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romanoffsbish · 1 year

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Hopelessly Devoted to You

Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Yelena Belova x Fem!R (brief)

Summary: Wanda made a big mistake, but who hasn’t? She never said she was a saint. It upset her that you weren’t more understanding, but it upset her more to see you trying to move on. There was no one better for you than her; she planned to show you that in malicious ways.

🎼 “My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him" ; My heart is sayin', "Don't let go. Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do. I'm hopelessly devoted to you. But now there's nowhere to hide. Since you pushed my love aside. I'm outta my head. Hopelessly devoted to you. 🎼

Warnings: Cheating, Breakup, Murder (beloved character), Kidnapping, Manipulation, Gaslighting.

Smut: Non-Con(Mind Manipulation), Top!R x PB!Wanda. Degradation, Strap(W), Oral (W), Choking, Squirting.

18+ | Minors DNI

Please, head the warnings, and don’t report.

(Images from Google)

——

Today was an amazing day for you, the mission you went on with Steve and Natasha was the final step taken to make you an Avenger. You were on top of the world after your oldest pal, Steve, shook your hand before yanking you in for a bear hug, "I knew you had it in you kid."

"Steve, I'm only three years younger than you and Buck, and I'm an Avenger now, cool it."

Natasha smirked, then she also pulled you in for a hug, but it was far less brutal, and you found her abundant warmth comforting.

Nothing was meant to ruin your shine today, but as you exited the jet to find only Tony and Yelena stood there your entire mood deflated. Bucky, your older brother was nowhere to be found, but more importantly neither was your girlfriend, and that was becoming her trend.

——

It was like a switch went off one day, and she just decided that living blissfully with you and your pigmy cats in the condo Tony bought for the two of you wasn't her cup of tea anymore.

At first you were devastated by the loss of her affections, but now, you're honestly fine with it. Over the years her loving hold became a bit too tight, a gentle cupping of your cheek turned into a harsh gripping of your chin. A night of passionate love making turned into a war-zone, the mattress no longer a place of solace, but instead a battlefield where you lost your love. It'd been as if a monster dead set on carnality took over your soft Sokovian girlfriend's body, and had no intentions of letting her go again.

It's suffice to say you were expecting her to be absent from your return, but what you weren't expecting was to hear the sound of her moans as you entered the once comforting home. After a moment of being frozen in time, a deja vu like experience for you, you decided that you were jumping the gun in assuming the worst.

So you slipped your jacket off, along with your shoes, then made a beeline for your sleeping felines so you could calm your anxiety down a smidge before you got the courage to pinpoint the source of your girlfriend's clear euphoria.

"Wish me luck loves," you muttered into their fur as you place a kiss to each of their faces.

Sadly though, no amount of preparation could have been enough for the sight you walked in on. Bucky, your found brother, the man who's family took you in after your family died in a plane wreck, was pounding into your lover. There wasn't an ounce of remorse in his stance, and you knew by the way Wanda screamed out in pleasure that she definitely didn't feel bad.

Neither of them acknowledged your presence, but you knew by the sight of Wanda's slight smile that she knew you were there, and that made you sick to your very core. The idea that you'd given her the best years of your life just for her to throw it in your face so devastatingly was far too hard for you to bare in the moment.

All you knew was that you needed to get out, and you needed to do it right away, and it was as you loudly shuffled about the space that finally broke your 'brothers' focus, and got Wanda to see her plan coming to life.

Or better yet, crumbling before her very eyes.

Wanda watched you frantically stuffing your belongings in a duffle bag, and in this moment her every recent decision was backfiring.

"Baby, it was a mistake, please don't leave!"

"Mistakes don't occur with these precise of calculations," you spit while tossing your bag over your shoulder, "Your choices, Wanda, those do however come with consequences."

"Y/N, please, she’s right—it was a mistake."

"No, save your pleading for someone who cares Bucky, as far as I'm concerned my brother died with his arm—James would never have hurt me like this," you shoved by him, only to be stopped by Wanda blocking the front door.

"Y/N/N, I'm begging you, don't leave me!"

A bitter chuckle rumbles from your chest, hot tears too fill your eyes as the anger and sadness blend into one, "Now you," you paused to reel your emotions in as best you could, "God, I can't believe I ever believed you loved me."

"I do love you. Y/N, please listen to me."

"Newsflash Wanda: Love isn't meant to hurt!"

Wanda frowned, her tone serious enough to match her state of delusions, "All the greatest love stories come with a mix of love and pain."

"In Hollywood movies—sure, in real life, no."

Wanda's eyes were slowly changing hues to her secondary shade, crimson, and that was your sign to get out before she was to implode.

"Don't look for me," you reiterated your clear stance, "I'm no longer yours to seek out," and with the twist of your wrist you were gone.

Wanda crumpled to her knees, of all the many scenarios she ran through, this wasn't one of the ones she foresaw. For some reason she thought you'd fall apart, and need her to bring you back out of the slump her cheating caused. Hell, she even chose your brother for the shock but it seems you couldn't have cared any less.

"Wanda," Bucky crouched down, offering her a smile, but it only masqueraded happiness, his cerulean orbs were swimming with guilt.

The sight of the man now made her nauseous.

"Get out Barnes," Wanda snarled, pushing his extended hand away she removed her body from in front of the door, "This was a mistake."

After your defeated, cheat of a chosen brother left your once shared apartment Wanda's eyes returned to a serene shade of green. It was funny how you thought you had a choice here, taking off in a huff like that as if she couldn't find you just as fast as you could teleport.

Wanda however was methodical, she would let you think you were free to roam as you pleased. Then, when you least expected it, she'll reclaim you as hers, because you would always be hers. She just has to set up a few things beforehand.

——

It was a long three months, but the witch was taking the time to set up your cabin in Norway while also giving you a false sense of security.

Back when things were still going well, she remembered your dreams of retiring in a secluded little cabin with her, and your family. Whether that be the pets, or the kids you both had always wanted, logistics didn't matter to her much at the end of the day, only you did.

Her precious baby Y/N, poor, unsuspecting fool that she is, would soon be hers again, and with that came a promise of total permanence.

When she finally returned to New York she could feel your aura, it was no longer dull, and that made her heart twinge with momentary guilt, but it was swiftly forgotten when she stumbled upon you settled into the lap of Yelena at a cafe; she nearly lost all control.

—

You had no idea of the prying eyes, sure you felt an uneasiness in your chest as you walked down the streets of New York with Yelena, but you just chocked that up to the late night hour.

"Y/N, would you like to gaze at the stars?" you smiled softly at your friend, you weren't yet a couple, but it has been fun testing the waters.

Yelena was everything Wanda no longer is, and you’re honestly starting to believe that maybe she never was. Yelena was funny, and though she was snarky, it never was something you experienced directly. With you all she ever offered was an unfamiliar gentleness, and an abundant patience you felt undeserving of, it was as if with every passing day she was able to remind you that you deserved to be cared for without any sort of underlying stipulation.

"Of course, I'll go grab us a blanket," you settled a sweet kiss on her cheek, not missing the way the stoicism melted as she blushed.

"Bring snacks too!" Yelena shouted after you, voice cracking as she did, but you didn't let her know you caught it, instead you softly chuckled then disappeared around the corner. “Chips!”

The further you walked away from Yelena the more you were starting to feel a surge in intensity surrounding your ever growing uneasiness. Stargazing with her was one of your favorite things to do so you’re not sure why you were so anxious, but you chocked it up to something reminiscent of first date jitters.

You entered your apartment with a swiftness, not wanting to leave the blonde waiting for long. So you changed into a comfy sweatsuit, scrounged around the kitchen for her chips, then grabbed your fluffiest of blankets. After about ten short minutes you made your way up the long set of stairs to gain access to the roof. Your apartment building had many faults, but the luxurious patio wasn’t one of them.

“Hey Lena, I brought you Doritos, both cool ranch and nacho, and the off brand hot fries.”

“Y/N, get out of here, now!”

You looked up instantly, the bags in your hands hit the ground as you saw Yelena dangling over the streets of New York, you didn’t see her yet, she was cloaked by shadows, but the wisps of red holding the girl hostage told you who the perp was, “Wanda, put her down, now!”

“Okay,” Wanda shrugged with an indifference in her eyes as she made her self visible, the light of the moon showcasing her wicked grin, effectively stealing the air from your lungs as she slowly began removing her magic from around the young blonde’s body. Agonizingly slowly too, you regretted the words as soon as you said them, of course she’d take it literally.

“No, Wanda, please,” you shrieked, “Let her go, and I’ll go with you, wherever you want me to.”

“I don’t know Y/N,” Wanda pursed her lips as she gave way to thought, “She knew better than to touch what isn’t hers, yet she did it anyways, she clearly didn’t care about consequences.”

“Y/N, you need to get out of here, please go,” Yelena kept her face neutral, but you heard the slight quiver in her voice, saw the fear in her eyes, you knew she was beyond terrified; it was a bit morbid, but the way she cared for you even while in danger because of you warmed your heart while simultaneously breaking it.

“Wanda, she’s just a friend,” you tried, but all she did was offer you incredulous laughter, “You’re playing games Y/N, and you know whenever we play together, I always win.”

“Wanda! This isn’t a game, leave Yelena out of this, we can go, nobody will come for us.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m clueless, they’re all going to come to save you,” Wanda spat, “Yelena isn’t the only one in my way, so, it seems all I can do is slow them down,” she flicked her wrists, and Yelena went falling.

“No!”

Just as you were about to teleport to catch the blonde Wanda paralyzed your mind into a state of half consciousness, she wrapped you up and lifted you above the edge, tilting your body so you were parallel to the second victim of your tainted love, the first one being your own heart. Yelena lay in a jagged shape, limbs bending in ways they were never meant to, in a growing pool of blood, you felt an urge to vomit, but the paralyzation prevented it from ever surging.

“What a shame she had to die,” Wanda mockingly mourned the woman she killed, with a wide smile on her face to contrast the tears trailing down yours, “She was really funny.”

A blur of red surrounded your bodies like a force field, you blinked, never to open your eyes with joy again. It wasn’t something you registered at first, but when you finally allowed your eyes to flutter open you saw glimmering rays of sunlight hovering above your face.

To your shock there was no restraint system in place, besides the hardly dressed body of your ex. You silently retched at the sight of her fitting so perfectly into the crook of your elbow. An image reminiscent of olden times, when you were blissfully unaware of her unhinged status, but no longer could you look at her with love.

Wanda was a monster, that much you would carry in your heart until the day you died. Likely at her hands at this very point…

“I wouldn’t kill you Y/N,” she sighed in a slur, shortly to be followed up by a dainty yawn, “You’re my greatest love Y/N; destined to be forever you and me darling, you’re safe here.”

You scoffed, ripping your arm from beneath her body, “I’m no safer in a volcano than I am with you Wanda, you’re a sick, vile creature!”

Wanda grit her teeth as she moved to hover above you, her hand harshly slapped you in the face, causing a pool of blood to gather as you had bit your tongue, “Watch your tone whore.”

“Make me,” you growled, a flicker of insanity rolled through your eyes and she smirked, you could pretend all you wanted that you weren’t, but you were just as crazy as she was. “I will.”

Wanda removed herself from your eye-line, but she didn’t stay gone for long, soft red wisps permeated your temple, you audibly gasped, “Wanda, knock it the fuck off right now.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, your words were not convincing enough when your thighs were shamelessly rubbing together. Her wrist flicked, changing the imagery in your mind from her in the nude with her hands in her pussy to one of you fucking her from behind.

“Wanda, please stop,” you were losing your will to fight off her advances with every passing scene, each one more sinful than the last, you were always fucking weak when it came to her.

After only three more scenes she’d come out triumphant. “I need to taste you, please.”

“But what about Yelena?” she feigned heartbreak, “I thought we were in mourning.”

“W-Wanda please,” you begged, a pit of need settled beside the deeper pit of guilt in your abdomen, “I, I need to fuck you so bad.”

Wanda snorted, “Look at you, I just killed your girlfriend and you’re desperate to fuck me.”

The glare you sent would normally intimidate the person on the receiving end, but Wanda one upped you with a soft tilting of her head. Just like always you softened, a docile air to you as you let the fear sink into your bones. Wanda smirked at you, a show of victory if you will, because as angry as you presented, she was still the one who wins in the end. You might top, but she’s always the one in control.

With a synchronous blink you both reopened to find all layers had been shred from your bodies and the only addition was the massive black strap dangling between your legs.

“Go on detka, make me cum, I won’t ask twice.”

For a moment you were stuck in place, there was an insane amount of slick coating the inner thighs of your former lover, it left you stunned. Wanda watched as you reflexively licked your lips as you eyed her with lust clouded eyes.

“With your strap, you know tasting me is a reward you have to earn,” you rolled your eyes, but like an obedient puppy you give in, with a care you honestly didn’t feel you guided the tip through her folds to collect her essence, you swiped two fingers through next in route to her swollen bundle of nerves where you began to harshly rub circles into it, distracting her from the pain as you pushed the fat tip past her tight hole. The stretch alone brought her to the edge, she knew it wouldn’t be long before she fell.

There was no love in your movements, you rut your hips with ferocity, grunted into her neck angrily as you were frustrated with yourself for enjoying this twisted reality of sinfulness. Wanda’s moans were enraging you, it was a confusing feeling in your body, you desperately wanted to bring her body to the edge of bliss, while impossibly wanting her to not enjoy it.

“Fuck me harder detka! Make me cum!”

“Shut the fuck up Wanda,” you growled as you rose, a firm hand now sat on her hip to hold you up so you could utilize the other to constrict her airway. Fingers wrapped tightly around her throat as your hips fucked your strap so much deeper into her than before due to a shift in angle, and thus she was losing the ability to match you in both pace and vigor.

Wanda clawed at your arm when you tightened your grip almost dangerously. The fear you caused only aided in the unraveling of the pit in her stomach, her orgasm came out in a gush, soaking your thighs and the grey sheets below.

Even in the hatred of it all you couldn’t fight the way your heart fluttered at the gorgeous sight of her coming undone for you. No one else could ever make her this fucked out, with her eyes having had to of rolled to the depths of hell with how far they retracted into her body.

The way her chest heaved incessantly once you let your grip of her go, dark red lines left in your wake that added to her overall beauty. Layered perfectly over the harsher marks you’d already left behind with your grazing teeth.

Wanda pulled you in for a brief kiss, it was sloppy, and full of a mutual aggression as your teeth clashed, and hers drew blood from your lips when she held onto your lower one while lightly shoving you backwards as a hint to remove the strap from within her, and once again you did as she wanted like a weak bitch.

“Clean up the mess you made,” Wanda barked, spreading her legs even wider for you to see just what you’d done after strapping her, it disgusted you just how excited you were to be allowed to taste her, reaping a tainted reward.

Her words echoed in your mind as you realized the mess spread beyond this room. Because back home your friends mourned, and buried Yelena all the while you were across seas in Norway in a somewhat similar state, immense guilt pounding in your chest as your face was buried between the legs of the devil herself

They always say, to know love is to know pain; loving Wanda was akin to a dagger to the heart, a passionate surge of adrenaline, followed by waves of agony, and boy was it a messy affair.

——

3,196 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥰

#wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff oneshot #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff angst #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x bucky barnes #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader

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jazz-miester · 1 year

Note

Yandere Bayverse!Optimus x Decepticon Mech reader smut?

Also, I wanted to say that I LOVE your works! Especially that one Optimus x reader one.. it has me in a chokehold. Anyways, feel free to ignore!

Hung Over You

Pairing: Bayverse Optimus x reader

Reader type: Decepticon Mech

Song: Lady Lie- Rainbow kitten surprise

Warnings: I'm gonna put Dubious Consent here as a warning. I. Honestly i'd rather be safe than sorry yall. And please please for all that is holy. Get absolute consent from your partners before doing anything. If the yes isn't given whole heartedly and said with everything the person has to offer. Don't do it. It's not worth it.

An: Aww you're too sweet! I'm glad that you like my stuff so much! Hope that this is what you wanted lol. I'm not to familiar with the yandere thing so im lowkey just winging it. Also putting this under a read more because this came out to be 4186 words long lol.

Tags: @rawmeknockout hope you don't mind me tagging you in this lol.

You have caught his optic. Which honestly is the most dangerous thing you have ever had happen to you. There has been. Rumours that have spread from out of the Autobot ranks. But they had been rumours. Right?

Primes don't do that. They. They don't.

Not once did you truly worry though. When would you ever see him? You were one of the few medics that the Decepticon army had left. Most others had defected to the Autobots.

Really. It made sense. They left so they could work in a slightly safer environment where you were less likely to be offed by your patients. Still, even with how long you've been with the Decepticons you find yourself wondering why. Why have you stayed for so long despite the Decepticons going so far out of the ballpark of what they once stood for.

It was becoming less and less often you would find that reason to stay. And at this point you were only finding it in the older mechs. Those who were forced into their casts by the functionists all because they transformed into something other than a silly little microscope.

They were the ones that still fight so they would no longer have to risk their lives on a job that they higher nobles where to afraid to do. They stuck with the original Decepticon ideals so that their future younglings wouldn't have to live the harsh and horrid lives they did.

They are the reason you kept going. Kept doing what you did. They were he reason you still had a flicker of hope for the Decepticons. That Megatron was truly fighting for your peace. That he would lead Cybertronian kind into a new era. One of peace and prosperity in the way they never had before. A life where your frame didn't dictate how and who you would be.

You lost that little ember of hope on a Decepticon battlefield. Every attempt you made to help the others. To heal, to mend. All of it in vain when the bombs began to rain from above.

Again and again you went out dragging in bots and cons alike to some semblance of safety as the bombs screamed in the sky. You were forced to quit when an Autobot. And old and ancient mech stopped you and pulled you into the shelter. It was his rust colored paint that filled your vision as he gave you some sense of solace.

It was with him you grieved the loss of any hope you had left.

All of this. The wrought and ruin of his own troops, supplies, territory. All of it destroyed for a blind assault on the chance he could kill his enemy.

All of it because Megatron was to much of a coward to face Optimus Prime himself.

You did all you could. Tending to the injured. Helping even the Autobots. Or at least all that would allow you to.

It felt like a life cycle for the bombs to quit falling. Longer still for the metal of Cybertron to settle. And longer for the air to become ventable once again.

You did what you could to lead the injured up and out.

A lot of Decepticons turned their back on the cause after that. Most choosing the neutral path. Not willing to chance facing their brothers and sisters. Friends. Lovers.

Some, like you, pledged yourself to the Autobot cause.

It was on that battlefield that you saw him for the first time.

Optimus Prime.

There was a million and one warning bells going off in your helm the closer he came.

"Are you here to fight, or to stay?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder just before a storm of acid rain. This was the same question he had asked every con before you.

"Stay, I suppose." You spoke after a moment. You had long since torn away the Decepticon insignia. You could still feel the distant ache in your sparkchamber.

A botched job for what should have been the greatest moment in your lifecycle.

It meant nothing now.

"I have heard you helped my troops mech. Is this true?" Blue optics looked you up and down then stopped on your own. For the briefest moment you wondered if he could see you. Truly see you. As if the matrix gave him some supernatural ability to pick apart your very spark.

Cybertronians used to worship Primes.

"I did." You answered. "And I will continue to do so. If you allow. Optimus Prime." A grin split his lips when you were done speaking.

"If you are willing then yes.." He trailed off.

"Y/n sir." The Prime tilted his helm. Mouthed your name.

"Y/n." Something about the way he spoke it sent your spark pounding. Your takes turning.

Megatron sounded like that once.

Just before everything went to slag in a hand basket.

That wasn't the last time you saw the Autobot leader. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Y/n! Mech! Pay attention slaggit!" Ratchet's voice was right in your audio receptor. His servos moved with more efficiently than you have ever seen in any mech or femme. It was supernatural, almost, to watch.

The two of you were elbow deep in a mech. The damned frontliner decided to play hero.

You could have sworn you had seen Optimus. There in a window that the assistant has forgotten to close.

"He's damned good. For a con." Ratchet would both praise and poke at you at the same time. "I'm glad he's on our side though."

You were proud with where you were at the moment. You had built a reputation for yourself. Worked in a place that made your skills worth something. You worked with bots that wouldn't have your helm for just venting wrong near them.

You caught a snippets of Ratchets and Ironhides conversation from where you were organizing field kits. Restocking and filing inventory on this had fallen to you after a while.

Well. You were until Optimus came spilling in. Energon flowed freely onto the floor where it really shouldn't have been.

Two mechs carried him in. You were quick to clear a med berth off. Already you were in the process of cleaning when Ratchet began barking orders

Time to show Ironhide those skills Ratchet was bragging about.

Sometime later and what seemed like an obscene amount of energon, Optimus was deemed stable. Currently he was sleeping off the anesthetics.

"Will you keep an optic on him and tell me when he wakes kid?" You looked up from the data pad you were typing on when Ratchet spoke. "I have some reports I need to finish and I need to plan some care for when he wakes up." You waved a servo.

"I've got it Ratchet. Go do what you need to." With a heavy sigh he left. Muttering about Primes being stupid and self sacrificing for no good Primus damned reason.

You went back to restocking field kits. You needed something to do with your servos while you waited for him to wake up.

Which wasn't much longer after you finished. The Prime woke with a start. Bolting upright as he took in where he was. Some part of his processer still stuck out there on the feild.

It was only after he swing his legs over the side of the berth did you walk towards him.

"Prime. You need to stay laying down. If you get up now you could re open the welds me and Ratchet placed." Your voice was low. Soothing. The same voice you have used a thousand times over for Decepticon coming out of general anesthetics. At least this time you were greeted with a look rather that blaster fire.

Really. Megatron should have implemented some sort of psychiatric treatment for his troop.

Optimus said nothing as you walked up to him. Slowly you placed one servo on his shoulder. "I need to check on the welds before I go and get Ratchet. Are you ok with that or do you want me to get him to do it?" You always gave them the option. Some still didn't trust you. Former Decepticon and all.

"You may." The Prime leaned back slightly. His legs spreading further apart as he balanced himself. You said nothing other than giving him a nod before going to check the welds across his abdomen.

The welds looked ok. And they were still holding up despite the fact he decided to spring up off the berth. You took the opportunity to glance at the ones on his arms. Then checking the cabling at his neck that had become undone.

You froze for a moment when he leant forward. Slumping as if suddenly overcome by fatigue. Out of reflex you caught him by the shoulers. Bracing him as he fell forward. Optimus's helm fell on your shoulder. His servo brushing against your hip and thigh.

"Slaggit! Prime are you ok?" You pushed back on him. Righting the blue colored Prime. "Are you dizzy? Any pains that we were not aware of?" You looked over his face plates. Looking for the drain of nanites and fuzzy unfocused optics.

Nothing.

"I am fine. Just." He paused. "Apologies, Y/n. I did not mean to cause concern." There. Again. That same look he gave you on the battlefield sometime ago.

"Are you sure? It is no issue. I can go get Ratchet. He wanted me to get him after you woke anyways." A slight flicker on his face plates. A sort of, annoyance? Then.

"Get him if you must. Ratchet is my CMO for a reason." It wasn't until you pulled away did you realize Optimus's servo had been on your waist that entire time. Only did you know when you pulled away and his digits grazed along the dark grey plating.

You felt like you were going insane. Someone was leaving you gifts. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the fact it was inside your habsuit on your berth.

They were the things you liked. Sweetened energon candies. A very specific polish you thought you would never find again. There was even a praxian crystal rose at one point. Who would give that away to a former Con you would never know. After the fall of Praxus they had become scarce.

You saw Optimus a few times after he had been discharged from the med bay. He came a few times afterwards to keep the welds in check and to make sure the new cabling in his throat had took.

You had been the one to check on the welds after a while. And to make sure the Prime had proper movement in his left arm. The one that you were now currently holding and moving to ensure fluid movement in the shoulder joint.

There was that look again. Like he was staring into your very soul. You felt that if you bared your spark chamber you would feel less exposed.

"And this? Any pain, aches?" The Prime rumbled out a laugh. Not once had he looked away from you.

"No. Truly, it is fine. You've done a very good job." You could feel your faceplates warm. Not use to any type of praise.

"It was hardly all me. Ratchet did the bulk of it." Optimus humed. Pulling his arm away. His digits brushed against your chassis before they settled in his lap. He flexed his palms and you couldn't help but to look.

Only to sputter a cough before he looked up. Almost getting caught ogling the Primes thighs.

"Still. You have done good. I am grateful to have such a skilled mech on our side. Your skills are valued here, y/n." He spoke your name with an intensity.

The two of you locked optics for a moment. The Prime almost drawing you in. He servo rose and hovered next to yours. You swore he almost would have taken it in his if it weren't for Ratchet calling him to his office.

The look that covered his facelates looked almost murderous. You had stepped back when he did that. And the look had fallen almost as quickly as it had came. Filled with a different, almost fearful look at your reaction.

The Prime rose and left. Giving you one last look before going to meet Ratchet. When you glanced back down to the berth you felt you tanks turned.

There, in the center of the berth, was a singular Praxian rose. The one that twined the other currently beneath your berth.

You said nothing about it to anyone. Instead quickly taking it and placing it within your subspace before Ratchet or any of the other medics or assistants could notice.

When Optimus left he had caught your optic then glanced at the berth the rose had been on. When he noticed it was gone and how quickly you had looked away. He smiled.

That night you had went to your habsuit shaken. Placing the rose with the other things you had been given.

Was. Was Optimus the one doing this? It would make sense seeing as how he would be one of the few with the proper codes to get into your habsuit.

But why? Why you? And was it really you?

You didn't fall into recharge that night. And you were in a daze for the next day cycle. Ratchet having reprimanded you more than once for your forgetfulness.

You nearly dropped the glass vials holding nanites when you saw him in the window looking into the supply closet. Optimus had studied you briefly before leaving.

You didn't move for many klicks. Servos shaking as you tried to calm yourself.

The next few days went the same. Catching Optimus in the corner of your optics every time you turned. It made you jumpy. Skittish. You began to pull away from the bots you had made friends with. Even to Ratchet who seemed to be concerned. But he said nothing. Did nothing other than lay his servo on your shoulder and give you the most sympathetic look you had ever seen.

"Y/n. Prime needs you in his office." You glanced up dumbly to the femme that had called your name. You had been in the rec room watching some old holo vids Toptwist had put on. A chorus of oohs had filled the room. Most of the bots acting like you had just been called to the headmaster's office in the academy.

Instead you swallowed thickly and nodded your helm at the femme.

You're frame is shaking the entire walk down the hall. Your mind was racing.

Did you do something wrong? If so then what? As far as you knew you were doing everything Ratchet needed you to. You didn't cause any problems with the others. No matter how much you wanted to throttle some of them when they wouldn't stop fragging you over just because you used to be a Con.

Is that why? Did some mech of femme complain about you being a former Decepticon?

You didn't want to lose what you had here. To much. It. You had finally found a reason to keep fighting. The Autobots they held up the ideals that the Decepticons used to have.

You don't think you would be able to quit this. Not without some consequence on your mental health. You needed this.

You stopped before the door to Optimus Primes office. You didn't know if you should com him or knock on the door. In the end you chose the latter. Fisted servo hovering before the engraved metal door for a klick before you knocked.

Ice flooded your frame. Something. Something spoke to you about this being a bad idea. That you should turn. Run.

Instead you ignored that millennia forged instinct.

"Enter." Optimus's voice sounded from the other side of the door after you knocked. The door sliding open and closing behind you quickly when you stepped inside.

His office was quaint. Small. There were odds and ends decorating shelves. A few organic plants here and there that looked well taken care of. It was such a rare sight to see. The war on Cybertron and rendered all organic life null. Unable to grow in such an hostile enviroment.

There were data pads from floor to roof on one wall. Suddenly you remember that the great Prime was just once a simple archivist in Iacon.

"There's no need to stand near the door, dear Y/n. I promise. You are not in any trouble here." Your helm snaps from the shelves of data pads and towards the Prime sitting at his desk. It was cluttered with data pads and reports. A few trinkets here and there. There was even a floating holo screen of what you assumed was him and a few other bots in one corner.

"I was told you needed me sir?" You strode to the center of the room. Just before the Primes desk. He smiled and shook his helm before rising from his seat.

"Please. There is no need for formalities here. I am just Optimus. " The Prime rounded the side of his desk before leaning against the side of it. Crossing his arms over his chassis.

You swallowed thickly. Finding yourself falling into a parade rest. "I was told you needed me, Optimus?" You repeated the question with his name instead. He gave a small laugh when he looked over at you.

"I meant it when I said there was no need for formalities Y/n. Please." Optimus pushed himself away from the desk as you made an attempt to stand comfortably. It was a little awkward.

Optimus stopped before you by less that a foot. You had to raise you helm to look him in the optics. You were not exactly a small mech but you reached just below the Primes chin.

"But yes. I did want you down here. I wanted to discuss something with you." His servo rose. The palm of his servo hovering just next to your helm before settling firmly on your shoulder. You couldn't help but look to that servo. Then to him as he began talking once again. "I have heard you've done good work here. And i'm proud of the fact that you are." The servo fell then digits hooked just below your chin.

Your spark began pounding in your chest. "I expect you have met my gifts well?" You optics widden and you pull away from those digits.

"That was you?" Your voice rose slightly at the end. At least that was a conformation. Whether or not it set you at ease was debatable to say the least.

"Of course. I'm sorry I couldn't deliver them in person though. I didn't need the others thinking I was playing favorites." His optics looked your faceplates over. His glossa darted out to wet his lips. "I find you to be the most brilliant mech I have had the honour to have in my troops yet. Y/n I have been hung over you since the moment I saw you." His servos cup either side of your helm. The size of them almost engulfing you.

"There is something addicting about you. I have yet to lay my servo on it. But. I wish to have you, if you will." His thumb brushed along your bottom lip. His optics following the movement of his thumb as he did this. "Of course we will have to keep this secret for a while. But I do not mind." His voice was low. Almost rattling in your chassis from how close he was now.

Chassis to chassis. Touching. So close. If the two of you were to slide the metal away. Surely your sparks would touch. The gesture here. Now. It was intimate.

Suffocating.

"Sir we can't. Its." Optimus's face darkened.

"Optimus. Please. Call me Optimus." His servos fell and once reached down to grab yours. He brought it up to his lips and layed a kiss on your scarred knuckles. His optics were on you the entire time. Blown wide with. Attraction? Lust? "And we can. The others will learn to deal with it."

Something pleasurable flooded your field when his wrapped over yours. Your processer fogged and you didn't know what to do. "Optimus I." You stopped when that pleasure flooded over you again. You legs shook and before you knew it you were moving. Your legs hit the desk and one moment you were standing. The next you were sitting. Optimus's servos wrapped around your thighs as he lifted yo up and onto it.

For a moment the fog lifted and you looked up to see a loopy grin on the Primes faceplates.

"Oh you look stunning just like that. I wonder if I could make you make that face again." He was between your legs. His servo traveled from your thigh and over your hip. It sprawled out over your stomach plating and up your chassis. His digits dipped in seems and pulled at wires that had a heat pooling below.

You whimper when his lips finally connecting with yours. Shivers running down your frame as he moves fervently. His servos cradle your helm as he does this. Drawing you in close. You servos find his wrists. You didn't know if you wanted to pull him away or hold him there so he would keep going.

He did leave you those gifts. It. It makes sense that he wouldn't do it in person. Right?

Right?

The two of you pull away with heated breaths. A string of fluid following your lips before breaking apart.

Your faceplates felt hot. Your vents where going rapidly. Trying to cool your heated frame.

Optimus lent in again and again. Laying kiss after kiss until he found your neck. Nibbling and sucking along the cabling there. You shiver and shook at the assault. Your frame reacting pleasantly to what he was doing.

"Such sweet sounds you are making. I wonder if you will sing the same while on my spike." His hips rolled as he said this. His servo landed on top of your interface array. "Please? My Y/n please?" Optimus spoke breathlessly. His helm pressed to yours. Your nose bumping against his as he moved to press another kiss to your lips. "For me? Please?"

And you did. Your array springing open and revealing your spike and valve to the room.

"The. The door. Is it locked?" You asked.

"Mmm? Yes." Optimus told you. His digits fluttering over your valve. A whimper left your lips as he teased you. Digits skimming over your valve. Your aching node to tease your weeping spike. "Look at you. Is all this for me?" He pressed a kiss to your chin.

"Yeah." You spoke. "Yeah. Just for you." A low moan left you when he sunk his digits within you. Digits curling as he pumped them in and out of you. He moved slowly. Gathering the fluid that left you and spreading his digits apart to slowly ease you into taking his spike.

He didn't want to hurt you after all. Not after waiting for so long. And not with you being so nice and willing.

You almost cried when those cleaver digits left you. Only for you to give a shudder when he put those same digits in his mouth. Glossa working around and between his digits tasting everything you had to offer.

"You taste sweeter than I thought you would be Y/n." He humed as his own interface array pulled away. He gave is own spike a few languid strokes before placing it between your shaking legs. "Relax. I will not hurt you." The tip of his spike pressed into you. "Relax my y/n." He guided himself within you. Moving slowly. He briefly pulled back at one point before sliding forward.

Optimus paused when he was fully seated within you. Giving his hips a few experimental rolls as he watched you come completely undone beneath him.

He was absolutely enthralled with the way you threw your helm back when he began to move. He happily complied with your pleas of more. Harder. Just like that.

You were being so good. So kind after all. How was he not to do what you asked when you were doing such a good job. He even told you as much.

"Look at you. Being such a good mech for me. You are taking me so well my y/n." His hips stuttered when he felt you squeeze around him from the praise. "You are taking my spike so good. You pretty valve feels so nice. So good. Gripping my spike so." He paused when he felt pleasure rack through him when you squeezed him once again.

Optimus was sure to note this in the back of his helm for future fragging sessions.

He could feel his overload coming and coming quickly. And if the way your were keening and moaning. Chanting his name so sweetly. Well, he knew yours was close as well.

Optimus rolled his field over yours and watched as you threw your helm back. Static spitting out of your vocalizer as you overloaded and over loaded hard. Your frame falling pliant under his servos.

Optimus found his soon after you. Pulling you close and leaning on your body.

He was sure to bring you into his habsuit. Cleaning your dirtied frame. Optimus took in the welled energon on your neck cabling. The slight paint transfer around your thighs from your coupling.

He'd be damned if he was letting you leave anytime soon.

#Maccadam #valveplug #Optimus Prime x reader #bayverse optimus x reader #bayverse optimus #optimus prime #yandere optimus prime #request #anon

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charmingsoa · 30 days

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■ Bring it On Home to Me (one) ■ John Egan x OC ■ ■ Multi chapter story ■

⚠ Chapter warning ⚠ Sexual content, physical and verbal abuse, mention of sexual assault, cursing, sexism. Please be advised when reading.

🚨 A/N: Hello and welcome to the first real chapter of Bring it on Home to Me! So, this will start at the very beginning of Vanessa and John's journey and I found it important to focus the first chapter on Vanessa's life before John. It will feature some moments that are tough to read and the warnings have been posted above. It will also feature German and British words - Google was my friend for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy the update and I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, anything really! My DM is open and ready!!

📣 If you would like to be tagged, please let me know 📣

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a mixture of desire, desperation, and a touch of melancholy. The women moved gracefully among the patrons, their painted smiles hiding a myriad of emotions – from weariness to resignation to a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would bring a reprieve from the harsh realities of war.

The soldiers, their uniforms worn and dusty, bore the weight of the battlefield on their shoulders. For a moment in time, they sought solace in the arms of these women who offered fleeting moments of respite from the chaos and carnage that awaited them outside.

The women, too, carried their own burdens – stories of loss, of shattered dreams, of lives upended by forces beyond their control. Yet in the dimly lit room, they transformed into sirens of solace, offering comfort and companionship to those who sought it amid turmoil.

For these girls, the prospect of spending the night with a soldier meant more than just a temporary escape from the harsh realities of war. A chance to rest their weary bodies and minds in the comfort of a warm bed. The opportunity to freshen up and tend to their basic needs was a luxury in a world where survival often took precedence over self-care.

I was one of the fortunate ones with relatives who still resided in the small town where many of us had sought refuge. My aunt’s house giving me shelter when the night was over. There were times when I would accept the gentleman’s offer to stay until morning, most of the time sneaking out before the rooster had time to crow.

My home in London, once a bustling metropolis teeming with life and energy, now lay in ruins – a somber reminder of the indiscriminate nature of conflict. The streets I had once walked with purpose and pride were now buried beneath layers of concrete and ashes, the echoes of past laughter and conversations drowned out by the deafening silence of destruction.

My family – or what was left of family now only consisted of my aunt – my earned money keeping the bank from taking the house from under her feet. She didn’t agree with what I was doing to make the money, but that didn’t stop her from pushing me to leave every evening, making sure that I wore the dresses that would get the most attention.

“Slow night, huh?”

The bartender smiled as he poured the glass full of the brown liquid that kept my courage high enough to get through to the next day. “Seems that way.” I gave a nod as I nursed the glass.

My last client was over an hour ago – a poor RAF soldier – married to his secondary school love. I could tell he was a nervous wreck, his hands shaking like a leave in a thunderstorm. He explained to me that his CO had sent him to us – to take the edge off before he was sent off into the air. He didn’t want to do much – just talked about Lucille and his hope to finally get back to her once the war was through. Like many of the soldiers that had crossed my path, I wished them the best, saying a silent prayer as they walked out the door, back to a hell that no one could escape.

"Nessa – you're up!"

The words pierced through the subdued ambiance of the room, a sense of purpose stirred within me, pulling me from the comfortable numbness that had settled over my thoughts. With a quick glance in the direction of the older man who requested my service, I took in his features – a strong jawline, broad shoulders – devoid of any telltale signs of military service.

Finishing the last remnants of my drink in a single smooth motion, I slid off the stool with a practiced grace, the fabric of my dress whispering softly against my skin as I straightened it with deliberate care. The air around me seemed to crackle with anticipation, a silent energy that hummed beneath the surface of the room.

Louella, the madame of the establishment, offered me a brief nod of approval before turning her attention to the other patrons. With measured steps, I made my way towards the man, my movements a delicate balance of confidence and allure, honed through years of navigating the intricacies of this world.

"Hello," I greeted him, my voice dipping an octave lower, the cadence laced with a hint of sultriness that mingled with the lilting notes of my native accent. In that moment, as our eyes met, I stepped into the role that had become second nature to me – a performer on the stage of desire, where masks were worn, and truths were whispered in the shadows.

He chose to stay silent, simply nodding his head, his hands in his pockets in a defensive manner. There had been men like him that stayed silent for most of the evening, only speaking when asked what they would like to do. This man felt different – his demeanor feeling like that of an ice block.

I hesitated for a moment, pushing away my gut feeling that this was going to end badly if I continued. I – Aunt Beatrice needed the money. I could do anything for a short amount of time, whether standing up or flat on my back.

Walking into the back bedroom, I stepped inside the dimly lit room, jumping slightly as he slammed the door shut behind us. His eyes boring into my soul. I cleared my throat, breaking the suffocating silence that enveloped us. "So, um, what exactly did you have in mind?" My voice sounded small and insignificant against the backdrop of his brooding presence.

He just stood there, never breaking eye contact as he evaluated me – searching for any cracks that he could fully break. "Take off your dress," he commanded, his German accent adding an edge to his words even though they were barely audible.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly reached up to the neck of the dress, my fingers pulling at the knot as the two pieces of fabric fell. The humid air hitting against my bare skin as the man’s eyes devoured my exposed chest. My hands pushed the remaining portion of the dress down to the floor, carefully stepping out of the ruched fabric as I now stood in nothing but a pair of heels in front of the stranger.

His long, slender finger pointed towards the bed, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the room. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as I followed his gesture, my heart pounding in my chest. I approached the bed, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over me as I carefully took a seat on the crisp linen.

“Lie down and touch yourself.”

My eyes furrowed in confusion at his demand. "Excuse me?" I stammered, taken aback by the unexpected request.

His throat cleared in an annoyed manner, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a knife. I could sense his impatience, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air suddenly charged with a palpable tension.

“I told you to lie down and touch yourself like the whore you are.”

As I held his gaze, I could see the hatred coursing through his piercing blue eyes like a raging river. The intensity of his emotions was almost tangible, a seething anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was as if a storm brewed behind those icy eyes, ready to unleash its fury at any given moment.

Gulping nervously, I gradually positioned myself on the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath me breaking through the hot air. With a trembling hand, I reached up to fan my hair out around me as I laid flat on my back, the cool touch of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

As I stared up at the moldy ceiling above me, a wave of despair washed over me, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that churned in my gut. The damp patches on the ceiling seemed to mock me, their distorted shapes dancing before my tear-filled eyes. Each droplet of water that dripped down felt like a painful reminder of the situation I found myself in.

“I told you to touch yourself, you stupid slut.” His anger spilled over, a palpable force that filled the room and washed over me like a wave. "Are you deaf?" I flinched at the harshness of his tone, the venom in his words striking a nerve deep within me.

I suddenly felt dizzy as I took a few deep breaths, my eyes tightly closed as I tried to compose myself. My hand shook violently as it moved down my body, resting atop my pussy as the first tear rolled off the side of my face.

“Mach es jetzt!” The german words crashing through the room like a loud clap of thunder. “Dumme hure!”

A stifled sob escaped through my quivering lips as my trembling fingers found my clit. The air growing heavy, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of my uneven breaths. I kept my head turned away from preying eyes of the man, my eyes tightly closed as the panic of the situation and the sensual feeling of my own touch conflicted my thoughts.

Soft moans formed in the depths of my constricted throat. Each heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm in my chest, a desperate plea for escape echoing in the confines of my mind. The rustle of fabric filled the room, amplified by the deafening silence that hung between us, as the man’s hand slowly pulled at his trousers. The metallic rasp of the zipper being pulled down cut through the air like a blade, its sharp sound reverberating in my eardrums with a chilling finality. With each article of his clothing hitting the floor, every nerve in my body screamed in protest, a primal instinct urging me to flee from the impending unknown that lay before me. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I heard him step closer to where I laid, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of fear and uncertainty.

With a trembling breath, I braced myself for whatever fate awaited me, already resigned to the harsh reality that my body would bear the brunt of this twisted exchange – the finale being a crumpled up 10 note thrown on my bruised body like I was a piece of rubbish on the street…

“Holy shit-“As Aunt Beatrice took a drag from her cigarette Her gravelly voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. “What in the heavens happened to you?” Her eyes narrowing as they assessed the bruises that adorned my face like a grotesque mask.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the judgment that seemed to emanate from her every word. The memories of the horrific night flashed before my eyes – the yelling, the shoving, the pain. I clenched my fists, trying to push back the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf me.

Louella's callous words echoed in my mind as well, her nonchalant attitude towards my suffering sending a chill down my spine. "It's the name of the game, dear. Just make him happier next time," she had said, as if my pain was a mere inconvenience to be brushed aside.

The image of the newsstand attendant’s horrified expression haunted me, his eyes widening in shock as they took in the extent of my injuries. I had muttered a barely audible thank you, my gaze fixed on the ground as I hurried away, desperate to escape the prying eyes of strangers.

And now, facing Aunt Beatrice's mocking laughter, I felt the last shreds of my composure slip away. The weight of her words – dripping with disdain and superiority – crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Here's the money from tonight," I said, tossing the notes onto the table in a messy wad. They fluttered down haphazardly, some landing askew. "I think there's close to 30 there or should be at least."

She reached out to straighten the crumpled bills, her brow furrowing as she quickly counted them. “Looks like you’re four pounds short, sweet child.” The use of adoring nicknames not masking the shortness of her tone. “Four pounds short and the bank wants to collect today – are you trying to make me lose my precious home?”

Glancing between her and the money on the table, confusion was etched on my face as I knew there was enough when I counted this morning. "That can't be –" My voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in. "I could've sworn there was 30 there this morning."

Beatrice's head lulled to the side, her dismissive tone cutting through the tension. "You were never the best at counting money, sweetheart," she quipped, a puff of smoke from her cigarette swirling lazily in the air before being exhaled right in my face. The sharp scent momentarily overwhelming my senses.

"I think it's best you get out there and get the money – wouldn't want you to be back on the streets again," she added, her words carrying a hint of warning.

She slowly pushed herself up from the table, the notes disappearing into the depths of her worn nightgown. Her dirty housecoat dragged along the floor as she shuffled towards her rotting chair, the frayed fabric whispering against the dusty floorboards. I stood dumbfounded, my mind racing as I tried to piece together where the cash could have disappeared to.

"Best get going, darling Vanessa," her raspy voice reverberated off the newspaper-covered walls, "Make sure to powder up before you leave – don't need those soldiers looking at you like a punching bag."

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I started walking towards the small room that held all my earthly possessions. Everything I could salvage from the rubble of my London home was now crammed into a space resembling a broom closet. The dresses I had collected through the years hung in a row, most too conservative for the line of work I found myself in.

Among the clothes were photos of my childhood – snapshots of my mother and father, frozen in time, their smiles forever preserved. In those images, there was no evidence of the sadness and despair that would later come to define my life. The young girl in the photographs had no inkling that in just a few short years, her father would be gone, leaving her at the mercy of an ungrateful aunt who would exploit her for the sake of paying the house notes.

“Chop chop, Vanessa – time's not stopping," Beatrice's voice called out. I rolled my eyes at her words, a mix of irritation and resignation washing over me as I reluctantly acknowledged the urgency of the situation.

As I made my way over to the vanity, my heart sank into my stomach at the sight that greeted me. The reflection in the mirror revealed the extent of the damage inflicted by the German's hand. My once carefully painted lips were now split at the top, a deep purple bruise spreading under my left eye. His fingerprints were scattered like dark constellations across my skin, leaving behind dancing indentations that served as a painful reminder of his violent touch. The marks on my neck and upper chest bore witness to the brutality of his actions, his decaying teeth leaving behind their mark.

With trembling hands, I reached for the makeup on the vanity, determined to conceal the physical reminders of the night's brutality. As I applied layer upon layer of foundation and concealer, I pushed the events in the back of my mine, determined to put on the facade that everything is fine and get the money that Aunt Beatrice needed. I readjusted the dress that I had worn through the night – giving myself a small smile in the mirror – the bruises faintly showing through the mask.

My heels clicked against the wooden floor with each step I took back to the main room. Beatrice's gaze trailed down my body as she took in my appearance, her eyes assessing and judging. "It's a real shame," she spoke, her voice cutting through the air as her eyes met mine.

"Pardon?" I replied, a sense of unease creeping into my voice at the ominous tone of her words.

A sickening smirk twisted on her wrinkled face as she continued, her words like venom dripping from her lips. "It's a real shame that American soldier never came back to fetch you." Her words landed like a heavy blow, my heart sinking at the cruel reminder of a past hope that had long since faded. "He was quite a looker – could've gotten you out of this hellhole and away from the hands of all those men," she continued, her tone laced with a bitter edge. As she lit another cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around her, her words hung heavy in the air. “Guess you’ll just have to be another whore on the street who has nothing to show for her life.”

My eyes moved towards the ceiling as I fought back the tears that pricked against my lower lids. "You're gonna ruin all that work if you start crying," her voice gruff and devoid of any trace of empathy. "These men aren't gonna pay for ya if they see those bruises,” The harsh reality of her words cut through me like a knife, leaving a trail of raw emotions in its wake.

"Wouldn't that be a shame," I sarcastically chuckled, the bitterness of my words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. The tension in the room crackled with unspoken resentment and suppressed fury. "I guess no money means no house, right?"

Her eyes shot daggers at me, a silent promise of retribution simmering beneath the surface. "Guess you'll have to join me on the streets, Auntie Beatrice," I continued, my tone cutting and cold. The same sickening smile that she'd give me mirrored on my face, a twisted reflection of the familial bond that had long since fractured beyond repair. "Get those hoses washed and ready,"

This time she chose to stay silent, her rigid posture and clenched jaw betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. I could sense the turmoil festering inside of her, the knowledge that kicking me out of the house would sever her only source of income. There was no way she would go and find a job. No one was gonna hire a crippled old woman, especially with a war raging on like it was.

"Don't come back without my money," she finally spoke, her voice cold and distant. I rolled my eyes in response, a gesture of defiance and resignation mingled into one. I stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway…

I grimaced as he pulled out of me – his sweaty body collapsing off to the side as his large stomach rose and fell in a fast pace. The whiskey that I had consumed earlier now wearing off, the image of the man lying next to me making me groan internally – the way of his touch making my stomach churn. “Goddamn girl –“ His American accent thick. “Where’d you learn to fuck like that?”

I stayed silent, trying to play off like I was sleeping. The rustling of his head turning on the pillow as he looked over at me, making my heartbeat faster, the prayer that he would just leave repeating in my brain. The feeling of the thin sheet being pulled away from my body caused a shiver to run down my spine as his fingers lightly danced across my breast.

“My oh my –“His smoker laced voice whispered as his mouth closed over my nipple – his teeth tugging on the sensitive skin causing a moan to slip past my lips. "I knew that would wake you up," he chuckled, his rotting teeth revealed a mischievous smile before finding the bud again.

I kept my hands pressed tightly against my side as his callused hands, weathered by countless months of war, pulled me closer to his body. The lingering scent of the day's heat clung to his skin, the smell causing my stomach to roll with nausea. Just as his hands reached between us, a sudden commotion outside the room shattered the moment. The sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoing on the wooden floors jolted him back to reality, breaking the seal that he had on me. His body moved to a sitting position, muscles tensing as his gaze fixated on the wooden door The commotion outside persisted, casting a shadow of unease over the room.

Feeling uneasy, I too rose slowly from the bed, hastily pulling the sheet tightly around me Thoughts raced through my mind, fueled by fear and the chilling rumors that circulated through the town. Whispers of German soldiers raiding taverns, killing the men and taking the women prisoners.

“I'm getting the hell out of here," the man muttered urgently, his movements swift as he practically threw himself to the floor in a rush to gather his clothes and make his escape.

As he frantically gathered his belongings, my concern shifted to a more practical matter. "What about my money?" I blurted out, stumbling out of the bed with the sheet trailing behind me like a makeshift gown. Determined not to be left empty-handed after our transaction, I followed him around the room, my finger jabbing into his shoulder to emphasize my point. "This wasn't free, mister."

His stocky body pushed past me, a look of fear etched on his face, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. As he reached for his jacket hanging on the back of the chair, I saw my opportunity to grab what I came for – the money that was rightfully mine. After everything I had been through with this man, the betrayals, the lies, the deception, I wasn't about to leave empty-handed.

With determination fueling my actions, I lunged forward and seized the other end of his jacket, my hands frantically searching the pockets, desperate to find any trace of cash. The fabric crumpled beneath my fingers as I dug deeper, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Get your fucking hands off my jacket, slag!” His voice boomed through the room, a mixture of rage and panic, as his grip tightened on my arms, his nails digging into my skin.

Pain shot through me, but I refused to let go, driven by a mix of anger and desperation. The struggle escalated, our bodies twisting and turning in a chaotic dance of conflict. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed me to the ground, the impact reverberating through my bones. Gasping for breath, I watched as he made a hasty escape, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

I ran out of the room, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The curious gazes of onlookers met mine as I scanned the hallway, searching for any sign of the man who had just slipped away from my grasp.

As I stood there, trying to catch my breath, Louella appeared at my side, her presence always bringing me a sense of dread.

"Well, at least there's some good news in all of this," Louella remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of mischief.

I turned to face her, my eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. "And what might that be?" I inquired, my voice hinting with skepticism.

With a nonchalant gesture, Louella reached into the pocket of her nightgown, producing several crumpled notes. I watched intently as she smoothed them out and began to count, the sound of rustling paper filling the tense silence between us. Finally, she held up four bills, neatly arranged between her fingers.

"Germany has surrendered," Louella announced matter-of-factly, her words carrying a weight of significance that resonated in the air. "And there's a gentleman asking specifically for you down in the lobby."

She slipped the bills into the top of the sheet, patting the area lightly before she started walking away. The crisp sound of the bills sliding into place seemed oddly loud in the hushed room. I watched as she started walking away – her signature cane leading the way.

“Oh –” Her voice was soft yet carried a hint of playful suggestion. She paused, slowly turning to face me once more. “I would suggest leaving the sheet on – I don’t think you’ll be wearing it for very long.”

With a coy smile, she sauntered out of the room, my mind racing with thoughts of who could be waiting and her suggestion of keeping my body covered only in the thin, white sheet. Usually, Loella wanted her girls dressed to the nines – giving the man something to fantasize about before they seen what we were hiding underneath.

I snatched the money out of the cloth, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I walked back towards the bedroom. The crisp notes rustled as I stuffed them deep into my purse. Taking a deep breath, I was somewhat relieved that I had gotten the money for Beatrice. The weight lifting from my bare shoulders as I took a seat at the vanity. Checking out my tousled appearance, I did my short routine, giving my face a quick powder and running my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed to compose myself, to present an air of confidence in myself.

Once satisfied with my appearance, I took a deep breath and gathered the bottom of the sheet, preparing to descend to the bottom floor where the mystery man awaited. Each timid step down the staircase seemed to echo in the hushed space, heightening my sense of anticipation. The soft fabric of the sheet whispered against my skin, a reminder of my daring choice to leave behind the trappings of modesty. As I reached the lobby, a rush of emotions washed over me – excitement, curiosity, a touch of fear.

As I entered the room, the crackling fire cast a warm and inviting glow, despite the balmy weather outside. The man, with his back turned towards me, seemed completely engrossed in the dancing flames. His worn brown leather jacket, weathered by time and use, exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity.

I couldn't help but notice the way his short brown hair fell against the nape of his neck. A ruggedness exuding from his stance. His broad shoulders, tense with an unseen burden, hinted at a strength that belied his gentle demeanor. The dark slacks he wore hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his sturdy frame.

My bare feet made no sound as they padded softly against the floor, bringing me just inches away from the man. With a silent resolve, I took a breath and extended my hand towards him, the cool leather of his jacket meeting the warmth of my palm. His muscle tenses under my touch, my body backing away slightly as he began to turn to face me.

John Egan

My heart nearly shattered into hundreds of pieces as the face that invaded my dreams nightly stared back at me – the same blue eyes that caused me to melt in the back of that bar all those years ago now stared back at me. Memories flooded my mind like a relentless tide, carrying me back to that fateful night when our paths first crossed. The fear that he had died on the frontlines haunted me daily as I would picture us together. His promise to come back for me and take me away from this world was something I held onto – praying to the Lord above that he would be the one to fulfill that promise.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and still, there was no sign of him. The war raged on, claiming the lives of so many brave souls, and I was left to wonder if he had become just another casualty of the brutal conflict. But deep down, a flicker of hope remained, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished.

His callused thumb reached up, wiping away the tears that had fallen. His towering figure loomed over me, his eyes filled with a mix of weariness and determination.

"I told ya I'd come back for ya,"

#john egan #callum turner #callum turner imagine #callum turner smut #callum turner x reader #callum turner x y/n #john egan smut #john egan imagine #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air #bucky egan smut #bucky egan imagine #bucky egan x oc #Spotify

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starsidesky · 2 months

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Let's just say that there's a couple of Baldur's Gate 3 characters who are currently living rent-free in my head. A situation that has stirred the writer in me. So here's a little vignette (honestly, I wasn't sure what to title this) about Isobel contemplating the aftermath of Act 2. (Potential spoilers)

Dust

For the first time in a century, the sound of mirth rings through Moonrise, and Isobel stands in near disbelief. Her thoughts are still racing on battlefield adrenaline. A small sleep-deprived fear trembles in her mind: the fear that this moment might be snatched away, that she might wake inside the Last Light Inn. Scorned by the realization that all of this was naught but a cruel dream. But one look at the sky and a solid pinch are enough to put her uneasy thoughts to rest.

The Harpers are enjoying some merry-making in the wake of their victory. Their strange new-found allies have generously offered to share their food and strong drink alongside whatever is deemed safe from the tower cellars. Aylin has eagerly joined in the celebration; her laugh is as magnificent as it is unmistakable. A hearty sound that carries throughout the towers like it had never left. The cleric decides it would be a crime to pull her angel away too soon. A hundred years caged in the Shadowfell had no doubt left her deprived of the most basic humane courtesies. She definitely deserves to celebrate.

Isobel draws a cold, shallow breath and stifles a coughing fit. The ale must be affecting her poorly, as the torchlight suddenly feels harsh to her eyes. She tolerates it for a while, but the celebrations get louder as the night goes on. Despite the lifting of the curse, the air in the hall feels muggy and suffocating, and a slight headache settles upon her brow soon after. All it takes is the drunken singing of a few dozen Harpers to persuade the cleric into the calm night air.

The moon from Moonrise had always been beautiful – a century couldn't hope to change that. But the same could not be said for Reithwin itself. Beneath the moonlight, the village Isobel had known so well seemed little more than a hollow shell.

A ghost, an echo of what once was.

At the center of it all stands the statue of her father, his expression listless and placid. The same way he looked when she first awoke.

A chill snakes down her neck.

She’s running barefoot, clad in cambric burial garbs, dodging creeping vines, and thorny brambles. White dots of lantern light chase after her; her father is amongst them. A mangled root catches her foot, and she tumbles downhill into a heap of thorns. Disoriented, she crawls away, pressing her back to a scraggly tree. Her lungs burn for breath, but no matter how much she gasps, her vision swirls with sparks.

Calling upon her goddess means risking discovery. Instead, she clasps a hand over her mouth.

The rumble of a galloping horse crests the hill, pulling her back to herself. The bony, half-rotted steed brays as it winds through the foul miasma. Her father screams from its back, sobbing, begging. His dark, anguished pleas echo through the marrow of her bones. She winces with every one, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

The sound remains burned into her memory. Sometimes, late at night, she thinks she hears it still. Isobel thanks Selûne that he did not find her that night.

Once more, she gazes over the ruins of Reithwin and her heart twists. She spent a century dead, while so many good people - people she knew - suffered and perished for want of one man’s grief. Yet here she stands, and they do not.

She recalls the many hideous stories the Harpers told about the source of the Shadow Curse and the monster Ketheric became. At first, she could hardly believe it. The gentle, kind man - the man who'd raised her - chose to forsake their goddess, forcibly convert their people to Shar, and butcher those who would not. That wasn't even accounting for what he'd done to Aylin!

So much death and destruction, and for what?

"While I hold little love for Ketheric," Aylin's armored boots settle upon the stone behind her. “That monster was not your father.”

Isobel turns to face her, desperately trying to hold her emotions back, but to no avail.

In one fluid motion, Aylin pulls her into her embrace as her wings sweep around her. They’re a welcome shield from everything beyond. Isobel leans into her, her head resting against her breastplate. She listens quietly to the slow rhythm of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath, as Aylin rests her jaw upon her head.

“You are not to blame for his mistakes.” Aylin says softly.

Isobel finds her voice soon after, “I know.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dame aylin #isobel thorm #dame aylin x isobel #ketheric thorm #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #titles are hard

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kradogsrats · 2 months

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oh hey out of nowhere it's 1500 words of Claudiangst, possibly some kind of spiritual sequel to that Viren one from pre-s5

—

Claudia sits on a stone beside the Sea of the Castout, and sharpens her knife.

It’s not quite dawn, and the coming morning promises to be bright and clear—she can almost imagine that it’s just another sunrise in Xadia, and the last few days were a terrible and confusing dream. Maybe even the whole month. The ruined stump below her knee, radiating the dull, persistent ache that was as far as she could reduce the pain with what she had in her satchel, destroys the shelter of that fantasy.

The repeated motion of the blade against stone helps a bit, like her calming mantra once did. There is no synonym for cinnamon, there is no synonym for cinnamon—every stroke a little sharper, a little clearer, a little more deliberate. The soft lapping of the waves against the shore might have done the same, once.

She’d almost drowned. Without the potion, her shifted form hadn’t lasted. She’d kicked desperately toward the surface with one leg while bitter seawater and blood rushed into her lungs. When she finally broke the surface, choking and exhausted, it took everything she had just to stay afloat. There was no way she could swim to shore—only drift, watching the sky slowly darken. At some point, the tears came, hot on her sea-chilled face. By the time she washed up on the rocky beach, she’d been incoherent with pain and grief.

The transformation was also the only thing that kept her from bleeding out—her pentapus limbs fusing back together as they returned to human form had mostly closed the wound. Terry had stripped her out of her soaked clothes and wrapped her in a blanket, her body shivering uncontrollably from cold and shock. He’d bound her leg where it was still oozing blood, and he and Sir Sparklepuff fretted over her late into the night as she alternated between chills and feverish delirium.

She holds the blade up to examine it in the pre-dawn gloom, tilting it to catch whatever light it can. It’s a good knife, slim and elegant and curved. It has always been, ever since she found it on the body of a Sunfire elf while picking through the abandoned battlefield. It's far from the least useful thing she's harvested from the dead.

Still, it's not sharp enough. For now.

Wracked with sorrow and fear and pain, she barely slept an hour. But she dreamed.

She'd been back at the center of the sea, standing above it as if it was no more than a puddle. The surface below her was smooth as glass, perfectly reflecting the sky overhead—so overflowing with stars that she couldn't tell if it was night or day. Blood seeped slowly from her leg and dripped into the dark water, lurid in the harsh light, ripples spreading out of sight.

Aaravos’s voice came to her, echoing from every direction. Soft as a whisper, but vibrating through her bones like thunder. We are all stardust, bound together only by love.

She spun, foolishly hoping to see him there. If she could just plead her case to him—she could do better. She would do better. She'd been foolish, thinking her old friends would understand her. Sentimental. She wouldn't make the same mistake again.

There was no one. She was alone between twin tapestries of stars, indistinguishable save for the red ripples that faintly disturbed the one below.

Someone once thought those words would comfort me. Do they comfort you?

“No,” she said. Her voice cracked. “They don’t.”

I thought not. Soft laughter, the kind of indulgent chuckle where it was impossible to tell if you were being laughed with or at—not cruel, but indisputably superior. They did not comfort me either, but I can give you something that might.

Her mouth trembled, eyes burning. She wanted so badly to be wrong, for him to have lied to her, for there to somehow be another chance. “You already said there's no way to bring him back a second time.”

All that could hold him here is cut loose. He is beyond your reach, now.

She couldn't stop her tears, but gulped in a breath and held it to keep from sobbing. It was her fault. She had failed. If she’d only—

If Ezran had just told her where the prison was—

If Callum hadn’t been so stubborn about bringing the baby Archdragon to Xadia—

If Soren had would have killed the elf back when she'd feigned sleep in that stupid, beautiful moonlit garden—if she'd made him, instead of indulging his stupid, childish sense of sportsmanship and honor—everything would be different. Everything would be fine.

She should have realized then that her brother wasn't on her side. Not really. Not like she'd been on his. Not like she'd always been on their family's side. She'd thought he loved her. She'd thought Callum had loved her, or at least liked her. Even Ezran had abandoned her, now. Everyone was gone. She only had Terry.

But I am not.

And Aaravos.

She breathed, shuddering inhales and exhales as she wiped at her face with her sleeve. "What do you want?"

I'm not the one you should be asking. Search your heart, child—there is still something you want very badly. Something that, with my help, lies within your grasp. If you are strong enough to take it.

She would already have everything she wanted, if she hadn't—if Callum and Ezran and that elf hadn't gotten in the way. If the boys she'd once thought of as her best friends hadn't left her for dead, choking and and bleeding and alone in open water. She'd done a lot of things she wasn't proud of—but she would never do that. Not to someone she cared about. They should have known she wouldn't actually hurt Ez.

She still didn't want to hurt him. Not much.

Callum, though—Callum she wouldn't mind hurting. The elf she'd cheerfully tear apart with her bare hands.

The sky continues to lighten, and she holds up the knife again. It's sharp now, like new—it will cut swift and clean. Traveling Xadia for two years, she'd learned a lot. How sharp a blade had to be, the amount of strength it took to sink it deep enough, where and how to cut. Back in Katolis, it had once sickened her to put her hands around a fawn's fragile neck to save her brother. She'd cried with frustration and shame as she struggled, trying to ignore the creature's panicked bleats and thin, flailing legs. Now, she could cut its throat before it even realized what was happening. Ruthlessly. Mercifully.

It can still be better. She returns to the stone.

Fortunately, you already have something that can give you that strength.

Aaravos had told her what to do. Then she'd been plunged into the blood-red water below her, dragged down into the darkness. She'd fought, reaching toward the receding surface, but she was so deep she couldn't even see the light from the sky. As her strength and breath ran out, everything fading away into a soft, endless black, she thought she felt the brush of fingers against her own.

Sir Sparklepuff had been crouched beside her when she started awake, pawing at her as he stared down into her face from the dark. "Blood!" he croaked, scampering away when she sat up. "Blood, blood of child, bloodied child!"

The eastern sky was beginning to pale by the time she'd dragged herself into her clothes and mixed herself something to bring the pain of her leg down to bearable levels. She'd levered herself upright with her staff, hobble-hopping to a nearby rock. The rocky sand shifted under her with each step, only the staff and her own desperation keeping her from falling. If she went down, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get up again.

She finally collapsed on the rock, chest heaving with effort from having crossed barely ten paces of beach. Aaravos was right—between exhaustion, pain, and blood loss, she wouldn't be going anywhere without a boost.

Her eyes fell on Terry, a little line of worry creased between his brows even as he slept, snoring lightly. He cared for her so much it made her heart hurt, but so had Callum and Ezran, once. Now she saw that he would only ever hold her back. If she still had those coins, Moonshadow elf would be in the palm of her hand. Even tossing them into the lava beneath Umber Tor, though a waste, might have broken her enough to disrupt whatever sway she held over the boys.

It will be best for both of them for her to leave him behind. Maybe he'll hurt for a while, but he won't see how cruel she can be. How cruel she will be, once she catches up with her prey. Let him remember loving a girl who still hesitated.

The first glimmers of sunlight peek over the horizon, and Sparklepuff is at her side. He gazes up at her adoringly, head resting against her good leg, the pale violet stretch of his throat exposed. The blade is heavy in her hand.

Claudia's knife won't get any sharper. She cuts swift and clean.

#kradogsfic #claudia #sorry this is completely incoherent in its verb tense it made sense at the time #(no it didn't but whatever i don't care)

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lilacura · 5 months

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Across the Ruins | Ahn Yujin

pairing: ahn yujin x fem!reader

>wc: 1.1k

sypnosis: Yujin and Y/N were in love until war split them up. time later, tragedy reunites them on a battlefield - but only long enough for Yujin to hold Y/N as she takes her last breaths. Devastated, Yujin is now driven by one thing: revenge.

The dust slowly began to clear, revealing the devastated landscape around her. Yujin coughed, trying to wave away the cloud of dirt and debris in front of her face. Her ears were still ringing from the explosion. As her vision focused, the full scale of the destruction came into view.

There were bodies scattered all around her - some soldiers from her side, but many from the opposing force. She tried not to look too closely at their mangled forms. A few survivors were starting to stir, groaning in pain. In the distance, she could see those who were still mobile retreating from the blast site.

The bomb had done its job, delivering a crippling blow to the enemy forces gathered in this valley. But at what cost? War always demands sacrifices, she knew, no matter how much the idea turned her stomach. She had long since grown numb to death, having witnessed more than her fair share on the battlefield.

But today, something felt different. As she struggled to her feet amidst the wreckage, a feeling of dread started to creep over her. Her instincts were screaming that something wasn't right.

That's when she spotted a familiar figure lying facedown in the dirt just a few feet away. Even covered in dust, she would recognize that silhouette anywhere.

"No…" she gasped, staggering towards the unmoving form. With trembling hands, she gently rolled the body over, her worst fears confirmed.

"Y/N…" Her name escaped Yujin's lips as a tormented whisper. There was no mistaking those beautiful features, now marred with pain. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead, matting her hair. But her eyes remained closed, chest motionless.

Yujin pulled Y/N's limp body into her arms, holding her tightly as if her embrace alone could will her beloved back to life. Hot tears burned tracks down her dirty cheeks. "Please don't leave me," she sobbed. "Not after all this time."

Memories of happier days long past flooded Yujin's mind. She remembered laughter and soft kisses shared in the privacy of their little apartment, before the world went mad. Back when they had a future to look forward to together.

They had met in their last year of university, bonded by a shared love of music and late nights discussing their dreams. Y/N was unlike anyone Yujin had ever known - beautiful inside and out, with a passionate soul that resonated with her own. Before long, they became inseparable, finding solace and inspiration in one another.

Things moved quickly after that. Within months, Yujin knew she had fallen irrevocably for this girl. When Y/N echoed the sentiment, the joy and rightness of it all had left Yujin feeling like the luckiest person alive.

After graduation, they decided to get a place together in the city. Yujin had never been happier than walking through the front door of their tiny apartment for the first time, hand in hand with Y/N. Every new experience in this new chapter of life was made all the sweeter by having her best friend at her side.

They dreamed of travelling the world together, of creating art that could spread beauty and hope. Through hard work and dedication to their craft, it seemed like anything was possible for them as a team. Yujin truly believed their future was brighter than the sun.

But then the war came, ripping their bliss apart. Overnight, their countries became bitter enemies, forcing Yujin and Y/N to reluctantly choose sides. It was the saddest day of Yujin's life when she had to say goodbye, not knowing if they would ever meet again once they parted ways.

She and Y/N had argued bitterly then, torn between duty and devotion in a way that left scars. Yujin regretted some of the harsh things said in anguish. All she wanted in that moment was to flee with Y/N and abandon the conflict, to preserve what they had built together. But it just wasn't that simple.

And now, through some cruel twist of fate, they had been reunited here on the battlefield - only for Y/N to be torn from her all over again. The bitter irony was not lost on Yujin.

She held Y/N close as body-wracking sobs shook her frame. All around her was desolation, but in that moment Yujin felt more alone than ever before. The emptiness inside threatened to consume her.

A gasp suddenly cut through the haze of grief. Eyes fluttering open, Y/N drew in a raspy breath, weakly gripping Yujin's arm.

"Y…Yujin…" Her voice was barely a whisper, lips quivering into a painful smile.

Overcome with relief and anguish, Yujin showered Y/N's face with trembling kisses between tears. "I'm here, love. Please don't go…"

Y/N coughed, each exhale labored as crimson flecks spotted her lips. With effort, she lifted a shaking hand to gently caress Yujin's cheek one last time.

"I never…stopped…loving you," Y/N rasped. A tear rolled down her dirtied cheek. "I'm sorry…we ended up on…opposite sides."

"Shhh, don't apologize," Yujin choked out, leaning into Y/N's touch. "This war means nothing. Only you have ever meant anything."

She gripped Y/N's hand tightly, as if to somehow pass what remaining strength she had left. But it was a futile effort to stall the inevitable. Y/N's eyes drifted shut once more, head falling limply to the side. And just like that, her fragile grip loosened as the last spark of life left her broken body.

Yujin's anguished wail rent the air, echoing across the ruined valley in a despairing cry of loss. clutching Y/N close, she poured out every last shred of regret, guilt and sorrow until she had nothing left.

All those years lost to war, and this was how they ended - worlds apart even in death. As the sun began to set over the aftermath of carnage, Yujin tasted only bitterness. She had failed to protect the one thing in this world that ever truly mattered.

The future they had once dreamed of building was gone forever, leaving Yujin alone with only memories of what could have been. Huddling over Y/N's lifeless corpse, tears continued to flow freely until darkness swallowed the land whole. An ache was born in Yujin's heart that night that would never fully heal.

From that point on, the war had a new purpose for Yujin - vengeance, in Y/N's name. She would ensure their homeland paid dearly for taking the love of her life. No matter the cost, she vowed Y/N's death would not be in vain. The bloodshed had only just begun.

a/n: I CAN NEVER FIND THE RIGHT COLOR FOR THE DIVIDERS ITS SO ANNOYING

#ive #ive x reader #ahn yujin #ahn yujin x reader #girl group #gg x reader #ive yujin #ive yujin x reader #yujin x reader

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outstandingblue · 1 year

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Promises to Keep

One - Idiots in the Forest

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na’vi oc

Man, Jiniraa just wanted to gather her leaves and go home. Not worry about these idiot boys trying to make a name for themselves.

find it on ao3 here

content warning: a lil bit of anxiety

word count: 2k

The sounds of the forest brought comfort to her ears. While she had to remain somewhat vigilant for actual dangerous creatures, most of the life around her just wanted to be left alone. She was content, even though she was by herself, something she’d been scolded for time and time again upon her return to the Omaticaya stronghold in the floating mountains.

A few more leaves, then I’ll have enough to last a couple weeks. She thought to herself, mindlessly humming a song. It wasn’t a Na’vi song, rather it was some human song that Norm introduced her years prior. While many members of the Omaticaya clan resented having certain humans living amongst their ranks, she loved living with them. She found them fascinating, much much kinder than any Na’vi she could ever hope to meet.

After she was finally satisfied with her haul for the day, she began making her way back towards the mountains. There wasn’t any sort of urgency to her step, she was savoring her time in the forest. Along the way, she passed a small herd of Fwampops. They were drinking out of a small watering hole and she stopped for a quick break. Groaning as she bent at the knees, one of the smallest walked up besides her leg, leaning in for a pet.

“Little one, you are too cute. Also too trusting,” she smiled down at the young as it scampered back to its mother with a little yelp.

Continuing along, she found herself taking a shortcut towards the old battlefield from years ago. No harm, no foul. Right? Jake probably would yell at her if he knew of the route she decided to take, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt. The area was strictly off limits and no one was supposed to be anywhere near the zone, so wasn’t she surprised to hear four familiar voices in the distance.

Making her way towards the voices, she decided to use it as a teaching moment for the Sully children and Spider. She took up the mantle as older sister or cool aunt to all of the young ones, so it was a perfect opportunity. Technically she was breaking the rules too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Stalking her way behind the children, she got close enough to demonstrate they were being too careless.

“Now what exactly are you all doing here?” She called out from the trees. All at once, four heads snapped her way. She smiled and jumped down, landing with a thud in front of Lo’ak.

“Jiniraa!” Tuk called out with a smile on her face. Kiri crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, as per usual. Lo’ak and Spider had their “oh shit, we’re in trouble” looks knowing they had been caught.

“Can’t we ask you the same question? You’re only a few years older than us” Lo’ak asked, clearly annoyed that an adult had ruined their adventure.

“No actually you cannot. A decade is more than a few years. I am more responsible than you. Why is Tuk here? I wouldn’t be as upset if it was just you two idiots trying to get yourselves killed. You need to be more responsible and thoughtful” Lo’ak’s ears lowered and he brought his gaze to the ground, he never liked being called out for his antics. At her tone, Spider and Lo’ak both muttered small apologies without making any eye contact.

Jiniraa realized her tone was probably too harsh on the children, they were just learning anyway. With a sigh, she ran a hand over her face. “Look, let’s just head back home. I won’t bring it up to your parents if and only when you promise me you will stop this careless behavior.” She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at the group in front of her.

A chorus of ‘yes, we promise’ came from all the children. Still feeling bad for the tone she used, she bent down, putting one hand on the shoulders of Spider and Lo’ak, “I just want you guys to all be safe. Let’s go.”

“Um, actually, Nira, we kinda found tracks,” Spider said as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Tracks?” She responded, clearly annoyed at the cryptic words of the human teen. “Care to elaborate?”

Lo’ak responded for his friend, “they were the size of Na’vi feet, but boots. Like military boots.”

Jiniraa felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. This area of the forest already gave her the creeps and the thought that they weren’t alone made it worse ten-fold. Although she felt anxiety beginning to coarse through her veins, she needed to keep her wits about her, for the sake of the children.

She wasn’t a warrior like their parents. Sure, she could hold her own thanks to Jake insisting she learn at least the basics, but if it was an opponent with any skill she was done for. Knowing she was at a disadvantage skill wise, Jiniraa would die for the children standing in front of her without a doubt. She would fight until her dying breath to make sure they were safe.

Taking a deep breath, Jiniraa clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to center herself. “All the more reason to get out of here.”

“But-”

“Lo’ak absolutely no buts. We are heading home. Tuk, come.” Jinirara took Tuk on her back, something she had done since Tuk was just old enough to walk. Although she was trying to keep calm for the children, especially Tuk, her anxiety wasn’t covered as well as she hoped. Once Tuk was on her back, she felt the child’s arms tighten around her neck.

Jiniraa was leading the group with Tuk on her back, keeping the pace as fast as she could. Kiri was slightly behind Jiniraa while the two boys begrudgingly followed behind.

“You’re limping again.” Kiri stated plainly. It was the first thing she said since Jiniraa had jumped out of the trees. “You know you aren’t supposed to be jumping to the ground like that. You could hurt yourself even more.”

Jiniraa sighed, knowing Kiri was right. “I know, I know. I’ve had this pain since before you were born, sweet girl. I’ll be fine. I was out collecting leaves to make wrappings for my hip. The old stuff isn’t working anymore.” There was a pause. “Just don’t tell Norm. Or Mo’at. I don’t know which one will be scarier about this.”

“Grandmother will be. Without a doubt.” The three girls laughed to themselves. Jiniraa looked over her shoulder to make a joke to Kiri about how scary Mo’at can be at times when she only saw Kiri. No boys. No idiot, idiot boys.

“Kiri, where are Spider and Lo’ak?” Jiniraa asked in a nervous tone, not even trying to hide it anymore. Kiri glanced around as well to no avail. Jiniraa tightened her hold on Tuk, “fuck. Alright let’s retrace, they just veered off. They’re fine. I’m sure they’re fine.”

Kiri and Tuk shared a glance at each other, both recognizing the signs of Nira’s anxiety, something that wasn’t a secret in the village.

The group only had to walk back about a hundred yards before they found signs of where the boys ventured off to. To Nira’s dismay, she caught sight of those tracks Lo’ak described earlier.

She paused for a second, “alright, I need both of you to stay as quiet as possible. Tuk, I’m going to put you on the ground, I can’t sneak with you on my back.” Nira quickly and quietly lowered Tuk to the ground, pulling her knife off her thigh at the same time.

The girls followed the tracks, Tuk safely tucked in the middle, holding onto Jiniraa’s tail for childish security. Within minutes, she spotted Lo’ak and Spider crouching up against a fallen log. Coming up behind the two, she grabbed an ear from both, pulling them towards her.

“Now, what the fuck do you two think you’re doing?” She asked. There wasn’t aggression in her voice. No, it was a cold anger. Coming from her, it was much scarier than her loudest of yelling.

“Mom is going to ground you,” Kiri stared at her brother, receiving an eye roll as a response, “for life,” She emphasized.

Jiniraa couldn’t care less about the childish banter happening behind her as she looked forward. Eyes widened realizing exactly where they were. In the distance, she could see one of the old links and where the Na’vi-human war came to a bloody end all those years ago. Not only that, she saw at least half a dozen Na’vi-looking beings surveying the area. Armed with large guns, dressed in camouflage, and fully decked out with gear, Jiniraa’s heart sank to the pits of her stomach.

“We’re going. Now. One of you make contact with your parents. Now.” She gathered Tuk back up on her back as Lo’ak raised a hand to his throat.

Jiniraa’s ears were ringing, so she only caught parts of the conversation.

“-I got eyes on some guys. They look like Avatars, but they have full camo and gear. There’s six of them. Over.” A pause, waiting for his father’s response. Lo’ak hesitated with his response, knowing how much trouble he was in. “Uh, we’re at the old shack. Me, Spider, Kiri… and Tuk. Nira is with us too, she found us.”

Only the older two Sully children had earpieces in, but Jiniraa could imagine exactly what Jake was saying.

“See, I told you,” Kiri whispered to her brother, but her words barely registered in Jiniraa’s mind as she felt her protective side wash over her. She was going to make sure these kids stayed safe and got home. Bouncing Tuk higher on her back, they all started sneaking through the forest.

The kid’s were arguing amongst themselves, causing Jiniraa to turn around and snap at them her nerves at an all time high. In that exact moment, a body came out from the brush and ripped Tuk off her back. Tuk screamed as she reached out for Nira, who was already lunging at the enemy in response.

Within a few seconds, about a dozen blue bodies emerged from their hiding places, all with guns raised at the children. Nira did her best to push everyone behind her. In accordance with Jake’s lessons, they all lowered their weapons, knowing resisting and showing aggression was a surefire way to get killed.

Everyone was grabbed and forced into submission. The male who grabbed Jiniraa kicked out at her bad leg, forcing her to grit her teeth together. She wanted to scream out in pain as the fire spread within, but she wouldn’t give the aggressors that satisfaction.

Tuk was screaming out for Kiri. The sound made Jiniraa’s heart rate pick up exponentially, both in fear and anger. The adrenaline began pumping through her veins. She did a once over of everyone, making eye contact to give some reassurance that everything would be okay. It partially was a lie, for she did not know if everything certainly was going to be okay. Lying was bad, but she saw how it momentarily calms everyone down.

She wasn’t a warrior. Hell, she wasn’t even a fighter. She was easily the shortest fully-grown woman in the clan and she walked with a persistent limp. She had no chance against these people, muscles and hardware on display, but that wasn’t going to stop her from trying her damndest.

“What have we here?”

Next Part - Two: Eyes Cannot Lie

●●●

i hope you enjoyed :)))

cross-posting on ao3 at beanswolo!

#colonel miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #recom quaritch #recom quaritch x oc #colonel quaritch x oc #miles quaritch #miles quaritch x oc #miles quaritch imagine #avatar x oc #avatar imagine #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar oc #na'vi oc #na'vi quaritch #recoms #promises to keep

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republicsecurity · 2 months

Text

Training afternoon

The recruits listened as 6DG05's voice resonated within their helmets, a digital symphony of authority and guidance. The field lay before them, a vast expanse of simulated and real challenges, something not easy to keep apart inside the helmets that totally controlled their sensory input.

6DG05's voice resonated through the recruits' helmets, cutting through the digital landscape like a calculated breeze. His explanation wove through the intricacies of the Corps' methodology, emphasizing the seemingly paradoxical benefits of controlled sensory input.

"Recruits," he began, his tone carrying a subtle mixture of authority and explanation, "the controlled sensory input is not just a feature; it's a crucial aspect of your training. In this controlled environment, we can fine-tune your experiences, exposing you to a spectrum of challenges that transcend the limitations of traditional training methods."

He elaborated on the advantages, dissecting the nuances of their immersive training. "By manipulating your sensory perception, we can simulate a vast array of scenarios – from chaotic battlefield emergencies to nuanced medical procedures.

Inside the confines of their helmets, IU664 and H2U8M found a rare moment to converse, their voices digitalized and encrypted, resonating within the sealed space.

IU664's voice, slightly distorted by the helmet's communication system, cut through the virtual landscape. "It's disturbing, isn't it? Not knowing where the line between reality and simulation is drawn."

H2U8M, navigating the simulated challenges alongside IU664, responded, "Yeah, it messes with your head. Everything feels real, but then again, it might not be."

The digital symphony of their voices interwove with the simulated sounds of the field, creating a surreal backdrop to their conversation.

"I mean, how do we know if what we're experiencing is genuine or just another layer of the Corps' conditioning?" IU664 pondered.

"Uncertainty breeds adaptability. It's part of their method. Keep us guessing, keep us sharp."

The urgent call from T4C7L pierced through the recruits' simulated environment, pulling them from the complexities of their virtual challenges. Racing toward the coordinates, IU664 and H2U8M, found themselves face to face with a disturbing scene.

The field kitchen, where they just had eaten lay in ruins. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, and the harsh glow of flames cast eerie shadows on the digital landscape. As they approached T4C7L's prone figure, a sense of urgency permeated the simulation.

Lifting debris with their gauntleted hands, IU664 and H2U8M uncovered the injured T4C7L. His moans resonated in their helmets, creating an unsettling juxtaposition with the chaos of the disaster.

T4C7L lay there, his left leg severed by a cruel piece of virtual debris. The recruits, not knowing if this was real or part of the simulation's artificial nature, felt a surge of empathy and concern for their fallen comrade.

"Stay with me, T4C7L," IU664 urged, his digital voice carrying a hint of urgency.

H2U8M, assessing the injury, stated, "We need to stabilize him. The AI should guide us through the procedure."

As they engaged in the simulated medical emergency, the line between reality and virtuality blurred. The immersive nature of the training demanded their full attention, compelling them to respond to the simulated crisis with a blend of tactical skill and compassionate care. In the Corps, even the most controlled environments carried the weight of uncertainty and the imperative to act.

Following the AI's guidance, H2U8M took charge of the situation, his gauntleted hands working with precision to address the virtual trauma. The HUD within his helmet displayed step-by-step instructions, an ethereal guide in the midst of the simulated crisis.

IU664, his attention focused on the task at hand, assisted by providing tools and materials as prompted by the AI. Together, they worked to staunch the bleeding, following the carefully choreographed motions dictated by the digital guide.

The HUD displayed vital signs and diagnostics related to T4C7L's condition. The integrated medi-kit had administered pain medication to alleviate T4C7L's suffering, and the virtual readouts indicated a stabilization of his vital signs.

H2U8M and IU664, still in the midst of the emergency, assessed the data provided by the suit. The digital interface guided them through the next steps, prompting them to check for any other injuries and ensure that T4C7L remained stable until further assistance arrived.

The surreal blend of the real and the simulated created a unique atmosphere within the paramedic suits. The recruits, immersed in the scenario, relied on the seamless integration of technology and training to navigate the challenges presented to them.

Mission Control's voice resonated in their helmets, instructing them to evacuate T4C7L to a designated safe zone approximately 2 km away. The recruits, relying on the suit's enhanced strength and the knowledge gained through their training, carefully lifted and secured T4C7L onto a makeshift stretcher.

The HUD provided a digital map overlay, guiding them through the simulated terrain. The recruits, now fully immersed in the scenario, navigated the challenges of the field with precision. The weight of their injured comrade served as a constant reminder of the gravity of their mission.

As they moved toward the designated safe zone, the AI continued to offer guidance and feedback, assessing their actions and responses.

H2U8M's voice resonated through the secure channel, the digital encryption ensuring their conversation remained private within the confines of their helmets.

H2U8M: "This feels real, doesn't it? The weight of T4C7L, the urgency of the mission. It's all too convincing."

IU664: "I agree. The details, the sensory input—simulations don't usually feel this tangible. But then again, we're dealing with a level of technology that blurs the lines between reality and simulation."

H2U8M: "What if they're testing us, pushing us to question the nature of the scenario? It's all part of their conditioning methods."

T4C7L's voice crackled through their secure communication channel, his tone a mix of pain and frustration.

T4C7L: "You stupid cucumbers, this is as real as it gets. The pain in my leg is real, the wreckage around me is real. Now, less talking, more moving. Get me out of here."

H2U8M and IU664, though relieved to have some confirmation of the reality of the situation, focused on the task at hand.

The AI-induced partial failures added an extra layer of challenge for the recruits. H2U8M and IU664, tasked with carrying the simulated injured T4C7L, found their suits responding sluggishly, resistors intermittently activating, and the feedback loops creating unpredictable resistance.

As they struggled with the simulated technical issues, the instructors watched the recruits' responses closely through the telemetry data. The suits' HUDs flickered, displaying false alarms and misleading information, testing the recruits' ability to troubleshoot and adapt.

Amidst the simulated chaos, H2U8M and IU664 lifted the incapacitated T4C7L, the weight feeling unexpectedly variable due to the simulated suit malfunctions.

Inside the encrypted communication channel, IU664's voice crackled into H2U8M's helmet, laden with a mix of frustration and amusement.

As 6DG05 observed the recruits' progress, a mischievous thought crossed his mind. With a subtle command to the AI, he decided to add an extra layer of challenge.

6DG05: "Let's keep them on their toes. AI, introduce some glitches into their suits, nothing too extreme, just enough to test their adaptability and problem-solving skills."

The HUDs of the recruits flickered momentarily, introducing simulated glitches that distorted visuals and generated sporadic sensor errors. The recruits, unaware of the deliberate interference, now faced an additional layer of complexity in the already challenging simulation.

IU664: "Did you feel that glitch, H2U8M? Something's off, and I don't think it's just part of the simulation."

6DG05 observed the recruits' actions on the HUD telemetry feed. Satisfied with IU664 and H2U8M's performance in stabilizing and evacuating T4C7L, he allowed a sense of approval to creep into his thoughts.

H2U8M: "Yeah, I noticed. Feels like the suits are playing tricks on us. Maybe they've upgraded the training scenarios, or it's another layer of conditioning."

T4C7L, lying on the simulated ground, spoke through the helmet's speakers, his voice carrying a mix of urgency and simulated pain.

T4C7L: "Come on, recruits! This isn't a stroll in the park. I need help. Get me to that ambulance, and make it quick. No time to dilly-dally."

Amidst the simulated chaos and controlled disarray of the training exercise, IU664 and H2U8M rushed towards the waiting Instructor KO10T, their minds instantly reverting to the systematic approach they'd been trained to follow in such situations.

IU664, his voice calm and focused despite the surrounding turmoil, relayed the critical information. "Instructor, we've encountered a casualty. Assessing his condition using the ABCDE approach: Airway's clear, breathing labored, pulse is thready, conscious but showing signs of distress. Extremity injury to the left leg, traumatic amputation. Bleeding is controlled."

H2U8M, maintaining composure, joined in. "Checking his Disability and Exposure—conscious and oriented, no other evident injuries. Estimated blood loss is moderate but manageable. Requesting immediate evac, sir."

Instructor KO10T, taking in the urgency in their voices, nodded in acknowledgment. "Understood. Prepping for immediate evacuation. Excellent work, both of you. Let's get him to safety."

The visors ascended with a faint hiss, revealing the training ground in all its controlled normalcy. The chaotic scenes of a simulated emergency melted away, leaving IU664 and H2U8M blinking in the calibrated lighting of the training area.

The instructors, KO10T and 6DG05, observed with a discerning eye, assessing the recruits' reactions to the simulation's conclusion.

The training ground, once a staged battlefield of urgency and simulated injuries, now revealed T4C7L standing before them, seemingly whole except for the absent leg that remained in the simulation.

T4C7L, having played his role in the training exercise, maintained a composed demeanor despite the apparent incongruity of his missing leg.

T4C7L, noticing their confusion, spoke up. "Ah, the leg. I guess I forgot to mention it during the briefing. Lost it in a motorcycle accident when I was seventeen. But they fixed me up real good, got me back on my feet, or foot, so to speak. Decided I wanted to serve, to be on the other side, helping folks just like the guys who helped me."

T4C7L, noting the lingering surprise on the faces of IU664 and H2U8M, grinned. "Don't worry, mates. I'm not as handicapped as it might seem. The leg I lost years ago has been replaced by this marvel of technology." He tapped on the sleek surface of his suit's leg, revealing the hidden, fully functional prosthetic limb.

The recruits, still processing the revelations, marveled at the seamless integration of advanced prosthetics into the tactical paramedic suits. It was a testament to the level of technology they were immersed in, where disabilities could be overcome with cutting-edge innovations.

T4C7L continued, "This prosthetic is more than just a replacement. It's an enhancement, a piece of gear that complements the suit and makes me as effective as any of you." He flexed the prosthetic, demonstrating its range of motion and adaptability.

The revelation about T4C7L's prosthetic leg added another layer of complexity to IU664 and H2U8M's understanding of their immersive training. The blurring line between simulation and reality became increasingly elusive, and the recruits found themselves questioning the authenticity of their experiences.

The instructors, masters of this carefully constructed reality, watched silently, knowing that each twist in the training narrative served a purpose beyond the recruits' immediate comprehension.

KO10T, realizing the disconcerting nature of the training, approached IU664 and H2U8M. His inquiry about their needs and the offer to adjust the environment for their comfort revealed a subtle acknowledgment of the psychological strain the immersive scenarios imposed on the recruits.

With a controlled, yet understanding tone, KO10T conveyed, "Do you need anything, recruits? Take a moment. I'll give you control over the suits. You can decide whether to keep the visors open or closed, whatever makes you more comfortable."

The choice offered a semblance of autonomy within the structured training environment. As the visors lifted, the recruits found themselves facing the training ground once again, now free from the immersive overlays that dictated their experiences. The ambient sounds of the training site became more pronounced, grounding them in the tangible reality of their surroundings.

U664 and H2U8M, visors open to the training ground's unfiltered reality, sipped their hot tea as they joined KO10T and T4C7L in preparing for the next team's immersive scenario. The banter flowed naturally between the recruits and their instructors, a brief interlude of camaraderie amid the intense training regimen.

KO10T, while overseeing the setup, engaged in light banter with the recruits. "Well, recruits, how did it feel to face the unexpected? This training isn't your typical walk in the park, but you handled it well."

H2U8M chuckled, "I have to admit, I wasn't sure if we were dealing with a simulation or a real emergency back there. You've got us on our toes, Instructor."

T4C7L, adjusting some equipment nearby, added, "Ah, the blend of reality and simulation, keeps you sharp, doesn't it? It's what makes our paramedics the best in the field."

T4C7L asks H2U8M to carry him in the Fireman's carry to the simulated explosion site

H2U8M, responding to T4C7L's request with a smirk, said, "Sure thing, T4C7L. Ready for a scenic tour of our simulated chaos?" He crouched down, allowing T4C7L to climb onto his back in a fireman's carry.

As H2U8M walked toward the designated area, T4C7L playfully remarked, "Ah, the perks of having recruits who can lift you like a feather."

"Consider it part of our paramedic fitness training, sir," H2U8M quipped, maintaining the camaraderie amid the unconventional scenario.

H2U8M carefully lowered T4C7L to the ground, and T4C7L continued to play his part in setting the stage. He pointed to a small container labeled "artificial blood" nearby and instructed, "There you go, H2U8M. Make it look dramatic. We want the next team to think they're in for a real challenge."

H2U8M, with a hint of a smile beneath his helmet, picked up the container and applied the artificial blood to the prosthetic stump, creating a convincing illusion of injury. T4C7L, lying on the ground, maintained a serious expression, adding to the realism of the scene.

KO10T, overseeing the preparations, nodded in approval. "Good job, recruits. This will set the tone for the next team. Remember, realism is key in our training."

KO10T told the recruits: "If you want you watch your mates go through the same scenario as you did, but you will have to lower the visors."

U664 glanced at H2U8M, and they exchanged a silent agreement. With a synchronized motion, they lowered their visors, immersing themselves back into the controlled environment of the suits. The training ground transformed once again, the HUD overlaying data and simulations on their vision.

KO10T's voice echoed in their helmets, "Welcome to the observer's perspective, recruits. Take a moment to see how your fellow paramedics handle the challenges. It's a valuable part of your training."

As they watched their comrades navigating the simulated emergencies, H2U8M couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and camaraderie. IU664, sharing the sentiment, remarked over their encrypted channel, "It's strange being on this side, isn't it? Almost like watching a performance, but with a deeper understanding."

"Yeah," replied H2U8M, "you get a different appreciation for the complexities of the scenarios when you're not in the thick of it. Let's see how they tackle it."

Finally the last team of their platoon emerged. Most of them were as stunned as H2U8M from the final scenario.

As the last team completed the scenario, the recruits gathered, their visors lifted to reveal a mix of sweat-soaked and bewildered faces. The training ground, once a battleground of simulations and challenges, now required their attention for cleanup.

KO10T's voice cut through their helmets, "Good work, recruits. Visors up for now. Take a moment to catch your breath. We'll march back to the barracks once the site is cleaned up."

IU664 and H2U8M joined the rest of the platoon in the post-scenario haze. The disorientation lingered as they helped tidy the training area. Equipment was stowed, and remnants of the simulated emergencies were cleared away.

H2U8M retrieved T4C7L's prosthetic leg and handed it to him. T4C7L deftly attached the prosthetic, securing it in place with practiced ease. As the mechanical components engaged, the leg seemed to seamlessly integrate with his suit.

T4C7L stood up, testing the prosthetic limb. The movement was fluid, a testament to the advanced technology that augmented his abilities. The recruits, still gathered and cleaning up the training site, watched with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

IU664, intrigued by the seamless integration of the prosthetic with the suit, couldn't help but ask over their helmet communication, "How does it feel, T4C7L? Having a leg like that?"

T4C7L, now standing steadily, replied with a grin audible in his voice, "Feels like I never lost it in the first place. The tech these suits have is something else. Now, let's finish up here and head back. Good job today, everyone."

The platoon marched in unison, their visors down, the rhythmic thud of boots echoing through the simulated night. The HUDs provided a subtle green glow, enhancing their vision in the darkness. The recruits moved with a disciplined precision, the day's immersive training still fresh in their minds.

IU664 and H2U8M, side by side in the formation, exchanged a few words over their helmet communication. The day's events had left an indelible mark on their perception of the training, blurring the lines between simulation and reality.

H2U8M remarked, "Never thought I'd see someone attach a prosthetic leg to a suit like that."

IU664 replied, "Yeah, the technology is impressive. Makes you wonder what else these suits can do."

As they moved to the decontamination area, H2U8M turned to IU664, visor still lifted, "Quite a day, huh? I never expected this level of intensity when we started."

The recruits moved through the decontamination process, shedding the remnants of the scenarios they had faced. The barracks awaited them, a place where they could rest, reflect, and prepare for the next phase of their paramedic training.

The platoon filed into the barracks, the air hissing as the docking clamps engaged, securing the recruits in their suits.

Inside the barracks, the visors lifted, revealing a room filled with exhausted but focused faces. The instructors, including T4C7L, who had rejoined them, prepared to discuss the day's events and lessons learned. The recruits, visors now transparent, awaited the debriefing that would shed light on the complexities of their futuristic training.

The mechanical symphony of replenishment and recharging began, each suit connected to its designated station.

The suits, now in a passive state, initiated their self-maintenance routines. he HUDs displayed diagnostic data, ensuring that each suit received the necessary attention for the upcoming days of training.

IU664 glanced at H2U8M, their expressions hidden behind the helmets. "It's like we're part of some advanced, living organism," IU664 remarked, the fatigue of the day's training evident in his voice.

The classroom, now illuminated by the overhead lights, awaited the instructors' debriefing.

The recruits' HUDs illuminated with a cascading stream of data, an automated report detailing their performance throughout the day. Bright green indicators marked areas of success, while cautionary amber signals highlighted aspects needing improvement.

IU664's eyes scanned the detailed breakdown of his actions during the simulated emergency scenarios. The HUD displayed commendations for swift responses, accurate diagnostics, and effective communication with H2U8M. Yet, there were amber warnings, cautioning him about a slightly delayed reaction time during the evacuation phase.

H2U8M's HUD presented a similar array of information. The system praised his effective wound management and coordination with IU664, but a cautionary note suggested a need for more precision in administering certain medical procedures.

The recruits, still inside their suits, exchanged glances. The silent feedback from their AI-guided assessments brought a mix of satisfaction and determination. It was a constant loop of improvement — an intricate dance between human decision-making and the enhancements offered by the advanced technology woven into their suits.

IU664 tapped a few virtual buttons on his HUD, accessing a broader analysis of their overall platoon performance. The report extended beyond individual accomplishments, providing insights into the collective efficiency and potential areas for group synergy.

"It's like a digital debriefing," IU664 remarked, his voice reverberating within the confines of the helmet.

H2U8M nodded, "They've quantified every move, every decision. We're not just learning from our experiences; the system is optimizing us."

As the recruits absorbed the data and recommendations, the automated voice of the AI chimed in through their helmets, "Tomorrow is a new day of training. Optimize, adapt, overcome."

The instructors, their voices resonating through the recruits' helmets, issued the command: "Initiate docking procedures. It's time to rest."

The recruits, visors descending to create a cocoon of isolation, marched in unison toward the docking stations. The rhythmic hiss of docking clamps engaged, securing each recruit in place. The ambient hum of the suits' machinery became a lullaby, a mechanical symphony serenading them into a state of rest.

As the recruits settled into their individual stations, the suits initiated a sequence. The once active HUD now dimmed, transitioning into a soft, ambient glow. Inside the sealed helmets, the recruits experienced a gradual disconnection from the external world.

In the virtual space of their HUD, the instructors relayed a message: "Rest well, recruits. Tomorrow awaits new challenges."

The recruits' bodies reclined in the docking stations, embraced by the contours of their suits. The AI, ever vigilant, monitored their vital signs and sleep patterns. As the recruits drifted into the realm of dreams, the suits maintained a silent watch, ready to awaken them at the appointed hour.

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domoz · 1 year

Text

Founders have me writing like crazy it seems. Another fic, cw for child abuse in this one. It gets nasty.

It's a beautiful spring evening when Hashirama decides that he needs to kill his father.

When his legs give out for the fifth time, Hashirama isn't able to force himself up again.

To say chichiue had been unhappy with what had happened at the Naka River would be an understatement. Hashirama had kept his head bowed through a long, long lecture, insisted over and over that he hadn't known because ignorance might be the only thing that could save him.

Punishment has been brutal, regardless. He's been taking his smaller than usual meals alone in his room, and even those have been more sparse than usual, because every waking has been consumed with ceaseless training.

"When you see that boy on the battlefield, you'll kill him."

Hashirama shudders and turns his face into the dirt. He won't, and that will probably end up worse for him than this, but that still isn't enough to make him willing to do it.

(Madara was like him. Madara wanted peace. Peace could mean that no one would be forced to do something like this ever again).

For the moment, though, Hashirama can't get his legs to cooperate. Today he'd been training his mokuton ('until you have enough wood to rebuild the whole compound twice over'), and he'd tried, he always tries, but he's never, not in his life, been this low on chakra before. The lack of it makes him feel dizzy and nauseous and cold, seems to amplify all the aches and pains of the last few days. He'd pulled a splinter out of his hand earlier and the spot has been aching and stinging for hours when normally he would have forgotten about it minutes after it happened.

He's exhausted and miserable, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears because letting them fall will mean he probably doesn’t even get to eat tonight. He's already going to be in trouble enough for falling again--

"Boy, you better not be taking a break." Butsuma's voice calls, far away as first but getting louder, "You're not even halfway done."

Hashirama's voice catches in his parched throat -- he's got no idea whether it'll be safer for him to admit the truth or make an excuse. Before he can decide, his brother's voice chimes in, and oh he hadn't even known Tobirama was here.

"Chichiue, he's low on chakra." It's said so matter-of-fact that Hashirama can't tell if he's being judged for it or not. But he's really not the happiest with Tobirama right now and in a poor mood anyways so all he feels at the comment Is a spike of anger harsh enough to send the tears he's been hold back spilling down his cheeks.

Why did you have to tell him that? Why do you keep ruining things?

Butsuma clicks his tongue.

"Shameful. But low chakra is not a reason for him to be on his back. Or crying."

Hashirama can only see the purpling sky, but he can hear the sneer in his father's voice.

"I just don't know what to do with you, boy. Maybe a real punishment is in order. To start with, no meals until you're done with this."

Hashirama stifles a sob. Fuck, but he's hungry. There's a heavy sigh from his father, but it's Tobirama's voice he hears next.

"Chichiue, is that… Wise?"

There is a heavy pause; Hashirama musters the strength to lift his head and is treated to a sight he wishes wasn't familiar. Tobirama's thin back is between him and Butsuma. His arms are crossed this time, but Hashirama knows his intent. His little brother trying to protect him, again.

This is your fault in the first place! A wounded part of his heart screams, but already he feels guilty for the thought.

(How was Tobirama to know who he'd been meeting? How was he to do anything but worry when his brother kept disappearing so soon after their last one had died? How was he to say no to an order?)

"It's just --" Tobirama's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant, "Harsh training is well and good, but if he's not able to recover his strength then he won't be able to act should an emergency happen. Right now, he'd be useless in a battle."

There is a weighty silence, one that stretches on long enough that it makes Hashirama's heart flutter with hope -- maybe Tobirama's words have managed to convince him, again.

"I have no intention of letting him go to battle until I'm sure he's learned his lesson." Another pause, and then "…You're more troublesome than you let on, boy."

Those words aren't meant for Hashirama. Tobirama stiffens just enough to be perceptible, and if Hashirama can see it in the state that he's in, there's no way that Butsuma missed it.

"That's what I thought. Tobirama, on your knees. I think you both need to understand something."

Tobirama hesitates for the barest moment before sinking down. He knows better than to protest in this situation. Hashirama struggles to roll over enough to see what is happening. To see how Butsuma has knelt down across from Tobirama to grab his chin in a bruising grip, how Tobirama's hands are fisted tight in the fabric of his pants.

"When I teach you that shinobi aren't to show emotions, what I mean is that they can't let their feelings affect their decisions." He forces Tobirama's face to turn, to meet Hashirama's wide eyes with his own, "But if you had taken that lesson to heart you would have seen how much better off your brother would be if he understood. You may hide what you feel, but I can see now how much you let those feelings rule you. You'd rather spare your brother pain than have him grow stronger and survive."

Butsuma reaches for a pouch and, and with his other hand he draws out a kunai. Tobirama doesn't struggle as it's pushed to his cheek, but instead goes very, very still. Hashirama's stomach swoops -- he wouldn't, he wouldn't--

"And you, Hashirama… I don't know what to do about that bleeding heart of yours. But you need to understand, if you're going to open yourself up to whatever poor kid with a sob story you meet in the woods you need to be strong enough to make certain that it can't hurt you."

He squeezes Tobirama's face, applies pressure. The kunai bites deep into his brother's cheek. Tobirama jerks in his hold and lets out an awful, warbled whine before cutting himself off.

"Stop." Begs Hashirama, voice breaking, He tries to push himself up only for his arms to give out from under him, "Stop it. Stop it!"

"If you want it to stop --" Says Butsuma, forcing Tobirama's face to turn the other direction and digging the kunai in to the other side, perfectly matching the first cut. "-- Then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me."

But Hashirama can't stand up. There's no sudden burst of strength -- he used that up ages ago. All he can manage is to drag himself a few inches forward through the dirt, fingers just able to reach where a spot of blood (his brother's blood!) has been flung to the ground.

"Please." His voice is hoarse, "Please, I understand. Please stop."

The look Butsuma levels at him is cold, a frown that says he doesn't believe him.

He tilts up Tobirama's head, cuts a final slash into his chin, before letting go. Standing up, stepping back, uncaring of the way his son has dropped to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.

"Guard your heart or grow strong enough to keep it safe, Hashirama. Those are your options."

He turns, leaves them alone on the training field under a rapidly darkening sky. It's only when he's out of sight that Hashirama feels sensation return to his limbs, feels just how hard his heart is pounding. Hears the near silent drip of blood onto the ground from Tobirama --

His breath hitches but he can't lose his head yet, his brother, his last baby brother, still hasn't moved.

"Tobi." He calls roughly, but there's still no reaction, "Tobi. Tobirama!"

When he finally pulls himself close enough, he reaches for his brother's hand, ignores the way it's trembling and sticky with blood (so much blood but it's fine, Tobirama has to be fine, head wounds just bleed more than most--). Only when he touches Tobirama does his brother react. Jerks away from him -- finally looks at him, but it's with eyes that are completely empty.

"We can't." Tobirama's voice is quiet. It cracks, but his little brother does not cry, even now, "He's waiting to see what we'll do."

Waiting to see if they'll turn to each other, he means.

"Tobi…" He calls, as Tobirama mechanically pushes himself to his feet, pulls his hand away. He wants to do something, needs to do something, to make this even a little okay, but he knows Tobirama is right, that if they try to help each other now the lesson will only repeat itself.

Tobirama shakes his head, walks towards the main house with his head ducked low, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

And Hashirama still can't force himself onto his feet to follow.

He falls back onto the dirt, throat tight. A few more tears spill out, but not many. He doesn't have anything left in him to cry.

He feels -- empty. He thinks he should be feeling more but all that's left behind his breastbone is hollow. And if he feels like this, than Tobirama must be…

He broke something, Hashirama thinks hysterically, He broke something in me and I think he might have broken Tobirama, too.

There's a bile building in the back of his throat as the realizations hit him. He can't let that happen again, won't survive if it does.

If you want to stop me, then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me.

That had been the lesson. Maybe Hashirama can finally learn this one.

The determination to build peace and a village had made him feel warm. The determination to do this settles like lead in his guts.

If any of his dreams are going to happen, he needs to get strong enough to stop his father.

#oops! no writing tag #tobirama senju #hashirama senju #naruto blog for nauruto things #this is inspired very much by that one comic where tbrm is like I behave like the perfect son so he will be surprised when i kill him #look i just. like the idea of the senju sibs being the ones who killed butusma #(sorrrry butsuma you are very easy to demonize for purposes such as these)#btw. tbrms reasoning for trying to defend hsrm like that is the same. to me #he sees hsrm fall. remembers who it was who sent his brothers out to die #(which is a line i wanted to include in hsrms perspective but couldn't figure out where)#and goes oh. actually the biggest threat to hashiramas life is butsuma. cant let That happen. maybe ill be self sacrificial about it #if i had the stones (ideas) id write a whole story about these two plotting to kill their dad #PS. ALSO. if tbrm and kawarma were twins do you wanna bet they got used as leverage against each other like this???? ARGH #oneshot

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