their hold on the people they have crushing power over, i.e. the Uchiha massacre). But Fugaku has no words to explain this to Itachi, who fears the worst and further fears being responsible for the worst. All he does is act as if it's a moral failing that his 13-year-old son is unwilling to stage a coup, which he believes could mark the abrupt end of a peace that's only just begun.

That said, let it be known that Itachi does appreciate this situation with SOME nuance, though it isn't of the kind that might have enabled him to see he was being manipulated. He at the very least understands that Danzo is a warmonger and oppresses those he fears (the Uchiha). He understands that the rights of his clan have been sorely disrespected, and that the issue needs correction. He understands the anger of his friends and family. This is why it takes him much deliberation before he can even come close to making a decision. He plays both sides right up until the end, listening to Danzo, as well as Fugaku and Shisui, paying attention to the current atmosphere in the Leaf as he tries to decide.

It is something he doesn't want to do. Here's where I get to the part I put in the tags of my drawing.

In this situation, it's almost worthless to write an analysis about Itachi's feelings at this time, his understanding of what was actually going on, his loyalty to his clan or his loyalty to the Leaf, because really, he could not grasp it. He was never prepared for this. He never knew he would be asked to make a decision he could only understand as "your family or the world?"

Itachi was put in a position that had no happy ending. There was no decision he could make that would not hurt. That could not result in a cataclysm that split him right down the middle. There was no version of this story that a 13-year-old could carry out thinking "I have done the right thing."

And that's the important part. Both sides asked him to make this decision, and so both sides are guilty of placing an immeasurable pressure on a child who should never have been put in such a position. Regardless of ideology, regardless of price, regardless of oppression or loyalty or devotion or any other thing- someone else should have made this decision for Itachi. Someone else should have been responsible. An adult, at the very least. Someone who COULD understand the implications of both options. Someone who COULD go forward and appreciate the evil of fascism and know that a coup was necessary. Itachi was never capable of such a thing. If he made the "wrong" decision, than every child who can't explain to you what a fascist government in a military state looks like and explain what the difference is between a hate crime and resisting a hateful power, is also wrong. Here is the nuance. These are things a 13-year-old in this universe cannot be expected to understand unless they are taught. And Itachi had no teacher. Quite the opposite. There were only forces pressing him from both sides, saying "choose."

Had his father done this for him, had Shisui been in this position, had any other adult Uchiha acting as a spy been put to this task, it would be a much different narrative. But of course, it had to be Itachi, who Danzo knew he could manipulate. It had to be a child, someone skilled enough to do the job, but inexperienced enough, afraid enough, to be willing to sacrifice everything they had to see the mission through. Someone you could whisper "greater good" to and have them hand over their well being on a plate. Someone who didn't understand they had the power and strength to destroy the system threatening them.

On a narrative level, Itachi exists to illustrate this point. How young people are systematically indoctrinated to serve a greater purpose, be it under a specific government, religion, or otherwise. We see it in real life fascism, in real life cults. There's no mistake. It isn't an accident that Itachi's story begins like this.

Which brings me to the rest of his life. The reason I drew the picture in the post referenced at the top. Itachi's character is a bit of a mystery the rest of the anime. Be that because of bad writing or an intentional omission, his motives, thoughts, and opinions are largely left ambiguous. However, there are still a few moments that interest me as far as the implications of his development.

When Itachi first comes back to the Leaf village, he faces Kakashi. On the one hand, this could simply be a narrative tool- the big bad meets the big good. He takes Kakashi out of commission! The first rogue shinobi we see who is able to defeat the pillar of the Leaf, the Copy Ninja, and without even breaking a sweat!

On the other hand, I find the brutality of Itachi's attack very intriguing. Again, it could be the tough guy act, but he's able to keep three jonin busy easily using standard genjutsu (with the help of Kisame). It wouldn't be a stretch to say that using the tsukuyomi is overkill, and at a considerable price, we learn later.

Why then would Itachi, who has been shown to have excellent battle intelligence, who is strategic to a fault, be willing to jeopardize his health among other things just to... scare the Leaf? Make sure Kakashi wouldn't be a nuisance in the future? Sure, the last one would make collecting Naruto less complicated, but they dispatched Kakashi easily enough, and surely Jiraiya, who Naruto was with at the time, would pose a bigger problem than Kakashi.

It doesn't make strategic sense, which makes me wonder if Itachi has a special animosity toward Kakashi. Being his superior in the ANBU before the Uchiha massacre, someone who was willing to conduct surveillance of the Uchiha compound without question, Kakashi could have become a symbol of the indifference of the Leaf for Itachi. He could very well have been a reminder of the inoperable position Itachi was put in when he was still a child, and Kakashi, of course, was an adult. Another adult who did nothing. Noticed nothing. Did not help Itachi.

And while I'm certain that Kakashi would have taken severe issue with the goings on in the Leaf at that time, judging by his reaction when he finds out the truth in Shippuden, Itachi knows him only by what he did then. Facilitated surveillance of the Uchiha compound, was a supportive superior, but nothing greater. A bystander whose compassion, while well meaning, was entirely unhelpful.

I don't think it's far fetched that Itachi fucking crucified Kakashi because he was so angry at what being in the Leaf did to him. At some point, as he got older, he realized how terrible it was. He realized there were people like him. Children who were "born killers". Pawns in the game of the shinobi powers.

After leaving the village, Itachi joins the Akatsuki, who are also seeking peace through war (another story). He is supposed to spy for them, but doesn't follow through in any enthusiastic way (that we're shown). He works alone for quite some time, or else with a group (briefly he was shown with Conan and Kakuzu). He is partners with Orochimaru before he's expelled from the Akatsuki. He is partners with one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He grows up and meets many people, sees lots of stories unfold. He learns that he isn't in a minority. Many shinobi are just like him.

And then, as an adult, he is partnered with Kisame, who he finds excellent camaraderie with because of their similar backgrounds. We see in this relationship that he understands what happened to him and what he did enough to acknowledge that, while neither of them are monsters, as many people say, they are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans are complicated. Wrong and right and wrong and right. They understand each other, and Itachi understands more clearly what the world puts these children up to. What it forces shinobi to become. That it isn't all his fault, but he still did it. And so he is responsible. He appears to be able to live with that.

But when he returns to the Leaf, those feelings bubble up. He hates the Leaf. He hates that system. He hates what he did. Maybe he even hates being a shinobi, how his excellence was weaponized, how being an Uchiha doomed him and his clan. And for what?

Itachi is played as a character who is only sensible, only logical, only interested in practical things, has nothing to express. But the way he behaves toward Kakashi in that moment bares all his grief and anger. I just like to think about it. We have so few moments where we get to see Itachi genuinely. The fight with Kakashi, the Sasuke/Deidara fight, his thoughtful moments with Kisame. Just makes me wonder what could've been if Itachi's story had gone a little differently.

Anyway, if anyone would like me to expand on any points or has additional thoughts, feel free to hop in my ask box or leave a comment. Thanks for the interest, I love to talk.

#this is wisp #itachi uchiha #analysis

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insane-brit · 1 year ago

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Royalty (Ch. 3)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulamte!Fem!Reader

Chapter Links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Next scheduled Royalty update (Ch 4.): July 30th, 2023.

Tags/Warnings: Enemies to lovers, semi slow burn, dark story/themes, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE (neck snapping, spinal shock), prostitution, attempted coercion, hatred, mentions of IRL Japanese history, slight misogyny, panic attack, blood.

A/N: It's finally here!!! Yay! Thank you all for being patient with me as these last few weeks have been hectic. I just got back from a convention and classes are a lot. I'm also going back through and adding (F/N) to the first two chapters with reader in it since I didn't do that before (I like to use it sparingly). So, be on the lookout for those edits.

I do want to say that I have a schedule planned for this series. Due to my classes and the upcoming semester I will update Royalty every other week to give me time to write properly. Other works such as requests will be filled/posted as they are completed.

Therefore, the next update (Ch. 4) will be on July 30th, 2023!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: 2.6K

The stench of rot permeated through the orifices of every human that he encountered. Death walked hand in hand with them as they decayed with each passing minute. Demons were much the same but dulled. Their aging halted and cells regenerated in a never-ending cycle until their head was severed or body burned. Flaws in his creations and himself.

Muzan’s carefully crafted work, hand-picked from the hundreds and thousands of demons over the ages, the Upper and Lower moons had defects in their own ways. Dismantling the Lower ranks proved to ease the spreading desperation in his subconscious. They were worthless beings. Unfit for their stations and yet the Upper ranks manifested to be just as disappointing as the rest. Failing for centuries at annihilating the family bound to him by blood and unearthing the blossom that would grant him the ability to conquer the sun. The amaryllis.

The only reason they proved to be of use was they kept the Kisatsutai on their toes. Terminating the lives of their most powerful and stripping them of their morality. Despite him wanting to rip the ranks to shreds and gnash his teeth on their bones, they were his strongest. He would let them carry on with their lives if they served and attested themselves to be worthy of the position so graciously bestowed upon them.

Walking the various winding concrete of Yoshiwara was not Muzan’s ideal pastime. Though it was vital to remind his Jūnikizuki where they stood and to oversee the progress, they had made both for themselves and his sake. Situating himself near a wall, his eyes observed the lowly human creatures. Their affairs exhibited in the confines of the residence they were assigned to and sought out. Women and men alike with their sultry gazes swept across the bodies that passed them. Muzan was no exception. The impure burn of their eyes had him clenching his jaw. It was revolting and he would rather them be looking upon him in other ways. They were ignorant, but one day they would understand. If they were capable of such a feat. A soft gasp from behind him had him tense.

“Aren’t you pretty?” A woman brushed the side of his arm before stopping in front of him. A smirk curled on her face as she tilted her head. Eye’s tracing over his features before going lower.

“I know just the woman who may interest you,” her nail tapped her lower lip. “And she may be interested in return.”

Muzan glared at her, expression stoic and lips in a tight line. “No, thank you.”

She pouted, sticking her bottom lip out in a display that left him with a foul taste in his mouth. “Oh, come on. I promise we’re not that bad, and besides,” she drawled, smoothing out the front of her layered kimono. “I can show you a good time if the others don’t meet your expecta-.”

Her skull cracked against the building. Stone dug into her scalp as little pieces opened the skin, blood streamed from the wound. A choked sound bubbled up from her throat as Muzan tightened his grip.

His face was mere inches from hers. “Courtesans just don’t know when to quit.” Her throat bobbed as she clawed at his wrist. Pupils blown and eyes swelled, she sounded pitiable. “Know your place.”

His expression was callous. Complete disregard for the woman’s life. In one swift motion, her vertebrae splintered underneath the skin. The crack reverberated under his fingers as she paled. Sweat beaded near her hairline and her pulse dropped. The thrum lagged in intensity compared to moments ago. Practically tossing her against the wall, he stared down at the nearly unconscious body. The rise and fall of her chest ceased at the loss of function and urine trailed from under the slightly hoisted garments.

Muzan stepped away from the body. A look of repugnance danced in his eyes as his shoes clicked against the alley. The sheer commotion of the streets and people engrossed in their activities served to cover the deed. No eyes to behold the barbaric and heinous force that now lay with the crumpled cadaver. Not that it made any difference to him if someone bore witness or not. The action wouldn’t beget any kind of repercussion. He had killed thousands and the sole individual who could strike him down for his immorality was long gone.

Rounding the corner of the brothel yielded another side road. Livelier than the alleyway, but not as bustling as the main street. Muzan’s gaze swept over the scene. The mix of Chouchin and modern cast bronze lanterns emitted a golden tint. Shadowing the timber structures inlaid with ornate decor and carefully crafted sliding doors. In the time since his birth in the Heian Era, Muzan had seen the rise and fall of many and their attempts at jurisdiction. From the brutal Onin War between the Daimyō and Ashikaga shogunate to the collapse of the Tokugawa shôgun. Modernizing and progressing the country into the complex order it is today.

He wouldn't normally immerse himself in the trivial matters of the government, especially with them being substandard compared to himself, however, it was vital to his continuity. Being knowledgeable in the ever-changing systems, inventions, and styles granted him more expertise in the art of blending in. Offsetting the swordsmen intent on his demise for over a thousand years.

Observing the bleary silhouettes of people through the translucent paper on the shoji windows, he tipped the edge of his white fedora to the side. Eyeing the Kyogoku House, where Upper moon six, Gyutaro, resided. Daki may be the outward appearance and has some finesse in fighting, but that is all she’ll ever amount to. A mere child whose sole purpose is to keep her brother under control. A pitiful feat that she thinks her lord cares for and believes in her. On her knees and practically drooling over his approval. It's pathetic.

Narrowing his eyes, Muzan strode down the street. He had more pivotal things to execute rather than linger in these vulgar places. A puddle splashed as his shoe struck it. The ripples reflected molten gold from the lanterns. He looked down at the undulating liquid before his eyes sharpened. The tightness in his wrist and the scintillating flicker of the cursed filament did not go unnoticed. Muzan felt the cavity of choler dig itself further as eyes burrowed into his stature. Halting his movements, he could feel the emotions coming off the person like waves. Kismet had its way of interfering with his aspirations as of late, and it appears no matter how hard he disregarded the incident many nights ago, resilience persevered. Nails sharpening, he turned and eyed the human ogling at him.

Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes wide. Skin pale as if she had seen a ghost. His gaze dragged over her body, and he glowered in realization. The all-too-familiar black uniform with white accents stood out like a sore thumb. The haori that encapsulated the kanji on the back of the uniform was a mix of snow and sable. Swirls of what looked to be smoke and other intricate designs littered the bottom, but Muzan didn’t put much care into what the woman was wearing. His sole focus was on what she was. A Sureiyā. A Hashira.

If there were any gods or Buddha in his thousand years of existence, they were surely trying his patience.

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(F/N) felt like her blood had been turned to ice. The glassy veins froze her in place as she owlishly stared into the eyes of her supposed soulmate. Hearing shot, ringing reverberated in her ears and the thronging behind her sounded muffled. As if she had been pulled into the unforgiving deep as her lungs screamed and begged for an end.

He did not move, and from where she stood, she could not discern an emotion on his face. It was phlegmatic. Unwavering, constant. It unnerved (F/N) as her feelings swirled and compacted into what felt like a ticking bomb. Fury, horror, uncertainty…. contentment? It was all too much and didn't do anything to ease her palpitating heart. Eyes darted down to the thread, soaking up every single fiber and shine it emitted as she stalked its trail. It ended at his alabaster skin. Gouging itself into the flesh, and if his eyes weren't enough evidence, that's when she noticed his nails. They tapered into an acute point where deep indigo melted into pale blue.

Breathing ragged, she took a few shaky steps back. Gaze never leaving him. (F/N) was jolted out of her stupor as a body rammed into her hard. The force sent them both tumbling to the ground. Her head and elbow cracked against the pavement. Grit dug into her flesh and tore it open as her vision doubled. Groaning softly, (F/N) brought her other hand up to cradle her head. A weight was pressed onto her torso, and it felt suffocating as it moved around. Muffled voices resonated around her, and as her vision cleared, she observed the multitude of bodies surveying the scene. Beady eyes pierced her soul, and some looked on with pity. Others glared and whispered in hushed voices like secrets carried by the wind, and she felt her face flush in embarrassment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A voice hissed and handfuls of her uniform were jerked forward. A man hovered over her dazed form and shook her harshly. “How dare you wench! Where is your procurer? You should be punished for your insolence.”

(F/N) clenched her teeth and slammed her fist into his chest, effectively shoving him off her. Blood oozed from her elbow and stained his hakama as he fell into the surrounding crowd. Women shrieked and men howled with laughter at the display. She staggered to her feet, clutching the laceration, and glared at the man seething on the ground.

“Nothing is wrong with me.” she spat at him. Her nerves were firing. The adrenaline from the collision, that she laid eyes on the progenitor, and that he was her soulmate no less had her on the verge of a breakdown. Something that she had not felt in years. The feeling of all these emotions flowing had her choking back the ball that had formed in her throat. “Watch where you're going next time.” She hissed. (F/N) knew it was her fault but at that moment she could care less. Her eyes darted back towards the side street. People’s bodies presented to be an obstacle as she tilted her head frantically to inspect the spot where he once stood.

There was nothing. No trace that he was there and that only served to make her panic more. The only verification that his presence remained was the line connecting the two of them. It was slack, but barely compared to the tautness of it mere moments ago. Pivoting around she shoved people out of her way as she bolted down the road. The man on the ground cursed her form which was swallowed by the sea of people.

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(F/N)’s back pressed against the cool bark of a maple. She clutched the front of her uniform as choked sounds escaped her cracked lips. Her vision warped from the tears she held back; her hands shook with force and her feet tingled.

She didn’t know how far she had run from the district, but she had to get out. She ran until she couldn’t anymore and collapsed in the emerald grass and darkened trees. The thought of those eyes drilling into hers and the shifting cataclysmic ambiance that surrounded his physique had her struggling to breathe. The air came in short bursts as her chest tightened.

It was hard.

Breathing was hard.

The only relief she felt was the sight of the thread loose and gathered in ringlets on the swaying grass. He hadn’t followed her. She was out of sight of anything besides the surrounding fauna which she no doubt scared away with the distressed sounds pouring from her mouth.

Thoughts raced from Kibutsuji to her mission.

Her failed mission.

Grabbing the nearest rock, (F/N) screamed in rage and brought it down onto the blood-red tie. Beating it repeatedly into the ground. Each hit sent a shock wave of what felt like needles through her arm as a warning. Yet, it stayed constant. No fraying, no cut, no snapping. It remained in perfect condition, and she swore it glowed brighter, mocking her. Grinding her teeth together she continued to strike it until the palms of her hands bled from the grip she had on the stone.

Panting from the energy exerted, she chucked the rock at the nearest tree and watched it break into pieces and dust. Her nails dug into her slick palm as she sat there hunched over on her knees.

The thought of the pillars and her Master’s crestfallen, disgusted faces haunted her mind. If they were to see her in this state, abandoning a mission, and fleeing from their sworn enemy when she had every opportunity to launch an assault on him, well, she could only imagine the contempt that would stem from their hearts. (F/N) imagined Master Kagaya exiling her for breaking the oath she swore her life to the moment she passed Final Selection.

“I swear to battle valiantly, not show hesitation, doubt, or cowardice in the face of danger, and place the needs of the Kisatsutai before my own.”

She placed a quivering palm over her mouth as nausea threatened to overtake her. Everything she worked towards, dedicated her life to, everything, destroyed in minutes. Obliterated by her selfishness and pusillanimity. She was no valiant swordsman. The prowess she claimed to have died the moment realization sunk in. Snuffed like a flame.

A soft flutter and pitter-patter of feet landed near her as she held back the urge to purge the contents of her stomach. The crunching of leaves and soft cooing drew closer until she had no choice but to look up. Seiichi, her Kasugai crow cocked his head and ruffled his feathers at her. A small talisman was wrapped around his neck with string, engraved with designs and different Kanji. An item her grandfather gave to her before he passed that she then gave to her crow.

“Tengen, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke are almost to Yoshiwara. You must meet them!” he cawed and made her flinch from the sudden loud noise.

“No. No Seiichi,” she took in a shaky breath before reaching out and picking him up. “I can’t. Not now.”

Setting the crow on her lap, she scratched the top of his head. Effectively making him quiet down and simultaneously began to clear the haze of panic that had been clouding her mind for hours.

“Please, don’t go to the Master. Not yet. Just stay with me for a while.” she whispered and hung her head low, hair falling in front of her face.

Seiichi didn’t make a sound. Nor did he move from his position on her lap. Indicating that he heard her plea and complied with her wish, going against his orders.

The sky steadily grew a lighter shade. A blue hue cast over the scenery before her and a few birds chirped. Beads of dew rolled off blades of grass and she shivered from the chill breeze that blew through the canopy of trees. Her body felt heavy and the wound on her elbow had dried. Pulling the skin when she would bend her arm. (F/N) observed her appearance, her haori was dirty and had a few rips in it from her fall, but for the most part, she appeared to be fine.

The sound of something being sat down had her and Seiichi whipping their heads up to look for the source. The hair on her nape prickled and she sucked in a breath. Hand reaching for her blade. The sun had not come up yet. Any demon still had the chance to strike if they so desired.

“Oh, are you alright dear?”

Taglist: @shellseys @athalahild @stxrrielle @lulu-83 @nianre @sincerely-aaronette @kathleen7i @woozzz

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mi-i-zori · 9 months ago

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Mii’s Thoughts - Ghost - 1

CoD - Ghost x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Just a thought about the Ghost Distribution System.

WARNINGS : None.

Author’s Note : I know I might be late to the party, but I felt the need to share this after reading so many good stuff about this topic. I think this was @ghouljams �� idea ?

I do not give permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or any other platform, including AI.

Main Masterlist

What if, after meeting his darling, Ghost suddenly decided to give up on his military life ?

What if his thoughts were constantly circling back to the angel he met not so long ago, their halo illuminating his never-ending darkness with the warmth of a campfire into the night, drawing him to them in the hopes of finally getting rid of the cold plaguing his existence ? What if it distracted him enough lead him to be more and more careless on the battlefield, igniting worry in their eyes every time he came back ; and he couldn’t forgive himself for it ? What if he finally decided to get away from all the violence and gore he once thought he was meant to live for after getting reprimanded over and over, realising that he does not belong on the front lines anymore ?

His angel is waiting for him at home - or is he waiting to got back to them ? He doesn’t really care anymore, for he knows he has to return to them. His hands are covered in a layer of rusty blood, the kind he will never be able to fully get rid of, and he is far from being worthy of tainting them even through the faintest touch.

Yet he is meant to kneel at their feet, kiss the hem of their clothes and savour the sound of their voice. Each second he spends in a military base increases the risk of losing them - of losing his everything all over again.

And this is not something he can afford.

He is a heathen, that he knows. Yet he’s finally found his purpose through the eyes of a being unaware of their own divinity. And he shall spend the rest of his life giving his entire self away worshiping their every breath.

So what if he came home one day, once again lingering on their doorstep like a stray dog seeking shelter from the rain, waiting for them to answer their door to announce he is finally retiring - slotting himself in their life for good ? He probably doesn’t have a backup plan, and completely forgot how to function properly in a world he spent so many years away from. But he found a light to follow in the middle of the night, a pillar to cling to amongst the never-ending storm.

Isn’t that all he needs to survive ?

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #the ghost distribution system #cod au

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astroboots · 2 years ago

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 12

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you follow Marc out into the night. Or alternatively: 🎵 Fighting evil by moonlight. Winning love by daylight 🎵

Content: Cthulu horror, violence, blood and gore, angst, yikes overall.

Word Count: 6.2k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

You’re not thinking straight.

Somehow you’re already at the end of the hallway, pushing the button for the lift and having a staring contest with the red floor indicator, and you don’t even know if you managed to lock up behind you.

The lift is stuck at the ground floor, apparently unwilling to do the one bloody thing a lift is supposed to do and lift itself. You can’t be bothered to wait. Before you even properly register making a decision, you’re already down the five flights of stairs, out the building's front door and onto the street, cheeks stinging from the bone-chilling cold.

Usually, the residual heat from the bustle of city life coupled with fumes from the busy traffic will keep London warm enough even in the dead of night. But now, as you make your way down the cramped street, it’s so cold that your breath is frosting in front of you.

It’s eerily quiet for Central London. The only sound is the one made by your feet carelessly splashing through the puddles of rainwater filling the potholes in the cracked pavement, and it seems to echo off the tall concrete walls on either side of you.

You don’t know what you’re doing.

It would be better, safer, smarter for you to go back upstairs where you could stay comfortably warm under the covers while you wait for Steven to return to you in the morning.

You know all of this, but you don’t turn around. Don’t even hesitate. One foot after the other, you stride determinedly down the narrowing passageway that’s lined with pungent beer bottles and deep fried chicken bones, until you reach a fork in the street.

This is all so stupid.

You don’t know which direction Marc went—right or left—don’t know what his intended destination is or if he even came this way at all. But you do know one thing.

Marc Spector loves you.

His quiet voice still echoes between your ears. ‘I love you too’, he’d said, and it was real.

You chance left into an even smaller alleyway. You don’t know why, other than that the dark tapered alley seems like a more likely place for Marc to have slunk off to in the middle of the night.

There are no street lights here, and the walls on both sides seem to narrow in on you, until you feel like they're practically scraping against your shoulders. Somehow, even though you’ve been more or less living in this area as of late, you’ve not ever come across this path before.

A foetid smell lingers in the air, like someone’s left rotten eggs out in the sun. London’s never exactly smelled good, but the sudden overwhelming odour stings your nostrils, invading your throat in a way that threatens to have you doubled over, dry-gagging.

The rain is coming in heavier now, but it does nothing to help with the smell. Just permeates every single layer of your clothing, until you’re soaked all the way down to your socks.

You’re bloody freezing.

Something doesn’t feel quite right, but you chalk it up to the fact that you've chosen to take a stroll down a dark alley in East London in the middle of the night by yourself. Not your brightest decision ever, but here you are.

A tingling at the back of your neck makes you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, checking to see if someone’s watching you, but there’s nothing there. All you see is the same depressing-looking alley that you just came down. Red-rusted brick walls above a concrete street covered in manky puddles and rubbish, just like every other dirty little alleyway in East London.

Somehow, this does nothing to reassure you.

The skin between your shoulders itches, prickling with uncomfortable heat despite the cold, and it feels like a warning sign.

Despite the fact that you’re wearing sturdy boots and covered from toes to chin, you still feel uncomfortably exposed. Like any minute now something might start nipping at your heels from behind. It’s the same illogical fear you feel when you’re alone in bed at night with your feet sticking out from under the covers. You’ve left yourself defenceless and vulnerable to the monsters under the bed. It’s only a matter of time before something from the darkness will reach out and grab you by the ankles, dragging you under.

You continue forwards, hurrying your pace with every step. It’s irrational, but you can’t shake off the feeling that if you don’t, something will catch up to you.

Some sort of.... clicking starts up behind you, and you slow to a stop. Some lost survival instinct is screaming at you, telling you to freeze. To hide so it won't see you.

The unsettling noise continues, rattling oddly in your ears and growing ever more distorted as it echoes off the walls around you. You’ve never heard anything like it, and you wish you weren’t hearing it now. It’s… strange. Not quite right.

Other.

The noise stops, leaving just the sound of your breath rasping in and out of your too-tight chest. You force yourself to move; fighting the warning siren of your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest, you turn slowly to look over your shoulder at the alley behind you.

There’s nothing there. You're alone.

Slowly, slowly you turn the rest of the way, but there's still nothing. Aside from the usual smattering of rubbish, the only thing in the alleyway is the image of the moonlit sky mirrored on the rain-covered, empty pavement.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and force yourself to keep breathing, fighting the stubborn tightness of your chest to take in deep, calming breaths that turn visible as you exhale against the crisp air.

So you heard an odd sound. And what of it? Probably just someone’s ancient radiator clicking up a storm. That’s all. Everything else is just your overactive imagination. Might even have been a bird. Someone’s escaped parakeet doing a strange mating call perhaps. What do you know? London wildlife has always been unpredictable and strange, after all.

You’ve nearly managed to convince yourself, about to turn on your heel and continue on your way when you spot it. The gentle ripple pattern spreading out across the thin sheet of water covering the grey concrete. Not unusual in the least, given that it’s raining. Except it’s a large ripple. Too large to be from the rain.

Despite the freezing temperature, your spine prickles with cold sweat underneath your thick coat.

The noise starts up again. It warbles and clicks-clicks-clicks. You can’t pin where it’s coming from. It’s disorientating. It comes from the ground, rattles off the walls and lingers in the air above. It’s everywhere.

Water splashes on the ground some feet away from you, a small spray going up in your peripheral vision, like something stepped on it. Something heavy. Something large.

But there’s nothing there. And that maddening clicking noise won’t stop.

You can’t see anything in the empty space over the water puddle in front of you. Nothing, not even the smattering droplets of the pouring rain. The water is eerily still which… can’t be right.

You narrow your eyes at the puddle, dragging your gaze upwards, and…

There’s a hole in the rain.

A void of some sort, defined only by the absence of the falling water. Following the empty space upwards, you can see a clearly defined boundary where the droplet starts again. Like the rain is bouncing off a transparent surface.

There’s something there. Something solid. Something big.

A huge eerie shape. As you squint at it, you begin to recognize that the water is outlining crouching limbs and a torso. Your brain keeps trying to pin down what it looks like, but it’s not the shape of any animal you know of. There’s something not right about its form. It's disproportionate; all overly sharp edges and grotesque bulging curves that make your skin crawl. The angles are wrong somehow in a way that makes your brain itch to look at them.

It’s...

It’s…

Not of this world.

You hold your breath, standing motionless, feet rooted to the wet pavement as rain pelts your face so hard it stings.

Click. C-Click. CCCCClick.

The noise rattles closer. Louder now. It feels like it’s burrowing under your skin. Into your brain. But the warning sirens blaring inside your head are louder still. Deafening. Every instinct and nerve ending in you is screaming one thing.

RUN.

You turn and run, one leg leaping in front of the other. You run without looking behind you. Running even as you almost stumble, feet skidding against the slippery-wet concrete. Your lungs burn, but you don’t stop. Don’t dare look back. Eyes fixed on the dim, rain-fogged light at the end of the alley in front of you. You run.

There’s a loud crash behind you. A percussive thunderclap of sound that hurts your ears. The crunch and clatter of concrete being torn apart.

But you don’t stop. Don’t look behind you to investigate. You run.

You run, ignoring the bile pushing its way up your throat. Run, ignoring the shrieks of sound erupting behind you. Running from the sound of a wounded creature, like no animal that you have ever heard in your life. A hellish scream that doesn’t sound of this world, tearing through the thin space. A pain that is born out of pierced flesh and broken bones. You run.

Stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

Why are you here? Why didn’t you just stay in the safety of your home, tucked up in bed under the covers? The stinging wetness in your eyes blurs your vision as you tear down the alleyway. Does it open out into another street or dead end? You can’t tell yet, but there’s nothing else to do. You run.

You collide with something solid and firm.The impact knocks the wind out of your lungs, and a strong pressure surrounds you from every angle, grabbing hold of your shoulders and constricting around your ribs. You can’t run.

You can’t breathe. There’s something clamped over your mouth and nose. Coarse gauze pressed into your nostrils, suffocating you.

You make a desperate attempt to free yourself, arms trying to push out against the tight hold, hands clawing at whatever you can reach, but your pathetic attempts are no use. The grip only tightens at your resistance. It’s too strong. You can’t get free.

This is it. There’s nowhere left to go. You’re trapped. It’s over.

Still, you can’t stop fighting, thrashing in every direction, trying to squirm yourself loose.

“Stop! Stop!”

You recognize that grumpy, impatient voice. You’d know it anywhere, even muted as it is by the blood thundering in your ears. You register that the solid weight holding you captive is a person.

Marc.

You go limp. Shoulders slumping into his hold. Legs no longer kicking as your feet settle onto the ground below.

“I’m gonna let go of you now. I need you to not fight me. Or scream.”

You nod into his hand, and the pressure finally gives, as does his grip. Then you’re free.

Turning around, the sight that greets you nearly has you screaming and running after all because it’s not Marc at all. It’s…

A mummy.

Layers upon layers of white gauze are wrapped like bandages over every inch of the body before you. Wound around limbs and woven over a broad torso, continuing up to shroud the face.

And the eyes…

Where the eyes should be, the eye sockets are hollowed out. The gorgeous brown you expected is absent, replaced by a white glow that blinds you when you try to look directly at it.

You wobble on your feet, a sick nausea filling your throat.

It spoke like Marc. Used his voice.

Oh god! Is this some monstrous creature that mimics human voices to lure in its prey?

Did it eat Marc!?

Is it going to eat you!?

The glowing eyes narrow into impatient triangular shapes, the shoulders pulling up and back while the feet shift in an almost nervous gesture. An odd sense of recognition fills you.

“M-Marc?”

The eyes narrow further into a scolding glare. Even without a mouth, you can tell he’s scowling at you. The thing growls, but it’s a human sound. And a familiar one.

Marc, definitely Marc.

Only he could manage to scowl behind a hoodie, three layers of mummy bandages and a glowing Halloween mask.

As you watch, the hood and mask recede, evaporating into thin air. White bandages give way to golden-tanned skin, and you’re greeted by the face you know so well. Hard eyes staring down at you above steel-cut cheekbones and a jaw set with displeasure.

“Marc!” Thank god! Relief floods your chest, but it’s short-lived. That thing could still be out there. “We need to go!”

“Why are you here? You can’t be here,” Marc grates out, resisting your attempts to pull him into motion. He’s clearly furious, but right now the two of you have got more important things to worry about.

“We need to go,” you repeat, pleading with him, hands grappling for his, trying to tug him in the direction you were running before, but he resists you effortlessly, like he’s anchored to the spot. You might as well be trying to tug a stone statue.

“Marc, please! There’s something out there! Like a– a–” you fumble, unsure of what to name it, because you don’t know what the hell that thing was.

An invisible monster? A demon? A boogeyman?

“I don’t know what it was! Some kind of… creature. Something big,” Your voice breaks. Your fingers tremble where they’re curled over his arm, and you grip harder. Digging them further into the bandages, trying to get them to stop. “You have to believe me Marc!”

He’s not going to believe you, is he? He’s going to think you’ve lost the plot and need to be sectioned. God, maybe you do.

But the vexation in his face fades as he watches you, his expression shifting into something softer, filled with worry. His hands reach for you, the bandages soft against your cheeks.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He tips your chin up, eyes searching your face, and if he thinks you are mad or hysterical, there isn’t a trace of it in his gaze. There’s no disbelief. “I know.”

His calm acceptance stuns you.

“What do you mean you ‘know’?”

“I know because I…,”—he hesitates, mouth set in a grim line—”I took care of it.” “You took care of… what? Marc, what–? What do you mean by that?”

Marc falters at that, and runs one gloved hand over his hair. His eyes dart around like he’ll find the answer hidden somewhere behind the overflowing rubbish or carved into the worn brick of the alley wall.

“I…,” He hesitates again, glancing at you and then away, like he can’t make himself hold your gaze. “This is what I do,” he finally spits out. “I tried to keep this shit away from you. It’s not something you were ever supposed to see. I need you safe.”

The unhappy set of his mouth makes your aggravation falter, but you need to understand.

“What do you mean? Tried to keep what shit away from me?”

“I–” He breaks off, eyes darting up and across the wall of the building across from you, high above your head. “Shit. We need to go.”

Oh sure! Now he wants to leave. (Though it’s not like you’re going to argue.)

Marc grabs your arm again, and you do your best to keep up as he hauls you along down the alley.

You try to watch the alley walls and street as you run, searching for any sign of the grotesque invisible creature from before, but you can’t make out anything in the pouring rain this time. You try to listen instead, but you can’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Marc stops suddenly, and you stumble to a halt as well, crashing into his back and nearly falling.

“Mar—“

“Quiet,” he cuts you off with the low demand, and the quiet urgency of his voice has you freezing instantly. He stares at the mouth of the alleyway, then up where the moon is just barely visible in the gap between the buildings, eyes wide and alert, face rigid with something like fear. It makes your own fear balloon, your pulse screeching in your ears.

Suddenly there’s a scraping sound, and small bits of brick fall from above, skittering down from the wall on your left. You peer at the shadowy face of the building, but there’s nothing to be seen.

Another grinding sound, closer this time. Something large and heavy rubbing against brick. Another shower of gravel and debris, but you still can’t see where the bloody thing is.

Dread curls in the lining of your stomach.

Then it starts again, that otherworldly clicking that seems to burrow right into your skull. You cover your ears reflexively. Would claw them right off if only it would make the noise stop.

Marc reaches for you then. Moving slowly and deliberately, he wraps an arm around you, scooping you close against his chest and taking you with him as he backs away.

You huddle against him, staring up at his determined profile. His eyes are trained on a spot on the building across from you, clearly seeing what you can’t.

Without looking away, he leans in closer to you and whispers, “Get ready to run.”

He’s barely finished speaking when the wall crumbles above you, and Marc’s arms untangle from you, leaving your side.

You think you catch the sight of something moving in the rain, a slight distortion visible as the shape crosses in front of the moon, then you’re shoved to the side, voice echoing in your ears.

“Run!”

You weren’t ready.

Shoes skidding backwards in the slippery rain, you lose your footing, and go down. You land hard on your bum, and can’t seem to get up again.

Everything is happening too fast.

Your chest hurts. Breath stuttering in your lungs, too quick and shallow to let you take in any oxygen. Your heartbeat is pounding so rapidly against your ribs that you’re sure it’s going to rip a hole straight through your chest to the open air.

It’s too bright.

The light from the moon above seems to flood the alleyway, and your eyes throb.

Too loud.

A solid thud reverberates through the air mere feet away from you. It’s the sound of knuckles meeting flesh. A blood curdling shriek rips through the space.

Too much.

Marc's forearm is held up, parallel to the wall, like he’s pinning something that isn’t there. Something large and thrashing. Your eyes are fixed on the bizarre scene before you. You don’t understand what you’re seeing. Don’t understand how the man who folds your clothes in neat squares and makes you lukewarm tea is the same man as the one who stands before you now. Poised and calm in the violence. Holding his own against an otherworldly monster, and winning.

None of this feels real.

His fist slams forward, landing some distance away from the brick. Punching into the invisible air. But there’s a horrifying squelching sound with each landing punch that lets you know something is there that you’re not seeing.

You watch, so focused on Marc and the damage he’s meting out that you almost don’t notice when a damp gust of air grazes against the fine hairs on the back of your neck and sends the soft skin underneath prickling. You fail to take it as the warning sign it is.

Fuck. There’s another one!

You don’t have time to react. No time for anything. Just the sound of glass crunching against asphalt, and something slamming into your back, so forcefully that the impact threatens to crush your ribs.

You land face first this time, cheek kissing the concrete with a painful sting. There’s a heavy weight on your back, and mud in your mouth. Or maybe blood. Everything tastes like pennies.

Marc shouts your name. His voice is raw, panicked. So full of fear it's almost unrecognisable.

You want to go to him.

Anchoring your elbows on the gravelly ground, you try to push up against the heavy weight pinning you to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts. Your shins are stinging. Cheek too and your forearm where your sleeve must have ripped. Your ribs are one big throbbing blotch of burning pain. But you manage to lift your head up in time to see Marc leaping towards you.

He seems to be suspended in time, one hand pulled back, the other outstretched in mid-air as he reaches for you. Droplets of rain sparkle where they’re caught in his hair, and others seem to trickle leisurely down his forehead above his brown eyes that are wide in blind panic.

You feel it before you see it.

His fingers curl around your wrist, the solid weight of his hand clamping tight around your forearm. Time speeds up again at the touch. You hadn’t realised sound had gone missing too until it returns with a deafening fury.

The suspended rain smatters down all around you. Marc’s other hand impacts the creature pinning you down with a sickening squelch, and a grotesque shriek tears through the space behind you, tapering off into a rheumy deathrattle.

Marc’s face fills your vision, the terror in his expression just starting to shift into relief when some small distortion, barely seen out of the corner of your eye, breaks into your line of sight, and he’s ripped away from you again by some invisible force.

You don’t understand what you’re seeing. There’s some disconnect between what’s happening in front of you and your brain’s ability to process it.

You know that can’t possibly be Marc hurtling through the air, white cape billowing behind him like a white flag of surrender. Surely there’s no need to worry because of course you aren’t seeing his body impact the side of the building with a horrifyingly meaty thud that reverberates in your bones, and then tumble to the ground in a shower of broken masonry

You stare at the pile of white fabric and brick pieces there on the ground for a moment, and your heart pounds so forcefully that you feel lightheaded.

It’s a horrible nightmare made reality, and your brain wants to fight it. To pretend it’s not happening. Tell you that it’s not Marc’s lifeless body lying facedown on the ground in front of you.

But… it is.

You can feel the bitter acrid taste of the truth carving itself into your throat.

You scramble up, ignoring your bloody knees and the searing pain in your side, not stopping until you’re hunched over Marc’s body. He’s terrifyingly still. You grip his shoulder, tugging hard until you’ve managed to turn him onto his back, all the while begging to any deity or higher power who might be listening to please let him be all right; let him be awake; let him still be alive.

Please.

He has to be.

Cupping his cheeks in your palms, you have to swallow the raw sob in your throat at how cold his skin feels against yours.

A pulse. You need to check for a pulse.

You shove two fingers against the column of his throat up under his jaw, trying to find the right place, but the stupid bandages are too bloody thick. You can’t feel anything through them. You tug at them, trying to rip them free or wedge your fingertips underneath to get at bare skin, but they’re hard as steel. You don’t stop though, clawing at them now because you’ve got to–

A heavy, thudding footfall lands on the ground a short distance away, and you jerk your head up.

The creature is there in the alley, right in front of you…

All you can see is the malformed outline, silhouetted by the cascading rain refracting in the moonlight. It turns slowly towards you, feet grinding against the pavement.

Absolute terror swamps you. Every cell in your body is screaming. You need to escape!

RUN!

You scramble to get ahold of Marc, barely managing to wedge yourself underneath him until you can wrap both your arms around his chest from behind and heave, straining to drag his uncooperative body away from danger. You don’t get very far.

Marc is heavier than he looks, and your feet scrape and skid against the wet concrete as you desperately try to drag both of you backwards. You barely manage to budge him at all, gaining at most a few inches before the creature begins clicking again.

You can see the outline more clearly now. If you squint you can just make out mangled tentacles protruding from where its head must be and writhing grotesquely in a way that your eyes refuse to focus on. Your breath seizes in your chest and you have to look away, your body wracked with shivers.

You watch it come out of the corner of your eye, thick limbs advancing on you one torturously slow step at a time. You don’t understand why you’re still alive. The creature certainly seemed capable of ferocious speeds when it had attacked Marc before. You get the feeling it’s mocking you. A giant supernatural cat playing with its prey before it eats, and you’re the hapless dinner.

The thought sickens you.

You tighten your grip on Marc, wrapping your arms around him with renewed determination. Clutching him as close as you can in a futile attempt to protect him from this thing. Unwilling to let it have him.

There’s more loud clicking, closer still, scraping against your brain like nails on a chalkboard and making your spine curl.

You’re out of time. Out of options. Your brain furiously scans through a lifetime of collected memories and information for any shred of useful knowledge. Anything to help get you out of this, but there’s… nothing. No secret escape route. No Hail Mary play.

It’s hopeless.

You wish it hadn’t come to this. That you could somehow save Marc and Steven and yourself. That you had more time.

You wish you had taken the time to eat the breakfast Steven’s made for you with him yesterday morning. That you could have had the chance to taste Marc’s pancakes again. That you had kissed Steven more often (should have done it every opportunity you had), gotten to see that sunshine smile of his light up the room one last time. That you could’ve told Marc you love him in person.

But that’s the thing isn’t it?

You don’t have all the time in the world. You never did. Everything has an end.

You hug Marc closer to your chest. You’re just glad you got to face your end here with him, together.

Searing pain rips into your ankle as cold claws sink into your flesh. The breath you’ve been holding all this time is knocked out of you. Any small shred of peaceful resignation you’d been able to muster in the face of certain death is ripped away, and you react without thinking.

Your foot flies out in a swift kick. The heel of your boot connects with something soft and pulpy that yields with a sickening squelch.

There’s an angry clicking shriek. It rattles your eardrums painfully and vibrates through your chest, like standing too close to a speaker at a club. The monster takes a step back, but the taloned grip around your heel doesn’t ease, dragging you with it.

You kick again. Firm sponginess that makes you think of decomposing flesh. Unnaturally soft for something still moving. You think you might vomit.

The thing screeches but doesn’t loosen its grip. Asphalt and shards of glass dig into your back as it drags you along. You try to cling to Marc, but you can’t. You might as well be a flea for all the hope you have of challenging its strength.

You twist around onto your front. All you see is mute greyness of the alley. The increasing distance between you and Marc as the thing drags you along. You try to claw at the ground but there’s nothing to hold onto. Your watch, somehow miraculously still on your wrist after everything, pops free now, and you watch it disappearing from your sight, growing smaller and smaller as you’re dragged away, and somehow that’s the final staw. You squeeze your eyes shut on a ragged sob, draw in a half breath to scream, and…

Everything stops.

It’s dark behind your closed eyelids. Your throat is raw, burning. Are you still screaming? You must be, but you can’t hear anything anymore. There’s no more clicking. The rain seems to have stopped. You can’t feel it falling onto your skin or the asphalt scraping against your torn clothes.

Are you… dead?

If you are, why do your knees hurt so much?

You crack your eyes open to find yourself staring up at the pitch-black sky lit by a perfectly circular moon.

Something white flutters in the periphery of your vision. A white… flag? No, it’s a long flowing white cape that hovers over your body.

Marc!

Or… is it?

Something’s different.

Tracing the cape upwards, it takes your frazzled brain a second to register what’s changed. This mummy is missing bodyparts! Or… no. His costume is just a different colour. Solid black ink runs up his legs instead of the white bandages that were there before, masking his outline against the black sky above..

Is this someone else?

You crane your neck towards where you last saw Marc’s body lying on the pavement, but he’s not there any longer.

This must him, then.

…Isn’t it?

He’s standing hunched over empty air, a vicious brutality emanating from his entire body that wasn’t there before as he delivers repeated bone-shattering punches to…. nothing. His fists sink into the space that you know isn’t really empty. You can hear the impacts now, even if you still can’t see the creature. The dull wet thud of knuckles connecting with flesh over and over and over again, with almost mechanical precision.

With each blow the same hellish scream you heard earlier rings in the air, but it’s growing weaker, soggier each time until finally it fades all together. And the stomach twisting crunch of bones breaking grows ever louder as his fists sink deeper and deeper into the invisible mass.

Then, finally, silence falls.

Squinting your eyes open—when did you close them?—the first thing you see is his silhouette standing some feet away from you. Right where you last saw him, but he’s standing upright now, towering over you and what’s left of the creature, a now semi translucent mass that glints wetly.

There’s an unsettling calmness to him as he takes a step back, head tilted to the side as his eyes narrow, observing the thing with disdain. One leg lifts, rising above the ground, poised like an executioner’s axe… and then falls.

The creature isn't making any sounds anymore, not even a whimper when that foot comes down, delivering an earth-shattering stomp that shakes the ground beneath you.

There is only a stomach-churning, pulp-crunching sound, of something moist-yet-solid being torn through. You clamp your eyes shut, stomach roiling, trying not to think about what is there that you can’t see. Instead you imagine he’s stepping on a bag of rotten fruit. Repeatedly.

You don’t dare to open your eyes again until everything goes quiet.

But the horror of the moment isn’t quite over yet. He stands still in the same spot, unmoving. His shoulders squared but loose as he stares at the place the creature had been with a disdainful sneer on his features, eyes flat and blank. He eyes it like he’s inspecting a squashed cockroach stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

The hairs on the back of your neck are still standing on end. Your body is screaming out to you that the danger hasn’t passed. Something even more dangerous is standing before you. The scene plays out like some twisted nature documentary where a rabid bear was just ripped apart by a monstrous wolf.

Marc tips his head to stare up at the night sky. Something changes. The whole of his body seizes, shoulders pulled taut, head thrown back like he’s being yanked up by invisible puppet strings.

The linen covering his body slithers down his limbs like receding snakes. Every inch of the primordial gauze disintegrates into dust and smoke, giving way to the much more familiar tight jeans, form-fitting t-shirt, and loose jacket.

As if finally satiated, whatever force had its hooks in him relinquishes control, and he slumps forward, feet still firmly grounded to the asphalt, and opens his eyes.

And then Marc is back. You think…

Marc seems disoriented at first, breathing erratically. His body language is a stark contrast to the one he held mere moments ago, as though the calm callousness has disintegrated with the mummified gauze. Now he’s hunched over, tense, and appears confused, eyes darting around the alleyway until they land on you, still flat on your ass on the concrete ground.

His eyes stay on you as he covers the distance between you in three great strides, his footfalls skidding along the rain-slick concrete before he falls to his knees beside you. You turn your head, trying to look behind you to observe all the damage, but Marc cups your face in his hand before you can see anything.

“Hey. Hey, you look at me,” he says, voice rough but hands gentle as he smooths your hair back from your face. His eyes search your face frantically for a long moment. It must eventually penetrate that you’re all right because the panic in his eyes finally melts into relief, and seems to spread to the rest of him. The harsh line between his brows relaxes slightly, and he lets out a long breath, the tight line of his shoulders softening.

Then he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, and hauling you into his chest, and holding you there, pressed tight against him. It makes it hard to breathe, your face mashed up against his firm chest, nose and mouth partially buried in his shirt and jacket, but you only want to press closer, have him hold you tighter, for as long as he possibly can, even if it chokes the breath out of you.

“It’s okay,” he says after a long moment, “You’re okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

You’re not sure if he’s trying to reassure you or himself.

His voice is gentle and comforting as he rests a firm hand on the small of your back and keeps it there. His eyes are soft now, no longer cold and blank, even if they do look sad.

“You’re safe,” he tells you.

It’s not until he says it that it finally sinks in. The rigid muscles in you melt. Your heightened survival instincts dim, your body finally willing to accept that the danger has passed.

His grip around you loosens, and the palm of his hand roams over the top of your shoulder, fingers resting on the pulse of your neck, before ghosting under the place that stings and smarts on your cheek. There’s a tremor to his touch, but he’s still meticulous as his hands run gently down your arms, across your back, stomach, and ribs, inspecting you for injuries, and cataloguing the location and gravity of each.

A long time passes before Marc is satisfied and finished with his examination. Then he lets you go and leans back, shimmying off his jacket—the very one you’d been haunted by when he lent it to you once before—and settles it around your shoulders. Residual heat from his body still lingers in the fabric, instantly warming you and making you aware of just how cold you were before.

You stare up at him, through the rain as the pale moonlight shimmers off the droplets of water caught in his hair. The familiarity of it makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest. Once again the two of you find yourselves in the middle of the rain with Marc’s jacket wrapped around you. It’s a deja-vu you wish you can relive a thousand times over.

“C’mon,” Marc says, holding out a hand and helping you to your feet, “Let’s get you home.”

~ Continue ~

Dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because I am just very happy I have a friend like her in my life and that I get to share this story together with her.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes

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spinejackel · 11 months ago

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walking biohazard and weird artsy bitch my hedorah gijinka for a modern au my lovely boyfriend and i have together that we call the monster island au. some other important notes on them under the cut

ᵗᵘᵐᵇˡʳ ʰᵃˢ ⁿᵒ ᵃˡᵍᵒʳᶦᵗʰᵐ. ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵐʸ ᵃʳᵗ

Art snob about the weird styles they're into.

Has been dabbling in creating music as of recently.

Makes his own instruments out of the junk on her properly.

Voice sounds like Shreeka from the old TMNT cartoon.

- > (see the NO! MY POWER RING! IT'S MELTING!!! video for reference.)

- > Has a slightly wizard cadence to his speech as well.

Is a genetic chimera.

Has a terrible circulatory system and wears 6-7 layers of clothes.

- > The fewer layers he wears, the more they will shake like a small dog in the winter.

- > Living in a warmer climate has not helped, and now she is constantly too hot and cold at the same time.

Hasn’t showered in years because their shower-head broke and they’ve been too lazy to fix it.

Has the worst case of athletes foot you've ever seen.

Due to the oils her body naturally produces being weirdly acidic, he wears gloves when handling the few things she cares about.

Carries everything but the kitchen sink in unknown amount of pockets.

- > Always has a laser pointer on them at all times and will shine it into people's eyes when sufficiently provoked.

The only person on Monster Island who can drive/has a car.

- > Drives a 1984 ford bronco that has fallen apart and been put back together so many times that it’s become overly complicated to start.

- > The 1984 Ford Bronco gets 10 mpg for those unfamiliar with cars. A gas guzzler.

Battra thinks they’re the coolest because they hate people and nature too, but Mothra thinks they are a bad influence.

- > He tolerates Battra’s presence because he also Sees The Vision when it comes to the destruction of the world.

- > Will never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but she does actually enjoy the company and having another person on the island to talk to about their interests.

- > They are however, genuinely slightly scared of Battra for being more violence inclined when it comes to the destruction of the world.

Hates Goji because he threw him into a body of water and ruined all the cultures on them. She ugly cried about it.

- > Goji was not expecting that reaction and actually did feet bad for doing that.

Knews NFTs were a scam, but was into them when they were big because she wanted to scam people.

Is on the front lines of hating and fighting against the use of AI in the creative industry. There’s no artistry to it.

#hedorah #godzilla #toho #toho monsters #toho kaiju #gijinka #my art #monster island au

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average-mako-enjoyer · 3 months ago

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Back in June, I was doing the hug ask game, and @flyingwolf29 gave me a prompt with a panicked "I'm glad you're okay" hug, and I don't know what the fuck happened and how it happened, but that story grew to 8k+ words, and so here we are, 2.5 months later. Hope you like it, friend! 😅 Huge, huge thanks to @shepards-space-oddessy for editing and @unfair-water-plane & @gemsbokk for reading this thing, you guys are the nicest and deserve your own Star of Terra award.

Title: A Simple Recon Rating: M (for canon-typical violence) Pairing: mshenko Summary: Two human Spectres and one unlucky pilot decide to take on a simple recon mission on a nondescript water planet. What could possibly go wrong?

You can read it on A03

"I don't like this," Kaidan says and hears Cortez sigh.

It annoys him of course, but Kaidan is far more concerned with Shepard and the look on his face that Kaidan reads as "Of course you are": tenderness hidden between the layers of sarcasm in which he cocoons himself as usual.

"It's at least fifty years old!" Kaidan continues. "We can't be sure it works properly!"

"Well, let's find out." Shepard shrugs and, unsurprisingly, it looks nonchalant. It also makes Kaidan want to strangle him, but instead he pulls out the big guns.

"I'm not letting you go in there without backup," he adds and hears his voice wobble a bit.

Fuck if it sounds pathetic and unprofessional, and something he definitely shouldn't do in front of Cortez, but at least he's rewarded with the fascinating sight of Shepard's defenses cracking. For a brief moment, the look on his face is of pure tenderness, and Kaidan feels that change with his whole body. The triumph of knowing he is the cause of it rolls through him, but it's short-lived.

"Don't think we have a choice," Shepard says, back to business. "I'm the only one who knows how to pilot this piece of junk. And if we don't find whatever fried our engines and is still jamming our signals, we'd better start looking for food. Because, you know, after a week or so without it, you gentlemen might start to look very tasty."

"Shepard..." Kaidan sighs.

"What?" There is a shadow in the left corner of Shepard's mouth, the dimple begins to show, and Kaidan is weak for his dimples. He sighs again. This is exactly why you shouldn't sleep with your crewmates.

"I know how to fish!" Cortez suddenly interjects.

"That's the spirit, Lieutenant!" Shepard claps him on the shoulder and looks back at Kaidan. "Come on, Alenko, you're one of the best engineers I know. I'm sure we can fix this thing. Just tell me and Cortez what to do."

"This is about your life…" Kaidan says, knowing full well that he has already lost.

"And I trust you with it," Shepard says in his private 'John' voice, because that's how he is, even Kaidan's complete defeat is not enough for him.

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #commander shepard #my stuff #my writing

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2af-afterdark · 7 months ago

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Once a Decade Hobby

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Foras & GN!MC (they/them), fluff turns into mild violence, MC is a little unhinged and selfish, Summary: MC asks Foras to teach them his hobby. They throw a tantrum when they don't get their way. A/N: You know what? I love terrible MCs. I love when they are absolute garbage. Long live these bitches! Word Count: 709

“I don't think I'm doing this right,” they say as they turn the thick horn over in their hand. The rough, bark-like exterior has chips and gnashes in it from where the knife had dug too deeply or had slipped out of their control.

They had imagined this would Be more fun than it actually was due to Foras unusually bright smile while widdling.

“The outer layer of horns like those needs to be scrapped off before they can be shaped properly,” Foras reminds them. “It also allows you to see if there are unseen cracks that run through the core or up the sides which could jeopardize the integrity of your sculpture.”

“I know that's what you said, but that doesn't make it any easier.” They look over at the horn that he's carving – a smooth, curved one that's marbled with turquoise and seafoam – and pout. “You didn’t scrape yours off? Can we switch? That one looks more simple.”

Foras looks at them with expressionless eyes. “This one is more difficult due to its shape and the fact that it is thinner and more delicate than usual. I didn't scrape its outer layer because so much of it is damaged. If I tried, I would have very little left to work with. The one you have may seem like more work, but that's because it's healthy and thicker horns are more forgiving if you make mistakes.”

“I can be careful. I promise.”

They're bored though. The horn Foras gave to them to experiment on and fiddle with is black and the shape doesn't inspire any creativity in them. They want something prettier. Something that shimmers. Something that inspires them.

“No. Beginners should work with sturdier materials that are more forgiving to mistakes.”

Foras is the type of devil that seems hard to approach because of his unintentional directness and tactless behavior. They couldn’t even recall how many times he had scared them after suddenly turning visible after following them in secret for an unknown amount of time. But, in this moment, he seems like a completely different devil. His passion makes him act like someone else.

They stare at him while he carefully works the sharp edge of his knife across the supposedly delicate horn. Each stroke releases a small sliver of the outermost, seafoam-speckled layer. Each shaving gathers as little curls in a messy pile in hip lap. They are beautiful flakes, like glitter under the light.

They place the rough horn with small notches down on the ground beside where they sit, having lost all interest in it. They stand with their knife in hand. Slowly, they take a step closer to where Foras sits, working on his once-in-a-blue-moon hobby. They sneak around behind him to watch him from the back. His eyes, that would normally be carefully watching every moving object in the room, flicking back and forth so quickly that they would almost appear to be staring straight forward. For once, he is so engrossed in a singular task that he isn’t watching the rest of the world as if it’s a play being put on around him.

Foras is cute when he’s passionate.

So cute that they can’t help but wrap their fist around his beautiful, shimmering horn and yank his head back.

“If you won’t share that one, I'll take this one instead.”

A coy smile creeps across their face as they lean in close, forcing Foras to look at them the way he usually did. They run the flat of their tongue from the base of his horn all the way to the tip, smirking at the sound of his surprise and arousal.

If the horn in his hand sparkled like glitter, then his own horn

“Yours looks healthy, so I can have it… right? Like you said, an amateur like me needs something sturdy so I can make lots and lots of mistakes. We can even start from the top.” They pull away, replacing their tongue with the edge of the knife they are still carrying. “Teach me how to saw this off. I'm feeling inspired to make something.”

Foras will look lovely with a collar made from his own horn snapped tighter around his throat than even Leviathan’s noose.

#2af writes #what in hell is bad #whb foras #gender neutral fic #cw violence

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ruthlesslistener · 1 year ago

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☠ , ☮ and maybe ൠ with Hollow?

HOLLOW MY BELOVED

☠ Angry/Violent headcanon

-Hollow is naturally extremely slow to anger and is very good at controlling said anger when it starts to kindle, but once they've properly gotten angry, it's all over. Expect a cold, calculative fury that is deliberatly honed to an edge by all their built-up grieviances, as well as a grudge that'll never quite go away. Their siblings get a pass to an extent in that they won't hate them forever if they be annoying about something, but Hollow will also never let them live it down. For actual hatred, though, just take a look at what they did to the Radiance in Dream No More, where they tore open her face and staring deep into her eyes as they held her in place to be ripped apart by their other sibling. That's what Hollow's anger looks like. They've got a long fuse, but the explosives attatched to the end of that fuse might as well be a nuclear warhead

As for the violence aspect of it- they've been trained to be a godkiller, and even if they failed bc the actual plan of attack was rather passive, that doesn't mean that they aren't any less dangerous. They won't ever feel the desire to turn that violence upon the civilians of Hallownest (unless they turn to the Radiance or otherwise be a problem), because they believe it to be their duty to protect anyone living within the caverns, but outsiders don't get that luxury and would be dead in a fight against them before they even had a chance to draw a weapon. Hollow's also got a deeply-buried hunting instinct as well, so there's a double layer of them viewing enemies as both adversaries and prey that makes them extra fatal in a fight

☮ friendship headcanon

-Hollow doesn't really make friends as much as people sort of be nice to them, and they gain increased loyalty to them in return, but I like to headcanon that the closest they ever came to having a friend was with Quirrel, back when he was young and Hollow was still an adolescent. Monomon and the Pale King were both friends (though PK himself didn't think of it as such), so as Monomon's apprentice/adopted son, Quirrel got brought along quite often. Eventually when he was around 15 and learning how to mentor others, he was given permission to practice his lessons on the Pure Vessel as a dummy student, and eventually began to talk to them just as a person and a confident when he was left alone while Monomon and PK did their research. He had no idea that Hollow grew to be quite attached to him in the process, and neither did Hollow- they just knew that they felt calmer and at ease when he was around, and that realization both baffled and frightened them

In post-canon aus, I like to imagine that they reconvene with each other while Hollow's still recovering, and form a closer bond as a god of the lost and their favored disciple. That sounds really fancy, but it's basically just a souped-up qpp that accounts for the fact that Quirrel and Hollow are alien to each other. I also like to imagine them as fwbs when Hollow begins to have heats again post-recovery because Hollow is aroace and trusts nobody but Quirrel, while Quirrel himself is easygoing and curious enough about his friend's strange nature to offer a helping hand

ൠ random headcanon

-This is entirely inspired by Broken Open, but I feel like Hollow would be a really good midwife and/or caretaker for those that are fragile and close to death. The Void is aligned close enough with endings for them to technically qualify as a death god, and they've had enough brushes with it for them to be able to identify it when it's close. More than that, however, I feel like as the God of Nothingness they have a naturally numbing/calming aura around them that stills the world into silence, which is very useful for soothing people who are frightened or in pain. I also feel like their protective nature would mean that they'd naturally fall into the roll of a caretaker, and that a profession opposite from what they were reared for would suit them well, even if they would never be able to fully shake their knighthood. They're a protector first and foremost- they don't know how to be (or want to be) anything else

#slimeel #yknow how tolkien had that whole 'the hands of a healer are the hands of a king'#yeah thats the sort of person i feel hollow to be- a protector and caretaker before a royal #the hollow knight #hollow knight #pure vessel #hollow knight headcanons #ask game #ask meme

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blitzosblog · 2 years ago

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Old ties

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: An old face from Bucky's past makes a sudden appearance once again, Bucky works towards fixing his past mistakes.

Warnings: Fighting, mild violence, swearing, fluff, kissing, oral (Female receiving), fingering, handjob, vaginal penetration (Protected).

---------------------------------------------------------------

You round the corner entering the grocery store, strolling up and down the aisles absentmindedly, you make your way into the next aisle when you hear a familiar voice.

"Y/N?"

you turn, shock covering your face as you look the person in the face, he looks different now, more clean and calm, Bucky stares at you another man stood by his side.

"No" You whisper, Bucky steps towards you, you move without thinking dropping everything you were holding as you ran out the store, you could hear Bucky calling you but you just kept going not daring to look back.

You kept running until his voice couldn't be heard any longer, you slowed down turning to check if the coast was clear, a sigh of relief existing as you saw you were alone.

instead of going back to that grocery store you decided to walk across town going to a different store, the walk was long but eventually you found your way home, climbing the stairs to your apartment you unlocked the door, entering you made sure to check every lock before heading to the kitchen dropping the bags onto the counter, deciding a shower would be the best thing you left the shopping and made your way to the bathroom striping of your layers and jumping in the shower, the water flowing down your body.

Your thoughts were consumed by seeing him again, what was he doing here? how did he get out? who was that man? all these questions swirled round, the water began running cold as you finished washing the soap out of your hair, hoping out and wrapping a towel round your body and grabbing the pjs you'd laid out throwing them back and going back into the kitchen to unpack your bags.

however when you entered the kitchen the bags were missing, your guard went up and you grabbed the gun you kept in cabinet by the wall, slowly walking through the apartment you looked round, etching your way into the living room, Bucky was stood in the middle of the room his arms now raised as he look at you.

"Hey Y/N, why don't you just calm down" He spoke softly, you continued to stare at him, your anger increasing by the second, you dropped your gun, charging at the man, you there a bunch as his arms went to block his face, throwing your leg you swept his and he fell to the floor you grabbed a vase of the coffee table in front of you slamming it down Bucky moved his face, he grabbed you and threw you off him.

"Y/N stop!" he yelled at you.

"You broke into my fucking house!" You spoke, grabbing shard of the vase throwing it at him he blocked running at you grabbing your arms, slamming you against the wall, you began to struggle before looking him in the face.

"Get off me!" You whispered.

"Only if you promise you won't attack me and we can talk, please"

You contemplated his word, settling slightly, he let out breathe letting going your arms and stepping away from you, a silence fell over the two of you, you motioned towards one of the chairs in the living room, Bucky took the hint and sat down, you sat on a chair at the opposite end of the living room.

"Why are you here Barnes?" You asked ebbing your hands together.

"Im trying to fix my mistake and when I saw you in the store, I remembered everything that happened between us." He replied slowly, doing eye contact slightly, you stifled a laugh as you looked at him.

"What you think saying sorry is going to fix everything?" You looked Bucky in the eyes, he looked down again.

"No, I don't, but I want to try" He replied, finally looking at you properly, you got up leaving the room, Bucky sighed getting up but stopped when he saw you re-enter with two glasses and some whisky, you poured the amber liquid into the glasses sliding one over to him and sitting back down.

"Go on"

"Okay... I wanted to apologise for everything that happened between us, all the fighting and especially abandoning you, I wasn't in control and I know that no excuse but hurting you is one of my biggest regrets." He finished speaking.

"You left me there, you just left!" You whispered voice shaking slightly at the end, Bucky got up coming to kneel infant of you.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I didn't know what was going on, half the time we were with HYDRA we weren't ourselves and when Steve found me I got to start over" He said, holding onto your hands.

"I get that Bucky, I do but it doesn't stop it from hurting, not to mention the blip, that was the only way I got out, everyone was gone and I got to escape." You said, holding onto his hand even tighter, tears slightly building up.

"The blip was a difficult timeout it's over now, we both get to change things."

You looked him in the eyes.

"So no more Winter Soldier?" You asked.

"No more Winter Soldier, just Bucky Barnes" He whispered, smiling up at you.

"You have a lot of making up to got it"

"Got it"

----------------------------------------------------------

Bucky came around a lot more since that day, the two of you would enjoy dinners together, he introduced you to Sam and slowly the past started to patch itself together.

Tonight you and Bucky were hanging out in your apartment, he came over for dinner having cooked lasagne, the two of you were now sat on the sofa watching a movie.

Bucky's arm was behind you as your curled yourself up getting closer to him.

"Okay you keep watching I have to go get ready for bed" You spoke, getting up patting his knee, he watched you leave as you waltzed into your bedroom stripping your clothes off and chucking them in the hamper, you stood in your room in your underwear as you search for a set of pajamas to put on.

"God I forgot how good you looked"

You turned around surprised to see Bucky's figure in the door way, your hands went to your chest as you covered yourself.

"Bucky what-" you began before he interrupted you.

"What, you gone shy on me now sweetheart?"

He was taunting you, you uncrossed your arms, your head held much higher.

"There she is"

"Shut up Bucky what are you doing?" You asked stepping towards him, his gaze going down to keep with your eyes, you were now inches away from him, he raised his hand to your cheek, caressing it slightly

"You're so beautiful" he whispered leaning in.

"Bucky please" You pleaded as you leaned in his touch, hands going to his chest, he smiled before connecting your lips with his, the kiss was gentle and slow and then he pulled you closer to him holding your hips; as your arms wound themselves around his necks, the kiss growing more intense and hungry.

"You're wearing too many clothes it's not fair" You spoke leaning back as you pulled at his shirt, he reached down throwing his shirt off as you undid his belt he maintained eye contact as he removed his jeans now the two of you stood in just underwear, he stepped forward leaning down towards your neck, kissing down slowly slipping down your bra strap till his hand was on the buckle.

"God Bucky" You moaned as your bra fell to the floor and Bucky's mouth clasped around your nipple.

You held his head pulling him up as you stepped back, turning the two of you, pushing him down and straddling his lap.

"Hi" You whispered.

"Hey" Bucky replied smiling up at you, you leaned back in kissing one another, your hand moved down his body as you palmed his growing erection, he moaned into your mouth, your hand went into his underwear grabbing his erection as your hand started moving up and down.

"Fuck sweetheart" Bucky moaned as he tipped his head back, you moved your lips to his necks, be grabbed your hand halting your actions.

"As much a I love this, I'm in the mood for something else" He spoke looking up at you.

"Oh what did you have in mind?" You teased, he chuckled before he flipped the two of you over, your back hitting the bed, he shuffled down removing your panties and placing your legs over his shoulders.

His mouth moved between your legs taking you in as he brought you absolute bliss, your fingers raking their way through his hair, your head tilting back moaning into the empty space of your room.

His hand trailed its way up, inserting two fingers inside of you, your legs tightened around him.

"Oh Bucky, yes just like that" You moaned, his fingers spread up curling against your walls.

"Yes fuck I'm gonna cum"

"Go on sweetheart" He whispered as he dove back in, the not in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, with one more lick of his tongue the not broke as your climax hit you, Bucky's hand helping you ride through it, your breath was laboured, Bucky came back up leaning over you.

"hang on" you said as you leaned over to your bedside drawer, pulling at a condom and holding it in front of Bucky, he smiled taking it from you and unwrapping it, throwing the package as he put it on himself.

"You ready" He whispered as he lined him self up.

"God yes" You replied, he slides him self in giving you a moment to adjust, your mouth hung open as you got used to him, he started to move in and out, settling on a pace, your hand gripping at his shoulders.

"Fuck Y/N you feel so good" Bucky spoke, a grunt escaping his throat, he sped up slightly, pulling you legs up until they were round his waist.

You pulled his face towards you joining your lips, the kiss was heated, your body's against each other, it was like heaven on earth.

"Bucky-" you began.

"I know sweetheart, me too" he completed your sentence, you looked at each other as your climaxes hit, helping one another, Bucky slowed, head against your chest.

"You okay?" You asked, Bucky hummed, pulling out he sat up pecking you in the lips before he went to your bathroom, coming back and cleaning you up, you hissed at the touch smiling down at him, he chuckled the cloth into the hamper before relaxing back into the bed, you leaned into his chest, his arm around you once again.

"I missed you Bucky"

"I missed you to Y/N"

You looked up at him.

"Bucky, I'm glad we found each other again" You spoke softly, he looked down at you, adoration in his eyes.

"I'm glad too, and I know this doesn't make up for everything but I hope it's a start" He said stroking your hair.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time for that" you said leaning back down, Bucky smiled, the two of you relaxing into the bed.

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wolveria · 1 year ago

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The Raven's Hymn - Ch 43

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “I regret it has come to this, my dear.”

AO3

Perhaps knowing you were “safe” for the remainder of the day, 049 waited to enact his plan. You were grateful to have at least one more night with him. You didn’t know what would happen when it started. You didn’t know what you’d do it if went wrong.

Dread settled in your stomach worse than any time preceding. You’d thought waiting for the humiliation of Leahy’s program was like waiting for an execution. You’d been sorely mistaken. At least you’d had an idea of what he wanted. This was... unknowable. Dangerous. Terrifying.

All you could do was wait for 049 to make the first move. But for now, you laid in bed with him, pressed to his chest and listening to his heartbeat against your ear. It was a steady, soothing rhythm you hoped would continue beyond tomorrow.

Or maybe his plan wouldn’t happen tomorrow. You didn’t know when he would cause the distraction. There was too much you didn’t know, and no way to discuss it with him. There was, of course, the possibility of another shower, but you knew if you held him close like that one more time, you wouldn’t be able to let him go. The thought of what the guards would do to him tomorrow was enough to stir the borderline panic in your veins.

As if sensing your distress, 049 stroked his gloved fingers along your hair. It hadn’t escaped your notice how often he touched you now. Whatever barrier had previously kept him at a polite distance seemed to have vanished. Your own defenses had been brought down, and 049 had always been effective at getting around them anyway.

The morning came too soon from restless sleep. You didn’t move at the slot opening to deliver breakfast, you simply pressed yourself closer, breathing in deep the hollow space between his neck and the edge of his hood.

049 shuddered and wrapped his arm more firmly around your waist. You closed your eyes, taking another breath to steady yourself. It would be so easy to keep going, to surrender to your new normal. You might even have considered it, if not for the whole point of the program. The possibility of a child, and then of letting them be taken by the Foundation, wasn’t something you could accept. Not if there was a chance of escape.

But deciding to escape didn’t mean you wouldn’t miss this part of your captivity. You were too scared to think of the possibilities of “after.” Just surviving and leaving the facility was impossible enough; trying to imagine life afterwards was like trying to imagine what it’s like to live in the aphotic zone. You had no point of reference.

You both remained that way, quiet and secure in each other’s warmth. 049’s fingers caressing slowly up and down your back, your own tracing along the subtle wrinkles that marked his robes. Underneath the layers of hide was a human skeleton, the only marked difference in the skull. His brain casing was larger, but more startling than that was the beak that grew directly over his mouth. His human teeth could even be seen by X-ray, trapped behind the chitinous structure that protruded from his face. It was why no one could figure out how he ate or drank when he chose to, as no one had seen the beak open before. Hell, no one was even sure how he spoke.

Perhaps if you survived, you’d ask him. You didn’t know if he was human once, or if he had always been this way. Had someone given him the name Valens, or had he chosen it himself? There were still so many questions, but despite that, you liked who he was, what he was, and you wouldn’t change anything. Your only regret was that you would never be able to kiss him properly.

The intercom clicked.

“Tonight.”

You winced.

049 drew you closer, which you didn’t think was possible, but he managed it by slipping your leg between his. He didn’t need to say anything. You knew it had to happen today. There would be no tonight.

Unwilling, and after a time, you sat up first, your body sluggish with reluctance. 049 did the same, leaving the bed so you would be able to follow. He always positioned himself between you and the door, and it was probably the reason you slept at all these days.

Going through the motions of breakfast, you kept 049 in the corner of your vision. Not just because you wanted to be ready for his distraction, but... you couldn’t help it. The dreaded sense at the back of your thoughts that told you this would be the last time you ever saw him.

You hit the shower after, half-hopeful you would be joined, but you washed alone. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for you to finish, not wanting 049 to be out of your sight for long. Drying off swiftly, you got dressed in the usual smock and leggings. Most days, you didn’t bother with the bandeau bra, finding it pointless. You wore it today—your laughable attempt at gearing up for war.

By the time you returned to the middle chamber where 049 waited when you needed privacy, something had changed. He paced along the floor in front of the observation window, his head bowed as if in thought, wrists held at the small of his back.

After giving him a worried glance that wasn’t part of the act, you went to the lab counter where you kept your research journal. You had the idea of staying there as a vantage point, your back to the corner that divided the middle and inner chamber. You had a clear view of everything, including the outer containment doors, and the doctor’s bag was...

...missing.

Where was it? It wasn’t on the counter or on the autopsy table. You were sure you’d spotted it just this morning—

“Dalliance!”

You looked up, blinking dumbly at the shouted word.

049 stopped pacing; he stood in front of the window, his shoulders stiff in an intimidating hunch. If you hadn’t known this was the plan, you’d have believed it. He slipped back into form a little too easily for comfort.

“We waste time on the Site Director’s frivolity while the Pestilence continues to thrive amidst your very ranks!” 049 snarled at the darkened glass. “You believe I had forgotten? That I could be preoccupied by a warm body? Your mockery is as offensive as it is pitiable.”

He leaned close to the glass, his voice dropping to a growl.

“I see you, wretch. Beg your Site Director for forgiveness. He will hold you accountable for this.”

049 turned away, strode to the autopsy table, and pulled out the bag from beneath his robes. You’d forgotten he could do that, and your spine shot straight when he reached inside and pulled out a gleaming scalpel.

“Come here, assistant.”

He seethed the words, and for a moment, real fear curled around your neck. You obeyed, moving off the stool with stiff limbs, your heart racing at the appearance of the predator you hadn’t glimpsed in weeks. He placed a hand on the space between your neck and shoulder, squeezing you. Not harshly at all.

His back was to the observation window, and they couldn’t see his face. His eyes shone with urgency and clarity. Your good doctor was still in there, playing the role they expected of him.

“I regret it has come to this, my dear.”

The sharp edge of the scalpel shone within the corner of your vision.

“But nothing can sway me from my duty. Not even you.”

He brought the blade up to your neck.

Dispensers hissed overhead. 049 whirled you around and pulled you close, an arm going around your chest as the scalpel remained pointed at your throat. Even as the lavender mist drifted over you both, he remained upright.

“Old tricks, Director. And not so effective with the aid of my assistant—”

049 went stiff, his limbs frozen, and you were close enough to hear the hum of the contact between the shock collar and his flesh.

He opened his shaking fingers and dropped the scalpel, giving up the instrument so as not to cut you with it as he convulsed. You gripped onto the arm holding you, helpless to do anything to stop his torment.

The containment doors slid open, no less than four guards storming inside with their rifles raised.

049 pushed you away and to the side, giving them a clear shot at him.

“No!” you cried, forgetting you were supposed to play the role as 049’s shaken victim. But the guards didn’t fire; 049 staggered to the autopsy table, and in his weakened attempt to grab onto the edge, sent his bag toppling to the floor.

Instruments, glass jars and beakers, and copper tubing spilled from its depths, creating a chaotic mess of shattered noise and aromatic liquids. Between that, and the shouting men, you ducked down beneath the autopsy table and hunched as if cowering in terror.

With the table blocking the view of the observation window, you scrambled for the lip of the bag now lying on its side. Taking a deep breath, you jammed your arm inside.

Give me what Valens wants me to have.

Something rested atop your palm, lightweight but with a familiar shape. You curled your fingers around it, small enough to fit inside your fist, and quickly pulled it out. Making as if to clutch your chest, you slipped the object down the front of your smock into the depths of your bra.

Peeking over the top of the table, you watched as 049 was dragged half-unconscious from the room. The doors closed and you stood the rest of the way, your fear genuine as you held a hand over your stomach, breathing hard.

You hardly had any time to think before the door opened, Kenneth’s lanky form slipping through the door before it completely opened.

“Hey, you okay?” His eyes were a little too wide, his face pale. “Did he cut you?”

You shook your head, leaning against the autopsy table for support in the haze of post-adrenaline jitters.

“I’m fine, just—"

The door opened a second time, two men stepping through. One you didn’t recognize, an older man in a lab coat and white hair. The second one, you knew very well.

He was fuming.

“What the hell did you do to set it off this time?” Leahy growled, stalking past you as he took in the disaster of the floor. Antiseptic fumes and other odd smells from the spilled liquids made your stomach turn.

You opened your mouth, but no response was forthcoming, caught between confusion and indignity.

“Excuse me?” you finally said.

The doctor began examining you, but you shied away from his touch. Not only had the staff members instilled a sense of aversion in you, but you didn’t want him to find what you’d hidden.

“Did you say something?” Leahy pressed. “Do something?”

“You tell me. You watch everything we do.”

Leahy’s glare turned from the broken beakers to you, his eyes dark behind the rim of his glasses. He moved forward with deliberate steps, and you backed away until you bumped into a warm barrier at your back. You didn’t know who it was, and it forced you to remain in place as the Site Director towered over you.

“I know it was you.”

He gripped your jaw and turned your head upward, forcing you to meet his eye when you looked away.

“And I’ll scour every second of footage to prove it.”

Your chin trembled, but your voice held firm.

“I bet you’d enjoy that.”

His lips curled into a silent snarl, and you thought, this was it. You’d reached the limits of what the Site Director would tolerate, and he would order one of the guards to shoot you.

Instead, he released you with a rough jerk of his hand.

“She can’t stay here. Put her in another room until this shit’s cleaned up.”

He walked past you and out the door without another word, the doctor following after him. That left Kenneth, the person you’d been trapped against when the Site Director had thrown his tantrum.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as if this was all somehow his fault. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking in the rest of the room. “He is right, though. That’s a lot of glass, and, uh... whatever that green stuff is. I think it’s eating through the tile.”

You nodded, too tired to argue, especially when it would amount to nothing. Something reflective caught your eye; the scalpel 049 had mock-threatened you with was under the autopsy table just of reach. You entertained the idea of grabbing it and smuggling it with you, but hiding a surgical blade in your brassier wouldn’t be one of your better ideas.

Leaving the scalpel was the right choice. As soon as you exited the chamber, two guards were at your flank, one of them patting you down and forcing your arms straight, palms open as he hooked you into shackles.

Kenneth, followed by the two guards, led you a few corridors over to a door that wasn’t the high security mechanism of a containment chamber. It looked closer to a D-Class cell, and you realized that’s exactly what it was, a temporary holding pen for one of the wayward cattle. The guards took off your shackles and ordered you inside. You followed their instructions in silence, glancing blankly at the single bed and toilet melded to the wall.

When you turned, you were surprised to find Kenneth lingering in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked. “Not that there’s a whole lot of—"

“Where did they take 049?”

His lips pressed together, and he unhappily glanced at the two guards, but they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the conversation.

“I don’t know.”

“When will we be returned to his containment chamber?”

“I don’t know that either.” He avoided your eye as he backed out the door, mumbling one last apology, “Sorry.”

The door slid shut, leaving you alone in the small room. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been truly alone, and you sat on the edge of the thin mattress. Impatience nipped at your thoughts, but you forced yourself to wait until you were sure they wouldn’t come back for you anytime soon.

Once a few minutes had passed, your anticipation got the better of you. You reached down your bra, grateful the guards hadn’t thought to search your cleavage, and retrieved the object you’d smuggled out of the containment chamber.

A USB flash drive. It seemed ordinary on the outside, a matte grey color that didn’t seem particularly special, but it had to be. You refused to believe 049 had risked his limited freedom for you to retrieve something that didn’t matter. He’d said this would help you escape, and it made sense now why he’d wanted you to be taken to an office.

It wouldn’t do any good here. You slipped it back into your bandeau, hoping you would have an opportunity to use it soon.

It wasn’t long before anxiety got the better of you. Pacing the small room, all you could think about was 049 and what they were doing to him. You tried not to imagine the worst-case scenario, but considering Leahy’s threats, there was an endless supply of them, each worse than the ones before.

You alternated between pacing and sitting hunched on the bed, tapping your foot with nervous energy. When was someone going to tell you what was going on? What had happened to 049? Would you ever get to return to the containment chamber?

As if in answer, the door slid open. You froze and eyed the entrance without breathing. No one stepped through.

You waited. And waited. The doorway remained empty, and the hallway beyond was unusually silent.

You slowly rose to your feet and approached the door. You edged past the threshold, expecting a guard to grab you by the scruff of your neck like an unruly kitten, but the corridor remained empty. There was no one here, but the keypad kept a steady green bar to indicate the door was unlocked.

For whatever reason the door had opened, this was your chance, and yet... your feet remained glued to the floor. Your breathing was shallow, confusion turning into fear. As terrible as your life had been the last few months, it had been structured. Controlled. Someone always telling you what to do, even if it would lead to pain and misery.

When you stepped outside the room, there was no guarantee of what you would find. You could be caught. You could be killed. It was enough to leave you frozen, fingers gripping the door frame.

The only thing that shook you free was the knowledge that you weren’t doing this just for you. 049 had no one else. If you surrendered now, there was no hope of rescue for him. He would be at the mercy of Leahy’s punishment, a situation he found himself in only because he wanted to save you.

You didn’t have a plan, but you had a destination. Get to a computer, insert the thumb drive, and the rest would follow.

Steeling yourself, you stepped outside the cell.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #scp x reader #wolveria writes

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gravesung-moving · 6 months ago

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BACKSTORY & ANTAGONIST BIOS.

content warnings: homophobia, implied parental abuse (take a wild fuckin guess who warrants both of those)

AMARI FLETCH (they/he), a.k.a. THE TOWER

leader of the unseen (historically known as umbra), a global shadow syndicate quietly nudging politics this way and that by way of bribes, assassinations, extortions, etc. also has a major foothold in the underworld scene of most major cities. elusive is NOT fletch's middle name, as they are a well-known high society socialite known for being unapologetically nonbinary in a relatively conservative, traditional space.

fletch is a soft-spoken, well-mannered and calm individual. they are known for never raising their voice or losing their cool, often able to talk down unhinged or pissed-off people with a simple conversation. when they do lose their temper, it is often in an extremely controlled way, a terrifying outburst of violence bookended by serenely removing and then donning their gloves.

they are also incredibly smart. fletch is an expert at loaded questions and layered statements, their conversations often leaving people thinking about what they said for weeks to come. i call him "the spider" for a reason — they are always working an angle, always spinning a thread in their vast web of influence.

though this is known to no one, it's important to mention that a very, very long time ago, amari fletch gained immortality by cheating death in a game of dice. muses who are directly connected to death might know them or know of them because of this!

touchstones: hannibal lecter, gus fring, olrox

ALLIES: persephone aisa ( @huntershowl, right hand), anah tannar (umbra employee in some verses), korin derege (tensely) ENEMIES: adeodatus damiana (politically opposed — adeo is the well-loved underdog to the tower's established rule)

KORIN DEREGE (he/him)

in modern verse, he is the wealthiest man in shelter island and one of the wealthiest in the world. korin is the CEO of midas holdings, a huge corporation that owns many smaller corporations and businesses, though his largest is midas' consulting company (name tbd). the derege family is old money. they have been around for centuries, said to be composed of a long line of men who ruled their fiscal domain — and family legacy — with an iron fist.

he is also, secretly, a five thousand year old dragon. very few people know this, as it is a dangerous secret given the fact that dragons were hunted to extinction so thoroughly that they faded into legend. nowadays, he and his son carry charms that trick those with magical creature-sense, giving off the essence of human phoenix sorcerers rather than draconic ones.

korin, like fletch, is near-universally feared, though unlike them he is very rarely loved. he is well-known to be classist, catholic in a bigoted way, and homophobic. he rules his family like his company: iron fist, hard delegation, everyone serving a role. his wife, charlie, hasn't spoken a word in over a decade and has largely faded into the background. he had a daughter, but she died. his son, keon, is the sole inheritor of the family's legacy, and korin has his claws deep into the boy's life — keon was created and molded to be an extension of his father.

speaking to korin derege tends to feel like being pulled apart and scrutinized from all sides. it's common to feel uneasy around him, as if he could snap at any second and verbally berate you for simply existing. the presence of other people is an inconvenience at best. but his people follow him staunchly: so long as they perform their role properly, they know their lives will always be bountiful. and it feels good to be on his good side.

in fantasy verses, korin leads the midas trading company, the largest shipping empire in xyz coolworldname. he often serves as a close advisor to an emperor or king, though even in magic-forward worlds his draconic identity is a secret.

touchstones: logan roy, fire lord ozai, omni-man, dracula (castlevania)

allies: keon derege (until a character arc turning point), amari fletch & the unseen (tensely), peter lukas (old-money shitfamily pals), riposte alaric (recipient of korin's sponsorship at school), adeodatus damiana (privately)(?) enemies: adeodatus damiana (publicly/politically), rival mafia clans, competing corporations, most people with a conscience, anyone who cares about keon

ADEODATUS DAMIANA (he/him)

ahhhhh, the politician. see, here's the thing about adeo: he hates politicians. he hates politics. at least, the way they are right now. see, you get together a group of people and put them on a patch of land and they have to live together somehow. they form a society. but in a society, you need to figure out the rules: what's okay to do, what's not okay to do, what happens if you do something that's not okay, how rule-breaking is punished, how rules are regulated... et cetera. so you create a form of law enforcement and you create leaders. every group has a leader. usually a few leaders, so that one guy doesn't get all the power and go wild with it. voilà: politicians are created.

but here's the thing about politicians: somewhere along the line, they stopped caring about the city as a whole. the started really caring about themselves, and about money. the only way to have a lot of money is for other people to have very little. an extreme cannot exist without its opposite. if everyone could be rich and comfortable, nobody would be, right? and because these guys helped make the rules, they thought, of course i should be rich and comfortable, i'm important.

but adeodatus grew up poor. the part of the city he's from has been abandoned by law and government. infrastructure stopped getting funded: dilapidated buildings full of asbestos and hazardous debris, roads broken up and riddled with potholes, entire districts dominated by gangs of technomancers, and behind it all, the fucking unseen, profiting from the chaos — scooping up people with nothing left to live for and making foot-soldier criminals out of them. but every group needs a leader, right, so what happens when yours abandons you? that's what we in the biz call a power vacuum. when a leader steps away, another takes his place, and in the outer ring of shelter island, that vacuum was filled by the mafia. no one else had enough influence, money and power to enforce some form of order.

so now you have a whole half of the city where the little guys live in fear of their shops and homes being smashed up if they don't pay their protection dues — or worse, the folks they love being hurt, killed, one by one. they get desperate. they can't get a job in the ring, because no one pays well enough. they can't go to city-proper for work, because they can't afford to look nice enough to get hired and commuting would drain what little funds they have left. so they start to steal. they're honest men, they are, but they have nothing left — no one will reach out a hand and say here's some stability, so you can rest.

two-thirds of the wealth in this city goes uncirculated. it sits in the hoards of a handful of people who — in adeo's honest judgement — are not always evil diabolical villains, they started out the same way as everyone else. they just got lucky, right? and they wanted to hold onto that luck, that stability, so they grew it and grew it and grew it, and now it's a machine that churns out good fortune.

all adeo wants to do is work with these people to create a little more balance. all he wants to do is reduce the suffering that leads to people feeding the umbral machine, people being led blind into the tower's maw and coming out with blood on their hands. give them a chance to catch up, get jobs, make jobs, get one good night of goddamn sleep. feed their kids without risking their lives to do it. turn the ring into a place where you can ask for help and get it. just redistribute a tiny bit of that unused money — he promises, you won't miss it.

TL;DR: whoops — sorry, got into campaign speech mode there. i hope that gives you a general idea of what adeo's all about: he's a socialist politician primarily focused on creating better social security programs and funding for the impoverished areas of the city by redistributing wealth. however, at the same time, he makes behind-the-curtain handshake deals with the very corporation owners he publicly opposes so that he remains friends with everyone. we can all have a slice if we just work together about it. adeo's point of view on life is that everyone, somewhere deep down, wants to do the right thing for them and those they care about.

his major campaign circuit ran five years ago after he baptized himself and left a life of crime. alas, his opposition to umbra/the unseen (the one organization he couldn't come to an agreement with) led to an assassination attempt that caused a house fire, killing his fiancée and causing him to flee the country — never to be seen again. there were three days of riots in the ring after his exit, colloquially called the exile riots. he left the city as a martyr, and not without igniting a spark of hope in the people he swore to protect. many of the ring's citizens still wait with bated breath for his return.

touchstones: zahir (lok), all might (mha), apollo, [the rest are spoilers for other aspects of him that aren't public knowledge]

allies: genuinely Most People but especially those who have been personally victimized by the unseen/the mafia/crime in general/rich people, korin derege (privately)(?) enemies: amari fletch, persephone aisa (if you know you know) IMPORTANT NOTE: adeo is a tricky character. there are darker aspects of him that i keep hidden because i like immersion and it's always a fun mystery to weave for folks, but would never keep a partner in the dark ooc without their explicit consent.

#ooc.#adeodatus » the politician.#amari fletch » the spider.#korin derege » the tyrant.#starter call.#bio.

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yoosmekihyun · 10 months ago

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Conversations in the Dark (pt. 6)

Summary: After a series of major personal events, you decide to move to New York (in part) so you can have a relationship with your newly discovered half-sister, Karen Page. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson become additional important figures in your life as you navigate new relationships and figure out how to live your life.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut

Warnings: mention of death, grief, anxiety, drinking, pining (so much pining), self-deprecation, chapters with sexual content will be marked with their own warnings, violence or attempted violence (i.e. Daredevil related)

Word Count: 3.8k

Part Six

Karen decided it was time for a girls’ night. You had met Marci a couple times when you’ve dropped by the office with coffee or met Karen for lunch and the two of you got along so far. When Karen pitched the idea to you, you were a little nervous but thought a fun night without the sexual tension you felt with Matt would be a nice change. You knew Marci and Foggy were serious and could tell from how Foggy spoke about her that she was end game for him. Since you’d quickly grown to adore Foggy, this was the perfect opportunity to develop a friendship with Marci.

Marci suggested a nice dinner somewhere with an excellent bar and you quickly agreed. It was a little bit of a walk from the Nelson, Murdock, and Page office but doable and you could take a cab home. This was the first time you had the occasion to dress a little nicer than usual, so you took your time getting ready, enjoying the process. You couldn’t remember the last time you wore a dress or heels and decided to go for it tonight but made sure you took a bag large enough to slip a pair of flats in, just in case. You dabbed a small amount of your favorite perfume on your wrists and throat before giving yourself a final once over in your full-length mirror.

Your burgundy sweaterdress would help keep you warm under your coat in the early December chill while your heeled ankle boots did little for warmth but looked too cute to pass up. You were grateful to Karen for the reminder to pick up tights the last time you were out, knowing you may need them to help layer as winter fully set in. You felt girly and pretty and just excited to make a new friend and have a relaxing night out.

Walking to the office to meet Karen, you reflected on the last few months of your life. While you still missed your mom and had days where the grief kept you from functioning properly, those days were happening less and less. You felt you were exactly where you needed to be at this moment in your life and you knew your parents—your mom, stepdad, and biological father—would be pleased with the close relationship you and Karen had developed. As you arrived at the office and pulled open the outer door to head into the warmth of the building, you sent up a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening.

The office was quiet for a change as you entered through the interior door, finding it a little unsettling. The lights were on and Karen’s desk looked to be in a slight state of disarray as it was typically mid-day, not how she liked it when she was about to leave.

“Hello?” you called quietly.

You heard a chair move and steps towards the open door of Matt’s office before he stepped into the shared space. “Hey, Y/N, I didn’t know you’d be stopping by today.”

“Hey Matt,” you stepped over to give him a quick hug which he reciprocated without hesitation. As you started to pull away, he held you still with his hands as his face was buried in your hair and neck.

“You smell incredible,” he said softly.

“Oh,” you blushed at his compliment as he released his hold to let you step back. “It’s my favorite perfume, thank you.” You stood staring at him, noticing a light bruise on his cheek and a cut on his lip. “Matt, what happened?” you asked as you gently stroked the bruised area to indicate what you meant. You started looking him over for other injuries, your night out pushed to the back of your mind with your concern for him.

“It’s nothing, I promise. I like to box from time to time and stopped a couple of the punches with my face. It’s no big deal.”

“Well, I disagree, I think it is a big deal,” you started, scolding him lightly, “I happen to like your face, so you need to be more careful with it.”

“You do, huh?” Matt smirked at your admission. You could have smacked yourself for confessing it so plainly but decided to go with it. You could moan and groan to Karen and Marci later over drinks.

“Come off it, Matt. You know you’re beautiful, I’ve heard the stories from Foggy about all the ladies over the years.”

“Maybe I’m just charming?” Matt countered, grinning fully now. “But we seem to have gone from you liking my face to finding me beautiful. That’s a big jump, sweetheart.”

“Ah, goddamn it,” you murmured softly as you looked up for some deity to save you from yourself.

Chuckling at your distress, Matt stepped forward and slipped a hand under your open coat to rest it on your lower back and tugged you closer to him. Without his glasses and his face so close to yours, you could see how beautiful his hazel eyes were as his gaze rested on your cheek. You were trembling slightly at the intense need that flooded your system at his closeness and touch. Matt took a deep inhale and closed his eyes as if he were trying to keep his composure. The hand on your back flexed slightly and his other hand came up to brush away the piece of hair that managed to get stuck in your lip gloss. He tucked the stray hair behind your ear and your eyes looked longingly at his mouth. As if he knew, Matt slowly licked his lips before taking another inhale and groaning softly.

“For the record, I find you quite beautiful as well.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you whispered.

“I don’t have to be able to see to know that you are,” Matt responded with a slight frown.

“No, I don’t mean that,” you clarified softly, “I just mean that I’m not beautiful. I’ve been called cute, pretty on special occasions, but never beautiful. So, I think you may be mistaken.”

Matt pulled back slightly in shock at your response but before he could formulate a reply, the door burst open as Karen and Foggy rushed inside. They both froze at the sight before them, and you flushed a dark crimson at getting caught in a semi-intimate position with Matt again. You stepped away from Matt and cleared your throat, “You ready to head out Karen?”

“Um…yeah…” Karen slowly responded as she walked to her desk to drop the paperwork in her hand.

“What is happening right now?” Foggy asked, still frozen and looking from you to Matt and then glancing at Karen before moving his gaze back.

“We’re having a girls’ night with Marci. Didn’t she tell you?” You responded, keeping your eyes on Foggy and Karen, avoiding Matt’s reaction.

“I think she mentioned it but that is not what I meant.”

“Well, I just came to meet Karen and then we’re walking to the restaurant so, that’s what’s happening,” you answered, avoiding what you thought he was actually asking.

“We’re going to have to leave now to make it on time for the reservation,” Karen interjected as she observed the situation. You wore a nervous and slightly downcast expression while Matt was looking towards you with a mix of emotions and his hands on his hips as if he were going to start a cross-examination. Foggy, for his part was still rooted to his spot just inside the door with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“Right! Okay, have a good night, guys. Don’t work too late,” you said as you gave a haphazard wave and rushed out the door.

Karen followed you and whispered to Matt and Foggy as she pulled the door closed, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

The two of you walked quickly towards the restaurant in silence. Karen wanted to give you time to settle and relax with a couple drinks before getting you to divulge what she had just witnessed. You were praying that she would let what she saw drop but had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

Marci arrived just as you and Karen were opening the doors to the restaurant. Relieved she wasn’t kept waiting, the three of you exchanged greetings and quick hugs before checking in with the host. After checking your coats, the three of you were led to a booth in a far corner.

Drinks and dinner were ordered quickly and conversation began without mention of the incident. The longer you sat there, the more you found that you liked Marci and could see how she and Foggy worked well together, even if it wasn’t quite as obvious at the outset. Finishing your second gin and tonic, you laughed at story Marci was telling about a partner in her law firm.

“And he didn’t even bother locking the door! I walked in to give him the settlement paperwork and he was standing in the middle of his office with his pants in one hand and a hair dryer in the other! I’ve never seen someone turn that shade of red!”

Wiping away a tear, you commented, “You would think after getting caught drying his pants like that the first time he’d learn to lock the door! Or keep a spare set of pants at the office!”

“Those WERE his spare pants!”

The three of you cackled and you managed to flag down the waiter to order another round of drinks. As your laughter died down, you smiled at the women across from you and said, “This was such a good idea. I can’t remember the last time I went out like this.”

“Agreed!” started Marci as she sipped her fresh cocktail, “but Foggy Bear mentions that you join them at Josie’s pretty often.”

“Well, you know, it’s different with the guys…”

Karen saw her opening and pounced, “You mean it’s different with Matt.”

You flushed slightly at her call-out and just responded, “Mmhmm.”

“I am so out of the loop!” exclaimed Marci, “What is happening between you and Matt?”

You glanced at Marci and Karen, unsure of what to say. You settled on keeping it simple, “You know, he’s my neighbor and works with Karen so I see him a lot…that’s all.”

“That is so not all,” Karen quickly responded. She turned slightly to Marci while also keeping you in her periphery. “I have walked in on them twice now on the verge of kissing and when Y/N had us over for dinner, Matt was calling her sweetheart, and you could tell they completely forgot Foggy and I were at the table by the end of the night. I thought she was going to crawl into Matt’s lap during dessert!”

“Karen!” you admonished as you placed your cool hands on your cheeks in hopes to calm your flushing.

“Am I wrong?” Karen challenged.

“No,” you answered in a quiet voice.

“Let me get this straight,” Marci started using her lawyer voice as if she were presenting facts to the jury. “There is tension, like extreme sexual tension and you two literally live across the hall from one another but based on the way the two of you are talking about this, you haven’t even kissed yet?”

“Um…maybe? I mean, I feel the tension but I don’t know if Matt does.”

“Trust me,” Karen interjected, “Matt feels the tension. We all feel the tension.”

You dropped your head in your hands and groaned as Marci asked, “Okay, I gotta know, what is the problem here?”

What was the problem? you asked yourself. Honestly, there were two main issues that held you back and you took a moment to mull over the best way to explain.

“If I’m being honest,” you began hoping to explain yourself clearly, “there are two things holding me back right now. The first is that I know Matt is a flirt so I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me because it’s fun or because he’s actually interested.”

“He’s interested, trust me,” interrupted Karen.

“Is he? Because I’ve watched him flirt with other women in front of me when we’ve picked up coffee or even at Josie’s.”

“I am seriously going to have to have a talk with that man,” muttered Karen.

“I’m going to have to withhold judgement on your first point until I can see how he is with you,” Marci said. “However, based on Karen’s description and your reaction, I have a feeling there’s a difference between what he’s doing with you and what he’s doing out in the wild, so to speak. Sometimes people flirt to smooth over interactions that might be a little prickly otherwise.”

You considered Marci’s suggestion and filed it away to give more thought when you were fully sober. It seemed logical but you knew you couldn’t trust your judgement right now.

“You said two issues, what’s the second?” Karen asked.

You blew out a breath to help steady yourself. This was the issue that was truly getting in your way. “The second point has more to do with me. The best way to explain it is just that I’m not a fan of casual dating or hookups. I’ve been told that I’m the ‘relationship’ or ‘marriage’ girl and it’s true. And honestly, at this point in my life, I don’t want to get into something if the other person isn’t also looking for something long term.”

“I’m still not quite seeing the problem here…” Marci said.

“I’ve heard the stories about Matt from Foggy and Karen and I don’t judge him, but it doesn’t sound like he’s interested in settling down. I don’t want to ruin what is starting to be a lovely friendship or make things awkward for anyone.”

“For arguments sake,” started Karen, “have you tried casual dating?”

“Yeah, before mom got sick,” you threw back the rest of your drink and contemplated another. “It was awful. I can’t tell you the number of times I came home crying because some douchebag tried to pressure me into giving him a blowjob twenty minutes after meeting or the ones who basically negged me until I left.”

Karen reached over to pat your hand reassuringly and Marci gave you an understanding smile. You continued, “The worst one was when I tried a one-night stand. The sex was mediocre and after the guy answered the phone on speaker and it was another girl he was arranging a hookup with for that night! I think I scrubbed off a layer of skin in the shower that night; the whole thing made me feel used and disgusting.”

“Matt would never treat you that way, if you guys did just hook-up, you know,” Karen said softly.

“I know, and it’s not about how I think Matt would treat me in that kind of situation. It’s more that I just can’t do it and I don’t want to end up resenting Matt because of a choice I made. At this point, I like him too much for a casual thing to be enough for me anyways.”

Marci looked at you with a shrewd but not unkind expression as she tapped the glass she was holding thoughtfully. “Based on conversations with Foggy Bear and what I’ve witnessed over the past couple years, I would say that Matt may be at a point where he’s ready to settle down. Karen, have you heard about any hookups lately?”

Karen thought for a moment as you watched her, “Actually I think it’s been several months, even before you moved here, Y/N.”

You felt your heart flutter with hope in your chest, “Really?”

Marci continued, “To be perfectly honest, I thought Karen was going to be the one to tie Matt down.”

The hope you felt fluttering in your chest sunk like a rock into the pit of your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Your question caused both Marci and Karen to freeze as you waited for an answer. “Did you and Matt date, Karen? Was it serious?”

Karen sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “We went on a couple dates and kissed but that was it. This was a few years ago, not too long after I met him.”

“Why didn’t it work out?” you asked quietly as you fiddled with the napkin in your lap.

Karen thought for a moment and you appreciated that she was attempting to give you honest answers rather than brush away the information and what you were feeling. “I think in part it was timing,” she began, “and then a lot of things happened that drove a wedge between us. We were able to come back from it all to be friends but we missed our window and the romantic feelings weren’t there anymore.”

“So,” you began nervously, “you know the romantic feelings weren’t there for you but they could still be there for Matt?”

“They’re not,” Karen quickly answered.

“How do you know? Did you two ever actually talk about it after things settled down?”

“Well, no, but I can tell it’s not there for him anymore either. If it were, he wouldn’t be flirting with you, Y/N.”

You sat quietly as your thoughts swirled in your head. You knew you couldn’t think through all of this new information logically, but it didn’t stop your emotions from swelling and a tear sliding down your cheek.

Karen panicked slightly and glanced at Marci who appeared equally as alarmed. Sliding in the booth closer to you, Karen put an arm around you to help ground you and to pull your focus. “Hey,” she said softly, “what’s going on? Why are there tears?”

“How can he want to be with me when he could be with you Karen?” you whispered. “You’re so beautiful and I know we’re sisters but we’re not physically alike at all. I know he can’t see us but the difference is going to be so obvious he’s not going to want me if he could have you.”

“He can’t have me, Y/N,” Karen replied softly.

“You know what I mean,” you sniffled.

Marci, having heard your quiet response to Karen, reached across the table for your hand. You obliged and slipped yours into her waiting one and she clutched it tight. “Why do you think so poorly of yourself, Y/N? From what I can tell, you’re a smart, driven, kind, lovely person, inside and out, and you are WAY out of Matt’s league.”

You laughed softly and wiped at your tears with your napkin. “I’m not sure about that last part,” you began, “I can usually keep the negative self-talk at bay, but it always rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times.” You sighed and decided to tell them the rest, to get it all out on the table. “I don’t want to be anyone’s consolation prize or backup plan. I’ve been that before and it hurts too much.”

“What makes you say that Y/N? What happened?” Karen asked gently.

You cleared your throat and started fidgeting with your napkin again. “The boyfriend I had in college told me when he broke up with me. He wanted to date my friend but she was already in a relationship so he pursued me so he could basically have a warm body but also to have a chance to hang out with my friend more.”

“Motherfucker,” spat Marci in disgust.

“Oh, it gets better, or I guess, worse,” you laughed bitterly. “When my friend and her boyfriend broke up, he waited just long enough and swooped in after being her shoulder to cry on. They hooked up and started dating. Only after did he tell me and break up with me.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Karen said with outrage in her voice.

“I wish I was. I wish I could say they both got their comeuppance, and it blew up in their faces but…”

“No,” whispered Marci.

“Yep, they’re married now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Karen said before finishing her drink. “No wonder you feel this way. You know Matt would never do that to you, right?”

“I know, but it doesn’t mean the insecurity and fear just goes away. I guess the surprise of this history with you two brought these old emotions back to the surface.” You ran your hands through your hair to try and shake off the baggage that decided to make an unwelcome appearance on what was supposed to be a fun night.

“I’m sorry for dumping on you guys, I think my drinks were a little stronger than I expected,” you chuckled.

Karen looked at you thoughtfully and then asked, “You mentioned a while back that no one had managed to get you off or really even turn you on much before. Is what you mentioned, the boyfriend and disgusting casual dates all you’ve experienced? Like have you ever dated anyone at least considerate and sweet to you, even if the chemistry wasn’t there?”

You shook your head sadly, “When I decided to moved here, I thought that maybe it wasn’t in the cards for me. I’ve been lucky enough to have an amazing family and the career of my dreams. Maybe it was just too much for the universe to give me a romantic love on top of it all?”

Marci’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline with the skeptical look she was giving you. “You know it’s not like a pie, right? Love and happiness aren’t finite things.”

“I get that in theory, but it hasn’t seemed to pan out in my life that way.”

“Maybe,” Karen interjected, “it’s because you weren’t supposed to meet anyone yet. So you could focus on your family like you did the last couple years. And now you’re ready to find that romantic love?”

You stared at the table with a frown on your face. You hadn’t really considered that timing may have been the biggest factor. With all the caretaking and death that happened in the last few years, along with juggling your budding writing career, you don’t know if you would have been able to give a romantic relationship the attention it deserved.

“Can we rewind for just a second?” Marci started, “Did I hear Karen right that none of these guys, even that piece of shit boyfriend in college, ever managed to get you off?”

Snapping your head up you looked at Marci and then sagged back into your seat. “Not one. Not even close.”

“This is a travesty,” Marci said with indignation. “Please tell me you’ve at least ascribed to the school of self-love?”

You laughed at Marci’s phrasing and the genuine smile on your face relaxed the two other women into smiling with you. “Oh, I am well-versed. You could say I have a double PhD—one in history and one in orgasms.”

The three of you laughed and Marci flagged the waiter for a final round of drinks. Once they arrived, she lifted her glass and you and Karen followed suit. “A toast for you, Y/N. May Matt Murdock get on his knees and atone for the disappointing past lovers! And sooner rather than later!”

Flushing from the alcohol and her toast, you clicked glasses with your friends and hoped Marci’s toast would become a reality.

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock x female reader #daredevil fic #daredevil x female reader #matthew murdock #conversations in the dark #miss pearl writes #yoosmekihyun

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